lysandra-vesper

[lysandra-vesper]

Chapter 5 - Two Jades of Lan

As soon as your eyes open, the first thing you recognize is the familiar ceiling of the Jingshi — the dark wooden beams, the sober carved details, and the soft morning light filtering through the paper screen of the sliding window.

As your spirit slowly returns to your body, as if still hesitant to inhabit the flesh, you feel a light pressure on your hand. Someone is holding it with restrained firmness, fingers tracing subtle touches — almost as if drawing patience into your skin.

You turn your head with effort, and see him there.

Lan Wangji.

Sitting beside you on a cushion, his posture impeccable, eyes closed. His expression seems carved from jade — calm, serene, as if even time itself dared not disturb him. Still, hope rests on him like an invisible cloak.

At the sight of him, a quiet and bitter guilt rises in your chest. Almost without thinking, your fingers close lightly around his. And by the time you notice the gesture, it’s already too late.

Lan Wangji opens his eyes. Slowly. As if the touch had been expected — perhaps even necessary.

His golden eyes meet yours, and for a moment, everything falls still. The sound of the wind in the trees disappears. The air hangs suspended.

You look away.

“How do you feel?” he asks, voice soft like the breath of a guzheng.

“Fine.”

“Truly?”

“I didn’t… do anything. So my body’s normal.”

When you finally muster the courage to look at him again, there’s no judgment. Just silent eyes, tired… and kind.

“I’m glad… you woke up.”

You huff at the softness of the words and move to sit up. He says nothing but places a hand on your back, offering support — like a discreet pillar.

“You talk as if I could’ve died from this.”

“You said you could.”

“I said something very similar could have. Under similar circumstances, with different outcomes.”

“Mn…”

He looks at you with a faintly furrowed brow — like someone trying to decipher an ancient scroll whose characters change every time you get too close. There’s a subtle restlessness behind the serenity: a care so contained it borders on absolute silence.

Then, he releases your hand. The absence of warmth sends a slight shiver up your spine. But Lan Wangji simply rises with his usual composure, crosses the room with silent steps over polished wood, and kneels by the jìng'ān — the low table.

There, rests a white porcelain teapot, painted in dark blue with lotus flowers.

With smooth, precise movements, he pours tea into a small cup and returns, settling back on the cushion beside you. Without a word, he slides the tea toward you.

“Bitterhead,” he says — without reproach, just as a statement.

“What is it?”

“Xiongzhang made it for you. A chrysanthemum, ginseng root, and goji berry infusion.”

You choke just hearing it. Not from the taste — you already know it well. But from everything that tea represents.

Lan Xichen is one of the kindest men you’ve ever known. Always gentle, always serene, the calm smile ever-present even when the world crumbles. But above all, he is relentless… when it comes to the well-being of those he loves.

You learned that the hard way.

Like the time you fell ill and he, with unshakable patience, brewed that same horrid remedy every single day. You even tried hiding once, but apparently, everyone in this place has a looser tongue than they should — and always revealed your whereabouts.

Now, bitter or not… that is the question.

You eye the tea with a resigned expression, raising the cup to your lips like it’s divine punishment. And at the first sip, you deeply regret not pretending to be asleep.

Sighing, you bring the zhǐ bēi to your mouth and down the tea as quickly as possible, like swallowing a punishment. The bitterness coats your tongue and burns slightly down your throat. In the end, you lower the cup with a barely disguised grimace.

“How long was I unconscious?”

“Seven hours,” Lan Wangji replies, voice steady, gaze lowered.

“Mhm… so it must be close to lunch— Well, maybe three hours still. I think I can do some sword practice—”

“Li Yuqing.”

Your name, spoken firmly and unhurriedly, cuts through your reasoning like a blade through silk.

“I’m fine, I can handle it, okay? It’s nothing—”

“Li Yuqing.” he repeats, now looking straight into your eyes.

You fall silent.

There’s something in the way he says your name that makes it impossible to argue. It’s not a severe tone, nor an angry one — just undeniable. Like a command that doesn’t need to be given, because it was already understood before being spoken.

For a moment, the silence of the Jingshi settles between you again. Outside, the faint sound of a leaf being swept by the wind. A bird sings in the distance.

Lan Wangji says nothing more. But his expression is clear.

You won’t be practicing today.

And he’s not going to debate it with you.

You look away, arms crossed, trying to mask your frustration with a facade of compliance. But he knows you too well to be fooled.

He stands, picks up the teapot, and with the same calm he brought it, returns it to the jìng’ān.

“Recovering the body is also a form of cultivation,” he says at last, without turning. “And perhaps the most neglected one.”

You press your lips together, uneasy. His response is like a stone in a river: firm, unmoving. But you still try:

“…What if I just practice the basic movements? No sword. Just breathing and steps. You always say the flow of qi begins in the body…”

Lan Wangji remains with his back to you, adjusting the teapot on the jìng’ān, as if he hadn’t heard. The silence is broken only by the soft rustle of wind through the rice paper curtains.

“Please,” you add, in a softer tone.

He then turns around. His eyes rest on yours with the same ancestral calm as always, but behind it, something pulses — a quiet concern, almost invisible.

He takes a step forward. Studies your face, the paleness of your skin, the slight tremor you try to hide in your hands.

“Before that,” he says gently, “go take a bath.”

You blink, surprised.

“I’m fine,” you murmur, more out of habit than belief.

He raises an eyebrow — a small but eloquent gesture.

“You have dust on your shoulder. Your hair is messy. And your pulse is still weak.”

You avert your eyes, swallowing the retort. Indeed, your hànfú is wrinkled, the hem stained with dry dirt. The memories return in confused flashes: cold ground, dizziness, muffled shouts from afar.

Lan Wangji approaches. From within his sleeve, he pulls out a hairpin and extends it toward you.

It’s a golden piece, delicate as a forgotten heirloom. At the top, a finely carved flower holds a translucent green stone, with golden threads hanging gracefully, bearing small matching beads that sway with the slightest breeze.

“Take better care of your things,” he says, not harshly.

Lan Wangji folds his hands within his sleeves and adds:

“After that, meet me at the plum courtyard. We’ll practice breathing and energy focus together. No sword.”

You nod. Not because he convinced you, but because… somehow, he made you want to agree.

You rise slowly, still feeling the weight in your body. Before leaving, you risk a sideways glance.

“Thank you, Hanguang-Jun.”

He doesn’t reply — only inclines his head in a subtle gesture, full of meaning.

Leaving the Jingshi, you walk along the silent wooden walkways, bare feet brushing the sun-warmed planks. The gentle breeze carries the scent of blooming plum trees, and for a moment, everything feels suspended.

You feel a quiet relief. Perhaps because he didn’t ask what really happened to you this time.

But it’s no surprise. You had an unspoken agreement.

He wouldn’t investigate your life before you came to Gusu.

In exchange, you would allow — if reluctantly — that he tend to your “slip-ups” with the silent severity he was known for. It was the closest kind of closeness you were willing to accept.

That… or nothing.

At your room, you hesitate before opening the door. You don’t know if you should feel relieved to be here or frustrated by the mess you left behind.

The familiar chaos greets you: scrolls sprawled across chairs, books stacked in unstable towers, talismans questionably hung or forgotten among cushions.

But you know what? It’s your room. Your territory. You are the empress of that little kingdom.

So yes… feel relieved.

Hours pass since the brief training in the plum courtyard.

Lunch was quiet, nearly silent, served with the usual delicacy by the sect’s disciples. Lan Wangji, as promised — or threatened, depending on perspective — didn’t let you do anything besides eat, rest, and breathe.

Afterwards, he left the Jingshi to meet with other cultivators for another night hunt. As always, he gave no details, made no promises to return soon. Just cast that serene look and vanished through the sect gates like mist fading at dawn.

Sizhui and Jingyi were also gone — hunts, studies, or both. And you? Well… you stayed.

The solitude didn’t exactly bother you. But boredom… now that was a formidable enemy.

Now here you are: hanging upside down at the edge of the luohan chuáng, the carved wooden bed, feet braced on the frame, hair nearly touching the polished floor. Arms dangling, expression pensive, and your mind… empty as an overturned teacup.

“What to do… what to do…” you grumble, staring at the beams from your inverted perspective. “Practice guqin? Pipa? Hm… but I’d need a senior for that. And they’ve all vanished like ghosts. Argh!”

You stretch your arm dramatically toward the sky — or the floor, depending on perspective — in silent plea to the cultivation gods for some kind of distraction.

As if answering your prayer, a light knock echoes on the sliding door.

Knock. Knock.

A soft, feminine voice filters through the lacquered wood:

“Xiǎo línghū… are you there?”

You freeze.

That nickname was rare. Especially coming from the only person who used it with such tenderness.

“Xiǎo línghū” — little spiritual ferret. A nickname you earned when you were still new to the clan, always vanishing into corners of the sect, slipping through windows, rooftops, and libraries like an untiring, elusive creature. Someone — Lan Xichen, with that gentle smile that rarely faded — once remarked you moved like a mischievous ferret. And the name stuck. At least among those closest to you.

You spring up in a clumsy jump, bumping your head on the bed’s canopy.

“Ow—!”

“May I come in?”

You rush to the door, rubbing your head and smoothing your hair haphazardly.

When you open it, there he is.

Lan Xichen.

Serene as always, clad in his light blue robe embroidered with plum blossoms, his posture as upright as it is gentle. He carries nothing — only that familiar calm smile that always seems to know more than it says.

“Zewu-Jun,” you greet, bowing slightly. “Good afternoon. Can I help you with something?”

“I came for no reason,” he replies calmly, his eyes resting on you with a softness that almost soothes your headache. “I heard you had awakened. I wanted to see how you were.”

You blink, surprised, but soon smile, warmed by the unexpected attention.

“Oh… I see. Thank you for your concern. As you can see, I’m alive and whole — though certain people seem to doubt that very easily.” You roll your eyes playfully. “Would you like to come in?”

“If it’s no trouble.”

“Trouble? The young master Lan? Never.”

He chuckles — low and airy, like the breath of a bamboo flute.

“Ah, Xiǎo línghū…” he says, in a tone of veiled affection.

You feel your face warm slightly, but you hide it and step aside.

Lan Xichen enters with quiet steps, the sound of his boots barely audible against the wooden floor. His gaze sweeps the room — not critically, but with the serene curiosity that seems to understand even the clutter of young souls.

“I see your recovery hasn’t affected your… unique sense of organization.”

You huff, laughing.

“I was going to tidy up… eventually, I swear.”

“I’m sure you were.” He walks to the low table in the corner and sits, arranging his sleeves with elegance. “May I?”

“Of course.”

You follow him, still holding the side of your head, and sigh as you sit. The ache pulsing there.

Lan Xichen watches for a moment. Then, without a word, he reaches out and lightly touches your head, his fingers cool and steady.

You blink, startled by the intimate gesture — but don’t pull away.

He begins massaging with the tips of his fingers, slow and precise. The touch instantly eases the pressure that weighed on your skull, as if clearing space inside your mind.

“You said you were fine…” he murmurs.

“I just hit my head a bit, it’s nothing serious.”

“You’re always like this, aren’t you?”

“Hm? What do you mean?”

“Nothing. I just worry about you, so please take better care.”

You let out a soft laugh. Even when giving instructions, Lan Xichen sounds like someone telling a story by the fire.

For a moment, the silence between you isn’t uncomfortable. It’s like a calm lake, unhurried. Just presence.

“Is there anything you’d like to do this afternoon?” he asks, his hand now gently resting over yours.

“I was bored until you showed up.” You look at him. “I was almost talking to the books.”

“I hope at least they had good arguments.”

You laugh, genuinely now.

He tilts his head slightly, a playful glint in his eyes.

“What if we played a round of Go?”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Ready to lose that badly?”

“I want to give your confidence a chance.”

You rise to fetch the board, and he watches with that affectionate calm that doesn't need to say: I'm glad you're okay.

Author's notes

Hello, my dear flowers 🌸

Before we dive into the next chapter, I wanted to hear from you.

In the original novel, it takes Wei Wuxian a few days to reach Dafan Mountain.

My question is: would you prefer that I use this interval to explore more of our MC’s relationship with other characters — deepening connections, tensions, and little moments, etc — one more chapter… or should we move straight into the original plot?

I’d love to hear your thoughts.

Comment and let me know what you’d like to see!

[lysandra-vesper]

Chapter 4 - Memory

You don’t know how long you were unconscious. Everything is just... emptiness. Dark, silent… with no beginning, no end.

Until... that voice emerges.

“Love arises without knowing from where, and grows deep without return.”

A female voice, sweet and melodious... A voice you hadn’t heard in so long. A voice that warms your chest.

When your eyes, still heavy, slowly open, you realize you’re lying down, your head resting on your mother’s lap. Her hand gently glides through your hair in tender, loving strokes as her voice hums an old song—your favorite since childhood.

"The curtain rises upon the stage,

Silken sleeves flutter in the air.

Joys and sorrows, meetings and farewells are sung...

Yet none of these belong to me.

The fan opens and closes,

Drums and gongs resound… then silence.

Beyond the Mirror Lake,

A cup of tea still holds its warmth.

I’ve learned to blend joy, anger, sorrow, and contentment

In the colors of my makeup and the dust of the stage.

What use is it to repeat the same lines?

In the end... white bones and ashes—that is all I am.

In a chaotic world, like weeds adrift upon water,

I endure watching the flames of war consume mountains and rivers.

Though humble, I dare not forget my homeland,

Even if my name remains unknown."

You lift your face, searching for her eyes.

She is breathtaking, as though stepped out of an ancient painting. Her long brown hair is partially tied in a side bun adorned with a delicate green jade flower, from which hang tiny strands of gold and pearls. Her golden eyes, accentuated with soft red makeup, radiate serenity, yet they conceal secrets... and melancholy. In the center of her forehead, three small red dots are elegantly painted—a symbol of tradition and status.

Her features are graceful: slender lips, softly arched brows, and a maternal, serene expression full of love.

She is not only your mother—she is Madame of the Li Clan of Huayin, a woman of respect and refinement.

As soon as she notices you stirring, she softly halts her song, offering you a warm smile.

“Aiyō... my little A-(name)... you’re awake? You’ve been asleep for so long... I was just about to carry you to your bed...” she whispers, her fingers gliding affectionately through your hair.

