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“Reservations?” Wei Wuxian asks and takes a step back from the entrance of what seems to be the only guest house within a dozen li.
A few days ago, a query from the Liu sect reached Gusu Lan. The small familial sect, half a dozen cultivators to their name, asked for help investigating a surge of violent deaths in their region, their territory edging right between Gusu and Lanling Jin.
He and Lan Zhan had made the journey on Bichen in about half a day. Something about the area put Wei Wuxian immediately on edge, though at first, he put it down to being so close to Mo village, too close to where everything began. Arriving at the Liu mansion, his gut feeling had proven right: everything looked as if prepared for a feast – and yet, not a single person appeared in the entire manor: no cultivators, no guests, not even servants.
Strange. Very, very strange.
As the afternoon slowly bled into night, Lan Zhan decided they should find a guest house somewhere in the area to spend the night and resume their investigation tomorrow. In the meantime, Wei Wuxian was looking forward to his favorite hobby: drinking and asking questions.
Now, Wei Wuxian watches the young waitress, rubbing her hands apologetically. “We’re literally full tonight,” she says. “Sorry.”
He’s about to open his mouth to ask for directions to another guest house when an older waitress peeks over her shoulder. She studies both him and Lan Zhan up and down and then says, “Let them in. After all, these are the esteemed Hanguang-Jun and his companion Mo Xuanyu.”
Wei Wuxian’s eyes widen, and Lan Zhan looks just as caught off guard. Well, he has a tiny crease in his eyebrows, which is basically his version of what the hell?
“Mo Xuanyu?” he repeats.
“Certainly, your reputation precedes you.” And the older woman winks at him!!! “If you would follow me, esteemed cultivators. The storyteller is about to start.”
“My reputation, Lan Zhan,” he whispers, torn between humour and absolute bewilderment, “can you believe it?”
The server hadn’t exaggerated. Inside, it’s absolutely packed. With the tables arranged to the side, rows and rows of villagers sit on cushions arranged in a demi-circle around a single, empty chair. He thinks every single adult in the town must have shown up here, probably more than that, and all of them are excitedly talking amongst each other.
“So this is a big occasion, isn’t it?” Wei Wuxian asks. “What’s tonight’s story?”
“You must be joking, young master.”
“I assure you, I’m not.” She laughs politely, though a bit confused, as if he were a patron who made an unfunny joke and she was required to humour him. “You must be excited," she says as she navigates them through the rows of chatting villagers, “seeing as you are such loyal supporters.”
“Supporting what?”
The server looks from him to Lan Zhan and then smirks conspiratorially. “You know – justice. Love.”
At that, Wei Wuxian halts and crashes into Lan Zhan’s sturdy chest. “I-I guess?”
Lan Zhan steadies him. He turns back to mouth his thanks when he sees that Lan Zhan’s ears flush hot and red with blood. He hides a smile behind his sleeve.
Adorable, his man.
“If the storyteller’s so well traveled, perhaps we should ask him about the Liu clan,” he suggests.
The woman somehow hears it and promptly scoffs. “Whatever you want with those… I promise you, it’s not worth it. They don’t care about the interests of common folk like us,” and she says it with such bitterness, Wei Wuxian almost tastes resentment in the air.
Strange, indeed.
“So they’re not.. well-liked, here?”
“That is a sound evaluation, young master. Those arrogant sect snobs.”
He almost misses a step and looks at her, wide-eyed.
Doesn’t she know that Hanguang-Jun is one of those ‘sect snobs’, as she put it?
It has been a while since Wei Wuxian has felt this baffled.
As if understanding, she adds, “The Liu clan… well, it’s impolite to speak poorly of others.”
“You must not really be a cultivation fan, huh?”
“Not really, no,” she sighs. “I want change. And justice. I may be old, but I’m not old-fashioned. Besides, it’s the most excitement we’ve had here in years. I believe in the good cause.”
“I see. Well. We’re looking forward to it, too, isn’t that right, Lan Zhan?”
Lan Zhan doesn’t nod - because lying is forbidden. But Wei Wuxian is kind of curious to hear what wild tales of the cultivation world the storyteller will spin.
