Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Deep into the night, sudden thunder splits the skies of all three realms. Soon after the earth responds with powerful tremors, rocking all living and undead beings back and forth in a forced sway. 

It's the sort of chastising horror that can only come from the flows of energy that compose the universe — the powers beyond — , but for those who can barely wrap their heads around their mortality, who haven't come face to face with the limitations of so-called divinity, it can only be explained by the words 'heavenly punishment'. Somewhere between self-comfort and indulgence, the term is used to calm the thoughts of those involved in the mortal realm's latest tragedy. 

Its main protagonist, Wei Wuxian, slowly blinks himself awake. His head is pounding, his heart aching, and an unidentifiable tingle fills his body with electricity. The first sight that greets him is a crowd of glowing faces towering over him, low murmurs filling the air. Even now he has to hold himself back from glaring at the gossiping figures, too tired of hearing whispers everywhere he goes.

Last he remembers, a crowd of fierce corpses was tearing him apart, ripping flesh and muscle, breaking bones, drawing rivers of blood- 

He shakes himself, returning to his senses. He stands up on shaky legs, noticing that none of the people around him make an effort to help him stand. His tall stature allows him to get a better look at his surroundings, noticing the golden rooftops of what he can only call palaces — luxurious stone carvings, and ornamental gems covering each building in its unique way. He doesn’t notice his mouth opening in awe, eyes growing wide and hands shaking slightly at his sides until the murmuring sounds grow louder and louder. He forces himself to look down and trails his eyes over the crowd. 

Now, Wei Wuxian has never been one to remember faces or names, a nice attribute he's been told he inherited from his mother, but the fact that he doesn't recognize a single face in a crowd of 20 to 30 people dressed in the most luxurious robes the Jin clan could ever even dream of deeply worries him. 

He meets the eyes of the person right in front of him. "Where am I?" 

Another wave of confused mumbling. 

Being singled out, the man dressed in mint green robes frowns. "...you don't know?" 

With all eyes on him, Wei Wuxian stands tall. "I do not. If young master could be so kind as to tell, this one would be quite grateful." 

The man exchanges a look with those around him before responding. “This is the Heavenly Realm. Young master Wei has ascended.” 

Wei Wuxian blanks for a second, his brain processing the words over and over again. Then, a wave of anger follows. 

There is no way he, the Yiling Patriarch, Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation, has ascended into godhood. He who commanded vicious corpses to do his bidding, who walked the crooked path even as everyone around him begged him not to, who swore he would never lose control only to end up massacring hundreds if not thousands of innocent cultivators for his selfish needs. 

He who just a handful of time ago held the corpse of his beloved shijie in his arms. 

… this must be his punishment. 

He must say, demons are much craftier than he’d expected. Now that he thinks he’s aware of the farce, he realizes the people around him do look like what one would depict as a God. Each has their style, their individual glow, and observing their robes does allow one to identify who’s a civil God and who’s a martial God, amongst others. The buildings around them are impressive, truly resembling those palaces described by storytellers in crowded inns. 

A cruel, painful laugh builds itself at the back of his throat. He deserves the torture. Hell, he welcomes it! But he wishes these demons could be more direct. After all, don’t they know who he is? What he has done?! The Yiling Patriarch will not settle for simple illusory stuff!!!

He wants to scream, to taunt them into bringing the real torture to replace the deep ache in his heart when a figure dressed in blindingly white robes effortlessly parts a way in the crowd straight towards Wei Wuxian. 

The kind smile on that gentle, handsome face is like a bucket of iced water has been dumped over his head after a long day in the scorching sun. 

“Young master Wei,” the man’s gentle voice perfectly matches his face.

His head feels like it’s on fire. It pulses with the sort of pain he’s become acquainted with from the moment his golden core was ripped from him. Still, he needs to push through. 

He wearily meets the man’s eyes. 

“Where am I?” he asks again, his tone a tad less demanding yet firm despite the disorienting pain.

The man’s kind face twists into a frown. His eyes search Wei Wuxian’s face for a brief moment before raising an elegant hand. His porcelain skin feels cool under the scorching hot mess that is Wei Wuxian’s forehead. The touch is merciful, as it instantly dissipates his aching into nothing and replaces it with clarity.

The universe extends before him — past, present, and future making themselves present before him. He sees his entire life from the fuzzy memories with his parents to his painfully tortuous last moments as a mortal. 

He remembers the stories, the shrine visits, and the prayers. 

He sees his father teaching him how to place incense sticks. 

He sees Jiang Fengmian placing offerings on an altar. 

He sees himself spitting at the doors of a shrine, a starving toddler napping in his arms. 

He sees everything, and he understands.

He’s not being tortured. 

Wei Wuxian, the Yiling Patriarch, Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation has ascended into Godhood.

The white-clad man’s eyes remain glued to him, yet he stands back and allows Wei Wuxian the time he needs to let his thoughts settle, patient and kind and ethereal. 

Wei Wuxian’s voice is barely above a whisper when he asks, “...why me?”

The man sighs, something between sympathy and pity flashing in his eyes. Wei Wuxian feels his temporarily dormant anger flare. 

The man turns his face respectfully. He gives Wei Wuxian an apologetic smile and gestures towards the clear path he’d arrived through. 

“Please do follow me,” he says. He doesn’t wait for Wei Wuxian to respond before he starts walking. 

Wei Wuxian’s feet move before his mind can catch up. He’s led out of the crowd into what he now can see is a big avenue. Down the road, right in front of his eyes, sits a magnificent building, much bigger and more luxurious than those around it. He follows the man up its stairs and inside, crossing long, golden hallways into a throne room. 

Wei Wuxian is astonished, to say the least. The entire palace seems to have been carved out of pure gold — truly a wet dream for the entire of Jinlintai. The throne room is spacious, its high ceilings giving it an air of infinity as if you could fit the entire human race inside and still feel close to whoever occupied the heavy golden throne in the center. A dark wood desk sat in front of it, scrolls covering most of its ample surface. 

The man approaches the desk with a sigh. Wei Wuxian watches as he scrambles to clear it out, the air of elegance and otherworldliness washing away with his movements. He mutters apologies to Wei Wuxian as if he were an important guest whom he hadn’t been expecting until much, much later in the evening. 

“I do apologize for the mess, I truly do. I’ve been down in Ghost City for a bit too long, you see. It’s been a long time since the last ascension, too. I should’ve been more prepared.” 

Wei Wuxian can only suppress the urge to flop down onto the comfortable-looking cushions sitting patiently on the floor, waving his hands around and saying something akin to ‘If you think this is messy you should see my cave! Wen Qing nearly went into qi deviation every time she had to come in and try to find a clean spot on the floor to step in!’ . Instead, he respectfully stands back, staring at the man with a blank expression.

“...you’re the Heavenly Emperor, the Crown Prince of Xianle.” It slips out his tongue, that treacherous mouth of his. He cringes back as much as he can without slumping into a disrespectful sprawl and lowers his head in apology.

Who would’ve thought it would take the Heavenly Emperor himself to get Wei Wuxian to behave with proper etiquette? Lan Qiren never stood a chance. Though, contrary to popular belief, Wei Wuxian is not a beast. He does know how to behave — he was the head disciple of YunmengJiang for a reason! He just never had a proper reason to do so. 

The white-clad man just looks back at him with a gentle smile, looking like he was suppressing an amused chuckle. “That’s right, but please do just call me Xie Lian.”

Wei Wuxian blinks. “...I don’t think- I shouldn’t-” 

It’s not every day Wei Wuxian stumbles over his words. 

This whole day keeps getting weirder and weirder the more it goes on. Lan Qiren could appear out of nowhere and tell him he’s his favorite student and he wouldn’t bat an eye — Wei Wuxian doesn’t think he could even behave like his usual self if he tried.

“...‘Your Highness’ works too if you don’t feel comfortable using my name. It is what most Heavenly Officials address me as, anyways.”

Xie Lian gives up on fixing his mess, instead, he motions for Wei Wuxian to take a seat on one of the elegant cushions by the heavy desk. 

Wei Wuxian does so, discreetly leaning this way and that to find a comfortable position for his sore muscles. Getting mauled by fierce corpses takes a toll on your entire body, who would’ve known! 

And yet, despite feeling utterly defeated, exhausted, and generally awful, he still finds it in him to be shaken to his core when Xie Lian, The Heavenly Emperor himself, takes a seat on the cushion next to him instead of on the huge golden throne. 

It almost brings tears to his eyes.

For what feels like the first time in a very, very long time, Wei Wuxian feels like he’s truly being addressed as an equal. His eyebrows twitch and knit close together with the effort of holding in a watery laugh. His hands grab fistfuls of his cheap dark robes and his bony, pale fingers flush red with effort. 

“I am the Heavenly Emperor,”  Xie Lian says, meeting his eyes. “Not by choice, though, as there has been no other God or Buddha in the Heavenly Realm capable of taking over the position after the previous Heavenly Emperor was subdued — but that is a story for another time. For now, you must have many questions.”

Wei Wuxian nods slowly, his brain struggling to process Xie Lian’s words. It’s almost like his brain is working at twice the speed it did before and it's taking his body a minute to get used to it all. 

“You should know,” Xie Lian continues. “The Heavenly Realm has been keeping a close eye on you ever since you willingly gave up your golden core.”

The words ‘golden core’ stir up something warm under Wei Wuxian’s chest. 

Something familiar. 

Something he hasn’t felt in a long time. 

Slowly at first, like a beast awakening from a long hibernation, then more desperate as awareness increases in him, Wei Wuxian claws at the ragged fabric covering his chest. He closes his eyes, forcing his breathing to return to normal as he shoves his legs onto a sitting lotus position.

Regardless of everything — his body feels sluggish and filled with aches, and the Heavenly Emperor himself is sitting right next to him — he meditates. 

Perhaps this disregard for formalities in favor of what he deems more interesting and worthy of time is the closest to himself he’s felt for a while.

There’s no screaming, no foreign hands clawing at his skin, no negative emotions compelling him to destroy, to kill. 

There’s nothing but peace and warmth. It circulates gently through his meridians, the flows of pure energy singing praises through his spiritual veins. The electrical tingles return to his body in full force. 

He breathes in and out and immerses himself in the feeling he had willingly given up for the sake of his family, for the sake of his former clan. 

For his own sake. 

There’s no denying it, his golden core is not only back but also at the same level as it had been before it was ripped out of his body. 

He carefully opens his eyes and meets Xie Lian’s. 

“Why is it back? What happened to Jiang Cheng?” 

Xie Lian shakes his head. “It must’ve been reinstated the moment you ascended. It is not uncommon for Gods to regain missing limbs or any other sort of infliction during ascension. As for your shidi, he still has his donated golden core. You can check for yourself once we’re done speaking.”

A relieved sigh leaves Wei Wuxian’s lips, but this relieved state is quickly overthrown by that compartmentalized anger he’d so dutifully stored time and time again as a mortal and now, apparently, as an immortal. 

“I shouldn’t be here,” He says. “I don’t deserve any of it. I have blood on my hands, the lives of people I love, people I care about, It’s all over my hands and I am never washing it off. I practiced Demonic Cultivation, I tainted my body, my mind, and that of those who stuck around me. I brought so much death and misfortune to the world, and I’m supposed to sit here in the Heavenly Realm as if nothing happened?!”

Wei Wuxian stands up abruptly, the now-cool, undrunk cup of tea tips over soaking both Wei Wuxian and Xie Lian’s robes. It falls disgracefully and crashes onto the ground, sharp shards spreading over the white and golden floor in distress. 

Wei Wuxian stumbles back one, two steps, his body swaying as tears of emotion spill down his cheeks.

“I SHOULD BE DEAD. WHY AM I NOT DEAD?!” 

Xie Lian just watches him, his hands splayed out before him in a placating gesture yet he remains silent, patiently waiting for Wei Wuxian to calm down.

“Those corpses destroyed my body, my soul! I’M DEAD! THEY’RE ALL DEAD! SO HOW?! HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO BE A GOD WHEN I COULDN’T EVEN SAVE A CHILD?!”

His legs shake under him, and he collapses onto the ground, the remains of the teacup mocking his broken spirit. A sob rips itself from his chest. Then another. Then another. 

“...why does it always have to be me?” 

Oh, self-pity. Intoxicating, bitter, twistingly comforting. He cries and cries, letting go of himself. A hand rubs circles on his back and he keeps crying on the obscenely elegant floor until exhaustion gets the better of him. He takes deep breaths, forces himself to calm down, and reminds himself of just where he is right now. 

It’s rather embarrassing, he would later think, throwing a tantrum worse than A-Yuan ever did on the floor of the Heavenly Emperor’s palace while the Heavenly Emperor himself tried to comfort him like a mother comforting her whiny child. 

And this, for once, triggers a shameful shudder to run down his spine. 

He clears his throat. 

“I deeply apologize for losing my composure,” Wei Wuxian murmurs, thoroughly wiping at his face with the rough fabric of his outer robe, choosing to ignore the pristine-white handkerchief offered. 

“No need to apologize,” Xie Lian says. “As I was saying, the Heavenly Realm has been keeping a close eye on you. Not because we were expecting you to ascend, but because we were making preparations to fight against you becoming a potential Calamity — a Supreme Ghost King. You can understand why the Heavenly Courts are quite distraught with your ascension, just as I can understand why you are so distraught yourself.” 

Wei Wuxian nods in acknowledgment. Well, it’s good to know the expectations others have of him have more or less remained the same. Still… 

“You don’t sound ‘distraught’.” 

This time, Xie Lian doesn’t suppress his amused chuckle. 

“I am not. I empathize with you to an extent, so I guess you could say I’m taking care of a younger version of myself.” 

Wei Wuxian frowns but doesn’t ask any further. After all, the past of the Heavenly Emperor, being over a thousand years old would take a long time to discuss. Besides, it would be rude to outright ask such personal questions. For now, he’ll put a pin on it and listen to what Xie Lian has to say.

“Either way, there is something you must understand.” Xie Lian makes sure Wei Wuxain is looking him in the eyes before he continues. “Most Gods and Buddhas, no matter their background, ascend with blood on their hands. The fact that you’ve ascended means you’ve passed a Heavenly Calamity — you prevented a further tragedy from unfolding, and you’ve been rewarded with immortality.”

Wei Wuxain frowns. 

‘...prevented a further tragedy?’

“Now you have the opportunity to watch over your followers and make the mortal realm heal into a better place.”

Xie Lian did not elaborate any further, and Wei Wuxian did not press. Instead, they sat in comfortable silence before getting up. He followed the man down the long, luxurious hallways until they were standing before a gigantic mirror. He blushes in embarrassment as he avoids looking at his reflection — old tattered robes obscenely contrasting with the background, messy, unkempt hair, and reddened cheeks still moist from crying. 

