acrookedpath | [pfsb]

[pfsb]

The latest idea that struck Wei Wuxian mid-lunch: if he combined one of the theoretical energy talismans with a paper doll, would that allow him to search the grounds for resentful energy without having to blanket the whole inn with talismans?

It seems like a sound idea! It won't replace the planned night hunt with Lan Zhan -- nor would he want it to -- but if he succeeds, it will be a fun experiment.

First, though: combining a paper doll with a simpler talisman. Which brings us to Wei Wuxian at a table underneath the Observation Window, not an inch left uncovered by his notes, scribbling onto a tiny cutout with a ballpoint pen Bar gave him. (What an invention!) He completes the last character with a flourish and waves his hand over the doll; it springs to its "feet," and, grinning, he directs it toward the empty cup perched precariously on a corner of the table.

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He nods, and calls Bichen forth, holding it with comfortable ease at his side.

"Let us go."

By the time they step outside, only a small thumbnail of sun hangs above the horizon. It slips away into darkness as they walk across the grounds, leaving bands of deep red and purple to underline the black of the sky. Out of habit, Wei Wuxian looks up to check their bearing by the stars -- but of course the stars look nothing like home.

Crickets sing all around them. Water laps the shoreline. Somewhere, distant and indistinct, comes the low voices of a few other patrons.

And as they approach the forest, Wei Wuxian raises his flute to his lips, and begins to play.

The music rises, twisting through the night around them and reaching through the trees, seeking, calling--

Lan Wangji walks beside Wei Ying, scanning the area around them and the woods ahead. Moonlight gleams from the white of his robes and glints from Bichen's edge.

All is quiet around them as they step into the trees. Even the demon bunnies seem to be elsewhere, for the moment. There are a few different paths to follow, if one were to so choose, as well as ample space between the trees. Some trails lead toward the lake, while some lead deeper into the forest. Not all of them show the marks of horses' hooves or people's feet.

Deeper in the forest, something stirs. Not all places here at the ends of worlds are as civilized or controlled as the inn itself, and there, at the edges of the Dreaming, wildness gathers.

It has been several years, now, since a young woman named Ava called demons from her world into this one at the lake's shore, bringing them there for a young man named Sam to practice their control and destruction.

Not all of them died.

It is the same as before: nothing seems to answer his call. Not at first. He would grit his teeth in frustration, but that would interrupt the song.

He steps further down one of the paths that bears no footprints. The eerie, haunting music weaves ahead of them, seeking any restless spirits that may walk the grounds. It gathers them close: come, it whispers, come.

And then, suddenly, shooting back to him along the reaching thread of the music --

A tiny spark flares inside him for the first time in a month.

Wei Wuxian inhales sharply, the music stuttering to a stop as his eyes fly wide. Don't, he orders himself, keep playing, and immediately he shuts his eyes and picks up the tune again, fingers flying faster, the sound rising.

The moonlight shines bright enough that it's impossible to miss: like ink dropped in water, black energy begins to curl and rise from the flute.

It has been three years. Three years, since he has seen resentful energy stir and coil like that around Wei Ying.

Three years, and then--

He forces the memory away and raises Bichen between them and whatever threat lies ahead, prepared to defend should something strike.

The black smoke swarms up his instrument. It spills over his hands and down his arms, wrapping tendrils around his body as the music takes on an unearthly hum; it rises from the crown of his head to obscure the flash of red in his hair. Wei Wuxian does not open his eyes through it all, his brow knotted as he turns the energy on itself, gathering it, preparing to redirect it even as the song continues to coax its source closer. Come. Come.

And it arrives.

The moonlight dims as two enormous plumes of black smoke arc above the trees, streaking through the sky in search of whoever has beckoned to them.

The small clearing in which they stand is large enough to fight. Good.

Wei Ying is standing still, eyes closed, concentrating on his music and controlling the power he now commands. Lan Wangji stands next to him, poised and ready, body humming with the anticipation that precedes action.

They are clearly visible now, writhing through the air like snakes. Ferocious ghosts of some sort, he thinks, or perhaps something else, native to this place. Resentful energy streams and flows from them like heat from fire.

They both arrow downward suddenly, one diving toward his face, and one toward Wei Ying's. A ray flashes from Bichen's edge as Lan Wangji whirls, slicing through the smoke and dissipating the first attack.

Something unearthly shrieks, and the smoke splits and passes by them, coiling around for another try. He does not let himself be drawn to follow, but stays where he is, waiting.

He can sense their approach without opening his eyes, and feels a ripple go through their resentful energy as Lan Zhan strikes. His blood sings; he wants to smile, wants to laugh at how right this feels after too many weeks of feeling unmoored, but they cannot risk his concentration slipping now, not even for an instant.

As the ghosts circle back for another attack, a blast of energy explodes from Wei Wuxian as he raises a barrier to keep them at bay. They skitter across its surface, and he can imagine teeth bared like wolves as they fight to break through to their prey.

He remembers Dafan Mountain, standing back to back with Wei Ying, countering the deadly blows that lanced at them from the fog, the sense of rightness to how they fought together, in perfect balance, unthinking, without the need for speech.

This feels much the same.

One of the ghosts begins to slink along the edge of the unseen wall, trying to get behind them, seeking some weakness while the other snarls in front of them. Lan Wangji shifts instantly from stillness into fluid motion, spinning back and forth around Wei Ying in an unceasing spiral, his body and Bichen's blade together serving as an additional circle of protection as he delivers one precise strike after another through Wei Ying's spell and into the ghosts' very being.

