A/N: Annnnnd it's with this chapter that the night hunt arc and the first act comes to a close! (I've been waiting for this chapter for so looooong now). As always, this is a fanfic. I'm not an expert on anything. Please don't repost, translate, or podfic, etc. without permission. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy! :D

Heads up for character stressed out due to being reminded of bad memories and second guessing their own judgement. And another being stressed out due to current circumstances/thoughts of the future.

(P.S., Nicely phrased writing critique is welcome, and I love comments in general! I'm trying to become a better writer, and this is the longest thing I've ever written, right now the rough draft is almost 200,000 words! But since it's so long, it makes it harder to review everything between up dates, so lemme know if you see a potentially accidentally dropped plot thread or the like as well. I had to reread parts of like five different chapters to prep for writing this one, even with my notes. Also! How did you like the character themes from last chapter? What do you think it means for our characters going forward? I'm curious.)

[Edit 10/5/23: I've been remiss in cross-posting to here, my apologies! This story is also posted over on ao3 (it isn't posted anywhere else, so if you see it posted elsewhere please let me know, because those people do not have permission). Also, apologies if you've been leaving reviews and I haven't answered! It seems I haven't been getting notified about that, but I hope to respond to those shortly. Thank you to everyone who has read, liked, followed, favorited, reviewed this fic! I'm glad you like it and hope you are safe happy and healthy where ever you are! :D Now without further ado, the chapter...]

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Chapter 21: The Hunt: Of People and Ghosts

Something that Wei Ying had become intimately aware of was that, like living humans, the dead were made up of an un-limitable variance.

Cultivation helped make order of them as a means to an end: how did they rise? And how did they die? How to make them no longer a problem? Ghosts, Monsters, Yaos, Demons; Liberate, Suppress, Eliminate.

The disquiet dead – were loud, and uncomfortable.

A cultivator was called when the disquiet dead became a problem. When their presence scared or embarrassed a paying client. When they got in the way of business. When they harassed the living and generally made a nuisance of themselves. Or, in the worse case situations: where the dead actively (intentionally or no) endangered life and limb of the living.

The division into categories helped ease this mission. (Deceptively simple).

In a best-case scenario, one or two cultivators can suss out the dead. Identify its grievance, perhaps implore the assistance of the local living that may have known them, and allow them to peacefully pass on into the eventual cycle of reincarnation. Maybe the dead simply wanted to be recognized – a proper burial, a message to be mourned, news sent to their families. For people to know that they had existed, and what had happened to them.

Sometimes the messages were a little more specific. 'I want my granddaughter to have my mother's necklace'; 'the will is hidden in a false bottom of the mahogany chest'; 'the butcher down the lane owes us 3 silvers, make sure to collect'; 'I was killed by x-person'; 'I secreted the family savings into the old well out back'; 'so-and-so done did me wrong'; 'tell him/her/they/them I love them'; 'tell so-and-so thank you/I'm sorry'.

A cultivator need only find the missing item, deliver a message, facilitate a conversation between ghost and bereaved, finish some final errand or task, and the dead is able to move on. Their unfinished business finally completed. Laid to rest.

These are some of the most common hauntings. The bread and butter of the cultivation world. They are also some of the least flashy – typically featuring more social skills than actual fighting. With hardly any 'magicks' taking place after making initial contact.

(Now made far simpler and less tedious with the use of spirit allure flags, which, though he'd never specifically taught the making of, had apparently been seen often enough in the war to become fairly prolific – he'd seen a few crude attempts at mimicking some of his more commonly known inventions at this hunt alone. Thankfully, no one had yet seemed to figure out how he'd inverted the Wen's ghost repelling wards. And with the new workshop, his inventions' security had only been heightened. The leaks having run dry to those without permission.).

A person can make a steady living dealing with such disquiet dead. Often found in locales with higher population density and high trafficked areas, they are thus generally easily accessible, located near inns and food services of some kind, with far easier access to backup and medical care than more rural areas. They also serve as excellent teaching opportunities for junior disciples.

Though less glorified than other night hunts of a more violent caliber, they're good for learning how to navigate an urban environment (especially those lower class than what many junior cultivators of major sects are used to interacting with), to develop observation and information gathering skills, and interacting with mediocre civilians that are often uneducated in matters of cultivation. All of which are valuable abilities.

(This, along with trade, is why most cultivation sects are centered near urban areas. Because malevolent beings come and go. But having access to or control of a trade route and its valuables will always let you eat. They bring goods from far away, bolster the local economy and resources. Even if local harvests fail, somewhere someone had excess. And where there are people, there is resentment. And so long as there is resentment, a cultivator has a job.)

The downside being that these night hunts can be rather humdrum. Especially to individuals wishing to 'prove themselves' or make a name for themselves through some display of skill. These sorts of Malevolent Creatures, being a 'low-level haunting', are also typically non-dangerous, at most an annoyance, and can often be put-off for more pressing matters. As such they are usually considered low-priority.

(Though it is often necessary to prioritize violent and unusual cases, it is important to not leave a haunting un-investigated nor un-monitored for too long, since sometimes seemingly benign hauntings can be symptoms of a much larger issue).

