[ It's a couple days after Shen Qingqiu arrived at Koi Tower. Mo Xuanyu has been observing him as best he can, and at one point, he spots his chance. ]
[ He pauses for a moment, then tentatively sits beside Shen Qingqiu. ]
I know I asked before, but I'd really like to hear more about your Cang Qiong Mountain. I... I've only known Koi Tower, and I haven't been to visit any other sects that aren't affiliated with ours. So I don't know what it might look like at other places. What the nature is like, or what sort of temperament disciples have... oh, or even what sorts of robes your disciples wear.
[Were they? Maybe? He wasn't sure how to judge. It was true that Ning Yingying had definitely improved since she was younger, at least in regards to being annoying and thoughtless. They were obedient and did their studies properly and their training so... perhaps they were?]
We do also practice in the martial arts, of course not to the extent that a more military-focused peak might, but we are still sword cultivators so that is a given. Training involves half study and half martial training.
[And a lot of goofing off because he was a bit terrible at actually keeping things on track most the time.]
Peaks choose their disciples. To a point. When the test is happening a peak lord can choose, of course prospective disciples might have a specific peak they are going for, and that will be considered when assessing. Some may end up places they weren't going for however. There is one they just all have to fight constantly to self improve.... I'm not sure how he picks his disciples....
[really he did not understand Bai Zhan Peak or Liu Qingge's methods at all. But maybe it was because he wasn't a muscle head?]
At last Mo Xuanyu calls the name of the fabled demon, the great scourge, the Yiling Patriarch. After hours of work and nearly draining himself dry of blood, carefully drawing the array as detailed in the notes, the moment has finally arrived to bring forth the villainous ghoul.
The rush he feels as the name passes his lips is almost euphoric. If he's done this correctly, it will be the last thing his soul ever does... but for the sake of revenge, what does that matter? Everyone who dabbles in demonic cultivation knows their time is short and their soul could be torn asunder with one wrong move. If nothing else, this ensures that his final moments will be useful for something.
He feels the rush of energy gathering around him... then suddenly a pain much greater than even the gashes on his arms rips through him, as if his very being was getting torn in half. But that shouldn't be right. It's supposed to be just his soul, not his body--
Before Mo Xuanyu can think any more on it, an impact strikes his back, forcing the air from his lungs. He gives a sharp cough, dazed, and it takes him a moment to recover himself. He's no longer sitting in the array, but seems to have been blown back against the wall of his room somehow. And looking further past the array, on the other side of the room, he notices the shape of another figure who definitely wasn't there a moment ago...
The last thing Wei Wuxian remembers, if it could even be called remembering, is the end of an interminable grey. Black, then white, then oddly, awareness, a sense of being pulled somewhere, of settling into a space around him.
He feels numb, but numb means having a physical form. That can't be right. he thinks, and is surprised he can think. It takes him a moment to recognize that he draws breath, and that his senses have returned. The bombardment of noise and sensation is disorienting, overwhelming after nothingness for so long - he doesn't know how long, or how one can be aware of nothing.
He cracks opens his eyes and sees more white. The sun is directly in his face. He tries to roll away from it and feels his - his? - body cooperate, and when he tries to push himself up from the cold ground, his hand lands in something damp.
It's blood, and there's much more of it, the coppery stench hanging heavy in the air. There's also a receding hint of resentful energy, a mix of cloying sweetness and ash. Grunting and slightly unsteady, he lurches to his knees to further examine his surroundings, and it's then that he notices the array covering the middle of the floor. An array that he himself designed, he realizes with dawning understanding.
He follows the lines with his eyes. They're almost perfect, but clearly drawn in haste and with a slightly shaky hand. Understandable, considering the required blood loss. However, when he looks towards the end of the top-most curve, he notices he's not alone. The man sits slumped against the wall, his face painted white and red in the unsettling effect of a hanging ghost. The scent of resentful energy is strongest in his direction, and he has bloody gashes on his arm, oozing sluggishly. He is clearly the caster. But he's also still alive, in his body, and at least somewhat cognizant, judging from the look in his eyes.
"Oh," Wei Wuxian says, staring curiously and with no small amount of confusion. Clearly, many mistakes have been made here, but he doesn't even know where to begin figuring out where, or whose. "Well," he continues, putting a hand on his chin, a grin threatening the corners of his lips. "This is interesting, it looks as if you're still here! But, I think you've got the wrong person - I'm hardly a vicious ghost."
