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Muxi Mountain hasn't changed. It makes sense of course — the indoctrination camp will take place here in a year or two at the latest. The only difference, Wei Wuxian notes, is that the maple leaves are still young and green. He wonders if that means there won't be any in the Xuanwu's Cave.
For some reason, the thought makes him feel a little lonely.
Fighting the Xuanwu with both his sword and his ghostly path will be a challenge, but not one much harder than getting out of the Burial Mounds without a Golden Core, or fighting in a war with his own allies distrustful of his methods.
He thinks of going against the corrupted Divine Beast with Lan Zhan at his side, of telling Jiang Fengmian with pride how Lan Zhan had been the one to kill it. How Lan Zhan had said the opposite, giving the honors to Wei Wuxian instead.
That fight had been hard and left him in a terrible state but he thinks he might miss the thrill of it. Of fighting at Lan Zhan’s side, of watching him wield the Chord Assassination. He hopes he will be able soon to see him fight with his sword.
He knows it will be a sight to behold.
"Aiyah," he complains loudly, "how strange, that even now my head is full of Lan Zhan!"
If there's one thing his erased future will have gotten right, he thinks wryly, it's that no one would accept saying the terrible Yiling Patriarch was the one to slay the Xuanwu of Slaughter. It would be too scandalous to allow him even one achievement that seemed honorable, and so he imagines that Lan Zhan will finally get the credit for the kill.
“Sorry Lan Zhan,” he whispers, carefully treading through the path, “I’ll be taking this feat from you this time. Even so, I’m sure Hanguang-Jun will have no trouble earning his title again. You’re so good after all.”
To distract himself, he takes Chenqing out to play the song. It feels appropriate, given where he is going. He was right too; playing it with a dizi makes it even lovelier. If Lan Zhan still writes the song — there’s no doubt in his mind that he is its composer — and if he sings it for Wei Wuxian again… he’ll ask to play together. That would be good.
They could have been good friends, if Wei Wuxian had decided to stay at the lectures longer, if Lan Zhan hadn’t gone back to secluded cultivation, if he’d accepted the invitation to come hang out in Lotus Pier for the summer…
Wei Wuxian is determined to try again. This time, for sure, he will be Lan Zhan’s best friend. They’ll night hunt together. Lan Zhan will earn the name Hanguang-Jun again and Wei Wuxian will be right by his side when he does, ready to congratulate him and tease him that it suits him — he does shine ever so brightly.
It has been so long since he came to Muxi Mountain, he finds that he has forgotten the way to the cave. When it gets too dark to look any further, he camps in the woods; it wouldn’t do, to stumble upon it by accident and be too tired to fight.
The ghosts he took with him guard him faithfully as he sleeps, their quiet murmurs almost like a lullaby to his ears — although really, Lan Zhan is probably a much better singer. He really hopes he can convince him to do it again. This time, he’ll make sure to remember it properly.
The next morning, he starts the search again. He asks the few corpses he finds if they know where the beast’s lair is; even if they don’t have the answer, they’re happy enough to follow him if it means their eventual liberation. The Xuanwu killed them and then left their corpses to rot, its belly still too full of the time it overate.
It’s not quite the impressive army he once raised. The corpses rarely have resentment high enough to be considered fierce. But between them and his Suibian, it should be enough… Along with the bow Wen Ning gave him, to draw the beast’s attention. Normal arrows didn’t do much damage, he remembers but the bow has been strengthened with qi which should allow him to pierce the Xuanwu’s skin, so long as he targets the place where the skin is slightly softer and avoids its shell. It will certainly be enough to make it mad from afar while his corpses obey his orders.
He has the beginning of a plan — if all goes well, the battle should be… Maybe not easy, not alone, not without Lan Zhan and his strength, his wit and his Chord Assassination Technique, but certainly less harrowing than it could be.
He’ll be fine.
Having thought that, it’s no surprise his plan goes to hell almost immediately.
The Xuanwu is awake when he comes into its lair. He doesn’t know why or how, and doesn’t care to find out. He creeps into the cave and realizes quickly he won’t be able to sneak on it or lay any traps.
A frontal assault it is, then.
He throws two flame talismans as an initial diversion, then whistles to the corpses the order to attack; they won’t be able to hurt it, but that’s not what they’re here for. What they need to do is distract it, and then climb into its shell to retrieve the black sword that he once used to forge the Yin Tiger Tally.
He won’t do it again. He has learned that particular lesson. The Yin Tiger Tally was useful as a refined conduit for resentment during the war, when he needed to raise and command armies. Against Wen Ruohan, the dark sword will be enough to serve as a distraction. It’s like he told Wen Qing: he doesn’t need the Tally to be dangerous.
