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Yiling Burial Grounds. The sky is indigo with twilight; the earth is black as a feather. The surrounding huts are abandoned, their wood soaked through with the remains of heavy rainfall. In the distance, the surrounding mountains repeat ad infinitum, huge and jutting like razor-sharp spines. There is no clear path out of the valley.
MO XUANYU, a wide-eyed teenager in fresh yellow robes, stands off to the side, peering from between two trees. He sticks out like a sore thumb—clean and pale in contrast to the mud all around. He is illuminated as if by the light of an afternoon sun; he doesn’t fit within the darkening landscape. A fine trickle of blood runs down from his nose.
Crouched over a bed of withered shoots is WEI WUXIAN, a young man with dark clothes and an even darker expression. His palms are splayed across the wet earth. Slowly—almost painfully—he stands, but does not face Mo Xuanyu. His eyes are invisible behind his wild bangs.
WEI WUXIAN: Who’s there? Speak, ghost.
MO XUANYU: I’m no ghost.
WEI WUXIAN: What would a living man be doing in a burial ground? Do you have a death wish?
MO XUANYU: I—just wanted to ask you something.
WEI WUXIAN: And you knew where to find me.
MO XUANYU: Everyone knows where to find you.
Wei Wuxian laughs and shakes his head.
WEI WUXIAN: So they say, and yet who among them was able to produce the body of the infamous Yiling Patriarch? Hm?
MO XUANYU: Are you… dead?
WEI WUXIAN: I don’t know. I think that’s for you to decide.
MO XUANYU, frustrated: I didn’t come all the way from Lanling for this.
WEI WUXIAN: From Lanling! Now that really is the land of the dead.
MO XUANYU: Why are you being so obtuse?
WEI WUXIAN: Well, I’m not really here, am I? There’s no one who can answer your questions, Mo Xuanyu. All you can do is dream up what could have been.
The blood dribbles over Mo Xuanyu’s lips, down his chin.
MO XUANYU: No, no, you don’t understand. You have to help me.
He tries to take a step forward, but before he can even move an inch, a gust of wind tears through the valley and propels him backwards. Wei Wuxian is unaffected.
WEI WUXIAN: Me? What’s a lost soul like me going to do about your worldly problems?
MO XUANYU: You’re—
Another blast of wind. He holds his ground, the ends of his robes fluttering behind him.
MO XUANYU: You’re the Yiling Patriarch! You can do anything! You’re so… so powerful, and so ruthless, and—
The wind picks up again, steadily growing stronger. The trees shudder and buck. Mo Xuanyu flings his arms around the nearest trunk, hanging on desperately. Red tears form at the corners of his eyes.
Wei Wuxian finally looks at him.
WEI WUXIAN: Then what is it you want me to do for you, Mo Xuanyu?
MO XUANYU: I wanted—I need—
He tries to plant his feet in the dirt, but the ground has turned to mud and he slips.
WEI WUXIAN: What were you going to ask me?
The wind drowns out Mo Xuanyu’s stuttered reply.
WEI WUXIAN: What was that?
Mo Xuanyu is losing his grip on the tree trunk. Blood streams from both his eyes now; his face has gone very pale. He opens his mouth again, but no sound comes out.
The sun has set behind the mountains. Wei Wuxian is fully in shadow, a silhouette against the cobalt sky.
With one last howl, the wind rips Mo Xuanyu’s hands from the tree and casts him backwards, deep into the forest of sprawling branches bare as bones. The world turns perpendicular to itself and then he is falling through the recursive mountains, each one reduced to fainter and fainter abstractions as they multiply.
JIN GUANGYAO paces around his study in Jinlintai, his hands drawn behind his back, a grave expression on his face. Mo Xuanyu, a young man in golden robes, is perched on a seat in the middle of the room, trembling in a quiet rage.
MO XUANYU: I’m going to kill you, one day, you know that?
Jin Guangyao blinks. He turns a perfect, questioning smile upon Mo Xuanyu. There is no emotion in his eyes.
JIN GUANGYAO: Pardon me?
MO XUANYU: I am going to kill you. For what you did to me. To our sister. Our brother. Our father. To everyone.
JIN GUANGYAO: Ah. Mm. No.
MO XUANYU: What do you mean, no?
Jin Guangyao sits beside Mo Xuanyu, places a gentle hand upon his forearm.
JIN GUANGYAO: Does the bond of family mean nothing to you, brother?
