Chapter Text
The moment Hanguangjun’s graceful figure appeared to assist the Lan juniors in subduing the malevolent arm, Wei Wuxian recognized that his presence was no longer required. The aura of authority Hanguangjun exuded left no doubt—the situation was under control. The evil arm would be taken care of, and the Lan juniors were in capable hands.
More importantly, Hanguangjun must never discover that the widely vilified Yiling Patriarch had returned to the world of the living.
As he watched from the shadows, Wei Wuxian felt the familiar ache of departure, knowing that the time had come for him to fade once more into obscurity. His duty here was finished, even if the threads of his past still clung to him.
With a faint, bittersweet gleam in his eyes, Wei Wuxian let his gaze linger on Hanguangjun’s ethereal features, etching every detail into his memory, knowing this might be the last time he could afford such a luxury. In the deepest recesses of his heart, he clung to a fragile hope—that they might one day meet again, free from the chains of their shared history, in a world where the ghosts of the past no longer haunted them.
A bitter, sardonic laugh escaped his lips as he pitied the naiveté that still lingered in his heart—a heart that, after all it had endured, should have known better. Who understood the cruel realities of the world better than him? After all, in the realm of mortals, fate often lies beyond one's control.
Steeling himself against the pull of what could never be, Wei Wuxian cast one last glance at the scene before him, then turned and melted into the shadows of the night—where he belonged.
As he slipped away, the night seemed to embrace him, as if the darkness itself recognized one of its own. His presence faded like a breath on glass, leaving behind only the faintest trace of warmth.
Wei Wuxian dedicated his first week of travel to escaping Gusu territory as swiftly as possible. It was a significant challenge, especially with the stubborn donkey, Little Apple, as his only means of transport. He couldn't even rely on the body Mo Xuanyu had left him, burdened as it was by a barely-there Golden Core and the weakness of malnutrition.
But he persevered.
He stuck to forested areas, avoiding villages and towns altogether. He was aware that he was being followed, though at a distance. His pursuer seemed content merely to observe him for now. Wei Wuxian paid it little mind, focusing solely on getting out of Gusu. He knew he would lose the pursuer soon enough.
After a week, he finally crossed the boundary of Gusu Lan territory. A sigh of relief escaped him. He was fortunate not to have encountered any restless spirits or corpses during his journey—a testament to how well the Gusu Lan Clan maintained their lands. Though still at risk of being discovered by other cultivators, Gusu and Yunmeng territories remained the highest on his list of places to avoid at all costs.
This was why he chose the route to Tingshan, planning to eventually pass through Baling to reach the Burial Mounds. There was a lower chance of encountering Yunmeng Jiang disciples along this path.
Necessity forced him to pass through the first village in Tingshan.
He wanted to lose his stalker, but he needed talismans to do so. Wei Wuxian wondered why cultivators relied so heavily on talismans for non-combat purposes. Couldn’t the power of a cultivator’s Golden Core and their understanding of the Dao be used to develop techniques that didn’t require talismans or weapons? Few techniques, like the silence spell and body-locking spell, existed independently of talismans, and they had been around for centuries. But then, he reminded himself how the wider cultivation world valued tradition.
With a snort, he urged Little Apple forward, dangling an apple to entice the stubborn donkey. The village gate was just a few li away.
The village, fairly large as the first settlement after crossing from Gusu into Tingshan, was a busy crossroads for travellers of all kinds. This was advantageous for Wei Wuxian, as no one paid him any mind—yet it also meant that he could be recognized by passing cultivators familiar with Mo Xuanyu.
Adjusting his hood, he approached a vendor by the gate selling candied fruits.
"Uncle, may I have a dozen tanghulu?" Wei Wuxian asked brightly. The middle-aged man responded enthusiastically at the prospect of a good sale.
"Yes, yes! What else does the Young Master require?" The man was jovial and welcoming, his demeanor likely attracting many customers. He didn’t bat an eye at Wei Wuxian’s worn and tattered robes, trusting that his young customer would pay for his purchase. Despite Wei Wuxian’s pitiful appearance, the man wasn’t one to judge—a fact for which Wei Wuxian was grateful.
He handed the man his coins and absently began eating a candied apple, storing the rest in his sleeves for later.