The Xuanwu roars when the talismans strike it and slams its tail against the nearest corpses, sending them flying against the walls. Wei Wuxian winces and draws his bow.
If he could just blind it…
The first arrow misses, as the Xuanwu turns its head to bite another corpse coming too close. Wei Wuxian draws another one, and this one strikes true; it doesn’t blind it completely, but it clearly hurts given the roar of pain it lets out, loud enough that Wei Wuxian feels the walls shake. It slams its tail on the ground again.
He tightens his fist on the bow, making the wood creak. He’d rather not send Suibian against the Turtle. His control is good, much better than the Lan disciple who lost his sword against the Waterborne Abyss, but good control sometimes isn’t enough when facing a beast of this caliber.
The Xuanwu must have felt his yang energy; the corpses are still pestering it but it starts ignoring them. Instead it looks around, undeterred by its bleeding eye. The dark blood falls in heavy drops letting out hissing sounds and steam wherever it touches the ground.
“Got it,” Wei Wuxian whispers to himself, drawing his bow once more. “Better avoid touching the blood.”
It finds him just as he’s about to shoot. Its remaining yellow eye shines in the dark of the cave as its pupil widens even more, like a predator excited to have found its prey. It opens its maw and roars with fury and hate. With hunger.
Wei Wuxian should be far enough that it can't touch him, even with the impressive range its head has. It can’t move easily, with the cave being built with sinuous walls and having both pillars and stalagmites preventing it from using its full range of movement to reach him. Still, the sight of its jaw barely a few cun away from him has him tightening his grip even more. He has to step back to avoid the splatter of acidic blood from its still bleeding wound.
He shoots, right in its open maw, then jumps back and around a pillar when it snaps its maw and roars again.
Wei Wuxian pants, trying to catch his breath; Suibian is not yet an option and he will soon run out of arrows. He sends another fire talisman, forcing it to back away, though not before it slams its tail against the ground again. As the walls shake again, some gravel falls from the roof of the cave. Wei Wuxian eyes it in trepidation — he’d rather not be stuck in there again. Without Lan Zhan to pester, it would be much too boring.
The Xuanwu turns its head, nostrils flaring, looking around with its remaining good eye, trying to find a way to go after him. Wei Wuxian grimaces. Neither ghosts nor corpses are enough to stop it. It was to be expected, they don’t make a tasty meal, not like a cultivator as strong as him will.
One last shot then, and he’ll go toe to toe with the Xuanwu. If he can’t beat it from afar, he’ll try from the inside. It’s risky, riskier than he’d like without Lan Zhan’s Chord Assassination Technique but it’s not like he has a choice. That first plan of playing it safe has been shot down as soon as he realized he couldn’t sneak upon it.
He draws the bow. Inhales. Shoots.
The bow, somehow, breaks.
It doesn’t break like it should, if it was a flaw in the design or him underestimating his own strength. The bowstring, suddenly untied and freed from the pressure, lashes out like a whip and hits him in the face.
Wei Wuxian cries out and slaps his hand on his eye to try and assess the damage. He quickly jumps back near the entrance of the cave, far enough that it won’t be able to touch him. Ghosts swarm the Xuanwu to distract it again.
“How ironic,” he mutters, “that I hurt you on your eye and then get hurt on mine.”
He looks at the broken pieces and… There — a drop of the black blood must have touched it and eaten away at the wood. His own grip might have weakened it but it’s the blood that managed to break it in such a way that it hurt him. He looks at the Xuanwu raging against the corpses, now that its favored prey has retreated too far for it to follow. Luckily, the arrow managed to strike true — the beast may not be completely blind, but its vision is significantly impaired.
“How devious,” he says, tasting his own blood on his lips. “You probably didn’t plan for it, but that sure was clever. I really didn’t see it coming.”
He traces the wound once more, just to make sure it hasn’t hit his eye.
It is a little deeper than he’d like but he can’t afford to concentrate on healing it for now. Wen Qing will probably yell at him for it but… Well, he’s on a schedule. If he retreats to lick his wounds or tries to wait for the Xuanwu to fall asleep, he’s risking Wen Ning and the army he’s leading; if they get discovered before Wei Wuxian gets to Qishan…
His face will probably scar, but that’s alright. Between Wen Ning’s life and his own vanity, he knows which one he doesn’t care to lose.
He stands back up and readies his hand in a sword seal.
“Let’s try this again,” he says, and runs toward the Xuanwu alongside Suibian, its sword glare bright enough it almost overshadows his fire talismans.