MO XUANYU: Clearly it means nothing to you.
JIN GUANGYAO: Come now. Haven’t I always been good to you?
Mo Xuanyu snatches his hand away.
MO XUANYU: D-do you think not killing me means you’ve been good to me?
His voice is watery.
MO XUANYU: I know I’ve only survived because I’m the youngest. Not a threat to your position. Th-th-then again—neither was A-Song.
Jin Guangyao stands abruptly.
JIN GUANGYAO: Do not talk to me about A-Song.
MO XUANYU: Oh? You regret that one, then?
He jumps to his feet as well.
MO XUANYU: Just one little murder?!
JIN GUANGYAO: It wasn’t—
MO XUANYU: Of course it was your fault! Because everything is your fault, Jin Guangyao!!
He lunges towards Jin Guangyao, but Jin Guangyao darts out of the way, unsheathing Hensheng in the blink of an eye. The blade puts some distance between them—Jin Guangyao stands up straight, eyes narrowed and wary; Mo Xuanyu is tense and hunched. A mad gleam wavers in his eyes.
MO XUANYU: When I die, it’s going to be on my own terms, not yours, Lianfang-zun.
JIN GUANGYAO: I’m afraid I can’t have that.
He aims a swipe at Mo Xuanyu’s throat. Mo Xuanyu ducks, but isn’t fast enough to dodge completely—Hensheng’s tip grazes his cheek, carving a thin red line across it. Mo Xuanyu screeches and dives underneath Jin Guangyao’s arm, scrabbling upright and then bolting from the room.
The door opens into a forest at night. Mo Xuanyu continues to run, footsteps heavy and breathing labored. He’s in a set of tan brown robes now, though the cut on his cheek still seeps fresh blood. He reaches into his sleeve, scrambling to produce his mask, and puts it on, hands shaking.
A yell sounds from somewhere close by—
MO ZIYUAN: Mom said you have to come back right now, do you hear me?!
Mo Xuanyu jumps. He whips around, trying to locate the source of the call.
MO ZIYUAN: Yeah, that’s right, can’t run forever—!
The form of MO ZIYUAN appears in the shadows, twenty feet away. Mo Xuanyu stiffens. Without taking his eyes off his pursuer, he bends his knees and reaches out to pluck a large stick from the ground.
MO ZIYUAN: There you are.
Neither of them moves for a couple slow seconds.
MO ZIYUAN: Well? Have you had enough of your little nighttime adventure? Ready to come back home, or do you wanna get it on with a couple more beasts before I drag you out of here?
Behind the mask, Mo Xuanyu’s eyes are wide and bloodshot. He’s still panting quietly. He clutches the stick so tight that its rough bark leaves imprints in his palms.
With a great sigh, Mo Ziyuan starts forward, wading through the underbrush with purpose and confidence. When he’s no more than five feet away, Mo Xuanyu strikes. He leaps forward, grabbing Ziyuan’s neck and driving the point of his stick into his eye. Mo Ziyuan lets out a blood-curdling shriek and tries to pry his cousin off him, but loses his balance and falls backwards. Something cracks.
MO ZIYUAN: M-M-Mo Xuanyu, son of a—!!
Mo Xuanyu clambers on top of Ziyuan’s chest, setting his feet on Ziyuan’s wrists and crushing the air from his lungs. He twists the stick deeper in; Mo Ziyuan screams again. His eye socket is a bloody, mangled mass. Mo Xuanyu lets go of the stick and brings both hands down to wrap around Ziyuan’s neck.
It takes an agonizing minute for Mo Ziyuan to go from sobbing and thrashing to limp and pale in Mo Xuanyu’s shaking hands. He bleeds and bleeds and bleeds until the forest floor is coated in a pool of red, until it laps at Mo Xuanyu’s shoes and rises higher, covering his legs, his arms, soaking into his robes.
The tide keeps rising, drowning both of them in its inexorable crimson flood.
When the ocean of blood recedes, the scene is an indistinct bedroom, washed out with pale sunlight. Mo Xuanyu lies where Mo Ziyuan once did, completely naked and perfectly clean. Above him, straddling his hips, is Wei Wuxian. He’s in light robes, colored dark red, pulled open to reveal much of his chest. There’s a round, pink scar above his heart, a gift from the Qishan Wen Clan.
WEI WUXIAN: You even got the scar right. Who told you?
MO XUANYU: It must’ve been Clan Leader Nie.