Even in his youth, storytellers – or rather gossip mills – were rather popular pastimes in Yunmeng. He must have been young, barely a teenager, the one time he and Jiang Cheng got curious about what exactly happened during such a recital. So they secretly slipped inside a retelling of a rather scandalous affair of the Emperor’s bastard son…with lots of… adult activities and lots of participants. Safe to say, he and Jiang Cheng fled red-cheeked and sweaty and never breathed a single word about it.
“Perhaps you esteemed cultivators won’t mind sitting with your peers? I’m afraid these are the only seats left tonight.”
Cultivators? More cultivators? He feels his pulse quicken for a brief moment and looks at Lan Zhan.
Perhaps the other cultivators knew more about what exactly happened at the Liu estate. Or maybe, if they’re lucky, they even are the missing Liu cultivators.
Apparently, the waitress reads his stillness as nerves and kindly puts a hand on his shoulder. “Please know that we don’t judge you here. Feel safe to show yourselves as you are, alright?”
Dumbfounded, Wei Wuxian nods.
Sure, Wei Wuxian’s reputation has improved since Jin Guangyao’s conspiracy has come to light, but… reputations don’t change easily. Certainly not one as notorious and well-earned as his own.
Nervously, he glances back. Lan Zhan meets his eyes, and his steady confidence sends a warm shiver down his spine. With Lan Zhan by his side, no cultivator would dare to start a fight. At least not, if they held even a small amount of self-preservation.
Their seats end up being further to the side of the room, at a table with a good view of the storyteller’s chair. Their kind server leaves them with the promise of alcohol and a warm meal.
Two women are already sitting around the candlelit table, drinks and easy conversation flowing between them. Wei Wuxian can’t help but think they are interrupting something when the waitress leaves them there with the promise of food and drink coming right up.
The smaller of the two women, donning long black robes and a red ribbon in her head is the first to notice them. She whistles. “These robes must have cost you a fortune.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Wei Wuxian answers and feels his lips stretch into a wide smile, “because Lan Zhan here purchased these for me.”
She throws her head back and laughs. “How nice of him. You’re really committed to this, I see. Nice to meet you, brother in crime.”
Wei Wuxian blinks, taken aback. Then he looks again. Her outfit – from afar, you could think these were cultivation robes, or rather, inspired by them.
“Mo Xuanyu, right?” She makes a weird hand-movement. “Or Jin – whatever. Same difference, to me.”
Wei Wuxian tilts his head and considers her: red ribbon tying up her hair, black outer robes, a dizi next to her hand on top of the table.
For a second, he just stands there and stares. Then he bursts into laughter.
“Lan Zhan, do you see this? Or have I gone mad?”
“Hey, cut it out,” her voice sharpens. “Mo Xuanyu’s not actually crazy, you know.”
Wei Wuxian shakes himself out of his stupor.
Mo Xuanyu?
Why does everyone mention him?
Isn’t this weird? He mouths to Lan Zhan, and he doesn’t reprimand him, so he must agree.
Opposite the woman sits what must be a -- judging by her purple robes and strict top knot -- Jiang Cheng…fan?…enthusiast?
This is weird. Definitely.
“Let me guess,” Wei Wuxian says to the woman in purple, “Jiang…Cheng?”
“It’s the epic aura, isn’t it?” The woman’s smile shows off her sharp teeth.
“The frown,” Lan Zhan answers.
“I–that’s –” she splutters.
Wei Wuxian stifles off another round of laughter.
“Are you sitting down, or what?” The black-robed girl raises her eyebrow.
A little helpless, he hesitates, but Lan Zhan glides elegantly next to the Jiang Cheng wannabe.
“So, you’re dressed like Mo Xuanyu?” he begins.
“Yes, master obvious? Who else could it be?”
“I mean…Wei Wuxian?”
“Ha, did you hear that, Yang Shan? Wei Wuxian? Not that old ghost story! He’s been dead for like ever – who cares about him nowadays?”
Wei Wuxian feels his face distort into a grimace of pure disbelief.
“Ha! The Yiling Patriarch is old news, did you hear that, Lan Zhan?”
“Not to me,” Lan Zhan says pointedly.
Oh, Lan Zhan.
“No? But he’s been dead for sooo long…. and you’re our age, right? You can’t be more than twenty-five, and honestly, that’s pushing it.”