Xie Lian presses the palm of his hand to the glass, transferring gentle waves of spiritual power to it. Suddenly the thin glass is replaced with ripples of water that distort their reflection in waves before stilling again. This time, the image before them makes Wei Wuxian take a step forward. 

Jiang Cheng is kneeling in front of Jiang Yanli’s newly placed plaque in the Jiang Clan’s Ancestry Hall. Incense sticks burn away, the gentle smoke masking the tears that keep flowing down the clan leader’s face. He’s silent, with his lips pressed tight together in fear of letting a single sound out. His eyes are empty, devastated. 

But he’s alive, and the golden core in his chest is intact. 

Wei Wuxian breathes a sigh of relief. 

“I’m so sorry.” 

The ripples of water return and Wei Wuxian is met back with his reflection. 

“That is as much as I can show you at the moment.” 

Wei Wuxian can only nod, stepping away from the mirror. 

Distantly, there’s a knock on the nearest door, but Wei Wuxian doesn’t acknowledge it. He just stands there, looking at his feet, eyebrows knit together. A bundle of thoughts fights restlessly in his head, and even with his godly status, he can feel another migraine creeping in.  

Xie Lian squeezes his shoulder. “Your new palace is ready. Please allow my subordinate to escort you there. Take your time to settle, you will be contacted when you’re needed.”

After a quick lesson on heavenly communication arrays, Wei Wuxian is taken back to the Great Martial Avenue towards the Upper Court Palaces. 

Of course, since he ascended on his own after a Heavenly Calamity, with only a couple hundred devoted followers under his belt, he’s being placed on the lower ends of the Upper Court. He can’t find it in himself to care, too exhausted to even acknowledge the Civil God escorting him until he bows and mutters a quick ‘thank you’ in dismissal once the golden gates to what he assumes to be his palace close behind him. 

On the outside, compared to the glorious size of the Palaces closest to the Heavenly Emperor’s Palace, his can only be considered just enough to belong to the lowest ranking in the Upper Court. The words ‘Palace of Yiling’ are elegantly carved on the stone above the heavy golden gates, the rest of the outside looking plain and generic. Inside, more generic decorations sit, gauze in black and red drape over walls, a couple of lotus flowers embroidered here and there. He passes room after room, the echo of his boots on the squeaky clean floors hammering into his heart. 

Finally, he reaches his room. The first thing he notices is a red scroll lying neatly on the elaborate bed, accompanied by a golden belt. On the other side of the room, a wooden closet sits, various black and navy blue robes elegantly displayed inside. Red and black ribbons sit inside drawers, next to golden and silver guans and leather head ornaments. 

He looks down at his cheap, offensive robes and quickly makes up his mind. 

Two hours later he sits on his bed, freshly bathed and clothed in black and red robes, the golden belt tied snuggly around his waist, his hair tied up in a neat ponytail held together by a red ribbon and a black leather ornament. 

He’s not planning on going out any time soon — he doesn’t think he can handle interacting with any other God until his heart and stomach have settled and his head has stopped wringing itself dry with question after unanswered question. He dresses himself and puts his hair up mainly to make himself understand his new standing. Going from cheap tattered robes into luxurious silks far more elegant than what he’d wear at YunmengJiang makes something click in his brain. 

If he has to live with the fact that he’s become a God, he’ll make sure to do it as a punishment, a duty he’s not allowed to slack off on. 

He looks down at his hands. Even though he spent a long time scrubbing at the now reddened skin, he still can see Jiang Yanli’s blood between blinks. 

He sighs. 

A strong wave of exhaustion washes over him. He eyes the red scroll now sitting on the wooden desk a few steps from his bed but still decides to remove his golden belt and outer robe, pull back the covers, and settle himself. It’s nice and comfortable, a drastic change from the rocks he called a bed back in the cave. 

He closes his eyes. 

Almost immediately, the world fades to black.

Chapter Text

The cultivation world is grieving. 

Many lives have been lost in the past decade — numbers that have extinguished many smaller clans in favor of helping the four main clans remain on their feet. The amount of Ancestral Halls and Burial Sites that have been built in haste has outnumbered the remaining clans in most areas. Many small towns and bustling cities have been left defenseless, plagued with darkness and beasts that drive out young blood and swallow the old and the weak. 

The mortal world is grieving. 

With grief comes desperation, and with desperation comes the urge to look for something beyond, something that can offer both an explanation and a solution. 

They pray. 

Temples rise from pitiful ashes. The smell of incense drifts off into the streets, impregnating the walls and seeping into the earth. It crawls on the ground, it climbs up trees, it drifts in the air with the hope that it’ll reach the heavens. 

Each region has always had its own set of Gods to pray to, and yet it has come time for the lines to blur into a desperate plea. 

Whoever’s up there, please, please hear our prayers. 

The Heavens are grieving. 

It’s been a long time since they’ve been so busy. Three hundred years of ‘peace’ — or, in their case, what can be described as a perfect balance between the ‘powers that be’ — all collapsing in such a short amount of time. 

And it’s all thanks to him. 

Wei Ying, Wei Wuxian, Yiling Patriarch, Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation. He was known by many names in his life as a mortal, even more so now that he has managed to shake the earth and the Heavens with his ascension. 

Some got to witness him as a bright young man — perhaps a bit too playful with a big heart in the right place. He was smart and justifyingly arrogant, and he loved and cared for those around him. The Head Disciple of the Jiang Clan, a renowned cultivator in the making. The young man challenged the Heavens and the Demonic when he slaughtered the Tortoise of Slaughter and taunted those evil Wen dogs without any regard for his wellbeing. 

Those people while few and far between, were most devoted to him. They called him the God of Darkness, General Yiling, a symbol of courage. 

If you find yourself walking on a dark path, alone and scared, just ask General Yiling for assistance. He will give you the courage to keep walking, to realize that there is nothing to be afraid of and that your inner strength is enough to do great things. He will protect you, he will guide you, and he will prioritize your life over his own. 

He will lay in the shadows to protect you from what lives within them. 

Then some witnessed the Yiling Patriarch at his worst. Who saw him command the Ghost General to slaughter both human and demonic without any regard for mercy. Those who watched as he descended into madness, got twisted, turned inside out by the same forces he claimed to command. They witnessed fear in its truest form. Horrors only previously described in ancient texts come to life by the single flick of the finger of a pitiful young man. 

They saw the worst in humanity personified. A true rebel, an outcast, undeserving. 

The God of Darkness, they claim, is nothing but a bad omen. A necessary pawn to restore the natural equilibrium in the universe. Leave offerings in his shrine before a night hunt and he just might consider keeping the shadows out of your way. Don’t ever ask anything of him, or he’ll use the dark arts to achieve it and leave you to deal with the bad karma that follows. 

A God of Tragedy. 

But even then, with so many polarizing opinions on the recent addition to divinity, some still see him as they always did. A brother, a friend, a foolish child fueled by righteousness and disregard for his own life. A victim of the world. 

To them, he was just Wei Ying . 

To Jiang Cheng he is resentment, he is pain, he is loss. The God of Darkness still sits in his old room, still breaks havoc in the lotus ponds, hunts for pheasants, and shoots at kites while the other disciples watch in awe.

His temple in Yunmeng isn’t particularly big, but it is also not small. Black and red gauze adorn the walls, and wood carvings of delicate lotus flowers litter every surface. A dark jade statue stands at the center, flute held in both hands as it plays an unheard melody, its piercing eyes staring at the far beyond. It’s cold, distant, and uncomfortable. You go in, put incense, pray, and leave. He’s there out of duty and responsibility for what he owes those in his surroundings. He’s there for what could have been, for what doesn’t even seem to matter anymore because there is a God amongst them, and they must pray. 

In Jinlintai, he’s barely even mentioned. A tiny shrine sits in the shadows, only there for appearances. The golden statue closely resembles that in Yunmeng, and yet it is missing most of its details like the subtle lotus patterns in its robes or the elegant tassel at the end of the flute. Instead, he is draped in a couple of jewels, just enough to match the spirit of the Jin Clan, and his robes are simple yet much more elegant than those he’d worn at any point in his life. It’s flashy, it’s empty, it’s a shell. 

There are plenty of offerings, imported fruits, and rare silks, and it’s so obviously fake it’s painful. 

In Qinghe it’s slightly warmer, slightly kinder. The shrine is bigger than those around it, yet still smaller than that in Yunmeng. Beautiful paintings depicting his life as a young man litter its walls, all courtesy of Nie Huaisang. His statue is made of rock, all sharp edges and fine details. It’s rudimentary and cold, and yet it’s the closest depiction of his character so far. His robes are nothing special, and his flute is a replica of Chenqing. His eyes are softer, and his stance more relaxed, but he still feels distant. After all, forgiveness is yet to be fully granted. 

He’s got decent offerings, and all kinds of people come to look at the newest God, and the lovely paintings on the walls. They would pray too, if they knew what to ask of him. The God of Darkness is an ambiguous title, after all. 

His shrine in Gusu is complicated, to say the least. 

It was a comfortable size, not too big yet not small, just like the one in Yunmeng. The white jade statue is beautiful, and elegant, with drifting robes and subtle details. The unplayed Chenqing sat elegantly between the fingers of his left hand, while his right reached forward, palm open and ready to be taken. It had been a request from the elders, after all, that the newest God must not be depicted as the evil being he had become. A sword sat under his waist belt, and his hair cascaded neatly and elegantly down his back. 

Despite him being the newest ascended God, someone who had the privilege of studying under their tutelage, the shrine barely saw any visitors. There were no offerings, no prayers to be made, yet the smell of incense and the jars of Tian Zi Xiao remained. 

The handful of regular visitors made sure of it. 

Lan Wangi’s seclusion was ongoing. He had pleaded with his brother, begged until he relented, and allowed Lan Wangi to conduct his seclusion inside the temple. They had known, even then, that the temple was only being built out of respect, and that no one in their sane mind would look for protection from what was previously deemed the biggest evil in centuries. 

With his limited mobility, he would clean the entire shrine every morning, meditate and pray every evening, and sleep by the statue’s feet every night. 

Every three days Lan Zichen would come by with a shy A-Yuan in his arms, and the three of them would share a meal by the far corner of the shrine, opposite to where the statue stood. Afterward, A-Yuan would wander about while the two brothers spoke. He would waddle over to the statue with wide eyes, and he would struggle on his tip toes unable to grab hold of that extended hand.

Lan Wangi would struggle to stand up, refusing his brother’s help, and lift A-Yuan until he could squeeze Wei Ying’s hand. 

The God of Darkness has many followers but only a handful of worshipers. 

And Wei Ying is very grateful for every one of them. 

---

Back in his mortal days, Wei Wuxian would spend most of the night wandering around and releasing all the creative impulses he’d gathered during the day into whatever shape they took in the moment — parchments of paper, wood carvings, even melodies whistled away into the night. He always ended up exhausted, collapsing in bed just as the first sun rays caressed the earth, and then he’d awake at noon, ready to repeat the cycle again and again and again. 

Uncle Jiang protested against his awful sleep schedule until one day Wei Wuxian showed him a new talisman he’d developed during one of these night feasts, able to purify a body of water in seconds with just a few strokes of a brush. After that, he would say, ‘Attempting the impossible knows no time of day’. 

No one dared comment anything against the clan leader, and Wei Wuxian’s habits worsened over time.

Attempting the impossible one messy all-nighter at a time.

As a God, though, he finds sleep to be something precious — a treat reserved for after a long day (or days) of work. 

Almost immediately after ascending, the Palace of Ling Wen Zhenjun required his help with clearing the air in some reports. As it turns out, there truly hadn’t been any ascensions in the past three hundred years or so — something that hindered the ability to make true reports on the matters of the mortal realm as those immortals who chose to roam the mortal plain would always stand as simple spectators, thus what little information they could gather wasn’t all that reliable. 

No matter how good the Gods were at espionage, there will always be a clear difference in the intel that comes from the source itself.

Besides, it’s always good to double-check these things, just in case something doesn’t line up and gives rise to suspicions about someone’s character and actions. A sort of precaution taken after countless mistakes in the past led to awful misunderstandings, or so he’s been told.

Hence Wei Wuxian spends his first three months in Heaven going back and forth between the Palace of Yiling and the Palace of Ling Wen, reliving the awful events before, during, and after the war for a handful of Heavenly Officials who could care less about the mortal cultivation world.

He was relieved to know he didn’t have to write anything down — thinking about the war is already torture enough, he doesn’t think he can relive the fun hand cramps that come from writing nonstop for hours on end.

Not to mention, this time, the people looking over him aren’t remotely as interesting as he had been.

By the end of the three months, he feels… weird. 

Wrung dry, exhausted, ready to sleep for as long as he’d be allowed without slacking off on his duties.

Duties that he still struggles to understand.

Countless scrolls line the walls of the Palace of Yiling. Piles of parchment and unused brushes sit in their place patiently waiting to be used. Wei Wuxian can only look at them helplessly, can only pick up scrolls, and read their rather confusing labels in despair. 

Yiling Agricultural Reports, Demonic Protection Requests, Good Fortune Requests, Requests for Vengeance and Revenge, Ambiguous Pleas For Help- 

What even are those categories?! 

Somehow he ends up complaining about this to the Heavenly Emperor over a cup of tea.

Wei Wuxian, “I mean, can’t they just decide on a single topic to pray about?!” 

Xie Lian lets out a laugh, almost dropping the scroll in his hand. 

Xie Lian, “Even after a handful of months the people think you’re still the Yiling Patriarch.” 

Wei Wuxian, “Right?! I mean I’m grateful for the merits, truly, but I honestly don’t know what to be for them.”

Xie Lian hums. “What do you want the God of Darkness to be?” 

Wei Wuxian frowns. 

A memory bubbles to the surface of his mind. 

┉

A-Yuan is being held against his hip, too skinny and light for a three-year-old. His tummy rumbles with hunger, but he’s so tired of eating radishes that he refuses to munch on the one held in Wei Wuxian’s hand. They walk past a shrine and he notices A-Yuan looking inside. 

The offerings table is full of all kinds of food, smells gathering up inside and seeping gently on the outside going mostly unnoticed except for those desperately begging for something to eat. The kid leans forward, almost escaping Wei Wuxian’s grip, and cries desperately as he tries to reach for the food. 

Wei Wuxian, “No, A-Yuan! Those aren’t for you!”

But the child only cries louder. 

“Hey! Get that brat away from here! His cries will disturb General Xuan Zhen!” 

Two days later he passes by the same shrine, alone. A-Yuan had caught a fever again, and Wen Qing had asked him to go into the city to get more medicinal herbs. He catches a glance inside and his stomach rumbles — no matter how much he’d practiced inedia, there was still a limit to just how much he could handle. There are even more offerings than before. He can’t tell if his eyes deceive him, but some dishes still seem to be steaming away, ready to be eaten. He takes a step inside but stops himself. 