When the other man sits up, Mo Xuanyu feels a chill run down his spine. Not from the awkwardly-done makeup, or from the expression, but because that... that's his body. The voice isn't quite right (though has he really ever heard his own voice?) but the face is definitely the one that he sees when he looks at his reflection, and the makeup is what he remembers putting on this morning, now that he's reminded of it. But if that's his body... what about the body he's in right now?
His gaze falls to his arms, and sure enough the gashes are still there, still aching. He touches fingers to his face; they come back with white powder.
This is probably his body, too.
The notes didn't say anything about this.
But no matter what's happening here, whether the image in front of him is an illusion or his own sense of being corporeal is a lie, there's something he needs to confirm before he figures out whatever else he might do. "Are you..." His voice shakes a little, fear and awe and no small amount of hope, "... the Yiling Patriarch, Wei Wuxian?"
"Of course," he replies, the grin breaking free, but his gaze on the man before him is sharp, assessing. How this one came to be in possession of his notes, notes that he'd long since destroyed, was something to be investigated. "The grandmaster of demonic cultivation, scourge of Qishan, deflowerer of virgins and all that nonsense. I assume this is what you intended, at least. Although-"
When he feels something flake away from his face, he pauses, holds his hand out in front of him. A strange sense of dissonance settles over him, his skin prickling. This is definitely not his hand - it's too small, the skin too pale and lacking the subtle scars that should be there, the products of many a failed invention.
The palm is also covered in powder and rouge. More crumbles away when he rubs his cheeks, frowning, before a thought occurs to him. It made perfect sense that this form wasn't his own - after all, he'd been entirely ripped apart, and one couldn't create something out of nothing. However, if the the one who had performed the body sacrificing ritual was still present, soul intact, and Wei Wuxian wasn't occupying his body, then it was obvious something had gone horribly wrong that even he himself couldn't have foreseen.
Just how wrong, though, was the question.
Even though the dwelling they're in, if it could be called that, is little more than a dilapidated shack, he figures it can't hurt to ask. "Is there a mirror, young master summoner?" he inquires of the man before him, his tone about a hair shy of being truly mocking. "I'd like to see something for myself."
From the moment the confirmation hits his ears, a grin starts to spread across Mo Xuanyu's face. It widens, and widens, and widens some more until his expression is far too ecstatic to look anything but deranged. Even Wei Wuxian's tone is lost on him, as Mo Xuanyu suddenly gives a sharp laugh.
"It worked! It worked, it really worked!"
He bends over at his waist, holding his sides as if already strained from laughing too much, but then more laughter follows, just as unrestrained and unsettling as his expression.
"Now they'll regret it! Now they'll regret everything! No, they won't even be able to regret it because they'll be dead! They'll be so utterly destroyed that their spirits won't even be able to regret it!"
Mo Xuanyu suddenly dives towards a small, decrepit desk along the side of the room, and when he turns towards Wei Wuxian and straightens up slightly, he's holding a bronze mirror in his hands. He holds it out as if presenting a gift to someone highly honored, head bowed. "A mirror, O Great Yiling Patriarch!"
The laughter catches him off-guard, but Wei Wuxian doesn't get a chance to reply before he's greeted with himself - or, more accurately, the very image of the man before him - staring back. "Huh," he says, poking at his face, his eyebrows reaching for his hairline in surprise. In all of his research, he had never run across anything suggesting even the merest possibility of duplicating an entire body.
The man before him is still bowed in silent supplication. He sighs, frowning, folding his arms. He had heard of these strange devotees - both imitators and worshippers - even before he died. To be regarded with this kind of deference made his skin crawl.
That, and the man is clearly mad, but being willing to sacrifice one's body and soul to bring the Yiling Patriarch, of all people, back to this world, wouldn't one have to be?
"Alright, enough, none of that." He reaches out and presses on the edge of the mirror, coaxing the other man to lower it. There is also the matter of what, precisely, he has been summoned to do. Exacting revenge is the most reasonable guess, given this ritual's historical precedent, but on who, and why?
"Well! I have no idea what you did," he continues, shrugging. "But, before we get into that, why not tell this wicked one your name, young master summoner. Also, who has wronged you so grievously that you were willing to go to such lengths?"
Still holding the mirror in his hands he does his best to cup them in a proper bow, a signal of one possibly trained in sword cultivation.
"Mo Xuanyu, of--oh, no, I'm--of Mo Village."