This time, when the maw opens to swallow him alive, he doesn’t jump back but dodges toward the shell.
The base of the Xuanwu’s jaw is softer than the rest of its body, soft enough that planting Suibian in it feels rather like cutting the rind of a very hard watermelon. He might not be able to cut off the Xuanwu’s head in a single strike, but Suibian is sharp enough to do some damage on its own. He grips his sword and slides down the long throat of the beast, tearing it down as much as he can. This time, there’s no avoiding some of the blood, not with the way the beast trashes around to try and dislodge him. He hisses as it eats through the clothes of his pants and starts on the skin of his leg.
Wei Wuxian bears through the pain with a grin and darts inside the shell. Mad with pain, half blind and distracted again by the flickering flames of the talismans and what’s left of the corpses and ghosts, the beast doesn’t follow inside the shell — not yet. It will probably try to retreat soon enough, to come lick its wounds and eat the prey that so nicely delivered itself on its doorstep.
He won’t let it. His last fire talisman is thrown onto the shell itself. The flame will keep it out.
When he lands inside, the familiar smell is what greets him first. He’s smelled it more time than he would like, this mix of rot, blood and stagnating water. He grimaces when he feels the sluggish liquid touch his wounded leg — he’ll have to find medicinal herbs later on.
The first time he came inside the shell of the Xuanwu, he heard only silence until he touched the sword. This time the sound of the souls stuck in the black sword greets him much sooner. They howl for someone to free them, to shed blood and bring them vengeance.
The Yin Tiger Tally was just a tool, dead and silent. It was why anyone could wield it: with no spirit inside, it couldn’t care for any particular master.
This sword is different. Filled with the resentful energy of those who wielded it and those who died from its blade, it hungers for more blood, always. It has no master either, but that’s simply because it will lead them to their end or, if that fails, devour them whole. Once, Wei Wuxian succeeded in calming these spirits, in bringing them what they craved until he could melt the sword and make it into the Yin Tiger Tally.
He has to do it again.
He knows these spirits now and, like the dead of the Burial Mounds, they remember him.
They call for him with honeyed whispers.
Laozu, laozu. Come. Come. To us. Closer. Give us. Death. More death. Wield us. They killed you. Murdered you. Betrayed you. Slew those you cared about. Don’t you want. Revenge? Justice? Don’t you want blood?
He smiles and shakes his head, “if you know me as well as you claim to, you’ll know that’s not what I want.”
The dark sword, surrounded by the leftovers of the Xuanwu’s meals, glow ominously. The dead chuckle.
So different. Our laozu. So sweet. Even after dying. What do you promise, if you won’t give us blood?
“I gave you freedom once.” Wei Wuxian bargains, “I’ll do it again, if you let me wield you for some time. I’ll slay that beast and I’ll kill the head of the clan who once trapped the Xuanwu here.”
The resentful energy shifts, as if the spirits are pondering on his offer. They have no reason to refuse, not when they remember him. Still, Wei Wuxian feels some trepidation, as seconds pass and only silence answers him. Silence, and the rumble of the Xuanwu.
He feels it moves again, knows time is quickly running out. Finally the spirits move toward him, beckon him closer.
Fine, laozu. Show us. Your power. Slay the Xuanwu. It keeps us. Trapped. Then you’ll have a deal. Use. Us.
Wei Wuxian grins, Chenqing already in his hand.
He starts playing.
The resentful energy surges.
It’s easier after, as the Xuanwu has less defenses inside its shell. The scales are softer and the skin is thinner. Between the ghosts attacking on all fronts, the corpses still outside, one hand in a sword seal to control Suibian’s attacks and the dark sword in the other hand, the hardest part is getting out without getting swallowed.
He manages it eventually, when the Xuanwu has gotten too weak from the blood loss, its movements sluggish and slower. Right as he jumps out, a last surge of strength has it snapping its jaw right next to his legs. Wei Wuxian dodges and winces when his ankle throbs painfully on the landing.
He clenches his teeth and adjusts his gait, ready to attack again. He doesn’t have to; the Xuanwu is on its last legs. It stares at him, unblinking, breathing fast and harsh. It is dying and it knows it. If he attacks again, he’ll just be taking an unnecessary risk. After all, a beast is at its most dangerous when it is dying.
Last time, its death was quick. Now, Wei Wuxian watches it bleed and groan. Sometimes it still tries to get to him, but by now it is too weak and he stands once again too far from its reach. Every time it fails, it tries to roar, the sound weaker and weaker as its strength fades.