You snuggle into her lap, still sleepy, pouting slightly.

“I don’t want to... I want to see Father...” you reply, crossing your arms and puffing your cheeks just a bit.

She chuckles softly, bringing a hand to her lips like elegant ladies often do.

“Aiya... just as stubborn as your father...” she remarks, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “He’s in the study, discussing important matters with the clan elders. But...” she arches a brow, giving you a mischievous glance, “does our little miss have permission to interrupt something so serious?”

Her finger lightly taps the tip of your nose, amused.

Around you, the soft sound of a guzheng floats in the air, while the breeze sways the silk curtains and makes the wind chimes hanging from the eaves tinkle. The sweet scent of plum blossoms drifts through the courtyard, painting the moment with a fleeting peace.

“I can, Mother! Mother, I want to!” your voice rises, almost whiny, as you cling tightly to the silky sleeve of her robe, swaying it lightly. Your eyes, still misty with sleep, gaze into hers with a mixture of stubbornness and affection.

But before your mother can reply, a gentle—though slightly more serious—voice calls out from behind.

“A-Mei, you shouldn’t cause trouble for Mother...” says a calm male voice, young but carrying a weight of responsibility that feels a little too mature for his age.

After all, he’s only two years older.

You turn quickly.

Standing there is your older brother. Wearing a dark green silk robe embroidered with leaf patterns along the sleeves and hem, he holds his hands behind his back. His hair is tied in a high bun, fastened with a silver hairpin.

His eyes—golden, like your mother’s—carry a balance of gentleness and firmness, the kind that comes from being groomed to one day lead the clan. Yet despite the slightly scolding tone, you can still hear the affection woven through it.

He walks over, bending down slightly to meet you at eye level.

“If Father is meeting with the elders, it’s because it’s something very important. We can’t bother him over anything trivial...” he explains patiently, as if repeating a lesson already given. “If you go there just to pout, you’ll embarrass both Mother and Father.”

Your mother sighs softly, brushing a hand over her forehead as though trying to suppress a laugh.

“Wise words, A-Xiu...” she remarks, casting a sideways glance at you with an amused smile. “But tell me, Xiǎo Niáng... what’s so important that you must interrupt your father?”

You clench your fists, puff your cheeks again, and reply with all the conviction your little body can muster:

“I want to tell him I finished painting the flowers all by myself! And... and... I also... learned how to write my name perfectly!” you say, stomping your tiny embroidered lotus shoes against the stone courtyard, producing a muffled sound.

Your brother raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “That can wait...”

“It cannot!” you snap back, puffing your cheeks even more. “If I wait, he’ll go off on another trip and won’t see! And then... and then he’ll forget about me...” your voice, once full of stubbornness, falters slightly at the end, trembling just a little.

Your mother’s smile fades for a brief moment. She pulls you back into her embrace, pressing you against her chest while gently stroking your hair.

“Aiya... my little one...” she whispers, her voice tight, as though trying to shield you from a world no child should have to worry about. “Your father would never forget you... never...”

Your brother sighs, looking away for a moment, his fist clenching quietly. Even he, who always tries to be strong, feels the silent weight that hangs over this family.

The sound of footsteps on the stone courtyard interrupts the moment. One of the maids appears, bowing respectfully.

“Madame Li, Young Master, Young Miss... the Master has requested that the Young Miss be brought to him in the study as soon as possible,” she announces, head bowed, not daring to raise her eyes.

Your mother’s eyes widen slightly, exchanging a quick glance with your brother. Even he looks surprised.

“Oh... so he...” your mother smiles, stroking your back. “It seems the Patriarch guessed the desires of our little lady’s heart...” she says, taking your hands to help you stand.

Your brother sighs, shaking his head, but can’t suppress the small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Tsk... spoiled...” he mutters, pretending to scold, as he adjusts his sleeves.

Just as you were about to step through the door, a thought strikes you. You stop mid-step, turn back to your brother, and, without thinking twice, rush over to him.

“What is it?” he asks, raising an eyebrow, curious.

“Come with me.” You grab his hand with determination.

He shakes his head, letting out a soft sigh. “I can’t... Father only called for you. That means you have to go.”

You squeeze his hand tighter, meeting his eyes. “But I know you want to see Father too... don’t you? You do, don’t you?”

Your brother averts his gaze, biting his lower lip lightly. “I... I do, but—” his voice falters, as if what he wants to say is hard to admit.

You don’t wait for him to finish. Taking two quick steps, you hold his hand tightly and look him straight in the eyes.

“Then let’s go together!” you say, with that pure, fierce determination only a child can muster. Your eyes shine with conviction. “Father called me... so if I want to take you with me, he won’t scold us. And you want to, right?”

Your brother hesitates. His lips press into a line as he looks away, as though trying to hide how he feels. His body stays tense, caught between duty and the simple desire to... just be a son, nothing more, free from the constant expectation of being the perfect heir.

He takes a deep breath, shaking his head slightly. “...Tsk... you always do this...” he mutters, crossing his arms. “You always make me do things I shouldn’t...”

But even as he says it, he doesn’t let go. On the contrary, his fingers tighten around yours, as if afraid that if he lets go, this fleeting moment will slip away forever.

“If we get scolded, it’s all your fault...” he adds, trying to sound serious—but you catch the small smile forming at the corner of his mouth, no matter how hard he tries to hide it.

You grin wide, happy, swinging his hand as though celebrating your victory already. “Okay! I accept!” you giggle softly.

Without letting go of his hand, the two of you cross the courtyard together, your small feet tapping against the polished stones. Silk lanterns sway in the breeze, the scent of plum blossoms fills the air, and the distant sound of a guzheng lingers, as though the world itself is following your footsteps.

As you approach the study, your brother—despite pretending otherwise—adjusts his sleeves, straightens his shoulders, and runs a hand over his hair to make sure he looks impeccable—a habit drilled into him since childhood as heir to the clan.

He glances sideways at you and murmurs softly, like an older brother pretending not to care too much:

“Hold my hand tight... walk properly, okay? Don’t trip. Don’t speak too loudly. And don’t make faces...”

You roll your eyes, immediately making a defiant face. “Aiiiyaaa... okay, okay...” you reply, gripping his hand even tighter.

The maid accompanying you both watches with a discreet smile, as if witnessing something rare and precious. Once you reach the doors, she knocks twice, bows, and announces respectfully:

“Master Li, the Young Miss Li is here... accompanied by the Young Master.” she declares, kneeling before the grand carved wooden doors.

For a moment, silence reigns. Until, firm and unhurried, the Patriarch’s voice resonates from within—deep and full of authority:

“Enter.”

The doors slide open smoothly, revealing the grand interior of the hall. Morning light filters through bamboo blinds, casting golden stripes across the polished wooden floor and the Persian green carpet embroidered with plum blossoms and serpents.

At the center, upon a raised platform covered with a scarlet-red carpet, stands the study desk. Brushes, inkstones, scrolls, and a bronze incense burner are neatly arranged. Behind it, sitting with a posture radiating discipline and power, is your father.

Master Li.

Leader of the Huayin Li Sect.

His long black hair is tied with a carved jade piece, and his dark green silk robe is embroidered with golden cranes and leaves—symbols of wisdom and longevity. His expression is serene, yet carries the gravity of a man who commands not only a clan but also the respect of all who cross his path.

His golden eyes narrow slightly as he sees you both enter.

“Hm.” A short sound—not quite disapproval, not surprise either. “The order was for you to come...” his gaze fixes on you, then briefly shifts to your brother, who, despite trying to stand firm, avoids holding his father’s gaze. “...and yet, you brought yourself... in a pair.”

The silence is broken only by the soft crackling of the incense as the herbs slowly burn.

Still clutching your brother’s hand, you take a deep breath, press your lips together, and reply—half hesitant, half determined:

“I... I thought... If you wanted to see me, you could see him too... and he also wants to see you... so...” the words stumble out, but they’re sincere, the way only a child can be. “...so we came together.”

For a brief moment, the stern gaze of Master Li softens—almost imperceptibly. One of his hands, resting on the desk, slowly clenches as though holding onto an ancient thought that dares not be released.

He turns his gaze to the window, watching for a moment as bamboo leaves sway in the wind, before looking back at you both.

“Hmph...” he breathes deeply. “Since you’re here, sit.” He gestures toward the cushions placed before the desk. “And listen carefully.”

You both sit side by side, still holding hands, while the smell of freshly brewed tea mingles with the woody scent of the incense.

Then, he slowly unrolls a scroll across the table. His golden eyes, now more serious than ever, lift to meet yours.

“There are things that, as children of this clan, you can no longer ignore.”

He taps a finger lightly on the open scroll.

“Our family... our lineage carries a unique technique. Xiuying...” his gaze shifts to your brother, “you should already be starting to learn about this. But since the effects only began manifesting about two months ago, we decided to wait.” — then he looks straight at you, serious — “And you... your mother told me you’ve been feeling dizzy lately. That only confirms my suspicions. It’s beginning for you as well...”

He exhales heavily, folding his hands over the desk, his expression weighed.

“Listen carefully, both of you. Until you formally begin proper cultivation training, under no circumstances are you to stimulate or force the flow of Qi. You must avoid—”

Before he could finish, the hurried sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway. The door burst open, slamming against the frame. A senior cultivator, panting, his robes slightly disheveled, stumbled in, ignoring all protocol and etiquette.

The lanterns swayed, and even the servants outside startled at the sudden disturbance.

“What is the meaning of this?!” Master Li’s voice exploded like thunder in the hall, his previous calm replaced by restrained fury. “To barge into my hall like this... speak! What is so urgent that it justifies such insolence?!”

The cultivator trembled, trying to kneel, breathless.

“Leader... Leader Li, it’s... it’s the Madame... Madame Li, she...” the words caught in his throat, as if even speaking them was painful.

It was enough. No more needed to be said. Master Li’s face drained of color. His sharp eyes widened, and in an instant, he stood, knocking the chair behind him to the floor.

Without saying another word, he turned and bolted from the room, the sleeves of his robe trailing through the air as he disappeared through the door.

You and your brother looked at each other, hearts pounding, not fully understanding what was happening—but knowing, deep down, that something very, very bad had just occurred.

And then...

Everything goes dark.

The sound of hurried footsteps, doors slamming open, trembling voices... all of it dissolves into nothingness.

A cold, suffocating void... as if the entire world were collapsing inside you.

Breath grows heavy.

The body, weak.

And, for a moment... it feels like everything simply disappears.

Until...

“Focus. Breathe. Control.”

The firm, hoarse voice—weighted with years of discipline—cuts through the darkness.

“Again. Don’t tell me you’ve even forgotten this.”

You gasp, eyes snapping open.

The scent of aged wood, of burning incense, and the damp earth after rain floods your senses.

Your body is kneeling, palms pressed against the cold stone floor of the training pavilion. Your knees ache. Your hands tremble. Your clothes are soaked with sweat and stained with dust.

Before you—standing tall, immovable as a mountain—he waits.

Your old master.

The man who shaped every fiber of what you became.

The man you’ve hated so many times.

And, in silence... wished just as often that he would look at you not as a disciple. But maybe... as family.

But that... never happened.

The old man, his long hair nearly all gray now, stares at you with sharp, blade-like eyes.

“If you can’t even hold your own meridian...” his voice is cold, merciless, as it always was, “then you don’t deserve to carry the name Li. Stand up. Again. Now.”

Your chest aches. But it isn’t just from the training.

Your pulse spirals out of control. Your body screams for action—attack, run, something. It’s as if your very bones are trying to break themselves... only to remake into something stronger.

Weeks ago, he started asking about your family.

About techniques. Lineage. Cultivation. Everything.

Any scrap of knowledge that might help him understand who—or what—you truly are.

When you were a child, those things didn’t matter. You knew little.

Little beyond fragmented memories... of when your father once tried to tell you about a special technique from your bloodline.

The moment your master heard that... he left.

Not a word.

No explanation.

No promise of return.

Two whole days.

Gone.

Nothing but silence.

And then... he came back.

As if nothing had happened.

Acting exactly as he always did.

Until today.

The second rain of the day had just begun when he dragged you outside. To train.

Hours upon hours without rest.

And, strangely... not once did he hold back.

Liang Shuren... was not a gentle man.

But he was never cruel. He knew better than anyone where a disciple’s limit was.

And exactly when to stop.

But today... today was different.

And you felt it. From the very first movement.

The tension suffocated you.

Your body, heavy.

Your mind, scattered.

And as if that weren’t enough...

Thunder began to split the sky.

And every time it echoed... something deep inside you trembled.

And he struck. And it hurt.

More than it should have.

More than made sense.

You tried—more than once—to ask him to stop. That it was enough for today.

But... a strange feeling began to grow inside you.

A crushing pressure in your chest.

Your Qi in disarray.

The flow slipping out of control.

And that...

That’s how you ended up here.

Kneeling.

Gasping for air.

Lost somewhere between the pain... and something you don’t yet understand.

Not yet.

And then...

The world simply fades away.

The last thing you remember is the muffled sound of rain, thunder rumbling like distant drums... and the figure of Liang Shuren standing before you, still as a stone statue.

After that... only darkness.

A silent void — no time, no body.

When your eyes open again, the soft light of a paper lantern fills the room. The sound of rain is still there, but now distant, like a whisper from the world outside.

You’re lying on your futon, covered up to your shoulders.

The air carries the familiar scent of your space — dry wood, tea, clean fabric — mixed with the faint trace of incense still burning somewhere nearby.

Your body feels as heavy as stone. Every muscle screams, as if it had been torn apart and stitched back together by force. Your head throbs. Your chest feels like it's collapsing into itself.

And then... you realize.

He's there.

Sitting by your side, eyes half-lidded, silently watching you.

For a moment, neither of you says anything.

But you notice — the way he breathes a little deeper than usual.

His gaze, even stern as always, holds something beyond that usual rigidity.

Concern.

He clears his throat, breaking the silence with a touch of disdain:

“Hmph... For a moment, I thought you weren’t going to wake up.”

You turn your face toward him, still lying down.

“Are you trying to kill me?”

“No.”

“Then why did you do that?! You didn’t stop hitting me, even when I begged you to! Even when I was already down! What kind of master does that?! Why...? Why did you...?”