WEI WUXIAN: Ooh, he’s a clan leader, now, is he? I might say good for him if not for what that would imply about his brother.
He presses an open-mouthed kiss to Mo Xuanyu’s neck, bites down gently. Mo Xuanyu shivers in pleasure.
WEI WUXIAN: You’re so loyal to him, aren’t you?
MO XUANYU: To Nie Huaisang?
WEI WUXIAN: You’re doing what he told you to.
MO XUANYU: He didn’t tell me to do anything.
Wei Wuxian trails his finger across Mo Xuanyu’s collarbone, then digs his fingers into the flesh of his pectoral muscle and drags them downwards, leaving streaks of angry red skin as his fingernails bite into Mo Xuanyu’s chest. He settles his hand on Mo Xuanyu’s bony hip, gives him a slow once-over.
WEI WUXIAN: So you’d willingly give up your body to me.
MO XUANYU: Yes.
WEI WUXIAN: You must be desperate.
MO XUANYU: I am.
WEI WUXIAN: Why me?
MO XUANYU: You’re the Yiling Patriarch.
WEI WUXIAN: You said.
MO XUANYU: When?
WEI WUXIAN: Before.
MO XUANYU: We’re never met before.
WEI WUXIAN: No, and we never will.
He leans in and gives Mo Xuanyu a proper kiss, long and slow and sensual. His hair is unbound; it slips off his shoulder and falls in Mo Xuanyu’s face.
WEI WUXIAN: Don’t you think that’s tragic?
MO XUANYU: Maybe. But I think you’d be scarier in real life.
WEI WUXIAN: How do you know that? If you’ve talked with Nie Huaisang, surely he’s given you some insight into how we were as school friends.
MO XUANYU: I don’t know. I don’t remember. It doesn’t matter, though! You just… need to be able to do your job, is all.
WEI WUXIAN: Aww, so you don’t care about me beyond what purpose I can serve in your revenge quest? How cruel, Mo Xuanyu! You’re just using me!
He sticks out his lip in a fake pout and cups Mo Xuanyu’s cheek in his palm. Mo Xuanyu bats his hand away.
MO XUANYU: Or—or you’re just using me! You’re the one who gets my body, you know.
WEI WUXIAN: Yes, but that was your choice.
A pause. Wei Wuxian’s fingers skitter over Mo Xuanyu’s body—his stomach, his arms, his thighs, between his legs—never stopping in one place for too long. He rubs his knuckles along a scar that runs down Mo Xuanyu’s left side, all the remnants of bruises from years of punishment. Feels each of Mo Xuanyu’s sharp, exposed ribs. His thin limbs, small stomach, jutting bones.
MO XUANYU, in a small voice: Do you like it?
WEI WUXIAN: Your body? Yes, it’ll do.
MO XUANYU: Th… that’s it?
WEI WUXIAN: What would you like me to say? You’re handsome, certainly. A bit thin, but hey, with how much I eat at times…
He tries to kiss Mo Xuanyu again, but Mo Xuanyu holds up a hand, pushes it against Wei Wuxian’s face.
MO XUANYU: Why me? Is it—am I worthy of serving as a vessel for the Yiling Patriarch?
WEI WUXIAN: Eh, I don’t think it’s about worthy or not, is it? It’s convenient for you, and convenient for me. That’s all there is to it.
MO XUANYU: Y—yes, but, it’s not as if you actually have a say in the matter.
WEI WUXIAN: What, you think I won’t enjoy being alive again?
MO XUANYU: You might have chosen a different body. Different vessel.
WEI WUXIAN: Aaah, Mo Xuanyu, Mo Xuanyu, don’t worry so much about it. I’ll be fine.
He kisses his jaw, humming quietly.
MO XUANYU: Why do you keep doing that?
WEI WUXIAN, raising his head: Mm?
MO XUANYU: Kissing me. Why am… why are we in bed? Why am I naked?
WEI WUXIAN: Because you can’t imagine yourself presenting your body to a stranger without it taking on a sexual context? Because you have a hard time separating the appreciation of a bodily form from a desire for physical intimacy?
MO XUANYU: I wish I hadn’t asked.
He wraps his arms around Wei Wuxian and pulls him close to his chest.
MO XUANYU: Would the real Wei Wuxian do this with me?
WEI WUXIAN: Oh, no. The real Wei Wuxian is older and wiser, and he’s already in love with someone else, you know.
