A chance to live—live well, live life to the fullest

by Hsbee

Summary:

Wei Wuxian finds himself inexplicably transported back to his six-year-old self, years after his death. Confronted with the errors of his past, he resolves to reshape his future, rejecting deceit and choosing to live for himself. Despite this new path, he remains committed to the promises made in his previous life. He begins training under his mother’s master, embarking on a fresh journey while retaining memories of his past experiences.

Notes:

Dear Readers,

Hello and welcome!

This is my first foray into writing fanfiction, and as I am not a native English speaker, there may be some errors. Additionally, as someone not familiar with Chinese culture and history, my understanding of the original character names and their meanings may be limited. I sourced these names from Google, so there may be discrepancies. I apologize in advance for any inaccuracies

As a devoted fan of *Mo Dao Zu Shi*, both the novel and its adaptations, I have felt a deep sadness seeing how the pure and noble Wei Wuxian has suffered due to the greed and jealousy of those around him. It’s disheartening to witness such a virtuous soul endure so much pain and hardship.

In my journey as a fan of Wei Ying and Wangxian, I have read numerous fanfictions. However, I often find myself disappointed when Wei Ying faces similar or even greater horrors in time travel stories. I have always wished to offer my beloved character a more peaceful and fulfilling life. While I cannot promise a life completely free of troubles, I can certainly ensure that my version of Wei Ying experiences a better and more rewarding existence in this fanfiction.

In this narrative, Wei Ying travels back in time and awakens as a child who has recently lost his parents. We will follow his journey as he navigates this new chapter of his life and learns to cope with the challenges ahead. The events will largely adhere to the original novels, without incorporating the Yin Iron plot.

This will be a long fanfiction, spanning at least 150,000 words, so prepare yourself for an emotional and thrilling rollercoaster ride!

Thank you for joining me on this journey.

Chapter 1: Chapter 01- Return

Chilly winds start blowing. The weather is cold, and the temperature has dropped significantly. Low dog howls can be heard from afar.

“Aah!" A child winces and shivers from the cold, barely covered by torn clothes. The wind wakes him from a deep slumber.

Opening his eyes wide, bewildered by his state, he begins examining his surroundings.
Thin snow lines the alley; junk is scattered not far away. Rags of cotton, on which his head had rested moments ago, lie nearby. Bloodstains mark the snow beneath his tiny feet. He is perplexed. He groans and begins examining his hands, his feet, his tiny palms, his face, and his dishevelled hair.

“What’s this? Why am I still alive? How long has it been since I chose to end my wretched life!?” He wonders, unable to come to terms with the shock of finding himself young again, despite having ended it all, wanting nothing more.

He starts wailing; utterly broken cries leave his throat. He hugs his small legs to his chest and weeps.

“Why!! Why, why, what kind of sick game is this?!” he screams. He cries for nearly hours, until he has no energy left.

He tries to recall what led to this—how he has returned to his body—but his mind is blank, refusing to cooperate. He wonders if he's dreaming now, or if everything that happened before was a dream. With no conclusions, he passes out.

After a few hours, he starts waking up in intervals. His foot aches, he feels the cold wind on his body, he hears crickets, and slowly his senses return. After a few minutes, he sits up and flinches in pain. He looks at his foot; a deep wound from a nail greets him. He wonders what cruel game fate is playing. He remains unbothered by the wound, instead banging his head in frustration, trying to remember.
All he recalls is calling death upon himself, nothing before, nothing after.
Taking a few deep breaths, he desperately tries to remember—who, why, and what brought him back. He examines his body again, trying to determine his age. Seeing his tiny arms and tattered clothes, he feels he is hardly six years old.
He wonders if it’s wise to seek memories of the past. Though he cannot remember fully, he senses it was terrible. He closes his eyes and concentrates on his breathing.

Suddenly, memories flood in: the Lotus Pier, Jiang Fengmian, his Shijie, Jiang Cheng, Madam Yu, his punishments, the burning of Lotus Pier, Jiang Cheng blaming him, strangling him, fleeing, the core transfer, Burial Mounds, the Sunshot Campaign, Qiongqi Path, the Wen remnants, Qing Jie, Wen Ning, A-Yuan, deaths, his own death.

But…
it doesn't stop there.

 

He sees the schemes of Jin Guangshan, the wicked games of Jin Guangyao, his plans to kill the Nie Sect leader, his desperate attempts to climb the ladder.
He opens his eyes, tears falling uncontrollably. How does he remember the aftermath of his death? Shocked by the truth, he screams, cries, and howls at the bitterness of his fate. He cries himself to sleep for two days, unable to come to terms with reality.

Hunger wakes him, but he is in no mind to seek food. He needs to sort this mess out first.
He leans against the wall, trying to assess what went wrong in his life. He starts from the beginning.

“Lotus Pier,” he thinks, recalling everything from the moment Jiang Shushu found him and took him in until the very end of his life.

“Shushu! Shushu!!!” he calls out, a bitter laugh escaping.

“Is that what I called you? A man who couldn’t stand up for a mere child being whipped by his own wife out of jealousy. A person who couldn’t defend his friends, couldn’t stop his wife from berating his dead friend’s character. A person who failed to defend his own house, who showed no strength.” Remembering his final words leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

“You knew my parents; you knew their strength; you knew their child would be strong. Isn’t that why you took me in? Even Wen Zhuliu was treated better by the Wens than I ever was.” He laughs at himself.

“Shijie,” a sad smile lingers on his face, the only person in Lotus Pier who didn’t treat him horribly. He remembers how she made soup for him, how she subtly blamed his mischief for her mother’s wrath, how she ignored all of her brother’s insults and blames towards Wuxian.

“Sorry, Shijie, soup isn’t the solution to everything,” he mutters. He reflects on how, despite knowing Wei Ying was being accused and hunted by the Jins, she was ready to marry into that same family, and he wasn’t even invited. He wonders how someone with her cultivation level could run unarmed into the middle of a battlefield. He still cries when he thinks of the place she held in his heart.

“A-Cheng, A-Cheng, what didn’t I do for you? I was whipped for you, punished for you, and gave you my cultivation, and in return, you led armies to kill me, killed the innocents I sheltered, not even leaving a child, you started torturing and killing anyone who even slightly practiced demonic cultivation. Your jealousy was your own problem. How I wish you could look past the web your mother wove.”

He shudders thinking about Madam Yu. Fear and disgust coursed through him at the thought of her. He cries, remembering her punishments and harsh words.

“‘Son of a servant,’ you called me. Was I not the son of a servant when I defeated your sect heir in every duel? Wasn’t the core that made Jiang Cheng the Sect Leader the same one that powered the servant's son you hated? Wasn’t it the servant's son who kept your sect running smoothly? Why was I never addressed as the head disciple?”

He remembers her forbidding him from paying respects to his parents, her harsh accusations and curses aimed at them. He buries his face in his knees, weeping.

“Sorry, Mama. Sorry, Baba. I never stood up for you. I never showed filial piety. What kind of son am I, to forget my own parents?”

A child, desperate to survive amidst adversity, is taken in by a sect leader only to have his hopes of a loving home shattered, shackled by the debt of food and clothing.

For a sect like Lotus Pier, which prided itself as one of the Five Great Sects, was it so difficult to raise a child and give him the lessons the disciples received, without constantly reminding him of the debt he owed? How could a child, treated so harshly and condemned for every action, be so selfless and giving?

“I gave everything to your sect, but not again. I’ll never get caught in your mess this time. Let’s see how far Yunmeng Jiang goes without the one you claimed brought shame.”
He reflects on the hypocrisy of the cultivation sects, filled with filth and ugly rats behind their masks of righteousness.

“I’ve had enough of all your hypocrisy. I’ll strip you of your titles; I’ll knock you off your thrones. I won’t hold myself back in this lifetime for anyone. I’ll give up all pretence. I’ll live for myself. I’ll make you all pay for your sins,” he vows, with newfound grit and determination.

 

He starts naming names:
“Wen Ruohan.”

“Wen Chao.”

“Wen Zhuliu.”

“Wang of a whore.”

“Jin Guangshan.”

“Jin Guangyao.”

“Madam Yu.”

He lists the names of those he has to save:
“Wen Ning.”

“Wen Qing.”

“A-Yuan.”

“Wen remnants.”

“Shij,” he pauses.
“No, this time I’m not interfering. Let the Jiangs save themselves,” he decides.

“There will be a lot of destruction if war breaks out. Many innocent lives will hang on the whims of the sects. These sects, full of snakes and vipers, care for nothing but themselves. If I’ve been sent back, I must try my best to bring peace and righteousness. If I have to take the reins myself, then so be it. I’ll strive this time to punish the guilty.”

“What a fool I was to think those bastards would leave me alone with the Wen remnants if I stayed away from the cultivation world. They were after power, regardless of its form, style, or state. The same ones who despised me for using resentment, forgetting the victory I gave them all. Hypocrisy is their way, isn’t it?”

“Sinful plots, word games, manipulation, and petty politics—that’s what killed me. My own idiocy killed me. My kindness and naivety, my failure to understand the depth of ugliness in their sects. This time I won’t make the same mistakes. The Jiangs trapped me in guilt, guilt that consumed me piece by piece until there was nothing left. Loyalty, they said—brotherhood and loyalty—yet only I gave it, in return for harsh words and beatings.”

“This time I’ll make good on my mistakes. If they don’t, I’ll strive to make this world a better place. I’ll give myself a chance to live—live well, live life to the fullest,” he vows.
“I’ll make myself so strong that no one will even think of crossing me this time. It’s time to rise.”

"I shall have to make myself so strong that those charlatans will have to bow down to me. The road ahead isn't easy, and I am not someone who is satisfied with easy things. I shall give my everything this time, even if I live for a month, a year, or until the end."

With a determined mind, he begins planning his future path to reach the peak of the cultivation world. He vows not to turn into another Meng Yao, pledging to stand for justice, protect the weak, and punish the wicked.

He tries to remember his mother’s last words before she locked him up in an inn. He searches for any memories of his mother or father.

This time, he does recall a few things: his mother’s grey orbs, her dark tresses, her beautiful smile, her kind words about justice and peace, and their donkey. He also remembers his father’s tall height and kind face. He recalls his mother and father discussing meeting Baoshan Sanren, as well as her final words to seek out Baoshan if they didn’t return.

He wonders why he didn’t remember this in his last life but recalls how he had been waiting for his parents to return.
The small child didn’t want to go to the Celestial Mountains; he had hopes of meeting his parents again. He feared they wouldn’t find him if he left. This same hope and fear kept him waiting on the streets for their return. But as he grew up in the harsh realities of street life, he forgot most of what he knew about them.
Even now, his memories of them are incomplete. Still, what motivates him now is the path to the Celestial Mountains.

He decides to begin his journey to the Celestial Mountains, but before that, his stomach growls.
He rises with newfound determination and wonders how he can get some food. He starts limping towards the market stalls.

He finds an old lady selling steamed buns and walks up to her, giving her a kind smile as he hands over the last of the few coins he has. The old lady has gentle eyes, wrinkled skin, and a stout figure.

She looks at the child with kindness. He wonders if he ever knew her in his previous life.

"Are you new here?" she asks.

"My parents left me at the inn, but they kicked me out," he replies.

"Where are your parents? Have they not returned?" she questions.

With tears in his eyes, he answers, "Mama and Baba won’t return. They’ve died."

Something in him stirs pity within her. She gives him a bun and returns his coin.
"Keep these coins, child. You'll need them to survive. I can spare a few buns. Here, take them."
He hesitates.

"Don't worry, child. I have a farm and a few chickens and pigs. My husband looks after them. I can bear the loss of a few buns if it can help a sweet child like you."

Once again, tears fill his eyes. He takes the buns from her and eats them. After his hunger is satisfied, he speaks to her.

"Popo, what do you grow?"

She looks at him. "Turnips, radishes, and cabbage," she replies.

He nods his head in understanding, thanks her, and leaves. After walking some distance, he decides to buy some talisman paper and cinnabar with the last of his coins. He walks for a while and finds a shop. He enters, purchasing a few pieces of paper and some ink. Though the quality is substandard, it will do for now. He finds an alleyway and heads in that direction. He starts crafting a few talismans for his daily survival on the streets. He cannot waste the precious paper to scribble out his ideas, so instead, he takes a small twig and begins scribbling on the fallen snow. He works on a talisman that will deter dogs from approaching him by emitting the scent of a predator, keeping them at bay.

He also works on a small talisman that will enrich soil with nutrients and keep pests away. With that, he sets off to find the kind Popo who gave him the buns. After some time, he finds her packing up her leftover buns to return home. He runs towards her.

"Popo, Popo, here’s my gift to you for your kindness." His tiny hands stretch out towards her with two talismans.

Startled, she looks at the small papers in his hands and asks, "What are these?"

"Ah! This one here keeps small predators away from your chicken and pig coops. Paste it on the walls of the coop. And this one makes your vegetables grow healthy and big. Dig a foot-deep pit and bury this talisman there," he explains, a smile on his face.

She looks at him with doubt and shock but says nothing. She takes the talismans and leaves. He waves her goodbye and goes to a nearby alley to sleep.

She doubts whether these pieces of paper from a mere child could work but decides there’s no harm in trying.
At home, she tells her husband about the incident, and together, they go to their backyard, where the plants are in poor shape. They bury the talisman a foot under the ground and go back inside. They do the same in one of the coops, following his instructions. They wonder if this will finally stop the loss of their chickens to predators, though they have little hope.

 

In the morning, as usual, they head to their backyard. To their utter shock, the withered plants have vanished, replaced by healthy-looking ones, ready for harvest in a few weeks. They exchange amazed looks and move to check their coop. For the first time, they’ve suffered no loss of animals or chickens. They stand there, stunned.

They can hardly believe a child had solved a problem they’d dealt with for so long. With almost tearful joy, they marvel at the healthy plants thriving in the middle of winter. How could mere paper perform such wonders? They don’t understand.

They discuss the child, his age, and the death of his parents, and feel deep pity for him. Today, they decide to visit the shop and meet the child.
.

Wei Ying wakes to the sound of dogs barking. He has copied the talisman onto his undershirt to keep them away. Though he still shudders when he hears their barking and howling, he refuses to let it hinder him. He survived the burial mounds with a coreless, broken body—he will not fear mere dogs.

He stretches his tiny arms and legs, cleans his face with some fresh snow, and wonders if the kind grandmother used his talisman. Then he heads toward her shop.
Seeing her selling buns, he runs towards her and notices an old man with her. They both spot him.

"Good morning, Grandma," he says.

The old man looks at him in shock and asks his wife, “Is this the child you met last night?" She nods.

She gives him a kind smile, and they both tell him the talisman helped them. They ask where he got it.

"I made it for you. You gave me buns when I was hungry, so I wanted to help with your farm," he replies, beaming.

They are shocked to learn that such a young child could create something like this.

"I wanted to give you more, but I could only afford a few with the coins I had. The crop talisman will last until the next harvest, and the coop talisman should last for a month or two," he explains, wondering to himself how much more powerful it would be if he had his full strength.

Once again, they are astonished. They can’t understand how such a small child could know so much about crops.

"What is your name? Where do you live, child?" the old lady asks.

He bows. "This one is called Wei Ying. I sleep in a nearby alley," he answers with a smile.

"Would you like to live with us? You’ve helped us greatly. We have a small spare room in the warehouse. It’s better than living on the streets, I think," the old man offers.

Wei Ying feels tears well up in his eyes again. He wonders why he can’t seem to stop crying ever since he returned.

"Thank you, but I’m going to a faraway mountain to find a master. I’m leaving this afternoon," he says.

"How do you plan to travel? You’re still a child. The world is cruel; how will you feed yourself?" the old man asks.

With a sheepish smile, Wei Ying scratches the back of his neck. "I don’t know. My mother told me to seek her master if they didn’t return. I don’t think it’s too far from here. I’m used to living on the streets. I’ll feed on berries and fruits," he answers.

The couple nods to each other. The lady gives him a small bag of buns, enough to last a week, along with a few strips of dried meat and a small pouch of coins.
This time, tears fall from Wei Ying’s eyes. "Thank you. I will repay your kindness someday," he sobs.

“There’s nothing to repay. Kindness should be freely given. Food and water can’t be considered a debt," the lady says.
They both patted him on the back with smiles on their faces.
He smiles back and leaves.
.
.
He walks towards the Celestial Mountain after having a bun and some water, mentally promising to return the favour to the old couple.
Now he needs to find the master.He walks for several days, subsisting on wild berries, drinking from small, half-frozen streams, and sleeping on tree branches.

After many days, he finally sees the Celestial Mountain and begins to climb. The ascent takes days, and when he arrives at the gates, he finds them guarded with the immortal's Qi. He wonders if he needs to explain the entirety of his past.

He waits for three days and two nights in front of the gates. No one comes to acknowledge him. He begins to think the journey might have been in vain, until he sees a tall, slim figure approaching the gate.

He looks up in wonder. The figure is wrapped in the cleanest, softest, pale blue fabrics, swirling in the breeze, lined with golden patterns of flowers and birds. She carries a whip with a silver handle and a veil hangs in front of her face. Her magnificent aura and flowing Qi captivate him. Her long hair cascades almost to her calf muscles. He is stunned for a moment.
She clears her throat.

“What is it? Who let you onto my mountain?”

He continues to gaze at her, his mouth open, awe written all over his face.

After a few seconds, she repeats, “Who are you?”

He comes to his senses and gives her the humblest bow. “Immortal one, this one is Wei Ying, son of Cangse Sanren and Wei Changze.”

He has tears in his eyes. “My mother and father passed away after a night hunt. I remembered her telling me to find you if anything happened to them,” he explains.

She looks into his eyes for some time, narrowing her gaze. After a thorough examination, she simply says, “Come.”

He wonders what might be inside the gates. Whatever it is, he is here for knowledge and cultivation, and he is determined to make the most of this opportunity.

 

The ground is covered in fresh green grass as he enters through the gate. The beauty of the place overwhelms him—beautiful trees, flowers, butterflies, birds singing, and water flowing in nearby streams.

He is in disbelief at the scenery. A long corridor leads him to a cottage. They walk in silence; she does not ask him anything. They reach the cottage, and she enters.

She sits across the table and pours herself some tea. The tea is exceptionally fragrant. He remains at the threshold of the cottage, waiting to be invited in. She removes her hat and veil, revealing sharp features, radiant skin, and a chiselled jawline—she looks both beautiful and extremely powerful.

She lifts her eyes from her tea and nods at him, signalling him to enter. She gives him a long look, which Wei Ying doesn’t fully understand.

She places her cup down with elegant movements and studies him again.

“How old are you?” she asks.

“This one is six,” he replies, bowing.

“How old were you?” she continues.

He is startled. Unsure whether to explain everything, he decides there is no reason to keep secrets if she already knows his real age.

“Twenty-two,” he admits, his head bowed low.

“Do you know how you came back?”

“No,” he answers, still looking down.

“Hmm, I want to know what happened to you in your past life. Give me your palm,” she instructs.

“Is it really necessary?” he asks.

“I can’t take you in without knowing everything. If you wish not to share, you can leave,” she states.

“Okay,” he says, moving his hand towards her hesitantly.

She takes his hand, holds his median nerve, and closes her eyes.

After some time, she opens her eyes and sighs heavily.

“How foolish,” she tells him.

He glares at her.

“You have a good heart. Do you understand the consequences of foolish sacrifices?”

He simply nods.

“Do you wish to amend your mistakes?”

“Yes,” he answers honestly.

“Do you still plan on going back to the Jiangs?”

“No,” he replies sternly.

“Good. I do not want to involve myself in the mess these sects create every time. I have had enough of them. I do not want to meddle in your affairs.”

A deep sorrow arises in Wei Ying’s heart; he wonders if she will send him away.

“But I can give you the knowledge you seek. You may stay here for as long as you deem fit. I don’t know if you are aware, but you had a very strong golden core. With the right cultivation and a strong core, immortality can be achieved. Do you understand?” she asks.

Wei Ying’s happiness is evident on his face. He nods with enthusiasm.

“You are six in this body, and your body needs to adjust to the core sprouting inside you. With the right cultivation techniques, you will have a core as strong as the one you gave up. This time, don’t be foolish enough to give it away. Worthiness is secondary,” she says seriously.
“Understood,” he replies, bowing.

She takes him to a small cottage not far from her own. It has a small pond in front and a tall tree behind it. She opens the door, revealing a simple interior with a small cot, a table, and a tub behind a privacy screen. A small cupboard stands in the corner.

“You shall stay here. You have access to the library, including the forbidden section, due to your mother’s morals and your rightful heart. This is what I can do for a mind that’s twenty-two years old,” she says, handing him a silver token.

He accepts it with a smile and bows.

“There are techniques and foods that can quicken growth and strengthen the core. I will teach you those. Do you want to learn the sword style I have created?” she asks.

“Yes, master. This one is thankful for your guidance,” he bows again.

“Hmm, we shall meet in two days. Take rest. Food will be served in the hall. There are a few other children on the mountain; you may talk to them as you wish. A disciple will come for dinner and show you to the hall,” she says before exiting.

Wei Ying sighs in contentment, feeling incredibly happy. He lies on the cot, thankful to the heavens and his parents for giving him another chance to live and guiding him here.

As he settles in, he feels a nagging sense that he’s forgetting something very important or someone from his past. He can’t recall what it is, but it leaves a hollow feeling in his memory and heart.

He closes his eyes, trying to remember.

A knock on the door interrupts his concentration. He gets up and opens it.

A tall disciple awaits him at the door.

Wei Ying beams and bows. “This one is Wei Ying.”

The disciple bows in return and takes him to the dinner hall.
The dinner hall is an open space with a roof. He sees a few children and youths sitting at small tables. He takes his food in silence and returns to his cottage.

 

.

 

Wei Ying settles into his new life on the celestial mountain, feeling a sense of calm that he had never experienced in his previous life. The days pass quietly, filled with study, cultivation, and a newfound sense of purpose. Baoshan Sanren's library is a treasure trove of knowledge, with scrolls and books that hold ancient secrets of cultivation, sword techniques, and talisman creation.

He focuses his energy on the talisman studies, feeling deeply connected to the craft. The scrolls on talismans and arrays are complex, but his sharp mind, still shaped by his previous life’s experiences, allows him to grasp the concepts quickly. He immerses himself in understanding the balance of spiritual energy and its manipulation, honing his skills far beyond what he had achieved in his previous life.

Two days after his arrival, as promised, Baoshan Sanren calls for him. She begins to teach him the cultivation techniques necessary to grow and stabilise his golden core. Her guidance is precise and demanding, pushing Wei Ying to the limits of his ability, yet it fills him with a sense of fulfillment. Each session leaves him exhausted but exhilarated, knowing that with each passing day, he is growing stronger.

Between his cultivation training and talisman studies, Wei Ying finds little time for anything else. The few interactions he has with the other children on the mountain are brief and polite. He keeps to himself, his heart and mind focused on his mission to grow stronger and fulfil his destiny.

Still, in quiet moments, he is haunted by a strange, nagging feeling of something missing—someone missing. A person from his past life, whose memory remains just out of reach, like a shadow at the edge of his mind. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t seem to recall who it is, but the feeling persists, leaving a hollow ache in his chest.

.

 

One evening, as he sits by the pond outside his cottage, practicing a meditation technique Baoshan had taught him, he allows his mind to wander, trying once again to pull the elusive memory into focus. But, as always, it slips away before he can grasp it.

"I will remember when the time is right," he tells himself, pushing the feeling aside for now.
For now, his focus is on his path of cultivation, on becoming stronger, and on not repeating the mistakes of his past life. And with Baoshan Sanren's teachings and the vast knowledge at his disposal, he knows he will succeed.

.

After a few weeks, Baoshan Sanren takes him to the backyard of her cottage. The backyard is quite spacious, with large plum trees growing like a border. The air is clean and calming. He looks around in awe; beautiful flowers grow around her cottage, and small birds are flying around with no fear whatsoever.

She hands him a wooden sword and tells him that since he doesn’t have a proper core, he has to learn sword fighting with wooden swords. Her sword style is extremely swift and powerful. Her feet move as if she’s dancing. Wei Ying is utterly captured. He observes her with an open mouth, awe written all over his face.

He learns the sword forms from early morning until brunch, then he rests for a while and goes to the dining hall for his meal. He heads to the library right after brunch and studies until dinner. After dinner, he returns to the library and reads until he feels sleepy.

This routine continues for months. He has a jam-packed schedule; without wasting any time, he spends his days learning sword forms and studying in the library.

.

One afternoon, after his sword training, Baoshan informs him, “You have successfully developed a core, a complete core.”

He has tears in his eyes and keeps his palm against the core burning inside him. To feel the core again in his body, he doesn’t know how to feel. He cries for a few moments, having missed this dearly in his body. He had given up on being a cultivator in his previous life, having stopped thinking about his core, which was devastating as he could no longer use his sword or Qi. To feel the same ball of energy burning inside him gives him new hopes.

“At the rate you are going, you can cultivate to the same stage of your previous core within a year,” she tells him. Even she is quite shocked to see his dedication.

With her cultivation techniques and diet, he has gotten stronger not just physically but also mentally. She still hands him her core-strengthening concoction every day and makes sure he doesn’t fall into the vicious cycle of self-blame. She ensures he is taught well about self-worth.
.

 

The same routine continues. With a core burning bright in his body, he can infuse his experimental talismans and arrays with his Qi. He has started copying the library with his copying talismans alongside his daily routines. Baoshan teaches him safety talismans to prevent accidents while experimenting.

Months pass, and Baoshan Sanren hands him his sword—a beautiful black sword with a black hilt and a small silver lining at the end of the hilt. He beams at the sight. The sword almost looks like his old sword but is much stronger and more lethal.

“What do you want to name her?” she questions.

“Suibian,” he shouts.

She rolls her eyes and goes inside her cottage.

He practices the sword forms with sheer enthusiasm until he is covered in sweat and completely exhausted.

Each day is spent in practice, studies, experiments, and eating to grow his body to keep up with his core and mind.

Six months have passed since he received his sword. He has made immense improvements in his cultivation. His core is almost as strong as his 18-year-old core once was. He has been studying texts on resentments, music cultivation, arrays to trap resentments, and more.
He sometimes seeks his master’s help to solve his doubts. She is quite impressed with how his mind works.

 

.

Baoshan Sanren is having her tea after reviewing Wei Ying’s advanced sword styles. She looks at Wei Ying, who is busy washing his face.

He comes and sits in front of her with a smile after a satisfying sparring lesson.
“What is it, master?” he asks.

She doesn’t tell him anything; she just keeps looking at him. He has grown well for a nine-year-old, still having his chubby cheeks but has grown quite taller.

“Would things have been different if you were my disciple in your past life?” she asks.
Wei Ying’s face loses some color. He doesn’t speak.

“I should have searched for Cangse when she hadn’t come to visit me despite promising a visit. Do you think I would have found you if I had searched for your family?”

Wei Ying doesn’t know what to answer. He wonders if it truly matters now. Would he be the same person if his master had trained him? Would he have lost his core? Were there still chances of him experimenting with the ghost path and resentment in his past life if his master had taken him in instead of the Jiangs?

She sighs heavily. “I can feel how difficult it has been for you, but I’m truly impressed with your hunger for knowledge and cultivation. I know it’s difficult for you to live it all once again, but this is your chance to live for yourself. Don’t let it weigh you down,” she says with a sad smile.

“Master, I don’t know if I would have appreciated the secluded mountain if I were the past me. I would have been upset with the lack of worldly buzz and interactions with others. But now that I know the world outside and the tragedies of the past, I know that this is my chance to live for myself, and I am taking it with open arms. I am deeply indebted to you for your knowledge and care,” he says, bending into a low bow.

“I sense something is bothering you. What is it?” she questions.

He sighs, “I don’t know; I still feel there are some fragments of my memory displaced. I am unable to figure out what they are. My memory is many times better than my past self, yet I am not satisfied.”

“I see. Give me your wrist,” she says.

She holds it for some time and sighs.

“There are a few things which you will remember when the time is right,” she utters.

“What if the past is highly altered with the things I am unable to remember?” he worries.

“No and yes, but believe in yourself. Whatever it is, it will unfold when the time is right. Don’t beat yourself up trying to remember. You won’t be able to do it until it's time,” she consoles him.

He lets out a heavy sigh and slumps on the table.

“How is your study of resentment?”

“I have figured out a lot of things that I couldn’t due to various reasons. But many recorded things lack what I practically experienced. Since I didn’t have a core, a few things were different for me. I have been learning to manage both together,” he answers.

“Good,” she tells him, sipping her tea.

 

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He examines his core; it is the strongest it has been. He feels happy to feel the presence of its energy in his body. He has been practicing a lot with his master.
As usual, he goes to his master.

His master is sitting with a cup of tea. She looks at him once he sits across from her.

“I have a spar arranged. I see that your core is developing very well. There are a few senior disciples. I want to test your abilities,” she says.

He beams with excitement. He has always enjoyed challenges, basking in attention, and loves testing his skills. He looks forward to showing his skills and making sure his master appreciates his efforts.

Chapter 2

Notes:

Hello readers,

Welcome back! ;)

I couldn't resist sharing another chapter with you, as I had a draft that only needed some proofreading. So here it is!

I know many of you are curious about how Wei Ying has come back in time, what has happened to Lan Wangji, and whether or not he will be part of this fanfic. Don’t worry, all your questions will be answered in the upcoming chapters.

From what I’ve observed in the original story, the Jiangs didn’t possess a vast library or extensive knowledge like the Lans or the Wens, yet Wei Wuxian managed to master talismans and arrays so well that he could create them on his own. Now, just imagine how skilled he would be with access to a wealth of knowledge on talisman-making and a master eager to teach him! In this fanfic, Wei Ying is portrayed as a prodigy, exceptionally well-versed in talismans and arrays, and his abilities are only growing.

I'll do my best to avoid releasing too many chapters back-to-back, so I don’t leave you waiting too long for future updates. I’ll aim to update at least twice a week.

Stay tuned!

Baoshan and Wei Ying make their way to the training grounds, a place he rarely visits. Most of his training sessions take place in his master's secluded backyard. The grounds are expansive, with towering trees forming a natural canopy overhead, offering both shade and a serene environment for practice. It feels vast and peaceful, perfect for cultivating his skills.

With bubbling excitement, Wei Ying dashes to the sparring ground, his heart pounding in anticipation. His master stands a little distance away from the center, observing quietly, her eyes sharp and focused.

He unsheathes his sword, the familiar weight a comfort in his hand. Bowing first to his master in respect, then to his opponent, he prepares himself.

The sparring begins.

His movements are precise, swift, and calculated. In mere moments, the first three disciples fall to his blade, their defences crumbling before his swift attacks. His feet glide effortlessly across the ground, each step a part of an intricate dance. It’s as if he’s performing rather than fighting, each motion fluid, each strike deliberate. His attacks are powerful, but his defences are equally formidable, parrying each incoming blow with ease. The rest of his opponents are no match for him either; one after another, they fall. By the end of the spar, Wei Ying had bested all eleven senior disciples within just a few hours.

Breathing steadily, his face lights up with a triumphant smile that erases the strain of battle. He hurries toward his master, bowing deeply.

"Master," he says, his voice full of respect.

She nods, her eyes never leaving him. “Hmm, there are six masters here. Three have mastered my sword techniques, and the other three have gone ahead and developed their own forms. Now, you shall spar with them and see where you truly stand.”

There are eleven senior disciples and six masters lined at the center of the field.

Wei Ying nods and steps back, preparing himself for what lies ahead. The first master approaches, meeting him in the center of the field. They bow to each other respectfully, signalling the start of the sparring session.

The battle begins, their swords clashing with rhythmic precision. Both combatants move with grace and strength, the sound of metal against metal filling the air. After nearly an hour of intense combat, Wei Ying finally overcomes the first master. Without pausing for rest, he faces the second, his breath heavy but his resolve unwavering. The second match is equally challenging, but eventually, Wei Ying’s quick reflexes and tactical mind give him the upper hand, securing his victory.

Drenched in sweat and breathing hard, Wei Ying smiles, the satisfaction of hard-earned victories shining through his exhaustion. His body is tired, but his spirit is high. Around him, disciples and even masters watch in astonishment, unable to hide their admiration for his skill and tenacity.

Baoshan Sanren, his master, observes calmly, her expression unreadable. "That's enough for today," she announces, her voice carrying over the silent field. "I see you are all tired. Wei Ying, you will continue with the rest of the sparring tomorrow."

With that, the session ends. Everyone bows to her and leaves the field. Wei Ying, his heart full of contentment, returns to his cottage. Though he had intended to visit the library, his body craves rest, and he allows himself to relax for the day.

The next morning, he returns to the sparring ground, fully refreshed and determined. His next opponent is yet another master, and after a hard-fought battle, he emerges victorious once more. The crowd watches in awe as Wei Ying proves his growing strength. His confidence builds as he faces the fourth master. The fight is fierce; both opponents are evenly matched. It feels like an eternity before Wei Ying finally disarms his opponent in the final moments. The master bows and offers words of praise, acknowledging his exceptional skill.

Baoshan Sanren allows a rare smile to appear on her face and calls it a day. The sparring continues the following morning, but this time, the battle results in a draw. By the fourth day, Wei Ying finally faces defeat. Despite his loss, everyone around him offers congratulations, impressed by the progress he has made in his cultivation.

Afterward, Wei Ying approaches Baoshan Sanren, humility in his voice. "Master, do you think I could one day fight as well as the Sixth Master?"

Baoshan Sanren smiles gently. "I have taught you all that I needed to. Now, it is time for you to create your own variations of sword techniques, ones that align with your unique strengths and limitations."

She pauses before adding, "You no longer need to attend my classes, but you are always welcome to seek my guidance whenever needed."

Wei Ying bows deeply, his heart filled with gratitude. "This disciple is truly blessed to have been taught by the Immortal herself," he says with sincerity, before taking his leave, ready for the next phase of his journey.

In the following months, Wei Ying dedicates himself to refining his sword techniques by creating new variations, while also immersing himself in the study of resentment, arrays, talismans, and ancient texts on teleportation, divine beasts, and musical cultivation. His days are filled with rigorous training and learning, yet he still finds time to meet with his master nearly every day, if only to share a cup of core-strengthening tea. These moments of connection with his master provide both physical nourishment and spiritual guidance, helping him stay focused on his path to mastery.
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Four months after his sparring match with the sixth master, Wei Ying approaches his master to showcase his newly developed sword forms and variations. His movements are fluid and precise, a testament to his hard work and creativity. Watching him, his master is visibly impressed.

"What do you want to name your sword form?" she asks, her tone encouraging.

Wei Ying lowers his gaze humbly. "This form only exists because you imparted your knowledge to me. I don’t dare claim it as my own," he replies with sincerity.

His master shakes her head slightly, a smile playing at her lips. "No, Wei Ying. Your style differs from mine—your agility and footwork are uniquely yours. This is your creation. Take pride in your achievements. Do not make the mistake of diminishing your efforts."

Wei Ying absorbs her words thoughtfully before responding. "This disciple understands."

"Good," she nods. "Then, go ahead and name it."

Wei Ying hesitates. "I’ve never been good at naming things. But I could only find you because of the fragments I had of my mother. I would like to name this form after her to carry her name forward, at least until the end."

A soft smile graces his master’s face as she nods in approval.

"Do you want to spar with the sixth master again?" she asks.

Wei Ying straightens up, his eyes lighting up with excitement, and he nods eagerly.

The next day, he faces the sixth master once more. This time, with his new sword form, he disarms the master in less than an hour. His breath comes heavy with both exhilaration and exhaustion. The sixth master bows to him, offering words of praise for his innovative style, and they exchange a few words of mutual respect.

After the spar, Wei Ying seeks out his master and bows deeply. "Master," he calls.

"Come with me," she says, her tone mysterious.

They walk for an hour to the back of the mountain, a secluded area Wei Ying has never explored before. There, nestled in the quiet wilderness, is a small cottage with a workshop behind it. Wei Ying looks around, curiosity sparking as he wonders what his master has planned.

Inside the workshop, papers and talisman materials are scattered across a desk. His master rummages in a corner before returning with a beautiful silver box in her hands.

She holds it out to him.

Wei Ying’s eyes widened with excitement as he carefully opened the silver box. Inside lay a pitch-black dizi, its ends and head elegantly lined with silver, and a small, intricate array inscribed along the silver edges. The array was complex and impossible to decipher at first glance. The flute was stunning—it resembled Chenqing, the dizi he had once carved himself, but this new instrument felt richer, heavier, and undeniably stronger.

He looked up at his master, astonished.

“How is it?” she asked, a knowing smile on her face.

“Beautiful... no, no, it’s marvellous,” he said, his voice filled with awe and admiration as he took in the craftsmanship.

His master nodded. "I saw your memories, saw how you painstakingly carved Chenqing. I replicated its appearance, but this one is much more powerful. I’ve added an array on the silver lining that conceals resentment from the world. No one will know that you’re using resentment. It will appear as though you’re manipulating your own Qi to control the resentment, ghosts, and beasts. This way, your cultivation won’t be met with the same disdain and hostility."

Wei Ying ran his fingers gently across the dizi, feeling the engraved array. Tears welled in his eyes as the weight of her words sank in. This gift was more than just an instrument—it was a shield against the world’s judgement.

"This flute will take a little longer to bond with you than your previous one," his master continued. "But I’m confident that you’ll succeed."

Wei Ying, overcome with emotion, struggled to find words. “Master, I... I don’t know how to thank you. I have nothing to offer in return for all you’ve done for me. In my past life, I thought I owed my life to the Jiangs—for their food, clothing, and cultivation lessons. I even gave up my golden core for them. Despite how they treated me, I was willing to die for them. But when I began using resentment energy, the world turned on me, sullied my name, and ultimately killed me. The very person I gave my core to led the force that drove me to my death."

He paused, his voice cracking with the weight of the memories. "The cultivation world despises resentment energy on the surface, yet they secretly wish for its power. I know that openly cultivating resentment would once again doom me. You haven’t just given me lessons—you’ve given me a reason to live, a core that grows stronger with each day, and a way to protect myself from those who would destroy me. I don’t know how to thank you... I have nothing left to give but my life and cultivation."

His voice broke, and tears spilt from his eyes as he sobbed softly.

His master gently placed a hand on his shoulder. “Silly child,” she said softly, “I am neither Jiang Fengmian nor Yu Ziyuan to demand your life in return for anything. They were selfish cultivators who only cared for their own children and sect. Don’t be foolish enough to give your life to anyone, not even me. What is the point of all your hard work if the end result is to throw your life away for someone else, no matter what you call it?"

Her voice softened even further as she continued, "Your mother was my favourite disciple, a gifted child. But when I look at you, you are so much more than she was—despite all that happened in your past life. You are one of the most gifted disciples I’ve ever trained. Your hard work and brilliant mind will undoubtedly make you my new favorite. I doubt I’ll ever have the chance to train someone like you again," she said with a wink.

Wei Ying nodded, tears still in his eyes, but a small smile tugged at his lips. He finally felt understood, accepted, and—most importantly—free to be himself.

"I want to ask you a few questions," she said in a serious tone.

Wei Ying quickly wiped his tears with his sleeve, straightened up, and nodded.

"Why did you attend that celebration at Koi Tower?"

"What?" Wei Ying asked, his eyes widening in surprise.

She raised an eyebrow, unfazed by his reaction.

"Shijie was like a mother to me. I couldn't attend her wedding or the birth of her son. When I was invited, I was excited to finally see her, the baby, and Jiang Cheng," he explained.

His master let out a mocking laugh. "A mother? You were never their priority, Wei Ying. Why did she marry into a household that belittled you at every turn and stripped you of your respect in the cultivation world? Would she have allowed the same treatment if it had been her own brother? Why didn’t she invite you to her wedding? Was it really that difficult for her to include you? And why didn’t they help you financially when you were struggling, or at least provide for your basic needs? Stop blinding yourself with these lies, A-Ying. It serves no purpose."

The air grew heavy with silence as her words sank in.

"No child deserves to be whipped for sneaking out or spanked for laughing too loudly. Those who justify Yu Ziyuan’s cruelty and call it discipline for your'mischief’ have no right to be compared to a mother. I know where your thoughts come from—you were so undervalued, berated, beaten, and looked down upon that even the smallest act of kindness seemed enormous to you."

She paused, her voice steady. "Did the one you called 'brother' ever speak to his sister the way he spoke to you? Kindness has its limits, A-Ying. If you give beyond that limit, it will cost you dearly."

"Didn't the Wens attack all the sects? Why did Jiang Cheng blame you until the end? And why did you believe it was your fault? Why did Jiang Yanli—a woman with barely any cultivation—run unarmed into the middle of a battlefield? What was she thinking? Isn't she the reason for her own death... and yours?"

"A-Ying, what were you thinking when you turned Wen Ning into a fierce corpse?" she asked, her voice sharp.

Wei Ying couldn’t hold back his tears. He had long understood the pretences of the Jiangs, but hearing them dissected so clearly in front of him made his heart ache.

"Qing-Jie and Wen Ning were the only ones who helped me when the Lotus Pier was burnt down. She was the one who performed the surgery that saved my life. I owed her everything. After the war, when the Dafan Wens were almost wiped out by the Jins, she came to me for help. I tried... but by then, Wen Ning was at death's door. She begged me to save him. I had no other choice—I owed her so much."

Baoshan Sanren scowled. "Owe, owe, owe. When will you learn to live for yourself? You did more than enough by helping her family and sheltering them away from the cultivation world. Did you ever ask Wen Ning if he wanted to become a fierce corpse? Did you think about the consequences of that decision? That one act cost you so much. Did you believe those power-hungry cultivators would simply sit back and let you keep a 'Ghost General'? Your mind is sharp, but you use it against yourself. Don’t be so selfless that it destroys you."

She took a deep breath, her frustration visible. "And what’s this, ‘I owe him my life, I owe her my life’? How many lives do you have to throw away? Didn’t Jiang Wanyin owe something to the Wen siblings as well? Why was it always you who bore everyone’s responsibilities and sins?"

By the end of her words, her anger had fully surfaced. She paused to take deep breaths, calming herself.

"Do you understand what I’m saying?"

Wei Ying cried silently but nodded in understanding. He realised how much he had wronged himself in the process of helping others.

"I’m glad you didn’t run back to the Lotus Pier to save that useless couple. You have this one chance to live for yourself—don’t waste it."

She straightened, her tone softening. "Now listen, you do have something to offer in return for the lessons I've given you. Are you willing to fulfil it?"

"Yes," he replied immediately.

She swatted his head with a brush lying on the desk. "Foolish child! Ask what it is before agreeing," she scolded, shaking her head.

Wei Ying grinned sheepishly.

"I want you to cultivate immortality, to learn self-preservation. That’s what I demand of you. Can you do that?"

Tears rolled down his cheeks as he straightened and bowed deeply. "This disciple shall train hard until he reaches immortality."

Baoshan Sanren smiled, patting his head affectionately. "Good. Now go on." She ushered him out of the workshop, watching him with a mix of pride and hope.

As Wei Ying walked back to his cottage, tears streamed down his face uncontrollably. His mind was filled with regret and memories of his past mistakes. Exhausted beyond measure, he collapsed onto his bed the moment he arrived, falling into a deep sleep.

When he awoke, his eyes were swollen, and his head throbbed painfully. Despite the physical discomfort, there was a new resolve burning inside him. He would cultivate to immortality—that was the first blow he intended to strike against the hypocritical cultivators who had condemned him in his past life. This thought gave him strength, fuelling his determination.

With this newfound purpose, Wei Ying freshened up and headed to the library.

Over the months, he had been working on a modified version of the Qiankun bag, enhanced with an array and talisman sewn into its lining that nullified the weight of the contents. This new design could store a compact version of Baoshan Sanren's entire library through copy talismans. To secure it, he added a blood seal, ensuring that only he could open the bag.

In addition to this invention, Wei Ying had been working on various other arrays and talismans, continuously refining his skills. He focused intensely on his core cultivation and studies, sharpening both his mind and his body in preparation for the challenges ahead.
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Several years had passed since Wei Ying had arrived at the Celestial Mountains. Now fourteen, he had earned his courtesy name, the same as in his past life—Wuxian.

"Master," he called as he entered his master’s cottage.

Baoshan Sanren glanced up from her work. "What is it?" she asked.

Wei Ying hesitated, the weight of his thoughts pressing heavily on him. A few moments passed in silence before his master raised an eyebrow, sensing his inner turmoil.

“Master… I want to leave,” he finally said, tears welling up in his eyes.

Baoshan Sanren looked at him, shock flickering in her gaze. “Why do you wish to leave now?” she asked gently.

Wei Ying struggled to find the words, his voice thick with emotion. “Master, I am now stronger than any cultivator alive, except for you. Though I stand on the brink of immortality, I feel I haven't yet earned the right to claim that title. I don’t want to be known as an ‘Immortal’ without first making a real difference. I've witnessed the suffering of the weak and the indifference of the sects toward their plight. I want to help them and effect meaningful change in the world before I take that final step.

His tears spilt over as he spoke, his heart laid bare before his master.

“From the moment you first set foot on my mountain, I knew this day would eventually come,” Baoshan Sanren said, her voice filled with a profound sadness. “Yet, it breaks my heart to send you back to the world that once consumed your core, your body, and your mind. I would have found solace if you had achieved immortality before descending into that same world. While I understand your reasons, A-Ying, your self-sacrificing nature causes me great concern.” She sighed deeply, her sorrow evident in the way her lips turned downward.

“I promise, Master, that I will live this life honouring your teachings and upholding the promise I made to you. I will strive to achieve immortality as you instructed. This separation is only temporary; I will seek you again once I have crossed the threshold to immortality,” he vowed.

“When do you intend to leave?” she asked with another heavy sigh.

“Tomorrow morning,” he replied.

“Very well. Go and prepare your belongings,” she instructed, gently ushering him out of her cottage.

Back in his own cottage, Wei Ying found it difficult to sleep that night. He rose early the next morning and began preparing his Qiankun pouches. They were filled with fruits and core-strengthening foods that were given to him and preserved using preserving talismans of his own design. Once everything was packed, he adjusted his robes, secured his sword and dizi to his belt, and made his way to his master’s cottage. He glanced back at the cottage that had been his home for nearly eight years, feeling a heavy mix of gratitude and melancholy. With a final, wistful look, he approached his master to say his parting words.

He finds his master waiting for him as he approaches her cottage. With a heavy heart, he lowers himself into a deep kowtow. “Master,” he begins, his voice trembling with emotion, “you have guided me with boundless knowledge, care, and love. I am at a loss for words to express my gratitude. The motherly affection and support I have found in you are unparalleled. Though I know you dislike hearing such praise, I must tell you that this life of mine is entirely due to your influence. I am ready to do anything for you. I owe my life and my cultivation to you. I shudder to think what would have become of me had you not taken me in.” His sobs make the floor of the cottage damp with his tears.

For the first time, she embraces him tightly, her own eyes misty. “A-Ying, over these eight years, you have become like a son to me. I have given you everything I could. Once you leave these mountains, I cannot interfere in your journey. I have watched you grow not just physically but emotionally and mentally. I want you to live fully and come back to pester me with your questions once you achieve immortality. I trust your heart, but remember, giving too much to those who are unworthy will upset the balance of the world. Knowledge will be your greatest asset. Go out there and make a difference. I am immensely proud of you.” She kisses his forehead gently and releases him.

Wei Ying bows deeply once more. His master, along with the six other masters, accompany him to the gates of the mountain. They embrace him, their eyes glistening with tears, and urge him to take care. With one last, heartfelt bow to his master, he turns to leave.

“Wei Wuxian,” she calls out, halting him.

He turns back to her. “Live well,” she says. “Visit me once you achieve immortality.”

He nods solemnly, assuring her he will keep his promise. With a final look, he steps beyond the threshold of the mountain.

As he crosses into the world beyond, the view of the mountain fades from sight. He vows to himself and his master that he will return only after achieving immortality, fulfilling the promise he has made.

 

Wei Ying descends from the mountain on his sword, greeted by the vibrant colours of spring. Blossoming flowers blanket the foothills, creating a picturesque scene. As he lands, he begins his journey on foot, making his way to a nearby village.

Arriving at the village, he spots a modest inn and decides to stay there for the night. The village appears small and sparsely populated, with only a few houses dotting the landscape. It has been quite some time since he last stayed in an inn, and he is curious about the state of the world beyond the mountains.

He enters the inn and orders a serving of spicy noodles and dumplings. While waiting, he strikes up a conversation with the owner to learn more about the village.

The innkeeper reveals that the village has been struggling with severe drought conditions ever since a tragic incident. The daughter of a local farmer was killed by the son of the magistrate, leading to a series of misfortunes for the village. Despite the magistrate’s son dying the following year, the village has yet to recover. Many residents have been forced to abandon their infertile lands and homes in search of a better life elsewhere. The once-thriving village is now a shadow of its former self, grappling with hardship and despair.

“Have you sought help from the sects responsible for this region?” Wei Ying enquires.

The innkeeper offers a melancholic laugh. “For over three years now, our village has been suffering, but no one seems to care except us. We’ve reached a point where almost everyone is making plans to leave,” he explains.

“Could you take me to the farmer whose daughter was killed?” Wei Ying requests.

The innkeeper regards him with scepticism but eventually agrees. After finishing his meal, Wei Ying follows the man to the farmer’s house.

It doesn’t take long for Wei Ying to grasp the situation. He learns that the magistrate’s son, a corrupt and lecherous individual, exploited the village. The magistrate’s son had purchased the villagers’ crops at a pittance and resold them at exorbitant prices. He fabricated a supply shortage to further inflate prices. When the farmer’s daughter confronted him about this injustice, he had her killed. Her vengeful spirit now haunts the village, channelling her anger into unrest.

Wei Ying conveys his findings to the gathered villagers and uses his musical cultivation to put the tormented soul to rest. Once the spirit has been pacified, he turns to the innkeeper and requests a map of the village. He also instructs the innkeeper to summon the magistrate.

After some time, the magistrate arrives at the gathering. Wei Ying addresses him directly. “Were you aware of the wrongdoings of your own son?” he asks.

The magistrate, taken aback, responds with an air of arrogance, “Who are you to question me, boy?”

“My name is Wei Wuxian, and I am a disciple of Immortal Baoshan Sanren,” Wei Ying declares firmly.

The villagers gasp in surprise; many of them recognise the name of the revered immortal. The magistrate's face drains of colour, and he stares at Wei Ying, momentarily paralysed with fear. He quickly straightens up and bows deeply, his composure shaken.

Wei Ying stands tall and imposing in his pitch-black robes, with a silver guan and a red ribbon tying back his hair. A black sword and a black dizi hang from his waist. His appearance is striking: tall and slim with high cheekbones, he exudes the aura of a powerful cultivator. Yet, his gentle smile and demeanour suggest he is a saviour come to offer aid rather than a fearsome warrior.

Wei Ying fixes the magistrate with a penetrating gaze. “Why did you not intervene?” he presses.

The magistrate stammers, “I, I tried, but—”

“You believed that as long as you and your son continued to profit, everything would be fine, didn’t you?” Wei Ying’s voice hardens with anger.

Ignoring the magistrate’s attempts at excuses, Wei Ying turns to the innkeeper. “Can you take me to the center of the village?” he requests.

The innkeeper nods and leads Wei Ying to the center of the village, followed by a few curious villagers. As he surveys the land, the full extent of the drought becomes apparent. Wei Ying instructs the villagers to dig several small pits, each about a foot deep. He then opens his Qiankun pouch and retrieves several talisman papers. With deft movements, he inscribes intricate talismans on the papers, infuses them with his Qi, and buries them in the pits.

Next, he kneels on the ground and meticulously draws an array, imbuing it with his Qi. After completing the array, Wei Ying instructs the villagers to sow their seeds once the rain begins. He estimates that the rain will continue until early morning.

As the villagers watch, dark rain clouds begin to gather overhead. Their awe and amazement are palpable as they witness the clouds forming in response to Wei Ying’s array. The villagers, along with Wei Ying, return to the inn and wait eagerly for the rain.

The rain starts in earnest and continues throughout the night, soaking the parched earth. Wei Ying spends the night at the inn, and the gathered villagers take shelter on the ground floor, grateful for the innkeeper’s hospitality. The owner, who had also served as the server, is more than willing to accommodate the villagers for the night, showing generosity and kindness in the face of their hardship.

Morning breaks with the refreshing scent of rain-soaked earth. Wei Ying stretches his arms and legs, yawns, and blinks awake. By mid-noon, he washes his face and enjoys the fruits and buns from his Qiankun pouches. As he ambles down the stairs, still half asleep, he is startled to see the entire village gathered below.

The villagers bow deeply as soon as they spot him, some with tears of gratitude glistening in their eyes. Wei Ying quickly gestures for them to rise.

“Gonzi,” an elder villager says with a respectful bow, “we followed your instructions—ploughing the fields and sowing seeds before sunrise. We are immensely grateful for your help. What would you like us to do for you?”

Wei Ying smiles warmly and replies, “Grandpa, I’m glad my cultivation could aid you. I don’t seek anything in return.”

The villagers regard him with awe, clearly touched by his humility.

The innkeeper steps forward, bowing deeply. “Gonzi, we never imagined that our troubles would be resolved or that our village could be restored to peace and prosperity. We are deeply thankful for your assistance. Please stay with us for a few more days so we can properly show our gratitude.”

Wei Ying gently pats the innkeeper on the shoulder. “I appreciate your offer, but my work here is complete. If you want the village to truly thrive, you must address the injustices committed by the magistrate and his son. They must be held accountable for their crimes.”

The villagers nod in agreement, understanding the importance of his advice. Wei Ying assures them he will leave early the next morning and insists that there is no need for further thanks.

The following morning, Wei Ying packs his Qiankun pouches, sword, and dizi. As he prepares to depart, the entire village gathers to bid him farewell. They also express their hope that he will visit again so they can present him with some of their harvest. Wei Ying nods with a smile, acknowledging their kindness, and sets off on his journey, leaving the village behind with a sense of fulfilment and hope for their future.

 

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After walking for a day or two, Wei Ying finds himself nearing the borders of Yiling. As he approaches, he reflects on how surprisingly close Yiling is to his master’s mountains. A grin spreads across his face at the thought of being able to visit her frequently once he attains immortality. The idea of pestering her with his presence and sharing his accomplishments fills him with anticipation and joy.

 

As Wei Ying steps into Yiling, the familiar streets from his past as an orphan greet him, but they now seem eerily deserted. The air is thick with a palpable sense of resentment and neglect. He makes his way directly to the small shop of the elderly woman who once showed him kindness by giving him money and steamed buns. After some searching, he finds her. Though she appears unchanged, her shop has shrunk in size, its once-bustling atmosphere now subdued.

Approaching the counter, he requests two steamed buns. Without meeting his gaze, she hands them over while continuing with her tasks. As he eats the buns, memories flood back. He clears his throat, ready to speak, but the weight of the atmosphere and his own reflections leave him momentarily silent.

“Popo! How could you forget me so cruelly?” Wei Ying whines playfully, a hint of mock hurt in his voice.

The old woman looks at him, bewildered. Her confusion deepens as he continues.

“Ayya, remember? You gave me meat buns and meat strips, and in return, I gave you my talisman. Did you forget so quickly? I promised I’d return after learning cultivation from my master,” he says, his tone a mix of nostalgia and jest.

Her eyes widen in shock as she takes in the sight of him. The boy who once wore tattered clothes with unkempt hair has grown into a distinguished young man.

“You really came back!” she exclaims, a look of astonishment on her face. “We were worried you might not return.”

“I gave you my word. Why would I break a promise?” he replies with a confident grin.

“And how is Grandpa? Is he well?” He enquires eagerly.

“He’s fine,” she assures him. “He’ll be overjoyed to see you.”

She hesitates, her voice tinged with embarrassment. “I’d love to invite you to my home, but it’s only a small warehouse. I’m not sure it would be suitable for someone as distinguished as you.”

“Let’s go,” he insists warmly. “I’ve slept in alleys and stayed on tree branches; there’s nothing wrong with staying in your warehouse. Come on, let’s go!” He gently ushers her out of the shop, eager to reconnect and share his journey.

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The old lady bursts into her home, calling out for her husband with a mix of excitement and urgency. The old man emerges, scanning the room until his eyes land on the young man standing in the doorway.

The old lady eagerly tugs the young man closer. “Guess who this is,” she asks, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

The old man squints, his face a portrait of confusion. “I’m sorry, my memory isn’t what it used to be. I can’t seem to recognise you, Gonzi,” he admits, shaking his head in apology.

“Take a closer look,” she insists, her excitement barely contained.

The old man examines Wei Ying more carefully, still puzzled. Seeing the old man’s struggle, Wei Ying decides to ease the situation with a warm smile. “Grandpa, I’m the boy you gave the buns to. I’m the same kid,” he says gently.

The old man’s eyes widen in recognition, and a look of understanding dawns on his face. “You’ve grown so well,” he says with a broad smile, clearly pleased. “What should we call you now?”

“I have a courtesy name now,” Wei Ying replies with a bright smile. “You can call me Wei Wuxian.”

The old couple beams with happiness and invites him warmly into their home. Wei Ying spends the evening sharing stories and catching up with them, his heart full as he reconnects with the kind couple who had once shown him such kindness.

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Wei Ying learns about the village, listening to the extent of the damage and the lingering despair. The crops are withered, the livestock and birds are suffering untimely deaths, and the streets are filled with an unsettling stillness. The once-bustling trade has dwindled, with visitors from other regions no longer making their way to Yiling. Both the Wens and Jiangs, influential sects in the area, have lost interest in the village, leaving its inhabitants isolated. The cost of repairs and revitalisation far exceeds the village's current earnings. Silk merchants and farmers, desperate to escape the dire situation, have fled to neighbouring villages. Additionally, wild beasts have begun to prey on the remaining cattle and birds, further straining the villagers’ ability to survive. The river that flows through the village has seen an increase in water ghouls, making fishing nearly impossible.

Wei Ying sighs heavily, the gravity of the situation settling over him. "Do you think the magistrate would be willing to speak with me?" he enquires.

“I shall speak to him,” the old man responds.

Wei Ying nods in acknowledgement and turns to the elderly couple with a deep, respectful bow. “Grandpa, Grandma, when I had nothing to eat and my hopes were dwindling, you provided me with food and money that allowed me to survive until I reached my master. I am profoundly grateful for your kindness.”

He continues, observing their situation closely. “I see that you’re struggling. Your pigs are almost gone, and the chickens and cattle are malnourished. The fields are barren and barely yielding any produce. I have brought an array and talisman that can transform the resentment in the air and significantly improve the productivity and quality of the soil. This new array is more powerful and enduring than the one I gave you as a child. It also heals the ailments affecting your animals and birds caused by the resentment. I’d like to set up the talismans and array in your fields.”

The old man shakes his head gratefully. “You’ve already done so much for us. The small piece of paper you gave us in the past provided us with months of peace and prosperity. We dare not ask for more, but given the current circumstances, if this helps our village recover, we will gladly accept your assistance.”

With a nod of agreement, Wei Ying accompanies the couple to the fields. He carefully places the array at the center of the farm and buries the talismans around the perimeter. He requests vegetable seeds from the couple, infuses them with his Qi, and plants them in the soil. Sitting in the middle of the field, he meditates briefly before activating the array. As it glows with a soft light, the resentment in the air begins to dissipate, replaced by fresh, revitalising energy. The once-barren field visibly starts to improve, and the animals begin to show signs of calmness.

Wei Ying then takes out his dizi and starts to play, the music flowing gently through the field. The harmonious, melodious sound enchants those nearby, drawing a few neighbours to the field to listen. The villagers are mesmerised by the beauty of the music and the profound transformation happening before their eyes. Wei Ying’s presence and his gift of music bring a sense of hope and renewal to the struggling village.

After a long period of playing, Wei Ying finally pauses and opens his eyes. To his satisfaction, he sees the small sprouts emerging from the seeds he had sown earlier. The previously withered plants now appear vibrant and healthy, and the animals around him seem visibly content.

The old couple, witnessing the remarkable transformation, are moved to tears. Their neighbours, who have gathered to see the results, are equally astonished by the revitalisation of the fields and coops.

In unison, the villagers bow deeply to Wei Ying. “Wei Gonzi,” the old man says, his voice filled with gratitude, “we have no way to repay you for what you have done. Your help has far exceeded anything we could ever offer. However, we wish to compensate you in some way. It may seem modest, but we would like to offer you one-fourth of the yield from our fields as payment.”

Wei Ying shakes his head, smiling gently. “Grandpa, I don’t need any payment. I’ve only done what I could to help you.” He pats the old man reassuringly.

“This solution will last for at least a year,” Wei Ying continues. “I intend to discuss the situation with the magistrate. If he agrees, I would like to set up a barrier around the town to prevent the resentment from affecting you further.”

The couple nods in appreciation, their heads bowing in respect.

They all head towards the warehouse, where the old lady brings out some buns and tea for everyone. As they sit down to enjoy the refreshments, one of the neighbours asks the old man to introduce them to Wei Ying.

The old man recounts their first meeting, the talismans, and how Wei Ying had promised to return after many years.

A curious neighbour then asks, “Young master, what is your name, and which sect do you belong to?”

Wei Ying bows respectfully to the old man and introduces himself, “My name is Wei Wuxian. I don’t belong to any formal sect. My master is Baoshan Sanren. I’m a cultivator trained in the ways of the mountains.”

A young lady’s eyes widen in amazement. “Isn’t she an immortal?” she asks.

Wei Ying smiles and nods in affirmation. “Yes, she is.”

“How did you come to find her?” the young lady enquires further.

“I remembered my mother telling me about her. After many days of searching, I was fortunate enough to meet her,” Wei Ying explains.

Another villager asks, “Do your parents live in Yiling?”

Wei Ying’s expression turns somber. “No, I lost them when I was about six years old.”

Curiosity piqued, another old man asks, “Then how were you able to provide the talisman papers to the old couple?”

With a gentle smile, Wei Ying responds, “My parents taught me to read and write. My mother was particularly skilled with talismans, as my master has told me. Though I don’t remember much, my mother was also a disciple of my master. She taught me some basic talismans. When I met Popo, she helped me despite knowing I had nothing to offer her in return. Her kindness moved me deeply. I used my remaining money to buy talisman paper so I could repay her kindness.”

The young lady asks with genuine curiosity, “Why did you come back?”

Wei Ying’s smile grows warmer. “I had promised Popo I would return once my cultivation lessons were complete. I also wanted to help those in need. What good is my cultivation if I don’t use it to assist others?”

 

The conversation continues for several hours, filled with stories and shared memories. As the evening wears on, the young lady asks, “Where is the immortal’s mountain located?”

Wei Ying’s expression becomes thoughtful. “There are certain things we are instructed not to reveal, and the location of the mountain is one of them.”

“Why is that?” the young lady enquires, genuinely curious.

“My master prefers to remain in seclusion, away from the sects and their politics. It’s essential for us as her disciples to honour her wishes. She chooses not to entertain visitors, and we respect that decision,” Wei Ying explains.

The young lady nods in understanding, accepting his explanation.

As the sun begins to set, the neighbours gradually return to their homes. The old man turns to Wei Ying with a hint of concern. “Wei Gonzi, are you sure you’re comfortable with this small space for sleeping? I don’t mean to be presumptuous, but you’re such a fine young man. You deserve something better.”

Wei Ying chuckles softly and reassures him, “Grandpa, I’ve experienced much worse than this. This place doesn’t bother me at all. I’m still the same Wei Wuxian to whom you showed kindness. I’m happy to stay here.”

He pauses and adds with a playful tone, “Unless... you find me a nuisance and don’t want me to stay?”

“No, no, you are no nuisance at all, young master. We are indeed blessed to have you with us,” the old man says earnestly.

He then opens the door to the storeroom, which is modest but clean. The room contains a small bed in the corner and a small tub of water in another. The old man hands Wei Ying a blanket.

Exhausted from the day’s activities, Wei Ying lies down on the bed. Within moments, he drifts into a deep and restful sleep, grateful for the warmth and hospitality extended to him.

Chapter 3

Notes:

Hello readers,
Thank you so much for all your kudos and comments on this fanfic! Since this is my first attempt, your support has truly made me happy, and I hope you'll continue cheering me on.

This is a longer chapter, around 10k words. As the story progresses, I've tried to maintain the structure I originally envisioned, which is why this chapter is a bit longer than the first two. I hope the pacing still works for you!

As I mentioned in the first chapter, some original character names were sourced from Google, and they may not convey the meaning I intended. If you notice any names with unintended or odd meanings in Chinese, please let me know so I can make the necessary changes.

Your feedback is incredibly encouraging, and it motivates me to keep writing! I’d love to hear your thoughts on this chapter.

Thanks again, and stay tuned for more!

Wei Ying wakes up around midday, feeling refreshed. He retrieves a few fruits and buns from his Qiankun pouch and eats them. After freshening up, he dons his outer robe, ties his hair into a ponytail, and secures his silver guan. With his sword and dizi in hand, he heads outside.

He finds the old man near one of the coops, where the old man eagerly shares his news. “All my hens have laid eggs today, and no animals have harmed my coop. The cattle have given the most milk ever, and they all look healthy and content!” he says, his excitement palpable.

“I’m glad to hear that, Grandpa,” Wei Ying replies with a warm smile.

The old man continues, “Our neighbours and I met with the magistrate early this morning. He mentioned that we can visit his office whenever you’re ready to meet him.”

“Then let’s go see him now,” Wei Ying responds.

Accompanied by a few villagers he met the previous day, they head to the magistrate’s office, ready to discuss the village’s issues and seek a resolution.
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The magistrate's office is an old, expansive building with tall windows that let in plenty of light. Inside, the office is furnished with a large, sturdy desk covered with a teapot, a stack of papers, and various scrolls. The magistrate, a man in his thirties, has a tall and well-built frame, but his face bears a look of underlying tension.

The old man enters the office first and speaks to the magistrate. When the magistrate's gaze falls upon Wei Ying, there’s a moment of surprise; he clearly expected someone older. Despite his initial shock, the old man manages to persuade the magistrate to see Wei Ying.

The magistrate reluctantly invites Wei Ying forward. Wei Ying enters the room, bows deeply, and introduces himself. When he mentions being a disciple of the immortal Baoshan Sanren, the magistrate's expression shifts to one of cautious optimism.

“Please, let me know what information you require,” the magistrate says, his voice heavy with concern. “We are in a dire situation. The resentment in the air has worsened significantly, taking a severe toll on our livelihood. Yiling has always been neglected by both the Wens and the Jiangs, but these past few years have been the worst.”

Wei Ying sighs deeply and questions, “Have you written to the sects for assistance?”

“We’ve sent multiple letters to both sects,” the magistrate explains. “The Wens have replied that they’ve relinquished their rights over Yiling and advised us to stop seeking their help. The Jiangs have only offered sympathetic words and empty promises. A year ago, they sent some cultivators to investigate, but their report yielded no solutions. Now, they suggest relocating the villagers as the best course of action.”

“More than half of Yiling’s population depends on farming, silk production, fishing, and artisanal work. We own our lands and homes here. The past few years have made life increasingly difficult. Our savings are nearly exhausted, and relocating to an unfamiliar place without guaranteed work or housing would likely result in disaster. Given the current state, I fear that Yiling may not survive until winter,” the magistrate says, his voice filled with sadness and despair.

The gravity of the situation hangs heavy in the room as Wei Ying listens, understanding the full extent of the village’s plight.

“I am deeply saddened by your situation, Magistrate. I am committed to doing whatever I can to alleviate your suffering,” Wei Ying offers with sincerity.

The magistrate, though clearly troubled, nods appreciatively.

“Could you accompany me on a tour of the affected areas? I want to see firsthand the extent of the damage and the pervasive resentment that has contaminated the town.” Wei Ying questions

“Certainly,” Magistrate agrees. “We can survey the nearby lands today and tomorrow. Covering the entire area would require several weeks, but I’d like to show the most severely impacted regions to get a clear picture of the situation.”

“That sounds like a plan,” Wei Ying says thoughtfully. “Yiling spans nearly as much as Yunmeng, and yet it seems the Jiangs are too easily dismissing the problem. I find it hard to understand why they’re not more involved.”

The magistrate sighs and explains, “Despite Yiling’s size, our contribution to the overall economy is minimal. Addressing the resentment would require significant resources, far exceeding our economic input. The Jiangs would need to invest a considerable amount to resolve this issue.”

Wei Ying nods and requests, “Please provide me with a map so I can better understand the layout and plan our approach.”

With the map in hand, Wei Ying and the magistrate set out to survey Yiling. They spend the next two days exploring the most severely affected areas, observing the damage and the pervasive effects of the resentment.

On the third day, they shift their focus to surveying the borders of Yiling towards Qishan. They continue their exploration for another two days, ultimately reaching the edge of Yiling. There, they stay at a modest inn situated at the extreme end of the town, just a few steps away from the border with Wens.

The following morning, Wei Ying and the magistrate prepare to depart. After settling the bill for their stay at the inn, they set out on foot toward Yiling. However, their progress is interrupted by a commotion coming from a street corner of the other side of the borders. Intrigued, they head toward the source of the noise.

As they approach, they witness a tall young man being forcefully ejected from a house. He is badly beaten and falls hard on his back, clearly in distress. A loud, enraged voice follows him, "Don’t you dare show your face around here again! If I or my servants see you or your sister, you’ll regret it. Now, get out of here!"

The magistrate and Wei Ying rush over to assist the fallen man, waiting for the aggressor and his entourage to leave before moving forward. Wei Ying gently dusts off the man's robes and helps him to his feet. “Are you alright?” he asks with concern.

The man responds with a silent nod, tears streaming down his face. His silence speaks volumes of his pain and distress.

Together, Wei Ying and the magistrate support him, guiding him to a nearby tree for some respite. They help him sit in the shade, where he begins to recover from the ordeal. It’s evident that he has been severely beaten; his face is bruised, his arms bear multiple cuts, and he is visibly limping. The sight of his injuries and the evident suffering he endures is deeply troubling.

“What happened? What’s your name? Do you need our help?” Wei Ying enquires with concern.

The man looks between Wei Ying and the magistrate, clearly distraught.

“Don’t worry, we’re from Yiling. This is the magistrate of Yiling, and I’m Wei Wuxian, a rogue cultivator,” Wei Ying explains reassuringly.

The man, clearly worn out, takes a deep breath before speaking.

“My name is Chunwen. I worked for a silk merchant from Qishan. A year ago, my house was burnt down by thugs, and I lost both my parents along with everything we owned. My sister, Chun Hua, and I were out that night and survived the attack. With nothing left, we struggled to find work. Eventually, I managed to secure a job with the merchant you saw earlier. His father offered me the position, but under the condition that I meet specific profit targets. We agreed on a certain amount, and I worked diligently to achieve it. Over time, I was almost entirely responsible for managing the business. Everything was going well until recently,” Chunwen says with a heavy sigh.

“My sister is quite talented. She paints and does embroidery work. One day, she came to deliver a commissioned painting to me. The merchant’s son saw her and became infatuated with her. He’s already married, and there are rumours that he may have even killed his wife. He’s known for his sordid activities in the local brothels. Despite his status, he asked for my sister’s hand in marriage. I told him I couldn’t marry her off so soon after losing our parents. He started pressuring me and withholding my pay. Last week, he and his men destroyed her paintings, took our remaining money, and evicted us from our home. When I sought help from the merchant, he refused, demanding that I either agree to the marriage or face the consequences. When I refused, his son and his servants beat me and threw me out,” Chunwen says, tears streaming down his face.

“Where is your sister now?” Wei Ying asks gently.

“She’s hiding near the borders of Yiling,” Chunwen replies.

“Let’s go find her,” Wei Ying says decisively.

The three of them set out, and after an hour of searching, they finally locate Chun Hua. Wei Ying offers them some fruits and buns from his Qiankun pouch. The siblings, though still shaken, gratefully accept the food, and the group takes a moment to rest and regroup.

“You both can come with me,” Wei Ying says, offering a reassuring smile. Turning to the magistrate, he adds, “Can they not stay here? Don’t worry about their expenses; I’ll cover them.”

The magistrate nods in agreement.

The group sets off towards the magistrate’s office in Yiling. The journey takes them three days. To make their travels more comfortable, Wei Ying provides them with fruits and buns preserved by talismans for their meals.

Upon reaching the magistrate’s office, Wei Ying addresses the group. “I’ll begin my work early tomorrow morning. I already have a good understanding of the damage, but it will take me about two days to assess everything thoroughly. I’ll use my sword for travel to ensure I stay within the proper borders. Please provide me with a precise map of Yiling so I don’t encroach on any neighbouring territories.”

He then turns to the magistrate with a request. “Since I don’t have a residence here, could you arrange accommodation for the siblings in town? I’ll cover their expenses.” Wei Ying places a small bag of silver on the desk.

The magistrate responds, “We have a few unused rooms in the magistrate’s building. They can stay there as long as they need.”

Wei Ying smiles and nods. “Thank you. If you need anything, just let me know.” He hands the siblings a small bag of buns, fruits, and a few silver pieces. The siblings, overwhelmed with gratitude, can barely hold back their tears as they nod and bow deeply.

“I must leave now; I need to rise early tomorrow,” Wei Ying says, waving them goodbye as he prepares to head out.
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The next morning, Wei Ying rises early, freshens up, and has a quick meal before heading out. He carefully surveys the border of Yiling according to the map provided, methodically drawing arrays at each corner of the town. In addition, he incorporates two additional variants of arrays and talismans, all interconnected with a principal node situated at the center of the town. The intricate work takes him a day and a half to complete, ensuring that the protective arrays are properly installed throughout the town.

By mid-afternoon, Wei Ying returns to the magistrate’s office. The magistrate greets him warmly, and Wei Ying returns the gesture with a respectful bow.

“I have completed the installations at the borders,” Wei Ying informs him. “Now, only one final task remains. We need to draw the central array at the heart of the town,” he says, pointing to a location on the map. “Would you like to accompany me?”

The magistrate, looking relieved, rises from his chair. “Let’s complete it then,” he agrees with a sigh.

The siblings, eager to assist, also ask, “Can we join you?”

Wei Ying glances at the magistrate, who gives a nod of approval. “Of course, feel free to come along,” Wei Ying replies.

The group makes their way to the center of the town, where many villagers have gathered to witness the proceedings. The atmosphere is a mix of curiosity and hope as they prepare for the final stage of Wei Ying’s work.

Wei Ying takes a deep breath and begins the process of drawing the central array. His movements are deliberate and precise as he sketches the complex patterns on the ground. With a focused expression, he closes his eyes and channels his Qi and blood to connect the arrays at the borders to the central array. After an hour of intense concentration and effort, he opens his eyes to assess his work.

As the array activates, a palpable change occurs. The air around Yiling begins to clear, and a thin, shimmering barrier rises around the town. The villagers and magistrate watch in awe as the once-turbulent air becomes noticeably fresher, and a sense of calm settles over the area.

Wei Ying approaches the magistrate once the activation is complete. “I have set up a powerful array,” he explains. “This array is unique in that it can only be altered, dismantled, or destroyed by me. The first component purifies the resentment in the air and enhances soil fertility. The second component will protect against wild creatures or monsters that might harm people or animals within the town’s borders. The third component is a safety barrier designed to defend against attacks from nearby sects, thugs, goons, or thieves.”

Overwhelmed with gratitude, the magistrate and the villagers bow deeply. “I must admit, I didn’t believe someone as young as you could solve a problem that no sect was willing to address. We are all deeply indebted to you. We ask that you stay in Yiling and continue to offer your guidance.”

The magistrate continues, “There is a mansion not far from here, previously owned by the former magistrate. It is currently vacant and unclaimed. We would like to offer it to you as a token of our gratitude. We will have it cleaned and ready for you within the next two days.”

Wei Ying responds, “There’s really no need for such an arrangement. I am quite comfortable in the warehouse.”

The magistrate insists, “Please accept our offer.”

Seeing the earnestness in their request, Wei Ying finally agrees. “Alright, but please understand that this is a temporary solution. The permanent resolution lies in purifying the burial moulds,” he sighs, acknowledging the ongoing challenge.

The magistrate nods in agreement, understanding the complexity of the task ahead.
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Several weeks have passed since Chunwen and Chun Hua, along with Wei Ying, moved into the newly acquired mansion. During this time, Wei Ying has made significant strides in improving Yiling’s conditions. He has successfully eradicated the ghouls that plagued the local water bodies and has introduced talismans that have dramatically increased both the quantity and quality of the silk produced. The villagers are overjoyed, witnessing their land flourish with a bountiful harvest of vegetables and an unprecedented silk yield.

One morning, Chunwen and Chun Hua approach Wei Ying and bow deeply in front of him. Wei Ying is taken aback by their gesture.

“Before anything else, we want to express our profound gratitude,” Chunwen says, his voice tinged with emotion. “When you found us at the borders of Yiling, we had nearly lost all hope. Your help has been more than we could have ever dreamed of. We are deeply indebted to you and wish to serve you in any way you see fit.”

Wei Ying gently lifts them from their bows. “There is no need for such grand gestures of gratitude. I did what I could because it was the right thing to do, not because I sought any debt or obligation in return. You are both free to pursue your own paths as you see fit, as long as they are honorable. I do not wish to bind you to me.”

Chunwen and Chun Hua look up, their faces reflecting a mix of relief and admiration. They acknowledge Wei Ying’s words with respectful nods, understanding that their freedom and choices are valued. The bond between them remains strong, but it is one of mutual respect rather than obligation.

A commotion outside the Wei Mansion draws the attention of Wei Ying, Chunwen, and Chun Hua. They step outside to find the entire village, along with the magistrate, gathered in front of the mansion. The villagers and the magistrate all bow deeply, creating an atmosphere of solemnity and gratitude. Wei Ying looks on with confusion and curiosity.

The magistrate steps forward and speaks on behalf of the villagers. “We have just sold our first harvest since your arrival, and the results are beyond anything Yiling has ever seen. The quality and quantity of our yield are unprecedented. Your efforts have truly saved us from ruin—you have revitalised our land, our animals, and our very lives. As a token of our immense gratitude, we pledge our loyalty to you alone. From now on, we will bow to no sect but you. We have decided to give you one-fourth of our earnings as a sign of our commitment.” The magistrate presents a heavy pouch of coins to Wei Ying.

Chunwen, stepping forward with a respectful bow, adds, “If you accept, I will manage your funds from now on. I swear by my ancestors to remain loyal to you for the rest of my days.”

Wei Ying, visibly moved by the gesture but also contemplative, takes a deep breath. “Thank you for your trust and generosity. However, there are matters that need discussion. Let’s convene at the magistrate’s office tomorrow to talk about our next steps and how we can continue to move forward together.”

With that, the villagers and the magistrate nod in agreement, and the group disperses, preparing for the important meeting the following day.
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The following day, Wei Ying, Chunwen, Chun Hua, and the village elders gather in front of the magistrate’s office. The air is thick with anticipation and concern as Wei Ying prepares to address the group.

“I am pleased to see that you’ve had a successful harvest,” Wei Ying begins. “However, as I mentioned earlier, the arrays and talismans will lose their effectiveness over time due to the heavy resentment lingering in the burial mounds.”
“Within a week’s time, I will enter the burial mounds.''

A murmur of concern ripples through the crowd. The villagers, along with the magistrate and Chun siblings, show clear signs of distress at his words.

“I assure you, I will return safe and sound before Autumn ends,” Wei Ying adds, trying to calm their fears.

Turning to the magistrate and Chunwen, he continues, “I’m entrusting both of you with several important tasks. The defences of Yiling will hold until I return, so there’s no need to worry on that front. I need a watchtower and a checkpoint to be erected. Chunwen, you will manage the funds for this as you see fit. Additionally, I suggest setting up community warehouses for all our yield. If you can complete this before I return, we can have talismans permanently etched on the walls to protect the goods from cold, heat, and fire. This will ensure that the villagers can manage their sales in an organised manner without needing individual talismans in every storehouse.”

Turning to Chun Hua, Wei Ying continues, “Chun Hua, I’ve heard of your skills in threadwork, painting, and sewing. You should train a few women in the production of fine robes and fabrics.”

He then looks at everyone and asks, “What are your thoughts on these plans?”

The group, including the magistrate, Chunwen, and Chun Hua, nods in agreement. “We will follow your instructions,” they reply.

The magistrate, still concerned, asks, “Are you sure you want to enter the burial mounds?”

Wei Ying responds with a reassuring smile, “Purifying the mounds is the only way to achieve lasting peace and prosperity. I am confident in my ability to complete this task. Please be patient and manage the affairs of the state while I am away.”

Chunwen enquires, “When do you plan to leave?”

“I have a few final preparations to make,” Wei Ying answers. “I will set out in three days.”

With the plan set, Chunwen, Chun Hua, and the magistrate leave to finalise their preparations. Wei Ying returns to his mansion to complete his preparations for the challenging journey ahead.
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Wei Ying spent the next two days meticulously working on the final arrays and talismans he would need for his upcoming journey. He packed his Qiankun bags with all the necessary supplies—food, water, toiletries, and tools for cultivation. As he prepared, his thoughts drifted back to his past life in the Burial Mounds. Back then, he had nothing but sheer willpower and an unbreakable resolve to survive. It was in stark contrast to his current situation, where he was better equipped and more experienced, but the memories still haunted him.

On the noon of the third day, he secured his dizi and Suibian by his side, ensuring they were close at hand. Carrying his Qiankun pouches filled with provisions, he made his way to a room on the ground floor of his mansion. This room had been specifically designed as a workspace for Chunwen and also served as a meeting room for Wei Ying.

Chunwen was already waiting when Wei Ying entered, bowing respectfully upon seeing him. Wei Ying took a seat across from him at the desk.

"Chunwen," Wei Ying began in a calm but firm voice, "don't worry. I'll return soon. In the meantime, I need you to ensure that everything runs smoothly while I'm away. Focus on organising a solid system for procuring the silk and cotton yields, as well as storing and selling them. I have a detailed plan in mind, which I will discuss with you when I return. But for now, make sure we're selling either raw silk and cotton or high-quality fabrics. Ensure that the training for the workers is thorough. Participation should be voluntary, but anyone with talent should have the opportunity to earn a livelihood through this. However, quality control is paramount. I also have some talismans in mind that will aid in production once I return. You have full access to the funds and the freedom to hire whoever you think is best for the job. Understood?"

Chunwen nodded, his expression focused. "Understood. I’ll ensure everything is in order. I’ll also keep detailed records of all expenses so you can review them at any time."

"Good," Wei Ying said as he rose from his seat. "I’ll be leaving now. I’d rather not have another group of villagers come to send me off. Please update the magistrate on my departure."

With that, Wei Ying left the mansion and set off on his journey. He walked in silence, the weight of past memories and future responsibilities hanging over him. When he reached the borders of the Burial Mounds, he activated several talismans to ensure his safe passage, then began his trek into the ominous landscape.
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The mountain loomed large before him, an oppressive presence. The air was thick with the stench of decay, and the miasma of resentment was palpable, clinging to the burial mounds like a heavy fog. Black, gnarled trees stood like sentinels, their twisted forms devoid of life, casting long shadows over the desolate landscape. No sign of life existed in this forsaken place—it was a black hole, empty of all but the dead.

Wei Ying climbed the mountain in silence, his steps sure and steady as he made his way toward the center. As soon as he entered the heart of the mounds, the swirling clouds of resentment reacted to him immediately, coiling around him like an eager puppy seeking attention from its master. He remained unfazed, walking straight toward his destination.

At first, a few fierce corpses, animated by the dark energy of the place, lunged at him. However, they were swiftly dealt with. Using Chenqing, his flute, he tamed them with ease, bringing them under control. His real work began soon after.

For nearly a month, Wei Ying dedicated himself to liberating the trapped spirits, granting them peace, and allowing them to move on. Day after day, he laid thousands of spirits to rest, his heart heavy but determined.

After a month of tireless effort, only around fifty spirits remained. These were not ordinary spirits—they ranged from low-level to high-level entities, all bound by a common desire. Unlike the others, they refused to be liberated. Bowing before him, they requested to serve him, pledging their eternal loyalty. Despite his attempts to convince them to rest in peace, they remained resolute, begging him to grant their wish to follow him.

Wei Ying had spent weeks digging up most of the bodies buried in the burial mounds, carefully identifying which spirits wished to be laid to rest and which desired to remain. For those who chose liberation, he burnt their physical remains, releasing their spirits and allowing them to pass on peacefully. But for the willing souls who desired to stay, Wei Ying took a different approach. Using his mastery over talismans and arrays, he restored their bodies, healing the damage that time and resentment had inflicted upon them.

With precise strokes, he affixed advanced talismans to their bodies, repairing their broken forms and reinforcing them with resentment energy. He clothed them, not in typical garments, but in layers of this energy, blending it with their essence so seamlessly that it appeared as natural as flesh. His skills were so refined that no ordinary cultivator would be able to distinguish these spirits from the living. To further protect them, Wei Ying added a subtle array to each body that masks the presence of resentment, ensuring that their true nature remains concealed.

Among these reanimated spirits, Wei Ying had hierarchy. Twenty were low-level spirits—former servants and maidens from the mortal world. Ten others were mid-level spirits, once disciples and cultivators, while fourteen were high-level spirits who had once been powerful cultivators. However, the most formidable among them were six extremely strong spirits, each of whom had been on the verge of attaining immortality in life. These six were more powerful than even Wei Ying's famed Ghost General, their strength immense and their potential unmatched.

To prepare for future battles, Wei Ying equipped the mid- and high-level spirits with chain armour made of condensed resentment, hidden beneath their robes. These armours were engraved with intricate arrays and talismans, designed to preserve their bodies against both decay and enemy attacks. Each spirit was also given a pair of wooden beads—communication devices linked to Wei Ying through advanced talismans and arrays. The beads, imbued with resentment arrays, granted the spirits invisibility and the ability to teleport distances at will.

The six highest-level spirits, however, were given special treatment. Wei Ying outfitted them with dark grey masks, black robes, and armour crafted from pure resentment energy. To the untrained eye, these clothes would seem ordinary, but to anyone with a core as powerful as Wei Ying or his master, Baoshan Sanren, the truth would be obvious. These six warriors, whom Wei Ying dubbed the "Masked Generals," stood over six and a half feet tall, their builds imposing and muscular. Each carried a massive mace, a symbol of their brute strength. Capable of teleporting within seconds, the Masked Generals were Wei Ying's most fearsome and loyal followers, their power unrivalled by anyone except Wei Ying and his master.

Once Wei Ying had completed the restoration of the spirits, they bowed deeply before him, their loyalty evident in their every gesture. A sense of purpose filled the air as he issued his first command: “Clean the burial mounds of all the dirt and debris.” The spirits moved swiftly, their dedication transforming the mounds from a place of sorrow into a more orderly realm. For several days, Wei Ying observed their efforts, meticulously surveying the area to identify the best spots for a lake, an arsenal, and buildings.

He envisioned a thriving community, one that would serve as a stronghold for him and his reanimated followers. To facilitate this vision, he ordered the construction of buildings for the Masked Generals and the mid- and high-level spirits, who would be tasked with building, patrolling, and weapon-making. The low-level spirits would establish a small colony nearby, focussing on gathering and transmitting information. This structure would ensure efficiency and organisation within his newfound realm.

The entire process of transformation took nearly two and a half months. During this time, Wei Ying etched a large protective array on the back of the mountain, designed to shield the spirits from the consequences of his next actions. He knew that what he was about to undertake was fraught with danger, and he needed to ensure their safety.

Wei Ying ventured to the most secluded corner of the mounds, a place nearly inaccessible due to its steep valleys. Here, he began drawing several powerful arrays aimed at draining the resentment energy permeating the mountain and converting it into Yang energy over time. Importantly, he ensured that the resentment energy from his fifty ghost subordinates would remain untouched; their essence was integral to his plans.

He had previously melted down some silver and iron found within the burial mounds—materials that had absorbed resentment energy for ages. With this, he crafted a specialised tool designed to store the drained energy and facilitate its conversion into Yang. After burying the tool deep in the valley, he surrounded it with multiple protective talismans and arrays, ensuring it would remain undisturbed.

Finally, he activated the array. As the resentment from the entire mountain was syphoned into the tool, a visible change began to take place. The process was not instantaneous; it took nearly a week to fully cleanse the mounds of resentment energy, leaving only the enclosure where his spirits resided intact. To safeguard this area, he added additional talismans and arrays to deter any intruders, ensuring that only he could approach the valley where the tool was buried.

With the cleansing complete, fresh and clean air began to circulate around the mounds. As the energy gradually converted to Yang, vibrant plants started sprouting from the ground, and the area became alive with the fluttering of birds and butterflies. It was as if the land itself was breathing a sigh of relief, shedding the weight of its dark past.

One week before the end of autumn, Wei Ying emerged from the mounds accompanied by his six masked generals. The other spirits were diligently working on constructing the lake and various structures, which were nearing completion. A sense of achievement washed over him, but beneath that, he felt the weight of his ambition.

Despite his immense power, Wei Ying believed he was not yet fit to ascend to immortality. The thought of becoming immortal held an allure, yet he was acutely aware that he still had much to accomplish. In a deliberate act, he burnt down his Qi, forcefully postponing his immortality. He understood the risks of drawing attention to himself at this crucial juncture; there were still countless tasks ahead that required his focus and discretion.

With the foundation of his new realm established, Wei Ying looked to the future with determination. The mounds, once a site of despair, were transforming into a sanctuary for him and his loyal spirits, a place where they could thrive and grow in strength, preparing for the challenges that lay ahead.
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Once Wei Ying stepped out of the burial mounds, a tremendous commotion erupted in Yiling. Half of the village had gathered, while the other half hurried to join the celebration, their faces alight with excitement. As he approached, they all bowed in unison, a gesture of deep respect and gratitude. At the forefront stood Chunwen, the magistrate, and Chun Hua, their expressions brimming with anticipation.

As he reached them, the crowd erupted into cheers, chanting, “Yiling Laozu, Yiling Laozu!” The title resonated in the air, a reminder of the high regard they held for him. Wei Ying sighed inwardly; this title, familiar yet profound, echoed his past life and the legacy he was still building.

The villagers beamed at him, their joy palpable. The magistrate stepped forward, his voice filled with reverence. “Laozu, we cannot express how blessed we feel to have you among us. What other sects have failed to achieve over centuries, you have accomplished in mere months. We are immensely grateful.”

Wei Ying smiled, bowing slightly in acknowledgement of their words. Just then, a curious young boy approached him, eyes wide with wonder. “Wei gege, Wei gege, who are those?” he asked, pointing at the masked generals standing behind Wei Ying.

Wei Ying hesitated, knowing he could not reveal the full truth of their identities. Instead, he addressed the village with a composed expression. “A few years ago, while I was with my master, I saved a village from an impending attack. Many commoners, cultivators, and retired generals sought refuge there, weary of the chaos in the world. But their peace was shattered when their village was set ablaze. I intervened, saved them, and promised to provide shelter once I could establish a safe haven. With the burial mounds cleared, they will now reside in the mountains. They are my generals, experienced war veterans, and alongside them, there are other cultivators who will help patrol our borders and assist me in maintaining peace.”

Wei Ying turned to Chunwen and the magistrate, his tone shifting to one of authority. “We will begin surveying the mounds tomorrow. We need to procure metals and wood for construction.”

“Laozu, we will follow your directives without hesitation. We’ll get to work first thing in the morning,” the magistrate replied, his voice firm with determination.

As the villagers continued to murmur their excitement, Chunwen, the magistrate, and the villagers began leading Wei Ying toward his mansion. It was a moment filled with hope and the promise of a new beginning for Yiling.

Turning to his masked generals, Wei Ying offered a reassuring smile. “I’m safe here now. You may return; I will summon you if I require your assistance.” The generals bowed respectfully before departing, their presence a silent testament to the strength that now surrounded him.

As he entered his mansion, the weight of the day settled upon him, and he took a moment to reflect on all that had transpired. He felt a mix of gratitude and responsibility. His body ached from the exertion, and he knew he needed to rest. With a sense of purpose guiding him, Wei Ying settled down for the night, ready to embrace the challenges and opportunities that lay ahead in his journey to transform Yiling into a sanctuary for those seeking refuge from a chaotic world.

The following day, as planned, the magistrate arrived to meet with Chunwen and Wei Ying. By mid-noon, Wei Ying finally woke from his rest and made his way to the meeting room. Upon entering, he found Chunwen and the magistrate already waiting for him, their expressions a mix of respect and eagerness.

“Laozu,” they both bowed deeply, acknowledging his presence with the reverence he had come to expect.

“How’s everything going?” Wei Ying enquired, taking his seat at the table, a sense of anticipation hanging in the air.

“Everything is running smoothly,” Chunwen responded enthusiastically. “We’ve had a remarkable autumn harvest. All the crops have been procured from the farmers, stored properly, and sold successfully. Even the dealers were astonished at the volume of the harvest. Despite the changing weather, the growth has been extraordinary. In fact, the yield has multiplied significantly since the cleansing of the mounds.”

Wei Ying nodded, pleased with the news. “What about the tower?,and how is Chun Hua doing with the training of the men and women for fabric and textile making?”

“The watchtowers are almost complete,” Chunwen reported. “Chun Hua is actively training the villagers. Some women skilled in stitching and sewing have joined her, providing valuable assistance in the training process.”

Wei Ying smiled, envisioning the productive community taking shape around him. “That’s excellent to hear. With the good harvest and the quality of silk and cotton, I have plans in mind. I’ve built a lake in the mounds, where the soil is rich and perfect for cultivating top-quality lotus flowers. We can harvest fine silk from them, as well as lotus roots, flowers, and seeds. This will enable us to generate significant income. I’ve also developed some talismans to detect any defects in the fabric or stitching, ensuring top-notch quality. Additionally, I’m working on new talismans that will help keep the robes clean and tidy and another that adjusts the fit according to the wearer’s measurements. We can stitch these talismans into the fabric when we start production, allowing us to produce unique robes that will surely be in high demand.”

Wei Ying’s vision was ambitious, yet he felt confident in his plans. “We cannot allow any children to be homeless or suffer in Yiling. I propose we convert part of this building into a dormitory for those in need. While we procure metals and wood, make sure we gather extra materials. We need more buildings constructed and additional weapons manufactured. Now that the cleansing is complete, I want to ensure that no other sect lays claim to Yiling and disrupts our peace and prosperity. My generals, marshals, and cultivators are sufficient for now, but I refuse to take any chances when it comes to the safety of our home.”

The magistrate nodded in understanding. “We comprehend, Laozu. We have sufficient funds to procure large quantities of wood and metal, and we will do so at the earliest opportunity. With at least half of our supplies still unsold, we will not face any shortages for now. We’ll plan out the layout to convert the mansion into a dormitory, and I’ll send you the details, along with the names of the homeless in Yiling, so you can guide us on how to proceed.”

“Thank you,” Wei Ying replied, appreciating their diligence. “I trust you both to handle this effectively.”

Chunwen then spoke up, a hint of excitement in his voice. “The villagers are planning a celebration this week in honour of your birthday. We hope you will enjoy it.”

Wei Ying raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Ah, I had completely forgotten about my birthday! I had intended to travel this week, but I suppose I will need to reschedule.”

“Laozu, how long will you be gone? Where were you planning to go? I would like to accompany you,” Chunwen asked, his curiosity piqued.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve travelled or gone on a night hunt,” Wei Ying said, a hint of excitement in his voice. “I’m planning to explore around Qishan. Don’t worry, I’ll stay safe and return soon. You’re needed here, so please ensure the kids and those in need are well-fed and taken care of. If we have a lot of children, we must address their education. We can discuss this further once the dormitory is complete and rehabilitation is underway.”

He paused for a moment, gauging their reactions. “We can shift our belongings and office to the burial mounds. The generals and marshals are already assisting in building the necessary structures. They’re incredibly capable, and we can rely on their help for construction in Yiling as well.”

Wei Ying’s expression grew serious. “Now that the mounds have been cleansed, word will inevitably reach the Jiangs and Wens. We may expect a visit from them. If they come while I’m away, ensure you have a peaceful conversation on my behalf. Listen to what they have to say, and we can decide on a course of action when I return.”

Both the magistrate and Chunwen nodded earnestly. “Yes, Laozu, we will follow your instructions.”

“Great. Now, let’s take a tour of the Burial Mounds,” Wei Ying said, rising from his seat.

“By the way, now that the resentment energy has been cleansed, the previously installed arrays and talismans will amplify their effects,” Wei Ying remarked thoughtfully. “This means we can expect an even greater yield. Ensure the farmers are well prepared for the upcoming season. We’ll also need to construct additional warehouses to store the increased harvest.”

The magistrate smiled and nodded in agreement. “We’ll take care of that, Laozu,” Chunwen added, eager to contribute.

With their plans set, they made their way to the burial mounds. As they approached, both the magistrate and Chunwen were taken aback by the transformation before them. The area was thriving with life—vibrant flowers were in bloom, and lush grass carpeted the ground. Tall trees provided a serene backdrop, enhancing the beauty of the landscape.

As they continued walking, they spotted a grand reception hall standing prominently along their path, surrounded by flourishing bushes and greenery. It was a sight to behold.

After walking a bit further, they were left in awe by a tall building positioned at the center of the mounds. They approached it, noticing how tall rocks had been arranged as a protective fence around the structure. The building was two stories high, boasting several rooms and a spacious receiving hall. The construction appeared nearly complete, with additional buildings surrounding it. A large workshop was set a safe distance behind the main structures.

“Laozu, how was this built so quickly?” they exclaimed in disbelief.

Wei Ying smiled, proud of the progress. “I told you—they’re experts and incredibly productive. But you haven’t seen the lake yet; come, let me show you.”

“Oh, wait! Chunwen, choose one of the buildings,” he suggested. “They all have living spaces, receiving halls, workspaces, and a few rooms. Each of the six buildings has the same layout. Magistrate, would you like to occupy one once construction is finished?”

“Thank you, Laozu, but I’m content in my current office,” the magistrate replied. “It suits my needs well, and I prefer to continue working in the magistrate’s office building.”

“No problem,” Wei Ying responded amicably.

“Chunwen, you and your sister can each choose a building. I’m expecting a few more people by the end of this year, so if everything goes according to plan, these spaces will be fully occupied,” Wei Ying added.

“Thank you, Laozu. We will choose accordingly,” Chunwen replied, glancing at the impressive buildings.

“What have you decided to name this place?” he asked curiously.

Wei Ying chuckled, a hint of sheepishness in his demeanor. “My master always told me I was terrible at naming things, so let’s just call it Wei Estate. How does that sound?”

The other two men laughed, their spirits lifted by the simplicity of the name. They nodded in agreement, appreciating the significance of the name while recognising the hard work and unity that had transformed the Burial Mounds into a thriving community.
All three of them spent the entire day in the Burial Mounds, meticulously planning the upcoming construction projects, outlining the next course of action, and discussing the overall layout of Yiling. The atmosphere was one of determination and excitement, with each detail carefully considered. As night fell, both Wei Ying and Chunwen made their way back to the Wei Mansion, their minds buzzing with ideas and plans.

The entire week that followed was consumed by a flurry of activity—planning, building, procuring materials, and organising tasks. The sense of purpose in Yiling was palpable, and everyone contributed to the collective effort, eager to enhance their community.

On the day of Wei Ying’s birthday, the entire village transformed into a vibrant celebration. Streets were adorned with colourful lamps and lanterns, illuminating the night sky as a symbol of love and loyalty to their Laozu. Everywhere he looked, the streets of Yiling were decorated with beautiful flowers, and vendors filled the air with the delicious aromas of spicy dishes and freshly baked mooncakes.

Wei Ying dressed in dark grey robes with silver embroidery on the long, flowing sleeves—one of the treasured gifts from his master when he had descended from her mountains. The familiar red ribbon held his hair back, and the silver guan gleamed with elegance. Over the past year, he had grown taller and lost the baby fat that once softened his features; now, he looked strikingly handsome, his smile further enhancing his charm.

As soon as he stepped out of his mansion, a swarm of village children rushed towards him. “Laozu, happy birthday!” they cheered in unison, their joy infectious. Wei Ying beamed at them, kneeling to ruffle their hair, grateful for their affection.

Moments later, the magistrate and several elders approached, carrying a large box between them. “Laozu, we wish you a happy birthday,” one of the elders said, handing over the beautifully wrapped box.

Inside were three exquisite sets of robes made from the finest silk, adorned with gold and silver embroidery. One was pitch black, another dark grey, and the last midnight blue. Each robe felt soft and light yet sturdy, a testament to the skill of the artisans who crafted them.

The magistrate stepped forward with a smaller box, presenting it to Wei Ying. “Laozu, happy birthday,” he said warmly. “We have long decided to follow you. We have experienced peace and prosperity only because of your guidance. It is a blessing to have you with us. This is the official seal of Yiling. We have entrusted our fate to you, and you have led us from darkness into brightness. We chose this meaningful day to formally acknowledge you as our leader. Whether you decide to start a sect or not, we will remain loyal to you.”

Wei Ying felt tears welling in his eyes as he absorbed the depth of love and gratitude from his community. “Thank you,” he managed to say, his voice thick with emotion. “It’s not just because of me; you all have worked hard. Together, we will grow. Let us welcome a future filled with peace and prosperity.”

Chunwen then stepped forward, carrying a case of fine wine. “Happy birthday, Laozu!” he exclaimed, his face lighting up with excitement. Wei Ying’s spirits lifted at the sight, and he quickly opened a bottle, savouring the rich flavour as he took a generous sip, letting out a satisfied moan.

Chunhua approached with a beautifully painted depiction of Yiling, showcasing its mountains, lake, his estate, and lively streets. Wei Ying’s eyes sparkled as he examined the intricate details. “This is perfect,” he said, grinning widely. “I’ll display it in the official receiving hall for all to see.”

The evening unfolded with joy as Wei Ying darted from one stall to another, indulging in a variety of mooncakes, dumplings, noodles, and sweets. The air was filled with laughter and the sounds of celebration. Later that night, a grand dinner was arranged for all the villagers, and they gathered to celebrate their Laozu’s birthday together, a true testament to the bond they shared. The warmth of community enveloped Wei Ying, reminding him that this was just the beginning of a new chapter filled with promise and unity.
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Wei Ying meticulously packed his bags, preparing for his journey to Qishan. As he gathered his belongings, Chunwen entered the room, visibly concerned. “Laozu, please consider taking me or at least one of the generals with you for your own safety,” he urged.

“Ayya, Chunwen, don’t forget that I stayed in the Burial Mounds and came back alive—something no one else has ever managed to do. What could possibly happen to me now? Stop worrying so much,” Wei Ying replied, attempting to reassure his friend.

Chunwen frowned, still unconvinced. “But Laozu—”

“Listen,” Wei Ying interrupted gently. “I need you to focus on completing the dormitory as we discussed. I plan to return within a month. Here, take this.” He handed Chunwen a small jade seal inscribed with intricate arrays.

“With this, you can send me a message in case of any emergency, and I will arrive instantly. I’ve also packed teleportation talismans, so there’s nothing to worry about. Just ensure there are no spies entering Yiling. I've stationed my men near the gates and watchtowers, and there will be regular patrols. Keep a close eye on things, and remember—do not reveal my true identity to anyone.”

Chunwen nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. “Yes, Laozu, I will do as you say. Almost all the villagers address you as Laozu now, though a few kids still call you Wei Gege. I’ll make sure they understand. Just take care of yourself; we all depend on you.”

“Okay,” Wei Ying replied with a smile, appreciating Chunwen’s concern as he closed his bag and prepared to set off on his journey.
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The next morning, Wei Ying rose early, ready to depart on his journey. He dressed in pitch-black robes adorned with silver flowers along the flowing sleeves—a gift from his master when he descended her mountain. He packed a few of his robes, talismans, food, and toiletries into his qiankun bag, then strapped his sword and tucked his dizi securely at his waist. Donning a black bamboo hat with a dark grey veil, he looked both ethereal and formidable.

After informing Chunwen of his departure, he set off just as the first light of dawn broke. Travelling swiftly by sword, he crossed Qingling in no time. From there, he decided to continue on foot, preferring to observe the world at a slower pace. He wanted to get a sense of the people’s state and keep an eye out for any unusual occurrences as he wandered through the villages.

By noon, Wei Ying felt his stomach grumble and spotted an inn. He was about to enter when a commotion caught his attention. A loud slap echoed through the air, followed by a man’s angry shouting. Wei Ying turned toward the sound and saw a man hitting a small boy, no older than eight, who was dressed in tattered clothes with messy hair. The child clutched a half-eaten, dirty bun in his hand. Wei Ying quickly deduced that the boy must have accidentally stepped on the man’s robe while fleeing from something.

Memories of his own childhood on the streets flooded Wei Ying’s mind—days spent running from dogs, getting slapped and beaten for no reason, and nights spent waiting in vain for someone to rescue him from the harshness of the world. He remembered the desperate dreams he had of a home, a place where he could be safe and cared for. The ache of those memories brought tears to his eyes, but he blinked them away as he approached the man causing the scene.

“What’s going on here?” Wei Ying asked calmly, though his voice held an undercurrent of authority.

The man huffed, glaring at the small boy. “I was minding my own business when this filthy brat bumped into me and dirtied my robes! Look at this mess!”

Wei Ying glanced at the man’s robes, then back at the boy, who was trembling with wide, fearful eyes. Without a word, Wei Ying reached into his robes and pulled out a few silver coins. “Here,” he said, holding them out to the man. “Take this and buy yourself a new outer robe.”

The man’s eyes widened as he took in Wei Ying’s appearance—his regal bearing, his ethereal attire. His greed overtook his anger, and he snatched the silver coins without another word, giving the boy one last glare before hurrying off.

Wei Ying kneeled in front of the boy, gently brushing the dust from his ragged clothes. “Are you alright?” he asked softly.

The boy nodded, though his eyes were still brimming with tears. Wei Ying wiped the child’s face with his sleeve, offering a small, comforting smile. “Are you hungry?”

The boy nodded again, more eagerly this time. Without hesitation, Wei Ying led him into the inn and paid for a room. “Do you have any spare robes for a child?” he asked the innkeeper. “I’ll pay for them.”

The innkeeper shook his head. “No robes here, but there’s a shop down the street that sells them.”

Wei Ying nodded. “I’ll go get some. In the meantime, can you send hot water to the room?”

The innkeeper agreed, and Wei Ying took the boy upstairs to their room. “Don’t worry, I won’t harm you,” he assured the child. “Do you know how to take a bath?”

The boy nodded shyly.

“Good,” Wei Ying said with a smile. “I’ll tell them to bring some hot water, and you can clean up. Do you have any injuries? Would you like some medicine?”

The boy showed him a few cuts and bruises on his hands and legs. Wei Ying nodded and left the room, returning shortly with hot water and a small wooden tub. He used a heating talisman to warm the water instantly, and the boy’s eyes widened in awe. Wei Ying chuckled at the boy’s expression. “I’ll go get you some clothes. Clean yourself up, and I’ll be back before you’re finished.”

While the boy bathed, Wei Ying hurried to the shop the innkeeper had mentioned. He purchased three simple sets of plain dark robes and returned to the inn. When he arrived, the boy was sitting in the room, wrapped in a towel, his face scrubbed clean.

Wei Ying handed him one of the robes. “Here, put this on, and then we’ll go downstairs for a meal.”

The boy emerged dressed in the new clothes, his hair still wet and dripping. Wei Ying couldn’t help but chuckle as he ushered the boy back inside to dry his hair properly. Once the boy was clean and dry, they made their way downstairs, ready to enjoy a much-needed meal together.
Wei Ying orders a meal, choosing extra spicy food for himself and a milder dish for the boy. Despite Wei Ying's gentle reminder to eat slowly, the boy eagerly devours his meal, clearly starving. After lunch, they return to their room, where Wei Ying decides to ask a few questions to better understand the boy’s situation.

“Do you live here?” Wei Ying asks.

The boy nods.

“Do you live alone?”

Again, the boy nods, his expression a little guarded.

“What’s your name?” Wei Ying enquires.

For the first time, the boy speaks, his voice small and hesitant. “Xue Yang.”

Wei Ying ruffles Xue Yang’s hair and offers a warm smile, trying to make the boy feel more at ease. “Xue Yang, do you want to come with me?” he asks.

Xue Yang looks up at him, his face a mixture of doubt and confusion. “Where?”

“I live in Yiling,” Wei Ying explains. “We have a dormitory for children like you. You’ll have food, clothes, and a place to sleep. You’ll even learn how to read and write. Does that sound good to you?”