Your voice falters. Your eyes well with tears.

You cover your face with your arm, voice muffled, trembling, almost childish:

“Idiot... stupid old idiot... stupid cultivation...”

“You...” he starts, but the sentence fades into nothing.

He sighs, stands up, and walks toward the door. Opens it slowly, as if weighing something in his mind.

“I’ll fix you something to eat. Rest. We have things to discuss later.”

It takes a while.

Time passes like it’s slipping between the cracks in the wooden floor.

But he returns.

Carrying a simple tray, and on it — a steaming bowl of lu rou fan — white rice topped with slow-braised pork in soy sauce and spices, served with boiled eggs and vegetables sautéed in sesame oil.

You sit up with effort, sulking, both pride and body equally bruised. You eat in silence while he stays there, seated beside you, silent as well — just watching.

Until he finally speaks:

“I’m going to tell you what I’ve found out.”

You roll your eyes.

“I’m eating. If it’s serious, wait until the sacred meal is over.”

“You should show more respect to your masters.”

“You’ve confused me. You push me to train, and now you leave me like this. You don’t treat me well, but you don’t treat me badly either. So, for now, my respect depends on how you behave.”

He scoffs.

“Brat. Kids these days...”

“Yeah, yeah. Keep talking.” you nod, still chewing.

He crosses his arms, leans back against the wall, and his voice shifts. It grows deeper, heavier.

“Balance is an illusion. Duality doesn’t seek harmony... it seeks survival. This is a fragment from the Serpent Flower Scroll. Have you ever heard of it?”

You shake your head.

“No.”

“It’s a record of your bloodline. What happened to you today... has a name. When Flesh Becomes Weapon. Yin-Yang State: Body.”

You freeze. Fork halfway to your mouth.

Slowly, you lift your head, fully paying attention now.

He continues:

“Spiritual energy locks itself inside the body. It can’t be shaped into techniques or ranged attacks. It reinforces your muscles, your bones, your skin. Strength, speed, endurance... everything rises to an almost inhuman level.”

“Huh... That actually sounds awesome.” You raise an eyebrow. “I get strong... naturally.”

“Impatient.” he grumbles. “Listen until the end. This state shuts down your reason. You become pure instinct. A cornered animal. And when it ends... the body collapses. Internal fractures, exhaustion, even organ failure. And worse — while in this state, you can’t use spiritual swords, techniques, nothing. Only hand-to-hand combat.”

Your eyes widen.

“...Yeah. That’s... that’s pretty damn terrible.”

“Watch your mouth, girl.” he snaps, almost out of habit, then sighs.

“Li (name)... from now on, you need to be more careful. This power isn’t a gift. It’s a burden. And it can destroy you if used the wrong way.”

“But how do you even know this? These things about my clan...”

He hesitates. Then answers, with an uncomfortable sort of nonchalance:

“...I’ve been trading some information. Selling some, too.”

Your hands slowly tighten into fists, eyes fixed on the almost-empty bowl.

“I see.”

Silence returns. Thick.

But now... something has shifted.

It’s no longer just master and disciple.

It’s survivor and heir.

An ancient truth rises on the horizon.

And, as always... the rain outside never truly stops.

.

.

.

.

And so, you come back to consciousness.

[lysandra-vesper]

Chapter 3 - Pain and Jasmine

As soon as the news hit, you and the other disciples dashed toward the hall in the east courtyard.

When you arrived... the scene felt eerily similar to a festival — or rather, the aftermath of a disaster. The number of people gathered was no less than the bustling crowds from the village during the daytime. All the relatives, servants, and residents were present, many still in their nightclothes, hair disheveled, faces pale with terror.

Madam Mo sat in the center, looking as if she had just been roused from a faint. Her tear-streaked face was still damp, her eyes red and swollen, trembling as she clutched her robes.

On the floor lay what looked like a human figure, covered with a thin white cloth. Only the head was exposed.

It had to be... Mo Ziyuan.

You stared at the covered body for a few moments before turning to one of the servants nearby.

“Can I... take a look?” you asked softly.

“Huh?” The man blinked, not quite processing.

“The body,” you clarified.

He hesitated, glancing nervously toward Madam Mo — probably afraid that if anyone touched her dead son, she’d break down screaming again. But in the face of something like this... rules of propriety hardly mattered.

With a shaky nod, he replied, “P-Please... do your job.”

You glanced toward the leader of your group — Sizhui — and the two of you exchanged a brief, silent conversation with your eyes.

What happened?

I’ll check.

Slowly, carefully, you stepped forward and knelt beside the body. With deliberate hands, you lifted just enough of the cloth to reveal the upper part of the corpse.

Your breath caught in your throat.

It was Mo Ziyuan... and yet, at the same time, it wasn’t.

The facial features were unmistakably his — the crooked nose, the faint scar under his lip. But the face itself… had sunken grotesquely inward. The eye sockets were hollow, as if the eyeballs were shriveled in place. The skin was paper-thin, wrinkled, stretched tight over jutting bones.

It was as if... he had aged twenty years overnight.

Or worse — as if every drop of blood, every ounce of vitality, had been drained from his body, leaving behind little more than a desiccated shell of what used to be a living person.

No... this wasn’t just death by corpse attack... you thought, narrowing your eyes. This isn’t the work of an ordinary walking corpse. If it were, there’d be signs of biting, claw marks, wounds, or broken limbs. But this... This is something that drains life force... or devours spiritual energy.

Either... an evil spirit with draining abilities... or...

Your gaze darkened slightly.

Or a curse. A powerful one.

You looked down again, scanning the body carefully for any signs — wounds, talismans, spiritual marks — anything that could confirm the cause.

But before you could investigate further, a sharp, cracked voice tore through the air.

“STAY AWAY FROM MY SON!”

Madam Mo had finally noticed. Her shriek echoed through the hall as she lunged forward, hands trembling as she shoved herself between you and the body.

“Don’t touch him! Don’t you dare! Haven’t you people done enough?!”

Sizhui immediately stepped in, raising his hands in a calming gesture. “Madam Mo, please... We are only trying to find out what happened so no one else gets hurt.”

“Don’t... don’t touch him...” she sobbed, collapsing to her knees beside the body. “My son... My poor son...”

The entire room felt suffocating — the heavy air thick with grief, fear, and something darker... something malicious... something that still lingered.

You took a small step back but didn’t stop analyzing.

This… isn’t over. Whatever did this… it’s still here. Watching. Waiting.

And in that moment, an uneasy chill prickled the back of your neck.

About ten minutes had passed. You and the other disciples were gathered in a corner, discussing with serious expressions what might have happened. The conclusion seemed inevitable: it could indeed be the work of an evil spirit.

The tension was justified. The flags had been carefully positioned, blocking any possibility of something or someone entering unnoticed. And yet, there you were, debating... about how the young master had been found dead.

As you listened intently to your peers, your gaze wandered, almost involuntarily, to Mo Xuanyu — the madman.

He was being dragged into the hall by some servants. All wore expressions of anger, distrust, and disdain. Clearly, they did not believe a word of the story.

You even thought about approaching him, asking why he was there... but quickly dismissed the idea. He was an adult. He should know how to take care of himself, right? — you thought, though a twinge of unease tightened in your chest.

A few minutes later, one of the younger disciples, who had also been watching closely, averted his gaze and pointed, alarmed, to another corner. Everyone followed his gesture — and then they saw her.

Madame Mo.

The woman, who had been restrained earlier, suddenly lunged at Mo Xuanyu, holding something that reflected a cold glint — a knife.

Lan Sizhui was quicker. With a precise strike, he hit her hand, disarming her before she could harm him. But before he could say anything, the woman erupted in a scream filled with fury:

"My son had such a tragic death! I just want revenge! Why are you stopping me?!"

The older man, who had seemed resolute until then, immediately shrank back, crouching behind Lan Sizhui.

"W-what does my son's death have to do with me?!"

It was at that moment you realized. Perhaps... perhaps Mo Xuanyu was there because of the threat he had made earlier that morning.

"What an tragically cursed life he has..." — you thought, letting out a sigh, perhaps even a low grunt, that only you heard.

That morning, Lan Sizhui had witnessed the scandal Mo Xuanyu caused in the eastern hall. Later, he heard various distorted rumors about that illegitimate son. He felt a pang of compassion for the fragile, sickly man and decided to intervene:

"Madame Mo, in the state your son's body was found... the flesh, the blood, the energy... everything was devoured. It's clear that evil spirits killed him. It couldn't have been him."

The woman's chest heaved uncontrollably, filled with rage.

"You know nothing! This madman's father was a cultivator. Surely he learned a bunch of evil spells!"

Lan Sizhui discreetly glanced at Mo Xuanyu, who, sitting on the floor, seemed lost in madness, completely unaware of what was happening.

"Even so, madame... you have no proof. The best thing is—"

"THE PROOF IS IN MY SON'S BODY!" she interrupted, pointing with a trembling finger. "Look for yourselves! A-Yuan's body already told me who killed him!"

Before anyone could move, Mo Xuanyu took the initiative. He approached the corpse, grasped the edge of the fabric covering it, and pulled, revealing it completely.

That’s when everyone saw.

His left arm was missing. Gone from shoulder to hand.

"Did you see?!" Madame Mo screamed, out of control. "Earlier today, right here, you all heard what this madman said, didn’t you?! He said that if A-Yuan touched his things again... he would cut off his arm!"

After the outburst, the woman fell to her knees, covering her face with her hands, and began to sob:

"My poor A-Yuan... never touched anything of this madman... and yet, besides being unjustly accused, he lost his life like this..."

You took a deep breath, crossing your arms. “It’s amazing how she can twist everything to her advantage... frankly...” you thought, unsure if you felt pity or anger.

At that moment, Mo Xuanyu bent down next to his cousin's corpse. He quickly searched at the height of the dead man's chest and, in no time, found something. He pulled out the object, opened it... and there it was: a Yin Attraction Flag.

The instant the flag appeared, all the young people — you included — understood perfectly what had happened.

The confusion from that morning now made complete sense. Mo Ziyuan, furious and humiliated after the scandal caused by Mo Xuanyu, wandered the streets, likely trying to concoct some form of revenge. He found nothing during the day... so he decided to wait for his cousin to return at night to make him pay.

And that’s when everything went wrong.

At dusk, Mo Ziyuan sneaked into the western courtyard and saw the black flags positioned on the roof. He knew — everyone knew — that he couldn't approach them. They had been warned countless times: "Stay away from the western courtyard. Do not touch those flags."

But Mo Ziyuan, convinced that it was just an excuse to protect them from curious onlookers or thieves, thought he could take the risk. He believed it was merely some kind of valuable artifact, overly guarded. What he didn’t know... was how sinister the true effect of the Yin Attraction Flag was.

All it took was to hold it... and whoever possessed it immediately became a living target for any nearby evil entity.

The arrangement used six Yin Attraction Flags, five of which were still firmly planted in the western courtyard. The strategy, although risky, followed a precise logic: the disciples of the Lan Clan served as bait, yes, but they were always loaded with talismans, bells, and an absurd amount of magical artifacts for protection.

Mo Ziyuan, however... had absolutely nothing.

He took a single flag — and that was it. No amulet. No protection. Nothing.

And as the old saying goes: "Squeeze the soft persimmons." Naturally, the evil spirits would choose the weakest, easiest, most vulnerable target.

If they had just been mere walking corpses, perhaps Ziyuan would have come out alive. A few bites, some bruises, a good scare... but no, luck — or fate — did not spare him. The flag he stole ended up attracting something much worse.

Something that didn’t just devour flesh.

Something that drained blood, vital energy, and ripped off limbs as if they were dry branches.

That’s what killed Mo Ziyuan.

That’s what tore off his arm as one might pull a rotten leaf from a tree.

Madame Mo knew.

She knew very well the kind of son she had raised. She knew about the thefts, the lies, the little villainies he did in secret. But to admit that? Never. It was easier to tear out her own tongue.

Consumed by rage and pain, she grabbed a porcelain cup and threw it, without thinking, at Mo Xuanyu.

"If he hadn’t been humiliated today, he wouldn’t have gone out in the middle of the night!" she yelled, her voice shrill. "This is all your fault, you bastard!"

The madman simply stepped aside, dodging with an almost lazy ease. The porcelain shattered against the floor.

But Madame Mo didn’t stop. She spun around, pointing a trembling, accusatory finger at the disciples:

"And you too! What are you cultivating for, huh?! For what?!" she spat, hysterical. "To exterminate evils?! To protect people?! You couldn’t even protect a kid! Just a boy! A-Yuan was just a teenager!"

The weight of her words fell over the hall like a thick cloud.

You took a deep breath, feeling your stomach churn. A bitter mix of frustration, discomfort, and irritation gnawed at your insides.

It’s true... we are young. We rarely leave the clan to practice, we are still learning... but...

There was a moment, yes, when all of you felt guilty. Perhaps you had failed, perhaps you should have noticed the signs. But those venomous words, that blind accusatory tone, turned remorse into something else.

Everyone frowned. After all, as young as they were, they were disciples of the Lan Clan from Gusu. A name that, until then, no one had dared to disrespect so shamelessly.

But... there were rules.

There were doctrines.

The Lan Clan demanded self-control. It prohibited the use of force against ordinary people, especially those who had no means to defend themselves. Moreover, etiquette was sacred: losing composure meant losing dignity.

Even boiling inside, they had to hold back.

It was then that, breaking the silence, Mo Xuanyu spat on the ground with a dry snap, full of contempt.

"Ptchu!" and then, with his eyes half-closed, he shot back, his voice sharp as a blade:

"Who do you think you're humiliating, huh? Do you really think they are your servants? They came from far away to exterminate the evils here, without asking for a single cent in return. And now what do they owe you, exactly?" he laughed, mocking. "Your son... how old was he? Seventeen, right? Still a ‘boy’? Seventeen years old... and doesn’t understand human words?"

He took two steps forward, the smile now almost cruel.

"Yesterday, everyone here heard. It was warned more than once, twice, three times: DO NOT approach the western courtyard. DO NOT touch the black flags. DO NOT mess with anything in the arrangement. And what did your ‘boy’ do? Sneaked out in the middle of the night, hidden, to do what? To be stealthy. To do what he always did: steal. And now the blame is on me? The blame is on them?!" he pointed at the disciples. "You must be delusional."

