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The Checkerboard Flooring

Chapter Text

The aftermath of that hell was a bloody mess of corpses forming a beautiful hill above the banal lake under them, its red color unsure whether it exists naturally or being tainted by the red liquid infiltrate it drops by drops and slows by slows. The sleeping faces of women, elders, and children coloring the entire scenery within the cold of cave, deprived from the warm of human’s touch, expressions perhaps peaceful and perhaps not, and perhaps moveless because of the merciless coldness that sweeps every bones and blood of the lifeless. There’re ones that decaying in peacefulness, and the others in deformedness, undistinguished under the pill of many human’s faces. Droplets’ s tail swims to the surface in the darkness, one dot of light highlighting the tattered distinguished white-red robes belongs to the sun, had been long beaten from its glory.

And all the suns have fallen scattered to the dirt and dust and their own bloods.

The stone ground in the cave that now become the burial is indeed cold to the second Lan’s vulnerable skin, body still weak from the pain that will never heal in the present and likely nor in the future, both in physical and heart. The fresh whip wounds and scars he bears is numb compare to the permanent bleeding of his heart, now spills endlessly to the earth. He drags his legs hard, knees still limping from the weak strength that left of him and the sore that still needs the merciful long time for it to heal, but he pushes it only from unmatchable determination.

His golden eyes desperately glance right here and there what exists in the ground aside from the non-livings and the death air, searching for the fallen man that the world regards as their ultimate enemy, the dog that bites into his owner mercilessly. The three thousand people’s bloods in his hands, both the accomplishment and the hanging sins on his shoulder, known as the source of calamity, and his closest ones prepare to only know unfairness and misfortune and sadness in their lives, and then there’s the unleashed hell of his own making, and the sky was crying the blood of thousands people that night.

So, the world shot him down.

But that same man is Lan Wangji’s source of fortune and happiness, the only sun he loves in this cruel, merciless cold world full of worldly affairs and the running evils, hidden from the ordinaries and masked under the glittering gold.

He can’t watch them beat his sun over and over, he can’t let the world bury him and things left of him.

And so, he drags his limp legs to the place that now fully become the home of the dead. It was also home of the dead in the past, but now it’s the hill of the dead as well. He was unable to find the person he loves among the bloody hill, red liquid continuing to pour to the pool that originally has the same color, but now the original color is undistinguishable among the pretty drops of those red liquids. He passed that hill in his way in Burial Mound, tongue-tied as he saw the scenery but body trembles and trembles as he still found none of what he seeks.

But then he finds a child voice, dim and vague within the darkness of the cave, in the sea of blackness and air of death and into the deep into the small, secret space of solid brick of cave stone. The child is running with raging fever, heat increased in the cold embrace of a dying body and the lack of food. River of blood seeping from his deep injuries, poisoned stabs and burning wounds imprinted throughout parts of body, camouflaged by the redness of liquid and clothes. Right eyelashes shut in tenderness of tranquility and the other in deep sunken hollowness, crimson wet petals dances in ecstasy within and pouring all its beauty to the silk and the earth. A broken Stygian Tiger Seal sit nears him, asking for the utter breaking of its existence and Wei Wuxian’s expression gives him a slight smile almost as if it’s contented.

As if it seeks death.

The faint pulse in his hand was rejecting that attempt however, it’s almost as if the world is finally giving him mercy for all his turmoil and endless sufferings. He was left alone to die and he is left alone to die.

Trembling, the hands of the Jade touches the peaceful face so tenderly, almost as if it’s afraid to break its fragility.

Still bearing the permanent wounds on his back, he carries the dying Yiling Patriarch’s body on it and bury the feverish Sun’s child on his chest deeply.

Then he departs, leaving the hill of lifeless alone to the world.