The boy’s face lights up for a moment, but then he hesitates, looking down at the talisman Wei Ying had used earlier. “Can you teach me how to do that?” he asks, pointing to the heating talisman.

Wei Ying smiles again. “Yes, I can teach you, but you need to grow strong and healthy first. Once you’re ready, you’ll be able to learn all kinds of things.”

Xue Yang’s smile fades a little, and he pouts. “But I’m already six! I’m big enough.”

Wei Ying chuckles softly, reaching out to ruffle his hair again. “Alright, alright, big boy. You’re plenty strong already.”

He pauses for a moment, then adds, “I’ll write a letter for you. You can take it to Yiling and show it to the guards. They’ll let you in and take you to the magistrate. Is that okay?”

Xue Yang frowns, clearly not thrilled with the idea of being left behind. “No! I’ll go with you. Wherever you’re going.”

Wei Ying laughs, amused by the boy’s sudden determination. “I’m heading to Qishan, and it’s too dangerous for you. You’ll get tired, and it’s not safe.”

The boy crosses his arms, his face scrunched in defiance. “If it’s dangerous, I’ll protect you, Gege!”

Wei Ying bursts out laughing at the boy’s fierce expression. “Alright, alright! I’ll take you with me, but you have to promise to hold my hand and stay close. It’s not safe out there, understand?”

Xue Yang nods eagerly, his earlier hesitation replaced by excitement.

With that settled, the two leave the inn and begin their journey toward Qishan. It takes them five days to reach their destination, and along the way, Wei Ying often carries Xue Yang when the boy grows tired. They stay in inns each night, and despite the long days of travel, Wei Ying finds himself growing fond of the boy’s stubborn yet innocent nature.

The journey, though tiring, is pleasant in its own way. As they walk through various landscapes—rolling hills, quiet forests, bustling villages—Wei Ying feels a sense of nostalgia for his younger years, travelling with nothing but his sword and a few meagre possessions. Now, with Xue Yang by his side, he feels a renewed sense of purpose, as though he’s been given a second chance to protect and guide a child who reminds him so much of his younger self.

On the fifth day of their journey, while travelling through the dense woods of Qishan, Wei Ying spots a young boy being chased by a fierce corpse. The boy, armed only with a simple bow, is desperately trying to flee. Without a moment's hesitation, Wei Ying lifts Xue Yang and places him safely on a sturdy tree branch.

"Stay here and don't move," Wei Ying instructs Xue Yang, his tone firm but reassuring.

Drawing Suibian, his sword gleams in the dim forest light. With swift, precise strikes, he effortlessly slices through the fierce corpse, sending it crashing to the ground, lifeless. Once the threat is dealt with, Wei Ying quickly rushes to check on the boy, who has collapsed face-down on the forest floor, clearly exhausted.

Wei Ying kneels beside him, concern in his voice. “Are you alright?”

The boy, panting heavily, struggles to his feet and, turning to face Wei Ying, bows deeply. The sight before him leaves Wei Ying utterly stunned—it’s Wen Ning. Memories flood his mind, but he restrains himself from showing the deep emotions welling up inside.

Chapter 4

Notes:

Hello, dear readers,

Welcome!

I want to take a moment to express my gratitude for all your comments and appreciation regarding this fanfic. Your support means a lot to me, and I hope you continue to engage with the story in the same enthusiastic way.

I spent several days pondering Xue Yang’s age at various pivotal moments in his life—when he was injured, when he started working for the Jin clan, when he began practicing demonic/ghost cultivation, the incident with XXC, and ultimately, when he met his demise. Despite my research, including reading the novel and searching online, I found little clarity. One thing stood out: he was very young when he massacred the sect and likely still a teenager when he worked for the Jins. After some deliberation, I decided to portray him as six years old when he first encounters Wei Wuxian. And yes, at this point in the story, he hasn’t lost his finger yet ;)

As for the estimated chapter count, it seems it might increase, so I’ve chosen not to worry too much about it.
I truly appreciate all your comments and kudos—they inspire me to keep writing.

Now, who do you think WWX will meet next? Keep your theories coming, and please share your thoughts on this chapter in the comments.

Thanks again for your support, and stay tuned for more updates!

The boy, panting heavily, struggles to his feet and, turning to face Wei Ying, bows deeply. The sight before him leaves Wei Ying utterly stunned—it’s Wen Ning. Memories flood his mind, but he restrains himself from showing the deep emotions welling up inside.

The boy stammers, “Gongzi, th-thank you for saving me.” His voice is soft, and his eyes are wide with awe and gratitude.

Wei Ying quickly regains his composure, offering a gentle smile. “No need for thanks. Are you hurt? Any injuries?”

“I’m alright,” Wen Ning replies hesitantly, though his slight limp betrays his words.

“What were you doing out here all alone?” Wei Ying asks, his curiosity piqued.

“I... I was practicing archery,” Wen Ning admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

Wei Ying’s eyes soften. “Are you sure you’re alright? It looks like you hurt your leg. Let me carry you to the nearest inn so you can rest and get treated.”

Wen Ning blushes deeply at the offer, shaking his head embarrassed “No need, Gongzi, I can manage.”

But Wei Ying isn’t convinced. “Ayya, look at you! You’re limping. You definitely need to treat that wound. Wait here for a moment.”

Leaving Wen Ning behind for a brief moment, Wei Ying hurries back to where he left Xue Yang, who is patiently sitting on the tree branch. “You alright?” Wei Ying asks, and the boy nods silently. He lifts Xue Yang and places him down and asks Xue Yang to follow him.

Satisfied that Xue Yang is unharmed, Wei Ying puts his bamboo hat and dark veil back on and returns to Wen Ning. Despite Wen Ning’s protests, Wei Ying lifts him onto his back and carries him to the nearest inn. Once inside, Wei Ying tends to Wen Ning’s leg, carefully treating the wound and wrapping it with a clean bandage.

“What’s your name?” Wei Ying finally asks, pretending as though he doesn’t already know.

The boy bows again, more formally this time. “This one is Wen Ning, courtesy name Qionglin.”

Wei Ying introduces himself and Xue Yang, explaining briefly how they met. Wen Ning listens attentively, though his gaze is often cast downward in shy deference. Wei Ying treats his wound with a salve he carries. After some time, Wen Ning glances at the window and rises to leave.

“I should return soon. My sister will be worried,” Wen Ning says softly.

Wei Ying, sensing the boy’s urgency, nods. “Alright, but can I ask you for a favour?”

Wen Ning nods immediately, without hesitation. Wei Ying smiles at his innocence.

“I would like to meet your sister, Wen Qing. Don’t worry—I mean no harm. I just need to speak with her about something important regarding your uncle. I know what he’s up to,” Wei Ying says, his tone serious but kind. “If you’re still unsure, you can choose the meeting place, or I can stay here and wait for her. I promise I’ll keep my sword away the entire time.”

Wen Ning is clearly taken aback by the request. His eyes widen slightly, but after a moment’s consideration, he nods. “I’ll bring her here. Before the day ends.”

Wei Ying smiles, grateful for the boy’s trust. “Thank you, Wen Ning. I’ll wait here.”

With another deep bow, Wen Ning thanks Wei Ying before disappearing into the trees. Wei Ying watches him go, a sense of nostalgia stirring in his chest. After a moment, he returns to the room where Xue Yang is waiting for him.

"Gege, what was that in the forest?" Xue Yang asks, his eyes wide with curiosity.

Wei Ying smiles at the boy's inquisitiveness and explains, "That was a fierce corpse. They’re dangerous creatures, raised from the dead, often by dark arts or due to their resentment. But don’t worry, they’re not impossible to deal with."

Xue Yang’s face lights up with excitement. "Can I slice them up like you did? Will you teach me how?"

With a fond chuckle, Wei Ying ruffles Xue Yang’s messy hair. "You’re quite the curious one, aren’t you? Don’t worry, I’ll teach you. But first, let’s go get some lunch."

The two of them head downstairs and enjoy a hearty meal. Afterward, they decide to rest for the day. Wei Ying spends the afternoon teaching Xue Yang how to read and write a few simple characters. The boy is a fast learner, eagerly absorbing every lesson. By the time evening rolls around, Xue Yang has made significant progress, and Wei Ying rewards him with some fruit before tucking him into bed.

Just as the room grows quiet, a soft knock echoes from the door. Wei Ying quickly rises and opens it, revealing Wen Ning standing beside a woman wearing a veiled hat, her face obscured. Wei Ying beams at the sight of them and gestures for them to come inside.

After they enter, he discreetly places silencing talismans around the walls and windows for privacy, then motions for them to sit in front of a small desk. Wen Ning’s sister, Wen Qing, stands rigid, her posture tense and eyes filled with suspicion.

As soon as she sits, she fires off a barrage of questions. "What did you do to my brother? Why has he brought me here? What do you want? Who are you?"

Her voice is sharp, laced with anger and protectiveness. Wei Ying remains calm, his expression unbothered by her tone. He understands her concern, knowing the precarious position her family is in.

He raises a hand gently, hoping to ease her tension. "I understand why you’re upset, but I assure you, I mean no harm to your brother or your family. I asked Wen Ning to bring you here because there’s something important we need to discuss."

Wen Qing narrows her eyes, clearly not convinced yet, but she allows him to continue.
Wei Ying lifted both hands in a placating gesture, his voice calm. "I mean no harm. I haven’t done anything to your brother. Please, calm down, alright?"

Wen Qing continued to stare at him, suspicion lingering in her eyes.

"I was near the forest when I saw a fierce corpse attacking your brother. I stepped in and saved him. That’s the whole story. I promise you, I have no ill intentions," he added with a sheepish grin.

After a tense silence, Wen Qing finally spoke, though her tone remained guarded. "What is it you want, then?"

Wei Ying took a breath, relieved she was at least willing to listen. "My purpose for coming to Qishan was to meet you, Wen Gunian. By pure chance, I crossed paths with your brother, and now we’re here. I know you're part of the Dafan Wen branch, renowned for your skills in medicine. You have no interest in the Wen sect’s power struggle, but I also know what your uncle, Wen Ruohan, is planning. He’s preparing for war against the entire cultivation world, and if he goes through with it, tens of thousands will die. Even if he loses, do you think the other sects will spare you or your family? They won't. Anyone with the Wen name will be hunted down. I want to save you from that fate."

Both Wen Qing and Wen Ning looked stunned, unable to process how this stranger knew so much about their situation.

"Why would you want to save us? And how do you think you can protect us?" Wen Qing asked, her voice hardening again.

"As I said, I know what Wen Ruohan is planning. He relies heavily on the Dafan Wen clan for income. Your medical knowledge, your inventions—those are the backbone of his financial power. If you defect, it’ll be like cutting off one of his arms. It’ll slow down his war preparations."

Wen Qing narrowed her eyes, her skepticism clear. "You think it’s that simple? Just defect and walk away?"

Wei Ying shakes his head. "I know it’s not easy. I’m not asking you to openly defect. I’m offering to take you and your people to Yiling, where you’ll be under my protection. You’ll have the freedom to continue your work, without being forced to serve Wen Ruohan’s ambitions."

Wen Qing scoffed, her voice rising in frustration. "And you think you can protect us from Wen Ruohan? How could you possibly keep us safe without alerting him to where we’ve gone?"

Wei Ying sighed. "I know it sounds impossible. But I have a way. I can teleport you to my estate in Yiling without anyone knowing. It’s hidden, warded, and far from Wen Ruohan’s reach. You’ll be safe there."

Both siblings stared at him, their shock and uncertainty evident.

"I’ll come back no matter what," Wei Ying continued, his voice steady. "Wen Ning can stay here with the boy as a guarantee. You can see my estate for yourself, and if you don’t feel safe, I’ll bring you right back."

Wen Qing glanced at her brother, silently asking for his input. Wen Ning, ever trusting, gave a small nod.

"How long will it take?" Wen Qing asked cautiously.

"Half an hour, no more," Wei Ying assured her.

"Alright," she said, still wary but willing to take the chance.

Wei Ying smiled and pulled out a teleportation talisman. In a flash, he activated it, and within seconds, they were standing in the heart of Wei Ying’s estate in the Burial Mounds.

Wen Qing gasped, spinning around to take in the vast, eerie landscape. What is this place? You brought me here?"

"Yes," Wei Ying confirmed. "This was burial mounds; I cleansed the area a few weeks ago. It’s safe now, and no one would ever think to look for you here. The wards are strong, and I have my own forces guarding the area. You’ll have no worries about your safety."

"You cleansed the burial mounds?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, still in disbelief.

Wei Ying nodded. "It’s true. This place is under my control now. Wen Ruohan won’t suspect a thing. There’s plenty of space here. You could set up infirmaries, farms—whatever you need to continue your work."

Wen Qing remained silent, overwhelmed by the sheer impossibility of what she was seeing. How could such a young man achieve so much? And how had he become so powerful?

Before she could ask more questions, Wei Ying activated the talisman again, and they were back at the inn in a blink. Wen Qing, still reeling from the experience, sat down, her mind racing.

"Which sect do you belong to?" she asked, her voice finally steadying. "What if your sect has a problem with this?"

Wei Ying smiled softly. "I belong to no sect. I’ve claimed Yiling as my own. Even if other sects come to my gates with armies, I’ll be able to defend it. I’m a disciple of Baoshan Sanren."

At the mention of the immortal’s name, both Wen Qing and Wen Ning exchanged looks of shock. The day's events were proving more unbelievable than they had imagined.

Wei Ying handed Wen Qing a small jade seal. "This is a communication seal I created. If you decide to bring your people here, just send me a message. I’ll send my generals to teleport everyone safely. Don’t worry about the numbers. They can handle at least fifty people each. Just give me a count so I can prepare accommodations."

Wen Qing stared at the seal in her hand, her thoughts racing. "What do you want in return?" she asked after a long pause.

"Ayya, I’ve already told you, I just want to stop Wen Ruohan and save lives. I have no ill intentions toward you or your family. You’ll have your freedom. I won’t force you into anything—not now, not ever."

She looked at him for a long moment, weighing her options, before finally nodding. "Alright. I’ll let you know."

Wei Ying stood as Wen Qing rose from her seat, ready to leave. Just before she reached the door, she paused. "Wen Ruohan is searching for something in the east. There’s word of a beast near Gusu. I don’t know what he’s planning, but be careful."

With that, she and Wen Ning left the inn. As the door closed behind them, Wei Ying sighed heavily. "Gusu..." he murmured to himself, his mind already turning to the next challenge ahead.

.

 

The next morning, Wei Ying gathered his belongings and, with Xue Yang in tow, teleported them both to the border of Yiling. The sudden shift left the boy wide-eyed in shock, his mouth agape as he tried to process what had just happened.

“How did we get here?” Xue Yang asked, his voice filled with awe and disbelief.

Wei Ying chuckled, ruffling the boy’s hair affectionately. “This is one of my talismans,” he explained with a playful smile. “It allows me to teleport.”

Xue Yang’s face lit up with excitement. “Can you teach me?” he asked eagerly, his eyes shining with hope.

Wei Ying raised an amused brow. “You want to learn everything I do, don’t you?” He laughed, clearly entertained by the boy’s enthusiasm.

Xue Yang nodded with a serious expression, determination written all over his young face. Wei Ying couldn’t help but laugh again.

“Alright, I’ll teach you,” he said, kneeling down to look Xue Yang in the eyes. “But first, you need to become strong and develop a golden core. Only then will you be able to learn these techniques.”

“I will! I’ll become strong, and I’ll learn,” Xue Yang promised with all the confidence a child could muster.

Wei Ying stood up and smiled. “Good. Now, let’s head in, alright?” He took the boy’s hand, leading him toward the gates of Yiling.

As they entered the village, the atmosphere changed instantly. The villagers spotted Wei Ying and rushed over, their faces lighting up with excitement. Some greeted him with deep bows, while others called out warmly. Xue Yang, overwhelmed by the sudden attention, glanced around in wide-eyed amazement.

“Gege, everyone knows you!” Xue Yang whispered in awe, as more people waved and greeted Wei Ying.

Wei Ying just smiled as they made their way through the village and soon arrived at the Wei Mansion. Chunwen, ever diligent, came running out the moment he saw Wei Ying approaching. He bowed deeply in greeting, but his eyes quickly fell on Xue Yang, curiosity and confusion written across his face.

“This is Xue Yang,” Wei Ying explained, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “We met on the road, and he’ll be staying with us.”

Chunwen’s brow furrowed as he processed the news but didn’t question it. “Laozu, the dormitory is ready. It has twenty beds now, and we’ve taken in eleven children from around Yiling who were homeless. You can come and see for yourself.”

“Good work, Chunwen,” Wei Ying replied. “Let’s take a look.”

The group walked inside the Wei Mansion, and Chunwen began explaining the new arrangements. The first two rooms were still occupied by Chunwen for official use, and three of the rooms on the first floor were now reserved for Wei Ying, Chunwen, and Chun Hua. The rest of the space had been transformed into a large dormitory for the children. The main hall, once quiet and empty, was now filled with small beds and the sound of laughter and chatter.

Chunwen introduced each of the children to Wei Ying, who made a point of asking each one their name and age. When he reached Xue Yang, he kneeled down, speaking softly. “You’ll be staying here, alright? We’ll be teaching you to read and write. If you have any problems or need anything, just let me know.”

Xue Yang hesitated, his small face tight with worry. “Gege,” he murmured, glancing around at the other children. “Will you stay with me?”

Before Wei Ying could respond, Chunwen kneeled beside Xue Yang, taking his hand. “Your gege is the leader of Yiling. He has many responsibilities, but don’t worry. We’ll all be here to take care of you. We’ve hired a teacher, and classes have already begun. You can attend starting tomorrow. And don’t worry,” Chunwen added with a kind smile, “no one will hurt you here. You’re safe.”

Wei Ying smiled gently at Xue Yang. “I’ll be here in Yiling. Even if I’m not around all the time, Chunwen Gege, Chun Hua Jie, and Popo will be here to take care of you and the others. And if you learn well and behave, I’ll teach you my sword style personally. How does that sound?”

Xue Yang’s eyes widened, and tears welled up as he hugged Wei Ying tightly. After a moment, he pulled back, his cheeks flushed, and asked shyly, “Promise?”

Wei Ying chuckled and nodded. “I promise. Then you can protect your poor Wei gege.”

“I will!” Xue Yang declared proudly. “I’ll become strong and protect Wei Gege!”

“That’s the spirit,” Wei Ying said, ruffling the boy’s hair one last time before standing up.

Turning to Chunwen, he asked, “Is the estate ready?”

“Yes, Laozu. We’ve finished everything. We can move in now and free up more space here for the children.”

“Good,” Wei Ying replied. “Let’s move in today.”

As they began planning the move, Wei Ying had one more thought. “By the way, can we hold classes here? If there’s not enough space, we can build something in the mounds.”

Chunwen nodded. “It’s enough for now. Chun Hua is teaching the children to read and write, but we’ll need to hire a few more teachers soon.”

“Alright. Let’s get everything going then.”

By the afternoon, they had shifted their belongings and paperwork to the new estate. After settling in, Wei Ying made his way to Chunwen’s office to check on any pending work. As soon as he entered, Chunwen stood and greeted him respectfully.

Everything was falling into place. The children were safe, the village was thriving, and Wei Ying could finally focus on the larger challenges ahead.
Wei Ying carefully placed a few silencing talismans around the room, ensuring their conversation would remain private. "Chunwen, you know I trust you, right?" He asked, his voice low but steady.

Chunwen nodded, though confusion was evident on his face. "Of course, Laozu. I would never betray your trust."

A small smile crept onto Wei Ying’s lips. "I didn’t expect to find such a reliable deputy when I first came to Yiling. Thank you, Chunwen," he said, his tone warm with appreciation. "I have something very important to discuss with you."

Chunwen straightened his back, his full attention now on Wei Ying. The shift in Wei Ying’s tone made it clear that what was about to be said carried great weight.

"What do you think about my generals, the marshals, and the villagers?" Wei Ying asked, his eyes studying Chunwen closely.

Chunwen blinked, still unsure where the conversation was heading. "The villagers are calm and efficient," he began, carefully choosing his words. "They don’t disturb anyone in Yiling, and your marshals and generals are loyal and composed. They serve you well."

Wei Ying nodded. “What if I told you they’re long dead?”

The room fell into a heavy silence as Chunwen stared at him in disbelief, his mouth falling open. "Dead?" he gasped.

Wei Ying’s expression remained calm as he continued. "When I rested thousands of souls in the burial mounds, these fifty remained. They chose to serve me rather than find peace. They’re not harmful; they won’t hurt anyone. I’ve restored their conscience and made them almost human with talismans and arrays. They are loyal to me, just like any living soldier would be. But, Chunwen, I need you to promise me something."

Chunwen’s shock softened into an expression of resolve. "Anything, Laozu."

"Do not treat them differently because of this information. I trust you with this secret. No one else can know about their true nature," Wei Ying said, his voice firm but imploring.

Chunwen let out a deep sigh, his respect for Wei Ying only deepening. "You saved my sister and me, and you’ve saved all of Yiling. I trust your judgment, Laozu. If you say they are loyal, I will treat them no differently. I will keep your secret."

Wei Ying nodded in gratitude. "Thank you, Chunwen. Now, on to more pressing matters. Wen Rouhan is planning something big. He wants to annihilate the sects."

Chunwen’s eyes widened. "Wen Rouhan? But he’s incredibly powerful. What can we do?"

"I have a plan," Wei Ying said, pacing slightly as he explained. "There’s a branch of the Wen clan called the Dafan Wens. They’re healers—medics, elderly, children. They have no connection to Wen Rouhan’s schemes. If we can extract them and bring them to Yiling, it will severely weaken Wen Rouhan’s control over the medical branch. He’ll lose both income and face."

"But won’t that provoke him?" Chunwen asked, concern creeping into his voice.

"Yes," Wei Ying admitted. "But I’ll teleport them here. Wen Rouhan won’t even know where they’ve gone until we choose to reveal it. My six generals and marshals can handle his forces if he sends them. Our barrier around Yiling is strong, and I’ll strengthen it further. His army won’t be able to penetrate it. Our soldiers—well, they cannot die. He will never know what he’s truly up against."

Chunwen took a moment to absorb Wei Ying’s words. "And you’re certain we can win if it comes to a fight?"

"I’ve spoken with Wen Qing, Wen Rouhan’s niece. She’s part of the Dafan Wens, and she’s willing to help. When she’s ready, I’ll send my generals to teleport their people to the burial mounds. We need to plan how to accommodate them, but yes, I’m certain. We have the advantage," Wei Ying assured him.

Chunwen nodded but remained thoughtful. "After we bring the Dafan Wens here, how will we keep track of what Wen Rouhan is planning?"

Wei Ying’s eyes gleamed slightly, as if he had anticipated the question. "The villagers you’ve seen will soon be deployed as spies. They can shift forms and have talismans that grant invisibility and teleportation. Some will infiltrate Wen Rouhan’s palace, while others will spread out to key locations like Qishan and Lanling. I’m suspicious that the Jin clan is financially supporting the Wens. We’ll know soon enough. The spies will keep in contact with both of us, so we’ll have time to prepare for anything."

Chunwen felt the weight of the situation but remained steadfast. "If Wen Rouhan truly goes through with this war, it will lead to massive death and destruction. Thousands of innocent people will suffer," he said quietly.

Wei Ying’s expression turned grim. "That’s exactly why we must stop him. One man’s greed for power shouldn’t destroy so many lives."

Chunwen bowed his head, admiration in his voice. "I’m honored to serve you, Laozu. Your wisdom and power, especially at such a young age, always amaze me. I’ll do everything in my power to assist you."

Wei Ying gave a nod of acknowledgment before continuing. "We need to be strategic. Wen Rouhan’s strength lies in his resources. If the Jins are backing him, we need to find a way to cut that support. We may also need allies, but we can’t count on the Jiangs, the Jins, or even the Wens. Gusu might be uncertain, but the Nies are a more promising option right now."

Wei Ying’s gaze grew distant for a moment before he added, "Speaking of Wen Rouhan, he’s after something—some kind of monster or beast, last sighted near Gusu. I’ll be heading there tomorrow to investigate."

Chunwen’s eyes widened with worry. "Laozu! You can’t take one risk after another like this. What if it’s dangerous? We don’t even know what Wen Rouhan is after."

Wei Ying smiled slightly, appreciating Chunwen’s concern. "I’ll speak with the first general before I go. If it’s dangerous, I’ll call for backup immediately. My generals know teleportation and will be able to reach me within seconds. They always know where I am."

"How long will you be gone this time?" Chunwen asked.

"It depends. If things go smoothly, I’ll head to Qinghe afterward. If not, I may have to make another trip," Wei Ying replied.

"And if the Jiangs or the Wens come here while you’re gone?" Chunwen asked, his voice laced with concern.

"Notify me immediately. I’ll return in no time. You have the communication seal, right?"

Chunwen nodded. "Yes, Laozu. I’ll contact you if there’s any trouble."

Wei Ying handed Chunwen a small box. "This is warded. The messages from the ghost spies will be sent here. No one but you can open it. Just place a drop of your blood on the seal, and it will recognize you. The seal will vibrate whenever there’s a message."

Chunwen followed Wei Ying’s instructions, placing the box and the seal carefully inside his sleeve.

"See if we can find any rogue cultivators or masters to teach the children. They should be given the best chance to grow up well," Wei Ying added.

Chunwen nodded. "I’ll make it a priority."

"I also developed a prototype for a new compass. It detects the direction and intensity of resentment carried by creatures, which will be helpful for night hunts. I’ve given the marshals the design for production. If it works, we can start taking orders for it," Wei Ying said.

Chunwen raised an eyebrow. "That’s quite an invention'', he says.
“As for Nie er Gonzi, I’ve heard he’s fond of fans and art. Should I ask Chun Hua to paint something on a fan?’’ Wei Ying asked Chunwen
“She has a collection of painted fans'', Chunwen says

Wei Ying grinned. "Yes, but not a regular fan. I’ve already made a war fan that looks like a normal one. It works well. I’d paint it myself, but I don’t have the time or patience. Chun Hua can handle it."

"When do you need it, Laozu?" Chunwen asked.

"Perhaps in a week. I’m thinking of inviting Nie er Gonzi to Yiling and gifting him the fan. I’ll talk to Chun Hua about the design."

"Understood, Laozu," Chunwen responded.

"Also, prepare materials for the construction we’ll need if the Dafan Wens come. We’ll build near the entrance to the mounds so they have easy access to the city."

"I’ll handle it, Laozu," Chunwen promised.

Wei Ying stood, ready to leave. "I’ll be departing early tomorrow. Let me know if anything needs my immediate attention. The safety of Yiling comes first."

"Yes, Laozu," Chunwen replied with a deep bow.

Wei Ying left Chunwen and made his way to the spirit village to meet with his masked generals. They greeted him with deep bows as he entered.

"I’m leaving for Gusu tomorrow," Wei Ying began. "Wen Rouhan is after a beast, last sighted near there. If it turns out to be dangerous, I’ll send a message. I don’t expect all of you to be needed, but be prepared. We may also hear from the Dafan Wens soon. If we do, I’ll send word for the teleportation.’’
"Understood, Laozu," the masked generals responded in unison.

"We may need to construct accommodations for the Dafan Wens," Wei Ying continued. "I've already informed Chunwen, and you can coordinate with him on the details. If any issues arise, report them directly to me."

"Yes, Laozu," the generals affirmed.

He nods thoughtfully before heading to his workshop, where a pile of unfinished talismans awaits his attention. As he sits down, he scratches his head in search of inspiration for new designs. However, frustration quickly creeps in as the ideas remain elusive. Realizing he needs a break, he decides to practice his sword forms instead.

Stepping outside, he immerses himself in an hour of rigorous training, the sharp movements of his sword a welcome distraction. Afterward, he enjoys a well-deserved lunch before meeting with his ghost spies. They greet him with deep bows, and he reminds them to prioritize their safety. He instructs them to maintain communication and return immediately if they sense any danger. With a final wave, he bids them goodbye and makes his way back to his estate.

Upon his return, he finds Chun Hua waiting for him. He hands her a beautifully crafted fan and explains the details of the painting he’d like her to work on. They discuss the plans for the orphan dormitory and the improvements in fabric production, a topic that always excites him. Feeling satisfied with their progress, he retreats to his room and soon drifts off to sleep.

.

 

The next morning, he heads to the arsenal to collect his compass from the marshals. After a quick visit, he returns home to pack his Qiankun bag. He dresses in dark grey robes and dons a veiled bamboo hat, tucking his Chenqing securely. With everything in place, he departs for Gusu on his sword.

The journey is smooth; his sword glides effortlessly through the air, and with his advanced cultivation, he feels no fatigue. He soon arrives in Caiyi Town, where he decides to indulge in a refreshing drink of Emperor’s Smile, savoring the moment as he prepares for the tasks ahead.

As Wei Ying steps into Caiyi Town, he is struck by an overwhelming sense of familiarity. It’s as if he has walked these streets before, though he can’t quite place when or how. Memories of Gusu resurface from the depths of his mind, fleeting glimpses that irritate him with their elusiveness. Despite the years that have passed since he traveled back in time, a persistent black spot in his memory remains, gnawing at him. The bustling streets of Caiyi Town evoke sensations he feels he should understand, but they slip through his fingers like sand. He worries that if a significant memory regarding Gusu resurfaces, it might overshadow everything he has worked toward so far.

With a deep sigh, he pushes aside these troubling thoughts and enters a nearby restaurant, hoping to find some comfort in food. He orders his favorite dish: spicy noodles, and alongside that, he requests three jars of Emperor's Smile, a drink he’s grown to cherish. As he digs into his meal, the rich flavors of the noodles dance across his palate, and he sips the wine, feeling an instant connection to it. It’s an odd sensation, as if this has always been his favorite drink, perhaps even in a past life.

Trying to recall anything significant about Gusu, he sits in contemplation, but each attempt only leads to frustration. He recalls his master’s reassuring words: that things would unfold in their own time, and he shouldn’t pressure himself to remember everything at once. With another heavy sigh, he resolves to let go of his anxieties. He finishes his meal and the remaining wine, pays his bill, and steps back out into the vibrant streets, determined to embrace whatever may come.

Wei Ying carefully takes out his compass, feeling a surge of determination as he sets his sights on the forests of Gusu. With his sword and dizi secured at his side, he ventures into the dense woods, the air thick with the scent of pine and earth. After an hour of navigating through the underbrush, the compass needle finally steadies, pointing him in a clear direction. Without hesitation, he hops onto his sword and takes off, propelled by urgency.

As he speeds through the trees, the compass begins to tremble, indicating that the beast he seeks is nearby—and more powerful than he anticipated. Quickly, he retrieves some talismans from his pouch, feeling the weight of the moment settle on his shoulders. Straining to listen over the rustling leaves, he hears the distant sounds of chaos, drawing him closer to the source. With a swift motion, he dismounts from his sword and adjusts his veiled hat, then dashes toward the commotion.

Bursting into a clearing, he witnesses a massive wolf attacking several Lan cultivators. Realization dawns: this is the creature the Wens had been pursuing. Without a moment’s hesitation, he steps forward, pulling the three injured Lan cultivators behind him for protection. He quickly throws a couple of talismans at the wolf, momentarily stunning it.

Four Lan disciples attend to another Lan disciple struggling to play a Guqin, blood trickling from his legs as he attempts to soothe the beast with music. The wolf, however, seems impervious to the calming notes, its rage unabated.

“Run!” he shouts, glancing back to ensure they’re escaping.

With urgency, Wei Ying commands the three cultivators to flee once more before turning his full attention back to the wolf. Drawing his Chenqing, he plays a fierce melody, the sound piercing through the air. The wolf howls in agony, the cacophony causing pain to all within earshot. Seizing the moment, he unsheathes his Suibian and, with a swift and clean strike, decapitates the beast.

As the wolf’s head falls, he stumbles backward, landing on the forest floor, breathless from the exertion. In the rush, he hastily adjusts his veiled hat, inadvertently dislodging his ribbon, which flutters to the ground unnoticed. The forest, once filled with chaos, falls eerily silent, leaving Wei Ying in a moment of reflection, the weight of his actions settling in as he regains his composure.

The compass’s arrow begins to point in the same direction, indicating the presence of two more wolf beasts nearby. Frustration bubbles up within Wei Ying as he mentally curses the situation. Just as he resolves to pursue the new threat, a message from Chunwen interrupts his thoughts.

“Jiangs are here. Madam Yu and several Jiang cultivators, demanding to meet you immediately. We are trying to hold them outside the gates,” the message reads.

“Damn it!” he exclaims, turning back to see a few Lan cultivators still lingering behind him—some staring at him in shock, while others tend to the wounded. With a heavy sigh, he quickly sends a message to his first general, instructing him to come alone and arrive without delay.

Moments later, his first general appears, bowing respectfully. “First General, I’ve slain the wolf, but there are two more approaching from that direction. I need you to eliminate them and ensure these cultivators are sent back to the Lan sect. Then, return to me immediately,” Wei Ying commands, his tone leaving no room for hesitation. With a swift nod, the general agrees, and Wei Ying teleports himself to Yiling for the challenges ahead.

The first general bows respectfully before heading in the direction Wei Ying indicated. The remaining Lan cultivators, still processing the chaos, rush after him, while the wounded one limps slowly toward them, determination etched on his face. As he moves, he spots a red ribbon caught among the fallen leaves of the forest and picks it up, feeling a strange sense of familiarity.

Chapter 5

Notes:

Hello, dear readers!

Welcome back!

Thank you all so much for the kudos and appreciation for the previous chapter. I absolutely loved reading your comments—they make writing this story even more rewarding, so please keep them coming!

I’ve been eagerly waiting to introduce our beloved boy in white robes, and I’m thrilled that he finally makes his entrance in this chapter. Writing this part was such a delight, and I hope you enjoy reading it just as much.

As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts and theories in the comments. Let me know how you found this chapter!

Thanks for reading, and stay tuned for more!

***************

The first general bows respectfully before heading in the direction Wei Ying indicated. The remaining Lan cultivators, still processing the chaos, rush after him, while the wounded one limps slowly toward them, determination etched on his face. As he moves, he spots a red ribbon caught among the fallen leaves of the forest and picks it up, feeling a strange sense of familiarity.

Within moments, the general returns, carrying the severed heads of the wolves as proof of his swift victory. “They have been killed; there are no more threats here. You are safe now,” he declares, his voice steady and authoritative.

“Form up,” he instructs, his gaze falling on the injured cultivators. “You need medical attention.”

Confusion and shock dance across their faces, but they comply without question. Soon, they find themselves at the gates of Cloud Recess, still reeling from the events that transpired. The power exhibited by the first general leaves them in awe. They wonder about his identity, the man who had previously intervened, how he communicated with this general, and why they were in Gusu at all. Yet, their myriad questions remain unanswered.

The wounded cultivator bows deeply to the first general, gratitude shining in his eyes despite the pain he endures.

As they arrive at the gates, Lan Xichen strides forward with purpose, his expression shifting from shock to concern as he surveys the injured cultivators. One of the wounded speaks up, bowing respectfully, “They saved us and killed the beasts.”

Lan Xichen’s surprise is palpable, but he quickly regains his composure, a smile breaking across his face. “Thank you for saving our sect's disciples. Please come inside so we can properly express our gratitude for your bravery and for ensuring their safe return.” He bows deeply, genuine appreciation in his demeanour.

The general, however, shakes his head gently. “I need to go back; your gratitude is appreciated, but my duties call.” With that, he bows once more, and in an instant, he vanishes, leaving the Lan cultivators in a mix of awe and shock.

Lan Xichen stares at the group with wide eyes, his surprise evident. The rest of the cultivators mirror his shock as they process the recent events. Without wasting any time, he ushers them into Cloud Recess and calls for an emergency meeting with the elders.

As they make their way, the wounded young cultivators are taken to the infirmary. Most of them have only minor scratches, treated quickly with soothing salve. However, one cultivator suffers a severe injury: a deep bite mark on his calf and ankle, blood soaking through his pristine white trousers and staining them a vivid scarlet. The physician works diligently, cleaning the wound before wrapping it carefully with a bandage.

Soon, they arrive at the Hanshi, where Lan Qiren, Lan Xichen, Lan Wangji, and seven other cultivators who participated in the night hunt gather to discuss the situation, their expressions serious as they assess the gravity of the recent attacks.
“Wangji, what happened? How did you get wounded?” Lan Qiren enquires, concern etched on his face.

“Shufu,” Lan Wangji responds, bowing his head slightly in respect. “The beast we encountered was a high-level wolf beast. We attempted to subdue it using the various tunes we had been taught, but the wolf showed no signs of stopping. It attacked us, and I ended up getting wounded,” he explains, his voice low and filled with regret.

“Who saved you? How did they manage to kill it?” Lan Qiren presses, his curiosity piqued.

“We don’t know who it was,” Wangji replies. “But he threw some talismans at the beast, played a melody on his dizi, and then landed a decisive blow right on its head, slicing it clean off.”

Both Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen gasp in disbelief. “A single person killed the beast?” Lan Xichen asks incredulously.

Wangji nods in affirmation. “Hmm.”

“Was he the one who sent you back? How did he manage to send you all back at once?” Lan Xichen continues, his mind racing.

“No, the one who saved us sent a message to another person who actually sent us back. He warned that there were two more beasts and indicated their direction. The second man appeared almost immediately after the message was relayed. He ordered the elimination of the remaining beasts and instructed us to return to Cloud Recess before disappearing. The one who sent us back used teleportation to arrive at the gates,” Wangji explains, almost breathless.

Both Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen are stunned, their expressions frozen in shock. “He teleported eight of the cultivators?” Lan Qiren asks, struggling to comprehend the implications.

“Hmm,” Wangji nods, his gaze steady.

“Only a highly powerful cultivator can teleport themselves, and doing so would typically result in significant energy loss. How could he possibly teleport eight others at once?” Lan Xichen gasps, his mind racing with the possibilities. The gravity of the situation sinks in, and they are left grappling with the reality of the formidable presence that had intervened in their plight.
“Did you see anything else? Why did the one who saved you disappear?” Lan Qiren asks, fixing his gaze on the seven young cultivators. “How old was he?” he adds, his curiosity evident.

One of the cultivators, who stood right behind Wei Ying when he killed the wolf, steps forward and bows. “He looked young, younger than Lan Er Gongzi,” he replies. Both Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen exchange shocked glances, then turn to Wangji for confirmation. He nods, prompting them to gasp in disbelief at the revelation. Lan Qiren clears his throat, urging the disciple to continue.

The young cultivator gathers his thoughts. “He had something in his hand that he called a compass. After he killed the beast, he fell, then quickly got up to retrieve it. He shouted at us to run, warning that two more beasts were approaching. He seemed ready to charge in that direction, but then he received a message or something that we couldn't hear. He cursed loudly and sent out another message, and within a minute, the masked man appeared. He instructed the man to kill the two remaining beasts, send us back to Cloud Recess, and return immediately.”

“A compass that shows beasts?” Lan Xichen almost shouts, his voice laced with confusion. “What on earth is happening?” The implications of their encounter weigh heavily on them, leaving a sense of unease in the air.
“Just how strong must their cultivation be, and how advanced are their techniques to teleport themselves, send messages instantly, and use something to track and locate spirits and beasts?” Lan Xichen reflects, a look of concern crossing his face.

“How did they look?” Lan Qiren prompts, eager for more details.

“The man who saved us wore dark grey robes and a dark veiled bamboo hat, so we couldn’t see his face clearly,” the young cultivator explains. “The other man was very tall and well-built.”

“I saw him at the gates,” Lan Xichen adds. “He wore a black mask and black armour.”

“Do you think we should raise our defenses?" Lan Qiren asks, glancing at Wangji and Xichen.

“No need. They had no intentions to harm us,” Wangji replies confidently.

“Yes, Wangji is right. They saved the disciples and sent them back safe and sound. Whoever they are, we should thank them,” Xichen agrees, his expression softening.

“Hmm,” Wangji hums in agreement, his gaze thoughtful.

“Are you sure the other beasts are dead?” Lan Qiren enquires, seeking reassurance from the young cultivators.

“Yes, he brought back two heads with him,” the young disciple affirms.

“Alright, let’s see if anyone comes forward claiming they helped us. You can go back now,” Lan Qiren decides, dismissing them.

The disciples, along with Lan Wangji, bow respectfully to both Xichen and Qiren before exiting the meeting room, their minds still buzzing with questions and gratitude. As the door closed behind them, both Xichen and Qiren let out heavy sighs, feeling the weight of the situation settle over them. After exchanging a few words, they take their leave, leaving the atmosphere thick with uncertainty.

Lan Wangji makes his way to Jingshi, his pace slow and measured. He limps into the room, closing the door softly behind him, and lets out a sigh of relief as he finally finds solitude. He reaches into his sleeve and pulls out the red ribbon he had found in the forest, holding it delicately between his fingers. Strange dreams have haunted him—dreams of a boy wearing a red ribbon, teasing him playfully. Some nights, the dreams shift into darker realms, revealing the boy's tragic death, where he is mourning the loss of the boy.

He has never shared these dreams with anyone, a secret burden he carries alone. The boy's face fluctuates between clarity and obscurity in his dreams, yet it is always the same face. Wangji recalls the moment he caught a glimpse of the boy with the veiled hat; he remembers the half-visible face that sparked an instant fascination, a desire to see more. “What is happening to me?” he wonders aloud, the memory of the boy lingering. “He seems to be the same one I’ve seen in my dreams since I was seven.”

With a deep sigh, he tucks the ribbon back into his sleeve, removes his shoes, outer robes, jade token, and forehead band, then limps to his bed. Lying down, he closes his eyes, but all he can see is the boy who saved him—so strong that Wangji felt his core burning brighter than even his own shufu's. “Who are you?” he muses, grappling with his swirling thoughts. In an effort to calm his mind, he begins to recite the Gusu rules one by one, hoping to stave off the chaotic emotions that threaten to overwhelm him. Eventually, fatigue takes over, and Lan Wangji falls into a restless sleep, the image of the boy still vivid in his mind.

.
.

Wei Ying teleports back to his estate, urgency propelling him forward as he rushes toward the gates. Upon arrival, he is met with a scene of chaos: Chunwen, Chun Hua, the Magistrate, and several of his generals are gathered a distance from the entrance, their expressions tense.

As he approaches, they all bow respectfully. “Laozu,” they greet him in unison, their voices a mix of reverence and concern.

“What is happening?” Wei Ying asks, turning to Chunwen for clarification.

“Laozu, the Jiangs are here. Madam Yu and a few cultivators are waiting for you at the gates,” Chunwen replies, his tone serious.

A wave of worry washes over Wei Ying at the mention of Madam Yu. He mentally sighs, recognising that he has no reason to endure her antics in this timeline. Steeling himself, he strides purposefully toward the other gate where the Jiangs await.

As he approaches, he can already hear Madam Yu's voice raised in anger. He exhales deeply, preparing himself for whatever confrontation lies ahead.
“Who the hell do you think you are? How did you claim Yiling for yourself? Why are your wards not letting us in?” Madam Yu shouts as soon as Wei Ying appears at the gates, his veiled hat obscuring his features.

He bows slightly in acknowledgment. “Madam Yu,” he replies, then lets out a mocking laugh. “Isn’t the purpose of wards to keep potential threats outside? It seems they are doing their job quite well.”

“How dare you!” She retorts, gripping her Zidan tightly, the tension palpable in the air.

“While the Jiangs turned a blind eye to Yiling’s problems, I have sent you letter after letter for years,” the Magistrate interjects, his voice steady. “You either ignored them or suggested we relocate. Laozu has saved us, helped us, cleansed the burial mounds, and restored peace and prosperity.”

“You fucking cleansed the burial mounds? Hmph! What so many cultivators could not achieve, you accomplished alone?” Madam Yu mocks, disbelief etched on her face.

“Yes, Laozu cleansed the mounds by himself. Clearly, the Jiangs were unable to do so,” the magistrate counters firmly, his tone unwavering.

The tension thickens as Wei Ying stands silently, the weight of their accusations and defences hanging in the air. He senses the shifting dynamics of power and the underlying animosity in their words, ready to respond.

Madam Yu boils with anger, her face flushed. “What kind of sorcerer are you? What dark arts do you practice?” she shouts, her voice echoing in the tense atmosphere.

“Madam, we are trying to maintain a civil manner here. Choose your words wisely,” Chunwen interjects, attempting to defuse the situation.

“What will you do if I don’t?” she retorts, defiantly crossing her arms.

Wei Ying decides to step in. “Madam, I have helped these people when YOU refused to lift a finger. I cleansed the burial mounds when YOU deemed it unnecessary. I assisted them with their lands when YOU told them to relocate and let them die. When YOU thought it was burdensome to claim Yiling, I did. So, YOU technically have no right to lay claim to Yiling,” he says, placing emphasis on the word “you.”

“If you still wish to converse, please send someone who can listen and speak respectfully instead of insulting and shouting,” Wei Ying asserts, standing tall and proud.

“How dare you!” Madam Yu snaps, her Zidan cracking ominously in her grip, the tension in the air thickening with every exchanged word.

Wei Ying smirks and with a slight moment of his hands, Wei Ying powerd the barrier with his Qi

Madam Yu lashes out with her Zidan toward the barrier, only to be thrown back violently. She turns a deep shade of purple, a mix of anger and embarrassment flooding her features. “I will not let this matter rest! You shall bear the consequences!” she shouts, stamping her foot in frustration before storming off. The Jiang disciples exchange uneasy glances before turning to follow her, their expressions reflecting a blend of confusion and concern.

Wei Ying lets out a tired sigh, rubbing his temples. “Why did she come here in the first place?” he asks, glancing at Chunwen for answers.

“She claimed she was out for a night hunt and noticed barriers around Yiling. She began shouting about who erected them without her permission and ordered us to lower the wards so she could enter,” Chunwen explains, shaking his head in disbelief.

“What an ill-tempered lady. I truly pity her disciples,” he adds, a hint of sympathy in his voice.

Memories of past encounters with Madam Yu flood Wei Ying's mind, and he can't help but smile at Chunwen’s comment to cover his discomfort, realising that the Jiang disciples might indeed be quite pitiful, caught in the middle of her tempestuous nature.

Wei Ying turns to see his First General standing with several other generals behind him. He approaches and bows respectfully.

“Thank you for coming, First General. Were you able to locate the beasts?” He asks, his voice steady.

The First General returns the bow. “Yes, Laozu, there were two, just as you indicated,” he replies.

“So the compass works! That’s great to hear. Did you manage to send them to Cloud Recess?” Wei Ying enquires, a hint of relief in his tone.

“Yes, Laozu. I killed both beasts and ensured the disciples were sent back safely,” the First General confirms.

“Thank you, First General,” Wei Ying says, giving him a reassuring pat on the back. He sighs and exclaims, “What a dramatic day it has been.”

Chunwen chuckles softly as they make their way back to Wei Ying’s meeting room.

“What did you find out, Laozu?” Chunwen asks, curiosity lighting his eyes.

“It seems Wen Rouhan was after high-level wolf beasts. I can only speculate about his plans for them; he is truly a wicked man. Sometimes I find it hard to comprehend his motivations. We might need someone equally devious to decipher his evil intentions—perhaps someone like Jin Guangshan,” Wei Ying chuckles, shaking his head.

Chunwen joins in the laughter, the tension of the day easing just a little.
“What do you think about Madam Yu, Laozu?” Chunwen asks, his expression wary.

“Ayya, don’t even remind me of her,” Wei Ying replies, visibly shuddering. “I get goosebumps just thinking about it. I’m certain that despite Sect Leader Jiang’s warnings, she’ll rally her cultivators to either demand we vacate or return Yiling to them.” He shakes his head in disappointment.

“Is Sect Leader Jiang also a short-tempered man?” Chunwen enquires, intrigued.

“No, he’s not exactly short-tempered, but I’ve never really understood him,” Wei Ying admits with a sigh.

Chunwen stares at him in confusion, trying to grasp the nuances of their situation. Noticing the puzzled look, Wei Ying chuckles, lightening the mood. “My father was a disciple of the Jiang sect and a close friend of Sect Leader Jiang. My mother was a disciple of my master, Baoshan Sanren. They eloped, leaving the Jiang sect behind to become rogue cultivators,” Wei Ying explains, his voice heavy with nostalgia. “Madam Yu has always disliked my mother, so things will only worsen once she learns that the one who has taken Yiling and cleansed the burial mounds is none other than Cangse Sanren and Wei Changze’s son.” He sighs deeply, the weight of his lineage pressing on him.

“From what I understand, once Sect Leader Jiang discovers my true identity, he’ll likely try to persuade me to join his sect,” he chuckles, a hint of irony in his tone.

“And make you Jiang sect leader!?” Chunwen exclaims, astonished.

“Are you mad? Madam Yu would have me killed, alongside her husband,” Wei Ying laughs, though there’s an edge of seriousness to it.

“Then why does he think you’ll agree to join his sect when you have Yiling, and all the people accept you as their leader?” Chunwen asks, genuinely perplexed.

Wei Ying chuckles again. “I’ve only speculated. We’ll see what he actually does. Madam Yu will certainly berate him and the disciples today. Perhaps tomorrow he’ll come seeking peace talks. Get ready for another boring day filled with politics.” He sighs, the burden of leadership evident in his demeanour.

Chunwen also lets out a heavy sigh, acknowledging the exhausting nature of their situation.

“Go, get some rest,” Wei Ying says kindly.

“Yes, Laozu. I’ll send dinner to your room,” Chunwen replies, bowing before leaving.

Wei Ying heads to his room, eats his dinner quietly, and then slips into a restless sleep, the day’s events swirling in his mind.
.
.
The next day, Wei Ying wakes up as usual and heads to his office. He finishes several talismans: cloth-altering, dust and dirt-repelling, and error-checking talismans. He hands them over to Chun Hua, instructing her on their use and suggesting she create a few experimental robes to test their effectiveness. Chun Hua nods in understanding and quickly leaves to begin her task.

Afterward, Wei Ying makes his way to the dormitory to check on the children. On his way, he stops to buy some sugar biscuits and candies, eager to bring a little joy to their day. As he enters the dormitory, he is greeted by the sound of excitement. Xue Yang comes running up to him, shouting, “Gege! Gege!”

Kneeling down, Wei Ying ruffles Xue Yang’s hair. “How are you doing?” he asks, a smile on his face.

“I’m doing well! I’m learning a lot so that Gege can teach me his sword form soon!” Xue Yang beams, displaying a toothy grin.

Wei Ying laughs and hands him a sugar biscuit and a candy. The boy’s eyes light up at the sight, and he grabs them eagerly. Wei Ying shares the remaining biscuits and candies with the other children in the dormitory, their faces filled with joy.

“Do you want to learn how to swim?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows in excitement.

Xue Yang and the other kids nod their heads enthusiastically, their excitement palpable as they gather around him, ready for their next adventure.

Wei Ying instructs the children to be careful, reminding them to stay together and not run around. They eagerly nod in agreement, their faces glowing with excitement. Xue Yang, ever bold, runs ahead and grabs Wei Ying's hand, grinning up at him. Wei Ying smiles warmly in return and clasps his hand as they walk toward the lake he had built.

As they make their way through the mounds, Wei Ying gives the children a brief history of the place, explaining what it once was. He leads them past his estate, showing them the receiving hall, the arsenal, the newly built silk and cotton mills, and other important structures. The children look around with wide-eyed curiosity, soaking in every detail.

Finally, they arrive at the lake. The sight is breathtaking—a vast body of crystal-clear water with fish swimming gracefully beneath the surface and birds flitting across the sky. The children gasp in awe, enchanted by the beauty. Wei Ying takes them to the shallow part of the lake, where the water is calm and safe.

"Take off your robes," he instructs. The children quickly obey, shedding their outer layers, leaving only their trousers.

Wei Ying, too, removes his outer and upper robes, leaving himself in just his trousers before jumping into the water. He demonstrates how to swim, showing them each step patiently. After watching for a while, the kids eagerly jump into the water, but their initial attempts are chaotic and uncoordinated, arms flailing and splashes everywhere.

Wei Ying sighs, amused at their efforts, and calls them back to shore. He then takes them to another part of the lake where the water is a bit deeper but still safe. Without warning, he throws them one by one into the water. Shocked at first, the kids soon find their rhythm and begin learning how to swim. As they start to master the basics, they grumble at him for being so ruthless, but Wei Ying just laughs in response.

After hours of fun and splashing, the children grow tired and climb out of the lake. They slip back into their robes while Wei Ying dries his hair and ties it into a half-ponytail. Once they're all settled, they lie down together on the grass, basking in the warmth of the sun.

"Gege, we had so much fun!" one of the children exclaims, eyes bright with joy.

"Me too," Wei Ying replies with a fond smile.

"Gege, Gege! Can you show us your sword forms?" Another child pipes up eagerly.

"You want to see them now?" Wei Ying asks, raising an eyebrow in mock surprise.

"Yes! Yes! Yes!" they all shout in unison, bouncing with excitement.

"Alright," he says with a chuckle, unsheathing his sword. He begins demonstrating his sword techniques, his movements swift and fluid. His robes swirl with each graceful turn, and his half-tied hair flutters in the breeze, making him look almost otherworldly. The children watch in awe, mesmerised by the elegance and precision of his swordplay. To them, he seems like a figure from a legend, something too ethereal to be real.

When he finishes, he bows to the children, a radiant smile lighting up his face. The kids erupt into applause, jumping with excitement. Xue Yang rushes forward and hugs him tightly.

"What’s this?" Wei Ying asks, picking him up. "What’s the matter?"

"I want to be like Gege," Xue Yang says, his voice full of determination. "I want to use a sword like you."

Wei Ying chuckles, poking Xue Yang's cheek playfully. "I’ll arrange for someone to teach you sword forms, okay?"

"No!" Xue Yang frowns, shaking his head stubbornly.

"Hein? Why not?" Wei Ying asks, genuinely puzzled.

"Want Gege to teach!" Xue Yang insists, his little face scrunched in determination. The other kids nod in agreement, their eyes pleading with him.

"Ayya, look at all of you, so demanding!" Wei Ying sighs dramatically, though a smile tugs at his lips. "Alright, listen. If you learn well in your classes with the sword teacher, I’ll personally teach you my sword forms once you’ve mastered the basics. Deal?"

The children’s faces light up as they nod enthusiastically, eager to prove themselves. Wei Ying sets Xue Yang down and ruffles his hair affectionately.

"Alright then, back to the dorms with you," Wei Ying says, guiding them back. After seeing them safely to their rooms, he bids them goodbye and heads back to his estate, smiling to himself at the joy they bring him.

Chunwen comes running up behind Wei Ying, clearly out of breath. Wei Ying stops and motions for him to calm down. After taking a few moments to catch his breath, Chunwen says, "Sect Leader Jiang is here. He said he wants to meet you."

"Alone?" Wei Ying asks, a little surprised.

"No, he’s brought a few disciples with him," Chunwen replies.

"Alright. Let’s go," Wei Ying says, and they make their way to the gates.

As they approach, Wei Ying greets the leader with a bow, saying, "Sect Leader Jiang." Inside, a flutter of nerves stirs in his stomach. He had never fully understood Jiang Fengmian in his previous life—his motives, his intentions. Now, he finds himself praying that nothing he says or does will undo all the progress he has made in Yiling.

Jiang Fengmian appears equally taken aback. The man had not expected Yiling Laozu to be so young—almost a boy, really. Still, he nods in return, acknowledging Wei Ying with a polite greeting.

"May I know the purpose of your visit, Sect Leader Jiang?" Wei Ying asks with a kind smile, his demeanour calm.

"I’ve heard the burial mounds have been cleansed," Jiang Fengmian begins. "It’s an impossible feat. The Jiang Sect holds the motto ‘Attempt the impossible,’ and I wanted to personally congratulate you on achieving what others deemed unachievable. Might we have a tour of the mounds now that they've been cleansed?"

For a moment, Wei Ying studies him, unsure of the true purpose behind the visit. Then he offers a smile. "Thank you for the congratulations," he says, nodding respectfully. "Please, come inside."

With a graceful wave of his hand, Wei Ying lowers the barriers surrounding Yiling. Jiang Fengmian and his disciples stand in shock, watching as the powerful wards melt away at his command.

Wei Ying and Chunwen lead them toward the mounds, the once dark and foreboding place now transformed into a peaceful and prosperous area. The Jiang disciples are wide-eyed, visibly astonished at how much Yiling has changed within just a year.

Wei Ying walks ahead confidently, but inwardly he feels the weight of this moment, unsure of what Jiang Fengmian will make of his work in Yiling and whether the man will offer him peace or more conflict.

Chunwen lays down cushions for the Jiang clan members in the receiving hall. The hall is large, adorned with black curtains featuring silver and red tassels, and a grand window behind the drapery. Though simple, the hall exudes a sense of elegance and structure that rivals an established sect’s assembly chamber. Sect Leader Jiang Fengmian can’t help but marvel at how swiftly all of this was built. Initially, he had expected to find a few small huts or modest homes in Yiling, but instead, he’s greeted by towering, sturdy buildings that seem to have been constructed in mere months. The sight leaves him puzzled, especially considering that all of this appears to have been done by a boy no older than his own son.

Fengmian takes a seat across the table, his gaze settling on Wei Ying, who sits opposite him. The young man, dressed in a striking black robe with a red ribbon, has a radiant yet composed expression. His features are sharp, and his smile is friendly. Chunwen, ever loyal, sits quietly behind Wei Ying. A maidservant enters the hall, gracefully pouring tea for the Jiangs and Wei Ying, then places a tray of sugar biscuits and candied fruits before them before quietly leaving.

With a warm smile, Wei Ying gestures for his guests to enjoy the refreshments, lifting his own teacup to sip. Fengmian, still processing the unexpected grandeur of Yiling, takes a tentative sip from his cup.

"I must admit, I’m shocked by the transformation," Fengmian begins with a slight smile. "What should I call you?"

"You may address me as Yiling Laozu," Wei Ying replies, his smile unfaltering.

For a brief moment, Fengmian's smile fades. "Yiling Laozu, then," he concedes, sipping his tea thoughtfully.

"Chunwen, please summon the magistrate," Wei Ying instructs. Chunwen rises immediately and returns shortly with the magistrate, who bows to both Jiang Fengmian and Wei Ying before sitting behind his master.

"We received no letters or messages informing us of the cleansing of the burial mounds," Fengmian says, keeping his tone polite, though there’s a hint of irritation behind his words.

Wei Ying chuckles softly. "Sect Leader Jiang, we assumed word would travel faster than any letter could."

The corners of Fengmian's mouth tighten slightly. "Yiling is under the jurisdiction of the Jiang sect. Any matters pertaining to it should be reported to us directly."

Wei Ying’s expression remains calm, but his eyes hold a subtle glint of defiance. Before he can respond, the magistrate interjects with a stern voice. "Yiling *used* to be under the Jiang sect's care, but not anymore. When we were struggling, dying even, none of our cries for help were answered. Laozu was the one who stepped forward, the one who cleansed the burial mounds and helped us rebuild our lives from the ashes. We’ve chosen Laozu as our leader, and we will follow no one else."

The magistrate’s firm declaration leaves Fengmian momentarily speechless. His face pales slightly, and he exhales deeply. "Yiling has always been a part of the Jiang clan," he says, almost as if reminding himself.

"Yet nothing was done to save it," Wei Ying responds calmly, his voice unwavering. "I have cleansed the burial mounds, helped these people, and now they look to me for leadership. As such, I claim Yiling as my own."

"You are still very young," Fengmian presses gently, his tone more paternal now. "Leading a place as complex as Yiling, especially in these times, is not easy. Let the elders handle the politics and the heavy burdens of leadership."

Wei Ying’s expression grows serious for the first time since their conversation began. “Sect Leader Jiang, many elders, including yourself, have tried to cleanse the burial mounds. Were you successful? Whether I start a sect or not is secondary. Right now, I claim the leadership of Yiling. I am well-versed in the sword, the six arts, and medicine, and I’ve studied diligently. I respond to people's problems and work to protect the weak. Isn’t that what we cultivators are meant to do?" His gaze sharpens. "You turned a blind eye to Yiling’s suffering for years. What right do you have to reclaim it from someone who actually solved the problems and made things better when you didn’t even try?”

Fengmian is momentarily taken aback by the boy’s words. His eyes widen in shock, but he quickly composes himself, offering a slight smile. “You are indeed a remarkable cultivator.”

Wei Ying smiles back, though there’s a stiffness in his expression. A heavy silence fills the room for a few moments.

“May I ask you a personal question?” Fengmian enquires.

“Go ahead,” Wei Ying replies.

“Did you grow up in Yiling?” Fengmian asks, his voice softer now.

“Yes,” Wei Ying says simply.

“Then how is your core so strong? I can sense your Qi from here,” Fengmian remarks, astonished.

Wei Ying smiles again. “I spent some time in Yiling, but I later left to train under my master. I returned after completing my cultivation studies not long ago.”

“May I ask who your master is?” Fengmian asks, leaning forward slightly.

“Baoshan Sanren,” Wei Ying responds.

Jiang Fengmian gasps audibly. Baoshan Sanren, the fabled immortal. No disciple of hers had descended from the mountains in years, save for Cangse Sanren. The shock on his face is evident as he processes this revelation.

“A disciple of Baoshan Sanren... I’m honoured to meet you. Now I understand why your cultivation level is so formidable,” Fengmian says with newfound respect in his voice.

Fengmian hesitates for a moment before asking, “May I enquire about your true identity?”

Chapter 6

Notes:

Hello dear readers,

Welcome back!

Since I’ve had some free time over the past few days, I’ve been able to update back-to-back chapters. Here’s yet another one for you all!
I’m still deciding on the update schedule—whether to post longer chapters twice a week (around 8k words each) or slightly shorter ones (about 5k words) three times a week. I’d love to hear your thoughts on what you’d prefer!

Also, a huge thank you for all the comments on the previous chapter! Like many of you, I was torn on whether Jiang Fengmian should learn Wei Wuxian’s true identity. After a lot of consideration, I decided to reveal it, and I’m excited to see how you all feel about this choice.

Please let me know if you enjoyed this chapter, and as always, keep those theories and suggestions coming. Have a great weekend!

Thanks for reading, and stay tuned for more updates!

********************

He hesitates for a moment before asking, “May I enquire about your true identity?”

Wei Ying chuckles. “Sect Leader Jiang, you’re quite the curious one.”

“My real name is Wei Ying, courtesy name Wuxian,” Wei Ying answers, his tone light.

Jiang Fengmian’s eyes widen even further, and his breath catches in his throat. “You’re the son of Wei Changze and Cangse Sanren?” he asks in disbelief.

Wei Ying nods with a smile. “Yes, that’s right.”

Jiang Fengmian is utterly floored. The very boy he once considered claiming for the Jiang sect is sitting before him as the disciple of the renowned Baoshan Sanren. It dawns on him how invaluable Wei Ying could be—not just for Yiling, but for protecting Lotus Pier, Jiang Cheng, and Jiang Yanli. His mind races with the possibilities, and a small smile tugs at his lips. Perhaps, he thinks, there’s still a chance to bring this extraordinary young man into the Jiang fold.

“You mean you are the son of my close friends?” Jiang Fengmian’s voice softens with emotion. “I am beyond happy to finally meet you, Wuxian. I searched for you after I learned of your parents’ deaths.”

Wei Ying's finger twitches slightly at hearing his courtesy name from Jiang Fengmian’s lips, memories stirring within him.

“I’m glad you’ve grown so well,” Jiang Fengmian continues, his tone warm. “You have truly embodied the Jiang sect’s motto.”

Though the words are meant as praise, they hit Wei Ying differently. His stomach churns with unease, yet he maintains his practiced smile.

“We will take our leave now, Wuxian. I am pleased to know that you were the one who cleansed the mounds. Your father served me well in the Jiang sect,” Fengmian says, the underlying meaning of his words not lost on anyone present.

Chunwen shifts uncomfortably, sensing the tension in the air, his eyes narrowing slightly at Jiang Fengmian’s subtle claim over Wei Ying’s lineage.

Wei Ying rises, maintaining his composure. “Sect Leader Jiang,” he says with a polite nod. He escorts them to the gate, his expression calm despite the storm of emotions beneath the surface.

Before leaving, Fengmian places a hand on Wei Ying’s back, giving it a light pat
Wei Ying only smiles in response as the Jiang sect leader and his disciples depart, their figures disappearing in the distance. As they leave, Wei Ying’s eyes harden ever so slightly, knowing full well the complexities that still linger between him and the Jiang sect.

***

Jiang Fengmian and the disciples who had accompanied him returned to Lotus Pier. As they dismounted, Madam Yu, along with her guards, disciples, and her children—Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli—approached swiftly. Fengmian appeared visibly content, a rare sight.

Madam Yu, however, was already filled with anticipation. “What happened? Did they lift the barriers? What did they say?” She demanded, her tone sharp.

“Yes, he lifted the barriers,” Fengmian replied calmly.

“They haven’t truly cleansed the mounds, right? I knew they were lying! How could a boy accomplish what none of us could? Hmph! A bunch of liars,” she scoffed, her voice dripping with disdain.

“No, San Niang. Their claim is true,” Fengmian said, his voice steady. “He has indeed cleansed the mounds. And not only that, but the village is thriving. They’ve built numerous structures in a matter of months.”

Madam Yu’s expression darkened. “How dare he! Whose permission did he have to make such changes? I’ll demand answers from him this instant!” Her Zidian sparked ominously, reflecting her rising fury.

“Madam, please wait!” Fengmian interjected. “He is no ordinary cultivator. Do you know who his master is? He’s a disciple of none other than the immortal Baoshan Sanren.”

Madam Yu’s Zidian flashed again, her temper barely held in check. “Why should I care about that?”

“You don’t understand, San Niang. He’s the son of Wei Changze and Cangse Sanren. His cultivation is extraordinary—so powerful that I could sense his Qi from a distance.”

At this, Madam Yu’s anger boiled over. “How dare you, Fengmian!” she shouted, her voice shaking with rage. “You searched for him even though I told you not to. Now you speak so highly of him, the son of that bitch, how dare you! Have you ever praised our own son like this? Do you still think of that woman, and now you want her son in our home?”

“San Niang, calm yourself,” Fengmian urged, though his voice remained firm. “Wei Wuxian has grown incredibly powerful. You saw the barrier he put up—something that none of us could break. He’s accomplished the impossible by cleansing the burial mounds. If we bring him into the Jiang sect, we will benefit greatly.”

“I don’t care how strong he is,” Madam Yu snapped. “I’m the co-leader of this sect, the lady of Lotus Pier, and I will not allow that bastard to set foot in our home. Not now, not ever!”

Fengmian’s expression hardened, his patience thinning. “Madam, if I had found him sooner, he would already be part of our sect. I missed that chance, but I won’t miss this one.”

Madam Yu’s eyes blazed with fury. “Look at you! You want that whore’s son, don’t you? Have you ever praised our own child like this? Do you think that street rat deserves more than our sect heir?” With a final, seething glare, she stormed off, leaving Fengmian standing alone.

Fengmian sighed deeply and retreated to his office, shaking his head at the tension that had once again flared between him and his wife. Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli exchanged a glance before quietly following their father.

Once inside, Jiang Fengmian gestured for them to sit. The siblings obeyed, settling into their chairs with quiet apprehension.

“A-Li, A-Cheng,” he began, his tone gentler now. “Next time I visit Yiling, I will invite Wei Wuxian to Lotus Pier. I want you both to come with me.”

Jiang Yanli spoke first, her voice soft but resolute. “Father, is it necessary to go against mother’s wishes?”

“She doesn’t see what I see, A-Li. Wei Wuxian has become very powerful. If he joins the Jiang sect, we will gain a valuable ally. We lose nothing, and we gain everything. He is loyal, just like his father was.”

Jiang Yanli nodded, understanding the gravity of her father’s words. “I will accompany you, Father.”

Jiang Cheng, however, remained silent, a conflicted expression on his face. His hands clenched into fists, betraying the storm of emotions he held inside—anger, confusion, and perhaps even jealousy.

“A-Cheng,” Fengmian continued, turning his gaze to his son. “You will come with me as well. I want you to befriend him. It will benefit our sect—and you.”

Jiang Cheng looked up at his father, his jaw tight, but he nodded in agreement. “Yes, Father,” he said, though the words were strained.

“Good,” Fengmian said, offering a rare smile. “You may both go now.”

As Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli stood and left, Fengmian watched them, a mixture of hope and apprehension swirling within him. He knew the days ahead would be challenging, but he also knew that bringing Wei Wuxian into the fold could change the future of the Jiang sect.

***

Wei Ying and Chunwen escort the magistrate to his office before heading to Wei Ying’s own study.

Wei Ying sighs. "Sect Leader Jiang is highly calculative," Chunwen remarks.

Wei Ying nods in agreement. "He'll undoubtedly seek ways to claim Yiling for the Jiang sect—and that includes trying to gain control over me as well."

Chunwen's face hardens with understanding. "That wouldn't be unexpected."

“Laozu, you could have hidden your real identity or altered your name. Why didn't you do it, especially knowing that the Jiangs might try to take control over you or Yiling?” Chunwen asked, his voice tinged with concern.

Wei Ying let out a heavy sigh, contemplating the weight of his question. “Chunwen, I have a few regrets; I can’t remember my parents clearly. Sometimes, I feel as if I’m not being filial to my parents. If I chose to hide my name, it would be like an insult to their legacy. My father, though a disciple of the Jiang sect, was a man of integrity and honor. My mother was an exceptionally talented cultivator, someone whose name is still spoken with respect among many.”

He paused, looking out at the horizon as if searching for the right words. “It would have been easy for me to lie about my parentage, to step away from that identity. But now that I have this chance to carry their name with pride, I refuse to do so. It is my way of honouring them and acknowledging the sacrifices they made. I will bear their name as a mark of respect, not just for them but also for the values they instilled in me.”

"And if they want to berate me as the son of a servant, let them," Wei Ying said, his voice calm but resolute. "It will sting even more when they realise that this so-called 'servant's son' is a disciple of an immortal, someone who has cleared the Burial Mounds, and a cultivator stronger than many of their prized heirs and noble families. They'll have to think twice before they speak ill of me."

He paused, his gaze sharpening. "As for the Jiang sect, they’ve already proven they have little responsibility toward their own citizens. I have no reason to align myself with them. My loyalty lies with those who deserve it, not with a sect that would abandon the very people it's supposed to protect."

"We can't keep the barriers raised indefinitely," Wei Ying continues, a slight frown forming. "It's time to lower them, but doing so leaves Yiling vulnerable. Both the Jiang and Wen sects are hungry for power, and they won’t hesitate to exploit any weakness. However, I’ve nearly completed a defensive array that will only activate when a potential threat enters a certain proximity. It will also give us an early warning." Wei Ying pauses, thinking ahead. "But we need to enhance the security at the gates. I have talismans that will light up if anyone entering harbours ill intentions toward Yiling. We need to watch for assassins, spies, and troublemakers. They must not be allowed in."

"Understood, Laozu. I will ensure the new protocols are communicated to the guards and patrolling marshals," Chunwen replies with a determined nod.

Wei Ying continues, "Let’s lower the barriers around public spaces for now. I'll raise a separate barrier around the inner mounds and our estate to prevent trespassers. But we must also install fireproofing talismans on all buildings that aren't currently warded. I’ll hand over the talismans. Make sure every structure is safeguarded against potential fire-related threats."

"Yes, Laozu. I’ll begin the preparations immediately," Chunwen says.

"When the secondary barrier activates, we’ll need to manually raise the main barrier for added protection. This will give us time to react and prepare. Come, I’ll give you the talismans now. I’ll handle the barrier setup tomorrow. And remember, no one is to enter the inner mounds or the Wei estate when I’m not there."

"Understood, Laozu. I will ensure it is done," Chunwen affirms before following Wei Ying to his workshop.

Once inside, Wei Ying rummages through a large box, his fingers swiftly searching through various talismans. After a few minutes, he fishes out a handful of fireproofing talismans and threat-indicating talismans. He sets them aside before retrieving several sheets of blank talisman paper. Using a copying talisman, he duplicates the designs until he has a sizeable stack, enough to secure all the vulnerable areas of Yiling. He hands both sets to Chunwen, carefully explaining how each should be applied.

Chunwen listens attentively and begins attaching a few talismans experimentally to ensure he understands the process. Once confident in his ability, he nods to Wei Ying. "I can manage this from here, Laozu."

"Good," Wei Ying replies. "I’ll be erecting the alternative array tomorrow. Make sure you finish applying these talismans by then. If you need additional help, don’t hesitate to ask the generals or marshals to assist." He gestures toward the talismans in Chunwen’s hands.

Chunwen nods again. "I’ll have it done before then."

Wei Ying adds, "If I finish early, I plan to travel to Qinghe tomorrow. If not, I’ll leave the day after. But remember, if the Jiang sect comes for anything other than peaceful negotiations, activate the main barrier immediately. First General knows how to trigger it."

"Yes, Laozu. I’ll follow your instructions to the letter," Chunwen assures him before departing to begin his task.

With Chunwen gone, Wei Ying returns to his workbench, searching through some unfinished arrays scattered across the surface. His current project involves a complex formation designed to trap and neutralise high-level resentment that has spread over a vast area. The key challenge lies in fixing a critical node that, if improperly configured, could lead to disastrous results. On top of this array, he plans to overlay another that will amplify Yang energy and direct it into the confined space, nullifying the trapped resentment. The complexity of the task weighs on him, knowing that even the smallest mistake could result in catastrophe.

He spends the entire day fine-tuning the array, carefully adjusting the nodal points, and ensuring that every line and rune is perfectly aligned.

The next day, after successfully activating the alternative barrier, Wei Ying personally instructs the patrol guards on how to use the new talismans and emphasises the necessary safety precautions. Satisfied with their understanding, he decides to postpone his departure to Qinghe by a day to ensure everything is in order.

Later in the evening, Wei Ying visits the dormitory, spending time with the children, enjoying their laughter and energy, before turning his attention to packing for his trip. Just as he finishes, Chunwen arrives with an experimental robe—light blue and white sets with intricate silver designs.

"Laozu, I thought you might like this for your journey to Qinghe," Chunwen says, holding out the experimental sets of robes.

Wei Ying examines the robes, a smile tugging at his lips. "I’ll wear it. Don’t worry about it getting dirty on the road. It's perfect for the occasion; let's see how effective the tailsmans are."

With that, Wei Ying packs the robes and prepares for the journey ahead, his mind already anticipating the challenges awaiting him in Qinghe.

***

The next morning, Wei Ying dons his light blue and white robes, pulling on a white veiled hat that conceals his face. With his Qiankun pouch secured at his waist, his dizi tucked safely inside, and Suibian unsheathed by his side, he prepares to depart. Taking to the skies on his sword, he flies swiftly toward Qinghe.

Upon arriving at Qinghe, he gracefully lands and walks into a nearby inn. After ordering breakfast, he eats quietly, his mind turning over his plans for the day. Initially, he intends to head directly to the Unclean Realm, but curiosity takes hold of him. Deciding to test his compass, he heads toward the forests surrounding Qinghe instead.

Once deep within the forest, Wei Ying pulls out the compass, studying the delicate movement of its pointer. At first, the needle moves faintly, barely responding. Undeterred, he follows its weak guidance for nearly an hour. Suddenly, the pointer jerks sharply in another direction, though the spirit energy in the area seems relatively low. His instincts tell him to investigate.

As he hurries toward the source of the disturbance, the sound of a scream cuts through the air. Wei Ying sprints toward the noise and soon comes upon a boy struggling beneath a snake spirit, which has coiled tightly around his body. Without hesitation, Wei Ying leaps into action, Suibian flashing through the air. With a single swift stroke, he slices the snake apart, freeing the boy from its deadly grip.

The boy gasps for breath, trembling in fear. Dressed in dark green Nie robes, he looks to be quite young. Wei Ying quickly scans the ground and notices scattered paints, brushes, and fans strewn about. Gently helping the boy sit up against a tree, Wei Ying hands him a water gourd. The boy drinks eagerly, the liquid helping to calm his ragged breathing.

Wei Ying sits across from him, giving the boy space to recover. Once the boy’s breathing steadies, Wei Ying quietly gathers the scattered items, arranging them neatly beside him.

“Thank you for saving my life,” the boy finally says, his voice shaky. “I thought I was going to die.” Tears well up in his eyes.

Wei Ying offers a reassuring smile, patting the boy’s back gently. "You're safe now," he says softly. "Just rest."
“I am Nie Huaisang, second young master of the Nie sect," he says with a bow.

Wei Ying smiles and returns the bow. "I am Wei Ying, courtesy name Wuxian."

Wei Ying raises an eyebrow. "Nie-er Gonzi, what were you doing here alone without your saber?"

Nie Huaisang sighs dramatically. "Ayya, I just wanted to escape Da Ge for a while, so I came here to paint. Who would have thought today might have been my last day?" he wails.

Wei Ying chuckles. "What were you painting?" he asks, curious.

Nie Huaisang’s eyes light up as he shows Wei Ying the fan he was working on.

"Wow, Nie-er Gonzi, you’re truly talented at painting!" Wei Ying praises sincerely.

Nie Huaisang grins. "Haha, do you want to give it a try, Wei Xiong?" he asks, holding up a plain fan.

"Why not?" Wei Ying agrees, taking the fan. He looks around the forest and begins painting. After some time, he hands the fan back to Nie Huaisang, who looks at it in awe. The painting perfectly captures the surrounding forest, as if it were a reflection of the scene.

"Wow, Wei Xiong, you're truly an artist!" Nie Huaisang exclaims, beaming.

"Definitely not as good as you, Nie Xiong," Wei Ying laughs.

Curious, Nie Huaisang asks, "What brings you here, Wei Xiong?"

"Just wandering around. I’m a rogue cultivator," Wei Ying replies casually.

Wei Ying, knowing that Nie Huaisang is sharper than he lets on, decides to test him. "Nie Xiong, why don’t you carry your saber?"

"Ayya, it’s too heavy, Wei Xiong," Nie Huaisang whines.

Wei Ying chuckles. "I know a form of cultivation that you might enjoy. Would you like me to teach you?"

Nie Huaisang winks. "Is it dual cultivation?"

Wei Ying chokes on air before bursting into laughter. They both share a hearty laugh.
"Can you come with me? I want to take you somewhere," Wei Ying asks with a playful smile.

"Where do you want to take me?" Nie Huaisang asks, his face a mix of excitement and confusion.

"Don't worry, I’m not planning to kidnap you," Wei Ying laughs.

"When do you plan to return to the Unclean Realm?" Wei Ying enquires.

"Tomorrow. I don’t want to deal with Da Ge today," Nie Huaisang replies with a dramatic sigh.

"Perfect. I’ll take you somewhere fun," Wei Ying says.

"I don’t enjoy travelling on swords, Wei Xiong. Let’s walk," Nie Huaisang says.

"Who said anything about flying on swords?" Wei Ying grins. "I’ll teleport us."

Before Nie Huaisang can react, Wei Ying grabs his wrist. In the blink of an eye, they appear at the gates of Yiling.

Nie Huaisang gasps in disbelief. "Wei Xiong, what just happened? Where are we? How did you do that?"

Wei Ying chuckles. "Welcome to Yiling."

"Yiling?" Nie Huaisang looks around, still processing. "Wait... Wei Xiong, have you heard of Yiling Laozu? They say he cleansed the burial mounds—scary stuff! And nobody’s seen him, so he must be some retired old cultivator!"

Wei Ying nearly chokes on air, barely containing his laughter. He says nothing, just gestures for Nie Huaisang to follow him inside the gates.

As they walk in, the guards bow to Wei Ying, and every person who recognises him greets him with respect. Nie Huaisang furrows his brow in confusion. "Wei Xiong, do you come here often? Everyone seems to know you!" he chuckles nervously.

Wei Ying simply laughs and keeps walking, not offering an explanation.

When they arrive at the Wei estate, Nie Huaisang’s eyes widen as he takes in the grandeur of the place. They cross into the warded area, and as soon as Chunwen sees Wei Ying, he hurries over and bows. "Laozu."

Nie Huaisang freezes, eyes wide in shock. "L-Laozu?" he stammers, staring at Wei Ying in disbelief.

Wei Ying can’t help but burst into laughter at his friend’s expression. "Come inside, Nie Xiong," he says, waving him in.

Still stunned, Nie Huaisang follows slowly, clearly struggling to process the revelation. Once inside, Wei Ying gestures for him to sit and pours tea for both of them.

"Nie Xiong, what do you want to drink? Shall I have them bring us some wine?" Wei Ying asks with a grin.
Nie Huaisang continues to stare at Wei Ying with wide eyes, unable to reconcile the man he had just been laughing with and the infamous figure of "Yiling Laozu."

Wei Ying chuckles, noticing his friend’s shocked expression. "What's wrong, Nie-er Gonzi? Are you thinking about going back after finding out I’m the 'Yiling Laozu'?"

"Why didn’t you tell me?" Huaisang asks, still suspicious, his voice a mix of confusion and frustration.

Wei Ying sighs. "I didn’t lie, Nie-er Gonzi. ‘Yiling Laozu’ is just a title the people of Yiling gave me. I’m still Wei Wuxian, with or without that title. I liked your personality and wanted to be your friend. If I had told you right away, would you have spoken to me so casually?" He raises an eyebrow, genuinely curious.

Huaisang remains quiet for a moment, still processing everything. "What do you want?" he finally asks, clearly unsure whether to trust him or not.

Wei Ying meets his gaze, his expression softening. "Nie-er Gonzi, if you feel uncomfortable or unsafe here, I can take you back to the Unclean Realm immediately. I hold no ill intentions toward you or the Nie sect. I invited you here as a friend, nothing more," he says sincerely.

Huaisang studies him for a moment longer, then visibly relaxes, his shoulders loosening as he nods.

Seeing this, Wei Ying calls over a servant and asks her to bring Chun Hua. Within a few minutes, she arrives. Wei Ying gestures to her, and she nods, quickly returning with a beautifully crafted black bamboo box. She hands it to Wei Ying, who turns to Huaisang with a grin. "This is what I wanted to give you, Nie-er Gonzi."

Huaisang looks at the box curiously and slowly opens it, revealing a folded fan inside. He unfolds it, and his breath catches in his throat. The fan is made of high-quality, lightweight metal. On the outer side, there's an intricate, almost lifelike painting of the Unclean Realm and its streets. The inner side is painted pitch black, but upon closer inspection, small blades are hidden within its folds.

"This... this painting?" Huaisang stammers, awe in his voice.

"This was painted by our very talented Chun Hua," Wei Ying says with a grin, gesturing towards her. "Chun Hua, this is Nie-er Gonzi."

Chun Hua bows respectfully. "Nie-er Gonzi, a pleasure to meet you."

Huaisang continues to stare at the painting in admiration. "It’s beautiful," he mutters, still in awe.

"Thank you, Nie-er Gonzi," Chun Hua replies with another bow before excusing herself. "Laozu, I shall take my leave now."

Wei Ying nods as Chun Hua departs. Turning back to Huaisang, he bats his eyelashes playfully. "So, how do you like it? Do you approve?"

Huaisang nods, his eyes still fixated on the fan, clearly enchanted by both its beauty and craftsmanship.

"Come, I’ll show you how to use it," Wei Ying says, leading him to the back of the estate.

Huaisang hands over the fan to Wei Ying, who opens and closes it a few times before stepping back. "Watch closely," Wei Ying says with a grin.

He begins demonstrating the fan’s use, moving gracefully, almost like he’s dancing. But with each fluid motion, the fan slices through the air with lethal precision. Every time Wei Ying flicks the fan in a direction, it cuts precisely what he intends—a few small branches fall around them. Despite its elegant appearance, the fan is a deadly weapon, capable of slashing a man’s throat before he even realises what’s happened.

Nie Huaisang watches in awe, utterly amazed by the fan’s hidden lethality. His eyes and mouth hang open, and after a few moments, Wei Ying comes running back and hands him the fan with a grin.

“See? If you’re not fond of sabers, you can use this fan for defense. It’s always good to know how to protect yourself," Wei Ying says, his smile warm and genuine.

Huaisang hesitates for a moment before speaking, “Wei... Laozu, thank you.” His voice is laced with uncertainty, still adjusting to the newfound knowledge of Wei Ying’s identity.

Wei Ying waves his hand dismissively. “Ayya, ‘Laozu’ is for others. You’re my friend, Nie Xiong. Just call me by my name.” He whines playfully, making Huaisang smile.

Huaisang beams at the friendliness but still can’t shake his lingering curiosity. “Wei Xiong, there are so many young masters. Why did you choose to be my friend?” He asks, his voice cautious but genuine.

Wei Ying nods, acknowledging the question. “True, there are many young masters. But Nie Xiong, I like your laid-back attitude—it matches mine,” he says with a chuckle.

He continues, “Most young masters are constantly trying to prove they’re the best—best swordsman, best archer, best at everything. And when I beat them in a duel, they take it to heart. I don’t like that kind of competition. You, on the other hand, are clever, fun-loving, and easygoing. That’s the kind of friend I want.”

Nie Huaisang’s face lights up, clearly pleased with the compliment.

“Let me tell you a secret, Nie Xiong,” Wei Ying whispers, leaning in closer with a mischievous grin.

Huaisang’s eyes sparkle with excitement, and he nods eagerly, moving nearer.

“I can beat all the young masters of this generation in a duel,” Wei Ying says, his voice low and conspiratorial, followed by a playful wink.

“Even Da Ge?” Huaisang asks, his eyes wide with disbelief.

Wei Ying nods confidently. “Yes, but shh—don’t tell anyone,” he whispers with a sly grin.

“But how? Da Ge is much older than us,” Huaisang asks, his curiosity piqued.

Wei Ying smirks. “I’ve been trained by my master, Baoshan Sanren,” he reveals, his tone proud but still hushed, as though sharing a grand secret.

Nie Huaisang gasps. “How many more secrets and identities do you have, Wei Xiong?” he exclaims. “I think you’re going to kill me with shock after shock!”

Wei Ying burst out laughing. “Ayya, Nie Xiong! Come, let’s go drink some wine and relax.”

They head to a nearby restaurant, and as they enter, everyone bows respectfully to Wei Ying. The two settle in, sharing wine and chatting about fans, art, and music. The atmosphere lightens as they exchange stories, the camaraderie between them growing stronger with each passing moment. For Huaisang, the mysteries of Wei Ying only add to the charm of their budding friendship.
After returning to Wei Ying’s office, the atmosphere is light and cheerful.

"Nie Xiong, you are too much fun!" Wei Ying laughs.

"You too, Wei Xiong! Who would’ve thought that the infamous Yiling Laozu is just a young boy?" Nie Huaisang replies, still chuckling.

Wei Ying grins. "Nie Xiong, you’re my first friend in the cultivation world. Here, I have something for you." He hands over a small jade seal.

“What’s this?” Huaisang asks, inspecting the intricate seal curiously.

Wei Ying explains, “It’s a messaging seal. Whenever you’re in danger or just want to send a message, you can use it. Just visualise my face, call my name, and either speak or write your message. If you write a message, place the seal on top of the folded paper, and it will reach me instantly.”

Wei Ying points to a spot on the seal. “Put a drop of your blood here to bind it. Once it’s yours, no one else will be able to use it to send or hear your messages.”

Nie Huaisang stares in amazement, shaking his head. "Wei Xiong, I can’t believe I’m older than you. What kind of brain do you have to come up with so many inventions?" He quickly does as Wei Ying instructed, binding the seal to himself.

Wei Ying chuckles at the compliment but then turns serious. “Nie Xiong, you shouldn’t run off without protection. It’s dangerous out there.”

"Ayya, you don’t understand, Wei Xiong. Da Ge scolds me every day to practice saber techniques. But I just want to live peacefully. I don’t want to die young!” Nie Huaisang whines dramatically.

Wei Ying smiles understandingly. “Nie Xiong, you don’t have to use a saber. You can practice fan cultivation. I’m sure your brother is just worried about your safety. If you show him you can protect yourself with a war fan, maybe he’ll ease up on the saber training.”

"Really? You think I can do that?" Nie Huaisang's eyes light up with excitement. "Could I be as good with a fan as you are?"

“You could be even better if you practice. I’ll teach you,” Wei Ying offers.

Huaisang's face brightens even more. “You’re serious? You’ll really teach me?”

Wei Ying chuckles and nods. “Of course.”

“But I have to return tomorrow,” Huaisang says, pouting. “And it takes so long to come back here without a sword.”

Wei Ying leans closer and whispers, “You can just send me a message with the seal. I’ll send someone to teleport you here.”

Nie Huaisang beams in delight. “Instead of running away to the forest, I’ll just come here whenever Da Ge scolds me,” he laughs.

“Sure! I have four spare buildings in the estate. You can have one for yourself whenever you want to stay,” Wei Ying offers generously.

“Wei Xiong, you’re too kind!” Huaisang exclaims, touched by his hospitality.

Wei Ying shows him the available buildings, and Huaisang quickly picks a quiet corner one for himself. Wei Ying then gives him a full tour of the mounds, and the two enjoy a quiet dinner together before retiring for the night, their friendship stronger than ever.

 

The next day, Wei Ying begins teaching Nie Huaisang some basic forms of war fan fighting. To Wei Ying’s amusement, Nie Huaisang immediately takes to it with enthusiasm, declaring that he will dedicate himself to mastering this new skill. Wei Ying chuckles at the bold announcement but appreciates his friend's eagerness.

By midday, Huaisang has grasped the basics, and they take a break to enjoy breakfast together. After their meal, they chat for a while, enjoying each other’s company. Just as their conversation settles, Chun Hua enters the room, carrying a box. She hands it to Wei Ying, who thanks her before she bows and leaves.

“Nie Xiong, this is for you,” Wei Ying says, handing the box to Nie Huaisang.

Huaisang raises an eyebrow in surprise. “Wei Xiong, why are you giving me so many gifts? Shouldn’t I be the one gifting you after you saved my life?”

Wei Ying laughs. “Nie Xiong, why are you so worried? You’ve earned it.”

Huaisang leans closer, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Wait, are you trying to court me, Wei Xiong?” He asks with a wink.

Wei Ying chokes on air and bursts out laughing, shaking his head. “No! It’s nothing like that,” he grins. “These are actually some new robes we’re testing for production. They’ve got talismans sewn into them that make them fit whoever wears them and keep the fabric dust- and stain-proof. Since you work with paints, you’re the perfect person to help us test if they really work.” He winks.

“Ha!? How many more creations do you have up your sleeve?” Huaisang marvels. “At this rate, you’ll be the richest cultivator in a few years—surpassing even the Jins!”

Wei Ying laughs at the comment as Huaisang opens the box. Inside, he finds two sets of robes. The first is a pale green upper and lower garment with small gold embroidery, paired with dark olive outer robes featuring golden borders and fine golden embroidery on the shoulders and long sleeves, with a matching belt. The second set is a light grey upper and lower garment with dark grey borders, complemented by dark grey outer robes with olive borders and golden embroidery, and an olive-coloured belt. The robes are made of exceptionally fine silk, giving them an elegant and luxurious appearance.

“They look absolutely beautiful, Wei Xiong! I can’t believe you already know my taste in robes and fashion!” Huaisang exclaims, clearly impressed.

Wei Ying grins. “Nie Xiong, don’t worry about how they look. Spill paint on them, roll around in the mud—do whatever you need to test them out. Just let me know if they really work.”

Nie Huaisang bursts out laughing. “Oh, I’ll definitely test them out! I’ll even do it in front of Da Ge—he’ll be so shocked!”

Wei Ying laughs along with him, enjoying their light-hearted banter.
“Wei Xiong, I have to leave now, but I’ll definitely come back to continue learning the war fan. I’ll send you a message when I’m ready to visit again,” Nie Huaisang says with a smile.

“Of course! You’re welcome any time, even if I’m not around. Just ask Chunwen, and he’ll help you with anything you need. If I’m away, I’ll send someone to teleport you,” Wei Ying replies.

“Come on then, let me take you back,” Wei Ying adds, grasping Nie Huaisang's wrist before teleporting them both near an alley close to the Unclean Realm.

Nie Huaisang is once again astonished by how quickly they’ve traveled. He blinks a few times, trying to process the incredible speed.

“Wei Xiong, come with me! I’ll introduce you to Dage,” he says eagerly.

Wei Ying agrees, and they both walk toward the Unclean Realm’s main hall. As they pass through the gates and enter, Nie Huaisang spots Nie Mingjue polishing his saber.

“Dage…” Huaisang calls out, his voice tinged with fear.

Mingjue looks up, his stern gaze locking onto his brother. “Huaisang! How many times are you going to run off and avoid your saber practice?” he shouts.

“Dage, we have a guest,” Huaisang whines, trying to shift the attention.

Nie Mingjue finally notices Wei Ying standing at the entrance.

Chapter 7

Notes:

Hello dear readers,

Welcome back! :)

Thank you so much for your lovely comments on the previous chapter. I truly appreciate the time and love you’ve shown to this fanfic—it means a lot! For those eagerly waiting for Lan Er Gongzi’s entrance, I promise it’s coming! Just hold on for a few more chapters, and I assure you, it will be worth the wait. I’m just as excited as you all to get there!

As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts and theories in the comments. Let me know what you think of this chapter!

Thanks for reading, and stay tuned for more!

**************

Nie Mingjue finally notices Wei Ying standing at the entrance.

“Wei Xiong, come inside,” Huaisang calls out with a wide smile, visibly relieved to have a distraction.

Wei Ying steps forward, his confident yet casual demeanour filling the room. Huaisang quickly moves to his side, ready to make introductions. “Dage, this is my friend Wei Wuxian. Wei Xiong, this is my Dage, Sect Leader Nie.”

Wei Ying bows respectfully, “Sect Leader Nie, it’s an honour to meet you.”

Mingjue returns the gesture with a nod but freezes almost immediately, his expression shifting from politeness to shock. His eyes narrow as he examines Wei Ying more closely, sensing something unusual. “How is your core so strong?” Mingjue asks, his voice laced with disbelief. “You’re on the verge of immortality, aren’t you?”

Huaisang gasps audibly, his eyes widening in shock as he looks at Wei Ying.

Wei Ying simply chuckles and nods, offering no denial. His calm confidence only adds to the air of mystery surrounding him.

“Who are you, really?” Mingjue demands, his gaze now filled with both curiosity and caution.

“I am Wei Ying, courtesy name Wei Wuxian,” Wei Ying replies, his voice steady and assured. “I’m a disciple of Baoshan Sanren.”

At the mention of Baoshan Sanren, Nie Mingjue’s eyes widen further. The name alone shifts the atmosphere in the room, and Mingjue’s previously stern demeanour falters. “You trained on the Immortal’s Mountain?” His voice is thick with surprise and disbelief.

Wei Ying nods, “Yes.”

“How do you know Huaisang?” Mingjue asks, the scepticism in his voice returning, though there’s also a note of concern for his younger brother.

Huaisang, eager to explain, jumps in before Wei Ying can answer. “Dage, you won’t believe what happened!” He launches into an animated recounting of how he met Wei Ying and how Wei Ying saved him from a deadly snake spirit, his voice bubbling with excitement.

Mingjue listens in silence, his gaze flicking between Wei Ying and his brother. When Huaisang finishes, Mingjue turns to Wei Ying, his expression softening. “Thank you for saving my brother,” he says sincerely, bowing his head slightly in gratitude.

Wei Ying returns the gesture, acknowledging the thanks with a respectful bow of his own.
Mingjue gestures for both of them to follow him into his office. A servant enters shortly after with a tray of tea, and Huaisang, eager to impress, quickly volunteers. “I’ll serve it!” he declares, rushing forward to take the tray from the servant.

As Huaisang carefully pours tea for Wei Ying, his hands tremble, and in a moment of clumsiness, he spills some of the tea onto Mingjue’s robes. His eyes widen in panic as he tries to recover, but in his haste, he ends up splashing tea on himself as well.

Wei Ying stifles a laugh, sensing that Huaisang’s nervousness is part of an attempt to draw attention away from their previous conversation and to draw attention to his new robes.
“Ayya, sorry, sorry, Dage! My hands just started shaking,” Huaisang whines, his face flushed with embarrassment.

Mingjue scowls, clearly irritated. “What is wrong with you, Huaisang? You could have let the servants handle this. Why did you insist on doing it yourself?” His tone is harsh, but beneath it lies a familiar exasperation with his brother’s antics.

“Dage, I stained your robes!” Huaisang exclaims, pointing to the dark brown spots marring Mingjue’s clothing.

Mingjue glances down at his robes, annoyance flashing in his eyes. But then he notices something strange. Despite the tea mishap, Huaisang’s own robes, a pale green set gifted by Wei Ying, remain completely spotless. Mingjue raises an eyebrow. “Why don’t your robes have any stains?” he asks, incredulous.

Huaisang grins and spins in a playful circle, showing off his pristine attire. “These are my new robes! They don’t get stained or dusty, no matter what happens. They even adjust to fit anyone who wears them!” he boasts, fluttering his eyelashes with a playful grin.

Mingjue inspects his brother’s robes more closely, a look of suspicion crossing his face. “Where did you get these robes? Don’t tell me you spent all your allowance on something like this.”

“Ayya, Dageee!” Huaisang whines dramatically. “These were a gift from a genius! They have talismans sewn into them.” His voice carries a note of pride as he eagerly awaits his brother’s reaction.

“A genius?” Mingjue repeats, scepticism clear in his tone. “Why would a genius gift you something? Who is this person so skilled with talismans?”

Huaisang chuckles, clearly relishing the chance to reveal his newfound secret. “Dage, Wei Xiong was testing out new robes they want to produce, so he gifted me this set and another to try out.”

Mingjue’s confusion only deepens. “But he doesn’t belong to any sect. Why would he want to test something for production?”

Huaisang leans in conspiratorially, lowering his voice. “Dage, do you know his other identity?” There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes as he waits for Mingjue’s reaction.

Mingjue stares at his brother, frowning, clearly not appreciating the secrecy. “What identity?” he asks, the impatience in his voice growing.

Huaisang grins even wider, unable to contain his excitement any longer. “His title is Yiling Laozu.”

The name hits like a thunderclap. Nie Mingjue stands abruptly, the motion so forceful it causes the cup on the table to topple over. Wei Ying stands as well, both men equally startled by Mingjue’s reaction.

“You were the one who cleared the burial mounds?" Mingjue asks, disbelief etched on his face. “Is it really cleared?”

Wei Ying nods calmly. “Yes, it is.”

Huaisang jumps in again, his excitement palpable. “It’s true, Dage! You wouldn’t believe how good it looks now.”

Mingjue turns sharply toward Huaisang. “You even went there?” He shakes his head, clearly still struggling to process everything. “Huaisang!”

“Dage, calm down! I told you, Wei Xiong saved me when I was attacked by a snake spirit. My leg was injured, and he teleported me to Yiling. He healed me, and I stayed there for a night. Then he teleported me back here.”

Mingjue stares at his brother in disbelief. “Teleported? How many more things are you going to reveal to me today?”

Mingjue exclaims, his disbelief morphing into astonishment as he processed the information.

They both chuckle at the comment, the tension easing slightly.

“Wei Gonzi—no, Yiling Laozu—how did you cleanse the mounds? And how are you so powerful?” Nie Mingjue asks, genuine curiosity creasing his features.

Wei Ying smiles calmly before replying, “Sect Leader Nie, I liberated the souls trapped within the mounds, dug up and burnt their remains, and used a few arrays of my own to dispel the lingering resentment.” His voice is steady, his expression untroubled. “As for my strength, I’ve spent years training under my master’s guidance.”

Mingjue nods in admiration. “Incredible! I am honoured to have you here, Laozu,” he says, bowing his head in a gesture of deep respect. “No one has been able to cleanse the burial mounds before, yet you’ve managed it in just a few months. When we first heard rumours about the mounds being cleared, no one believed it. Neither the Wens nor the Jiangs showed any interest in assisting.”

Wei Ying’s eyes darken slightly at the mention of the two prominent clans. “When I descended from the mountains, Yiling was in a terrible state. Neither the Jiangs nor the Wens stepped forward to help. In fact, the Wens sent a letter to the magistrate, relinquishing any claim to Yiling altogether.”

Mingjue sighs, his frustration evident. The weight of politics and the neglect of those in power often burden the leaders of the cultivation world, and the neglect of Yiling is just another reminder of these failures.

Sensing the heavy mood, Huaisang chooses that moment to lighten the atmosphere. “Dage, look at this!” He waves his painted fan in front of his brother’s face, his eyes twinkling with excitement.

Mingjue turns to him with a half-exasperated expression. “Another fan, Huaisang?” He raises an eyebrow, clearly torn between amusement and irritation.

“Dageeee, just look at it properly!” Huaisang insists, thrusting the fan into Mingjue’s hands with a mischievous smile.

Reluctantly, Mingjue takes the fan and begins to examine it more closely. As his annoyance fades, he finds himself intrigued. The intricate design of the Unclean Realm painted on the fan is stunning, each stroke capturing the essence of the streets and buildings with astonishing detail. As Mingjue turns the fan over in his hands, he gasps in surprise. The fan is crafted from metal, sharp as a blade, and conceals small arrows within its folds.

Huaisang quickly explains before Mingjue can scold him. “Before you get upset, Wei Xiong made this for me. The painting is from an artist in Yiling.”

Mingjue continues to inspect the fan, clearly impressed despite himself. “This doesn’t look like any war fan I’ve seen. The craftsmanship is exceptional.”

Huaisang beams, thrilled by his brother’s admiration. “Dage, he even agreed to teach me how to fight with it! You don’t have to worry about me; I’ll learn how to defend myself.”

Mingjue’s expression softens slightly, his usual sternness giving way to a flicker of approval. “Very well. But remember, learning to defend yourself takes time and discipline.”

Huaisang nods eagerly, clearly more focused on the thrill of the moment than the long journey ahead. Mingjue, however, shifts his attention back to Wei Ying. His competitive nature awakens as he gazes at the young cultivator who has managed to cleanse the burial mounds and craft such remarkable items.

“Yiling Laozu,” Mingjue says, his voice suddenly challenging. “Would you mind a friendly duel with me?”

Wei Ying raises an eyebrow, slightly surprised. “Now?”

Mingjue nods, his eyes gleaming with competitive fire. “Yes.”

A grin slowly spreads across Wei Ying’s face, clearly intrigued by the challenge. “Very well. Let’s go.”

They leave the room and head toward the practice grounds, Huaisang trailing behind them excitedly. A few of Mingjue’s men, who had been standing nearby, follow as well, while other Nie disciples practicing their saber forms pause, curious about what is about to happen. Sensing the excitement in the air, they move aside, clearing space for the duel.

As Wei Ying and Mingjue step into the training arena, the atmosphere buzzes with anticipation. Disciples gather at the edges, watching intently. It’s not every day that they witness a duel involving their sect leader, let alone one with the legendary Yiling Laozu.

Mingjue squares his shoulders and looks at Wei Ying with determination. “Laozu, please don’t hold back,” he says, his voice carrying the weight of his competitive spirit.

Wei Ying’s lips curl into a confident smile. “As you wish, Sect Leader Nie.”

The air between them crackles with energy as they prepare to test each other’s strength, the thrill of battle already beginning to take hold.

Both men bow respectfully before stepping into their positions. Nie Mingjue unsheathes his formidable saber, Baxia, its heavy blade gleaming under the sunlight. Wei Ying, with a calm yet focused expression, draws his own sword, Suibian, which hums faintly in his hand.

Mingjue makes the first move, launching a powerful, aggressive strike toward Wei Ying, the force behind his blow enough to stagger most opponents. But Wei Ying meets it with a fluid motion, effortlessly defending against the attack. His body shifts gracefully, his feet barely making a sound on the ground as he adjusts his stance. Mingjue presses forward, unleashing a series of strikes, each one stronger and faster than the last, but Wei Ying counters with precision, dodging and parrying at a speed that surprises everyone watching.

As the duel progresses, Wei Ying slowly shifts from defence to offense. His sword begins to blur with speed, each strike deliberate and precise, leaving Mingjue hard-pressed to match his pace. The sect leader grits his teeth, determined not to lose, but Wei Ying’s superior skill becomes evident. Mingjue’s attacks grow heavier, but they also become easier for Wei Ying to predict.

Within minutes, the momentum shifts entirely in Wei Ying’s favor. With a swift, final movement, he disarms Mingjue, sending Baxia clattering to the ground. In one fluid motion, Wei Ying brings the tip of Suibian to Mingjue’s throat. He pauses for just a heartbeat, his eyes meeting Mingjue’s in acknowledgement, before withdrawing his sword and sheathing it in one graceful motion. He bows deeply to the sect leader, showing respect despite his victory.

The practice grounds fall into a stunned silence. Nie Mingjue, renowned for his strength and swordsmanship, had never been defeated this quickly, if at all. His disciples, many of whom idolise him, look on in disbelief, struggling to comprehend what they had just witnessed.

Mingjue himself takes a moment to process the duel. His chest rises and falls with exertion, but his eyes reflect a growing admiration. “Laozu, your swordsmanship is beyond anything I have ever seen,” he says, bowing his head with genuine respect. “You are, without a doubt, the finest swordsman I’ve encountered.”

Wei Ying returns the gesture, smiling humbly. “Thank you, Sect Leader Nie. Your words honour me.”

Curiosity flickers in Mingjue’s eyes as he straightens. “That sword form—what is it called? Is it one of your master’s techniques?”

Wei Ying shakes his head lightly. “No, this form is one I developed myself. After mastering my master’s techniques, I created my own style. I call it ‘Cangse.’”

At the name, Mingjue’s expression shifts. “Cangse?” he repeats, his brows furrowing. “I’ve heard that name before. Wasn’t she a disciple of your master as well?”

Wei Ying nods. “Yes, she was. Cangse Sanren is my mother.”

Mingjue’s eyes widen in surprise. “Your mother? You are the son of Wei Changze and Cangse Sanren?” His voice is thick with disbelief.

Wei Ying’s face remains calm as he confirms it. “Yes, I am.”

For a moment, Mingjue is speechless. It isn’t often that a revelation like this leaves him at a loss for words. The son of legendary cultivators, trained under Baoshan Sanren, and now the one who had cleared the Burial Mounds—it’s almost too much to process. Before Mingjue can gather his thoughts, Huaisang steps in, eager to lighten the mood.

“Wei Xiong, can you show us some of your moves with the war fan?” Huaisang pleads, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

Wei Ying chuckles softly and nods. Huaisang quickly hands him the fan he had been showing off earlier. Wei Ying looks toward Mingjue, who nods in approval, stepping aside to give him space.

With a flick of his wrist, Wei Ying opens the fan, the painted design fluttering gracefully. What follows is a display of both elegance and lethal skill. Wei Ying twirls and dances with the fan, his movements fluid and precise. At a climactic moment, he flicks his wrist again, releasing the arrows concealed within the fan. Each one finds its mark perfectly, striking the bullseye on the target boards at the far end of the practice grounds.

Gasps ripple through the gathered spectators, their astonishment palpable. Even Mingjue, still recovering from their earlier duel, looks impressed. His shock melts into admiration as he turns to Huaisang, who is grinning from ear to ear. Mingjue can’t help but smile, nodding at his younger brother with pride.

“Laozu, thank you for agreeing to train my brother,” Mingjue says sincerely.

“It’s no trouble at all, Sect Leader Nie,” Wei Ying replies with a warm smile. “Nie Xiong is my friend. I’m happy to help.”

As they walk back to Mingjue’s office, a sense of camaraderie lingers between them. Mingjue strides with his usual purpose, but his mind whirls with questions. *Why would someone like Wei Ying befriend Huaisang?* The thought baffles him, though he appreciates the growing bond between them.

“Laozu, should I arrange for your stay here?” Mingjue asks, his tone warm. “I’m glad Huaisang is learning from you.”

“There’s no need, Sect Leader Nie,” Wei Ying replies with a polite smile. “I plan to return to Yiling. I’ve told Huaisang he can visit whenever he likes.”

Mingjue glances at his brother, who sighs lightly before explaining the communication seal Wei Ying had given him. Mingjue’s eyes widen slightly—yet another surprise in a day full of revelations.

“Sect Leader Nie,” Wei Ying says, his voice growing serious, “I’d appreciate it if you kept the information about the seal between us. I don’t want Huaisang to draw unnecessary attention.”

Mingjue’s expression hardens in understanding. “Of course, Laozu. You have my word.”

Wei Ying visibly relaxes after hearing Mingjue’s assurance, and he offers a grateful nod. “Thank you.”