Xuan Zhen’s statue stood tall and elegant, looking down on his worshippers without a care in the world. A man prays at his feet muttering softly in the otherwise silent temple. Xuan Zhen looks down and never even touches the offerings. 

Wei Wuxian resists the urge to scream and leaves. 

The last time he visits the temple, A-Yuan is once again at his hip. He’s looking a bit plumper  — the crops in the Burial Mounds finally giving them a decent amount of food. Still, when they walk past and he catches sight of the offerings, he once again tries to kick his way out of Wei Wuxian’s hold. 

Wei Wuxhian just holds him tight against his chest, and spits at the doors of the shrine, before walking away for good. 

┉

Wei Wuxian, “...I don’t want them to mindlessly ask me for things. I’m a martial God, so the best I can do is fight monsters and evil ghosts, right? So I don’t want them to ask me to give them the ‘gift’ of Demonic Cultivation or to take revenge on their neighbor for stealing their loquats. I…”

Xie Lian, “You want to give them the strength to stand up on their own.” 

Wei Wuxian, “Exactly! I don’t want anyone to go through what I did. I don’t want them to walk any crooked path, or to purposely bring trouble to those around them for no reason.” 

Xie Lian looks over at him with a kind smile, “Well, you did have a pretty good reason to do what you did, even if the means could’ve been different.” 

Wei Wuxian takes a sip of tea — a slightly sweet blend of mild herbs that eases its way down his throat gently. It reminds him of the tea Uncle Jiang would gift to Madam Yu on her birthday, the one he got to taste a couple of times after begging Jiang Cheng to sneak him some. It brings a nostalgic ache, painful but welcomed. 

They sit in comfortable silence, only getting interrupted by junior officials requesting Xie Lian’s seal now and then. Wei Wuxian sighs and shifts a bit on the comfy cushion he’s sitting on. 

Wei Wuxian, “Your Highness must be very busy. I’m sorry I’m taking up your time for something so stupid.” 

Xie Lian shakes his head. “No, no. It’s not stupid at all! It is my duty as Heavenly Emperor to help any Heavenly Officials with these types of matters.” He makes sure Wei Wuxian is looking at him before he continues. “And even if it weren’t I… I believe General Yiling, Young Master Wei, is my friend so…”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes widen. “F-friend? Me?” 

Xie Lian, “Yes! Unless that’s too inappropriate?”

Wei Wuxian, “No! It’s perfectly fine! I’m just surprised I- Well the other Heavenly Officials aren’t fond of me so I haven’t had the time to get to know any of them.” 

Xie Lian hums. “I’ll talk with them-”

Wei Wuxian, “Please don’t! It’s ok, I’m not complaining! I totally get why they avoid me. It just means I have to earn their favor myself, right?” 

Xie Lian nods. “Right. Then allow me to introduce you to my friends, they’ve been asking me a lot about you so it must be the right time to make introductions. You could also ask them for advice, they’ll be happy to help you. We will host a banquet at Ghost City, I’ll let you know the exact time and date once I’m done talking it over with them.”

Wei Wuxian blinks once, twice, before downing the rest of the now-lukewarm tea. “I- I’m very grateful, Your Highness. I’ve always wanted to go to Ghost City! Does that mean I also get to meet your Ghost Wife?” 

Xie Lian choked on his last sip of tea, successfully covering himself with his sleeve while he recovered.

Of course, this is a story most storytellers choose not to share out of fear of angering either the Heavens or the Ghosts, but Wei Wuxian still found himself a listener to such a story in a small teahouse in Caiyi Town of all places. 

A romantic tale starring the Heavenly Emperor who, in his early Heavenly Official days, found himself fighting side by side with none other than Crimson Rain Sought Flower, the most powerful Ghost King and ruler of Ghost City. One time whilst dining at the Paradise Manor, he was introduced to the Ghost King’s sister, a nameless Ghost of kind and noble character. It was love at first sight. Their wedding was blessed almost instantly, and the couple has lived happily together ever since — one looking over the Heavens and the other aiding his brother in his duty to look over Ghost City. 

Wei Wuxain loved this story, often harassing storytellers until they either had him kicked out or caved in and told the story. Such a fascinating pair with such strong love to unite the two enemy realms! 

What a man the Heavenly Emperor must be for the Ghost King to agree to marry his sister off to him just like that! 

Wei Wuxian flails. “Your Highness? Did I say something wrong?” 

Xiel Lian sighs, a small smile on his lips. “The longer a story lives the more its facts are twisted.” 

Wei Wuxian, “Oh… so you don’t have a Ghost Wife?”

To his surprise, a small yet still visible mischievous smirk grows on the Heavenly Emperor’s face. 

Xie Lian, “I do, I do. She’s   been asking about you, too. It would be an honor for us to host you at Paradise Manor.” 

There’s something there, but Wei Wuxian refuses to press further for fear of offending the Heavenly Emperor. He instead decides to focus on the friends part of the conversation as he leisurely walks back to his Palace of Yiling. 

Ever since he ascended, the handful of Gods he’d interacted with did so out of duty. Otherwise, when he first formally introduced himself in the Communication Array, he only received a couple of polite responses and nothing more. A day later General Ming Guang sent one of his junior officials with a golden belt and a note,

It’s not often that I’m rendered speechless, much less by a young child.

But when Wei Wuxian presented himself in Ming Guang’s Palace to offer his gratitude, he was told the esteemed General was off in the Mortal Realm for leisure with no return date set. 

Other than that, none of the other Gods seemed too interested in the new kid, even though it’d been so long since the last ascension. 

Whoever Xie Lian is talking about, either they disregarded his formal introduction in favor of a more favorable introduction in the presence of the Heavenly Emperor, or they’ve simply been too busy to make time to meet him. 

Or anything between those lines. 

It’s a bizarre situation indeed. He’s been a God for a little over three months, and the one person he can call his friend in the Heavenly Capital is the Heavenly Emperor himself.

He walks past his bedroom, staring longingly at his bed from the half-open door, before bee-lining to what he has labeled his study. 

The dark wooden desk inside overflows with open scrolls and small sheets of paper thrown carelessly around. He’d asked one of Ling Wen’s Officials to lend him some scrolls on the history of the Heavenly Realm — something to aid him in understanding what his job as a martial God is supposed to be. 

One thing he is certain of is that even as a God he’s still cursed with his usual untidiness, forever struggling to pick up after himself. He can almost hear Jiang Cheng frowning in disgust. 

‘Hah! Aren’t you ashamed? What a God you are!’

He sighs. He begrudgingly rolls up his scrolls, placing them in their righteous place before fixing the loose pieces of parchment onto neat, disorganized piles, and collapsing onto the floor. A single scroll remains in his hand, labeled ‘Requests for courage’.

The first prayer is a simple one. A traveling merchant who finds himself walking alone at night. He carries a knife with him so his only concern is, in his own words, ‘those demonic monsters he keeps in the shadows’. He wants the God of Darkness to watch over him, and help him have no fear since he knows most of those things feed off of people’s fear and other negative emotions. 

This little he can do. He makes a note to prepare a dream for the man, one where he comes across a ghost but successfully drives it away simply by ignoring it. Simple, but effective. 

The next prayer is slightly more complicated. 

All cities around Qishan have been mostly abandoned thanks to its now sullied reputation as a place for commerce and general good living. Those remaining are mostly the old or incapacitated who can’t afford to move. They remain unprotected, barely surviving with what little they can do. 

There is no ghost, demon, or monster threatening their lives, but the lack of cultivators in the area concerns them deeply. They pray to the God of Darkness for protection and for strength to keep them going, to live what little is left of their days with dignity just as he did for those remnants of the Wen Clan. 

He wonders if he can ask His Highness to let him drop by the Mortal Realm — just to visit the specific temple this prayer was made in and drop a few protective talismans as well as copies of his notes on survival from back when he lived in the Burial Mounds. He doesn’t think himself capable of staying there for more than a couple of hours, just enough to help his people and leave.

The rest of his day goes by fast. He answers prayer after prayer until that scroll is done. He eyes the other ones, but the labels suggest he won’t be able to do much about them. He thinks that, perhaps, by only answering those he wants to be known for, his followers will pick up on it and stop praying for those other things, especially the ones that require him to use Demonic Cultivation. 

He closes his eyes and lets himself feel the deep hum of his Golden Core inside him. He feels his meridians dutifully running through his energy flows, relaxing his body, and filling him up to the brim with a satisfied warmth. 

Somehow, it is easier to meditate now. 

As a mortal, he always struggled with falling asleep while meditating, or not being able to concentrate enough to enter a true meditative state. It was so hard, that many wondered just how he managed to advance his cultivation up to his level without being able to meditate properly. 

As an immortal, though, having lost the warmth, and the hope, and then gaining it back, he’s learned to appreciate it. He feels grateful every time he thinks about it, and meditation comes so naturally to him it’s almost like it’s something he’s done every single day of his life. 

He meditates, and he remembers. 

He doesn’t know how long he stays like that, but by the time he’s done meditating, his face is moist with salty tears. With a heavy sigh, he stumbles out of his study down the long, empty halls into his bedroom, collapsing face down on his bed. 

He’s only been in the Heavenly Capital for a little over three months, it’s irrational to think he’d just turn over a new page and forget about the war, his mistakes, and the people he loves. He remembers them clearly, sees their faces, and hears their voices whenever he closes his eyes. He just hoped he’d get to stall things until he felt a little more comfortable with being a God.

He rolls on the bed, now staring at the ornate ceiling. The small lotus flower-shaped carvings remind him of Yunmeng, how he would spend hours cleaning the walls as a form of punishment courtesy of Madam Yu, paying special attention to the thin lines portraying the delicate petals to replicate them late at night with careful brush strokes over what were supposed to be his cultivation notes. 

He extends his hands upwards, replicating the tracing with his fingers, painting lotus flowers in the air over and over as if they could materialize into fresh, colorful flowers. 

Could he make a lotus pond in his palace?

It wouldn’t be the same, though. He wouldn’t feel the harsh sun on his skin, wouldn’t get splashed in the face by the other disciples, wouldn’t hear Shijie’s laugh as he dunked Jiang Cheng underwater. 

It wouldn’t be the same, but it would be a way to keep those memories alive in the lonely palace. 

Lonely… 

Suddenly, a silver butterfly lands on one of his extended hands. He lowers it to get a better view and is entranced by the delicate flutter of its wings. It turns to him as if to greet him before dissolving into a cloud of glittery dust. 

A voice trembles in his head. 

‘General Yiling, you are welcome to attend a feast in Paradise Manor, Ghost City, tomorrow evening. His Highness Xie Lian and his beloved would be honored by your esteemed presence. In case of accepting this request, transport will be arranged in the form of a temporary portal between the Palace of Yiling and Paradise Manor. In case you reject this request, please set the silver ashes on fire after this message is over. Thank you, and have a great rest of your evening.’ 

Wei Wuxian smiles. He gathers the silver ashes carefully in his hands and places them safely atop the wooden table by his bed. 

He then rids himself of his godly attire in favor of a simple red sleeping robe and lies back on the bed. 

After all, there’s nothing else he can do now but treat himself to a comfortable night of sleep — paperwork be damned for a few hours. 

Of course, his sleep can be better described with the words ‘fitful’ and ‘uncomfortable’, but after two years of sleeping in a cave plagued with the screams of those drowning in resentment, even with the nightmares, this is the best sleep he’s had in years.

Chapter Text

Just as promised, the next evening rolls around and an ominous roar echoes through the halls of the Palace of Yiling. Upon taking a closer look, he notices one of the doors leading to an unused room has lit up with golden light. He pokes his head through and is marveled to be met with a candle-lit room decorated with red and gold that cannot compare to the simple luxury shell his palace attempts to emulate. 

He fully steps inside, curiosity gaining over precaution, and jumps when the portal behind him closes. 

The room is big, almost as big as the throne room at the Heavenly Emperor’s Palace. Red gauze and gold trimmings cover every surface, coupled with exotic sculptures and flowers of all kinds to give the room more life than it should considering its placement at the center of Ghost City. 

Wei Wuxian curiously paces around the room, poking and prodding at any and all strange artifacts lying around in display — from beautifully-crafted swords to peculiar incense burners. Jewels of all kinds, which Wei Wuxian could only catch glimpses of on Madam Yu during banquets in YunmengJiang littered the place. A den of opulence, somehow removing the obscene into a more majestic and awe-inspiring sight. 

He reaches the other end of the room where a cascade of red and gold gauze gently frames a jade statue of a young man dressed in elegant robes, covered in jewels and the like, holding a small, tattered child in his arms. Fresh flowers sit between the child’s hands and over the young man’s head, cascading down like hair ornaments on his back. Looking closely, the child’s face is covered in bandages, allowing just a wide, frightened eye to poke through. 

The story had been watered down over the years, leaving only its title intact, and yet most educated cultivators still learned it as part of their strive for immortality.

The Prince who Pleased the Gods.

Wei Wuxian extends his hand as if to touch it, but quickly retracts his hand. No, this statue feels too intimate for just about anyone to see it, much less touch it. It’s beautifully crafted and the attention to detail could never compare even to the most skilled artisans in the mortal world. It is breathtaking. If you stare at it for too long, you can almost see it moving: the young prince’s hair fluttering in the wind, his robes dancing alongside it as his arms firmly grasp onto the shaking child-

It is a genuine depiction of a future God in his truest moment of divinity. 

Something aches in Wei Wuxian’s chest, wondering if he ever looked like that when walking around Yiling with a starving A-Yuan curled up on his chest. 

He’s too caught up in his thoughts to notice the small crowd of people entering the room, only reacting once an elegant hand landed on his shoulder. 

“Young Master Wei?” 

He nearly jumps out of his skin, his hands scrambling to where Chenqing should be. When his brain finally catches up, he forces himself to breathe out and turn around, politely bowing to Xie Lian in apology. 

Wei Wuxian, “Apologies for the intrusion, Your Highness.”

Xie Lian smiles, his eyes trailing back to the statue. There’s a soft, fond twitch to his lips as his fingers trail over his younger version’s arms and onto the child’s covered face.

With a soft, satisfied sigh he walks Wei Wuxian over to the next room where three men stand by a large table seemingly only waiting for him to join in. They’re clad in elaborate clothes, all of clear high standing. Almost immediately Wei Wuxian can tell who’s who, and a heavy feeling sinks in his stomach. Still, he forces himself into a stiff bow and settles himself into the polite stance Madam Yu had lectured into him to death when he first arrived at the Lotus Pier — like a servant ought to do. 

He feels the men’s eyes burning holes into his dark silk robes, and suddenly, the fancy golden guan holding his hair in place feels too heavy. A familiar headache creeps its ugly tendrils over his temples and he hopes with whatever he’s got left in him that none of the other men notice how obviously uncomfortable he is. 