His voice sounds a little hesitant as he says the location, as if unsure of himself, but he quickly picks up steam again.
"And--I want revenge. On all of them. On--ah--"
He pulls up his right sleeve, showing off a pair of gashes on his wrist.
"This one is for my cousin. Mo Ziyuan. He's always yelling at me and making fun of me and stealing my things and--and yesterday he stole a few of my tools, that I'd tried to hold onto, and he wouldn't give them back, and, and his parents--his father, and--"
He pulls back his other sleeve to show off the two gashes there, and indicates the deepest one.
"--his mother. This one is for my aunt. They told me that it didn't matter, to let him do it. But they always let him get away with these things. They ridicule me too; my aunt always say it's my fault Ziyuan didn't become a cultivator. She makes everyone else bully me, and says terrible things about my mother. And this one is for A-Tong. He always helps Ziyuan, and he makes fun of me and says mean things to me. I can't do anything to them though. Sometimes when I hear them, or see them, I... I-I just, can't think anymore, and, I just go crazy... I hate them so much, I hate them I hate them I hate them--"
The more he speaks the more his pupils dilate. His voice softens to a ragged whisper as he starts digging his fingers into one of the cuts, clearly not fully aware of what he's doing.
So it is revenge, as he assumed. He should have, however, have known on who already. The fact that he didn't is yet another mystery, another fault in the ritual. But Wei Wuxian is quiet throughout the disjointed explanation, attentive, even though his stomach gradually sinks with the details. He's getting the distinct sense that this Mo Xuanyu - who is, perhaps, a cultivator in a more traditional sense as well - desires nothing less than for these people to meet their end at the Yiling Patriarch's hands.
He folds his arms. That's certainly a bit of an issue - he himself has nothing against these people, however terribly they seem to have treated Mo Xuanyu - and despite his reputation, he's never made a habit of killing without provocation. He'd even been well-behaved in death! However, even with the ever-increasing list of discrepancies, there is no reason to suspect that he isn't still subject to the consequences of the unfulfilled curse.
Especially considering the presence of the other man's cuts, which he's currently aggravating as he trails off, his voice barely audible now. "Alright!" Wei Wuxian says, a bit above normal volume, intended to get Mo Xuanyu's attention and snap him out of his trance-like state. "One thing at a time. You've already lost a lot of blood, so don't mess with those," he continues, pointing at the lacerations. How Mo Xuanyu is even still standing is a marvel in itself.
He's about to speak again when he hears voices in the distance, or thinks he does, and snaps his mouth shut. If they come this way, that could be a problem.
It was late at night in Koi Tower, and Mo Xuanyu was in one of the training courtyards by himself. Most of the other disciples were off on a night-hunt, yet another one that he hadn't been invited on. It wasn't just his low cultivation that was the only reason they told him to stay behind, he expected, but if he got stronger then they'd have to find a different excuse. He didn't want to fall behind any further than he already was, so while they were out honing their skills in the field, he worked diligently back here.
He wasn't expecting anyone else around, so when he suddenly noticed someone stepping onto one of the walkways on the side of the courtyard, he startled and turned. For a moment his heart leapt in fear, but then he noticed who it was. Suddenly his heart was beating hard for a very different reason.
"Lianfang-zun...!"
... Was it a shadow, or a trick of his mind? Just now, he was sure he spotted something dark near the collar of Jin Guangyao's robes, almost like some sort of bruise. He hesitated for a moment, but then darted over anyway, calling out a little louder.
Jin Guangyao shouldn't have run into anyone at this hour of the night.
He was really hoping that no one would see him. He hated the eyes of the disciples and servants on his skin after one of these meetings with Madam Jin. It was an open secret that she beat him.
This time, he was too late in managing to retrieve his father from one of his brothels and Madam Jin smelled the overly floral perfume off him. She had Guangyao come to see her and thrashed him thoroughly, venting the rage that should have been on her husband upon him instead. He hated how badly he was doing after one of her tirades. He will have to move faster next time, lest she notices his father sneaking off again. He wanted a hot bath and to use some of the ointments he had hidden in his quarters.
Upon seeing Mo Xuanyu running over, His back straightened. He adjusted his robes in an attempt to hide the purpling bruise that was growing on his skin. His face was a pleasant mask.
"Ah. Hello A-yu. You are up rather late. I see that you're training again?"