There’s a brief pause before Mingjue, unable to contain his curiosity, speaks up. “What are your plans for Yiling?”

Wei Ying’s expression grows more contemplative, his tone measured. “As I mentioned earlier, the Jiangs and the Wens have both neglected Yiling. They’ve abandoned any responsibility they had for the area. I’m not interested in politics, but the people there need someone to lead them, someone who can protect them. I’ve claimed Yiling, and I intend to keep it.”

Mingjue considers his words carefully before asking, “Do you plan to start your own sect, then?”

Wei Ying pauses for a moment, the thought clearly weighing on him. “I haven’t made up my mind yet. Whether I form a sect or not, my priority is Yiling’s safety. I will defend it, no matter what.”

Mingjue studies Wei Ying closely, intrigued by his determination. He shifts the conversation, his voice probing yet cautious. “You mentioned you came to Qinghe for a reason. What is it?”

Wei Ying’s expression hardens slightly, his earlier warmth replaced by a steely resolve. “It’s not about needing help with Yiling,” he begins, “but I came here to warn you—Wen Ruohan is plotting something.”

At the mention of Wen Ruohan, Mingjue tenses. Even the sword on his back, Baxia, rattles in its sheath, as if sensing its master’s unease. Mingjue’s expression turns grim. “What do you mean?” he asks, his voice heavy with concern.

“We don’t have the full picture yet,” Wei Ying admits, his tone grave, “but Wen Ruohan has already begun seizing control of smaller sects. He’s consolidating power. If he continues unchecked, he’ll be a threat to us all. As his immediate neighbours, both Yiling and Qinghe will be in his sights. We need to stay vigilant.”

Mingjue’s brow furrows, and he lets out a low hum of agreement. The idea of Wen Ruohan gathering power is deeply unsettling, and Mingjue is already thinking of ways to bolster his sect’s defenses. The warning from Wei Ying is not something he takes lightly.

Sensing the end of their discussion, Wei Ying rises and offers a deep bow. “Sect Leader Nie, if there’s nothing else, I’ll take my leave now.”

Mingjue stands as well, his expression softening slightly. “Of course, Laozu. Thank you for the warning. We’ll be on our guard.”

Before leaving, Wei Ying offers a friendly smile. “I’d also like to invite you to Yiling sometime. Please visit whenever you have the chance. Huaisang, let me know when your brother is ready, and I’ll ensure everything is prepared for his stay.”

Mingjue raises an eyebrow but smiles, a rare and genuine expression on his face. “I’ll take you up on that offer. I’m curious to see what other surprises you have hidden in Yiling.”

Wei Ying chuckles softly, bowing once more before vanishing in a swirl of spiritual energy, leaving the room empty save for Mingjue and Huaisang.

As the energy dissipates, Mingjue turns to his younger brother, narrowing his eyes. “He’s a powerful young man... I just hope he doesn’t end up siding with Wen Ruohan.”

Huaisang shakes his head emphatically, his usual light-hearted demeanour replaced by a rare seriousness. “Dage, Wei Xiong is nothing like Wen Ruohan. He’s upright, and he doesn’t scheme. He just wants to protect the people of Yiling.”

Mingjue hums in response, though the possibility of Wei Ying becoming entangled in Wen Ruohan’s machinations lingers at the back of his mind. The political landscape is shifting rapidly, and alliances can be unpredictable.

The moment of contemplation is broken as Mingjue’s gaze sharpens, fixing on his brother. “Huaisang, why did you run away from your training in the first place? What if he hadn’t come to your rescue?”

Huaisang winces, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “Dage! If I hadn’t run away, I never would’ve met Wei Xiong. It worked out, didn’t it?”

“Huaisang!” Mingjue’s voice booms across the room, frustration clear.

“Dage!” Huaisang yelps, scrambling out of the room before his brother’s scolding could escalate. He darts toward his chambers, hoping to evade Mingjue’s wrath for the time being.

Mingjue sighs deeply, watching his younger brother flee. It had been an exhausting day filled with revelations and concerns for the future. Yet, despite his frustration with Huaisang, Mingjue can’t deny that his brother’s friendship with Wei Ying may prove valuable. For now, at least, Huaisang had chosen his allies well.
.

.

Wei Ying returns to his office after a long day and, feeling restless, decides to visit the spirit village. There, he spends some time with his generals and marshals, sharing stories and discussing the progress of their work. As they talk, an idea strikes him.

“Why don’t we start training the children with some basic sword forms?” Wei Ying suggests. His face lights up with excitement. One of the marshals, who happens to be a sword master, immediately volunteers.

“I’d be honoured to help, Laozu,” says the eleventh marshal with a respectful bow.

Wei Ying grins, already imagining the children practicing in perfect synchrony. “Great! I’ll teach you a few of my own sword forms. You can help pass them on to the kids.”

The marshal agrees enthusiastically. With that settled, Wei Ying shares another idea that’s been on his mind. He presents the layout of a new practice ground and a large dining hall with a fully equipped kitchen. “I want these facilities completed soon, preferably within the next few weeks,” he says, outlining the specifics.

The marshals nod in agreement, excited about the new plans. Satisfied with the direction things are heading, Wei Ying bids them farewell and heads to Chunwen’s building.

As he approaches, he finds Chunwen and Chun Hua together, engaged in conversation. He knocks lightly before entering, and both siblings immediately stand and bow deeply.

“Chunwen, I’ve given the layout plan for the new practice grounds and dining hall to the marshals. They’ll start the work this week.”

“I’ll make sure the materials are ready before then, Laozu,” Chunwen replies promptly.

Wei Ying smiles and turns to Chun Hua. “Chun Hua, Nie Huaisang loved your painting, and even Nie Mingjue seemed impressed.”

Chun Hua beams, “Thank you, Laozu.”

Wei Ying glances down at his robes, still pristine after days of wear. “These robes you made are remarkable. I’ve been wearing them since yesterday, and they’re still as clean as ever.”

Chun Hua smiles proudly. “I’m glad you liked them.”

“Speaking of which,” Wei Ying adds, “have the workers stitch some simple, light-coloured robes for the children in the dormitory. Let’s have them test the effectiveness as well.” He chuckles at the thought of the children running around in the new robes.

“Yes, Laozu, I’ll see to it,” Chun Hua replies.

Turning back to Chunwen, Wei Ying’s tone becomes more thoughtful. “Chunwen, I want to build a hall behind our estate.”

Chunwen looks curious. “What will the hall be for, Laozu?”

“An ancestral hall. We’ll install the spirit tablets of my parents and yours as well,” Wei Ying says softly.

Chunwen and Chun Hua exchange surprised glances before Chunwen hesitates. “Laozu, we—”

Wei Ying cuts him off with a warm smile. “You both have been loyal to me, supported me through everything. You’re like my family. I don’t have anyone else in this world except those I consider my own here in Yiling.”

Tears fill their eyes as they bow deeply once again. “Thank you, Laozu,” they say in unison, their voices thick with emotion.

Wei Ying shakes his head. “Please, you can call me by my name, at least when we’re alone.”

“No, Laozu suits you,” Chun Hua insists with a gentle smile.

Wei Ying chuckles. “Alright, as you wish.”

He then turns to Chun Hua. “Is there anything you want to do? I know you were passionate about painting before you came here, but I’ve burdened you with responsibilities. If you’d like, you can pursue painting again.”

Chun Hua smiles warmly. “Laozu, I’m honoured to help in any way I can. I love what I’m doing.”

Wei Ying nods. “Once things settle down and we’re more established, you’ll have time to return to what you love. We all will.”

Then, with a playful glint in his eyes, he suggests, “How about we go fishing tomorrow? We’ve got a few boats. Let’s take the children along too. What do you think?”

Chunwen and Chun Hua laugh at his enthusiasm and agree.

They enjoy dinner together before retiring for the night, feeling a sense of peace and unity in their growing family.
.

.

The next morning, Wei Ying wakes up with excitement bubbling inside him. He dresses in simple, plain black robes—upper and lower garments with a black outer robe trimmed with understated borders and designs. For once, he decides to skip wearing his guan, allowing his long black hair to flow freely, but he does tie it with his signature red ribbon. Slipping on a bamboo hat without a veil, he heads out to the dormitory.

When he arrives, he finds Chunwen and Chun Hua already there, preparing the children for the day’s outing. The kids are buzzing with excitement, and when they spot Wei Ying, their energy seems to double.

"Laozu!" they call out, running toward him.

He greets them with a smile, eyes twinkling at the sight of their enthusiasm. “Good morning, everyone! Are we ready to catch some fish?”

The children cheer as they make their way toward the lake. When they arrive, Wei Ying sees that there are only seven boats available.

“Alright,” he begins, “let’s make teams of two. I’ll take one of the kids with me. Chunwen and Chun Hua, you each take one as well. The remaining children can pair up, and I’ll have some marshals accompany the rest to keep things safe.”

With that, Wei Ying swiftly heads to the spirit village and returns with four marshals, instructing them to supervise the children who don’t have any elders with them. They nod in understanding and follow him back to the lake.

As soon as they arrive, a familiar voice shouts, “Gege! I’m going with you!”

Wei Ying turns to see Xue Yang racing toward him, grinning from ear to ear.

“Well, looks like I’ve got the best teammate in town!” Wei Ying laughs and grabs Xue Yang’s hand, pulling him toward their boat. “I’d better not let you down, huh?”

Xue Yang beams, and the two hop into their boat. Wei Ying addresses the group, “Let’s see who can catch the most fish and who catches the biggest one! Ready? Let’s get started!”

Wei Ying rows their boat to the center of the lake, the bamboo hat shielding his eyes from the bright morning sun. He patiently shows Xue Yang how to use both the fishing rod and net, guiding him with each motion. Xue Yang, always a quick learner, picks it up in no time, and soon they’re both pulling in fish after fish. Laughter fills the air as the boats race around, trying to outdo each other.

After about an hour of fishing, Wei Ying signals for everyone to gather and check their results. Some boats come to shore, while others linger on the water. They count their catches, and so far, Wei Ying and Chunwen are tied for the lead in numbers.

“Now,” Wei Ying announces with a mischievous grin, “let’s see who’s caught the biggest one!”

The children eagerly display their largest catches, and Chunwen’s fish is the heaviest so far. But Wei Ying isn’t ready to give up.

Kneeling beside Xue Yang, he whispers something in his ear. The boy giggles and nods, knowing exactly what Wei Ying has planned. Without anyone noticing, Wei Ying discreetly tips Xue Yang overboard, sending him splashing into the water.

Wei Ying stands tall, pretending to concentrate on the water. “Watch this! I’m about to pull in the biggest catch you’ve ever seen!” He dramatically throws his net into the lake and tugs, pulling something heavy toward the boat. The children lean in, eyes wide with curiosity.

With a flourish, Wei Ying pulls in the net—and inside it is none other than Xue Yang, soaked but grinning from ear to ear.

Laughter erupts from both of them, and Wei Ying lifts Xue Yang triumphantly. “See! None of your fish weigh as much as this one right here!” He ruffles Xue Yang’s wet hair, earning more giggles from the boy.

“Cheating!” the other children shout, though they’re laughing just as much.

Wei Ying reveals the actual fish he caught, but Chunwen’s is still the largest, securing his victory. Afterward, everyone decides to take a break and swim. They spend hours in the water, playing, racing, and splashing one another until midday.

When the sun climbs higher, they return to shore, tired but happy. Wei Ying, Chunwen, and Chun Hua have a relaxing brunch together before a guard approaches them.

Chunwen turns to the guard. “What is it?”

“Laozu, Jiang Sect Leader, and his children have arrived. They’re requesting to see you,” the guard replies respectfully.

Wei Ying sighs but nods. “Let them in.” He glances at Chunwen and Chun Hua. “You both stay here with me.”

They nod in understanding, and Chunwen instructs the guard to bring their guests in. As they wait, Wei Ying mentally prepares himself, unsure of what this unexpected visit will bring.

Chapter 8

Notes:

Hello dear readers,

Welcome back!

Thank you for all your comments on the previous chapters. I appreciate each and every one of you for taking the time to share your thoughts.

For those of you who are concerned about Wei Wuxian's association with the Jiangs, I understand your worries—I share the same fears. While many viewers of *The Untamed* believe that Jiang Fengmian loved Wei Wuxian and that WWX received love and respect from most of the family, it saddens me to see how easily people overlook the abuse he faced, particularly from Madam Yu. It’s disheartening to think that turning a blind eye to a spouse’s mistreatment of a child can be construed as love. The justifications offered by the Jiang family for such abuse are both infuriating and heartbreaking. Asking someone to endure constant belittling and verbal abuse from both a mother and her son should never be called love.

 

So, here is another chapter for you all. As always, I would love to hear your thoughts and theories in the comments. Let me know what you think of this chapter!

Thank you for reading, and stay tuned for more!

 

******************

They nod in understanding, and Chunwen instructs the guard to bring their guests in. As they wait, Wei Ying mentally prepares himself, unsure of what this unexpected visit will bring.

Jiang Fengmian, Jiang Yanli, and Jiang Cheng enter the hall, their presence immediately unsettling the calm Wei Ying had carefully cultivated.

He greets them with a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Seeing the Jiang siblings again stirs a maelstrom of emotions deep within him. Once, the sight of Jiang Yanli alive would have filled him with warmth and joy, but now, their presence only twists a knife of bitterness and regret in his heart. The memories of their shared past—marked by loyalty, betrayal, and the crushing weight of unspoken debts—press heavily upon him. He forces himself to smile, masking his discomfort with a facade of calm indifference.

Jiang Yanli, ever gentle, holds a small box delicately in her hands as they step further into the hall. Her warm demeanour does little to ease the tension. Beside her, Jiang Cheng, as brooding as ever, scans the room with a scowl etched deeply into his face. His brow furrows as though every inch of Wei Ying’s new life—his grand receiving hall, his achievements, and his independence—is an affront to him. The hostility between them is palpable, a wound that has yet to heal.

"Wuxian, how have you been?" Jiang Fengmian's voice breaks the silence, steady yet tinged with a formality that speaks volumes about the chasm that now separates them.

"Sect Leader Jiang," Wei Ying responds with a respectful bow, his tone polite but distant.

Turning to the siblings, he adds, "Jiang Gongzi, Jiang Guniang," bowing to Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli in turn. His smile feels hollow, more of a formality than an expression of genuine warmth. "I am well. And you? How have you been?"

"We’re fine," Jiang Fengmian replies, his gaze softening slightly as he gestures to his children. "These are my son, Jiang Wanyin, and my daughter, Jiang Yanli."

They both bow in response, though Jiang Cheng's scowl remains unwavering, a permanent fixture on his face. Wei Ying's chest tightens at the sight. He wonders if his long absence from the Jiang sect has caused this rift, hardening Jiang Cheng's expression into one of resentment and disdain. What does Jiang Cheng truly think of him now? Once, they were brothers in all but blood, but now their bond feels fractured, distant, a mere shadow of what it once was.

The warmth of the past feels impossibly out of reach, leaving Wei Ying to wonder if they can ever bridge the gap that betrayal and time have created.

Jiang Yanli steps forward, gently opening the box she’s been carrying. Inside are familiar dishes: fragrant pork ribs and lotus root soup, along with a selection of Yunmeng specialties. The aromas waft through the room, triggering memories that Wei Ying had long tried to bury.

“Wei Gongzi,” she says softly, her voice brimming with warmth, “I brought you some pork ribs and lotus root soup. I hope it’s to your liking. These are a few of Yunmeng’s traditional dishes.”

The sight of the soup hits Wei Ying like a wave, pulling him into a flood of memories. It’s the same comforting dish he used to crave in his past life—a dish that, to him, had once symbolised love, care, and family. Back then, it was the embodiment of his Shijie’s affection, a simple gesture that had meant the world to him. But now, it feels like a relic of a past life that no longer fits with the man he’s become. What should have been a comforting gift now feels like a reminder of the chains that once held him to the Jiang sect, of ties and expectations he thought he had severed.

A storm of emotions churns within him. He wants to escape, to run far from everything this dish represents. Why, after all this time, does he still feel tethered to the Jiang sect? All he wants is peace, a life free from the spectres of his past and from the crushing weight of Jiang debts and obligations that no longer hold meaning to him. He curses the pull they still have over him, the way his heart softens despite the bitterness that lingers in his soul.

“Thank you, Jiang Guniang,” he replies, his voice carefully neutral. He motions to Chunwen, who instantly understands and orders the maids to bring bowls for everyone. The soup is ladled out and served with quiet efficiency.

Wei Ying picks up his bowl, staring down at the familiar dish, his mind racing with memories of days long gone. He takes a small sip. The taste is the same, yet it doesn’t hold the magic it once did. The warmth and nostalgia that used to flood him at the first taste are now absent. It’s not that the soup itself has changed—it's his perception that has.

The affection he had associated with this dish, the warmth he had yearned for, feels distant now, like a fading dream. The soup was never truly what he craved. It was the illusion of care, of belonging, that had made it special. Now, with the illusion shattered, all that remains is the taste of the past and the bitter realisation that the love he once sought is no longer enough to fill the void inside him.

"It tastes good," Wei Ying says with a polite smile, and Jiang Yanli's face lights up with joy. Her sincerity is palpable, but deep inside, Wei Ying knows he doesn’t want to taste this soup again. It's more than just a meal—it’s a reminder of a past he’s desperately trying to leave behind. Despite his outward calm, he senses this visit isn't purely about reconnecting over familiar dishes. Jiang Fengmian surely has an ulterior motive. Finishing the bowl quickly, he sets it aside, steeling himself for whatever is about to come.

"Would you like some more?" Jiang Yanli asks sweetly, her voice gentle as ever.

"We just had lunch, so I’m quite full, but thank you," Wei Ying responds with the same polite smile, masking his inner discomfort.

Jiang Cheng's expression remains sour, his scowl deepening as he watches the exchange. His eyes never leave Wei Ying, filled with a mixture of suspicion and perhaps something darker—resentment, perhaps?

"Wuxian, we didn’t come just to bring you food," Jiang Fengmian says, his voice warm yet purposeful. "We came to invite you to Lotus Pier."

Wei Ying's muscles tense slightly as Jiang Fengmian continues. "It’s where your father once lived, and it’s beautiful this time of year. The lotus lakes are in full bloom. I’m sure you’ll love it there. My son, Jiang Cheng, is about your age. I’m certain you two could get along and learn from each other. We’d be happy to have you stay with us for a few days; see how the Jiang Sect operates."

Though he keeps his smile, Wei Ying feels increasingly uneasy. "Thank you, Sect Leader Jiang, for the kind invitation, but it may be difficult for me to stay for long. I’ll certainly visit, though," he replies, his voice light yet measured, not wishing to offend.

"Don’t worry about Yiling," Jiang Fengmian persists, as if sensing the hesitation. "The Jiang Sect can assist in managing things here. You’ve been working hard—you deserve a few days to relax and enjoy yourself at Lotus Pier."

Wei Ying’s insides twist with unease. Why does Jiang Fengmian always exude such warmth, even when faced with resistance? It’s almost disarming. For a moment, Wei Ying wonders if his master’s warnings about the Jiangs were exaggerated, but something inside him remains wary. He knows that aligning too closely with the Jiang Sect could unravel everything he’s built in Yiling. Despite their kindness, Wei Ying feels trapped, as if destiny is pulling him back toward a path he no longer wishes to follow, one that leads straight into the heart of the Jiang Sect—a path he fears could cost him his hard-won peace.

"Sect Leader Jiang, I truly appreciate the offer, but there's no need to trouble yourself over Yiling," Wei Ying says, maintaining his polite facade, though he notices the slight falter in Fengmian’s smile. It's a small crack, but telling.

"How about you join us now, if you're free?" Jiang Fengmian offers again, unwilling to let the matter drop.

"We were in the middle of something when you arrived," Wei Ying replies quickly, keeping his tone lighthearted. "But perhaps I could visit you tomorrow instead?"

Fengmian pauses, considering the suggestion before nodding. "Alright, I’m sure you’ll love Yunmeng when you visit."

"Thank you, Sect Leader," Wei Ying responds, walking them to the door with the same cordial smile. "I’ll see you tomorrow."

Once the Jiang family leaves, the tension that had been simmering beneath the surface floods out of him in a deep sigh. "Chunwen, prepare some fine silk and a few jars of our wine for tomorrow's visit," Wei Ying says wearily, already feeling the weight of the impending trip.

"Laozu, I’ll accompany you," Chunwen offers, his voice steady, sensing Wei Ying's unease.

"Yes, and have the magistrate join us as well," Wei Ying adds, the mere thought of the visit filling him with dread.

"I’ll inform him immediately," Chunwen says before slipping out to make the preparations.

Alone once more, Wei Ying feels a wave of frustration wash over him. His mood, once so high earlier in the day, has plummeted. Everything he’s built, his newfound peace in Yiling, feels precarious, as if it could all unravel at any moment. The visit to Lotus Pier threatens to pull him back into a world he no longer wants to be a part of. His chest tightens with anger and helplessness, and unable to contain it, he storms out of the hall and heads straight for the practice grounds.

Grabbing a bow and arrow, he takes aim at the target boards, releasing shot after shot with sharp precision. Each arrow flies true, but they do nothing to quiet the storm brewing inside him. He’s fighting ghosts—ghosts of the past, ghosts of memories, and ghosts of the Jiang family. The sun begins to set as his frustration slowly ebbs away, replaced by exhaustion.

Seeking a momentary escape, Wei Ying heads into town, barely acknowledging the townspeople who bow in respect as he passes. He purchases several jars of wine from an inn and, without much thought, begins drinking, hoping the alcohol will numb his turmoil. As night falls, he finally stumbles back, the day slipping away in a haze of frustration and drink. Sleep comes fitfully, haunted by restless dreams of a past he can’t seem to outrun.
.

.

The next morning, Wei Ying awakens with a renewed sense of determination. He sits up, gazing out the window at the early light filtering through, and quietly speaks to himself, his voice steady and resolute.

"A second chance has been given to me, and I will not waste it. I owe them nothing in this life. They cannot drag me down or tie me to the past. Whatever happened in my first life has nothing to do with this Wei Ying. I have my people to protect, Yiling to safeguard. I will not let my fears consume me."

With this firm resolve, Wei Ying rises from his bed and heads toward the bath. As he steps into the warm water, the tension in his muscles begins to melt away, but his mind remains sharp, already planning for the day ahead. After bathing, he takes extra care in his appearance, choosing his attire thoughtfully. Today, he dresses in a set of grey inner robes, adorned with delicate golden designs, paired with a black outer robe intricately embroidered with gold thread along the borders. His belt, also black, is finely embroidered with gold and finished with ornate golden tassels. These are no ordinary robes but some of the finest silk garments produced in Yiling, soft and luxurious to the touch, reflecting both elegance and authority.

For a change, Wei Ying ties his hair with his usual red ribbon but decides to top it with a golden guan. His master had gifted him two guans—one silver, one gold—on one of his birthdays during his training in the mountains. Today, he opts for the golden one, a subtle reminder of his newfound strength and regal bearing.

Before leaving, he carefully gathers a few talismans, ensuring they're tucked securely into his robes. He then fastens his sword Suibian at his side and takes his flute, Chenqing, feeling a sense of readiness settle over him. His heart feels lighter, filled with a new sense of purpose and zeal as he steps out of his quarters, prepared to face whatever the day may bring.

When Wei Ying arrives at his office, Chunwen and the magistrate are already waiting for him. They waste no time, gathering the finest silk fabrics, jars of Yiling’s renowned wine, and an assortment of delicacies to take as gifts for the Jiang Sect. With everything prepared, they set off for Lotus Pier, their journey quiet but purposeful.

As the familiar sight of Lotus Pier comes into view, a wave of nostalgia crashes over Wei Ying. The last time he laid eyes on it, the pier had been nothing but a shadow of its former glory, reduced to ashes after the sect's downfall, with Jiang Cheng struggling to rebuild what had been lost. Now, it stands tall and vibrant, bustling with life and activity, its waters shimmering under the sunlight. Wei Ying lets the memories wash over him but refuses to linger on them. *This* visit is a part of his new life, not the past he’s left behind.

The guards at Lotus Pier recognise their guests and promptly lead them inside. As they step into the grand hall, Jiang Fengmian greets them warmly, his expression filled with a mixture of relief and joy.

“Welcome, Wuxian,” he says, extending his hand with a gentle smile.

“Sect Leader Jiang,” Wei Ying responds with a respectful bow, keeping his demeanour composed. With a brief nod, he signals to Chunwen, who steps forward with the gifts—exquisite silks, fine wine, and delicacies unique to Yiling. The offerings are handed over to Fengmian, who gestures to his maids to take them, expressing his gratitude with a smile.

“You’ve brought too much,” Jiang Fengmian says, his tone light, though his eyes reflect the importance of this reunion.

“It's a small token from Yiling,” Wei Ying replies, his voice smooth and diplomatic. “I hope the Jiang Sect finds them to your liking.”

With the formalities out of the way, the tension in the room eases slightly, but Wei Ying remains on guard. This visit, though seemingly friendly, is more than just a reunion.

“Come, let me show you around,” Jiang Fengmian says warmly, gesturing for Wei Ying to follow him. Together, they stroll along the lake's edge, passing the serene, lotus-filled waters, and then move through the bustling training grounds and the various halls and gardens of Lotus Pier.

For over an hour, Fengmian speaks with enthusiasm, pointing out the highlights of the pier. He describes the beauty of the lakes, the vibrancy of the markets, and the proud history of the Jiang Sect. He also praises the discipline and skill of his disciples, painting a picture of prosperity and strength. Wei Ying listens patiently, but beneath the surface, his mind wanders. The glowing picture Fengmian paints doesn’t quite align with Wei Ying’s memories of Lotus Pier. The struggles, the imperfections—those are glossed over. Still, Wei Ying nods and smiles, maintaining the appearance of a polite and attentive guest.

As they walk further, Wei Ying suddenly hears a familiar sound—a sharp bark in the distance. His heart skips a beat, instinctively recalling Jiang Cheng's fondness for dogs. In his absence, it seems Jiang Cheng has gathered even more of them. Though Wei Ying’s fear of dogs has eased thanks to his master’s training and the talismans he carries, his body still reacts on instinct, tensing slightly.

Luckily, Wei Ying had activated his dog-repelling talismans earlier that morning, just as a precaution. As expected, the dogs quickly scattered, avoiding him. Jiang Cheng notices this, his expression tightening, and without a word, he gathers the dogs and takes them back to the kennels.

Jiang Fengmian turns to Wei Ying with a warm smile. "Wuxian, how do you like Lotus Pier?"

"It’s beautiful, Sect Leader," Wei Ying replies, his tone polite and measured.

"Would you like to stay with us for a while?" Fengmian asks, his voice hopeful.

Wei Ying’s heart skips a beat, his mind momentarily freezing. The question catches him off guard. Stay? Here, where the past threatens to resurface with every step? Before he can form an answer, a loud shout echoes through the air.

Madam Yu is berating a disciple nearby. Her voice is sharp, cutting through the peaceful atmosphere like a blade. Both Wei Ying and Fengmian instinctively turn toward the commotion. The tension is thick, but Fengmian quickly tries to steer the situation away from confrontation.

“Wuxian,” Fengmian suggests with a quick smile, “why don’t you and Jiang Cheng have a spar?”

Wei Ying nods, forcing a small smile. “Sure.”

Fengmian immediately sends word to Jiang Cheng, summoning him to the training grounds for the sparring session. As they make their way there, Madam Yu, ever vigilant, spots Wei Ying and strides over. Her gaze is cold, filled with disdain. Despite this, Wei Ying bows respectfully, offering the customary greeting, but receives nothing more than a sharp, judgemental glare in return.

Soon, Jiang Cheng arrives, his sword Sandu in hand, his expression hardened with determination. This sparring match isn’t just about honing skills for him—it’s a test of pride. For years, he has watched as his father praised Wei Ying’s talents, and now, in front of both his parents, he is determined to show his strength and prove himself as the rightful heir of the Jiang Sect.

The two face off, bowing before the fight begins. The clash of swords fills the air as they move with lightning speed and precision, their skills on full display. Yet, it only takes a few moments for the outcome to be decided. With a swift, fluid motion, Wei Ying disarms Jiang Cheng, sending him to the ground. Suibian hovers just above his throat, the blade cool and steady.

Jiang Cheng’s face flushes with humiliation. The realisation stings—his father’s praise for Wei Ying was well-earned. No matter how hard he tries, he cannot match Wei Ying’s power and skill. It is a bitter pill to swallow.

“You’re such a show-off, aren’t you?” Madam Yu’s voice rings out, laced with venom and spite. Her anger is palpable, directed not only at Wei Ying but also aimed squarely at her son, Jiang Cheng. Her face twists in displeasure as she scolds him, “And you! I told you to train harder. Look at what happens when you don’t listen!”

On the other hand, Jiang Fengmian appears thoroughly pleased with the display of skill that Wei Ying just demonstrates. “Impressive, Wuxian,” he says, his eyes gleaming with admiration. “I would like to officially invite you to join the Jiang Sect.”

Madam Yu’s ire flares even hotter at this. “Fengmian!” she snaps, her tone sharp enough to cut through the thick tension in the air. “How dare you? And what position would he even hold?”

Ignoring her outrage, Fengmian continues, his voice steady and firm. “Your father was my most trusted man, Wuxian. You could be the same for Jiang Cheng. You would hold a significant position within the Jiang Sect, and you would be compensated handsomely.”

Madam Yu’s fury reaches a boiling point as she glares at Wei Ying; her voice shrills with indignation. “Don’t you dare bring this son of a whore into my house!” she screams, her weapon, Zidian, crackling with electric energy as it unfurls ominously in her grip. “And you—” she points an accusing finger at Wei Ying, “don’t think I don’t see through you. You’re trying to climb up the ranks and replace my son, aren’t you?”

Wei Ying’s expression hardens, a steely resolve settling in his features. “Sect Leader Jiang, thank you for your offer, but it isn’t practical. I have Yiling to manage,” he states calmly. “I’m confident your son will find someone trustworthy to stand by his side when he becomes sect leader.”

His voice grows colder as he turns to face Madam Yu, their eyes locking in an intense standoff. “I have no interest in the Jiang Sect or in replacing your son. My mother was a respectable cultivator, and if I hear you insult my parents again, I will not tolerate it.”

“How *dare* you!” Madam Yu hisses, her voice trembling with rage. “You’ve already encroached upon Yiling. Don’t you dare raise your voice in *my* house! I’ll throw you out of Yiling myself—just wait and watch.”

Wei Ying meets her glare without flinching. “Madam Yu, I have explained to you time and again the reasons I’ve claimed Yiling. If you’ve forgotten, I’ll remind you: you lost Yiling through your own incompetence. I was invited to Lotus Pier by your husband and your children. If you trespass on my borders or harm anyone under my protection, it will be responded to accordingly.”

Zidian flickers again, the air between them thick with tension and animosity.

Turning back to Jiang Fengmian, Wei Ying speaks with measured calmness. “Sect Leader Jiang, it seems Madam Yu has issues with who I am and who my parents are, for reasons unknown to me. I don’t concern myself with her opinions. But I’ll make one thing clear: Yiling is my home, and I will defend it. I do not belong to the Jiang Sect.” He bows respectfully, a clear signal that the conversation has reached its end.

Without another word, he turns to leave. Chunwen and the magistrate follow closely behind as Wei Ying walks away from the training grounds, the weight of the confrontation still heavy in the air. Once they are a safe distance away, Wei Ying swiftly teleports them all back to Yiling, leaving the turmoil of Lotus Pier behind.

.

Jiang Fengmian’s expression darkens with anger as he confronts Madam Yu; the tension between them is palpable. “Madam, you witnessed the boy’s strength firsthand,” he states firmly. “I wanted him for our sect. We had a chance when his parents died, but we lost that opportunity because of you. And now, once again, you’ve jeopardised our chances.”

Madam Yu's eyes blaze with fury, her voice filled with venom. “He has taken Yiling and claimed it as his own! Hmph! Look at you, still obsessing over having him on our lands. I swear I’ll go to Yiling myself, draw him out, and kill him! I’ve had enough of that bastard street urchin and his self-importance!”

Fengmian's frustration grows as he tries to reason with her. “Madam, please try to understand. Our children will be safe and protected if we have him on our side,” he pleads, desperation creeping into his voice. He knows how crucial Wei Ying’s alliance could be for the Jiang Sect’s future.

“Don’t you dare, Fengmian! You’ve become obsessed with that boy!” she screams, her face twisted in anger. “Keep him far away from my children!” With that, she storms out of the room, leaving Fengmian standing alone, burdened by a heavy sigh of defeat as he contemplates the rift growing between them.

.

“Laozu, Sect Leader Jiang is hell-bent on bringing you into the Jiang Sect,” Chunwen remarks as they settle back into Wei Ying's office. The air is thick with tension, a palpable reminder of the pressures surrounding them.

Wei Ying hums in thoughtful approval, a slight smile curling his lips. It feels empowering to stand up for himself and his parents against someone as petty as Madam Yu. Her jealousy, stemming from a rivalry with a deceased woman, clouds her judgement and compromises the interests of her own sect. He understands the depths of her twisted nature—the cruelty that festers within her and her obsessive tendencies. This realisation evokes a mix of amusement and frustration in him.

“Laozu, don’t you think it’s intentional that they keep calling you by your name?” Chunwen asks, raising an eyebrow, intrigued by the subtleties of the situation.

“Yes,” Wei Ying chuckles, the sound rich with irony. “If they believe that by avoiding my title they can somehow invalidate my achievements and status, then I can only laugh at their naivety. Honestly, their choice of words doesn’t bother me as long as their intentions remain pure.”

Chunwen considers this for a moment before asking, “What do you think they’ll do next?”

Wei Ying’s expression shifts into one of mischief, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “Madam Yu might very well come for my head,” he replies, laughter dancing in his eyes. “But I can't say I'm overly concerned. I just hope her jealousy doesn’t result in unnecessary bloodshed among cultivators. After all, we are supposed to be protectors of peace, not instigators of chaos.”

With a sigh, he adds, “If they push me into a corner, though, I won’t be able to spare them. It will become a matter of survival. I’ve fought too hard to reclaim my life and protect what’s mine.”

Chunwen nods in agreement, fully aware of the stakes involved. The tension between their sect and the Jiang sect is only escalating, and it could lead to dire consequences if not managed carefully. Both men know the importance of remaining vigilant, aware that their actions could set off a chain reaction that might disrupt the delicate balance of power in the cultivation world.

 

“By the way, Chunwen,” Wei Ying says, changing the subject with an excited glimmer in his eyes, “I’ve heard there are exotic and high-yield varieties of lotus in the regions west of Qishan. They produce the finest silk but are notoriously difficult to cultivate. We should look into growing them here.”

Chunwen’s eyes brighten at the idea, reflecting his enthusiasm. “That sounds promising! Should I ask one of our ghost spies in Qishan to procure the best quality seeds?”

“Exactly! Let’s see how the Jiangs can compete with that,” Wei Ying smirks, relishing the thought of outmanoeuvring his rivals. The prospect of introducing these exceptional lotuses ignites a sense of determination within him, fuelling his desire to elevate Yiling's status.

Chunwen grins and nods enthusiastically, eager to send the message. Just then, Wei Ying receives a message from Huaisang. He mentions it to Chunwen before excusing himself to fetch Huaisang, feeling a sense of anticipation for their conversation.

When he returns, Huaisang blinks rapidly, adjusting to the room's light, looking slightly disoriented. “Wei Xiong! You nearly gave me a heart attack by popping in like that!” he exclaims, breathing heavily as he places a hand over his heart.

Wei Ying chuckles, delighted by his friend’s dramatic flair. They settle into an easy conversation, discussing their practice of fan cultivation, Huaisang's passion for art, and his amusing obsession with collecting erotic books and fine wines. The atmosphere is light and full of laughter, a welcome reprieve from the tensions surrounding them.

“By the way, Wei Xiong, can I keep my art collection here?” Huaisang asks, his voice laced with hope and eagerness.

“Of course! I’ve got an even better idea for you,” Wei Ying replies with a playful wink, sensing the spark of inspiration in the air.

Huaisang’s interest piques immediately. “What is it?”

“Why don’t you and Chunhua collaborate on some paintings and sell them under pseudonyms? I could buy your first piece, and before you know it, you’ll be famous! Your artwork will fly off the shelves, and I can help you find a small space to store your creations.”

Huaisang’s eyes sparkle with excitement. “No one will know what the artists look like; that could be a distinct advantage!”

“Exactly!” Wei Ying says, his grin widening as he envisions their success.

“You’re brilliant, Wei Xiong!” Huaisang chuckles, genuinely impressed by the idea.

They waste no time calling Chunhua into the room. As she enters, her enthusiasm matches theirs, and the three of them quickly brainstorm ideas about what to paint, how to market their creations, and the logistics of their newfound venture. Plans flourish as they consider the many possibilities that lie ahead, uniting their skills and dreams into a shared goal that promises both creativity and success.

With excitement filling the room, they discuss potential themes, colours, and styles for their paintings, each idea sparking more inspiration. Laughter and creativity intertwine as they plan their collaborative project, their bond strengthening through this shared endeavour.

.
.

A few weeks pass, and Nie Huaisang becomes a regular visitor at Wei Ying's estate. His presence is now so frequent that he often stays late into the night, and on some occasions, he even chooses to remain overnight. As time goes on, the bond between Wei Ying and Nie Huaisang strengthens, evolving from a simple friendship into something more akin to brotherhood. Their shared laughter and late-night discussions weave a tapestry of trust and camaraderie, enriching both their lives in ways they hadn't anticipated.

 

One afternoon, while enjoying tea in the garden, Wei Ying receives a message from Wen Qing.

“Wei Wuxian, I have made the necessary arrangements. I want to speak to you in person. Meet me at the same inn tomorrow afternoon,” her message reads.

A sense of relief washes over Wei Ying. It seems Wen Qing has finally grasped the gravity of the situation. The dangers posed by Wen Ruohan’s ambitions have loomed too large to ignore, and she is now prepared to act decisively.

The next afternoon, Wei Ying teleports to Qishan and makes his way to the designated inn.

As expected, Wen Qing and Wen Ning are already waiting for him. After exchanging quick greetings, he pays for a room to ensure their conversation remains private.

“Wen Guniang, Wen Ning,” he greets them with a respectful nod, taking in their anxious expressions.

“Wei Gonzi,” they reply in unison, their voices steady despite the tension in the air.

Without wasting time, Wei Ying asks, “What have you decided?”

Wen Qing’s expression is grim, her usual calm demeanour now tinged with unease. “You were right,” she begins, her voice low and serious. “Wen Ruohan seeks to usurp the major clans and take complete control of the cultivation world. I don’t want the Dafan Wen clan to suffer because of his ambitions. We will need your help to protect our people.”

Wei Ying nods, anticipating this conclusion. “How many of you are willing to leave?” he enquires, hoping for a manageable number.

“About one hundred people,” she answers, her tone firm. “These are the ones who understand the seriousness of the situation and are ready to be relocated. Unfortunately, some still believe that Wen Ruohan won’t turn on the major clans, but I’ve managed to convince most of my family members. They trust me, and I want to keep them safe.”

Wei Ying leans back slightly, contemplating the implications of her words. “I can accommodate that many. And as for safety, I assure you, you will be protected,” he replies, his voice steady and reassuring.

He realises the magnitude of what they are undertaking. Protecting these people from a power hungry leader like Wen Ruohan will not be easy, but he feels a surge of determination. Together, they can forge a path of safety for those at risk. The weight of responsibility settles on his shoulders, but with Wen Qing and her family by his side, he feels ready to face whatever challenges lie ahead.

“We will make this work,” he affirms, determination burning in his chest, knowing that the time for action is now.

Wen Qing, still tense and wary of the situation, asks, “How will you keep us safe? How long will the preparations take?”

Wei Ying smiles slightly, trying to instill confidence in her. “The arrangements are already complete. We’ve built a colony that can house up to two hundred people. It’s hidden in the inner part of the Burial Mounds, a well-protected area. The homes are ready, and there’s a large communal kitchen and dining hall in Yiling that you can use. We’ve established barriers that only allow authorised people to enter. Everything is fortified with talismans—fire cannot harm the structures.”

Wen Qing’s eyes widen in surprise. The level of preparation he has managed in such a short time is nothing short of remarkable. She feels a mix of relief and skepticism. What are his true motivations for taking such a risk to help them? What does Wei Wuxian stand to gain by pulling them away from Wen Ruohan’s grasp? Deep down, she knows Wei Ying well enough to understand that he isn’t driven by personal gain, but the depth of his generosity still baffles her.

“When can you teleport us?” She asks, her voice quiet but resolute, determination shining through her uncertainty.

Wei Ying offers a reassuring smile, his confidence unwavering. “Whenever you give the signal.”

Wen Qing exhales deeply, the weight of their predicament heavy in the air. “We’ve made most of the necessary preparations. Our elder’s birthday is the day after tomorrow. That will give us the perfect opportunity to leave Wen Ruohan’s palace without raising suspicion. It’s our best chance to get out of Qishan unnoticed.”

“Good,” Wei Ying nods, appreciating her foresight. “Make sure to take everything you need before you leave. Once you're ready, split into groups of twenty and let me know your location. I’ll send my generals to escort you.”

Wen Qing nods firmly, her resolve strengthening with every word. “We will gather at the Dafan Wen Village, at the foothills of Qishan’s tallest mountain.”

“I’ll make arrangements for the banquet to ensure that only those willing to leave are invited. This way, no one will realise we’ve disappeared until it's too late,” she adds, her determination palpable as she outlines their strategy.

“Perfect. Send me a message once you're ready, and I’ll dispatch my generals immediately,” Wei Ying reassures her, his tone both calm and commanding.

“Thank you, Wei Gonzi,” she replies, bowing respectfully, a gesture of genuine gratitude that touches him deeply.

Wen Ning also bows, gratitude evident in his expression.

Wei Ying returns the bow, his heart swelling with a mix of pride and concern for the Wen siblings. “Be safe. Let me know if you need anything.”

With that, the Wen siblings leave the inn. Wei Ying watches them go, the weight of their situation settling heavily on his shoulders. He lets out a long, thoughtful sigh, aware of the immense risks they are all taking. However, he can’t ignore his conscience; he knows he must act.

Afterward, Wei Ying teleports back to his estate, determination fuelling his actions. He heads directly to Chunwen’s office. Upon entering, Chunwen greets him with the attentiveness that characterises their partnership. “Welcome back, Laozu. What’s the latest?”

“Wen Qing has agreed to the plan. They’ll arrive the day after tomorrow,” Wei Ying informs him, knowing the urgency of the situation.

“The arrangements are all in place, Laozu,” Chunwen replies confidently, a reassuring presence in this whirlwind of uncertainty.

“Is Huaisang around?” Wei Ying enquires.

“No, he mentioned he won’t be visiting for the next two days,” Chunwen informs him.

Wei Ying nods, pleased with Chunwen's promptness. “Good. I want to discuss a few things with you before then.” He moves swiftly, placing silencing talismans around the room to ensure their conversation remains private and secure from any prying ears. The air thickens with a sense of urgency as they delve into the matters at hand.

“We’ve received reports from our spies,” Wei Ying begins, his tone serious. “The Jins are financially supporting Wen Ruohan. I also heard there’s a waterborne abyss in Qishan. We need to act now. Wen Ruohan will learn about the Dafan Wen soon enough, and once he does, he’ll come here. We need to set a trap. Find out his primary source of income, Chunwen. We have to weaken him financially. That way, he’ll think twice before making any moves against the other sects.”

Chunwen listens intently, his brow furrowed in thought as he processes the gravity of Wei Ying's words. “Understood, Laozu. I’ll send a message to our spies in Lanling and Qishan to gather more intelligence. I’ll bring you the details as soon as possible.”

Wei Ying gives a small nod of approval, appreciating the swift action. “Good. We need to move quickly. Every moment counts.”

Chunwen hesitates for a moment before voicing another concern. “Laozu, I’ve heard rumours that Madam Yu is planning to lay siege on Yiling. She could come any day.”

Wei Ying laughs, raising an eyebrow in amusement. “Do you have a spy in Lotus Pier?”

Chunwen smiles, though somewhat sheepishly. “Yes, Laozu. I apologise, but I don’t trust the Jiangs, so I arranged it.”

Wei Ying chuckles, shaking his head lightly. “Aiya, there’s no need to apologize." I trust your judgment. Is the spy reliable?”

Chunwen straightens, his tone firm. “Yes, very. She’s one of our ghost spies. She was here a few days ago to deliver the lotus seeds. When I told her about the Jiangs' behaviour while we were there, she volunteered to go to Lotus Pier and keep an eye on them.”

Wei Ying laughs again, the sound lighter this time, a welcome break from the seriousness of their discussion. “Ah, I remember now. Speaking of the seeds, have they sprouted? Did my heating talismans work?” His eyes blink with excitement and anticipation, making his heart race.

“They have sprouted, Laozu. Your talismans worked perfectly. The dropping temperature hasn’t affected them at all,” Chunwen confirms with a proud smile.

“Excellent!” Wei Ying beams, the news lifting his spirits. “Now, we need to think about building a proper library for the books. I need a large quantity of paper—I still haven’t copied the books yet. The library must have three sections: a general section, a hidden underground section for secret and dangerous texts, and a blood-sealed section that only I can access. But we can hold off on this if we need to divert funds to procure grains or support the farmers.”

Chunwen shakes his head firmly. “There’s no need to worry about funds, Laozu. Our produce is high in both quality and quantity, and we’re selling it smoothly. We haven’t even started textile production yet, which will further increase our wealth and reach.”

Wei Ying taps his chin thoughtfully. “Good. Now, find out who the major buyers of Qishan and Lanling’s produce are. We’ll undercut them and replace their supply chains.” His mind races with possibilities, the thrill of the strategic game energising him.

Chunwen nods, taking notes mentally. “I’ll contact the spy immediately. We’ll gather intelligence on their buyers and disrupt their operations.”

“We’ll need to bring Huaisang in on this too,” Wei Ying says with a chuckle, the mention of their friend adding a light-hearted touch to their serious conversation. “He’s got a knack for clever ideas.”

Chunwen grins, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Indeed. He’s always full of surprising strategies. I can’t wait to see what he’ll come up with this time.”

They share a look of mutual understanding, a bond forged through their shared experiences and the challenges they face. As they plan their next moves, the weight of their responsibilities looms over them, but together, they feel a sense of hope. United by purpose, they are ready to confront whatever obstacles lay ahead, determined to safeguard their people and their future.

Chapter 9

Notes:

Hello, dear readers,

Welcome back!

Thank you so much for all your comments and kudos on the previous chapter! Your support means alot, so please keep it coming!

I know many of you are eagerly waiting for our beloved Lan boy to make his appearance. Just hang tight for one more chapter, and I promise you’ll see him or his POV very soon. I apologize for making you wait through more than nine chapters, but I hope you’re enjoying the story so far.

 

( A quick clarification: I noticed that a line in the last chapter caused some confusion regarding Jiang Cheng. To clear things up, in this fic, after a few years following the deaths of Cangse Sanren and Wei Changze, Jiang Fengmian searched for Wei Wuxian for several months. He was convinced that Wei Wuxian, given his exceptional lineage as the son of two highly skilled cultivators, was destined for greatness. Over time, Jiang Cheng often heard his father praise Wei Wuxian’s parents and regret how they had missed the opportunity to bring their son into the Jiang Sect.

So, when Jiang Cheng learns that Wei Wuxian has now become the infamous Yiling Laozu, his resentment only deepens. He feels constantly overshadowed by the person his father couldn’t stop admiring, and with Jiang Fengmian now determined to bring Wei Wuxian into their sect, Jiang Cheng’s frustration and feelings of inadequacy intensify even more. )

Now, onto this chapter—it's a longer one so I can bring Lan Er Gongzi into the story sooner, as per your requests!

As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts and theories in the comments below. Let me know what you think of this chapter!

Thank you for reading, and stay tuned for more!

***********************

Two days later, Wei Ying surveys the newly built settlement for the Dafan Wens. Nestled within the protective mounds of the inner valley, the colony is designed with a modest yet fertile plot of land for growing crops to sustain the community. Though secluded, its proximity to Yiling allows easy access to the town’s markets and resources whenever needed. The construction is now complete, and the Wens can move in immediately.

Wei Ying exhales deeply, his gaze lingering over the quiet, finished settlement. Though everything seems in place, a subtle unease tugs at the edges of his mind. He knows that despite careful planning, there are always elements beyond his control. He silently hopes that the peace they’ve worked for will last and that the Wens will be able to rebuild their lives without further disruptions.

His thoughts are interrupted by a message from Wen Qing: They are ready. Without delay, Wei Ying heads to the spirit village, where his six most trusted generals await him. As he briefs them, his tone is firm yet measured. "Ensure no one sees you during the transport," he instructs. Discretion is critical to avoid stirring unwanted attention. The generals nod in agreement before swiftly departing to carry out his orders.

Wei Ying then seeks out Chunwen to inform him of the Wens’ imminent arrival. Together, they make their way to the colony, preparing to welcome the new residents and oversee their safe transition into this new chapter of their lives.

 

Before long, the first general arrives, carrying the belongings of the Dafan Wens.

He deposits the items in the central hall of the colony and bows respectfully to Wei Ying. Wei Ying offers a small smile and pats him on the back in thanks. Gradually, the other generals return, each bringing groups of the Wens. Their faces reflect a complex blend of shock, relief, and lingering apprehension—uncertain of what to expect but comforted by the promise of a fresh start.

“No one saw you, right?” Wei Ying asks, his voice calm but underscored with seriousness.

The generals bow in unison and respond, "No, Laozu. We remained unseen."

Wei Ying smiles, relieved. "Good. Thank you for your efforts." With a nod of appreciation, he dismisses them, watching as they depart, knowing that their discretion was critical to maintaining the secrecy of the Wens' relocation.

As the air settles, Wen Qing steps forward, her voice soft yet thick with emotion. “Laozu, we are incredibly grateful for everything you’ve done.” She bows deeply, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“Wen Guniang,” Wei Ying replies gently, “This colony was built for you and your people. You are free to make it your home." He gestures around the settlement. "We’ve set up a dining hall where meals will be served three times a day. If anyone among you can cook, you’re welcome to help in the kitchen. We also have other areas where we could use assistance, but for now, take the time to rest and settle in.”

He nods toward Chunwen, who steps forward and bows. “This is my deputy, Chunwen. If you or anyone else needs anything, don’t hesitate to reach out to him.”

An elderly woman from the Wens speaks up, her voice trembling with emotion. “Thank you, Laozu. We don’t know how to repay your kindness.”

Wei Ying smiles warmly. “There’s no need for thanks. This colony is yours to use as you see fit. If you ever need help, just ask.” With that, Wei Ying and Chunwen take their leave, allowing the Wens to explore their new home.

As they wander the settlement, relief washes over the group. The colony is well-built and thoughtfully designed, instilling a sense of security and comfort they haven’t felt in a long time. Wen Qing and Wen Ning exchange glances, smiles softening their expressions. Slowly but surely, the Wens begin to settle in, deeply grateful for this unexpected refuge and the chance to rebuild their lives.

.

A few days later, Nie Huaisang pays a visit to Wei Ying. After exchanging pleasantries, Wei Ying leads him to his office. He motions for Chunwen to join them, and once they’re all inside, he shuts the door and places silencing talismans around the room. The atmosphere turns serious; the weight of unspoken matters thickens in the air.

"Nie Xiong, I need to discuss something important," Wei Ying begins, his tone low and grave.

Huaisang's eyes flicker with interest. He enjoys being privy to secrets and delights in the trust Wei Ying is placing in him. But he also understands that with such trust comes responsibility, and this time, the stakes feel particularly high. His casual demeanour fades as he senses the urgency in Wei Ying’s voice.

“Wen Ruohan is plotting to take control of all the sects," Wei Ying reveals, his words measured but charged with intensity. "He’s building a massive army and has already wiped out several smaller sects near Qishan. No survivors. He’s planning to target the larger sects, but he’s waiting for the right moment. I believe he’ll make his move within the next two years.”

Huaisang’s face darkens as the gravity of the situation sinks in. "And we have no proof of this?" he asks, his voice cautious.

Wei Ying shakes his head. "None. For now, it’s all based on observations and scattered intelligence. We can’t expose him without concrete evidence, so we need to stay quiet and avoid drawing attention. It’s crucial we remain discreet until the right moment. But there's more—Jin Guangshan is financing the Wen sect."

Huaisang feels a cold knot of anxiety tighten in his chest. If his brother, Nie Mingjue, were to learn of this, his temper would drive him to charge at Qishan immediately, consequences be damned. He pauses, his mind racing as he pieces together the enormity of the threat. After a moment, he regains his composure, nodding gravely.

"Wens have always excelled in the field of healing; they are renowned for their exceptional physicians. Even today, almost all the sects rely on the Wens for their herbs, medicinal teas, and various treatments," Wei Ying explains, his voice steady and measured. "While other sects do have their own physicians, infirmaries, and medicinal supplies, they simply cannot compete with the depth of medical knowledge the Wens possess. The medical branch of the Wens is known as the Dafan Wens, who have kept their focus on healing. However, Wen Ruohan, from the Qishan Wens, has strayed far from these roots. The Qishan Wens have turned their attention towards sword cultivation and the pursuit of power instead."

He pauses to let the weight of his words settle. The room grows tense as the implications of this shift in focus become clear. "From our investigations, we discovered that while the Qishan Wens still derive some income from their medicinal products, there is a darker, more troubling source of wealth. They impose exorbitant taxes on a group of individuals who run a vile network—people involved in the abduction of women and children, who are then sold to flower houses. This criminal operation is intricately linked to two powerful figures: Wen Ruohan and Jin Guangshan. Many of the women forced into these flower houses, especially in Lanling and Qishan, were kidnapped, trafficked, and coerced into a life they didn’t choose."

Huaisang’s eyes widen as he listens to the disturbing revelation.

Wei Ying continues, his expression grim. "If we can disrupt Wen Ruohan's major sources of income—his medicinal revenues and his cut from this trafficking network—we can force him to reconsider his plans for war against the cultivation world."

Huaisang, still shocked, asks, "How did you uncover all this?"

Wei Ying leans back slightly, his eyes narrowing. "I have spies in both Lanling and Qishan," he says simply. "While there are still gaps in the information, it’s enough to see the larger picture. We must remain vigilant and wait for the right moment to strike."

He shifts the conversation back to their strategy. "Weakening Wen Ruohan also means weakening the Jins. The Jin sect is rich, drawing its income from silk and cotton textiles, flower houses, wines, and from the same trafficking scheme. Directly attacking these industries would be difficult, but exposing Jin Guangshan’s misdeeds could ruin his standing in the cultivation world."

Huaisang lets out a slow breath, shaking his head. "That’s a tall order, especially considering Jin Guangshan has illegitimate children scattered across the cultivation world. In fact, we have one of his offspring here in Qinghe."

Wei Ying sighs, his voice tinged with pity. "I feel sorry for those children. They didn’t ask for any of this."

“We need to introduce our textiles and silk to the world. People need to see how superior our silk is and eventually shift their loyalties from the Jins to us,” Wei Ying says, his tone firm and resolute.

Nie Huaisang, always the supportive friend, chuckles. “Wei Xiong, I’ll help you with that. Trust me, once the word gets out, you’ll be overwhelmed with orders.”

Wei Ying smirks, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “We’ll weaken the Jins first, just enough to shake their dominance. Then, I’ll introduce a few of my own inventions.”

Huaisang raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Wei Xiong, you’re a genius. But what about the Wens? How do you plan to handle them?”

Wei Ying’s expression grows thoughtful, his eyes narrowing as he considers his next words. “Wen Ruohan has already lost one of his key strongholds—the Dafan Wen branch. They’re no longer under his control.”

Huaisang’s eyes widen in surprise. “What? What did you do to them?”

Wei Ying laughs lightly. “Relax; I didn’t kill them. I simply relocated them.”

“Relocated?” Huaisang repeats, looking even more baffled. “How in the world did you manage that?”

Wei Ying’s face is calm, but his eyes reveal the sharpness of his plan. “Wen Qing, Wen Ruohan’s niece. She’s a prodigy in her field—exceptionally skilled and intelligent. Wen Ruohan kept her close to maintain control over the Dafan Wens, knowing they held significant influence, especially in the medical world. A few weeks ago, I reached out to her, explaining what Wen Ruohan is planning and how it would ultimately lead to their downfall if he loses the war. She was hesitant at first, but after some time, she came to understand the gravity of the situation.”

“And she agreed to leave?” Huaisang asks, still processing this unexpected turn of events.

Wei Ying nods. “Yes. Wen Qing never supported Wen Ruohan’s ruthless methods. The Dafan Wens have always believed in helping others, giving people a chance at a better life. What Wen Ruohan is planning goes completely against their values. A few days ago, she contacted me, and we arranged for the relocation. Now they live in the inner parts of the mounds, safe from the chaos.”

Nie Huaisang leans back in his chair, nodding approvingly. “That’s a good move. No one would have believed the Dafan Wens were innocent if war broke out. It’s better that they’ve distanced themselves now.”

Wei Ying’s face turns serious, his voice lowering. “Exactly. But I don’t want Wen Ruohan to start a war, and I definitely don’t want anyone to provoke him into one. That’s why you have to keep this quiet, Huaisang. I only told Sect Leader Nie about Wen Ruohan’s plans to keep him cautious, but the last thing we need is him storming into Qishan, demanding answers.”

Huaisang sighs, the weight of the situation settling in. “I understand, Wei Xiong. I worry about my Dage for the same reason. We already have enough threats hovering over us. The last thing we need is to invite another disaster.”

Wei Ying’s expression softens as he notices the tension in his friend’s face. “What’s troubling you, Nie Xiong?”

“The Nie sect,” Huaisang begins, his voice tinged with sorrow, “we’re cursed with short lives. Cultivating the saber takes a heavy toll on our bodies. I fear for my Dage. He doesn’t seem to realise how dangerous it is, and I can’t stand the thought of losing him. That’s why I avoid saber cultivation as much as I can. Now that I’m learning to wield a fan instead, he’s stopped pressuring me, but his fate still hangs in the balance.”

Wei Ying listens thoughtfully, then offers a potential solution. “Nie Xiong, I might be able to help. If you can gather information for me on how your sect’s saber cultivation works—the techniques, the damage it causes, and the theories behind it—I believe I could come up with something that could alleviate its effects.”

Huaisang’s eyes light up with hope. Without hesitation, he jumps up from his seat and rushes over to embrace Wei Ying. “Wei Xiong! You’ve given me the best gift I could ever ask for! I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you!”

Wei Ying laughs, patting Huaisang on the back. “Nie Xiong, I haven’t even come up with a solution yet. Besides, there’s no debt between friends.”

Nie Huaisang pulls back with a wide smile, his usual playful demeanour returning. “Wei Xiong!” he whines, dragging out the words in mock protest.

Wei Ying chuckles. “What is it now?”

Huaisang’s eyes sparkle with mischief as he leans in closer, clearly up to something. “Wei Xiong, my Dage sent me to Gusu last year for some guest lectures. I deliberately failed, so he’d send me again this year, allowing me to avoid saber practice a little longer. The guest disciple lectures are starting next week, and Dage expects me to go. But, Wei Xiong, I really don’t want to go this time!” Nie Huaisang fake-cries, pouting dramatically.

Wei Ying chuckles again, amused by his friend’s antics.

Suddenly, Huaisang's face brightens with inspiration. “Wei Xiong, what if you join me? We could have so much fun together!”

"I’ll come," Wei Ying says with a teasing smile.

Huaisang’s eyes light up with excitement. “Really? You mean it?”

Wei Ying smirks. “Sure, if they replace their three thousand rules with three thousand jars of Emperor’s Smile.”

Huaisang bursts into laughter. “If they did that, I’d be the first one at the Cloud Recesses’ doorstep!”

As their laughter fades, Wei Ying’s expression shifts to something more serious. “Nie Xiong, there’s something important I need to ask of you. For now, we need to keep our friendship under wraps. I’m planning to provoke Wen Ruohan and draw some of his forces toward me if he continue with his plans, but I don’t want to implicate the Nie sect. If anyone knew you’d been spending time in Yiling, it could drag your sect into this mess.”

Huaisang’s playful demeanour drops, concern creeping into his voice. “What are you planning to do, Wei Xiong?”

Wei Ying gives him a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. Everything will be fine. I’ll explain more once the plan is finalised, but just trust me for now.”

Huaisang nods, though a shadow of uncertainty still lingers. “Alright, just promise me you’ll be careful. And when you're ready to introduce your textiles, let me know. I’ll make sure the word spreads like wildfire.”

Wei Ying grins. “I will. Thanks, Nie Xiong.”

Huaisang brightens again, his mischievous spark returning. “Oh, by the way, we’ve finished a few paintings. We’ll start spreading the word that Yiling Laozu has commissioned art from a renowned painter. That should stir the Jins’ egos! I bet they’ll start commissioning paintings left and right just to outdo you.”

Wei Ying sighs dramatically, playing along. “The Jins and their wealth... peacocks, the lot of them.”

Huaisang chuckles, already envisioning the chaos his scheme would cause. “Alright, Wei Xiong, I need to get back and finish some paintings with Chun Hua, but if you need me, just say the word.”

With that, Huaisang waves goodbye, his usual light-hearted spirit intact as he makes his exit.
.

.

"Laozu," Chunwen calls as he steps into the room, his voice calm yet carrying a note of urgency.

"We might expect Madam Yu at our gates in a day or two."

Wei Ying raises an eyebrow, surprised by the news. "What? Why now?"

Chunwen crosses his arms, his tone growing more serious. "They're sending the Jiang sect heir and a few disciples to Gusu next week for the guest lectures. Sect Leader Jiang and Madam Yu have been at odds, arguing about you. Madam Yu is convinced that reclaiming Yiling and killing you will elevate Jiang sect heir’s standing. She sees defeating the ‘Yiling Laozu’ as a way to strengthen their sect’s power."

Wei Ying can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. "Let her come, then. We’ll see what she’s really up to."

He sighs, a hint of exasperation slipping into his voice. "The more I want to distance myself from them, the more they keep finding reasons to come after me. I truly don’t understand them."

Before Chunwen can respond, there’s a knock at the door.

They exchange a glance, and Chunwen moves to open it. Standing there are Wen Qing and Wen Ning, looking hesitant yet determined.

Wei Ying greets them with a warm smile. "Please, come in," he says, gesturing for them to enter.
"Laozu, I’ll take my leave," Chunwen says with a respectful bow.

Wei Ying nods. "Thank you, Chunwen."

Once Chunwen exits, Wei Ying turns his full attention to the Wen siblings, his smile softening.

"Wen Guniang, how are things going? And Wen Ning, how have you been?"

Both Wen Qing and Wen Ning bow respectfully. "We’ve been well; thank you, Laozu," Wen Qing replies, her voice polite but laced with lingering uncertainty.

"Come, sit. Let me get you some tea," Wei Ying offers, already moving to pour them each a cup. Despite their protests, he hands them the steaming cups, a look of casual insistence on his face.

"Laozu…" Wen Qing begins, her voice quiet, as if still unsure how to properly address him.

"Please," Wei Ying interrupts gently, his tone light. "No need to call me Laozu when it’s just the three of us. You can call me Wuxian."

Wen Qing shakes her head, clearly uncomfortable. "How could we? You’ve done so much for us."

Wei Ying smiles, a genuine warmth in his expression. "Why not? Wen Ning is like a younger brother to me, and you’re like a sister. There’s no need for titles among family."

Wen Qing hesitates for a moment, her thoughts visibly swirling before she finally asks the question that’s been on her mind. "Why have you helped us? We… don’t understand."

Wei Ying’s gaze softens. "I helped because it was the right thing to do. No one deserves to be persecuted for their sect’s mistakes. You and Wen Ning are good people. That’s reason enough for me."

Wei Ying sighs, setting his cup down gently. "Do you really think I have some hidden motive behind saving you? I don’t. I already have wealth, my people are thriving, and Yiling is flourishing. What would I gain by keeping you here with ulterior motives?"

He looks at Wen Qing and Wen Ning earnestly, his eyes sincere. "If I had some hidden agenda, I would’ve kept your brother or someone close to you as leverage. But I haven’t. I understand it’s hard to trust anyone, especially in times like these. But I’ve learnt that kindness is more valuable than any wealth. It’s rarer than the rarest gems, and yet, the easiest thing to offer. That’s all this is—kindness."

Wen Qing is silent for a moment, clearly processing his words. The weight of distrust she’s carried seems to ease slightly, though a trace of hesitation lingers.

Sensing the tension, Wei Ying lightens his tone. "You’re free here, truly. In fact, I wanted to ask for your help with something, but only if you’re willing. There’s no pressure at all."

Wen Qing exchanges a quick glance with Wen Ning before looking back at Wei Ying, curious. "What is it?"

"I want to build an infirmary here in Yiling," Wei Ying explains, a spark of enthusiasm in his voice.

"You and the other medics from the Dafan Wen branch would have full access to it. We’re also building a library that’ll be open to everyone. Some of the children have formally started their education, and I was wondering if you or others from your branch could teach them about medicine, herbs, and golden cores. As for Wen Ning, if he’s interested, he could teach them archery."

Wei Ying smiles warmly as he hands her a piece of parchment. "This is a list of tasks that Chunwen prepared. If anyone from your branch has the skills and wants to contribute, they can choose from these. And they’ll be paid fairly, of course. Chunwen handles all the finances, so you can ask him about the details."

Wen Qing takes the list, her eyes scanning over it thoughtfully. "We’ll think about it and let you know."

Wei Ying nods, his eyes bright with enthusiasm. "No rush. Come, I want to show you something."

He leads Wen Qing and Wen Ning outside to a cluster of buildings surrounding the main Wei Estate. The architecture is sturdy and elegant, blending harmoniously with the natural surroundings.

"Three of these buildings are occupied by some of the people I’ve helped settle here, but there are still three available. You can choose any two for your residence and office. They all have the same layout, so feel free to take a look."He gestures to one of the unoccupied buildings, opening the door and inviting them inside. The space is modest yet comfortable, with clean lines and warm, earthy tones. "Your help in managing the infirmary or anything else would be greatly appreciated, but, as I said before, there’s no obligation. You and your people are free to move around Yiling as you please. It’s my responsibility to ensure your safety. If you decide you want to help manage things here, just let me know."

Wen Ning, ever the quiet one, looks around, his eyes wide with wonder. A shy smile tugs at his lips as he says softly, "Thank you, Laozu."

Wei Ying gives him a playful look, feigning exasperation. "Wen Ning, I’ve told you before. I consider you my brother. Either call me Wuxian or Wei Gege. No more ‘Laozu’ or ‘Gongzi,’ alright?"

Wen Ning’s face flushes slightly, and he stammers, "W-Wei Gege..."

"That’s better," Wei Ying laughs, clapping Wen Ning on the back with a grin.

"Remind me, I want to introduce you to someone soon. Actually, you’ve already met him," he adds with a chuckle.

Wen Ning nods, his timid smile still in place as they continue their tour around the estate.

"Qing Jie, Wen Ning, you’re welcome to join us for the management meetings," Wei Ying continues, his voice warm and welcoming. "You’ll get an understanding of how we run things here in Yiling, and if you’d like to help, you’re more than welcome. If not, that’s fine too."

Wen Qing, intrigued by the operation of the estate, nods thoughtfully. "We’ll join you for the meetings; thank you."

"Great!" Wei Ying replies with enthusiasm. "I’m heading to the dining hall for dinner. Would you like to come along?"

The siblings agree, and they follow Wei Ying to the large dining hall.

The hall is bustling with life, filled with the warmth of laughter and chatter. The people of Yiling appear genuinely content, a stark contrast to the heavy atmosphere that had once hung over the region.

As soon as Wei Ying enters, the room quiets briefly, and everyone bows respectfully.
Wei Ying, ever casual, smiles warmly and bows back before heading to serve himself a hearty meal. He scoops up a bowl of hot soup, some porridge, sweet potatoes and, in true Wei Ying fashion, drenches it all in a generous helping of chilli sauce.

The Wen siblings blink in surprise at the sheer amount of chilli Wei Ying had added to his food, watching as his meal transformed into a fiery red. Just as Wei Ying settles down, a group of young children come running toward him, their faces lit with excitement.

"Wei Gege! Wei Gege!" they call out in unison.

Wei Ying chuckles, waving them over while gesturing for Wen Qing and Wen Ning to sit with him.

“What is it, little radishes? What did you learn today?” He asks, his mouth already full of porridge.

“We learnt numbers! And some new characters!” the children exclaim, clearly proud of themselves.

“Good job!” Wei Ying praises them, fishing out a handful of nuts from his pouch. “Here, take these, and don’t forget to share with everyone else.”

The children eagerly take the nuts, their eyes shining with joy. Then, as if remembering something, Wei Ying pulls out a few candies from his robes. “Oh, and take these too. Nie Xiong got them for me; they’re really good.”

The children’s faces light up even more at the sight of the candies, and they scramble to grab them. One of the children, Xue Yang, hugs Wei Ying’s arm tightly and declares proudly, “My Wei Gege is the best!”

“He’s my Gege too!” Another child pipes in with a playful pout.

Wei Ying laughs, ruffling their hair affectionately. “Alright, alright! I’m your Gege, and your Gege, and your Gege too. Everyone happy now?”

The children nod enthusiastically, their grins wide and infectious.

“Gege, when will you teach me swordsmanship?” Xue Yang asks eagerly, his eyes full of excitement.

“Soon,” Wei Ying replies with a smile. “Once you finish mastering the basics that Eleventh Marshal is teaching, I’ll teach you my sword form. But you have to practice hard.”

Xue Yang’s eyes sparkle with determination. “I will, Gege!” he promises, his voice full of enthusiasm.

His gaze then shifts to Wen Ning, and a look of concentration crosses his small face as he recalls something. “Gege, isn’t he the one you saved in the forest?” Xue Yang asks, pointing at Wen Ning.

Wei Ying smiles, nodding. “You remember? Yes, that’s right. His name is Wen Ning. You can call him Ning Gege.”

Wen Ning blushes deeply at the attention, feeling shy. Xue Yang runs over to him, beaming brightly. “Hello, Wen Ning Gege!” He greets cheerfully.

“H-Hello,” Wen Ning stammers, a shy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he responds.

Suddenly, Xue Yang remembers something and pipes up, “Wei Gege, I tested the robes you gave us! I played in the fields, fell in a puddle, and there’s not a single stain! They’re amazing!”

Wei Ying chuckles at the boy’s excitement. “Ah, see? You’re the perfect tester! I’ll have to give you more experiments next time to test out.”

Xue Yang nods eagerly. “Wei Gege’s inventions are always the best! I’ll test anything for you!”

Wei Ying grins widely. “Good! Now, off you go, back to the dormitories. Don’t wander around too late. And remember, if you don’t pass your tests next week, you’ll be running laps around Yiling, and you’ll be cleaning the pig and chicken coops for a month!”

The kids burst into giggles, promising, “We’ll pass, Wei Gege!” before scampering off toward their dormitories.

Turning to Wen Qing, Wei Ying says, “Qing Jie, if any of your people have children under ten, feel free to send them to our classes here. It’s a good environment for them.”

“I’ll pass the word along,” Wen Qing replies, observing Wei Ying with a mixture of surprise and admiration. She marvels at how easily he interacts with everyone—how loved and respected he is by the people of Yiling, yet how grounded he remains. The warmth he radiates is infectious, and despite her usual cautious nature, she feels herself softening in his presence. It is rare to meet someone who offers kindness without expecting anything in return, and she feels an urge to protect him, much like she does with her younger brother, Wen Ning.

 

After they finish their meal, Wei Ying stands up and stretches. “I’m going to check on Chun Hua and Nie Xiong. Do you want to come along?”

Before Wen Qing or Wen Ning can respond, Wei Ying starts walking toward Nie Huaisang’s quarters. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to Nie Xiong if he’s still around.”

They follow him through the estate until they reach a building with the door slightly ajar. Inside, Chun Hua is busy working on designs for robes. When she sees Wei Ying, she immediately stands and bows.

“Chun Hua, is Nie Xiong here?” Wei Ying asks.

“No, he left a while ago. I sent the First General to accompany him. We looked for you in your office earlier, but when we didn’t find you, we figured you might be at dinner,” Chun Hua responds.

“Ah, yes. I just finished eating. Have you had dinner yet?” Wei Ying asks.

“I was about to go,” Chun Hua replies, handing him a stack of designs.

Wei Ying flips through them, impressed by the intricate embroidery and lavish patterns. “These are beautiful,” he says, “but why aren’t we making simpler, more affordable robes? Those are quicker to produce and would be accessible for disciples and ordinary citizens. We have plenty of cotton to work with.”

Chun Hua pauses, briefly caught off guard by the suggestion.

“We could even grow more cotton if we need to,” Wei Ying adds thoughtfully. “There’s enough land for that.”

“Understood, Laozu. I’ll start working on some simpler designs,” Chun Hua says, nodding.

“There’s no rush,” Wei Ying smiles, “take your time. Now, go and have your dinner.”

As they leave the building, Wei Ying turns to the Wen siblings. “Sleep well, Qing Jie, Wen Ning. Good night.”

Wen Qing nods. “Good night.”

“Good night, Wei Gege,” Wen Ning says softly.

Wei Ying smiles warmly, watching them walk away before heading off himself, feeling content with the day’s events.
.

 

.

The next morning, Wei Ying sets out to inspect the lotus crops. The plants have grown tall and lush, their broad leaves and vibrant blooms covering much of the lake's surface. In the distance, he sees a few villagers fishing with ease, casting their nets into the clear waters. The sight fills Wei Ying with satisfaction, knowing that the lotus fields are thriving under the care of the talismans he had placed to protect the water. A small smile tugs at his lips before he turns to visit the Wen colony.

Upon reaching the colony, he spends time speaking with the residents. Their faces, once lined with uncertainty, now reflect peace and stability. Wei Ying listens closely to their concerns, offering solutions and reassurance where needed. The Wen people have begun to find their footing in Yiling, and their growing sense of security pleases him. He reassures them with warmth, promising to continue supporting their efforts to rebuild their lives. His presence brings them the safety they had longed for, and he leaves knowing they are settling in well.

 

Returning to his workshop, Wei Ying faces a table cluttered with half-completed talismans and array diagrams. His latest project is a new talisman designed to regulate soil nutrients and maintain optimal temperatures for lotus cultivation. His goal is to increase the yield of lotus crops to five or six harvests a year, a feat that could revolutionise the local economy.

 

By evening, Wei Ying completes the talisman. He tests it on a small lotus plant kept in his workshop for such purposes. The plant responds instantly, its leaves growing deeper in colour, a sign of its improved vitality. Satisfied, Wei Ying stretches his sore muscles, feeling a deep sense of accomplishment. He pours himself some tea, ready to savour a quiet moment of reflection.
Just as he is about to take his first sip, there’s a knock on the door. "Enter," Wei Ying calls out, curiosity sparking in his eyes.

Chunwen steps in, breathless and anxious. "Laozu, Yu Furen is here. She’s brought about a hundred cultivators and is firing arrows. Our barriers have been raised by the generals, but we need you."

Wei Ying sets down his tea, his expression calm but focused. "Let's go."

They move swiftly toward the heart of the estate, but Wei Ying stops suddenly. "Wait. I need to warn Nie Xiong and the Wens. They should stay within the barriers." Without hesitation, he veers toward the Wen quarters.

Finding Wen Qing, he approaches her with his usual calmness, despite the situation. "Qing Jie, Madam Yu has come to lay siege on Yiling. There's no need to worry. I’ll handle it, but please stay within the inner mounds. Under no circumstances should anyone leave the protected area."

Wen Qing looks at him, startled, but before she can respond, Wei Ying is already heading toward Huaisang's quarters.

"Nie Xiong," Wei Ying calls as he enters, his tone brisk but composed. "Madam Yu is laying siege to Yiling with her forces. I can have one of the generals escort you back to Qinghe if you'd prefer. But whatever you do, stay inside. Don’t come out."

Huaisang, usually carefree, looks up with an unusual expression of concern. "Wei Xiong, no need to send anyone. I’ll stay here and wait it out. Just be careful, alright?"

Wei Ying offers a small reassuring smile. "Alright. You too. Stay safe, and I’ll see you soon."

With that, Wei Ying turns and leaves, his mind sharpening, already calculating the best way to deal with Madam Yu and the formidable force she has brought to his doorstep. He quickens his pace, ready to confront whatever lies ahead.

.
.

Around a hundred Jiang cultivators stand firmly at the gates of Yiling, Madam Yu at the forefront, her Zidian unfurled and crackling with fierce purple sparks.

Her face twists in fury as she bellows, "I dare you to open your barrier! Why are you hiding behind it like a coward?"

Wei Ying, calm and collected, strolls toward the gates where the six generals and marshals are already gathered. He offers them a reassuring smile before turning his gaze to Madam Yu, completely unbothered by her rage.

"What is it, Madam Yu?" Wei Ying asks, his voice calm and measured. His lack of agitation only fuels her anger.

"You!" she spits. "Come out if you dare! Lower your barrier and see what happens to you!" Her eyes gleam with the anticipation of a long-awaited victory.

Wei Ying responds with a wicked smile. "Alright. You and your best ten cultivators can come in. I will only have two marshals and a general with me."

He gestures for all his generals and marshals, except the first general and two marshals, to step back. They do as instructed, retreating a few feet.

Without hesitation, Wei Ying lowers the barrier, allowing entry to only eleven cultivators. Madam Yu enters with a smug smile, thinking she has gained the upper hand. As she steps through, her Zidian sparks ominously in her hand, the air around her crackling with electricity.

Wei Ying, still composed, watches her closely, his eyes glinting with calm confidence as he prepares for whatever she intends next.

"Chunwen, go to a safe place," Wei Ying instructs quietly, his voice steady. Chunwen nods, a look of understanding crossing his face, and quickly leaves, his steps swift as he heads for safety. The marshals and generals remain on high alert, their expressions serious as they prepare for what’s to come.

Madam Yu stands defiantly before him, her Zidian unfurled, crackling with energy in the tense air. Her eyes are fierce, filled with a determined fury that radiates from her like a dark aura. She is convinced that victory is within her grasp; the moment she has long desired is finally here. Without a moment's hesitation, she lashes out with her Zidian, sending the purple whip straight toward Wei Ying, aiming to strike him down.

 

However, Wei Ying stands steady and composed, his resolve unyielding. He concentrates his Qi, channelling it through his palm, and as the whip approaches, he catches the Zidian with his bare hand. For a fleeting second, time seems to freeze—until the weapon recoils violently against her, sending shockwaves of energy back toward her. The force burns her hand as if she had struck herself. Her eyes widen in disbelief as she watches her prized Zidian disintegrate before her very eyes, turning to ash.

 

Madam Yu’s shock deepens, the realisation that her most trusted weapon is now gone dawning on her. Jinzu and Yinzu, her personal guards, charge at Wei Ying in a frantic attempt to retaliate. Yet, in mere moments, he disarms them both with fluid grace, capturing them effortlessly and handing them over to his third marshal, who restrains them with ease. The marshal handles her guards as if they were mere children, his movements efficient and practiced.

 

Witnessing this display of power, the eight remaining cultivators surge forward, empowered by desperation. But the first general and first marshal spring into action, swiftly taking down the attackers and holding them hostage within seconds. Madam Yu stands frozen in shock, stunned by the rapidity of her defeat. What she had envisioned as an easy conquest now feels utterly unattainable. Even if she calls for the rest of her cultivators beyond the barrier, a creeping dread settles within her: they wouldn’t stand a chance against Wei Ying and his formidable forces.

Wei Ying meets her gaze, his eyes cold but calm, a stark contrast to her simmering rage."Madam, I have no desire to spill Jiang blood. But it seems you’re intent on forcing my hand."

Madam Yu opens her mouth to retort, her anger bubbling just beneath the surface, but before she can speak, Wei Ying continues, his voice deadly serious. "It was your Zidian that turned to ashes today. If the Jiang Sect makes another attempt against Yiling, I will personally burn your sect to the ground. Don’t test me."

Her face contorts with rage, the venomous words forming on her lips. "How dare you, you son of a—"

Wei Ying’s sword, Suibian, appears at her throat in an instant, its blade glinting ominously in the light. His gaze darkens, his voice low and menacing. "One more word against my parents, and I’ll cut out your tongue. Your anger might cost you your life and the lives of your cultivators. Choose your next words carefully."

For a moment, silence blankets the scene, heavy and oppressive. The marshals and generals stand ready, weapons at their sides, anticipating Wei Ying’s next command. Madam Yu, still seething with fury, struggles to maintain her composure, knowing she cannot afford to make a move with Suibian poised so dangerously close to her throat. The tension in the air is palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife.

"We’ve lived in peace," Wei Ying states, his tone unwavering and resolute. "I don’t know what problem you have with me or Yiling, but this is my final warning. If there’s another attempt against us, you will face the consequences."

With that, he sheathes Suibian, the blade sliding smoothly into its scabbard, a final act of finality. He then turns to his marshals, issuing a command. "Throw her and her cultivators out."

 

The marshals and the general spring into action without hesitation. They seize Madam Yu, who remains too stunned and humiliated to put up a fight, and unceremoniously toss her out of the gates. The remaining Jiang cultivators follow suit, equally disarmed and stripped of their dignity. As Madam Yu hits the dirt outside the gates, her face flushes with a mixture of embarrassment and rage. She, a powerful matriarch of the Jiang Sect, has been thoroughly humiliated, her authority shattered in an instant.

"Retreat!" she barks, her voice sharp and laced with fury as she gathers herself.

Without another word, her remaining cultivators turn and retreat, their heads hanging low as they walk back down the road from whence they came.

.

 

As soon as Madam Yu storms through the gates of Lotus Pier, her fury radiates like a wildfire. She is met by Jiang Fengmian, her children, and other Jiang cultivators and disciples, their expressions a mix of concern and confusion.

“San-Niang, what happened?” Jiang Fengmian asks, concern etched on his face as he steps closer to Madam Yu.

“That son of a—he burnt down my Zidian!” She screams, her voice filled with unrestrained rage.

The crowd around her gasps in disbelief, the murmurs spreading like wildfire. Jiang Cheng, her son, steps forward, his eyes wide in shock. “How did he do that?” he asks, his voice trembling with uncertainty.

“You! Shut up!” Madam Yu whirls on him, her eyes blazing with fury. “I told you to work harder! Now look at this situation—he's stronger than any of us here! You should have led the charge to take back what belongs to us! I’m not letting him go for this!”

Jiang Fengmian, sensing that his wife’s anger is blinding her to reason, turns to one of the cultivators who had accompanied her to Yiling. “Tell me what happened,” he commands, his tone brokering no argument.

The cultivator hesitates, glancing nervously at Madam Yu before recounting the entire ordeal—the confrontation with Wei Ying, his calm demeanour, the destruction of the Zidian, and the chilling warning that Wei Ying had issued to the Jiang sect.

As the cultivator speaks, Jiang Fengmian’s face grows pale, his expression hardening with each revelation. His frustration is palpable. He has long known that Wei Ying is a formidable force, one who could be an invaluable ally to their sect. But Madam Yu, with her jealousy and impulsive anger, has undermined everything they could have achieved.

When the cultivator finishes, Fengmian takes a deep breath, his voice cold and stern. “Madam, I warned you that Wei Wuxian was too powerful. We could have had him on our side, strengthening Yunmeng with the best defence we’ve ever known. But your jealousy and anger have ruined everything. Look at the consequences now! I won’t tolerate another attempt to oppose him.”

Madam Yu’s face contorts with fury, her jaw clenched. “Shut up, Fengmian! If we had taken all of our forces, we could have easily defeated him!” she shouts, refusing to acknowledge the magnitude of her mistake.

Her anger blinds her to the reality of their situation, and the tension in the air is thick enough to cut with a blade.

The cultivators shift uncomfortably, glancing between their leaders, unsure of what will happen next. The stakes have never been higher, and the path forward remains shrouded in uncertainty.

 

“You couldn’t even break through his barriers,” Jiang Fengmian retorts, his voice growing sharper with each word. “How do you expect to defeat him? Enough of this, Madam! From this day forward, you are confined to your quarters. You will not interact with any cultivators, and you will not leave your room until I deem it appropriate.”

Madam Yu’s eyes widen in disbelief. “You—you’re confining me for that street rat?!” She screams, her voice rising to a near-hysterical pitch, the raw emotion spilling out in waves.

“I’m doing this for Yunmeng,” Fengmian replies coldly, his tone unwavering. “I cannot risk the future of our sect because of your reckless actions. Guards, take her away. Make sure she does not leave her quarters or interact with anyone without my permission.”

The guards hesitate for only a moment, taken aback by the severity of the situation, but they quickly step forward to escort Madam Yu away. She continues to shout and struggle, her screams echoing through Lotus Pier, but Jiang Fengmian remains firm, walking away without a backward glance.

As the guards drag her off, the other cultivators exchange nervous glances, the tension palpable in the air. The balance of power in the Jiang Sect has clearly shifted, and uncertainty looms over them. No one knows what will happen next, but one thing is certain: the repercussions of this confrontation will echo through Yunmeng for a long time to come.

.

 

Jiang Yanli approaches Jiang Cheng, who is standing by the lakes, his expression openly scowling as he stares out at the water, lost in thought. “A Cheng,” she calls softly, gently patting him on the shoulder to draw his attention.

“Don't worry,” she continues, her voice soothing. “Don’t take Mother’s words to heart. Everything will be alright.”

He glances at her, his brow furrowing deeper. “Jie, Father has searched for that Wei Wuxian for many months after his parents died. Despite not finding him, he always said that we missed an opportunity to have a great cultivator. But now, even when he has usurped our lands, Father still wants him in our sect.” He clenches his sword tightly, frustration evident in his posture.

Jiang Yanli carefully traces her thumb over his clenched knuckles, trying to offer comfort. “Don’t worry. Father just wants additional protection for Yunmeng. Yiling is doing well as we saw. So, having it will benefit us. Instead of waging war against him, isn’t it better to have him and Yiling on our side? Father is trying to protect us.”

Jiang Cheng sighs, his anger slowly dissipating as he considers her words. “But it feels like a betrayal…”

“I understand,” she says gently. “But sometimes we must think strategically. Come on, I have made your favourite soup,” she urges, taking his arm and leading him back toward the kitchen, hoping to lift his spirits.

Chapter 10

Notes:

Hello dear readers,

Welcome back!

Thank you so much to everyone who left comments and kudos on the previous chapter. It made me genuinely happy to read all your wonderful feedback!

Now, we are diving into the beginning of the arc that many of you have been eagerly anticipating. I truly hope you enjoy what’s in store for our characters!

As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts and theories in the comments. Please let me know what you think of this chapter!

Thank you for reading, and stay tuned for more!

 

******************************

Wei Ying nods to the marshals and generals, a silent acknowledgement of their readiness before he makes his way back to the estate.

As he walks, Chunwen, who has been hiding nearby, quickly joins him. The tension from the earlier confrontation still lingers in the air, but Wei Ying remains calm and composed. Wen Qing and Wen Ning, having noticed his return, follow closely behind, their expressions a mix of relief and concern. Nie Huaisang soon catches up, his brow furrowed in worry.

Glancing at the trio, Wei Ying chuckles softly, attempting to ease their visible anxiety. “Why do you all look so tense? She’s gone,” he reassures them, though the weight of the earlier confrontation hangs in the air.

“What happened?” Nie Huaisang asks, his curiosity piqued.

Before Wei Ying can respond, Chunwen jumps in, recounting every detail of the encounter with Madam Yu. He meticulously explains the destruction of her Zidian and Wei Ying’s final warning to the Jiang Sect, emphasising the gravity of the situation.

Nie Huaisang frowns slightly, concern etched on his face. “Wei Xiong, you should’ve killed a few of them. That would’ve sent a clearer message and stopped them from bothering you,” he suggests.

Wei Ying shakes his head, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Nie Xiong, I wanted to give them one last warning. They had no idea what I was truly capable of. Now that they do, they should think twice before coming back. I don’t want a war, but if they return and demand Yiling again, I won’t be as lenient. They’ve disrespected my stand for peace, and if it comes to that, we’ll defeat them—but for now, we will do it in a way that doesn’t involve unnecessary bloodshed.” His expression shifts to a wicked smile, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes.

Turning to Chunwen, Wei Ying issues his next orders with a tone of authority. “Chunwen, I want you to halt all trading with Yunmeng immediately. Close the borders, do not let anyone from Yunmeng pass. They’ve had a bad season, and now they’ll have to look elsewhere for their goods. Find out who their largest buyers of lotus silk and pods are, and invite those merchants to Yiling. Offer them samples of our lotus products and silk. Let's see how the Jiangs respond to this.”

Chunwen nods dutifully. “Yes, Laozu. I also received news that Jiang Fengmian has confined his wife to her quarters and forbidden anyone from interacting with her.”

Wei Ying bursts into laughter, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Poor Sect Leader. He wanted me to serve him so badly, and now his own wife has ruined all his plans. The irony is almost too much.” He shakes his head, a smirk lingering on his lips as his mind races through the implications of this turn of events.

“Wei Xiong,” Nie Huaisang interjects, his voice tinged with emotion, “I really have thanked that snake spirit several times for helping me get a friend like you. When no one took me seriously, you went as far as giving me a place in your heavily protected inner mounds.” Tears well up in his eyes, a mix of gratitude and vulnerability shining through.

“Why are you acting silly, Nie Xiong? Stop it,” Wei Ying chuckles, lightly teasing his friend.

“Nie Xiong, the Wens aren't as naive as the Jiangs. We have to stay vigilant. Don't tell anyone that you know me or that you visit me often. I’ve already told you this, but I’m just reminding you. When are you leaving for Gusu?” Wei Ying asks, shifting the conversation.

“In two days,” Nie Huaisang replies, his expression softening as he considers the impending journey.

“Good. Keep yourself safe,” Wei Ying responds, a hint of concern breaking through his earlier levity.

“I totally forgot to introduce you, Huaisang,” Wei Ying says with a sheepish grin as he gestures toward his friends. “This is Wen Qing, and this is Wen Ning. Qing Jie, Ning, this is Nie Er Gongzi, Nie Huaisang.”

Both groups bow politely, exchanging courteous nods, each acknowledging the other with a hint of respect.

“Nie Xiong, feel free to take a few of our robes. We have some plain ones if you prefer,” Wei Ying offers casually, his tone warm and inviting.

Nie Huaisang waves his hand, dismissing the offer with a smile. “No need, Wei Xiong. They provide us with our own disciple robes.”

Wei Ying hums thoughtfully before asking, “Do you need anything to be done while you're away?”
Nie Huaisang’s face lights up mischievously as he winks. “Well, now that you mention it, yes—there is something you can help me with.”

Wei Ying chuckles, already anticipating his friend’s request. “Let me guess—you need something to hide your spring books, don’t you?”

At the mention of spring books, Wen Qing discreetly averts her gaze, pretending she hasn’t heard the conversation. Meanwhile, Wen Ning turns a deep shade of crimson, resembling a ripe tomato, clearly embarrassed by the topic.

“You know me too well, Wei Xiong!” Huaisang laughs, entirely unbothered by the reactions of his friends.

With a smirk, Wei Ying pulls out a small pouch and hands it to Huaisang. “I was planning to give this to you in the evening, but since you’re leaving soon, here you go. Inside are a few talismans—perfect for hiding things. This pouch stays invisible to anyone you don’t want to see it. I’ve also packed some nuts, candies, and a little emperor’s smile for you.”

Huaisang’s eyes twinkle with amusement as he takes the pouch. “Wei Xiong, if you were a woman, I’d have fallen for you long ago!” He jokes, laughing heartily. “Thank you, Wei Xiong. You’ve saved me once again!”

“Don’t worry, Nie Xiong. One day, I may need your help in return,” Wei Ying replies, sharing in the light-hearted mood.

“This time, I’m determined not to fail!” Huaisang says, a confident smile stretching across his face.

Wei Ying clasps his shoulder, his tone warm but serious. “Take care, Nie Xiong. Let me know when you’re back. Don’t forget your communication seal—if anything happens, contact me immediately.”

“Of course, Wei Xiong. I just wish you could join me for those guest lectures,” Huaisang pouts, a touch of longing in his voice.

Wei Ying chuckles at the thought. “Even if you got me an invite, I’d be kicked out within two days. I can’t imagine following all of the Cloud Recesses’ three thousand rules! How do you even manage?”

Both of them laugh at the thought, Huaisang shaking his head in amusement, clearly revelling in their banter. As the conversation winds down, they decide to head to the dining hall for dinner, joined by Chunwen and Chunhua. The atmosphere is warm, filled with laughter and friendly chatter that envelops them like a cosy blanket.

Once the meal is over, Wei Ying, along with Chunwen and Chunhua, bids Huaisang farewell, wishing him a safe journey. Wei Ying teleports him to his room. "Travel safely, Nie Xiong. I’ll be waiting for your return,” Wei Ying says with a final wave, his voice sincere.

As Huaisang heads off, the others return to their respective residences for the night, the warmth of friendship lingering in the air even as they prepare to sleep. The events of the day, filled with light-hearted moments and the promise of more to come, settle in their hearts, creating a sense of belonging and connection that would carry them through the challenges that lay ahead.

 

.
.

 

A few weeks pass, and the community in Yiling is thriving. The focus is on building key structures and improving local industries—constructing the library, harvesting lotus seeds and pods, extracting silk, and constructing a much-needed infirmary. During this time, Wen Qing, who had initially been wary of Wei Ying, slowly begins to understand that he is genuinely a good person with no ill intentions toward anyone. She notices how tirelessly he works for the benefit of the community, never expecting anything in return.

As Wen Qing spends more time with him, their relationship evolves into a strong partnership. She becomes more comfortable around him, frequently offering valuable suggestions on various projects. She actively participates in discussions, particularly those regarding the curriculum for the children. Wen Ning, always quiet but eager to help, starts attending these meetings as well. His humble demeanour hides a strong resolve, and he begins teaching archery to the children, who look up to him with awe and admiration. The Wen family, once outsiders, now find themselves warming up to everyone in Yiling. They eagerly take part in the activities they are skilled at, becoming integral members of the community.

One sunny afternoon, Wei Ying walks over to Wen Qing’s building, a small packet in hand. He knocks gently on the door, calling out, “Qing Jie, are you there?”

“Come inside, Wuxian!” She replies from within, her voice as steady as always.

Wei Ying steps inside and greets her warmly, handing over the packet. “Qing Jie,” he says with a smile, “I thought you might find this useful.”

“What’s this?” she asks, raising an eyebrow; her curiosity clearly piqued.

“This is one of my master’s recipes for strengthening the golden core,” Wei Ying explains. “I’ve never used it myself, but I figured you might be able to replicate it—or at least experiment with it. Maybe it could help Wen Ning or some of the kids develop stronger cores.”

Wen Qing looks at him, surprised by the trust he’s placed in her. “The immortal’s recipe? Are you sure you can share this with anyone?” She asks, her brow furrowed in concern.

“I’m giving it to you,” Wei Ying reassures her with a calm smile. “I doubt we can replicate it exactly, but it’s worth a try. My master gave this to me when I left her mountains, though I’ve been burning my Qi to delay reaching immortality. I believe it might serve you better now.”

Wen Qing nods, visibly touched by his gesture. “Thank you, Wuxian. I’ll definitely take a look.”
“How’s the herb garden coming along?” Wei Ying asks. “Did my new talisman work?”

Wen Qing’s face lights up, her usual composed demeanour slipping for a moment as she smiles. “It worked wonders! I can’t believe my herbs are thriving despite the constant temperature fluctuations. The talisman stabilised everything. I owe you one.”

Wei Ying chuckles. “Glad to hear it. Let me know if you need any other herbs or talismans.”

After their conversation, Wei Ying steps outside and spends some time watching Wen Ning lead the children through archery practice. The sight fills him with satisfaction—the kids are improving quickly, and Wen Ning’s quiet instruction seems to suit them perfectly. Before long, Wei Ying joins in their games, laughing and playing, fully immersed in the joyful energy of the growing community.

 

Later that evening, the core group gathers for an important meeting to discuss their recent developments. Chunwen, ever diligent, begins the debriefing.

“Laozu, the deal for lotus pods and silk has been sealed. We’ve made a substantial profit, and they were very impressed with the quality,” Chunwen reports with a satisfied grin.

“Excellent news!” Wei Ying replies, clearly pleased. But Chunwen’s expression shifts, turning more serious.

“There’s more. We have some significant information from our spies. The Qin Sect buys most of their silk from the Jin Sect. They’ve been allies for some time, and their trade contributes to over half of Jin Sect’s collections.”

Wei Ying’s brow furrows. “Interesting... Let’s see how they react once we introduce our textiles into the market,” he muses, already formulating plans.

Chunwen clears his throat, his expression darkening. “I also have intel on the group responsible for abducting women and children. It’s run by five brothers. They only trust a small group, and most of their underlings are unaware of the full scope of their crimes.”

Wei Ying’s gaze sharpens. “I’m planning to go to Qishan. I have a hunch about one of their hiding places. If it turns out to be true, I’ll handle them personally. They don’t deserve to live.”

Wen Qing, usually calm, speaks up immediately, her tone firm. “Wuxian, no. One wrong move in Qishan could lead to disaster. Wen Ruohan has spies everywhere. It’s too dangerous for you to go there now. We should focus on Lanling first—find their hideouts there. We need to be patient.”

Wei Ying taps his nose, considering her words. After a moment, he nods. “You’re right, Qing Jie. I’ll hold off on Qishan for now.”

He turns to Chunwen. “Send a message to our spies in Lanling. Have them keep a close watch on the Qin Sect and any potential hideouts linked to those brothers.”

“I’ll take care of it, Laozu,” Chunwen replies without hesitation.

Before they adjourn, Wei Ying asks, “By the way, have the Jiangs sent their sect heir to Gusu?”

“Yes, they’ve sent him along with a few disciples. Sect Leader Jiang is furious with Madam Yu for ruining his relationship with Yiling. He’s struggling to procure essentials since they now have to take a longer route, and it’s costing them a lot more,” Chunwen explains.

Wei Ying taps his chin thoughtfully. “I’m curious to see how he’ll react to the loss of his primary source of income,” he muses, shaking his head. The political landscape is shifting rapidly, and he knows these developments will lead to more complications, especially with the Jiang Sect teetering on financial instability. Wei Ying doesn’t relish their suffering, but it’s a consequence of their own choices, and he intends to maintain his stance of self-sufficiency.

 

Over the next few weeks, the Jiang Sect begins to buckle under the pressure of its deteriorating situation. The lotus crops, once their lifeblood, are shrinking in yield and quality, making buyers increasingly reluctant to source from them. Their usual trade routes, particularly those involving waterways, are becoming untenable due to increased costs and delays. Without their previously strong connections, the Jiang Sect is facing a logistical nightmare. Their reliance on water-based trade routes is now costing them time, resources, and, ultimately, credibility.

In stark contrast, Yiling is thriving. Wei Ying’s efforts in improving silk production and enhancing lotus harvests are bearing fruit. The quality of Yiling's lotus silk and crops surpasses expectations, and they are quickly becoming sought after in the market. Merchants are scrambling to secure deals with Yiling, impressed by the superior craftsmanship and unbeatable quality of its products. Even their wine, once seen as a local commodity, is making waves. Yiling wine is now regarded as one of the finest, second only to the famed Emperor’s Smile, and is gaining popularity among prominent traders and aristocrats alike.

 

One morning, while Wei Ying is busy reviewing the progress reports from various sectors of Yiling, he receives an urgent message from Nie Huaisang. Opening it, he listens quickly, his eyes narrowing as he absorbs the information.

“Wei Xiong, something big has happened,” the message begins. “Lan Gongzi, Lan Er Gongzi, and some other guest disciples went to investigate the growing number of water ghouls in Caiyi Town Lake. Guess what? It turned out to be a fucking waterborne abyss! The Wens pushed it toward Caiyi Town. This happened some days back.”

Wei Ying’s expression darkens as he continues reading. “Lan Gongzi wrote to my brother about the situation. Da Ge arrived two days later, and after inspecting the lake, they confirmed it’s a waterborne abyss. My brother mentioned your name to Lan Gongzi, explaining how you cleansed the burial mounds and praising your talents. Lan Gongzi left for Yiling yesterday. So, Wei Xiong, we’ll finally meet in Gusu! And don’t forget to bring me some of your wine; I’ve heard so much about it and your lotus products all over Caiyi Town.”

Wei Ying chuckles softly to himself, despite the seriousness of the situation. The mention of his wine brings a small smile to his face, but his thoughts quickly shift back to the waterborne abyss.

Wei Ying gathers Wen Qing, Wen Ning, and Chunwen to share the urgent news about the waterborne abyss near Caiyi Town. The group deliberates, weighing the potential risks and benefits of getting involved in the crisis alongside the Lans. Wen Qing expresses concern about drawing attention from other sects, while Chunwen highlights the political advantages of assisting the Lan Clan. Wen Ning remains quiet but nods in agreement when Wei Ying emphasises the importance of protecting innocent lives. After much discussion, they reach a consensus: Yiling will lend its support to the Lans in addressing the growing threat posed by the abyss.

 

Later that afternoon, the exhaustion from the day’s events catches up with Wei Ying, and he takes a nap in his office. Just as he drifts into a deep slumber, Chunwen enters quietly and gently shakes him awake.

 

“Laozu, Lan Gongzi is here and requests to meet you in person,” Chunwen says respectfully, though with a sense of urgency.

 

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Wei Ying sits up and nods. “I’ll be there in a few minutes. Please escort Lan Gongzi to the receiving hall,” he instructs, quickly making his way to prepare for the meeting.

After splashing water on his face to shake off the drowsiness, Wei Ying takes a moment to comb his hair, securing it neatly. He wears a black outer robe intricately embroidered with golden thread, its elegant design lending him a commanding presence. Fastening the robe with a matching black belt, he straightens his posture, feeling both anticipation and curiosity as he heads toward the receiving hall.

Chunwen leads Lan Xichen into the expansive hall nestled within the inner mounds. The moment Lan Xichen steps inside, he is struck by the transformation of the burial mounds. Once a place shrouded in fear and misery, it now thrives with life and beauty—a testament to the remarkable influence of one individual. The question that lingers in his mind is how someone so young could achieve such a monumental change.

The receiving hall itself radiates elegance and sophistication. A stunning pink lotus plant, blooming vibrantly in a large vase in the corner, catches Lan Xichen's eye. Despite his familiarity with the renowned lotus gardens of Lotus Pier, he has never seen such a magnificent specimen. Black curtains frame the large windows, their edges gleaming with silver and gold embroidery that shimmer in the soft light. The sleek black table positioned nearby further adds to the room’s refined atmosphere, creating a balance between austerity and beauty.

“Laozu will join us shortly. Please make yourself comfortable,” Chunwen informs Lan Xichen with a respectful bow.

While he waits, Lan Xichen is served a tray of delicacies—roasted lotus nuts, chrysanthemum tea, and delicately crafted sugar biscuits. The servants move with quiet efficiency, their grace and poise reflecting the impeccable atmosphere of the household. Despite the serene environment, Lan Xichen cannot help but feel a sense of nervous anticipation.

Moments later, Wei Ying enters the hall, his presence commanding attention. Lan Xichen finds it difficult to reconcile the figure before him with the title of Yiling Laozu. The young man standing before him looks more like a peer to his younger brother than the formidable figure he had imagined. Yet, as Wei Ying steps further into the room, the energy radiating from him—the quiet but undeniable power of his golden core—fills the space, leaving no doubt about his strength.

Chunwen’s voice cuts through the moment of uncertainty, formally announcing, “Laozu, Lan Gonzi is here.”

Lan Xichen stands, taking a moment to gather his thoughts, and then bows respectfully. “Laozu,” he greets, his tone measured and respectful.

“Zewu Jun,” Wei Ying responds, bowing in return. Both men’s eyes meet, a silent
acknowledgement passing between them—two figures from different worlds now united by a common purpose.

“Please, take a seat. How was your journey? Would you care for something cold?” Wei Ying asks, his smile warm and inviting.

Lan Xichen is genuinely surprised by how well-mannered and handsome the young leader appears. “Thank you, Laozu, but I have already been served,” he replies with a smile, feeling increasingly impressed by the person before him.

They share a moment of mutual respect, establishing a foundation for a meaningful conversation ahead.

“Please stay for lunch. We also have vegetarian dishes,” Wei Ying insists, his eyes shining with sincerity.

“Thank you,” Xichen replies, smiling and nodding.

Wei Ying leans toward Chunwen, whispering something in his ear. Chunwen nods and steps out, leaving the two of them alone in the expansive hall.

“What is the purpose of your visit? Is everything fine?” Wei Ying asks politely, concern edging his voice.

“Laozu, we indeed have a problem,” Lan Xichen begins, his expression serious. “Last week, we discovered a waterborne abyss in Caiyi Lake. The lake is the major source of water for Caiyi Town, and many families depend on it for their livelihood.”

Wei Ying’s brows furrow with concern as he absorbs this information. “I’m beyond surprised to see how the burial mounds have been transformed. I wanted to ask for your help with the abyss,” Lan Xichen continues, his tone earnest.

“The Lan Sect would be grateful if you could assist us with the abyss. Sect Leader Nie spoke highly of you; I now see that you are truly deserving of such praise,” Xichen adds, his respect evident.

“Thank you, Zewu Jun. I have heard great things about you as well. I am glad to be acknowledged by great cultivators like you who stand for helping the weak,” Wei Ying replies, a genuine smile spreading across his face.

Just then, Chunwen enters with a tray of food, balancing it carefully as he places it in front of both Wei Ying and Xichen. The aroma wafts through the air, filling the room with an enticing scent.

Lan Xichen finds himself presented with an array of delicious dishes—sprouts, green vegetables, lotus sweet dumplings, and a bowl of congee paired with herbal tea. He is impressed with the hospitality. To respect and arrange food for a person who has come to ask for help without notice speaks volumes about the character of this young leader.

Wei Ying's plate holds congee topped with fiery red chilli sauce, lotus dumplings, and sprouts.

“We don’t know much about your preferences; please excuse us if the selection isn’t to your liking,” Wei Ying says, glancing apologetically at Xichen.

“It’s highly appreciated that you respected our diet and arranged this at such short notice. Thank you,” Xichen responds with a genuine smile.

As he takes a moment to savour the beautifully prepared food, Xichen is struck by how thoughtful and considerate the young man is. He marvels at Wei Ying's manners and eloquence. All doubts he had harboured before coming here vanish, replaced by a sense of warmth and admiration. This young leader, who possesses such depth and compassion, creates an atmosphere that is not only inviting but inspiring. Lan Xichen feels a surge of hope, believing that perhaps together they can tackle the daunting challenge posed by the waterborne abyss.

“Please, have your meal. We can discuss everything after. I know about your sect’s rules,” Wei Ying says with a gentle smile.

Lan Xichen, truly impressed by Wei Ying’s thoughtfulness, smiles in return and nods. The two of them quietly finish their meals; the atmosphere is light yet respectful.

“Zewu Jun, I’m sorry I didn’t ask earlier, but did you come alone? Are there any disciples accompanying you?” Wei Ying asks once they have finished eating.

“I’ve come alone, Laozu,” Lan Xichen replies with a smile.

Wei Ying nods, considering for a moment. “I have something to attend to today. How about you stay here tonight? We can leave together tomorrow,” he suggests.

Lan Xichen feels a sense of relief and happiness that Wei Ying has agreed to help. The weight of his worries lightens as he sees how willing and capable the Yiling Laozu is. “That sounds good; thank you, Laozu,” Xichen replies, his gratitude evident.

“My deputy can show you around the area if you’d like,” Wei Ying offers with a smile.

“Thank you, Laozu. The Lan Sect is immensely grateful for your assistance,” Lan Xichen says, bowing respectfully.

Before they part, Wei Ying pushes a bowl of roasted lotus seeds toward Xichen. “Try these. They’re grown right here,” he encourages.

Lan Xichen picks up a few seeds and tastes them. To his surprise, they are fresh, crunchy, and incredibly flavourful—better than anything he has tasted before. “They’re delicious,” Xichen remarks, smiling at the unexpected treat.

Wei Ying’s face lights up with pride. “I’m glad you like them.”

At that moment, Chunwen enters, whispering something in Wei Ying’s ear. Wei Ying listens carefully and then nods.