However, luck is not on Wei Wuxian’s side — has it ever been so? He feels a gentle pat between his shoulder blades, and the burning-hot tendrils retract to their place in the dark. Xie Lian uses his other hand to release Wei Wuxian from the bow he didn’t even realize he’d been stuck in and offers an encouraging smile.

Right. Propper etiquette indicates that as the junior of the room, he shall introduce himself first. He clears his throat, remembering he lacks a crucial little thing called shame, and relaxes his shoulders into a straight, firm stance. 

Wei Wuxian, “This one apologizes for his rudeness. My name is Wei Ying, Wei Wuxian, of Yunm- of Yiling.” 

One of the men steps forward. He’s the shortest among them, yet his presence and power help mask the fact successfully. His brown hair flows behind him gracefully, and his crossed arms over his chest hide his smaller build. He eyes Wei Wuxian for a second before finally showing a content smirk. 

“Young Master Wei, I must say, you don’t seem to be what most of the Heavens thought you’d be.” 

A low growl accompanied by heavy footsteps as another man — taller, almost twice his build with broad shoulders and hair tied neatly in a dark bun — approaches, immediately taking a fistful of the first man’s robes over his chest. 

“Mu Qing! You said you wouldn’t harass the poor child, damn it!” 

“I am not harassing anyone! Just stating the obvious, is all! The kid needs to know where he’s standing before he moves forward, does he not?!” 

“Of course he does! But you could certainly be kinder to him! Poor kid looks pale as a ghost!” 

“As if being kind ever got anyone here anywhere good!” 

Crimson Rain Sought Flower sets his fist down loudly on the sturdy table. “That’s enough from you two.” Exasperated, he turns to Xie Lian. “Gege, are you sure you want those two here?” 

Xie Lian sighs. “Feng Xin, Mu Qing, didn’t you say you wished to properly introduce yourselves to Young Master Wei? You're not giving a good first impression…” 

Feng Xin’s eyes shift towards Wei Wuxian for a second before clearing his throat. He harshly lets go of the front of Mu Qing’s robes and settles into a small bow. “I- uh, sorry about that. I am Nan Yang, Martial God of the Southeast.” 

Mu Qing sighs, elegantly fixing his robes before mirroring his counterpart’s bow. “I am Xuan Zhen, Martial God of the Southwest.” 

Wei Wuxian’s stomach drops to the floor. Memories resurface of him spitting at the entrance of Xuan Zhen’s shrine, the prayers filled with profanities mumbled out in fits of madness, the remains of a Nan Yang statue being dragged by his fierce corpses… 

Do they know? Did they witness his destruction, his mockery? Has he managed to offend the two martial Gods so badly they’ve personally come to confront and humiliate him in front of none other than the Heavenly Emperor and the most powerful Ghost King? Was the past couple of months all an elaborate lie to make Wei Wuxian feel welcomed, friendly, only to strike him down when he least expected it? 

He can already feel the cold metal of a cursed shackle wrapping itself around his neck.

His sight darkens in spots at the corners of his vision. He can’t breathe, even though he doesn’t even need to, and his chest aches aches aches as his heart attempts to escape it . Fear and desperation cling once again to his body, and even though it’s all too familiar, and he’s all too used to dealing with it all, it is nonetheless alarming. 

He’s out. He’s not in the cave anymore and his Golden Core pulses with warm energy along his beating heart and yet- 

He’s not safe. 

All of a sudden, like a drowning man being fished out of ice-cold waters, he can breathe again. The hand previously patting the spot between his shoulder blades is now rubbing firm circles all over his upper back. Another hand, larger and colder lays flat over his heart. Energy pulses between both palms, gentle, soothing his spirit. His Golden Core reacts. Slowly, he can breathe again. 

The sharp claws of paranoic panic retract back into the shadows of his mind, temporarily pacified but ready to attack again when he least expects it. 

He’s sitting on the floor, he realizes. All four men crouch by his side, their eyes full of gentle concern slowly coming back into focus. 

For the first time in a very, very long time, an embarrassed blush lights up Wei Wuxian’s tanned face. 

Fuck. 

Xie Lian, still rubbing his back, smiles reassuringly at him. “Doing better now?” 

Wei Wuxian can only nod slightly, a mortifying dread slowly replacing his earlier panic as he remembers just where the actual literal hell he currently is. His eyes dart over to the other pairs of eyes and a deep, shameful blush covers his entire face all the way to what’s exposed of his chest matching the deep red of his inner robes. 

The two bickering Gods exchange a look before turning back to him. 

Nan Yang, “Oi, kid, are you ok? Did we scare you or something?” 

Wei Wuxian clears his throat and shakes his head. Still, no words manage to escape his lips. 

It doesn’t seem to matter, though, as the Ghost King who’s mostly kept himself to the background releases a long sigh and shoots a glare at the two Gods. 

Hua Cheng, “Move back, let the damn kid breathe.” 

Xie Lian returns to his field of view, his hand finally stopping after having rubbed raw the fabric on his back in favor of clasping itself reassuringly onto his shoulder, squeezing with a little too much force that Wei Wuxian doesn’t dare flinch at.

Xie Lian, “It’s alright, Young Master Wei. I could ask them to leave if you’re not comf-”

“No!” Wei Wuxian leaps up at this, almost falling straight back on his ass when his shaky legs can’t hold his entire weight quite yet. Xie Lian’s reflexes are incredibly sharp, though, and both he and Hua Cheng manage to catch him before slowly helping him to his feet. 

Hua Cheng, “Ok, fine! Just calm down already.”

Xie Lian shoots him a look behind his back, and surprisingly enough the Demon King shuts his mouth, his teeth audibly clashing between his lips. 

Wei Wuxian, “Apologies. I just- It’s just- The war- ” 

Wei Wuxian doesn’t stutter, doesn’t trip over his own words, his mouth is loose and his words flow like the streams of Gusu’s waterfalls — chaotic, unrestrained. Not for the first time since his ascension he doesn’t feel like himself. It’s like he can’t control his body, can’t control his thoughts. Just a few months ago he was fighting a cold war, was living amongst the very depths of resentment, was getting torn apart by his own fierce corpses- 

He shakes himself. Focus.

Xuan Zhen huffs exasperatedly. “ That’s what you’re worried about? You’ve been a God for months by now, why are you still stuck with that?! Is it because of all the damage you did to our shrines? Huh? Or the fierce corpses you created for Hua Chengzhu to chase around? The people you killed, the blood in your hands?!”

Nan Yang, “That’s enough, Mu Qing!” 

Wei Wuxian, “Yes! That’s- I did all that! And I’m very sorry! I shouldn’t have desecrated your shrines, I really shouldn’t, but I was so angry and lost and-” 

Xuan Zhen, “And we get it already! Why do you think we agreed to a private meeting, huh? Did you think we would gang up on a kid for some stupid shrines?! Sure, you owe us a ton of merits, but Ling Wen already took care of that arrangement! You’re almost done paying us back! But it seems someone didn’t bother mentioning that at all!” 

All eyes turn to Xie Lian. 

Xie Lian doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Well you see, he was quite distressed the first few days after ascending so I’ve been putting it off for a while now…”

Hua Cheng, “You’re too kind, dianxia. ”

Xuan Zhen, “More like he’s too stupid . Nearly gave the poor kid a heart attack.” 

Hua Cheng shoots him a glare, and Mu Qing has the decency to step back with a clearly annoyed eye roll. 

Xie Lian clears his throat. “I do apologize, Young Master Wei. I shouldn’t have kept this matter from you, it clearly has been weighing hard on your mind.” 

Wei Wuxian feels his knees buckle under him with relief, yet still remains upright thanks to the pair of strong hands holding onto his arms. He shakes his head and finds it in him to allow a small smile to grace his lips. 

Wei Wuxian, “It’s fine. As long as I don’t get banished or put in cursed shackles or anything of the like.” 

Xie Lian lets out a nervous laugh. 

Hua Cheng, “Anyways, I did not get the chance to introduce myself. I am the master of this land, Crimson Rain Sought Flower, but you may call me Hua Cheng. Welcome to Paradise Manor.” 

Wei Wuxian finally returns to himself, standing on his own and politely shaking both supporting hands away before offering a bow in acknowledgment. 

Hua Cheng bows back. “I suggest we begin this feast before the dishes grow cold.” 

With that, they all turn to occupy a place at the table, with Mu Qing and Feng Xin sitting together on one side, Wei Wuxian and Xie Lian on the other, and Hua Cheng sitting at the head as the host. With a snap of his fingers, numerous ghosts emerge from a room far back carrying silver plates with delicious-looking dishes. 

Xie Lian, “I remember Young Master Wei once mentioning his fondness for spicy dishes.” 

Indeed, at least half of the food presented before him sits with a red tint over it suggesting the presence of chili oil. His stomach rumbles eagerly. 

Just when he thinks it couldn’t get any better, a jar of wine is presented to him from across the table. 

Feng Xin, “Take it as a late welcoming gift from the palaces of Nan Yang and Xuan Zhen.”

He cautiously accepts it, undoing the knot and peeling the fabric sealing it. Immediately a familiar scent floods his senses. 

Tian Zi Xiao.

Before he knows it, his eyes are watering, a dull ache settling in his chest where his heart beats rapidly. He grips the jar tightly between his hands as he looks up at the martial gods before him. He quickly sets the jar down on the table and rises from his seat to offer a polite bow to each of them. 

Wei Wuxian, “This humble one greatly thanks General Nan Yang and General Xuan Zhen for the kind gift. It means a lot to me.”

Mu Qing allows a soft smile to grace his lips. “Figured it would.”

Feng Xin, “I must say, it is quite amusing to hear vendors on the street announcing their heavenly-endorsed wine like that.” 

Wei Wuxian perks up at that, pouring himself some on a bowl before offering it to the others. They all politely decline, instead opting to drink from another jar procured by Hua Cheng “You’ve been in Gusu recently?” 

Feng Xin nods. “Yes, I’m investigating some worrisome claims that came to me in prayers.” 

Wei Wuxian frowns. “What claims? Is everything alright in Gusu? Is the Lan sect-”

Feng Xin interrupts him, holding a hand up. “It does not concern the Lan sect, they seemed fine from what I could tell. No, this concerns other matters, though they might come up in the investigation in the future.” 

Wei Wuxian opens his mouth to ask further questions, but he’s swiftly interrupted by Hua Cheng rising from his seat. 

Hua Cheng, “I thank you all for your presence here, even if it has not been the most pleasant,” he shoots Feng Xin and Mu Qing a displeased glare before continuing, “Let the feast begin.” 

With that, they all dig into the dishes, Wei Wuxian being the last one to still respect proper etiquette. He behaves cautiously the whole time, silently enjoying his meal. He cannot help but think of how proud Lan Qiren would be of him, finally shutting his mouth for once and only focusing on the food before him. 

He finishes the wine in his bowl and pours himself more. 

With a slightly ruined appetite, Wei Wuxian fills his stomach with all sorts of juicy meats and fresh vegetables, venturing into those with the most spices, washing it all down with mouthfuls of wine. He’s almost brought to tears in disappointment when he notices the jar only holding a breath of wine, but to his surprise, another jar is presented before him.

Feng Xin, “I only brought two jars with me. It wouldn’t be ideal if you got too drunk… but don’t worry, we have sent more jars to you Palace of Yiling for you to enjoy another time.”

Thinking of the jars of heavenly wine waiting for him at his palace, the feast goes by fast. By the end of it, luxurious jade plates sit empty on the table, the lingering smell of cooked meat and alcohol settling him into a satisfied buzz. 

With another flick of the wrist from Hua Cheng, a wave of ghostly servants takes the empty plates away. The room is left in silence as the men all lean back comfortably, enjoying the feeling of fullness a great feast always brings.

Xie Lian clears his throat. “So, Young Master Wei, you mentioned a few questions you wished to ask other Heavenly Officials?” 

Wei Wuxain nods, feeling confidence return to him with the warm buzz of alcohol running in his veins. He turns to Mu Qing and Feng Xin. He explains the whole situation with his prayers, the way they’re all over the place and he isn’t sure he can handle them all.

Mu Qing frowns. “Well, isn’t it obvious? You should get yourself a couple of deputies to help you handle your Palace’s business.” 

Wei Wuxian, “How do I do that?” 

Once again, Mu Qing’s permanently annoyed scowl turns to Xie Lian. “Isn’t it your job to explain these things?! He’s the second God to ascend during your rule, for crying out loud! You really want him to turn out like Baoshan Sanren?!” 

Wei Wuxian immediately perks up at the mention of his master. 

Xie Lian sighs, “I told you, he was too upset to have him thinking of these things! I called you all here to help me explain it all to him for a reason, but clearly, I should’ve just asked San Lang for help.” 

Feng Xin, “You really think he could’ve done a better job?” 

Wei Wuxian, unable to sit back through another round of bickering, stands up from his seat in what he knows could be interpreted as an extremely rude gesture but he can’t find it in himself to care. “What- what do you mean, turn out like my master?” 

Xie Lian, “Baoshan Sanren ascended to the Heavens a couple of years after I took over as Heavenly Emperor. Back then, the Heavenly Capital was still being reconstructed, so she didn’t have a palace for her to move into. She was offered one of the communal palaces as all the other Officials lived back then, but she instead chose to stay in the mortal realm.”

Wei Wuxian frowned. Communal palaces? Reconstruction? He knows three hundred years ago the Heavenly Realm suffered a disaster, resulting in Xie Lian becoming the new Heavenly Emperor, but the truth of what exactly transpired has evaded him until now. Well, now that he’s been introduced to other Heavenly Officials who are both close to the Heavenly Emperor and don’t seem to hold any grudges against him, he can try and ask them for the details at a later time. For now, he’ll listen to what Xie Lian has to say about his master. 

Xie Lian, “When her palace was finally in place, I personally went to fetch her but found her happily settled in the mountains. She had taken in a couple of children from the streets and was currently teaching them the art of the sword. She said that if she could raise them successfully, then she’d make them her deputies, and they would return to the Heavens with her. However, as the years went by, she never did manage to raise a worthy deputy. She had much faith in this one child, Yanling Daoren, but he chose to descend the mountain instead of joining the Middle Court and succumbed to insanity. Many years went by until her next pick was raised, your mother Cangse Sanren but she too, chose to descend the mountain. All this to say, she remains secluded in her mountain and refuses to withhold her Heavenly Duty. I made her banishment official shortly after your mother’s death, but she never showed any signs of regret. She’s shut herself out completely to both earthly and Heavenly matters.”

Feng Xin, “I only crossed words with her once, and she seemed like a strong, dedicated martial God. I wonder what could’ve influenced her to shut herself out like that.” 

Mu Qing, “Either way, you better not follow in her steps, kid. As much as she is you dear master even though you never even met her-” 

Xie Lian, “ Mu Qing. ”

Mu Qing, “Just be good and listen to your seniors, okay?” 

