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In the dead of night, the air hung heavy with a palpable tension that even the ethereal moonlight couldn't dispel. The room, usually a sanctuary of serenity, now echoed with the silent urgency of Lan Wangji's instincts. His usually tranquil slumber was abruptly shattered, the tranquility of dreams replaced by a disquieting sense of foreboding that seemed to permeate the very walls of the Jingshi.
As if guided by some unseen force, Lan Wangji's body stirred restlessly, disrupting the stillness that clung to the room like a fragile cocoon. The silk sheets clung to his form as he languidly emerged from the depths of sleep, an involuntary awareness pulsating beneath his skin, warning him of an impending disturbance. His eyes, usually serene pools of calm, flickered open with an intensity that mirrored the rapid beating of his heart.
The first realization that something was amiss came with the absence of warmth beside him, the comforting presence of Wei Ying conspicuously replaced by a cold, lifeless substitute. Lan Wangji's fingers involuntarily tightened around the cool fabric of the pillow, a stark contrast to the warmth he had come to associate with his husband.
His senses heightened, and a subtle tremor coursed through him, an unsettling awareness that cut through the veil of sleep. His ears, attuned to the softest rustles and creaks, strained against the silence, searching for any indication of what had disrupted the stillness of the night.
The room, bathed in the moon's silvery glow, seemed to stretch endlessly before him as Lan Wangji rose from the bed with an almost preternatural grace. The silken threads of his midnight-blue robes whispered against his skin, amplifying the hushed symphony of the night as he moved with deliberate purpose.
The air was charged with an electric tension, and Lan Wangji's heightened senses detected the faintest scent of sandalwood lingering in the room, a trace of Wei Ying that only served to deepen the unease gnawing at him. His pulse quickened, echoing in his ears like a distant drumbeat, as he scanned the surroundings with the meticulous scrutiny that defined his every action.
A cold sweat traced a delicate path down the nape of his neck, the chill juxtaposed against the warmth that Wei Ying's presence usually provided. The Jingshi, once a haven of peace, now bore witness to the silent turmoil within its master. Lan Wangji's breaths came in shallow gasps, the air tasting thick and oppressive as he grappled with a sensation foreign to him—a panic attack.
His hands, usually steady and precise, betrayed a slight tremor, the fine line of control wavering like a willow in the wind. Every beat of his heart reverberated through his chest, a desperate rhythm seeking an elusive harmony. The world around him blurred, a kaleidoscope of moonlit shadows and muted colors that threatened to swallow him whole.
"I must find Wei Ying," Lan Wangji murmured, his voice a low, determined resonance that cut through the suffocating stillness. The words, a declaration and a plea, hung in the air like an incantation, each syllable resonating with the urgency of a heart in disarray.
With measured steps, he crossed the threshold of the Jingshi into the expansive darkness beyond, his senses attuned to the whispers of the night that concealed both secrets and dangers. The journey ahead was shrouded in uncertainty, but Lan Wangji pressed forward, driven by an unyielding force—the unspoken connection that bound his heart to the one he sought.
The night unfolded before him, a tapestry of mystery woven with threads of fear and longing. And in the quietude of the night, Lan Wangji embarked on a quest to unravel the enigma that threatened to tear asunder the tranquility he had come to know and cherish.
The night air clung to Lan Wangji's bare skin as he fled the Jingshi, abandoning the familiar weight of his headband, the emblem of his discipline, lost in the urgency that gripped him. The cool breeze ruffled his sleep-disheveled hair, and the moon cast an ethereal glow upon his form, shrouded only in the remnants of his bedclothes. Decorum and propriety were forgotten in the face of an overwhelming fear that propelled him forward.
Suibian's absence in his arms served as a silent testament to the unnatural void left by Wei Ying's departure. He couldn't afford to care about appearances now; his only concern was finding Wei Ying, unraveling the enigma that lurked in the shadows of the night. The urgency pulsed through his veins, a relentless drumbeat that drowned out all rational thought.
Bichen, gleaming in the moonlight, awaited his command, and Lan Wangji mounted the trusted sword with a fluid grace that spoke of years of practice. The cool metal hummed beneath him as he soared into the ink-black sky, leaving the tranquility of the Cloud Recesses behind. His senses, sharp as the blade he wielded, scanned the expanse below for any trace of the man he sought.
The moonlit landscape unfolded beneath him like a vast canvas, the mountain ranges, the lush forests, and the ancient structures of Gusu passing in a blur. His eyes, sharp as the keenest blade, discerned every nuance of the terrain, searching for any anomaly that might hint at Wei Ying's whereabouts.