“Zewu Jun, my deputy here will show you around. Please feel free to ask him if you need anything,” Wei Ying says as he stands.

“Thank you, Laozu,” Lan Xichen responds, rising from his seat and bowing once again.

Wei Ying returns the bow before leaving quickly, his mind already on the tasks awaiting him.

Chunwen leads Lan Xichen on a tour of Yiling, showcasing the impressive transformation of the once-feared Burial Mounds. As they walk, Chunwen shows him the dormitories, the estate, the library, the infirmary, and the lake. Lan Xichen is mesmerised by how well-maintained and organised everything is. He marvels at the large, expertly constructed buildings and wonders how they managed to achieve all this in such a short time.

When they arrive at the library, Lan Xichen is left speechless. The structure is almost as large as the renowned Gusu Library, yet the sheer number of books it contains seems to far surpass Gusu’s collection. He is beyond words, his mind racing as he takes in the vast rows of texts, some of which he has never even heard of before.

“May I ask you a question?” Zewu Jun finally speaks, a smile of admiration on his face.

“Of course,” Chunwen replies with a nod.

“How did Laozu manage to gather so many books? I’ve never seen many of these works, not even in Gusu,” Xichen asks, genuine curiosity colouring his voice. He can’t help but wonder how extensive the collection in the forbidden section might be.

Chunwen smiles, clearly proud of what they’ve accomplished. “Laozu copied these books from his master’s library using one of his own creations. He replicated them once we built the library. Some books on talismans and cultivation were written by Laozu himself to make it easier for the students here to study,” he explains.

Lan Xichen’s curiosity deepens. “Who is his master?” he asks, intrigued by the immense knowledge and resources Wei Ying seems to have.

“Immortal Baoshan Sanren,” Chunwen replies, his tone reverent.

Lan Xichen gasps, his eyes widening in surprise. The boy is a disciple of the legendary immortal. It all begins to make sense—Wei Ying’s remarkable cultivation abilities, his impeccable manners, and the astonishing resources at his disposal. Lan Xichen feels a new level of respect for the young leader blossom within him.

Lan Xichen is thoroughly impressed as he browses through the books Wei Ying has written for children. Each page reveals the young Laozu’s meticulous approach to teaching talisman-making and cultivation. The language is simple, yet profound, breaking down complex concepts into easily understandable pieces. The book explains how a single stroke can alter the meaning of a talisman, common mistakes to avoid, and the proper techniques for their use. It even delves into the fundamentals of cultivation—what golden cores are, how to develop them, and how to concentrate one's qi—using clear reasoning and relatable examples.

As Xichen reads, he reflects on the other books he’s studied throughout his life. Many were filled with heavy language, dense facts, and rigid principles, but none offered such a clean, straightforward explanation. The depth of Wei Ying’s understanding, paired with his ability to simplify even the most complicated concepts, leaves Lan Xichen in awe. He now feels a strong desire to obtain a copy of the two books he’s glanced at, and he wonders just how vast Wei Ying’s knowledge truly is.

Chunwen leads Lan Xichen to a vacant building within Wei Ying's estate, indicating that it has been designated for his stay. “Zewu Jun, we haven’t yet constructed proper guest quarters, so I hope you don’t mind staying here for now. All the other buildings are currently occupied. That building over there is mine—please don’t hesitate to let me know if you need anything. You can rest here for a while or visit the market in Yiling later; it’s quite beautiful in the evenings. This section of the mounds is warded, so you can use this to go out or come in.” Chunwen hands him a black jade token with an intricate array carved into it, smiling politely.

Lan Xichen returns the smile and accepts the token, thanking Chunwen before stepping inside the building. The receiving hall is spacious, with a large table set in one corner and the air carrying a faint scent of lotus, which adds a serene atmosphere to the space.

Exploring further, he finds a separate bedroom featuring a large, comfortable bed adorned with pristine sheets. To his pleasant surprise, there is also a large tub fitted with heating talismans, a wooden screen for privacy, and a small box filled with fragrant oils.

The thoughtful touch of white and pale blue silk robes, along with a set of cotton inner robes, is provided for his comfort. The hospitality, though simple, feels undeniably impressive, reflecting the careful attention given to every detail.

After taking a warm bath and slipping into the elegant silk robes, which are of fine quality and almost identical to his own but even softer, Lan Xichen feels both refreshed and appreciative. He marvels at the level of comfort provided to a guest, especially considering the robes' luxurious fabric. Even the comb, mirror, and oils add a personal touch that makes him feel welcome.

He walks to the hall, where a teapot sits on the table, kept warm by a heating talisman. Next to it is a bowl of roasted lotus seeds and sugar biscuits. Pouring himself a cup of tea, Lan Xichen gazes out the large window, taking in the view of the thriving farms and bustling marketplace below. The sight fills him with admiration and, if he's honest with himself, a touch of envy.

How could someone so young have accomplished this? The transformation of Yiling, once a forsaken place, into a thriving hub is nothing short of remarkable. Lan Xichen can't help but wonder if he would ever be able to manage his sect with the same level of skill and vision that Wei Ying has demonstrated here.

The young Laozu's achievements are, in every sense, inspiring.

Lan Xichen takes his pouch and sword and decides to visit the market in Yiling. As he walks through the lively streets, he is struck by the festive atmosphere. Lanterns are hung outside shops, casting a warm glow over the bustling market. The people are smiling and engaged in their daily business, untroubled by anything beyond their immediate tasks. Curious, Lan Xichen approaches an old woman running a small shop. “How's business?” he asks her with a gentle smile.

The old woman looks up at him with a bright expression. “Business has been good, very good ever since Laozu came to Yiling,” she replies cheerfully. She beams with pride, clearly attributing the village’s prosperity to Wei Ying. Lan Xichen smiles back and buys a small lotus carving from her, appreciating the craftsmanship.

As he moves further through the market, he observes how carefree and content everyone seems. No one appears worried about theft or danger. Spotting two young boys running around, he calls them over. The boys bow respectfully, and Lan Xichen returns their gesture with a friendly smile.

“Do people here not worry about theft?” he asks, genuinely curious.

The boys exchange a look and then laugh. “No one steals anything here,” one of them says confidently. “Laozu’s talismans protect us. They can detect thieves and troublemakers before they even enter the market!”

Lan Xichen is once again astonished at Wei Ying's ingenuity. Talismans for detecting theft? He thinks about how adept the young Laozu must be at talisman-making and wonders just how deep his knowledge of the art goes. Smiling at the boys, he watches as they scamper off, still full of energy.

As Lan Xichen continues to stroll through the market, he sees the joy and prosperity everywhere. Vendors are busily selling their goods, and the atmosphere is infectious. When the sky begins to darken, he decides to return to his room.

On his way back, he notices a group of young boys helping stall owners pack up their things. They are all wearing simple black robes, similar to the ones he had seen earlier. Curious, he observes them as they work together efficiently, closing shops and organising belongings.

He overhears one of the boys asking, “Has Wei Gege returned?”

“I don’t know,” another boy replies. “I saw him this afternoon talking to Chunwen Ge and Ning Ge.”

“It's always fun to have dinner with Wei Gege. Should we wait for him?” one boy suggests.

The second boy shakes his head. “I don’t think so. He had a guest earlier. Let’s ask Ning Gege instead. Come on!”

The boys run off together, laughing and chatting. Lan Xichen is intrigued. Could the "Wei Gege" they are speaking of really be the Yiling Laozu? He finds it hard to believe that children would address someone as important as the Laozu so informally. Yet, at the same time, the thought lingers in his mind. Whoever this "Wei Gege" is, he must be a kind and approachable person to win the hearts of these young boys so easily.

Lan Xichen walks back to his room, feeling a sense of calm after his stroll through the market. He decides to meditate for a while to center his thoughts. As he focusses on his breathing, a knock interrupts the quiet. Rising, he opens the door to find Chunwen, the deputy, bowing respectfully.

“Zewu Jun, would you like to join us for dinner, or shall I have dishes sent to your room?” Chunwen asks with a polite smile.

Lan Xichen returns the smile and replies, “No need; I would be happy to join you.”

“Please, follow me,” Chunwen gestures, leading him to the dining hall. As they enter, the familiar group of boys Lan Xichen saw earlier in the market come rushing toward Chunwen.

“Chunwen Ge! Is Wei Gege coming for dinner?” one of them asks, full of excitement. But the moment they notice Lan Xichen behind him, they fall silent, their eyes wide. It’s clear they regret shouting so loudly in front of a guest, and Lan Xichen bites back a laugh at their sudden shift in behaviour.

“He’ll be back soon,” Chunwen reassures the boys, and they quickly return to their seats, casting curious glances at Lan Xichen.

The dining hall is lively, filled with the sound of laughter and conversation. People are gathered at long tables, enjoying their meals, and several dishes are spread out along the counter for everyone to help themselves. Chunwen steps into the kitchen and returns moments later, guiding Lan Xichen to a vacant table.

A lady arrives soon after, placing a variety of dishes in front of Lan Xichen: green vegetables, lotus root stir-fry, herbal tea, lotus flower sweet cakes, boiled beans, and congee. Chunwen’s own meal consists of meat-filled buns, a hearty soup, and spiced congee. Lan Xichen notices once again how much care has been taken to respect the Lan sect’s vegetarian diet. He is deeply touched by the thoughtfulness.

As he begins his meal, Lan Xichen wonders if he will be able to extend the same hospitality when Laozu comes to Gusu. He’s uncertain if his uncle would approve of such special arrangements, but he resolves to at least try discussing it with him.

As the meal progresses, the boys from earlier burst into the hall, their excitement bubbling over once more. Lan Xichen glances toward the entrance and sees Wei Ying kneeling down, greeting the boys with a warm smile. The sight of the Yiling Laozu interacting so naturally with the children catches Lan Xichen by surprise.

Wei Ying serves himself some congee, fiery red sauce, and dumplings before joining them at the table. He sits across from Lan Xichen, his demeanour calm yet friendly.

Lan Xichen smiles and nods, finally understanding why the young Laozu commands such respect—and affection—from everyone around him.

Chapter 11

Notes:

Hello dear readers,

Welcome back!

I hope you're all doing well. Just a quick update—due to my upcoming exams, I'll be posting new chapters every Friday and Tuesday from now on.

Now, on to the exciting part! The much-awaited chapter is here, and it's a special one as we finally welcome our beloved boy in white! I’ve made this chapter a bit longer to give his entrance the spotlight it deserves.

Thank you so much for your amazing comments and continuous support. Your kudos and feedback truly keep me motivated to keep writing.

As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts and theories in the comments. Please let me know what you think of this chapter!

Thank you for reading, and stay tuned for more!

 

******************************

“Zewu Jun, I had an urgent matter to attend. I hope the food is to your liking,” Wei Ying says with a warm smile as he quickly resumes eating his congee.

Lan Xichen nods and returns the smile, appreciating the young Laozu's easygoing nature. As Wei Ying takes another bite, one of the boys sitting nearby, barely able to contain his excitement, blurts out, “Gege, what did you bring us?”

Wei Ying pauses, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “Hmm, what did I bring? Let me check.” He opens his pouch, and the boys all lean in eagerly. With a smile, he hands over three small pouches. “Now, remember to share these with everyone. No sneaking off and eating them alone, alright?”

The boys practically jump with excitement. “Candies!” one shouts. “Spicy nuts and cookies too!” adds another.

“Thanks, Gege!” one of the younger boys exclaims, and before Wei Ying can react, the boy plops down beside him, nearly sitting in his lap. Wei Ying ruffles the boy’s hair, laughing as he continues to eat.

“Gege, why isn’t he talking?” The boy suddenly whispers loudly, pointing at Lan Xichen.

Wei Ying chuckles, his gaze warm as he glances at Xichen. “Lans have rules to eat in silence,” he explains gently. Then, grinning at the boys, he teases, “How about we try that too? Silence during dinner!”

A chorus of panicked “No!” bursts from the boys, their faces horrified at the idea.

“Alright, alright!” Wei Ying laughs, raising his hands in mock surrender. “No silence for us, then.”

The room fills with light laughter, and Xichen finds himself silently amused by the whole scene. He watches as Wei Ying gently asks the boy sitting beside him, “Did you help the old ladies in the market today? And did you clean Popo’s chicken coops like you promised?”

The boy beams, his chest puffed out with pride. “Yes! We did, Gege. Popo even gave us buns as a thank you!”

“Good, good,” Wei Ying praises, smiling warmly as he finishes his meal, the children buzzing around him like bees around a flower. When he finishes, he gently shoos them away. “Now, off to the dormitories with you! Be good and don’t wander around the market tonight.”

The boys nod eagerly, shouting their farewells before dashing out of the dining hall, their laughter trailing behind them.

Lan Xichen, having quietly observed the whole interaction, feels a quiet joy. It’s clear how much the children adore Wei Ying and how he treats them with genuine care and affection. The contrast between Yiling and his own Lan sect is stark in his mind. Here, the children are free to be themselves, without rigid rules or restrictions. He sighs internally, reflecting on how different things are back in Gusu, where even smiling is discouraged.

Wei Ying rises and heads to wash his hands, leaving Xichen to contemplate the evening.

“Those children?” Xichen asks Chunwen, curious about their story.

“They’re orphans who used to live on the streets of Yiling,” Chunwen explains, a note of pride in his voice. “Laozu built a dormitory for them. He teaches them to read and write, along with swordsmanship and cultivation. They also help the villagers with their daily work, so they stay connected to the people even as they grow stronger as cultivators.”

“What a noble deed,” Xichen remarks, deeply impressed. Each new revelation about Wei Ying makes him respect the young cultivator more. It becomes clearer that Wei Ying understands the true purpose of cultivation: to help others, to serve the people. Xichen reflects on the righteousness that the Lan sect prides itself on, but even that seems to pale in comparison to the selflessness displayed here in Yiling. How many orphans has his own sect taken in? How many villagers do they feed? He could count them on his fingers.

Wei Ying returns to where Lan Xichen is waiting, a calm smile on his face. "Zewu Jun, I hope you didn’t feel left out,” he says warmly.

Lan Xichen shakes his head, a genuine smile spreading across his features. “No, no. I had a great time. I went to visit the market. Yiling is very well managed.”

Wei Ying’s eyes brighten. “Thank you,” he says graciously. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“We can leave for Gusu in the morning,” Wei Ying continues, and Xichen nods in agreement.

Wei Ying bows. “Rest well, Zewu Jun. Please let us know if you need anything.”

“Thank you, Laozu. Goodnight,” Lan Xichen replies, bowing in return before being escorted back to his guest quarters.

As he walks back to his quarters, Xichen thinks about the day’s events. The image of Wei Ying surrounded by children, laughing and offering them sweets, stays in his mind. In Gusu, such a scene would be unheard of. Everything there is precise, controlled, and emotion is kept under lock and key. But here in Yiling, he feels something different—a warmth, a sense of community that’s unfamiliar but strangely comforting.

Once Xichen is settled, Wei Ying and Chunwen head to his office. The space, illuminated by the soft glow of lanterns, feels warm but tense as Wei Ying's expression shifts to a more serious tone. He takes a moment, gathering his thoughts, before sending a message to Wen Qing, asking her to meet him. Moments later, Wen Qing and Wen Ning arrive. They enter quietly, closing the door behind them. Wei Ying gestures for them to seal the room with talismans. The flickering light of the silencing talismans creates an aura of privacy, making sure their conversation remains confidential.

“We’ve located the hideouts in Lanling,” Wei Ying begins, his voice steady but laced with urgency.

Wen Qing and Wen Ning listen intently as he continues. “We’ve captured them and placed them in the spirit village for interrogation. They attempted to escape, but we bound them all and brought them here. The marshals and generals will handle the initial interrogation. I want you to oversee the details.”

Wen Qing’s gaze sharpens, her posture firm as she nods. “We will handle it.”

Wei Ying leans forward slightly, the weight of his plans evident in his eyes. “We can use these prisoners to lure out those in Qishan. They’ve already provided names and locations of individuals they’ve stolen and where they sent them. I’ve dispatched spies in Lanling to verify the information. If it checks out, we’ll bring them here and offer them a choice.”

Wen Ning shifts slightly, his eyes glinting with determination as he processes the information. Wei Ying continues, “There are still a few people in Lanling they planned to sell to flower houses. I’ve sent patrols to check the location. If it’s accurate, we’ll wait and see if they bring more people. You both need to coordinate and make sure we remove them from Lanling without raising any suspicions.”

Chunwen, who has been silent until now, speaks up. “Yes, Laozu. I initially thought I could accompany you to Gusu, but I’ll stay here and handle things with Lanling.”

Wei Ying nods in approval before turning to Wen Qing. Her eyes meet his, a flicker of concern there. “How long do you think you’ll need in Gusu?” she asks.

Wen Qing considers the question for a moment, but then Wei Ying’s tone shifts. “Jie, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he says, his voice carrying a weight that makes both Wen siblings focus entirely on him.

Wen Qing looks at him curiously. “What is it?”

“Have you heard of the abyss in Qishan?” Wei Ying asks, his voice lowering.

Wen Qing’s eyes narrow in thought. “Yes, I’ve heard Wen Rouhan speaking about it. They tried to deal with it for weeks, but I don’t know what happened after that. I’ve only recently learnt that it’s been pushed toward Caiyi Town.”

“Have you seen it yourself?” Wei Ying presses, his eyes sharp.

“No,” Wen Qing admits, shaking her head. “But it’s one of the largest abysses the Wens have ever heard of.”

Wei Ying sighs deeply, his mind clearly turning over the new information. “Hmm,” he mutters, clearly concerned.

“What are you worried about, Wei-ge?” Wen Ning asks softly, sensing Wei Ying’s unease. His expression is calm, but there’s an intensity in his eyes.

Wei Ying sighs heavily. “Immortality.”

Wen Qing’s brow furrows with concern. “What is it? Should we be worried?”

“Nothing immediate,” Wei Ying reassures, though his voice carries a heavy weight. “But the stronger the abyss becomes, the harder it’ll be for me to delay. I don’t want to attract the attention of the Wen or Jin sects by attaining immortality.”

Wen Qing looks thoughtful, her fingers tapping lightly against the table. “Would it be such a bad thing if it happened? Think about it—Wen Rouhan might be too cautious to provoke you. He’d worry about you joining forces with the other sects. It might force him to postpone some of his plans.”

Chunwen chimes in, nodding in agreement. “Not to mention it would elevate Yiling’s status. Our produce, our textiles, and your inventions would gain more credibility. We’d secure a stronger position in the cultivation world, and it would affect the economy of both the Wen and Jin sects.”

Wei Ying shakes his head, his expression serious. “I understand, but that was never part of my plan. I don’t want to draw their eyes to us before we’re fully prepared. Also, there will be certain celestial rules for me to follow if I become immortal. I don’t think it’s wise to be bound by those rules before dealing with the Wens and Jins. And I promised my master that I would return to her as soon as I attain immortality. That means our plans would have to continue without me or be delayed.”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Let’s leave it as it is for now. I’ll do my best to delay it. But Chunwen, if it happens while I’m in Gusu, I need you to come to me. I don’t want the other sects celebrating or holding banquets in my honor. If those things can’t be avoided, I expect you to handle it in my absence. I refuse to stay behind just to put on a show for the cultivators.”

Chunwen bows his head in understanding. “Yes, Laozu. I’ll make sure it’s handled. We’ll keep things discreet.”

Wei Ying’s voice hardens slightly. “And if the Jiangs try to attack Yiling while I’m gone, raise the barriers. Instruct the generals to kill anyone who breaches them. I’m done with this scheming and plotting just to protect their asses.”

Chunwen straightens, his tone firm. “Understood, Laozu. Don’t worry, we’ll keep Yiling safe.”

Wen Qing, ever practical, steps forward. “Be careful in Gusu. The Jiang sect heir and disciples are still there.”

Wei Ying gives her a reassuring smile. “I know. I’ll be cautious. Keep me updated if anything happens here, and don’t leave Yiling unless absolutely necessary. If you must, take the generals with you. I’ll be bringing the first general and two marshals with me to Gusu.”

“Yes, Laozu,” Chunwen, Wen Qing, and Wen Ning reply in unison.

Wei Ying glances at them one last time before nodding. “Goodnight. I have a few things to finish in my workshop. You can continue your discussions here.”

He steps toward the door but pauses, his hand resting on the frame. “Chunwen, are the gifts for the Gusu sect ready?”

Chunwen nods. “Yes, Laozu. They’re packed and in my office. I’ve placed everything in one of your Qiankun pouches. I’ll give it to you when you leave.”

Wei Ying smiles, a flicker of relief crossing his face. “Good. See you in the morning, then.”

With that, Wei Ying leaves the room, his mind already focused on the next steps of their plans. The corridors of his estate are quiet, and as he walks, the sound of his footsteps echoes softly. The moonlight filters through the windows, casting silvery shadows along the floor. He feels the weight of the decisions he has to make and the lives that depend on his judgement.

As he approaches his workshop, his thoughts continue to churn. The abyss in Qishan troubles him deeply. If it is truly as powerful as Wen Qing suggested, it could become a threat not just to Yiling but to the entire cultivation world. He knows that confronting it could be inevitable, but he must be cautious. The time isn’t right, and he has other matters that require his immediate attention.

Inside the workshop, the familiar scent of incense and the sight of half-finished talismans greet him. He lights a lantern, its warm glow illuminating the tools and scrolls scattered across the room. Sitting down, he picks up a talisman and begins to work, the repetitive motions helping him focus. But no matter how much he tries, his thoughts return to the abyss.

He knows that eventually he will have to face it, and perhaps it will be the key to unlocking his immortality. But until then, he must remain vigilant and ensure Yiling’s growth and safety. The Wens, the Jins, and the Jiangs all have their eyes on him, waiting for a moment of weakness. He cannot afford to give them one.

For now, his focus must remain on the task ahead: the visit to Gusu. He breathes deeply, his gaze steady as he makes up his mind. Tomorrow, he will leave for Gusu, and when he returns, he’ll be one step closer to securing Yiling’s future.

He sets the talisman aside and extinguishes the lantern, casting the room into darkness once more. In the stillness, he feels the weight of his responsibilities, but his resolve remains unshaken. Whatever challenges come his way, he will face them, for the sake of Yiling and the people he has sworn to protect.

.
.
.

 

The next morning, Wei Ying rises before the sun peeks over the horizon. He washes up quickly and dresses in layers of dark grey robes, both lower and upper, with intricate black designs woven into the fabric. Over these, he wears a pitch-black outer robe adorned with silver embroidery and a silver border. His hair is tied into a half ponytail, the rest flowing freely down his back. He secures it with a red ribbon and a silver guan, giving him a polished, yet commanding look. After gathering his essentials—new arrays he worked on, a few talismans, and gifts like wine jars for Nie Huaisang, candies, lotus seeds, nuts, and plenty of chilli oil—he places them into a separate pouch. His sword and dizi hang at his side, and he takes his Qiankun pouch containing spare robes, sleeping clothes, and toiletries.

Wei Ying steps out of his quarters and heads toward the dormitory. As he enters, Xue Yang spots him first and comes running up with a bright smile.

“Gege, how is it that you’re awake so early?” Xue Yang chuckles, clearly amused.

“A-Yang, I’m going out for a few days,” Wei Ying says, ruffling his hair affectionately. “Behave while I’m gone. We have barriers and talismans to protect Yiling, and they'll alert us if there’s any threat. But we must remain vigilant. If you notice anything strange, tell Chunwen, the marshals, or any available general right away. And stay within the barriers.”

Xue Yang nods enthusiastically. “I’ll behave, Gege; don’t worry. I’ll protect Yiling in your absence.”

Wei Ying smiles at his determination. “Good. Tell the other kids as well, alright?”

“Yes, I will,” Xue Yang promises, his smile wide.

“Good, I’ll see you when I return,” Wei Ying says with a nod before turning to leave.

Next, he heads to the dining hall for breakfast. He finishes his meal quickly and silently before making his way to Chunwen’s office.

Upon his arrival, Chunwen greets him respectfully. “Laozu, here is your Qiankun pouch. I’ve included everything you requested.”

“Thank you, Chunwen. Don’t worry too much while I’m away,” Wei Ying says, offering a reassuring smile.

“Laozu, would you like me to send someone to call Zewu Jun for you?” Chunwen asks.

Wei Ying nods. “Yes, please. Has breakfast been sent to him yet?”

“It has, Laozu. I’ll have someone inform him now.” Chunwen leaves for a moment to dispatch a servant, then returns. Both Chunwen and Wei Ying walk towards the receiving hall.

“Laozu, will you be travelling by sword or teleportation?” Chunwen asks.

Wei Ying considers for a moment. “I’ll go by sword if Zewu Jun chooses to travel that way. If not, we’ll teleport. The first general and the second and third marshals will teleport themselves in the evening.”

A servant brings Lan Xichen to the receiving hall, where Wei Ying greets him with a gentle smile.
"Good morning, Zewu Jun. Were you able to sleep?" Wei Ying asks.

"Good morning, Laozu. I had a peaceful sleep, thank you," Lan Xichen replies with a polite smile.

"We can travel by sword or use one of my talismans to teleport to Gusu. What is your choice?"

Wei Ying asks, leaving the decision open.

"Whatever Laozu chooses," Xichen answers, his expression calm.

"How about we teleport to Gusu then?" Wei Ying suggests, smiling.

"Sure," Xichen agrees, nodding.

Wei Ying turns to Chunwen. "Chunwen, we’ll leave now. Be careful." With that, he walks over to Lan Xichen, gently takes his wrist, and activates the teleportation talisman. In a blink, they find themselves at the gates of Cloud Recesses.

 

.

 

The air is cool and crisp as they arrive, the familiar scent of pine and the serene atmosphere greeting them. The majestic gates of the Cloud Recesses stand before them, their pristine white and blue structure blending harmoniously with the surrounding mountains and sky.

Lan Xichen takes a moment to process the shift. The journey that had taken him more than a day from Gusu to Yiling is now covered in mere seconds. The depth of Wei Ying's power stirs awe within him. So much of this boy's abilities remain beyond comprehension.

Quickly regaining his composure, Lan Xichen smiles and says, "Laozu, thank you for teleporting."
Wei Ying walks through the gate of Cloud Recesses, his eyes briefly lingering on the barrier. He lets out a small chuckle, catching Lan Xichen's attention.

“Zewu Jun, may I say something, provided you won't take offense?" Wei Ying asks, his tone light.

Lan Xichen, always composed, smiles and nods. “Of course, Laozu.”

“The barrier... it's not strong enough for a sect like Gusu,” Wei Ying remarks, his words casual but confident as he starts ascending the stairs.

Xichen freezes in shock. The barriers, designed over years by the Lan elders and cultivators, meticulously enhanced and maintained, had been assessed by this young boy in mere moments. Not only that, but Wei Ying had effortlessly passed through them as if they weren’t even there.

“Pardon me for crossing them, Zewu Jun,” Wei Ying bows slightly, “I just wanted to show you how easily they can be broken, should someone wish to.”

Lan Xichen quickly regains his composure, though the shock lingers. “No need for apologies, Laozu. Thank you for pointing it out. I will discuss this with the elders,” he promises, walking beside Wei Ying as they continue.

As they approach Cloud Recesses, the guards, recognising Lan Xichen from a distance, rush to inform the acting sect leader, Lan Qiren. In no time, Lan Qiren, along with a group of disciples and cultivators, gathers to welcome Yiling Laozu. But as they see Wei Ying, a boy much younger than Lan Xichen himself, they freeze in astonishment. The famous ‘Yiling Laozu’ is far younger than they expected.

Their shock is palpable, but they quickly compose themselves. Lan Qiren steps forward, leading the group. “The Lan sect welcomes Yiling Laozu. We have heard much about your talents and are grateful that you accepted to help us. Please, enter.”

Wei Ying smiles politely. “Thank you, Acting Sect Leader Lan,” he replies, stepping inside with Lan Xichen following behind.

As they walk, the cultivators around them can feel the sheer strength of Wei Ying’s golden core. Its intensity, far surpassing any of their strongest cultivators, leaves an unspoken weight in the air. The disciples exchange glances and whispers circulating among them as they witness the immense power contained within someone so young. Some feel admiration, while others sense the undeniable challenge his presence brings.

Wei Ying remains composed as they are led deeper into Cloud Recesses, his eyes observing the architecture and the neatness of the courtyards with a sense of appreciation. Despite the atmosphere of formality, he moves with a calm ease, his expression polite but distant.

They guide him to Hanshi, where Lan Qiren, a few elders, and Lan Xichen formally welcome him. The room is quiet, the tension palpable as the elders, all seasoned cultivators, exchange looks. Wei Ying’s reputation precedes him, and though they know of his power, seeing it in person leaves a deeper impact.

“We appreciate your willingness to assist us, Yiling Laozu,” one of the elders says, his voice respectful yet cautious.

Wei Ying offers a respectful bow. “The pleasure is mine. I am honoured to lend my aid. Gusu has always upheld the principles of righteousness, and I am more than willing to support such efforts.”

Lan Qiren nods approvingly. “We have much to discuss, and your insight will be invaluable. Please, take a seat.”

Wei Ying and Lan Xichen take their seats, and the atmosphere shifts into one of formal deliberation. Though Wei Ying’s presence carries youthful energy, his words and demeanour convey a maturity and wisdom far beyond his years, further solidifying his position as a figure of power and respect among the cultivators present.

Wei Ying smiles, breaking the slight tension. "I have something to present to you," he says, gesturing toward his Qiankun pouch.

Lan Qiren nods, intrigued. Wei Ying places the pouch on the nearby table and begins to pull out several boxes, presenting them one by one.

The first few boxes contain what appear to be folded robes. Wei Ying holds them up for display. "These are Yiling’s exclusive robes," he begins, a proud gleam in his eyes. "They are immune to dust and stains and can withstand fire up to a certain degree. They are made with a combination of silk and lotus silk from Yiling, and they fit anyone who wears them, regardless of size."

The elders' eyes widen, and even Lan Qiren looks shocked at the extraordinary claims. The Lan sect is known for its meticulously clean robes, famous throughout the cultivation world. But even their robes are not immune to stains or fireproof. The thought that such robes could exist is almost too much to believe.

Lan Qiren takes the boxes, nodding in thanks, though still visibly processing the information. "Such craftsmanship is impressive, Yiling Laozu. We appreciate the generosity."

Wei Ying continues, pulling out more boxes. "These are some of our specialities—vegetarian snacks made from lotus, plums, peaches, and berries," he says with a smile as he hands them over.

He then produces a smaller box and hands it to Lan Xichen. "I’ve heard that the Lan sect houses the largest library in the cultivation world. These are special talismans to protect your library from fire. Simply place them on the roof and walls, and they will safeguard the structure."

Before Lan Qiren can respond, Lan Xichen speaks up, his tone appreciative. "Laozu, we did once have the largest library, but I believe you now hold that title. I’m extremely grateful for these talismans. We’ve preserved the knowledge in our library for centuries, and your gift will help us continue to do so. Thank you."

Wei Ying nods, smiling warmly. "It’s my pleasure."

Lan Xichen bows low, clearly moved. "I have a small request, if you don’t mind."

Wei Ying raises an eyebrow. "Please feel free to ask."

"I’ve had the chance to glance at two books you’ve written for young cultivators in your library," Lan Xichen says, his admiration evident. "I was deeply impressed by your teachings on talismans and cultivation, particularly your insights on golden cores. Would it be possible to have copies of those books for our library?"

Wei Ying beams at the compliment. "Of course! "

Lan Xichen bows again, his smile wide. "Thank you, Laozu. I am truly grateful."

Lan Qiren, finally regaining his composure after hearing so much surprising information, clears his throat. "Thank you, Laozu. These gifts are most thoughtful." He gestures toward a nearby seat. "Please, be seated."

Wei Ying, Lan Xichen, and a few of the elders take their seats. The atmosphere is more relaxed now, but there’s still a palpable undercurrent of awe in the room.

"I trust your journey here was uneventful?" Lan Qiren asks, attempting to make small talk.

Lan Xichen, recalling their near-instant teleportation, almost chokes on his words but quickly recovers. Wei Ying merely smiles, nodding. "Yes, it was quite peaceful."

Lan Qiren acknowledges this with a nod, moving on to more serious matters. "Xichen has informed you about the abyss, I assume."

Wei Ying nods. "Yes, Zewu Jun has told me. I’d like to see it for myself before making any decisions or outlining a plan of action."

"Of course," Lan Qiren says. "We can arrange for a visit to Caiyi Town by midday if that suits you."
Wei Ying agrees with a smile, and the elders exchange glances, seemingly reassured by his calm demeanor.

"Xichen," Lan Qiren says, "please show Laozu to the guest quarters so he can rest before the trip."

Wei Ying bows and leaves the room with Lan Xichen, heading toward the guest quarters. The walk is quiet, and Wei Ying takes in the serene environment of the Cloud Recesses. The tall trees, tranquil ponds, and gentle breeze create a sense of peace, reminding him of the calmness he felt during his early training days in his master's mountain.

Upon reaching the guest quarters, Lan Xichen opens the door for Wei Ying. "Please rest here, Laozu. If you need anything, you can call for one of the disciples."

Wei Ying thanks him with a nod. "I appreciate your hospitality, Zewu Jun. I’ll take some time to meditate before we head out."

Lan Xichen offers a polite bow before leaving. Once he returns to the Hanshi, the atmosphere feels heavy, and the elders and Lan Qiren are clearly awaiting his arrival. There’s an unspoken tension in the air, a mixture of concern and curiosity that hangs over the room.

Lan Xichen steps into the quiet, formal atmosphere of the room, bowing respectfully before his uncle. "Shufu."

Lan Qiren, his face composed yet his eyes keen with inquiry, speaks first, wasting no time. "Xichen, is it true about the Burial Mounds?"

Xichen straightens slightly, his posture reflecting the seriousness of the conversation. He nods. "Yes, Shufu. Yiling is thriving."

Lan Qiren studies him carefully, as if searching for any hint of exaggeration or uncertainty. But rather than dwelling on the success of Yiling, he shifts the focus. "What did you mean when you mentioned their library?"

Xichen meets the gazes of the elders around him, knowing that the information he is about to share will be difficult for them to accept. "Yiling Laozu has a library as large as ours," he begins, his tone steady, "but they have even more books than we do." He pauses, letting the gravity of his words sink in. "I am certain that their hidden section holds even more knowledge than our own."

The room falls into a stunned silence, broken only by the soft murmur of disbelief from one of the elders. Lan Qiren, usually so controlled and composed, allows a moment of shock to show on his face before he regains his calm. "How is that even possible?" he asks, his voice laced with curiosity and doubt. "And how is his core so strong?"

Xichen sighs softly, aware that his next revelation will only deepen their astonishment. "Shufu, he is the disciple of Immortal Baoshan Sanren."

A collective gasp rises from the gathered elders, their expressions shifting from surprise to disbelief. The name Baoshan Sanren carries a weight of mystery and reverence; to hear that Laozu has been trained by her is nothing short of astounding. Lan Qiren frowns, his brows furrowed in thought. "No one other than Cangse Sanren has descended from that mountain in years."

An elder, his tone tinged with concern, interrupts. "Did you encounter any difficulty while you were in Yiling?"

"None at all," Xichen assures them, his voice calm and reassuring. "They treated me with great respect, even though I arrived unannounced. They honored the Lan Sect’s dietary customs, preparing vegetarian dishes, specially with less spice, mindful of our preferences."

Lan Qiren nods, visibly relieved by this account. However, another elder, still skeptical, speaks up. "How can such a young man manage Yiling so effectively? I still question if the people there are truly safe."

Lan Xichen’s expression hardens slightly, his tone becoming firm. "Do not make baseless assumptions," he warns. "Laozu has managed Yiling better than we have managed Caiyi Town. I walked through their market, spoke to their people—they are all happy and deeply grateful to their Laozu. In fact, it was the people of Yiling who convinced him to lead them."

He pauses for a moment, allowing the weight of his words to settle. "He has built dormitories for homeless children and provides them with education. The children adore him; they wait eagerly at the dining hall just to spend time with him. Despite his immense power, he is humble, kind, and deeply caring. I have yet to see a cultivator who embodies the true essence of cultivation as he does." His gaze flicks pointedly to the elder who had voiced doubt, making his stance clear.

Lan Qiren’s stern features soften slightly as he considers Xichen’s words. "Impressive," he finally says, nodding in quiet approval. "He seems to be an extraordinary young man."

After a moment of contemplation, Lan Qiren asks, "How did you return so quickly? The journey from Yiling is not a short one."

Xichen’s lips twitch with a hint of amusement. "We teleported," he replies simply, watching as Lan Qiren’s eyes widen in shock, his composure slipping for a brief moment.

"Teleported?" Lan Qiren echoes, momentarily stunned. The reaction from the elders is similar, a murmur of astonishment rippling through the room.

Xichen hides his smile but the amusement in his eyes is evident. "Yes, Shufu," he confirms, before his expression turns serious again. "There’s one more thing, though."

Lan Qiren’s brows knit together, sensing the gravity in Xichen’s tone. "What is it?"

Taking a deep breath, Xichen explains, "Laozu mentioned that our barriers are too weak for a sect of our standing. He entered them without any resistance, as if they weren’t even there. He apologized for crossing them, but he warned that if someone with ill intent tried to break in, our wards would not hold."

The room falls into a heavy silence, the weight of his words settling over the elders and Lan Qiren. They exchange worried glances, fully aware of the implications. With the Wen Sect pushing the abyss into Caiyi Town’s waters, the vulnerability of their defenses is a critical issue. If their barriers are as weak as Laozu suggests, their entire sect could be at risk.

Lan Qiren’s voice is calm but tinged with urgency as he speaks. "We will need to address this issue immediately. But first, let us focus on the problem at hand."

Xichen nods, recognizing the seriousness of the matter. The Lan Sect’s defense is now under scrutiny, and they cannot afford to have any weaknesses, especially with the threat of the Wen Sect looming.

"Is Wangji back from the night hunt?" Xichen asks, his tone casual but tinged with concern.

"Not yet," Lan Qiren replies. "He should return within the hour." After a brief pause, he adds, "There is a sparring event for the guest disciples soon. We need to attend, but in the meantime, you can give Laozu a tour of Cloud Recess."

Xichen bows respectfully. "Yes, Shufu. I will do so."

 

He leaves the room and makes his way to the guest quarters. Knocking gently on the door, he waits for a moment before it opens to reveal Wei Ying, smiling brightly. Wei Ying has changed into light-blue outer robes adorned with simple silver designs, paired with white under-robes and a silver and white belt. The simplicity and elegance of the attire make him look even more refined, and Xichen is momentarily taken aback.

"You look as if you belong here, Laozu," Xichen remarks, genuinely impressed by how Wei Ying seamlessly blends into the Gusu Lan’s traditional colors.

Wei Ying chuckles softly, adjusting the hem of his robes. "I thought it would be fitting to wear something that honors the Lan Sect. I hope you don’t mind."

"Not at all," Xichen responds with a warm smile. "It suits you perfectly. Shall we begin the tour?"
Wei Ying nods, and together they walk out, side by side, as Xichen leads him through the serene courtyards and elegant pavilions of Cloud Recess.

For nearly an hour, Lan Xichen guides Wei Ying through the peaceful, winding pathways of Cloud Recess, pointing out the various buildings, courtyards, and training grounds. Wei Ying listens intently, his eyes alight with curiosity as he takes in the serene beauty of the sect. Occasionally, he asks questions or comments on the architecture, clearly appreciating the calm and order of the place. As they approach the practice grounds, Wei Ying's eyes spark with interest.

"What’s going on over there?" he asks, noticing a crowd of disciples gathered around the training area.

Lan Xichen follows his gaze and smiles. "There’s a sparring event for the guest disciples. They wanted a friendly match, so we arranged it for them."

"Can we watch?" Wei Ying asks eagerly, his excitement evident in his eyes.

"Of course. Follow me," Lan Xichen says, leading him toward the practice grounds.

They make their way to the front of the crowd to get a clearer view of the matches. As they settle into place, Nie Huaisang, standing among the spectators, perks up when he spots Wei Ying. A wide smile spreads across his face, but he quickly schools his expression, trying to maintain his usual laid-back demeanor.

Nearby, Jiang Cheng and the Jiang disciples are watching the sparring as well. The moment Jiang Cheng sees Wei Ying, his eyes go wide, and his expression hardens. His grip on his sword tightens, and he clenches his jaw, sighing inwardly. The past few days have been tense for him and the Jiang disciples. The news of their failed attempt to reclaim Yiling has spread through Cloud Recess despite the Lan Sect’s rules against gossip. Jiang Cheng doesn’t understand how the information leaked, but seeing Wei Ying—the Yiling Laozu himself—standing casually in the same training grounds of the Gusu Lan Sect makes his anger flare.

Wei Ying and Lan Xichen observe as a few disciples engage in friendly matches. Eventually, another bout begins, this time between Jin Zixun of the Jin Sect and a Lan disciple. Jin Zixun, known for his arrogance, moves with an air of overconfidence, but his technique is clumsy and unrefined. Within minutes, the Lan disciple skillfully disarms him, leaving Jin Zixun stumbling. A ripple of barely contained laughter spreads through the crowd, but it is Wei Ying’s loud, unrestrained chuckle that catches everyone’s attention.

Jin Zixun glares at Wei Ying, his eyes filled with fury. Unable to contain his anger, he shouts, "You! How dare you laugh at me? I’ve never seen you around before. If you have the guts to laugh, why don’t you spar with me?"

Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren both move to intervene, their expressions stern as they prepare to reprimand Jin Zixun for his disrespect. However, Wei Ying raises a hand, signaling for them to hold back. He steps forward, a calm and polite smile on his face. "Sure, why not?" he replies smoothly, as if accepting an ordinary request.

He then turns to Lan Qiren and bows respectfully. “May I spar with one of your guest disciples?”

Lan Qiren, still processing Jin Zixun’s outburst and audacity, nods his approval. The crowd falls into an anticipatory silence as Wei Ying and Jin Zixun face off. Wei Ying offers a proper bow, showing his respect for the sparring match, while Jin Zixun gives only a curt nod, his arrogance clear as he underestimates his opponent.

The spar begins, and Jin Zixun charges at Wei Ying, his attacks fast but lacking finesse. Wei Ying, however, moves effortlessly, sidestepping and dodging each blow with a fluid grace. It becomes apparent that Wei Ying isn’t even trying to strike back; he’s simply evading Jin Zixun’s attacks, almost playfully. The crowd watches in awe as Wei Ying’s movements appear almost like a dance, while Jin Zixun’s frustration mounts with every failed attempt.

Angered by his own inability to land a blow, Jin Zixun sneers, "If your master taught you anything, you’d know how to fight properly!"

At those words, both Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren tense, their eyes flashing with indignation. But Wei Ying remains calm, his eyes narrowing just slightly. In one swift, fluid motion, he disarms Jin Zixun, his blade held steadily at his opponent's throat.

Wei Ying’s voice, though quiet, carries a chilling edge. "One more word against my master, and I’ll cut out your tongue and hand it to you."

Jin Zixun pales, his face drained of all color as he trembles, stepping back in fear. Before anyone else can react, Jin Zixuan, the heir of the Jin sect and Jin Zixun’s cousin, steps forward, his expression controlled but his eyes filled with pride. He pushes Jin Zixun behind him and declares, "Spar with me." His tone is composed, but the challenge in his voice is unmistakable.

Lan Xichen senses that the situation is growing more intense, and he decides to take control. "Anyone who wishes to spar with Laozu, please step this way," he announces, his voice carrying over the gathered disciples. A line quickly forms, consisting mostly of Jin disciples, all eager to challenge Wei Ying and perhaps redeem their sect's reputation. Nie Huaisang and the Jiang disciples, including Jiang Cheng, remain on the sidelines, watching the events unfold in silence.
Wei Ying's lips curl into a confident smile as he nods. "Very well," he replies, accepting the challenge.

The sparring continues, and this time, Wei Ying takes it seriously. Jin Zixuan steps up next, clearly intending to restore some dignity to his clan after Jin Zixun’s embarrassing defeat. Though he is more skilled and composed than his cousin, his efforts prove futile. In just a few moments, Wei Ying disarms him effortlessly, his movements swift and precise. Jin Zixuan's face flushes with shame as he steps back, clearly bruised by the loss. He sends a glare at Jin Zixun, silently blaming him for the situation, before retreating to stand next to Nie Huaisang, his pride clearly wounded.

As the matches continue, one disciple after another falls before Wei Ying’s skill. His mastery is undeniable, and with each victory, the crowd’s awe grows. Whispers of admiration ripple through the spectators as they witness his elegant yet formidable technique. It becomes increasingly evident that Wei Ying is far more than an ordinary cultivator; his abilities far beyond the most skilled masters of their generation.

Meanwhile, a few Lan disciples approach Lan Xichen, and among them is Lan Wangji. Wangji’s hand tightens around his sword, Bichen, and his brows furrow as he watches Wei Ying. His normally composed expression is replaced by one of tension, his mind visibly occupied. One disciple, nervously glancing between Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji, finally speaks up.

"Zewu Jun, what is he doing here?" the disciple asks, his voice uncertain.

Lan Xichen looks at the disciple, curious. "Do you know him?"

The disciples nod. "He’s the one who saved us the other day and sent us back to Cloud Recesses," one explains.

Xichen’s eyes widen slightly in surprise. "Is that so, Wangji?" he asks, turning to his brother for confirmation. Lan Wangji gives a single, firm nod.

"I see," Xichen says, a thoughtful expression on his face. "I will thank him properly for that, then. Did everything go well? Are the souls at rest?" he asks, looking at the disciples.

"Yes, Zewu Jun," they reply in unison.

"Good. You should all go and take some rest now," Xichen instructs, dismissing them with a gentle nod. As the disciples bow and leave, Xichen turns back to observe the sparring match. However, Lan Wangji remains, hiding among the crowd as his gaze stays fixed on Wei Ying.

As Lan Wangji watches Wei Ying’s graceful movements and the way he wields his sword with ease, memories begin to flood back. He recalls the Wei Ying he once knew, the one who fought alongside him with the same elegance and power. How could he have forgotten this? The realization that the person he cherished so deeply is alive and standing right before him feels overwhelming. For the first time in what seems like years, fragmented memories of his past life resurface, and the emotions he had long buried come rushing back.

Lan Wangji grips Bichen tighter, struggling to keep his composure. *Wei Ying... alive. Here in Cloud Recess... how could this be real?* The thought races through his mind. He pinches his arm, half-expecting it all to vanish like a cruel dream. But it doesn’t—this is real. Wei Ying is truly alive, safe, and right in front of him. Yet Lan Wangji finds himself rooted to the spot, unable to move or speak. Emotions swirl within him like a storm, a mixture of relief, disbelief, and a fierce desire to protect.

The sparring matches finally come to an end, and Lan Xichen, visibly impressed, steps forward with a warm smile. "Laozu, your swordsmanship is truly remarkable. Might I have the honor of sparring with you?" he asks, his tone genuine and filled with excitement.

Lan Wangji’s ears perk up at his brother’s words. *Laozu?* he thinks, the title echoing in his mind. So his brother had already met Wei Ying and even brought him to Cloud Recesses. How had he not known? His grip on Bichen tightens further, and he feels a knot in his chest as conflicting emotions tug at him—relief that Wei Ying is here, and frustration at not knowing sooner.

Wei Ying, as gracious as ever, responds with his signature smile. "It would be my pleasure, Zewu Jun."

Lan Wangji winces at the sight of that familiar smile—the same one he had longed to see again for years. It feels like a knife twisting in his heart.

Wei Ying and Lan Xichen bow respectfully to each other before beginning their spar. Both of them are masters of the sword, and the disciples watch in awe as they clash. Their movements are fluid, their strikes precise, and the air hums with spiritual energy as their swords meet. Every exchange is met with admiration from the crowd, who marvel at the display of skill and power from both cultivators.

After several intense minutes, Lan Xichen is finally disarmed. He smiles and bows again, acknowledging Wei Ying’s victory with a look of genuine respect. Wei Ying, still smiling brightly, returns the gesture with a lighthearted grin.

The spar ends, but Lan Wangji’s internal turmoil only deepens. Unable to bear the flood of emotions any longer, he turns abruptly and storms back to Jingshi. His grip on Bichen is so tight that his knuckles turn white. Once he’s within the familiar confines of his room, the weight of everything he’s feeling crashes down on him. He feels the overwhelming surge of emotions—relief, sorrow, anger, and a profound sense of longing. Tears spill from his eyes, unstoppable, as he sinks to the floor, his heart aching with the intensity of everything he has held back for so long.

"Wei Ying… You saved me, and I didn’t even recognize you," Lan Wangji whispers, his voice trembling as he fights back the overwhelming rush of emotions. "I’m glad you’re doing well, but I… I want to know what happened to you. Do you… do you remember me? You look so strong now. So different. I want to know everything…" His voice breaks as he buries his face in his hands, the weight of his emotions finally spilling over. Years of longing, regret, and confusion crash down on him all at once, leaving him feeling raw and vulnerable.

Lan Wangji closes his eyes, allowing the memories of Wei Ying to flood his mind. He sees flashes of their past together—their adventures, their quiet moments, and the arguments that left deep scars. He recalls the painful aftermath of Wei Ying’s death, the crushing guilt he carried like a burden, and the years he spent raising A-Yuan in his absence. Every memory twists in his chest, making it feel impossible to breathe. He remembers the smile that haunted him for years, the sharp words Wei Ying threw at him in anger, telling him to leave. And most vividly, he recalls the tragic moment of Wei Ying’s death—the image so clear and fresh in his mind as if it had happened only yesterday. Tears stream down his face, unstoppable.

But one memory stands out among the rest—an image of the strange array he had activated. No matter how much he tries to piece it together, the details remain hazy, and he can't understand why or how he had done it. There’s something missing, something crucial he can’t seem to grasp. The frustration and confusion only add to the storm brewing within him as he wipes at his tears, feeling helpless and lost.

Suddenly, a soft knock on the door pulls him from his thoughts. Lan Wangji quickly wipes his face and splashes water onto it, desperately trying to compose himself. He takes a deep breath, masking the vulnerability that had just overwhelmed him. When he opens the door, he finds Lan Xichen standing there, his expression gentle yet curious. "Wangji," Xichen begins softly, his eyes filled with concern.

"Xiongzhang," Lan Wangji greets, stepping aside to let Lan Xichen into his quarters. Outwardly, he remains composed, but inside, a quiet discomfort lingers. This is the same man who stood with the others against Wei Ying, the one who refused to trust him when he tried to speak the truth about the Dafan Wen. And yet, here they are in a different life. Things have changed: the Burial Mounds are cleansed, Wei Ying is no longer an outcast, and Yiling is flourishing under his guidance. But one thing remains unclear—why isn’t Wei Ying with the Jiangs? The question tugs at Lan Wangji’s heart, a persistent ache he doesn’t know how to voice.

Lan Wangji takes a slow breath, pushing those thoughts aside. He needs to focus on the present. "Is something wrong, Xiongzhang?" he asks, his tone carefully neutral.

Lan Xichen’s eyes soften with concern as he studies Lan Wangji’s expression. "You seemed troubled, Wangji. Is everything alright?"

Lan Wangji quickly shakes his head. "Nothing... I’m fine," he replies, his voice betraying none of the turmoil within. He wants to change the subject, to shift the focus away from himself and the gnawing questions that threaten to unravel his composure. "How did the sparring go?" he asks, hoping the inquiry sounds casual enough.

A spark of excitement lights up Lan Xichen’s eyes. "Oh! Laozu won, of course. His swordsmanship is extraordinary—perhaps the best I’ve ever seen. We only returned today, but I had a wonderful time in Yiling." His tone is cheerful, animated, and utterly unaware of the storm brewing within his brother.

Hearing Lan Xichen speak so casually about Yiling—about Wei Ying—causes a spike of frustration to rise in Lan Wangji’s chest. Why didn’t he accept his brother’s invitation to go there? He could have seen Wei Ying earlier, spoken to him, *done* something instead of remaining in Cloud Recesses, haunted by memories and what-ifs. But he didn’t, and now, it feels like the distance between them is growing wider, his brother occupying a space that once belonged only to him.

"I would like to visit," Lan Wangji says, his voice steady, though he feels a tension beneath the words, a tightness that lingers. He doesn’t know if he’s prepared for what he might find—for the possibility that his brother has grown closer to Wei Ying in his absence.

Lan Xichen’s face brightens with enthusiasm. "Let’s go together sometime! I’m sure Laozu wouldn’t mind. He seemed pleased with my visit."

Lan Wangji nods, but the knot in his chest tightens. *How close have they become?* he wonders, his thoughts spiraling. Wei Ying was his. His friend, his… he doesn’t even know the word for what he meant to Wei Ying, but it was something that felt irreplaceable, something only he should have known. Now, Lan Xichen has that closeness, and it feels like the ground is slipping from beneath his feet. How much time have they spent together, sharing laughs and stories? Lan Wangji wants to ask, to voice his jealousy and unease, but the words remain trapped in his throat. Instead, he forces himself to stay silent.

"I just wanted to check on you," Lan Xichen says kindly, his eyes warm as he observes his brother’s quiet demeanor.

"Hmm," Lan Wangji replies, his thoughts drifting, far away from the conversation. His mind is consumed by a single thought: *Where is Wei Ying now?*

"Where is he?" Lan Wangji finally asks, unable to hold the question back any longer. His tone is neutral, but there’s a faint edge to it, a subtle urgency.

Chapter 12

Notes:

Hello, dear readers,

Welcome back!

I'm excited to present the much-awaited chapter. I hope it meets your expectations and provides an enjoyable experience for you all.

Thank you so much for your amazing comments and continuous support. Your kudos and feedback truly keep me motivated to keep writing.

As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts and theories in the comments. Please let me know what you think of this chapter!

Thank you for reading, and stay tuned for more!

 

**************

"Where is he?" Lan Wangji finally asks, unable to contain the question any longer. Though his tone remains neutral, there is a subtle urgency to it, an undercurrent of anxiety that he cannot fully suppress.

Lan Xichen offers a gentle smile. "He’s in the guest quarters, resting before we head to Caiyi Town this afternoon to inspect the abyss."

Lan Wangji nods, but his thoughts are already elsewhere. He imagines Wei Ying resting so close by, yet it still feels like he is out of reach. The nearness is both a comfort and a torment. Should he go to him now? Or should he wait, respecting the distance that lingers between them? His thoughts tangle, pulling him in two directions. The urge to act wars with the fear of what might come if he does. "Thank you, Xiongzhang," he mutters softly, his voice barely audible.

"I’ll leave you to it, then," Lan Xichen says with a final smile before departing, leaving Lan Wangji alone once again, trapped with his turbulent emotions.

As the door closes behind his brother, Lan Wangji feels the weight of his emotions swell, nearly overwhelming him. He begins pacing back and forth in his quarters, each step a reflection of the restlessness that grips his heart. His thoughts spiral, circling around the same question: *Why is my brother so close with Wei Ying?* The image of Lan Xichen smiling warmly, speaking so easily about Wei Ying, gnaws at him. It is unbearable. The idea of them sharing something, of a closeness that he himself is excluded from, feels like a sharp, stinging betrayal—even if it is one he has no right to feel.

He stops pacing, his hand instinctively tightening around Bichen’s hilt. *No,* he tells himself, *this cannot go on.* He *needs* to speak with Wei Ying to understand what is happening and to mend the distance that has grown between them. Determined, he leaves his quarters, his steps brisk and purposeful as he makes his way towards the guest quarters where Wei Ying is staying.
His heart pounds with each step—a chaotic mix of hope, jealousy, and an emotion he cannot quite name. The anticipation of finally seeing Wei Ying again both excites and terrifies him.

As he reaches the guest quarters, he pauses, taking a moment to steady his breathing before he knocks on the door. When there is no response, he frowns and waits, listening intently. After a few moments, he knocks again, more firmly this time. Still, there is no answer.

Frustration rises within him, mingling with the worry that has begun to gnaw at the edges of his composure. He knocks once more, and when there is still no response, he pushes the door open, unable to bear the wait any longer. The room is empty. Wei Ying is not there.

 

Lan Wangji’s jaw tightens as he takes in the emptiness of the space. The sight of the neatly folded bedding and the absence of any trace of movement makes his chest feel heavier. Each moment that passes without finding Wei Ying feels like another weight pressing down on him. *Where could he have gone?* Did he leave Cloud Recesses already? Had he gone with the others to Caiyi Town earlier than planned?

His mind races, each unanswered question a blow to his composure. *Why can’t anything be simple between us?* he wonders, the frustration clawing at him. *Why must everything be tangled in misunderstandings, lost opportunities, and unsaid words?*

He clenches his fists, the tension radiating through him. Every moment spent apart feels like a layer of distance building between them, a distance he doesn’t know how to bridge. He wants so desperately to reach out, to close the gap, but each time he tries, something holds him back—a hesitation, a fear, a wound that still feels too raw. It is as if an invisible barrier lies between them, one he cannot find the strength to tear down.

Standing alone in the quiet room, Lan Wangji is confronted by his own helplessness. The emptiness around him mirrors the hollowness he feels within. He knows he cannot continue like this, bound by hesitation and silence, unable to express the depth of his feelings or to reach out for the hand that always seems just beyond his grasp. The realisation weighs heavily on him, and for a moment, he allows himself to feel the full brunt of that ache. The opportunities he’s missed, the words he’s left unsaid—they all swell into a painful knot in his chest.

He stands there, his gaze fixed on the vacant space where Wei Ying should have been. *If only I’d come sooner. If only I’d had the courage.* The thought gnaws at him. He was too slow to act, too hesitant, and now the moment has slipped through his fingers like sand. But this will not be the end. He refuses to let it be. He’ll find Wei Ying, and this time, he won’t hold back. He *will* speak to him, no matter what it takes, and he will bridge the distance that has formed between them, however long it takes to do so.

*Where could he have gone?* The question echoes in Lan Wangji’s mind as he leaves the empty room, determination etched across his face. He begins his search, his eyes scanning every possible place where Wei Ying might be. He moves swiftly, his footsteps light but purposeful, his gaze sharp and focused as he navigates the familiar courtyards and serene gardens. He maintains an air of calm, trying to remain inconspicuous even as the urgency in his chest grows. He knows he cannot risk drawing unnecessary attention; the eyes of Cloud Recesses are always watchful.

As he approaches the edge of the forest just outside the gates, he pauses, his senses on high alert. That’s when he hears it—a faint, familiar sound. Laughter, soft and carefree, carried by the wind.

His heart skips a beat, a rush of emotions surging through him. Without a second thought, he follows the sound, moving cautiously to stay hidden as he draws nearer. The laughter grows louder, and he ducks behind a large shrub, peering through the foliage. His breath catches in his throat.

There, standing in the dappled sunlight, with an arm draped casually around Wei Ying’s shoulders, is Nie Huaisang. Wei Ying’s bright smile lights up his face, and his eyes twinkle as he laughs, his cheeks slightly flushed from the warmth of the sun. Nie Huaisang feeds him a lotus seed; his expression is light and cheerful.

"Wei Xiong, this one is tasty! Try it," Nie Huaisang says, his voice full of mirth. He pushes another seed toward Wei Ying’s mouth, and Wei Ying playfully accepts it, grinning as he chews.

Lan Wangji’s hands clench into fists, his knuckles turning white. His first instinct is to march over and pull Nie Huaisang away from Wei Ying, to put an immediate stop to the casual intimacy between them. The sight of Nie Huaisang being so familiar with *his* Wei Ying makes his blood boil. A fierce, possessive urge rises within him, so intense that he has to force himself to stay rooted in place, hidden among the foliage. He knows he cannot act rashly, not when he’s so close to the truth he seeks.

"Nie Xiong, you’re right, it’s delicious," Wei Ying says, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "What do you think about the new wine we made? Is it any good?"

Nie Huaisang’s eyes light up with excitement. "Wei Xiong, after Emperor’s Smile, your wine is definitely my favourite!" He exclaims, his words muffled as he stuffs another lotus seed into his mouth.

Lan Wangji’s jaw tightens, his muscles straining as he watches the easy camaraderie between them. The way Wei Ying laughs, the way he looks so at ease, it all feels wrong—like he’s witnessing something private, a moment that does not belong to anyone else but him. Each smile and every playful touch is like a dagger to his heart, a reminder of the distance that has formed between them.

"Let’s sneak out and have some Emperor’s Smile tonight," Nie Huaisang suggests with a mischievous grin, leaning closer to Wei Ying.

Wei Ying’s grin widens, and he winks, his eyes full of mischief. "No need to sneak out. I’ve already made the arrangements," he teases, a glint of playfulness in his gaze. "I’ll pick up some Emperor’s smile when I go to Caiyi this afternoon. Tonight, I’ll bring it to your room, and we can drink together."

Nie Huaisang claps his hands in delight. "Yes, yes, that’s a great plan! We can have a good time, Wei Xiong."

Lan Wangji feels his heart sink, the burning jealousy within him intensifying, twisting painfully. How dare Wei Ying smile and wink at Nie Huaisang like that? It feels like a betrayal, seeing Wei Ying so open and flirtatious with someone else. It’s a side of Wei Ying that Lan Wangji has missed dearly—one he thought was reserved for their moments, for the connection they once shared. Now he feels that bond slipping away, and the sight of Nie Huaisang sharing what should have been *his* time with Wei Ying is unbearable.

As he stands there, gripped by his emotions, Lan Wangji shifts slightly, and his foot brushes against a branch, making a faint sound.

Both Wei Ying and Nie Huaisang freeze, their playful expressions replaced with caution. They scan the area, eyes alert and searching.

"Nie Xiong, you should hurry back to your room. People might see us together," Wei Ying whispers, his tone suddenly serious.

Nie Huaisang nods, glancing around warily before stepping away. "I’ll see you later, Wei Xiong," he says, giving Wei Ying a quick smile before turning and hurrying back towards the inner courtyards.

Lan Wangji remains hidden, his heart pounding as he watches Wei Ying stand alone, looking around cautiously. For a brief moment, he considers revealing himself, stepping out from the shadows to confront Wei Ying directly. But the words he wants to say—the questions he wants to ask—feel tangled, too fragile to voice. He hesitates, and in that hesitation, Wei Ying’s expression shifts, becoming more guarded. Moments later, Wei Ying turns and heads back towards the forest path.

Lan Wangji remains where he is, the ache in his chest growing. *How long must I wait to bridge the distance between us?* he wonders, the weight of his own silence pressing down like a storm.

After taking a deep breath, Lan Wangji decides he cannot wait any longer. This might be his only chance. He steps out from behind the shrub, his heart pounding, and calls out, "Wei Ying!"

 

The sudden voice startles Wei Ying, who whirls around, eyes wide in surprise. In his haste, he loses his balance and stumbles, falling to the ground. Lan Wangji’s heart leaps into his throat, and he rushes forward, his hand outstretched. "Wei Ying!" he calls again, his voice urgent.

But Wei Ying doesn’t reach back. Instead, he scrunches up his face and covers it with his hands, his body trembling slightly as he sits on the ground.

Lan Wangji freezes, panic creeping into his chest. Why is Wei Ying reacting like this? Has he frightened him? He takes a step back, feeling a wave of regret. His eyes widen in concern as his mind races with thoughts—did he approach too suddenly? Did he make a mistake in revealing himself so impulsively?

For Wei Ying, the sudden fall and Lan Wangji’s voice trigger a flood of memories. Images flash through his mind: his time in Cloud Recesses, the way he used to tease Lan Zhan relentlessly, copying the sect rules as punishment, the stern but handsome expression Lan Zhan often wore. He remembers their encounter with the Xuanwu of Slaughter, the growing tension between them as he turned to demonic cultivation, and the pain of their eventual rift. The memories are vivid and sharp yet feel incomplete.

He sits there for what feels like an eternity, his hands still hiding his face. Slowly, Wei Ying begins to compose himself, taking steady breaths.

Lan Wangji’s heart aches as he sees the uncertainty in Wei Ying’s eyes. He’s terrified that he’s made things worse, that he’s hurt Wei Ying without meaning to. He regrets letting his emotions control him, driving him to reveal himself so suddenly. But more than anything, he’s scared that Wei Ying might push him away again. He doesn’t know how to bridge the gap between them, but he knows he can’t stay silent.

Lan Wangji stands on the edge of the clearing, his heart pounding as he watches Wei Ying, who seems lost in thought. He hesitates, his grip tightening on his sleeves as he gathers the courage to speak. Finally, he calls out, his voice soft and filled with a mix of worry and hesitation. "Wei Ying."

The sound of his name causes Wei Ying to look up, and for a brief moment, their eyes lock. Wei Ying’s expression softens, and his heart skips a beat as he murmurs, "*Lan Zhan*." The name leaves his lips gently, almost as if it carries the weight of years and memories forgotten. In that instant, something within Lan Wangji breaks. The sight of Wei Ying, alive and before him, overwhelms him. Tears unbidden, gather in his eyes and begin to fall, trailing down his cheeks. How long has it been since he's heard his name spoken by Wei Ying? It feels like an eternity, a lifetime filled with suffering and longing. But now, with Wei Ying standing there, everything feels different. It’s as if his heart has been given life again. *Wei Ying is here. He’s alive, standing before me.*

Lan Wangji struggles to speak, nodding as he fights against the lump in his throat. His voice is hoarse, heavy with emotion. "I remember."

Wei Ying’s eyes widen, and he takes in a shaky breath. Without thinking, he rushes forward, throwing himself into Lan Wangji’s arms. His embrace is fierce, his grip tight, as if he fears that letting go might mean losing Lan Wangji. Lan Wangji clutches Wei Ying tightly in return, as if his life depends on it. In that moment, feeling Wei Ying’s warmth, his world feels whole again for the first time in so long. The ache that had once felt like a constant presence in his chest seems to fade away, replaced by the joy of holding the one person he has missed more than anything.

But the embrace doesn’t last. Wei Ying’s arms loosen, and he steps back, hesitancy and uncertainty clouding his eyes. Lan Wangji's heart already aches with the loss of the closeness, the warmth. But he reminds himself to be patient. He can’t rush Wei Ying; he won’t push him. Whatever Wei Ying needs—however he wants things to be—Lan Wangji will follow his lead, even if it means putting his own desires aside.

"Lan Zhan, what do you remember?" Wei Ying asks softly, his voice barely above a whisper. There’s a caution in his tone, as if he’s afraid of the answer.

Lan Wangji meets his gaze, his expression gentle. "Everything," he replies. His eyes search Wei Ying’s face, hoping, waiting for something—anything—that might indicate Wei Ying remembers him too. "And you?"

Wei Ying’s gaze drops, and he looks down, lost in thought. "I remember a lot of things... but nothing that had you in it. Until now, I didn’t remember *you*." His voice trembles slightly as he continues. “Now I do, but it’s like... pieces are still missing."

Lan Wangji swallows hard, forcing himself to stay calm. He nods, his voice gentle. "It’s okay. There’s no rush."

Wei Ying sighs and sinks down to sit on the grass, his expression conflicted. He looks up at Lan Wangji, eyes filled with a mixture of emotions. "Lan Zhan, why are you crying? Didn’t you hate me back then?" he asks, his voice carrying a hint of humour as he tries to lighten the mood. He chuckles softly, but the uncertainty remains in his eyes.

Lan Wangji wipes his tears away quickly, shaking his head. "I never hated you," he says firmly, his voice thick with emotion.

Wei Ying’s eyes widen in shock. "Haan!" he exclaims, as if the idea is unbelievable. Lan Wangji hesitates, unsure if he should reveal everything he feels. Wei Ying’s memory is still fractured, and the last thing he wants is to burden or hurt him by triggering something painful. After a brief pause, he simply nods, offering a non-committal "hmm."

Wei Ying sighs in relief, leaning back on his hands. "Lan Zhan, I'm so happy that at least someone remembers the past. It feels... reassuring, you know?"

Hearing this, Lan Wangji’s heart aches even more. He had endured so much in their previous life, but realising that Wei Ying had been carrying the weight of their past memories since childhood is almost too much for him to bear. He can’t imagine the pain Wei Ying must have gone through—alone, without anyone to share his burden. He asks softly, "How long have you remembered?"

Wei Ying's gaze becomes distant. "When I came back in time, I must have been around six," he says quietly, the weight of the revelation settling between them.

Lan Wangji feels a surge of protectiveness. The thought of Wei Ying as a small child, burdened with memories of his tragic past, stirs something fierce within him. He clenches his hands at his sides, struggling to restrain the urge to reach out and pull Wei Ying into his arms again. Wei Ying has endured so much alone, and the urge to comfort him, to take away even a fraction of his pain, is overwhelming.

Before Lan Wangji can speak further, a voice interrupts the moment. "Wangji, Laozu!" Lan Xichen calls, his footsteps growing louder as he approaches.

Wei Ying stands, his smile easy and carefree, slipping effortlessly back into his casual demeanor. "Zewu Jun, I was just having a walk around here and lost my way. Your brother happened to find me," he explains with a grin, as if the emotional exchange from moments ago had never happened.

Lan Xichen smiles warmly, clearly pleased to see them both. "I must thank you, Laozu, for saving my brother and the disciples from the beasts," Lan Xichen says, bowing low in gratitude.

Wei Ying looks puzzled for a moment before realisation dawns. He recalls the incident with the wolf and the disciples he had saved. He hadn’t known Lan Zhan had been among them at the time. He offers a gracious smile. "I’m happy they’re doing fine," he replies, his gaze briefly flicking over to Lan Wangji, a glimmer of warmth in his eyes.

Lan Xichen steps closer, his tone friendly. "Laozu, come join us for lunch."

Wei Ying agrees, his signature grin lighting up his face. As he walks alongside Lan Xichen, he glances back at Lan Wangji, his eyes playful and a mischievous smile on his lips. The sight makes Lan Wangji’s heart ache with longing. He wants nothing more than to be by Wei Ying’s side, to bask in his presence, and to share every moment with him.

Lan Wangji watches them go, his heart a tangled knot of emotions. *Why is my brother sticking to Wei Ying so much?* he wonders, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. He doesn’t like how close Lan Xichen seems to be with Wei Ying, and he definitely doesn’t appreciate how Nie Huaisang is always lingering around Wei Ying, either. The thought of sharing Wei Ying with anyone else feels unbearable. *Wei Ying is mine!*

Lan Wangji’s mind races, filled with a sudden possessive urge to claim his place beside Wei Ying, to prevent anyone else from getting too close. He clenches his fist, already formulating a plan—no, several.

**Agenda for the day:**

First: Ensure Wei Ying is treated with the utmost respect, as befits his status. No one should ever dare to disrespect Wei Ying or try to take advantage of his kindness.

Second: Find a way to accompany Wei Ying to Caiyi Town. There’s no way he’ll allow his brother to have that time alone with Wei Ying. It’s *his* duty to protect Wei Ying after all. He must come up with an excuse—any reason to be by his side.

Third: Keep Wei Ying and Nie Huaisang far apart, especially after curfew. Lan Wangji knows Nie Huaisang's reputation as a schemer, and he doesn’t trust him. If he has to stand guard outside Nie Huaisang’s room to ensure that Wei Ying isn’t sneaking off with him for any late-night mischief, so be it. Bichen, his sword, would serve as an excellent deterrent.

Lan Wangji’s mind swirls with plans and ideas, all of them revolving around keeping Wei Ying safe—and, more importantly, keeping Wei Ying close to *him*. He won’t let anyone steal away the one person who makes his world feel whole again.

With renewed determination, he straightens his robes, his resolve firm. His time with Wei Ying is far from over, and he won’t waste another moment. Today, he will reclaim what was lost—and no one, not even his brother, will stand in his way.

Lan Wangji walks quickly toward the dining hall, his thoughts still filled with Wei Ying. When he enters, he spots Wei Ying sitting across from Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren. There’s no room left at their table. Reluctantly, Lan Wangji sits at a distance, but his eyes are constantly drifting toward them, unable to look away. He will find a way to be close to Wei Ying again—whatever it takes.

Wei Ying seems unusually pleased with the food. *The dishes must be different,* Lan Wangji thinks. He remembers how Wei Ying always loved food, especially anything that wasn’t the usual bland fare at Cloud Recesses.

Lan Wangji sits quietly, observing the scene around him while lost in his thoughts. However, his attention is drawn to a group of guest disciples seated nearby as their hushed conversation shifts to a familiar topic: Wei Ying. They huddle close, glancing around to ensure no one overhears, but their excitement makes them careless.

"He's the Yiling Laozu, you know," one disciple whispers, his voice tinged with enthusiasm.

The other disciple's eyes widen in surprise. "Wait, really? I thought the Yiling Laozu was supposed to be some ancient, mysterious cultivator. Not someone like... him."

"I know, right? I thought the same," the first disciple replies, a grin spreading across his face. "But you should’ve seen his sword skills during the sparring match! He was incredible—he defeated every single one of us with ease. And honestly, I was particularly glad to see Jin Zixun getting put in his place."

The second disciple laughs, nodding. "Oh, that was the highlight for me too! Jin Zixun's ego needed to be brought down a notch. Serves him right. It makes sense now how the rumours of him defeating the Jiangs spread so quickly. No wonder Jiang Gongzi has been sulking ever since the match."

The first disciple hums in agreement, and their voices grow louder with excitement. "Exactly! And it’s not just his skills; he's so handsome! I can't believe someone like him possesses such power. We wouldn’t stand a chance against him—he’s in a league of his own."

"Not even Zewu Jun could match his level of cultivation," the other disciple adds, casting a quick glance toward Lan Xichen, who is seated a few rows ahead. "When he was sparring, he looked like a war god descended from the heavens. And did you notice his personality? It’s so... bright."

"Yes! He has such a radiant smile," the first disciple agrees, sounding almost mesmerised. "It’s captivating. I can’t help but wonder if he has his eyes on anyone."

The second disciple sighs wistfully. "Anyone would be lucky to marry him. Honestly, I’m tempted to suggest him as a marriage candidate for my sister. I bet our father would approve—who wouldn’t want an alliance with the Yiling Laozu?"

Lan Wangji suddenly chokes on his food, his body jerking as he tries to suppress his reaction. The disciples’ words echo in his mind: *Wei Ying... marry someone else?* His heart clenches, an unfamiliar pang of jealousy surging through him. He presses a hand to his chest, struggling to keep his composure. *Do they even know what they’re saying?*

Yet, as much as he wants to dismiss their words as foolish chatter, doubt begins to creep in. What if they aren’t wrong? What if Wei Ying *is* interested in someone else? Perhaps in this life, Wei Ying has already found love, someone who brings him joy. The thought hits Lan Wangji like a punch to the gut. What if Wei Ying met someone before Lan Wangji even had the chance to remember everything about their past together? Or worse, what if Wei Ying had harboured feelings for someone in their past life, someone he had never spoken of?

Each possibility feels like a stab to his heart. The mere image of Wei Ying with another, of him smiling and laughing with someone else, feels unbearable. Lan Wangji’s grip on his chopsticks tightens, his knuckles turning white as he tries to steady himself. He thought he had endured so much already—years of longing and regret—but this... this is different. Knowing Wei Ying is alive and well, but imagining him happy with someone else feels like a pain he cannot bear.
*But if he’s alive and happy without me... should I let him go?* he wonders, his chest tightening with each passing second. *Is that the right thing to do?*

The question feels like a cruel twist of fate. Even if it breaks him, Lan Wangji knows he would never want to stand in the way of Wei Ying's happiness. But the uncertainty tears at him. *What if Wei Ying doesn’t even like men?* The thought gnaws at him, leaving him feeling more lost than ever. For all his strength and cultivation, he is powerless against the ache in his heart.

 

“Wangji,” Lan Xichen’s voice breaks through his swirling thoughts, grounding him back in the present moment.

Lan Wangji looks up, startled, his heart still pounding with lingering anxiety. His meal remains half-eaten in front of him, forgotten in the turmoil of his emotions. There’s concern in Lan Xichen’s eyes as he observes his younger brother.

“What’s on your mind?” Lan Xichen asks, raising an eyebrow in question. Lan Wangji shakes his head slightly, as if to say that it’s nothing, though the tightness in his chest betrays the truth. His silence doesn’t convince Lan Xichen, but his brother does not press further.

“I’ll be heading out now,” Lan Xichen says. “Please monitor the guest disciples' tests and place the papers on Shufu’s desk once they’re completed.” Without waiting for Lan Wangji’s response, he turns and strides out of the hall, leaving Lan Wangji alone with his thoughts.

*What am I doing?* Lan Wangji thinks, frustration simmering beneath the surface. *Didn’t I want to go with Wei Ying?* He knows deep down that he does—every part of him longs to follow Wei Ying, to be by his side, even if it’s just for a short while.

Lan Wangji quickly finishes his meal, his resolve hardening. He refuses to waste another moment. Rising swiftly, he hurries outside, determined to catch up with Xichen and Wei Ying. But as he steps into the courtyard, he sees them—along with several other disciples—already stepping onto their swords, preparing to depart through the gates.

He watches, feeling a pang of regret as they rise into the air, disappearing beyond the horizon. The sense of longing in his chest intensifies, and he lets out a long sigh. *I should be there, beside him,* he thinks, but instead, he turns back toward the sect, his shoulders heavy with disappointment.

Resigned, Lan Wangji makes his way to the classroom, where the guest disciples are waiting to begin their tests. He oversees their work as his brother requested, but his mind is elsewhere, constantly drifting back to Wei Ying. The memories flood his thoughts—Wei Ying’s laughter, his bright smile, the way his presence lights up everything around him. Each moment he spends apart from Wei Ying feels like an eternity wasted, an opportunity slipping through his fingers.

Throughout the entire test, Lan Wangji remains distant and distracted. His agitation grows as he questions his own hesitation. *Why didn’t I just go with them?* he wonders, the ache in his chest intensifying. He knows that Wei Ying is out there, surrounded by others, while he remains trapped within the confines of his duty. It feels wrong—like he’s denying himself the one person who makes him feel alive again.

 

.

 

Wei Ying and Lan Xichen walk in tandem along the edge of a vast, foreboding lake. The air feels thick with tension, and the stillness of the dark waters only adds to the unease. Beneath the surface, an abyss has formed, its ominous presence concealed by the gentle ripples on the lake. Wei Ying’s sharp eyes scan the water, already assessing the growing danger lurking below.

"This is a huge abyss," Wei Ying remarks, his voice filled with concern as he observes the surface.

"Yes," Lan Xichen replies softly, a note of sadness in his tone. He, too, has spent days worrying over the situation, and the weight of his responsibility sits heavily on his shoulders.

"How long has it been here?" Wei Ying asks, his eyes narrowing as he studies the lake carefully, sensing the disturbance in the energy surrounding the area.

"It’s been a week since we discovered it," Lan Xichen explains, his expression tense as he recounts the events. "But people have been complaining about drownings for the past two weeks. The abyss must have been forming for longer without us realising it."

Wei Ying nods thoughtfully, already piecing together a solution. "The last time someone encountered an abyss like this was in Qishan," he says.. The darkness below the surface pulsates faintly, a clear sign that something sinister is brewing beneath. "It’s dangerous to leave it unchecked. More lives will be at risk the longer it lingers."

Lan Xichen agrees with a quiet sigh. The silent threat that the abyss poses is not lost on him, and both of them know that time is of the essence.

After a moment of silence, Wei Ying speaks again. "Can you evacuate the nearby residents by tonight? We need to start handling this early in the morning, before things escalate further."

Lan Xichen nods firmly. "I can arrange that. I’ll make sure everyone is moved out safely." His mind is already racing with the steps he needs to take to ensure the evacuation goes smoothly.

"Good," Wei Ying replies, turning his attention back to the abyss. "How many music cultivators can you gather for the task?"

"We have over a hundred well-versed music cultivators," Lan Xichen answers, confident in the Gusu Lan Sect’s abilities. "Is there anything in particular they should be prepared for?"

Wei Ying considers this before responding. "Not exactly a direct threat, but the array I plan to set up will amplify the effects of music cultivation. If they play a wrong note or make any mistakes, the errors will be amplified as well. Only the most skilled and experienced should be involved."

Lan Xichen listens intently as Wei Ying continues outlining his plan. "I’ll focus my Qi and play the music for the array to trap the resentment. Your cultivators can either play supporting music or channel their Qi to assist me, depending on what you think will work best for them."

Wei Ying’s face grows more serious as he adds a word of caution. "However, they must be careful not to push themselves too hard. Overextending their Qi could lead to them draining their energy or, worse, suffering from Qi deviation."

Lan Xichen’s brow furrows slightly as he considers the risks. "I’ll make sure only the best are involved. I’ll speak to Shifu and the elders tonight to finalise the details. You’ll have all the support you need."

"Perfect," Wei Ying says, satisfied with the plan coming together. There’s a brief moment of quiet before Wei Ying looks toward the distant market that stretches near the lakeside. "Zewu-Jun, I’ll take a walk through the market for a bit. I’ll return to Cloud Recesses in an hour or so. Is that alright?"

Lan Xichen nods, though his mind remains focused on the task ahead. "Of course. I’ll head to the magistrate’s office to make sure the evacuation is handled smoothly and that the market is cleared by tonight."

Wei Ying gives him a warm smile. "Thank you, Zewu-Jun. See you soon."

With that, the two part ways. Lan Xichen turns toward his duties, already making mental notes of the preparations that must be made, while Wei Ying heads toward the market, his mind racing with strategies to deal with the growing abyss beneath the lake.

As Wei Ying strolls through the bustling market, he relishes the lively atmosphere, filled with the energetic calls of merchants and the cheerful chatter of townsfolk going about their day. The scent of freshly cooked food wafts through the air, mingling with the fragrances of flowers and herbs sold by the vendors. He moves leisurely, taking in the sights and sounds, enjoying the rare opportunity to immerse himself in such a lively, carefree environment.

He soon finds himself at a stall selling jars of Emperor’s Smile, a well-known spirit renowned for its delicate flavour and ability to lift one’s mood. Smiling, he buys a few jars, carefully tucking them into his Qiankun pouch, knowing they will be perfect for a moment of relaxation later. He also picks out a few thoughtful gifts for his close companions—Chunwen, the Wen siblings, and Chun Hua. As he imagines the look of delight on their faces when they receive the presents, his smile deepens. To bring a little extra joy to the children back home, he grabs a handful of colourful candies, the kind that always makes their eyes light up with excitement.

As he wanders through the market stalls, a small wooden box catches his eye. Its surface is intricately carved with the design of a rabbit, delicate and precise. A pang of nostalgia tugs at his heart; it reminds him of Lan Wangji. For a moment, he stands still, lost in thought. Without a second thought, he approaches the shopkeeper and purchases the charming little box, thinking it would make a perfect gift for Lan Wangji. The idea of gifting something so simple yet meaningful fills him with a quiet sense of joy.

Just as he continues his stroll, an important thought strikes him. He quickly sends a message to his first general, requesting their presence. Moments later, the first general arrives, accompanied by the second and third marshals, all bowing respectfully before him. Wei Ying nods in return, appreciating their prompt response.

“Laozu, here are the things you requested,” the first general says, presenting a pouch filled with the items Wei Ying had asked for earlier.

“Thank you, First General,” Wei Ying replies with gratitude. “Come, let me book an inn for you.” Together, they walk to a nearby inn, where Wei Ying secures three rooms and settles the bill, ensuring his generals and marshals have a comfortable place to stay. Before they part ways, he hands them a small pouch of money, making sure they have enough to cover their needs during their stay.

Feeling satisfied with his errands and preparations, Wei Ying decides it’s time to head back to Cloud Recesses. He unsheathes his sword, stepping onto it gracefully. With one last glance at the bustling market below, he takes off into the sky, a sense of purpose and anticipation building within him as he looks ahead to the tasks waiting for him.

Chapter 13

Notes:

Hello dear readers,

Welcome back!

I apologise for the long delay in updating the chapters. I had my exams, and unfortunately, I fell ill afterward, which set things back. From now on, new chapters will be posted regularly on Tuesdays and Fridays.

 

Thank you all for your lovely comments, kudos, and continued support—I truly appreciate it!

As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts and theories in the comments. Please let me know what you think of this chapter!

Thank you for reading, and stay tuned for more!

 

********************

Lan Wangji sulks as he finishes monitoring the guest disciples' tests, his thoughts constantly drifting to Wei Ying. Despite his efforts to stay focused on his duties, he finds himself unable to concentrate, his mind occupied by the memory of Wei Ying's laughter, his smile, and the warmth he exudes. The tests are completed efficiently, but Lan Wangji barely registers the results; all he can think about is finding Wei Ying.

Once he is done, he wanders near the gates, his eyes scanning the area anxiously, hoping to catch a glimpse of Wei Ying returning. The atmosphere feels heavy with anticipation, and his heart sinks when he sees Lan Xichen climbing the stairs alone, without Wei Ying by his side. A sense of unease creeps into his chest. *Where could Wei Ying have gone?*

“Wangji,” Lan Xichen greets with a bright smile, pulling Lan Wangji out of his thoughts.

“Xiongzhang,” he replies, bowing respectfully. “How did it go?” he asks, trying to keep his tone even and casual, though he can’t hide the concern tugging at him.

“Great,” Lan Xichen says lightly. “I need to talk with Shufu and the elders about the arrangements. I’m heading there now. Would you like to come along?”

“No, carry on,” Lan Wangji responds, attempting to sound indifferent, but the knot in his stomach betrays him. He watches as Lan Xichen nods and walks away, seemingly unaware of his inner turmoil.

As a few disciples enter the gates, Lan Wangji seizes the moment to ask, “Where is Laozu?”

“He went to the market,” they reply before quickly moving along.

Lan Wangji nods, frustration rising within him. *Why the market?* he wonders, pacing as he waits. Minutes stretch into what feels like hours, and the absence of Wei Ying becomes unbearable. A thought suddenly strikes him—Wei Ying had mentioned meeting Nie Huaisang for dinner. Filled with a sense of urgency, he makes his way to Nie Huaisang’s quarters.

He resents how late his memories have returned to him and how overwhelming it is to process everything in just a few hours. He’s desperate to catch up with Wei Ying and ask him everything he’s wanted to know for so long. The frustration gnaws at him, knowing he has been without his memories this entire time. Now, looking at those around him in Cloud Recesses, he feels as if he’s seeing them for the first time—and in a completely different light. His brother, whom he once thought perfection itself, and the sect he believed to be righteous and just are now tinged with the shadow of what they might become. Even his Shufu and Xiongzhang are no longer exempt from the haunting uncertainty of how wrong things will go in just a few short years. He shakes off the troubling thoughts with a heavy sigh, struggling to steady himself.

He walks quickly, his heart racing with thoughts of what could be happening. When he arrives, he finds Nie Huaisang lounging under a tree, lazily fanning himself and lost in his own thoughts. Seeing him alone, a sigh of relief escapes Lan Wangji’s lips; if Nie Huaisang is here, Wei Ying must still be wandering the market. Deciding to return to the gates, he hopes to catch Wei Ying on his way back.

Eventually, as he nears the gates again, he finally spots Wei Ying in the distance, casually munching on nuts and humming a cheerful tune. Relief floods through him, and he feels the tension in his shoulders ease.

“Hey, Lan Zhan! What are you doing here? Wanna come with me?” Wei Ying calls out, his face lighting up as he sees him.

Lan Wangji nods almost immediately, feeling a rush of excitement. He falls into step beside Wei Ying, unable to hide the warmth spreading through him as Wei Ying’s laughter echoes in the air. Together, they head toward the guest quarters allocated to Wei Ying.

“Come in!” Wei Ying invites, practically bouncing with energy. Lan Wangji can hardly contain his anticipation—after all these years apart, he is finally spending time alone with Wei Ying again.

“Lan Zhan, come sit!” Wei Ying pulls him to a table, and Lan Wangji takes a seat, feeling a rare thrill of excitement. Wei Ying reaches into his sleeve and pulls out a small pouch, placing it on the table with a grin. “Taste these!” he insists, opening the pouch to reveal a handful of lotus seeds.

Lan Wangji takes a seed and tastes it. “Tastes good,” he says, feeling warmth spread through him at the way Wei Ying’s eyes light up.

“Isn’t it, Lan Zhan? I knew you’d like it!” Wei Ying beams, his smile as radiant as the sun.

“Hmm,” Lan Wangji replies, trying to maintain his usual stoic expression, but the corners of his mouth twitch despite his efforts.

Wei Ying’s expression suddenly turns serious. He places a silencing talisman around the room. “Lan Zhan, answer me something. Why are Cloud Recesses’ wards so weak? Why haven’t you strengthened them?” he asks, his tone full of concern.

Lan Wangji’s eyes drop, and he admits quietly, “I had dreams about our past life, but I didn’t realise we had been sent back. I ignored the signs and trained as usual. I don’t have enough experience with wards, talismans, and arrays.”

Wei Ying hums thoughtfully. “You have to start preparing from now on, Lan Zhan. We can’t afford to be careless.”

Lan Wangji nods. “How have you become so powerful?” he asks, unable to hide his curiosity.

Wei Ying chuckles, a hint of pride in his eyes. “I trained day and night for years. My master helped me a lot.”

“Master?” Lan Wangji’s brows furrow in confusion.

“Yes, Baoshan Sanren,” Wei Ying reveals with a smile.

“The immortal is your master?” Lan Wangji exclaims, clearly surprised.

“Yes,” Wei Ying confirms. “I’ll tell you the whole story some other day.”

Lan Wangji nods, eager to hear more but knowing that now might not be the time. “Hmm.”

Wei Ying’s eyes glint with mischief. “I have something for you; wanna see?”

“Hmm,” Lan Wangji replies, his curiosity piqued.

Wei Ying reaches into his pouch and rummages through its contents. After a moment, he pulls out a small, beautifully crafted box and a second pouch, handing them over to Lan Wangji.
“What’s this?” Lan Wangji asks, his interest deepening.

“I bought this box for you. I hope you like it,” Wei Ying says, a touch of nervousness in his voice.
Lan Wangji examines the box, its polished wood adorned with a delicate rabbit carving—Lan Wangji’s favourite animal. A small smile tugs at his lips as he admires the craftsmanship. “I like it.”

Wei Ying beams, his joy contagious. “And this is one of my initial creations,” he continues, showing Lan Wangji the pouch. “It’s an advanced Qiankun pouch. It nullifies the weight of its contents, and it has a blood seal that only you can open.”

Lan Wangji’s eyes widen slightly as he examines the pouch, marvelling at its design. “Thank you, Wei Ying,” he murmurs, feeling his ears turn pink.

Wei Ying’s laughter fills the room, and Lan Wangji feels a warmth spreading through him. This moment, filled with joy and a sense of connection, is everything he has longed for.

But the moment is interrupted by a sudden knock on the door. Lan Wangji’s expression hardens, and he feels an urge to throw whoever it is far away for interrupting such a precious moment. Wei Ying’s eyes widen, and he turns to Lan Wangji, silently asking what they should do.

"Go out through the window," Wei Ying urges, his voice low and hurried.

"No," Lan Wangji responds, unmoved.

"Please, Lan Zhan, go!" Wei Ying insists, trying to push him towards the window. Lan Wangji hesitates, reluctant to leave, but eventually gives in when Wei Ying shoves him out, softly closing the window behind him. Taking a deep breath, Wei Ying moves quickly to the door and opens it.

"Laozu, sorry for disturbing you," Xichen says politely, bowing slightly.

"No problem, Zewu Jun," Wei Ying replies with a smile. "Please tell me what’s needed."

"The elders wish to speak with you. Could you come along with me?" Xichen asks, his tone respectful but firm.

"Oh! Alright then, let’s go." Wei Ying responds easily, closing the door behind him as they walk away.

Outside the window, Lan Zhan remains crouched, listening to their conversation. As soon as he realises that Wei Ying is being taken away, a pang of sadness hits him. Why has it become so difficult to spend time with his Wei Ying? Feeling frustrated, he gets up and begins walking swiftly toward Hanshi. Maybe, if he’s invited into the meeting, he’ll at least get to hear Wei Ying’s voice while he speaks to the elders.

Wei Ying and Lan Xichen walk slowly down the path leading toward Hanshi, their conversation light.

“Zewu Jun, I didn’t forget about this," Wei Ying says, pulling out two books from his robes and handing them to Xichen.

Xichen’s face brightens instantly, his usual calm demeanour momentarily forgotten. “Laozu, thank you so much! How did you manage this?” he asks, clearly delighted.

Wei Ying waves off the gratitude with a grin. “Don’t worry about it. My general was already coming to Caiyi Town, so I asked him to grab the books you requested.”

“Please extend my thanks to your general. I must apologise for not doing it sooner. We’d like to invite him to Gusu,” Xichen replies, his expression sincere.

“No need. I’ve already booked an inn for them. I just want them to ensure that all the vendors and civilians are cleared to a safe distance,” Wei Ying says, smiling warmly.

"Thank you, Laozu," Xichen says gratefully.

As they walk closer to Hanshi, Xichen spots Lan Zhan approaching. “Wangji, would you like to join the meeting?” he offers.

Lan Zhan feels a rush of happiness at the invitation. “Hmm,” he replies, keeping his tone steady.
Wei Ying bites back a smile, amused at how things are turning out. Together, they enter Hanshi, where Lan Qiren and the other elders are already waiting for them.

“Laozu, please come in,” Lan Qiren says, standing and gesturing for Wei Ying to enter.

Once they are seated, Qiren clears his throat, casting a respectful but serious glance at Wei Ying.

“Laozu, Xichen informed us of your conversation during your visit to Caiyi Town. Could you perhaps elaborate on your ideas?”

“Of course,” Wei Ying replies calmly. “I’ve developed an array that I can activate using music. Its purpose is to trap resentment and compress it into a confined space. Once it’s contained, I place a second array on top, which amplifies the Qi or musical notes, such as those in ‘Rest,’ and directs that energy towards the resentment. This amplification speeds up the purification process considerably. If we include additional cultivators, the results become even faster, as the effect of the music will increase with more contributors. However, since it relies on accuracy, only cultivators with flawless musical skill should be involved.”

Lan Qiren strokes his beard thoughtfully, considering the implications of such an array. Behind him, Lan Wangji blinks in astonishment. The innovation is remarkable—unlike anything he’s ever heard of. The other elders are equally intrigued, exchanging impressed glances before one of them speaks up.

“How did you come up with this array?” an elder asks, eyes sharp with curiosity.

Wei Ying’s gaze turns thoughtful. “I first had the idea while I was clearing the mounds. Back then, I couldn’t complete it, but I experimented with the concept on an uncleard site to see if it would work. The test went well.”

Another elder leans forward, visibly impressed. “Would it be possible for us to acquire these arrays?”

Wei Ying shakes his head slightly. “Unfortunately, this method is too complex for junior disciples on night hunts. The array requires significant strength to trap resentment; if the cultivator isn’t strong enough, the resentment could escape and pose a greater threat. But,” he adds, noting their renewed interest, “I do have something we’re producing that will be available on commission.”

The elders exchange intrigued glances, and Wei Ying reaches into his sleeve to pull out a small box, which he hands over to Lan Qiren. “This is a compass I created. It detects any form of resentment, beast, or malicious energy within a certain range. It even shows the intensity of the energy and the distance from the source. Disciples can safely use it on night hunts without advanced training.”

Lan Xichen, watching Wei Ying closely, recalls something. “The disciples you rescued from the beasts mentioned you used a compass. Was it this one?”

Lan Qiren’s gaze shifts sharply to Xichen, his eyes questioning.

“Yes, Shufu,” Xichen explains, meeting his uncle’s curious expression. “The person who saved our disciples—and Wangji—during that beast attack was none other than Laozu and his general.”

A collective gasp echoes through the room. Qiren, eyes wide, quickly stands and bows deeply to Wei Ying. “Laozu, we owe you a debt of gratitude for saving Wangji and our disciples. We are immensely grateful to you.”

Wei Ying inclines his head with a humble smile. “There’s no need for gratitude. We did only what we could as cultivators.”

Xichen, moved by his humility, nods in respect. “You truly embody the spirit of cultivation, Laozu.”

Wei Ying chuckles, waving off the praise. “The compass was indeed what alerted me to the beasts and led me in the right direction to find the disciples. I’ve tested it on multiple night hunts. It’s reliable and safe.”

Qiren examines the compass closely, turning it over in his hands, his brow furrowed with concentration. He then passes it to Xichen, who studies it just as carefully, his appreciation for the device clear in his expression.

After a moment, Qiren speaks, his tone one of deep respect. “Your work is truly impressive, Laozu. I am certain your master would be proud of what you’ve achieved.”

Wei Ying smiles, tilting his head. “Thank you, Acting Sect Leader Lan. That means a great deal to me.”

One of the elders looks at Wei Ying with a hint of curiosity, breaking the silence. “How did you manage to find Baoshan Sanren? No one knows her location,” he says, brows knitted in intrigue.

Wei Ying pauses, glancing down briefly before replying. “My mother told me when I was young to seek her out if anything ever happened to them.”

“Your mother?” The elder’s curiosity deepens, leaning forward. “And who might that be?”

“Cangse Sanren,” Wei Ying replies evenly, letting the name linger in the air.

Lan Qiren’s face goes ashen, and the other elders gasp, exchanging stunned glances. Lan Xichen turns to his Shufu and Wangji, eyes wide with shock. Wei Ying notes the silence thickening and quickly interjects to avoid further questions.

“Please, let’s focus on the matter at hand,” he says, his tone polite but firm.

Lan Qiren clears his throat, regaining composure. “Hmm.”

“We have over a hundred experienced cultivators proficient in Lan Sect music,” he adds, steering the conversation back to its purpose.

Wei Ying nods. “The more cultivators we have, the faster we can complete the task.”

“Very well. I will gather all those who are both willing and capable for the task so that we may depart early in the morning,” Lan Qiren replies, his voice steady.

Wei Ying inclines his head in agreement, and both Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji nod in approval.
“Then it’s settled,” Qiren says, rising to his feet. “We shall meet at the training grounds at dawn. Thank you all for attending.”

As they prepare to leave, Lan Xichen looks towards Wei Ying with a warm smile. “Laozu, I hope you will join us for dinner.”

Wei Ying returns his smile. “Of course.”

Lan Wangji, however, grips his sword, Bichen, a little tighter, a small frown appearing on his usually calm face. No one seems to notice his reaction as they make their way toward the dining hall.

When they arrive, the others seat themselves as Wei Ying picks up a bowl of simple porridge, skilfully bypassing the raw cabbage and herbal tea. Lan Xichen watches with a slight frown, noticing Wei Ying’s choice.

“Laozu, I’m sorry the meal may not suit your taste,” Xichen says apologetically, offering a sad smile.

Wei Ying laughs softly, reaching into his sleeves. “No worries, Zewu Jun. I always come prepared.” He produces a small jar of chilli oil, pouring it generously over his porridge. He looks up, grinning, and raises the jar. “Would either of you care for some?”

Both Xichen and Lan Wangji politely shake their heads, smiling at Wei Ying’s spirited improvisation.

They eat quietly, a peaceful silence settling over them. Once the meal is finished, Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji escort Wei Ying to his quarters, bidding him a respectful goodnight.

Once alone, Wei Ying takes out his small communication seal and sends a quick message to Nie Huaisang: *I’ve got the Emperor’s Smile. I’ll be there in a minute.*

In a blink, he teleports himself to Huaisang’s room. Moments later, laughter and the faint sound of clinking bottles resonate from behind silencing tailsman.

Meanwhile, Lan Wangji, waiting until his brother retires, decides to pay Wei Ying a visit. He walks briskly to Wei Ying’s quarters, his heart racing. But when he knocks, there’s no answer. After waiting for several moments, he moves to the window, peering inside, only to find the room empty. Frustration, mingled with a flicker of jealousy, bubbles up within him.

Realising where Wei Ying might be, Lan Wangji makes his way to Huaisang’s quarters. Outside the door, he strains to hear any sounds, but the silencing tailsman prevents anything from escaping. Frowning, he waits a few moments, hoping they’ll emerge soon. Impatient, he finally knocks.

The door opens to reveal Nie Huaisang, his face flushed and reeking faintly of alcohol.

“Are you alone?” Lan Wangji asks, his eyes scanning the room but finding no sign of Wei Ying.

Huaisang blinks, looking puzzled. “Yes, of course, who else would be here?”

Lan Wangji’s gaze sharpens, a flicker of suspicion crossing his face. “Alcohol is forbidden in Cloud Recesses. You will copy the rules tomorrow,” he says sternly, turning on his heel and leaving without waiting for a response.

Moments later, he finds Wei Ying back in his room, quietly sipping from a familiar jar. Lan Wangji stops, briefly thrown by the sight, before remembering something from the past: Wei Ying’s teleportation ability.

Composing himself, Lan Wangji steps forward and knocks. Wei Ying freezes, then hastily hides the jar behind the bed before opening the door. When he sees who it is, he lets out a sigh of relief.

“Lan Zhan, you nearly gave me a heart attack!” he groans, feigning annoyance.

“Can we talk?” Lan Wangji’s voice is steady, his face unreadable.

Wei Ying blinks, taken aback. “Uh… sure.”

Without preamble, Lan Wangji looks him straight in the eyes and asks, “Do you like my brother?”

Wei Ying’s mouth falls open in shock. He chokes on a breath, coughing for several seconds before managing to respond. “What in the world, Lan Zhan!”

Lan Wangji says nothing, watching him closely. Slowly, he feels a strange sense of relief settle over him. At least Wei Ying’s reaction suggests he doesn’t feel anything romantic for Lan Xichen. But that still leaves his brother’s feelings unspoken, and the thought gnaws at him.

“Lan Zhan, has your brother met Meng Yao?” Wei Ying asks suddenly, a flicker of concern crossing his face.

Lan Zhan nods. “Yes, but they aren’t close yet.”

Wei Ying lets out a relieved breath but then pauses, his expression turning serious. “Lan Zhan,” he says, then remembers to add a layer of silence talismans around them. Once he’s secured the room, he continues, “Lan Zhan, Jin Guangyao... Meng Yao was behind the entire tragedy. He planned everything. He and another person—I can’t quite remember who—altered the tune in Qiongqi Path. They set a trap for Jin Zixuan and his brother, luring them there. And it was him who made Wen Ning lose control. They made it look like Wen Ning was some mindless killer, but they manipulated everything. And they didn’t even kill Wen Ning when they claimed to. Meng Yao... he even plotted against Nie Mingjue.” Wei Ying’s eyes flash with old, buried pain. “I don’t know how, but I can remember everything, even after my... after the end.”

Lan Zhan is stunned, struggling to comprehend the gravity of Wei Ying’s words. He’s always suspected there were darker forces at play, but to think Meng Yao was the mastermind... It’s as if a veil has lifted, revealing a bitter truth that’s almost too much to bear. Rage and grief surge within him as he realises the true depth of Meng Yao’s betrayal. He wants to march out and behead the traitor immediately.

Wei Ying, sensing Lan Zhan’s rage, quickly reaches out and clasps his wrists. “Lan Zhan, wait. Please... listen to me.” He gently but firmly guides Lan Zhan back to his seat.

Lan Zhan feels the warmth of Wei Ying’s hands on his skin, and it anchors him, soothing the storm brewing within. He meets Wei Ying’s gaze, his anger softening as a blush colours his ears.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying murmurs, “I’ve put most of the pieces into place. I’m waiting for just one more move. Once that’s set, I’ll begin. This time, I intend to win. No more games where I’m the villain, no more manipulation.”

There’s a sharp, determined glint in Wei Ying’s eyes, but Lan Zhan catches a hint of weariness behind it. “What’s your plan?” he asks, keeping his voice calm.

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow. I’ll let you know.” Wei Ying gives a tired smile. "Though... you might end up hating me even more.”

Lan Zhan’s brows furrow. “Never hated Wei Ying,” he says softly, almost to himself. “And I never will.”

For a moment, Wei Ying stares at him, a flicker of gratitude in his gaze. He exhales slowly, nodding. “Alright. Goodnight then, Lan Zhan. Please wake me up if I’m not up by morning.”

Lan Zhan nods, rising from his seat. “Goodnight, Wei Ying.”

“Goodnight, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying replies, offering a warm grin.

Lan Zhan leaves the room, his heart both light and heavy. He’s comforted by the knowledge that Wei Ying is safe and that he knows the truth. And that, this time, Wei Ying is determined to emerge victorious. Lan Zhan is equally determined to stand by him, regardless of what awaits or who Wei Ying might choose as his partner. That doesn’t matter. He will be there, his loyalty unwavering.

As he walks back to his quarters, Lan Zhan feels a quiet satisfaction settle over him. His Wei Ying is back, and he is not alone in this fight. And no matter what the future holds, Lan Zhan knows he will stand by him.

 

.
.

 

The next morning, Lan Zhan arrives promptly to wake Wei Ying. He knocks softly on the door, but when there’s no answer, he cautiously steps inside.

Wei Ying is fast asleep, sprawled out comfortably with one leg and arm escaping from under his blanket. His dark hair is splayed across the pillow, partially covering his face, and his sleeping robes have slipped, revealing the smooth skin of his neck, shoulder, and part of his chest. The sight is almost too much for Lan Zhan; he feels an intense urge to reach out, to claim and mark Wei Ying as his.

Lan Zhan takes a deep, steady breath, trying to control his racing thoughts. Reminding himself that he’s supposed to be a composed cultivator, he approaches the bed, deliberately averting his eyes towards the wall to resist the temptation. “Wei Ying,” he calls softly, but there’s no response. Sighing, he reaches out to gently shake Wei Ying’s shoulder.

Wei Ying makes a disgruntled sound, turning over and burying his face further into the pillow. Lan Zhan can’t help the small, fond smile that appears on his face. He thinks about how wonderful it would be to start every day like this, waking Wei Ying up and spending these quiet morning moments together. But he quickly snaps out of the thought, shaking his head to clear the sentiment.

Determined to get Wei Ying up, he tries once more, gently shaking his shoulder. This time, Wei Ying reacts by reaching out and grabbing Lan Zhan’s wrist, pulling him close in his half-sleep. Startled, Lan Zhan finds himself lying next to Wei Ying, who is holding onto him, clearly intent on staying in bed.

“Lan Zhaaan, let me sleep." Wei Ying mutters, his voice muffled and drowsy.

For a moment, Lan Zhan is frozen, feeling the warmth of Wei Ying’s hand on his wrist, their proximity stealing his breath. His mind races at the thought of staying like this, just lying beside Wei Ying, shielding him from the world. But duty calls, and Lan Zhan, reminding himself of their mission, gently but firmly lifts Wei Ying up and sets him on the floor.

Confused, Wei Ying whines, but Lan Zhan guides him over to the bath and sprinkles a few drops of water on his face to wake him up. Wei Ying stirs abruptly, blinking in surprise, then groans.
“Wei Ying, the cultivators will gather in ten minutes. We need to leave soon,” Lan Zhan says, keeping his tone steady as he helps him wash his face.

“Fine, fine…” Wei Ying mutters, more awake now, his usual spark returning. “I’ll be quick,” he promises.

Lan Zhan steps out to give him privacy, and a few moments later, Wei Ying emerges, dressed in a striking outfit: a black robe adorned with gold embroidery and red borders, paired with a black belt. His hair is pulled back with a gold guan and tied with a crimson ribbon. With his sword and dizi by his side, he looks every inch like a confident and powerful cultivator, almost like a deity stepping out of legend.

Lan Zhan can only stare. Wei Ying’s beauty in the black and red robes is so captivating that Lan Zhan feels his breath hitch. Just one day since reuniting with Wei Ying, and he’s already finding it hard to control himself. How will he manage this constant pull in the days to come?

Wei Ying notices Lan Zhan’s gaze and grins, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Thanks for waking me up, Lan Zhan. I might have slept through the whole meeting otherwise.”

Lan Zhan clears his throat, replying with a soft, “Hmm,” as they walk toward the training grounds together.

When they arrive, the other cultivators are already gathered, ready, and awaiting instructions. Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen approach them, nodding respectfully to Wei Ying.

“Laozu, I trust you slept well." Xichen enquires with a warm smile.

Wei Ying returns the smile, his eyes twinkling. “Yes, I did. Thank you, Zewu-Jun.”

Xichen takes the compass Wei Ying lent Lan Qiren the previous day and respectfully hands it back to Wei Ying. "Apologies, Laozu. I didn’t return this to you yesterday."

Wei Ying smiles, shaking his head. "No problem, Zewu-Jun."

Xichen smiles back, genuinely appreciative. "Thank you, Laozu. We greatly appreciate your kindness."

Wei Ying waves it off with a gentle smile. "There’s no need to thank me."