Wei Wuxian very much feels like a 22-year-old young man surrounded by men who’ve lived for over a millennium. His mind goes back to the lectures the Jiang clan elders would grace him with for every minor thing, or his time under Lan Qiren’s constant disapproving glare, and he nods. 

Xie Lian, “Perhaps you could try and talk some sense into her sometime. I’m sure she would at least listen to you.”

He doubts it. She never sought him out after his parents died, but he never held that against her. After all, living in a secluded mountain must mean news takes a long time to reach her. And it is precisely because she doesn’t know him, and the whole mess he left back in the mortal realm, that makes him doubt she’ll ever even let him find her precious mountain. 

Feng Xin, “Anyways, back to your question, Mu Qing is right. You need to get a couple of deputies into the Middle Court to help you out, otherwise, your Palace is as good as dead. You have enough merits to bring them up here, enough mana to power them up. And I’m sure you being a cultivator raised around the main clans means you know a few worthy people out there.” 

Wei Wuxian sighs. “Knowing them does not mean they’ll agree to join my Palace.” 

Mu Qing yet again rolls his eyes. “You won’t know unless you ask them.” 

Wei Wuxian, “...am I allowed to do that?” 

Xie Lian, “You can interact with some mortals. However, they must have Heavenly Potential in them in order for them to be able to join the Middle Court. You’ll notice it once you perceive their aura.” 

Wei Wuxian, “And how many do you think I should get?” 

Feng Xin, “With the current size of your Palace I would suggest you get three at most for now. Once they’ve settled into their duties you can think of adding a couple more.” 

Wei Wuxian sinks down on his seat. 

Who would be willing to help the Yiling Patriarch?

Chapter Text

Three days later Wei Wuxian stands by the southern edge of the Heavenly Capital. His childlike curiosity has him looking down the edge where a bed of clouds covers most of his view of the Mortal Realm. A gust of wind messes with his already untamed hair and he has to press a hand over his chest where he keeps most of his talismans to prevent them from being blown away. He can feel the magic array that keeps the Heavenly Capital safe from things such as rain and wind slowly giving way the further he leans forward. 

He’d been shocked when he learned that he’d have to quite literally fall from the Heavenly Capital if he wanted to descend to the Mortal Realm. He’d thought, since they’re Gods, that there would be some sort of magic mechanism or a majestic creature that could make the transition between realms a bit less jarring. And while all of those things do exist, they require a ridiculous amount of qi that a newly-ascended God like him cannot spare if he wants to achieve all that he’s set for himself without spending a considerable amount of time in the Mortal Realm. 

So graceful fall it is. 

He knows to be mindful of clouds unless he wants to be set off course, and he already carries a talisman to aid him with his landing. He looks down at the compass in his hand, then back down over the edge a couple of times making sure he’s aiming for the right spot. Once he’s sure, he tosses said compass into his qiankun pouch. 

He takes a few deep breaths, convincing himself that this is nothing like being violently tossed to the Burial Mounds. His core pulses gently in his chest, his spiritual energy caressing his meridians in a soothing cycle, and he feels his qi built up by people’s prayers and offerings coating him like an indestructible armor. 

He’s safe. He’s safe. He’s safe. 

He tells himself that if he can just get over this fall, he’ll reward himself with all the food he could want at as many restaurants as he’d like, with more than enough wine to match. After all, the amount of merits he’s managed to obtain that can be exchanged for mortal currency is well enough to last him through a lavish month fit for a Young Master of the Jin Clan. 

He doesn’t let himself hesitate. He takes a couple of steps back, and with all his strength he runs forward until he’s stepping on nothing but cold air. 

He’s grateful he doesn’t need to breathe as much anymore since there’s not enough air filling his lungs. His dark silk robes flutter prettily in the air and he reminds himself to spread his arms to maintain equilibrium. 

With more grace than he’d thought he could muster, he expertly dodges the bed of thick, fluffy clouds one after the other. And just like that, the sky opens up for a clear view of the Qinling area. He aims for the northernmost village and with his outstretched arms he maneuvers himself until he’s on track — and without noticing, he smiles at how similar this is to flying on a sword. 

In less than half an incense time he’s landing atop a deserted mountain. He strolls over to a nearby puddle of water and kneels down next to it, peering at his reflection. He’d stayed up the entire previous night perfecting his transformation spell, making sure it was as convincing as it could be. After all, he’s gonna need to talk to a lot of people so he’s got to look both presentable and trustworthy. His reflection is wearing simple grey robes tied with a black leather belt. A sword sits tucked safely at his side. His hair is neatly pulled up in a simple ponytail held together with a leather ornament. His brown hair and sweet brown eyes make him look like a simple rogue cultivator, well-educated and of a calm temper. 

If that ain’t screaming simple but charming young man then his surname is no longer Wei!

He stands up, looking around the mountain until he finds a stick of decent length to use as a cane and leisurely makes his way down towards the small village sitting at the mountain’s feet. 

Even from afar, he can tell most of the village sits abandoned. Crumbling buildings make up what was once a bustling market. Signs still sit outside stalls and shops, children’s toys lay forgotten, covered in dust, and wooden carriages sit abandoned in the middle of the main street. 

In the distance he can see an old woman airing out some laundry while an old man sits on a battered chair by their home’s entrance. They seem at peace despite the circumstances. The old man stares at his wife’s back, his mouth moving along to a conversation Wei Wuxian doesn’t dare pry into. The woman turns around with stiff, aged movements and gives a reply. 

She doesn’t spot the young cultivator and leisurely returns to her laundry. 

Wei Wuxian keeps walking. He comes across a handful of people, all either old or crippled, but senses no fear or panic amongst them. There’s enough food to go around, and the well at the center of the village is a good source of clean water. They might be lacking capable hands, but that is something they can cope with if they work together as they seemingly have been doing ever since most of the village abandoned them. 

Wei Wuxian’s heart aches for them. 

Memories of a found family sharing in their struggles and relying on each other to survive float to the surface. 

He diligently pushes them down. 

With quiet footsteps he rushes to a small, crumbling building near the outskirts of the village. Its doors are wide open, exposing a small illustration made with trembling hands on a stained piece of parchment. 

This God of Darkness stands in a battle pose, both feet placed firmly on the ground as his hands hold a bamboo flute to his mouth. His hair and robes flutter ominously in the wind, and his eyes glow a faint red. The words ‘Yiling Patriarch’ sit crossed over at the bottom of the parchment. Next to it, in a smaller font the words ‘God of Darkness’ have been written a bit hastily on a slightly darker ink. 

Wei Wuxian smiles fondly at it. 

The offerings are mostly what he’d expected. Various fruits and vegetables in varying stages of rot, small piles of incense ashes no one cared to clean, and a few candles clinging to their wick’s end in order to illuminate the small shrine. The straw mats laid out for people to kneel on were old and dirty, clearly donated by someone who made good use of them for a number of years. 

He drags one of them to the center of the room by the altar and dusts it a bit before sprawling cross-legged over it. Reaching into his sleeve he fishes out a pack of protective talismans he’d worked on some time last night. They’re carefully shoved under a small rock so they won’t be blown away by the winds but are still noticeable enough for old, tired eyes to notice them sitting there. 

Then, with a heavy sigh, he lies on the ground uncaring of dirtying his robes. 

He’d originally planned to talk to some of the townsmen, find out what they need, what they lack, what could make their lives just a bit more pleasant. But now, seeing them , brings back too many memories and feelings. 

He knows that no matter what little miracle he pulls for them, it won’t be enough. The small bits of hope that had flourished in his heart quickly died down. 

This God gig is way harder than what the Jiang clan elders described, time and time again as a way to motivate a lazy Wei Ying into doing his chores and training with the other disciples. 

Obviously, it never worked.

He doesn’t know when he closes his eyes, but being away from the Heavenly Realm has lifted some of the suffocating pressure that has been preventing him from having some proper rest. He breathes in the scent of rotten fruit and incense, and calmly drifts off to sleep. 

┉

Hua Cheng, “I’m curious. Just what were you trying to accomplish, inventing Demonic Cultivation and taking it to such lengths?”

The feast at Paradise Manor had ended, and both Nan Yang and Xuan Zhen had left as they claimed torturous amounts of work awaited them in their Palaces after having spent three months in the Mortal Realm. Hua Cheng offered to show Wei Wuxian around Ghost City and of course, Xie Lian eagerly tagged along. 

They walked past a frog-like creature showing off a bundle of human legs claiming fresh, tender meat for a fair price — a surreal sight that managed to amuse the young God greatly.

Whispers follow them as they walk, some amused, some concerned. He tries to ignore them, tries to enjoy walking around the place he’d only ever heard fantastic stories of, the place he dreamed of visiting with his brother and his friends and- 

And he can’t stop thinking, and he wishes he could just lay down and let the ground consume him as it has refused to do twice already. 

Wei Wuxian, “Power. I wanted power.” 

They walk past a food stall serving some kind of tentacled monstrosity on a stick. Wei Wuxian would love to try it, if he hadn’t just left a feast. 

Hua Cheng, “Do you still want it?” 

Two ghost children run by waving paper toys around and giggling loudly. How long has it been since he last heard a child laugh like that? 

He shakes his head. “Back then I was just making up for my lack of Golden Core. Now that I have it back, I just want to be a good God for my followers.” 

‘Stop lying’ the Burial Mounds whisper. ‘You’ve always wanted us, always craved us.’

Not now. He’ll deal with those whispers later. 

The conversation dies down for a handful of minutes. It's not awkward, but Wei Wuxian is quite talkative by nature. He lets out a genuine forlorn sigh and turns to Hua Cheng. 

Wei Wuxian, “It is a shame your sister couldn’t join us tonight. I was quite eager to meet her, too.” 

Hua Cheng stops in his tracks. Confusion writes itself all over his face, his mouth falls open as if to say something but is quickly shut down by Xie Lian loudly clearing his throat. Xie Lian, who had previously remained silent, content to just enjoy the familiar atmosphere of Ghost City while he quietly listened to their conversation. 

Xie Lian, “I- yes, well you see…”

Wei Wuxian’s attention is caught by a rabbit the size of a dog hopping onto a stool outside a small stall, waiting patiently to be served only to savagely dig its two front teeth on what looks to be a cooked human thigh. He shudders. 

Behind him, Xie Lian and Hua Cheng exchange glances. An amused smirk on the Demon King. A playful yet apologetic smile on the Heavenly Emperor. 

Hua Cheng, “My sister’s been awfully busy lately. Young Master Wei will have to wait until his return from the Mortal Realm to meet her.”

┉

Wei Wuxian awakes to the sound of footsteps. His war-tainted instincts have him silently jumping on his feet, sword hilt gripped tightly in his hands. 

“We should get something for the God of Darkness next time.” 

“Right… I always forget that guy is up there now. The Yiling Patriarch… how ironic.” 

“Oi! Don’t say such disrespectful things! He could be listening, y’know?!” 

“What’s he gonna do? Break my other leg?”

There’s a soft thump and a loud yelp. 

“Shut your mouth! C’mon, let’s hurry. We really need Lord Rain Master’s blessings for the next harvest.” 

The muffled footsteps fade away. Wei Wuxian forces himself to take deep breaths and slowly releases his grip on the sword. It’s been a while since he’s had such a nice, dream-less sleep — he wishes he could return to it. He dusts himself off, makes sure he’s presentable enough, and leaves the shrine. 

The sun sits over the horizon, just barely starting its ascend into the sky. Way too early, Wei Wuxian thinks to himself. He takes his time walking around the small town avoiding any wandering eyes that might spot the young soul. He visits his fellow Gods’ temples and isn't surprised when Gods like the Lord Rain Master and the Heavenly Emperor have enough offerings to feed the entire village for a week straight just sitting there, untouched. 

He doesn’t notice his hands wrapping themselves into fists by his sides, instead focusing on taking deep breaths and leaving before he does something stupid. 

And ain’t that a new habit he’s forced himself to indulge in — just turn around and leave before you fuck things up again. He used to think of indifference as the lowest stance a man could take, but after caring a bit too much for petty things like justice and empathy, he’s starting to appreciate what lies below the masks of prestige and honor. 

He finds a creak, hidden far back in the southern end of the town and overflowing with resentful energy. With just a glance he can tell — there are many corpses hidden amongst the rocks at the bottom, tied up and gagged and violently murdered. A Wen clan flag sits lonely in the middle, half-drowned, fluttering ominously in the wind. 

The Yiling Patriarch would be ecstatic. So many strong, trained corpses right under his nose, waiting to be reawakened to rekindle that fighting spirit that brought their own deaths. He would give them the blood they desire, the chance to vent their anger and resentment of those who did them wrong, all in exchange for their strength. A fair, equal exchange that kept the balance of the universe on the verge of collapsing every single time. The sound of the flute would cause ripples in the water for days to come, and after the creak was rid of corpses and aired out for a couple of months, it would be purified and ready to be of service to the people. 

General Yiling only looks at it, a mixture of indifference and disgust brewing in his chest. He fishes out a couple of talismans — his most recent creations — and with spiritual energy he sends them to all four corners of the creak. The water bubbles, and he thinks he hears a few distant screams before it all goes eerily still. 

Silence. 

Steam rises from the water. The faint smell of rot dissipates. The sun shines brighter having reached it’s highest point. A flock of birds curiously thread the edges of the creak. 

Life returns to where there was none. 

Wei Wuxian feels nothing. 

The talisman returns to him, shaking and pleading with the weight of the dead. He seals it in his qiankun pouch, knowing he’ll have to slowly dissipate the resentful energy over the course of a couple of weeks. 

He takes another look around the small town, decides to peek into his shrine one last time, and is delighted to see that the talismans are gone and a plate of steaming buns has been placed before his portrait. 

They taste good. 

When he walks back outside his talismans have been placed on the people’s homes' front doors as he’d intended them to be. A protective aura fills the air.

Wei Wuxian smiles, yet it does not quite reach his eyes. 

Not that there’s anyone there to see that. 

Finally, he decides to leave. He’s got much work to do, and he does not wish to stay here for longer than necessary. With enormous effort, he turns his back to the town and continues on his way. 

The sun is starting to set by the horizon when he reaches the next town. 

This time, he’s greeted with screams. 

“Ghost! It’s a ghost!” 

Wei Wuxian fishes the sword tucked into his belt — a gift from Xie Lian himself. It is black with fine golden trimmings, slick, with a bright blood-red tassel hanging by the hilt. It fits his aesthetic eerily well, and judging by the sword’s lack of obvious power and abilities, it was chosen for that same reason.

At least, that’s what he’d thought. 

Now, though, he releases the sword from its’ scabbard and is immediately taken aback by the sheer force of the blade. It is sharp, light, and surprisingly eager to be used. It yells at Wei Wuxian with joy, as if it were meeting a good friend for the first time in a long, long time. 

“Help! The ghost! It’s gonna- AAAAH.” 