The journey took him beyond the familiar boundaries of the Cloud Recesses, across Caiyi and towards the expansive sea that bordered Gusu. The air, tinged with the scent of salt and brine, grew colder as the sea breeze greeted him. The rhythmic cadence of the waves below reached his ears, a symphony of nature that seemed incongruent with the turmoil within his heart.
And then, against the backdrop of the churning sea, Lan Wangji spotted him—Wei Ying, standing alone on a cliffside that overlooked the tempestuous waters. The moonlight cast shadows upon his figure, creating an ephemeral aura that mirrored the inner tumult Lan Wangji sensed within him. The freezing winds tugged at Wei Ying's clothes, billowing them like dark wings, and his silhouette seemed both fragile and resolute against the untamed beauty of the sea.
Lan Wangji's heart skipped a beat as he descended, the cold sea air assaulting his senses. He dismounted Bichen with a grace that belied the urgency coursing through him. "Wei Ying," he called, his voice cutting through the night, a resonant plea that held both worry and a desperate need for reassurance.
Wei Ying turned, his gaze meeting Lan Wangji's with a haunted intensity. The lines of worry etched deep on his face, a stark contrast to the usual mischief that danced in his eyes. "Lan Zhan," he whispered, his voice carried away by the wind, and yet Lan Wangji caught the underlying vulnerability that lingered in those words.
The sea below raged, its waves crashing against the rocks in a tumultuous dance, mirroring the turmoil within Wei Ying's soul. Lan Wangji's eyes never left him, a silent understanding passing between them that transcended words. Memories, painful and poignant, surged to the forefront of Lan Wangji's mind—the echoes of Wei Ying's inner demons, the battles they fought together against the shadows that sought to claim him.
The waters, dark and foreboding, seemed to mirror the depths of Wei Ying's struggle, and Lan Wangji felt the weight of his own inadequacies pressing upon him. His breath caught in his throat, a mixture of fear and determination converging into a singular resolve.
"I won't let you face this alone," Lan Wangji declared, the words a solemn oath that hung in the air. The night, witness to their shared struggles, enveloped them in a cocoon of uncertainty, and Lan Wangji took a step forward, bridging the distance that separated them. The sea roared below, but in that moment, it was the silent tumult of emotions that held them captive on the precipice of fate.
The night air held its breath as the weight of unspoken words and emotions hung between Lan Wangji and Wei Ying. The moon, a silent witness to their shared struggles, cast its ethereal glow upon the cliffside where the world seemed to teeter on the edge of an abyss. Lan Wangji's approach was cautious, measured steps that echoed the uncertainty etched on his face.
"Wei Ying... We can go back to Gusu. We can get you help," Lan Wangji implored, his voice carrying the weight of a plea, the syllables lingering in the cool breeze. His hand, outstretched as if to bridge the vast expanse that separated them, trembled with a silent desperation.
Wei Ying's eyes, pools of turmoil, met Lan Wangji's gaze with a mixture of defiance and anguish. The lines on his face spoke of battles fought and scars earned, a testament to a life lived on the precipice of darkness. His feet dangled precariously over the edge of the cliff, a stark reminder of the fragility of the moment.
"Help?" Wei Ying echoed, a bitter laugh escaping his lips that seemed to carry the echoes of a time when he bore the ominous title of 'Yiling Patriarch.' The memories of a colder, more wounded version of himself lingered in that bitter laughter, a haunting melody of pain and resilience. "Help, Lan Wangji—"
The use of 'Lan Wangji' instead of the familiar 'Lan Zhan' sliced through the air like an unspoken rebuke, and Lan Wangji visibly flinched, a vulnerable crack in the stoic facade he usually wore.
"Do you truly think so little of me that I can't even take matters into my own hands? That I'm so pathetic I need help figuring out my own life?" Wei Ying's voice snapped, the bitterness laced with a raw vulnerability that cut through Lan Wangji's heart. "Well, I took my life into my own hands during my last life, and I can do it in this one."
The words reverberated, carrying the weight of the past, of sacrifices made and lives lost. Lan Wangji's flinch was not just a reaction to the words but a silent acknowledgment of the shared pain that bound them. In his last life, Wei Ying had faced the ultimate sacrifice, torn asunder by his own creations after shattering the Stygian Tiger Seal. Now, reborn, the specter of that sacrifice loomed once again.
"Wei Ying..." Lan Wangji pleaded, the words hanging in the air like a fragile prayer, uncertain of their ability to breach the fortress of Wei Ying's resolve. The sea below roared in response, as if echoing the turmoil within both their hearts. The moonlit waves crashed against the rocks, mirroring the tumult that threatened to engulf them.