Wei Wuxian laughs while Lan Zhan stays silent.
“Lan Zhan’s a bit older than he looks,” he allows. “But still just as handsome, isn’t he?”
Lan Zhan’s ears turn even redder, and he fights a sudden urge to reach out and touch them. He probably wouldn’t appreciate that…right now.
“Hey, Lan Zhan, would you still like me if I were a woman?”
Lan Zhan’s face remains stoic as he says, “Wei Ying is Wei Ying.”
He sits so properly, his face so dignified, he really makes Wei Wuxian want to be naughty.
A foot bumps against his and slowly makes its way up Wei Wuxian’s leg, tracing slow circles upward. His breath hitches, and his eyes widen.
Lan Zhan!!!
In the middle of a guest house???
Who is shameless now???
His mouth opens to voice his opinion when fake Mo Xuanyu tips on his shoulder. “You’re called Wei Ying? So you share a last name with Wei Wuxian - it makes sense that you’re interested in him, then. But Mo Xuanyu is so much more epic, you know.”
“And why is that?” He smiles.
“He’s a cutsleeve for one.”
Wei Wuxian coughs in surprise.
“And he’s not some fancy bigot.”
“Nothing wrong with fancy bigots,” Jiang Cheng’s fan comments. “Especially not when they’re hot-headed and sexy. I’m Yang Shan, by the way and that’s my–” She pauses to look at them rather intensely and then exhales slowly. “My wife, Ma Yue.”
Wei Wuxian’s mouth pops open in shock, and his mind is violently assaulted with the image of HIM WITH JIANG CHENG???
Ewww.
That’s his brother!!!
A small trace of disgust must show on his face because he sees the moment Yang Shan’s face closes down and her walls rise.
How could he explain himself? Something like: “Hey, you’re impersonating my brother and me” probably wouldn’t go over well. But then, he also doesn’t want them to get the wrong idea–
Lan Zhan kindly pulls him out of his spiral by introducing himself as Lan Zhan, “and Wei Ying is my husband.”
“Oh.”
Oh. It feels so good to be introduced by Lan Zhan as his husband.
Just like that, the tension falls away from their conversation, Yang Shan and Ma Yue smiling brightly at them.
“When did you marry?”
“A month ago,” Wei Wuxian says.
“Wow!” Ma Yue shakes her head. “I didn’t expect you to be newlyweds. You seem so much more familiar with each other.”
“Yeah, well. We’ve known each other longer. But…it took some time for us to find each other.” Wei Wuxian shrugs and watches Lan Zhan’s eyebrows crease slightly. “Ok, sorry, Lan Zhan. It’s on me.”
Ma Yue smiles at him knowingly. “Well, you’re married now.”
“It’s not easy to be together when society is still so backwards,” Yang Shan says and grabs Ma Yue’s hand above the table. “But people like Mo Xuanyu and Hanguang-Jun are really changing things.”
Their server arrives with two cups and a jar of rice wine, as well as a bowl of soup for Lan Zhan and a bowl of lamb stew for him.
“Food first,” his love says, but diligently pours him a cup, while his own stays empty.
Wei Wuxian tries exactly one spoon of his lamb stew, which is good if a little bland, before he promptly throws back the first cup. It’s not Emperor’s smile, but it’s exactly the right kind of burn he needs after a day like this. The second and third cups follow in less than a minute, to the growing disbelief of their tablemates.
Lan Zhan’s foot leaves him.
“Don’t stop now, Lan Zhan!” He pouts at the loss, only for Lan Zhan to pointedly stare at his cooling lamb stew.
“Yeah, yeah, fine. I'll eat!”
“Stop what?” Yang Shan asks, but both he and Lan Zhan decide to skilfully ignore her question. This is, after all, what they’d do if the real Jiang Cheng asked him.
After a few spoons of very mild stew, he can’t help but turn to Yang Shan. "But…why Jiang Cheng?”
“He’s so emotional and stylish…and angry. Just imagine him and Mo Xuanyu: the perfect enemies-to-lovers story.”
He splutters, “Wow, that is a bit strong, they were– I mean, I heard they used to be very close.”
“Were, is the point.”
