Chapter Text
Wei Wuxian fell. He fell with Wen Chao sneering down at him, and an impossible descent below him. If he survived the fall he would be lucky.
Wei Wuxian had told him though, told him that he would come back and haunt him.
He would.
By any means he would.
Even if he had to claw his way out of the burial mounds by his teeth, bloody and dead, nothing but a corpse, he would. He wouldn’t rest easy in this place.
Resentment flowed all around him, so much more noticeable, dangerous, without the protection of his golden core. Before he’d been taken he was still wounded, still stumbling around taking medication Wen Qing had given him every so often, needing to dull the pain. It didn’t help to dull the sense of wrongness, however, like he was missing a limb. It was all consuming.
The pain and fed his temper, his rage and he felt the life seep from him even as he fell.
If he survived this, which wasn’t likely, from such a height, he supposed he’d find out if the pain would follow him for his whole life.
The wind rushed past his ears and he was weightless. He screamed, knowing that death would come, and he’d join these bodies here. This pit of death and resentment. If nothing else, he’d be the worst of them, the strongest of them, and he tugged, pulled on that now familiar sensation of resentful energy he’d felt twice before. The more resentment he contained as a corpse, the more fierce he’d become.
He reached out to the overwhelming power, feeling no panic. He wasn’t scared of dying. True, yes, he wasn’t ready to die, but he wasn’t scared of it. Dying might give him more power than he’d ever had in his life, especially now, without his golden core.
He felt the energy swarm around him like a wilful child and sing. It cradled him, and the sense of plummeting began to ease.
Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian. Let us in.
Dark hands rose up to catch him, to cradle him like a child, hissing in his ears.
Let us in, let us in.
The resentful energy was oppressive, thick in the way that was cloying and made it difficult to breathe. He gasped and the energy forced itself into his lungs, he cried out and heard the energy crying back, screaming in turn.
He never hit the ground.
Instead he was lowered, cradled in many ghostly hands and resentful spirits. He fought, fought for control, fought for sanity.
The energy would twist him, if he let it. Kill him and twist him beyond his own recognition of himself, mind and all. He didn’t want to die.
Not yet. Not while the Wens still lived.
He needed to remember why, needed to remember his vengeance, and who it was for, needed to not let himself be overwhelmed by the darkness of this place, and the strength of the energy it held.
He thrashed along the ground, fought desperately. It felt so much worse than losing his core, his heart felt like it was being squeezed and shredded. Crying out, he clawed at the ground and pressed his face to the soil, whimpering. The energy was too much. Taking that energy into himself made him feel as if the energy wanted only to tear himself apart from the soft inside. It searched along his veins and muscles, looking for spiritual energy, invading his meridians and twisting them, infecting them. It felt like they were ripping apart at the same time, bringing death where there should have been life. He supposed this was what a deviation would have felt like. Unable to control or contain the resentment, he fought against it bitterly. His own pain, his own anger, tore at his control and made everything chaotic and messy.
“Are you going to die like this?” a soft voice came, sounding real, solid, not a hissing, formless thing. It could have been himself, he supposed, but it was too calm, too deep, almost amused.
Wei Wuxian could barely open his eyes enough to look around and see. Someone was there. He was sure, but at the same time he felt many hands grip him and hold him down, wanting to pull him down into the earth. “You were tossed away like dirt on their shoes. Will you accept that? That that is what you are? Nothing and no one.”
The words struck true even if he didn’t know where they came from and Wei Wuxian screamed, his voice feeling torn. He fought, he lashed out, but his body was weak, and his only method of fighting was gone. He struggled, struggled to survive, struggled to make good on his promise.
“No! I have to…I have too…” Wei Wuxian thought of Jiang Fengmian, propped up on the very sword impaling him, limp a doll, blood dripping from his lips. He thought of Madam Yu, not too far from him, eyes sightless. He thought of Lotus pier burning. He thought of Jiang Cheng’s hands around his throat, squeezing.
He thought of Shijie.
If only he could harness the resentment so thick in the air that it was like stepping into a charged field of lightning. He could have been powerful, so powerful.
“Why are you fighting? Accept it.”