Edited 2020-09-06 16:53 (UTC)

The ghosts shriek. With each strike of Bichen, Lan Zhan seems to slice away a piece of their resentful energy as if severing a limb, and as soon as it falls, Wei Wuxian is there to scoop it up. Some of the energy he diverts into keeping the barrier in place; the rest he holds close, swirling in a ceaseless cloud near his feet, waiting for the inevitable moment one of the ghosts breaks through their defenses.

The moment comes sooner than he expected.

One of the ghosts dodges Lan Zhan, pries open a crack in the barrier, and darts through. As it snaps its formless jaws inches from Wei Wuxian's face, he opens his eyes to face the boiling black cloud. One corner of his mouth curls upward the slightest centimeter; his gaze is hard, and utterly without fear.

At his feet, the cloud lunges upward to close its own jaws around the ghost's throat.

It flashes past him through the narrow gap and streaks toward Wei Ying, and as it does Lan Wangji whirls to face it --

-- only to breathe a sigh of relief as it's caught, wailing, in the trap of Wei Ying's power.

The other one seizes what it thinks is a moment of distraction at the fate of its ally to charge at Lan Wangji's seemingly unprotected back. It's the last mistake it will ever make. Bichen slices a clean line through the ghost, dividing it in half and splitting it into dissolute wisps of smoke that try and fail to reassemble.

He lowers the blade to his side, into a waiting defensive position, and slowly moves to stand next to Wei Ying, watching the trapped ghost intently for any sign of a renewed attack.

He doesn't need to keep up the barrier any longer, and he has enough resentful energy in reserve to hold the ghost in place. As it thrashes wildly in his grip, he slowly lowers his flute, eyes fixed on the creature.

For a wild moment, he wants to trap it for good. Keep it as close as he kept the Stygian Tiger Seal, slowly draining it until it dies. No need to rely so heavily on talismans; no need to pick apart all the tangled threads of energy circling the inn in the hope of finding a strand of gold.

But he doesn't have the proper tools at hand, and that, in the end, makes the decision for him.

He cups his empty hand with his fingers spread like claws. The resentful energy under his control flows into his palm, dragging the struggling ghost with it. And with a decisive clutch of his fist, it smashes the resentful spirit to pieces.

The ghost dissolves into black mist with a final cry.

Nothing else seems to be approaching. The forest around them is quiet, at least for now.

He lowers Bichen the rest of the way and remains still, his eyes on Wei Ying.

"Are there more? Can you tell?"

He's breathing a little harder than before, pale and strained under the moonlight, but Wei Wuxian still smiles, exhilarated by the fight. The resentful energy begins its slow unwinding, slipping free of his body to sink back into the earth.

"No," he says after a moment. "No, that was all I can sense. If there are more, they are staying quiet."

"Mn."

Wei Ying smiles, and he can feel some indefinable knot of worry within him unravel at the sight.

"Now we know. There is resentful energy, outside the inn's walls."

"Yes."

He starts laughing, bright.

"I knew it must exist somewhere. I knew it! Even if there is so little death, such skilled healers, and such an immense attempt at suppression."

"You were right."

It does make sense. Otherwise, this little world would be immensely unbalanced.

(Although he's never known anyone to be quite so pleased at finding resentful energy before.

Then again, he's never known anyone else like Wei Ying.)

"What does that mean for you? For your cultivation, your crafty tricks?"

A thoughtful hum. "I will have to see," he says as he stows his flute back in his belt. "It would be difficult to travel this far into the woods every time I wished to use resentful energy. But I wonder if I could lure it closer to the inn despite the suppression field, now that I know it's out here. Or if I could capture another ghost in a spirit-trapping bag."

He wrinkles his nose.

"That would risk the ghost escaping into the inn, though."

In his mind's eye, he sees again the unnatural silence of the Yiling Supervisory Office, strewn with corpses, and imagines the same scene at the inn.

"Mn. Perhaps not that."

Lan Wangji looks away, out into the forest around them.

"A lure, though--"

He's nodding. "Yes. An array of them, most likely, to counteract the suppression."

Easy enough to prepare a cluster of talismans for such a task. All it would take is a flick of his wrist to distribute them, and he could call for the resentful energy at a moment's notice.

"Another project! I am gathering them like stray cats. You may come back in a week's time and have nowhere to sit, for all my notes and talismans."

The faintest hint of a smile touches the corners of his mouth.

"I will not mind."

In fact, he very much likes the idea of Wei Ying busy and thriving.

"You say that now," he says, shaking a finger at Lan Zhan. "Then you will trip over a pile of paper as tall as your knees and fall into my table! Ink all over your nice robes. It won't do."

He starts to retrace their steps up the trail.

"I will not trip."

He paces along beside the other man.

"But if I do, robes wash."

"I suppose there is a lake nearby to wash in..."

Energized by the hunt, the same as one who breathes fresh air after weeks indoors, he keeps up his chatter all the way back to the inn. It was only two ghosts -- not nearly enough for his good cheer to be tinged with exhaustion as it is -- but, he tells himself, it was the first proper night hunt he's done in some time.

(He had almost forgotten how good it feels to hunt alongside Lan Zhan, as they did before --

Before.)

Wei Ying's cheerful conversation washes over him as they walk, he himself content to listen and make the occasional sound of encouragement.

Three years since the clifftop at Nightless City. Longer still, since that night in the rain at Qiongqi Way.

He'd thought this lost forever.

Lantern light shines through the window of the inn, guiding them in. When they reach it, he opens the door and holds it for the other man to pass through first.

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