He swallows heavily.
Enemies, huh?
Ma Yue doesn’t seem to pick up on his sullen mood. “Today’s actually our anniversary,” she reveals, fiddling with her own black dizi. “This storyteller has been all the rage the past weeks. We’ve heard all about his stories as he wandered through the neighbouring villages, and you know… of course, we support it.”
“It’s a just cause.” Her wife nods.
“Besides, the storyteller is supposed to be a master of his craft. I heard some of the audience followed him all the way from Shilan village here.”
“And that’s at least forty li away.”
“Sure.” Wei Wuxian nods. “Hey, did you by any chance hear anything about the Liu clan recently? Any strange stories from there?”
Yang Shan’s mouth twitches downward. “They think they’re above commoners. But they take bribes.”
“They only work for bribes.” Her wife rolls her eyes. “Arrogant bastards.”
“That’s what happens when all you care about is money.”
Ma Yue sighs, “Money sure can buy lots of cool things.” She gestures around his frame. “Like your outfits – they’re literally perfect–”
Eyes glittering, she reaches for Chenqing at his belt and–
Wei Wuxian tenses–
“Don’t,” Lan Zhan says, “touch a spiritual instrument without permission.”
Wei Wuxian laughs nervously and rubs his neck. Technically, Chenqing’s not really a spiritual weapon. But. Well. Lan Zhan is Lan Zhan.
Ma Yue looks abashed. “Sorry, I just couldn’t help myself. It just looks so real.”
“Yes, haha, well…”
He looks at her for a moment and then holds Chengqing out to her. She stares at it, before slowly taking it from him.
“Lan Zhan, I don’t know if I ever told you this, but A-Yuan would use it all the time while teething? You don’t want to know how many bite marks there are from him. This way, she’ll surely sustain less damage.”
“A-Yuan?”
“Our son,” Lan Zhan says, and Wei Wuxian’s heart warms.
On the podium, a man with a long beard and a severe look, contrasting his peach-coloured and undoubtedly expensive robes, takes the stage. The already loud room erupts in excited applause.
“These almost look like real cultivation robes, don’t they, Lan Zhan?”
“Yes.”
The storyteller waves a bright red fan with golden patterns, and immediately the audience falls silent. Without the fan obstructing the view, an embroidered leaf becomes visible on the storyteller’s chest.
“Is that?”
By the looks of it, they found the first of the missing cultivators of the Liu clan: After all, their symbol is the oak.
Wei Wuxian sighs in relief. After the deserted mansion, he expected the worst, but if one of the members is here in town, telling stories – well. It will be easy to question him after his performance is done and find out what’s happening.
The Liu storyteller’s voice is dark and rich. “Recent events have shaken the cultivation world. I have come to tell the tale of love and courage. But beware: it is not a happy story; it is a warning of deceit and hypocrisy. The oh so virtuous cultivation sects have finally shown their real faces.”
“I wonder if this is about Jin Guang–”
“Psst!” Yue Ma pokes him with Chengqing.
“Ouch! You’d do well in Cloud Recesses, you know,” he mutters under his breath.
Lan Zhan doesn’t look up, but his foot brushes against his knee. Wei Wuxian swallows and stares at Lan Zhan and almost melts.
How lucky is he to get to have this? To finally know how Lan Zhan felt? And to express his love every day in new and exciting ways…
Lan Zhan’s eyes meet his, with the same steady reassurance. “Later,” he mouths, and sends heat into his lower region.
This man. Such a deviant.
The storyteller hits his fan against the side of his chair, the sound snapping Wei Wuxian out of his reverie.
“Our hero, the paradigm of virtue, talent, beauty, and strength in adversity,”
“Lan Zhan, look at that, who could he mean, mh? Maybe my virtuous second Jade–”
“Mo Xuanyu.”
“What?” Wei Wuxian guffaws into the dramatic pause of the storyteller.
The storyteller’s eyes linger on him for only a second, and Wei Wuxian feels a small shiver run down his back. Lan Zhan, too, is frowning.
What the hell?
“He was born not very far from here, in Mo village. Mo Xuanyu, the son of the former chief cultivator, Jin Guangshan. The corrupt Jin sect shunned him for being a bastard, they called him a lunatic, they even spread rumours he had made advances on his own half-brother–”
“Disgusting,” someone exclaims, to loud agreement.