The more violent hauntings (those of higher-level) are usually somewhat different. In these cases the disquiet dead are usually some form of 'mindlessly-embittered' or 'vengeful'. The 'mindlessly-embittered' are your Monsters and Walking Corpses, lacking any sort of sentience or mindfulness, simply reanimated at the anger of their own deaths or by a high concentration of ambient resentment. This ambient resentment can also infect living plants and humans, creating Yao and Demons; or can slowly infect a Spectre over-time. Turning a relatively harmless haunting into a more threatening one. The 'mindlessly-embittered' are dangerous because they have no reason to reason with: never having a mind or presence of thought with which to cajole or make appeals to logic, or having a mind so eroded or single-focused as to be unpredictable. But the 'vengeful' are by far the worst. These are the Walking Corpses that carry an echo of hatred cast by dying thoughts at their killer, which will hunt the object of their hate until they are turned to dust, uncaring of what or whoever might be in their way. These are the Spectres that remember. Who bring ill-fortune onto those who wronged them in life. Or whom they just disliked, or believed to have wronged them. Or whom they envy for still being alive – for buying the house where that disquiet dead once lived, for marrying the man that they had once loved, for succeeding and having where they have not. Where they no longer could. To make others suffer as they have suffered.

It is with these where suppression and elimination become necessary. Sometimes an angry Ghost can be appeased by their murder being brought to justice, by wrongdoings publicly exposed. But sometimes that's not enough for them, sometimes they no longer care. This is where swords, spells, and talismans are used to facilitate forcible exorcism. Making the disquiet dead move on, against their own will. But sometimes, the resentment is too strong. People argue that it is a too dangerous a risk. The fight to big. The resources at hand too small. That's when the Walking Corpse gets sealed away, like a corrupted divine beast to be forgotten under a mountain and grow weaker with time. Where the Malevolent Creature is locked away to keep it from doing further harm. Either as a mercy or last resort. To be remembered and helped at a later date or forgotten entirely.

Elimination is also a last resort, because it destroys utterly. Never to be reborn.

But these are the angry disquiet dead. There are also some, if left un-corrupted, that are benevolent. Usually short-lived. This is the Spectre of a mother who stays to care for her baby until they can be found by a kindly passer-by. The Monster dog that stays with its master just long enough to finish fending off the bear that would of killed them both. A Walking Corpse that sticks around that final day to finish sewing the last bit of brocade on their daughter's wedding dress. The person who wishes simply to inform the rest of the town about the danger in the wood. A lover who had promised not to leave without saying good bye. A kindly ancestor with one last piece of wisdom to share.

It is important to remember that, like the living, the dead are not infallible. There is no omniscience with death (beyond that gained through invisible spying). They can have incorrect and incomplete facts. They can be biased. They can lie.

Those that linger have a mission. One that they feel passionately about. Even if seemingly simple. That something is keeping them from resting.

They are often upset, disturbed, uncomfortable. Especially if triggered. It's sensitive, important to them.

It is also important to remember that the disquiet dead, for whatever reason, want to be heard.

And in that clearing, they had been screaming.

Something about that clearing, had been wrong. It hadn't just been a natural convergence, like leaf litter swept downstream, caused by the maze array. Nor could deterioration (though it had felt in very good shape for a place seemingly neglected) or overlapping spiritual energies cause such a shift (the place had once been a spiritual forest, supposedly. And he had felt some higher concentrations of it, off in the distance - though maybe that was acutally signs of further deterioration..? But, no...).

No, this wasn't like a funneling into a naturally-born pool, gradually growing in concentration. It had felt like a boulder had been thrown into a shallow pond, making it splash over its natural edges. Like a winter's avalanche unexpectedly increasing the spring melts, making a once familiar river swell far beyond its safe water-line. A flash rip that doesn't stop. Grabbing, thrashing, consuming, and pulling under. Like a massive amount of resentful energy had been released, all at once. Shimmering and twisting before his eyes. More visible to him, than anyone else. (But maybe they were just part of the mirage. That was the trick to seeing, having to discern between resentment-wrought hallucination and reality, and all those spaces in-between. Twisting about Spiritual Energy and weaving in and out of reality). Flickering in and out of sight. Chaotically.

But there hadn't been anything big enough to have caused it. No divine beast that had fallen from grace. No yin iron was visible. Everything over powered by raw, fresh resentment.

Those were the only things he could think of that could have released such a strong influx of energy. Some desecrated ground where atrocities had piled up for decades could have maybe felt similar, in terms of ferocity, of that heavy weight. Or a massacre of hundreds if left to fester. But those took time. A gradual occurrence. And the WuBai regularly patrolled this area. Small sect though they were, that sort of thing couldn't have escaped their notice. It didn't make sense. (Or maybe it was just him, being over-sensitive).

Something quick and big, or small increments over time. Then, like calls to like, and resentment will fester, infect, and gather. But it is a gradual thing. But try as he could, he couldn't see what had tipped it over the edge.

Wei Wuxian sighed, blinking the redness away. Whatever it was, there was nothing here now. (Perhaps it was his imagination after all).

Most of the Ghosts hadn't been older than the war. He'd been able to balance and slow the convergence by offering Chenqing as an alternate focus. Allowing the Spectres to slow their coalescence, retaining more of a sense of themselves as individual beings, rather than the consuming vortex of the shared bond between them – the majority of which seemed to have been pain and hate. (Not uncommon, especially for the violently deceased).