Mo Xuanyu tried not to shrink back at that as if it was an accusation. Somehow it made him feel even more like a failure that even with the extra work, he was still not doing as well as most of the others. There was a reason why he was using one of the most out-of-the-way courtyards.
But then his gaze drifted to the collar of Jin Guangyao's robes. He didn't see a bruise anymore, but they also looked like they were pulled up a little higher than they should be. If Jin Guangyao was hurt...!
"U-um, Lianfang-zun. I, um. Your neck, I thought maybe... ah, no, nevermind..."
If he was hiding it, then wouldn't it be rude of Mo Xuanyu to point it out? But still he couldn't help but worry, and he continued to stare at the spot without meaning to.
His expression had instantly softened at the boy's tone. He remembered how much of a struggle it was for him to build up his own core at this age and how many of the disciples of the richer families had taunted him for even daring to try.
"This one is glad to see that A-yu is so hardworking." His face froze as the bruise was pointed out, eyes darting in order to come up with a reasonable lie. "Ah, yes an unfortunate night hunt injury and my cultivation isn't as..." He trailed off. He hadn't been outside of Koi tower recently but he hoped it was enough of an excuse.
"Never mind that. Have you eaten yet? I can have the servants bring something to my rooms if you would like a break."
So it had been an injury. Suddenly not minding it was the furthest possibility from Mo Xuanyu's mind.
"A-are you alright? Do you need someone to treat it? I have some ointment. I use it when I hurt myself training, or..."
He trailed off there as he started to dig through a pouch attached to his belt, and a moment later he pulled out a small compact. It was only then that he seemed to finally realize he'd been asked a question, and he faltered, holding the ointment awkwardly as if unsure if he should offer it properly.
"Oh. Ah. Sorry, you asked about, ah, food? I'm... I'm alright. I'm not hungry."
In truth, he'd been so distracted that he just barely heard anything of the question at all, missing that it had come with an invitation back to Jin Guangyao's room all on its own.
"I am, And that is kind of you, A-yu. Perhaps you can help me. I do have an ointment of my own as well, I would hate to cut into your supply." The gods knew that even though money flowed like water in this place, medical supplies seemed to be a limited supply when it came to Jin Guangshan's bastards.
He gave the man a soft smile, Mo Xuanyu was a good person and really trying to be helpful. Jinlintai was a hard place to be if you weren't the biggest fish in it and both of them had a disadvantage with not cultivating from childhood.
"Are you certain? Well, I'll have to have some dinner for myself and perhaps you can help me finish it?" He was worried that he wasn't getting enough to eat.
"I... ah!" Mo Xuanyu startled as he realized something and quickly bowed. "If Lianfang-zun would accept my help, I would most certainly oblige!"
When he straightened up again, his eyes seemed to be shining in a way they hadn't before. Though he'd refused the initial offer, the truth of it was that the disciples sometimes did not eat the best, and being one of the ones always picked on often left him with less filling portions.
"Where were you headed? We can go together, and then I can treat you in whatever way you want."
The words tumbled out a little too quickly, and a moment later Mo Xuanyu's face turned half a shade redder as his mind caught up to his mouth.
"That is kind of you A-Yu. Thank you for your aid. Come follow me." He knew the kind of bullying that had happened in the great sects, knew that the portions that Xuanyu was getting were probably less than ideal. His own portions weren't great, but thankfully the servants had taken pity upon him and occasionally brought him food if it was late enough.
Small kindness from unexpected places.
He laughed softly, not minding the slip-up. He was awkward but it was endearing. "We'll be heading to my chambers, and we can figure out the rest as we get there."
He asked a servant on the way to bring them both food and drink and led the man to a small room, his current humble quarters at Jinlintai. It was far from the buildings where the family was housed. Exactly what Jin Guangshan thought of him. The rooms were plain. A few small gifts hung up given to him by Lan Xichen or Nie Huaisang.
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Ah, Master Shen... is now a good time?
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I am free yes, did you have a question?
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[ He pauses for a moment, then tentatively sits beside Shen Qingqiu. ]
I know I asked before, but I'd really like to hear more about your Cang Qiong Mountain. I... I've only known Koi Tower, and I haven't been to visit any other sects that aren't affiliated with ours. So I don't know what it might look like at other places. What the nature is like, or what sort of temperament disciples have... oh, or even what sorts of robes your disciples wear.
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[At least for Qing Jing Peak.]
Temperament...? I suppose on my peak everyone is....