Right. 

Without a second thought Wei Wuxian leaps forward, following the sound of the voice. With one hand he grips his sword, and with the other, he digs into his qiankun pouch and pulls out his spiritual compass. It leads him to where a man lays on the floor, a now empty bucket of water gripped tightly between his hands like a shield as a disfigured ghost slowly approaches him. 

The ghost laughed maniacally. 

Ghost, “Your life energy is gonna taste so delicious! Hah! This entire town will be mine, I’ll finally become a wrath and everyone will-” 

Before he can finish his sentence, a sword stabs through its middle. 

The ghost screams in agony and promptly dissipates. 

As it disappears in a cloud of dust, it reveals the figure of a tall, broad cultivator. His robes are black and silver, and his hair is gathered into a bun with a simple leather ornament. His eyebrows are sharp, and his eyes are dark and insightful. His sword retracts swiftly into its scabbard — and to those immersed in the cultivation world, its sight is one only a handful have been blessed with. 

A man, by all means the other’s complete opposite, stands behind him. His arms are crossed over his chest, a whisk held in one hand. His white and silver robes flutter in the wind, shining brightly under the last rays of sunlight gracing the earth for the last few moments of the day. A kind smile takes over his face, the kid one would reserve for those one is closest with, screaming about pride and love. 

Wei Wuxian immediately bows to them. They, of course, bow back. 

Song Lan, “This one apologizes to Young Master for taking our shared prey.” 

Wei Wuxian smiles, deepening his bow. “It is not an issue.”

Xiao Xingchen moves to stand next to Song Lan and bows. 

Xiao Xingchen, “That sword is quite powerful. May I ask for its name?” 

Wei Wuxian, “It is called ‘No-name’.”

Something clicks in Xiao Xingchen’s brain. He takes a step forward and looks attentively down at the No-name sword while keeping a white-knuckled grip on his own. 

And Wei Wuxian finally notices — the trimming patterns on both No-name and Shuanghua are the exact same. 

In other words, both swords were forged on Baoshan Sanren’s mountain. 

Wei Wuxian’s eyes widen, his breath catching in his throat. 

Xiao Xingchen, “Where did you find this sword?” His voice is loud and firm and leaves no space for lies or half-truths. Looking at him, one could easily forget he is one of the strongest cultivators out there having been trained by a former immortal God since early childhood. 

Wei Wuxian, “It was given to me as a gift.” 

He’s speaking the truth before he can stop himself. The other man just stares at him, his eyes searching for something Wei Wuxian can’t understand. Song Lan just looks back and forth between them, placing a reassuring hand on his partner’s shoulder. With uneasiness, he too unsheathed his sword once again, yet kept it pointed to the ground. 

Xiao Xingchen, “...who are you?” 

Wei Wuxian sighs. 

A few days ago, he’d showed up at Ling Wen’s palace, resisting the urge to poke and pry at the infinite amounts of scrolls and piles of parchment lining up the walls of the crowded palace in favor of making a beeline straight to the throne sitting in the middle where a woman sat, deeply immersed in a scroll. 

Wei Wuxian had never seen such dark eyebags under a person’s eyes before. 

He’d asked her to track down a number of people, receiving a scroll with real-time locations two days later. Amongst those names, Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen stood out. 

If he was going to have people join his palace it would have to be those capable of handling Heavenly matters. They would also have to be impartial to themselves, the cultivation world, and mortals in general — and it was precisely that criteria that deeply narrowed the list to just a handful of names. Of them all, the ones who stood on top were none other than his martial uncle and his cultivation partner. 

However their honorable status and their lack of participation in the Sunshot Campaign and everything that followed makes it hard to predict what their response would be to Wei Wuxian’s proposition. 

Still, he really does need all the help he can get.

And here it goes, another thing that’s oh so drastically changed. He used to think he could do things by himself. It wasn’t him thinking himself to be above the need for help, but a deeply ingrained feeling of having to pay back invisible debts over and over again, not wanting to add more wood to the fire. Something it took him way too long to figure out, and by then he’d thought it to be too late to trust others enough to ask for help. 

Now, after having lost so much over and over again, he understands that even as a God, his abilities have limits and there’s nothing he can do to successfully surpass them without consequences. 

So, finally, he allows himself to ask for something for once. 

Wei Wuxian, “These days, the people refer to me as the God of Darkness.” 

He lets go of his disguise, a gentle gust of wind transforming his common robes into fine silk, his hair properly arranged into a golden guan. His golden belt sits snuggly around his waist and No-name swiftly releases itself from Xiao Xingchen’s intense glaring in favor of sitting snuggly under it. 

The two men immediately drop to the floor in a deep bow. 

Wei Wuxian kneels in front of them, struggling to get them to stand on their feet once again. 

Wei Wuxian, “Please, you guys don’t have to do this. In fact, I’m here to ask for a favor, please, just get up already.” 

It takes a while, but he finally gets both men to stand and look him in the eye — or at least a distant spot over his shoulder, in Song Lan’s case. 

Finally, Wei Wuxian realizes it’s getting dark. The poor man who had been attacked by the ghost is long gone, and faint candlelight can be perceived inside the dilapidated houses lining the street. He guides the other two men inside until he finds a Ming Guang shrine, and they settle inside. There are enough lit candles to be able to see each other, and the cushions set in front of the slightly cracked statue are much more comfortable than he’d expected. 

The air around them is thick with awkwardness. Wei Wuxian loudly clears his throat, letting the sound echo inside the shrine. 

Wei Wuxian, “I’m quite happy I ran into the both of you, though it is much sooner than I’d expected. How have you both been these past couple of years?” 

Song Lan, still too shaken up by the unexpected encounter, shifts quietly in his place. 

Xiao Xingchen, “We have been well. We traveled through small villages, bringing relief from the consequences of war.” 

Very cleverly, he avoids directly mentioning Wei Wuxian’s involvement in said consequences while also making it known he is fully aware of the God’s sins. Just what you’d expect from someone raised by a sinner God. 

Wei Wuxian, “May I ask why you refused to take part in the war efforts against the Wen sect?” 

He won’t ask about the times after the Sunshot Campaign, he knows for a fact they would have not supported him then. Even though he was protecting innocent lives, his methods were not something those two could stand behind. 

Song Lan perks up at this and exchanges a quick look with his partner. 

Song Lan, “The matters between sects were none of our business.” 

Wei Wuxian, “Even though innocent people got involved?” 

Xiao Xingchen, “We did everything we could, General Yiling. After all, we are just two mortal men. We could not meddle with sect politics, but we did figure out the Jin clan’s corruption around the same time as you did. Just as you freed that work camp at Qiongqi Path, we freed another one in Xiaoguan. However, they decided it was all your doing. Even when we presented ourselves before other cultivators, they refused to acknowledge our involvement. The cultivation world had decided on their enemy, and we had no choice but to keep working in your shadow.” 

Wei Wuxian sighed. He’d suspected it ever since he did that whole compilation of information for the Palace of Ling Wen. He came across many inconsistencies that did not seem to concern the middle court Officials, but he’d been too exhausted mentally to ask about it. 

Now, though, it all makes sense. 

Song Lan, “The people we saved all live in this town. Most of them died due to their injuries and overall bad health, though. We tried looking for doctors, but none were willing to care for ‘suspicious individuals’.” 

A deep silence settles into the shrine. 

Outside, thunder announces the arrival of rain. 

Xiao Xingchen, “May I ask, why is General Yiling, God of Darkness, walking the Mortal Realm? Is it not forbidden?” 

Wei Wuxian huffs out a small laugh. “It’s not forbidden, no. According to the Heavenly Emperor, our master chose to give up her Heavenly Duty in favor of permanently settling in her mountain. Did she ever mention a reason for it?” 

Xiao Xingchen shakes his head. “Master never talked about the Heavenly Realm. I just presumed it to be forbidden for Gods to walk the Mortal Realm without a good reason.”

Wei Wuxian, “We are allowed down here, we just have to follow a couple rules that’s all. And I do have a good reason to be down here.”

Song Lan, “...may this one ask-”

Wei Wuxian, “Please, stop talking like that, you’re both older than me, it's weird. Just call me Wei Wuxian, I promise you’re not offending me in the least. I don’t think there’s much that could actually offend me these days. My face is as thick as clouds are high.” 

Song Lan lets out a deep chuckle, and Xiao Xingchen smiles. 

Wei Wuxian, “Anyways. The reason I’m here is to answer prayers and to look for Deputies. Surprisingly enough, I have more followers than I’d expect and my acting alone is not enough to help them all.” 

Xiao Xingchen, “...oh. I see.” 

Wei Wuxian, “You two are some of the very, very few cultivators I can trust. If you’d allow me, I would be more than happy to have you join the Palace of Yiling. I know I may not be the first God to ask this of you, certainly not for Martial Uncle, but…” He trails off. 

Song Lan sighs. “Well, we did recently have a conversation about this.” 

The two cultivation partners exchange a look, a silent conversation only they could be privy to, and Wei Wuxian gives them all the time they could need to figure it out. He plays with loose threads on his robes, trails the beautiful golden patterns embroidered into the dark silk with the tips of his fingers, and fidgets about in his place as silently as he can. 

Just when he thinks he might go insane, the two men turn to him. 

Xiao Xingchen, “Back when we first met, after capturing Xue Yang, we discussed our goal of establishing a sect for ourselves. We were… foolish, naive. We had yet to perceive the true horrors of this world, of humanity, far worse than any ghost and any beast haunting a village could be. There is no way we could ever gather enough cultivators to start a sect of our own, and even if we did there is no guarantee we could avoid the same issues that plague the other sects.”

Song Lan, “If we truly want to make a difference, we can’t rely on mortal principle.” 

Wei Wuxian focuses his gaze on both men, channeling his qi. Within the blink of an eye, both men’s auras become visible. They’re bright, blindingly so. Xiao Xingchen’s is almost white, pure, and determined while Song Lan’s burns with golds and reds of fiery passion and honesty. All in all, they’re filled to the brim with Heavenly Potential. 

Wei Wuxian, “Are you willing to join the Heavenly Middle Court under me, to serve and protect those who follow the God of Darkness?” 

Song Lan, “Yes.”

Xiao Xingchen, “Yes.” 

Wei Wuxian smiles. “Then, I welcome you to the Palace of Yiling.”

Chapter Text

The Wen refugees in this village are all from another small branch of the Wen Clan, just as distant as Wen Qing and Wen Ning had been. Instead of doctors, their ranks consist of artisans and craftsmen — real talented ones at that, judging by what little Wei Wuxian could catch a glance of. 

When the Jin clan first got their claws on them, they were accused of providing most of the weaponry and general supplies for the war exclusively to the Wen Sect, nevermind the fact that they were not capable of producing such massive amounts of work with their limited numbers or the fact that what little they did produce was forced out of them with threats to their lives. Once in the work camp, they were forced to produce metalwork for the Jin clan, punished for every piece lacking the Jin standards, and pushed and shoved to work faster and faster. 

The youngest died within the first month, forced to endure too much all at once. Then, it was the elderly, because how dare they not work and make up for their sins? With only the middle-aged left, it was easier to lie and point fingers at those who contributed to the wrong side of the war. Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen did not get even a grain of criticism for their actions because of their noble status and reputation. 

‘It must be the God’s will if Xiao Xingchen himself intervened for such filth.’ 

They’ve been left alone ever since. By the time they settled in the village most of its inhabitants had already abandoned it, and those left were too preoccupied with their own survival to care for who the new strangers taking over their neighbours’ abandoned abodes were. Slowly, they learned to cooperate as a small yet tight-knit community. 

So much so, that even Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen felt out of place whenever they dropped by for a visit. No one asks who Wei Wuxian is, assuming he’s another friendly cultivator looking out for them. 

He notices the temples here are not being taken care of. Their doors sit wide open, yet only dirt and wild animals find shelter in them. No smell of incense, no hefty piles of offerings, no prayers, nothing. 

Song Lan, “To them, the Gods have abandoned them long ago.”

Wei Wuxian, “Nah, they just aren’t interested in petty wars.” The venom in his words could kill a thousand snakes. 

Xiao Xingchen opens his mouth, but a single glance from Song Lan shuts him down completely. 

Wei Wuxian will have to ask about it later. 

Either way, it is well known that the Heavenly Realm are not the only ones known to provide assistance. Just as those who worship Crimson Rain Sought Flower, the people of this village have found something to put what little faith they have left in — because even if it is the crooked path, it is still a path that can be trailed better than death. 

Amongst the few protective talismans their two saviors had convinced the stubborn villagers to hang on their doorways, there are a few extra pieces of parchment. Yellowed and weathered away by the lingering resentful energy of the area, one can still make out the bold, harsh brush strokes that make up the ‘portraits’ of the Yiling Patriarch. 

Wei Wuxian had to step closer and read the sloppy characters to understand just what those things were supposed to represent. Monstrous, a madman, the Yiling Patriarch looks like a demon born and raised in the darkest pits of hell with sharp canines and bloodshot, bulging eyes. It’s barefoot, with claw-like hands, and sometimes even shows a tail twisting behind his torn robes. A beast, worse than a wild dog.

The God shudders. 

Xiao Xingchen offers an apologetic smile, “They like to think the Yiling Patriarch is a demonic creature born of their own resentment towards those who failed them.”

Song Lan, “No Gods ever took interest in their suffering, as they say. So, it makes no sense for the Yiling Patriarch and the God of Darkness to be the same person no matter what we tell them.” 

Wei Wuxian’s chest twists with complicated emotions. 

There are so many versions out there of who he was, who he is, who others want him to be, and who he himself is striving to become- 

It’s all just so stupid. 

The pads of his fingers trail over the ‘portrait’ feeling the rise of dried ink over harsh parchment. He stares, and stares, and all of a sudden a laugh bubbles up from his chest. It is light and surprisingly genuine and he can’t help himself as he doubles over with just how ridiculous it all is. 

Beside him, his deputy generals can only exchange glances and careful, amused smiles. 

The villagers start being extra cautious of them after that. By evening time they gather at the town head’s home — a man born and raised in that exact same house who incidentally convinced his wife of adopting one of the three orphaned children brought in by the Wen’s. Said child currently sits on his adoptive mother’s lap as she feeds him a small bowl of broth. 

They eat in silence, only conjuring up court sentences, and promptly get kicked out with the excuse of pending labor. 

Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen may have saved most of their lives, and yet their weariness for the cultivation world outweighs their gratitude. 

Of course, the two men understand their positions and agree that nothing else matters as long as the villagers live in peace. 

Nothing else matters. 

They leave the village while the sun still sits high in the sky, stomachs full and hearts at peace. 