It had helped that some of the number, swept along as they were, seemed more sad. Confused. Benevolent. Adding in just enough disjointed voices to allow him to get a word in edgewise, before they were subsumed into the whole. Becoming a mindless emotion.

They'd been talking over each other. He'd heard bits about some caravan accident; what sounded like a murder; part of a mugging gone wrong; a dangerous animal; some late-night walkers coming across a cloaked stranger - possibly more than one. But the infectious resentment makes a path in what it claims for itself. An interconnection. If you know what you're doing you can grab onto that lattice. Hold it still. Control. Roil or soothe it.

The sudden influx had instigated it into a roil. But he'd listened and soothed. (Sometimes, just showing that you're willing, is enough). And the mostly confused Spectres, a more general upset at being dead, had won out.

And then they'd winked away. One by one.

For a moment, it had really felt like the Burial Mounds. Like a baby one, waking up. Except this one had been trying to move.

It was taking a concentrated effort not to wrap his arms around his belly, hunch over himself, murmur to xiao-Wei, and run. But he took a breath through his mask and began searching through the area. Eyes gleaming red as he pulled Zhou from the tree. Moderately impressed at the depth the blade had sunk, before grieved at what had become of the blade -where it had met the resentment hardened wood. It had been years since he'd practiced with a Meishan throwing knife. But he'd reacted as if the mediocre blade had been one, it being longer than a standard hunting knife, almost like a small short sword, being just two inches too short. The movement had been natural.

The steel had spun, glittering, through pockets of heated and super-cooled air, before it hit its mark.

Really, to call it a hunting knife had been a bit of a misnomer. But why else would a cultivator carry a mediocre blade? It was more akin to something that a peasant might use to hack at brush, but the shape was wrong. Too refined a piece to be meant for such ordinary action.

But the blade had cracked at impact. (He was used to bolstering moves with resentful energy during the war, didn't even have to bring it within himself. Just reach out and shape it. Resentment stops rot and decay, hardens. Lessens vulnerabilities. It had been muscle memory. Why - ).

He pulled at the handle. Stared at the broken blade as it pulled from the tree. Then slid it back into its sheathe. Blinking heavily.

They had to secure the area.

Despite his inspection of the surrounding forest, careful though he was not to stray too far and be sucked back into the array, there was nothing else to be seen. No husk of some toxic beast, billowing resentment. No strange arrays or dark artifacts. Nothing left in the area, to summon or corrupt. No lingering curse marks. Just the blackened trees. Like the Burial Mounds, they were the only bone-hard remnants of any life. Anything else was just ashes and dust.

It had all been in his head, then.

He was so tired.

Wei Ying sighed, leaning against a (thoroughly mediocre) tree. Then he turned and counted the disciples that'd been following him, watching them disperse back amongst their own people, or being claimed by the friend of a friend, all accounted for. Then he turned and counted his own people (having trusted their well-being, due to their arrival with Jiang Cheng). The Jiang juniors were still clustered a few bu away, next to an irritable looking a-Sang that was steadily wiping his fan clean with a handkerchief.

The kids seemed to be gloating about...okay, they were preening about their seniors. That was...oddly gratifying and embarrassing.

He frowned, counting again, before looking at Jiang Cheng. His brother had been walking beside him whilst occasionally glancing at the kids, looking at him and Zhou's sheathe in turn.

"Zhu Zian went after Ju Li".

Wei Ying nodded. Ju Li was up-to-date and advanced with her training. Just a few months shy being old enough for a solo hunt. And Zhu Zian could hold his own. They'd be fine.

Inspired by Nie Huaisang and his muttered curses, Wei Wuxian poured some water onto two handkerchiefs (he'd been messing around with water purifying talismans, but right now Jiang standard procedure was to still carry three days worth, since you didn't want to risk drinking from tainted areas), passing one over to Jiang Cheng.

By his own estimate, they were about half a day's walk from the town. (And they didn't need whatever this was drying and flaking into their eyes.

He snatched the compass from his brother's belt and, seeing nothing amiss with it, used it to check the path. As he had thought - the readings supportively indicated an exponential weakening of the maze array. Well, when you read between the lines that is, looking at the raw data.

Wei Ying tossed the compass back to Jiang Cheng, who accidentally spilt the water he was drinking down his front when he moved to catch it.

A ghost of a grin flittered across Wei Ying's face. Before it fell, and he bit his lip under the mask. (At least that part was still conveniently clean).

He brought the damp handkerchief up to his face, cleaning in careful strokes. Careful to keep 'contaminants from orifices' as Li Qiang would say. If it conveniently blocked his wet eyes from the rest, well. Blame it on the dust and the wind. Didn't they know fall pollen could mess with people?

Wei Ying scrunched up his nose. He really wished that he could pour some water over his head right now. But one of the decisions that'd been made during their pre-public-relations-stunt: how-to-not-get-caught-and-control-the-narrative/release-of-information planning sessions had been to not get wet if at all possible. Since soaking wet, skin-clinging robes would ruin the affect of their carefully constructed silhouette. The layers of each outfit painstakingly constructed in a five-hour debate that had left Wei Ying surprisingly self-conscious; and impressed by Zhu Zian's eye for details. Whereas Jiang Cheng's hiterho known yet underestimated, very strong opinions about fashion and its intersection with daily life and politics, were finally given a chance to shine.

He felt gross. Sticky and hot. Despite the shade.