You crossed your arms, took a deep breath, and thought bitterly:

If that man ever dies... it must be because he looked sideways at his own fate.

Lan Jingyi and the other disciples almost let out a collective sigh. The knot in their throats that was starting to suffocate them seemed to dissolve. Until then, their faces were so tight they looked ready to explode.

On the other hand, Madame Mo trembled. It wasn’t just sadness. It wasn’t just hatred. It was an irrational, murderous impulse. She thought of nothing but one word: death.

But not her own.

No... she wouldn’t be the one to die to keep her son company.

It would be the world. Everyone.

Especially the bastards who were now right in front of her.

Whenever she faced a problem, she did what she knew best: yelled at her husband. And this time was no different.

"Go! Go call someone! Call everyone from the village!" she shouted, pushing him forcefully.

Yet, unlike other times, the man didn’t move. He was paralyzed.

Whether it was the shock of their son’s death or because, for the first time, something clicked inside him... the fact is he didn’t move. And more than that: he pushed back.

He shoved her back.

Madame Mo fell to the ground, disbelief on her face. She lay still for a few seconds, staring at her husband as if he were a stranger. She had never — never! — needed to push him. Just raising her voice, stomping her foot, and he would immediately do everything she wanted.

The servants stood gaping, unsure whether to help or vanish. A-Ding, trembling, rushed to help her up.

With her hand on her chest, gasping, her voice trembling and full of venom, Madame Mo growled:

"You... you... you too! Everyone! GET OUT OF HERE!"

But her husband seemed not to hear her anymore.

A-Ding looked back and forth, desperate, exchanging nervous glances with A-Tong, who quickly understood the message and ran to help the master get out of there.

In a matter of seconds, the hall plunged into pandemonium. Screams, running, pushing and shoving. Inside and outside the house, chaos erupted.

You squinted your eyes, feeling a sharp pain arise between your eyebrows. You were exhausted from that woman, her arrogance, her blind rage, and her complete inability to take any responsibility.

Still, in a more automatic than sincere gesture, you wondered if she was okay.

But you didn’t have time to move.

A shrill voice — coming from the courtyard — sliced through the air like a blade, cutting across the walls and forcing everyone to fall silent.

"Aaaahhhhhhhhhh!!!"

People rushed out of the hall in panic. On the floor, two figures lay in critical condition: A-Tong, convulsing while seated, and another man who was collapsed and completely disfigured. His body was shriveled and wrinkled, as if all the flesh and blood had been drained. He was missing an arm, with no blood left to seep from his wounds. The state of the corpse was identical to that of Mo Ziyuan.

Madame Mo broke free from A-Ding, who was supporting her, and caught sight of the body on the ground. Her eyes widened, and the sight caused her to faint, losing all strength.

Mo Xuanyu, who was nearby, quickly caught her before she fell and passed her to A-Ding, who rushed to support her. After that, Mo Xuanyu checked A-Tong’s arms, noticing that one of the wounds on his right arm had vanished. They had barely left the hall and were still in the eastern courtyard when Madame Mo’s husband tragically died, and it all happened in the blink of an eye. Lan Sizhui, Lan Jingyi, and the others also had pale faces. Lan Sizhui approached the fallen man.

"Did you see what it was?" The servant was so terrified that he couldn’t speak, only shaking his head. Anxiety burned in Lan Sizhui's chest, and he instructed his fellow disciples to take A-Tong inside. Turning to Lan Jingyi, he asked:

"Did you launch the signal?"

"Yes, it was launched, but if there are no seniors nearby to provide support, our reinforcements could take at least an hour to arrive. What do we do now? We don’t even know what this is."

It was clear they couldn’t just leave. If any disciple thought of escaping upon encountering an evil spirit, it would be a humiliation for the clan, and he would feel extremely ashamed. The Mo family also couldn’t flee; the malevolent spirit was likely among them, and running away wouldn’t help.

"Stay alert. We’ll wait for the reinforcements!" Lan Sizhui ordered, gritting his teeth. The signal had been launched, and it wouldn’t be long before other cultivators arrived to assist.

You felt a headache beginning to form. A sense of desperation started to creep in, although you tried not to show it. You had faced difficult situations before, but this was particularly distressing. With two dead, Madame Mo unconscious, and A-Tong collapsed, the tension was palpable.

Lan Jingyi looked at you and asked, "Yuqing, are you okay? If you need, you can rest a bit. It’s alright if—"

"No, I... I’m fine, I just need to check on the unconscious," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady, though the anxiety was evident.

You approached to check on A-Tong, as Madame Mo was being tended to by her other servants. As you crouched down, a wave of concern washed over you. *What could have happened to him?* you thought, examining his pulse.

Suddenly, A-Tong sat up abruptly.

"Ah! A-Tong, you’re awake!" exclaimed A-Ding, her eyes shining with hope. But the joy was short-lived. While you were checking A-Tong's left wrist, he raised his left hand and grabbed his own throat, scratching your cheek in a quick motion.

"Ouch!" you murmured, startled. Immediately, Lan Sizhui struck three quick blows to several of A-Tong's acupoints. Despite their refined appearance, members of the Lan Clan possessed a raw strength that was hard to ignore. Yet A-Tong seemed unaffected. His hand tightened around his throat, and his expression grew horrific.

Lan Jingyi desperately tried to pry his hand away, but it felt like trying to pull off a piece of iron, with no success. Then came a sickening "crack," and A-Tong's head tilted at an unnatural angle. His hand finally released, but the bone in his neck was already broken. He had strangled himself in front of everyone!

A-Ding's voice trembled as she cried out, "Ghost! There’s an invisible ghost here, it made A-Tong hang himself!"

Her high-pitched, panicked voice echoed, leaving everyone terrified. They immediately believed her.

You quickly stepped back to give the others space, but then you began to feel something strange. First, it was a tingling in your wrist. Then, the sensation that your blood was being replaced by something... strange. Dense. Alive. An energy that wasn’t yours — or perhaps it was.

Your breath hitched.

Not here. Not now. They’ll see.

Desperately, you tried to understand why this was happening. I’m not in mortal danger; my body isn’t injured... could it be some poison... from a corpse?! you reflected inwardly.

Stumbling away from the disciples, you ignored Jingyi's calls in the background and accidentally bumped into someone’s chest. Your trembling hands gripped your own chest, while a hand was placed on your shoulder.

Looking back, you saw Mo Xuanyu, who appeared confused. 

In a panic, you pushed him away and ran, not wanting the other disciples to notice.

After finding an empty spot, you dropped to your knees, clutching your chest, sweat pouring down. Your pulse raced chaotically. Your body screamed for movement, attack, escape — anything. It felt as if your own bones were trying to break to remake themselves stronger.

"Please... please... please... not now."

As you struggled to force that energy out, memories flooded your mind.

 three princes...

The Yin-Yang Body State...

Why can’t I control this?

Voices began to emerge, all with a taunting tone.

"҇̔̏I҇̋́̚̚’̃͑̇̏̐͝l̐̀̋̒͗̕l͌̐͂͞ b҇͗̂͋e̔̐̿̌̕ m̈́̇̋͋̌̕ȯ̅͋̇͞r̀̄͊͞ẻ̌̔͞ b̿̽̑̀̋͞r̽̅͝ừ̀͆͗̎t͌̈́̀͆̿͞a̅͂̽̓̉̕l̍̾̓̿̕,̎͑̿͂̍̕ l҇͆̉e҇̍̇̎̚t̃̑̆̓͠h͊͂̏̓͊͝ǎ̐̓̀̿͝l҇̀͊͐̓ w҇͑̋̂̏ì͗̉̍̓͡t́͂̑́͝h͒͆͞ỏ͒̚͞ŭ̋͋̕t̑̇̂͠ m̋̏̕e̽̌̈̅͠r͋̃͋͐͡ć͌̎͊̀͝ý̛̌̑,̂́͐̆͡ I̊̇͡’͐͂̉͑͠l̆̐́͡ľ̛́ b̛̊̓̓̔̽ŕ̌̃̉͠e͒̏̋͞ȁ̓̀͠k̛̃͆ y̐̿̍̾͝o҇̄͋̓̈́u̍͂͑̒̌͝.̆̓̋͛͡.͑̚͞.̛̂̌̉̉͐"̄͋͌̍̉͞

̎̎͋̃͋͡

̊́̒̊͝"̛̅̓̂̿́I҇͊̽͌̏’̊́̑̔͝l͗͗̿̕l͗̍̂̋̇͞ b̀̂̈̆͝e̍̉̚͠ m͌͌͞ơ̾̓͗̉̑r̍̆͋͒̌͠ȅ͗̏͝ b͑͒̐͠r̒͆͑͝ư͐͛͊t҇̅̔̓a҇̋͗l̽̈́̏͠,̋̚͡ l҇̎͑̀ȇ͛̑͐͝t͐̆̀̾̕h҇̄̂a҇̽̔̽̆ĺ̏͊̾͋̕,͒̍̈́͐͛͞ n͛̽̅̌̾͡o҇͛͒̅̌t͆̾̀̅̍͡h͑̒̏͋͝i͐̈͗͠n҇̃̎͐̾̌ǧ̎͑͐̕ w̿̾͊̊̓̕i̊͐͝l̾̂͐͑͠l҇̓͊̂͗̚ s̑͑̆̔̏͡t͒̀̏̒͌͡ờ̃̑p҇̑̔̂̂̚ m҇̑͒̓͛e͋̍̏͊̽͞.̀͐͞.͒̃͛͝.͗̇̈́͠"̑̚͠

͌͌͡

͂̎͝"̎̂͆͝I̾̓̓́̚͠ c̑́̇̎͝ả͊͞n̍̀͞ t͗͌̇́͐͝e͗̔̓͝a̒͌̽̓̕̚r͑̾͝ y͆͊͂͛̕o̾̇̌͛̓͞u҇̇̋̔̂ a͆̇́͞p̔̉͝a҇̑̇͗̄r̛̉̒t͋̒͝.̛͐̐͒͂̚.̑̑̚͡.҇̀̈͑̏"̄͌͗̇͆̕

̇̐͝

͒̾͗͠"̇͆̌̅͡Ī͋͝ ẇ͑̀̚͝á́͌̈̑͠n̽͗͝t҇͌̽̽͊ t̋̓̐͞o҇̄͌ s͛̔͞e͒́͑̈́̕e̿͆̃͞ y̍͊̌̅́͠o͌͗̽̍̆͝u͛̎̈͌͡ b҇̈̓̾̎è̍͊͗͝g̎̈̚͝g̓͊̕ȋ͑̿͡n̒̈̓̍͡g̏̍̾̑̿͞ f͊̅̂͌͞ó̀̔͐͒̕r҇̊̋ m̐̏̑̊͡e҇̉̽͋ n̆̓͂̅͞o҇̄̊t͂̑̒̕ t҇̆̐̆̈̌ờ̚ f҇̄̓̽̎ǐ̄̓̇̚͞ṅ̛̍̃̾i̍̆̾̕s̎̽̎̋͗͠h̀̋͞ y̎̔̽͋̕ṓ͋͐̉͝ư̅̑͗.͌̽̉̿͝.̎͐̐̑̎͝.̌͌͝"̉̉̇͆̈͞

̀̀̕

̛̈́́̚

҇̅̌̂͑̄"̊̈̇͆̕F͐̔͞��r̀̀̃͞ỏ͛̀͡m͊̾̋͝ n҇̐͛́͊ȱ̓͡w͗̇͠ o҇̌̋ǹ͂̈̊͝,͛̓̅͡ Ì̒͡ ẘ̐̽͞ḯ͝l̂̈̊̾͞l͗̃͆̅̊͝ b҇̈̂̒e̓̃̌͡ l̎͐͞ȅ̀͐̑́̕t̅̋̀͞h҇͆͛ă̏͠l̿̊͐͐̏͞.̓͐͌͋͝.͌͋̾͆̍͠.̛͐́"͂̿͊͌͠

̛̾̒"͂̏̽̾͐͠N̈͆͞o҇͆͂̆̔̍ d̛̄̆e̿̍̓͡m̊͒͆̑͡ơ̾̀͑̀n҇̄̚ d͆̓͞e͋̈̑̊̚͠s҇͂̀e̛̐̔̚r̋͊͝v́͌͊̍̇̕ē̾͝s҇̇͂̀ t̓͛̀͛͠ò̓̽̕ l̎͒̂͞i͌̎̃̓́͝v̎̃͝ė̛̅̈͑̇.҇̑̃͗̓.̌̆͞.̃͊̋̈͋͡"̈́͛͛̽̕

You glanced at your reflection in a puddle of water. The image staring back was even more unsettling.

"͒̃̃͛̔̒̌̆̋͝E҇́̍̌̐̀̏͐̂v̾̌̃̍̊̎̀͋̇͌͒͝e̓́͊̅͆͆͞n͗͒̿̽͑̀̆̏͒̒̉͠ m̾̉̍͋͋̅̃̔͊̒̚̚͝o̒̃̆̍͒̀̐͌͠r͑̊́̍͡e͛̃̃̃̀̋͒̀̉̈́̊̏͞ s̛͑̍̉́́͛̐̌̂́̔͒o̎̾̅̌͆̈̊̈́̊̓̂̔̕ ỳ̛́͑͑̎o̍̉͂̓͞u҇̑͋̓̾.҇͐͒̊͛̉̏̋̓́̎̓̚.̅̐͗̿̋̀̃̂͊̚̚͠.͛̆̾͋̅̾̐̈́͆̄̾̇͡"̋̓͆̂̕

̈̊̀̑̊̎̅́͋͑̕

̐̈̇́̿̌̋̈͐͆̓͡"͑̓̿͋́̀͌̀̓̓͝W͗̓͂̓͌͆͝i̓̐̋̏̓͑̂͌͒̍̚͞t̆̾́̾̒̍̓̆̓̓͐̐͝h̛͌͑̏̊̈́̈́̈́̀̽ȍ̑͐͆͌͒̇͝u͑̌̑̆̓̚͠t̛̑͗̎͗̾͂ r̆̄̊̈͛̅̿̍͋͆͡e̛̔̍̾́͂̂̍͗͊̐̈́m̛͌̓̑̍́͗̋̽̎̉o҇̓͗͂̉̄͆͒̏̅̚r̾͌̂̓̈́̏͠s̈̃͛͂̄͋̄̒̍͛͡e̛͌͒́͐̈ I͒̈̋̽̋͗͗̇́͂̈́̆̕—̛̊͊̀̂̊̍̃̾͐̇̌̀

Suddenly, a sound from a guqin floated gently through the air.