“Only for that half-brother, the Chief Cultivator Jin Guangyao himself to be revealed to be the evil force behind these baseless rumours.”
“Shameless!” The murmurs grow.
A small gust of wind rushes through the crowd, and Wei Wuxian shivers.
It's a good theory, and he himself has figured Jin Guangyao was the one to spread those ridiculous accusations. The storyteller has only just begun laying out salacious details. and the audience is eating. it. up.
All around them, the people are really getting into the story of the poor bastard son Mo Xuanyu, who was used as a scapegoat for the upper echelon’s less-than-virtuous schemes. Mo Xuanyu, a commoner like them thrust into the evil world of the cultivation sects. Mo Xuanyu, who liked to travel around on a donkey and help the normal people. A hero.
Even though it's entirely bizarre to hear about his own life entangled with such fake details, and life events of another man, Wei Wuxian can't help but think Mo Xuanyu deserves this -- deserves to be remembered as more than the man who sacrificed his body for the Yiling Patriarch. Hero of the normal people has a nice ring to it.
“He never even asked for a single sickle; he helped out of the goodness of his heart. They called him a demonic cultivator, a lunatic. Why?”
“Why, indeed?” the people demand.
“Because he was a commoner like us. Because he didn’t play by their rules. No, instead he dared to cut his sleeve for his true love Hanguang-Jun.”
“No way!” the crowd hushes.
The crowd reacts eerily similarly - all entirely taken by the story. Something is weird.
“Lan Zhan, am I seeing things?” he whispers, leaning across the table.
This time, Ma Yue doesn’t reprimand him, too enthralled by the story.
Something very strange is going on. Slowly, the atmosphere changes. He sees it on the faces of the audience members: the hurt, the defeat, the rage.
Whatever the storyteller intends, they need to find out. He needs to turn this before it’s too late.
He also doesn't care to hear any more about Hanging-Jun being in love with another man. Even if that man is actually him -- or rather his body. AH, this is confusing!!!
“They call him Wei Wuxian, do they not?” he calls above the angry murmurs of the audience. “So he’s not Mo Xuanyu at all.”
All eyes land on him, unblinking.
The storyteller’s eyes seem to pierce through his, all the way into his soul.
“A mere disguise,” the storyteller says. “Hanguang-Jun wanted his love safe, and a frail cultivator would be a target. The Yiling Patriarch wouldn’t be in such danger.”
Wei Wuxian is almost speechless. “F-frail? Excuse me? I’m not– he’s not frail!”
“On the contrary, young master, it is well known that Mo Xuanyu isn’t a strong cultivator.”
Wei Wuxian blinks helplessly at Lan Zhan.
“What about playing the flute?” he argues, “and about playing Chenqing?”
Even from a distance, he sees how the storyteller’s mood changes. His eerie eyes narrow behind the red fan. “This doesn’t prove anything. The Jiang sect leader himself struck Mo Xuanyu with Zidian – and so it became clear he wasn’t possessed by Wei Wuxian. Besides, if he were the Yiling Patriarch, Hanguang-Jun would not have married him, would he?”
Wei Wuxian’s teeth grit together. How dare he?
He opens his mouth, but Lan Zhan is faster; he reaches out and squeezes Wei Wuxian's hand.
"Ridiculous. You are speaking nonsense. Rumors are forbidden for a reason."
"Listen here, you two. You can ignore the facts and pretend whatever you like, alright. I won't judge you for your...wrong assumptions. But if you have nothing to share, you better stay quiet."
He sees the glint in Lan Zhan's eyes, sees him decide whether or not to shut him up.
"Don't do it, Lan Zhan," he whispers. "We need to play and beat him at his own game."
Reluctantly, Lan Zhan nods.
Wei Wuxian raises his voice. “Then why would Jin Ling stab Mo Xuanyu, if not to take revenge for his parents?”
“Because right now, Mo Xuanyu is the heir to the Jin sect, of course.”
The heir?
His mouth opens and closes a few times, unsure how to refute such a ridiculous statement.