He wanted to rip it all off and stomp on it. Break something. When he was actually meaning to and not on accident.

(Apparently, Wei Wuxian wearing a recovered soot-stained Wen Robe for the tail end of the Sunshot Campaign had been sending messages, or at least been interpreted as such. He'd known it had irritated Jiang Cheng to no end, but it wasn't like they had any purple lying around (one of the most expensive color choices after the Jin, and he didn't even want to imagine the Lan's laundry costs) many of their new recruits getting armbands reclaimed from scraps or novice attempts at re-dyeing blue or red fabrics. The gray-stained white and red had been the closest he could get to his father's colors anyway. It wasn't like other groups hadn't been whittled down to ones and twos, surely his colors would stand out less now than they did before? And they'd been warm and free (in a sense - outdated in a store room from an newly abandoned outpost), no point wasting their limited supply of coin that was already in high demand. Whereas he'd already gone through so much with that set, they'd become a bit like a security blanket at the time. To remove it-, any sort of change had seemed so dangerous, wary-ing, and he'd just been. so. Tired.)

But they'd achieved the end goal: to make him look fit and healthy. And decidedly not five months pregnant. And he was starting to suspect with the addition of the guan – valued and supported.

He started cleaning his gloved-fingers methodically, face blank. Not wanting any of the gunk to transfer to the crevices of Chenqing, that he'd already given a courtesy wipe.

Not that Wei Ying didn't think it'd been given with earnest sentiment. But objects can carry more than one meaning. As he had been so recently reminded.

The irony of their plan hinging around a Jiang avoiding the water had not been lost on them at the time.

(There was a reason Jiang Cheng hated plant yao – their sect specialized hunting in rivers, lakes, and wetlands. Where other sects spent a majority of their time fighting in the air or on solid ground, the Jiang were known for wading hip deep into unknown waters, fighting effectively across boot-stealing mud-fields without losing their footing, dueling with ease across un-steady water-craft, and even diving beneath roiling waves to do battle in the darkened deeps.

As Lan Qiren once put it: "They [the Jiang] are considered largely singular in this regard and are considered uniquely powerful for this reason".

Or, as Nie Huaisang had put it, immediately turning to them with wide eyes after that announcement: "Batshit insane, insane. Completely impossible, the lot of you".

A-Sang had freaked after the Waterborne Abyss incident.

Which simply meant that there was more water-fighting than thick-vegetation-fighting in Yunmeng. And that Jiang Cheng was less comfortable with it (though no less skilled – especially after the war) than he would otherwise be if having hailed from a different sect. Whereas Wei Wuxian, having traveled with his parents for years before their deaths (even if he didn't remember the specifics) was more comfortable in such variance of environs, and wasn't nearly so shy about entering new places and climates.

In youth he would gently tease his brother about his apprehension towards entering any gloomy-darkened-wood.

He didn't feel so much like teasing right now.)

He took a deep breath and forced himself to let it go. He could mourn later.

But he kind of hoped a benevolent ancestor, familial presence, would swoop out of the shadows and make all this easier.

"Are you alright?"

That would do. (You're not alone anymore).

Wei Ying looked up at Jiang Cheng, carefully controlling his breathing in an effort to settle it more quickly and appear not belabored. The racing pulse and adrenaline from the fight had already mostly settled. But the prickling of the many eyes on him was unnerving. Even as he tried not to show it. Cultivators whispering and pointing. Though he couldn't make it out, they didn't seem mad.

Calm. He was Calm.

This sort of thing hadn't used to bother him.

You're not there. This was different. DISTURBINGLY similar. But different.

"Yeah didi, just not looking forward to having to wash my hair out tonight. You?"

A nearby cultivator laughed, and Wei Wuxian shot the stranger a quick grin. The turn of his head showcasing his previously carefully styled hair. That was now splattered with unfortunately-unavoidable-gunk-that-shall-not-be-named, making it stick to the side of his neck in what was frankly, a thoroughly displeasing manner. His stomach roiled.

(There were days when he couldn't stand meat. When he couldn't stand any sight of decay. Where even a glance of tattered-cloth-trash abandoned on the side of the road made him do a double take, in a way that it never had before).

"Yeah. I don't envy whoever's on shift at the laundry when we get home." Jiang Cheng said with a wry grin.

His brother had moved on to wiping down his fingers with the borrowed handkerchief. Jaing Cheng seemingly unbothered by their recent experience. But there was an imperceptible tension to his shoulders. His eyes tracking everything as people moved around them: taking inventory, head-counts, cleaning up. Those two Lan cultivators appearing from the back somewhere and immediately starting into a rendition of Cleansing.

But Wei Ying could feel Jiang Cheng's eyes on him as well, searching. A-Cheng had missed a spot on his face. Not so much as completely removed, but smearing dust in places. Wei Ying doubted his own was much better. Though he new they weren't the only cultivators in such a state. And were definitely better off than they had been before.

Xiao-Wei kicked him, hard. Right where Zhou pushed against him where it was tucked into his belt. Imperceptible, but it broke him from his stupor. He'd protected what was important.

One hand spinning Chenqing lackadaisically he stood a little straighter.

Wei Ying was still hot, and tired, and gross though. And the kids were flagging. But he knew what his brother was silently asking.

This sucks. Are you okay? Is there anything I can do to help?