Wei Wuxian gasped, and the energy stilled. Why was he fighting? Why was he rejecting this? Why was he scared by this power, when he’d long since only considered it energy. Something he could use. The energy wanted in, and he was fighting its path instead of allowing it in as it wanted, drawn to him like flowers to the sun. It was trying to tear it apart because he was trying to control it like a child trying to bottle lightning. The lightning was coming anyway. He could instead focus on his mind, his goal, and weather the storm.
He took a breath and this time he purposefully tried to draw the energy into himself. It came slowly at first then began to resist him and roil with anger. He pulled at the hands that tugged at him, and held them to his chest, he drank it all in, willingly, pulled everything he could inside of himself and now the resentful energy screamed, but in rage.
The rage of the energy was easier to subdue than thinking himself powerless and weak. Taking control meant allowing the energy into himself, using his own body as a trap, a source of power. With no golden core, his body became the dark container for the energy, the font. It was rough, but it was enough to not kill him.
There was laughter. “Better.”
He took and took and took, and by the time the screams faded and he thought he’d taken everything, he was only a body lying on a pile of bleached bones, panting and feverish.
He sat up, pained, and strangely both weak and strong at the same time. He had to keep himself upright with his arms pressed to the ground, trembling, to look around properly.
He could see the dead earth, and the old, long dead bones of those who had died here. Above him the sky was overcast and dark, rain coming in small drops. It hissed as it hit the earth, as if insulted. The land was bare and empty, large rocks here and there making for an uneven landscape.
There was a yawning cave at the base of the cliff he’d been tossed off and sitting on a boulder before it was a man.
If he could he called a man.
Wei Wuxian could feel the resentment so thick around him it was almost solid, almost as if he was made of it, formed from it. Sitting with one leg propped up on the rock, an arm resting on it, the man was watching him with red, glowing eyes. He had long black hair, and most of it was neatly pulled back, but the rest hung forward, unruly and stubborn.
He was exceedingly out of place, dressed more like a prince than anyone he’d ever seen, his robes intricate and layered in colours of black, red and white, thickly embroidered.
“You survived,” he commented, dark eyebrows rising faintly. He had a complicated red mark on his forehead, looking almost like a flame. “Well done.” His lips twisted into a faint smirk.
Feverish and weak, feeling like a newborn foal, Wei Wuxian stared up at this…this being. The resentful energy surrounding him far outclassed what was around them. He was resent personified and gave flesh. Thick and solid, staring down at him with a face he hadn’t expected to see at all. Nothing living should have been here. He seemed oddly out of place, even when he seemed to fit in all the same.
“Who?” Wei Wuxian asked, voice thick and raspy from screaming.
“You can call this lord Junshang,” the other greeted. “But his name is Luo Binghe.”
Wei Wuxian stared, helpless and unsure. He blinked. “I…”
So much had gone wrong, so much had gone disastrously wrong, but at least now Jiang Cheng was safe. At least now the Yungmeng Jiang Sect would live on.
And he was here.
He looked down at his hand. It was covered in blood and old, ashy soil. Resentful energy curled around his fingertips like a playful spirit, before seeping back into his skin. It came and went without his control, suffusing him.
“You…do you live here?” Wei Wuxian asked. Luo Binghe belonged to this place. It was clear.
“No,” Luo Binghe said, tilting his head faintly, looking down at Wei Wuxian. “This lord is only passing through,” he said, and looked around himself. “But this is all very familiar,” he said, amused, looking up at the cliff face from where Wei Wuxian had fallen, had been thrown. “And this lord could not…let it pass him by.”
“…Passing through?” Wei Wuxian asked, confused.
“This lord is looking for someone. But this…” Luo Binghe turned his red eyes back down on Wei Wuxian. “You embraced the demonic energies. Surprising, for a human. It’s familiar with you. Even before you fell it was reaching for you.”
Wei Wuxian swallowed thickly and then closed his eyes, shifting to kneel and resting his weight on his legs. “I’ve felt it before,” he said softly, looking down at his hands again. “It came to me when I was near death…twice.” He blinked slowly. He’d been right. Resentful energy was only energy, and with it so many things could be possible.
With it, perhaps he could avenge himself, and his family. His home.
The Wen had taken so much from him, and tormented him and his family. He wanted to take something back, to show them how it felt to be alone, afraid, and knowing their time was coming. He’d sworn he would come back to haunt them, and he…wanted to. He would.