The silence that followed was pregnant with unspoken pain, a canvas upon which the complexities of their shared history were painted. Lan Wangji, grappling with the inadequacy of words, took a tentative step forward, the chasm between them narrowing but never fully disappearing.
"Wei Ying, you are not alone," Lan Wangji spoke, his voice a steady undercurrent in the cacophony of the night. "In this life, I am here with you. Let me share the burden you carry. We can find a way together."
The words hung in the air, a fragile bridge of connection cast across the expanse that separated them. The wind whispered through the cliffside, carrying with it the echoes of countless nights, shared laughter, and unspoken confessions. The sea, a silent witness to the eons, continued its relentless dance against the rocks, as if urging them to find solace in the unyielding rhythm of life.
The world shattered into a cacophony of sensations as Wei Ying's simple declaration hung in the air, a poignant echo that resonated through the depths of Lan Wangji's soul. The moon above bore witness to the precipice of fate, its luminous glow casting an ethereal sheen upon the cliffside, a silent theater for the unraveling tragedy.
"My burdens... Are mine, and mine alone," Wei Ying's words, both a declaration of autonomy and a heartbreaking admission, held the weight of a lifetime's struggles. The crisp night air carried the rawness of his voice, a stark contrast to the tranquility of the surroundings.
In that heartbeat before action, Lan Wangji's world collapsed. "Wei Ying!" he cried out, the words a desperate plea that felt as if they were torn from the depths of his very core. The cliffside seemed to reverberate with the anguish laced in those two simple syllables. His outstretched hand grasped for something unattainable, the distance between them expanding like an unbridgeable chasm.
As if time itself had slowed, Lan Wangji's senses sharpened. The moonlight painted a silver tableau of the scene—a tragic ballet unfolding against the canvas of the night. The wind whispered through the cliffside, carrying with it the scent of salt and desperation, a prelude to the impending descent into the abyss.
"Wei Ying!" The cry, a manifestation of Lan Wangji's anguish, seemed to echo through the mountains, unheard or unheeded. The world around him blurred, the cliffside fading into obscurity as he lunged forward, a desperate attempt to snatch Wei Ying from the precipice of oblivion.
The moment hung suspended, a breath caught in the collective lungs of the night. Lan Wangji's fingers brushed against Wei Ying's wrist, a fleeting touch that felt like a fragile lifeline. And then, like a tragic dance choreographed by destiny, they tumbled into the void together.
Lan Wangji's arms wrapped around Wei Ying, a desperate attempt to shield him from the inevitable descent. It was a fall unlike any other, an uncharted plunge into the unknown. He had flown through the skies, descended from great heights, but never had he plummeted so uncontrollably, so vulnerably.
The world became a blur of sensations—the rush of wind against their faces, the disorienting descent that defied gravity's embrace. Lan Wangji's usually steady mind faltered, thoughts scattering like leaves in the tempest of their fall. Fear and determination waged war within him, a relentless turmoil that mirrored the chaos of their descent.
And then, with a heart-wrenching impact, they breached the icy surface of the water below. The shock of the frigid embrace enveloped them, a visceral assault on senses unaccustomed to the harsh reality of the sea. The waters, unforgiving and tumultuous, seemed to have a life of their own as they tossed and turned the entwined figures.
Lan Wangji, disoriented and unprepared, felt the tides pull and push him, a relentless force that threatened to tear Wei Ying from his desperate embrace. Panic clawed at the edges of his consciousness; he couldn't swim. The waters of Gusu had never necessitated such skills, the ponds too cold to risk immersion. In this unfamiliar realm, he struggled against the currents, a drowning man grasping for breath.
The world beneath the waves was a disorienting blur—darkness punctuated by fleeting glimpses of moonlit ripples. Lan Wangji fought against the disorientation, against the inexorable pull of the depths. The cold bit into his skin, a biting reminder of the harsh reality that now surrounded them.
He reached out desperately, his fingers clawing through the water in a frantic search for Wei Ying. The currents, relentless in their dance, threatened to separate them further. In the abyss beneath the surface, where the moon's glow dared not tread, Lan Wangji grappled with the cruel irony of his own inadequacy—a warrior who could soar through the heavens but now struggled against the embrace of the sea.
The depths of the sea embraced Lan Wangji with a cold, unyielding grip, pulling him into a realm where gravity seemed to lose its familiar rules. The world beneath the waves was a dark, disorienting expanse, a canvas painted in shades of indigo and black, devoid of the moon's comforting glow. His attempts to ascend felt futile, his limbs weighed down by an unseen force, as if the water itself conspired against him.