He sent Jiang Cheng a breif, but genuine smile. Making the imperceptible tension in his shoulder relax somewhat.

Wei Ying wasn't too concerned. He'd managed to get away with attending a whole night hunt without channeling resentful energy once (as Doctor Liang had prescribed). Using only pre-charged talismans and mediocre weapons – the arrowheads having the standard purifying talismans etched into them that made them additionally effective against un-dead Malignant Beings.

He was uninjured and had even managed to save a life.

Though after hearing about Yingyan-sanren at the inn dining hall last night, he'd been itching to research the theory behind direct energy channel in effects and relation to archery. The idea perking him back up, as he remembered. And who knows? Maybe Zhou could even be fixed?

He'd previously only heard of preemptive talismanic alterations or spells to affect long-range weapons. Sword seals and the like. But this was fascinating. Unfortunately, with his personal energy acting up lately, he wouldn't be able to experiment with this new methodology for awhile yet. But he'd also heard another story about Yingyan at breakfast that morning, how they'd apparently taken on an apprentice with a penchant for candy (weird thing to be known for). Which just goes to show that new things were discovered and learned all the time. So many things were possible. Things were always changing.

Unfortunately, he hadn't seen a rogue matching their (admittedly vague) appearance at the start of the hunt. But still, the rambling thought did help cheer him up.

Seemed at least someone in all the jianghu hadn't shown up today.

Wei Ying shrugged to himself. Falling in step with Jiang Cheng and their juniors after the procession of collective cultivators exiting the clearing. Some arguing and posturing. But eventually it was decided that the clearing was secure and that it was time to head back to town, only a small group deciding to keep hunting until the original allotted time (they seemed to need the money). The larger consensus of those present apparently being that, barring the unfortunate loss, the hunt had been a success. But now everyone would really rather go back to their beds and the abundance of food stalls that were waiting for them back in Huangjin Wu Cun.

Wei Ying smiled at the juniors as they wandered back to his and Jiang Cheng's side. But he couldn't help looking over his shoulder as they walked away, watching the clearing as it was swallowed by mist. A shiver running up his spine.


There was a large group of people lingering outside the inn.

Everyone was chatting, seeking out friends and sect-mates, swapping stories about the hunt. A small handful had even succeed in acquiring trophies – talons, rocks, rare pelts that were found along the way that were either un-corrupted in the first place or found suitable for cleansing. Becoming momentos or minor valuables that could be traded or sold later.

There was one small group off to the side looking somber and teary-eyed. He respectfully left them to their silent arrangements – having already turned away the help of others, not needing any more.

Lan Da stood by his wife, quietly humming as he ate something delicious on a stick that he did not know the name of for his midday meal, while his wife dumped her whole head into a water bucket. Her face flushed and bangs streaming as she finally surfaced again.

"Whyyy"

"I did tell you not to eat it." He told her mildly, as he took another bite from his own strange yet delightful concoction.

She stood there, fanning her mouth.

"I thought it was sweet paprika! Who makes things that spicy?!"

Lan Da gave a visible shudder at the thought of the bright red that had been revealed after Lan Heng had taken a bite from her own unidentified street food. The outside had only a pale dusting, but the inside…

He glance up at a commotion coming from across the courtyard, where a steady stream of cultivators were still returning from the night hunt. Apparently everyone had been taken by surprise by the maze array, so the returns had been disjointed. Practically everyone had gotten separated (though not him and Lan Heng), and people were still only just getting back, despite the hunt's official end three shichen ago. Though he suspected everyone would be accounted for soon.

Leading the way was that Jiang senior, Zhu...Zhu Zhong? With what he assumed was a disciple walking behind him.

The girl was dragging something along the ground that was causing a rippling cascade of interest. As they got closer, it was revealed to be the partially rotten body of a purified Monster bear, it's pelt still mostly salvageable. On four legs it would have easily stood as high as the disciple's shoulders. The Jiang disciple, a rather muddy and oddly-wet (they'd been in a forest, how?) young girl with a bandage on her upper arm, sat with a shit-eating-grin on her horizontal sword as it hovered a bu off the ground. A shimmering blue string of light (a talisman of some kind?) led from her hand where it wrapped around the torso of the beast. The power of her sword cleverly being used to help pull the dead weight – whilst simultaneously show off.

Though the child did have a right to be proud.

A Jiang kid at a nearby stall perked up, "holy shiiiii-shrubbery Ju Li! Did you defeat that thing?!"

"Yep!" the girl called out, puffing up her chest before rolling off her sword in a move that could have been on accident or purposeful.

A gaggle of disciples from multiple sects came rushing over at once then, everyone excitedly asking questions and trying to get a closer look. The two other Jiang Seniors slowly following behind their charges to meet up with their fellow, who looked a mixture of exasperated and proud.

Lan Heng sniggered behind him, bumping Lan Da with an elbow to make him look. A little to the left of them, a groaning stranger was good naturedly counting out coins to a grinning Nie Huaisang. (One of the Quon cousins?) Lan Da laughed too. Tossing his finished stick away and wiping his fingers.

Looking back at the crowd by the Monster bear, he could see Jiang-Zhongzhu bemoaning the state of his disciple, who admittedly was covered so verily in filth that only the white of her eyes and teeth (and the fresh bandage) could be clearly seen, as he began walking the assembled group of disciples through the process of salvaging the trophy and disposing the unusable remains. Even some foreign disciples offering to help pull it out of the way so that they could be part of the 'totally epic!' learning opportunity.