MO XUANYU: The real Wei Wuxian is an evil spirit. He did horrible, horrible things. I’m not—I don’t love him.
WEI WUXIAN: I know. Do you wish you could meet him, though?
MO XUANYU: I… don’t know.
He closes his eyes, takes Wei Wuxian’s face in his hands, and kisses him again.
Fade to white.
Jin Guangyao paces around his study in Jinlintai, his hands drawn behind his back, a grave expression on his face. Mo Xuanyu, a young man in brown robes, is perched on a seat in the middle of the room, lips tight and brow lowered.
MO XUANYU: Nie Huaisang wants you dead.
Jin Guangyao stops pacing and looks at him.
JIN GUANGYAO: If he knew what I did to his brother, I expect he certainly would.
MO XUANYU: He does know. He’s known since the day of the funeral.
JIN GUANGYAO: …Ah.
He turns away.
JIN GUANGYAO: And I suppose you’re going to help him kill me.
MO XUANYU: What would you have me do instead?
Jin Guangyao kneels in front of Mo Xuanyu. His smile does not reach his eyes.
JIN GUANGYAO: A-Yu, wouldn’t you like to let this go? I can’t imagine how they must treat you back in Mo Village. Let me extend you another offer to cultivate with the disciples at Jinlintai. I’m sure a formal apology will please my wife, and then—
Mo Xuanyu lets out a barking laugh.
MO XUANYU: Your wife?! You think that—that you can just continue with your little game, just like that? Placate me and then carry on? S-s-sometimes I think I’m better off in Mo Village than having to sit around here, playing dumb as you lie and cheat and murder with your horrible simpering—
Jin Guangyao stands. There’s a flame dancing in his eyes now, his mouth reduced to a pinched line. He spreads his arms.
JIN GUANGYAO: Then kill me.
MO XUANYU: W—what?
JIN GUANGYAO: If you can’t stand what I’ve done, then kill me.
He removes Hensheng from his sleeve, takes Mo Xuanyu’s wrist, and places the sword in his hand.
JIN GUANGYAO: I had my revenge. It’s only fair you have yours.
Mo Xuanyu stares at the thin blade in his hand. Disgust colors his features.
MO XUANYU: No. No. No, we are going to—he is going to ruin you. You deserve so, so much more than death; if I end it here, it’s—it’s not—
He’s shaking violently. Hensheng clatters out of his hand. He draws his arms across his stomach and hunches inward, no longer looking at Jin Guangyao.
JIN GUANGYAO, slowly: I see. You want Wei Wuxian to do it because you can’t.
He picks up Hensheng, holding it with its tip an inch from the floor.
MO XUANYU: What, l-l-like you haven’t gotten your minions to do all your dirty work as well?!
JIN GUANGYAO, stepping forward: Oh no. I sympathize. It is a terrible thing, to have to kill one’s own brother.
MO XUANYU: That isn’t why I—
Jin Guangyao stabs him through the heart.
Mo Xuanyu seizes up, wild eyes darting between Jin Guangyao’s face and the blade that slices cleanly through his chest. Blood blossoms around the wound. Jin Guangyao drives Hensheng deeper in, leaning in close to whisper to Mo Xuanyu:
JIN GUANGYAO: Did you know? You’re the first of my family to die by my own hand.
He steps back. With a flick of his wrist, he withdraws his sword. Blood splatters across the pillows.
Mo Xuanyu topples forward, and is swallowed by the floor.
The summit of a mountain. A sea of clouds blankets the land below, stretching off into the horizon. The sky is a bowl of deep cobalt, pure and unadulterated, fading to white at its edges. Other than this tiny stretch of rock, no other peaks are visible through the thick clouds. A breeze disturbs the tufts of dry grass that grow in the recesses between crags.
Mo Xuanyu, in tattered, tawny robes, shivers near the edge of the summit. He’s wearing his mask again. Five paces away stands a woman in white. Her face is obscured as well—by what, we cannot be sure.
MO XUANYU: What is it like, death?
BAOSHAN SANREN: I would not know.
MO XUANYU: You struck me as the sort of person who’d be all-knowing.
She laughs.
BAOSHAN SANREN: If no one can know anything past their own circumstances, how is that possible?
MO XUANYU: Fine… fine. What can you tell me about death, anyway?
BAOSHAN SANREN: They say that to be dead is to be hard and stiff. I take it that is not the case for you.
MO XUANYU: No one involved with demonic cultivation dies a natural death.