The previous night Wei Wuxian had explained the inner workings of a Heavenly Palace — or, at least, what he’d gathered so far after his handful of months of experience. He assigns them a short list of duties, lets them distribute them as they please so long as they meet Ling Wen’s deadlines, and generally talks about what the Heavenly Realm is like. He then tells them of his little pilgrimage of the Mortal Realm, and how they arrived just in time to accompany him through a short string of villages in his domain before he returns to his duties. 

His deputies listen quietly, give their opinions when asked, and slowly ease up to the fact that Wei Wuxian is still just a young man both mentally and physically — just like them. 

They decide to travel by sword this time since the next couple of villages lie completely abandoned and merely require a once-over to make sure no crafty ghosts or monsters are nesting in them. 

Wei Wuxian pulls No-Name from his waist and gets ready to unsheathe it when he sees Xiao Xingchen’s eyes fixed on it, his own sword gripped tight in his hands. He smiles, gently tracing the golden patterns of the hilt before gently offering it to his Martial Uncle. 

Xiao Xingchen takes it and offers Shuanghua to him. 

The weight and the patterns on the hilt feel the same as does the quality of the metal and the fierceness with which both blades show their presence. Truly, they were forged in the same place, by the same hands… 

Xiao Xingchen, “Master Baoshan Sanren would gift us these blades after finishing our basic formal training. The trimmings on the sheath and hilt mirror those on her own sword, and they are meant to symbolize the purity of the mountain. She always asked us what colors we favored, and once we mastered the use of our sword she would gift us a tassel in that color to add to it. Those are some of my fondest memories of her.” 

Wei Wuxian’s fingers trace the silver tassel hanging from Shuanghua’s hilt. A small wooden carving of an unidentifiable bird is tightly knit into it. With a small sigh, he hands the sword back to its owner, receiving No-Name in return. 

Wei Wuxian, “Do you have any idea who this sword used to belong to?” 

Xiao Xingchen shakes his head, “I wouldn’t dare make an assumption, but I believe Master Wei already knows.”

The flight is silent.

They take advantage of the fact that no one should be around to notice them as they fly as low as rogue trees will allow, eyes glued to the ground in search for anything remotely suspicious. Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen both take care of his right and left sides respectively, while Wei Wuxian gets lost in thought. 

Of course, he’s had his suspicions. It just so happens he’s gifted an auspicious sword, so mundane one can’t feel any of it’s spirit bleeding off of its sheath, and yet the second Wei Wuxian unsheaths it it releases an explosive power and an eagerness to be held by him as if it had been waiting for him specifically. Not only that, but his grip on its hilt,  and the weight of the blade seem so right in a way Suibian never was — and it strikes him just how he hasn’t even thought about Suibian, about where it ended up after his abrupt ascension. 

Even right now, flying on No-Name for the first time, he feels as safe as he could be. Even with his mind far away from his feet on the blade, he knows the blade will never slip from under him or escape his control for an errant turn. The sword spirit is loud, warm, and kind, it brings tears to his eyes. He’s grateful his deputies are too busy with their search to notice the God of Darkness shedding tears over his- 

Over his mother. 

No-Name sends a warm, confronting pulse that somehow resonates with his Golden Core, and Wei Wuxian can’t help the wide smile on his face. 

He better find something good to gift His Highness in return. 

His eyes finally focus on the ground beneath as they arrive at what once was a small village. What remains of homes and businesses are piles of rock and wood. A single tea house remains standing, a torn Wen banner hanging from the roof all the way down to the ground below. Dried pools of blood decorate the dusty ground, though no corpses lay on top of them. 

No, Wei Wuxian had called them back on that terrible night… 

All three men remain silent. The lingering resentful energy is strong enough to be suspicious, considering the lack of corpses and any other sources. Wei Wuxian pulls out his spiritual compass, but there’s nothing to be detected. Whatever was there before them is strong enough to leave a lingering print. 

Wei Wuxian, “This is Guizhou, right?”

Song Lan, “What’s left of it, yes.” 

Wei Wuxian humms, before finally jumping off No-Name and landing swiftly on the debris-cluttered ground, his deputies following behind him. 

They walk straight into the tea house, where they are startled to find the floors relatively clean. Someone had been there recently, and they had done a good job at cleaning the otherwise desolate place. There are tables set up, ready to welcome customers. The door to the kitchens sits wide open, revealing a big caldron hanging over a set fireplace. 

And at the center of the room, lying on a table sits a dark blue and silver banner for the Yueyang Chang Clan. 

Wei Wuxian picks it up, inspects the piece of old fabric, and frowns. 

Wei Wuxian, “Have either of you heard of the Yueyang Chang Clan?” 

The men exchange a look. 

Xiao Xingchen, “...Master did mention martial sister Cangse Sanren had a disastrously bad memory, but I never expected Master Wei to have inherited such a trait.” 

Wei Wuxian snorts, “Aiyah, I do have a bad memory. Is there something I should know?” 

Song Lan sighs, “Does Master Wei remember the first time we met when we captured a young man named Xue Yang?” 

Wei Wuxian sucks in a breath.

As bad as he could be remembering names and faces, he knew he could never forget that sickening smirk and dark, evil eyes no matter how much Wei Wuxian would like to. The way he had smiled and admitted to executing an entire clan with absolutely no remorse for no specific reason really did still bring a sick feeling to his stomach — and he successfully survived three full months in the Burial Mounds injured and alone.

Xue Yang is not the kind of person you easily forget, whether you know of his crimes or not. He is also the kind of person who would never easily forget you, especially if you’ve knowingly or unknowingly offended him. There’s the possibility that you walk past him, and he dislikes the color of your robes so he pushes you to the ground and rips it off with his sword, uncaring if he tears at skin in the process. There’s also the possibility that you cross words with him, or even worse, meet eyes with him, and he thinks you’re being condescending and decides to take your eyes or your tongue just so you don’t get to commit such sin a second time in this lifetime and the next. Or you could outright insult him to his face, call him names, and push him aside, and he would think you’re brave and worthy of being let go with a manic glare and a threat. 

Xue Yang is the kind of monster for which locks were installed on doors.

Xue Yang is the kind of turmoil evil spirits tend to feed off of like leeches. 

Xue Yang is a menace, a sinful existence, a soul that cannot be saved. 

He is the arrogance with which someone can think these things, dismissing him as some otherworldly threat that cannot be punished enough. A cut and dry case that keeps coming up time and time again.

And yet, back then, he’d been judged as a lesser threat compared to the catastrophe that is the Yiling Patriarch. 

Wei Wuxian, “I remember. So it was the Yueyang Chang Clan he executed, huh? But why would he set this up in Guizhou?” 

A gust of wind rustles with the torn silks and dust inside the tea house. The torn banner is ripped from Wei Wuxian’s fingers, dancing around the room and landing on the other end of it, as far away as physically possible inside the room. 

Suspicious indeed. 

Xiao Xingchen, “From what he would tell us about him, it seems a member of the Chang Clan deeply offended him while he was growing up here in Guizhou.” 

Song Lan, “He must’ve come here to deliver his trophy. It would explain the resentful energy residuals, and whatever this whole setup is supposed to be.” 

They look around for any more clues, but can’t find anything else. The air around them gets thicker and thicker as time goes by, and Wei Wuxian can tell it’s starting to affect his deputies, who are yet to receive the Heavenly Emperor’s blessing as the newest members of the Middle Court of Heaven. 

Resentful energy oozes from the ground, from the walls, screaming and crying and begging Wei Wuxian to- 

You miss us so much, don’t you?

Wei Wuxian closes his eyes, channeling his qi to surround his entire body like armor, battling the tortured screaming and the pleading with warmth. No-Name twitches uncomfortably at his waist, and he has to lay a calming hand on the hilt to prevent it from unsheathing itself. He takes a few deep breaths and meets his deputies’ concerned looks. 

Wei Wuxian, “There should be a small village close by, let’s go there and rest for a day before we reach Yiling. Once we’re settled somewhere else I’ll contact Ling Wen and ask her to keep an eye on this.” 

With no hesitation, all three men hop onto their swords and struggle to fly away from the war zone, not stopping until they finally reach the tiniest village two incense-time away from Guizhou. 

They jump off their swords a safe distance away and hurriedly walk into the village. A man transporting wood on a carriage greets them with a smile as if seeing three clearly agitated cultivators was the most normal thing such a small village could encounter. 

Song Lan, “Excuse us, could you please point us to-” 

Man, “Our God of Darkness temple is right over there.” He points to a structure at the center of the town. 

Wei Wuxian feels both his deputies freeze up behind him. Wei Wuxian just smirks, playfully bends his waist, and leans forward so he’s at eye level with the shorter man. 

Wei Wuxian, “How did you know he was gonna ask that?” 

The man just waves him off. “Many Young Masters like you lot come here looking for General Yiling’s blessings.”

Wei Wuxian, “I see… tell me, have you prayed to General Yiling before?” 

The man shrugs, “‘course I do. Everyone here prays for his protection, and so far no one has been attacked by any ghost or monster so he must be the real deal.” 

The real deal? But I haven’t done anything... 

They walk inside the surprisingly big temple, where a man has just finished his prayer and is walking past the open doors. 

At the center sits a statue, big enough that the candles lit around it cast big shadows all over the place. It is made of honey-colored wood, expertly carved with fine attention to detail. Its expression is kind, with determination burning in his eyes and a hint of a smirk on his thin lips. His right hand is extended outward, while his left sits close to his body, his hand fiddling with Chenqing at his waist. His stance is relaxed, and inviting, yet the sheer power he holds is imminent as one can’t help but to fall to their knees the moment they so much as look in his direction. 

Wei Wuxian smiled fondly at it, if not a bit amused at the fact that he doesn’t hold his sword even though he’s a martial God. 

They settle on a far corner, borrowing some of the nicer cushions and sitting comfortably on the ground. Wei Wuxian presses two fingers to his temple and recites Ling Wen’s password to her communication array. 

Ling Wen, “Young Master Wei? Is everything alright?”

Wei Wuxian, “Everything’s fine, thanks. I just wanna ask about someone. Are you familiar with a mortal delinquent named Xue Yang? 

Ling Wen, “Give me a second… Ah, yes. Here. Xue Yang, courtesy Chengmei. He’s committed a lot of crimes, most notably the massacre of the Yueyang Chang Clan. It appears he is currently under the Jin Sect as a guest cultivator.”

Wei Wuxian, “Of course he’s with the Jin. Do you know why?” 

Ling Wen, “Sorry, that’s as far as the records show. Why? Did you encounter something?” 

Wei Wuxian explains what they all saw in Guizhou.

Ling Wen, “I see. I shall ask General Pei to take a look.”

Wei Wuxian, “If there’s anything I can help with, please let me know. I have met Xue Yang before, and my new deputies were the ones to capture him after he committed that massacre, so if he’s causing trouble again we want to be the ones to stop him.”

Ling Wen, “Congratulations on the new deputies, Young Master Wei. I promise to inform you of any advance in the investigations, or you can just speak with Pei directly. However, as Heavenly Officials it is not permitted to harm mortals, no matter how troublesome they may be. If we find out he is causing trouble, the best thing we can do is inform the gentry clans and wait for them to take action and provide some assistance if needed.”

Wei Wuxian sighs. 

Ling Wen, “Please, as personal as the matter may feel, do not do anything you’ll regret. Not again.”

Wei Wuxian, “Right. Thank you for your hard work. Please keep me posted.” 

Ling Wen, “Of course. Safe travels, Young Master Wei.” 

Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen, who had sat back patiently while Wei Wuxian spoke, shift in their seats and look up expectantly at him like two children waiting for a bedtime story from their favorite uncle. 

Song Lan, “What did she say?” 

Wei Wuxian, “Nothing that we don’t already know. She’ll ask General Pei to investigate and will keep us posted for now. Also… even if he is being a troublesome little shit, we can’t intervene as long as he’s a mortal. Not in the way I would like, as in beat the living shit outta him.”

Xiao Xingchen, “Master did mention that before… I wish we could do more.” 

Song Lan lets out a fond chuckle. 

Wei Wuxian sighs in frustration, letting himself fall back on the floor in a careless sprawl. 

Wei Wuxian, “Whatever. I’m too tired. Let’s rest for a bit then find something to eat, sounds good?” 

Chapter Text

It is still morning time when the three men walk into Yiling. The main street buzzed with people hopping around from stall to stall, the overwhelming smells of spices and street food lingering in the air.

Wei Wuxian looked around, feeling uncharacteristically numb. His eyes trailed from handsome portraits of the God of Darkness adorning every available surface, to little wood carvings of Chenqing and Suibian being sold as protective amulets. Everywhere he looked there was a promise, a demand, a plead for one thing or another, all made to the same entity over and over again.

A young woman stopped before the three men, smiling up at them as she reached inside the threaded basquet she held in her hands. A paper slip was thrusted at them, and just as she showed up, the woman left in search of her next target. The low-quality ink was fading near the edges, yet the surprisingly neat calligraphy was still very legible. 

May you receive the blessing of the God of Darkness. 

Song Zichen and Xiao Xingchen looked at their new master, a mix of quiet amusement and confusion clouding their disguised faces, and Wei Wuxian… 

He lovingly trailed the tips of his fingers over the harsh brush strokes, feeling the rise and dips of ink and poor-quality parchment. He’s in no position to judge, his own calligraphy can best be described as chicken scratches, and yet by the next second he can’t bear to see the slip of paper anymore. Closing his eyes, he crumbles the piece of paper in one hand and wills a burst of qi that burns it to ashes that then dance around the air as they disappear into the distance. 

There is no need to ask for directions to the God of Darkness temple. Standing tall and proud at the end of the main street, paper lamps and silky red, black and golden banners decorate the exterior of what could at first glance be confused as a wealthy clan’s residence. A long queue of people awaited to be let inside carrying armfuls of offerings. 

Wei Wuxian takes a couple steps towards the back of the queue, but stops. Without warning, a feeling of pure dread threatens to choke him to death right then and there. Like a movie, everything from the moment he escaped the claws of death and ascended to the heavens, up to the present moment of him standing just a few steps away from finally gaining a sense of what he can do to repent-

He takes in a shuddering breath and turns to his deputies. He notices the worry in their eyes, a question hanging off of Xingchen’s tongue as he opens his mouth, but Wei Wuxian interrupts before it can be voiced. 

Wei Wuxian, “There might be less people before nightfall. Let’s go have a look around town.”

The other two men exchange a look. From the beginning, as genuine as Wei Wuxian’s intentions are, deep down he treads the world like a newborn fawn — hence why he’s accepted them as his Heavenly Deputies. But they have quickly come to realize that the responsibilities they’ve been asked to take over pale in comparison to what Wei Wuxian, God of Darkness, must shoulder by himself. After all, one could have all the power in the world, and yet it all becomes useless when there is no objective nor goal to achieve.

It is quite poetic how the two men, one raised by a God, the other raised by worshipping them, are now tasked with supporting the one God who’s challenged everything they’ve been taught. It’s like stepping outside of those walls constructed in the ideals of Gods all over again — and yet, this time, they are expected to help forge walls of their own.