“Tell me,” Luo Binghe asked, tone cool as he raised his head, looking up at the cliff where he had fallen. “Do you want revenge?”
Wei Wuxian shuddered. “Yes,” he said, and his voice was thick with it.
Luo Binghe seemed to consider for a long time, looking down at him in his pathetic state. “This lord will show you how,” he said softly, and smiled. It wasn’t a terribly kind, or pleasant smile.
Wei Wuxian could only close his eyes and, while he didn’t smile in return, bowed deeply, trembling against his exhaustion and fear.
Wei Wuxian must have passed out at some point, perhaps immediately after bowing to this person, this being. Wei Wuxian had never met a demon, had heard that they were creatures that generally didn’t wander so far East, but it made sense that Luo Binghe would be drawn to the burial mounds. Like attracted like, always.
Swallowing thickly, he opened his eyes and looked up, feeling himself being carried in strong arms. That Luo Binghe chose to dirty his fine robes with him was surprising, to a degree. Wei Wuxian was a mess, he knew that. Luo Binghe smelt…pleasant. Not like he thought he should smell, for being in such a place. There was an odd scent to him, some sort of spice he didn’t think he’d smelt before.
He was placed on a reasonably flat surface, and after that Wei Wuxian let himself sleep again. Luo Binghe was no more dangerous than the rest of this place, and while he still ached, felt week and strong all at once, he knew he was exhausted. He could sleep here without fear of Luo Binghe.
When he woke again it was to fire, and Wei Wuxian sucked in a deep, panicked breath and sat up quickly, pressing his hands against the stone he was laying on. The world immediately spun, and pain returned, clenching around the empty area where his core should have been. He whined and bent over himself, panting heavily, swallowing against rising bile and the cutting cold of this place. Eventually he rallied himself enough to raise his head and look around.
Luo Binghe sat on the ground, dark sword over his lap, and stared into a roaring fire that he’d started in the centre of the cave. There was furniture around the edges of the room, simple and basic. A large tub for bathing, a simple screen before it, a roll that would pass for a bed, lain out on even ground, lush and cushions, with curtains draped over it, hiding it from immediate view. Likely this was where Luo Binghe had been sleeping.
It was still a cave in the burial mounds, but it was considerably more comfortable with these small additions, even with the haze of the smoke from the fire making his eyes sting.
Wei Wuxian swallowed thickly, watching Luo Binghe for a long moment, uncertain of what to do. He bit his chapped lower lip and then slid off the rock he’d been placed on. His knees barely held steady, and he struggled to remain upright, exhausted still, pained still. He hadn’t the energy to fix his mussed robes. “…Was this here before?” he asked, reaching out and touching a length of expensive but plain silk that would be able to hide his sleeping place when pulled across and held in place with some smaller stones.
It wasn’t nearly as resplendent as the sleeping area Luo Binghe had made for himself, but it was a small measure of privacy in the cave that Wei Wuxian found himself appreciating. Luo Binghe hadn’t needed to do so.
“No,” came the smooth answer. Luo Binghe appeared almost sullen as he remained staring into the fire, his posture immaculate, chin raised arrogantly. He looked over at Wei Wuxian and there was something like disdain there. “This lord brought it.”
“Where did you get it all?” Wei Wuxian asked, confused as he stumbled down to sit by the fire as well, drinking in its warmth. It heated his cold face, and bloomed against his chest like a comforting embrace. He barely keeping himself from falling into the fire itself, chasing that warmth.
“This lord has his ways,” Luo Binghe murmured, his red eyes finally turning to him, peering at him past the fire. “You have no golden core, but you’re clearly a cultivator,” he mused, blinking slowly, dark lashes covering his red eyes for a moment as he lowered them. “This lord wasn’t aware they could be destroyed. Interesting, for a human to turn to this path.”
Human.
So he was a demon, then.
Wei Wuxian’s throat clicked. “My brother,” he said, then found himself at a loss for words. How could he explain such events, and their enormity, to a being who likely had no care for any of it.
“You don’t need to explain. This lord knows.” Luo Binghe murmured, turning his eyes back. “This lord saw.”
“…You saw?”