Lan Qiren steps forward, gathering the group’s attention. “All our cultivators are here. Shall we leave?” He turns to Wei Ying, who nods in agreement.
“Have you all brought your Xiaos and Guqins?” Qiren asks, his voice commanding, and the assembled cultivators nod, confirming their readiness.

“Good. Let’s set off, then,” he declares, leading the way out of Cloud Recesses. Wei Ying, Xichen, and Lan Zhan fall into step behind him. Once they’ve left the gates, each cultivator mounts their sword, and together, they soar through the air, heading toward the lake. It only takes about fifteen minutes before they arrive, descending to gather by the water’s edge.

Wei Ying observes the lake, assessing the calm, murky surface. The cultivators split into groups based on their instruments, with two elders overseeing the xiao and guqin players, respectively.

Lan Qiren ensures everyone is in place, directing them to arranged boats that each carry about a dozen cultivators. Wei Ying and Qiren each take separate boats, maintaining a sense of control and oversight.

Soon, Wei Ying’s generals and marshals arrive, nodding in greeting. He approaches them with a serious expression. “If anything goes wrong, or if someone falls into the water, save them immediately. Make sure no one takes unnecessary risks or touches the water,” he instructs, casting a glance back at Qiren, who gives a small nod of approval.

Wei Ying takes a deep breath, steadying himself, and steps into his boat. Once all the boats are positioned, they begin rowing toward the centre of the lake. When they’re about halfway, Wei Ying signals to Lan Qiren, “I’ll move to the centre. Keep a safe distance behind me, and don’t start playing until I give the signal.”

The cultivators hold their positions as Wei Ying rows forward. Reaching the centre of the lake, he takes out his dizi, Chenqing, and murmurs to it, “It’s time we give these lost souls a chance to rest.”

He raises Chenqing to his lips and begins playing a haunting tune. Immediately, the lake seems to come alive, vibrations rippling across the water’s surface. Slowly, ghouls start rising from the depths, drawn by the sound, converging toward the lake’s centre. Dark clouds begin swirling above, mirroring the ominous aura that builds within the water, and the lake’s centre grows darker and darker, until it seems as if night has fallen over this small patch of water.

Wei Ying gathers his qi, forming an array mid-air, and thrusts it downward, embedding it into the lake. He then steps onto his sword, hovering just above the water’s surface, and channels his qi into the array. Lifting Chenqing once more, he resumes his tune, commanding the resentment within the lake to heed his call. The dark energy stirs, drawn into the array, forming a swirling, inky vortex beneath him. With each note, the darkness contracts, becoming more intense and more concentrated.

The surrounding cultivators watch in awe. Lan Qiren and the other Lan elders exchange glances, unable to conceal their astonishment. They’ve never seen such immense resentment respond so obediently, as if it were a tame beast following its master’s command. Xichen watches, his expression a mixture of respect and admiration. The sheer power and control Wei Ying wields over the dark energy is astounding. It dawns on him that this task, daunting as it is, could only have been entrusted to someone with Wei Ying’s unique abilities. Xichen silently thanks his friend Nie Mingjue for suggesting Wei Ying’s involvement, recognising that no other cultivator could likely accomplish this feat.

 

Lan Zhan, meanwhile, is transfixed by Wei Ying’s presence. He looks like a god of destruction, standing above the darkened lake, his hair whipping around him in the wind, his red ribbon a bright flame against the shadows. His black robes with red accents lend him an otherworldly aura, as if he belongs both to this world and beyond. Lan Zhan feels a surge of pride. This is his Wei Ying, commanding the darkness itself with a confidence and grace that few could ever understand. Lan Zhan recalls their conversations in the past—Wei Ying’s words about the true nature of right and wrong, of black and white. Now he understands those words more deeply. Wei Ying’s heart is pure, and he’s the only one able to channel this power without being consumed by it.

 

As Wei Ying continues playing, the lake grows even darker. The mass of resentment shrinks, drawing inward to a concentrated area only six or seven feet wide. Satisfied with the progress, Wei Ying creates another array, positioning it above the condensed energy. His qi is surging, almost overflowing, a testament to the effort he’s expending. The cultivators around him sense this intense power radiating from him, and even Lan Qiren and the other elders can hardly believe it. Finally, Wei Ying activates the array and calls for Lan Qiren.

Chapter 14

Notes:

Hello, dear readers,

Welcome back!

Before diving into the next chapter, I want to take a moment to explain my thought process behind Lan Wangji’s point of view in the last two chapters. As you’ve noticed, LWJ didn’t have any memories of his past life until he saw Wei Wuxian. This encounter overwhelmed him, triggering a flood of memories all at once. The fresh pain of losing WWX in his previous life resurfaces, and seeing WWX alive in his own body profoundly affects him. LWJ is unable to contain his emotions because the events in these chapters unfold within just a day or two, leaving him no time to process everything he is feeling. This turmoil significantly impacts his mood and behaviour.

In Mo Dao Zu Shi, even as an adult in his mid-thirties who lived over a decade without WWX, LWJ’s emotions are intense when he reunites with WWX. He ties WWX up and brings him back to Cloud Recesses forcefully, and even becomes visibly affected when WWX isn’t in his line of sight. Now, imagine LWJ in this story: trapped in a 16-year-old body, with the same cultivation level as his previous 16 year old self but no retained memories. The regret of not making progress like WWX or retaining his memories weighs heavily on him. That said, rest assured that LWJ will regain control of his mind and emotions in the chapters to come. The reasons behind why he didn’t retain his memories will also be addressed in the future.

I also want to take this opportunity to thank you all for your thoughtful comments and incredible support. This is my first attempt at writing a fanfic, and your opinions and encouragement mean the world to me. I know I don’t reply to comments often, and there are two main reasons for this: first, I’m an introvert and not very skilled at interpersonal communication; second, I feel that replying to comments might falsely inflate the comment count for this fic. However, I do read each and every comment, and I’m deeply grateful to everyone who engages with the story. A special thanks goes out to those of you who comment on every chapter—your enthusiasm motivates me immensely!

So, that was my little rant. Now, without further ado, here’s the next chapter! As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts and theories in the comments. Please let me know what you think of this chapter!

Thank you for reading, and stay tuned for more!

 

**********************

As Wei Ying continues playing, the lake grows even darker. The mass of resentment shrinks, drawing inward to a concentrated area only six or seven feet wide. Satisfied with the progress, Wei Ying creates another array, positioning it above the condensed energy. His qi is surging, almost overflowing, a testament to the effort he’s expending. The cultivators around him sense this intense power radiating from him, and even Lan Qiren and the other elders can hardly believe it. Finally, Wei Ying activates the array and calls for Lan Qiren.

At Lan Qiren's signal, the cultivators form a wide circle around the array, their boats gliding into position with precise coordination. The air hums with anticipation as Wei Ying stands at the heart of the array, his expression calm but intensely focused. He gestures to Lan Qiren to commence, and the elder nods firmly, his authority commanding immediate obedience.

The Lan cultivators begin to play, their xiaos and guqins producing a melody that is as harmonious as it is profound. Each note is imbued with their spiritual energy, creating a soothing yet powerful resonance that reverberates across the lake. The music is not merely sound but a tangible force, weaving through the air like a silken thread, designed to purify and harmonise the resentment lingering in the abyss below.

As the melody swells, the oppressive aura over the lake begins to shift. The dark energy trapped within the array stirs, as though responding to the music. Gradually, the resentment becomes less chaotic, its malevolence dulling under the relentless wave of tranquillity generated by the cultivators. The ominous clouds that had gathered above the lake begin to dissipate, revealing glimpses of the clear sky.

For nearly an hour, the music flows uninterrupted, each cultivator pouring their Qi into their instrument, their combined effort creating a barrier of light and purity. Wei Ying remains motionless, his sharp gaze observing the progress. The array hums under his control, a testament to his unparalleled skill. At last, he raises a hand, the signal to stop.

The music fades, leaving the lake in an eerie, expectant silence. A faint trace of resentment still lingers at the centre, swirling stubbornly. Wei Ying’s voice cuts through the quiet, steady, and commanding. "Acting Sect Leader Lan, please move everyone back from the centre."

Lan Qiren wastes no time, issuing swift orders to the cultivators. The boats retreat, rowing a safe distance from the array's core. Wei Ying takes a deep breath, gathering the reserves of his immense Qi. The air grows thick with energy as he channels his power into the array, activating it fully.

The centre of the lake begins to glow, a radiant light spreading outward in waves. The intensity of the glow increases, piercing through the last vestiges of resentment. The lingering darkness evaporates like mist under the sun. The brilliance reaches crescendo, blinding the gathered cultivators momentarily. They shield their eyes, overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of the light.

When the glow subsides, the scene before them is nothing short of miraculous. The lake, once marred by an oppressive aura, now radiates purity. The air hums with the gentle presence of Wei Ying's spiritual energy. At the centre of it all stands Wei Ying, his figure bathed in a soft, ethereal glow. He radiates power and serenity, a being no longer bound by mortal limitations.

A heavy silence falls over the cultivators, awe and reverence reflected in their eyes. They are acutely aware of the monumental moment they have just witnessed: Wei Ying has ascended to immortality.

Lan Qiren, known for his composure, is visibly shaken. The young man standing before him has achieved a feat that defies the natural order, a goal that cultivators dedicate entire lifetimes to pursuing. Lan Qiren bows deeply, followed by the rest of the cultivators. Their respect is palpable, a collective acknowledgement of Wei Ying's unparalleled achievement.

Lan Zhan’s gaze never wavers. Pride and admiration fill his heart as he watches Wei Ying—his Wei Ying—standing at the pinnacle of cultivation. It is a moment he thought he might never see, and it strikes him deeply.

Wei Ying strides towards the shore with purpose, his ethereal glow gradually softening but still lingering faintly around him. The other cultivators follow, rowing back with renewed respect and reverence. As they disembark, they bow low once more, their gestures filled with genuine gratitude and awe.

Lan Qiren steps forward, his voice steady but reverent. "Congratulations on achieving immortality, Laozu. We are truly honoured to have borne witness to your unparalleled power. The Lan Sect is deeply grateful for your help in purifying the abyss."

Wei Ying inclines his head gracefully, a faint smile on his lips. "Acting Sect Leader Lan, it was my honour to assist. I am grateful for the cooperation of your sect's cultivators."

Lan Qiren straightens, his expression softening slightly. "Let us return to Cloud Recesses. We must commemorate this momentous occasion."

Wei Ying nods, and together they ascend on their swords, soaring through the skies towards Cloud Recesses. The journey is quiet, the cultivators lost in their thoughts, the magnitude of what they have witnessed sinking in.

As they approach the serene halls of Cloud Recesses, a few guest disciples gather curiously, sensing the significance of the group’s return. Their eyes widen as they catch sight of Wei Ying, his presence unmistakably different, glowing faintly with the aura of an immortal.

 

Upon entering Cloud Recesses, Lan Qiren directs the group to the grand meeting hall. The assembled cultivators, elders, and Lan disciples follow Wei Ying inside, their movements filled with an air of solemn reverence. The room falls into a hushed stillness as they bow deeply to him, their respect for the newly ascended immortal evident.

“Immortal one,” Lan Qiren begins, his tone steady yet laced with awe, “thank you for blessing our lands and aiding us in purifying the Abyss of its dark energy. Your intervention has brought peace to a place that has long been plagued by resentment. To honour your unparalleled achievement in attaining immortality, we wish to hold a feast in your name. We humbly request your presence at this celebration."

Wei Ying smiles warmly, his demeanour as kind as it is commanding. “Acting Sect Leader Lan, I deeply appreciate your thoughtfulness and the honour you wish to bestow upon me. However, I must decline. I promised my master that I would return to her the moment I achieved immortality. She has been awaiting this milestone for a long time. My departure cannot be delayed, but my deputy can attend in my place if you require any assistance."

Lan Qiren strokes his beard thoughtfully, nodding in understanding. “Your promise is of utmost importance. We respect your need to leave and would be grateful to welcome your deputy as your representative. Should you ever find time to visit Cloud Recesses again, we will be honoured beyond words."

Wei Ying inclines his head in gratitude. He reaches into his sleeve and retrieves a small, elegant seal. With a deft movement, he channels his Qi into the object, sending a message directly to Chunwen and his first general. The Lan disciples observe this act with wide-eyed amazement, impressed by the effortless manner in which Wei Ying communicates across vast distances.

Moments later, Chunwen enters the hall, accompanied by Wei Ying's first general. They carry several beautifully decorated boxes, their expressions warm and cheerful.

Chunwen bows deeply upon reaching Wei Ying, but the immortal steps forward immediately, pulling him into a heartfelt embrace. Chunwen hesitates for only a moment before returning the hug, his smile broadening.

“Laozu,” Chunwen begins, his tone brimming with pride. “Yiling is overflowing with joy at the news of your ascension. The people cannot contain their happiness—they celebrate you as a hero and protector."

Wei Ying’s expression softens, his eyes glimmering with emotion. The thought of his community rejoicing in his success fills him with pride and contentment.

Chunwen motions to the boxes they carried in. “These are gifts for your journey, already packed into your Qiankun pouch for convenience. We also brought some delicacies from Yiling—made from fresh fruits and lotus petals—which we hope can be shared among the disciples and guests here."

Lan Xichen steps forward to receive the offering, his serene smile never wavering. “Thank you. This is most generous. I am certain the disciples will be delighted to experience the finest offerings from Yiling."

Wei Ying’s gaze turns to Chunwen, his expression slightly more serious. “How are things in Yiling? Is everything going smoothly in my absence?"

Chunwen nods reassuringly. “All is well, Laozu. The villagers are thriving, and the prosperity you have brought to Yiling continues to grow. Please rest assured—if any issues arise that require your attention, we will send word immediately."

Satisfied, Wei Ying looks to Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen, offering them both a formal bow. “Acting Sect Leader Lan, Zewu-Jun, thank you for your hospitality and for the honour you have shown me. I must now take my leave."

Lan Qiren bows in return, his voice steady but warm. “Immortal one, the Lan Sect is deeply grateful for your guidance and assistance. May your journey be swift, and may you return to us when time allows."

Wei Ying’s gaze shifts to Lan Zhan, who stands silently at the edge of the gathering. His posture is as composed as ever, but his eyes betray a subtle sadness. Wei Ying offers him a gentle smile and nods. Lan Zhan returns the gesture, though his gaze lingers, as if hoping to commit every detail of this moment to memory.

Without further delay, Wei Ying channels his Qi, his form surrounded by a faint, glowing aura. In the blink of an eye, he vanishes, leaving behind only a soft shimmer in the air.

The room remains silent, the gathered cultivators and disciples awestruck by the effortless manner of his departure. Lan Qiren, ever the stoic figure, allows himself a moment to marvel. “To witness such power,” he murmurs, more to himself than anyone else, “is a privilege beyond measure."

Lan Zhan stands rooted in place, his heart a tumultuous mix of pride and anguish as he gazes at the empty space where Wei Ying had vanished. His chest tightens with the weight of unspoken words and unresolved feelings. He aches to hold Wei Ying back, to beg for just a moment more, but he knows he has no right to hinder Wei Ying's path. The regret of not even exchanging a single word with him burns deeply, rekindling memories of the loss and longing he endured after Wei Ying left him in their past lives.

Lan Zhan sighs heavily, his hand clenching tightly at his side. He cannot bring himself to stop Wei Ying from fulfilling his promise to Baoshan Sanren or returning to Yiling. In this new life, so many things have changed, many of them because of Wei Ying’s own efforts. But what hasn’t changed is Lan Zhan’s unwavering love for him. The love he holds is accompanied by a familiar insecurity, a gnawing fear that he still doesn’t truly know Wei Ying’s feelings. Does Wei Ying even see him the same way? The uncertainty leaves Lan Zhan conflicted, but he forces himself to take a steady breath. He cannot dwell on this now.

Meanwhile, Lan Xichen politely escorts Chunwen and Wei Ying’s first general to the guest quarters where Wei Ying had been accommodated. The two men carry themselves with quiet confidence, and their presence continues to leave a strong impression on the Lan disciples.

The disciples and guest disciples gathered in the hall remain in stunned silence, unable to fully process what they have just witnessed.

“Is he really an immortal now?” one of the Jin disciples whispers to another, his voice tinged with awe and disbelief.

“Hmph!” sneers Jin Jixun, his tone dripping with contempt. “I don’t believe it for a second. He’s just a show-off. How could someone so young—what, fifteen?—achieve immortality? Even my uncle, one of the strongest cultivators, hasn’t managed it. He’s probably just lying to boost his reputation."

Lan Zhan feels his temper flare instantly, his hand itching to strike Jin Jixun for daring to insult Wei Ying. He opens his mouth to reprimand him, but before he can speak, Lan Qiren intervenes.

With an icy glare, Lan Qiren addresses Jin Jixun sternly. “You dare accuse an immortal of lying about his ascension? We have all borne witness to this sacred event. To insinuate that we, the cultivators of the Lan Sect, are liars is an insult of the highest order. Just because you, or even your uncle, lack the ability to achieve such a feat does not make it impossible. Mark my words, such baseless accusations against an immortal will not go unpunished. I will personally write to your uncle to determine the appropriate consequences for your disrespect."

Jin Jixun’s face pales instantly, his arrogance crumbling under the weight of Lan Qiren’s words. He stammers an incoherent apology, his bravado thoroughly shattered.

Lan Zhan feels a flicker of gratitude toward his uncle, though his anger still simmers. Wei Ying doesn’t deserve to be doubted—not after everything he’s endured and accomplished. Lan Zhan silently vows to protect Wei Ying’s honour, no matter the cost, and hopes that one day Wei Ying will know just how deeply he is cherished.

Lan Zhan's thoughts remain preoccupied with Wei Ying even as he moves through Cloud Recesses. Suddenly, he recalls Wei Ying's deputy and decides to follow his brother, Lan Xichen, who is escorting the deputy and the general to the guest quarters. As they come into view, Lan Zhan’s eyes fall on the general, instantly recognising him as the man who, alongside Wei Ying, had saved them from the beasts.

“General,” Lan Zhan calls out, his voice calm but filled with sincerity.

The three turn to face him, and the general bows slightly in greeting.

“Thank you for saving us and ensuring our safe return,” Lan Zhan says, bowing deeply in respect.
The general bows in return, his expression humble. “No thanks are necessary, Lan Er Gongzi. I only followed Laozu’s instructions. I am glad to see you unharmed."

Lan Xichen observes the exchange, feeling impressed yet again by the humility displayed by Wei Ying’s people. From Wei Ying himself to his subordinates, their sincerity and respectfulness are striking.

“This is my younger brother, Lan Wangji,” Xichen introduces him with a slight smile.

Chunwen steps forward, bowing politely. “I have heard much about Lan Gongzi and Lan Er Gongzi. I am Chunwen, Laozu’s deputy,” he says with a composed demeanour.

Lan Zhan bows in return, his expression unreadable as he regards Chunwen. Curiosity gnaws at him—how had this man come to know Wei Ying? He had no memory of Chunwen from their past lives, and yet here he stood, a trusted figure by Wei Ying’s side. After a moment of contemplation, he voices his question.

“Have you known Laozu for a long time?” Lan Zhan asks, his tone carefully neutral.

Chunwen chuckles lightly, his demeanour warm. “No, Lan Er Gongzi. Laozu saved my sister and me from certain death and gave us a place to call home. He took us in when no one else would."

Lan Zhan feels a flicker of emotion in his chest. That sounds exactly like Wei Ying—always extending a helping hand to those in need, no matter the cost to himself.

“The more I learn about Laozu, the greater my respect for him grows,” Lan Xichen remarks with a smile.

“That sentiment is shared by many,” Chunwen agrees, his voice filled with quiet pride.

“If you need any assistance with the feast preparations, do let us know,” Chunwen offers.

“We will send out invitations to all the sects today,” Xichen responds. “The feast is planned for two days from now."

Chunwen nods. “We will return to Yiling after the feast. The villagers are eagerly awaiting Laozu’s return and are overjoyed by the news of his ascension. I daresay they are even happier than Laozu himself,” he says with a chuckle.

“Of course. Who wouldn’t want such a remarkable and righteous leader for their community?” Xichen replies warmly.

Lan Zhan remains silent, his mind troubled by the camaraderie between his brother and Chunwen. It feels strange hearing his brother heap so much praise on Wei Ying, though Lan Zhan knows every word is deserved. With a respectful bow, Chunwen and the general take their leave and head to their rooms.

As the brothers walk back toward the Hanshi, Lan Zhan finally speaks. “Xiongzhang, you seem to admire Laozu greatly."

Xichen laughs softly. “Indeed, I do. He has shown me a new perspective in many ways. His humility and willingness to aid those in need are truly inspiring. My visit to Yiling was an eye-opener."

Lan Zhan hesitates for a moment before asking, “How does Sect Leader Nie know Laozu?"

Xichen’s expression grows thoughtful. “He didn’t share much, but he mentioned that Laozu once saved Nie Huaisang. When I asked for details, he told me not to concern myself."

“Hmm,” Lan Zhan replies, his tone contemplative.

Sensing his brother’s unease, Xichen asks, “What’s troubling you, Wangji?"

Lan Zhan pauses before admitting honestly, “I wish to visit Yiling."

Xichen smiles knowingly. “You can visit when Laozu returns. I’m sure he would be glad to have you there.” He doesn’t press further, and Lan Zhan is grateful for his brother’s understanding.

When they reach the Hanshi, they find Lan Qiren and the elders already deep in discussion about the feast.

“Wangji, Xichen, come,” Qiren calls, motioning them to join.

“We’ve sent out the invitations with the swiftest messengers,” Qiren informs them. “Do you have any suggestions for the feast?"

Lan Zhan’s expression darkens slightly as he asks, “Are we inviting the Wen Sect? They were the ones who pushed the Abyss to Caiyi."

Qiren sighs heavily. “I understand your concerns, Wangji. However, achieving immortality is an extraordinary feat. Even Wen Zongzu, despite all his ambition, has failed to reach such a level. Imagine the weight of a boy as young as you attaining what he could not. Were Laozu a member of our clan, it would be different, but he is not. Hosting this feast is both a show of gratitude for Laozu’s aid and a gesture toward maintaining a peaceful relationship with Yiling. Wen Zongzu would not dare cause trouble in the presence of so many sects."

Lan Zhan nods reluctantly. "Hmm."

The meeting continues as the elders finalise the arrangements and discuss the details of the feast, ensuring that it will honour both Laozu’s achievement and the bond they hope to strengthen with Yiling. Lan Zhan, however, remains lost in his thoughts, his mind filled with the image of the Wen sect.

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Wei Ying arrives at the gates of the celestial mountains, his heart filled with a mix of anticipation and reverence. As he approaches, the gates swing open effortlessly, revealing his master, Baoshan Sanren, standing with her usual composed and graceful demeanour.

Wei Ying immediately bows low, his voice trembling with emotion. “Master, this disciple of yours has achieved immortality,” he announces, tears glistening in his eyes.

Baoshan Sanren studies him for a moment before her lips curl into a soft, affectionate smile. “Stupid boy, what took you so long? You’ve been burning off your Qi again, haven’t you?” she chides, flicking his forehead lightly with her fingers.

Wei Ying nods, a sheepish grin crossing his face.

“Come inside. I’ve been waiting for you,” she says, her voice filled with both warmth and authority.

As they walk, Wei Ying glances at her, his tone filled with genuine concern. “Master, how have you been?"

“What could possibly happen to me? I’m fit and fine, as always,” she replies with a small laugh, her presence radiating calmness.

She leads him to the main hall, where her other disciples and senior masters are already gathered. Raising her voice slightly, she announces with pride, “My disciple, Wei Wuxian, has achieved immortality."

The room erupts into cheers and congratulations. Each person steps forward to express their admiration and respect, their words a testament to Wei Ying’s remarkable accomplishment. He accepts their praises humbly, bowing repeatedly, his gratitude evident in every gesture.

After spending some time mingling with the others, Baoshan Sanren takes Wei Ying to her secluded cottage. The cosy space, nestled amidst the serene mountains, exudes tranquillity. She gestures for him to sit before fixing him with a proud yet serious gaze.

“I am proud of you, my boy,” she says, her tone laden with emotion.

Wei Ying immediately kneels and kowtows deeply. “Master, without your guidance, I wouldn’t be where I am today. I know the journey ahead will be challenging. The responsibilities I carry are immense. I delayed my immortality because I wanted to complete a few things without attracting unnecessary attention,” he confesses.

Without a word, Baoshan Sanren pulls him into a rare, warm embrace.

“A-Ying,” she murmurs, her voice trembling slightly, “you are a beautiful soul. What happened to you in your past life was a great injustice, yet you didn’t let it taint your heart. You live with the same enthusiasm to bring good into the world, and I couldn’t be prouder of you.” She presses a gentle kiss to his forehead.

Pulling back, her gaze becomes firm. “But you must remember, you cannot save everyone, nor can you punish everyone. You will live a long life, and you must learn to understand your limitations. Don’t be too harsh on yourself. Some things must be accepted as they are. Some people cannot change, no matter what. And not everyone deserves a second chance."

Wei Ying nods, tears welling up in his eyes again. “Yes, Master,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

She smiles and pats his shoulder. “You’re staying with me for a week. I have a few things to teach you."

“Master, but—” He begins, only to be interrupted.

“No buts, no ifs. You’ve spent over a year down there; you can spare a week here,” she declares firmly.

Bowing his head in acquiescence, Wei Ying replies, “I shall send a message to my deputy, then.” She nods, and he quickly drafts a message to Chunwen, informing him of his extended stay and to contact him only in case of an emergency.

Over the course of the week, Baoshan Sanren teaches Wei Ying the intricacies of controlling his emotions, shares her knowledge of talisman inventions, and recounts her experiences as an immortal. She explains her reasons for leaving the cultivation world and teaches him how to open his mind and senses to perceive what others cannot. Each lesson enriches Wei Ying’s understanding and strengthens his resolve for the journey ahead.

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Meanwhile, Chunwen receives Wei Ying’s message and promptly informs the Lan clan of Laozu’s plan to return after a week. Though disappointed by his absence, the Lans understand and proceed with preparations.

Lan Zhan, however, feels the weight of the days without Wei Ying. He cannot shake the sadness of being apart from him so soon after seeing him again. His thoughts are consumed by memories and a longing that refuses to be quelled.

As the next two days unfold, the Lan clan busies itself with finalising arrangements for the grand feast and welcoming the smaller sect leaders who arrive early. The anticipation for Laozu’s return remains palpable, but for Lan Zhan, the days feel unbearably slow, yet he looks over all the arrangements and details, knowing the arrival of Wen sect.

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Cloud Recesses hums with activity as cultivators from every corner of the cultivation world gather, eager to witness the celebration of Yiling Laozu’s ascension to immortality. Curiosity and excitement fill the air, with many keen to learn more about the newly immortal figure who has captured the attention of all.

The first to arrive are the Jiangs. Jiang Fengmian, accompanied by his daughter Jiang Yanli, steps through the gates of the Cloud Recesses. They are received with the utmost courtesy by the Lans, who guide them to seats in the front row as esteemed guests. Next comes Jin Guangshan, arriving with his wife, Madam Jin, in a show of grandeur. They are accompanied by the Qin sect leader and his wife. The Jin sect leaders are seated prominently in the first row, while the Qin couple is respectfully placed in the second.

Nie Mingjue arrives shortly after, his presence commanding attention. Nie Mingjue’s unusually cheerful demeanour does not go unnoticed, as he seems genuinely pleased by the occasion. The Nie sect leader is seated in the first row, his status as influential leader duly recognised. Finally, the Wen sect arrives, with Wen Chao and Wen Xu leading a small group of Wen disciples. Despite their strained reputation, they are given first-row seats alongside the other major sect leaders. Following them, the smaller sect leaders arrive and are seated according to their rank and affiliation.

As the guests settle into their places, the disciples of the Lan sect fill the hall, taking their designated seats alongside other guest disciples. A hushed anticipation blankets the room as Lan Qiren steps forward. Clearing his throat, he begins with his usual formal tone.

"On behalf of the Gusu Lan sect, I extend a warm welcome to everyone," he says, his voice steady and authoritative.

“We gather here today to celebrate a momentous occasion: the ascension of Yiling Laozu to immortality. We are honoured that this historic event occurred within the lands of our sect, and we deemed it fitting to host this grand feast to mark the occasion."

He gestures towards Chunwen, who stands at the side with an air of composed confidence. “Though Laozu himself could not join us today, his deputy, Chunwen, will represent him in his stead."

Lan Qiren then moves to the ceremonial presentation. “The Gusu Lan sect offers Yiling Laozu a token of our respect and admiration: bolts of our finest silk, treasures from our library, exquisite jade, and other precious gems, along with our heartfelt best wishes.” Bowing deeply, he hands the carefully arranged boxes to Chunwen, who receives them with a gracious nod.

The other sects follow in turn. The Wen sect, represented by Wen Chao and Wen Xu, presents rare medical texts from their library and an assortment of precious metals. Jin Guangshan offers a lavish display of gold artefacts, flaunting the wealth of the Jin clan. The Jiangs contribute thoughtfully, offering their renowned Lotus silk, a thriving Lotus plant, and a sentimental treasure: Wei Changze's Jiang sect bell, a relic of the past meant to honour Laozu’s roots.

The Nie sect, led by Nie Mingjue, offers fine paintings, intricate gold crafts, and several precious articles. One by one, the sect leaders step forward with their gifts, each presentation a reflection of their regard for Yiling Laozu.

As the ceremonial presentations conclude, Jin Guangshan’s voice breaks the growing murmur among the guests. “Why isn’t Laozu here to accept these gifts himself?” he asks, his tone dripping with veiled scepticism.

Chunwen responds calmly, “Laozu has gone to visit his master."

Jin Guangshan chuckles mockingly. “And who might this master be? Someone so important that Laozu would miss a gathering of the entire cultivation world?"

Before Chunwen can reply, Lan Qiren interjects sharply. “Immortal Baoshan Sanren."

Jin Guangshan pales visibly at the name, the smugness draining from his expression. He stammers, “I… I see."

Lan Qiren’s voice remains firm. “I trust we will all refrain from speaking ill of immortals, especially in such a sacred gathering.” His words hang in the air, and no one dares to object further.

The feast continues with a serene elegance characteristic of the Lans. Platters of delicately prepared dishes are served, though, as per Lan tradition, no wine graces the tables. Conversations ripple through the hall, many centred on Yiling Laozu’s incredible feats: his cleansing of the Burial Mounds, his aid in dealing with the abyss in Caiyi, and his other remarkable achievements. However, the mention of these deeds causes Wen Chao and Wen Xu to scowl darkly, their expressions betraying their irritation.

As evening descends, the sect leaders and their entourages begin to take their leave, expressing their hope to host Chunwen and Yiling Laozu at their respective sects in the near future.

Throughout the day, Lan Wangji remains quiet and observes the Wen and Jin sects. As the sect leaders leave a shadow of disappointment clouding his usually stoic face. His heart aches with the absence of Wei Ying, and the longing becomes almost unbearable. He spends the evening lost in thought, questioning himself. Will he find the courage to confess his feelings again? Would Wei Ying reject him, as he once did? These uncertainties plague his mind, but one truth remains clear: he yearns to be by Wei Ying’s side, no matter the cost.

The following morning, Chunwen prepares to leave, gathering the gifts and any belongings Wei Ying had left in Gusu. With the help of General, he teleports everything back to Yiling, where the marshals stationed in Gusu also return.

In Yiling, the people eagerly await their Laozu’s return, their excitement palpable. However, they are met with disappointment when they learn he has not yet come back. Despite their eagerness, they understand that Yiling Laozu’s journey is not one to be rushed, and they hold onto the hope of his eventual return with even greater admiration.

Chapter 15

Notes:

Hello dear readers,

Welcome back!

I am excited to present this chapter to you, though it's a bit shorter than usual as I've had a busy day. I hope you still enjoy it! A big thank you to everyone who commented and left kudos on the previous chapter—I truly appreciate your support <3

As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts and theories in the comments. Please let me know what you think of this chapter!

Thank you for reading, and stay tuned for more!

 

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With the return of Wei Ying’s subordinates, Gusu returns to its tranquil state. The serene silence of Cloud Recesses once again envelops the sect, and the guest lectures resume as if nothing extraordinary had transpired.

Lan Wangji, however, is anything but at peace. He sits in his room, gazing out of the window, his expression dark with contemplation. His frown deepens as he wrestles with his thoughts. It has been years since both he and Wei Ying returned to the past, but the disparity between their achievements looms large in his mind. Wei Ying has already achieved immortality—a feat that places him beyond mortal constraints—while Lan Wangji has only just recovered his memories of their previous life. The weight of his inadequacy feels almost unbearable.

On one hand, he feels immense relief and pride that Wei Ying has ascended to such heights. On the other hand, the knowledge that he has made little progress in altering the bleak future that once befell them fills him with frustration. The memories of their former lives, vivid and raw, haunt him. He remembers the pain, the loss, and the destruction that marred their world, and the burden of not having acted sooner presses heavily on his shoulders. Why hasn’t he trained harder? Why hasn’t he pushed himself to make a difference?

For a fleeting moment, Lan Wangji’s fingers brush against the inner fold of his robes, where the scars from the discipline whip once resided. They are no longer there, erased by the past’s rewriting, but the memory of each lash lingers; he will never regret standing up for Wei Ying against his sect.

He recalls the mistakes he made, blinded by sect rules and the rigid ideals of discipline and righteousness. At the end of it all, those rules proved meaningless. They did nothing to save the people he loved or to protect the sect he had so fervently believed in from the Wens.

The images of Cloud Recesses burning under Wen Xu’s orders flash in his mind: the flames consuming the sacred halls, the bodies of disciples and elders alike piled high in the aftermath. And yet, here they are, welcoming the Wens into their lands once more, oblivious to the threat they represent. Lan Wangji clenches his fists. He knows better this time, but knowledge without action is futile.

Determined, he pulls out a sheet of paper and his brush. Slowly, deliberately, he begins to write down the key events that shaped the cultivation world’s collapse in their previous life—from the emergence of the abyss to Wei Ying’s tragic death. The paper soon fills with his elegant yet heavy strokes, but his eyes linger longest on the words about the abyss. That was one of the great mysteries of their past lives, left unresolved and festering. But now, in this timeline, Wei Ying has already cleared it.

This thought sparks a glimmer of hope. Wei Ying’s accomplishments are undeniable, and this time, the cultivation world might never dare to look down on him. He is no longer a disciple of the Jiang Sect—a significant divergence from their original timeline that Lan Wangji still struggles to understand. Regardless of the reasons, this change might have shielded Wei Ying from some of the prejudices that once plagued him.

Lan Wangji’s gaze shifts to the words detailing the Wen Sect’s attack on the major sects. The Lans were the first to fall. He recalls Wei Ying’s blunt critique of the Lan Sect’s wards, calling them weak and insufficient. At the time, Lan Wangji felt a sting of defensiveness, but now, with hindsight, he knows Wei Ying was right.

The problem, however, is that Lan Wangji has little expertise in arrays or talismans. Those matters were always handled by the sect’s array masters and elders—most of whom are notoriously stubborn and slow to adapt. Even if he raises the issue, the chances of the elders acknowledging the flaws and devising improvements swiftly are slim. Change within the Lan Sect is a slow and arduous process.

This leaves Lan Wangji with two options: learn the intricacies of arrays and talismans himself or seek someone else’s expertise. And who better than Wei Ying? Not just now, but in the past and likely even in the future, no one can match Wei Ying’s brilliance in innovation and cultivation techniques. But Wei Ying is not here, and Lan Wangji has no idea when their paths will cross again.

Resolved, Lan Wangji makes a decision. He will train harder, pushing himself to improve his cultivation and strengthen his core. At the same time, he will study arrays and talismans on his own. His gaze falls on the library, a sacred repository of knowledge, some of which remains forbidden even to him. If he must sneak into the restricted section to learn what he needs, so be it.

Each night, under the cover of darkness, Lan Wangji vows to delve into the mysteries of arrays and talisman creation. If the sect elders cannot see the urgency of fortifying their defences, he will take it upon himself. For Wei Ying, for Cloud Recesses, and for the cultivation world, he will not allow history to repeat itself.

 

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On the seventh day of his training, Baoshan Sanren gives Wei Ying a pivotal task. She instructs him to meditate and delve deep into the recesses of his mind, urging him to piece together the fragmented memories of his past life. With her calm yet commanding tone, she reassures him that with focus and determination, the truths hidden in the corners of his consciousness will emerge.

Wei Ying takes her words to heart, sitting cross-legged in the serene chamber atop the mountain. He closes his eyes, letting his breathing even out, and begins to concentrate. Hours pass as he enters a deep meditative state, searching for clarity amidst the chaos of his mind. By evening, the veil over his memories begins to lift, and the images come flooding in.

The memories strike like a thunderstorm, vivid and relentless. He sees the kiss atop the mountain. The way Lan Zhan had called out to him, begging him to return to Gusu. He witnesses his own death at the hands of the cultivation world, the heartbreaking scene of Lan Zhan taking A-Yuan into his arms and raising him as their son. He sees the punishment Lan Zhan endured—thirty-three agonising strikes of the discipline whip—and feels the yearning that Lan Zhan carried in his heart for over years.

Wei Ying’s eyes snap open, tears streaming uncontrollably down his face. He cannot believe what he has just witnessed. All this time, he had thought Lan Zhan disliked him, even hated him. He recalls how Lan Zhan often pushed him away whenever he attempted to draw closer. But as the memories continue to unfold, he realises the truth: wasn’t that before he had transferred his golden core? After that, he was the one who distanced himself from everyone, Lan Zhan included.

The weight of his realisations crashes down on him. He is utterly devastated by the sequence of events that unfolded in their past lives. How could he have been so blind? How could he not have seen that Lan Zhan loved him—not just loved, but worshipped him? Lan Zhan had raised A-Yuan as their son and cared for him as though he were a piece of Wei Ying himself. The sheer depth of Lan Zhan’s devotion leaves him overwhelmed.

“I wasn’t worthy of your love,” Wei Ying murmurs brokenly, his voice trembling. He buries his face in his hands, the guilt consuming him. All his life, he hadn’t understood why he was so drawn to Lan Zhan, why he always wanted to be near him, to tease him, to evoke a reaction from him. It was only now, after seeing everything, that it all makes sense. Both of them had wanted the same thing: to be together. But their timing had always been cruelly mismatched. When one reached out, the other pulled away.

Wei Ying’s heart clenches painfully as he thinks of the life they could have shared. Yet he feels an unshakeable determination grow within him. If Lan Zhan still loves him, if that devotion remains even after everything, Wei Ying decides that he will not waste another chance. This time, he will stay by Lan Zhan’s side.

A faint blush creeps onto his face as his thoughts shift to their first kiss. The memory is so vivid he can almost feel Lan Zhan’s lips on his. His hands instinctively touch his own lips, and a silly, sheepish smile spreads across his face. Warmth blooms in his chest, a sensation so foreign yet so comforting. He pats his cheeks a few times, trying to calm himself, but the redness refuses to fade.

“So this is why,” he whispers to himself, laughing softly. “This is why I always wanted to see a reaction on Lan Zhan’s face. I was drawn to him, like a moth to a flame, and I was too foolish to realise it."

The more he reflects, the more the truth solidifies. He had loved Lan Zhan all along—he just hadn’t understood it. But Lan Zhan’s love, profound and unwavering, had been far greater. Wei Ying’s heart aches as he recalls the hurt etched into Lan Zhan’s face during their final moments, the anguish he endured for Wei Ying’s sake, and the punishment that had left him broken and crippled.

Anger and helplessness rise in Wei Ying’s chest. How could he have left Lan Zhan alone to face the world? How could he have allowed such suffering? But he quickly steadies himself. There is no point dwelling on the past mistakes. What matters now is the present and the future.

Wei Ying takes a deep breath, pushing aside his doubts. He ponders for a moment whether Lan Zhan still feels the same, but he shakes his head firmly. Lan Zhan has proven his love through his actions, and Wei Ying resolves to do the same. He will not falter. This time, he will honour both his duty and his love.

Closing his eyes once more, he resumes his meditation. His thoughts are calmer now, his resolve firm. He envisions a future where he stands victorious against the tyrants, where peace reigns, and where he and Lan Zhan can share a life unburdened by past regrets.

By the time the night falls, his decision is made. Tomorrow, he will meet Lan Zhan, no matter what. He has cried, he has laughed, he has lived, and he has died. Now, as an immortal, reborn, and resolute, he will make things right. He will protect those he loves, fight for justice, and finally, finally allow himself the happiness he has long denied.

 

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The soft glow of dawn paints the mountain sanctuary in hues of gold and rose. Wei Ying bows deeply before his master, Baoshan Sanren, his expression calm but tinged with the weight of the moment.

“Master, this disciple shall take his leave now,” he says, his voice steady yet warm with respect.

Baoshan Sanren gently rests a hand on his head, a rare gesture of affection that never fails to comfort him. “Now that you know how close Yiling is, I hope to see you soon, my boy,” she replies, a soft smile curving her lips.

“Yes, Master. I shall return regularly, if only to seek your guidance for my endless questions,” he chuckles lightly, the sound warm and unrestrained.

She raises an eyebrow, her tone playful. “Let us see how often you actually come back. Take care of yourself, and remember all that I’ve taught you."

Wei Ying nods earnestly. “I will, Master. You take care as well. And please do visit Yiling at least once. It would mean a great deal to everyone."

“I will think about it,” she says with a faint smile, her enigmatic words carrying a hint of promise.

With one final bow, Wei Ying steps away, his figure gradually vanishing into the golden morning light.

 

---

 

Moments later, he reappears at the gates of Yiling, the bustling energy of the village washing over him like a wave. The air is alive with the sounds of celebration, and the moment the villagers spot him, their joyous shouts fill the air. They rush to him, their faces alight with happiness, holding gifts and offerings in their hands.

“Laozu, welcome back!” Chunwen calls, hurrying to the front of the crowd. Behind him, Wen Qing and Wen Ning appear, their expressions warm with quiet relief.

The villagers have outdone themselves. Tables laden with dishes stretch across the square, every delicacy a testament to Yiling’s rich traditions and Wei Ying’s personal favourites. The air carries the tantalising aroma of spices and freshly cooked meals, mingling with the laughter of children who dart forward to greet their Laozu.

The children surround Wei Ying, presenting small gifts they’ve made with their own hands—drawings, trinkets, and crafts. Their innocent affection brings a smile to his face as they cling to him, showering him with kisses and words of gratitude. Among them, Xue Yang latches onto his side, refusing to let go as they make their way to the dining hall where the banquet is set.

As the villagers gather, Wei Ying rises to his feet, raising a cup in his hand. “Thank you for your love and support,” he says, his voice carrying across the room. “I promise to work tirelessly for Yiling’s prosperity.” He drains his cup in one smooth motion, his sincerity resonating with all who hear him.

The magistrate and the village elders take turns thanking him, their heartfelt words reflecting the deep respect and admiration the people of Yiling hold for their Laozu. The knowledge that Wei Ying has ascended to immortality brings them immense pride and their joy is palpable.

As the banquet draws to a close, Wei Ying samples each dish prepared for him, savouring the effort and love poured into every bite. Content and filled with gratitude, he thanks the villagers once more, assuring them he will address the community in greater detail within the next few days. Satisfied with his promise, they gradually disperse, returning to their daily routines with light hearts.

The children, though reluctant, are ushered to their classes, casting wistful glances over their shoulders as they leave Wei Ying’s side. Once the crowd thins, Wei Ying, Wen Qing, Wen Ning, and Chunwen retreat to his office, the air inside charged with purpose.

“What happened with the interrogation?” Wei Ying asks, his tone sharp and direct. “Shall I call the general?"

Chunwen steps forward, his expression grim but composed. “The general has already briefed me. We’ve identified several locations where women and children were held captive. We managed to rescue over three hundred individuals in Lanling alone. Some chose to return to their families, and we arranged safe passage for them. Others, with no place to go, have temporarily taken residence in the Wen colony. We had a few vacant buildings, which are now housing around fifty people."

Wei Ying listens intently, nodding for Chunwen to continue.

“We also discovered three hideouts in Qishan. One has been cleared, and those in captivity were rescued. At the second, we found evidence of an internal conflict—the captors were dead before we arrived. The last hideout is pending. The generals are already on their way and should return soon."

Wei Ying’s gaze sharpens. “And what of those sold to brothels?"

“We’ve deployed spies and marshals to investigate the flower houses in Lanling, Yunmeng, Qinghe, and nearby areas. They are working to free anyone held against their will,” Chunwen explains.

Wei Ying nods thoughtfully. “Use the gold and funds we obtained from the Gusu banquet to pay for the freedom of anyone willing to leave."

Chunwen hesitates, then says, “There is something else, Laozu."

“What is it?” Wei Ying asks, leaning forward with curiosity.

“Jin Gongzi and Jiang Gongzi fought in Gusu the day I returned,” Chunwen begins. “As a result, Jiang Zongzhu has called off the engagement between Jiang Guniang and Jin Gongzi. Jin Zongzhu has agreed to the decision."

A bitter laugh escapes Wei Ying. He understands now that none of the events he was once blamed for were truly his doing.

“I also heard that Jin Zongzhu is quite pleased about this turn of events. Since returning to Lanling, he has been in talks with the Qin Sect about marrying Jin Gongzi to their leader’s daughter. However, the Qin Sect leader’s wife is reportedly against the match."

Wei Ying raises an eyebrow. “Against it? Why would that be?” He absently scratches the bridge of his nose, lost in thought.

“I’ve instructed the spies to investigate further,” Chunwen says.

Wei Ying muses aloud, “Jin Zixuan would be an excellent match for their daughter. Both fathers are close friends and have known each other for years. What could possibly cause such reluctance?"

Wen Qing interjects, her tone sharp with suspicion. “Has the Qin Sect leader’s wife ever mentioned marrying her daughter to Jin Zixun instead?"

“No,” Chunwen replies.

“I suspect there may be something questionable about the daughter’s parentage,” Wen Qing states.

Wei Ying and Wen Ning both gasp in surprise. “What do you mean?” Wei Ying asks.

“I’ve seen the Qin Sect leader’s daughter a few times. Her features bear a striking resemblance to Jin Guangshan’s illegitimate children. There was a bastard child of his near Qishan whom I suspected for weeks before it was confirmed. If my speculation is correct, the girl may not be the Qin Sect leader’s child at all."

Wei Ying lets out a low chuckle. “If that’s true, Jin Guangshan has unknowingly orchestrated his own humiliation."

“Have the spies keep a close watch on Madam Qin and her maids,” Wei Ying orders.

“Yes, Laozu,” Chunwen responds.

Wen Qing smirks. “Wen Ruohan is furious that someone other than himself has achieved immortality."

Wei Ying laughs. “He’ll never achieve it. He doesn’t understand its essence."

Turning serious, he continues, “After we deal with those brothel keepers and their pay-offs to the Jin and Wen sects, we’ll decide how to handle the two sects themselves. I’d prefer to see them destroy each other rather than harm innocents."

After a moment of contemplation, Wei Ying adds, “Release information about the spirit-luring flags and robes to the Jin Sect. Let it leak that there are many bidders, but we’re waiting for the highest offer before delivering the first sets. Let’s see how far their pride will drive them."

Chunwen nods. “Yes, Laozu."

Wei Ying stands suddenly. “Let’s visit the Wen colony."

Wen Qing and Wen Ning follow him as they make their way to the colony. The afternoon passes in meaningful conversations with the rescued women, each one expressing gratitude for their newfound freedom.

By evening, the four return to Wei Ying’s residence, share a quiet meal together, and retire to their rooms, the weight of their responsibilities lingering in the air.

Wei Ying sits in silence, his gaze fixed on the tree outside his window. All morning, he’s been wrestling with the temptation to teleport to Cloud Recesses, to face Lan Zhan, and to unburden himself of the truth he’s carried. His fingers drum absently on the table as doubt flickers through his mind. Will Lan Zhan listen? Will he understand? But even these uncertainties cannot quell the growing resolve in his heart. Finally, with a determined exhale, Wei Ying decides—he will go. He will tell Lan Zhan everything.

Rising swiftly, Wei Ying busies himself, preparing a small token of goodwill. He selects an assortment of treats—candies, mooncakes, lotus seeds, dried sweetened peaches and plums, sugared biscuits, and dried nuts—carefully packing them into a silk pouch. He steps outside, circling the lake until his eyes catch a beautiful, delicate bloom floating on the surface. Plucking the flower with care, he tucks it gently into his Qiankun pouch, its fragrance mingling with the sweet aromas of the treats.

With his preparations complete, he closes his eyes, focusing his Qi. In the blink of an eye, he teleports directly to Lan Zhan’s room, his heart pounding with anticipation and hope.

Chapter 16

Notes:

Hello, dear readers,

Welcome back!

I’m thrilled to bring you this chapter. While I’ve kept a few elements the same as MDZS, it’s because they hold a special place in my heart—no other scene could surpass the beauty and impact of the classic moments. I hope you still find joy in reading this! A heartfelt thank you to everyone who commented and left kudos on the previous chapter—your support means a lot to me <3

As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts and theories in the comments. Please let me know what you think of this chapter!

Thank you for reading, and stay tuned for more!

*****************************

Lan Zhan prepares for bed, a book resting in his hands as he sits in the quiet solitude of his room. The air is still, and the glow of the lantern casts soft shadows on the walls. A gentle knock at the door startles him—unusual at this hour, as no one ever visits so late.

He sets the book aside and rises, curiosity and slight apprehension filling his steps as he approaches the door.

The door creaks faintly as it opens, revealing a sight that renders Lan Zhan speechless. Wei Ying stands there, a bright grin lighting up his face. Lan Zhan’s heart skips a beat; he blinks, uncertain if his eyes deceive him.

“Lan Zhan, can I come in?” Wei Ying asks softly, his grin widening as if he knows the effect his presence has on Lan Zhan.

Lan Zhan comes out of his stunned reverie and nods quickly, stepping aside to allow Wei Ying inside. His heart races as happiness wells within him. Wei Ying is here. For him. But why? The question lingers in Lan Zhan’s mind as he closes the door behind them, his eyes never leaving Wei Ying’s form.

Once inside, Wei Ying turns to face Lan Zhan, bowing deeply, tears glistening in his eyes. Lan Zhan freezes, his usually composed demeanour crumbling under the weight of this unexpected moment.

“Thank you,” Wei Ying begins, his voice trembling. “Thank you for saving A-Yuan. Thank you for activating my array and sending us back to the past. Even though a few strokes were misplaced and I lost some memories, thank you for giving me another chance.”

Lan Zhan’s breath catches as he watches Wei Ying’s tears spill over.

“Wei Ying…” Lan Zhan’s voice is thick with emotion, his usually stoic expression softening into one of pure affection.

Wei Ying reaches into his Qiankun pouch and pulls out a delicate, radiant flower, offering it to Lan Zhan with both hands.

“Lan Zhan, you’re too good—too wonderful,” Wei Ying says earnestly. “I didn’t understand everything back then. My memories are fragmented, and there are things I didn’t see clearly—especially at the Nightless City. But now I know. I’ve seen it all, everything you did for me. Thank you, Lan Zhan. And…” He pauses, his voice breaking as he lowers his head. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan stands frozen, his heart pounding as he processes Wei Ying’s words.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying continues, raising his tear-streaked face. “You’re truly great. I like you.”

The confession is simple yet carries the weight of a thousand unsaid emotions. Wei Ying looks at Lan Zhan with tear-filled eyes, his gaze sincere.

Lan Zhan remains still a statue of disbelief and hope.

“I mean it,” Wei Ying presses on, his voice stronger now. "Or, in other words, I fancy you, I love you, I want you, I can’t leave you, I whatever you’’

Lan Zhan’s eyes widen as the words sink in, his breath catching.

’I swear it's not the heat of the moment or joking like I have done in the past; I’m not doing it out of gratitude either.’’ “I don't want anyone but you; it can't be anyone but you."

Wei Ying assures him, his voice steady and earnest. “It’s you, Lan Zhan. It’s always been you.”

“Even if you don't feel about me like that now, I c’’

Before Wei Ying can continue, Lan Zhan closes the distance between them and places a trembling hand over Wei Ying’s mouth. His voice, rough with suppressed emotions, escapes in a whisper.

“Fancy you.”

Wei Ying nods, tears slipping down his cheeks.

“Love you... want you...”

Wei Ying nods again, his voice breaking. “Yes, Lan Zhan. Yes.”

“Cannot leave you. Do not want anyone but you. It cannot be anyone but you.”

Wei Ying’s sobs turn into soft laughter as he nods, overwhelmed with relief and joy. Lan Zhan pulls him into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping securely around Wei Ying’s trembling form. The weight of years of longing and silent affection melts away in the warmth of Wei Ying’s presence.

They stay like that for a long moment, both crying softly, their hearts full. Lan Zhan feels as though the universe has finally granted him his greatest wish. His Wei Ying is here, in his arms, and he loves him back.

Lan Zhan tightens his embrace, burying his face in Wei Ying’s shoulder. He silently vows to protect Wei Ying, cherish him, and never let him go.

Pulling back slightly, Lan Zhan presses a gentle kiss to Wei Ying’s forehead. Wei Ying giggles, the sound filling the room like the sweetest melody. Lan Zhan’s heart soars at the sound, his usually stoic face softening into a rare, tender smile.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying murmurs, taking both of Lan Zhan’s hands in his own. “Thank you.” He leans down and places a soft kiss on the back of Lan Zhan’s hand, sending a shiver through Lan Zhan’s body.

Lan Zhan’s ears flush a deep red as warmth spreads through him.

“I’ve brought you something,” Wei Ying announces suddenly, breaking the emotional tension. He pulls Lan Zhan towards the table and sits him down. Lan Zhan reluctantly lets go of Wei Ying, already missing the warmth of his embrace.

Wei Ying activates silencing talismans with a mischievous grin before handing Lan Zhan a small pouch.

“Here, these are for you,” Wei Ying says brightly.

Lan Zhan opens the pouch to find an assortment of delicacies: candies, dried nuts, lotus seeds, sweetened peaches and plums, mooncakes, and sugared biscuits. His eyes widen in surprise.

“I returned to Yiling today, and the villagers arranged a banquet with all my favourite dishes. I thought of you and brought some back.”

Lan Zhan stares at the pouch, then at Wei Ying, his heart swelling with emotion.

“Wei Ying...” he begins, but Wei Ying interrupts him, holding his hands tightly.

“Lan Zhan, please forgive me,” Wei Ying says, his voice trembling with sincerity. He leans down and kisses the back of Lan Zhan’s hand again.

Lan Zhan’s breath hitches, his ears turning an even brighter shade of red.

“Why?” Lan Zhan asks softly, his voice strained.

“I didn’t understand you before. I didn’t even understand my own feelings,” Wei Ying admits, tears pooling in his eyes again. “I made you suffer, Lan Zhan. I’m so sorry.”

Lan Zhan shakes his head and gently wipes away Wei Ying’s tears with his sleeves.

“No need,” he says simply, his voice full of quiet conviction. He lifts their joined hands and presses a soft kiss on them.

“I promise to always cherish you, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying vows, his tone unwavering.

Lan Zhan’s heart warms, and he nods, a small smile gracing his lips.

“Lan Zhan, can I sleep here tonight?” Wei Ying asks suddenly, his eyes wide with innocence.

Lan Zhan’s breath catches, his thoughts momentarily thrown into disarray. After a brief pause, he nods, his voice steady despite the storm of emotions within him.

Wei Ying beams with delight, quickly activating another talisman to lock the door securely. He begins removing his guan, ribbon, outer robes, and shoes.

“Lan Zhan, can you lend me some sleeping robes? I forgot to bring any,” Wei Ying says sheepishly, then adds, “Or should I go back and get mine?”

“No,” Lan Zhan says firmly. “Don’t go.”

Wei Ying blinks in surprise but nods as Lan Zhan retrieves a set of sleeping robes and hands them to him. Wei Ying changes behind the privacy screen and returns, settling onto Lan Zhan’s bed with an eager smile.

Lan Zhan’s heart races as he climbs into bed beside Wei Ying, pulling the blanket over them.

“You smell nice, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says with a soft laugh, snuggling closer.

“So do you,” Lan Zhan replies, his voice barely above a whisper.

Wei Ying giggles again, resting his head on Lan Zhan’s shoulder and chest.

“This feels so good,” Wei Ying murmurs, his voice laced with contentment.

Lan Zhan hums in agreement, his heart full of unspoken emotions. He decides that this moment—this night—is the happiest and most memorable of his life.

“Love you, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whispers, his breath warm against Lan Zhan’s neck.

“Love Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan replies, his voice filled with quiet reverence.

They fall asleep in each other’s arms, their hearts finally at peace.

.
.

 

Lan Zhan wakes at his usual hour, the soft light of dawn spilling into his room. His eyes drift down to Wei Ying, who lies nestled against his shoulder, his warm breath tickling Lan Zhan's neck. Wei Ying’s face is serene, a small smile curling his lips even in sleep. Stray strands of hair frame his features, and Lan Zhan can’t help but notice the faint glimmer of drool wetting his robes.

A deep sense of peace settles over Lan Zhan as he watches Wei Ying sleep. He commits this moment to memory—the warmth, the contentment, the sight of Wei Ying so close, so real. It is, without a doubt, the best feeling he has ever experienced.

Faint bird chirps echo from outside, signalling the start of a new day. Lan Zhan realises he has overslept, a rare occurrence for him. A pang of worry strikes him as he remembers that his Xiongzhang might visit soon. His gaze falls back on Wei Ying, still in a deep slumber, and his heart aches at the thought of waking him.

With a heavy heart, Lan Zhan gently shakes Wei Ying’s shoulder.

“Wei Ying, get up,” he murmurs softly.

Wei Ying stirs, his brows furrowing in protest. “Five more minutes…” he mumbles, burrowing closer to Lan Zhan.

Lan Zhan’s lips twitch in the faintest smile before he tries again, his voice slightly firmer. “Wei Ying, Xiongzhang might come soon. Let’s tell him about us.”

The words are barely out of his mouth when Wei Ying bolts upright, startling Lan Zhan.
“No!” Wei Ying exclaims, his eyes wide with alarm.

Lan Zhan blinks, taken aback by the sudden reaction. “Why?” he asks, disappointment evident in his voice.

Wei Ying shakes his head, his expression earnest. “We cannot tell anyone. Please, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan’s brows knit in confusion and hurt. “Why not?”

Wei Ying hesitates, then leans closer, his voice dropping to a pleading whisper. “I’m planning something. I can’t risk implicating you. Please understand, Lan Zhan. For now, no one can know.”

The sincerity in Wei Ying’s tone tugs at Lan Zhan’s heart, but his concern only grows. “Wei Ying, what are you planning?”

Wei Ying places a reassuring hand on Lan Zhan’s arm. “Lan Zhan, don’t worry. I promise you, I’ll be safe. I’ll tell you everything soon. But until then, we need to be cautious. Please trust me.”

Lan Zhan searches Wei Ying’s eyes, seeing the determination and urgency in them. After a moment, he nods reluctantly. “Hmm,” he agrees, though his heart feels heavy.

Wei Ying smiles, relief softening his features. “Thank you, Lan Zhan.” He begins gathering his belongings, moving quickly as if lingering any longer might weaken his resolve.

“I’ll leave now,” he says, his tone regretful. Before Lan Zhan can respond, Wei Ying takes his Qiankun pouch, packs his things, and teleports out of the room.

Lan Zhan stares at the empty space where Wei Ying had been moments ago. A sigh escapes him, a mixture of disappointment and longing. He picks up the pouch of treats Wei Ying had brought for him, carefully setting it aside as if it were the most precious treasure.

He glances at the spot on the bed where Wei Ying had slept, the faint indentation on the mattress stirring a warmth in his chest. Despite the sadness of Wei Ying’s abrupt departure, the knowledge that his feelings are reciprocated fills him with quiet joy. Wei Ying loves him. The thought alone is enough to make his ears flush pink and a small, rare smile to grace his face.

Lan Zhan’s gaze hardens with determination. He knows Wei Ying has his reasons for secrecy, and he will respect them. Wei Ying is doing something vital—something selfless to protect the world. Lan Zhan decides he will wait, as long as it takes, for Wei Ying to be ready. He will not pressure him, nor will he stand idle.

His resolve strengthens. Wei Ying is fighting for a cause greater than himself, and Lan Zhan will ensure he is prepared to support him in every way. He will cultivate harder, strengthen his core, and fortify the wards of Gusu Lan. He will protect their home, their people, and the world Wei Ying is trying to save.

After rearranging the bed and carefully straightening his table, Lan Zhan takes a deep breath. He smooths his robes and exits his room, heading to meet his Xiongzhang for their morning meditation.

Though his mind remains focused on his duties, a part of his heart lingers on Wei Ying, the warmth of his presence still lingering like a gentle ember. Lan Zhan allows himself one final thought before pushing it aside.

 

.
.

 

Wei Ying arrives back at his room and collapses onto the bed. As soon as his head hits the pillow, his mind races with thoughts of Lan Zhan, and before long, he drifts off into a peaceful, albeit fleeting, sleep.

By mid-morning, Wei Ying wakes up, a soft blush spreading across his face like a delicate pink hue. The warmth of the bed is comforting, but it's the memory of Lan Zhan’s embrace that floods his heart with a sense of contentment he’s never known before. The moment they shared last night, lying in each other’s arms, is something Wei Ying will carry with him for the rest of his life. It feels surreal, and the joy in his heart blossoms into something more profound. He knows without a doubt that he would do anything for Lan Zhan, protect him, and love him with everything he has.

But that warmth soon fades as reality sets in. There are responsibilities waiting for him—tasks that cannot be ignored. Wei Ying sighs deeply as his mind shifts from the tenderness of last night to the hard work that lies ahead. The cultivation world has always been a tumultuous place, but things have reached a tipping point, and there is much to be done.

He can’t afford to linger in complacency. The world still needs saving, and he’s the one tasked with doing it. Wei Ying quickly shakes off the lingering drowsiness, throws off the covers, and prepares himself for the day ahead. He dresses in his usual robes, the familiar fabric grounding him, and then heads straight for Spirit Village.

Upon arriving, Wei Ying is met by a group of generals and marshals. Their faces are weary but determined, each one giving him a respectful nod. He greets them back warmly, but his focus is on the task at hand. He doesn’t waste any time.

“What happened yesterday?” Wei Ying asks, his voice steady, though his mind races with curiosity about the latest developments in the mission.

The second general, with a no-nonsense attitude, steps forward to brief him. “We’ve discovered everything, Laozu,” he begins. “The people responsible have been detained and are currently being held in the interrogation rooms. Most of the victims have been rescued and sent back to their families. Only a few came with us, and they’ve been sent to the Wen colony.”

Wei Ying listens intently, his brows furrowing slightly. The connection to Wen Rouhan and the underhanded dealings with Jin Guangshan send a cold shiver through him.

“Are there any more people involved in this?” Wei Ying asks, his tone sharp, a sense of urgency in his voice.

The third general steps forward now, his expression grim. “We’ve traced everything back to five brothers. They run the whole operation and are directly connected to Jin Guangshan and Wen Rouhan. They don’t rely on middlemen. They’re very selective about who they involve, and the people they hire are all trustworthy individuals or their own relatives. They’ve been hiring workers from nearby villages, paying them once the work is done. The workers have no idea what the end goal is or what happens to the individuals they’re involved with. We’ve learnt that a few young children were sent to Wen Rouhan for his experiments with medicines.”

Wei Ying clenches his fists as the general continues, his heart heavy with the knowledge of the atrocities that have been carried out in secret.

“The two brothers from Lanling went missing, and that’s when the other two began to suspect their third brother. But after the second brother disappeared, the first brother believed it was all the work of the third brother and killed him. We’ve captured all four brothers,” the third general concludes.

Wei Ying takes a moment to process the information, his mind working rapidly. “Hmm,” he murmurs. “Take statements from all four of them. Make sure they’re kept in separate cells. If necessary, construct a new building for their confinement. Under no circumstances are they to be allowed to leave.” His voice is firm, unwavering. These men will not escape justice.

With the matter settled, Wei Ying strides out of the Spirit Village, his mind already moving on to the next steps. His pace is quick, though his thoughts remain with the work still to be done. The enemies in the cultivation world are cunning, and he needs to act quickly to ensure no more harm is done.

Wei Ying heads to the dining hall for breakfast, needing the fuel to keep going. His stomach growls in protest, but he forces himself to stay focused. On his way, he crosses paths with Wen Ning, the quiet, loyal boy who has always been there for him. The sight of Wen Ning, with his kind eyes and solemn expression, brings a sense of comfort to Wei Ying’s otherwise turbulent mind.

“Good morning, Wei Ge,” Wen Ning greets him, his voice soft but sincere.

“Good morning, Wen Ning,” Wei Ying replies, offering him a smile. His thoughts are still preoccupied with the mission at hand, but he appreciates the familiar presence of Wen Ning, who has become an important part of his life over the years.

As they continue to walk towards the dining hall together, Wei Ying’s mind shifts momentarily to the people in his life—those who are fighting alongside him and those who are relying on him to make the right choices. There is much to be done, but Wei Ying knows that with the support of those around him, including Lan Zhan, he can face whatever challenges lie ahead., and he will see it through to the end—one step at a time.

.

After breakfast, Wei Ying and Wen Ning walk toward Wen Qing's office, their conversation light but focused on the tasks at hand. The gentle breeze carries the scent of the nearby lake, calming Wei Ying’s restless thoughts. Upon entering the office, Wei Ying greets her with a warm smile.
“Qing Jie,” Wei Ying begins cheerfully.

“Ah, Wuxian,” Wen Qing replies, setting down her notes. “What brings you here?”

Wei Ying’s expression turns more serious as he cuts to the point. “Were you able to replicate the tea I gave you?”

Wen Qing shakes her head, a hint of frustration in her voice. “No, the tea is exceptionally powerful. Some of its ingredients are unfamiliar, ones I’ve never read or heard of before.”

Wei Ying hums thoughtfully. “Would you like to check the library again? Perhaps there’s something we overlooked.”

“I already visited,” she admits, “and while I found some fascinating scripts on medicines, nothing quite matched the potency of that tea. The tea you brought heals the core in ways that seem almost impossible.”

“Then… could it heal Wen Ning’s core?” Wei Ying asks, hope flickering in his eyes.

Wen Qing nods. “I’ve tested it on him, and there’s been a significant improvement. But the version I recreated didn’t even achieve half of the results your tea did. Still, it’s the strongest remedy I’ve ever prepared."

Wei Ying ponders for a moment. “I heard the Wens provided a few medical texts from their library. Have you seen those?”

“I’ve read through most of them, but they don’t contain the information I need,” she says, her voice tinged with disappointment.

“Come,” Wei Ying says decisively, gesturing for Wen Qing and Wen Ning to follow him. “Let’s visit the library again. There’s one section I haven’t shown you yet.”

Curiosity piqued. Wen Qing and Wen Ning trail behind Wei Ying as he leads them to the innermost part of the expansive library. With a wave of his hand, Wei Ying lowers the protective barriers guarding a hidden section. As the wards dissipate, the siblings step inside, their eyes widening in awe.

The hidden section is vast, far larger than they could have imagined. Shelves upon shelves of neatly arranged books stretch endlessly, divided into specific sections. It’s at least four times the size of the Lan Sect’s hidden library.

“This… this is incredible,” Wen Qing breathes, her voice barely above a whisper.

Wei Ying smiles faintly and gestures toward the medicine section. “Start here. If the answers exist, they’re likely in these texts.”

The three of them dive into the search, rifling through ancient tomes and scrolls. After hours of meticulous study, Wen Qing finally finds a series of texts that reference the healing of damaged cores. Excitedly, she compiles notes on additional ingredients and their precise quantities.

“Wuxian, I’ve found something,” she says, showing him the list she’s compiled.

Wei Ying reviews the notes and nods approvingly. “Excellent work, Qing Jie. Let’s discuss these findings further back in your office.”

The three of them leave the library, Wen Qing clutching the texts and notes as though they were the most precious treasures in the world.

Once in her office, Wei Ying’s tone turns serious.

“Qing Jie, we must keep this knowledge hidden,” he says firmly. “If word gets out about these methods, it could have disastrous consequences. Cultivators with wealth and power will stop at nothing to acquire it, potentially throwing the entire cultivation world into chaos.”

Wen Qing nods in agreement. “I understand. I’ll ensure this knowledge remains secure.”

Wei Ying hands her a qiankun pouch sealed with a blood lock. “Store all your notes and copied texts in here. Once you’re done studying them, return everything to the forbidden section of the library.”

“I will,” she promises. “Thank you, Wuxian.”

By noon, the three of them enjoy a quiet lunch together. Afterward, Wei Ying visits Chunwen’s office to plan their next actions. Together, they review ongoing projects, including the silk loom, the lake, and the winery. Wei Ying takes time to oversee the operations personally, offering suggestions and ensuring everything runs smoothly. Dinner is a simple but hearty affair, shared with those working tirelessly to rebuild Yiling’s prosperity.

As the day winds down, Wei Ying returns to his room. Yet his thoughts are consumed by Lan Zhan. The memory of last night fills him with warmth, and he smiles to himself. After some deliberation, he decides to pay Lan Zhan another visit.

But this time, he wants to bring a gift. He retrieves one of his communication seals and carves a delicate bunny onto its surface. The simple design reminds him of Lan Zhan and the softness he hides beneath his stoic exterior. Wei Ying holds the seal in his palm, satisfied with his work.

After dressing in his sleeping robes and removing his guan, Wei Ying gathers the seal and a few talismans. With a deep breath, he activates his teleportation tailsman and vanishes, reappearing moments later in Jingshi.

Chapter 17

Notes:

Hello, dear readers,

Welcome back!

I’m excited to share another chapter with you. There are a few changes from the original novel, and I hope these adjustments resonate with you all.

As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts and theories in the comments. Please let me know what you think of this chapter!

Thank you for reading, and stay tuned for more!

 

*******************

Lan Zhan carefully places the delicate flower Wei Ying gave him between the pages of a treasured book, ensuring it is perfectly preserved. His gaze drifts to the window, golden eyes scanning the quiet night sky. He has been waiting for Wei Ying for over half an hour now, his usual calm demeanour masking a restless anticipation.

Every sound outside stirs his hope, only to dissipate when it proves to be nothing. The thought of seeing Wei Ying and having him close again has been a constant undercurrent all day.

When Wei Ying finally appears in the room, teleporting in with a flash of energy, Lan Zhan’s shoulders relax, and a subtle sigh of relief escapes him. A rare, gentle smile tugs at his lips as he watches Wei Ying move.

Without missing a beat, Wei Ying throws a locking talisman onto the door and a silencing talisman into the air. “Lan Zhan!” he calls, his voice carrying unrestrained joy as he dashes towards him.

Lan Zhan steps forward just in time to catch him, pulling him into a firm embrace. His arms wrap protectively around Wei Ying as though anchoring him in place. The warmth of Wei Ying in his hold, the sound of his breath, the liveliness he brings—it all feels like home. Lan Zhan doesn't realise how tightly he's holding Wei Ying until he hears a soft laugh against his shoulder.

“I missed you too, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying teases, leaning back to look at him.

Lan Zhan’s gaze softens. He drinks in the sight of Wei Ying—radiant as always, his sleeping robes loose and slightly rumpled. Yet Lan Zhan feels a small flicker of disappointment. They are Wei Ying’s own robes.

As if sensing the thought, Wei Ying grins mischievously. “Lan Zhan, look! I brought you something!” He pulls a small object from his sleeve, holding it up like a precious treasure.

“What is it?” Lan Zhan asks, his tone steady but curious.

Wei Ying’s grin widens. “Bring the box I gave you yesterday.”

Obediently, Lan Zhan retrieves the box from its place, his movements as precise as ever. He hands it to Wei Ying, who carefully opens it, places the item inside, and hands it back.

Lan Zhan opens the box, and his usually impassive expression flickers with surprise. Inside is a communication seal; it's box is intricately carved with two small bunnies. They face each other, their noses touching as though they are sharing a kiss. Lan Zhan’s ears turn pink as he stares at the delicate craftsmanship.

“What is this?” he asks, his voice softer now.

Wei Ying’s smile is pure delight. “It’s a communication seal! You can use it to send me messages instantly, no matter where you are.” He pulls out a matching seal to demonstrate. Speaking into it, he says something that Lan Zhan doesn’t quite catch.

A faint vibration hums through the seal in Lan Zhan’s hands. Curious, he channels a small amount of Qi into it, and Wei Ying’s voice plays from the seal: “This is my courting gift to Er Gege.”

The warmth spreads from Lan Zhan’s ears to his cheeks, his entire face glowing. He sets the box aside with utmost care before pulling Wei Ying into a tight embrace. His heart swells with unspoken emotion, and he presses a kiss to Wei Ying’s forehead, then to each of his cheeks.

“Love Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan murmurs, his voice low but full of conviction.

Wei Ying’s breath hitches, and his eyes shine with affection. “Love you, Lan Zhan,” he replies, leaning in to press a quick kiss to Lan Zhan’s lips. His face flushes red as he pulls away, unable to meet Lan Zhan’s gaze for a moment.

Lan Zhan blinks, caught off guard, but recovers quickly. His hands cradle Wei Ying’s face, and he pulls him into a deep, lingering kiss. It is filled with everything he cannot say aloud—his love, his longing, his devotion. When they finally part, both are breathless, their foreheads resting against each other as they share a quiet moment of contentment.

After a while, they lie together on the bed, Wei Ying resting his head on Lan Zhan’s shoulder. The room is filled with a comfortable silence, broken only by the sound of their breathing.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says softly, his voice carrying a hint of hesitation.

“Hmm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Hmm.”

Wei Ying shifts slightly, looking up at Lan Zhan. “Will you cultivate to immortality? I want to stay like this with you forever.”

Lan Zhan’s response is immediate. He kisses the top of Wei Ying’s head, his arms tightening around him. “Hmm.”

Wei Ying smiles, his heart feeling impossibly full. “Thank you, Lan Zhan.”

“There is no need for thanks or apologies between us,” Lan Zhan says firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Wei Ying chuckles softly, the sound light and carefree. “Alright, alright. We’re together, and we’ll stay together.” He presses a kiss on Lan Zhan’s shoulder.

“Hmm.”

Wei Ying’s expression turns serious. “Lan Zhan, we can’t let your brother find out about us—not yet. We don’t know how close he is to Meng Yao. If he finds out, Meng Yao might manipulate him, and it could jeopardise everything.”

Lan Zhan’s brow furrows slightly. “Xiongzhang knows me well. He can sense my emotions. He already asked why I was in a good mood. I need to find a way to mask my feelings around him.”

Wei Ying nods thoughtfully. “Yes, your brother is incredibly perceptive. You’ll have to be very careful.”

“I will,” Lan Zhan replies, his tone resolute.

Wei Ying yawns, snuggling closer. “Let’s sleep. Wake me early; I need to go to Lanling tomorrow.”

Lan Zhan tenses. “Why?”

Wei Ying offers a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll explain everything soon.”

“The Jins aren’t trustworthy,” Lan Zhan says, his voice tight with concern.

“I know. I have a plan, and I’ll be safe. I won’t show my face to anyone.”

Lan Zhan remains unconvinced but nods reluctantly. “Hmm. Be careful.”

“Yes, my love. I won’t be coming here tomorrow, so don’t wait for me.”

“No,” Lan Zhan says firmly.

“Huh?” Wei Ying lifts his head, startled.

“No,” Lan Zhan repeats, his voice quieter but no less determined. “You should come.”

Wei Ying sighs, unable to resist the plea in Lan Zhan’s eyes. “Alright, alright. I’ll come,” he says, pressing kisses to both of Lan Zhan’s eyes.

Lan Zhan smiles, a rare and beautiful expression, and kisses Wei Ying’s forehead in return.

“Now, let’s sleep,” Wei Ying says, settling back against Lan Zhan.

“Hmm.”

The two drift off, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside forgotten.

 

.

The next morning, Lan Zhan wakes first. He presses soft kisses across Wei Ying’s face, his lips brushing over his forehead, cheeks, and nose. Wei Ying stirs, giggling at the sensation, and finally opens his eyes to meet Lan Zhan’s gaze.

“Good morning,” Wei Ying says, his voice still heavy with sleep. He leans up to kiss Lan Zhan on the lips before teleporting back to Yiling.

Lan Zhan watches him go, his heart heavy with longing. The past two nights have been the happiest of his life, yet the mornings are bittersweet. He misses Wei Ying the moment he leaves, counting the hours until he can see him again.

Determined to protect their secret, Lan Zhan straightens his room, ensuring everything appears as it should. He schools his features into an impassive mask, the perfect jade-like cultivator. No one, not even his brother, can suspect the joy Wei Ying brings him.

With his resolve firm, Lan Zhan heads out to meditate, his thoughts lingering on Wei Ying, his love, and the future they are building together.

.

 

Wei Ying returns to his room, his mind calm but focused on the task ahead. As the door shuts behind him, he moves with practiced efficiency. He washes away the remaining sleep, changing into a fresh set of robes that shimmer faintly under the dim light. His guan is tied securely, and he carefully smooths out his ribbon. His dizi is strapped to his waist alongside his sword, a silent reminder of his dual strengths. To complete his disguise, he dons a veiled hat, its sheer fabric obscuring his features while allowing him to observe everything clearly. Once ready, he steps out and makes his way to Chunwen’s office.

Chunwen greets him with a respectful bow before handing over a qiankun pouch. “Everything is prepared as you requested, Laozu,” Chunwen says.

Wei Ying nods in thanks and tucks the pouch into his robes. “You’ve done well,” he replies, his tone calm yet commanding. “Summon the First General.”

Moments later, the First General appears, his imposing presence filling the room. Wei Ying wastes no time. “Let’s go,” he says. With a swift movement, they teleport to the outskirts of Lanling.

 

The target of their mission lies within a small, inconspicuous village, nestled among rolling hills and dense groves. Wei Ying’s spirit spies have located an elderly woman and her teenage granddaughter, the survivors of a family torn apart by the Jins. The two have lived in hiding, unaware that their plight has come to the attention of someone willing to help.

Wei Ying and the general begin their search. The village is quiet, its inhabitants wary of strangers. They move methodically, their movements subtle, ensuring they don’t draw unnecessary attention. After an hour of searching, they find their targets.

The hut is old, its walls patched with worn planks and clay. The elderly woman sits inside, her wrinkled hands weaving a basket, while the granddaughter sweeps the dusty floor. Both seem burdened by an air of quiet resignation.

Wei Ying steps forward and calls softly, “Grandmother.”

The woman looks up sharply, her eyes narrowing with a mix of confusion and fear. Her granddaughter freezes, clutching the broom tightly.

“Please, don’t be afraid,” Wei Ying says, bowing slightly to show respect. “We mean you no harm.”

The woman’s wary eyes dart between Wei Ying and the general. “Who are you? What do you want?”

Wei Ying straightens, his tone gentle but firm. “I know who you are, and I know why you’ve been hiding.”

The woman’s grip on her basket tightens. Her fear deepens.

“We’ve discovered that your son is alive and being held in the Jin dungeons,” Wei Ying continues. “Would you like to see him again?”

The old woman gasps, her hand flying to her mouth. Her granddaughter’s wide eyes fill with hope and confusion.

Wei Ying gives them a moment to process his words before adding, “I can reunite you with him, safe and sound.”

The woman’s expression flickers with disbelief. Her voice trembles as she asks, “Why should I trust you?”

Wei Ying nods, understanding her caution. “Because I know the truth,” he says quietly, stepping closer. “You were a trusted medic of Madam Qin. Your daughter-in-law served as her personal maid. You and your family were her closest allies.”

The woman’s face pales, her tears beginning to spill.

Wei Ying lowers his voice further. “I also know what happened to Madam Qin," he pauses.
"Jin Guangshan plans to marry his son, Jin Zixuan, to Sect Leader Qin's daughter. Madam Qin tried to stop it but was overpowered. Worse still, Jin Guangshan killed your daughter-in-law because she witnessed his crimes against Madam Qin, and he imprisoned your son to silence him,” Wei Ying adds.

The old woman lets out a soft cry, her shoulders shaking with grief. Her granddaughter places a comforting hand on her back, her own tears glistening.

“Madam Qin sent you away to protect you,” Wei Ying says gently. “She believes you, your son, and your granddaughter are still under Jin control. She fears that if the truth of her daughter’s parentage comes to light, her child’s future will be destroyed.”

The woman wipes her tears, looking up at Wei Ying with trembling resolve. “How do you know all this?”

Wei Ying meets her gaze. “Because I’ve seen your son in the dungeons. I’ve heard his story. And I can help you bring justice for your family—and for Madam Qin.”

The woman nods slowly, her grief mingling with determination. “What must we do?”

Wei Ying straightens. “I will bring your son to you. Then, together, you will travel to the Qin Sect and tell Sect Leader Qin everything Jin Guangshan has done to you and Madam Qin.”

“But how can we reach the Qin Sect?” the woman asks, her voice filled with worry. “I am too old, and my granddaughter would be in danger.”

“You won’t need to travel,” Wei Ying assures her. “I can send you there instantly. But you must not reveal my involvement. Tell Sect Leader Qin that your son escaped the Jin dungeons to expose the truth.”

The woman’s expression hardens with resolve. “For Madam Qin, I will do it. She saved my family once; now it’s my turn to repay her kindness.”

Wei Ying turns to the First General. “Bring her son.”

The general nods and disappears, reappearing moments later with a man in his thirties. He is gaunt, his clothes tattered, but his eyes light up when he sees his family.

“Mother!” he cries, rushing forward.

The old woman lets out a strangled sob, pulling him into her arms. Her granddaughter joins them, her small frame trembling as she clings to her father.

Wei Ying and the general step back, allowing the family their privacy. After some time, they approach Wei Ying, bowing deeply.

“We are forever in your debt,” the man says, his voice choked with emotion.

Wei Ying shakes his head. “There is no debt between us. Please, take this.” He hands them a small pouch of gold. “I hope it helps you start anew.”

The family accepts the pouch with gratitude, their eyes brimming with tears. Wei Ying nods to the general, who places a hand on their shoulders. In a flash of energy, they vanish, teleported safely to the Qin Sect.

When the general returns, Wei Ying’s focus sharpens. “Let’s see how the Qin Sect reacts.”
They teleport to the outskirts of Laoling, disguising themselves before heading towards the Qin Sect’s territory. The streets are bustling, but Wei Ying and the general move unnoticed, their veiled hats blending seamlessly with the crowd.

Upon reaching the Qin Sect’s gates, they book two modest rooms at a nearby inn, positioning themselves to observe the events that will unfold. Wei Ying knows this is only the beginning.
Justice for Madam Qin and the innocent lives ruined by Jin Guangshan’s greed and cruelty is within reach. But Wei Ying also understands that this mission is fraught with peril. The Jins are powerful, and any misstep could put everyone involved at risk.

Still, as he watches the Qin Sect’s grand residence from the window of his room, Wei Ying feels a renewed sense of purpose. He has set the wheels of justice in motion, and he will not stop until the truth prevails.

.
.

 

The old woman, her son, and her granddaughter arrive outside Madam Qin’s residence; their steps filled with a mix of anticipation and dread. As they approach the entrance, Madam Qin emerges, her eyes widening in shock and disbelief.

“Popo!” she cries out, her voice trembling with emotion. She rushes towards them, tears streaming down her face. “I thought I had lost you all. What took you so long to come back to me?”

The old woman embraces her tightly, tears of her own falling freely. “My son was imprisoned in the Jin dungeons, madam. He endured countless years there, but when he heard about the engagement between the Jin Sect and your daughter, he risked his life to escape. He came back to stop this alliance.”

Madam Qin’s cries grow louder, her hands clutching the old woman’s shoulders as if to ensure she is real. The sound draws Sect Leader Qin Cangye, who strides into the courtyard with concern etched on his face.

“What is happening here? Why is my wife so distraught?” he demands. His sharp gaze lands on the elderly woman, and recognition softens his expression. “Madam, is that you? You’ve been missing for years! My wife has worried endlessly about you and your family.”

The old woman bows deeply. “Sect Leader Qin, I beg your forgiveness for my long absence. I request a private place to explain everything.”

Qin Cangye frowns, his gaze flickering to his wife, whose pale, tear-streaked face tells him this is no trivial matter. He nods curtly. “Follow me.”

He leads them to a private room within the residence, far from prying eyes. Once inside, he gestures for them to speak. “You may explain now.”

The old woman hesitates, glancing at Madam Qin with an apologetic expression. “Madam, forgive me, but the Sect Leader must hear the truth.”

Madam Qin’s face crumples as fresh tears spill from her eyes. She turns away, her shoulders shaking silently.

The old woman begins, her voice trembling but resolute. “Sect Leader, my son was imprisoned in the Jin dungeons for many years. My daughter-in-law was murdered by the Jins to cover up their crimes. Madam Qin, out of the kindness of her heart, helped me and my granddaughter escape to a remote village near Lanling. We stayed there, clinging to the hope that one day we might reunite with my son.”

Qin Cangye’s brows knit in confusion. “Why would the Jins commit such heinous acts? Guangshan is my friend. He knew how loyal you were to my wife. Why would he harm your family?”

The old woman takes a deep breath. “Sect Leader, my son risked everything to escape the dungeons as soon as he learnt of the proposed marriage alliance between your daughter and the Jin Sect heir. He knew this marriage would solidify ties with a man who has committed unspeakable sins.”

Qin Cangye’s confusion deepens. “How is this marriage related to the suffering of your family?”
The old woman looks him directly in the eyes. “Sect Leader, before Madam Qin’s successful pregnancy, didn’t she struggle to conceive for several years?”

Qin Cangye nods slowly, his expression turning wistful. “Yes, we faced many difficulties. The medics told me it might not be possible for her to bear children. But then she conceived, and I was overjoyed. After our daughter was born, we tried again, but it didn’t happen.”

The old woman’s voice hardens as she delivers the truth. “Sect Leader, what the medics told you was true. However, there is more to the story. Many years ago, your trusted friend Jin Guangshan forced himself upon Madam Qin.”

Qin Cangye stiffens, his face draining of colour.

“She tried to tell you,” the old woman continues, her voice steady despite the gravity of her words. “But she was afraid you wouldn’t believe her. She feared your loyalty to Jin Guangshan would outweigh your love for her. When she discovered she was pregnant, she was overcome by your genuine happiness and decided to remain silent. She didn’t want to destroy your joy—or your trust in her.”

Qin Cangye staggers back as if struck, his legs threatening to give way. His gaze turns to Madam Qin, who is weeping silently, her hands clutching the fabric of her robes.

“Is this true?” he asks, his voice barely audible.

Through her tears, Madam Qin nods.

For a moment, Qin Cangye stands frozen, the weight of betrayal and regret bearing down on him. Then he moves towards his wife, his steps faltering. He kneels before her and takes her hands in his.

“I am sorry,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “I failed you. I should have seen your discomfort when he was near. I should have questioned his actions instead of blindly trusting him. I let you suffer alone.”

Madam Qin shakes her head, her sobs quieting as she looks at him. “I didn’t want to burden you. I couldn’t bear to see your heart break.”

Qin Cangye embraces her tightly, his own tears falling freely. For a long moment, they hold each other, their grief shared, and their bond reaffirmed.

When he finally stands, Qin Cangye turns to the old woman and her family. “I am deeply sorry for everything you have endured. From now on, you will stay here in Laoling. You may resume serving my wife if you wish, and your granddaughter can serve my daughter. You will always have a home here.”

The old woman and her son bow deeply. “We are grateful, Sect Leader.”

Qin Cangye’s expression hardens with resolve. “As for Jin Guangshan, he will pay for what he has done. I will ensure he answers for his crimes. I will protect my wife and my daughter, no matter the cost.”

He helps Madam Qin to her feet and leads her back to her chambers, leaving her in the care of the old woman. Then, without hesitation, he strides towards the hall where his sect’s elders and committee gather, his mind set on the justice that must be served.

In his heart, he knows this battle will not be easy, but he is determined to undo the wrongs that have plagued his family. The truth is out, and there is no turning back.

.
.

 

Wei Ying finishes his meal at the inn, savouring the simple yet delicious food. After a moment of contemplation, he decides to wander through the bustling market to pass the time. He assures his general that he will remain vigilant and safe during his excursion.

The market is lively, filled with the hum of chatter, the clinking of coins, and the vibrant colours of countless stalls. Wei Ying visits shop after shop, occasionally pausing to admire the wares. Eventually, he spots a jade hairpin, elegant and intricately carved, catching the sunlight. Its craftsmanship and delicate design resonate with him, and he decides to buy it. Gently, he tucks the hairpin into his sleeve.

Moving through the market, Wei Ying notices a stall selling sweets and candies. He recalls the children in the dormitories back in Yiling and smiles. He buys a generous assortment of treats, carefully placing them in his pouch. His wandering leads him to a shop selling sandalwood oil, its rich aroma drawing his attention. Without hesitation, he purchases a few small bottles and adds them to his pouch.

Satisfied with his shopping, Wei Ying begins his journey back to the inn. As he approaches, he notices the shimmering glow of Laoling’s protective barriers being raised. His sharp eyes assess the magic at work, and he nods to himself, understanding that the strengthening of the barriers indicates significant progress in his plans. With a sense of accomplishment, he heads inside.
Once settled in his room, one of his ghost spies appears, her ethereal form materialising gracefully. “Laozu,” she greets him with a bow.

Wei Ying offers her a smile. “Welcome back. What news do you have for me?”

The spy bows again and begins her report. “Sect Leader Qin has discovered the truth about his daughter’s parentage. He is enraged. He has severed all trade with the Jin Sect and cut their monetary funding. However, he is aware that fully closing his borders might provoke a war. Instead, he is seeking new trade partners among other sects to procure silk, wine, and other goods not native to Laoling.”

Wei Ying’s eyes gleam with mischief as a small, cunning smile curves his lips. “Interesting. This is the perfect moment to introduce our fabrics and special robes to the wider cultivation world.”

The spy nods. “Indeed, Laozu. Sect Leader Qin, despite his fury, will not publicly reveal Jin Guangshan’s crimes. However, as a trusted ally of the Jin Sect, his choice to trade with us over them will significantly affect public opinion.”

Wei Ying’s smile widens. “Exactly. The Jin Sect relies heavily on their reputation and influence. If Qin’s defection to our products gains attention, it will plant seeds of doubt in the minds of others.”

The spy bows once more. “Understood, Laozu. Shall I relay any additional orders?”

“No, you’ve done excellent work. Take a few days off if you need to, and stay safe,” he replies warmly.

The spy vanishes, leaving Wei Ying alone in thought. With a sigh, he calls for his general, and together they teleport back to Yiling.

 

Upon arrival, Wei Ying makes his way to Chunwen’s office and summons his closest allies, including Wen Ning, Wen Qing, Chunwen, and Chun Hua. They gather around the table, their expressions attentive as Wei Ying begins.

"The Qin Sect has severed ties with the Jin Sect,” he announces. “They’re actively seeking new trade partners. This is our opportunity to introduce our fabrics and robes to the other sects. Chunwen, send samples of our finest fabrics and robes, tailored in the speciality colours of each sect, to their leaders.”

Chun Hua nods. “Understood, Laozu. I will prepare everything immediately.”

Wei Ying turns to her with a smile. “Speaking of which, how are your paintings coming along?”

“Laozu,” Chun Hua replies, her tone bright with enthusiasm, “Nie Er Gongzi's gossip has worked wonders. We’ve received numerous orders from the Jin Sect, and they don’t seem to care about the price at all.”

Wei Ying chuckles, his amusement clear. “Good for them. Let them empty their coffers as quickly as possible. It will only make them weaker.”

Chunwen, ever cautious, raises a concern. “Laozu, we’ve received the highest bid from the Jin Sect for the first set of spirit-luring flags and robes. How should we proceed?”

"Agree to them," Wei Ying says.

Wei Ying taps his fingers thoughtfully on the table. "What about the robes?'' Wei Ying murmurs.

Before he can respond, Chun Hua suggests, “How about we send them the exclusive cultivator robes with the same talismans but adorned with heavy embroidery?”

Wei Ying laughs. “Yes, that’s fitting. Only they would wear such extravagant robes. Even Wen Ruohan and his sons are more modest than those peacocks.”

The room fills with laughter before Wei Ying nods decisively. “It’s settled. Dispatch our marshals to deliver the samples to each sect. And Chunwen, if you’re up for it, you could personally visit Lanling to deliver the robes to the Jin Sect leader.” Wei Ying winks at Chunwen.

Chunwen grimaces at the suggestion. “No, thank you, Laozu. I’ve had enough of his antics during the feast at the Lan Sect.”

Wei Ying and Chun Hua share a laugh at his expense.

“Do you think the Jin Sect will wage war against the Qin Sect?” Wen Ning asks, his concern evident.

Wei Ying leans back, his expression contemplative. “It’s possible, but unlikely for now. An open war would draw attention, and Jin Guangshan wouldn’t want his dirty laundry aired in public. It would tarnish his reputation and attract the ire of other sects. That said, he might try to assert dominance by showcasing his wealth and independence. Qin Cangye, on the other hand, lacks the resources and manpower for direct conflict. His best option is to form alliances, but revealing his daughter’s parentage would harm her reputation. It’s a delicate balance.”

Wen Ning nods, absorbing the analysis. “Do you plan to help the Qin Sect?”

Wei Ying shakes his head. “No. While they are victims in this instance, Qin Cangye has supported Jin Guangshan’s crimes for years. Let them resolve this on their own. I won’t interfere further.”

With the discussion concluded, Wei Ying rises. “Come on, let’s eat. I’m starving.”

 

Dinner is a lively affair in the dining hall. The children rush to Wei Ying, their faces lighting up with excitement. He distributes the candies he bought earlier, laughing as they thank him enthusiastically.

“Wuxian, you’re spoiling them,” Wen Qing scolds lightly. “They’ll ruin their teeth with all the sweets you give them.”

Wei Ying grins mischievously. “How about I add some spicy nuts to balance it out?”

The children cheer, nodding eagerly. Wei Ying chuckles, ruffling their hair affectionately.

After dinner, as they prepare to part ways, Wei Ying turns to Chun Hua. “I’m heading to meet Nie Huaisang. Do you have any messages for him?”

Chun Hua smirks. “Tell him he owes me a great deal.”

Wei Ying laughs. “I’ll be sure to remind him.”

 

Teleporting to Gusu, Wei Ying sends a message to Nie Huaisang, instructing him to prepare for his arrival. He also sends a quick note to Lan Wangji, letting him know he’ll be late and advising him not to wait.

When Nie Huaisang opens the door, his face lights up with joy. Wei Ying tosses him a jar of Emperor Smile wine, which Nie Huaisang catches with practiced ease, grinning from ear to ear.
After activating silencing talismans, Wei Ying updates Nie Huaisang on the latest developments between the Jin and Qin sects. They share insights, discuss strategies, and laugh over Chun Hua’s cheeky remarks.

When their meeting concludes, Wei Ying teleports to Lan Wangji’s room, ready to end the day in the company of someone who always brings him peace

Chapter 18

Notes:

Hello, dear readers,

Welcome back!

First, I want to sincerely apologise for missing Friday’s update. I truly appreciate your patience and will do my best to stick to the promised update schedule moving forward.

A heartfelt thank you to everyone for your kudos and thoughtful comments on the previous chapter! For those concerned about Lan Zhan’s role in the story, rest assured that while he may not have equal screen time compared to Wei Ying, he is far from being a passive figure. As the story unfolds, Lan Zhan’s strength, determination, and contributions will shine, proving his worth in his own unique way.

Without further ado, here is the next chapter! As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts and theories in the comments. Please let me know what you think of this chapter!

Thank you for reading, and stay tuned for more!

*********************

Wei Ying teleports to Lan Wangji’s room, ready to end the day in the company of someone who always brings him peace.

Lan Zhan’s heart swells with warmth as he sees Wei Ying in grand black and gold robes, the rich fabric accentuating his natural charisma. He loves seeing Wei Ying in such elegant attire, a sight that never fails to captivate him. Wei Ying approaches him with a mischievous grin, holding out a small candy.

“Lan Zhan, my love, have this,” Wei Ying says playfully, pushing the candy into Lan Zhan’s mouth before he can respond. Lan Zhan’s lips curve into a rare smile at the affectionate gesture, the words “my love” resonating deeply with him. These small moments are more precious to him than anything else in the world.

“Why are you late?” Lan Zhan asks, his tone gentle but laced with curiosity.

Wei Ying chuckles, shrugging off his outer robe and removing his guan. “Ah, I had a dramatic day. I had to meet Nie Xiong,” he replies.

“Why?” Lan Zhan’s brow furrows slightly, his displeasure subtle but noticeable.

Wei Ying tilts his head, confused. “Why what?”

“Why did you meet Nie Huaisang?” Lan Zhan asks, his voice quieter but insistent.

“Oh, that! We had to discuss a few things. I owed him an Emperor’s Smile, and Chun Hua wanted me to pass along a message,” Wei Ying explains as he begins untying his ribbon.

“Chun Hua?” Lan Zhan echoes, his curiosity piqued.

“Yes, Chun Hua is Chunwen’s sister. She’s an incredible artist. Have you heard of the famous painter ‘Meiling’?” Wei Ying asks, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

Lan Zhan nods. “I heard you commissioned them to paint.”

Wei Ying grins. “Exactly! But here’s the twist—it’s actually Chun Hua and Nie Huaisang working under that pseudonym. It’s all part of our plan.” He winks, clearly enjoying the intrigue.

Lan Zhan absorbs the information quietly, deciding not to press further. He trusts Wei Ying and knows he’ll share more when the time is right.

“Lan Zhan, guess what I’ve got for you today?” Wei Ying asks, his voice teasing as he wiggles his eyebrows.

Lan Zhan raises an eyebrow. “Hmm?”

“What’s ‘hmm’? I asked you to guess!” Wei Ying pouts, mock offended.

“I don’t know,” Lan Zhan replies stoically.

“Boring!” Wei Ying huffs, pulling out two small boxes from his pouch. “Here, take these.”

Lan Zhan accepts the gifts, his fingers lingering on the boxes as a sense of warmth floods him. He opens the first one to reveal a stunning light blue jade hairpin, its design simple yet elegant, perfectly complementing his robes. His gaze softens at the thoughtful gift.

The second box contains several bottles of high-quality sandalwood oil, their fine craftsmanship evident. Lan Zhan looks up at Wei Ying, his eyes filled with gratitude, and pulls him into a hug.
“Wei Ying,” he murmurs, his voice full of emotion.

Wei Ying hugs him tightly, pressing a kiss to his hair. “Do you like them?” he asks softly.

“I love them,” Lan Zhan admits, pulling back slightly to look at him. “But I’ll run out of space to keep all these gifts,” he adds, recalling the many tokens Wei Ying has showered him with over the past few days.

Wei Ying laughs. “Then I’ll gift you a few more Qiankun pouches. Problem solved!” he teases.

Lan Zhan shakes his head, though his cheeks, ears, and neck are tinged pink. “Wei Ying, don’t spend unnecessarily,” he says, his tone half-chiding.

“Unnecessary? Courting gifts are necessary! I have money, Lan Zhan, and I’ll have even more soon. Why not spend it on you?” Wei Ying declares, his eyes glinting with sincerity.

Lan Zhan’s blush deepens, and he finds himself at a loss for words.

“Lan Zhan, have you seen the new robes we gifted the Gusu Lan Sect?” Wei Ying asks, changing the topic.

“No,” Lan Zhan replies, a hint of disappointment in his voice. “They said the robes were of fine quality and very useful, but Shufu didn’t show them to me.”

“Ayya, don’t be sad. I’ll get a few customised just for you, alright? What additions would you like in the robes?” Wei Ying asks, batting his eyelashes dramatically.

“You,” Lan Zhan replies, his tone serious.

Wei Ying bursts into laughter, nearly doubling over. “Lan Zhan, you’re hilarious!” he exclaims, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes.

“Lan Zhan, how about I take you out this week? Will you be able to come?” Wei Ying asks once he’s calmed down.

“Hmm, I’ll come,” Lan Zhan replies with a small nod.

“How about Caiyi Town’s market at night?” Wei Ying suggests.

“People will notice,” Lan Zhan points out.

“Ah, you’re right. What about Yiling?” Wei Ying asks hopefully.

Lan Zhan’s eyes brighten at the suggestion. He’s always wanted to see how Wei Ying has transformed Yiling. “Yes,” he says eagerly.

“Wait, everyone there knows me. That might be difficult…” Wei Ying trails off, deep in thought.
Lan Zhan’s excitement dims slightly, and Wei Ying immediately notices. “Don’t worry! I’ve got just the thing—a new talisman I’ve been working on, the Illusion Talisman. It’ll change how we look to others, so no one will recognise us. It only lasts an hour, though, since I haven’t perfected it yet,” he explains.

“That’s fine,” Lan Zhan says, his mood lifting.

“Here’s the plan: we’ll wander the market after dinner, and then we’ll stay in my room for the night. I’ll send you back to Gusu in the morning. How about it?” Wei Ying proposes, his voice brimming with excitement.

Lan Zhan nods immediately, his happiness evident.

“Aiya, look at you! So adorable, my little Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying coos, leaning in to pepper kisses all over Lan Zhan’s face.

Lan Zhan stops him with a firm hand and pulls Wei Ying into a deep kiss instead, leaving them both breathless.

Wei Ying giggles. “Lan Zhan, give me your sleeping robes,” he requests.

Lan Zhan moves to his closet without hesitation, handing over the robes with satisfaction. Wei Ying changes into them and returns, looking oddly at home in Lan Zhan’s clothes.

They lie down together on Lan Zhan’s bed, their bodies pressed close.

“Lan Zhan, are you happy?” Wei Ying asks, his expression unusually thoughtful.

“Hmm, very,” Lan Zhan replies. “Why?”

Wei Ying plays with a strand of Lan Zhan’s hair. “I’m just worried you’re not happy with me,” he admits softly.

“I’m always happy with Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, his tone firm and genuine.

Wei Ying smiles, his heart full. “Same here. I’m always happiest when I’m with you.” He hugs Lan Zhan tightly. “I never thought we could be this happy together. You’re the best,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to Lan Zhan’s shoulder.

“Wei Ying is the best,” Lan Zhan replies with utmost sincerity.

“Aiya! Warn me before you say things like that, or I’ll turn into a puddle!” Wei Ying teases, laughing.

Lan Zhan simply hums, pulling Wei Ying closer. After a moment, he asks, “Wei Ying, what are you planning?”

Wei Ying sighs, his playful demeanour replaced with seriousness. “I’ve discovered that the Jins are financing the Wens. I want to stop it,” he says, his voice resolute.

“I’ll explain everything to you soon, Lan Zhan, I promise. Can you give me a little more time, my love?” Wei Ying pleads, looking into Lan Zhan’s eyes.

“Hmm,” Lan Zhan replies, pressing a kiss to Wei Ying’s forehead.

Wei Ying tightens his embrace, feeling a profound sense of comfort in Lan Zhan’s presence. They drift off to sleep, hearts full and minds at peace, even with the challenges ahead.

 

.

The morning light filters through the window of the Jingshi, casting a soft glow over Lan Zhan as he wakes. His golden eyes immediately focus on Wei Ying, who is still fast asleep beside him. A rare sense of peace washes over Lan Zhan as he watches Wei Ying’s relaxed expression, the faint rise and fall of his chest. In their previous life, moments like this were stolen from them by the chaos of war and misunderstanding. Now, Lan Zhan silently vows to cherish every second they have together. He will do everything in his power to protect Wei Ying this time.

Leaning in, Lan Zhan presses a gentle kiss to Wei Ying’s forehead. He follows it with soft kisses on his cheeks, his chin, the curve of his ears, and finally his hair. Wei Ying stirs and begins to giggle, his laughter light and musical.

“Lan Zhan, stooooppp!” Wei Ying whines, his voice still thick with sleep.

Lan Zhan doesn’t stop. He kisses Wei Ying again, this time on the tip of his nose, eliciting more laughter.

“Okay, okay! I’ll wake up!” Wei Ying finally relents, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

Lan Zhan sits up as well, his gaze steady and affectionate. Wei Ying stretches lazily before turning to him with a warm smile.

“I won’t be able to visit you for the next few days,” Wei Ying says, his tone soft but tinged with regret. “Don’t worry, though. If anything comes up, send me a message, alright?” He leans in and kisses Lan Zhan on the lips, a gesture of reassurance.

Lan Zhan nods, understanding the demands on Wei Ying’s time and energy. As much as he wishes Wei Ying could visit, he knows the importance of the tasks awaiting him. He silently resolves to make the most of the time they do have together.

Wei Ying gathers his belongings, offers Lan Zhan one last smile, and activates his talisman to teleport. With a flash, he is gone.

Lan Zhan sits quietly for a moment, the room suddenly feeling emptier. Despite the brief separation, his heart remains warm. These past few days have been some of the best in his life, and he is determined to ensure their happiness continues. To stand beside Wei Ying, he must not only strengthen himself but also his sect. If the Wens decide to attack, the Gusu Lan Sect must be ready.

Rising from bed, Lan Zhan quickly freshens up and leaves the Jingshi to meet his brother for their morning meditation. His steps are purposeful, his resolve firm.

 

.

 

Later that morning, Lan Zhan returns to his room after meditation. He stands by the window, his gaze fixed on the serene landscape outside, but his mind is far from peaceful. The events of his past life weigh heavily on him, intertwining with the challenges of the present.

He thinks about the guest lectures he has been skipping for the past three days. Normally, attendance is mandatory, but Lan Zhan sees little point in them now. He already knows the material by heart, having lived it in his previous life. His time is too valuable to waste on repetitive lessons. Instead, he must focus on strengthening his core, refining his sword forms, and preparing for the battles he knows are looming.

His thoughts drift to his Shufu, Lan Qiren. In their past life, Lan Qiren’s dislike of Wei Ying had been evident, stemming from Wei Ying’s carefree and mischievous nature. But Lan Zhan suspects there is more to it—something rooted in who Wei Ying’s mother was. The prejudice seemed too deep to be based solely on Wei Ying’s personality. Lan Zhan decides he needs to confront his Shufu to understand the root of his disdain. If Lan Qiren’s attitude remains unchanged, Lan Zhan is prepared to have a serious conversation with him.

Another thought crosses his mind: his father. Should he seek him out? Lan Zhan immediately dismisses the idea. His father, Qingheng Jun, had abandoned his responsibilities to the sect and his family long ago. Lan Zhan has no interest in a man who showed no interest in them. The bitterness in his heart is something he no longer wishes to dwell on.

As Lan Zhan’s thoughts shift, a chilling realisation strikes him. During the attack on the Cloud Recesses in their past life, how did the Wens know the exact location of his father’s seclusion? Only the sect elders and close family members knew of that place, hidden deep within the sect’s boundaries. It could only mean one thing—someone betrayed them.

His brows furrow, the implications sinking in. Could it have been one of the elders? The disciples might have been forced to open the wards during the attack, but none of them knew where the sect leader was in seclusion. Who among the elders might have sold this information to the Wens? And why?

Lan Zhan feels a shiver run down his spine. If there was a traitor within their ranks, how long had they been colluding with the Wens? He recalls the thirty-three elders who had opposed him when he tried to protect Wei Ying in their past life. Those same elders had inflicted the punishment that left him bedridden and shattered. Were they motivated by personal vendettas, or was there something more sinister at play?

His mind drifts to fragmented memories—elders who left the sect or went into seclusion after Wei Ying’s death. At the time, Lan Zhan had been too grief-stricken to pay attention. But now, he wonders if their sudden departures were connected to their guilt or involvement with the Wens. The thought tightens his chest, and his head begins to ache with the implications.

A sharp knock on the door pulls Lan Zhan from his spiralling thoughts. Startled, he turns, the interruption breaking the heavy silence in the room.

"Enter," he calls, his voice calm but firm.

The door creaks open, and a disciple steps inside, bowing respectfully. "Lan Er Gongzi, your presence is requested by Acting Sect Leader Lan."

Lan Zhan nods, dismissing the disciple with a wave of his hand. He straightens his robes, his mind already shifting gears. The time for contemplation has passed. Action is needed, and Lan Zhan is ready to face whatever lies ahead.

 

.

 

Lan Zhan walks briskly towards the Hanshi, his steps light but purposeful. He knows exactly why he has been summoned and anticipates the conversation that awaits him. Lan Qiren will undoubtedly rebuke him for missing lectures, and Lan Zhan has already decided to stand his ground. He is resolute—there is no point in attending lectures that he has already mastered in his previous life. His time is better spent elsewhere, preparing for the challenges he knows are coming.