The storyteller continues, arrogant and secure in his knowledge. “Of course. As the son of Jin Guangshan, he’s the heir after Jin Rulan. So the sects would rather murder him than let a cut sleeve commoner rule them.”
Calls of "Justice for Jin Xuanyu!” erupt throughout the room. People rise from their seats, enraged by the injustice of those two-faced snobs.
“How dare the sects slander him? He’s one of us. Hero of the people!”
The hairs on Wei Wuxian’s neck stand up.
Fuck.
His eyes find Lan Zhan’s. You notice it, too?
Yes.
Resentful energy.
And Wei Wuxian can’t let a wild mop threaten to overthrow his nephew! Especially not after the whole fiasco with Jin Guangyao.
Give the cultivation world a break, yeah?
Their tablemates join in the call for justice, in sync with the other voices in the room. Ma Yue’s eyes have lost their shine, as if she were not quite awake anymore.
Gently, he shakes her shoulder. She blinks, then turns to him. “What?” she demands and shakes his hand off.
“Are you alright?” he asks her.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” she snarls and turns away from him, rejoining the cacophony.
“Is that what happened to the Liu clan, do you think?”
Lan Zhan nods and watches the storyteller warily, getting up from his chair amongst the cheering crowd. He raises the fan and waves it gently back and forth. “March with me! Down with the cultivation sects. Justice for Mo Xuanyu!”
A gust of ice-cold wind whirls through the room, blowing the hair out of Wei Wuxian’s face.
Oh.
Oh, No.
“Down with the sects! Down with the sects! DOWN WITH THE–”
Wei Wuxian jumps on top of the table, and Lan Zhan pulls Wangji out of his sleeve.
“I am Mo Xuanyu. This is Hanguang-Jun. Stop this at once!”
“What a cheap trick!” the storyteller snarls. “Impersonators.”
“We’re not!”
“Whoever you are, you’re outnumbered.”
At his call, five cultivators burst through the side entrance, their peach coloured fabric whirling in the unnatural wind. No doubt, the missing Liu cultivators. In no time at all, they surround their table.
“Join our cause–” The storyteller’s voice is sweet and seductive. “And you will be rewarded.”
Wei Wuxian feels the surge of resentful energy in the room and how a small tendril tries to wrap itself around his heart.
Ingenious, really. A story to touch the heart, and a wisp of yin energy to twist it.
“Join us. The sects don’t care about the people, but about coins. It’s time we bring about the change.”
“And what change would that be?”
“The annihilation of the sects, of course!”
Wei Wuxian’s eyes widen.
The storyteller hums. “So – will you join us, or die?”
Instead of answering, Lan Zhan draws Bichen, her sword glare blinding in the dark room.
Wei Wuxian reaches for Chenqing at his belt, only to grasp air. He looks around, maybe he dropped it–
Oh.
Ma Yue still holds it in her hand, and she throws–
“No, don’t!” he shouts, but too late, the dizi twists in the air and lands in the storyteller’s grasp. The old man laughs, twirling Chenqing around.
Wei Wuxian’s breath hitches at the audacity.
“You’re defenseless. Your companion is the only one with a sword, and your dizi is with me. Awful odds. If you surrender now, we can work together. Shouldn’t this be in your best interest, if you’re really Mo Xuanyu? The crowd loves you, didn’t you hear?”
Wei Wuxian laughs so hard he needs to clutch his stomach. “You’re great at rallying the masses, I admit. Much better than I ever was. But there is one small problem in your plan–”
“Which would be?”
“You really think I need Chenquin to control resentment?”
In the blink of an eye, he picks up Ma Yue’s prop dizi from the table and raises it to his lips.
Before the first sound rings out, the storyteller yells, “Kill them!”
And the Liu sect members, mindless under the thrall of the storyteller, obey.
Undeterred, he blows through the dizi. His first note sounds off, but he doesn’t let himself get deterred. He plays, knowing that no five cultivators could ever hold a candle on Lan Zhan and so he doesn’t have to watch his back; he can focus on getting a hold of the resentful energy.
It’s pulsating outward, beating in a steady rhythm with the hearts of the audience members. And the source is–
“The fan–” he shouts, and dashes forward.