BAOSHAN SANREN: Least of all you.
MO XUANYU: Least of all me.
Beat. Mo Xuanyu’s eyes are on the ground, his fingers toying with the edges of his robe.
MO XUANYU: Do you hate me?
BAOSHAN SANREN: Why would I hate you?
He lets out a dry chuckle.
MO XUANYU: I haven’t exactly followed the nobler path of cultivation.
BAOSHAN SANREN: No. You’ve fallen so far. But I don’t hate you.
MO XUANYU: Then you pity me. In some ways that’s even worse.
He looks up, then says in a small voice:
MO XUANYU: Nie Huaisang pitied me.
Pause. He inches towards the center of the rocks.
MO XUANYU: Do you have a name?
BAOSHAN SANREN: Even if I did, I couldn’t tell you.
MO XUANYU: Why are you here? I’ve never—I barely know anything about you.
BAOSHAN SANREN: Perhaps that is the point. Who knows anything about me? Who knows anything about you?
MO XUANYU: What? No, everyone knows me—I’m the lunatic of Mo Village, I—
BAOSHAN SANREN: You don’t seem like a lunatic to me.
MO XUANYU: Because it’s an act! Well—it started as an act. B-but. It’s—it’s easier to get away with things if they think you’re mad, but, but sometimes I really do feel like I’m just at the edge of going crazy, and everything just blends together, but—
He shuffles a couple steps backwards, gazing down into the clouds.
MO XUANYU: But up here I don’t feel so bad.
BAOSHAN SANREN: Is that who you are, then?
MO XUANYU: Well… no, I guess not.
BAOSHAN SANREN: Who are you?
MO XUANYU: I don’t know. Mo Xuanyu. Bastard son of the late Jin Guangshan. Almost-lunatic.
BAOSHAN SANREN: And I am the mysterious teacher who lives on the celestial mountain.
MO XUANYU: Are you saying that’s just an act too?
BAOSHAN SANREN: No. But you could not prove it or disprove it. You’ve never met me.
MO XUANYU: Few have, I take it.
BAOSHAN SANREN: It is a funny role to play. To hear your name in so many mouths, until you become larger than yourself, yet reduced down to so little. Mo Xuanyu. Insane, perverse troublemaker. Demonic cultivator. Vessel of the Yiling Patriarch. In a few years they will never speak of you on your own, never without the name of the spirit that took command of your body. They will never hear your story from your own lips.
MO XUANYU: My story! Who wants the story of such a pathetic life?
BAOSHAN SANREN: Nie Huaisang did.
MO XUANYU: Nie Huaisang was… he was…
BAOSHAN SANREN: Your friend.
MO XUANYU: No. He just wanted to use me. One cog in his revenge. Our revenge.
BAOSHAN SANREN: Do you understand now? We are not people; we are ideas.
MO XUANYU: No, that’s not—you’re a person. You’re Baoshan Sanren. Mentor to so many famous cultivators. You’re immortal! You live on a magic fucking mountain!
BAOSHAN SANREN: Do you know my name?
MO XUANYU: You wouldn’t tell me.
She comes closer, the tails of her robes streaming out behind her.
BAOSHAN SANREN: Where was I born? Who are my parents? Have you ever known anyone who has met me personally? Do you know what my voice sounds like? Have you ever read a word I’ve written?
Mo Xuanyu backs away, almost tripping over a jut of stone as he does so.
MO XUANYU: You’re a legend. You’re important!
BAOSHAN SANREN: Can you see my face, Mo Xuanyu?
He realizes, in terror, that he cannot.
BAOSHAN SANREN: Will anyone ever see your face again? Will they remember it? Or will they only see Wei Wuxian?
She raises a hand, brushing her fingers against the rim of his mask. Mo Xuanyu jerks back. He’s teetering at the very edge of the lonely peak now, staring wide-eyed at the misty form of the being he calls Baoshan Sanren.
And then he is falling and falling and falling, deep into the impossible clouds.
A garden of sprawling peonies. They grow larger than life, climbing the garden walls like roses. The sky is overcast.
Mo Xuanyu, back in his yellow Jin robes, walks cautiously beside a distraught QIN SU.
MO XUANYU: I never got to apologize.
QIN SU: Would you want to?
MO XUANYU: I’d apologize for the fact that it didn’t work. That you never learned the truth about your husband. About your son.
QIN SU: What if I don’t want to learn the truth about my husband and my son?