Meanwhile, Wei Wuxian had begun tutting over a noticeably cleaner in comparison Zhu Zhong, poking at a slight scratch on his cheek and looking around for water when whatever he saw stuck in his shidi's braid made the 'famous demonic cultivator' look slightly squeamish.

Spotting the bucket Lan Heng had been using, Wei Wuxian reached over towards it, before stopping in surprise and turning to look at them.

"Um, excuse me," he made an aborted gesture towards reaching into the bucket, before stopping himself.

"I think this might be...one of yours?"

Lan Heng walked over to him, taking a glance inside before she reached in, pulling her own forehead ribbon out of the bucket. It's absence having been masked by her still sopping and disheveled hair.

"Thank you, Wei-gongzi", she said with a smile. Before shooting her husband a devilish smirk. She looked back at the Jiang senior, who was nodding awkwardly, as she began tying it back on.

"I appreciate your not touching it. Though not many seem to realize outside our sect, they're not meant to be touched except by our direct family. Parents, children, spouses, siblings, and the like."

She finished tying back on the ribbon and bowed. "This Lan Heng thanks Wei-gongzi. But I see some street-food calling my name, if you will excuse me."

She turned, grabbing Lan Da's shoulder as they walked away. His wife grinning like mad as soon as her back was turned at Wei Wuxian's dumbfounded expression.

Lan Da surrepitously glanced back before looking at his silently giggling wife as they approached a tanghulu seller.

"Love, I think you broke him".

Lan Heng swung a chunk of wet hair back over her shoulder as she suspiciously sniffed at her food.

"I saw an opportunity, and I took it. Besides, someone had to tell him."

He smiled at her. "I don't know if after this a-Zhan will think you're the worst cousin or the best."

Lan Heng snorted, "Wangji needs to grow a pair".

Lan Da choked on his bite of hawthorne.


Dinner that night was a rowdy affair. The inn staff were stretched thin and running ragged catering to all the people in the restaurant – which was fit to burst. Strangers seated together, sects intermingling and bumping elbows. With some people even holding bowls of stew precariously as they stood, squeezed into corners and being shooed away from settling on the stairs. With a steady stream of people squeezing in through the front doors trying to take an order, either in or to go, queues forming at the front counter and trying to catch the attention of passing wait staff. Some of whom were new, likely called in by the proprietor as backup, their confusion at how to deal with the havoc painfully obvious.

There was laughter and talking and a small group of musicians playing near the back door. the sounds of the equally populated night market making themselves evident whenever some one entered from the front.

Currently two hulusi players were performing a duet, their intertwined notes winding through the noises of the crowd. Beside them sat an erhu player next to another musician holding a pipa as they listened to the duet. It seemed everyone in town who stood a chance at making some sort of money from the night hunt had made an appearance before the cultivators, the inn pulling out all the stops, sending out runners to get more food from the stalls which still peppered the streets outside. Amatuer musicians lining those walkways as well, would be buskers hoping to earn a few coins and smiles.

Not wanting to be noticed for leaving the revelry too soon (that'd be too out of character, and he had a pleasant and useful persona to keep) Nie Huaisang had decided to stay another night at the inn rather than go home immediately. They'd be leaving in the early morning instead.

He decided that. Even as his hands were itching to leave at once. To snatch Shengrong from a-Hui's belt and fly away at once, consequences be damned. Which was completely unreasonable, since Nie Huaisang had purposefully not developed any control over a beast core and thus wouldn't be able to wield it in the first place. Not to mention a-Hui had about half their flowers on him (assets are better protected when they're not all stored in one place), and it would hurt his feelings.

Nie Zonghui did not deserve that.

Surprisingly, the Jiang had beaten them down to dinner. Which had been fortunate, since the place was packed, and he and a-Hui had just barely been able to squeeze in at their table. Funnily, the Jiang juniors had invited him over before Jiang-xiong and Wei-xiong had even seen them.

He was starting to like these weird kids.

He glanced down the table at Ju Li, waving her chopsticks through the air to illustrate a story. The snippets he could hear were fascinating, and he honestly couldn't say whether it was made up or not. He also couldn't tell you which he'd rather it be. He loved aspiring playwrights, but also the true-strange stories were the best gossip. Behind her the little one who'd got hurt yesterday, Shui Biyu, had her little chipmunk cheeks puffed out as she grinned and munched on candy. The shixiong spoiling her was sitting across from another boy who'd been reading a book at the table the entire time. His hand idly reaching out to poke at his bowl with chopsticks he never put down. The child having not realized he'd emptied it over a shichen ago. On either side of him was a cute little Jiang Yanli copy-cat and another girl with pig-tails that was about to fall asleep in her rice.

Apparently Shui Biyu had endeared the staff to her in her sect-mates absence, and when she'd seen the Jiang coming up the road from her window she'd toddled downstairs to greet them. With the presence of mind to reserve them a table on the way down.

On the other side of the children was a table full of rogue cultivators. He'd met some of them during the war, and had waved to them earlier, but hadn't been in the mood for more conversation. The guy in black close to their end wasn't a familiar face. But judging by the horsehair whisk he'd bet money that was the Song Lan they'd been talking about yesterday. Ironically, at this same table.