[Weepy? Easy to weep?]
Even-tempered. We are a family, and they are all good students. As a scholarly focus, of course, they are studious as well.
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Ah, I suppose all of them must be very smart. Do you also train in combat?
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We do also practice in the martial arts, of course not to the extent that a more military-focused peak might, but we are still sword cultivators so that is a given. Training involves half study and half martial training.
[And a lot of goofing off because he was a bit terrible at actually keeping things on track most the time.]
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[ He thinks on it for several seconds, considering. ]
Do peaks choose their disciples, or do disciples choose their peaks?
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[really he did not understand Bai Zhan Peak or Liu Qingge's methods at all. But maybe it was because he wasn't a muscle head?]
[Really,
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Master Shen, what do you look for in disciples?
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At last Mo Xuanyu calls the name of the fabled demon, the great scourge, the Yiling Patriarch. After hours of work and nearly draining himself dry of blood, carefully drawing the array as detailed in the notes, the moment has finally arrived to bring forth the villainous ghoul.
The rush he feels as the name passes his lips is almost euphoric. If he's done this correctly, it will be the last thing his soul ever does... but for the sake of revenge, what does that matter? Everyone who dabbles in demonic cultivation knows their time is short and their soul could be torn asunder with one wrong move. If nothing else, this ensures that his final moments will be useful for something.
He feels the rush of energy gathering around him... then suddenly a pain much greater than even the gashes on his arms rips through him, as if his very being was getting torn in half. But that shouldn't be right. It's supposed to be just his soul, not his body--
Before Mo Xuanyu can think any more on it, an impact strikes his back, forcing the air from his lungs. He gives a sharp cough, dazed, and it takes him a moment to recover himself. He's no longer sitting in the array, but seems to have been blown back against the wall of his room somehow. And looking further past the array, on the other side of the room, he notices the shape of another figure who definitely wasn't there a moment ago...
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He feels numb, but numb means having a physical form. That can't be right. he thinks, and is surprised he can think. It takes him a moment to recognize that he draws breath, and that his senses have returned. The bombardment of noise and sensation is disorienting, overwhelming after nothingness for so long - he doesn't know how long, or how one can be aware of nothing.
He cracks opens his eyes and sees more white. The sun is directly in his face. He tries to roll away from it and feels his - his? - body cooperate, and when he tries to push himself up from the cold ground, his hand lands in something damp.
It's blood, and there's much more of it, the coppery stench hanging heavy in the air. There's also a receding hint of resentful energy, a mix of cloying sweetness and ash. Grunting and slightly unsteady, he lurches to his knees to further examine his surroundings, and it's then that he notices the array covering the middle of the floor. An array that he himself designed, he realizes with dawning understanding.
He follows the lines with his eyes. They're almost perfect, but clearly drawn in haste and with a slightly shaky hand. Understandable, considering the required blood loss. However, when he looks towards the end of the top-most curve, he notices he's not alone. The man sits slumped against the wall, his face painted white and red in the unsettling effect of a hanging ghost. The scent of resentful energy is strongest in his direction, and he has bloody gashes on his arm, oozing sluggishly. He is clearly the caster. But he's also still alive, in his body, and at least somewhat cognizant, judging from the look in his eyes.
"Oh," Wei Wuxian says, staring curiously and with no small amount of confusion. Clearly, many mistakes have been made here, but he doesn't even know where to begin figuring out where, or whose. "Well," he continues, putting a hand on his chin, a grin threatening the corners of his lips. "This is interesting, it looks as if you're still here! But, I think you've got the wrong person - I'm hardly a vicious ghost."
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His gaze falls to his arms, and sure enough the gashes are still there, still aching. He touches fingers to his face; they come back with white powder.
This is probably his body, too.
The notes didn't say anything about this.
But no matter what's happening here, whether the image in front of him is an illusion or his own sense of being corporeal is a lie, there's something he needs to confirm before he figures out whatever else he might do. "Are you..." His voice shakes a little, fear and awe and no small amount of hope, "... the Yiling Patriarch, Wei Wuxian?"
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When he feels something flake away from his face, he pauses, holds his hand out in front of him. A strange sense of dissonance settles over him, his skin prickling. This is definitely not his hand - it's too small, the skin too pale and lacking the subtle scars that should be there, the products of many a failed invention.