Arriving at the door to Hanshi, Lan Zhan raises his hand and knocks, his expression calm and composed.

“Enter,” comes Lan Qiren’s voice, stern and authoritative.

Lan Zhan steps inside and bows respectfully. “Shufu.”

Lan Qiren studies him for a moment, his sharp gaze searching for any hint of insubordination. After a pause, he clears his throat.

“Wangji, why have you been neglecting the guest lectures? Have I excused you from attending them?” His tone is cold, laced with disapproval.

Lan Zhan meets his gaze steadily. “Shufu, I do not intend to attend the remaining lectures. I have been reflecting on several matters.”

Lan Qiren’s brows knit together, his displeasure evident. “Reflecting? What nonsense is this? Your duty is to attend and learn. What could possibly warrant such neglect?”

“Shufu,” Lan Zhan says, his voice firm yet respectful, “I have already studied the remaining portions of the guest lectures over the past few days. If Shufu doubts this, I am willing to demonstrate my knowledge through a test.”

Lan Qiren’s eyes narrow. “Wangji!” he admonishes, his voice rising slightly. “This arrogance is unbecoming. Do you presume to know better than your teachers?”

“Shufu,” Lan Zhan continues, undeterred, “with the looming threat posed by the Wens, I believe my time is better spent strengthening my core and improving my cultivation. I wish to place myself in a better position to protect our sect, should the need arise. I hope Shufu will understand and grant me permission to prioritise these matters.”

Lan Qiren’s expression darkens. “Wangji, how can you speak so openly about such things? Do you not understand the consequences of careless words? The Wen Clan commands power far beyond our reach!”

Lan Zhan suppresses a sigh, the weight of his Shufu’s stubbornness testing his patience. Still, he presses on. “Shufu, there is no harm in preparing ourselves. The Wens have shown no regard for the boundaries of other sects. Their actions have already proven their audacity. They forced a massive waterborne abyss toward Caiyi Town without warning. What assurance do we have that they will not one day launch a direct attack on us?”

Lan Qiren frowns deeply but does not interrupt.

“As a sect, we pride ourselves on our neutrality and our rules forbidding interference in the affairs of others,” Lan Zhan continues, “but that also leaves us blind. We know nothing of the Wens’ strength or numbers, while they are undoubtedly aware of our weaknesses. How can we hope to defend ourselves if we are unprepared?”

Lan Zhan’s frustration bubbles beneath his calm exterior. He detests speaking at length with his Shufu, especially when the bitterness of the past—Lan Qiren’s treatment of Wei Ying—lingers in his heart. But this is necessary. To confront the potential dangers facing the sect, Lan Qiren’s support is crucial.

Lan Qiren exhales sharply, his frown deepening. “What exactly do you propose, Wangji?”

“Shufu,” Lan Zhan begins, “I wish to refine my sword forms and strengthen my cultivation and my core. Additionally, I request permission to study the barriers and the layout of the Cloud Recesses. If the barriers are insufficient, they must be strengthened.”

Lan Qiren strokes his beard, his scepticism apparent. “Wangji, we have experienced elders who handle the barriers and arrays. What could you possibly add to their expertise?”

“Shufu,” Lan Zhan replies, his tone unwavering, “I must remind you that the same wards were deemed ineffective by Yiling Laozu. He breached them effortlessly, rendering them useless. If someone with no ill intentions could do so, what hope do we have of withstanding an attack from the Wens or any other sect? We cannot afford to be complacent.”

He bows deeply. “I ask Shufu to consider my request not as defiance but as concern for the safety of our sect.”

Lan Qiren lets out a long sigh, clearly torn. “Very well,” he says after a pause, “but your permission is conditional. If you wish to divert your efforts, you must first prove that you have mastered the remaining lecture material. I will prepare a test to assess your knowledge. Only if your performance is satisfactory will your requests be granted.”

Lan Zhan inclines his head. “I understand, Shufu.”

“You will go to the library after lunch,” Lan Qiren continues, his tone brisk. “There, you will complete the test under supervision. I will evaluate your answers and summon you for another meeting afterward. Do not fail.”

Lan Qiren gestures toward the door, signalling that the discussion is over. “You may leave.”

“I will do as you instruct, Shufu.” Lan Zhan bows again and exits the room, his resolve unshaken.

As he walks back toward the Jingshi, Lan Zhan allows himself a moment of quiet satisfaction. This is only the first step, but it is a necessary one. If he can gain Lan Qiren’s approval, he will be one step closer to fortifying the sect—and uncovering the traitor among them.

.
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Wei Ying wakes up in his room in Yiling, the morning light filtering through the windows. Stretching lazily, he lets out a content sigh before heading to bathe. After a quick wash, he dresses in his usual elegant yet understated robes and makes his way to the dining area for breakfast. The scent of freshly steamed buns and tea wafts through the air, and he enjoys the simple meal in peaceful solitude.

Once finished, he heads to Chunwen’s office, where his trusted deputy awaits with the morning updates. Chunwen greets him with a respectful bow before diving into the matters at hand.

“Laozu, I have sent the marshals to deliver the robes to all the sects as instructed. Additionally, I’ve sent some robes and the Spirit Attraction Flag to the Jin Sect for trial.”

Wei Ying nods approvingly. “Good. Let’s see how they respond.”

Chunwen hesitates briefly before continuing, his tone slightly more cautious. “Laozu, the spy from Lanling, reports that the Jin Sect is planning to put on a grand show. They intend to claim they were the first to acquire your Spirit Attraction Flag. To further their narrative, they are organising a hunt and inviting all the sects to participate.”

Wei Ying’s lips curl into a sneer. “What a bunch of show-offs. Typical Jins.” Then, as an idea strikes, a sly smile spreads across his face. “Well, if they want to flaunt their wealth and connections, let’s take full advantage of their vanity. It’s the perfect opportunity to empty their treasures.”

Chunwen can’t help but chuckle at Wei Ying’s sharp wit before shifting the topic. “Laozu, we need to construct guest quarters for potential visitors.”

Wei Ying nods. “Yes, get it done. Ensure the quarters are comfortable but located away from the inner mounds. Ward them thoroughly.”

“As you wish,” Chunwen replies. “The harvest is also looking excellent this season. The fields will be ready for harvesting by the end of the week.”

“Good,” Wei Ying says, pleased. “Make sure the workers are well compensated. Their efforts are crucial.”

Chunwen then picks up two sealed letters and hands them to Wei Ying. “Laozu, we’ve received correspondence from Yunmeng.”

Wei Ying raises an eyebrow. “Yunmeng? We haven’t even sent them our robes yet. What do they want?”

“They’re requesting we reopen trade routes and agree to peaceful coexistence,” Chunwen explains.

Wei Ying lets out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Peaceful coexistence? Where was that sentiment when they chose to attack Yiling?”

“There’s more,” Chunwen adds hesitantly. “The Jiang Sect leader has personally requested to meet you.”

Wei Ying almost chokes. “What does Jiang sect leader want now?”

“They haven’t disclosed the reason, only that the request is urgent. Several other sects have also written, requesting to meet you in person,” Chunwen reports.

Wei Ying sighs deeply, leaning back in his chair. “If the Jins hold their hunt and we are invited, we’ll attend. That should cover meeting most of them.”

“Understood, Laozu. I’ll prepare the necessary replies,” Chunwen says, bowing slightly.

Wei Ying hums in agreement before excusing himself. He walks to his workshop, eager to immerse himself in his work. The familiar scent of ink, parchment, and talismanic materials fills the space, and Wei Ying begins sketching new designs for his inventions. As always, his mind buzzes with ideas, his hands deftly bringing them to life. Whatever the sects may want from him, Wei Ying is determined to stay several steps ahead, both in strategy and innovation.

Chapter 19

Notes:

Hello dear readers,

Welcome back!

I am excited to present this chapter to you, though it's a bit shorter than usual as I've had a busy day. I hope you still enjoy it! A big thank you to everyone who commented and left kudos on the previous chapter—I truly appreciate your support <3

As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts and theories in the comments. Please let me know what you think of this chapter!

Thank you for reading, and stay tuned for more!

 

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Lan Zhan walks out of the library after completing the test. The questions had been straightforward, as he vividly remembers the material from his past life. Confident in his performance, he no longer worries about the test and calmly makes his way back to his room.

Once inside, he settles into a meditative posture, focusing on strengthening his core. His breathing slows as he immerses himself in cultivation, the hours slipping by unnoticed.

A sharp knock on the door breaks his concentration. Lan Zhan opens his eyes, rising gracefully to answer it. A junior disciple stands at the door, bowing respectfully.

“Lan Er Gongzi, the acting sect leader, has summoned you to Hanshi,” the disciple informs him.

Lan Zhan nods without a word and strides towards Hanshi, his face impassive.

Upon arrival, he knocks on the door and steps inside when prompted. Lan Qiren sits behind his desk, Lan Zhan’s test papers spread before him. His stern expression betrays no emotion, but the way he strokes his beard suggests he has been deliberating for some time.

“Sit,” Lan Qiren orders, gesturing to the seat across from him.

“Shufu,” Lan Zhan greets, bowing respectfully before sitting down.

Lan Qiren fixes him with a penetrating gaze. “I have reviewed your test,” he begins, his tone neutral. “The results are... satisfactory.”

Lan Zhan inclines his head slightly in acknowledgement, awaiting further comment.

Lan Qiren’s eyes narrow. “Are you certain you wish to skip the guest lectures?”
“Yes, Shufu,” Lan Zhan replies evenly.

“Skipping the lectures—how do you intend to train?” Lan Qiren asks sharply. “Do you plan to go against the rules and curriculum established by the sect? Against the wisdom of the elders?”

Lan Zhan meets his uncle’s gaze calmly. “Shufu, my intent is not to defy the sect or the elders. I simply wish to dedicate myself to training so that I may be prepared for whatever challenges the future may hold.”

Lan Qiren’s expression hardens. “And do you think the rules and curriculum of our sect hinder you? Do you believe you know better than generations of elders?”

Lan Zhan exhales softly, his patience tested. “Shufu, I do not mean to offend the rules or traditions of our sect. By studying diligently and passing the test, I have shown my respect for what the sect deems important. My desire to grow stronger stems from my commitment to protecting our sect and preserving its legacy. I hope Shufu understands my reasoning.”

Lan Qiren’s eyes narrow further. “And do you expect me to assign an elder to provide you with advanced training simply because you passed a test and believe danger looms? Do you forget the rules prohibiting preferential treatment?”

Lan Zhan shakes his head slightly, his voice steady. “Shufu, I do not ask for preferential treatment, nor do I seek an elder’s guidance. I will train myself. All I request is to be excused from the guest lectures so I can focus on this endeavour.”

“Wangji!” Lan Qiren snaps, his tone a warning. “How do you intend to train yourself when you have not learnt the advanced lessons?”

Lan Zhan hesitates briefly before replying, “I have observed Xiongzhong’s training sessions. I will practice on my own for the next three days. After that, Shufu may test my swordsmanship and Guqin skills. If I meet your standards, I will ask for a reward. If I fail, I will abide by the current schedule without protest.” He bows deeply, his request earnest.

Lan Qiren’s fist slams down on the table, the sharp sound reverberating through the room. His face twists in frustration as he glares at his nephew.

“Wangji, I do not know what has come over you,” he says through gritted teeth. “But very well. Three days from now, I will personally test your sword forms and Guqin skills. Remember your promise. If you fail, there will be no further arguments.”

“Yes, Shufu. I will not forget,” Lan Zhan replies, rising to his feet and bowing again.

“Go,” Lan Qiren huffs, dismissing him with a wave of his hand.

Lan Zhan straightens and leaves the room, his steps measured as he returns to his quarters. Once there, he closes the door and takes a moment to collect himself. The conversation had been challenging, but it was a necessary step in his journey.

He cannot allow himself to be complacent. His memories of the past have given him a second chance, and he is determined to make the most of it. If he must prove himself again and again to ensure his path aligns with his goals, then so be it.

With a renewed sense of purpose, Lan Zhan begins planning his next three days of rigorous training.

 

.

 

The serene hum of Lan Zhan’s guqin, Wangji, echoes through the secluded forests of Gusu, weaving through the tall trees and blending with the rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze. The melody, both haunting and tranquil, lingers in the air as his disciplined fingers dance across the strings. Hours pass as Lan Zhan immerses himself in practice, his posture unwavering and his focus intense.

As the sun begins to set, casting the sky in hues of orange and crimson, Lan Zhan halts his playing. His hands rest lightly on the strings as he gazes at the horizon, lost in thought. The soft glow of the setting sun reflects in his golden eyes, a contrast to the quiet determination etched into his expression.

The breeze carries the scent of the forest, cool and calming, yet his mind remains restless. With only two days left to prepare and prove his worth, he ponders his Shufu’s promise. Though Lan Zhan carries an innate confidence in his abilities, doubt lingers at the edges of his resolve. Can he truly ensure the safety of the sect?

But Lan Zhan knows one truth—he cannot remain idle, allowing fate to dictate the course of events. He has chosen his path: to work tirelessly, to strengthen himself, and to stand alongside Wei Ying for a future they both deserve.

Rising silently, Lan Zhan picks up his guqin, the instrument a symbol of his resolve. The forest grows darker as he walks back to his quarters, his steps deliberate, his heart steadfast. The quiet of the night surrounds him, but his determination shines as brightly as the moon overhead.

 

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Lan Zhan finishes his morning meditation, his mind calm and focused. With Bichen sheathed at his side, he makes his way toward the quiet forests of Gusu. The narrow, inclined paths wind through dense trees, the morning mist still clinging to the air. He walks with purpose, his keen eyes scanning for a suitable spot to train. After some time, he halts, his gaze sweeping over a clearing bathed in soft sunlight. The serenity of the place satisfies him, and he unsheathes Bichen in one fluid motion.

The sharp, clear sound of Bichen slicing through the air fills the forest as Lan Zhan begins to practice his sword forms. His movements are precise, his speed steady and controlled. Each stroke and thrust is deliberate, his body in perfect harmony with the weapon. Were there an enemy before him, the force of his strikes would be unstoppable.

One form flows seamlessly into the next as he works through the sequence, his body remembering every movement as if it were instinct. A faint smile graces his lips, rare but genuine, as satisfaction fills him. The sword forms he mastered in his previous timeline come back to him effortlessly, a testament to his unwavering discipline and determination.

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Wei Ying steps into Chunwen's office after finishing breakfast, his curiosity piqued by the unusually tense atmosphere. Seated across a table, Chunwen, Wen Qing, Wen Ning, and Chun Hua exchange grave looks, their expressions uncharacteristically serious. Wei Ying raises an eyebrow.

“What’s with all of you? Did someone steal breakfast or something?” he jokes, stepping fully inside.

Chunwen stands and bows deeply. “Laozu,” he greets solemnly.

“Alright, spill. What’s going on?” Wei Ying presses, his light-hearted tone replaced with genuine concern.

“We received someone from Qishan today,” Chunwen begins, his words causing Wei Ying’s eyes to widen.

“A visitor from Qishan? Who?” Wei Ying asks, his voice sharper now.

“He claims to be representing Wen Zongzhu,” Chunwen explains. “He is temporarily staying at the inn on the eastern edge of Yiling. He’s requested an audience with you.”

Wei Ying narrows his eyes. “Has he seen anyone from the Dafan Wens sect?”

“No, Laozu,” Chunwen confirms. “We ensured he has no contact with them.”

Wei Ying hums in thought. “Good. Send someone to escort him to the receiving hall. I’ll meet him there.”

“Yes, Laozu.” Chunwen nods and leaves the room swiftly to carry out the task.

Turning to Wen Qing, Wei Ying asks, “Qing Jie, do you know who this person is?”

Wen Qing nods, her expression grim. “He’s one of the Wen sect elders. A sly and cunning man. You need to be careful.”

Wei Ying taps his nose thoughtfully. “Understood.”

The group discusses the matter for a few minutes before Chunwen returns, his steps hurried.

“Laozu, he has arrived and is waiting in the receiving hall,” Chunwen announces.

Wei Ying rises from his chair, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeves. “Alright, let’s not keep him waiting.” He strides toward the door before pausing to glance back at Wen Qing.

“You all stay here. No need to get involved in this,” Wei Ying says firmly.

Wen Qing and Wen Ning nod, though concern lingers in their eyes as they watch him leave.

 

.

 

The receiving hall of Yiling radiates understated elegance, its tranquillity momentarily disturbed by the sharp gaze of a middle-aged man sitting at a polished wooden table. He surveys the surroundings with a mix of interest and calculation, his posture exuding the confidence of someone accustomed to power.

Moments later, the sound of footsteps draws his attention. Chunwen enters the hall, followed by Wei Ying, whose commanding presence immediately shifts the room's energy. The man rises to his feet, his eyes locking onto Wei Ying as he bows respectfully.

“Immortal Laozu, it is an honour to meet you. I am Wen Hai from the Qishan Wen Sect,” he says with an air of deference.

Wei Ying nods slightly in acknowledgement, his gaze cool but assessing. The man before him, likely in his early thirties, radiates an aura of disciplined strength—a testament to his solid cultivation. His black hair, tied back in a half-ponytail, is adorned with an ornate golden guan, a marker of his high status. His layered robes of vibrant red and grey, accented with flames embroidered on the sleeves, further signify his elevated rank within the Wen Sect. A long sword hangs at his right side, the subtle curve of its scabbard hinting at frequent use.

Wei Ying offers a polite smile and gestures for Wen Hai to retake his seat. The soft shuffle of servants entering the room momentarily breaks the silence as they set down a tray of tea and delicately prepared snacks. Chunwen pours the tea for both men, his movements precise and respectful.

Wei Ying lifts his teacup, nodding slightly toward Wen Hai in invitation. “Please, Wen Gongzi, enjoy the tea.”

“Thank you, Laozu,” Wen Hai responds, picking up his cup with practiced poise. They sip in silence, the faint aroma of the tea wafting between them.

After a few moments, Wei Ying sets his cup down and clears his throat lightly. His sharp eyes meet Wen Hai’s with a calm, unreadable expression.

“Now, Wen Gongzi,” Wei Ying begins, his voice smooth and steady, “please tell me the purpose of your visit.”

Wen Hai places his cup down and bows slightly. “Wen Zongzhu, our esteemed leader, has sent me to extend an invitation to you. He deeply admires your unparalleled knowledge and contributions to the cultivation world. He wishes to meet you in Qishan and hopes you will bless our sect with your wisdom. It would be an honour if you could accompany me back to Qishan to meet him in person.”

Wei Ying maintains his polite smile, but inwardly he is both amused and wary. His keen instincts tell him there is more to this invitation than Wen Hai is revealing. Still, he studies the man without betraying his thoughts, noting the calculated humility in his tone and demeanour.

“When do you plan to return to Qishan, Wen Gongzi?” Wei Ying asks casually, swirling his tea.

Wen Hai responds smoothly, “If Laozu is willing to accompany this humble servant, then I am ready to depart at your convenience.”

Wei Ying sets his cup down and leans back slightly, his smile deepening. “Very well. Let us leave after lunch, if that suits you.”

A genuine smile spreads across Wen Hai’s face. “That would be perfect, Laozu. Thank you.”

Wei Ying nods, standing gracefully. “Excellent. I will take my leave for now. Chunwen, please ensure our guest is well attended to until we depart.”

Chunwen bows. “Yes, Laozu.”

With that, Wei Ying exits the hall, his steps measured and deliberate. Behind him, Wen Hai watches, the subtle gleam in his sharp eyes hinting at a satisfaction that Wei Ying doesn’t miss. As Wei Ying walks away, his mind begins to piece together the possible motives behind this sudden invitation, already preparing for the challenges that lie ahead in Qishan.

 

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Wei Ying strides into the receiving hall promptly after lunch, his presence commanding immediate attention. Several Qiankun pouches hang neatly from his belt alongside his sword and flute, their arrangement both practical and elegant. He is dressed in dark grey robes of the finest silk, their intricate embroidery catching the soft light. His hair is tied in a high ponytail, secured with his signature red ribbon and an exquisite gold guan, giving him an air of youthful nobility. The high ponytail accentuates his sharp features, while a few loose bangs frame his face, softening his striking appearance.

He greets Wen Hai with a warm smile. “Shall we travel on sword, Wen Gongzi? That is, if you’re not too tired.”

Wen Hai bows slightly, returning the smile. “I’m more than happy to, Laozu.”

Wei Ying turns to Chunwen, his tone lighter. “Chunwen, I leave Yiling in your capable hands. Look after everything well while I’m gone.”

Chunwen bows respectfully. “Yes, Laozu. Safe travels.”

With that, Wei Ying and Wen Hai leave the hall and head to an open clearing, a safe spot to take to the skies. They step onto their swords, rising swiftly into the air, heading towards Qishan. Chunwen watches their silhouettes fade into the distance, his expression clouded with worry.

He sighs heavily, turning back towards his office where Chun Hua and the Wen siblings are waiting.

“Have they left?” Wen Qing asks as soon as Chunwen steps inside.

“Yes,” Chunwen replies, collapsing into his chair with another sigh.

Wen Qing’s brows furrow with concern. “I just hope he comes back safely.”

Wen Ning, ever the optimist, speaks with quiet conviction. “Wei-ge will definitely return safe and soon.”

“I hope so,” Wen Qing murmurs, her worry evident as she looks out the window, her mind filled with uneasy thoughts.

 

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As soon as the curfew begins, Lan Zhan slips quietly out of his room. The darkness blanketing the corridors of the Lan Sect is no hindrance to him; after walking these paths for two lifetimes, his feet know the way instinctively. His pace is measured and deliberate, each step designed to avoid detection. Soon, he stands before the grand entrance to the Lan Sect's library pavilion.

Lan Zhan glances over his shoulder once, ensuring no one is watching, before carefully unlocking the door with the skill of someone who has done this before. The lock clicks softly, and he pushes the door open just enough to slide inside without making a sound. Once inside, he walks straight to the forbidden section.

At the entrance to the forbidden section, he retrieves a talisman from his sleeve. It is an unlocking talisman he remembers having from his past life, a talisman he now finds strangely easy to replicate. Activating it, he presses the talisman against the door, and with a quiet crack, the lock yields. Slipping the talisman back into his sleeve, Lan Zhan steps inside and closes the door behind him, enveloping himself in an eerie silence.

The forbidden section is vast, its shelves crammed with ancient scrolls and texts. Guided by a sense of muscle memory, Lan Zhan moves to a particular shelf and pulls out a book. He opens it, the sound of pages rustling breaking the oppressive quiet.

His eyes widen, and a deep blush creeps up his neck, staining his ears and cheeks as he realises what he’s holding. The book is filled with cut-sleeve imagery—illustrations so vivid they seem almost alive. He shakes his head furiously, slamming the book shut and shoving it back into place as if its mere presence awakens the beast inside him. Taking a few deep breaths, he steels himself and reminds himself of the true purpose of his visit.

Lan Zhan continues his search, eventually finding a section on arrays and talismans. He selects a scroll, carefully unrolling it and scanning its contents. However, as he studies the intricate diagrams and explanations, a frown settles on his face. Despite his cultivation and intelligence, the nuances of talismans and arrays remain elusive to him. Realising that mastering this art would require far more time and expertise than he currently possesses, he places the scroll back in its place.

Lan Zhan pauses, thinking deeply. He knows that in the field of talismans and arrays, Wei Ying far surpasses him and most of the cultivators alive. With Wei Ying by his side, he feels no urgent need to master these skills himself. Instead, his focus shifts to something he can hone independently—music. Forbidden music.

His thoughts turn resolute. His past adherence to rules and principles only led to regret and loss. Now, he resolves to follow his own conscience, regardless of the cost. If breaking the rules is what it takes to protect his sect and Wei Ying, so be it. His determination hardens as he decides to learn musical techniques that could seal enemies’ cores or create turmoil in battle.

Lan Zhan steps toward the section housing forbidden music scrolls. He selects one, its aged parchment exuding an aura of power and secrecy. Carrying it to a small table in the corner of the section, he lights a lamp, its soft glow illuminating the text.

Sitting down, Lan Zhan carefully studies the scroll, absorbing its intricate notations and descriptions. Each line of musical theory is a weapon, each melody a means to defend the people he loves. He knows the path he’s choosing may lead to judgement and criticism, but he no longer cares.

For the first time in his life, Lan Zhan allows himself the freedom to act outside the constraints of his sect’s rigid rules. His goal is clear: to ensure the safety of his sect, to protect Wei Ying, and to live without regret. As the night deepens, the faint sound of the lamp’s flickering flame becomes his only companion. Lan Zhan immerses himself in the forbidden scroll, his resolve unshaken and his path set

Chapter 20

Notes:

Hello, dear readers,

Welcome back!

Since I couldn’t proofread the chapter yesterday, I decided to update it today instead. Thank you to everyone who left comments and kudos on the previous chapter <3

Without further ado, here is the next chapter! As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts and theories in the comments. Please let me know what you think of this chapter!

Thank you for reading, and stay tuned for more!

*********************

Wen Hai and Wei Ying soar through the skies, their swords cutting through clouds as they make their way towards Qishan. Wei Ying, clad in his dark grey robes and signature red ribbon, occasionally steals glances at Wen Hai. The man is polite and composed, but Wei Ying senses an undercurrent of calculation in his demeanour. Every now and then, Wei Ying exchanges a few pleasantries with Wen Hai to keep the mood light, though his thoughts remain focused on the Wens and their true purpose in summoning him.

As night falls, the two decide to rest at an inn and continue their journey in the morning. Descending gracefully from their swords, they make their way into a modest but well-maintained establishment. The innkeeper, visibly thrilled to have such distinguished cultivators as his guests, scurries to ensure their comfort.

They sit for a light dinner, the conversation staying polite but superficial. Wei Ying observes Wen Hai carefully, noting how the man seems skilled at deflecting direct questions about the Wen sect’s intentions. Once their meal concludes, Wei Ying and Wen Hai arrange for two large rooms. With a courteous "goodnight," Wei Ying retires to his quarters.

Inside his room, Wei Ying removes his ornate golden guan and heavy outer robes, letting out a soft sigh as he plops onto the bed. The mattress feels heavenly after hours of travel, and he stares at the wooden ceiling, his mind racing. Why did the Wens invite me? The question loops endlessly in his head. While their intentions remain unclear, he knows better than to trust them blindly. He contemplates sending a message to Lan Zhan but ultimately decides against it. Lan Zhan would only worry and likely lose sleep over his visit to Qishan.

A knock at the door interrupts his musings. Wei Ying rises swiftly, opening the door to find servants delivering the hot water he had requested. He thanks them with a smile before shutting the door again. Stripping down, he sinks into the steaming tub, the warmth easing the tension from his muscles.

As he relaxes, memories of Qishan flood his mind: the bloodstained fields, the cries of the dying, and the suffocating stench of death. He closes his eyes and forces himself to push the images away. That was then, and this is now. After bathing, Wei Ying dons his sleeping robes, places a few locking talismans on the door for added security, and drifts off to sleep.

 

The next morning, Wei Ying feels refreshed and ready to continue. Wen Hai is waiting for him in the main hall of the inn, appearing as composed as ever. After a quick breakfast, the two set off again. Their strong cultivation and cores make the journey swift, the physical strain negligible.

As they approach Qishan, Wei Ying surveys the bustling activity around the Nightless City. The streets are alive with the chatter of merchants, the laughter of children, and the hum of cultivators passing through. The stark contrast between the city now and the harrowing memories of his past life is almost overwhelming. Once a site of unspeakable horrors, the Nightless City now thrives as a hub of commerce and culture. Wei Ying shakes his head, dispelling the lingering shadows of the past.

Wen Hai leads Wei Ying towards the towering gates that separate the vibrant city from the Wen Sect's grounds. Wei Ying adjusts the veil of his hat, lowering it slightly as they approach. The gates themselves are an impressive sight—carved with intricate sun motifs that gleam in the sunlight, a bold proclamation of the Wen Clan’s dominance. Guards stationed at the entrance eye Wei Ying warily before recognising Wen Hai. At Wen Hai’s command, they open the gates, and one runs ahead to announce their arrival.

The walk from the gates to the Sun and Flame Palace is long and arduous, even for a cultivator. Wei Ying notes the strategic layout of the Wen Sect's grounds—each path designed to intimidate and disorient intruders. They climb steadily, the incline steepening as they near the palace.

Finally, the grand towers of the Sun and Flame Palace come into view. Perched atop the highest mountain, the palace is an architectural marvel, its spires seeming to pierce the sky. A live volcano bubbles in the distance, its ominous glow casting an eerie light over the smaller mountains surrounding the peak. The juxtaposition of beauty and danger is breathtaking, a fitting representation of the Wen Clan’s power.

The palace itself is adorned with massive sun emblems, their golden surfaces reflecting the fiery hues of the surrounding landscape. The air is thick with the aura of dominance, every element of the scene engineered to inspire awe and fear.

“Welcome to the Sun and Flame Palace, Laozu,” Wen Hai says, his voice carrying a hint of pride. “It has been an honour to travel alongside someone of your stature.”

Wei Ying offers a polite smile. “Thank you, Wen Gongzi. The honour is mine.”

Wen Hai gestures for Wei Ying to follow as they approach the main entrance. Guards stationed outside the palace bow deeply to them before rushing to inform the sect elders of their arrival. Wen Hai exchanges a few words with the guards, who nod and step aside to allow them entry.

Walking into the palace, Wei Ying is struck by its sheer opulence. The halls are vast, lined with red and gold banners bearing the Wen Clan's emblem. Statues of past Wen leaders stand proudly along the walls, their expressions stern and imposing. The floor is a dark polished stone that gleams like a mirror, reflecting the grandeur of the palace’s interior.

Wei Ying walks beside Wen Hai, his steps steady, his expression neutral. Though outwardly calm, he remains alert, his keen eyes taking in every detail. The Wen Sect’s hospitality feels more like a carefully curated performance, and Wei Ying has no intention of letting his guard down.

After what feels like an eternity of walking, they finally arrive at the great hall. The double doors, carved with intricate sun patterns, are pushed open by attendants. Inside, the room is grander than anything Wei Ying has seen so far. A long table dominates the centre, flanked by high-backed chairs. At the far end of the room sits a raised platform with an ornate throne. The air is heavy with the scent of incense, adding to the hall’s oppressive atmosphere.

Wei Ying takes a deep breath and walks inside, his expression serene. However, his mind is a whirl of calculations. He knows that this meeting is far from a simple gesture of goodwill. Whatever the Wen Sect has planned, he will face it with the same resolve that has carried him through countless challenges before.

 

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Wen Ruohan, accompanied by his two sons and a group of his most trusted cultivators, emerges from a side entrance of the great hall to greet Wei Ying. They are all impeccably dressed in the Wen Sect’s signature crimson and grey robes, adorned with intricate embroidery symbolising their power and wealth. Their hairpieces are ornate, and richly designed belts hold their swords, which swing slightly with each step they take.

Wen Ruohan stands at the forefront, his presence commanding the room. His hair is tied in a high ponytail, giving him an air of refinement. Despite having surpassed the age of forty, there are no visible signs of ageing on his face. His extraordinary cultivation and powerful core have preserved him remarkably well, making him appear even younger than his second son, Wen Chao. With his cold demeanour, Wen Ruohan exudes an aura of superiority and arrogance. There isn’t the slightest hint of warmth in his expression, nor the faintest trace of a smile.

Behind him, Wen Chao stands with a sullen and reluctant expression, his face scrunched in a way that makes him look petulant and ungracious. He glances at Wei Ying with barely concealed disdain. Wen Xu, in contrast, maintains a stoic, emotionless face, standing silently behind his father like a statue.

As Wei Ying observes them, his hands clench into fists beneath the long, flowing sleeves of his robes. The sight of Wen Chao and his family stirs a torrent of memories from his past life—painful recollections of betrayal, suffering, and the Wen Clan’s atrocities. A heavy wave of anger and hatred washes over him, momentarily threatening to consume his composure. However, Wei Ying takes a deep breath, shakes off the intrusive memories, and exhales quietly. This is a new life, he reminds himself. The circumstances are different, and I am no longer the same person.

“We are honoured to receive you, Laozu,” Wen Ruohan says finally, his tone clipped and formal. He bows his head slightly, though the gesture is laced with reluctance.

Wei Ying allows himself an inward smile before removing his veiled hat. As his youthful face is revealed, a small gasp ripples through the cultivators standing behind Wen Ruohan. Even Wen Chao’s arrogant scowl falters for a moment, replaced by wide-eyed shock. Wen Xu and Wen Ruohan, however, remain composed, their expressions betraying no emotion.

“It is my honour to be invited by the Wen Zongzhu,” Wei Ying replies smoothly, his voice polite but firm, the faintest trace of a smile playing on his lips.

“We hope your journey was uneventful,” a senior Wen cultivator interjects, stepping forward with a deferential bow. “The Wen Sect has arranged accommodations for your stay. You may rest before lunch. Wen Zongzhu would like to personally host you for a meal with his family.”

Wei Ying nods graciously. “Thank you. I look forward to it.”

The senior cultivator gestures towards the guest quarters, and Wei Ying turns to follow him. “I will see you all again at lunch,” Wei Ying says over his shoulder, his tone light but polite, before walking away.

As he moves through the grand halls of the Sun and Flame Palace, Wei Ying takes in his surroundings with quiet contemplation. Though he maintains his calm façade, he can feel the weight of the Wen Sect’s power and influence pressing down on him. The architecture is imposing, designed to inspire both awe and fear, and every corner of the palace radiates opulence.

Wei Ying lets out a soft sigh as he approaches the guest quarters, steeling himself for the challenges ahead. I am not here to stir the past, he reminds himself. But I must not let my guard down. These people are as dangerous as they are powerful.

 

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As soon as Wei Ying walks a fair distance from the great hall, Wen Ruohan turns back, his crimson robes sweeping the floor, and ascends to the grand podium where a massive, intricately carved throne awaits him. He lowers himself onto the seat, his posture regal and commanding, before gesturing for the other cultivators in the hall to take their places. The air is thick with expectation as his inner circle quietly settles around him.

Wen Hai steps forward and bows deeply to Wen Ruohan.

“Proceed,” Wen Ruohan says, his voice cold and authoritative.

“All the reports we received are indeed accurate, Zongzhu,” Wen Hai begins, his tone measured and respectful. “Yiling is thriving. Large structures have been erected in the burial mounds, and there is no trace of resentment or malevolent energy in the area. The people there appear well-fed, content, and prosperous. Their agricultural yield is exceptional, and all produce is directly purchased and managed by Laozu and his subordinates. If we intend to acquire supplies from Yiling, we will need to negotiate with Laozu and his men exclusively.”

Wen Ruohan’s sharp eyes narrow slightly as he absorbs the information. “Hmm,” he murmurs, leaning back into the throne. “Have you met any of his subordinates?”

“Yes, Zongzhu,” Wen Hai replies, inclining his head. “I met his deputy. He seems loyal and capable, fully dedicated to the immortal.”

“So, this so-called immortal might actually prove useful to us,” Wen Ruohan remarks, a sly smirk curving his lips. His words are laced with intrigue, his calculating mind already working to determine how best to exploit Wei Ying’s resources and influence.

After a moment of silence, he claps his hands lightly. “Arrange a feast for lunch,” he orders one of the attendants.

His gaze then shifts to Wen Chao, whose sulking figure exudes reluctance and disdain. Wen Ruohan’s expression hardens into one of barely concealed distaste before turning to Wen Xu, his elder son.

“Xu-er,” he commands, his voice firm, “observe this Laozu carefully. Watch his every move and report back to me.”

“Yes, Father,” Wen Xu replies without hesitation, bowing slightly in acknowledgement.

With that, Wen Ruohan rises from his throne, his robes flowing majestically around him as he strides out of the hall, leaving an air of authority and purpose in his wake. The cultivators remain silent until the sound of his footsteps fades, a clear testament to the power and control he wields over his people.

 

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Wei Ying steps into the spacious guest room, its grand design immediately catching his eye. The deep red curtains cascade from ceiling to floor, their vibrant colour contrasting starkly with the dark, polished walls. The opulent decor screams wealth and status, with every detail meticulously planned for his comfort. A lavish spread of the finest snacks and tea is arranged on the table, while a rack nearby holds luxurious robes in the Wen sect’s signature colours. Toiletries of rare and exquisite quality are laid out on a carved stand, making it clear that no expense has been spared.

He narrows his eyes, taking in the ostentatious display. Despite his earlier efforts to weaken the Wen sect financially, it’s clear that their centuries-old foundation and resources remain formidable. Wei Ying’s mind churns with thoughts of strategy. If draining their wealth isn’t feasible within a short period, he might have to resort to a bolder plan—either distracting them with external challenges or drawing their ire onto himself if no alternative arises. The thought makes him fiddle absentmindedly with the hem of his grand robes.

He takes a deep breath and methodically places silencing and locking talismans around the room, ensuring his privacy. From his sleeve, he retrieves a communication seal, its surface glowing faintly. Concentrating, he sends out a message to one of his most trusted spirit spies.

Moments later, a faint shimmer appears in the room, and a veiled lady materialises, bowing deeply. “Laozu,” she greets, her tone deferential.

“What is Wen Ruohan planning now?” Wei Ying asks, his voice sharp with curiosity.

The spy straightens slightly. “Laozu, they wish to invite you into the Wen sect.”

Wei Ying’s eyes widen in shock. “What?!” he exclaims, nearly choking on the words. His mind races as he processes the revelation. “What on earth are they scheming?” he mutters under his breath, pacing a few steps before regaining composure.

“Anything else?” he asks after a pause, his tone calmer.

“I am not aware of further developments since your arrival, Laozu,” the spy replies promptly.

Wei Ying nods, his expression thoughtful. “Alright. Be careful, and keep me informed.”

The woman bows deeply once more before teleporting out of the room. Alone again, Wei Ying sinks into a chair, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the armrest as he contemplates his next move.

 

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After the extravagant lunch, Wei Ying is summoned to the great hall, where senior Wen cultivators are already gathered. The hall is resplendent with Wen Sect’s characteristic opulence—rich red and gold motifs adorning the walls, intricate carvings of flaming suns on every pillar, and grand tapestries hanging overhead. Wen Ruohan sits imperiously on his massive throne, a smug look plastered on his face. Beside him are his sons, Wen Xu and Wen Chao, each seated in ornate chairs. A separate, luxurious chair has been arranged for Wei Ying, positioned prominently near the throne.

Wei Ying walks in, his steps measured, his face calm yet unreadable. His eyes sweep over the hall and its occupants before landing on Wen Xu, who gestures for him to take the large seat. Wei Ying nods slightly and sits down gracefully, exuding an air of detached confidence.

Wen Ruohan clears his throat, the sound commanding immediate attention. “Laozu,” he begins, his tone heavy with false courtesy, “what do you think of the great Wen Sect?”

Wei Ying smiles lightly, tilting his head as if genuinely pondering the question. “What else could one expect from the great Wen Zongzhu? Everything is exceptionally well-managed. It speaks volumes about your leadership.” His words are smooth, almost too polished, eliciting a glimmer of satisfaction in Wen Ruohan’s eyes. Wen Chao, however, huffs arrogantly, his expression brimming with disdain.

Encouraged by the response, Wen Ruohan leans forward slightly. “We have two offers for you, Laozu,” he states.

“Oh?” Wei Ying’s eyes light up with feigned excitement. “What might they be?”

“The first,” Wen Ruohan begins, his chest puffing with pride, “is an invitation to join the Wen Sect. The second…” He pauses for effect, “is to share with us the secret behind your immortality.”

Wei Ying raises an eyebrow, his expression perfectly masking the annoyance bubbling beneath. “And why, Zongzhu, might you make such offers?” he asks, his tone curious but nonchalant.

“The Wen Sect,” Wen Ruohan proclaims, his voice resonating through the hall, “stands at the pinnacle of all sects. There may come a day when we are the only sect standing, due to our unparalleled influence and greatness. As a member of our sect, you would enjoy the highest respect and absolute safety. Your lifestyle would be nothing short of lavish, whether you choose to reside here or remain in Yiling.”

He pauses, his gaze flicking briefly to Wen Chao. “Furthermore, I want you to personally train my second son, Chao-er. He is already a great cultivator, but under your guidance, his potential would be unmatched. If you choose to stay in Yiling, he can accompany you there.”

At this, Wen Chao’s face flushes red, a mix of embarrassment and fury contorting his features. Why should I be trained by this so-called Laozu? His indignation is palpable, but Wen Xu shoots him a warning glare, effectively silencing him.

Wei Ying, meanwhile, has already decided to test Wen Ruohan’s patience. What better opportunity than now? With a serene smile, he responds, “I am grateful for your offers, Zongzhu, but I must respectfully decline. I have no interest in joining any sect, nor am I permitted to share the secrets of immortality. I trust the great Wen Zongzhu will understand.”

The room falls silent, the tension thickening like an impending storm. Wen Ruohan’s eyes narrow slightly. “And why might that be, Laozu?” he asks, his voice tight with barely concealed irritation. “Do you not recognise the greatness of the Wen Sect?”

Wei Ying’s smile widens, though his eyes remain sharp. “Oh, I certainly recognise the strength of the Wen Sect. However, the future is always uncertain. I’ve heard whispers of people who once served this great sect, yet they are now nowhere to be seen. Though the Wen Sect is powerful, anything can happen, even to the mightiest of clans.”

His words, while spoken casually, hit their mark. Wen Ruohan’s face darkens imperceptibly, though he forces himself to remain composed. Wei Ying continues, “I rely only on myself, Zongzhu. As for my safety, I deeply appreciate your concern, but I have managed well on my own thus far.”

Wen Chao glares at Wei Ying, his hand twitching towards the hilt of his sword, but he dares not act without his father’s permission.
Wen Ruohan, meanwhile, drops all pretence of civility. His eyes bore into Wei Ying’s, blazing with anger. “Do you not fear the consequences of rejecting the Wen Sect? Your life may very well depend on this decision.”

Wei Ying’s response is a light laugh, the sound as effortless as it is infuriating. “Immortality tends to dull one’s fear of death, Zongzhu. And I must remind you—I have merely declined your offer, not committed an offence against the Wen Sect.”

Wen Ruohan glares daggers at him, his patience clearly wearing thin. “I hope you will not come to regret this decision,” he warns, his tone dripping with menace.

Wei Ying rises from his seat, his composure unshaken. “Regret is not something I allow in my life, Zongzhu. If there is nothing else, I will take my leave.”

Before anyone can react, Wen Chao leaps to his feet, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword. His face is a mask of rage. But before he can act, Wen Xu places a firm hand on his younger brother’s shoulder, silently commanding him to stand down.

“Very well,” Wen Ruohan says at last, though his smile is anything but friendly. “Wen Hai, see Laozu out.”

Wei Ying inclines his head slightly, an infuriatingly calm smile gracing his lips as he exits the hall. Wen Ruohan watches him go, his expression dark and calculating.

Once outside the palace grounds, Wei Ying bids farewell to Wen Hai and steps onto his sword. The wind whips around him as he ascends into the sky, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. Let them plot all they want, he thinks. The game has only just begun.

 

.

 

“How dare he! How dare he!” Wen Chao’s furious voice echoes through the great hall as he paces back and forth, his face red with rage. “I will be the one to kill that haughty immortal! How dare he look down on our Wen Sect!”

Turning sharply towards his father, he snarls, “Father! How could you let him leave so easily? If it were up to me, I would have skinned him alive right here for his insolence!”

Wen Ruohan, seated on his throne, fixes his younger son with a cold, disdainful gaze. The flicker of irritation in his eyes silences the room momentarily.
“Who told you he will make it back safely?” Wen Ruohan asks, his voice calm yet dripping with malice. A wicked smile spreads across his face, sending a chill through the hall. “Anything,” he continues, his tone laden with sinister implication, “can happen to him on the way.”

 

************

Chapter 21

Notes:

Hello, dear readers,

Welcome back!

Thank you to everyone who left comments and kudos on the previous chapter <3

Here’s a slightly longer chapter for you! I was tempted to end it with a cliffhanger but decided against it—I didn’t want to risk getting cursed by my dear readers. Without further ado, enjoy the next chapter.

As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts and theories in the comments. Please let me know what you think of this chapter!

 

***************

Wen Ruohan, seated on his throne, fixes his younger son with a cold, disdainful gaze. The flicker of irritation in his eyes silences the room momentarily.
“Who told you he will make it back safely?” Wen Ruohan asks, his voice calm yet dripping with malice. A wicked smile spreads across his face, sending a chill through the hall. “Anything,” he continues, his tone laden with sinister implication, “can happen to him on the way.”
.

 

Wei Ying glides through the sky, his sword steady beneath his feet, cutting gracefully through the brisk air. The rolling landscapes below him blur into a patchwork of green and brown, the tranquillity interrupted only by the occasional gust of wind. His robes flutter, the fabric catching the sun, but his focus remains unshaken. Suddenly, the familiar vibration of his communication seal hums against his chest. His eyes narrow in curiosity. Balancing deftly on his sword, he pulls out the glowing seal and reads the brief but urgent message: “Ambush. Tracking talisman.”

A small, knowing smile plays on Wei Ying’s lips. Wen Ruohan has decided to make a move. The cultivator scans the horizon over his shoulder, his sharp eyes cutting through the distance. The skies are clear, and there is no immediate sign of pursuit, but he knows better than to dismiss the warning. Carefully pocketing the seal, he adjusts his trajectory, descending toward a more remote area.

Below him stretches a dense forest, the canopy broken by a winding river glinting in the sunlight. Spotting an open shore along the riverbank, Wei Ying veers downward, the sound of rushing water growing louder as he approaches. With a soft landing, he steps off his sword, sheathing it with casual ease. He surveys the area, the corners of his mouth quirking upwards in playful amusement.

“Aiya, what a beautiful spot!” he exclaims loudly, his voice echoing through the stillness. “Not a soul in sight. Perfect for a nap!” With exaggerated carelessness, he sprawls on the soft grass, crossing his arms behind his head. His eyes close, though the smirk remains on his face. To any onlooker, he appears blissfully unaware and vulnerable.

The forest around him, however, is anything but quiet. Subtle shifts disturb the foliage—the rustling of leaves, the crunch of twigs underfoot, the faint sound of cloth brushing against bark. Wei Ying hears it all, yet his breathing remains slow and steady, his body relaxed. Only the slight twitch at the corner of his lips betrays his anticipation.

The silence is broken abruptly. A shadow falls over him, and the cold gleam of steel hovers dangerously close to his throat. Wei Ying cracks open an eye, feigning shock.

“Ayyo!” he cries out, raising his hands as if in surrender. “Who are you? What do you want?”

The man holding the sword against him doesn’t lower his blade. His face is hard, his voice colder still as he calls out, “Are you sure this is the one?”

“Yes,” another voice responds from the shadows, confirming his identity.
Within seconds, the forest comes alive. Men emerge from the trees, their movements precise and coordinated. They are dressed like mountain bandits, but the discipline in their stances hints at military training. Wei Ying’s keen eyes sweep the gathering as he counts—forty, no, fifty men.

Still lying on the ground, he whistles low under his breath. “Fifty against one? Isn’t that a bit excessive?” he mutters.

Before he can say more, three men lunge at him, their swords gleaming in the sunlight. Wei Ying rolls away just in time, springing to his feet with a dramatic flourish. “Wait, wait!” he protests, raising his hands in mock innocence. “Why are you attacking me? I’m just a poor, wandering cultivator! I don’t even have much money.”

“Get ready to die!” One of the men snarls, his blade cutting through the air towards Wei Ying’s neck.

The strike never lands. The attacker freezes mid-swing, his face contorting in pain. With a strangled scream, he drops his sword, clutching his chest. The other men hesitate, their confusion evident.

“Kill him! Kill him now!” The injured man bellows, his voice filled with desperation.

Five more men charge, their weapons raised high. Wei Ying steps back, his movements light and precise. He doesn’t even unsheathe his sword, dodging their strikes with an almost playful ease. His feet barely touch the ground as he weaves between their attacks, his movements fluid and calculated.

“Tsk, tsk,” he scolds, shaking his head as if disappointed. “This is no fun. I’ve got a suggestion—why don’t all fifty of you attack me at once? Maybe then you’ll stand a chance. Otherwise…” He trails off, flashing them a mischievous grin. “You’re just going to bore me to death.”

His taunt has the intended effect. The bandits bristle with rage, their confidence turning to fury. All at once, they surge forward, their blades glinting as they aim for him. Wei Ying finally unsheathes his sword, the blade gleaming with an ethereal light.

The fight transforms into a spectacle. Wei Ying moves like a dancer, his sword an extension of himself. His strikes are precise and devastating, his movements too fast for the eye to follow. He spins and pivots, his attacks flowing seamlessly from one to the next. To the untrained eye, it looks almost beautiful—a deadly choreography set against the backdrop of the shimmering river.

The first wave of attackers falls swiftly. Ten men collapse to the ground, their bodies motionless. Wei Ying doesn’t pause, his momentum carrying him forward as he takes on the next group. The remaining men grit their teeth, their breaths coming in harsh gasps as they try to defend themselves against the relentless assault.

Within minutes, the battlefield is reduced to chaos. The ground is littered with bodies, the once-confident so-called bandits now broken and desperate. Only six remain standing, their faces pale and drenched in sweat. They exchange nervous glances, their bravado replaced by fear.

Wei Ying lowers himself slightly, bending at the waist as though preparing for another attack. The unexpected movement makes the men flinch. Before they can react, he scoops up a handful of sand from the ground and throws it into their faces.

The men cry out in unison, staggering backwards as they rub at their eyes. They attack again with their eyes closed with increased force, their blade cutting through the air with deadly precision. When the dust settles, a body lies on the ground, his shoulder pierced, blood pooling beneath him. His face is a mask of pain, a thin red line trailing down his cheek.

The remaining five stare at Wei Ying, their expressions a mix of horror and disbelief. Wei Ying sways slightly, his breathing heavy as he surveys the scene. His robes are torn, his face streaked with blood and dirt.

Feigning weakness, Wei Ying staggers forward, then crumples to the ground. His sword clatters beside him, his body limp and unmoving. The bandits watch him warily, their weapons still raised. After a long moment, one of them steps forward cautiously.

“Is he…?” The man trails off, nudging Wei Ying’s side with the tip of his boot. When there’s no response, he crouches down and checks the boy’s breathing.

“He’s unconscious,” the man announces, relief evident in his tone. “Quick, let’s take him back.”

The others exchange uneasy glances, their attention shifting to the carnage around them. The forest floor is littered with bodies—more than forty of their comrades lie motionless. Among the dead, they spot one of their own, still alive but trembling violently. His wide eyes stare at Wei Ying lying unconscious, his lips moving soundlessly.

“What is it?” the leader demands, kneeling beside him.

The injured man struggles to speak, his voice barely a whisper. “No… no… he…” Blood bubbles from his mouth, cutting off his words. With a final, shuddering breath, he collapses.

The leader straightens, his expression grim. “Forget him,” he says coldly. “Let’s deal with this one first.” He gestures to Wei Ying’s seemingly lifeless form.

Together, the remaining bandits lift the unconscious cultivator. Their movements are careful, almost reverent, as though they fear provoking him even in his current state. The forest falls silent once more, the echoes of battle fading into the distance as they carry Wei Ying away.

 

.

 

The remaining men carry the unconscious Wei Ying back to Qishan on their swords, their movements laboured and tense. Blood still trickles from the gashes on Wei Ying’s body, staining his once-elegant robes. The journey feels endless, the weight of their dead companions pressing heavily on their shoulders.

Eventually, the towering Sun and Flame Palace comes into view, its imposing dark walls glowing ominously under the sunlight. They land at the grand entrance and stride into the Great Hall, their burden still draped between them. The room is vast, its oppressive air magnified by the immense throne at the far end, where Wen Ruohan sits with an aura of absolute authority. His crimson robes flow around him like shadows, and his piercing gaze seems to strip away any pretence of courage.

One of the men steps forward and bows deeply, his voice trembling as he reports, “Zongzhu, we lost everyone except the five of us. But we succeeded in bringing him here. He is unconscious... not dead.”

Wen Ruohan’s eyes fall on Wei Ying’s limp form, and a sinister smile creeps across his face. He throws his head back and lets out a loud, booming laugh, his voice echoing in the hall.

Before he can speak, Wen Chao storms forward, his sword drawn, his face twisted in anger. “Father! Let me kill him! I’ll—”

“Silence!” Wen Ruohan’s voice cuts through the room like a blade, cold and sharp. The reprimand sends a chill through everyone present, and Wen Chao instantly freezes, his hand faltering on his sword.

Wen Ruohan rises from his throne, his eyes narrowing as he commands, “Take him to the physician. I want him alive and awake for the meeting this evening. If anyone dares to kill him before then, they will face my wrath.” His voice is steady but laden with menace, brooking no argument.

Turning to his guards, he adds, “Tell the physician to treat him properly and ensure he regains consciousness. Summon Wen Zhuliu to attend the evening meeting.”

With that, he descends from his throne, his steps measured and deliberate, leaving an air of foreboding in his wake.

.
.

 

Lan Wangji strides through the forest, his sharp eyes carefully observing his surroundings. The dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy above does little to brighten his sombre thoughts. Having completed his final sword practice before the Shufu’s tests, his mind is preoccupied with a pressing matter. The elders.

He frowns as he recalls the unsettling possibility of traitors among them. Although there are thirty-three elders in total that he doubts, it is impossible to monitor all of them. He lacks not only the time but also the resources to discern their loyalties. Additionally, he suspects there might be others outside this circle who are secretly aiding the Wen or Jin clans. The weight of the situation presses heavily on him, and he exhales a quiet sigh.

Who could it be? He wonders, his mind replaying the elders' recent behaviours, searching for inconsistencies or signs of betrayal. After an hour of deliberation, he narrows his suspicions to four individuals, each residing in one of the Cloud Recesses' corners. Yet, another challenge presents itself—he cannot simply barge into their quarters to search for evidence. If they are guilty, they would not be foolish enough to leave proof in plain sight.

Without allies in Cloud Recess, Lan Wangji feels the enormity of the task bearing down on him. He shakes his head, deciding to postpone further strategising until after the tests. His steps turn towards Hanshi, where he plans to meet Lan Qiren.

He arrives at the familiar door and knocks lightly.

“Come in,” comes Lan Qiren’s voice from within.

Lan Wangji enters and bows deeply. “Shufu, I am ready for the test.”

Lan Qiren examines him with a critical gaze, his face etched with mild dissatisfaction. “Are you certain? Do you recall the promise?”

“Yes, Shufu,” Lan Wangji replies firmly, his tone unwavering.

“Hmph.” Lan Qiren rises to his feet, still scrutinising his young nephew.

“Shufu,” Lan Wangji continues, bowing again, “I request that Xiongzhong and the elders be present to evaluate my performance.”

Lan Qiren’s expression darkens, his brows knitting in disapproval. “Wangji! What nonsense is this? Do you intend to make a spectacle of yourself?”

“I take full responsibility for my actions, Shufu. You need not worry,” Lan Wangji replies with resolute calm.

Lan Qiren’s irritation is evident, but he relents with a curt nod. “Fine! I will summon everyone.” He sweeps out of the room in a storm of robes, muttering under his breath.

Lan Wangji kneels in the room, closing his eyes to centre himself as he awaits the summons.

.

Before long, a disciple arrives to escort him to the training grounds. The scene that greets him there is imposing. The elders, teachers, and even his elder brother, Lan Xichen, are all assembled. At the centre stands Lan Qiren, arms crossed and expression stern.

Lan Wangji walks to the centre of the grounds and bows deeply to the gathered assembly. Lan Xichen steps forward, his face lined with concern and confusion.

“Wangji,” Lan Xichen says softly, placing a hand on his younger brother’s shoulder, “whatever the result, know that Xiongzhong will always support you.”

Lan Wangji bows. “Thank you, Xiongzhong.”

He takes his place at the centre, unsheathing his sword, Bichen, in one fluid motion.

Lan Qiren’s voice cuts through the air. “Since you are so confident, let us begin. Perform the advanced sword forms.”

Lan Wangji nods, his expression stoic. He begins with flawless precision, each movement calculated and graceful. His sword arcs through the air like a flowing stream, the blade cutting through with an audible hum. He transitions seamlessly between the forms, never faltering, even as the sequence grows increasingly complex. The audience watches in silence, their disbelief growing with every perfect strike.

For nearly an hour, Lan Wangji performs without pause, completing every advanced form with practiced ease. At the end, he lowers Bichen and retrieves his guqin.

Placing the instrument before him, he plucks the strings. A resonant vibration ripples through the air, commanding the attention of all present. He plays a series of intricate, advanced melodies, each note precise and imbued with spiritual energy. The sound washes over the audience, leaving them entranced, their expressions a mixture of astonishment and awe.

As he strikes the final chord, Lan Wangji places his fingers against the strings to still the vibrations. He rises gracefully and turns to the elders.

“I am finished. If there are any doubts about my abilities, I am ready to accept a challenge,” he says, his voice steady.

Lan Qiren glances at Lan Xichen. “Xichen.”

Lan Xichen unsheathes his sword, stepping forward to face his younger brother. The two exchange bows before the duel begins.

Lan Wangji attacks first, his blows swift and precise. The clash of their swords sends a sharp ringing through the training grounds. Lan Xichen, despite his skill, struggles to keep up with the brutal force behind Lan Wangji’s strikes. The duel lasts only a few moments before Bichen disarms Lan Xichen, sending his sword flying.

Before anyone can react, Bichen’s tip rests lightly against Lan Xichen’s throat.

The silence is broken by the sound of applause. The elders and teachers clap, their expressions ranging from shock to admiration.

Lan Xichen smiles, though his eyes are tinged with a hint of sadness. “Wangji, I am so proud of you,” he says, pulling his brother into a hug.

Lan Qiren clears his throat, and the brothers separate. Lan Wangji bows to his uncle. “Shufu, please evaluate my performance.”

For a moment, Lan Qiren remains silent, his lips pressed into a thin line. Then, a rare smile graces his face. “Very satisfactory.”

He turns to the assembled elders. “Does anyone have any objections?”

The elders shake their heads vigorously. “No, no,” they chorus.

“Wangji, follow me,” Lan Qiren says, his voice calm but carrying an undertone of pride. He strides towards Hanshi, his nephew falling into step behind him.

.
.

 

Wei Ying, swathed in bloodied bandages, is dragged into the grand hall of the Sun and Flame Palace. His body is limp, his face pale from blood loss, and his breathing shallow. The hall is filled with the oppressive presence of Wen cultivators and elders, all seated in disciplined lines that stretch across the vast chamber. The air crackles with tension, an unspoken anticipation of what is to come.

Seated below the grand podium are Wen Xu and Wen Chao, their arrogant expressions etched deeply into their features. Wen Zhuliu stands silently beside Wen Chao, his expression unreadable, his aura cold and detached. Wen Chao’s smug grin widens as his gaze lands on Wei Ying, who is unceremoniously dumped on the polished marble floor at the centre of the hall.

Moments later, the massive doors at the far end of the chamber swing open, and Wen Rouhan strides in with a commanding presence. His robes, a mix of grey and crimson, shimmer under the flickering torchlight. Flames embroidered along his long sleeves ripple as he moves, as though alive with his fury and power. The gathered Wen members immediately rise to their feet, bowing deeply as Wen Rouhan ascends the steps to his massive throne at the heart of the podium.

With a single, dismissive wave of his hand, Wen Rouhan gestures for everyone to sit. His gaze falls on the battered figure of Wei Ying, and a cruel, satisfied smile spreads across his face.

Clearing his throat, Wen Rouhan begins to speak, his voice deep and authoritative. “Today is a day that will be remembered in the annals of the Wen Sect. Before you lies an immortal, brought to his knees—a testament to our power, to the might of the Qishan Wen!”

The hall erupts in murmurs of approval, the cultivators’ pride swelling at his words. Wen Rouhan raises a hand to silence them, his eyes narrowing as he addresses the head of the infirmary. “How is he? Still unconscious?”

The head physician steps forward, bowing low. “He will regain consciousness shortly, Zongzhu.”

“Good,” Wen Rouhan replies with a satisfied nod.

Wen Chao, however, cannot contain his impatience. Rising from his seat, he strides towards Wei Ying with a predatory gleam in his eyes. Without warning, he delivers a savage kick to Wei Ying’s stomach. The force of the blow sends Wei Ying’s body convulsing, a spray of blood escaping his lips as he stirs awake.

Wei Ying’s eyes flutter open, wide with confusion and alarm. He blinks rapidly, struggling to focus as the room swims around him.

Wen Chao lets out a booming laugh, the sound dripping with malice. “You! Do you see now what happens to those who dare defy the Wen Sect? Do you still think you’re so mighty, so untouchable?” He punctuates his words with another brutal kick, drawing a pained grunt from Wei Ying.

“Chao-er,” Wen Rouhan’s voice cuts through like a blade, sharp and unforgiving. “Enough.”

Reluctantly, Wen Chao retreats to his seat, though not without casting one last venomous glare at Wei Ying.

Wei Ying, still reeling from the assault, struggles to sit upright, his body trembling from pain and exhaustion. He glances around the hall, his mind racing as he tries to piece together what is happening.

Wen Rouhan leans forward on his throne, his lips curling into a smirk. “So, Laozu,” he begins, his tone calm but dripping with menace, “will you agree to my terms?”

He pauses for effect, his dark eyes gleaming. “Ah, I almost forgot to tell you the new conditions. Allow me to enlighten you.”

The hall falls into a heavy silence as Wen Rouhan lists his demands.

“First, you will pledge yourself to the Wen Sect and assist us in whatever I command.

“Second, you will relinquish Yiling to the Wen Sect and declare it Wen territory.

“Third, you will leave Yiling behind and remain here in Qishan, under my watchful eye. Should you agree, all your previous transgressions will be forgiven.”

He leans back in his throne, his smile turning cruel. “If you refuse, however, you will face the consequences.”

Turning to one of his subordinates, Wen Rouhan commands, “Begin the count.”

The subordinate’s voice booms through the hall, counting slowly. “One, two, three…”

Wei Ying stares at the ground, his vision blurry, his mind sluggish. He can barely register the words being spoken, let alone formulate a response.

“…Nine, ten!”

Wen Rouhan’s laughter echoes through the hall, mocking and triumphant. “It seems you still underestimate the Wen Sect. Very well, let this serve as a lesson to all who dare defy us.”

He gestures sharply, his voice ringing with authority. “Wen Zhuliu!”

The silent figure steps forward, bowing deeply before his master.

“This will be a demonstration of what happens to those who oppose the Wen Sect,” Wen Rouhan declares, his tone cold and merciless. “Spread word of this immortal’s fall. Let the world know he was executed for his insolence!”

A messenger bows and leaves to carry out the command.

“Wen Zhuliu, burn his core,” Wen Rouhan orders with a wicked grin.

Wen Zhuliu approaches Wei Ying, his expression unreadable. His left hand begins to glow faintly as he channels his Qi. Placing his palm over Wei Ying’s core, he concentrates, sending a surge of energy into Wei Ying’s core.

The result is immediate. Wei Ying’s body arches violently as he lets out a guttural scream of pain. His hands claw at his chest, tears streaming down his face as he writhes on the cold marble floor. The hall fills with the sound of his anguished cries, a symphony of suffering that brings a twisted smile to Wen Chao’s face.

After a moment, Wen Zhuliu steps back, his expression briefly flickering with confusion. He bows to Wen Rouhan, saying nothing of the peculiar experience he sensed with Wei Ying’s core.

“Excellent!” Wen Rouhan exclaims, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “This is a day to celebrate. It is I who should be immortal, not this pathetic fool!”

“Father, you are unparalleled!” Wen Chao chimes in, his voice filled with sycophantic pride. “Let me end this farce and kill him now!”

Wen Rouhan gestures indulgently. “Do as you wish.”

With a swagger, Wen Chao strides towards Wei Ying, unsheathing his sword. He plunges the blade into Wei Ying’s abdomen, drawing another cry of agony. Then, with a single, decisive swing, he severs Wei Ying’s head from his body.
“Display his head at the gates,” Wen Chao commands, his tone smug and triumphant.

But before anyone can move, gasps ripple through the hall. The body on the floor begins to shift and change. In a puff of smoke, the severed head transforms—not Wei Ying’s, but that of a Wen cultivator, one of the men who had been sent to ambush him. The torso follows suit, the clothing morphing into that of a bandit.

A slip of paper flutters to the ground, drawing everyone’s attention.

Wen Chao stumbles back in horror, his face pale. “What… what is this?!” he shrieks.
Wen Zhuliu picks up the note and hands it to Wen Xu, who unfolds it with trembling hands. His face darkens as he reads the words aloud: “How was my little prank, Wen Rouhan? I hope you are as entertained as I am”

The hall erupts into chaos.

Wen Rouhan rises from his throne, his face a mask of fury. He storms down to the body, kicking the severed head in rage. “You bastard!” he roars. “Call back the messengers! Send out the spies! I want him found!”

The room trembles under the weight of his fury as he storms out, his crimson robes billowing behind him like flames. The hall falls into an uneasy silence, the Wen cultivators exchanging nervous glances.

.

 

Wei Ying laughs uncontrollably, rolling on the floor as the news of Wen Rouhan's failed plans reach him. His spirit spy had just reported back with the events that had unfolded in the great hall, and the image of Wen Rouhan's fury is too much for him to handle. The thought of the once mighty leader reduced to a seething mess, his plans unraveling before him, fills Wei Ying with an overwhelming sense of satisfaction.

"Enough, stop laughing hysterically, you'll choke on those lotus seeds," Wen Qing admonishes, her voice tinged with exasperation. She’s standing in the corner of the room, arms crossed, her expression the very picture of disapproval. Her usual calm demeanor is at odds with the chaos Wei Ying is causing in the room.

"Stop acting all high and mighty, Qing Jie," Wei Ying retorts between fits of laughter, sitting up and wiping a tear from his eye. "Didn’t you like the prank I played on your dear uncle? Tsk tsk, I should have watched his face turn red with anger and fury. That alone would’ve been worth it!" He laughs louder, a wicked gleam in his eyes, clearly reveling in the chaos he has caused.

Wen Qing sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Laozu, what exactly happened?" Chunwen asks, barely able to suppress the soft laugh that escapes him. His usual composed manner is momentarily undone by the scene before him, though he quickly gathers himself.

Wei Ying wipes away the last remnants of his laughter and sits up straighter, a mischievous smile still lingering on his lips. "Wen Rouhan sent people to ambush me," he begins, his voice steady but tinged with amusement. "I got wind of the plan beforehand, so I decided to have a little fun with it. At first, I thought of just wiping them all out, but then I came up with a better idea." He pauses for effect, enjoying the attention. "I’ve recently developed an illusion talisman, you see. I mixed my blood with that of one of the attackers and activated the talisman. Then, I put it on him. For all intents and purposes, he looked exactly like me. The real kicker? As long as I don’t free him or he gets killed, the illusion stays intact."

Chunwen raises an eyebrow in disbelief, but Wei Ying continues, clearly pleased with his own brilliance. "To make sure the rest of them wouldn’t notice, I threw a fistful of sand at their eyes, making sure they couldn’t see what was happening. Once their vision was compromised, I activated the talisman. The man became my double, and I teleported away while they were focused on the fake Wei Ying. As they attacked him, I slipped away, coming back here when it was all done." Wei Ying’s grin widens at the memory, clearly proud of his plan's success.

"So, what do you think?" he asks, turning to Wen Ning, who has been quietly observing the conversation with a smile.

Wen Ning looks at him, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Wei Ying's prank has worked like a charm, and he can already imagine the turmoil it must have caused in the Wen Sect.

"Do you think your uncle and cousins will be plucking their hair out in frustration?" Wei Ying wiggles his eyebrows at Wen Ning, his tone playful and teasing.

The room falls silent for a moment as the implication sinks in. Wen Ning’s expression softens with amusement, though he says nothing. Wei Ying’s laughter echoes again, and the tension of the previous moments fades away as the group enjoys the aftermath of his clever trick

 

*******************

Chapter 22

Notes:

Hello, dear readers,

Welcome back!

It’s been nearly a month since the last chapter—apologies for the delay in updating this fic. I’m truly grateful for all your lovely comments and kudos on the previous chapter. Thank you so much for sticking with this story; I truly appreciate each of you for taking the time to read my fic and showing it so much love.

Without further ado, here is the next chapter! As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts and theories in the comments. Please let me know what you think of this chapter!

Thank you for reading, and stay tuned for more!

 

**************************

Lan Wangji steps into the Hanshi, his movements measured and calm, following closely behind Lan Qiren. The room, silent and serene, carries the weight of countless years of tradition. Lan Qiren, seated at the head of the hall, regards his nephew with a mix of pride and uncertainty. His stern gaze sweeps over Wangji, assessing the young man before him. He strokes his beard thoughtfully before gesturing for Wangji to take a seat.

“Wangji,” Lan Qiren begins, his voice steady but probing, “it is commendable that your techniques remain flawless. Yet, I hear it is true that you taught yourself simply by observing Xichen practicing. Is this so?”

Lan Wangji hesitates for a fleeting moment, knowing the truth of his time travel must remain concealed. He lowers his gaze and gives a curt nod.

Lan Qiren hums in a tone of reluctant approval, his hand resuming its habitual stroking of his beard. “Very well,” he concedes. “But tell me, Wangji, what do you intend to do going forward?”

Lan Wangji raises his head, his gaze clear and unwavering. “Shifu,” he begins, his voice carrying a quiet yet firm conviction, “I have been inspired by Laozu during his time in Gusu. Though he is young, he is immensely talented, morally upright, and has achieved immortality at an age no other cultivator has ever done. His actions have left an indelible mark on me.”

Lan Qiren stiffens at the mention of Wei Wuxian, but he does not interrupt. Wangji continues, his tone filled with determination.

“I wish to live without prejudice, to stand for justice regardless of sect, status, or creed. If my sect is ever in danger, I wish to be strong enough to protect it to the best of my ability. Moreover, I seek to cultivate myself towards immortality, not out of ambition, but as a means to uphold righteousness and ensure lasting peace.”

Lan Qiren’s eyes widen slightly, the weight of Wangji’s words settling heavily upon him. He strokes his beard once more, his expression a mix of contemplation and unease. “Without prejudice?” he echoes. “Our sect, the Lan Clan of Gusu, has the most righteous foundation of all. Thousands of rules guide us, ensuring our moral standing. What more could you mean by living without prejudice?”

Lan Wangji takes a moment to gather his thoughts, his resolve unshaken. “Shifu,” he replies, “if we are truly upright, why do we need thousands of rules to guard our morality? Why must we rely on regulations to dictate even the simplest aspects of our lives, such as sitting or standing? Are there not people beyond our sect who live upright lives without the need for such rules? Does this not suggest they might surpass us in integrity?”

The hall grows tense, and Lan Qiren’s hand pauses mid-stroke. “You dare question the very foundation of our sect?” he demands, his voice tinged with anger and disbelief.

“You misunderstand me, Shifu,” Wangji counters respectfully yet firmly. “I do not question our foundation but rather our perspective. There are individuals outside our sect who demonstrate virtue and justice without the constraints of thousands of rules. Yet, we hold ourselves above them, believing our way to be superior. Is this not a form of prejudice? I wish to transcend such bias and remain upright through my own character, not through blind adherence to rules.”

Lan Qiren clenches his fists, his stern visage betraying a flicker of uncertainty. His gaze narrows as he searches Wangji’s face for any hint of rebellion, but all he finds is earnestness.

Wangji presses on, his tone still measured. “Shifu, may I ask you a question? I request that you answer honestly, whatever your thoughts may be.”

Lan Qiren’s brows furrow in suspicion, but he nods. “What is it?”

“Do you hold any prejudice against Laozu or his parents? In particular, against his mother?”

Lan Qiren’s jaw tightens, and his fists clench once more. The question strikes a nerve. “Rules are meant to be followed,” he declares, his voice rising slightly. “She broke them time and again. She was loud, unruly, and could not stay in one place. Her behaviour was chaotic—it made my head spin!”

Wangji listens patiently, nodding as if to encourage his Shifu to continue.

“She employed untested, reckless methods to solve problems,” Lan Qiren adds, his tone growing defensive. “Who could guarantee their safety? Who would take responsibility if they failed? Proven methods exist for a reason. Why not follow them?”

Wangji nods again, his calm demeanour a stark contrast to Qiren’s mounting frustration. “Shifu,” he begins, “when she was in Gusu, did you punish her for breaking the rules?”

“Of course,” Qiren replies sharply.

“And did she complete the punishments?”

“Yes,” Qiren admits, though his tone is clipped.

“Then has she not already atoned for her actions?” Wangji asks, his voice carrying a quiet insistence. “We all live our lives in certain ways, shaped by our sects and traditions. When we visit other sects, do we not adhere to our own customs, such as abstaining from wine or following the Lan diet? Similarly, should we not allow others to live according to their ways when they are not in our lands? To demand otherwise is to impose our rules upon them, to act as though we are their masters. When did we become dictators, Shifu? Are we now following the path of Wen Zongzhu?”

Lan Qiren inhales sharply, his face pale with shock. The comparison strikes him deeply, and he sits back in his chair, momentarily at a loss for words.

Wangji’s voice grows firmer as he continues. “As for her methods, if no one ever tested orthodox approaches, would the so-called proven techniques exist today? Who are we to decide whether a method is black or white? If she were not morally upright, why would she leave a child as young as five behind in an inn to face danger all alone? Was it not for the greater good of the people in Yiling? Did she not lose her life fighting to protect civilians? To dismiss her righteousness and sacrifice because her behaviour did not align with our rules—Shifu, is this not prejudice?”

Lan Qiren’s breath hitches, his teeth clenched as he absorbs Wangji’s words. The room falls into a tense, oppressive silence, broken only by the faint rustle of robes as Qiren shifts uncomfortably in his seat. His eyes close, and he remains motionless, lost in thought.

After several moments, when no response comes, Wangji breaks the silence. “If we relied solely on age-old techniques, would we have been able to eliminate the abyss in Caiyi Lake? If Laozu had adhered only to tradition, would he have achieved immortality? Would he have been able to clear the burial mounds?

Despite being an orphan, with no one to rely on, he now provides shelter, education, and cultivation training to countless children. We, as a sect that has stood tall for hundreds of years, how many orphans have we taken in? How many lives have we transformed?”

Wangji stands, his robes swaying gently as he moves. “I only wish to look beyond our rules, to stand for justice regardless of tradition, hierarchy, or societal norms. I hope Shifu understands my intentions.”

He bows deeply, his respect for Qiren unwavering despite their disagreement. “If Shifu believes I am wrong, you may summon me for punishment. Wangji shall take his leave.”

With that, he turns and walks out of the hall, his footsteps echoing softly in the vast space. Behind him, Lan Qiren remains seated, utterly shaken. His fists unclench, and his hand returns to his beard, though now it trembles slightly. The silence in the Hanshi feels heavier than ever, carrying the weight of a confrontation that will not be easily forgotten.

 

.

 

Finally, the night arrives, and Wei Ying returns to his room after a long discussion with Chunwen. His excitement brims as he hastily teleports to Lan Zhan’s room, his light footsteps silent on the wooden floor.

“Lan Zhan,” he whispers softly, his voice carrying warmth and mischief.

Lan Zhan, seated in perfect meditation posture, opens his eyes at the sound of that familiar voice. A rare smile graces his usually stoic face, and a flicker of excitement dances in his golden eyes.

“Wei Ying,” he greets, his tone soft yet steady.

“How are you, Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying exclaims as he throws himself onto Lan Zhan with unabashed enthusiasm. His arms wrap tightly around him in a joyous embrace.

Lan Zhan instinctively pulls him closer, his grip firm and protective, as he inhales the faintly sweet scent of lotus flowers that always clings to Wei Ying. But his bliss is short-lived as Wei Ying lets out a low, pained gasp.

Lan Zhan immediately stiffens and pulls back slightly, his brows furrowing in concern. “What’s wrong, Wei Ying? Are you hurt?” he asks, his voice stern and laced with worry.

Wei Ying gives him a sheepish grin, trying to downplay the situation. “No, no, just a small wound. I completely forgot about it,” he says, laughing nervously.

“A wound?” Lan Zhan’s tone sharpens as he begins removing Wei Ying’s outer robes without waiting for permission. “Where?” he demands, his hands already working with swift precision.

“Aiya, it’s nothing serious, Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying protests, squirming as he tries to stop Lan Zhan’s meticulous inspection. But his efforts are futile; Lan Zhan’s determination to ensure his well-being outweighs any embarrassment.

As the outer robe falls away, revealing the layers underneath, Lan Zhan’s ears tint pink. However, his shyness is quickly swept aside when he removes the final layer and sees the wound. A deep slash runs across the centre of Wei Ying’s back, its edges caked with dried blood, while fresh blood oozes from the centre. The sight causes a pang of pain and anger to surge through Lan Zhan’s chest.

“What happened?” Lan Zhan demands, his voice cold with worry. “Where have you been these past few days?”

Wei Ying, knowing there is no use hiding the truth from Lan Zhan, sighs in defeat. “I went to Qishan,” he begins, carefully recounting the events of the past few days—his visit to the Wen Sect, outwitting Wen Rouhan and his subordinates, and narrowly escaping unscathed.

Lan Zhan listens in silence, but the disbelief and anger on his face grow with every word. When Wei Ying finishes, Lan Zhan’s hands tremble slightly, and his voice cracks with restrained emotion.

“Do you think this is amusing, Wei Ying?” he asks, his usually calm voice rising with uncharacteristic intensity. “Do you not care how worried I would be? Do you not understand how it feels to lose you?”

Lan Zhan’s words, spoken with a rare display of vulnerability, strike Wei Ying deeply. The guilt he had been brushing aside crashes over him, washing away any pride he felt in his reckless antics. He lowers his head, unable to meet Lan Zhan’s piercing gaze.

“Lan Zhan, I understand. I was wrong,” Wei Ying says softly, his voice tinged with regret. He tugs at Lan Zhan’s sleeve like a repentant child. “Please forgive me this time.”

Lan Zhan closes his eyes, attempting to calm the storm of emotions raging within him. His breathing slows, and after a long, tense silence, he opens his eyes to meet Wei Ying’s remorseful gaze.

“Was it so difficult for you to tell me before you left for Qishan?” Lan Zhan asks, his voice steadier now but no less firm.

“No, it wasn’t difficult,” Wei Ying admits hurriedly. “I just... I didn’t want you to worry. I didn’t want you to lose sleep over me. I’m sorry, Lan Zhan. I won’t act so recklessly again.”

Lan Zhan studies Wei Ying’s face for a long moment, searching for sincerity. After several rounds of apologies from Wei Ying, finally, with a heavy sigh, he relents. He retrieves a jar of healing salve and begins carefully applying it to Wei Ying’s wound. His touch is gentle, yet the concern in his furrowed brow is evident.

As Lan Zhan works, Wei Ying grins and begins to chatter. “Lan Zhan, how about we go to Yiling now?” he asks, his excitement returning.

Lan Zhan glances at him, raising an eyebrow. “Now?”

“Hmm, now!” Wei Ying insists, his grin widening. “I’ve modified the talismans so we can see each other in our true forms, but others will see us as travellers. And I’ve prepared invisibility talismans too, so I can show you the inner Mounds!”

Lan Zhan blinks, clearly caught off guard by Wei Ying’s enthusiasm, but before he can protest, Wei Ying grabs his wrist. “Come on, let’s go!” he says, his voice brimming with excitement.

With a surge of spiritual energy, Wei Ying and Lan Zhan teleport to Yiling. They arrive just outside the village gates, where the peaceful night cloaks the bustling town in serene silence. Wei Ying immediately activates the talismans he has prepared. They shimmer faintly before settling into place, cloaking them both in an illusion. While they can see each other in their true forms, to anyone else, they appear as ordinary travellers.

Lan Zhan follows Wei Ying silently, his initial irritation fading as he watches the joy radiating from Wei Ying with every step he takes. There is a lightness in Wei Ying's movements that seems to fill the air, infectious and calming. Despite his lingering worry, Lan Zhan feels a profound sense of peace. No rule, no tradition, and no worldly boundary could ever provide him with the solace Wei Ying’s presence brings.

As they walk through Yiling, Lan Zhan glances around, quietly observing the thriving town. The streets are lively yet orderly, the stalls well-kept, and the people cheerful. Vendors call out to potential customers, children laugh as they run past, and the scent of freshly cooked meals wafts through the air. It is a village transformed, bustling with life and contentment. Lan Zhan cannot help but feel impressed.

“Lan Zhan, you can buy anything you like,” Wei Ying says with a grin, turning to him with a sparkle in his eyes.

Without waiting for a response, Wei Ying pulls him from one stall to another, trying every dish they serve and handing samples to Lan Zhan. He pays close attention to Lan Zhan’s reactions, mentally noting which dishes he enjoys and which he does not. Lan Zhan, unused to such lively outings, quietly indulges Wei Ying’s enthusiasm, the corners of his lips twitching into the faintest of smiles.

“How is Yiling, Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying asks, his voice brimming with anticipation.

“Very good,” Lan Zhan replies, his tone earnest.

Wei Ying’s smile widens, his happiness evident. “Come, let’s go there,” he says, tugging Lan Zhan toward the dormitory.

As they approach, Wei Ying notices two boys sulking near the entrance. “Hein, why are those two sulking?” he says loudly, drawing their attention as he strides over to them. Lan Zhan follows silently, his calm presence steady and reassuring.

“What happened, kids? Why are you sad?” Wei Ying crouches to their level, his voice soft and coaxing.

“Who are you?” one of the boys asks, eyeing him warily.

“I’m just a traveller,” Wei Ying replies with a playful grin. “Now, tell me why you’re sad.”

The boy hesitates before answering, his voice tinged with disappointment. “Wei Ge was busy the whole day. We waited for him in the dining hall, but he didn’t come.”

Wei Ying’s smile falters for a moment, guilt flickering across his face. Lan Zhan observes the exchange, his heart warming at how much Wei Ying is loved by these children.

“It’s okay,” Wei Ying says gently. “He might spend time with you tomorrow. Now, go back and sleep.” He reaches into his pouch and hands each of them a piece of candy. Their faces light up with smiles as they thank him and return to the dormitory.

“Come, Lan Zhan, let’s go,” Wei Ying says, his tone a little softer. They visit more shops, and Wei Ying excitedly fills Lan Zhan’s pouch with gifts, each one chosen with great care. Only when he is satisfied that he has found enough does he decide to return.

Teleporting back to Wei Ying’s room, Lan Zhan looks around. The space is large, with wide windows draped in elegant silk curtains. Artworks hang on the walls, and a tall vase filled with lotus flowers stands by a polished table. The corner is slightly messy, with clothes in various states of organisation. Wei Ying has a generous wardrobe of beautiful robes, some neatly arranged, others casually folded.

A large bath with a screen sits in one corner, surrounded by bottles of essential oils, while the massive bed is covered in soft pillows and luxurious bedding, mostly in shades of black and grey. Shoes are lined up near the door in tidy rows. Lan Zhan silently takes it all in, a quiet satisfaction settling in his chest. Wei Ying is living well, and that is all that matters to him.

“Lan Zhan, do you like it?” Wei Ying asks, watching his reaction closely.

“Hmm,” Lan Zhan replies with a small nod.

Wei Ying’s eyes twinkle mischievously. “Are you okay with staying here with me forever?” he asks, a naughty smile playing on his lips.

Blush creeps into Lan Zhan’s ears, but his response is steady. “Wherever Wei Ying stays, I will stay.”

Wei Ying groans dramatically, poking Lan Zhan’s chest with a playful finger. “Aiya, Lan Zhan, warn me before saying such things!”

Chuckling softly, he leans closer. “How about I show you the lake? We can take a boat and spend some time.'' He flutters his eyelashes, his charm impossible to resist.

Lan Zhan surprises him by pulling him into a deep kiss, his lips firm and passionate. Wei Ying shivers, leaning into the kiss as Lan Zhan explores his mouth. The kiss deepens, their breaths mingling until they part, breathless and flushed. Wei Ying giggles, pressing soft kisses all over Lan Zhan’s face.

“Lan Zhan, that was so good,” he says, beaming.

“Hmm,” Lan Zhan replies, satisfied.

“Come, let’s go!” Wei Ying activates the invisibility talismans and teleports them to the lake.

They take a small boat and settle in. Wei Ying rows them to the centre of the lake, the water reflecting the moonlight in shimmering ripples. He plucks a lotus flower and some pods, handing the flower to Lan Zhan with a bright smile. Opening the pods, he eats a few seeds and occasionally feeds some to Lan Zhan, who accepts them quietly.

The two sit in tranquil silence, gazing at the moon and enjoying the serenity of each other’s company.

“Lan Zhan, tell me when you want to go back, alright?” Wei Ying says softly.

“Hmm,” Lan Zhan murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of Wei Ying’s head.

Time passes in peaceful stillness. When Wei Ying remains silent for a while, Lan Zhan glances down to find him fast asleep, his head resting against Lan Zhan’s chest.

Lan Zhan gazes at him, his flushed cheeks, plump lips, and high cheekbones bathed in moonlight. A surge of love fills his heart. He wishes he could spend every moment like this, holding Wei Ying close, savouring the peace they share. Wei Ying has transformed Yiling into a haven, a place where people not only thrive but adore him. Lan Zhan silently vows to protect the happiness Wei Ying has created, no matter what.

After a while, he gently shakes Wei Ying awake. “Wei Ying, let’s go back,” he says softly.

Wei Ying blinks sleepily, nodding as he rubs his eyes. Together, they teleport back to Wei Ying’s room, where the night stretches ahead, full of warmth and contentment.

Chapter 23

Notes:

Hello, dear readers,

Welcome back!

I spent a lot of time and effort crafting this chapter, as I didn’t want it to lack the depth and emotions of both characters. Unfortunately, time didn’t allow me to thoroughly proofread, so there may be a few small errors. I sincerely hope you enjoy this chapter despite that.

Thank you so much for all the kind kudos and comments on the previous chapter! Your support means a lot to me! <3

 

Without further ado, here is the next chapter! As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts and theories in the comments. Please let me know what you think of this chapter!

 

Thank you for reading, and stay tuned for more!

 

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Wei Ying wraps his arms tightly around Lan Zhan, burying his face in the crook of Lan Zhan’s neck, as if seeking refuge in his warmth. Lan Zhan responds in kind, his arms encircling Wei Ying’s slender frame, steady and reassuring.

“Lan Zhan, I never thought you would love me,” Wei Ying says softly, his voice trembling with unspoken emotion. His words are barely a whisper, but they carry the weight of his disbelief and tentative hope. “But this… this is the best feeling I’ve ever had.”

He presses a gentle kiss to Lan Zhan’s forehead, the touch as light as a feather. Lan Zhan, his expression serene yet brimming with sincerity, gazes at Wei Ying with eyes filled with devotion. “Hmm. Always love Wei Ying,” he murmurs, his tone steady and resolute. He leans forward to press a soft kiss against Wei Ying’s temple, a silent promise that speaks volumes.

Wei Ying hesitates, his brows furrowing slightly, and a flicker of unease crosses his face. “Lan Zhan,” he begins, his voice faltering as he struggles to find the words. “When you confessed to me in the cave… I wasn’t in my senses. I didn’t hear anything you said.” He swallows hard, his hands trembling as he clings to Lan Zhan’s robes. “There were voices in my head, voices I couldn’t shut out. I was fighting them, telling them to go away.” His voice cracks, and tears begin to stream down his face, his anguish laid bare. “I’m sorry for hurting you,” he chokes out, his sobs shaking his frame.

Lan Zhan’s arms tighten around Wei Ying, his embrace firm yet tender, as if trying to shield him from the weight of his pain. Without a word, Lan Zhan gently guides Wei Ying toward the bed. He sits him down, his hands never leaving Wei Ying’s shoulders, and begins to draw slow, soothing circles on his back. “It’s okay,” Lan Zhan whispers, his voice low and steady, grounding Wei Ying amidst his turmoil. He leans down to press a kiss to the top of Wei Ying’s head, his touch as comforting as a lullaby.

But Wei Ying shakes his head vehemently, his tears flowing unchecked. “It’s not okay,” he insists, his voice hoarse with emotion. “I had lost everything, Lan Zhan. Everyone. I didn’t know things would spiral so far out of control. All I wanted was to save those Dafan Wens.” He looks up at Lan Zhan, his eyes filled with despair. “I didn’t want power. I didn’t want riches. I just wanted them to live.”

His voice drops to a whisper, laced with bitterness. “I was so naive. I thought that if I locked myself away from the cultivation world, they would leave me alone. I thought I could keep them safe. But I was wrong. So wrong. I gave them everything they needed to plot my ruin.” He clenches his fists, his knuckles turning white, as the memories resurface with relentless clarity. “Not anymore. My master made me see through their plans—all of them, from the Jiangs to the Jins.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes narrow slightly at the mention of the Jiangs. “Jiangs?” he asks, his voice calm but laced with curiosity. He has often wondered why Wei Ying distanced himself from the sect he once seemed so devoted to.

Wei Ying nods slowly, his expression unreadable. “Hmm.”

“Why?” Lan Zhan presses gently, his voice carrying a note of concern.

Wei Ying inhales deeply, his chest rising and falling as he braces himself to answer. “Jiang Fengmian knew how powerful my parents were. My father was his friend, his right-hand man—or so he claimed. But my parents… they left Lotus Pier. They became rogue cultivators. I don’t know why.” His voice grows quieter, tinged with sadness. “My mother… she told me, if anything happened to her, I was to go to her master. Never the Jiangs.”

He pauses, his gaze distant, as if lost in memories. “But I was homeless, Lan Zhan. I wandered the streets until I was nine. Four, maybe five years, I spent like that. I forgot their faces, their voices—everything. I only remembered their absence.” His voice shakes as he continues. “Jiang Fengmian found me when I was nine. He took me in, trained me alongside the other disciples. But…” He hesitates, his voice faltering. “It wasn’t a home.”

Lan Zhan’s brows knit together, his heart aching as he listens. Wei Ying’s voice grows steadier, though his words are no less painful. “Jiang Cheng hated me at first. I was terrified of dogs, and they made him give his up because of me. He resented me for that. Madam Yu… she never hid her hatred for me. She called me a street rat, a nuisance. She insulted my parents every chance she got.” He swallows hard, his voice dropping to a whisper. “She whipped me with Zidian, Lan Zhan. Over and over. For the smallest things.”

Lan Zhan’s grip on Bichen tightens, his knuckles whitening. His calm façade begins to crack, his anger simmering beneath the surface.

“No one stood up for me,” Wei Ying continues, his tone laced with bitterness. “Not even Jiang Fengmian. Jiang Yanli… she was kind, but even she excused their behaviour. She said Madam Yu just wanted to ‘discipline’ me. That I was mischievous and needed to be corrected.” He lets out a bitter laugh, his eyes glistening with tears. “Jiang Cheng… he was jealous of me. Always rude, always cruel. And Jiang Yanli? She said that was his way of showing love.” He shakes his head, his voice trembling. “It wasn’t love, Lan Zhan. None of it was.”

Wei Ying’s voice grows quieter, almost a whisper. “When the Wens attacked Lotus Pier, they blamed me. Jiang Cheng blamed me. Madam Yu tied us up and told me to protect them, even if it meant sacrificing my life. Jiang Fengmian said the same—‘Protect my children.’ Like I wasn’t a child myself.”

Lan Zhan’s hands grip Bichen so tightly that the hilt of the blade dig into his palms. His usually serene expression is clouded with rage, his anger barely restrained.

“I saved Jiang Cheng,” Wei Ying says, his voice cracking. “I dragged him out of Lotus Pier. Right under the Wens’ noses. I even begged Wen Ning to bring back Madam Yu and Jiang Fengmian’s bodies so they could be buried properly.”

Lan Zhan exhales sharply, his chest heaving as he struggles to contain his emotions. “And after that?” he asks, his voice low and tight.

Wei Ying’s gaze drops to the floor, his eyes fixed on the lotus flower in the corner of the room. “Then things just went from bad to worse,” Wei Ying begins, his voice trembling as he recounts the events that haunt him. “We fled to Meishan; Jiang Yanli was there too. Both she and Jiang Cheng fell ill, and I was left to care for them. I did everything I could—fetching food, water, and medicine—but it never felt like enough. One day, I went out to find more medicine, and when I returned, Jiang Cheng was gone.”

He pauses, his voice cracking as the memory resurfaces. “I panicked. I searched everywhere, calling his name until my throat was raw, but he was nowhere to be found. In desperation, I sought Wen Ning’s help, and together we managed to track him down. But the Jiang Cheng we found… he wasn’t the same. He was lifeless, empty. He looked at me like I was the cause of everything that had gone wrong.”

Wei Ying’s hands tremble as he continues. “He blamed me, Lan Zhan. Blamed me for everything—Lotus Pier, his parents, his suffering. And his golden core… it was gone. Wen Zhuliu had melted it down. He had nothing left.”

His voice lowers, filled with despair. “I didn’t know what to do. So I turned to Wen Qing. We stayed at her place for a while, and I read every single medical text she had, searching for a cure. But there wasn’t one. Nothing. Then I found her theory—a core transfer. It wasn’t guaranteed to work, but it was the only hope we had. I begged her, Lan Zhan. I begged and pestered her until she finally agreed.”

Wei Ying’s gaze remains fixed on the flower in the corner of the room, his tears streaming down. “I convinced Jiang Cheng that my mother's master would have a way to restore his core. I told him I remembered the master’s mountain and that he could pretend to be me to ask for her help. He went, blindfolded, and Wen Qing played the role of my master. She gave him something to sniff to knock him unconscious, and then… she performed the surgery.”

He swallows hard, his voice growing fainter. “I told him to meet me at an inn afterward, but he was late. And that’s when Wen Chao and Wen Zhuliu found me. They beat me Lan Zhan. Then… they threw me into the burial mounds.”

Wei Ying’s voice fades into silence, the tears on his cheeks glistening in the dim light. His pain hangs heavy in the air, and even as he speaks, the weight of those moments seems almost unbearable.

Lan Zhan can barely contain the anguish that consumes him as he listens to Wei Ying’s heartbreaking words. His heart aches for his beloved, and the tears flow freely, unbidden, down his face. He had always known Wei Ying to be kind, compassionate, and selfless, but hearing the extent of his sacrifices, the pain he had endured, fills Lan Zhan with an overwhelming sense of guilt and disbelief.

How could he have been so blind? Lan Zhan had kept urging Wei Ying to return to the sword path, to regain his strength and follow the rules of their world, when Wei Ying had already sacrificed his very core for someone so undeserving. Jiang Cheng, the one who had led the siege, who had caused so much pain, was the one who received Wei Ying’s heart. He had given up everything for him—his cultivation, his future, his very essence—and for what? For someone who had not even valued his sacrifice.

Lan Zhan sobs loudly, breaking all the conduct that the Lan sect held dear. His grief and anger rage within him, a storm that cannot be quelled. His heart burns with hatred, not just for Jiang Cheng, but for the injustice that has plagued Wei Ying. The world has been cruel to him, and Lan Zhan can’t bear to see his beloved suffer like this.

Wei Ying watches as Lan Zhan sobs uncontrollably, his own heart sinking as he realises the depth of Lan Zhan’s pain. His immediate instinct is to apologise, to soothe the hurt he’s caused. “I’m sorry, Lan Zhan, please don’t cry, please,” he begs softly, guilt washing over him. He never wanted to hurt Lan Zhan, never wanted him to carry the weight of his suffering.

Lan Zhan’s arms tighten around Wei Ying, holding him close, as though he’s afraid to let go, to lose him again. He cries harder, his heart breaking at the thought of Wei Ying giving so much of himself for someone who never appreciated it. Lan Zhan doesn’t know how to express all the emotions that flood through him, but he knows one thing for certain—Wei Ying deserves better than the pain he’s endured.

Without a word, Lan Zhan pulls away just enough to look at Wei Ying’s face, his tears still flowing, and gently kisses him all over his face—on his forehead, his cheeks, his lips—each kiss a promise, a vow that he will protect him, that he will never allow anyone to take advantage of his beloved again. He kisses Wei Ying as if to erase the hurt, to remind him that he is loved, that he is valued, that he is not alone.

.

 

The quiet tension between the two of them is thick, and Lan Zhan’s gaze remains fixed on Wei Ying as he seeks to understand the truth of his beloved’s past, the choices he has made, and the dangerous path he has walked. The question, lingering in his mind, finally escapes his lips.

“What were the chances?” Lan Zhan asks softly, his voice a mixture of curiosity and concern.

“Fifty percent,” Wei Ying answers with a quiet sigh.

There’s a pause, the air between them heavy with unspoken thoughts, before Lan Zhan’s emotions shift. Anger rises in him as his mind starts to turn towards Wen Qing and the role she played in this series of tragic events.

Wei Ying notices the subtle shift in Lan Zhan’s expression, the slight tightening of his jaw as he begins to grow more agitated. His worry deepens, and he gently reaches out to touch Lan Zhan’s face, grounding him in the present.

“Leave that, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, his words soft but firm, though there is an undercurrent of sadness in his voice. “We have our new life now. I am an immortal. They cannot do anything to me. I will not let them do anything to me or Yiling either.” He caresses Lan Zhan’s face, the tender gesture attempting to reassure him, to remind him that they are no longer bound by the chains of the past.

Lan Zhan listens carefully, wiping away his own tears, the weight of everything finally settling in his chest. He nods slowly, taking a deep breath, and yet his curiosity lingers. “Who is he?” he asks, the question coming more naturally than he expected.

“Who?” Wei Ying asks, confused, his eyes searching Lan Zhan’s face, trying to understand what he means.

“Your general,” Lan Zhan clarifies, his voice calm but edged with curiosity. He needs to understand. He needs to know the truth about these new allies Wei Ying has gathered around him, the people—if they can be trusted—who have become part of his world.

Wei Ying lets out a sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly as if the weight of everything is once again bearing down on him. “Lan Zhan, he is a corpse. When I cleansed the mounds, they begged me to grant them a means to live and serve me. They were tortured and thrown to the mounds by the Jins, Wens, and various other sects. A few of them are very, very old,” he explains, his voice laced with bitterness and sorrow as he recounts the dark history of the generals and their tragic fates. “Those generals are powered by my arrays. They have their consciences restored, but no one can know what they are until they achieve the level I had when I restored them.”

His words hang in the air, and Lan Zhan’s mind processes this new information. The thought of the generals being corpses, resurrected and bound to Wei Ying’s will, shocks him. But as he listens, he knows that Wei Ying would never have done this lightly. He knows that Wei Ying must have felt the heavy weight of each decision, each life—or death—that he has altered in his quest for power.

“Are they as strong as your ghost general?” Lan Zhan asks, his voice steady despite the turmoil that churns inside him.

Wei Ying nods, his expression hardening slightly. “Yes, they are multiple times stronger than what Wen Ning was.”

The words are heavy, and Lan Zhan feels a shiver crawl down his spine. This isn’t just about power; this is something far darker, far more dangerous than he had imagined. “How many?” he asks quietly, bracing himself for the answer.

“I have six generals,” Wei Ying responds, the words coming out with painful honesty. “Around fourteen very high-level cultivators and ten high-level cultivators whom I address as marshals. And twenty spirits of maidens, servants, and non-cultivators who act as spies.”

Lan Zhan breathes a sigh of relief, though his heart is still heavy with the weight of what Wei Ying has done. Six generals, fourteen cultivators, ten marshals, and twenty spirits—all bound to his will. This is a force beyond comprehension, and it is a force that Lan Zhan knows could easily change the balance of power in the world.

Lan Zhan doesn’t know what to say at first. There are too many emotions flooding him, too many questions that he’s unsure whether he wants the answers to. He wants to be angry, but more than that, he just wants to hold Wei Ying, to protect him from all the pain and suffering that the world has thrust upon him.

Finally, Lan Zhan kisses Wei Ying’s forehead, his lips lingering on the soft skin for a moment longer than usual. “Good,” he murmurs, the word coming out with surprising gentleness. “I’m glad that you have control over this. I’m glad you can control it.”

Wei Ying stares at him in shock, his wide eyes searching Lan Zhan’s face for any sign of doubt, for any hint of rejection. But there is none. Lan Zhan’s gaze is unwavering, filled with the understanding that has come with the years they’ve spent together, the struggles they’ve faced, and the bond that has only deepened between them.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says softly, his voice laden with emotion. “I was only worried that resentment would hurt you, destroy you. But now I know why you used it. I was wrong. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry. I know you can control it. I know your master knows it. When the immortal has no problem with you using it, I don’t think anyone should have a problem.”

Wei Ying’s heart swells at the words, but he is also filled with guilt. He wanted to tell Lan Zhan everything, but he had been afraid. Afraid of burdening him with more than he could handle, afraid of losing his love and acceptance. He had kept so much hidden, and now he feels the weight of it all—every secret, every sacrifice.

“I have masked it this time,” Wei Ying continues, his voice steady despite the emotional storm within him. “No one would know they are corpses. No one would know that Chenqing calls out the resentment energy. No one will know how I use resentment, how few of the areas in the mounds are fuelled or warded.”

Lan Zhan nods, a sense of satisfaction filling him at the reassurance. “Hmm,” he says softly, his eyes filled with quiet pride for Wei Ying.

“I wanted to tell you everything, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying admits, leaning against him, the weight of the truth finally easing from his shoulders. “But I wanted to give you time to process everything since you had only regained the memories of the past recently.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes soften as he listens, his heart aching for Wei Ying, for all the pain he has carried alone. “Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan calls his name with a tenderness that wraps around Wei Ying like a warm embrace.

“Please don’t risk your life for others,” Lan Zhan pleads, his eyes shining with the depth of his care. “You don’t have to do this. Not for anyone.”

Wei Ying snuggles closer to Lan Zhan, the sincerity in his voice breaking through his own hesitation. He nods fervently, agreeing with the silent promise to protect himself, to live for the future they will build together. And in that quiet moment, in the soft embrace of each other’s arms, they find solace from the past and strength for the road ahead.

 

.

 

Lan Zhan calls his name again after a few minutes, his voice soft yet persistent. "Wei Ying."

"Hmmm?" Wei Ying answers, his voice a low hum, as he shifts from the thoughts that had been swirling in his mind.

Lan Zhan looks at him, his face a mixture of concern and curiosity. "Where are all your spirit spies?"

Wei Ying takes a deep breath before responding, his voice filled with the honesty that Lan Zhan has come to trust. "A few are in and around Qishan and Lanling. One is in Yunmeng, one in Qinghe, and there are a few others scattered here and there, wherever necessary."

"Qinghe?" Lan Zhan asks, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Why there?"

Wei Ying meets Lan Zhan's gaze, his expression calm and thoughtful. "Yes, I don't want to take any chances," he answers, his voice steady. He knows that with all that has happened, vigilance is more necessary than ever.

Lan Zhan nods, understanding the weight behind the words, though his mind still processes the information. "Hmm," he says, thinking carefully about how the network of spies might impact their plans.

"Can I get a spy of yours?" Lan Zhan asks suddenly, his voice quiet but filled with intent.

Wei Ying turns to him, his expression shifting slightly as he wonders why Lan Zhan would need one of his spies. "Hmm? Why? What happened?"

Lan Zhan hesitates before explaining. "I have some doubts about my sect... I fear there may be people working for the Wens among them." His voice darkens as he considers the betrayal that could be looming.

Wei Ying listens carefully, his eyes narrowing slightly as he processes Lan Zhan's words. "Hmm, possible," he says after a moment of consideration. "But don't you think they could also be working for the Jins?" He meets Lan Zhan's gaze with a calculating look. "See, they pressured your elders and the sect to kill me, lead a siege against me, and kill all the people I sheltered. So they either worked for the Wens or for the Jins. Or, they could probably just be so hell-bent on killing me without anyone pushing them. So be careful, Lan Zhan."

Wei Ying leans back slightly, his hands resting on his knees as he continues, "I will lend you two of my spies. They'll be able to help."

Lan Zhan feels a sense of relief wash over him at the offer. With two of Wei Ying’s trusted spies at his disposal, he knows he won’t have to go it alone, and he certainly won’t need to sneak into other rooms or resort to desperate measures. The weight of the situation becomes just a little bit lighter, and he feels the beginnings of a plan formulating in his mind.

"But how will I sneak two inside?" Lan Zhan asks, still concerned about how they can work within the confines of the Lan Sect without drawing attention.

"They can mask their presence," Wei Ying responds without hesitation. "Or they can pose as Lan servants in charge of cleaning. They could even pose as Lan cultivators, whatever you deem fit. I’ll summon them when we’re in Jingshi." His voice is steady and confident, knowing the capabilities of his spies.

Lan Zhan takes a deep breath, feeling a huge burden being lifted from his shoulders. With Wei Ying’s spies at his disposal, things might go more smoothly. The uncertainty of the spies betraying him becomes less of a concern. He can now focus on the more pressing matters at hand, particularly the dangerous currents of betrayal he feels pulsing through the Lan Sect.

A few minutes of silence pass before Wei Ying, his voice suddenly filled with a yawn, breaks the stillness. "Lan Zhan, let's sleep," he asks, his eyes growing heavy.

"Mm." Lan Zhan responds, his lips curling into a soft smile. He begins to stand, stretching his limbs, and they both begin to change into their sleeping robes.

Wei Ying hands his soft, comfortable sleeping robes to Lan Zhan, a gentle gesture of care. The robes are light, and they have a certain calming effect, the soft material of the fabric allowing them both to relax after the night’s discussions. They change into their sleeping clothes, the quiet routine a small comfort amidst the chaos that has followed them.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Ying suddenly says, his voice playful, "can we go for a night hunt someday?"

Lan Zhan, always attentive to Wei Ying’s words, feels a spark of excitement at the suggestion. "Hmm," he answers with a smile, his heart lifting at the idea of spending time with Wei Ying, even if only for a moment, in a less stressful environment.

"Lan Zhan, how about we finish our hunt soon? You can spend the whole day with me here. How about it?" Wei Ying asks, blinking his eyes in that mischievous way he always does.

Lan Zhan looks at him, a small hint of doubt crossing his features. "Won’t Wei Ying have work?"

"I would," Wei Ying replies, grinning. "But you can come with me everywhere. I’ll activate your invisibility talisman. How about it?" His smile is teasing, and his eyes gleam with mischief.

Lan Zhan feels a rush of excitement course through him. He hasn’t broken many rules—except for sneaking into Wei Ying's rooms or sneaking out with him—but he can easily see himself breaking all the rules for Wei Ying. He quickly agrees, his tone enthusiastic. "Yes, I’d love that."

"But if there’s any danger, you will be sent back immediately," Wei Ying adds, his tone serious.

Lan Zhan nods, his heart sinking slightly as he considers the risks. He hopes there will be no danger or emergency. He simply wants to be with Wei Ying, to spend more time with him away from the tensions that plague them both.

"Lan Zhan, do you know the Jins are planning a night hunt now in the same mountains where they hunted after the war? The timeline is shifting so heavily now, we can’t rely on the events from before. We cannot plan things according to the previous timeline." Wei Ying's tone is one of concern as he updates Lan Zhan on the state of affairs.

"Mm, there may not be any discussion conferences in Qishan as well," Lan Zhan adds, thinking through the implications of the situation.

"And there are rumours that many from the Wen Clan have gone missing suddenly," Lan Zhan continues, his voice tight with concern.

Wei Ying's eyes widen in shock, but his lips curl into a grin. "I have taken them in," he says, his voice low but resolute. "Many Dafan Wens are with me. Wen Qing and Wen Ning are with me here."

Lan Zhan raises an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "Why?"

"They have no part in Wen Rouhan’s crimes," Wei Ying explains, his voice firm. "He blackmailed Wen Qing with Wen Ning and the Dafan Wens in his custody. They had no say in what he did. They are healers, not murderers."

Lan Zhan nods at this revelation, his thoughts swirling. "He is searching for them."

Wei Ying nods, his expression darkening. "Yes. Even in our timeline, a discussion conference was held a few months after the lecture in Gusu. But things are shifting."

"Mm, correct," Lan Zhan agrees, his voice tinged with concern.

Wei Ying's grin returns, his eyes gleaming with confidence. "If things go as planned, the Wens won't be able to hold the discussion conference."

He leans in and kisses Lan Zhan’s cheek playfully, his lips lingering for just a moment. As he pulls away, he tugs gently at Lan Zhan’s ribbon. "I always loved touching your ribbon," he says, his voice teasing.