A melody you would recognize, even after many years.

"Lan Wangji..." you whispered, feeling a mix of relief and concern.

Even with the pain coursing through you, you now sensed the malevolent atmosphere surrounding you. Although you couldn’t tell how much time had passed, everything felt chaotic, a force beyond your control.

The sounds seemed to be played casually, ethereal and clear, bringing with them a chill reminiscent of a pine forest. You tried to calm your racing thoughts, but the pain coursing through you made it difficult to stay still. If this was really corpse poison, the best course of action would be to remain composed and avoid any sudden movements. However, that felt impossible; it was an internal battle where your body screamed for relief.

You needed to find a way to trick your own body, to convince yourself that everything was fine, to try and relax or do anything that might help. But even that simple act felt nearly insurmountable. The tingling in your wrist intensified, and the sensation of something spreading through your veins was terrifying.

As you struggled with your thoughts, hurried footsteps echoed in the distance. For a fleeting moment, you thought it might be one of the disciples, but that idea quickly faded when you caught sight of a figure with a face painted to resemble a suffocated ghost. Your heart raced in your chest.

Mo Xuanyu stopped abruptly upon seeing you, his expression a mix of confusion and alarm. He glanced around, as if he were being pursued, and then crouched down beside you. The risk of him being so close in that moment sent a jolt of urgency through you.

"Get away from here... just go! P-please..." you urged, your voice trembling as you tried to push him away, but he held your wrist firmly.

"Stop squirming, or—"

"The poison is going to spread, I know! That’s not what I’m worried about!"

"Then what is it?" he pressed, concern etched on his features.

"I... I don’t know how to explain..."

He sighed heavily, muttering something under his breath before standing up and rushing to a jasmine plant. His movements were quick and determined. He gathered a few flowers and hurried back to you.

"What are you doing?" you asked, confusion mingling with a hint of alarm.

"Jasmine can help with relaxation and stress reduction. Its fragrance is known to ease tension," he explained, placing some flowers in your hand and bringing them closer to your nose. The sweet, floral aroma was surprisingly pleasant, almost like a balm for your troubled mind.

As you inhaled the scent, a wave of relief began to wash over you, even as the pain lingered and your vision started to blur. It was a welcome comfort amid the chaos surrounding you, an anchor in a sea of despair.

"Stay here and don’t move," he instructed, Then he ran off to who knows where. You remained there, rooted in place, trying to comprehend the situation. Reality seemed to warp, as if time had slowed down. What was happening? Confusion enveloped your thoughts like a thick fog.

Your mind began to fade into a blank state, and your eyelids grew heavy, despite your efforts to keep them open. The internal struggle was becoming increasingly difficult.

As you stared at the ground, you noticed two pairs of white boots approaching. A figure lowered itself to your level and looked at you. Although you could see them, only half of their face was visible, obscured by the soft light around you.

"Li Yuqing," the voice called, soft yet firm. You didn’t respond, lost in your own thoughts, and the figure placed something in your mouth. Without understanding what it was, you instinctively swallowed, your mind still in a haze.

You waited as your mind and body seemed to surrender, as if giving in to the encroaching darkness. The only awareness you had was that your head had fallen onto that person’s shoulder, a gesture of submission and vulnerability.

And so, darkness enveloped your senses, taking you to a place where pain and fear could no longer reach you.

[lysandra-vesper]

Chapter 2 - A Madman and a Dead Man

When your group arrives at Mo Village, it's still early. The sun is partially hidden by some clouds, so you don't have to suffer from its heat beating down on you. While flying on your sword above the village, you couldn't help but look around at how it was, until your gaze fell upon the Mo Manor.

Mo Village is a traditional settlement, with houses featuring gray ceramic roofs and stone-paved streets. In the center, there's a simple yet bustling market, with stalls covered by tarps and paper umbrellas. The buildings are made of wood, some two-stories tall, with rice paper windows. Trees are scattered among the rooftops, bringing life to the scenery. The village has a calm, welcoming atmosphere, seemingly frozen in time, with residents who live off trading and selling at the local market.

"Despite the report about corpses, everyone here seems fine," you reflect silently.

"Maybe it's because they only arrived in this region recently. They haven't had time to cause any trouble yet," one of the Lan disciples says.

"Probably. Well, let's get this done and do our best, right, boys?" You look back at the group, tilting your head with a small encouraging smile.

They all nod eagerly. Although you're not the only woman in the Lan Clan, it's a fact that there are far fewer women than men. Therefore, whenever there's a female cultivator — regardless of her beauty, status, or cultivation level — she's bound to be popular among them, at least most of the time.

When you arrive at the Mo Manor, you're greeted by a well-maintained middle-aged woman dressed in extravagant clothing.

"Welcome, renowned cultivators," the woman says with a slightly over-enthusiastic smile. "I am the lady of the house. Please, follow me."

Just as you were about to descend from your sword, a hand extends into your field of vision. Looking up, you see Lan Sizhui offering his hand with his typical gentle smile.

Out of courtesy, you accept his hand and step down from your sword, waiting.

"I could’ve gotten down by myself, you know?"

"It's just courtesy."

"Aren't we close enough not to bother with formalities? We're friends, aren't we? Treat me like one."

"Is it so wrong to treat you with respect, Li Yuqing?" He raises his eyebrows.

"Fine, you win, Shixiong."

He just chuckles softly before letting go of your hand and following Madame Mo toward the East Courtyard's main hall. You and the others follow closely behind.

The entrance to the house is impressive, with a spacious courtyard paved with light-colored stones, neatly arranged. Two small lanterns stand on either side, adding an elegant touch. A central path, made of even lighter stones, leads to a low staircase that opens to the main door, composed of wooden panels with rice paper details. On either side of the courtyard are well-arranged potted plants, and the outer walls are white with dark wooden beams, following traditional architecture. The gray ceramic roof completes the scene, transmitting harmony and sobriety.

Upon entering, you're quickly led by servants to sit at low tables, neatly organized. Each table has a teapot, a cup, and a plate with a simple yet refined meal.

Madame Mo sits at the central table, beside an elderly man — probably her husband — while a few others stand near the doorway.

So this is the Mo family. They seem rather content, you think to yourself.

"Thank you, cultivators, for coming all this way to deal with the corpses. I’ve heard that members of the Gusu Lan Clan are known for their integrity, kindness, and distinction. Seeing is believing — you truly live up to your reputation," Madame Mo says, as smoothly and pleasantly as if trying to win something.

You've always found it interesting how people tend to idolize cultivators. In the capital, that rarely happens. Most people don’t think much of cultivators there. Maybe that's why you were so stubborn about accepting cultivation at first.

"In fact, we of the Mo family have ties to cultivation. We have a young man in the family who once pursued the path of a cultivator..."

"Here! Here! I’m right here!" A young man’s voice calls out from the crowd as he steps into the center of the hall.

The young man looks to be in his twenties, with an attractive, graceful face and lips naturally curved upwards. His black hair is messy, tied loosely in a bun. But what truly draws attention is his face painted white, with red circles on his cheeks, giving him the appearance of a "hanged ghost."

"So, he 'once pursued cultivation,' huh? Mhm... Interesting," you mutter.

As if he appeared out of nowhere, the disheveled stranger startles everyone present.

"Who was calling me? The one with the ‘fate of a cultivator’ — isn't that me?"

Lan Jingyi can’t hold back a laugh and immediately earns a reproachful look from Sizhui, which forces him to straighten his posture.

The young Mo scans each of the Lan disciples present. He seems briefly lost in thought until his eyes meet yours. He tilts his head slightly, as if silently asking what you're doing there.

Madame Mo, silent for a moment from the confusion, snaps out of it and her expression turns to irritation. She turns to her husband and calmly asks:

"Who let him out? Take him back!"

Her husband smiles apologetically and, with a scowl, starts moving toward the young man. But suddenly, the young man flops to the floor, pressing his arms and legs down so hard that even when dragged, they can't lift him. The man tries, pushes, even calls the servants, but to no avail. If there weren’t so many witnesses, he probably would've kicked him by now.

As they argue about clothes and nonsense, you lean over and start talking to Lan Jingyi in a low voice.

"What do you think of that young master?"

"What do you mean? He’s clearly crazy. I mean, his own family says so, don’t they?"

"Yeah, but... don’t you think he’s making a lot of sense?"

"Why are you trying to defend him, huh?"

"Because the best people are crazy. You know what they say — 'Everyone’s a little bit doctor and a little bit mad.'"

"Mhm... You bought those suspicious poetry books again, didn’t you?"

"Don’t make it sound so bad! It was three for one — I couldn’t pass up a deal like that!"

He sighs and shakes his head. He’s used to you buying what others would call useless things, but somehow, you always make use of them.

"But really, why do you think he’s crazy, Jingyi?"

"Stress. A big disappointment. A hard life. Maybe a scheme. Usually, it’s one of those. Or maybe... some people are just born like that."

"You know, my grandma used to say he once walked the cultivation path. If the family still has even a bit of pride about it, then I assume the clan wasn’t completely unknown. But... not famous either, or I would’ve heard about him."

"You’re overthinking it again. Don’t stress. We’re just here for one thing."

"Mhm, right. Hunting. I have a bet to win, so no distractions."

He nods, satisfied, as you both turn your attention back to the family argument.

"Mother! Are you really going to let him humiliate me like that?" Madame Mo’s son yells.

Madame Mo glares at him, warning him not to make things worse. Unexpectedly, the messy-haired young master pipes up again.

"Speaking of which, besides the fact that he stole my things, shouldn’t he avoid going out at night? It’s no secret I like men. He may have no shame, but under a plum tree, one shouldn’t raise their arm to fix their hat, and beside a field, one shouldn’t squat — or it’s easy for others to misunderstand.

He’s a cut-sleeve!"

The disciples all think the same thing at once.

Madame Mo inhales deeply and scolds:

"What nonsense are you spouting in front of the neighbors! Have you no shame? A-Yuan is your cousin!"

"He knows he's my cousin and still acts in... suspicious ways! Who’s really shameless here? He may not care about his own innocence, but I do! I still want to end up with a good man!"

Mo Ziyuan screams, grabs a chair, and throws it at the young master. Seeing him finally snap, the messy-haired man rolls away, jumps up, and dodges it. The chair crashes to the floor and breaks. The onlookers, who were originally waiting to witness the Mo family's public humiliation, scatter in fear of what might happen next.

The young master then darts toward you, hiding behind you and grabbing your shoulders as if to shield himself, shouting:

"Everyone saw that, right?! Not only did he steal from me, now he wants to beat me too! What a lack of conscience!"

Sizhui, noticing Mo Ziyuan’s expression and fearing this would escalate further, steps forward.

"Err... Young master, wouldn’t it be better if we talked?"

Madame Mo sees the disciple trying to protect the crazy young man and hesitates. Forcing a smile, she explains:

"This is my sister’s son. His mind is... not right." She taps her temple. "Everyone in Mo Village knows he’s crazy. He says strange things... Please don’t take him seriously, esteemed cultivators..."

But the young master doesn’t even wait for her to finish. He peeks out from behind you and shouts:

"Who says you shouldn’t take me seriously?! From now on, anyone who tries to steal from me loses an arm. One at a time!"

Mo Ziyuan, being held back by his father, glares and tries to lunge at him again. The young master bolts toward the door, singing a childish "la-la-la" as he runs.

You stare at the door for a moment, then chuckle, exchanging a glance with Sizhui.

"Li Yuqing, don’t laugh."

"How could I not? That young master is so interesting."

"He’s insane. That’s what he is," Jingyi adds.

"And the rule about not speaking ill of others behind their backs, hmm?"

Sizhui places a hand on both your and Jingyi’s shoulders, giving them a gentle squeeze before turning to Madame Mo.

"Err... Well then, with your permission, we’ll use the west courtyard. Please, remember: after sunset, close all doors and windows tightly and do not approach that courtyard."

Madame Mo trembles with anger. Her path was blocked, but she couldn’t push the young master aside. All she could do was force a smile and say:

"Yes, yes. Thank you, thank you..."

Your group starts leaving the hall.

"Mother, are we really letting that lunatic humiliate me like that in front of everyone?! You said he was nothing but a—" Mo Ziyuan begins but is immediately cut off.

"Silence. Whatever it is, wait until we’re back to discuss it."

Mo Ziyuan has never felt so humiliated or reprimanded like this by his own mother. "That lunatic won’t live another night," he mutters.

You were close enough to hear. "Young master."

He looks at you.

"Forgive me if I’m wrong, but let me ask... Is the reason you ‘borrowed’ those things because you want to be a cultivator? From what your mother, your cousin... and your, uh..." You gesture, prompting him to say the lunatic’s name.

"Mo Xuanyu."

"...said, Mo Xuanyu was once a cultivator. I assume he still has some belongings from that time. Did you take them?"

"I already said I didn’t! Stop accusing me!"

"Who’s accusing? I said ‘borrowed,’ not ‘stolen.’ If you’re this upset about something you say you didn’t do... maybe you did. Now, please, be honest, young master."

You step closer. He takes a step back.

"If your goal is to be a cultivator, my advice is — stop stealing, be humble toward others, even the ‘crazy’ one. Don’t wear yourself out this way. This is friendly advice... The world won’t be as kind when offering its lessons. Now please, return your cousin’s belongings. Family is me

ant to get along, isn’t it?"

And with that, you leave the hall with the others.

After quite some time, your group was spread across the rooftops, carefully setting up an array of flags all around the courtyard. They had even warned everyone in the manor not to come close.

These flags were called Yin Attraction Flags. If pinned to a living person, they would lure Yin spirits, vengeful souls, fierce corpses, and malicious ghosts — all of which would focus their attacks solely on the marked target. Because the person essentially became a walking bullseye, the flags were also known as Target Flags. They could be placed on buildings as well, but only if there was someone alive inside. In that case, the "target" expanded to everyone within the structure. The area surrounding a raised flag would become heavy with Yin energy — like a cold, dark wind lingering in the air — which earned them yet another name: Black Wind Flags.