The palm is also covered in powder and rouge. More crumbles away when he rubs his cheeks, frowning, before a thought occurs to him. It made perfect sense that this form wasn't his own - after all, he'd been entirely ripped apart, and one couldn't create something out of nothing. However, if the the one who had performed the body sacrificing ritual was still present, soul intact, and Wei Wuxian wasn't occupying his body, then it was obvious something had gone horribly wrong that even he himself couldn't have foreseen.
Just how wrong, though, was the question.
Even though the dwelling they're in, if it could be called that, is little more than a dilapidated shack, he figures it can't hurt to ask. "Is there a mirror, young master summoner?" he inquires of the man before him, his tone about a hair shy of being truly mocking. "I'd like to see something for myself."
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"It worked! It worked, it really worked!"
He bends over at his waist, holding his sides as if already strained from laughing too much, but then more laughter follows, just as unrestrained and unsettling as his expression.
"Now they'll regret it! Now they'll regret everything! No, they won't even be able to regret it because they'll be dead! They'll be so utterly destroyed that their spirits won't even be able to regret it!"
Mo Xuanyu suddenly dives towards a small, decrepit desk along the side of the room, and when he turns towards Wei Wuxian and straightens up slightly, he's holding a bronze mirror in his hands. He holds it out as if presenting a gift to someone highly honored, head bowed. "A mirror, O Great Yiling Patriarch!"
The unhinged grin is still on his face.
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The man before him is still bowed in silent supplication. He sighs, frowning, folding his arms. He had heard of these strange devotees - both imitators and worshippers - even before he died. To be regarded with this kind of deference made his skin crawl.
That, and the man is clearly mad, but being willing to sacrifice one's body and soul to bring the Yiling Patriarch, of all people, back to this world, wouldn't one have to be?
"Alright, enough, none of that." He reaches out and presses on the edge of the mirror, coaxing the other man to lower it. There is also the matter of what, precisely, he has been summoned to do. Exacting revenge is the most reasonable guess, given this ritual's historical precedent, but on who, and why?
"Well! I have no idea what you did," he continues, shrugging. "But, before we get into that, why not tell this wicked one your name, young master summoner. Also, who has wronged you so grievously that you were willing to go to such lengths?"
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Still holding the mirror in his hands he does his best to cup them in a proper bow, a signal of one possibly trained in sword cultivation.
"Mo Xuanyu, of--oh, no, I'm--of Mo Village."
His voice sounds a little hesitant as he says the location, as if unsure of himself, but he quickly picks up steam again.
"And--I want revenge. On all of them. On--ah--"
He pulls up his right sleeve, showing off a pair of gashes on his wrist.
"This one is for my cousin. Mo Ziyuan. He's always yelling at me and making fun of me and stealing my things and--and yesterday he stole a few of my tools, that I'd tried to hold onto, and he wouldn't give them back, and, and his parents--his father, and--"
He pulls back his other sleeve to show off the two gashes there, and indicates the deepest one.
"--his mother. This one is for my aunt. They told me that it didn't matter, to let him do it. But they always let him get away with these things. They ridicule me too; my aunt always say it's my fault Ziyuan didn't become a cultivator. She makes everyone else bully me, and says terrible things about my mother. And this one is for A-Tong. He always helps Ziyuan, and he makes fun of me and says mean things to me. I can't do anything to them though. Sometimes when I hear them, or see them, I... I-I just, can't think anymore, and, I just go crazy... I hate them so much, I hate them I hate them I hate them--"
The more he speaks the more his pupils dilate. His voice softens to a ragged whisper as he starts digging his fingers into one of the cuts, clearly not fully aware of what he's doing.
wanders back in here
He folds his arms. That's certainly a bit of an issue - he himself has nothing against these people, however terribly they seem to have treated Mo Xuanyu - and despite his reputation, he's never made a habit of killing without provocation. He'd even been well-behaved in death! However, even with the ever-increasing list of discrepancies, there is no reason to suspect that he isn't still subject to the consequences of the unfulfilled curse.
Especially considering the presence of the other man's cuts, which he's currently aggravating as he trails off, his voice barely audible now. "Alright!" Wei Wuxian says, a bit above normal volume, intended to get Mo Xuanyu's attention and snap him out of his trance-like state. "One thing at a time. You've already lost a lot of blood, so don't mess with those," he continues, pointing at the lacerations. How Mo Xuanyu is even still standing is a marvel in itself.
He's about to speak again when he hears voices in the distance, or thinks he does, and snaps his mouth shut. If they come this way, that could be a problem.
waves!!