Lan Zhan follows right behind him, keeping their attackers at bay, answering any attack with his own. The only challenge is being careful not to hurt anyone.
The villagers, all under the storyteller’s control, try to stop them. Vicious hands grab for them, legs kick out, trying whatever they can.
He never stops playing, but twists and turns out of their reach. He finally manages to take control of the audience. But the guai doesn’t give up.
It’s fucking strong, and it pulls the resentment back to itself. It builds a huge wave of resentful energy between them, like building a wall, until the storyteller is completely hidden inside a towering mass of black.
Too bad.
For the guai.
Of course, the guai couldn’t have expected Wei Wuxian of all people to show up here tonight. Especially not if its host thought him still soundly dead. So it absolutely doesn’t expect Wei Wuxian to step right inside the dark mass without any hesitation.
He weathers the assault of grief and rage and vengeance, and reaches the storyteller. With his last strength, he snatches the red fan out of his hand. It’s ice cold, and it burns.
Resentment surges and swallows him, and he lets it. With his hand occupied, he can’t fight it, can’t play the flute. Instead, he takes it all in, lets the energy seep into his body, until nothing is left. He consumes it, feels it, but doesn’t let himself be consumed.
When it’s done, he coughs violently into his hand. It comes back red with blood.
He staggers to his knees.
Lan Zhan runs up to him, pulls his clammy fingers from the fan, and tosses it into a spirit-trapping pouch.
Wei Wuxian breathes heavily and looks into golden eyes, shining with worry.
“I’m fine, Lan Zhan.”
“Let me play cleansing for you.”
Wei Wuxian sighs and nods. “But later. We should make sure they’re alright.”
With the resentment gone, the guest house looks brighter.
Around them, the villagers slowly blink awake, confusion in their expressions. The Liu cultivators stir in the pile where Lan Zhan defeated them, groaning softly.
The storyteller lies still and deathly pale next to him. Wei Wuxian turns to him and slaps his cheeks. Finally, he, too, wakes up, wide-eyed and disoriented.
It turns out that the old storyteller had a particular interest in the cultivation sects and had pieced together the newest scandal – the tale of Mo Xuanyu and his lover. On his travels, the storyteller had bought the fan in an old pawn shop to aid his performance. Little did he know he would become possessed instead. The fan guai had once belonged to a general’s bastard son, who cut his sleeve for a commoner. But once the general, ashamed by his son’s proclivities, found out, he sent the young lover to war, never to return. He also put his son on house arrest, so that he would never speak of his love affair to anyone else. Hearing the news that his love had died in battle, the son killed himself. When his last blood spilled on the fan, the guai was born. And it thirsted for revenge.
A storyteller’s greatest skill is not to fight, but to inspire. After feeding on the resentment of its audience for the past few weeks, the guai had become so powerful that it even overwhelmed the Liu sect members during a private performance last night.
“H-Hanguang-Jun!” the released Liu sect members cry, with obvious relief on their faces.
“A-And Wei Wuxian?” The oldest of the cultivators recognizes him, and his voice goes up an octave.
Wei Wuxian sees it in his eyes, the horror of being possessed by a resentful guai and now facing the man of nightmares.
“Ah,” Wei Wuxian says and rubs his head. “Well–”
“Wei Ying! Lan Zhan!” Yang Shan comes running, her wife on her heels.
The Liu cultivators stare at her in puzzlement.
“What is going on? Are you really cultivators?” Yang Shan asks him.
Wei Wuxian considers the people around them and decides the guai was enough of a ghost story for tonight. There’s really no need for the Yiling Patriarch to make an appearance now and shake them up even more.
“We’re just…travelling rogues,” he says and watches the Liu sect members frown. “Thanks for the dizi.” He winks at Ma Yue and hands her the flute back.
“I’m sorry for throwing yours to the storyteller, I don’t know why my body did that–”
“It wasn’t you,” he reassures. “Besides, now you have a spiritual instrument, too.”
He can’t help but laugh when she takes the dizi with two shaky hands, her cheeks flushed and eyes awed.
When they’re both gone, he turns back to the Liu sect members.
“So,” he says, and his voice is pleasant, but with an edge. “What’s this I hear about taking money from villagers?”
With no small amount of satisfaction, he watches their knees shudder.