"...so you'll come?"

Nie Huaisang pulled himself away from people watching to look back at his friends.

"hmm?"

Jiang Cheng cut in, "to this idiot's birthday party. We're throwing it next month, shijie'll be there and everything."

Nie Huaisang flipped open his fan in mock offense, then grinned as it serendipitously coincided with a new song from the pipa and erhu players.

"Of course I'll be there! Maybe I'll even be able to convince Da-ge to pop in for a bit. It's on the way to Cloud Recesses, and he'd enjoy seeing Lan Xichen. He's been working way too hard lately."

"Oi! What you think you are inviting other people to not your sect?!"

"Are you saying Da-ge isn't welcome?"

"Of course not! But it's the princ-prince, principle of the thing!"

Nie Huasiang grinned fanning his bangs about lazily. He shared a glance with a-Hui, who smirked over at him from where he was conversing with Zhu Zian. Their pot of tea in-between him and Wei Wuxian.

Speaking of, Nie Huaisang glanced behind himself at the musicians, where a nervous looking dizi player had begun weaving their own notes into the other two's melody. Surprisingly, none of the cultivators in attendance seemed to notice the late arrival. Besides a few who were drunkenly swaying along, deep in their cups.

Well, that was new.

He took a sip from his own cup, frowning when he found no wine in it. He snatched the bottle from Jiang Cheng's hand, who gasped in offense. Pouring a decently large helping back into his own, he took a large sip from it as he reached across the table to top off Wei Ying's empty cup as well.

"Ah, Nie-xiong. No thank you, I'm just drinking tea tonight." Wei-xiong quickly reached out his hand, blocking the top of his cup as he smiled up at him. He looked tired, even though it was going on eleven.

Nie Huaisang looked at him, looked at the cup, and then looked back at Wei Wuxian. A bunch of things clicked into place. And he did a spit-take all over the table.

Unfortunately, he also got the white robed man who was walking past their table as well. (He also got Jiang Cheng a little, but that didn't count – until Jiang Cheng had someone puke on his boots, he didn't get to complain about things coming out of people's mouths. And yes he still remembered that, Jiang Cheng).

Nie Huaisang started choking as Wei Wuxian, unusually flustered, hurriedly snatched a napkin and passed it to the wine and spit splattered cultivator.

"Sorry! This Wei Wuxian is so sorry! I startled him! He's sorry too, by the way. Are you alright? Did it get in your eyes?"

The man laughed awkwardly, nodding to them both as he accepted the napkin, gingerly wiping off his spattered face, eyes watering.

"It is alright, this Xiao Xingchen is fine. Is…" he wrinkled his nose, frowning at the color of Nie Huaisang's robes, before his face brightened in recognition. "Is Nie-gongzi alright as well?"

Nie Huaisang gave a hoarse cough, nodding with streaming eyes as he looked at Wei-xiong incredulously.

The man smiled, "that is good then". He placed the napkin gently on the edge of their table and left with a bow. Squeezing past their packed table and towards the next, and the currently only unoccupied seat in their general area.

Distantly Nie Huaisang heard him introduce himself as "Xiao Xingchen", and ask if it was taken. To which Song Lan gave an affirmative nod, letting the white robed cultivator sit. But Nie Huaisang only had eyes for his best friend, that he'd apparently been out of touch with even more than he realized.

"When did this happen?!"

"A little while ago!"

"You're-!"

"I know!" Wei Ying shushed him, his eyes a little wild. Luckily, everyone around them was either too drunk or too preoccupied with their own conversations to notice them.

Nie Huaisang lowered his volume (though he doubted it'd been perceptible outside their table, what with the general din). And leaned forward, voice gleeful.

"Well?"

"I'll tell you later."

"Aw, c'mon, Wei-xiong."

Wei Ying shook his head. And Nie Huaisang blinked a minute, noticing a bit of tension under the cool facade. He took a breath, collecting himself. Before giving a reassuring, patented, Nie Huaisang-mischievous grin.

"Alright, but you better tell me at this party!"

Wei Ying nodded, smiling. Relaxing. One arm slung loosely across his lap. Almost around his waist.

"I was planning to then, anyway." Nie Huaisang grinned back, brimming with excitement.

But he kept his tongue, and didn't even answer when Nie Zonghui asked him what had got him into such a good mood (the 'compared to earlier' was non-judgemental, but implied) as the Jiang group finally got up and left for the night. A MeishanYing disciple stopping Zhu Zian, to return a dropped handkerchief, along the way.

A little while later Nie Zonghui toddled off to their room as well. But Nie Huaisang stayed, slowly sipping at his cup. As the crowd thinned, his good mood lessened as well. As he thought about what he was going to do tomorrow.

The last song of the night was a solo by the erhu player. Some old folk song he'd never heard before. The woman's voice was unremarkable, but sweet. The simple voice lending a certain strength to the sound of the melancholy strings. Which in turn complimented the determined, open-ended feel of the lyrics.

"...and still she has not found the one

Who impaled the rose on iron thorns

Beware if ye made the endling so,

She's as adept, as the depth she mourns.

Oh, Xiuelan-Daoren,

She's moonlight through a darkest night.

Oh, Xiuelan-Daoren,

A petal on the breeze,

She'll save both you and me,

And bring the villains to their knees..."