"Do you know what it means?" Lan Zhan asks, his eyes narrowing slightly in curiosity.

Wei Ying chuckles, his fingers continuing to caress the end of the ribbon. "Yes, I know now, after studying the rules in Celestial Mountain. But I had forgotten it back then." His tone is light and playful, and he continues to tease the ribbon’s end with his fingers.

"It will be yours," Lan Zhan says suddenly, his voice sincere.

Wei Ying’s face flushes at the declaration. He stares at Lan Zhan in surprise, his heart racing. His breath catches in his throat as he processes the significance of the words. "Lan Zhan..." he begins, but before he can continue, Lan Zhan pulls him close, kissing him senseless.

The kiss is deep and consuming, a mixture of longing, relief, and love. They both inhale deeply as the weight of their emotions rushes to the surface. It’s a moment that stretches on, filled with all the things they haven’t yet said to one another.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Ying murmurs, breaking the kiss with a sigh. "It will soon be five in the morning. Let’s sleep. You have to go back."

Lan Zhan feels a pang of disappointment at the mention of returning. He doesn’t want to leave Wei Ying’s side. "I want to marry you as soon as possible," he says, pouting slightly.

Wei Ying laughs softly, his hands cupping Lan Zhan’s face gently. "Don’t pout; you look too cute," he says before planting a soft kiss on Lan Zhan’s lips. He pulls away with a thoughtful expression. "I can’t let anyone know about us until the Wens and Jins are dealt with. Please understand," he says, his tone serious.

Lan Zhan’s expression shifts as he listens, and he knows that Wei Ying is right. The risks are too great. "We can deal with them together," he argues, his voice firm.

"No," Wei Ying replies, shaking his head. "Gusu cannot stand the Wens. There will be deaths, and I don’t want to be the cause. I’ll lure them to attack Yiling. If they fail, they’ll have Gusu as an easy target because of our relationship. So I can’t risk it."

Lan Zhan sighs, his shoulders sagging in defeat. He understands, though the thought of being apart from Wei Ying still hurts. "See? We are together, aren’t we?" Wei Ying says, his voice softer now. "I can take you here whenever you want during the night. I’ll design a talisman that will let us know if someone knocks on your door when you’re here with me. How about that?"

Lan Zhan nods, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "I want to sleep here for four days and three days in Jingshi."

"Alright, done. Whatever my handsome Lan says," Wei Ying coos, his voice warm and affectionate.

"Let’s sleep now; don’t sulk, my love. How about we go on a night hunt after Jin's night hunt?" Wei Ying asks, his voice playful.

"Mm," Lan Zhan responds, and then, opening his arms, he invites Wei Ying into the comfort of their shared warmth.

They both fall asleep in each other’s arms, finding solace in the closeness despite the challenges that lie ahead.

 

.

 

Lan Zhan wakes up at five in the morning as he always does. His gaze falls upon Wei Ying, who is still peacefully asleep, a gentle smile on his lips. Lan Zhan feels an overwhelming sense of warmth and affection stir in his chest. He relishes these quiet moments beside Wei Ying, wanting to cherish them before the demands of the day call them both into action. He tries to control the surge of emotions and thoughts that bubble up within him, thoughts that, at times, he cannot suppress. Despite his mature mental age, his current body still reacts as a teenager’s, with desires he struggles to contain. His mind drifts to what he wishes he could do, and though he is in control most of the time, sometimes, his yearning for Wei Ying overwhelms him.

He sighs softly, looking at the serene expression on Wei Ying’s face. He doesn’t want to disturb him, but time is pressing. “Wei Ying,” he whispers gently.

Wei Ying stirs, his eyes fluttering open. As soon as he meets Lan Zhan’s gaze, he understands—Lan Zhan is running late. Without hesitation, Wei Ying sits up, quickly helping Lan Zhan get dressed. With practiced ease, he teleports them both back to Gusu. Before they part, they share a tender kiss. Wei Ying smiles and returns to his slumber, the fleeting moments of peace lingering in his heart.

Chapter 24

Notes:

Hello, dear readers,

Welcome back!

Apologies for the delay in updating this chapter! Let me share something with you—I absolutely adore WangXian, and I've always dreamed of exploring a modern AU where one or both of them are part of the showbiz world. Sadly, there are very few fanfics that delve into this concept, and it’s such a missed opportunity. I’ve been considering writing one myself, but to ensure authenticity, I wanted to understand more about the entertainment industry in China.

To that end, I picked up three or four web novels set in this industry, hoping for some insight. Unfortunately, they all turned out to be disappointing. Each had over a thousand chapters, and the tropes were overwhelming—constant face-slapping scenes, brain-dead audiences, netizens with extreme herd mentalities, overpowered protagonists, and villains who seemed to exist outside any legal system. Kidnapping and even murder seemed to happen without consequence!

I read hundreds of chapters, but they offered little inspiration or information I could use. If you’ve come across any well-written showbiz novels, please drop the names in the comments!

 

Thank you so much for all the kind kudos and comments on the previous chapter! Your support means a lot to me! <3

Without further ado, here is the next chapter! As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts and theories in the comments. Please let me know what you think of this chapter!

 

Thank you for reading, and stay tuned for more!

 

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The day unfolds with Wei Ying’s usual routine of overseeing Yiling’s growing prosperity. After completing his morning tasks, Wei Ying visits the dormitories, where the laughter of children fills the air. Joining them after their lunch, he plays games, tells them stories, and ensures they feel loved and cared for. As the sun begins to set, he gathers the children for a stroll through the bustling marketplace, watching their eyes light up at the vibrant colours and lively stalls. For dinner, Wei Ying shares a meal with them, enjoying the warmth of their company.

Later that evening, Chunwen approaches him with updates. “Laozu,” Chunwen begins, “several sects have shown interest in purchasing our fabrics and special robes. The Jin Sect has already expressed satisfaction with their orders. We also have requests to dye certain robes in sect-specific colours, but otherwise, the stock is ready for shipment.”

Wei Ying nods thoughtfully. “Approve the supplies. Ensure the robes are dyed and dispatched promptly. If there are any further requests, let me know immediately.”

Chunwen continues, “Additionally, Chun Hua’s painting commissions have been sent to the Jin Sect as requested. We’ve received word that they’re impressed with her work.”

Wei Ying smiles. “That’s good to hear. She deserves the recognition. As for the robes and fabrics, ensure we maintain quality—our reputation depends on it.”

Shortly after, Wei Ying sends a message to Nie Huaisang, updating him on their ventures. Huaisang’s reply arrives quickly, informing Wei Ying that he will handle publicity for the robes from Gusu. He also shares that their guest lectures at Cloud Recesses will conclude in two days and promises to visit Yiling soon.

Some time later, Chunwen returns to Wei Ying’s office with a formal letter in hand. “Laozu,” he begins, “the Jin Sect is exceedingly pleased with both the robes and the effectiveness of the spirit flag during their recent hunt. They have arranged a night hunt in the Phoenix Mountains in four days and wish to extend their first invitation to you. They request the honour of your presence at the hunt.”

Wei Ying chuckles softly. “A night hunt in the Phoenix Mountains, is it? Very well. Send a letter confirming my attendance. Inform them I will visit Lanling for the hunt.”

“Yes, Laozu,” Chunwen responds, bowing slightly before continuing. “There is another matter. We may need more vessels and a suitable warm location for winemaking. Uncle Four is experienced in this craft and has worked with vintners before. Shall I approach him for assistance?”

Wei Ying nods. “That’s a good idea. Speak to him and organise the necessary arrangements. We’ll need to expand our capacity soon.”

Chunwen hesitates briefly before Wei Ying speaks again. “Chunwen, are you managing everything well? The responsibilities are increasing as we grow. If you need assistance, pick someone you trust, or let me assign help to you.”

Chunwen smiles reassuringly. “Thank you, Laozu, but I have enough help. The Wen siblings and my sister assist me regularly, so it’s manageable.”

“How about Wen Ning? Should I ask him to stay here after his classes to help you more?” Wei Ying offers.

“There’s no need, Laozu. Wen Ning already comes daily and supports me with the tasks.”

Wei Ying gives a small nod, satisfied. “Very well, but don’t hesitate to let me know if the workload becomes too much. I don’t want you to feel overburdened.”

“Thank you, Laozu. I’ll let you know if I need anything,” Chunwen replies before bowing and taking his leave.

 

.

 

Lan Wangji returns to his room, a tranquil space imbued with simplicity and order, mirroring the very essence of the Gusu Lan Sect. He kneels on the floor, eyes closed, his posture composed yet purposeful. Taking a deep breath, he allows his mind to settle and his thoughts to take form. Gratitude floods through him—a profound, heartfelt thankfulness for the second chance they have been given. The memory of past mistakes is a sharp sting, yet it serves as a sobering reminder of his duty to protect and cherish Wei Ying in this life.

The horrifying truths that had been unveiled about Wei Ying still haunt him, even now. He remembers how, in his misguided adherence to the principles of righteousness, he had caused Wei Ying pain, believing it was the only way to lead him back to the right path. Regret weighs heavily on him. The hurt he inflicted on the person he cherished above all else is a wound that time cannot easily heal. Yet, amidst the regret, there is relief—a profound gratitude that Wei Ying has transcended mortality and cultivated immortality. This second chance is a gift, and Lan Wangji vows never to squander it again.

His thoughts shift to Wei Ying’s enigmatic master, Baoshan Sanren, who has guided Wei Ying on this transformative journey. He feels an overwhelming urge to one day meet her and convey his gratitude for her teachings. It is through her guidance that Wei Ying has achieved this remarkable state, and for that, Lan Wangji feels deeply indebted.

A sudden knock on the door startles him from his reverie. Rising gracefully, he crosses the room and opens the door. Standing there is Lan Xichen, his elder brother, smiling with his usual gentle kindness. Lan Wangji’s heart tightens momentarily, a subtle pang that he cannot ignore. Though he has always loved and respected his brother, the sight of him brings forth painful memories. He recalls the time when Lan Xichen, like the rest of the world, had stood in silent condemnation of Wei Ying—a man who had saved all their lives.

Pushing the thoughts aside, Lan Wangji nods and silently follows Lan Xichen to their routine meditation session. The serene atmosphere of the Cloud Recesses serves as a balm to his restless mind, but the lingering shadows of the past are not so easily dispelled.

By mid-morning, a disciple arrives with a summons for both Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji. They are to report to Lan Qiren’s office. Walking in silence, one behind the other, they make their way to the elder’s study. Upon entering, they kneel and greet him respectfully, observing the decorum expected of disciples of the Lan Sect.

Lan Qiren looks weary, his face pale and drawn, likely a result of sleeplessness and the weight of recent events. Lan Wangji immediately discerns the cause—his conversation with his shifu the previous day. He steels himself, anticipating the unfolding drama.

“Wangji, Xichen,” Lan Qiren begins, his voice heavy with deliberation.

There is a pause as the elder gathers his thoughts, his weariness evident in every word. “I have reflected on the matters you brought to my attention, Wangji,” he continues, his tone both firm and hesitant.

“I have lived my life adhering to the principles and rules of the Lan Sect. I understand the source of your doubts, but it will take time for me to reconcile with your perspective.” His gaze shifts briefly to Lan Wangji, his words carrying an undertone of reluctant acceptance.

“I have decided to enter seclusion for some time,” he announces, his decision landing like a stone in the stillness of the room. “I need this time to reflect and deliberate.”

Lan Wangji listens intently, his expression calm, though his heart tightens at the weight of his uncle’s words.

“In the meantime, Xichen,” Lan Qiren continues, turning his attention to the elder brother, “you must step up as the acting sect leader. The position is destined to be yours, whether today or tomorrow. It is better to take it now than to delay.”

With that, Lan Qiren retrieves a box and hands it to Lan Xichen. Within it lies the authority token and seals of the Lan Sect—symbols of leadership and responsibility. Lan Xichen stares at them, the enormity of the task ahead clear in his eyes.

“I will inform the sect elders of my decision and begin my seclusion shortly,” Lan Qiren concludes, his tone final.

Lan Wangji watches his brother carefully, noting Lan Xichen’s posture as he hesitates to accept the role. Though he remains silent, Lan Wangji’s heart stirs with a mixture of emotions.

 

Lan Wangji’s grip on Bichen tightens as he struggles to compose himself. His knuckles whiten, and his teeth clench in a futile attempt to rein in the storm brewing within. Lan Xichen stares at their uncle in stunned disbelief, his lips parting to voice a rebuttal, but before he can utter a word, Lan Wangji speaks first.

“Shufu,” he begins, his tone calm but carrying an edge that betrays his disappointment. His golden eyes flash with a rare intensity as he continues, “I cannot ignore the pattern I see, nor can I pretend it does not exist. This sect—our sect—has turned seclusion into a tool of escape rather than reflection. Time and again, it has been used to shirk responsibilities, to hide from the consequences of our actions.”

His words strike like a whip, leaving the room steeped in tension. Lan Wangji pauses, steadying himself, though his anger simmers beneath the surface.

“Qingheng-jun,” he says, his voice hardening, “abandoned his duties as sect leader and burdened you with them, shufu, without a single thought for whether you desired or could bear such a weight. And now, as soon as you are faced with the truth of this sect’s failings, you choose to follow the same path. You seek to leave everything behind—to place the entirety of this burden on Xiongzhong, as though that resolves anything.”

Lan Qiren stiffens, his eyes narrowing, but he does not interrupt. The room feels heavy, as though the air itself disapproves of Wangji’s uncharacteristic defiance.

“My intention,” Wangji continues, his voice quieter but no less firm, “was never to cause harm. I sought only for you to see beyond the narrow scope of the rules and teachings we have clung to so rigidly. To discard the prejudices against certain sects, people, and even ourselves—to recognise the truth that exists in places we have been taught to ignore. But it seems I have caused more harm than good.”

He exhales slowly, the weight of his frustration palpable. Lan Xichen stares at his younger brother in utter disbelief, his composed mask cracking as Wangji’s words cut through the silence like a blade.

“You expect Xiongzhong to act as sect leader without any preparation or transition,” Wangji presses on, his voice like tempered steel. “Have you even considered whether he is ready? Have you thought about the sect or its future? What happens if he cannot bear the weight? What if the sect falls? Who will take responsibility then?”

His words hang in the air, unanswered.

“Back then,” Wangji adds, his voice carrying a tinge of bitterness, “Qingheng-jun abandoned his role without so much as considering whether you could handle it, shufu. Today, you are doing the same. It seems blood runs deep indeed.”

The room falls into stunned silence. Lan Qiren’s face is a mixture of anger and shock, but no retort comes. Lan Xichen, too, appears at a loss for words, his calm demeanour replaced by bewilderment.

After several long moments, Lan Xichen regains his composure, though his voice trembles slightly as he addresses his brother. “Wangji, what has come over you? Why are you speaking to Shufu in such a harsh manner?”

Lan Wangji does not respond, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on Lan Qiren. The elder brother’s words do not sway him, nor do they diminish the fire in his eyes.

Lan Xichen, sensing the impasse, bows his head and breaks the silence. “Shufu,” he says quietly, “I apologise on Wangji’s behalf. His words were unkind.”

Lan Wangji remains motionless, his expression carved in stone, as though he has not heard his brother’s plea. He neither apologises nor interrupts Xichen’s apology, sitting like a jade statue untouched by the turmoil around him. His silence speaks volumes—a refusal to retract his words, a quiet insistence that the truth must be faced, no matter how uncomfortable it may be.

Lan Xichen glances at him, the unspoken question clear in his eyes, but Lan Wangji offers no response. The weight of his words continues to linger in the room, a reminder that change, however painful, is often necessary.

Lan Qiren stares at Lan Wangji, his expression hardening as he processes the younger’s bold words. After a tense silence, he coughs several times, accepting the cup of tea Lan Xichen offers him. Once he has composed himself, he begins to speak, his tone edged with anger.

“Xichen is an excellent cultivator,” Lan Qiren declares, his voice steady but simmering with frustration. “He is the rightful heir to this position, the one destined to lead the sect. What nonsense is this about the sect falling? The Gusu Lan Sect has stood strong for hundreds of years. Do you truly think it is so fragile?”

Lan Wangji’s jaw tightens, but his resolve remains unshaken. He answers calmly but with an undercurrent of intensity. “Shufu, with the Wen Sect’s growing ambitions to dominate the cultivation world, can you guarantee the sect’s safety? Do we have the numbers to defend against their forces? Do we match their strength? Has Xiongzhong ever led a sect before? And if you retreat into seclusion, leaving no one to guide him, how can he ensure that no disaster befalls us?”

His questions pierce the air like arrows, and Lan Qiren’s face darkens further.

“We do not even know if someone within our sect is colluding against us,” Lan Wangji continues, his voice growing sharper.

“Enough!” Lan Qiren shouts, cutting him off abruptly. His tone is laced with fury. “Stop making baseless accusations!”

“Are they baseless, Shufu?” Lan Wangji counters. “Can you truly deny the Wen Sect’s actions? Are we certain of their innocence? What have they done to earn your trust?”

“There is nothing concrete they have done to us!” Lan Qiren retorts.

“Nothing?” Lan Wangji’s voice rises, his usual calmness splintering under the weight of his anger. “Who pushed the abyss toward Caiyi Town? How many died as a result? How many more would have perished if not for Laozu’s intervention? Isn’t pushing a massive abyss into another territory a declaration of supremacy? Did they apologise for it? Did they even communicate before taking such an action? Will you only believe me when the Wen Sect stands at our gates—gates with barriers that are laughably weak? Will you believe me only after they attack us, burn our structures, and kill our people?”

His words strike like thunder, reverberating through the room. Lan Xichen watches silently, his face pale as each sentence slices through the tension like a blade.

“Instead of strengthening our barriers or preparing our disciples for the trials ahead, we are discussing your retreat into seclusion,” Lan Wangji presses on, his voice thick with frustration. “What if Xiongzhong cannot bear the weight of these responsibilities? What if something goes wrong under his leadership? Who will take responsibility for abandoning the sect in its time of need? Will it be you, Shufu? Or Qingheng-jun, who has already forsaken his duties?”

Each sentence cuts deeper, leaving Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen visibly shaken. The room falls silent once more, but the weight of Wangji’s words lingers, impossible to ignore.

 

Lan Xichen gasps softly, tears brimming in his eyes. “We cannot accuse others so lightly,” he says, his voice trembling. “We have upheld righteousness for countless years. Why would anyone within our sect betray us? Why would someone collude against us, against their own people?”

Lan Qiren slams his fist on the table, his anger palpable. “Wangji, this is nonsense! The Gusu Lan Sect has survived on the foundation of our rules and principles. Without them, we would have descended into chaos long ago. Do you not understand the strength our rules give us?”

Lan Wangji’s expression remains calm, though his voice is firm and unwavering. “Shufu, the purpose of rules is not merely to bind us. They were created to guide us toward the righteous path. But righteousness must come from within, not solely from the clutches of rules. If someone harbours desires strong enough to defy our principles, do you truly believe rules alone could stop them? I am not accusing anyone. I am simply highlighting a possibility, one we cannot afford to ignore. Vigilance is not a weakness; it is a necessity.”

“Then how has our sect endured for centuries?” Lan Qiren retorts, his voice stern. “You speak of vigilance and possibilities, but the reality is that we have remained strong because of our principles. Stop this baseless speculation!”

“Because,” Lan Wangji responds evenly, “we have not faced anyone like Wen Ruohan before—someone actively seeking to exploit weaknesses and conquer the cultivation world. In the past, fewer rules existed, yet people followed the righteous path because their hearts aligned with it. Shufu, you may deny it now, but reality will prove my point. The Wen Sect is not idle. They are testing the waters, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike.”

Lan Qiren’s face twists in frustration, but before he can interrupt, Wangji continues. “If we both survive long enough to see the truth revealed, let us remember this moment.”

With that, Lan Wangji reaches for his token, unfastening it from his belt. He places it carefully on Lan Qiren’s desk before bowing deeply.

Both Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen spring to their feet in shock, calling his name simultaneously.

“What is the meaning of this?” Lan Qiren demands, his voice trembling with disbelief and anger.

“Shufu,” Lan Wangji says, his tone resolute but respectful, “I hold the Lan Sect, its rules, and its principles in the highest regard. But I have always believed that the purpose of our rules is to guide us, not confine us. They exist to ensure we stay on the righteous path, not to limit our ability to adapt or act when necessary. Yet here we are, discussing seclusion and turning a blind eye to potential dangers. Are we not bound by our own rules to stand united in times of need? And yet, you would retreat, leaving the sect vulnerable.”

Lan Wangji pauses, his gaze steady and unwavering. “I do not understand your blind trust in the Wen Sect. Smaller sects have already fallen under their control, and the larger ones are next. I am not saying we should act rashly and attack them. But we must at least prepare—strengthen our defences, train our disciples, and ensure we are ready to face them if the time comes.”

He bows again, deeper this time. “But it seems things are not as simple as I believed. I will leave Gusu for both my peace and yours. Wangji will always remain grateful to you, Xiongzhong, and the Lan Sect.”

Before he can rise, Lan Xichen lets out a heart-wrenching sob and throws himself into his younger brother’s arms. “Wangji! Wangji!” he cries, clutching him tightly. “What has happened to you? Why are you acting this way? I am no longer a good brother. I cannot understand what is going on in your mind. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!”

Lan Wangji gently pats his brother’s back, trying to soothe him. “Xiongzhong,” he murmurs softly, “do not blame yourself.”

After a few moments, Lan Xichen pulls away, his hands trembling. With a loud thud, he drops to his knees before Lan Qiren.

“Shufu,” he pleads, his voice breaking, “what Wangji has said is harsh, but it is not without truth. I am not ready to lead the sect, not now, not when the intentions of the Wen Sect remain uncertain. I am not fit to bear this responsibility alone.”

Tears stream down his face as he bows his head low. “Shufu, please reconsider your decision. I have already lost my parents. I cannot bear to lose Wangji too.”

Lan Qiren looks between the two brothers, his face a storm of emotions. For once, he is at a loss for words, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. The room falls silent, save for the soft sound of Lan Xichen’s sobs and the faint rustle of fabric as Wangji turns away, his heart heavy with the decision he has made.

 

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Chapter 25

Notes:

Hello, dear readers,

Welcome back!

Apologies for the delay in updating this chapter! Unfortunately, I lost several chapter drafts due to a technical issue with my docs and had to rewrite them from scratch. This caused me to lose motivation for a few days, but I’m back now and ready to continue the story. Thank you for your patience!

Thank you so much for all the kind kudos and comments on the previous chapter! Your support means a lot to me! <3

Without further ado, here is the next chapter! As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts and theories in the comments. Please let me know what you think of this chapter!

Chapter warning: Violence, gore and death.

Thank you for reading, and stay tuned for more!

 

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Lan Qiren stands in the centre of the room, his gaze shifting between his two nephews. His face is a storm of emotions, a rare moment where he finds himself at a complete loss for words. The weight of the situation presses down on him, heavier than he ever could have imagined. The room is utterly silent, save for the soft, uneven sounds of Lan Xichen’s quiet sobs and the faint rustle of fabric as Lan Wangji turns away, his expression unreadable but his resolve unwavering.

Lan Qiren’s heart tightens as he looks at the younger of the two brothers, his posture firm, his decision already made. His mind travels back, unbidden, to a time long past—one that still haunts him. He had once felt the same sense of helplessness when his elder brother, Qingheng-jun, had chosen to lock himself away in seclusion. He had wanted, more than anything, to beg his brother not to go. He hadn’t been ready, not even remotely prepared, to take on the burden of the sect, nor the responsibility of the two young children his brother had left behind. He had never imagined himself as a leader. That had always been Qingheng-jun’s role, his duty. Lan Qiren had always been content to support him, to remain in the background, guiding where necessary but never stepping into the light.

And yet, his brother had left, giving up all responsibility, abandoning his own sons and his sect without a second thought.

And now—now Lan Wangji, the very child Qingheng-jun had forsaken, was standing before him, making the same choice.

A bitter taste fills his mouth as he realises the truth. Wangji’s words had struck deeper than he had anticipated. Perhaps it truly was in their bloodline, this tendency to run away from the truth, to seek escape rather than face difficult realities. The thought fills him with deep, gnawing dissatisfaction—not with Wangji, nor even Xichen, but with himself. He lowers his head in shame, exhaling softly.

But he cannot afford to dwell on his regrets now. What matters most in this moment is convincing Lan Wangji not to give up on the sect, not to give up on the family that still needs him.

Taking a deep breath, he straightens his back and calls out, his voice steady despite the turmoil within.

“Wangji.”

At the sound of his uncle’s voice, Lan Wangji halts in his steps. Lan Xichen, though still sobbing quietly, momentarily stills, his breath hitching.

Lan Wangji does not turn immediately. When he does, his expression remains impassive, unreadable, though his golden eyes hold the weight of unspoken thoughts. He waits, ever respectful, for his uncle to speak.

Lan Qiren studies his face for a long moment before finally speaking.

“What you have said is not wrong,” he admits, his voice solemn and measured. “I am indeed running away from my responsibilities.”

A heavy silence stretches between them.

“I have never had experience leading the sect,” Lan Qiren continues, his voice steady but with an underlying weariness. “Nor did I ever expect to raise two children. All I ever desired was to teach, to pass on knowledge to the future generations of Cloud Recesses. But fate did not grant me that choice. Whether I was ready or not, I was forced onto this path, forced to take on a role I had never prepared for. And I have made many mistakes.” He pauses, exhaling deeply before meeting Wangji’s gaze. “But I have always considered you and Xichen my own sons. I may not have been the father you lost, but I did my best to raise you both.”

Lan Xichen lets out a quiet, shaky breath, his expression a mixture of grief and gratitude.

“You both have been my pride,” Lan Qiren continues, his voice thick with emotion. “But today, I have let you down.”

Lan Wangji stands in silence, his posture unwavering, but something in his gaze shifts—something almost imperceptible, yet deeply felt.

“I understand your concerns, Wangji,” Lan Qiren finally says. “Tell me—what do you intend to do? I shall listen.”

Lan Wangji turns slightly, glancing at his elder brother, who still looks shaken. Reaching out, he places a firm but gentle hand on Xichen’s back, steadying him. He does not speak immediately. Instead, he waits, allowing Xichen the time he needs to regain his composure. He pats his brother’s back lightly, a rare but meaningful gesture, until Xichen’s breathing evens out.

Finally, he looks back at his uncle.

“Shufu,” Lan Wangji says at last, his voice formal yet calm. “Wangji apologises for his rudeness. As penance, he will copy the sect rules.”

Lan Qiren’s brow furrows slightly, but before he can respond, Wangji continues.

“But my words were necessary. I only wish to secure our sect.”

Lan Xichen wipes his face, straightening as he looks at his younger brother. “Wangji,” he says, his voice still hoarse from crying, “tell us—what are you planning to do?”

Lan Wangji’s gaze sharpens with determination. “I wish to establish a small group of cultivators under my command to patrol Cloud Recesses and its surrounding areas for intelligence. I want our disciples to be trained to defend themselves, should the need arise. And I want the sect’s barriers strengthened.”

He pauses briefly before adding, “Only the three of us should know about this. The elders must not be informed.”

Both Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen exchange a glance, their expressions shifting between pride, apprehension, and uncertainty.

Lan Qiren exhales slowly, his expression unreadable as he looks at his nephews. The weight of his earlier decision still lingers in his mind, but now, after everything that has been said, he knows there is no other path for him to take. With measured calmness, he finally speaks.

“As I said earlier, I shall take back my decision to enter seclusion. I will call for you tomorrow so we may discuss your plans in greater detail,” he says, his voice steady yet laced with exhaustion.

The tension in the room shifts slightly, though it does not dissipate entirely. Lan Wangji remains silent, his expression as unreadable as ever, but internally, he knows that this is only the first step. Though he has no desire for authority, no genuine interest in sect politics, he understands the necessity of his involvement. If he wishes to ensure the safety and stability of the Lan Sect, he must secure a firm standing within it.

Leadership has never been his goal, but without a foot hold of his own, his plans—strengthening the sect’s security, training the disciples, and forming an intelligence network—would be impossible to implement. He cannot allow others to hinder these efforts, especially not those among the elders who have long held influence over the sect’s affairs. If he wishes to enact real change, he must do so from within.

Straightening his posture, he turns to his uncle and speaks with quiet determination.

“I, along with Xiongzhang, will help manage the sect from now onwards—if Shufu does not object,” he states firmly.

Lan Qiren studies him carefully. He sees the resolution in Wangji’s gaze, the quiet but unshakeable conviction behind his words. Though Lan Wangji has never sought leadership, it is clear that he understands what must be done. He is not stepping forward for power or for authority—he is doing so out of necessity, out of duty, out of love for his sect and family.

He recognises this, and for the first time in a long while, he feels a semblance of hope.

Finally, he nods. “Alright.”

Lan Xichen, still recovering from the storm of emotions, places a hand over his heart and takes a steadying breath. Though his face is still damp with tears, there is something steadier about him now. He looks at Wangji, truly looks at him, and sees the strength in his younger brother.

“Thank you, Wangji,” he says softly. “For staying.”

Lan Wangji does not respond with words, but he inclines his head ever so slightly—just enough for Xichen to understand.

Lan Qiren watches his nephews in silence, his heart weighed with both regret and relief. He knows this is only the beginning of what will be a long and arduous journey. But, for the first time in a long while, he feels as though the future of the Lan Sect is in steady hands.

Perhaps, just perhaps, this is the moment their family finally begins to heal.

 

.

 

Chunwen enters Wei Ying’s room with a worried expression, his brows furrowed in unease. The candlelight flickers as he steps forward hesitantly.

"Laozu," he calls, his voice respectful but urgent.

"Hmm?" Wei Ying responds absentmindedly, his focus fixed on the notes he is scribbling, ink staining his fingertips as he meticulously records his thoughts.

"There’s an old man waiting for you in the receiving hall. He insists he must meet you, saying he has a problem that only you can solve."

That finally makes Wei Ying pause. He lifts his gaze to Chunwen, his sharp eyes assessing the situation. "Where is he?" he asks, setting down his brush.

"He’s waiting outside." Chunwen shifts uneasily.

Wei Ying rises, stretching his fingers. "Let’s go," he says, leading the way as Chunwen follows closely behind.

As they enter the receiving hall, the old man—his hair grey, back slightly hunched from years of toil—immediately falls to his knees and kowtows, his frail body trembling. His clothes, though clean, show signs of wear, and his face is lined with age and worry.

Wei Ying steps forward swiftly, his movements fluid and graceful as he reaches out, lifting the man by his arms. "There is no need for this," he says gently, guiding the elder to sit on a soft cushion. "Please, speak."

He gestures for Chunwen to pour tea. Chunwen obeys, handing the old man a cup. The man clutches it with shaky hands and gulps it down, visibly parched.

"Laozu, our village is in danger! Please help us," he pleads, voice cracking with emotion.

Wei Ying pours him another cup, pushing it toward him. "Calm yourself, Grandpa. Take a deep breath and tell me everything."

The old man nods, sipping the tea more slowly this time, his breathing evening out as he gathers his thoughts.

"It all started a few weeks ago," he begins. "Our village lies between Baling and Yunmeng, under the management of the Ouyang Sect. A short while ago, we discovered dead bodies near the village gates. At first, we thought it was an isolated incident, but then more appeared—not just people, but animals too, their remains scattered and torn apart."

Wei Ying listens intently, his fingers lightly tapping the wooden table as he considers the implications.

"Then, strange noises began at night," the old man continues. "Wails, howls, sounds of scratching at doors and windows. The villagers are terrified. We sought help from the Ouyang Sect, but the cultivators they sent ran away without solving the problem. But we know what we have seen, what we have heard. We have heard of your strength, Laozu. Please, help us!"

Wei Ying taps his nose in thought. "Chunwen, take him to the dining hall. Make sure he eats something warm. I’ll leave with him after dinner."

The old man’s expression shifts from despair to hope. "Thank you, Laozu! Thank you!"

Wei Ying stands and exits the hall, his mind already working through possible explanations. As he steps outside, he spots Wen Ning standing near the hall.

"Wen Ning," he calls. Wen Ning turns to him immediately. "Take three boys with you and eat quickly. We’re going on a night hunt."

Wen Ning nods obediently and dashes toward the dormitories to gather the disciples.

Later, as night blankets the sky, Wei Ying, Wen Ning, and three young boys stand at the entrance of the receiving hall. The old man walks alongside Chunwen, looking steadier than before now that help is at hand.

"Grandpa, I’ll take you to your village on my sword," Wei Ying instructs. "Hold onto my arm and step up when I tell you. Xue Yang, you’re coming with me."

"Chunwen, we will return soon."

With a swift motion, Wei Ying unsheathes his sword. A moment later, they are airborne, the wind rushing past them as they travel swiftly toward the village.

Upon arrival, Wei Ying helps the old man down. He turns to the young cultivators. "Stay close and observe carefully. This will be a valuable experience."

The boys nod eagerly, thrilled to be accompanying Wei Ying on a night hunt.

The moment they approach the village gates, the foul stench of rot assails their senses. The scent of dried blood lingers in the air. Even from a distance, they can see the streaks of dark stains on the ground. The old man gestures toward an abandoned building near the entrance.

"That’s where the noises come from," he says, voice hushed as if afraid of waking something.

Wei Ying and Wen Ning exchange a glance before stepping forward. The village is eerily silent, the usual nocturnal sounds muted as if nature itself senses something unnatural lurking nearby.

Just as they near the building, movement catches Wei Ying's sharp eyes. A group of cultivators clad in Jiang Sect robes is already there, investigating. Wen Ning stiffens, immediately moving to shield the boys from view. His grip tightens around his sword, his expression unreadable.

Wei Ying, however, remains composed, stepping forward without hesitation.

Nearby, a few village elders converse in hushed voices with the Jiang cultivators. The moment they notice Wei Ying, they straighten and bow deeply. "Immortal," they greet in unison.

Wei Ying acknowledges them with a slight nod but does not spare the Jiang cultivators a glance. "This building," he says, turning to the old man. "Why is it locked?"

"Laozu, this was an abandoned house. No one has lived in it for years. But recently, cries have been heard from inside. We were too afraid to check, so we sealed it with the help of a few cultivators."

As if to punctuate his words, a loud, violent bang reverberates from within the building. The villagers gasp, stumbling back in fear.

Wei Ying narrows his eyes. He listens intently, gauging the sound. After a moment, he extends his hand. "The key."

The old man hesitates before fumbling to retrieve it, quickly stepping away after handing it over.

Wei Ying unsheathes his sword in one fluid motion. Wen Ning follows suit, his posture alert.

The banging ceases suddenly. An unsettling silence falls over the area.

Wei Ying inserts the key and turns it. The lock clicks open, he activates a talisman to unlock the seal, and he slowly pushes the door ajar. A loud creak echoes into the night. Darkness spills from within.

Wei Ying steps forward cautiously, sword raised. Wen Ning follows at his side, ready for any sudden attack.

The Jiang cultivators, after a brief hesitation, unsheathe their swords and trail after them. The air inside the building is thick and suffocating. Something lingers in the darkness—waiting.

Wei Ying tilts his head slightly, listening for movement. Then, from deep within the shadows, a guttural growl resonates, low and menacing.

"There you are," Wei Ying murmurs, his lips curving slightly in anticipation. "Let’s see what you are."

Wei Ying steps forward, the dim, flickering light from the talisman in his grasp casting long, eerie shadows against the cracked walls. The heavy scent of rot clings to the air, thick and suffocating. As the talisman’s glow intensifies, its light pierces through the suffocating darkness, illuminating the room’s grim interior.

The cultivators behind him instinctively shield their eyes from the sudden brightness. When they reopen them, an involuntary shudder ripples through the group.

A corpse sits on an old rocking chair, its emaciated form swaying ever so slightly, as if responding to an unseen force. Half of its face is eaten away by decay, leaving behind a grotesque visage of bone and sinew. The tattered remnants of clothing hang loosely from its skeletal frame, soiled with filth and dried blood. A large gash runs from the upper side of its face down to its chest, as if a blade once struck it but failed to put it to rest.

The corpse stares straight at them.

Its hollow, sunken eyes hold no life, yet something within them gleams with unmistakable fury. Around it, the remnants of a gruesome past litter the ground—splintered bones, dark patches of long-dried blood, and torn paper with faded ink barely visible. This place is a tomb. No, something worse. A prison.

Wei Ying exhales slowly, his expression unreadable as he takes in the grotesque sight. The air here is heavy—not just with decay, but with something else. Something alive in its hatred. The moment he stepped in, he felt it—the thick, seething resentment that clung to every surface, pressed against his skin like invisible claws. This corpse—no, this thing—wasn’t simply dead. It had been wronged.

Behind him, the Jiang cultivators shift uneasily. Their instincts scream at them that something is wrong, but none dare voice it.

Then—

"Who are you?"

Jiang Cheng’s voice slices through the silence, sharp and demanding.

Wei Ying’s eyes flicker toward him, his breath catching for the briefest of moments.

Jiang Cheng.

It has been so long since Wei Ying last saw him. The familiarity of his voice, his presence, sends a strange discomfort curling in his gut. Memories stir, unbidden, at the edge of his consciousness—memories of days when they stood side by side, when this voice had been a constant in his life. But those days are long gone.

Jiang Cheng steps forward, his grip on Sandu tightening. His gaze remains locked on the corpse, wary, expectant.

But the corpse does not answer.

It continues to stare, unmoving, its decayed lips slightly parted. The resentment around it thickens, pressing down on them like an impending storm.

Wei Ying narrows his eyes. This is no ordinary fierce corpse. It is something worse—something consumed entirely by hatred and injustice. He lets his gaze drop to its skeletal hands. They are clenched tightly around something, its brittle fingers pressing into its palm as if unwilling to let go. Whatever it is holding—it is important.

Before Wei Ying can act, Jiang Cheng moves.

He lifts his sword, stepping closer to the corpse, his muscles tensed in preparation to strike.

"Jiang Cheng, wait—"

Too late.

A sharp object whirls through the air, glinting in the dim light. It is too fast—too sudden. Jiang Cheng’s eyes widen, but before he can dodge, Wei Ying moves.

Instinct drives him forward.

He shoves Jiang Cheng aside just as the weapon slices past, grazing his wrist instead. A sharp sting spreads across his skin, warm blood welling from the wound.

Jiang Cheng stares at him, his expression flickering through shock, anger, and something more complicated—something unspoken. His gaze shifts to the object now lying motionless on the floor, then back to Wei Ying.

Wei Ying ignores it.

He raises his hand, retrieving Chenqing from his robes. The moment the flute meets his lips, the first haunting notes of a melody drift through the air.

The corpse stirs.

Its head twitches to the side, as if straining to listen. Then, slowly, it rises. Its brittle bones creak, the motion stiff and unnatural. The resentment that oozes from it intensifies, sending a wave of unease through the room. Some of the cultivators flinch, their grips tightening on their swords.

But Wei Ying does not stop.

The melody shifts, his fingers dancing over the flute with precision, altering the notes. The corpse jerks—then moves toward him.

Not to attack.

But as if compelled.

With a trembling hand, it reaches into its robes, pulling out a small container. Carefully, it extends it toward Wei Ying.

He accepts it, his fingers brushing against the corpse’s cold, rigid ones. His gaze lingers on it for a moment longer. Even in death, its posture, its movements, its very presence scream of unfinished business. Of a story left unresolved.

"Wen Ning."

At his name, Wen Ning kneels beside him, his expression calm but alert. He does not hesitate to follow Wei Ying’s commands, and Wei Ying trusts him completely.

Wei Ying takes a deep breath, his expression solemn as he turns to Wen Ning. “I will perform empathy. If things get out of hand, make sure to make a sound. The fierce corpse should remain calm for now, but ensure no one disturbs or touches anything.”

Wen Ning immediately nods, his stance firm. “Understood”

With that, Wei Ying settles into a comfortable position, cradling the container in his hands. He closes his eyes, focusing his spiritual energy. The world around him fades, replaced by a vision so vivid it feels tangible.

A woman stands in a sunlit courtyard, laughter bubbling from her lips as she plays with a child and a teenage boy. Their joy is infectious, filling the air with warmth. Nearby, a man watches them from the fields, his eyes crinkling with affection as he takes a brief respite from his work.

The scene shifts. Months pass in mere seconds. The woman now sits with her hands gently resting on her swollen belly, her face glowing with quiet happiness as she gazes at her son and husband. A young boy—her brother-in-law—approaches, draping a blanket over her shoulders with a shy smile. She thanks him, her expression radiating gratitude and contentment.

Another shift. Darkness seeps into the vision. The woman kneels before her husband’s lifeless body, her cries barely more than ragged whispers. Her child clings to her, weak and frail, while the young boy beside her fights back tears, his hands trembling as he tries to offer comfort. The husband's corpse bears bruises, evidence of a violent attack. His death is not natural.

Time moves forward.

“Saozi, I don’t think they will help us. Please don’t go with A-Fu,” the young boy pleads, his voice thick with desperation.

The woman shakes her head, determination shining through her sorrow. “A-Gang, I have already lost your brother. A-Fu is getting weaker each day. If I don’t seek help now, I will lose him too. Please be good. I will return soon.” She caresses his hair, her touch gentle despite the turmoil within her.

A-Gang clutches at her sleeve, his eyes wide with fear. “Saozi, take me with you. You are pregnant, and A-Fu needs to be cared for. You cannot strain yourself like this. How can I face Brother if something happens to you?” His voice breaks at the end, tears slipping down his cheeks.

She offers him a soft smile, though her eyes glisten. “Be good, A-Gang. You have to look after the house. This is all we have left. I promise I will come back.”

She walks away, her child in her arms, leaving the young boy behind with the burden of hope and fear.

The vision fast-forwards.

The woman kneels in front of a group of cultivators wearing Ouyang Sect robes, her face pale and desperate. “Please, please. My son is dying. Help me. I have already lost my husband. I will return the money, I swear. Just this once, please.”

The leading cultivator smirks, exchanging glances with his companions, some of whom wear the robes of the Jiang Sect. He sneers, voice laced with mockery. “Your husband borrowed money from me and vanished. Who would have thought he was so weak? Now you come begging?” He chuckles, looking toward the alley where his friends observe the scene with amused expressions.

Her hands tremble, yet she still clasps them together in supplication. “Please… just a little more. My son—he doesn’t have much time.”

The cultivator lets out an exaggerated sigh before flicking a few copper coins at her. “Take it and scram.”

Grabbing the meagre offering, the woman stumbles to a physician, pleading for medicine for her son. Days pass in agony, her child barely clinging to life.

Then they come.

The same cultivator, this time flanked by his friends, stands at her doorstep. “When are you returning the money?” he demands, his tone sharp and impatient.

She swallows hard. “My son is still recovering. I will return everything once he is well.”

The man’s gaze drops to her swollen belly, and he laughs. “You are carrying another one? Why do you even need this child?”

He reaches for the little boy beside her.

“No!” She rushes forward, shielding her son with her body.

The cultivator raises an eyebrow. “You have two choices, woman. Your son, or the land? That useless plot of dirt your husband treasured so much—do you really think it has value?” His grin widens. “Consider this a favour. I’m saving you from unnecessary suffering.”

Tears streak her face as she shakes her head frantically. “No, no, please…”

The cultivator yanks the child from her grasp, and in the struggle, the little boy is thrown to the ground. A sickening crack echoes in the air as his fragile body hits the dirt, blood pooling from his temple.

“No!” The mother’s scream is raw, her sobs desperate.

Another cultivator sneers and grabs her by the hair, yanking her back. “What a weakling. Were you really trying to save that? Consider it a mercy.” He nudges the lifeless body with his foot, disgust plain on his face.

The leader crouches beside the weeping woman. “Now, about my money. Or shall I take my payment in another way?” He smirks, fingers tightening in her hair as he whispers venomous threats into her ear.

Days later, A-Gang is thrown out of what was once his home. He stumbles, his face streaked with dirt and tears. He has searched for his sister-in-law and nephew, only to find their bodies discarded like trash. His sister-in-law’s corpse is broken beyond recognition, her suffering carved into her bones. He grits his teeth, swearing vengeance. But he never gets the chance. The same men who destroyed his family end his life just as mercilessly.

And so, the woman’s resentment festers. Death does not bring her peace.

Her soul twists into something monstrous, something relentless. She rises as a fierce corpse, fuelled by rage and agony. The cultivator’s wife and children are the first to die. Then his livestock, his home, everything he holds dear. She kills indiscriminately, her vengeance a storm that cannot be quelled.

But before she can reach the true culprits—the cultivators themselves—she is captured. Sealed within the old house, her fury coils within her, growing darker, stronger.

The last thing she sees before being locked away is the flash of Jiang and Ouyang Sect robes.

Wei Ying gasps, the vision snapping away. He opens his eyes, his hands trembling. The grief, the fury, the injustice—it all still lingers in his chest. He exhales shakily, his mind already racing.

This woman deserves justice. And he will see to it that she gets it.

 

************************

Chapter 26

Notes:

Hello, dear readers,

Welcome back!

This chapter is a little shorter than usual since I couldn’t find the time to write a longer one, but I’ll do my best to update the next chapter by Friday!

A huge thank you to all of you for reading, leaving kudos, and sharing kind comments on the last chapter. Your support truly means alot to me, and your feedback keeps me motivated to write!

Without further ado, here is the next chapter! As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts and theories in the comments. Please let me know what you think of this chapter!

 

Thank you for reading, and stay tuned for more!

 

************************

Wei Wuxian composes himself, pulling his mind back to the present reality. As he gently opens his eyes, the sight that greets him is the tattered, half-decayed body of the fierce corpse—a being that had suffered unimaginable losses due to the greed and cruelty of others. A wave of pity washes over him, and he exhales softly, his heart heavy with sorrow. He had seen many grievances in his time, but this one carried an especially deep pain, rooted in betrayal and injustice.

Glancing around, he notices Wen Ning, Jiang Cheng, and a few Jiang cultivators watching him intently. Their gazes are filled with expectation and wariness. The room is heavy with silence, broken only by the sound of their quiet breathing. Wei Wuxian taps his nose thoughtfully before speaking, his voice calm yet firm.

"The fierce corpse harbours deep hatred for Jiang cultivators. Can you please step outside for a moment until I can stabilise it?" He does not meet their eyes, keeping his focus on the corpse before him.

Jiang Cheng opens his mouth to protest, his instinctive pride refusing to be dismissed so easily. However, he remembers the way the fierce corpse had thrown a dagger at him with murderous intent. His expression darkens, but after a moment of hesitation, he decides against arguing. Instead, he clenches his jaw and gestures for the other Jiang disciples to follow him out of the room.

The door closes behind them with a quiet thud, and the room falls into stillness once more. Wei Wuxian lifts Chenqing, his dizi, to his lips and begins to play. The melody is slow and steady, carrying with it an unspoken promise of understanding. The melancholic notes weave through the air, coaxing the fierce corpse from its trance-like state, guiding it towards a moment of clarity.

As the last note fades, he lowers the flute and turns to Wen Ning. "Go to the village and bring back a coffin," he instruct softly.

Wen Ning nods immediately, his obedience unwavering. Without a word, he leaves the building to carry out the order, his presence disappearing into the night.

Wei Wuxian shifts his attention back to the fierce corpse. His movements are careful and respectful, as if he is handling a wounded soul rather than a vengeful spirit. He kneels beside it, his voice gentle yet resolute.

"I am sorry for what happened to you. My name is Wei Wuxian, also known as the Yiling Patriarch. I will ensure you find closure for all that you have suffered." His tone is steady, filled with quiet determination. "You have already taken vengeance on the families of those cultivators. If you still wish to kill them, you can. I will not stop you."

He pauses, watching for any reaction. The fierce corpse remains motionless, its resentment still present but no longer uncontrollable. Taking this as a sign to continue, Wei Wuxian speaks again, his words slow and measured.

"However, I have a better idea. They have already lost their families, but what if they lost more than that? What if, instead of their lives, they lost their dignity as cultivators? If they were cast out from their own sects, if their crimes were made public and they became pariahs, scorned and despised—would that not be a fate worse than death?"

Silence stretches between them, thick with tension. Yet, the fierce corpse does not react with hostility. Wei Wuxian takes this as an unspoken agreement to listen.

"I will make all the necessary arrangements," he continues. "For now, I will seal you temporarily in a coffin, but I promise you—I will help you claim your revenge. In a way that ensures your pain is known to the world."

At that moment, Wen Ning returns with a coffin, accompanied by two villagers who help him carry it inside. Their hands tremble with fear, their eyes darting around anxiously, as if they might be attacked at any moment. Wei Wuxian offers them a reassuring nod before gesturing for them to leave. He does not need their fear to linger in the air, disturbing the fragile balance he has created.

Once they are alone, he steps towards the coffin and opens it. Raising Chenqing once more, he taps it lightly against the wooden surface. "If you trust my words, please enter. I will only seal it temporarily."

For a long moment, nothing happens. The room is eerily still. Then, sensing the resonance of Chenqing, the fierce corpse stirs. Slowly, almost hesitantly, it begins to move. Step by step, it approaches the coffin, its decayed body dragging slightly across the floor. Without resistance, it lies down inside, as if exhausted from the weight of its own hatred.

Wei Wuxian wastes no time. Pulling out several talismans, he flicks them onto the corpse’s body, temporarily suppressing its resentment and rendering it inactive. The markings glow faintly before dimming, sealing the dark energy within. He then closes the lid, securing it with a firm lock. As an extra precaution, he pastes additional talismans over the surface of the coffin, ensuring the seal remains intact.

Straightening up, he glances at Wen Ning and nods. "Invite the Jiang cultivators back inside. It's time to proceed."

Wen Ning hesitates for a brief second before stepping towards the door. As it creaks open, the murmurs of the Jiang cultivators filter in from the outside. Wei Wuxian does not turn to look at them yet. Instead, his gaze lingers on the coffin, his fingers lightly tracing the edge. He has given the fierce corpse a choice—a path to vengeance beyond mindless slaughter. Now, all that remains is to see it through to the end.

Wei Ying waits patiently until Wen Ning returns with the Jiang cultivators. Once they step inside, their expressions a mixture of apprehension and curiosity, Wei Ying gestures towards the coffin.

"I have temporarily contained the situation," he states evenly. His gaze sweeps across the Jiang cultivators, unreadable yet sharp. "This woman and her family were brutally killed by a group of Ouyang and Jiang cultivators. Her resentment festers because she seeks their blood."

The Jiang cultivators stiffen, some exchanging uneasy glances. Before any of them can object, Wei Ying presses on.

"I trust that the Jiang cultivators are strong enough to handle this. You will need to transport the coffin back to your sect and play soul-calming music continuously for several days to prevent her from breaking free. No one is to tamper with or attempt to destroy the coffin. If that happens, the entire sect may face consequences far worse than just a vengeful spirit." His tone is calm but carries an undeniable weight of warning.

He steps back, his role in this matter seemingly complete. "I have helped you confine her, but she is your responsibility now. Take her back to your sect and handle it as you see fit."

Without waiting for a response, Wei Ying turns towards the door, ready to leave.

"Wait!" Jiang Cheng’s voice cuts through the silence.

Wei Ying pauses, turning just enough to meet Jiang Cheng’s gaze.

"Why don’t you take it?" Jiang Cheng asks, his voice laced with suspicion.

Wei Ying’s lips curve into a small, knowing smile, one that drains the colour from Jiang Cheng’s face. "Because neither I nor my people were the ones who wronged her," he replies simply.

Jiang Cheng’s heart sinks. The truth settles over him like a suffocating weight. Never had he imagined that someone from his own sect could be responsible for such a horrific injustice. He had taken on this hunt thinking it would be an opportunity—to prove himself, to bring honour to the Jiang Sect. He had hoped that after completing the guest lectures, his mother would finally acknowledge his achievements. But instead, the village elders had sought out Yiling Laozu, placing their trust in Wei Ying rather than him.

His grip tightens at his sides as he glances between the coffin and Wei Ying—the boy who was of the same age as him, now an immortal cultivator who commands both fear and admiration. For a moment, awe and resentment war within him. Before he can gather the right words, Wei Ying is already walking away, not sparing him another glance.

Outside, the villagers wait anxiously, standing alongside the group of young boys from Yiling. The tension in the air is palpable, but the moment Wei Ying steps out, it dissipates. He smiles at the boys, offering them a small nod before turning to address the village elder.

"The matter has been handled," he informs the old man. "The Jiang cultivators will be taking the coffin away. You no longer need to worry."

A collective sigh of relief sweeps through the villagers, their faces breaking into wide smiles. The elder bows deeply, gratitude evident in his every movement. "Thank you, Laozu. We are indebted to you."

A woman steps forward, cradling a large basket of fresh vegetables. She hesitates for only a moment before handing it to Wen Ning with both hands. "This is a small token of our gratitude. You have helped us tremendously. Thank you, Laozu."

Another elderly man nods in agreement. "Truly, we cannot thank you enough."

Wei Ying waves a hand dismissively. "There was no need for this," he says, though his tone is kind.

The villagers, however, are insistent, urging him to accept their humble gift. After a few more moments of polite refusals, Wei Ying finally gestures for Wen Ning to take it. The younger boy bows slightly in acceptance, clutching the basket carefully.

With that, Wei Ying turns to the boys from Yiling, his expression softening. "Let’s go."

Together, he, Wen Ning, and the young boys make their way back to Yiling, leaving behind grateful villagers and a group of Jiang cultivators who are now burdened with a responsibility they had never anticipated.

 

.

 

Wei Ying returns to his room after briefing the boys about the night hunt, but his mind remains preoccupied with the horrors he witnessed while performing empathy. The memories replay in his mind—the woman's brutal murder, the merciless way her brother-in-law was slaughtered—blurring and overlapping with past images of the Wen elders meeting a similarly cruel fate at the hands of cultivators who had never once stopped to consider whether their actions truly served the greater good. He detests how some cultivators act righteously, cloaking their heinous deeds in the name of justice.

Lost in thought, he barely notices how much time has passed. Shaking himself out of his daze, he gets to his feet and makes his way to his workshop. The familiar scent of parchment and ink fills the air as he rummages through his supplies, pulling out a stack of papers. He closes his eyes, steadying himself before he begins to sketch.

His brush moves fluidly, capturing the sharp angles of the Ouyang cultivator's face—the one who had initiated the crime. Next, he draws the lackeys from the Ouyang and Jiang sects, the ones who had encouraged and revelled in the atrocities. One by one, their likenesses appear on the pages, each detail sharpened by Wei Ying’s growing anger. He doesn’t stop until he has finished five such portraits.

He stares at them for a moment, his jaw tightening. Then, taking the papers, he leaves his workshop and summons his general. The masked figure arrives swiftly, bowing deeply.

"Get me information on these people by tomorrow," Wei Ying commands, handing over the stack of sketches. "I need their names, their current whereabouts, and confirmation on whether they are still affiliated with their respective sects. I also want to know their ranks and positions."

The general nods. "Understood, Laozu. I will call upon the spies immediately."

Without another word, the general bows again and departs. Wei Ying watches him go, his mind still occupied with countless thoughts. The weight of it all presses down on him, and he finds himself needing an escape, a moment of quiet to steady himself.

His feet carry him toward the lake, the cool night air brushing against his skin. Once he reaches the shore, he steps into a small boat and pushes off, rowing lightly, aimlessly, through the still waters. The rhythmic sound of water lapping against the boat soothes him as he drifts toward the lake’s centre.

He pauses there, surrounded by gently swaying lotus blooms. The sight is both beautiful and bittersweet.

For years, he had been fascinated with Yunmeng. He had believed it to be his home. A whole lifetime, he had clung to that belief. But now, with the clarity that comes from distance, he understands the truth. It had never been his home—not really. That had been his own wishful thinking, an illusion he had desperately wanted to be real. The Jiang family had never truly seen him as one of their own. It had always been his wishful thinking, his naive dream.

His gaze drops to the cut on his wrist, the faint sting reminding him of his impulsive act earlier. His body had moved instinctively to protect Jiang Cheng, even though in this lifetime, he had nothing to do with him or the Jiang sect. Was it ingrained in him, a habit so deeply rooted that even death could not erase it? He sighs, frustrated with himself. He slaps his palm lightly against his cheek as if to scold himself.

"I can't afford to be reckless like this again," he mutters under his breath.

He has greater goals now. He has Lan Zhan. He has Yiling to protect. It is no longer his responsibility to safeguard Jiang Cheng or the Jiang cultivators.

Yet, despite everything, he still loves the lotus blooms. He doesn’t know if it’s because of Yunmeng or simply his love for lakes and lotus, but he finds comfort in the way they sway so peacefully with the water. If only life could be that simple. If only people possessed true conscience, a control over their greed.

But there is no place for such naive hopes. He still has justice to deliver. The woman and her family deserve vengeance.

Reaching into his robes, he takes out his communication seal. He hesitates for only a moment before sending a message.

"Nie Xiong, I may need your help at the Jing Conference."

He exhales, watching the ripples in the water spread outward as he waits. Then, after some contemplation, he sends another message.

"Are you asleep?"

It doesn’t take long for his seal to vibrate. He looks down.

"No," comes Lan Wangji’s reply.

A small smile tugs at Wei Ying’s lips. Even amidst the turmoil of the night, some things remain constant.

Wei Ying pockets his seal and retrieves a talisman, whispering an incantation under his breath. In a flash of light, he teleports to Jingshi.

Lan Zhan is awake, seated by his guqin, Wangji, his fingers resting lightly on the strings as if lost in thought. The soft glow of lanterns casts a warm light on his serene face. At the sudden disturbance in the air, he lifts his gaze, and the moment he sees Wei Ying, his usually stoic expression softens, warmth and relief flickering in his golden eyes.

Wei Ying wastes no time. He rushes across the room, his heart pounding, and launches himself at Lan Zhan, sending them both tumbling to the ground. A low grunt escapes Lan Zhan’s lips, but he does not push Wei Ying away. Instead, he cradles Wei Ying’s head, pressing it against his heart.

“I missed you,” Wei Ying whines, his voice laced with affection and longing.

Lan Zhan’s arms tighten around him, and he leans in, pressing a soft kiss against Wei Ying’s crown. The silence between them is comfortable, filled with unspoken understanding as they simply bask in each other's presence, neither feeling the need to fill the space with unnecessary words.

After a while, Wei Ying shifts slightly and tilts his head up. “Lan Zhan, why are you still awake?” He asks, his voice gentle but curious.

“A lot happened,” Lan Zhan replies softly, his voice tinged with a rare uncertainty.

Wei Ying studies him carefully. “What do you mean?”

Lan Zhan hesitates for a brief moment before admitting, “I do not know if I am making the right decisions.”

Wei Ying frowns and sits up slightly, shifting out of Lan Zhan’s embrace just enough to face him properly. Sensing his serious expression, Lan Wangji follows suit, sitting up and settling into a more composed posture. His gaze remains steady as he begins to recount the events that have transpired.

Wei Ying listens intently, his playful demeanour momentarily giving way to the brilliant strategist hidden beneath his mischievous exterior. He nods as Lan Zhan finishes speaking, taking a moment to process everything before finally breaking the silence.

“You are doing the right thing, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying reassures him, his voice unwavering.

Lan Zhan searches his expression for any trace of doubt, but there is none.

“But what exactly are you planning to do?” Wei Ying asks, his curiosity piqued.

“I want to train a select group of Lan cultivators, have them patrol within and outside of Gusu to gather intelligence. The sect must be strengthened, its defences fortified. I also want to investigate whether anyone is secretly colluding with the Wen Clan,” Lan Wangji explains, his tone firm with conviction.

Wei Ying hums in approval, his fingers absently tracing circles on the back of Lan Zhan’s hand. “That’s a good plan. You should also reinforce the barriers around the Cloud Recesses and ensure that the sect can protect itself. If, inevitably, things take the same course as they did in our previous lifetime, Gusu will be the first of the Great Sects to be attacked.”

Lan Zhan nods in agreement, his eyes never leaving Wei Ying’s. He leans in then, closing the distance between them, his intent clear. Wei Ying meets him halfway, their lips brushing against each other in a soft, lingering kiss. In that moment, all worries fade into the background.

Lan Zhan deepens the kiss, his hand sliding to the nape of Wei Ying’s neck, his grip firm yet gentle. Wei Ying sighs into his mouth, surrendering to the moment, melting into Lan Zhan’s embrace. The kiss grows more urgent, Lan Zhan’s lips moving with a quiet intensity, his tongue sweeping into Wei Ying’s mouth, claiming, exploring, tasting.

Wei Ying’s knees go weak, a soft whimper escaping him as he clutches at Lan Zhan’s robes for support, fingers curling into the fabric like a lovestruck maiden. Lan Zhan chuckles against his lips, the rare sound sending a delightful shiver down Wei Ying’s spine.

Lost in the warmth and security of Lan Zhan’s embrace, Wei Ying lets himself forget—just for a while—the weight of revenge, duty, and past betrayals. In this moment, none of it matters. There is only Lan Zhan—his unwavering love, his steady presence, his quiet strength. And for now, that is enough.

After a while, Lan Zhan gently pulls Wei Ying closer, cradling him against his chest. Wei Ying hums contentedly, shifting to nestle deeper into Lan Zhan’s warmth, basking in his affection like a spoilt kitten.

"Why didn’t you come earlier?" Lan Zhan murmurs, his voice low and steady.

Wei Ying sighs softly. "I was on a night hunt."

As Lan Zhan listens in silence, Wei Ying recounts everything—the woman’s tragic fate, her family’s murder, and the resentment that still lingers. He speaks of the Jiang cultivators, of Jiang Cheng, and of how he handled the situation. Then, as if sensing the tension in Lan Zhan’s stillness, he quickly adds, "Don’t worry, Lan Zhan. I won’t be reckless again."

Lan Zhan shifts, straightening slightly to take Wei Ying’s wrist in his grasp. His golden eyes darken with concern as they fall on the faint but healing wound. Though Wei Ying’s own cultivation has already begun mending it, the worry in Lan Zhan’s gaze remains.

A pang of guilt washes over Wei Ying. He hates seeing Lan Zhan troubled, especially over him. He places his free hand over Lan Zhan’s, squeezing lightly. "Lan Zhan, really, there’s no need to worry. I promise—I won’t be reckless again."

Lan Zhan doesn’t answer right away, but after a moment, he brings Wei Ying’s wrist to his lips, pressing a soft, lingering kiss over the wound. "Hmm," he finally murmurs, his grip firm but gentle.

Wei Ying exhales, feeling lighter somehow, as if the burden he carries has been momentarily shared.

"What will you do now?" Lan Zhan asks.

"I’ve already ordered my generals and spies to gather information," Wei Ying replies, his voice filled with quiet resolve. "I will expose them. They won’t escape justice."

Lan Zhan hums in approval. Saying nothing more, he simply pulls Wei Ying against him once again. Wrapped in each other’s arms, the weight of the world momentarily fades away.

Soon, sleep claims them both, their hearts beating in quiet harmony.

 

*****************

Chapter 27

Notes:

Hello, dear readers,

 

Welcome back!

 

I wasn’t able to complete the proofreading yesterday, so I’m updating the chapter today. Thank you to everyone who has been following this fiction—I truly appreciate your support! A special thanks to those who have taken the time to comment and leave kudos on the chapters so far. Your engagement means a lot.

For those concerned about Wei Ying still having a soft spot for the Jiangs—yes, he does. That’s just who he is; he’s inherently empathetic. Even in the novel, despite everything he endured, he never held deep grudges. In this story, he is stronger and fully aware of how much he was manipulated. However, some things are deeply ingrained in his mind, making it difficult to completely erase old sentiments. That said, rest assured—he will be firm with the Jiangs in the next chapter. I hope it will be to your satisfaction!

Without further ado, here is the next chapter! As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts and theories in the comments. Please let me know what you think of this chapter!

 

Thank you for reading, and stay tuned for more!

 

***************************

Lan Wangji arrives at Hanshi alongside Lan Xichen. The two brothers walk in silence, their robes billowing slightly in the cool morning breeze. Hanshi, serene and dignified, exudes the weight of history, its very walls a testament to the discipline and traditions of the Gusu Lan Sect. The moment they step inside, they find Lan Qiren waiting for them, his expression unreadable.

Lan Qiren gestures for them to sit. Both bow respectfully before taking their seats. The room remains quiet for a moment as Lan Qiren strokes his beard thoughtfully, studying his younger nephew with piercing eyes.

“Wangji, tell me your plan in detail. What role do you expect us to play?” Lan Qiren finally asks, his voice measured but firm.

Lan Wangji, composed and resolute, meets his uncle’s gaze. “Shifu,” he begins, his voice even, “as I mentioned earlier, I will require a group of Lan cultivators—those who will listen to my command without hesitation. To prevent unnecessary conflicts or ego clashes, I will personally select cultivators of my age whom I deem suitable.”

Lan Qiren nods slightly but does not interrupt, prompting Lan Wangji to continue. “Additionally, I will need both Shifu’s and Xiongzhong’s assistance in reinforcing the sect’s barriers and training disciples in advanced defensive techniques.”

Lan Xichen listens attentively, his gaze shifting between his uncle and younger brother.

“I will also require access to the forbidden section of the library,” Lan Wangji states without hesitation.

Lan Qiren’s brows knit together, his grip tightening on his robes. “And why is that?” he asks, his voice sharp with suspicion.

Lan Wangji’s expression remains impassive. “I intend to equip myself and the cultivators under my command with the knowledge of the forbidden Lan music,” he explains. “We will swear an oath to use it only in the event of war. The cultivators I select will be bound by the same restrictions.”

A tense silence follows his words. Then, Lan Qiren slams his palm on the table, his voice ringing with authority. “Wangji!” he exclaims. “If war is upon us, we must fight honourably. The use of forbidden music, which can tamper with a cultivator’s core, is unethical! There is a reason such techniques have never been taught within the Lan Sect. If misused, the consequences could be catastrophic!”

Lan Wangji’s expression does not falter. His golden eyes are steady as he responds, his voice devoid of emotion. “Shifu, do you truly believe that someone who inhumanly forced a massive abyss onto another sect’s territory, disregarding the lives of hundreds, would fight with honour?”

Lan Qiren’s fingers twitch slightly at the sheer weight of Wangji’s words, but he says nothing.

Lan Wangji continues, his tone unwavering. “Do you believe that a man who seeks absolute control over all cultivation sects would engage in fair battle? If Wen Ruohan were righteous, would he resort to oppression and bloodshed? Would he have annihilated smaller sects to expand his own power?”

Lan Xichen exhales quietly, his mind racing. “Shifu, I have also heard reports of smaller sects being forcibly absorbed by the Wen Clan,” he interjects. “Da-ge wrote to me about it. I believe Wangji has a point.”

Lan Qiren’s expression darkens, his stern face unreadable. He remains silent for several moments before shaking his head resolutely. “No,” he says firmly. “The elders will not agree to this. The implications are far too severe. We cannot permit the study of forbidden music.”

Lan Wangji, however, does not back down. “Shifu, I am not asking any of the elders to teach it, nor am I requesting that every disciple learn it,” he argues. “I intend to teach only half of the cultivators under my command. No one outside this room will know about it. We will not use it unless absolutely necessary, and even then, we will disguise its presence. That is why I need your and Xiongzhong’s assistance.”

His voice remains calm, but there is an unyielding steel beneath his words. “This knowledge will not be spread beyond us,” he assures them. “It is a precaution, not a weapon of recklessness.”

Lan Qiren observes his younger nephew intently. Something about Wangji has changed in the past few days—something profound. He has become more expressive, more resolute, more strategic. It is almost as though he has undergone a spiritual awakening. He has grown more intelligent, but there is also an underlying urgency to his actions, perhaps even paranoia.

Lan Qiren sighs deeply, rubbing his temple. He does not want to believe that the Wen Sect’s intentions are as sinister as Wangji claims, but if he is wrong, if war truly does break out, the consequences will be immeasurable.

Finally, after a long pause, he speaks. “Alright,” he concedes, his voice quieter than before. “How many cultivators do you require?”

“Fifteen,” Lan Wangji answers without hesitation. “I will submit the names shortly.”

Lan Xichen watches his younger brother closely, a mixture of pride and concern swirling within him. Wangji has matured overnight—he has become formidable, his conviction unshakable. Yet, it saddens Xichen that he can no longer read his brother’s thoughts as easily as before.

At times, Wangji appears content, particularly in the early mornings, but at other moments, he seems deeply troubled. Xichen cannot understand the reasons behind his shifting emotions, nor can he discern what thoughts plague his brother’s mind. He only hopes that Wangji will remain safe and find happiness amidst the growing storm.

Lan Xichen smiles slightly at Lan Wangji before turning to their uncle.

“Alright,” Lan Qiren says, breaking the silence. “We must leave tonight for the Jin Sect’s conference. Once we return, we will begin implementing your plans. In the meantime, both of you will assist me in responding to letters requesting aid with night hunts. I expect you to help manage affairs from now on”

“Yes, Shifu,” both Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji reply in unison, bowing deeply.

As they rise and prepare to depart, the weight of their conversation lingers in the air. The future is uncertain, but one thing is clear—Lan Wangji will stop at nothing to protect what he holds dear.

 

.

 

The long-anticipated day of the Jin Sect conference and hunt finally arrives. Wei Ying wakes early. He moves with practiced ease, slipping into his attire with a quiet efficiency that speaks of years spent preparing for such occasions. His inner garments are black, both the upper and lower layers fitting snugly to his form. Over these, he dons his outer robes—black with gold embroidery, the fabric as smooth as flowing water. The golden threads form intricate patterns, subtly depicting lotus flowers in full bloom, a symbol of elegance and resilience.

His belt, matching in black and gold, is adorned with delicate, swirling designs. Long golden tassels hang from it, swaying gently with each movement. Wei Ying gathers his hair into a high ponytail, securing it with a vibrant red ribbon—his signature colour. Atop his head, he places a gold guan, its structure resembling an intricate lotus, the craftsmanship exquisite. The finishing touches include his dizi and sword, both tucked securely into his belt. A collection of qiankun pouches, filled with talismans and other necessities, are fastened at his waist. He is a vision of lethal elegance.

Summoning the general, Wei Ying waits as he arrives promptly, bowing before speaking. “Laozu, I have gathered the information you requested regarding the cultivators.”

Wei Ying listens intently, his sharp eyes betraying no emotion as he processes the details. When the general concludes his report, Wei Ying nods in approval. “Good work.”

With that, he strides to his office, where Chunwen, Wen Qing, Wen Ning, and Chun Hua are already gathered. They greet him respectfully, and he offers a small nod in return.

“Are you ready?” Wei Ying asks Chunwen.

“Yes, Laozu. I have taken everything necessary,” Chunwen replies.

“Good.” Wei Ying produces a small talisman and hands it to him. “Keep this on you. You never know what the Jins might attempt. They could send a maid to our quarters with some fabricated nonsense, trying to manipulate us into taking her in. This talisman will prevent anyone from accessing you unless you wish it.”

Chunwen’s expression shifts to one of surprise and gratitude. “Thank you, Laozu. I was actually concerned about such things.”

Wei Ying chuckles. “Unless you want to take a Jin spy as a wife, I suggest you use it.”

Chun Hua smirks. “So that means I won’t be getting a sister-in-law anytime soon?”

Wei Ying grins. “I doubt you’d want one from the Jin sect.”

Wen Qing rolls her eyes while Wen Ning smiles quietly at their antics.

“Qing Jie, look—I’m wearing the guan you chose for me,” Wei Ying says, turning his head slightly.

“But not the robes,” she counters immediately.

“They were too heavy,” Wei Ying complains, lips pulling into a slight pout.

“You’re attending an event in a palace practically made of gold,” Chun Hua reminds him dryly.

Wei Ying sighs. “Fine, fine. Next time, for a public gathering, I’ll wear whatever you choose.”

“You better keep that promise,” Wen Qing warns.

Wei Ying laughs. “Let’s finish breakfast and leave.”

They move to the dining hall, where breakfast is a brief but pleasant affair. Wei Ying eats efficiently, keeping an eye on the time. “When are we expected to arrive?” he asks between bites.

“By mid-morning,” Chunwen responds.

Wei Ying hums in thought. “We should teleport to the outskirts, then fly the rest of the way on my sword.”

Chunwen nods. “Yes, Laozu.”

As they prepare to depart, Wen Qing gives Wei Ying a pointed look. “Be careful, Wuxian.”

“You too,” he responds. “Stay within the inner mounds. If anything happens, send me a message immediately.”

The three nod in agreement before Wei Ying and Chunwen teleport to the outskirts of Lanling. From there, they take to the skies, soaring toward Phoenix Mountain Gathering on Wei Ying’s sword. The wind rushes past them, and the sight of the golden palace looming in the distance is both grand and ostentatious.

Upon arrival, Chunwen dismounts first and approaches the guards to announce their presence. One of the guards immediately rushes toward the inner quarters, breathless as he informs Jin Guangshan that the Yiling Laozu has arrived. The other sects, already assembled, murmur among themselves, exchanging glances.

A procession soon appears, led by Jin Guangshan himself, accompanied by his son, nephew, wife, and a handful of elders. As Wei Ying watches them approach, amusement dances in his eyes. The same man who once sought his death now comes forward to welcome him with open arms. The irony is almost laughable.

“Yiling Laozu,” Jin Guangshan greets with an exaggerated smile. “The Jin Sect welcomes you to our night hunt.”

Wei Ying inclines his head slightly, his expression unreadable. “Sect Leader Jin.”

A seat, notably placed beside Jin Guangshan, is arranged for Wei Ying. The choice of seating is not lost on him—an attempt to showcase equality, though the reality is vastly different. Chunwen takes a seat with the other sect leaders.

“Jin Sect welcomes all the esteemed sect leaders and disciples gathered here for the night hunt,” a Jin elder announces loudly.

“We are especially honoured by the presence of Yiling Laozu, an immortal of unparalleled skill. A seat of honour has been prepared beside our revered sect leader. Please, be seated.”

Wei Ying barely suppresses his amusement at the flattery, but he accepts the seat with a small nod. The gathered sects stare openly, their expressions ranging from shock to curiosity. He is not even twenty, yet he is an immortal—how could such a thing be possible?

Jin Guangshan rises to speak. “We are greatly pleased with Laozu’s spirit attraction flags, which the Jin Sect shall be using in this hunt. We eagerly anticipate the results.”

“We have prepared an abundance of prey for all sects to hunt. Do not hold back. By the end of the night, let us see which sect claims the highest number of kills,” he continues, a sly smile tugging at his lips. “Following the hunt, we shall gather at Koi Tower for a grand banquet to celebrate the victor.”

With a flourish, he gestures for the hunt to begin. A servant blows a deep horn, while another beats a large ceremonial drum, the sound echoing through the valley. The disciples, led by their respective sect heirs, set off toward the mountain.

From the moment Wei Ying arrived, Lan Wangji’s gaze has not left him. There is something deeply mesmerising about Wei Ying’s presence, a beauty that transcends the physical. It unsettles him.

The sect leaders remain at the podium, their seats arranged in a semi-circle. Jiang Fengmian’s eyes drift to Wei Ying occasionally, an unreadable expression flickering across his face. Nie Mingjue and Nie Huaisang exchange small smiles with Wei Ying, who reciprocates in kind.

An elder from a smaller sect approaches, bowing slightly. “Immortal one, it is an honour.”

Wei Ying nods in acknowledgement. Another voice follows.

“We are most pleased with the robes you have provided our sect,” Lan Qiren states. “We wish to establish a trade agreement with Yiling.”

Several sect leaders nod in agreement, displaying their eagerness. Jiang Fengmian, however, looks momentarily perplexed.

Wei Ying gestures toward Chunwen. “Chunwen oversees such matters. You may discuss the details with him.”

Jin Guangshan, ever the opportunist, seizes the moment. “The Jin Sect has been highly impressed by the extraordinary craftsmanship and luxurious embroidery of the robes provided for us.”

Wei Ying merely offers a smile in response.

The conversation shifts as Jin Guangshan continues posturing, painting himself as the wealthiest and most influential cultivator in the absence of the Wen Sect. Wei Ying, growing weary of the farce, turns his attention to the Nie Sect. Among the disciples seated behind Nie Mingjue, his eyes land on Meng Yao. The young man’s gaze is fixed on Jin Guangshan, his expression a blend of longing and determination.

Wei Ying immediately understands—Meng Yao’s desire for acknowledgement, for a place among the Jins, is already consuming him. He realises then that Meng Yao will stop at nothing to claim the status he so desperately craves. With this in mind, Wei Ying resolves to keep a watchful eye on him.

Nie Huaisang, observing Wei Ying’s scrutiny, grins behind his fan, as though sharing a silent understanding of Wei Ying’s suffering.

Before long, the guards announce the conclusion of the hunt.

The disciples, along with the participating sect heirs, return from the hunt. Jin Guangshan stands up, brushing the creases from his golden robes, and surveys the assembled cultivators with a broad, self-satisfied smile.

"I did not expect the hunt to conclude so soon," he says with a chuckle, pretending a hint of disappointment in his voice, as if he had hoped for a longer display of skill and prowess.

The gathered cultivators exchange glances. The efficiency of the hunt, largely due to the spirit lure flags, had made it significantly shorter than previous years.

"One representative from each sect may stay to oversee the counting of preys," Jin Guangshan continues. "The rest of us shall return to Koi Tower for the banquet."

The sect leaders nod in agreement, and soon, the grand procession makes its way back to the opulent halls of Koi Tower. Wei Ying is, once again, seated next to Jin Guangshan, positioned above all other sect leaders, a move that is both a display of honour and a calculated attempt at flattery. The contrast does not escape him. In his previous life, Jin Guangshan had sought his death and the power of his Yin Hu Fu. Now, in this life, the same man is playing the role of a gracious host, eager to claim connections to the immortal Yiling Laozu.

A Jin cultivator steps forward, carrying a scroll, and bows before reading aloud. "The results of the hunt have been tallied. The Jin Sect stands in first place, having secured the greatest number of preys, followed by Gusu Lan and Qinghe Nie."

He then hands the scroll to Jin Guangshan, who takes it with a smirk, clearly pleased with the outcome.

Murmurs ripple through the hall. One of the disciples from a smaller sect whispers to his companion, but his voice carries in the large chamber. "The preys were drawn to those flags. It was an easy hunt for them. They didn’t even have to search for their targets like we did."

A hush falls over the hall as all eyes turn to him. Realising his mistake, the disciple stiffens and quickly ducks behind another cultivator, hoping to escape scrutiny.

Jin Guangshan, however, recovers quickly, raising his cup and addressing the assembly. "The spirit lure flag is an acquisition of the Jin Sect from the esteemed immortal, Yiling Laozu. It is but one of his many brilliant inventions, and we are pleased to have such treasures among our possessions. We look forward to further acquisitions of his work."

There is a collective gasp, followed by a flurry of whispers. The implications are clear: the Jin Sect is positioning itself as the exclusive holder of Wei Ying’s innovations.

One of the smaller sect leaders rises, his expression eager. "Immortal one, we have seen firsthand the effectiveness of these flags. They would be of immense benefit to all cultivators during night hunts. We request that you make them available for all sects."

Wei Ying inclines his head politely. "Sect Leader, at present, my people are occupied with fulfilling commissioned robe orders. However, we fully intend to make the spirit lure flags available for all sects soon. Additionally, we are in the process of developing a compass that will allow cultivators to detect the presence of resentful energy and identify the level of danger posed by a beast or spirit. We will begin taking commissions for both in the near future."

A wave of murmuring sweeps through the hall. The prospect of such a device is an exciting one, promising to revolutionise night hunting.

Jin Guangshan, ever eager to establish himself as the wealthiest and most influential, puffs up his chest. "The Jin Sect would like to bid for the first trials and acquisition of the compass."

Wei Ying smiles serenely. "We will open the bids for the first acquisition in a few days. I look forward to seeing it in use."

Jin Guangshan smirks, clearly believing himself to be the inevitable winner of the bid. His satisfaction is almost tangible. "Immortal one, we would be honoured if you would extend your stay with us for a few days. Allow us to express our gratitude with the finest hospitality the Jin Sect has to offer."

Wei Ying bows his head slightly. "Thank you, Sect Leader Jin, but we must return tomorrow. Our duties in Yiling require our attention."

Jin Guangshan nods, masking his disappointment behind a gracious smile.

"Let the banquet begin!" he announces grandly.

Servants move swiftly, filling goblets with fine wine and laying out an extravagant spread of dishes. Wei Ying exchanges a glance with Chunwen, who gives him a subtle nod. As the banquet commences, conversations flow, sect leaders engaging in discussions of alliances, trade, and cultivation advancements.

Midway through the meal, Jin Zixun rises from his seat, a smug expression on his face. Taking a jar of wine, he strides towards the Gusu Lan delegation and stops beside Lan Xichen. He pours a cup and offers it to the elegant and composed Lan Sect heir.

"Zewu Jun, surely you will not refuse a drink offered in goodwill by your host?" Jin Zixun says, his voice carrying an unmistakable edge.

Lan Xichen hesitates before accepting the cup, nodding politely.

Jin Zixun’s smirk widens as he turns to Lan Wangji, who is seated beside his brother. Pouring another cup, he places it in front of him. "Lan Er-gongzi, I hope you will not insult our hospitality by refusing."

Lan Wangji remains impassive, his golden gaze locked onto Jin Zixun’s face.

Jin Zixun’s smirk deepens. "Lan Er-gongzi, you have yet to drink. Is this how the esteemed Gusu Lan Sect repays generosity?" His voice is louder now, drawing the attention of those nearby.

Wei Ying clears his throat deliberately, his voice cutting through the growing tension. "Are we not all aware that alcohol is strictly forbidden in the Gusu Lan Sect?"

Jin Zixun turns to him, feigning innocence. "That is in Gusu. Are we not in Lanling? Surely, the rules do not apply here."

Wei Ying lets out a laugh, light yet pointed. "Is it not the duty of a host to respect the customs of his guests? Should you not be extending courtesy before demanding it in return? What do you think, Sect Leader Jin?"

Jin Guangshan, who had been drinking leisurely, stiffens slightly. He swallows his wine and hastily nods. "Yes, yes, of course."

Wei Ying tilts his head, his smile razor-sharp. "Then perhaps Sect Leader Jin should call back his nephew. Or, should I refuse this wine as well, will you force it down my throat?"

A ripple of hushed whispers spreads through the hall. Jin Guangshan, now visibly uncomfortable, quickly gestures. "Zixun, sit down."

Wei Ying does not let it drop. "Sect Leader, if your nephew openly disrespects guests before all present, does it not reflect poorly on the Jin Sect? Or was this deliberate—an attempt to insult Gusu Lan?"

Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen exchange amused glances.

Jin Guangshan pales, shaking his head rapidly. "No, no, Immortal one. My nephew was merely ignorant of their customs."

Wei Ying chuckles. "Ignorant? Did he not just return from Gusu, where he attended guest lectures? I recall he was quite diligent in writing down the rules—especially those when he was disrespecting me."

The room falls silent.

Jin Guangshan, now desperate to salvage the situation, nods hastily. "Zixun, apologise to the Lan Sect."

Jin Zixun’s face burns with embarrassment. Clenching his fists, he bows stiffly to Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji before hurriedly retreating to his seat.

Lan Xichen casts a grateful look at Wei Ying and bows slightly. Wei Ying merely smiles and nods.

The banquet continues, but Lan Wangji’s gaze never wavers from Wei Ying. He has always loved his Wei Ying’s sharp tongue and unyielding spirit. Tonight, he has only fallen deeper.

If only he could take his Wei Ying away from this gathering and express his admiration in a more personal way.

Wei Ying lightly drums his fingers against the table, the rhythmic tapping the only indication of his impatience. The time he had been waiting for had long since passed, yet no one had entered the hall with any news

Suddenly, the heavy doors burst open with a loud crash, drawing everyone’s attention. A group of Jin cultivators stumbles inside, their robes in disarray, hair undone, and expressions filled with alarm. Their hurried, uneven steps echo through the grand hall as they rush forward, eyes darting toward Jin Guangshan.

“Zongzhu! Zongzhu!” one of them gasps out, barely able to catch his breath. “Several cultivators from the Jiang and Ouyang sects… they—they are acting possessed! They are making their way here as we speak!”

A tense silence falls over the banquet hall. The smug smile that had been plastered on Jin Guangshan’s face vanishes instantly, replaced by a look of unease. His grip tightens around his wine cup as his gaze shifts toward the entrance. Meanwhile, a sly smile blooms on Wei Ying’s lips, his eyes glinting with quiet amusement as his plans begin to unfold

The sect leaders of the Jiang and Ouyang sects abruptly rise from their seats, their expressions dark with concern. Without hesitation, they stride purposefully toward the hall’s entrance, their robes billowing behind them.

Chapter 28

Notes:

Hello, dear readers,

Welcome back!

Apologies for the delay in updating the chapter. Unfortunately, I developed an eye infection due to the increasing heat this summer. On medical advice, I had to reduce my screen time significantly, which made it difficult for me to work on the update. I sincerely hope all of you are doing well and staying cool. Don’t forget to keep yourselves properly hydrated during this warm weather.

Regarding the chapter, I wanted to mention that a few original character names were sourced from Google. I’m unsure if their meanings might contradict traditional Chinese interpretations, but as these names are minor and only appear in this chapter, I didn’t focus too much on their significance.

Additionally, I would like to address the events depicted in the story. The crimes committed by the Jiang and Ouyang cultivators are undeniably heinous. However, it’s worth noting that many equal or much severe crimes were carried out by other sects in Mo Dao Zu Shi, yet these were often ignored or brushed aside. The selective outrage and the way people react when certain wrongdoings are exposed reveal a deep sense of hypocrisy. It’s frustrating to witness how some crimes are magnified while others are conveniently overlooked. But I’ll stop my rant here — I just wanted to share my thoughts!

Lastly, a heartfelt thank you to each and every one of you who has taken the time to read, comment, and leave kudos on the previous chapter.

Without further ado, here is the next chapter! As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts and theories in the comments. Please let me know what you think of this chapter!

 

Thank you for reading, and stay tuned for more!

 

*****************************

The sect leaders of the Jiang and Ouyang sects abruptly rise from their seats, their expressions dark with concern. Without hesitation, they stride purposefully toward the hall’s entrance, their robes billowing behind them.

The cultivators of the Jiang and Ouyang sects come charging towards the grand hall of the Jin sect, their dishevelled forms a stark contrast to the grandeur of the gathering. Their hands are smeared with blood, yet even in their chaotic state, they refuse to release their grip on each other. The main culprit from the Ouyang sect has his hands twisted tightly around the collar of the Jiang sect cultivator, yanking and pulling with unrelenting force. Both men’s upper robes are torn, the fabric hanging loosely from their shoulders, exposing bruised skin and evidence of their violent scuffle. Stray strands of hair cling to their sweat-slicked faces, further emphasising the raw anger that courses through them.

The foul language hurled between them echoes through the high-ceilings of the hall, making the sect leaders and esteemed cultivators gathered within flinch at the vulgarity. The air brims with tension, the audience's curiosity and disdain mixing as whispers ripple across the space. All eyes remain fixed on the quarrelling men, their shameful display a spectacle none can ignore.

"You!" the Jiang cultivator roars, his voice trembling with fury. "You filthy swine! This is all your doing! How else would we have ended up like this? Why did you open that shit? I was making a decent living with the night hunts and the monthly collections from the vendors. Who gave you the right to interfere? Who asked you to go there and kill him? You're nothing but a wretched curse!"

The Ouyang cultivator sneers, his bloodstained lips curling into a bitter grin. "Ha! And look at you, pretending to be innocent. As if you haven't soiled your own hands! Was it not you who planted the idea in my head? Who told me to kill her husband? Who said to use her child as bait, to poison the little one? And who, pray tell, had the greediest eyes set on their property? Now that the corpse rises from the grave, gnashing for revenge, you dare to pin it all on me?"

A series of gasps ripple through the hall. The grotesque details of the cultivators' crimes unfold for all to hear, leaving even the most stoic sect leaders visibly disturbed. Disgust contorts the faces of the attendees as they glance between the Jiang and Ouyang cultivators, whose guilt seeps into the air like a vile stench.

"Who was the one," the Ouyang cultivator continues, his voice dripping with venom, "who boasted that he'd done this before? That nothing could go wrong? Now, because I wear the Ouyang name and you wear the Jiang, you think you can throw all the blame on me? Pathetic!"

The tension grows unbearable. A low murmur spreads among the sect leaders, their expressions flickering between horror and condemnation.

Suddenly, a loud voice cuts through the the murmuring. "Aiya! What are you two shouting about? Did I hear that right? Did you say you killed someone?"

Nie Huaisang, dressed in flowing green robes, rushes towards the commotion, eyes wide with exaggerated shock. The dramatic rise and fall of his voice draw further attention, though the gleam of curiosity in his gaze betrays his underlying amusement.

The enraged Jiang cultivator barely spares him a glance. With a swift shove, he pushes Nie Huaisang aside. "Get lost!" he barks.

Huaisang stumbles, his delicate figure collapsing to the polished floor with an exaggerated cry. His arms flail dramatically, clutching his chest as if the mere insult had physically wounded him. "Dage! Dage!" he wails, his cries echoing pitifully through the hall. "They… they pushed me! They hurt me! And now… now they say they've killed a family! Dage, is this what I must learn the sword for? To face murderers and vengeful corpses? Dage! What if… what if they come after me too? Dageeee!"

His cries are loud and clear, ensuring every cultivator hears his lament. Some suppress their laughter behind their sleeves, while others exchange weary glances at the dramatics of the Nie sect heir.

Nie Mingjue, the sect leader of Qinghe Nie, strides forward with the authority of a storm. His eyes burn with barely contained fury as he pulls Huaisang to his feet. Despite the feigned tremble in his younger brother's frame, Mingjue offers no words of comfort.

"Dage! Dage, they killed a family!" Huaisang continues, clutching dramatically at Mingjue’s sleeve. "And now the corpse is after them! Dage, what if it comes for me next? You know I can’t even become a fierce corpse! What will I do? Dageeee!"

Mingjue’s jaw clenches, his patience wearing thin. "Enough, Huaisang. Shut up."

The scolding silences Huaisang, though he continues to sniffle for effect.

Before Mingjue can say more, Madam Yu steps forward. The fierce matriarch of the Jiang sect radiates a commanding presence, her violet robes swirling as she storms towards the Jiang cultivator. Without a word, she raises her hand and delivers a resounding slap across his face. The sharp crack echoes through the hall, stunning the already subdued crowd.

"What nonsense are you shouting here?" Madam Yu’s voice is icy, each word laced with venom. "Disgracing our sect with your pitiful brawls? You will return to Yunmeng at once, and I will deal with you myself."

She turns her glare to the other two Jiang cultivators, who cower beneath her fierce gaze. "You! Out!"

Yet before they can retreat, Huaisang interjects once more, his voice high and trembling. "Dage! Dage, aren't they going to be punished? They killed a family! They hurt me! And… and the Jin guards! Is this to be ignored so easily? What if… what if they kill me for speaking out? Dage, Dage!

Mingjue’s gaze shifts to the bloodied Jiang and Ouyang cultivators, his expression cold and unrelenting. "No one is going anywhere. This concerns the heir of the Nie sect, and I will handle it."

Mingjue’s patience wears dangerously thin, but before he can reprimand his brother again, Madam Yu’s sharp voice pierces the air. "Enough of this!"

She rounds on Nie Mingjue, her lips curled in disdain. "And what, Sect Leader Nie, do you intend to do? Act as if you’re the Jiang sect leader? The heir? We need no interference from your sect. This is Jiang sect business."

Mingjue’s eyes blaze with fury, but he remains composed. "The moment your sect cultivators harmed a Nie heir, it became my business. You may govern your own, Madam Yu, but you do not dismiss my authority so easily."

The hall falls silent once more, the weight of the confrontation settling heavily upon the gathering. With tensions simmering and accusations hanging in the air, the cultivators await the next move,, knowing the fate of the Jiang and Ouyang cultivators rests in the hands of their sect leaders. The echoes of their crimes, however, will not be so easily forgotten.

Wei Ying’s voice rings out, clear and steady, cutting through the tension that has consumed the hall.

“This involves the death of an entire family, yet you still insist it only concerns the Jiang sect?” His tone is polite, but the sharpness beneath it is undeniable.

The hall falls into an uneasy silence. Sect leaders and disciples exchange uncertain glances, waiting for what will happen next.

“We have almost all the sects gathered here today. Cultivators from both the Jiang and Ouyang sects have committed murder, created chaos, and disrupted the banquet. From their own words, it is evident that they have been involved in other heinous crimes. Given the circumstances, would it not be prudent for the Jin sect leader and the other sect leaders to collectively hear the case and deliver a just verdict? After all, it has unfolded in front of us all.” Wei Ying’s smile is polite, but there is a knowing gleam in his eyes as he turns to Jin Guangshan.

Jin Guangshan, who has been frowning since the commotion began, finally seems to find amusement in the suggestion. The opportunity to display his authority among the sects is not one he is willing to pass up. He straightens his back, pushing out his chest with an air of self-importance.

“Laozu’s words are indeed reasonable,” Jin Guangshan says, his smile widening. “We shall hear the case. Guards, bring the cultivators forward.”

The guards bow and rush to comply. Meanwhile, Madam Yu's face darkens, her sharp eyes blazing with fury. Jiang Fengmian, however, looks pale and defeated, as if the weight of the scandal is already crushing him.

“Who are you to dictate what other sects should do?” Madam Yu’s voice slices through the air, trembling with rage. “How is it any of your concern to interfere?”

A wave of gasps ripples through the hall. Even the boldest of the cultivators dare not meet Wei Ying's gaze, fearful of witnessing how he will respond.

Wei Ying, however, merely chuckles, the sound light yet tinged with unmistakable disdain.

“Madam Yu certainly knows how to jest. Did Jiang sect heir not tell you who subdued the fierce corpse and brought it under control?” He tilts his head, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Or did you assume that your teachings alone could tame such powerful resentment?”

The crowd murmurs at his words, their curiosity piqued.

Madam Yu spins to face her son, her expression thunderous. Jiang Cheng, unable to withstand the intensity of her glare, lowers his head. His hands clench tightly at the fabric of his robes, his teeth sinking into his lower lip in anxiety.

“You!” she seethes. “Why did you bring the corpse back? Are you trying to humiliate our sect?”

Before Jiang Cheng can stammer a response, Madam Yu’s gaze shifts once again to Wei Ying. Her voice rises, venomous and shrill.

“This is your doing! The spawn of that woman, always scheming against us. And yet Jiang Fengmian still dares to speak his praises!”

“Enough.”

A firm, commanding voice cuts through the chaos. Lan Wangji rises to his feet, his expression stern. The room seems to freeze as his presence demands attention.

“The Jin sect has invited the Immortal Yiling Laozu as an honoured guest. If Madam Jiang, also a guest, openly insults him in front of all the sects, then would it not reflect poorly on the Jin sect for allowing such disrespect?”

Jin Guangshan’s eyes widen as the implications settle in. The thought of offending a cultivator of Wei Ying’s stature, especially with so many witnesses present, chills him. His gaze darts to his wife, who hastily rises to her feet, silently urging Madam Yu to control herself.

Lan Qiren, observing the scene with a grim expression, chooses this moment to speak.

“The Lan sect condemns the actions of Madam Jiang,” he declares firmly. “As Laozu suggested, the case should be heard, and the perpetrators punished. As cultivators, we have a duty to uphold justice. If we abuse our power for personal gain, then how are we any different from the spirits and yaos we vow to exterminate?”

Nie Mingjue, who has remained silent until now, steps forward. His fierce gaze lingers on the trembling form of Nie Huaisang, who is still shaken from the encounter.

“Both the Ouyang and Jiang sect cultivators have disregarded the code of conduct. They have used their authority to commit grievous crimes and threaten the innocent. It must also be investigated whether the sect leaders were complicit. Given Madam Jiang’s behaviour, I would not be surprised if she knew of their past actions.”

A ripple of agreement passes through the hall as more sect leaders nod in support.

Jin Guangshan’s mind races. He sees an opportunity. If the Jiang sect’s reputation crumbles, it would elevate the Jin sect in comparison. The Lan sect’s strict adherence to rules prevents them from gaining political advantage, and the young Nie Mingjue, despite his strength, lacks the cunning to manipulate court politics. A sly smile tugs at the corners of Jin Guangshan’s lips.

“I second the suggestion,” he proclaims. “Let the case be heard. Madam Jiang, control yourself or I will have you removed from this hall. Jiang Zongzhu, I trust you will restrain your wife.”

Jiang Fengmian’s face drains of all colour. The weight of the disgrace is crushing. His shoulders slump, his once dignified presence now reduced to a shadow of what it once was. But he does not argue. He knows there is no way out.

Wei Ying’s gaze remains steady, his smile calm and enigmatic. He has no satisfaction in the suffering of others, but justice must prevail. He knows too well the consequences of allowing unchecked corruption and cruelty to fester. As the guards drag the disgraced cultivators forward, the hall prepares to witness a reckoning.

Wei Ying, who has been silently observing the commotion, finally steps forward. With a calm yet commanding presence, he reaches into his sleeve and pulls out a neatly rolled scroll. The air in the hall becomes tense as the cultivators watch his every move, unsure of what he intends to reveal.

"Ah, I recall now," Wei Ying says, his voice smooth and deliberate. "I received a report detailing the crimes committed by these individuals. What better opportunity to address these matters than now? This may even reduce the time needed for further investigation." He smiles, though the gleam in his eyes remains cold. Without another word, he hands the scroll to Nie Mingjue.

Nie Mingjue receives it with a firm grip. The hall remains eerily silent as he unfurls the document, the sound of the parchment crackling in the air. His brows furrow as his eyes scan the contents. Moments later, he begins reading aloud, his voice echoing through the vast hall.

"Ouyang Xu, a prominent figure in the Ouyang Sect, has been accused of harassing, abusing, and murdering a farmer. He poisoned the man’s child, tormented his pregnant wife, killed their child, and murdered the wife when she refused to relinquish her land. He went further, killing her brother-in-law and forcefully seizing the family’s property."

A wave of murmurs spreads through the hall. Many cultivators exchange disgusted glances, their expressions twisted in disbelief.

"Furthermore," Nie Mingjue continues, his tone growing colder, "Jiang Jinyu and Jiang Chunxi, distant relatives of Jiang Zongzu, along with Yu Yong, a cousin of Madam Jiang, have committed numerous crimes. These include extortion, abuse, and misusing night hunts to extract money. Their behaviour is infamous within Yunmeng, and it appears the Jiang Sect has turned a blind eye to their conduct."

Gasps fill the air. Sect leaders shift uncomfortably in their seats. Nie Mingjue’s piercing glare turns towards Jiang Fengmian, who remains silent, his face pale.

"Luo Bao, a cultivator from the Ouyang Sect, is also listed as a repeat offender, notorious for his bullying and extortion. These individuals have acted with impunity for far too long, shielded by the power of their sects. Such blatant abuse of authority must not be tolerated."

He hands the scroll to Jin Guangshan, who barely masks his unease. The Jin Sect leader clears his throat, trying to maintain his composure. However, the weight of the accusations is undeniable.

"I agree with Sect Leader Nie’s assessment," Jin Guangshan says, his voice wavering slightly. "They are repeat offenders, nurtured by the negligence of their sects. The lack of morality displayed by both the Jiang and Ouyang Sects must be addressed. I propose beheading the perpetrators and imposing a fine on both sects."

Wei Ying's fingers twitch slightly, though his face remains composed. He turns his gaze towards Nie Huaisang, who immediately takes the cue.

"Beheading?" Nie Huaisang gasps dramatically, his eyes wide with feigned horror. "How could they be granted such an easy death? Their titles should be stripped, their golden cores sealed, and they should be exiled from their sects. Let them live the rest of their lives as powerless commoners, bearing the shame of their actions. The people should know of their crimes, so no one else dares follow their path."

Several cultivators nod in agreement. Voices rise in support, their resentment towards the perpetrators evident.

"Yes, this is more fitting!" someone shouts.
"Let them feel the pain they inflicted on others!"

Madam Yu abruptly stands, her eyes blazing with fury. "Who are you to dictate punishments for matters concerning the Jiang Sect? You seek to drive us to ruin!"

"Enough!" Jiang Fengmian's voice rings out, his face twisted with humiliation. "Your reckless words have brought enough disgrace upon our sect. We will accept the verdict."

Madam Yu glares at him, her chest heaving, but she dares not defy him further. The hall grows still.

Wei Ying chuckles softly, though his amusement does not reach his eyes. "You speak of reparations, Sect Leader Jin. Yet to whom will you pay compensation when there are no survivors left to accept it?"

Suddenly, the doors of the hall burst open. The fierce corpse, its appearance gruesome and menacing, staggers forward. Its hollow eyes lock onto the kneeling cultivators. The room erupts into chaos as people recoil in horror. Wei Ying, however, remains unmoved.

"Who disturbed the coffin?" he demands, his voice laced with anger.

All eyes turn to Jiang culprits, who tremble under the scrutiny. Their lips quiver, but no words come.

"I warned you not to touch it," Wei Ying says, his voice low and threatening.

The corpse lunges, only to be restrained by a binding talisman Wei Ying swiftly activates. It snarls and thrashes, but the powerful binding keeps it in place. Wei Ying turns to Jin Guangshan.

"Sect Leader Jin, the verdict," he commands.

Jin Guangshan's hands shake as he nods. "The cultivators’ properties shall be seized. Their cores will be sealed, and they will be stripped of their titles. Both sects will pay for the damages caused."

Wei Ying's eyes narrow. "Anyone who aids or shields them shall face the same punishment. Furthermore, both sects will be required to establish infirmaries to aid victims of sect-related crimes." He pauses, his voice echoing with authority. "Does anyone object?"

Madam Yu opens her mouth, but Wei Ying cuts her off with a sharp glare. "You are no longer in a position to interfere. I will not tolerate your insolence."

Silence falls once more. Finally, Lan Qiren stands. "Laozu is right. The punishments are just and fitting."

A chorus of agreement follows. The cultivators are dragged away, their fates sealed.

.

 

As the hall settles, Jin Guangshan attempts to lighten the mood. "Now that justice has been served, let us resume the banquet. Guards, bring our finest wine."

Laughter and chatter gradually return, though the unease remains palpable. Wei Ying observes the scene, his eyes lingering on the empty chair meant for Meng Yao. He wonders where the young man has disappeared to.

A Jin maid, dressed in thin robes, approaches Wei Ying, her steps deliberate. She pours him a cup of wine, leaning far too close.

"Laozu, allow me to serve you," she purrs, a sly smile playing on her lips.

Wei Ying leans away, his expression indifferent. "Thank you, but I have had enough."

The maid hesitates, clearly disappointed, before retreating. From the corner of his eye, Wei Ying notices Lan Wangji’s clenched fists. Bichen remains firmly in his grasp.

"Chunwen," Wei Ying calls, rising from his seat. "Let’s take our leave."

Chunwen quickly follows. The two make their way out of the hall, their steps deliberate. Several Jin servants trail behind them.

"Laozu," one of the servants says with a bow, "We have prepared accommodations for you. Please allow us to guide you."

Wei Ying nods, following the servant to a grand guest building. The golden decor, though luxurious, is overwhelming. Even Chunwen grimaces at the garish sight.

"This is your room," the servant announces, sliding the door open to reveal a chamber adorned in gold and silk. "We hope you find it comfortable."

Wei Ying steps inside, the overwhelming opulence making him sigh. After dismissing the servants, he places talisman on the door. The familiar glow of the talisman’s activation brings him a sense of security. He sends a quick message to Chunwen, instructing him to do the same.

Finally alone, Wei Ying allows his stoic facade to slip. Though justice has been served, the bitterness of the day’s events lingers. He knows that this is merely the beginning. There will always be those who abuse their power.

Wei Ying sends a message to Lan Zhan, suggesting it would be best for them to stay in their own rooms tonight. His tone is gentle, yet firm, understanding the necessity of maintaining appearances in the Jin Sect. He knows how closely they are being watched and how quickly rumors could spread. Despite his longing to be near Lan Zhan, the prudent decision is to stay apart for now. With a sigh, he sets the communication seal aside.

Once in the privacy of his chambers, Wei Ying begins to undress. The weight of the day presses down on him, both physically and mentally. He removes his Guan, releasing his long dark hair to flow freely down his back. His belt follows, then his outer robes, which fall to the ground in delicate folds. Though the room is lavishly decorated in gold, with fine silk draperies and intricate carvings, Wei Ying pays it no mind. The ostentatious surroundings are in stark contrast to his usual tastes.

Instead of changing into his sleeping robes, Wei Ying lowers himself onto the large bed, the silk sheets cool against his skin. He crosses his legs and closes his eyes, beginning to meditate as his master taught him. The steady rhythm of his breath calms the turmoil in his mind. Memories of the evening flash through his thoughts — the fierce corpse, the accusations, the shame and anger that tainted the banquet. Yet through it all, Lan Zhan’s steadfast presence provided a grounding force. That comfort is something Wei Ying has grown increasingly accustomed to, and the absence of it is unsettling.

Meanwhile, Lan Zhan receives the message. His eyes remain fixated on his sleeves, eager to listen to the message.

Lan Xichen, ever perceptive, notices the slight tension in his brother’s demeanour
.

“Wangji,” he calls softly.

“Xiongzhang,” Lan Zhan responds, his voice steady but distant.

Xichen smiles, his eyes gentle. “Shall we retire for the night?”

Lan Zhan nods in agreement. Together, they leave the grand hall, their movements composed and graceful. The Jin servants bow respectfully, leading them to their allotted chambers. The golden lanterns lining the corridor cast a warm glow, though the atmosphere remains heavy with the aftermath of the night’s events.

“I’m glad Laozu took a stand at the banquet,” Xichen says, his voice filled with admiration.

Lan Zhan hums softly in agreement, though his mind is elsewhere.

“Are you alright?” Xichen asks, sensing his brother’s distraction.

“Hmm.” Lan Zhan’s reply is curt, though not unkind.

Xichen smiles knowingly. “Good night, Wangji.” With a nod, he enters his chamber, leaving Lan Zhan alone in the dimly lit corridor.

Once inside his own room, Lan Zhan swiftly closes the door, his composure slipping the moment he is alone. He pulls out the seal, to listen to the brief message. The simple words sting more than they should.

Disappointment washes over him, though he quickly tamps it down. He understands the rationale behind Wei Ying’s decision, but understanding does little to ease the ache. After sharing so many nights together, the thought of being alone feels strangely foreign.

He removes his outer robes, neatly folding them and setting them aside. Even the meticulous task does little to quell his restless thoughts. He longs for the warmth of Wei Ying beside him, the subtle rise and fall of his breathing, the soft murmurs he sometimes makes in his sleep. These small comforts have become a part of Lan Zhan’s world — a world that now feels incomplete.

Clad in his inner robes, Lan Zhan finally lowers himself onto the bed. The coolness of the sheets provides no solace. He lies on his back, staring at the canopy above, the intricate golden patterns blurring as his thoughts wander. Despite his efforts to remain composed, the emptiness gnaws at him.

He closes his eyes, his breathing steady and even. Yet, sleep does not come easily. The memories of the evening haunt him — the disrespect Wei Ying faced, the venom in Madam Yu’s words, the anguished cries of the fierce corpse. Even in the midst of it all, Wei Ying remained composed, his sharp mind and unwavering resolve shining through. Lan Zhan’s admiration for him only deepens, along with his yearning.

Time drags on, the silence in the room almost deafening. Lan Zhan wonders if Wei Ying is resting or if he too lies awake, burdened by the weight of the day. The distance between them, though physical, feels vast. He aches to bridge it, to offer comfort, to draw him close.

But for now, all he can do is wait.

Chapter 29

Notes:

Hello, dear readers,

Welcome back!

Thank you for your continued patience and support!
Apologies for the delay in updating this chapter. I had to focus on my exams, which left me with little time to write. I truly hope all of you are doing well and taking good care of yourselves.

As this update has taken a while, I’ve made this chapter a bit longer to make up for the gap—hopefully, you’ll enjoy it. I’m hoping to establish a more regular schedule moving forward so future chapters can be shared more consistently.

A heartfelt thank you to everyone who has left comments and kudos on this story. Your encouragement means a great deal to me and keeps me motivated.

Without further ado, here is the next chapter! As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts and theories in the comments. Please let me know what you think of this chapter!

 

Thank you for reading, and stay tuned for more!