Luo Binghe remained quiet, his eyes fixed forward, seeming determined to ignore him for a time.
While Wei Wuxian wanted to press, he warily didn’t. Instead looked around, holding his robes close, unwilling to step away from the warmth of the fire for long. His legs likely wouldn’t carry him far besides. The resentment in the cave was strong, but it didn’t heal him as spiritual energy would have. He wondered if there was a way that it could. “Is there water?”
“There is,” Luo Binghe said, but made no move to inform him of where or offer him any.
Wei Wuxian lowered his head and clenched his jaw. Wondered what the man (the demon?) wanted. “What do you want?” he asked, clenching his hands in his robe, knowing he was at Luo Binghe’s mercy. His voice was thick and raspy, throat dry. It clicked when he swallowed. “For the water. You said you would teach me. Letting me die would hardly amuse you.”
Luo Binghe was quiet for a long time, and then there was a heavy sigh. He rose in a swirl of dark, elegant robes and moved over to one of the tables he’d carefully hidden behind the intricate, expensive cloth. He returned shortly after and threw something at him.
Wei Wuxian barely managed to catch the water skein and stared at it for a long moment before he realised what it was. Opening it quickly he drank deeply, greedily. Spilled some in his eagerness, spilling it down his front.
Luo Binghe remained standing, watching him, his chin raised. He snorted, his hands were hidden by the length of his wide sleeves, but it was clear he was gripping tightly onto that dark sword of his, the sheath creaking ominously. “Drink slowly,” he barked. “It’s unsightly. Your desperation. You’re unsightly, crawling around like a worm.” He turned his head away. “You’re better than this.” There was a faint edge to it, almost as if he wasn’t speaking to Wei Wuxian himself anymore.
Wei Wuxian couldn’t make himself stop, only managing for long enough to swallow and breathe, his eyebrows pulling down. Better than this? Clearly he wasn’t. This was the lowest he had ever been in his life. Even as a child on the streets, fighting dogs for scraps, he’d never been so desperate for water, or so isolated.
Luo Binghe turned and left, stalking out of the cave, saying nothing more as he went.
Wei Wuxian watched him go and drank the rest of the water at a more sedate pace.
With Luo Binghe gone Wei Wuxian had the chance to look around a little more. Luo Binghe’s bedding did indeed seem soft and luxurious, if still placed on top of a raised rock platform, as was his own. He had hidden a table of fruits and dried meats, but Wei Wuxian had no appetite and left them.
He carefully walked over to the tub, holding onto the walls and furniture as he went, and was elated when he found the tub was filled with water. Carefully he disrobed and stepped inside, then cleaned himself, washing the ashy dirt from himself and his hair. Shamelessly he used the oils and other ointments Luo Binghe had brought with him, cleansing himself. If he disgusted Luo Binghe so much, he was sure he wouldn’t mind.
He desperately wanted and needed to look and feel better.
By the time he was finished he was shivering, and he hesitantly pulled at what towels he could find to dry himself and his hair, then dressed and went to sit by the fire again.
Luo Binghe did not return for a long time.
Not that day, or the next, or the next.
Wei Wuxian ate what food Luo Binghe had stored and rested, trying to regain his strength. The only water he had was the water from the tub, and dirty as it was it was better than nothing. He quickly found that the water from the rain wasn’t suitable, something about the Burial Mounds tainting it and turning it acidic in his mouth. He washed with it instead, though it burned his skin, it wasn’t drinkable, and so it was better than nothing.
He practised with the resentful energy, tried circulating it through himself as he did his spiritual energy, tried to see if it would help him heal, help him take away the hurt.
It didn’t take the pain away.
Yet instead he found himself able to walk, and the wounds in his abdomen from the core transfer healed slowly. He left the cave a few times once he was strong enough, stepping over crushed bones and looking out over the large expanse of mound after mound of bones and dead trees.
He didn’t see Luo Binghe anywhere.
He found old bamboo stalks, impossibly growing in the occasional, acceding rain. He harvested the shoots and carefully made himself a table in the cave, then worked on seeking other materials. Something he could write on, something he could write with. For a long time it was only clay, and the rest of his discoveries he simply had to remember. He worked with the resentful energy, trying to discover its uses.