Their eyes return to Wei Wuxian. Despite the disguise, mental exhaustion is still quite aparent in those dark grey eyes. The little fawn’s legs shake, struggling to hold its weight up. 

And without hesitation, they both extend their hands, and encourage the fawn to walk. 

Xiao Xingchen, “As you wish, Master Wei.” 

The two men follow silently behind him as Wei Wuxian struggles not to break into a sprint. He walks and walks until the colorful banners can barely be seen fluttering in the wind. With a long sigh, he stops and looks around. 

Now, it might’ve been a while since he last stepped into the outer skirts of Yiling — having sticked to selling radishes on the main street as to attract more buyers — but he still recognizes some of the houses and shops tucked away in the numerous rocky streets. He finds himself in front of a small, inconspicuous house. A chicken coup sits at its front, displaying three white and brown chickens pecking at the ground. Wooden boxes store several herbs and fruits, and a small stained piece of paper displays a crude depiction of the God of Darkness. The artist didn’t even bother with facial features, choosing to use his long hair to cover his face and most of his front. An unsheathed Suibian was lazily held in his right hand, while Chenqing precariously hung from his left. 

“Is there anything this one can do for these young masters?” 

An old man quietly steps from the back of the house, a broom in hand. He does not appear to be bothered by the three men loitering around his front entrance as much as he’s confused by it. Living in such a village made it so its inhabitants got used to seeing young masters such as themselves curiously walking around town without causing any trouble. If anything, it was a great economic opportunity for them, allowing them to profit off of everything and anything they could think of. 

This old man does not appear to be the exception, judging by the now glaringly obvious neighbouring tea house from where the man must’ve come from. Ah, he must be the owner then. 

Xiao Xingchen, “We apologize for disturbing you.” 

The men bow in apology, and the old man accepts it with a nod. He turns around, and begins to head back to the tea house. Without thinking, Wei Wuxian rushes to his side. 

Wei Wuxian, “Actually, it’s our first time in Yiling. Could we ask you a few questions about the God of Darkness?” 

The old man looks up at him, then back to the tea house.

Wei Wuxian, “Y’know, we’ve been walking around all morning, we could really use a tea break. Right?” 

He turns to his deputies, who have no choice but to agree. Even though they’re nowhere near physically tired, a cup of tea does sound nice. 

The old man sighs. “Fine. Come with me.” 

The teahouse is small, neither luxurious nor decrepit. They are guided to a table by a window, letting a cool breeze in to ease the stubborn heat that always clings to the area and as far away as possible from the one other occupied table. A set of nice yet plain cups is placed before them and a young man quickly fills them with the local tea speciality. 

The old man kneels by the table, ordering the young man to bring a few plates of snacks he fully intends the three young masters to pay for before turning to them expectantly. 

Wei Wuxian, “I was wondering, is it true the Yiling Patriarch used to come to the village to sell his wicked vegetables?” 

The old man snorts. “The only thing wicked about those radishes was the price they tried to put on ‘em. Should’ve seen those things, could barely feed a child with a handful of ‘em.” He looks up at the men, a serious glint in his eye. “Young Masters like yourselves are always yappin’ about how the Yiling Patriarch was evil and liked to eat young maidens for breakfast or somethin’, but I tell ya, he was just a kid far too smart for his own good.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes darken. “How do you know he wasn’t truly evil?” 

“Could an evil person become a God?” 

The table falls silent. Wei Wuxian, clearly fighting a battle in his own head, freezes in place. 

Song Zichen sighs. “No. An evil man could not ascend to the Heavens. If he were truly evil, he would’ve died and become a resentful spirit.” 

Wei Wuxian, “What if that’s his punishment? A way for him to pay for his sins?” 

Xiao Xingchen, “Maybe so, we cannot be sure of it. But either way, if he were truly evil, he would not have as many worshippers as he does. The people believe in the God of Darkness, not the idea of the Yiling Patriarch created out of ignorance and hate.” 

Another pause. The young man timidly approached the table and carefully laid plates of nuts and dried fruits and filled up their cups before getting up. 

Wei Wuxian, “Wait!” 

The young man nearly faceplanted on the wooden floor, scrambling to stay upright and turning to the black-clad cultivator. “Yes, young master?” 

Wei Wuxian pats the spot next to him. “Come sit. I also want to ask you about the God of Darkness.” 

The young man’s eyes nervously shift from Wei Wuxian to his boss kneeling on the other side of the table. With a sigh, Wei Wuxian reaches into his robe and pulls out a black and red money pouch. The gold within clanks as it is laid to rest heavily on the table. 

Wei Wuxian, “Come on, we’ll make it worth your time.” 

The young man looks pleadingly at his boss, who gets up and tugs at the youth to take his appointed seat. “What are you waiting for! Don’t disrespect the customers!” 

Wei Wuxian, “So, what do you know about the God of Darkness?” 

The young man shifts awkwardly in place, his hands playing with a cleaning rag. “W-well, father says he bought radishes from him once. They tasted a bit weird, but we did not fall ill so… a-anyways, father says the Yiling Pa- the God of Darkness brought a child with him that time, three years old at most. He was asleep in his arms even though the God of Darkness had to yell over the other vendors to announce their radishes. There was also another man with him but he was quiet, and he wore a straw hat so father couldn’t see his face. Father thinks those radishes were a blessing, and that they are the reason neither him nor my mother have fallen ill at their old age.”

Wei Wuxian’s fingers twitch where they rest on the table. The memories are beyond painful, especially when it comes to A’Yuan. He couldn’t save a single child and yet… 

Wei Wuxian, “What… what do you pray to the God of Darkness for?” 

The old man hums. “Dunno, he’s a martial God right? I guess I only ask him to keep ghosts away and such. Livin’ so close to the Burial Mounds we got used to seeing ghosts and hearing all kinds of things late at night but since that young master became the God of Darkness there has been no such thing in all of Yiling.” 

The young man shakes his head in agreement. “Yeah! I live in the other side of the village and by the time I got off I’d had to run home before it got dark. Now I can walk around in the dark and nothing happens! No ghosts, no evil spirits, nothing!” 

They leave the tea house by midday, money pouch lighter. They walk in pensive silence, watching as young children race down the streets with paper kites fluttering behind them. 

Wei Wuxian sighs. “They only want protection, huh?” 

Song Zichen, “Is that not what is expected of martial Gods in general?” 

Wei Wuxian, “I guess? But there has to be something else I can do. Something more-” 

The small group of children come running towards them, forcing Xiao Xingchen to leap behind Song Zichen so they can pass through. Giggles and high-pitched squeals greet them and slowly fade away. 

Without thinking, Wei Wuxian takes in a deep, shaky breath and lets the words flow out of him. “I used to live in these streets when I was a child.” 

As expected, his deputies turn to him with inquisitive expressions but remain silent, waiting for him to continue. 

Wei Wuxian, “I’m sure you already know the story, but my parents died in a Night Hunt not too far from here, and I was left to roam the streets for three years until uncle Jiang found me.” 

~~~

As a brand-new orphan, Wei Ying used to roam around Yiling streets gathering food and any other discarded trash he could make use of, then wait for the local temples to empty out before hurrying inside seeking shelter for the night. 

He hated it, not because of the lingering scent of incense that made his nose itchy or the way the statues looked particularly threatening under the moonlight. No, he hated the way the offerings looked oh so tempting sitting there, uneaten, spoiling under the exposed air. Tiny ants lined up to take their part and mice and any other small animals never even asked for forgiveness as they sunk their sharp teeth in and scurried away into the night faster than little Wei Ying could chase them away. 

He would curl up on the floor, using the worn cushions littering the floor as a makeshift bed and covering himself in worn, dirty cloths he’d find laying around town. He would look up at the statues and pretend it was an adult lovingly taking care of the lone child. He would talk about his day, complain about rude stall workers, and ask whatever God he found himself with to help keep dogs away. 

In his dreams, he could still hear his mother’s cheery voice as she told stories to help pass the time in their travels. Wei Ying would listen, cutting in with a comment or a question. His father would just walk beside them, one hand holding their donkey’s reins, the other hanging by his side ready to pull out his sword if necessary and only making a comment whenever Cangse prompted him for one. A soft smile and occasional glances down at Wei Ying’s grin and curious wide eyes were the only indications that he enjoyed their impromptu storytimes. 

The image would cut to a new village, with new faces and overwhelming sounds and smells. Little Wei Ying got overwhelmed easily, so while Cangse made arrangements in the local inn for a night’s stay, Changze would bring Wei Ying to whatever shrine stood closest. He would show Wei Ying how to kneel properly, how to light incense, and how to pray. All of this in relative silence, taking advantage of the peaceful interior to calm the child’s racing heart. 

He would awake on the temple floor, alone and cold. His stomach would grumble, and he would look at the offerings rotting on the altar for a few lingering seconds before pulling himself on his feet. Whispering small prayers asking for everything and nothing at the same time, he gathered his things and crossed the threshold of the temple to start yet another day. 

~~~

Song Zichen and Xiao Xingchen listened to Wei Wuxian in silence as he spoke about his time living in the streets of Yiling — his love for loquats and any other food he could sneak off of local plants, as well as his hate for wild dogs and any other animal willing to fight him for rinds. 

They walked the entire time until finally they reach the same group of children, all gathered on the side of the street eating a small snack. Next to them, a little girl in torn clothes stood by, her little hands twisting the front of her tattered robes. 

Little girl, “P-please, lemme have just one.” 

The children look at each other, as if assessing who would sacrifice themselves and offer a fraction of their snacks. Finally, a boy sighs and carelessly throws a couple nuts in the girl’s direction. The poor thing scrambles to her hands and knees, collecting the nuts in her hands and not bothering with the dirt she must've gathered with them stuffs them all in her mouth. 

The girl smiles a wide, gummy smile. “Thanks!” And then she scurries away, barefoot and carefree.

One of the boys in the group groans. “Finally! She’s gone.”

A girl frowns. “But why did she ask for our snacks? Can’t she go ask her parents for some?”

Another boy snorts. “Don’t you know? Her parents got ill and died. She can’t ask them for snacks.” 

The girl’s frown deepens. “Then, who is she gonna ask?”

“Us, duh. And now that A-He gave him some, she’ll keep comin’ over and over again until she takes all our snacks!” 

The boy, A-He, groans. “Well, mother said it is important to share, yanno’?! She said that if I behave, then the God of Darkness will protect father when he goes to cut wood in the forest so! I’m behaving!”

After that, the conversation shifts on to who’s mother prepares the best snacks. 

The three men keep walking in silence, until they come across an inn. After walking for so long under the heat, they decide to get some rooms to wash and eat before approaching the temple. 

Which leads to Wei Wuxian soaking in a warm tub, his hair hanging off the edge freshly washed and begging to be combed. 

The children’s conversation, as well as memories from his time as a street child replay in his tired mind. 

Thinking about it, he’s always beenforest fond of children. As the Jiang Sects’ head disciple it had been his job to guide the younger disciples, teaching them and playing with them all day every day. 

Then, A-Yuan came along. 

He stops himself there. 

The rest of the evening goes by in a blur. He gets food delivered to his room, and his deputies surprise him by insisting they eat together. By the time Wei Wuxian’s thoughts are done catching up to him, they’re all standing outside the God of Darkness temple. 

The queue is long gone, replaced by al old man sweeping at the entrance. He notices them approaching and stops. 

“Comin’ in for a night prayer?” 

Wei Wuxian shrugs. “There were too many people in line when we first arrived.”

The old man smiles. “Yes, well, call it a local superstition. Most folks believe that if you pray during the day, it charges up the God fo Darkness’ power and he’s able to do his job better during the night.”

Song Zichen snorts with amusement. “So, our prayers won’t be as effective now?” 

The old man shrugs and moves aside, allowing the men to step inside the temple. 

The smell of incense is strong, almost too overwhelming. The inside has fallen dark now that the sun is setting, the only quality light coming from the numerous candles lit all over the place, coupled with four torches hanging by all four corners of the temple. In the center, a life-size marble sculpture sits. The facial features are the most accurate Wei Wuxian has seen, most likely because the people of Yiling did get to see his face for a relatively regular schedule during his three years in the Burial Mounds. The details in Chenqing are astounding, and notably, Suibian remained unsheathed, its hilt hidden by the cold marble hand gripping it. His robes, a much better quality than those he wore around Yiling back then, fluttered behind him, blending with his long, unruly hair. He looked like freedom, like conviction, like strength. He looked like beasts and ghosts and demons could be subdued by a single glance of his. He looked…

He almost looked like everything he wanted to be. 

He looks down and has to resist the urge to choke with laughter at the sight of little carved radishes laying around his feet. If Song Zichen and Xiao Xingchen notice them, they do a good job of holding in their own laughter. 

Wei Wuxian walks around the statue once, twice, before venturing deeper into the temple. By the far wall there’s a small display where one of his evil-repelling talismans and an early prototype of his evil-detecting compass sit. There’s some radishes and many other vegetables and fruits laying around them in offering. He reaches out a hand to touch them, but a loud noise interrupts him. 

Xiao Xingchen and Song Zichen quickly unsheathe their swords, pointing them at the source of the noise. 

The little girl from before, still clad in rags and covered in dirt, has dropped one of the metal trays holding the offerings. She looks up at the men, terrified, and tries to run away but slips and falls and is unable to get back up. 

The men return their swords to their scabbard, and help the little girl up while gently scolding her. 

Wei Wuxian approaches them, and without thinking takes a loquat from the pile of offerings and offers it to the girl. 

Wei Wuxian, “Hey, what’s your name?” 

The little girl hesitates before taking the loquat and eating it. “I’m A-Qing!”

Now that he’s standing closer, he becomes aware of the girl’s eyes. He frowns. 

Wei Wuxian, “A-Qing, what’s wrong with your eyes?”

As if remembering something, the little girl straightens up and holds a stick in her hand. “A-Qing is blind.”

Wei Wuxian chuckles. “If you’re blind then how did you take the loquat from my hand? How did you know you could eat it?” 

A-Qing, “I… I smelled it!” 

Xiao Xinchen sighs in fond exasperation. “It is not proper for a young lady such as yourself to lie, A-Qing.” 

A-Qing takes another loquat from Wei Wuxian and shrugs. “If I don’t lie, then how am I gonna eat?” 

It is then, with A-Qing eagerly munching on his own offerings, clad in rags and covered in dirt yet still keeping a bright smile on her face, that Wei Wuxian finally has an idea.

In mortal life he could not save innocents no matter what he did, but as a God, he’ll move mountains and part oceans to make sure more children like A-Qing don’t have to lie to get some food, or sleep in the cold streets, or look up to lifeless statues for some form of comfort.

He will defend childhood innocence. He will keep them away from the darkness. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he hears them. 

We will not let you.