They chatted casually for a few minutes, discussing trivial matters, enough to endear Wei Wuxian to the vendor.
"Uncle, I’m on my way to Tingshan He Sect and need some supplies for the journey. Is there a shop I can visit here?" Wei Wuxian asked, noting the brief shadow that crossed the man’s face before he resumed his cheerful demeanor.
"Ah, the Young Master must be going to try his luck at the sect grounds. I’ve heard a few Daozhangs unearthed some cultivation manuals from the rubble. What luck, what luck."
Wei Wuxian was shocked and confused but kept his expression neutral. He was about to respond when the man continued.
"It’s a pity what happened to the He Sect. Their leader was a good man," the man whispered, as if speaking favorably of the sect was taboo. "The Young Master should also take care—there have been sightings of fierce corpses near the sect from time to time."
"I will be careful, Uncle," Wei Wuxian replied, his mind racing. He didn’t know what had happened to the He Sect, but he would find out soon enough.
The man directed him to a shop near the village elder’s hall, promising he would find everything he needed.
With a respectful bow, Wei Wuxian thanked the man and continued on his way.
As he walked through the village, Wei Wuxian observed the bustling shops and stalls, noting the interactions between people. There was an air of urgency, especially among the vendors, who seemed eager to sell their goods as quickly as possible. It was early afternoon, so there was still time until evening—why the rush?
The shop he had been directed to catered specifically to cultivators, much to Wei Wuxian’s relief. The materials were of a higher quality compared to those sold by commoners.
Inside, he purchased two rolls of talisman paper, several sticks of cinnabar, a bundle of rough and fine paper, an ink-stone, and several brushes. He considered buying some spirit stones but found the ones in stock to be of low quality. He added a common sword and four low-quality qiankun pouches to his collection.
The elderly shopkeeper observed him in silence, his thick brows furrowing as the pile grew.
Wei Wuxian guessed the man was unsure if he could pay. The shopkeeper’s experience with a wide range of customers, from the wealthy to the destitute, likely kept him from commenting. After all, it wasn’t uncommon for rogue cultivators to don rags to evade sect cultivators.
Wei Wuxian placed two taels of silver on the counter, and the man’s brows smoothed. He gave Wei Wuxian 200 copper coins as change.
After storing his purchases in one pouch, Wei Wuxian left the shop, reserving the other pouches for later use.
Next, he visited a tailor shop to add to his sparse wardrobe. The stern shop mistress outfitted him with two sets of sturdy robes suitable for daily use and travel. He selected a navy blue set with white under-robes and a grey set with pale green under-robes, each consisting of three layers. He also bought arm braces, sturdy boots, and a heavy black winter coat.
Satisfied, Wei Wuxian bid the woman farewell, already planning his next steps.
His remaining purchases were small: a bag of dried fruits, a dozen apples for Little Apple, five jars of wine, a cooking pot, and half a bag of rice.
With his supplies gathered, Wei Wuxian left the village, not wanting to attract further attention with his large purchases.
Through conversations with various vendors, he surmised that since the He Sect's destruction, restless spirits had occasionally drawn near the village, especially at night. This explained why the villagers hurried to close their doors and the village gate by sunset.
That night, Wei Wuxian prepared as many talismans as possible, focusing on warming talismans and those useful for night hunts.
He also created several misdirection talismans.
These were simplified versions of the misdirection arrays used to protect and defend locations. When applied to an object or person, they would render the target nearly invisible to others, forcing them to overlook or ignore its presence. He tested it on Little Apple and was pleased with the results. Although he knew the donkey was there, he had to fight the urge to look away and forget its presence. Unless someone was specifically aware of the spot, they would struggle to pinpoint it—perfect for traveling. The only downside was the talismans lasted only a shichen, but two hours was ample time to lose any pursuer.
His first means of escape was finally secured.
Satisfied, Wei Wuxian applied a strengthening talisman to the common sword he had purchased, extending its lifespan. Common swords were prone to breakage, unlike spiritual swords, so it needed all the help it could get.
He stared at the sword for a long time, finding fault with it when compared to his previous sword.
Suibian.
A sharp pain pierced his heart, but he pushed it aside and lay down to sleep.