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He wasn't expecting anyone else around, so when he suddenly noticed someone stepping onto one of the walkways on the side of the courtyard, he startled and turned. For a moment his heart leapt in fear, but then he noticed who it was. Suddenly his heart was beating hard for a very different reason.
"Lianfang-zun...!"
... Was it a shadow, or a trick of his mind? Just now, he was sure he spotted something dark near the collar of Jin Guangyao's robes, almost like some sort of bruise. He hesitated for a moment, but then darted over anyway, calling out a little louder.
"Lianfang-zun!"
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He was really hoping that no one would see him. He hated the eyes of the disciples and servants on his skin after one of these meetings with Madam Jin. It was an open secret that she beat him.
This time, he was too late in managing to retrieve his father from one of his brothels and Madam Jin smelled the overly floral perfume off him. She had Guangyao come to see her and thrashed him thoroughly, venting the rage that should have been on her husband upon him instead. He hated how badly he was doing after one of her tirades. He will have to move faster next time, lest she notices his father sneaking off again. He wanted a hot bath and to use some of the ointments he had hidden in his quarters.
Upon seeing Mo Xuanyu running over, His back straightened. He adjusted his robes in an attempt to hide the purpling bruise that was growing on his skin. His face was a pleasant mask.
"Ah. Hello A-yu. You are up rather late. I see that you're training again?"
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Mo Xuanyu tried not to shrink back at that as if it was an accusation. Somehow it made him feel even more like a failure that even with the extra work, he was still not doing as well as most of the others. There was a reason why he was using one of the most out-of-the-way courtyards.
But then his gaze drifted to the collar of Jin Guangyao's robes. He didn't see a bruise anymore, but they also looked like they were pulled up a little higher than they should be. If Jin Guangyao was hurt...!
"U-um, Lianfang-zun. I, um. Your neck, I thought maybe... ah, no, nevermind..."
If he was hiding it, then wouldn't it be rude of Mo Xuanyu to point it out? But still he couldn't help but worry, and he continued to stare at the spot without meaning to.
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"This one is glad to see that A-yu is so hardworking." His face froze as the bruise was pointed out, eyes darting in order to come up with a reasonable lie. "Ah, yes an unfortunate night hunt injury and my cultivation isn't as..." He trailed off. He hadn't been outside of Koi tower recently but he hoped it was enough of an excuse.
"Never mind that. Have you eaten yet? I can have the servants bring something to my rooms if you would like a break."
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"A-are you alright? Do you need someone to treat it? I have some ointment. I use it when I hurt myself training, or..."
He trailed off there as he started to dig through a pouch attached to his belt, and a moment later he pulled out a small compact. It was only then that he seemed to finally realize he'd been asked a question, and he faltered, holding the ointment awkwardly as if unsure if he should offer it properly.
"Oh. Ah. Sorry, you asked about, ah, food? I'm... I'm alright. I'm not hungry."
In truth, he'd been so distracted that he just barely heard anything of the question at all, missing that it had come with an invitation back to Jin Guangyao's room all on its own.
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He gave the man a soft smile, Mo Xuanyu was a good person and really trying to be helpful. Jinlintai was a hard place to be if you weren't the biggest fish in it and both of them had a disadvantage with not cultivating from childhood.
"Are you certain? Well, I'll have to have some dinner for myself and perhaps you can help me finish it?" He was worried that he wasn't getting enough to eat.
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When he straightened up again, his eyes seemed to be shining in a way they hadn't before. Though he'd refused the initial offer, the truth of it was that the disciples sometimes did not eat the best, and being one of the ones always picked on often left him with less filling portions.
"Where were you headed? We can go together, and then I can treat you in whatever way you want."
The words tumbled out a little too quickly, and a moment later Mo Xuanyu's face turned half a shade redder as his mind caught up to his mouth.
/dusts off tag from the depths of my inbox
Small kindness from unexpected places.
He laughed softly, not minding the slip-up. He was awkward but it was endearing. "We'll be heading to my chambers, and we can figure out the rest as we get there."
He asked a servant on the way to bring them both food and drink and led the man to a small room, his current humble quarters at Jinlintai. It was far from the buildings where the family was housed. Exactly what Jin Guangshan thought of him. The rooms were plain. A few small gifts hung up given to him by Lan Xichen or Nie Huaisang.
/offers you a feather duster
/vacuums
that works too lol
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