His sleep, when it did come, was restless and his dreams were vivid. Full of painful memories. Memories if Jiang Cheng, Nie Huaisang and the Cloud Recesses. His time there as a student. His time in Lotus pier, of Madam Yu’s sharpness and his harsh training as a result of her dislike. He excelled despite it, and became head disciple, above even Jiang Cheng. Yet it had been his undoing in her eyes.
He dreamed of his and Lan Wangji’s fight against the waterborne abyss, and his first contact with such large amounts of resentful energy.
He dreamed of the Xuanwu of Slaughter, and the sight of Lan Wangji spinning through the air like a vengeful god, his golden eyes set and determined as he pulled the strings of his spiritual energy tight, and together they killed the beast.
He dreamed of the sword in the beast’s belly, now lost in the cave somewhere. Of its power.
He dreamt of Lan Wangji smiling as they released lanterns.
He dreamt of Lan Wangji glaring at him in the dark of night, holding a delicate umbrella to shield himself from the rain, within the safety of the Cloud Recesses.
He dreamt of Lan Wangji’s fingers on his Guqin, and how dexterous they seemed.
He woke in a cold sweat after that dream, thoughtful and considering.
He started experimenting. If resentful energy was only energy, then it should have been possible to do many of the things he’d done in the past, only…different. He could work around his faults and find a way to protect himself, to fight, to be strong. It was a constant effort to not fight the resentful energy and to allow it to flow through him freely instead of clamping down and trying to reject it, an action that was useless without the protection of a golden core.
Designing a focus for the resentful energy wasn’t too difficult. Instead of remaining inside the cave, the settled himself outside of the cave, where he could breathe in ash with each breath, where it smelt worse, but where the death, the resentful energy, was stronger. He sat in his focus circle and meditated, working on gaining control, on trying to master the flow of energy inside of himself.
He lost track of time.
The lack of pain was welcome, but his struggle with the energy made him exhausted, and he started eating the pitiful looking grass that managed to grow in the burial mounds, shooting down crows with a makeshift bow to roast. Hunger set in and stayed.
He survived.
Wei Wuxian opened his eyes when he heard footsteps, and the crunch of bones. He took a deep breath, and the resentful energy sank back into his skin and settled, more peaceful now, mingling with his body’s qi. It constantly threatened to overwhelm him, but it was controllable, for now.
Luo Binghe had returned.
His clothes had changed, and he was once again dressed in pristine fine robes, his hair brushed out carefully, not a single strand out of place. The dust of the burial mounds dirtied his shoes with each new step, and Wei Wuxian frowned. They should have been dirtier, if he’d been walking the entire way. Had he flown in? His sword was still secured to his back, in a position not made for ease of drawing, but instead for travel.
Luo Binghe had a bag slung over his shoulder, made of simple cloth. His red eyes slid over Wei Wuxian as he passed, his eyebrows arching sardonically. “Still alive,” he mused, seeming almost pleased. He nodded. “Come.” He continued inside the cave.
Wei Wuxian rose, trying to ignore the aching maw inside of him. Stretched against it and shook his limbs out. He’d been limber and strong once. He wondered what it would take to feel that again. He was weak and his hands trembled. The pain gnawed at him, his wound still unhealed. “What did you bring?” he asked, frowning. He held the wall of the cave as he entered, gingers grazing along sharp rock.
Luo Binghe had paused by the dim fire and was looking around the cave. “Clothes,” he said, turning to face Wei Wuxian. “You want revenge, don’t you?”
Wei Wuxian nodded slowly, his free hand clenching into a fist. “Yes.”
Luo Binghe lowered his chin, and he smiled, his long hair framing his face as he looked down at his bag. He pulled out a dark grey outer robe, with a red inner lining. The embroidery on it was wonderful, red swirls along the sleeves looking almost like flames. “Then this lord will teach you how to best get revenge.”
Wei Wuxian thinned his lips. He was already cultivating resentful energy, accepting the teachings of a demon. Wearing his clothes wouldn’t be any lower than he’d already stooped.
He thought of Lan Wangji as he accepted the dark cloth, feeling the fine material. It would hold up well here. Would hide dirt and blood. It would hide the resentful energy snaking in and out of his skin as it willed, like a raging fire inside him.
He nodded. “Alright, then.”