As you stared at one of the flags fluttering eerily in the wind, you couldn't help but think, The Yiling Patriarch… How ridiculously creative he was...

Even if the entire cultivation world cursed his name, you had always been secretly fascinated by his brilliance and craftsmanship.

It reminded you of when, just a few months after joining the Lan Clan, you'd heard whispers of him for the first time. Your insatiable curiosity drove you to scour the clan’s library for any records about him — but there was almost nothing. Apparently, the Lan Clan wanted no trace of him left behind, not even in ink.

So, you had to get creative.

You tried discreetly asking townsfolk, but every story you heard was drenched in negativity — tales of horror, disgrace, and wickedness. Early on, you had learned that every story has two sides. But it seemed the entire world only cared to remember one.

It left you frustrated… until Lan Wangji himself caught wind of your little "investigation." You’d heard the rumors — that he and the Yiling Patriarch were like water and oil: always together, yet never mixing.

And yet… to your surprise, he told you the other side of the story — the side no one else dared to speak.

Even though you didn't know how to read Lan Wangji's stoic expressions back then, you could swear… for a brief moment… there was a trace of melancholy in his eyes.

“Hey! Don’t touch that! You’re not supposed to mess with it!”

Jingyi’s sharp voice yanked you out of your thoughts.

You turned just in time to see Mo Xuanyu bolting across the courtyard — hair flying wildly, arms flailing like broken puppet strings, face twisted in manic determination.

“I WON’T GIVE IT BACK! I WON’T! IT’S MINE! I WANT IT!”

Jingyi caught up to him in a few quick strides, grabbing him by the shoulder. “Are you gonna give it back or NOT?! ‘Cause if not, I swear I’m gonna—!”

“NO!! IT’S MINE!!!” Mo Xuanyu screeched, clutching the flag like a treasure, wrestling wildly.

Sizhui, who had been calmly adjusting one of the flags atop a roof, sighed when he noticed the commotion. He hopped down gracefully, robes fluttering behind him.

“Jingyi… Just take the flag back. There’s no need to get worked up over this,” he reprimanded, voice steady.

Jingyi scowled. “I didn’t even hit him! Look at this mess! He completely ruined the flag formation!”

You stepped in, raising your hands. “Come on now, let’s not gang up on the young master. A little patience wouldn’t kill anyone.”

“Easy for you to say! You’re not the one who wrote all the talisman scripts!” Jingyi shot back. “Your handwriting’s so bad they don’t even let you do it! And the one time you tried, it took you an etern—”

STOMP.

You planted your foot firmly on his.

“OW! OW! OW!! Okay, okay, I TAKE IT BACK!”

Sizhui just shook his head with an exhausted sigh at his friends' antics.

Turning back to Mo Xuanyu, Sizhui softened his tone. “Young Master Mo, the sun’s setting. We’ll start hunting the walking corpses soon. It’s going to be dangerous. You should really head back to your room.”

Mo Xuanyu stared at him, blinking like he didn’t understand a single word.

“…The flag,” Sizhui reminded, extending a hand.

Before he could finish the sentence, Mo Xuanyu huffed dramatically, threw the flag down, and shouted, “It’s just a dumb flag anyway! I could draw a better one in my sleep!”

He spun on his heel and stormed off.

The disciples still perched on the rooftops nearly fell over from laughing so hard. Even Jingyi, caught between anger and disbelief, burst out laughing as he dusted off the flag.

“Completely insane,” he muttered.

“Don’t say that,” Sizhui sighed. “Come help.”

Sizhui turned, intending to call you over — only to realize you weren’t there. His gaze flicked toward the corner of the courtyard… and there you were, quietly slipping after Mo Xuanyu as he disappeared around the bend.

“…What on earth is she up to now?”

You jogged quietly after him, but eventually lost sight of him in the maze of corridors. As you rounded a corner—

A hand yanked you into the shadows.

Your shoulder collided with a solid chest. For a split second, you were pressed against him, frozen by the surprise. Then you pushed back instinctively, looking up.

A familiar smirk greeted you.

“Well, well... Following me, are you? Here to scold me? Well, too bad — I’m not apologizing for earlier because—”

“Are you okay?” you interrupted.

“…Huh?”

“I said... are you okay?”

He blinked, genuinely thrown off. His mouth opened, then closed, unsure what to say. While he stood there stunned, you pulled a few talismans from your pocket and pressed them into his hands.

“Wha— Why are you giving me this?”

“Well… your cousin steals stuff like this, right?” You lowered your gaze slightly. “I know what it feels like… when someone takes something important. Even if it’s small, it still hurts. I can’t give you back what he took… so I’m giving you these instead.”

“I… I don’t need this. Besides, isn’t this for your job?”

“They’re basic talismans. They won’t do much in a real fight anyway,” you admitted with a sheepish smile. “Sorry if that sounds rude… but still. Please, take them.”

“…Why?” His voice softened. “Why do something like this for someone you just met?”

“Because... it’s the duty of the strong to protect the weak. And the duty of the weak… is to live a longer, happier life than the strong. But... that doesn’t mean anyone’s worth less than anyone else. We should protect each other. That’s balance.”

His lips twitched into a crooked smile. “Heh... So what, are you calling me the weak one?”

“I never said who was the weak one… or the strong one.” You turned to leave, waving lightly over your shoulder. “It was nice talking to you, Young Master.”

He stood there watching you go, stunned. Then he let out a chuckle, shaking his head.

“…What… What a weird kind of nobility,” he muttered, pocketing the talismans before walking off in the opposite direction.

Hours passed since then, and everything had been going surprisingly smoothly. Your group had handled most of the walking corpses in the area without any serious problems.

Even better — you’d personally managed to take down more than your share, which left you grinning, energized, and proud of yourself.

But as your group gathered near the east courtyard, a servant came sprinting toward you in a panic.

When you asked what had happened, his voice trembled as he gasped:

“It’s… it’s Young Master Mo Ziyuan…! H-He’s... we found him... dead! His body... His body’s in the hall!

[lysandra-vesper]

❈°The Flower of Li°❈

Chapter 1 - The Beginning

Your hurried footsteps echoed across the stone paths and gardens.

The tall flowers brushed against your legs, whispering as your uneven breathing filled the air.

The voices… never stopped. Always there — whispering, pressing, invading.

 “Y͞o͞ư h͠a͞v̛e͝ t͟o͞ t͘a̸k͟e̷ c͝a̠r͠e̡ o͟f t͏h̷e̛m̡.͟.̨.̛”

“Y̕o͠u͘’̕r̶e̸ ͟j͝u̸s̶t́ ͏a̴ ́w͜o̵ma͏n̸.̢ A̢c͞ce̵pt͏ it.͞”

“S͜i̢s͏t̸e͢r͏?̴ S̵ÍST͘E͘R̶?!̨”

“The Three Principles…”

“You do know you could die, don’t you?”

“Shut up… shut up…!”

Your eyes flew open. You jolted upright, heart racing, lungs burning.

You were drenched in sweat, chest heaving, as if you'd just run for miles.

“…That dream again?”

You took a deep breath, trying to find your center. The room looked the same — dark wooden floor and ceiling, paper windows, and your familiar chaos: robes draped over chairs, books left open in precarious stacks, talismans taped to the walls or forgotten between cushions.

By Gusu Lan standards, it was utter rebellion.

But it was yours. And you’d never fit the mold anyway.

They said your cultivation potential was impressive.

No one praised your sense of order.

You sighed and lay back down, staring at the ceiling.

The dream had been haunting you for months. Not exactly a nightmare, but it left behind a strange weight — like an old memory trying to claw its way out.

When you finally got up, the morning air was still chilly. You dressed slowly in the white robe with light blue accents — the traditional uniform of a Lan disciple.

On your first day here, you thought everyone was in mourning.

Later, you realized it was just the dress code.

You tied your hair, strapped your sword to your waist, and stepped outside.

The sky was still pale, touched by the last adows of night. With no desire to return to bed, and no rush to start training, your feet moved almost on their own — until they brought you to the Jingshi.

The study and residence of HanGuang-Jun.

Most wouldn’t dare get this close.

Then again, you weren’t most.

You stood there quietly, facing the entrance, feeling the breeze brush your cheek.

You closed your eyes, letting the memory of your first day in Gusu drift back to you.

The anxiety had been unbearable.

And as always, curiosity won.

You knew it was forbidden. But just a little exploring… who would notice?

Turns out, he would.

That night, your bare feet moved quickly across the stone path, touching cold, dewy ground.

The night air caressed your skin, and soft lantern light cast geometric shadows along the corridors. Gusu's air felt different — serene, pure, almost sacred.

The gardens looked designed for meditation. Every flower, every stone, every leaf — perfectly placed.

Nothing like the capital.

Maybe that’s why you were so enchanted.

You wandered through bridges, pavilions, streams, glowing flowers that opened under moonlight.

And then… the rabbits appeared.

An entire field of them — dozens, white and fluffy, with dark curious eyes.

“So many rabbits… in such a strict sect. That’s almost cute.”

You knelt and picked one up. It squirmed, then settled.

You kept walking, cradling the rabbit, your thoughts drifting, your spirit light.

Earlier that day, Lan Xichen — the renowned Zewu-Jun — had personally welcomed you. Kind, serene, with a smile like early morning light. He explained the Discipline Wall, the rules, and that you’d be studying under his brother, Lan Wangji.

HanGuang-Jun.

Even in the capital, that name was known.

The Twin Jades of Lan were legendary.

But Lan Xichen, for all his grace, had forgotten something:

 “I believe I… forgot to inform Wangji of your arrival.”

You’d shrugged. What difference did it make?

And by the end of the day, boredom drove you to that rooftop.

You sat there, rabbit in your lap, legs swinging freely.

“What do you think, bunny? Is HanGuang-Jun like his brother? I hope so. Or maybe not. I don’t know.”

The rabbit twitched its ears.

You turned, slowly. Expecting wind. But it wasn’t wind.

A man stood there.

Tall. Silent.

White robes, long dark hair, and eyes like still water.

And the forehead ribbon — marked with the Lan crest.

HanGuang-Jun.

Your heart stopped for a beat.

“G-good evening?” you tried, giving a sheepish smile.

No response. He just stared.

Calm, but firm — like someone who had seen too much.

You cleared your throat, trying to sound casual. “I wasn’t… exactly trespassing. Just exploring. The architecture is beautiful. So symmetrical. And the rabbits, of course.”

Nothing.

“Didn’t think anyone would be up this late.”

He said nothing, but took a step closer — so light it barely made a sound.

You instinctively backed up… and misstepped.

You fell.

It was ridiculous. Painful. Not at all graceful.

The world spun for a second. You yelped softly and landed in the bushes. The rabbit jumped from your arms and escaped, unharmed.

“You little traitor…” you muttered, sprawled on the ground.

“Are you hurt?”

His voice was firm, low. But closer than expected.

You tried to get up. “I don’t think— ow!”

Your ankle gave out. You dropped back down.

He knelt beside you, gently lifting your rob’s hem to examine the twist. His touch was precise — surprisingly gentle.

“Mild sprain.”

“Yeah, figured.”

“I can handle this myself, thanks,” you tried, not very convincingly. “Also… pretty sure I broke like five rules. Sorry.”

He looked at you for a moment.

Then lifted you into his arms.

“W-wait! I can walk!”

“You can’t.”

“Technically I can. With difficulty. But still.”

Silence.

He carried you like it was nothing. Like you weighed as much as the rabbit.

“…So you’re HanGuang-Jun?”

He nodded.

“Sorry for intruding…”

More silence.

You stopped talking. And tried not to lean on him too much.

Which was hard. Because he was… him.

That night, he took you to the Jingshi. Treated your ankle in silence.

And the next day, you had to copy “Do not leave after curfew” 104 times.

That’s how it all began.

The soft creak of a door pulled you from your thoughts.

You turned and bowed out of instinct.

“Good morning, HanGuang-Jun.”

He looked at you for a second, then gave a small nod.

“Good morning.”

He started walking down the stone path. You followed.

“I’m going to Mo Village with the other disciples today.”

“I know.”

“…How?”

“I read the list.”

Naturally.

“You coming with us?”

“No.”

“…Lan Sizhui will lead?”

“Yes.”

You sighed. “Again…”

“You’re jealous.”

“Of course not. I just don’t like being responsible for people. Or having to compete with Sizhui.”

He stayed silent, but slowed his pace to match yours.

“…If I purify more corpses than everyone else, will you owe me a favor?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Making wagers during missions is unethical.”

“It’s not a wager. It’s motivation. A reward for excellence.”

He gave you a quick glance — neutral, but meaningful — and walked faster.

You smiled.

He hadn’t said yes… but he hadn’t exactly said no either.

“Shimei!”

A bright voice called from behind. You turned and saw Lan Jingyi hurrying over, eyes gleaming as always.

“Good morning, Lan Jingyi.”

“It’s Shixiong, with all due respect!”

“You haven’t earned that title.”

“But you call Sizhui that!”

“Sizhui is polite, mature, and older. You’re loud, impulsive, and my age.”

He huffed. “That was just mean!”

“Just honest.”

He grumbled, but walked beside you anyway.

“Today I’ll detect more corpses than you — want to bet?”

“Great. Less work for me.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re too loud to be a cultivator.”

Laughing and arguing, the two of you made your way to the sect gates.

Up ahead, the other

disciples were gathering — and among them, Lan Sizhui, calm as always.

The day had barely begun.

And the mission to Mo Village was just about to start.

[lysandra-vesper]

Well, as promised to you, my dear flowers, today I posted the first chapter of the long series. 🌸

And I wanted your opinion on one thing: what do you prefer? A reverse harem? That she ends up with a specific character? Maybe with two characters? Or something else?

Ah, tell me the characters according to what you choose.

[lysandra-vesper]

New notice

Hello, My dear flowers!

As I mentioned in previous posts, I was planning to buy the Mo Dao Zu Shi novels and start a long-form story — either based on the original or using the donghua as inspiration.

