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Third Time's the Charm

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 For the ‘sake’ of the world, Wei WuXian, the YiLing Patriarch had to be eradicated--- that was the one fact that the whole realm agreed upon.

People and cultivators alike feared the terrible him because in their eyes, he was the very embodiment of evil. Yet, they also feared that he might rise from the dead to seek revenge upon them if killed once more, which led them to another conclusion that someone suggested: To seal him off so he would no longer be a threat to the world.

Wei WuXian ran as fast as his exhausted legs could take him. His footsteps could be heard, loud and unsteady with the sound of dry leaves crunching beneath his pounding feet.

Feeling the pain from his fingers gradually fade into numbness, Wei Ying could only wonder. Was it dislocated? Broken? He didn’t know, nor did he care. His mind was filled with only one thought, and that was to survive-- to hang on until Lan Zhan came back.

The enemy was cunning, and were clearly opportunists, hiding in the dark as they aimed for him while he was separated from Lan Zhan. Wei Ying didn’t even have the luxury to ponder upon who and how he ended up like this as his body barely dodged strike after strike hurled at him.

Twenty cultivators hot on his heels, all dead set on nothing less than his capture and death.

He had been running, hiding, and fighting in an endless cycle for three days, and was about to reach his limit. Now, there was nowhere to hide with the villagers cursing and beating him with sticks and pitchfork on sight. The only thing keeping him from giving up was the knowledge that someone waiting for him, and he was well aware that his life was no longer his alone. He had already caused so much suffering to his beloved, how would Lan Zhan cope if he were to lose him yet again?

'No, he'll come. HanGuang-Jun will definitely come, just as he always does,' desperately clinging on to that glimmer of hope--- he continues to run.

“There he is!” A cultivator snarled at the sight of him, attacking with a swift swing of a sword.

Wei Ying stepped out of range with the last of his energy reserves, but before he could steady himself, another cultivator had pounced forward, drove his shoulder into Wei Ying’s chest, a full slam without an ounce of mercy.

The taste blood filled every corner of his mouth. Hot, wet, and metallic as he was slammed and collapsed several feet away. Seeing nothing but blurry figures before him, extreme fatigue washed over him.

“Why did the YunMeng and GusuLan sects even protect this revolting cut-sleeve?” One of them spat, sneering in disgust. “Seducing and tarnishing the esteemed Han Guang Jun, not to mention the countless number of evil deeds he had done in the past, what kind of demonic practitioner was he that the great Sects were so afraid of him? Look at the pitiable state he’s in right now! HanGuang-Jun must be going senile for loving this... this revolting thing!”

Wei Ying grunted at a kick to his gut. ‘Don’t… speak of him like that!’ he tried to retort, but all that came out was a mouthful of blood.

“Hey, shouldn't we hurry up?” A female voice reminded, “HanGuang-Jun will be catching up to us after he finishes off the corpses we sent over to him; he probably wouldn't allow us to take him away and you won't be a match for him," eyes that hid no amount of malice glared upon the slumped figure on the ground, "Hurry up and carry him back to the Burial Mounds, I am not dirtying my hands by touching him!” A male cultivator beside her nodded decisively at her suggestion.

“But just to be safe…” The shadow of a sword blocked the light from entering Wei Ying’s dull, tired eyes. “Break his legs as well. It'll be easier  for us to carry him when he can't struggle or run,” He complained, wiping the sweat off his forehead. “As long as we keep him alive, the higher ups shouldn’t be angry. After all, we ARE dealing with a demonic cultivator.”

And the last thing in Wei Ying’s sight was the hilt of a sword raised up before his mind muddled away.

Is this karma for everything I've done?’


An agonized, stifled scream echoed.

Wei Ying woke up from the pain, swallowing it down his throat, then slowly kicked his way back to the surface. Fluttering his eyes open, he noted that he was no longer sprawled on the ground, a figure of red-stained-white now held him in his arms, transferring a large amount of spirit energy to him while in an embrace.

“Wei Ying…?” he called, unsure.

‘I’m here,’ Wei Ying replied but the words never left his mouth.

The man before him was always prim and proper, pure white robes without a speck of dust, a head of well-groomed hair, and the signature expressionless face, but that composed man right now was nothing but a mess.

Wei Ying felt drops of warm water fall onto his face; turning up his face with great difficulty, he could just narrowly make out the tears that form from Lan Zhan’s eyes.

‘Ah, I fucked up again,’ Wei Ying thought. Were his injuries that bad? No, he didn’t think so. What was hurting now wasn’t the dislocated fingers the cultivators broke. It wasn’t even the broken legs. It was something that hurt much more than that, stinging at his chest as his vision cleared up ever so slightly. The cause of it came clear to him the moment Lan Zhan’s face came into his view.

It was the look of despair on his face.

“WangJi…” Lan XiChen placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder, his head shaking slightly in denial as Jiang Cheng beside him spoke of nothing, eyes fixated at the tattered body before them.

If it were Wei Ying’s original body, he might have had a slim chance to survive despite the expensive damage. But right now, in the shell of Mo XuanYu, one look was all it took to know that this was definitely too much.

The pain that once burned with flames of agony was now slowly fading away, leaving nothing but an icy numbness as black filled the edges of his vision.

Wei Ying didn’t like it. The warmth emitting from his beloved was dissipating away as he no longer felt the firm embrace that held him, the warmth that he longed for now replaced by nothing but the sound of his own heartbeat and ragged, shallow gasps that escaped from his lungs.

Seconds passed as he laid there unmoving, then he heard voices. People swarmed around him, trying to help him, Wei Ying realized. They wanted to save him. If he wasn’t feeling like shit right now, he would’ve laughed at the frantic and panicking noises they were making. But even though his eyes were open, the only sight that greeted him was nothing other than darkness.

Several seconds passed and slowly, gradually, even those noises grew softer and softer until it drifted off into complete silence.

Just before he faded away completely, Wei Ying felt a faint pressure on his hand, carefully grasping it in a way that didn’t hurt his fingers, and a soft voice pleading, begging him to stay while repeating his name over and over again.

His whole life felt like a joke at this point. First he died, and was brought back, given a second chance in life, returning him to his beloved. And now, he had lost that second chance that had been given to him.

It was as if fate was toying around with him. What a joke this whole farce was.

Wei Ying’s last thought before his last strand of consciousness faded: ‘If I knew this was the ending fate had for me...’

 'I wish I had never met him in the first place.’