Chapter Text
The forest was heavier than it should have been.
Wei Wuxian walked alone, guided by the faded line of the old map. The trees loomed tall, roots clawing at the earth like bones of some ancient beast. Mist gathered unnaturally in hollows and low places, humming with energy that made his skin prickle. He hadn’t felt this kind of energy in a long time, he couldn’t remember when but his body did. Resentful. This place felt wrong, and yet it beckoned.
He was close.
But he wasn’t alone.
He heard them first. The snap of a twig. The hush of muffled breath. He ducked swiftly behind a tree, pulling his presence tight, heart slowing to a crawl. Three figures crept through the trees, not even trying to mask their steps. From their clothes, they weren’t villagers. Their movements were cautious, practiced.
He pressed closer, listening.
“He has to be here,” one muttered. “The chief said this was the place.”
“Do you think he found it?”
“Doesn’t matter. We’re only here to warn him. That’s all.”
Warn him? Who?
Wei Wuxian let them pass, choosing not to confront. Instead, he followed, light-footed and silent. They wound through the trees, deeper into the heart of the Silent Grove. It grew colder with every step. The forest hushed as if it knew something terrible was waiting.
And then he felt it.
The resentment hit like a wave. Thick. Cold. Alive. He stumbled back, eyes wide as something gripped him. His breathing hitched. His vision warped. The air smelled of ash.
He was trapped on a black mountain, drowned in the endless tide of resentful spirits. Their cries filled his ears, drowning thought. The cold sank into his bones. He flailed, heart pounding, swinging his sword at shadows that were and weren’t there. His mind spiraled.
I don't want to be here.
Not again.
Not again.
They're dead.
They're dead, but they're screaming.
Why are they screaming?
Shut up! Shut up!
I can't breathe
Voices shouted. Real ones. “He’s here!”
Too late.
Wei Wuxian struck. Wild, unrelenting. A scream. Then another. Steel clashed. One man crumpled with a blade through his chest. Another fell with blood bubbling at his lips. The remaining three tried to flee, but his madness chased them down.
Only when one of them collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath, did something shift.
A blur. Swift. Silent.
A veiled figure descended like a shadow from the tomb's overhang, blade flashing. Three movements, three bodies dropped.
Wei Wuxian staggered back, panting.
He saw him.
The veiled cultivator straightened, turning toward him.
Wei Wuxian froze, chest heaving, mind still reeling from the rush of rage and memory.
The veiled cultivator rose to his full height, turning toward him.
He lunged without thinking, Suibian humming with lingering rage. The man dodged, unimpressed. “You’re just a child,” he said, almost bored.
But Wei Wuxian’s strikes were wild and desperate, pushed by something not entirely his own. Something deeper. His manic state made him unpredictable. Dangerous. And in a moment of sudden clarity, his blade cut deep through the man’s shoulder.
The masked cultivator stumbled and cursed, blood blooming. He had already recognized his mistake and had wanted to retreat and did just that.
Wei Wuxian continued swinging Suibian. Fighting imaginary enemies, fighting his own memory. He eventually dropped to one knee, breathing ragged, sweat soaking his back. He was shaking, vision still fractured.
Why had he come here?
What was he looking for?
His hands curled into the dirt.
Lan Zhan?
He wanted to save Lan Zhan. He was in danger. Or he was the danger? He tried desperately to grab onto the white in his memory. The untouched pure blue clouds, the silk ribbon swaying in the wind. That was holy. He wanted to be cleansed of all the filth. He knew only that the clouds were his salvation.
He tried desperately to hold on to that memory but it left. And he was again left with the empty darkness he had become all too familiar with. He wanted to cry and wail. He knew he was being punished. For what he couldn’t remember. Only that he deserved it. He sat curled on the ground for a long time. Eventually a thought surfaced. The village. The whispers. The tomb. The seal. The person he had fought just now. It was fractured but he held onto it and stood, unsteady but focused, and stepped inside the tomb.
The seals fell away like dust.
They weren’t strong. Not ancient. Not even truly sealing. He could tell they had been meant to make people think it was locked.
Inside, it wasn’t cold like a tomb should be.
A fire had once burned here. Bedding laid out. Scrolls on the floor. A tin pot, empty.
Someone had lived here.
And still did.
He followed the pressure of resentment, down into the tomb’s belly, past broken statues and crumbled stone. It was a maze and anyone would have difficulty. But the pull he felt dragged him straight.
There, in a room thick with shadows, stood the veiled cultivator.
Wei Wuxian’s attention was quickly taken by the sword on in a coffin in the middle of the room. It was crackling and pulsing, brimming with resentment so deep it bent the air around it. It hissed like a living thing.
“You made it,” the cultivator said. Voice low, distant.
“You unsealed this place” Wei Wuxian stated. “The villagers spoke of a cultivator who visited. It was you.”
“It was me,” the man agreed.
“The people who disappeared... you used them.”
The man turned. His veil had slipped slightly, revealing a pale, sharp face. Eyes hollow. He looked like a skeleton.
“A necessary sacrifice, a treasure like this needs to be used”
“It is full of resentment, it needs to be destroyed”, Wei Wuxian countered, though even as he said it, a part of him whispered otherwise. A power like that, if controlled- could be directed.
“No, it just needs to obey.”
Wei Wuxian took a step forward. “You cannot take it out of here, can you? The seals are meant to keep it inside. You’re trying to find someone of the same bloodline. Hoping the sword will recognize kin. Let them carry it out”. He stated.
“Smart. Smarter than you look”. he praised, sneering at Wei Wuxian.