Nie Huaisang closed his eyes, letting his head fall into his hand. If only the world could be like songs or plays. Where some marvelous folk hero would come along at just the right moment. With just the right skills, to swoop in and save the day. Make everything better.

He sighed as the fantastical song came to a close.

If only.

...

A/N: So. I don't really know much about bladed weapons - how they're made, how black smiths work, why they're made to certain designs, when certain designs were standardized, how their design effects their use, the historic and social components attached to them, the names of the different types, the differences between cultures and styles and historical eras, etc. But for this chapter I did some quick searching on the interwebs (so it may not be completely complete/accurate, etc.) on sizes. (In this work I'm guessing that Wei Wuxian would only really know anything about ones that he's had reason to cross paths with in his life time - so probably more common tools than other gentry, but focused more on cultivation and those found in his own area of the pseudo-fantasyland-ancient-China that this fic is set in. So he may be able to draw some conclusions about, but not be familiar with, things coming from outside his scope of knowledge). In case you're interested:

-Previously, it's stated that Zhou is about the length of his forearm. (Wei Wuxian is a tall, long-limbed individual).
-The average length of a male forearm is about 25.4cm (or 10in). Zhou has a slight curve and is single edged. It currently does not have a guard. It's handle is around 7.5cm (3in).
-A big game hunting knife is usually 6-10cm (or 2.4-4in) in length. So Zhou couldn't be a 'traditional' hunting knife, but Li Qiang did receive it from Wei Changze on a hunt, and it was a 'knife' that he had on his person, so... (as a size comparison, I believe the kind of swords the cultivators use in the Untamed (deduced by comparing pictures with an untrained eye) is a kind of double-edged straight sword called a jian. According to Wikipedia, Jian sizes are: "Historical one-handed versions have blades varying from 45 to 80 centimeters (18 to 31 inches) in length. The weight of an average sword of 70-centimetre (28-inch) blade-length would be in a range of approximately 700 to 900 grams (1.5 to 2 pounds). There are also larger two-handed versions used for training by many styles of Chinese martial arts." So like roughly almost three times the size. So I could see why Li Qiang might want to borrow it to cut through an injured person's robes, versus his own sword, if he didn't have something smaller.)
-wwx also refers to Zhou as a 'dagger'. Daggers are usually 12.7-30.48cm (5-12in) long, which Zhou could classify as in terms of length.
-throwing knives are apparently around 34.29cm (13.5in)

Did Zhou begin as a partially throw-away line that later got developed as new ideas came and I desperately tried to make those ideas work with already stated in-fic information? Perhaps.

In comparison, a Japanese wakizashi is 30-60cm (11.8-27.2in) long (I couldn't find a length of a handle listed, but based off pictures I'm going to guess around a quarter of the full length - so about 7.5-15cm (3-6in)). Wakizashi are usually paired with a katanna, which has to be 60cm+ long. Or, if you like stories about European knights/as a frame of reference, a longsword, according to wikipedia, "is a type of European sword characterized as having a cruciform hilt with a grip for primarily two-handed use (around 15-30cm or 6-12in), a straight double-edged blade of around 80-110cm (31-43in), and weighing approximately 1-1.5kg (2lb 3oz-3lb 5oz)".

So, stuff about swords.

You guys, I first wrote that folk song like two years ago. And I've just been. Waiting. To. Use. It. (I have the full song written out).

The instruments used in this chapter are all real instruments. I don't know much about them, but they sound really pretty.

One of the few chapters where I don't introduce any new character names. Omg. [Edit: this is incorrect, there is a name in the folk song, i did a dumb.]

Yep, that was SL & XXC's first meeting. And oh, the irony, that Xiao Xingchen is out there looking for his family. Not realizing that his shizi is standing right in front of him.

Poor nhs, he's having a rough time guys.

Yep! LH said wrong twin's name. Not because of the whole 'TWINS! they can't possibly be unique individual people with their own identities' trope (terrible), but because she was older than them and didn't take classes with them/have a direct reason to interact with them. So even though they were living there for a whole year during the Cloud Recesses Study Arc and she saw them running around, she was never formally introduced to them, and there were a few hundred visiting kids a year, so she just got the name mixed up. (a little bit of 'oof, angst' for those who caught that little detail though.)

I originally wrote "Xiuelan" in this chapter, but it seems i misspelt it in my notes? and it's actually "Xuelan" a feminine name "From the Chinese 雪 (xuě) meaning "snow" and 蓝 (lán) meaning "blue" or 兰 (lán) meaning "orchid"". In this case it's using the character for orchid, but you can note that the pronunciation of both is the same (the lan sect uses the character for blue). This "xue" also has a different pronunciation than the ones used in "xue yang" or "xue chonghai", which is pronounced "Xuē" and uses the "薛" character. Which, according to FandomWiki is "a surname", whereas google translate says it can mean "wormwood" (a type of plant), which is the meaning that I'll use for the Xue family here. Whereas Daoren is an honorific (for example Yanling-daoren and I believe Xiao Xingchen both use this) which can mean daoist, according to FandomWiki.

Endling - the last surviving individual of a species or family line.

I've never tried out the 'separating story segments with a horizontal line' feature on here before. What do yall think? Is it ok, or would you rather I continue the previous 'three dots' method?

Thanks for reading, and I'll see you next chapter! :D

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