His dreams were filled with memories of happier days, flying freely on his sword above still waters, only to be shattered by nightmares of pain that left him choking on his own tears.
As usual, they woke him before sunrise.
And as usual, Wei Wuxian resumed his journey before dawn.
Along the way, Wei Wuxian encountered several low-level spirits and fierce corpses, dispatching them with ease. They posed no real threat to him, their resentment too weak to challenge his skills.
However, in the midst of these encounters, he made a cheerful discovery—none of the spirits were able to detect his or Little Apple’s presence throughout their journey. This meant that his misdirection talisman, a creation he had carefully crafted, could also work on creatures of resentment.
Delighted by this revelation, he paused for a few minutes to jot down notes, his mind buzzing with theories and potential applications. The slight adjustment he had made to the talisman, a tweak not typically included in the original array, seemed to have broadened its effectiveness to include all beings, not just humans.
The original array had been designed solely to keep away humans—both cultivators and non-cultivators. Traditionally, a separate array was required to repel resentful spirits. But now, Wei Wuxian realized he had stumbled upon a major discovery, one that could revolutionize the cultivation world. Any sect would pay a fortune or even kill to obtain such a powerful tool.
Yet, the significance of this breakthrough didn’t even cross Wei Wuxian’s mind.
For him, every invention was born out of curiosity or dire necessity, created in moments of extreme need. It had never occurred to him that his creations could be considered valuable enough to be guarded as clan secrets or sold for profit.
Unbeknownst to him, his previous inventions had already transformed the way night hunts were conducted across the cultivation world.
As Wei Wuxian journeyed through Tingshan, he made it a point to help remote villages deal with their problems involving resentful creatures. In return, some villagers rewarded him with humble meals, while others offered him grains as thanks.
He never accepted money or the comfort of a night under a roof, preferring to keep his distance and maintain his anonymity.
He had altered Mo Xuanyu’s hairstyle to something more common, adopting the simple style worn by unaffiliated cultivators and common folk alike. This, along with his change of robes, gave him the confidence to occasionally venture into villages without relying on his misdirection talisman. However, he was careful to avoid larger towns and cities entirely, knowing the risks they posed.
Wei Wuxian also learned to steer clear of the watchtowers that had been erected by order of the Chief Cultivator to protect common people in remote areas. These towers were manned by cultivators, and he didn’t want to risk an encounter with them. From what he observed, there were numerous cases of spiritual disturbances in Tingshan, yet the cultivators stationed at the towers seemed to be doing nothing to address them.
The hypocrisy wasn’t lost on him.
The first light of dawn painted the river in soft hues of gold and pink, the water’s surface as smooth as glass, reflecting the sky above like a perfect mirror. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of dew-covered grass and the earthiness of the nearby forest. Wei Wuxian, after tidying up his modest camp, walked to the river’s edge. The chilly waters bit into his skin as he submerged himself, washing away the grime accumulated from days of travel. The cold was bracing, a sharp reminder that he was, indeed, alive—a feeling he had yet to fully reconcile with.
On the riverbank, Little Apple grazed contentedly on the spiritual grass, its soft braying occasionally breaking the silence. Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but smile at the sight. The tranquillity of the morning was a rare gift in his tumultuous life, and he cherished it.
After a meager breakfast of dried fruit, Wei Wuxian settled down to meditate. He preferred to do this before sleep, but exhaustion had claimed him too quickly the night before. Now, as the morning sun crept higher, he focused inward, circulating spiritual energy through the weak meridians of Mo Xuanyu’s body.
The process was slow, the qi thin and uncooperative, and though the tiny spark of a Golden Core rotated dutifully in his Dantian, it refused to store any of the refined qi.
It was a futile effort, but Wei Wuxian persisted. The tiny warmth of the rotating Golden Core was a small comfort, a reminder of what he once had.
His concentration was abruptly shattered by a piercing scream of pain. Instantly alert, Wei Wuxian packed his belongings with the efficiency of a seasoned warrior. He secured Little Apple to a sturdy tree, applying a misdirection talisman to both the donkey and himself to keep them concealed. The scream had come from downstream, and without hesitation, he followed the sound, his heart pounding in his chest.