Good news: I’ve already managed to buy the first two volumes and I’m finishing the first one. So, we’ll soon have the first chapter of the extended story!

I really hope you enjoy it, and of course, if you have any thoughts or feedback, please don’t hesitate to let me know.

[lysandra-vesper]

❄️Snow❄️

Lan Wangji x Reader x Wei Wuxian

In winter, Gusu was always brutally cold — especially up in the mountains.

You’d gotten used to it over time. Still, winter never became your favorite season. The air was dry, the snow relentless, and it was far too easy to get sick.

Right now, though, none of that really mattered.

You were being carried back to the Cloud Recesses, wrapped snugly in Lan Wangji’s warm robes — and maybe still cradled by the lingering heat of the wine you’d had in the city.

Snow was falling softly, layering the ground in white, catching in your hair like delicate stars. The cold stung your cheeks, but the lingering buzz of alcohol made everything feel... tolerable. Almost dreamy.

“I… I swear I can walk by myself…” you mumbled, even as you burrowed deeper into Lan Wangji’s chest.

“No.” His voice was flat as always, but something in the curve of his lips almost hinted at a smile.

He clearly hadn’t been thrilled that Wei Wuxian had dragged you into town — and even less thrilled that he’d let you drink. He had enough trouble managing unruly disciples… and now he had to deal with one drunk lover.

He adjusted you in his arms with practiced ease — steady, secure. Like you were something too precious to risk letting slip.

“But whhhyyy?”

“Your steps are unsteady. You’re slurring your words,” he stated plainly, his golden gaze flickering down to your flushed face.

“Senior Wei... do you think I’m fine?”

“Oh, absolutely not,” Wei Wuxian chimed in cheerfully, suddenly appearing beside Lan Wangji like a mischievous shadow. He was nearly skipping through the snow, his eyes bright with amusement.

“You can barely focus on what we’re saying. If we let you walk, you’ll probably trip and take Lan Zhan down with you.”

You groaned and hid your face, half from embarrassment, half from the cold.

Despite how close you were to them, you still called them “Senior Wei” and “Hanguang-Jun.”

Wei Wuxian had teased you about it — until you’d pointed out that he still called Lan Wangji by his title too, even long after he knew who he really was. Even after pretending to be Mo Xuanyu.

He hadn’t brought it up again after that.

And Lan Wangji? He never seemed to mind. But in those rare moments when you forgot the titles… his eyes always softened, just a little.

“Lies… I disagree.”

“You can’t even disagree properly,” Lan Wangji replied coolly, not missing a beat.

“You’re really light,” Wei Wuxian added playfully, clearly enjoying this rare, tipsy version of you. “Like a feather… a drunk little feather.”

“Disagree with that too…”

“You’re acting like a spoiled child,” Lan Wangji muttered under his breath, irritation creeping into his tone.

Wei Wuxian laughed loudly at that, clearly delighted. He adored seeing you like this — even if Lan Wangji would never admit it, there was something softer in his touch tonight.

“But I’m not doing anything…”

“You’re being stubborn,” Lan Wangji said flatly, his patience clearly wearing thin.

Wei Wuxian began humming to himself, eyes flicking to you with a fond, teasing glint.

Lovers.

Yes.

That’s what the three of you were now.

It hadn’t happened all at once. It had been a slow, subtle thing — lingering glances, shared silences, accidental touches that lingered just a little too long.

Wei Wuxian noticed first. Noticed how Lan Wangji looked at you. Teased him for it — until he realized he was watching you too.

They’d both crossed so many lines for each other already… one more didn’t seem so impossible.

And you — someone who understood Lan Wangji’s silence and laughed like Wei Wuxian breathed — had become the balance between them.

Not a wedge.

Not a burden.

But the bridge.

Unexpected. Unusual. Impossible to explain to most.

But real.

Silent.

Steady.

Like the falling snow.

“Mmm… A-Zhan… don’t be mad at me…”

“I’m not angry,” Lan Wangji replied immediately, without a hint of hesitation. The moment your voice softened and used that nickname, the steel in his face began to melt.

His grip loosened just slightly, like his whole body was responding to your vulnerability. You being like this always got to him, even if he’d never say it out loud.

“Good…” you murmured, eyes fluttering closed as you rested your head against his chest. A soft smile tugged at your lips.

“Don’t sleep,” he warned sternly — but his eyes were already softening again.

“Okay…”

“We’re almost at the Jingshi,” he said gently, quickening his pace.

Wei Wuxian still walked beside him, hands clasped behind his back like a traveler without a care in the world. But his eyes kept returning to you, as if he was quietly making sure you were really okay.

Finally, the three of you passed through the gates. Snow still fell quietly around you, wrapping the Cloud Recesses in a silvery hush.

Lan Wangji carried you all the way into the Jingshi, never once letting go. Wei Wuxian followed, leaving a messy trail of footprints behind him.

Inside, warmth wrapped around you like a blanket. Lan Wangji gently lowered you onto the bed, tucking the covers around you with precise care. He hovered for a moment, watching your face with a mix of concern and something deeper.

Wei Wuxian closed the door behind him with a soft click.

“I’ll find something for her to wear,” he said casually, disappearing into the next room.

Your eyes, dazed and a little dreamy, fell to the glowing coals of the brazier in the corner. You drifted toward it, settling onto the floor beside it — though the cold of the ground sent a shiver up your spine.

Then—

Two pairs of arms wrapped around you from behind.

Startled, you turned your head slightly — and saw Wei Wuxian smiling, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“Baobei… the floor’s cold, isn’t it? If you wanna warm up, we could go to bed… and, y’know, do that.”

Your face lit up instantly. “T-that? You mean—?”

“Hug,” he said innocently.

“…Right. Hug.”

Wei Wuxian chuckled, his breath brushing your ear. “Oh my sweet baobei… what exactly did you think I meant?”

Then he leaned in and whispered, low and teasing:

“Is that what you wanted?”

“A-Ying… you’re so shameless.”

“Haha…” He placed a feather-light kiss on your cheek. “You always say that… but you never pull away.”

You stared at him for a moment, then smiled.

“It’s because… I like you. No matter how shameless you are.”

He blinked. Then grinned — slower this time, softer.

“I really am lucky. To have you… and Lan Zhan. I never thought this kind of thing could exist — and yet, here we are.”

You turned fully toward him.

“I got distracted… You were talking so calmly… For a second I thought you were going to push me away.”

“That would hurt.”

Silence followed. But it wasn’t awkward.

You just… looked at each other. Time stilled.

Slowly, your faces drifted closer — hesitantly, like something sacred was about to happen.

And then—

Your lips met.

Warm. Gentle. Full of all the things you didn’t need to say out loud.

And from the doorway, a quiet voice interrupted:

“Hmph.”

You both jumped slightly, looking over to see Lan Wangji standing there — a neatly folded set of clothes in his arms, one eyebrow faintly raised.

Wei Wuxian burst into laughter. “Ah, perfect timing!”

“Change before you get sick,” Lan Wangji said calmly, placing the clothes by the bed. But a soft pink flush had crept up his ears.

You smiled to yourself.

.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.••.•.•.

You struggled with the ribbon for a few more seconds, your fingers trembling and clumsy. It kept slipping away, almost as if mocking your lack of coordination.

— Hmph... — you huffed quietly, frustrated. Maybe if you looked at it from another angle...

That's when you noticed a shadow approaching. The warmth that spread across your back warned you before you even felt the firm yet gentle fingers touch yours.

— You're having trouble — Lan Wangji said, his voice low enough to sound more like an observation than a question.

You froze. Slowly, you turned your face to look at him, meeting those golden eyes watching you with a focus almost reverent. You were sure he knew exactly what that did to you — he just never admitted it.

— I... was going to manage on my own — you tried to justify, your voice a bit weaker than you'd like.

— You were — he repeated calmly, as if he didn’t believe it for even a second.

His fingers passed over yours, gently moving them aside. With precise movements, he picked up the ribbon and began tying it. His touch was almost ceremonial — as if dressing someone was more than just a task, but a form of care.

As he did so, Wei Wuxian approached from behind, grinning mischievously at the scene.

— Aiya, A-Zhan… so efficient. I wonder if I pretend to struggle too, will you tie my robe with that much tenderness?

Lan Wangji didn’t answer. But one eyebrow lifted — his version of an eye-roll.

— Then again, maybe I’d prefer watching you tie hers... with your mouth — Wei Wuxian continued, his voice dripping with teasing sweetness.

You choked on your own breath.

— A-Ying! — you exclaimed, covering your face with your hands.

— What? I’m just saying what everyone is thinking — he said as he flopped down next to you on the bed with a satisfied sigh.

Lan Wangji finished tying the knot perfectly, his gaze lingering on the ribbon for a moment before finally looking up at you. His fingertips brushed lightly against your skin as he pulled away — a small gesture, but one that lit something in your chest.

You whispered, still red-faced:

— Thank you... A-Zhan.

He simply nodded. But you noticed — again — that faint blush on the tips of his ears.

Wei Wuxian leaned on one elbow and gently pulled you closer, easing you down between him and Lan Wangji.

— Now this is starting to look like the perfect night — he said, smiling with that mischievous glint in his eyes.

Lan Wangji sat on your other side, his body relaxed, but his hand touched yours with the soft care only he could give.

Between the two of them, warmed by their bodies and the quiet affection that needed no words, you finally felt sleep begin to take over.

Before drifting off, you heard Wei Wuxian murmur near your ear:

— Told you going to the city was a good idea... Look where a little drinking got us.

Lan Wangji muttered a barely audible “irresponsible” — but it came with a soft stroke through your hair.

And just like that, between smiles, gentle touches, and the warmth of two hearts beside you, you fell asleep.

As if winter didn’t exist at all.

.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.••.•.•.

The next morning, the soft winter light filtered through the thin curtains of the Jingshi, painting the room in pale, tranquil hues.

Lan Wangji was the first to wake.

His body responded before his mind, long trained by strict routines and self-discipline. But as he tried to sit up, he immediately realized he wouldn’t be able to move easily.

Wei Wuxian was practically sprawled on top of him — one leg entangled with his, as if they were bound by invisible threads. One of Wei Wuxian’s arms was draped over his abdomen, heavy and carefree, like someone sleeping without the slightest trace of guilt.

And you... you were nestled against him, your face buried in the curve of Wangji’s neck, your arms wrapped around him as though they were part of his own robes.

For a moment, Lan Wangji simply stayed there. Silent. Observing.

The warmth of the two bodies beside him contrasted with the subtle chill in the morning air, creating a kind of comfortable balance — almost too indulgent for someone like him.

Wei Wuxian mumbled something in his sleep and shifted, tightening his leg around Wangji’s like a lazy cat adjusting for a better nap.

Lan Wangji let out a quiet sigh.

"Mn... A-Zhan?" your sleepy voice came out muffled, your face still buried in his shoulder.

He turned his gaze to you and saw your half-lidded eyes, still heavy with sleep.

"Yes," he replied softly.

You tightened your arms around him, as if to ensure he wouldn’t slip away.

"It’s too early to get up... just stay a little longer," you whispered, voice hoarse, filled with tenderness and genuine affection.

Wei Wuxian, still asleep, mumbled something incoherent and turned his face, resting his forehead against the side of Wangji’s chest.

Lan Wangji stayed quiet for a few moments, his gaze resting on the serene faces around him.

"Just a little longer," he murmured, almost inaudibly, allowing himself to close his eyes once more.

And so the three of you remained — tangled like forgotten silk threads — in the middle of a cold morning that, for a few precious minutes, asked for nothing more than warmth, silence, and the presence of entwined bodies.

[lysandra-vesper]

Every day is every day

In the silence of the night, inside a softly lit room, the clothes of three figures lay scattered on the floor, witnesses to a moment that unfolded in unexpected ways.

You found yourself lying on your back, with your eyes closed, a soft moan escaping your lips, lost in a mixture of pleasure and desire. "S-slowly ahh! Please... mhm ah"

Opening your teary eyes a little, you look down, seeing the length of the man in front of you coming out and entered into you.

You close your eyes tightly again as you feel him hit another sweet spot. It's embarrassing but so good at the same time.

Lan Wangji pauses for a moment, his golden eyes shifting to your face, searching for any signs of discomfort. He reaches out, his hand gently cupping your cheek, a silent gesture of reassurance. "Are you alright?" His question is laced with concern, his voice tinged with the usual stoicism; yet underlying it lies a hint of affection.

"Y-yes... please continue."

Lan Wangji nods, his touch tender as he brushes away a strand of hair from your face. He begins to move again, his movements measured and precise. Every stroke into you elicits a soft gasp from within you, filling the room with your shared pleasure. He leans in, his breath warm against your skin as he whispers, "Tell me if it's too much." His concern is apparent, even in the heat of the moment; his priority is your comfort and pleasure.

In the soft light, you notice Wei Wuxian sitting on the edge of the bed, his eyes dark with desire as he watches the two of you. His lips are curled up in a soft, fond smile as he observes the way you are taken apart by his soulmate.

Wei Wuxian leans in, his hand moving to gently brush against your cheek, his touch almost reverent. He murmurs softly, his voice full of adoration, “You look so beautiful like this, taking him so well.” His words send a shiver down your spine, your gaze meeting his as you see the lust and affection swimming in his grey eyes.

"Wei Ying... a-ah..." You lean into his touch; his hand is so cold against your skin that it feels really good.

Suddenly, Lan Zhan changes his position, pulling you to sit on his lap. This movement makes him penetrate you a little deeper, and you can't help but let out an involuntary whimper. Your walls tighten around him more.

In the midst of the overwhelming sensations, you feel a slight pain as Wei Wuxian continues to push further into you. But Lan Zhan keeps you occupied with his kiss, capturing your gasps and moans, drowning them out with the intensity of his lips against yours.

Suddenly, Lan Zhan breaks the kiss, his gaze fixed on your face, his golden eyes dark with a mixture of emotions: affection, desire, and a hint of concern. With one hand, he gently brushes away the tear that has escaped your eye, his touch tender, almost reassuring. "Are you alright?" he asks softly, his voice a low, soothing rumble that echoes through the room, breaking the silence.

"I'm... just give me a break."