The sea, once a distant and indifferent entity, became a tempestuous maelstrom, dragging Lan Wangji deeper into its fathomless abyss. The water, icy and unforgiving, clawed at his skin, insinuating itself into every crevice of his being. He was lost, adrift in a liquid void that defied the familiar boundaries of earth and sky.
Lan Wangji's senses revolted against the onslaught. The taste of salt, bitter and persistent, permeated every breath he struggled to take. His vision blurred as the frigid water stung his eyes, forcing them open against their will. The muted symphony of the sea, a symphony he had never truly heard before, surrounded him—the rhythmic pulse of the tides, the distant murmur of underwater currents, a haunting lullaby to the depths.
He searched for Wei Ying, the panic welling within him threatening to consume every rational thought. He fought against the currents, limbs moving with a desperate urgency. But the water resisted, pulling him in all directions, a merciless dance that defied his every attempt at control. He couldn't find Wei Ying. He couldn't save himself. The instinct to survive clashed with the helplessness of his situation, and in that watery abyss, Lan Wangji's world became a chaotic kaleidoscope of sensations.
His body, usually a vessel of disciplined strength, rebelled against the alien environment. Each movement felt like a herculean effort, his limbs heavy as if forged from lead. The air in his lungs begged for release, but the instinct to preserve whatever oxygen remained took precedence. The act of exhaling, a simple task on land, became a secondary concern as the primal urge to keep the water at bay consumed him.
Time lost its meaning in the murky depths. Lan Wangji's perception of reality wavered, the relentless tides both disorienting and mesmerizing. He couldn't think. He couldn't process. He was overtaken solely by instinct—the instinct to survive, to resist the encroaching darkness.
The minutes stretched into an eternity, and yet Lan Wangji pressed on, his body a battleground between willpower and the ceaseless pull of the sea. Thirty minutes elapsed in this aquatic struggle, each second a testament to the indomitable spirit that refused to succumb.
His body convulsed, a desperate reaction to the relentless assault. Antecedent hyperventilation gripped him, a precursor to the inevitable. The pain, an all-encompassing symphony of agony, rivaled the memories of three hundred and thirty lashes from the discipline whip—a torment etched into his very soul.
His lungs, starved of air, became a furnace of searing pain. The chest, a battleground between life and death, felt as if it would rupture at any moment. Lan Wangji clung to the hope that survival was possible, that he could withstand the onslaught. But the water, unrelenting, found its way into his nostrils and mouth.
He breathed in, and the world collapsed into a cacophony of choking, gagging, and burning. The water invaded every inch of his being, filling his lungs, infiltrating his bloodstream. He knew he was dying, an acceptance that washed over him as consciousness slipped away. The descent continued, deeper and deeper, but in that moment, nothing hurt anymore. The pain dissolved into a serene oblivion, and Lan Wangji sank into the silent embrace of the ocean's depths.
The descent into the ocean's abyss was a journey into a surreal tranquility—a realm where the tumult of the surface world ceased to exist. The deeper Lan Wangji sank, the more the chaos of the tides faded, replaced by an eerie calm that enveloped him like a cocoon of solace. The waters embraced him in a serene dance, a quiet ballet beneath the surface.
Deeper and deeper he descended, his senses acutely aware of the gradual shift in surroundings. The water, once a turbulent force, now cradled him in an otherworldly serenity. The light, filtered through the layers above, waned until it became a mere suggestion of the moon's glow. Even the fish, usually swift and curious, regarded him as a part of the underwater landscape, swimming by without a second thought.
His body, limp and unresponsive, continued its descent into the aquatic abyss. The world above, with its storms and struggles, became a distant memory as the ocean's embrace enveloped him. Moonlight, the last beacon of connection to the surface, lost its way in the depths, leaving him in a shroud of darkness that mirrored the oblivion his consciousness slipped into.
As Lan Wangji's back found the ocean's floor, a profound stillness settled over him. The rhythmic pulse of the sea seemed to synchronize with the fading echoes of his own heartbeat. Time lost its meaning in the silent dance of water and shadow. His heart, the source of life's symphony, stilled, and the cessation of its rhythm echoed through the cavernous expanse.
In this subaquatic sanctuary, where the world had ceased to exist, Wei Ying emerged as a savior—a lone figure swimming against the currents. His movements, fueled by desperation and determination, sliced through the water as he approached Lan Wangji's lifeless form. The ocean, an indifferent witness to the unfolding drama, held its secrets close.