 

********************

A bloodcurdling shriek echoes through the dark, cavernous hall, thick with the stench of blood and scorched flesh. The acrid scent of burning skin clings to the stone walls, lingering in the air like a curse. A deafening crash follows as a wine goblet shatters against the marble floor, splashing dark red liquid across the cracked tiles.

A man clad in imposing dark robes stands in the centre of the chaos, the flames embroidered on his sleeves flickering violently as if reacting to his rage. His expression is twisted with fury. He grabs a grey-haired man by the hair and yanks him forward with brutal force.

"What do you mean you can't do it? What exactly do you think I keep you alive for?" the man snarls, his voice cold and laced with venom. "Why should I feed you useless pigs if you can't serve a purpose? Look around you! Do you not see what has become of these people? I asked for results, not excuses!"

He violently kicks a lifeless corpse out of his path, sending it skidding across the floor. The old man trembles uncontrollably, eyes wide with fear, but remains silent, too frightened to speak. He is shoved aside into a shadowy corner just as a knock reverberates through the great iron door.

"Fuqin," says Wen Xu, stepping in with a deep bow, his voice measured. Behind him, Wen Ruohan's trusted right-hand man enters, offering the same gesture of respect to the sect leader.

Wen Ruohan acknowledges them with a terse nod. Servants appear silently, dragging the still-living victims out of the room to afford privacy to their master and his entourage.

"I assume the hunt was successful?" Wen Ruohan asks, seating himself on a stone throne-like chair, his long fingers tapping against the hilt of his sword.

"Yes, Zongzhu," the advisor replies. "Laozu attended and made quite a show of it. The reports suggest he played a prominent role."

"How utterly ridiculous," Wen Ruohan scoffs, his voice dripping with contempt. "The moment I decline the invitation, Jin Guangshan goes running to that Wei Wuxian. It seems he truly believes I'm a fool."

"He’s simply playing it safe," Wen Xu offers carefully.

"Playing it safe? Hmph! That man doesn't realise he’s playing with fire—the flames of the Wen Clan!" Wen Ruohan hisses, his grip tightening around his blade. "What news of the task I assigned you?"

"We are still searching, Zongzhu. There has been no trace of them yet," the advisor answers, bowing deeper. "However, we did find this."

He hands Wen Ruohan a scroll. The leader unfurls it, eyes scanning rapidly. His expression hardens, then settles into grim satisfaction.

"Test this immediately," he commands.

"What of the healers’ report?" he asks next.

"They claim there is no known method," Wen Xu replies with caution.

"Useless, all of them!" Wen Ruohan explodes, rising to his feet. "How could he achieve such strength so quickly? There must be a way. There is always a way."

"Fuqin," Wen Xu begins hesitantly, "half of the healers lie dead in this very hall. We have few left, and we cannot continue like this."

Wen Ruohan rounds on his son, eyes blazing. "Xu-er, when did you begin to think yourself wiser than the Wen Clan’s leader? Do you believe these pathetic lives outweigh my path to immortality? Perhaps I have been too lenient with you."

Wen Xu bows deeply. "I dare not presume, Fuqin. I only mean to voice concern for the morale of the sect. Doubting our own people and punishing them relentlessly—it may breed resentment. Perhaps it is better to observe Laozu for now. Many minor sects already heed our commands. With patience, we may learn more."

"Patience?" Wen Ruohan bursts into a cold, mirthless laugh. "Wasn’t it your brilliant idea to wait and see if Jin Guangshan would proceed with the night hunt without our participation? What did that prove?"

"Did it not confirm his disloyalty?" Wen Xu counters.

"Xu-er, only a fool would think Jin Guangshan loyal. He is a snake who follows power. Today it’s us; tomorrow it could be Wei Wuxian or even someone else. Do you know what keeps men like him in line? Fear. Fear for their lives, their families, their sects. That is what makes them loyal. Not words. Not alliances. Only fear."

Wen Ruohan strides around Wen Xu in circles like a predator sizing up its prey.

"Do you think I’ve survived this long by trusting fools like him? No. I’ve kept him compliant through fear. And if we don’t act now, those very minor sects will flock to Wei Wuxian the moment he whispers a promise of protection."

He pauses and glares at Wen Xu. "And where is your brother? Still playing house with that harlot he picked up recently?"

Wen Xu nods grimly. "Yes, Fuqin."

"And the spies in Yiling? What is their status?"

"Chao-er is overseeing the operation," Wen Xu responds.

"From that woman’s bed, no doubt," Wen Ruohan sneers. "Enough. From this moment on, you oversee it. Expel all the women. Ground him. Cut off his allowances. Let him come crawling to me tomorrow morning."

With a furious swish of his cloak, Wen Ruohan storms out of the hall, leaving a stifling silence in his wake.

Wen Xu sighs and turns to the advisor beside him. "Do you truly believe it is unwise to wait? To gather more information before we strike?"

The man folds his arms thoughtfully. "Gongzi, I understand your caution. But Zongzhu has waited many years already. He built this power through his own strength and dominance. Now he feels threatened—restless. I have served him for long enough to know that anger like this is dangerous. Let us hope it does not consume him."

Wen Xu glances around the bloodied hall. Dead bodies lie strewn across the floor, their limbs twisted in unnatural angles. Pools of dark blood reflect the torchlight like broken mirrors. Severed limbs and ruptured organs make grotesque patterns across the cracked stones. The stench is nauseating, and the silence screams louder than any words.

A servant girl, no older than sixteen, peers through the door before being yanked back by a guard. Her terrified gasp echoes momentarily before vanishing into the dim corridors. Wen Xu's expression darkens further.

"We have punished anyone who questioned us. Do you not think this will only lead to more dissent? Do you believe someone within the council conspires with Laozu against us?"

The advisor exhales slowly. "Perhaps. But fear remains our greatest weapon. We have tightened security, limited access to the core chambers, and barred all servants from entering sensitive areas. Let those who dare defy us witness the cost. Zongzhu understands more than he lets on."

"And if someone close betrays us? Someone we trusted?"

"Then let their fate be a warning to the rest," the man says solemnly. "Trust is a luxury. Power demands sacrifice."

The man bows respectfully and takes his leave.

Left alone, Wen Xu surveys the ruin before him—the corpses, the gore, the lingering scent of horror. A bitter taste rises in his throat. He presses a hand to his brow and walks slowly from the hall, leaving the carnage in silence.

As he walks down the corridor, the torches flicker with a strange wind, casting long shadows across the stone walls. From somewhere deep within the fortress, muffled cries and whimpers continue, testament to the lives still trapped in Wen Ruohan's grip. Somewhere beyond the fortress walls, the world continues, ignorant of the horrors cultivated within the Wen Sect.

For now, the halls remain shrouded in darkness, soaked in blood, and echoing with the fading screams of those who dared to fail the Wen Clan’s ambitions.

 

.

 

Wei Ying sleeps soundly through the night, undisturbed until morning sunlight gently warms the room. A quiet knock sounds at his door.

"Laozu," Chunwen calls softly from outside.

Wei Ying stirs, stretches, and rises. He opens the door, eyes still drowsy but smiling. "I'll get ready. Let's leave this place soon," he says, and Chunwen nods in agreement, stepping inside briefly.

Wei Ying washes up, then dresses in red inner and outer robes trimmed with black. Over this, he drapes a black outer robe adorned with subtle golden designs. His hair is tied into a high ponytail using his signature red ribbon. A large guan crowns his head, secured with a gold hairpin. He fastens a black belt with red tassels around his waist, secures his sword and dizi, tucks his qiankun pouch into his belt, and steps out to find Chunwen waiting.

Together, they walk through the morning mist towards the Koi Tower. Along the path, Wei Ying spots Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji approaching from the other side. He pauses, allowing them to catch up.

"Good morning, Zewu-jun. Good morning, Lan Er-gongzi," Wei Ying greets them cheerfully.

"Good morning, Laozu," Lan Xichen replies politely, while Lan Wangji offers a silent nod.

"Are you returning today?" Wei Ying asks, his gaze light but curious.

"Yes, and you?" Xichen responds.

"We will leave shortly, after informing the sect leader," Wei Ying replies, then adds with a small smile, "How about the two of you visit Yiling instead?"

Lan Wangji’s heart stirs, though his expression remains composed. Lan Xichen hesitates, glancing at his brother for guidance. Wangji nods almost imperceptibly.

"Thank you, Laozu. We will come with you, then," Xichen agrees with a faint smile.

"Come, let's get out of this place soon," Wei Ying says with a mischievous glint
in his eyes.

He instructs Chunwen to convey their departure. Chunwen returns within moments. "Sect leader is still asleep. I've informed the sect heir," he reports.

"Wangji, wait here. I'll inform them and come," Xichen says.

"Hmm," Lan Zhan responds.

As soon as Xichen steps into the tower, Wei Ying turns and winks at Lan Zhan, his smile sly. Lan Zhan’s ears flush pink.

Xichen returns quickly. "I’ve informed them. I've also instructed the disciples to return safely," he tells Lan Zhan, who nods in approval.

All four of them walk to the outskirts of Lanling, where they dismount from their swords. Wei Ying teleports them, and in a blink, they are transported to his personal office in Yiling.

Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji blink rapidly, adjusting to the sudden change in scenery. They look around, trying to place the unfamiliar surroundings.

Wei Ying chuckles. "This is my personal office. I haven’t taken you to some secret realm."

Lan Xichen smiles, reassured. Lan Zhan stands still, quiet but visibly pleased to be here.

"Zewu-jun, Lan Er-gongzi, would you like to rest? We’re still constructing new guest quarters, so we have the building you stayed in last time and a few rooms in my own quarters. Which would you prefer?"

Lan Wangji doesn’t hesitate; he wants to stay as close to Wei Ying as possible—preferably in the same room.

"It's alright, Laozu. We can share a room," Lan Xichen offers kindly.

Wei Ying laughs. "Zewu-jun, I didn’t realise you were so concerned about your brother. No need to worry—you both can stay in the spare rooms in my quarters."

He turns to Chunwen. "Tell the maids to clean all the rooms in my quarters—except mine. And tell the kitchen to prepare vegetarian food for our Lan guests."

Chunwen nods and exits.

"Please, have a seat. I’ll fetch some tea," Wei Ying offers, stepping out.

Once alone, Lan Xichen glances at his brother. "Wangji, you can see how well Laozu is managing."

Lan Zhan hums in agreement, though inwardly he is amused. He has seen firsthand just how well Wei Ying manages—he’s slept beside him, shared long conversations in the dark, and seen Wei Ying's quiet strength.

Wei Ying returns carrying a tray with rice crackers, sun-dried peaches, and a teapot. He places it on the low table and pours tea for his guests before serving himself.

They sip quietly for a moment until Wei Ying speaks again. "Zewu-jun, Lan Er-gongzi—if you're not tired, would you like to come with me to the lake? We’re having a swimming and boating race with the children today."

"I’m not tired, Laozu," Xichen says at once. He smiles warmly. "Wangji, are you?"

"No," Lan Zhan replies, his voice soft but filled with barely contained happiness.

"Alright then, let’s take the children and go," Wei Ying declares, rising to his feet.

The Lans follow him to the dormitories, where he informs the warden. The children come running but skid to a halt when they see the two unfamiliar figures in white. They look from the Lans to Wei Ying in confusion.

"Don’t worry," Wei Ying chuckles. "They’re guests. They’ll judge the race."

Grinning, the children cheer and take off toward the lake. Wei Ying leads the two Lans after them.

When they arrive, Lan Zhan slows his steps, awestruck. He had seen the lake at night—but under the morning sun, it looks entirely different. The water shimmers, framed by tall lotus blossoms and thick green pads. The blossoms sway gently in the breeze, and the fragrance fills the air.

It is beautiful.

And Lan Zhan thinks, quietly, that being here—beside Wei Ying—feels like coming home.

Chunwen, Wen Ning, Wen Qing, and Chun Hua are already present by the lakeside. A few marshals are also gathered around, mingling with the children who chatter excitedly.

"Now, same rules as last time," Wei Ying calls out, voice bright with cheer. "We’ll participate in pairs, two people per team. Form your teams quickly!"

Before anyone else can speak, Xue Yang bursts out, "I’m with Wei-gege! I called it first!" He sprints over, practically clinging to Wei Ying’s side.

Wei Ying chuckles warmly and gently holds Xue Yang’s hand. The rest of the children scramble to pick partners, each pairing with one of the elders. Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen quietly observe the enthusiastic formation of teams.

"Would you both like to participate? You two can be a team," Wei Ying offers with a friendly smile.

Lan Xichen inclines his head. "Alright," he agrees, and Lan Zhan nods in silent affirmation. With the teams formed, each pair climbs into a small wooden boat assigned to them.

"Alright! First up is a boating race," Wei Ying announces. He shrugs off his black outer robe and folds it neatly to the side before stepping into the boat with Xue Yang. He lifts the boy into the vessel effortlessly.

"Each boat has a jug inside," he says, holding one up. "You can distract your opponents by splashing them with water. The first team to reach the far side of the lake wins!"

Everyone nods, their eyes gleaming with excitement. Wei Ying and Xue Yang both remove their upper robes, leaving them bare-chested, followed by many of the other boys. Wen Ning and Chunwen shed their outer layers as well. Even the Lan brothers follow suit, removing their pale robes and placing them on the grass.

Lan Wangji’s eyes, however disciplined, can’t help but wander to Wei Ying’s exposed chest. He steals glances, the flush on his ears betraying his stoicism.

Wen Qing steps forward to announce the start of the race. "Begin!"

The boats shoot forward, oars dipping and slicing through the water. Laughter and shouts fill the air as teams splash water at one another using their wooden jugs. Wei Ying takes aim at the Lan brothers, hitting Lan Zhan with a stream of cold lake water. Lan Xichen retaliates with equal vigour.

The joy is infectious. The lake, dotted with boats, echoes with childish glee and friendly rivalry. The Lan brothers, usually bound by the strict tenets of Gusu Lan, find themselves laughing freely, exhilarated by the uninhibited atmosphere.

After some time, Wen Qing and her partner, a clever little girl from the dormitories, cross the finish line first.

"Qing-jie, we’re all afraid to splash you, that’s the only reason you won," Wei Ying complains with a mock pout.

"Stop whining, Wuxian," Wen Qing retorts, rolling her eyes.

Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji exchange looks. The way Wei Ying and Wen Qing speak to each other is casual and filled with affection—a familiarity they have rarely seen in Gusu.

"A-Ning," Wei Ying says with a sigh to Wen Ning, "it’s hard being a younger brother to such a bossy sister."

Wen Ning lets out a soft, amused chuckle.

"Alright, now let’s swim to the other side and see who gets there the fastest!" Wei Ying declares, jumping into the lake.

Xue Yang immediately jumps in after him, wrapping his arms around Wei Ying.

"Wei-gege, let’s swim together!" he says brightly.

"Fine, let’s swim in pairs," Wei Ying announces.

"That’s cheating, Wuxian!" Wen Qing calls out, but Wei Ying simply grins and yells, "Let’s begin!"

Everyone pairs up and leaps into the water. The surface ripples with splashes and laughter as they race across. Wei Ying and Xue Yang make it to the opposite shore first, closely followed by Wen Qing’s team. The Lan brothers arrive third, slightly behind.

Lan Zhan watches the children surround Wei Ying, clinging to him with joy. He marvels at how naturally Wei Ying draws people to him and how deeply he cares for them. The warmth, the energy—he’s never experienced anything like this in Gusu.

Lan Xichen also contemplates the unfamiliar joy around him. Raised within the confines of Cloud Recesses, even smiling often felt restricted. Here, among laughter and splashing water, he feels a weight lifting.

"Alright," Wei Ying announces as everyone catches their breath, "the boating race winners have to serve the swimming race winners!"

Xue Yang laughs gleefully and nods, only to have Wen Qing walk over and pull both his and Wei Ying’s ears.

"Ow, okay! Sorry, Qing-jie!" they whine in unison.

"Go change your clothes and eat your lunch. If any of you skip afternoon lessons, I’ll make sure Wuxian doesn’t play with you again!"

The children scatter, giggling and running back to the dormitories.

"Zewu-jun, Lan er-gongzi, please come with me. I’ll get you fresh robes," Chunwen offers respectfully, guiding the brothers away.

Wen Qing, Wen Ning, and Wei Ying return to the main building, changing into dry robes before gathering at the dining hall. A separate table is set for the Lan brothers with an array of vegetarian dishes.

Wei Ying eats among the children, laughing and playfully teasing them. After the meal, he invites the Lan brothers to his office. They follow him quietly.

"Please be seated," Wei Ying says warmly, returning with a box and some papers. He sets them on the table.

"Zewu-jun, you look like you have a question."

Lan Xichen nods hesitantly. "I think I’ve seen her—Wen Guniang. Isn’t she Sect Leader Wen’s niece?"

"Yes," Wei Ying confirms. "Wen Qing and her younger brother, Wen Ning. They came to me for help. Wen Zongzhu is trying to usurp the major sects and establish a dictatorship. Qing Jie's family belongs to a medical branch of the Wens—the Dafan Wens. They had nothing to do with Qishan’s ambitions. He threatened her by holding her family hostage. She came to me, and I offered them safety."

Lan Xichen gasps softly at the weight of the information.

"That’s why I criticised your wards," Wei Ying continues. "This is one of my own designs. It won’t replace your sect’s protection, but it’ll give at least half a day’s defence during an attack, a buffer to prepare or flee."

He hands over a pouch and a set of documents.

"I know the protocols of your sect won’t allow incorporating outside wards, but you can use this when you're under siege. It’s a backup."

Lan Xichen stares at the pouch, then rises and bows deeply. "Thank you, Laozu. I don’t know how to repay you."

"No need," Wei Ying waves it off. "Just be careful. Don’t provoke the Wens unnecessarily. They’re looking for excuses to attack."

"And... please don’t share what I told you today."

"You have my word," Lan Xichen assures him.

Wei Ying sighs, his expression softening, he gets up to leave.

"Laozu, may we visit the library?" Lan Xichen asks.

"Of course. Go anywhere you like," Wei Ying replies.

The brothers bow slightly and make their way to the vast library.

"Wangji", Lan Xichen says as they walk, "this library is astonishing. I was overwhelmed when I saw it first. I don’t know how he manages everything."

"He’s good," Lan Wangji replies quietly.

Lan Xichen smiles knowingly. They spend the rest of the afternoon in the library, absorbed in the wealth of knowledge.

As the sun begins to set, Wei Ying enters with Wen Ning. He spots the Lan brothers and smiles. "Will you join us for dinner?"

They agree. At the dining hall, Chunwen, Chun Hua, and Wen Qing join them. They eat in companionable silence, punctuated by soft conversation.

After dinner, everyone returns to their respective rooms. Lan Xichen wishes good night to Wei Ying and Lan Wangji. Lan Zhan merely nods and enters his room.

Fifteen minutes later, the door opens quietly. Wei Ying steps inside. Lan Zhan lets out a silent breath of relief. He’s had more than enough distance from his Wei Ying for one day.

Wei Ying leaps into Lan Zhan’s arms, and the latter catches him without hesitation, wrapping him in a firm embrace that speaks of long-held yearning.

"Lan Zhaaan, I missed you so much," Wei Ying whines, clinging to him tightly, his voice muffled against Lan Zhan’s shoulder.

Lan Zhan hums in response, his lips already seeking Wei Ying’s in a fervent kiss. His tongue presses forward insistently, and Wei Ying yields instantly, parting his lips to welcome him. They lose themselves in the kiss, mouths moving hungrily, tasting, memorizing, exploring as if to make up for lost time. It is only when the need for air becomes too pressing that they finally part, breathless and flushed.

Wei Ying giggles, his eyes sparkling with joy. "Lan Zhan, do you like Yiling?"

"Hmm. Very well maintained," Lan Zhan replies, his tone soft but sincere, golden eyes holding his gaze.

"The credit goes mostly to Chunwen. I wouldn’t be able to manage everything without him and his sister," Wei Ying says, toying absent-mindedly with the ends of Lan Zhan’s forehead ribbon.

"I had fun today," Lan Zhan admits, voice low. "Never had before."

Wei Ying beams. "You should smile more. When you were smiling earlier while we were playing, I wanted to kiss you right then and there. You looked so handsome."

A faint blush creeps up Lan Zhan’s ears, colouring the tips with pink. "Wei Ying is more handsome," he says earnestly, without a trace of humour.

Wei Ying chuckles, heart fluttering. "Shall we go to my room? Or would you rather sleep here in the guest quarters?"

"Your room," Lan Zhan replies without hesitation.

"Alright, come on then," Wei Ying says cheerfully, taking Lan Zhan’s wrist and leading him to his chambers with the unrestrained joy of a man finally reunited with his other half.

Once inside, Wei Ying has already removed his guan and belt. He still wears his outer robes, though his ribbon hangs slightly askew from earlier touches. With a graceful motion, he slips it off and sets it aside on a nearby table. His dark hair cascades over his shoulders like a silken waterfall, catching the warm glow of the lanterns.

Lan Zhan pulls him close again, kissing him deeply. It is a wetter kiss this time, more desperate and unrestrained. He bites gently at Wei Ying’s lower lip before withdrawing.

His mouth finds Wei Ying’s neck next, kissing and sucking gently at first, then with growing fervor. Wei Ying sways slightly, caught off guard by the intensity of the sensations. Lan Zhan tightens his grip around his waist, steadying him as he continues his trail of kisses down to Wei Ying’s shoulder.

With swift, deliberate movements, Lan Zhan slips off Wei Ying’s outer robe and sets it aside with care. He unties the sash of the inner robe and lets it slide open, revealing soft skin flushed from their closeness. He pauses for a moment, eyes dark with desire as he gazes at the man before him.

Wei Ying shivers under the weight of that hungry gaze. Lan Zhan leans in once more, his mouth trailing fire down Wei Ying’s neck, collarbone, and chest. Wei Ying gasps and shifts restlessly, fingers curling into Lan Zhan’s sleeves.

"Ouch! Lan Zhan, are you a dog, biting me like that?" He yelps, though his tone is half laughter, half admonishment.

But Lan Zhan doesn’t stop. He continues his ministrations, marking Wei Ying’s skin with small bruises and kisses, ignoring the playful protests. After several moments, he pulls back, admiring the artwork he’s left on Wei Ying’s upper body with quiet satisfaction.

Wei Ying leans heavily against him, breath ragged, balance nearly gone. Lan Zhan shrugs off his own robes and lifts Wei Ying easily into his arms, carrying him to the bed. Wei Ying gazes up at him with so much love it’s overwhelming.

"Lan Zhan, I love you," he whispers, tears welling in his eyes despite the smile on his lips.

Lan Zhan kisses the tears away, one by one, then presses a tender kiss to his forehead. Wei Ying responds by peppering kisses all over Lan Zhan’s face, laughing softly as he does.

"I want to keep you here forever," he murmurs, arms wrapped tightly around Lan Zhan’s neck.

"Want to be with Wei Ying forever," Lan Zhan replies simply, words like a vow.

Wei Ying snuggles close and lays his head on Lan Zhan’s chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, the rhythm soothing.

"I never knew I could be this happy. I never thought I would love anyone this much," he says quietly, reverently.

"Hmm. Me too," Lan Zhan agrees, fingers brushing lightly through Wei Ying’s hair.

"I missed you so much, Lan Zhan. I couldn’t even sleep properly without you. I kept reaching for you."

"Hmm," Lan Zhan hums, holding him tighter.

"Oh! My master gave me some special tea packets to strengthen the core. Remind me tomorrow, and I’ll give them to you. I can help you with it too. I want you to reach immortality, Lan Zhan. I can’t live without you."

"Hmm. I will," Lan Zhan promises, kissing Wei Ying’s head.

"I can’t wait for all the fuss to be over. I can’t wait to ask your uncle for your hand," Wei Ying says, beaming with hope.

"Do you think they’ll agree this time?" he asks, blinking up at Lan Zhan.

Lan Zhan doesn’t answer immediately. He’s too busy looking at Wei Ying, marvelling at how breathtakingly beautiful he is. "Hmm," he says eventually.

"Hmm, yes, maybe they will," Wei Ying says optimistically, lying back down.

"Lan Zhan, where do you want us to live? Gusu? Or Yiling?"

"Here, Yiling," Lan Zhan answers without hesitation. He’s had enough of Cloud Recesses’ stifling rules and the hypocrisy they represent.

"Hmm, I’ll build a beautiful house for you," Wei Ying promises with a smile.

"Sleep," Lan Zhan whispers.

They fall asleep in each other’s arms, peaceful and whole.

.

Lan Zhan wakes early, as always. He slips quietly out of bed, dresses himself, ties his ribbon, and combs his hair with Wei Ying’s comb. He presses a soft kiss to Wei Ying’s forehead before leaving the room.

Instead of heading straight to his own room, he decides to visit his brother.

Lan Xichen greets him at the door with a gentle smile. They meditate together in comfortable silence, then head to the library. The vast collection of unfamiliar books excites them both, and they soon settle into a quiet corner to read.

An hour later, Chunwen enters with a tray.

"Good morning. I hope you slept well," he greets politely.

Lan Xichen nods, smiling. Chunwen places the tray on the table and serves them both tea and freshly made lotus seed buns.

"Breakfast will be ready shortly. Would you prefer to eat in the dining hall or here?"

"We’ll join you in the dining hall. Thank you," Xichen replies.

"Laozu?" Xichen asks.

He chuckles before answering. "Laozu tends to wake up late. He usually has breakfast with Wen Ning or the children."

Lan Xichen smiles.

"Let me know if you need anything," Chunwen says.

"Actually, are there any other books written by Laozu besides the two I saw yesterday?"

"Yes, I’ll fetch them for you," Chunwen says, disappearing for a few minutes before returning with four more volumes.

"He hasn’t had much time to write, but he managed to finish these recently. There are many more in progress."

Xichen’s face lights up as he accepts the books, offering his thanks. Chunwen nods and returns to his office.

The texts cover an array of topics: cultivating a golden core, healing damaged cores, the effects of music on cultivation, the workings of resentment energy, dealing with fierce corpses, common myths, and accidents involving cultivation. Lan Xichen is impressed by the depth and clarity of Wei Ying’s knowledge.

Lan Zhan picks up a book as well. Though the handwriting is not up to Lan standards, it is significantly better than what he remembers from Wei Ying’s past life. A swell of pride rises in his chest, and he silently resolves to become the best partner he can be.

Later, they head to the dining hall, where Chunwen and Wen Qing join them. They are served a vegetarian breakfast accompanied by warm herbal tea.

"Autumn is ending," Wen Qing explains. "This tea helps keep the body warm."

"Will you stay with us this week? Laozu’s birthday is in two days, and all of Yiling celebrates it like a festival," Chunwen offers.

"We haven’t informed the sect we’d be here that long," Xichen says with a slight smile.

"No issue. If you wish to stay, we’ll send a quick message to Cloud Recesses."

"I hope that won’t be a problem," Xichen replies.

"I’ll have someone deliver it after breakfast. Would you like to send a letter with him?"

"Yes, I’ll write one shortly," Xichen says, glancing at his brother. "Wangji, I hope you don’t mind."

"No," Lan Zhan says simply.

Lan Zhan is overjoyed at the prospect of spending an entire week in Yiling with Wei Ying.

After breakfast, Xichen drafts the letter and hands it to Chunwen, who gives it to a trusted marshal. The marshal nods and teleports immediately to Gusu.

The brothers return to the library. Mid-morning, Wei Ying arrives, looking bright and cheerful.

"Good morning, Zewu-jun, Lan Er Gongzi," he greets, settling beside Lan Zhan.

"Good morning, Laozu," Xichen replies with a warm smile.

"I hope you can read my handwriting," Wei Ying laughs.

"It’s legible," Xichen reassures. "And the content is excellent. Clear and precise, with well-chosen examples. Truly praiseworthy."

Wei Ying grins at the compliment. Just then, he receives a message and straightens up.

"Something urgent has come up. I’ll be back soon," he says, bowing slightly before leaving the library.

Lan Zhan watches him go, worry tightening in his chest. He wants to follow, to know what has disturbed his beloved, but he restrains himself. He breathes deeply and returns to his reading.

But the page in front of him blurs, his mind occupied only with Wei Ying.

 

.

 

Wei Ying strides swiftly through the quiet corridors toward his office, his footsteps echoing with purpose. Moments later, a shimmer in the air announces the arrival of a spirit spy, who materialises abruptly in front of him.

"Laozu," she says with a deep bow.

"What happened?" Wei Ying asks, his voice sharp with concern. He pauses, scrutinising her closely. "Wait—you seem tired. How is that possible? You appear to be affected by a great deal of unrestrained resentment. What is going on over there?"

She bows her head again, the lines of strain clearly visible on her face. "Wen Zongzhu suspects that you have infiltrated his sect. He has initiated mass interrogations. The punishments for those under suspicion are severe, and fear is gripping everyone. There have been significant changes. None of us are permitted inside the meetings to serve any longer. Access to the main buildings has been revoked. They are erecting stronger wards."

She hesitates, then adds, "There is something else. Wen Ruohan is researching something. We have witnessed at least a hundred bodies being carried out of the dark hall. We fear that approaching too closely might expose us."

Wei Ying drums his fingers thoughtfully on his desk. "So, he is finally making his move."

He meets her gaze and speaks with quiet authority. "There is no need for any of you to risk yourselves further. Pack up your belongings and leave his palace at once. Secure rooms in Qishan, and keep watch on any movement from his army. Do not concern yourselves with expenses."

Opening a drawer, he retrieves a pouch of coins and hands it to her. "Once you have left, you can abandon your disguises as servants. Use this if you require anything. Inform me immediately if the situation escalates."

His voice softens. "Leave before the resentment corrupts the protective arrays you're equipped with. Take care of yourselves."

The spirit spy bows low, gratitude flickering in her weary expression. "Thank you, Laozu. We shall do as you command."

She vanishes as swiftly as she arrived.

Wei Ying exhales slowly, rubbing his temples. The situation in Qishan is deteriorating quickly, and Wen Ruohan's escalating brutality is a dangerous sign.

He rises, preparing to head toward the hidden section of his library. His writings on spiritual arrays are stored there, and he intends to adjust them so that low-level spirits can better resist the influence of rampant resentment.

Before he can leave, a knock sounds on his door.

Chunwen enters with hurried steps. "Sect Leader Jiang is here. He wishes to see you."

A faint frown flickers across Wei Ying's face. He nods, his expression unreadable, and follows Chunwen to the reception hall.

"Sect Leader Jiang," Wei Ying says, bowing slightly before taking his seat. Chunwen sits quietly behind him.

"Wux—" Jiang Fengmian begins but stops himself. "Laozu," he corrects with a bow.

Wei Ying gestures for him to sit. "Please."

Fengmian settles into the seat across from him. "I wish to thank you for your actions in punishing those who were deserving."

Wei Ying's voice is calm but firm. "That should have been done by the sects themselves. Unfortunately, innocent lives were lost due to incompetence."

Jiang Fengmian's smile falters slightly before he nods in acknowledgement.

"We are glad to have an immortal in our region," he says, attempting a lighter tone.

Wei Ying nods, though his expression remains measured. "What brings you here today, Sect Leader Jiang?"

"I come with two requests. First, I ask that you ease the barriers around Yiling and allow the Jiang Sect to trade with and through your territory. I admit that Madam was in the wrong. We apologise for our previous actions and ask for your forgiveness."

He bows deeply. "Our costs have risen significantly. We are suffering losses in our trade. Opening the borders would greatly ease our burden."

Wei Ying raises an eyebrow. "And your second reason?"

At the signal from Wei Ying, Chunwen sends a servant to fetch refreshments. Moments later, tea and cookies are placed before them. Chunwen politely gestures for Fengmian to partake.

Wei Ying takes a measured sip of his tea as Fengmian sighs softly.

"My daughter, Jiang Yanli, was born prematurely. Her cultivation core never developed as strongly as we had hoped. However, she is a brilliant girl. Though her cultivation is weak, she lacks nothing else. She is kind, capable, and adept at managing household affairs. She helped raise my son, Jiang Cheng, practically on her own."

A wistful smile touches his lips but quickly fades.

"Previously, an alliance was arranged between our families through her marriage to Jin Zixuan. That arrangement was orchestrated by my furen and Jin furen, who are sworn sisters. I never truly supported it. Eventually, the engagement was dissolved."

He hesitates, then meets Wei Ying's gaze. "I wish to offer my daughter's hand in marriage to you, Laozu, should you be willing."

Wei Ying chokes on his tea, coughing violently. Chunwen immediately leaps forward and hands him a medicinal sweet. Wei Ying accepts it, pressing it to his tongue as he breathes deeply and channels his spiritual energy to steady himself.

The words hang heavily in the air. The moment Fengmian speaks them, memories from a previous life surge unbidden through Wei Ying's mind.

Jiang Yanli, his Shijie.

The only source of warmth and kindness during his youth in Lotus Pier. A sister in every way that mattered. Her gentle smile, the bowls of lotus root and pork soup she used to make, and her soft scolding whenever he and Jiang Cheng argued. How he cherished those memories deeply.

To hear such a proposal now feels like a violation of everything she represented to him in his past life.

He steadies himself and finally speaks.

"Sect Leader Jiang," he says, his voice low and steady. "First, I require a formal apology from Madam Yu for her past actions and a written promise that the Jiang Sect will never again act against Yiling. Only then will we consider easing the trade restrictions."

His expression darkens. "As for your second proposal, I must refuse. I have always seen Jiang Guniang as a sister. Nothing more. This suggestion is... entirely unsuitable."

Fengmian pales visibly, swallowing hard. He nods slowly, avoiding Wei Ying's gaze as he reaches for his tea.

He finishes the cup in silence and rises.

"Laozu," he says formally, "I will deliver the apology and the written promise. I hope we may continue to coexist peacefully."

He bows again. "Thank you for your time."

"Of course," Wei Ying replies evenly, returning the bow.

Chunwen rises to escort Jiang Fengmian out.

As the doors close behind them, Wei Ying remains seated for a long moment. Disgust coils in his stomach. The very idea is abhorrent. How could anyone suggest such a thing?

Anger, revulsion, and sorrow swirl within him like a storm. He rises abruptly, returns to his room, and retrieves his veiled hat, Suibian, and Chenqing.

Without hesitation, he heads for the door.

"Chunwen," he calls out, his voice curt but controlled, "I will return by nightfall. Send a message if there is an emergency." And storms out.

 

Chunwen paces nervously through the corridors of the Yiling, a frown etched deeply on his face. His thoughts are clouded with worry, and the stormy expression worn by Laozu just minutes ago continues to haunt him. The unmistakable rage in Laozu’s eyes sends a shiver down Chunwen’s spine. Something had happened—something serious.

His first instinct is to seek out Wen Qing. She always knows what to do. She is one of the few people who can speak with Laozu with calm and clarity, even in his most volatile moods. He hurries to her office, only to find it empty. The chair is pushed back, and a few medical texts are left open on her desk. He turns around just in time to see Wen Ning walking up the hallway from the dining hall.

“A-Ning!” Chunwen calls out.

 

Wen Ning pauses, a gentle smile on his face despite the tension in the air. “Chunwen-ge,” he says with a nod.

“Have you seen your sister? I need to speak to her—it’s urgent.”

“Qing-jie is in the library,” Wen Ning replies helpfully.

“Thank you, A-Ning,” Chunwen says quickly and makes his way to the library.

Inside, the library is filled with the scent of aged paper and candle wax. The space is quiet except for the occasional rustle of pages. Among the many students reading or studying, Chunwen spots the Lan brothers seated quietly, their robes pristine and their postures stiff. Just behind them, Wen Qing is perched on a stool, nose deep in a thick tome.

Chunwen walks swiftly over, lowering his voice as he approaches. “Wen Qing,” he says urgently, “Laozu has left the premises. He looked furious. Do we need to send someone after him—generals, marshals?”

Wen Qing snaps her book shut and turns to face him. “What happened?” she asks, already on high alert.

Chunwen glances at the Lan brothers, who are within earshot. “Sect Leader Jiang was here,” he whispers. “He... he offered his daughter's hand to Laozu in marriage.”

Wen Qing nearly chokes on her breath. Her eyes widen in shock. “What?!” she exclaims loudly before instantly regretting it. Several heads turn in their direction, including the Lan brothers'.

“Come,” she says quickly. “Let’s talk in my office.”

They both exit the library in haste. Unknown to them, Lan Wangji’s attention has been fixed on them since Chunwen’s sudden entrance. Though his face remains expressionless, his mind races. He picks up the name “Jiang Fengmian,” and from the brief snippets, he infers the rest. Wei Ying storming off in anger, his heart clenches. He wants to know more.

Inside Wen Qing’s office, she shuts the door firmly and whirls around to face Chunwen.

“Explain. From the beginning.”

“Sect Leader Jiang visited this morning,” Chunwen begins, still breathless from the rush. “He first asked about easing trade regulations—requested that we open our borders for smoother transactions.”

Wen Qing nods, unimpressed.

“Then, out of nowhere, he said he wished to offer his daughter in marriage to Laozu—to strengthen ties between Yiling and the Jiang sect.”

Wen Qing throws her hands up in frustration. “Unbelievable! Wasn’t she engaged to Jin Zixuan until recently?”

“They called it off,” Chunwen confirms.

“And now he sees Wei Wuxian as a more advantageous match,” she scoffs. “How utterly opportunistic. That man’s wife loathes Wuxian. She physically attacked us not long ago. I doubt she or the daughter were even consulted.”

Chunwen nods solemnly. “Laozu didn’t say much. He just left, visibly angry.”

Wen Qing sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. “I’ll send him a message after lunch. We need to give him some space.”

 

Meanwhile, lunch is served in one of the smaller pavilions. The Lan brothers are served traditional vegetarian fare, and they are joined by Wen Qing, Wen Ning, Chunwen, and Chun Hua. Lan Wangji barely touches his food. His gaze keeps wandering toward the entrance, hoping to see Wei Ying. He doesn’t.

After lunch, the Lan brothers return to the library, but Wei Ying’s absence looms large.

Later that evening, Wen Qing receives a message: “I’m safe. Don’t worry.”

Dinner is subdued. Without Wei Ying, the table feels colder. The children ask after him, and Wen Ning gently tells them Laozu is away on a trip. Disappointed but obedient, they finish their meals and head back to the dormitories.

In his guest chamber, Lan Wangji paces restlessly. He pulls out his communication seal and sends a message: “Where are you, Wei Ying?”

Moments later, a swirl of spiritual energy fills the room, and Wei Ying appears, grabbing Lan Wangji’s wrist and teleporting them both.

They reappear in Wei Ying’s private room, its candlelight casting soft golden glows across the walls.

Lan Wangji blinks at the sudden transition. Before he can speak, Wei Ying grins and gestures toward the table. “Sit”, he says.

Lan Wangji obeys, quietly relieved to see Wei Ying safe and in better spirits.

“Close your eyes,” Wei Ying instructs playfully.

Lan Wangji complies.

From beneath his outer robe, Wei Ying pulls out a small basket and places it on the table. “Open your eyes.”

Lan Wangji’s golden eyes widen. From inside the basket, two rabbits peer up at him, noses twitching, ears alert.

Wei Ying laughs and reaches in, placing the rabbits in Lan Wangji’s lap.

“You remember them, don’t you?” he says. “I found them earlier. And I remembered how much you love them.”

Lan Wangji’s features soften. He gently strokes the rabbits, cradling them like something sacred.

“Open the basket,” Wei Ying urges.

Inside, nestled on soft cloth, are four baby rabbits, their fur no bigger than tufts of cotton.

“I’ve told the general to build a coop for them near the lake,” Wei Ying says. “It’ll be ready by tomorrow. You can visit them there instead of staying cooped up in the library all day.”

Lan Wangji smiles genuinely, the weight in his chest momentarily lifted.

Wei Ying gathers the rabbits and returns them to the baskets, placing a small bowl of vegetables inside. He seals the lid and sets the baskets aside.

Then he walks over and lies down, resting his head on Lan Wangji’s lap.

“This is my place,” he whispers, eyes half-lidded. “You can’t let anyone else sit here.”

Lan Wangji’s heart aches. He gently brushes Wei Ying’s hair with his fingers.

“What happened?” he asks softly.

Wei Ying lets out a tired sigh. “Jiang Zongxu came. He asked us to lower the barriers for trade. Then—he said he wanted to offer me his daughter’s hand in marriage.”

Lan Wangji stiffens.

“I refused,” Wei Ying continues quickly. “I told him I’d only consider it if Madam Yu issued a formal apology and promised never to harm Yiling again. Then I told him I wasn’t interested. I see her as a sister.”

“Where did you go?”

“To calm myself,” Wei Ying replies. “I first went to the mountain where Master resides. Then I wandered a bit, found a peaceful hill, and meditated. I stumbled upon a rabbit family. That’s how I got these little ones.”

Lan Wangji kisses Wei Ying’s forehead, making him blush.

“You mentioned spirit spies before. Shall I summon them now?” Wei Ying asks. “Wen Ruohan is acting strangely. I think he’s committing atrocities inside his own sect. We don’t know if something like this happened in our previous timeline, so we need to be cautious.”

Lan Wangji’s expression darkens. “Why is he killing his own people?”

“I don’t know yet. My spirit arrays need adjustments. The spies couldn’t find that information. But we’ll face it together, right?” Wei Ying says, lifting his head to look at him.

“Mn.”

“Summon them,” Lan Wangji adds.

Wei Ying nods and performs a series of hand seals. Within seconds, two spirit spies materialise, their forms tangible.

They bow upon seeing someone else in the room.

“This is my zhiji, Lan Zhan—Lan Er Gongzi,” Wei Ying introduces.

The spies bow again in deference. The taller of the two speaks first, followed by the shorter one. Lan Wangji bows in return.

Wei Ying walks to his desk and hands over a stack of documents to Lan Wangji. Together, they pore over the information, pointing out inconsistencies, discussing leads, and forming plans.

Hours pass. Finally, the spies bow and disappear.

Exhausted, Wei Ying curls up beside Lan Wangji, who wraps an arm around him protectively.

They fall asleep in each other’s arms, the soft hum of spiritual wards cloaking their chamber in peace.

But the shadows of war draw closer. And neither of them knows what tomorrow may bring.

Chapter 30

Notes:

Hello, dear readers,

Welcome back!

I hope you’re all doing well and taking good care of yourselves. I’m doing well too, and I truly appreciate your continued support. It’s been quite a while since I last uploaded a chapter, and I sincerely apologise for the delay — life has been rather hectic, but I’m glad to be sharing an update now.

A heartfelt thank you to both new and returning readers for taking the time to read my story — your presence means a great deal. An extra special thanks to everyone who left a comment on the previous chapter; your feedback is always encouraging and deeply appreciated.

Please note that there might be a few inconsistencies regarding travel times between locations in this fic. I hope you’ll bear with it and continue to enjoy the story.

Without further ado, here is the next chapter! As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts and theories in the comments. Please let me know what you think of this chapter!

 

Thank you for reading, and stay tuned for more!

 

*********************************

Yiling gleams beneath the summer sun, its streets adorned with vibrant lanterns in rich shades of red and gold. The delicate silk tassels sway gently in the warm breeze, strung across rooftops, windows, and alleyways like cascading stars. The entire town pulses with eager anticipation, preparing to celebrate the birthday of their beloved Laozu Wei Wuxian.

Since Wei Wuxian settled in Yiling, the town has transformed into a haven. Once a place shrouded in fear and haunted by corpses and resentment, it is now peaceful, safe, and thriving. There is no crime here, no foul miasma of wandering spirits. The fields yield rich harvests, the river runs clear, and the people — from the youngest children to the eldest villagers — walk the streets with smiles on their faces and joy in their hearts.

The scent of incense and freshly baked confections floats on the air. Each household busily prepares its own offerings: dried fruits, hand-shaped sweets, and seasonal delicacies made lovingly to honour the one who gave them peace. The celebration is more than a formal occasion — it is deeply personal. Wei Wuxian is not merely their protector or leader. To the people of Yiling, he is family, saviour, and friend. Every villager believes that Laozu has granted them a second chance at life. And today, on his birthday, they wish to return that affection in full.

As dawn breaks over the horizon, soft light spills across the wooden floors of Wei Wuxian’s residence. In the hush of morning, Lan Zhan wakes before the sun. He lies beside his sleeping lover, gaze tender and still. With quiet reverence, he brushes a kiss to Wei Ying’s cheek, then another to the tip of his nose, and a final one to his forehead. Each kiss lingers, gentle as breath.

Wei Ying stirs with a sleepy giggle, his long lashes fluttering open. He blinks slowly, eyes adjusting to the light, then smiles — warm, lazy, and full of love.

“Happy birthday, Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan murmurs, voice hushed with affection.

Wei Ying hums softly, reaching up to rest a hand on Lan Zhan’s chest. “Thank you, love,” he replies, eyes half-lidded, but shining with mirth.

Lan Zhan sits up, reaches to the side, and retrieves a small parcel wrapped in pale silk. He unwraps it carefully and reveals a red tassel, accented with a pale jade carving. The design is elegant and understated, yet intimate — a quiet harmony of Lan Zhan’s meticulous taste and deep feeling.

“I didn’t prepare much,” Lan Zhan says, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I hope you like it.”

Wei Ying sits up quickly, his hands reaching for the gift with boyish eagerness. When he sees the tassel, his breath catches. The crimson thread and soft jade remind him of the bond they share — Lan Zhan’s steadiness entwined with his own passionate spirit. He holds it delicately between his fingers, emotion flickering across his face. Without a word, he throws his arms around Lan Zhan and pulls him close in a fierce, heartfelt hug.

They stay like that, wrapped in each other’s warmth, as the stillness of early morning stretches around them like silk. Eventually, Lan Zhan presses another kiss to Wei Ying’s lips and whispers, “Sleep. I’ll go now.” He slips away as silently as he arrived, returning to his own room before the rest of the residence begins to stir.

Later, Lan Zhan joins Lan Xichen. The brothers collect a few books from Wei Ying’s extensive library and head to the kitchens to pick up fresh greens. With a basket in hand, they walk to the rabbit enclosure near the lake. The morning is serene — the water laps gently at the shore, leaves rustle softly in the breeze, and the rabbits hop playfully around their feet. The brothers sit on a low stone bench, feeding the rabbits and conversing in quiet tones. It is one of those rare moments when time seems to slow, and peace settles like dew on their shoulders.

By mid-morning, Wei Ying wakes properly. He hums a cheerful tune as he washes up, still glowing from Lan Zhan’s visit. He carefully selects his birthday attire — layered black robes, finely embroidered with subtle black threadwork. Over this, he drapes a silver-stitched outer robe that glimmers faintly in the light. A black belt with slender silver tassels completes the ensemble. Wei Ying studies his reflection in the mirror, grins at himself, and turns slightly to examine the marks from the night before. With a faint chuckle, he redirects his spiritual energy to heal and conceal the love bites. As tempting as it is to flaunt them, today is not the day.

He fastens the red tassel — Lan Zhan’s gift — to his sword and tucks his dizi into his belt before practically bouncing out the door.

As he walks into the dining hall, a delighted chorus of giggles erupts. A group of children rushes to him, shouting, “Happy birthday, Wei-ge!” Each child offers him a small handmade gift — painted talismans, wooden carvings of rabbits and cranes, and tiny woven pouches. Wei Ying accepts every single one with exaggerated delight, crouching down to thank them individually, ruffling their hair and laughing along with their giggles.

The kitchen staff beams as they greet him, bringing out a hearty breakfast made up entirely of his favourite dishes — sweet rice cakes, lotus seed porridge, and piping hot baozi. He eats surrounded by cheerful chatter, fielding questions about rabbits, cultivation, talismans, and birthday wishes from excitable little voices.

After breakfast, he heads to his study. There, waiting for him with easy smiles, are Wen Qing, Wen Ning, Nie Huaisang, and his trusted aides Chun Wen and Chun Hua. Each brings thoughtful gifts. They sit together, reminiscing, teasing, and trading stories. Laughter fills the room, and Wei Ying, despite being the centre of attention, looks entirely at ease, surrounded by those he trusts most.

When lunchtime approaches, they move to the larger hall, where Lan Xichen is already seated. His eyes widen slightly when he sees Nie Huaisang, so relaxed and comfortable in Wei Ying’s company. Still, he smiles with warmth and stands to greet them.

“Laozu, many happy returns,” Lan Xichen says with a bow.

Lunch is a lively affair. Wei Ying, though usually quick to deflect praise, allows himself to enjoy the attention. He raises his cup to every toast, replies with wit and humour, and banters freely. The mood is infectious. Even the most reserved of guests are soon smiling and laughing, swept up in the joy of the celebration.

Afterwards, Wei Ying steps out to greet the villagers who have gathered at the front gates. One by one, they approach — grandmothers with rice cakes wrapped in cloth, young girls with flower garlands, and stooped elders bearing scrolls of gratitude or handwritten blessings. Wei Ying bows to each of them, accepting every small token with sincere gratitude. He remembers their names, their stories and asks after their health and their families.

The golden afternoon passes in a blur of warmth, laughter, and heartfelt words.

As dusk falls and lanterns are lit anew, Wei Ying joins Lan Zhan, Wen Qing, Nie Huaisang, and the others for a stroll through the bustling night market. The streets glow with hundreds of lanterns swaying in the breeze, casting golden light over vendors and visitors alike. They sample sweet dumplings filled with sesame paste, drink hot plum wine, nibble on roasted chestnuts, and share spiced tofu skewers between laughter.

The night air is filled with music, the soft clink of coins, and the rustle of silks. Wei Ying and Lan Zhan walk shoulder to shoulder, occasionally brushing hands, content in the crowd but caught in their own little world.

By the time they return home, the stars are high and the night is cool. Wei Ying’s arms are full of sweets and trinkets — small gifts from villagers and stall owners who insisted he take something. He places them gently on a side table and changes into looser robes.

Lan Zhan arrives quietly, as he always does. He slips into Wei Ying’s room once the others have gone to bed, and they curl beneath the covers, limbs entangled, hands resting over each other’s hearts. The day has been long but perfect. In the hush of night, they fall asleep in one another’s arms, breath syncing, hearts steady.

 

.

 

Before the first light of morning, Lan Zhan rises once again. He dresses in silence, his movements graceful and sure. He walks back to his own room, retrieves his things, and meets Lan Xichen in their usual spot to meditate. They sit in stillness, surrounded by the soft flicker of lanterns.

After their meditation, the brothers begin to pack their bags. The visit to Yiling is coming to an end.

“I liked these days in Yiling,” Lan Xichen says with a soft smile. “It was like a weight was lifted from my shoulders.”

“Hmm. Never had fun before,” Lan Zhan replies, eyes calm.

Lan Xichen chuckles. “Yes, I’m grateful Laozu invited us.”

“Hmm,” Lan Zhan says, lips lifting slightly.

The two brothers visit the library one last time, placing the borrowed books back where they belong.

By mid-morning, Wei Ying joins them.

“Lan Zhan, Zewu-jun — good morning,” he greets, stepping in with a light smile.

“Good morning, Laozu,” Lan Xichen replies politely, while Lan Zhan nods.

Wei Ying sits beside him. “Have you had breakfast?”

“Yes, Laozu,” Xichen replies, his tone warm.

“We were about to take our leave. Thank you again for your generous hospitality.”

“Ohh,” Wei Ying says, the corners of his smile drooping just slightly. He glances at Lan Zhan, his expression briefly wistful. “Alright then. You’re welcome here any time you wish to visit.”

“Thank you, Laozu. We hope you might come to Gusu one day as well,” Lan Xichen replies.

“Sure, sure,” Wei Ying says with a grin.

“How do you plan to travel? Shall I ask my general to escort you?”

“No need,” Lan Xichen answers. “We’ll fly back on sword. It will give us a chance to observe the land.”

“Fair enough,” Wei Ying nods and rises. He walks to his office alongside the Lan brothers, and sends a brief message to Chun Wen, who arrives shortly carrying several boxes and a Qiankun pouch.

“These are robes made to suit the Lan style — I hope they fit and that you find them wearable. And these are copies of my four new books. I hope they’ll be of some use on your travels,” Wei Ying says, handing over the gifts.

“Laozu, you’ve already honoured us more than we deserve,” Lan Xichen says, bowing as he accepts the offerings. “Special thanks for the books — they will be deeply valuable.”

Lan Zhan bows as well, quietly slipping the boxes into his pouch.

Wei Ying walks them to the gates with Chun Wen at his side. As the brothers mount their swords and prepare to leave, Wei Ying waves from below.

“Safe travels!” he calls out, voice ringing clear through the morning air.

Lan Xichen and Lan Zhan turn back briefly, nod in unison, and then rise into the sky, their figures growing smaller against the horizon. The people of Yiling continue to bustle about the streets, red lanterns still fluttering, their laughter echoing beneath the open sky — a birthday well-celebrated, and a home well-loved.

 

.

 

Wei Ying lets out a soft sigh, the kind that curls at the edge of weariness. He turns from the open courtyard and makes his way back towards his office, the quiet sound of his footsteps echoing against the polished wooden floors. The lanterns outside cast a soft, flickering glow against the papered windows, shadows of passing guards drifting like spectres on the other side.

Once inside, he draws a breath and gathers himself. With swift and precise movements, he sends a message through his spiritual seal to Wen Qing, Wen Ning, Chunwen and Chun Hua, asking them to come to his room without delay. The tone is calm, but they all recognise the subtle edge of urgency.

They arrive within moments. Chunwen and Wen Qing walk in first, composed as always, followed by her younger brother, Wen Ning, whose quiet presence brings with it a strange sense of serenity. Chun Hua trails last, a slight furrow between her brows that speaks of unspoken concerns. Once everyone is inside, Wei Ying closes the door firmly behind them, then retrieves a stack of talismans from his drawer. With a practiced hand, he affixes one to each wall, activating a soundproof barrier that hums faintly with spiritual energy.

Chunwen wastes no time. “Laozu, there was a letter from the Jiang Sect,” he says. “It concerns the barriers between Yunmeng and Yiling.”

Wei Ying hums noncommittally, drumming his fingers against the surface of his desk. His gaze is distant, fixed not on his companions, but on the large ceramic vase placed in the corner of the study. Inside it, blooming lotuses unfurl in full splendor — delicate pink petals basking in the soft sunlight. The sight of them calms him, but not entirely.

“What do you suggest?” he asks after a moment, eyes still lingering on the flowers.

“I suggest we wait,” Wen Qing replies, her voice crisp.

Wei Ying lifts his gaze then, turning his attention to Chunwen, who steps forward with a slight nod.

“Let them wait,” he says evenly. “First, they need to understand that peace — true peace — is not effortless. It’s built with time, hard decisions, and persistence. If something is broken, it takes more than a single apology or letter to mend it. Second,” his tone sharpens slightly, “this delay shows them that Yiling is no longer theirs to manage. We are not under their mercy. The Jiang Sect does not command Yiling. We’ll lift the barriers gradually, on our own terms.”

Wei Ying considers his words, nodding slowly. “Fair enough,” he says at last. “They need to learn that every action has consequences. They must carry the memory of their mistakes, lest they repeat them.”

He leans back, fingers steepled, his gaze flicking to Chunwen again. “What of the spy? Has he left for Qishan?”

Chunwen nods. “He has. And he’s seen exactly what we intended for him to see”

Wei Ying hums again, the corners of his mouth twitching faintly in what might be satisfaction — or calculation.

“Qing-jie,” he says, addressing Wen Qing, “how many of your branch are still in Qishan?”

She lets out a quiet sigh. “Around a hundred, if we include the children.”

“And if we were to ask them to come here — how many do you think would follow?”

“At least half,” she replies without hesitation.

“Good,” Wei Ying says. “We’ll visit them soon. It’s time they saw what we’ve built.”

Rising from his seat, he walks over to a nearby cabinet and retrieves a rolled scroll. Its edges are slightly frayed, but the contents remain precise. He brings it to the table and unrolls it with care. It’s a detailed map of Yiling — not just the roads and rivers, but details of its spiritual formations, checkpost, outer and inner barriers, and defensive array patterns.

“Once the war breaks out,” he says, voice steady, “we won’t have the luxury of screening every soul that comes knocking at our gates. There will be refugees, deserters, spies, and desperate cultivators seeking safety. We must fortify in a way that allows controlled entry — not rigid gates that fail under pressure.”

The group gathers around the map, heads bowed, fingers pointing to crucial junctions and supply lines. The discussion stretches late into the night, their words drifting softly under the protective veil of the silencing talismans.

 

.

 

Far from Yiling, under a sky slowly turning violet with dusk, two swords descend from the clouds like quiet lightning.

Lan Zhan and Lan Xichen alight gently in a clearing near a quiet inn nestled at the foot of a wooded hill. The inn is humble, its wooden sign swinging gently in the evening breeze, lanterns glowing faintly with promise of warmth.

“Let us stop here for a moment,” Lan Zhan says softly.

Lan Xichen glances at his brother, concern flickering in his eyes. “Tired?”

Lan Zhan shakes his head. “No. But if we rest now, we can return to Gusu in a single flight without further stops.”

Lan Xichen gives a small smile. “Very well.”

The brothers step inside the inn. The dining hall is nearly empty, save for a few scattered patrons nursing cups of lukewarm tea. They choose a quiet corner and place an order — hot tea, nothing more. The silence between them is not uncomfortable; it is shared and familiar.

As Lan Zhan scans the room, his sharp gaze settles on two men huddled in the farthest corner — both wearing ragged, ill-fitting robes, their faces pale and worn. The moment Lan Zhan’s eyes meet theirs, both straighten in alert recognition. He nods slightly at them.

Before he can speak, the door to the inn slams open.

A large, barrel-chested man storms inside, his face red with fury. He scans the room, then marches straight to the two huddled men.

“You swines!” he bellows. “Thought you could sneak away? Lazing about while I run everything?”

The two men shrink back, visibly terrified.

“Please!” the smaller of the two cries. “We’re sorry! We didn’t mean to break the teapot — we’ve served you for months. We’ve given everything. Please let us go!”

“Hmph!” the man growls. “You’ve barely worked for your keep. Do you know how much that teapot cost?”

Lan Zhan rises silently and crosses the room in a few steps. Lan Xichen follows, calm but watchful.

Lan Zhan speaks, voice low but unmistakably firm. “How much?”

The man sneers. “What’s it to you?”

Lan Zhan repeats, slower this time. “How much?”

“A pouch of silver,” the man says, scoffing. “Can you even afford it?”

Without a word, Lan Zhan retrieves a silver pouch from within his sleeve and tosses it towards the man. The man catches it, eyes going wide as he weighs it in his palm, then opens it greedily.

“Settled?” Lan Zhan asks.

“Y-yes, yes, of course!” the man stammers. “No problem at all!” With the pouch clutched to his chest, he scurries out of the inn like a startled rodent.

The two men turn to the Lan brothers and bow deeply.

“We… we have nowhere else to go,” one murmurs. “Please… we cannot repay you, but we offer our service. Let us serve you.”

“No need,” Lan Zhan replies. “You are free.”

But they drop to their knees.

“Please,” the other man begs. “It would be an honour to serve cultivators such as you. We are not ungrateful. Let us repay this kindness with work. Anything you ask.”

Lan Zhan turns to Lan Xichen, whose expression is conflicted. The rules of the Gusu Lan Sect are strict, and the acceptance of outsiders — especially untrained ones — is not taken lightly.

“We do not accept outside help in our sect,” Lan Zhan says, voice quiet but resolute.

Lan Xichen remains silent, brows drawn in thought.

Seeing his brother’s hesitation, Lan Zhan exhales slowly. “Then I will accept them — under me, not the sect. Their responsibility is mine to bear.”

He looks directly at Lan Xichen. “If Laozu could give a home to so many lost and helpless souls, I can offer shelter to just two. I will speak with Shifu about it. I hope Xiongzhang will not be displeased.”

Lan Xichen sighs, his gaze softening. “Alright,” he says. “If you are willing to take responsibility, I will not object.”

With that settled, the brothers order food for the two men and speak with them further, learning of their hometown, their misfortunes, and their long trail of suffering that led them to this tiny, worn-down inn.

Once the meal is finished and the stars begin to prick the sky, the Lan brothers step outside again. With one man seated behind each cultivator, they take flight, their swords carrying them swiftly back to Gusu, cutting through the moonlit air like twin streams of silver light.

.

 

Early the next morning, as pale mist still clings to the peaks of Gusu, two swords descend gracefully upon the stone-paved courtyard at the gates of Cloud Recesses. Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji dismount with fluid ease, robes fluttering gently as they land. Behind them, two weary-looking men follow suit, their figures stiff with nervous energy. Though they have changed from the ragged clothing they wore at the inn, their plain robes still contrast starkly with the pristine whites and silvers of the Lan Sect disciples already beginning their morning routines.

Without a word, the brothers begin their ascent up the long steps carved into the mountain. The two men trail slightly behind, eyes wide as they take in the austere beauty of the sect grounds — white pavilions nestled amid silent pines, paths lined with stones polished by generations of footsteps, the air tinged with sandalwood and serenity.

They reach Hanshi just as the morning sun touches the tips of the roofs. Lan Xichen steps forward and knocks politely.

"Shufu," he calls softly.

After a moment, the door opens and Lan Qiren steps out, his brows arching faintly at the sight of his nephews. “You’ve returned?” he asks, nodding in greeting. His gaze then shifts to the two unfamiliar men standing behind Lan Wangji. His expression sharpens slightly, though he says nothing.

The two men bow deeply, almost to the point of prostration.

"Come inside," Lan Qiren says after a moment, stepping aside.

Once they are seated inside, tea is poured with practised precision. The morning quiet holds between them until Lan Qiren breaks it.

“How are you both?” he asks, looking at his nephews.

“We’re well, Shufu. We hope all has been peaceful in our absence,” Lan Xichen replies, offering a small, respectful smile.

Lan Qiren’s gaze returns to the two men. “And they are?”

“They were in poor condition when we found them,” Lan Wangji says, stepping forward. “I intend for them to help with errands while I begin work on the upcoming task. I hope Shufu will not object.”

Lan Qiren’s eyes narrow slightly in contemplation, but he says nothing at first. The silence stretches just long enough to feel heavy.

At last, he speaks. “Call someone to help them freshen up.”

Lan Xichen rises, slipping out quietly. Soon, two junior disciples arrive, bowing before gently escorting the men away.

As the door closes behind them, Lan Qiren clears his throat.

“Wangji,” he says, “do you still stand by the plan we discussed earlier?”

“I do,” Lan Wangji answers without hesitation.

Lan Qiren frowns. “How can you entrust outsiders with such a critical and dangerous mission?”

“I will take full responsibility, as I said. They will not be handling the core elements. I have already listed the cultivators I believe suitable for the mission. I will begin preparations tomorrow.”

Lan Qiren leans back slightly, regarding him in silence. Wangji continues, “Also, I would like them to be housed near the Jingshi. It will make communication and oversight easier. I trust this will not be an issue.”

Lan Qiren lets out a soft sigh. “As you deem fit,” he replies at last.

Then, his gaze turns to Lan Xichen, who has returned and now sits once more, placing a wrapped bundle of scrolls on the table between them.

“How was your stay in Yiling?” Lan Qiren asks.

“It was refreshing,” Lan Xichen replies with a gentle smile. “There’s a remarkable peace there, unlike anything I’ve felt in years.”

He begins unwrapping the bundle, revealing several meticulously copied books.

“These are new texts, authored by Laozu himself,” he says. “Essays on cultivation theory, spiritual array refinements, and some meditative practices. I thought you might find them of interest.”

Lan Qiren accepts the books with visible enthusiasm, immediately flipping through the first volume, his eyes skimming the neat, precise script.

“His thoughts are sharp,” he murmurs. “Clearer than most of our elders.”

The conversation turns toward the texts themselves — the theories Wei Ying has proposed, the unorthodox but strangely effective methods he’s tested in Yiling. Even Lan Qiren, often so rigid in his traditionalism, cannot help but express admiration for the clarity and insight within the pages.

 

.

 

That evening, as twilight settles over the Cloud Recesses and the sect grows quiet under the rhythm of evening recitations, Lan Wangji sits in still meditation within the Jingshi. The soft rustle of a knock breaks his focus.

He opens his eyes, rising with quiet purpose, and slides open the door. The two men from earlier stand there, head bowed. Wangji nods, lets them in, and closes the door behind them and places silencing talismans.

 

The men respectfully hand over a silver pouch to Lan Wangji, its weight clinking softly with the sound of silver inside. However, Lan Wangji calmly shakes his head and steps back, his expression firm yet composed. “There is no need,” he says quietly but with unmistakable authority. “Keep it with you—you will need it.”

Without speaking more, he takes several steps to a cabinet recessed into the wall, draws out a tightly rolled set of scrolls, and unfurls them on the table.

“These are the layouts of the inner residences,” he says, his tone level. “The rooms of the elders, key halls, and the post exchange areas.”

The man bows again, joined by the second one who slips in behind quietly.

“I want you to be cautious,” Lan Wangji continues. “Watch their movements. Check their correspondence and chambers if you must. We must act quickly. If anything seems out of place, report to me at once.”

“We understand,” they say in unison, bowing once more.

In the next breath, they vanish from the room, disappearing in twin flickers of movement, like mist chased away by wind.

 

Lan Wangji remains by the table, his gaze lingering on the open scrolls. The silence of the Jingshi folds around him again, but it is no longer restful. His hands move, gathering the maps again, rolling them back with precision, his thoughts sharper than ever.

A storm is brewing beneath the stillness of Cloud Recesses — and he, as ever, must be ready before the first strike lands.

 

.

 

Several days pass quietly, and the temperature begins to drop as early autumn deepens its hold over Gusu. A sharp chill creeps into the air, and the once gentle winds gain a biting edge. Mist clings longer to the mountain slopes each morning, and the scent of pine and cold stone lingers through the halls of the Cloud Recesses.

With the shift in season comes an intensification of activity within the sect. The Lan brothers, as agreed, grow increasingly occupied with overseeing daily operations alongside Lan Qiren. They assist in maintaining order, supervising disciples, and reviewing internal reports. Their presence lends both stability and quiet vigilance to the sect.

In a hidden wing of the library, concealed behind wards and strict silencing talismans, Lan Wangji holds clandestine sessions in forbidden music cultivation. He trains ten carefully selected Lan disciples — loyal, sharp, and discreet. Under his guidance, they begin to master the dangerous yet powerful techniques that could one day turn the tide in moments of crisis. Occasionally, Lan Qiren observes from the shadows, his stern expression betraying neither approval nor condemnation. Though troubled, he does not interfere.

One late afternoon, beneath the grey sky and drifting wind, Lan Wangji excuses himself from his duties. With a quiet bow to his brother and uncle, he leaves the library grounds, his expression as unreadable as ever. He walks alone toward the rear of the mountains, the hem of his robes trailing slightly behind him as he treads the narrow, winding path. The official reason is to practise advanced sword forms — a perfectly plausible explanation.

But as soon as he enters a secluded clearing near the pine thicket, two figures step out from behind a large tree. Clad in neutral robes that blend with the surroundings, they bow low.

"Lan Er Gongzi," they greet in unison.

Lan Wangji offers the barest nod. "What have you found?"

"We’ve tailed them for a week," one man replies. "We’ve watched their movements, searched their quarters, checked their correspondence. Thus far, there’s nothing suspicious."

Lan Wangji considers this in silence, his gaze fixed and sharp. Then he speaks.

"Change the targets. You have observed three — now watch the remaining three elders. I am still certain one of them is in league with the Wens. If nothing emerges from this group either, we will speak with Wei Ying. He may perceive what we cannot."

"Understood," the men say, bowing deeply before disappearing in twin flashes of movement, vanishing into the thickening dusk.

Left alone, Lan Wangji draws Bichen from its sheath. The blade hums faintly in the cooling air. He steps into position, the first stroke of his form cutting through the wind with precision. Each movement is clean, deliberate, a silent promise forged in discipline.

He practises long after the sun slips behind the mountains, the sound of his sword slicing the air the only answer to the doubts tightening in his chest.

 

.

 

Meanwhile, in Yiling.

The golden light of late morning slants through the open windows of Wei Ying’s office, casting soft patterns upon the polished stone floor. The courtyard beyond is quiet, disturbed only by the rustling of crimson and gold lanterns that sway gently in the crisp autumn breeze. A kettle steams quietly on a brazier nearby, its fragrant contents filling the room with the earthy, calming scent of roasted oolong. Wei Ying sits at the low table, his fingers curled around a warm porcelain cup, though the tea within has already grown lukewarm.

“Chunwen”, he calls, his voice calm but purposeful.

The door slides open with a soft thump, and Chunwen enters, bowing low. “Laozu?”

“What’s the latest from Qishan?” Wei Ying asks, eyes still fixed on the horizon.

Chunwen straightens, a trace of worry in his expression. “Not much, I’m afraid. Our spies have been keeping watch from outside Wen Ruohan’s main palace, but there’s been no unusual movement. No signs of a military build-up — not yet.”

Wei Ying sighs. “Too quiet.” He lifts his gaze. “Qing-jie must be troubled, even if she doesn’t show it. We still have no idea what’s happening to the Dafan Wens left behind — not truly.”

Placing the cold teacup aside, he rises. “Call them both. I want to speak to them before noon.”

 

Chunwen bows once more and leaves swiftly. A short while later, he returns with Wen Qing and Wen Ning, who follow in his steps, their expressions carefully composed..

Wei Ying gestures to the cushions across from him, already pouring fresh tea into three cups. The scent of chrysanthemum mingles with honeyed osmanthus as the steam rises between them.

“Qing-jie”, Wei Ying begins, meeting her gaze, “I think we should go to Qishan. Today. I’ve prepared a talisman that will mask our identity — no one will recognise you unless you want them to. Are you alright with Wen Ning accompanying us?”

“No,” Wen Qing replies firmly. “Let Wen Ning remain here.”

“But Jie—” Wen Ning begins, only to be gently silenced.

She places a hand on his arm. “I need to be able to focus. I can’t do that if I’m worried about your safety.”

Wei Ying watches them, his voice soft. “Alright. Then it’s the two of us. We’ll stay a day or two — no longer. This will be our final trip.”

Wen Qing nods slowly.

“Pack lightly,” Wei Ying instructs. “Bring only what you need. I’ll prepare the talismans, communication seals, and a change of robes. If anything happens, signal me immediately.”

The siblings nod in unison.

Turning to Wen Ning, Wei Ying continues, “Please prepare some food for the journey. Use preservation talismans. Pack more than necessary — take the Qiankun pouch from Chunwen.”

Wen Ning offers a small nod and heads to the kitchen.

Wei Ying returns to his room, the silence weighing on him. He takes out the communication seal, writes a quick note and seals it with a silvery talisman, whispering a message into it before letting it vanish into the air.
“Lan Zhan, my love, I’m going to Qishan with Qing-jie. I won’t return for two days. Please don’t wait.”

He moves swiftly after that. Robes are folded and packed alongside a thick winter coat. His veiled hat, directional compass, and a small arsenal of talismans are stowed in his travel pouch. Suibian is sheathed and strapped to his belt; Chenqing rests safely alongside. Finally, he pastes a talisman to his chest to mask his spiritual energy.

Wen Qing soon reappears, her pouch strapped firmly at her hip. Wen Ning enters a moment later and hands over several food parcels wrapped tightly in enchanted cloth.

Wei Ying accepts them with a small nod. “We’re off. Chunwen, if anyone comes looking, tell them I’ve gone to visit my master.”

“Understood,” Chunwen replies.

“Safe travels, Wei-ge, Jie.” Wen Ning whispers.

The pair leave, veiled beneath illusion talismans. By the time the sun begins to dip below the hills, they reach a modest inn at the edge of Qishan territory. Its wooden sign creaks on rusty hinges, and the air smells faintly of grilled chestnuts.

They speak little as they eat their simple meal — steamed buns, pickled vegetables, and dried fruits, all carefully prepared in Yiling. They retire to separate rooms but sleep lightly, alert for any disturbances.

“We’ll walk the rest of the way,” Wei Ying says as they depart just before midnight. “We need to see what’s happening without alerting anyone.”

Wen Qing agrees.

Clad in nondescript travelling robes, they pose as nomads, walking under cover of darkness. With heads bowed and steps silent, they pass through forest trails, skirting villages, pausing to rest only at dawn.

By the second afternoon, they reach the outskirts of the Dafan Wen compound. The once grand sanctuary is now little more than a gathering of huts. Thatched roofs sag under the weight of the wind. A few emaciated guards stand near the main entrance, too bored or broken to truly care. There’s an oppressive silence in the air, one that speaks of despair left too long unacknowledged.

“Too risky to walk in,” Wen Qing mutters.

They find a hidden corner behind a collapsed granary wall. Wei Ying draws a teleportation array. In a whisper of light, they vanish.

They reappear inside the settlement, just beyond the central hut. Wen Qing wastes no time. She slips through the narrow path between two storage sheds and leads Wei Ying to a small, worn-down house at the back of the compound.

“Jie,” she whispers urgently to the woman inside. “It’s me — Wen Qing. Please stay calm. Tell me what’s happening.”

The woman, startled, takes a moment before recognising her cousin. Then she breaks down, tears spilling as she throws her arms around Wen Qing.

“Ah-Qing! It’s terrible. Zongzu has taken all the elders. They’re kept in isolation, forced to recreate medicines under duress. He’s taken our texts — and the children. He’s holding them hostage to coerce compliance. Every day, another demand.”

Wen Qing goes still. “Where are your husband and daughter?”

“They took our daughter two days ago. My husband was taken last week.”

Tears pool at the corners of Wen Qing’s eyes, but she remains composed. “You can leave with us — all of you, anyone willing. We’ll hide in this hut until nightfall. Quietly speak to the others. Bring them here after dark. We’ll teleport to safety.”

The woman hesitates. “My daughter...?”

Wen Qing squeezes her hand. “You know as well as I do what Wen Ruohan is capable of. You must choose to save who you still can.”

She nods and disappears into the camp.

Night descends. The few remaining fires are extinguished. One by one, figures begin arriving — twenty in total, a pitiful number. Elders, women, and a few children clinging to their mothers. Faces hollow with hunger, eyes shadowed with fear.

“Where are the others?” Wen Qing whispers.

“Taken this morning,” comes the quiet, broken reply.

Wei Ying nods. “Time to go.”

He activates the teleportation talisman, light spiralling around them.

They land in the hidden Wen colony within Yiling’s inner mounds. The contrast is stark — warmth, food, familiarity. People gasp as they see the new arrivals, rushing forward to embrace family and friends. Tears flow freely. Children laugh through their tears. Some elders sink to their knees.

Wen Qing moves quickly, guiding the arrivals to rest areas. Wen Popo and the others distribute hot food, thick cloaks, and water. Some of the survivors collapse from emotional exhaustion as soon as they realise they are finally safe.

Wei Ying stands back, watching. Relief mingles with uncertainty. He knows this was only one small act of mercy — but it is not enough. He knows Wen Ruohan will not stop until he’s taken everything — or is stopped.

He turns to Wen Qing again. “Rest. We’ll speak in the morning.”

“Goodnight, Wuxian,” she replies softly, gratitude clear in her eyes.

Wei Ying returns to his room. The silence presses against him. He’s done all he can — for now. Yet the path ahead feels uncertain, fraught with risk. Guilt presses against his ribs, unspoken.

He changes into his night robes and prepares his teleportation array.
In an instant, he’s in Gusu.

The Jingshi is still, bathed in moonlight. He steps inside quietly. Lan Zhan is already in bed, breathing slow and even. His forehead ribbon is set aside, his features softened in sleep.

Wei Ying watches him for a long moment. Then, without a sound, he lies beside him, careful not to disturb the peace.

Lan Zhan does not stir.

Wei Ying closes his eyes. And for the first time in days, he sleeps.

Chapter 31

Notes:

Hello, dear readers,

Welcome back!

I hope you are all doing well; I am doing well too. Life became a little busy recently, which is why it took me slightly longer than usual to upload this chapter.

I have been wondering whether you are enjoying the story so far. For each chapter, I tend to follow a certain structure – a blend of Wangxian moments, progression of the main plot, and occasional glimpses into Lan Wangji or Wei Wuxian’s perspectives. I prefer to keep filler content to a minimum, as I am currently updating only once a month, and I would rather ensure that each chapter delivers meaningful developments instead of leaving readers disappointed.
At this stage, I have not gone into much detail about the background characters, such as the Jiangs, Nies, and Jins. However, if you would like to know more about what is happening with them, please let me know.

Finally, a heartfelt thank you to everyone who left kudos and commented on the previous chapter – your feedback is always encouraging and greatly appreciated.

Without further ado, here is the next chapter! As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts and theories in the comments. Please let me know what you think of this chapter!

 

Thank you for reading, and stay tuned for more!

 

******************

Content Warning: Graphic violence, including gore, torture, blood, and death.

 

The air around the burial mounds hangs heavy with decay. The scent of blood, rot, and resentment clings to every surface like a curse, suffocating all hope from those who dare to tread its paths. Broken corpses lie forgotten beneath twisted trees, their stories silenced in the filth of war and betrayal. The once-still silence is now shattered by a single, desperate voice.

“Wei Ying!” Lan Zhan’s cry rings out, echoing across the ravaged terrain, but no answer follows. His voice cracks with anguish, and the name tears from his throat like a final plea to the heavens. His white robes, once pristine, are stained with blood and dirt. He moves slowly, stumbling like a soul half-separated from its body, his eyes glazed and haunted. He is but a shadow of himself—his composure shattered, his will to live hanging by a fragile thread.

He searches endlessly through the wreckage of the Burial Mounds, his every step driven by a desperate hope he cannot let go of, though the rational part of him knows the truth. The world has declared Wei Ying dead. The cultivation world has spoken of the fall of the Yiling Laozu with cold satisfaction, calling him a tyrant, a madman who brought it upon himself. But Lan Zhan cannot believe it. He will not believe it.

He stumbles forward, eyes scanning the ruins, searching for anything—any sign, any trace that Wei Ying might still be here, still alive, still breathing. But there is nothing. The resentment lingers, heavy and hostile. The soil itself seems to mourn, soaked with blood, silence mocking his every footstep.

Eventually, his legs give out beneath him, and Lan Zhan collapses to his knees. His back throbs with searing pain, his flesh raw and bloodied from thirty-three strikes of the disciplinary whip. The lashes reopen with every movement, blood seeping into the fabric of his robes. Yet he feels none of it. The physical agony is drowned beneath the weight of his grief.

His hands clutch the dirt. His voice trembles.

“What… what do I do now?” he whispers into the void.

No one answers.

“Wei Ying…” His voice breaks. “Why?”

His sobs are uncontrollable. He weeps openly, his forehead pressed against the blood-soaked ground, ignoring every Lan rule etched into his bones since childhood. He forgets the teachings, the rules of conduct, and the stoicism expected of a second jade of Lan. None of it matters now. Nothing matters anymore.

“Why did you leave me? Why did you…?” He chokes on his words, his tears mixing with the dirt. “Why did you give up?”

He weeps again, voice cracking and hoarse. “Why, why, why…”

Lan Zhan cannot understand. Wei Ying, for all his recklessness and mischief, was brilliant—untouchable. Who could have killed him, if not Wei Ying himself? No one had the strength, the cunning, or the sheer will to overpower him. Wei Ying had to choose to fall.

“Was it truly that difficult to live?” Lan Zhan asks the shadows.

His body trembles. He is soaked in sweat despite the chill in the air. And then—he jerks awake, a gasp tearing through his throat.

The Burial Mounds are gone.

He lies in bed, his breathing ragged, heart pounding violently against his ribs. Moonlight filters through the gauze curtains. The nightmare still clings to his skin like frost. But something feels wrong—no, different. The pain in his back is gone. He is no longer bound by the weight of healing lashes. He can sit up straight. He can move without pain. It doesn’t make sense.

Confused, he turns his head. And there he is.

Wei Ying lies beside him, curled up in a ridiculous sleeping position, one arm flung over his eyes, the other hugging a pillow to his chest. He snores lightly, completely unaware of Lan Zhan’s inner turmoil. His long, raven-black hair spills across the pillow, hiding half his face. He looks young—too young. Younger than he did when they met again after the war. The same vibrant, teasing boy from their early days, only healthier and more serene.

Lan Zhan’s breath catches. He blinks rapidly, realising he is not in the past anymore.

This is another timeline.

 

A second chance.

 

Relief washes over him like a flood. His soul returns to his body. His heart, which had shattered only moments ago in his dream, begins to mend as he reaches out with trembling hands. He draws Wei Ying closer, slowly and carefully, until the younger man is pressed snugly against his chest.

The warmth of Wei Ying’s body is the balm he needs—proof that this is real. Wei Ying stirs in his sleep, nuzzling Lan Zhan’s waist with a sleepy sigh, and wraps both arms around him without opening his eyes. His head finds its place on Lan Zhan’s chest, right where it belongs.

A soft smile graces Lan Zhan’s face. His eyes close, and his breathing evens. The past may still haunt him, but he refuses to let it poison the present. Not when he has Wei Ying here, safe in his arms. Slowly, he allows himself to fall back asleep, clutching the man who once saved him from the loneliness he never admitted aloud.

 

Morning breaks gently over the horizon, casting soft light into the quiet room. The delicate glow spills through the gauzy curtains, warming the wooden floor and touching the edge of the bed where two figures lie nestled close. Lan Zhan is already awake. He lies still, his expression serene, eyes fixed on the sleeping form beside him.

He gazes at Wei Ying, watching the rise and fall of his chest, the way a lock of unruly hair falls over his forehead. A faint smile touches Lan Zhan's lips. Reaching out, he tenderly brushes the strands away and presses a feather-light kiss to his lover’s brow.

Wei Ying stirs, shifting slightly under the covers. His eyelashes flutter open, and he blinks blearily at Lan Zhan, still half-lost in sleep.

“Lan Zhan… Is it morning already?” He mumbles, voice hoarse with sleep as he rubs his eyes.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan hums. “Why?”

Wei Ying frowns in confusion, still waking. “What?”

“Why the distance?” Lan Zhan asks, his brows drawing together slightly in a soft pout.

Wei Ying chuckles, voice still rough with slumber. “You were sleeping so soundly when I arrived. I didn’t want to wake you, so I lay beside you without getting too close. That’s all.”

He shuffles forward until their bodies touch, wrapping his arms tightly around Lan Zhan's waist and burying his face against his chest.

“Lan Zhan… I missed you,” he murmurs, voice muffled against his robes.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan replies, his lips brushing against Wei Ying’s hair as he plants another kiss there.

“When did you get here?” Lan Zhan asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Late last night,” Wei Ying says, nestling deeper into Lan Zhan’s neck. “You were already asleep. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

A quiet moment passes between them, filled only by the sound of their breathing and the warmth of the shared bed. It is a silence heavy with longing and unspoken promises.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying murmurs, “when this is all over… I won’t let you wake up early again. We’ll sleep in together. Every single day.”

Lan Zhan hums in quiet agreement and kisses him again.

But the moment of peace doesn’t last.

Wei Ying sighs, his tone turning serious. “I have to go.”

Lan Zhan immediately tightens his hold, unwilling to let him go just yet. “Why?”

“We shouldn’t meet for a few days,” Wei Ying says, hesitating. “I… I have a bad feeling. Something isn’t right.”

Lan Zhan’s calm demeanour shifts subtly. His gaze sharpens. “Why?” he asks again, more insistently this time.

“I want to go to Qishan,” Wei Ying confesses. “I need to see how many innocent lives are being tortured by Wen Ruohan. I can’t sit idly by when I know he’s committing atrocities.”

Lan Zhan sits up slightly, frowning. “Send spies. You are not going.”

“Lan Zhan…” Wei Ying looks up at him, voice soft and pleading.

“No,” Lan Zhan says again, more firmly.

Wei Ying drops his gaze. His fingers twist into the bedclothes.

“It’s not possible,” he says at last, voice tight. “I’ve called all my spies back. Wen Ruohan is committing mass murders, enacting brutal punishments without cause. The resentment is growing out of control. He’s put up powerful wards that are affecting the minds and spirits of anyone who enters. My spies—they can’t get close. They were starting to lose themselves.”

He sighs, still staring at the sheets. “I had no choice. I had to call them back. I’ll stay safe, I promise. Please don’t worry.”

He pouts slightly, his usual charm dulled by the seriousness of the moment. “Just for now.”

Lan Zhan regards him silently, weighing his words, his heart battling with the cold logic of strategy and the burning anxiety of love.

“How long?” he asks quietly.

Wei Ying shakes his head. “I’m not sure.”

Lan Zhan pulls him closer once more, holding him as if he could shield him from the dangers of the world.

“Stay safe,” he whispers. “Please.”

“You too,” Wei Ying replies, lifting his head to meet Lan Zhan’s gaze.

They share a deep, lingering kiss—not rushed, not born of desperation, but steeped in trust, in longing, in the ache of parting too soon. When they finally separate, Wei Ying brushes his thumb over Lan Zhan’s cheek with infinite tenderness.

“I’ll go now,” he says softly. “If anything happens, I’ll send a message immediately.”

He leans forward to place a gentle kiss on Lan Zhan’s forehead—a promise, a farewell, and a silent reassurance. Lan Zhan nods, too overcome to speak, and embraces him once more.

Wei Ying rises and quietly dresses, the rustle of fabric the only sound as he prepares to step into uncertainty. He casts one last glance at Lan Zhan before slipping out the door and into the morning.

His scent—a mix of lotus, herbs, and warmth—lingers in the room long after he’s gone.

And Lan Zhan remains seated, watching the empty doorway, heart full and aching, counting down the moments until Wei Ying is in his arms once more.

.
.

 

Meanwhile, in Qishan—

 

Scrolls, maps, coded messages, tactical drawings, and ink-blotted reports lie sprawled haphazardly across a long, lacquered table. The chamber is dimly lit, warmed only by the glow of lanterns and the lazy coils of incense smoke curling through the air. An uneasy stillness hangs over the room, thick with expectation.

The wooden doors creak slightly as a servant hesitates outside, then knocks—once, twice—before carefully sliding the door open. He steps into the study with a deep bow, his voice respectful but cautious.
“Gongzi,” he murmurs, eyes cast low.

The young man at the table looks up slowly. His expression is unreadable, shadowed by the faint golden light. “Yes?” he replies.

“You are summoned,” the servant says. “The Zongzhu requests your presence in the Great Hall.”

The young man—Wen Xu—gives a curt nod and rises from his seat without a word. He smooths the creases from his crimson robes, adjusts the sword at his side, and silently follows the servant through the stone corridors of the Wen Sect’s ancestral stronghold.

The Great Hall of Qishan is vast, echoing with the whisper of ancient power. The polished stone floor reflects the flickering flames from hanging braziers, while heavy red banners bearing the Wen insignia hang proudly from the high ceilings. The air smells of sandalwood and something sharper beneath it—like old blood and freshly lit firewood. Few elders, cultivators, and sect aides stand in disciplined formation, heads bowed in reverence and tension.

At the centre of the hall, Wen Ruohan paces like a caged predator, his dark robes swishing behind him with each step, reminiscent of spreading flame. His expression is thunderous, barely held in check, the furrow between his brows deepening with every turn.

A lone spy kneels on the stone floor before him, prostrated so low his forehead touches the ground. The man does not dare look up.

Wen Ruohan's voice cuts through the silence like a blade drawn across flesh.

“Are you certain?” he demands. “That’s all he has?”

The spy gulps audibly before responding. “Yes, Zongzhu. I swear it. His forces are minimal. He has a handful of cultivators, capable but few in number. The rest are civilians—untrained, unorganised. There is no military structure to speak of.”

Wen Ruohan’s breath hisses through his nostrils, and in a sudden outburst of fury, he flings the scroll in his hand across the room. It strikes the stone floor with a sharp crack, unravelling in a messy spiral of ink and parchment. It lands at the feet of his son.

Wen Xu steps forward calmly, ignoring the scattered scroll. His face is unreadable, carved of ice, betraying neither satisfaction nor fear.

Wen Ruohan growls low in his throat, his anger boiling to the surface. “How dare he posture with such pitiful strength? I postponed an entire campaign—halted our expansion—because of this arrogant pest? He dares to lift his head and challenge me with that paltry excuse of a stronghold?”

Wen Xu offers a shallow bow. He gives a small gesture with his hand, and the spy quickly bows and scurries from the hall.

Wen Ruohan turns to one of his aids, Wen Hai, who stands at his right. “Is this true?”

Wen Hai bows. “Yes, Zongzhu. The report matches what I witnessed on my journey to Yiling. Their cultivation base is adequate but not enough to resist our forces. They rely heavily on illusionary barriers and a few powerful cultivators of unknown background.”

Wen Ruohan’s eyes narrow. “Unknown?”

Wen Hai hesitates. “We have yet to identify their sects. It’s possible they are disciples of his master, Baoshan Sanren, but records are vague. They are powerful—but few.”

A silence settles over the hall.

Then, without warning, Wen Ruohan’s voice rings out like thunder. "Then what are we waiting for?" Wen Ruohan snarls, his eyes flashing. "Wen Mao must be writhing in Diyu, cursing his weakness for failing to dominate the cultivation world. But I will not. This is our era. We, the Wen Sect, are destined to rule. All others must kneel or be broken. Xu’er, take an army and march on Yiling. Destroy them. Bring me the head of the Yiling Laozu."

For a moment, Wen Xu says nothing. He stares at his father, then lowers his gaze to the untouched cup of tea at the offering table. He lifts it and swirls the liquid within.

“With respect, Fuqin,” he begins, voice even, “now is not the time.”

A sneering voice interrupts him. Wen Chao steps forward, dressed in finery more suited to a brothel than a battlefield. "Fuqin, allow me to lead the army. I’ll return with their heads. There’s no point asking someone who doesn’t understand war or loyalty. His blood’s been diluted by that weak woman he calls mother."

Wen Xu’s grip tightens around the porcelain cup.

Wen Ruohan turns, and with a snap of his wrist, he flings the nearest tea bowl at Wen Chao. It shatters at his son’s feet.

“Speak again, and I’ll have your tongue,” he snarls. “You think your blood grants you the right to question your betters? If you spent half as much time sharpening your mind as you do chasing skirts, perhaps I’d trust you with more than your own shadow. Stand back.”

Chastened, Wen Chao retreats, face red with humiliation.

Wen Ruohan returns his attention to Wen Xu. “Explain. Why do you hesitate?”

Wen Xu meets his father’s gaze. “Because his confidence is not baseless. I believe he is hiding something. If we attack now, we expose our hand. Even if we win, we lose in the eyes of the other sects. They will rally—not out of loyalty to him, but in fear of us.”

Wen Ruohan frowns. “You’re suggesting we wait and let him grow stronger?”

“No,” Wen Xu replies smoothly. “I suggest we let something else weaken him first.”

Curiosity flickers across the faces in the hall.

Wen Xu bows and exits the hall briefly. When he returns, he carries a sealed scroll, aged and brittle. He climbs the steps and offers it directly to his father.

“This”, he says, “is a map of Mount Muxi.”

Wen Ruohan unfurls it slowly. Strange markings, symbols of an ancient dialect, and coordinates of spiritual seals adorn the parchment.

“There is a demi-Xuanwu beneath the mountain,” Wen Xu explains. “Sealed centuries ago. Its strength is great. Its seal is weakening.”

Wen Hai raises a brow. “You propose we send him to face it?”

Wen Xu nods. “We make it seem like an act of peace. A joint effort to correct the mistakes of our forebears. We frame it as a failure of Yanling Daoren—his martial ancestor. Honour will compel him.”

Wen Chao scoffs. “He’ll refuse.”

“He won’t,” Wen Xu replies, confident. “We’ll spread word of his involvement before the invitation reaches him. If he refuses, he’s a coward. If he accepts, he enters a pit of death. Either way, he is diminished.”

Wen Hai strokes his beard. “It’s a trap of legacy, honour, and pride. Elegant.”

Wen Ruohan chuckles. “You plan to let his own name destroy him.”

“Pride”, Wen Xu says, “is a sharper sword than steel.”

Wen Ruohan sits back, savouring the thought. “And if he survives?”

Wen Xu shrugs. “Then we’ll know more. And he will not emerge unscathed.”

Wen Hai adds, “And if the other sects grow curious?”

“They will,” Wen Xu says. “But they will wait. No one wishes to strike first and be caught on the wrong side of history. They will observe—and delay.”

Wen Ruohan’s lips curl. “Prepare the documents. Send the invitations. Whisper our ‘intentions’ to the right ears. Let the world believe we honour tradition and call upon him out of humility.”

Wen Xu bows. “As you command, Fuqin.”

Wen Ruohan lifts his cup and takes a slow sip, the taste of jasmine and dominance mingle on his tongue.

“At last,” he says, casting a pointed look at Wen Xu, “one of my sons shows the cunning worthy of our name.”

Wen Chao seethes quietly but does not speak. Wen Hai bows and steps forward. “I will assist with the forging of the map. It must appear legitimate.”

“Good,” Wen Ruohan says. “See to it.”

The hall begins to stir with new purpose. Elders exchange knowing glances. Soldiers straighten their backs. A new gambit has been played.

Outside, the crimson banners of the Wen Sect ripple in the wind, heralds of blood yet to be spilt.

The war has not begun with blades—but with bait. And the trap is already closing.

Far away, the first threads of this scheme begin to unravel. The beast is stirring. And so, too, is the storm.

And as Wen Ruohan watches his son walk away to carry out the plan, a rare glint of pride flickers in his eyes.

"Let the Yiling Laozu prove his worth—or let the mountain swallow him whole. Either way, the Wen Sect wins."

The doors of the great hall close behind them, sealing the plot within.

War approaches—but not with fire. Not yet.

This battle begins with a map, a monster, and a name.

And the hunt begins.

 

.

 

Meanwhile, in Yiling—

The quiet hum of spiritual energy crackles faintly as Wei Ying reappears at the heart of his stronghold, his robes billowing slightly from the sudden rush of air. Without delay, he sends messages to four trusted companions—Wen Qing, Wen Ning, Chun Hua, and Chunwen—summoning them to his private office. Within moments, they arrive, their expressions alert and questioning.

"I need your thoughts on this," Wei Ying begins without preamble. His tone is brisk, his expression grave. He unrolls a scroll on the table and outlines the plan in its entirety.

When he finishes, silence stretches for a moment.

"Wuxian, this is extremely risky," Wen Qing says, her brows knitting into a frown.

Wei Ying nods. "I know. But it’s the only strategy that ensures minimal casualties—for both sides."

Chunwen steps forward, concern etched into his features. "But Laozu, this puts you in a dangerously vulnerable position. If anything goes wrong—"

"I'll take care of myself," Wei Ying interjects gently but firmly. "I’ve faced worse. I’ll be fine. I can’t stay here while people—innocents—are suffering. I have to act."

His voice dips slightly, but the steel in it remains. He turns his gaze to Wen Qing and Wen Ning. "I need your help. I want detailed maps—locations Wen Ruohan might be using to hide those he's torturing. Places where the prisoners could still be alive."

Wen Ning glances at his sister, silent but supportive. Wen Qing inhales sharply.

"There are many such places," she says grimly. "Hidden chambers, abandoned fortresses, cultivation labs turned torture sites. Not all of them are currently active, but I can mark the ones most likely to be in use. Give me a moment."

Wei Ying nods and hands her a fresh scroll and ink. Wen Qing sits at the far end of the table, already deep in thought, her hands moving quickly. Symbols, notes, and directional markers begin to fill the parchment as the hours pass.

When she finishes, she pushes the draft map across the table. “This is everything I can recall. There are places within the Wen palace with wards strong enough to seal a cultivator’s core. You must reconsider your decision—if you’re caught—”

“I know,” Wei Ying cuts in, softer this time. He looks down at the map, tracing one of the marked routes with a fingertip. "It’s one thing not to know that atrocities are being committed. It’s something else entirely to know they’re happening to people who matter to you—and still stay silent. I can’t."

His voice falters, just for a breath.

“I just… want to help. Even if it’s only a handful. Even if… they’re not alive anymore.”

The room falls into silence once more, the weight of his words settling heavily among them.

 

.

 

In the darkness of the night, a silent shadow slips through the grand entrance of the Nightless City’s great hall. Only a few guards patrol the perimeter, their footsteps soft, unaware of the intruder moving amongst them. Wei Ying keeps low to the ground, his breathing calm, his steps quieter than a whisper. The vast hall, with its high ceilings and menacing aura, is nearly deserted at this hour, save for the guards stationed near the front.

Wei Ying’s eyes sweep across the shadows, scanning for movement. He keeps to the edges, weaving through columns, until he reaches the farthest corner of the great hall. There, half-concealed behind a tall, imposing statue of an ancient Wen ancestor, lies a secret door—one only a handful of people know about. Taking a deep breath, he kneels and brushes his fingers across the floor, drawing a complex sigil with precision. As he channels his Qi into it, the faint glow of spiritual energy activates the seal with a soft click.

The door unlocks.

Wei Ying slips inside without a sound, careful not to draw the attention of the guards stationed on the far side. The air changes immediately. The corridor is narrow, claustrophobic, and completely dark. The smell is suffocating, a mix of mildew, decay, and something sharper—something far more sinister.

He places one foot carefully in front of the other. Each step is measured. The corridor eventually opens to a steep stairway, leading downward into the depths beneath Nightless City. As he descends, the air thickens and the stench becomes unbearable. The smell of blood and rot is unmistakable.

At the bottom, he pauses. He closes his eyes, relying on his hearing. The silence is nearly complete—no footsteps, no breathing, no sounds of chains or voices. Only the occasional soft dripping of liquid from some unknown source. He activates a fire talisman, and the small flame illuminates the hellish scene before him.

The basement is a torture chamber.

Blood-stained floors, discarded robes and chains, rusted whips, splintered rods, and broken bottles litter the room. Some of the instruments are slick with dried blood. Others are embedded with human hair or flesh. It is a room designed not for interrogation, but for cruelty.

Wei Ying steps cautiously across the floor, his gaze sweeping from corner to corner. He finds a small bottle among the debris, wraps it in cloth, and stores it in his qiankun pouch. The room yields nothing more of value, only horror.

He continues to the next site Wen Qing had described. The corridors grow more complex the deeper he ventures. Each room he visits bears similar horrors—blood, chains, devices of torment. But nowhere does he find survivors. Nor does he find bodies in rest. Only chaos and the aftermath of suffering.

Then, just as he prepares to leave, a sound.

A soft whimper.

It does not come from one of the marked locations. Wei Ying stills. There it is again—a faint, broken sob echoing from a different hallway. He follows the sound with caution. It leads him to a heavy wooden door marked with wards.

An infirmary.

He inspects the wards. There is a strong spiritual energy surrounding the entrance—like a barrier. He tries to open the door, but the energy repels him. Steeling himself, he draws a talisman and charges it with his Qi. After several moments of careful adjustment, the barrier flickers and falls silent.

Wei Ying opens the door.

The stench hits him first—far worse than anything before. The fire talisman reveals a room of unspeakable carnage. A mound of corpses lies strewn across the room, their limbs twisted, bodies torn as if they were playthings. Many are disfigured beyond recognition. The blood has long dried into the floor.

And in the far corner—caged beasts.

Hounds.

Their eyes glow faintly in the dark. Their jaws gnash, blood and gore caked into their fur. Wei Ying’s blood turns to ice. He knows what these creatures are. He has seen one of them—trained by Wen torturers to feast on the flesh of prisoners, conditioned to attack the scent of fear.

He barely breathes.

Then the whimper again.

He turns his head sharply. There, near the far end of the infirmary, is movement—a figure, curled up and trembling behind a pile of discarded bodies.

He moves towards it cautiously, extinguishing his invisibility talisman and replacing it with a small flame. The fire reveals a young woman, barely more than a girl, her face streaked with dirt and blood. Her eyes widen in fear as he approaches. She gasps and recoils, crawling backwards until her back hits the wall, trying to vanish into the pile of corpses.

Wei Ying’s heart clenches.

He kneels before her, keeping his voice soft. “Fear not. I’m not here to hurt you. I’ve come to help. Please, don’t make any noise.”

Her eyes flicker, uncertain.

“I’ll take you somewhere safe, far away from Wen Ruohan. Do you know if anyone else is alive? Can you tell me where they are?”

She shakes her head, her body tense and trembling.

“Are you from the Dafan branch of the Wen clan?”

A hesitant nod.

“I know Popo, Third Uncle, Qing-jie, and A-Ning. They’re safe. I can take you to them. Will you come with me?”

The girl’s eyes go wide, filling with tears. She nods—frantically this time.

Wei Ying gives her a gentle nod and begins to rise, but she clutches his sleeve tightly.

He turns to her.

She shakes her head again, indicating with trembling fingers that no one else remains alive.

He hesitates, then gently lifts her into his arms. The journey out is harrowing, the blood and remnants of limbs forcing bile into his throat. He grits his teeth, steadies his breathing, and carries her past the hounds—silent and still in their cages—and through the corridor.

Once outside, he seals the infirmary door once more and teleports to Yiling.

The town is quiet in the dead of night. The lights in Wen Qing’s office burn brightly, shadows dancing within. He enters.

Inside, Wen Qing, Wen Ning, Chun Hua, and Chunwen sit in silence, their teacups empty, their faces drawn with worry. As soon as they see Wei Ying, they rise in alarm.

Wen Qing rushes forward. Her steps falter when she sees the girl in his arms.

“Jie,” she whispers, tears springing to her eyes.

Wen Ning quickly places a cushion on the floor. Wei Ying kneels, gently lowering the girl onto it. The moment her weight leaves his arms, Wei Ying stumbles outside, bends over, and vomits.

Inside, Wen Qing kneels beside the girl.

“Jie… It’s really you. What happened to you?”

She reaches for her hands, but the girl recoils with a cry. Her skin is marred by burns. Several of her fingernails are missing.

Wen Qing gasps and leaps up, dashing to a shelf to retrieve salves. She speaks rapidly to Wen Ning. “Bring warm water. Fresh clothes. Quickly.”

The room moves in a blur. Chun Hua moves to close the windows and light incense. Wen Ning returns with a basin, cloth, and robes.

Wen Qing works quickly, her fingers gentle but firm as she treats the girl’s wounds.

Wei Ying leans against the wall just outside, his eyes closed, the scene still vivid in his mind—the scent of death, the pile of bodies, the girl’s broken sobs, and those monstrous hounds.

He breathes in the cool night air.

There is more to uncover in the Nightless City. But for now, one soul has been saved.

And sometimes, that is enough to begin with.
.

The Wen colony begins to stir not long after the news spreads of the young woman’s arrival. Excitement, concern, and curiosity ripple through the compound, but it is in Chunwen’s office that the atmosphere is most tense. After a brief reunion, Wen Ning and Wen Qing make their way there, where Wei Ying has returned after freshening up.

“Laozu, are you certain you are alright? Perhaps you should ask Wen Guniang for some medicine?” Chunwen says anxiously, his eyes flicking over Wei Ying’s pale face.

Wen Qing, passing the doorway at that moment, hears the concern in his tone. She rushes inside, worry etched into every line of her expression. “What’s wrong with him? What happened?” she demands.

“Laozu vomited twice right in front of me,” Chunwen explains before Wei Ying can intervene. “I’m not sure how many times it happened when he went to his room.” Wei Ying shoots him a look, gesturing subtly for him to stop talking.

Ignoring the silent plea, Wen Qing steps forward and takes hold of Wei Ying’s wrist, her fingers firm but gentle as she reads his pulse. Her brows draw together, but before she can speak, Wei Ying attempts to reassure her.

“I truly am fine,” he insists, his voice calm but still faintly strained. “It’s only that I witnessed the horrific state of the chambers. I could barely control myself there.”

Wen Qing exhales, her worry not entirely eased. Beside her, Wen Ning silently produces a lemon candy from his sleeve and presses it into Wei Ying’s hand. A faint smile tugs at Wei Ying’s lips as he unwraps it and places it in his mouth, the tangy sweetness offering the smallest comfort.

“What of your Jie?” Chunhua asks, her voice heavy with concern.

Wen Qing’s lips tremble before she forces out the truth. “She has been tortured. She is not speaking, no matter what I ask. I gave her some calming tea; she will sleep for a while. When she wakes, I’ll try again to find out exactly what happened.”

“I don’t believe there were any other survivors besides her,” Wei Ying says quietly, grief evident in every word. “I might have missed her too… but thankfully I didn’t.”

He extends both his hands, clasping Wen Ning’s and Wen Qing’s palms in a steady but solemn grip. His head lowers, and his voice falters. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t save them.”

“It’s not your fault, Ge,” Wen Ning responds immediately, his own hands wrapping firmly around Wei Ying’s. “You’ve done everything for us. If not for you, we would be in their place now. No one else would have helped us. Jie is grateful, I am grateful, and everyone here owes you their lives. Please, don’t carry this guilt.”

“Exactly,” Wen Qing adds, her voice resolute. “Don’t blame yourself. Thank you for everything, Wuxian. The words alone cannot express the depth of what we feel. I know the road ahead will be far more difficult, but remember—Wen Qing will follow you to her last breath. Thank you for rescuing my family. Thank you for giving us hope to live.”

Overcome with emotion, she rises and bows deeply to him, tears brimming in her eyes. Wei Ying moves quickly, catching her by the shoulders and pulling her back upright. “No more of that,” he murmurs, guiding her to sit once more.

A quiet moment passes as they compose themselves. Then Wei Ying speaks again, his voice low but firm. “Make sure your Jie’s needs are tended to. There’s no need to pressure her for information if she is not ready. We will face whatever comes together—there is no reason to force her to relive those memories. I saw the extent of Wen Ruohan’s cruelty for myself. Let her heal first.”

Wen Qing nods, her eyes dark with understanding.

As the first pale streaks of dawn begin to touch the horizon, the small group disperses, each returning to their quarters for rest. The compound slowly quiets again, yet the unspoken weight of grief, gratitude, and determination lingers in the air, binding them together for whatever trials await.

.

By noon, the group gathers once more in Wen Qing’s office, their expressions sombre after a silent lunch. Wen Qing enters last, her eyes red and swollen from weeping, supporting the rescued woman beside her. The lady appears far better than when Wei Ying had pulled her from danger, though her movements remain careful and slow.

“Are you alright?” Chunhua rises quickly to assist, easing the woman down onto a cushion with Wen Qing’s help. Wen Qing simply nods, her lips pressed tight.

“How is she?” Wei Ying asks, his tone measured but his gaze fixed on Wen Qing.

For a moment, Wen Qing cannot speak. She bows her head, and tears spill freely. After several long seconds, she wipes at her face, though her voice still trembles. “They… they tortured her,” she says, before breaking off, her shoulders shaking.

“They cut out her tongue,” she finally forces out, “and tore away several of her nails. That’s why she cannot speak.” Her words hang in the air like a curse.

The room falls into horrified silence. Wei Ying’s jaw tightens; his hand curls into a fist as he stares at nothing, lost in his thoughts.

Wen Qing takes a shuddering breath. “She is also… a few weeks pregnant.”

Gasps ripple through the room. Chunhua’s eyes brim with tears, and she clasps Wen Qing’s hand tightly, as though to anchor them both.

Wei Ying’s voice cuts through the stillness, firm yet gentle. “Qing-jie, we will not ask her for any information. Take her back to the colony and let her rest.” His gaze leaves no room for argument. At his urging, Wen Qing and Chunhua help the woman from the room and escort her away.

Once they are gone, Wei Ying’s eyes sweep the remaining faces. “I want to make an announcement—that all of you stand with me, here in Yiling.”

The declaration shocks them into stillness. It is Chunwen who breaks the silence. “Laozu, won’t that put us in a dangerous position?”

Wei Ying shakes his head slowly. “Earlier, I had intended to handle matters differently. But the situation has changed. If I can draw his attention away from innocent people, that is worth the risk.” He leans forward slightly, his tone resolute. “And we are not in a precarious position. If there is anyone who can face the Wen army without fear of losing right now, it is us.”

The others exchange long, contemplative glances. At last, Wen Qing’s voice rings out from the doorway, where she has returned quietly. “Alright. Let’s do it.”

“I’m in,” Chunhua says at once.

Wen Ning nods in solemn agreement. Chunwen exhales heavily before finally offering his consent.

Wei Ying straightens. “Then our first act is to announce the founding of the Yiling Wei Sect. Send word to every sect—disciples will be accepted in time.”

The decision hangs in the air, a line crossed and a future claimed, as each of them steels themselves for the storm to come.

Notes:

Lovely Readers,

Thank you for your time and attention. Please share your thoughts, ideas, and opinions in the comments. I welcome constructive criticism as it helps me improve and refine my work.