“I’m sorry,” he says as the beast closes its eyes one last time, “I didn’t have anything to make it faster.”
He takes a look at his leg before moving again — the skin is red and he’ll definitely want to wash it off but luckily, the blood doesn’t appear to have gone too deep or spread too wide. It doesn’t even need wrapping yet. He has the feeling it will probably bother him for a while though and that just like his wounded face it would be better to take care of it now but his energy reserves are a little lower than he’d like, especially if he wants to get to Qishan quickly.
“Hah,” he chuckles quietly, “how funny that I’d get a wound on my leg just like Lan Zhan did! It’s lucky this one’s not so bad and can wait for some time. I don’t have any medicinal herbs to make the infection go away or any Lan Zhan willing to strip for me to startle me into getting the bad blood out!”
The spirits rejoice for their victory. Some fade away, satisfied with this much vengeance. Most of the corpses only wait for a burial now; he’ll dig them one as soon as he gets one last thing from the Xuanwu’s corpse.
As the sun sets and the day ends, Wei Wuxian drags himself out of the Xuanwu’s cave, bruised, bleeding, aching.
Alive.
He lays on the grass and allows himself a moment for his pants to calm down, breathing in air that finally doesn’t smell like death. He feels like laughing.
The dead of the Burial Mounds swirl around him and seethe in his mind, at the unknown resentment from the cursed sword in his hand. The sword screeches back, just as greedy. In his other hand, he holds the head of the Xuanwu of Slaughter. The body of the beast is too big to take with him, but the head is still full of resentment he can use.
He looks at it, the black blood still dripping from the torn open neck and wrinkles his nose. He can seal the blood for now but the smell of rot is already seeping around him. He wonders how many baths he’ll have to take to get rid of it.
“I hope Wen Qing doesn’t mind too much that I bring you on her future sect grounds,” he mutters. “I guess I could always say it’s a gift to celebrate her becoming sect leader…”
It will be a good trophy to add to her collection – and maybe she’ll be able to do something with that rotten blood.
While he takes some time to catch his breath, he thinks about the next step. The dead of the Burial Mounds who didn’t come with him are currently marching toward Nightless City, led by Wen Ning — alive and strong and determined. For all the reason for his being back in time still escapes him, this gift, Wei Wuxian is happy to keep.
Wen Ning will make sure the walking dead are not seen by cultivators or common people. Even from where he is, so far from them, Wei Wuxian can feel them, the pulse of a beating heart. They are hungry, starving for vengeance from the Wen Sect who suppressed them for so long.
Blood runs from the wound on Wei Wuxian’s face and he licks it absentmindedly, the echo of a smile on his lips. The head of a corrupted Divine Beast, a cursed sword with four hundred years of resentment and the beating heart of the Burial Mounds commanded by Chenqing. On his hip, Suibian, brilliant, powerful. In him, his golden core, stronger than ever.
This should be enough.
He has a few more ideas he can use. Against a yao or any creature lacking human intellect like the Xuanwu, sticking to the sword style he has learned is better because there’s rarely any need for deflection or ruse. Trying to imitate other sword styles would have just weakened his cultivation.
But against a human… Wen Ruohan will already underestimate him because of his age. Wei Wuxian taps Chenqing against his lip. It will certainly make him weaker, but the differences between their power is already so vast it probably won’t make that much of a difference. And it will make him unpredictable which is exactly the edge he needs against an opponent so powerful.
Wen Ruohan might be almost immortal, might be the most powerful foe Wei Wuxian has ever encountered but even he is, at the end, only an orthodox cultivator. He won’t expect the likes of Wei Wuxian, a one-man army. His pride will once again be his undoing, Wei Wuxian will make sure of it.
Once, he led an army of the dead along with the four Great Sects’ own soldiers. This time he’s alone against Wen Ruohan. No spy to stab the man in the back, no Chifeng-Zun or Zewu-Jun to lead the charge and take the blows.
But back then, Wei Wuxian was barely getting better from three months in the Burial Mounds and a frankly terrible week (whipped, strangled, stabbed, beaten, coreless). Back then, he’d just started to explore what resentful energy could do when properly harnessed.
Now? Now he knows where his path lies, he knows what — who — he’s fighting for and he knows that even if there’s no one to walk this path with him, to fight at his side, it doesn’t matter. Now, he has both his core and his ghostly path and with them he just killed the Xuanwu of Slaughter alone.
Wei Wuxian wipes the blood from his eyes, flicks it carelessly on the ground and gets up.
He buries the corpses and promises to come back for them, so they can have the proper burial they deserve.
Then he marches on, finally ready to face Wen Ruohan.