When he arrived, the scene before him made his stomach drop. A merchant caravan lay in ruins, bodies strewn across the ground, their faces twisted in horror. Standing amid the carnage was a mountain spirit, its form twisted and grotesque, seething with powerful resentment energy. The air around it crackled with malevolence, the very earth seeming to recoil from its presence.
Wei Wuxian’s heart clenched, a deep sorrow and anger welling up inside him. These were innocent lives, taken brutally and without mercy.
The spirit turned, its gaze locking onto Wei Wuxian despite the talisman meant to hide him. His stomach dropped as the realization hit him—the misdirection talisman was ineffective against a spirit of this strength. Its power, fueled by intense resentment, was too great. There would be no hiding from this.
Wei Wuxian’s mind raced, assessing his options. He had no powerful spiritual tools at his disposal, and Mo Xuanyu’s body was weak, its Golden Core all but nonexistent. But he wasn’t completely defenseless. His knowledge of demonic cultivation and the talismans he had prepared would give him a fighting chance.
With a swift motion, Wei Wuxian drew a talisman from his sleeve, channeling what little spiritual energy he could muster into it. He flung it toward the spirit, watching as the paper ignited in midair, releasing a burst of crimson light that wrapped around the spirit’s form like a net. The spirit screeched, its movements briefly halted as the talisman’s energy restrained it, but it was clear that the effect was temporary. The spirit’s raw power was already burning through the binding, its rage intensifying with each passing second.
Wei Wuxian didn’t waste any time. He quickly traced a series of sigils in the air, his fingers moving with precision as he called upon a more complex array. The symbols glowed a deep red before shooting toward the spirit, embedding themselves in its shadowy form. The spirit howled, thrashing wildly as the array began to sap its strength, forcing it to its knees.
But even as the array held, Wei Wuxian could feel his own energy waning. Mo Xuanyu’s body wasn’t built to withstand this level of strain, and he could already sense the backlash—a sharp pain lancing through his chest, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He had to end this quickly.
The fight quickly became a desperate struggle. The spirit was fast, unnaturally so, and its power overwhelmed Wei Wuxian’s weakened state. Each time he struck, the spirit seemed to grow stronger, feeding off the resentment in the air. Wei Wuxian could feel his strength waning, the strain of the fight taking its toll on Mo Xuanyu’s fragile body.
As the spirit advanced on him once more, Wei Wuxian knew he couldn’t win this fight alone. Desperation creeping into his heart, he made a decision. He brought two fingers to his lips and whistled—a haunting, lilting tune that cut through the air like a knife. It was a call, a summons to any resentful creature that might hear and heed.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the ground beneath him trembled, and a figure emerged from the shadows of the forest, dragging heavy chains behind it.
The fierce corpse moved with a terrifying strength and precision, its chains whipping through the air as it joined the battle against the mountain spirit. Wei Wuxian faltered, his breath catching in his throat as recognition hit him like a blow to the chest.
Wen Ning.
In death, the corpse moved with a grace that betrayed how clumsy the man once was. And those eyes, once so full of life, were empty—void of any recognition, void of any humanity. They were nothing more than dark lifeless orbs, reflecting the devastation around them.
Wei Wuxian’s heart despaired as he continued to whistle, guiding Wen Ning in the fight. The fierce corpse obeyed, his movements precise and deadly, as if he were still following orders from his master. The battle reached a fever pitch, and in a final, powerful strike, Wen Ning’s chains wrapped around the spirit, crushing it with a force that shattered the air.
The spirit let out a final, ear-piercing shriek before dissolving into nothingness, its resentment finally dissipating.
As the echoes of the battle faded, Wei Wuxian stood still, staring at the fierce corpse that had once been his dear friend.
He approached slowly, his voice a whisper of emotion. "Wen Ning..."
But there was no response.
Wen Ning’s dead eyes met his, devoid of any recognition or warmth. The chains that had bound the spirit now lay slack on the ground, heavy and cold like the weight on Wei Wuxian’s heart.
A wave of sorrow washed over him, mingling with the exhaustion of the fight.
"What have they done to you?" he murmured, the words barely audible as they escaped his lips.
The morning light had fully broken over the horizon, casting long shadows over the scene of carnage and sorrow. Wei Wuxian felt a deep ache in his chest, a bitter reminder of the world he had returned to—a world that could not even allow his friends to rest in peace.