Wei Ying, with an almost superhuman effort, enveloped his husband's form in a protective embrace. His hands gripped the stillness of Lan Wangji's limbs, an anchor in the watery abyss. The sting of the sea in his eyes and nose was a minor inconvenience, a mere whisper against the gravity of the task at hand. As he held Lan Wangji, his own struggle against the currents mirrored the tumult within his heart.
The ascent, a herculean feat against the forces of the deep, unfolded in a symphony of desperation. The world above, with its muted light and distant echoes, gradually came back into focus as Wei Ying propelled himself and his precious cargo towards the surface. The water, a temporary grave that threatened to claim them both, relinquished its hold as they breached the boundary between life and death.
The surface, a realm of stark contrasts, welcomed them with the chaotic embrace of waves. Wei Ying, his strength waning, fought against the relentless pull of the sea, dragging Lan Wangji's lifeless body to the shore. The sand beneath them became a sanctuary, a solid ground that offered reprieve from the liquid abyss.
Wei Ying laid Lan Wangji's body on the shore, his hands lingering on the lifeless form as he surveyed the moonlit expanse. The ache in his chest mirrored the unspoken turmoil within. "It should be me," he whispered to the unforgiving sea, the words carried away by the wind. "Never Lan Wangji. Never Lan Zhan." The moon, the silent witness to their shared struggles, held its secrets, casting a glow on the scene—a tableau of survival, sacrifice, and the unyielding bond that defied the depths of the ocean.
The shore, bathed in the ethereal glow of moonlight, became a battlefield of desperation and hope as Wei Ying fought to revive Lan Zhan. The world around them was a symphony of conflicting elements—the relentless crash of waves, the distant calls of nocturnal creatures, and the haunting silence that underscored the gravity of the moment.
Wei Ying's hands moved with a fevered urgency, each compression of Lan Zhan's chest reverberating through the stillness of the night. The rhythmic dance of his efforts echoed against the backdrop of the sea, a desperate plea to wrest back life from the clutches of the deep. The touch of Lan Zhan's cold, lifeless skin against his own hands sent a shiver down Wei Ying's spine, the stark contrast a painful reminder of the fragility of existence.
"Come back, Lan Zhan," Wei Ying whispered, the words lost in the expanse of the shore. His breath, a visible cloud in the cold night air, mingled with the scent of salt and desperation. The sea, indifferent to the human drama playing out on its shores, whispered secrets carried by the wind—a lullaby to the depths.
CPR, a dance of life and death performed in the liminal space between shore and sea, became a relentless rhythm. Wei Ying, guided by desperation and determination, poured spiritual energy into each compression. The very essence of his being flowed into Lan Zhan, a metaphysical dance that sought to defy the boundaries between the living and the departed.
As the moments stretched into an eternity, Wei Ying's hands became conduits of hope, channels through which he willed life to return. The taste of salt lingered on his lips, a testament to the sea's omnipresence, as he pressed on, refusing to yield to the silence that threatened to consume them.
And then, in a twist of fate or the intervention of higher forces, a surge of success rippled through Wei Ying's efforts. He felt it—a flutter of response beneath his touch, a flicker of vitality returning to Lan Zhan's inert form. The melding of spiritual and resentful energy became an alchemical concoction, a desperate concoction that defied the laws of nature.
Lan Zhan, as if drawn back from the precipice of the afterlife, took a shuddering breath. The sound, a symphony of resurrection, cut through the night, reverberating through the shore. The air, thick with tension, seemed to vibrate with the sheer force of the moment. Lan Zhan's eyes, once dull and lifeless, flickered with the resurgence of consciousness.
"Wei Ying..." Lan Zhan's voice, a whisper that emerged from the brink of oblivion, reached across the expanse that separated them. The words, a testament to the tenuous bond that bound their souls, echoed in the stillness. Wei Ying, his heart a tempest of emotions, looked into Lan Zhan's eyes—eyes that held a glimmer of recognition, a spark of the connection that transcended life and death.
His Lan Zhan, revived from the depths, became the focal point of Wei Ying's universe. The weight of the sea, the echoes of the struggle, the scent of salt and desperation—all faded into insignificance in the presence of this miraculous reunion. The moon, witness to the ordeal, cast its benevolent glow upon the shore, a silent accomplice to the symphony of life that had defied the grasp of the abyss.
Wei Ying, breathless and overwhelmed, cradled Lan Zhan's revived form in his arms. The taste of salt on his lips now mingled with the bittersweet essence of victory. "Lan Zhan," he breathed, the words a prayer of gratitude and disbelief. In that fleeting moment, the world narrowed down to the two of them—the living testament to the relentless tenacity of love and the resilience of the human spirit.