“Who are you?” Wei Wuxian inquired.
“Does it matter?”
“You’ve done all this. That alone deserves a name, if only for the record” he paused and added, “Minus all the ruthless killing of course”
“You hypocrite righteous cultivators, just killed two people but let me guess that was ridding the world of evil?”
“They were mercenaries”, Wei Wuxian quipped, but snorted. He didn’t remember killing them. “But right now I’ll chalk it up to memory loss”
The cultivator paused thinking. ”Wen Xuliu” he said finally. “This sword belonged to the last clan leader. Sect Leader Wen sent me to investigate this place. I did more than investigate as you can see”.
“Qishan Wen?”, Wei Wuxian questioned.
“Is there any other Wen on this land worth mentioning?”, Wen Xuliu tilted his head. “You seem like you have suffered a huge back lash” he continued. “I have seen a cultivator like that before. His core was destroyed though”.
Wei Wuxian wanted to ignore him but he couldn’t help himself. “Is there a way to fix it?”
Wen Xuliu laughed, “Even if there was, you don’t really think I would tell you, do you?”.
“Fair”, Wei Wuxian nodded. “I would hate to be in debt of a person I am about to kill”.
Wen Xuliu snarled “You fool” before lunging at him.
They clashed. Sparks flew as blade met blade. The tomb rang with the violence of it. But it became clear, quickly, that Wen Xuliu was outmatched. Not by skill—but by madness. Wei Wuxian moved like something possessed, as though the resentment had crawled into his bones and now guided his hand.
With one clean stroke, he beheaded the man.
Suibian dripped blood.
With him out of the way, he turned his attention to the ominous huge statues in the corner of the rooms. They were guarding the sword and would no doubt jump into action if someone tried to take it.
He wanted to leave the sword but it beckoned him. In the back of his mind he knew he could’ve easily subdued Wen Xuliu but he didn’t want a rival. He wanted it for himself. He didn’t even hesitate and reached for the hilt of the sword.
He gasped.
It filled his limbs. Sharpened his thoughts into needles. The tomb screamed with energy. The darkness wrapped around them. Wei Wuxian let it in.
He gasped as the world tilted.
And then—he wasn’t there anymore.
He said something he didn’t know in a voice not entirely his.
He stood in the same tomb, but whole. Unbroken. Alive.
The statues weren’t worn; they stood proud and perfect. Lanterns lit the chamber in flickering gold. Banners of a forgotten sect fluttered gently in the stale air. Outside, the wind howled with the chill of an approaching storm.
And his robes were soaked in blood. Still damp. The metallic tang filled the air.
In his hands, the sword hummed. Pleased. Hungry.
Wei Wuxian tried to move, to resist, but he couldn’t. He could see everything—but he wasn’t himself.
He stepped through the once-sacred chamber, boots squelching. Corpses lay everywhere—disciples, elders, servants, lovers. Their eyes open, mouths still shaped around final words that never came.
Women. Children. Infants in swaddling cloth.
All dead.
And he—Wei Wuxian—laughed.
He heard his own voice ring out, rich with madness. “They wouldn’t listen, they never listen and they never shut up”
He lifted the sword. Its edge reflected the flicker of lanterns, but in it, he saw no horror. No regret. Only conviction.
“Immortality was never going to be given. It must be taken. And blood—blood opens the way.”
A sob broke from somewhere. Behind a pillar. A young girl.
She crawled, streaked with blood, clutching a shattered talisman. Her lips trembled.
“Shishu… please…”
His—Wei Wuxian’s—feet moved toward her, slowly. Deliberately.
No, no, please don’t—
The blade rose.
Wei Wuxian screamed inside—but the body did not hesitate. Steel fell. Her cry ended in silence.
He stood alone, surrounded by the obliteration of his own people. The sect he had sworn to protect.
He had killed them all.
The silence after was unbearable. But even in the hush, the sword whispered, coiling tighter around his soul.
And then—
Footsteps.
Boots on stone. Cloth rustling.
The night-hunters returned.
A dozen cultivators swept into the chamber, lanterns raised. Their faces twisted in horror.
Wei Wuxian turned to them—he turned to them—smiling.
“Too late,” he said. “They’re already free.”
Their blades were drawn in a flash.
The fight that followed was swift and brutal. He—the clan leader, the murderer, the madman Wei Wuxian had become—fought with reckless brilliance. The sword screamed with each clash, each drop of blood it drank. He felled two of them before they realized what they faced was no man anymore.
Only resentment, given shape.
They overwhelmed him. A coordinated strike. One pierced his side, another took his arm. He dropped the sword. Another blade drove clean through his chest.
He fell.
As he hit the ground, bleeding and broken, Wei Wuxian’s gaze flicked—just slightly—to the side.
He saw himself.
Not the clan leader.
Himself.
And that’s when it cracked.
Everything split.
He stumbled back—out of the vision—heart pounding, chest heaving.
He looked down at his hands still gripping the sword.
Pale, wild-eyed, stained with blood and madness. That was not him—but it almost had been.
Wei Wuxian recoiled, dropping the sword as though it had burned him. The air tasted like iron and smoke. Cold sweat dripped from his brow.
His breaths came in sharp, disoriented gasps.
“I am not him,” he whispered to no one.
But the sword remained where it lay.
Silent.
Waiting.
Wei Wuxian dropped to the floor, chest rising and falling in shallow gasps. He had no strength left.
The resentment, uncontrolled and wild, struck back.
His vision blurred. His head throbbed. He hit the ground hard.
Darkness.