Lan Zhan nods, his expression softening as he sees the mix of sensations on your face. "Take your time," he whispers, his voice gentle and understanding. Wei Wuxian, who has been closely watching your reaction, pauses his movement, his hands still on your hips, his touch lighter, giving you a moment to adjust.

The atmosphere shifts as Lan Zhan and Wei Wuxian give you a moment to breathe. They take this opportunity to share a silent exchange between them. Their eyes lock for a moment, an unspoken understanding passing between them—a knowledge that you are inexperienced and need care and patience.

Lan Zhan's hand gently rubs circles on your skin while Wei Wuxian kisses your shoulder softly.

"... you can... you can continue."

Your words break the silence, letting them know you are ready. Lan Zhan nods lightly, his gaze locking with yours, his expression now tinged with a mix of concern and desire. He places a soft, fleeting kiss on your forehead. "Let us know if it's too much," he says, his words a gentle, guiding command. Wei Wuxian, sensing the shift in your confidence, starts to move again, his pace slow and shallow, giving you time to adapt.

"Ahh... ah... a-ah." You rest your hands on Wangji's shoulders.

As your hands find purchase on Lan Wangji's shoulders, he gives your waist a gentle squeeze, his hold anchoring you to him. His golden eyes never leave your face, watching your expressions like a hawk, making sure you're not overwhelmed. Wei Wuxian's movements pick up a bit, his hands on your hips guiding you up and down, but his pace remains slow and thoughtful. He continues to place gentle kisses on your shoulder, his touch and his lips a soothing presence.

"You know, this is also somewhat new to us," Wei Ying suddenly says in a whisper.

"How?" you ask before moaning softly again.

Wei Wuxian chuckles softly, his breath warm against your skin as he speaks. "We have never shared a woman before." He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice low and seductive. "We're learning as we go, just like you are." Lan Zhan hums in agreement, his expression both stoic and tender, his golden eyes locked on your face.

"So... have you guys ever been with... a woman before? Ahh... before y-you got togeth- ahh! Ah, mhm..."

"We haven't," replies Wei Wuxian, his voice steady, but you can see the slight flush of his cheeks betraying his embarrassment. Lan Zhan, being the stoic one, simply nods in agreement. He's also a bit flushed, but his voice is as firm and controlled as always.

"Is it... too much for you?" Lan Zhan asks, concern lacing his voice, making sure you are not overwhelmed by their attention and their joint inexperience.

"No... it's fine."

Your reply reassures both Lan Zhan and Wei Wuxian. They exchange a brief look, an unspoken understanding passing between them, and then they focus back on you. Wei Wuxian's movements become a bit bolder as your words encourage him, his thrusts delving a bit deeper, but still slow and measured. Lan Zhan continues to hold you, his touch steady and comforting, his golden eyes fixed on yours.

Wei Wuxian chuckles softly, his breath tickling your neck as his hands slide up to your waist. "Don't worry, we're both quick learners," he teases, a hint of his usual mischief in his voice. With that, he picks up the pace slightly, his movements becoming more confident but still careful. 

Lan Zhan's grip on your waist tightens, his fingers digging softly into your skin—a silent message of his own desire and his wish to guide you through this uncharted experience.

The pleasure is overwhelming, and you’re starting to feel something in the pit of your stomach. You start to drool as your eyes roll back from the impending release.

"I f-feel weird—”

Wei Wuxian, feeling your trembling and hearing your words, immediately understands what's happening. He pauses momentarily, his gaze fixed on your face, his expression now a mix of concern and excitement. Lan Zhan, too, catches on to your building release, his grip on your waist and shoulders becoming firmer, as if to ground you. He leans in, his voice a low, soothing rumble. "Just let go," he whispers, his words gently encouraging—a soft command.

Suddenly, the pleasure is too much, and you start seeing white as your toes curl and you feel yourself orgasm.

Your sudden climax was a beautiful sight for Lan Zhan and Wei Wuxian. They both slowed down, letting you ride out your orgasm, their touches now gentle and soothing. Wei Wuxian's breath caught in his throat as he watched you, mesmerized by your expression of ecstasy. Lan Zhan's fingers on your skin traced small, gentle patterns, his grip on you looser now but still possessive, his own desire and satisfaction evident in his eyes. "You did so well," Lan Zhan murmurs, his voice a low, soothing rumble.

You bury your face in Wangji's shoulder, not recovering anymore out of shame for having reached the limit of fast, and they don't.

The two men chuckled a little at your attempt to hide, their touches and words still tender and soothing. 

"Don't be embarrassed," Wei Wuxian murmurs, his hand gently lifting your chin to make you look at him. He looks at you with a playful yet affectionate expression. "It's completely natural for the body to reach its limit. We're not upset or disappointed." 

Lan Zhan nods in agreement, his hand gently rubbing circles on your back, a silent gesture of comfort and understanding. 

"If you say... I just think it's unfair that it's just me." 

Both men smile, their gazes softening even more. Lan Zhan leans in and places a gentle kiss on your forehead, his eyes reflecting his understanding and affection. 

Wei Wuxian's mischievous grin returns, his touch light and teasing, his tone playful yet reassuring, "We're not finished yet, but we'll take it slow this time." 

"Don't you get tired?"

Lan Zhan smiles, his expression a mix of affection and stoicism. "We have a lot of endurance." 

Wei Wuxian chimes in with a playful wink, "Yeah, we do this often thanks to the great Hanguang-Jun and his—"

"Okay, I understand... I think once when we were drinking, you taught me that you do this every day, don't you?" you ask as you try to remember the day they said that. You were drunk, so you're not sure if that was really true.

You can't imagine how they can do this; you're already dying—it's just one round.

They both chuckle lightly at your words. Lan Zhan's gaze remains stoic, but there's a hint of amusement in his eyes. He nods, confirming your statement, "Yes, almost every day." Wei Wuxian, on the other hand, grins widely, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Sometimes multiple times a day, actually," he adds, his voice filled with unabashed pride.

(⁠￣⁠ヘ⁠￣⁠;⁠) Oh God...

At your reaction, both men find you utterly adorable. They try to hold back their chuckles but can't help it. Lan Zhan, still holding you, lets out a soft, amused huff, his lips curving into a small smile. Wei Wuxian, still grinning, reaches out and gently pinches your cheek, his touch light and playful. "You're too cute," he says, his tone filled with affection.

"Mhm." You thought you were done until Lan Wangji gave you a little hard stretch.

"H-huh~?" you said stupidly.

"Well, as our future partner, I'd better start practicing with you more, right?" Wei Ying said behind you, provocatively, and when you looked at him, you licked your lips.

"But you do this every day! Are you trying to kill me!?"

"Every day is every day," Lan Zhan says simply.

[lysandra-vesper]

Hi, dear flowers! How are you all doing? I have a question: I haven't read the novel of Mo Dao Zu Shi yet, but I've watched the anime/donghua. So, I’d like to know—would you prefer that I write a x reader fanfic based on the anime, or should I wait until I can buy the novel? If it's the latter, just know it might take a while for me to get it. Of course, I could try reading it in PDF format, but let's just say I'm a bit... uninformed about that.

I also plan to do something for Tian Guan Ci Fu when I come up with a good backstory for the reader.

[lysandra-vesper]

*Our mornings*

lan wangji x reader x wei wuxian.

You don’t know how you ended up in this situation, going from being a simple disciple to sharing a bed with your mentors.

At first, it was a normal relationship. Lan Wangji, though cold, always showed his kindness in subtle ways. But when Wei Wuxian returned, you found yourself constantly swept up by the couple. At some point, the relationship evolved: It started with holding hands, moving on to hugs, then to gentle caresses, followed by kisses on the cheek, and now... it's come to this.

At this very instant, you find yourself seated on the bed alongside the two men, head lowered, overwhelmed by a flood of emotions.

in theory you would know what to do, Out of curiosity, you once took the time to read Wei Wuxian's adult novels, but reading and doing are two different things.

You are still inexperienced, and society usually suggests that one maintains purity until marriage. Yet here you are, putting your future at risk by doing this to them. Their connection has generated a great deal of controversy, and your involvement would only make matters worse. They are fully aware of this, as are you, so...

Your musings are suddenly cut short by a voice calling out to you.

“(Name)”

Lan Wangji speaks your name, his tone as serene as ever. “Look at me.”

Wei Wuxian is merely watching you from the side with a grin, patiently waiting for you to raise your gaze.

“Hmm?” You raise your eyes, meeting Lan Wangji’s golden gaze. Your stomach twists; he is already strikingly handsome, and as the night deepens, it only amplifies. And that look...

Lan Wangji continues to watch you intently, his gaze fixed on your eyes. "Be honest with us," he says, his voice almost whispering. "Do you want this?"

Wei Wuxian moves a little closer to you, raising his hand to stroke your hair. "You need to tell us the truth," he adds, trying not to sound too excited.

"I... I want to, I'm just a little worried, I don't know what might happen next and I don't want to... have a secret relationship with you guys. Maybe you don't think so, but that's what I think... Mhm, do you understand?"

Lan Wangji pauses for a moment, keeping his gaze fixed on you. “We’ve talked about this before,” he mentions, referring to the conversation between him and Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian turns to you, smiling mischievously, twirling a strand of hair with his fingers. “We’re aware of the dangers, but it makes sense to us,” he states, his voice soft and reassuring.

“Why?”

Lan Wangji looks at you, the expression on his face becoming a little gentler. “Because we love you,” he states simply. Wei Wuxian chuckles, stepping closer. There’s a hint of playfulness in his voice as he speaks. “And because it’s so much more fun having you here.”

"I-I see..." Your cheeks turn pink, it's the first time They've said 'I love you' so directly, which makes your heart race. Reflecting on this, you realize that your life has been a mess for a long time, full of secrets, fears and longings. If you choose to stay with them, even if the world doesn't accept it, and if that decision means a little more happiness, then... "I... I love you too... I really do."

Lan Wangji's face becomes softer as he hears your declaration of love. His previously cold eyes are now filled with warmth and affection.

Wei Wuxian smiles, his smile widening as he hears those words. He pulls you to the center between the two of them, hugging you tightly. "We already knew," he says, placing a tender kiss on your forehead. "And we're going to make you feel how much we love you back."

The three of you are comfortably seated in the center of the bed, Wei Ying standing in front of you, between the slightly parted feathers, while Lan Zhan stands behind you.

Wei Wuxian rests his hands on your waist, his thumbs making gentle circles on your sides as he sits in front of you.

Lan Zhan's hands move from your shoulders to your arms, his touch almost possessive as he stands so close to you.

They both look at you with a combination of desire and affection in their eyes.

"Are you ready?" Wei Wuxian asks, his voice soft and husky.

"Yes..."

Wei Wuxian leans in a little closer, his face getting closer to yours as he captures your lips in a slow, passionate kiss.

Lan Zhan's hands move to your hips, pulling you towards him as he leaves a trail of delicate kisses down your neck.

The tension in the room intensifies, and you feel the desire between the three becoming more and more palpable.

________________________________________

The following morning, you awaken nestled between the warmth of two figures. The room remains shrouded in darkness, yet a faint glow begins to emerge from the window.

Lan Zhan is the first to stir, his eyes opening as he senses your movement. He raises a hand to gently caress your head, a gesture that feels both familiar and tender.

Wei Wuxian is curled up against you, his arms encircling you like a child clinging to a beloved stuffed animal. His breath is warm against your skin.

You suddenly open your eyes, your vision slightly foggy as you adjust in bed.

A sense of disorientation washes over you, leaving you unsure of your surroundings. However, recollections of the previous night start to rush back to you.

Feeling a hand gently stroke your hair, you glance at Lan Zhan. Nevertheless, you push yourself to sit up, aware of some discomfort in your body, particularly in your legs.

"Good morning, Wan-... A-Zhan," you manage to say.

Lan Zhan continues to gaze at you, moving his hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "Good morning," he replies, his voice still heavy with sleep.

As you sit up, Wei Wuxian awakens, letting out a loud yawn as he stretches his arms. His hair is tousled and sticks out in various directions.

"Good morning," he greets, his voice deep and raspy. "How are you feeling?"

"A bit sore, but otherwise fine."

Lan Zhan nods, concern evident in his eyes. "I apologize," he says softly. "We should have been more careful."

Wei Wuxian chuckles quietly, yawning once more as he settles down beside you.

"He’s always been quite cautious," he jokes, leaning in to place a kiss on your shoulder. "But you did really well," he praises, a playful smile on his lips.

Lan Zhan shoots a glare at Wei Wuxian but chooses to remain silent. Instead, he rises from the bed and heads toward a basin to prepare tea for the morning.

Wei Wuxian disregards the glare and continues to snuggle closer to you, draping his arm around your waist casually.

"You know, we could just stay in bed today," he proposes, his voice low and inviting. "It’s still early. The juniors can manage without us for a day."

You turn to him and bury your face into his chest. "Mhm, that could be nice."

Wei Wuxian chuckles softly, tightening his embrace around you as you hide your face in him. He runs his fingers through your hair, savoring the moment.

"Of course we can," he murmurs, still sounding sleepy. "The juniors can look after themselves for a day. Besides, it would be good for them to handle things on their own."

He glances at you with a smile. "And it gives us a chance to... recharge."

You swallow hard and let out a small laugh.

Perhaps life is busier now, but whether that is good or bad matters little to you at this moment.

All you desire is to live with your loved ones for the time you have, and for them to do the same for you.

Today was the first day of your new mornings

[lysandra-vesper]

Fanfic Requests

◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌

⏝⏝⏝⏝⏝⏝⏝⏝⏝⏝⏝

=➣ Options on what to write:

◌ Heaven Official's Blessing

◌ Mo dao zu shi

◌ shuumatsu no valkyrie

◌ Darling in The Franxx

◌ alien stage

◌ the gray garden

◌ Greek mythology

(Please wait for more options)

=➣ What can I write:

- Stories

- Oneshots

- Head-canons

- Smut

- Fluff

- Angst

=➣What I can't write:

- Incest

- Rape

- Child abuse

- I think you already understand, right?

=➣Readers:

Just request the genre you prefer most.

◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌

⏝⏝⏝⏝⏝⏝⏝⏝⏝⏝⏝

Lastly, I wanted to give a little information: English is not my native language, so I apologize if I make any mistakes. Feel free to let me know if you spot any!