MO XUANYU: I think you would. I think you’d rather confront it than continue to be lied to.
QIN SU: You could have found another way to let me know.
MO XUANYU: I needed to get your attention!
Qin Su’s face is cold.
QIN SU: By harassing me? In public?
MO XUANYU: That—it wasn’t harassment! I barely touched you!
QIN SU: You were very persistent.
MO XUANYU: It was important!
She presses her lips together and turns away from him. Mo Xuanyu hovers anxiously at her shoulder, caught between needing to get his point across and not wanting to push too hard. He sighs.
MO XUANYU: And it didn’t even work. Got kicked out of Jinlintai for nothing.
He mutters under his breath:
MO XUANYU: And to think I could ever be anything more than filth.
Qin Su doesn’t respond, just examines the peonies.
MO XUANYU: Look—I—I’m sorry. It was stupid and rude and inappropriate. Poorly thought out, too. I wasn’t in a very good mental place.
QIN SU: No. You weren’t.
Beat. She lets her hand trail over the flowerheads, then turns back to Mo Xuanyu.
QIN SU: But if such knowledge could unravel you thus, why would you be so struck with the urge to tell me? To pull me down into the same insanity?
MO XUANYU: Because you’re a victim. You deserve to know how he used you.
QIN SU: Tell me, then.
Another pause. Mo Xuanyu opens his mouth, shuts it.
QIN SU: You don’t know how I would take it.
He shakes his head slowly.
QIN SU: In a way, I already know, don’t I? I’m just a construct of your mind. And your mind cannot let go of Lianfang-zun and all of his sins.
MO XUANYU: He is the cause of everything bad that has ever happened to me.
QIN SU: And he’s been good to us too. On the outside.
MO XUANYU: Yes. Other than the murder. And the lies.
QIN SU: That’s why I say on the outside. He is always so kind and careful.
MO XUANYU: A smile that hides sharp teeth.
QIN SU: I think the worst part of it is that he still loves us, in his own, twisted way. We’re his family. And yet…
MO XUANYU: And yet he is so ready to stab us in the back for his own gain!
He’s shaking now, fingers clenching and unclenching.
MO XUANYU: It’s that betrayal. I respected him, once. I cared about him! And now…
QIN SU: And now…
She blinks, seeming to escape her reverie. Her face hardens again.
QIN SU: What would I do? Leave him? Lianfang-zun is a master of deception; anything I said could be spun against me. They’d call me mad. Like they did you.
Mo Xuanyu darts forward, as if to take her hand, then remembers himself and bows his head, keeping a respectful distance.
MO XUANYU: We—we could run away together.
Qin Su looks taken aback.
MO XUANYU: Lady Qin, I—I sincerely want to help you. You’re the only one of my siblings who isn’t dead or a monster. We could find some place to live, far beyond the reach of the cultivation clans. M-m-maybe you could find a better husband!
Qin Su just gazes out into the sea of peonies, brows furrowed. Mo Xuanyu takes a cautious step closer.
MO XUANYU: I—I want—I just want a family that isn’t fucking horrible. Is that too much to ask? Just one person who doesn’t want me dead, or trapped in a cycle of endless abuse and humiliation, or—to use me as a pawn to dig up corpses.
QIN SU: It’s… it’s too late for that.
MO XUANYU: I know. I know I ruined any chance I might’ve had of being your brother. I don’t even know if you’ll ever find out I was your brother. But if you did, that—that would come with a whole host of other implications.
Qin Su’s eyes are wide and pleading.
QIN SU: Will I ever escape? Will I ever learn the full truth?
MO XUANYU: I hope so. Maybe Nie Huaisang will tell you. Hell, maybe Wei Wuxian will figure it out; he seems clever. But I—
There’s a rustling sound. Mo Xuanyu turns around to see the peonies behind him all beginning to wither at once. He swallows.
MO XUANYU: —It can’t be me.
QIN SU: Why? Why not?
MO XUANYU: Because I’m going to die.
The sky darkens. The flowers shrivel into barren twists, all the color sapped from them. Mo Xuanyu backs away from Qin Su, looking up at the roiling clouds.
MO XUANYU: At least with my death comes Jin Guangyao’s as well.
The scene fades into a cacophony of ash grey and peony white.
The cove of Lotus Pier. It is nighttime, but no stars are visible. Mo Xuanyu and Wei Wuxian drift in a small wooden boat, far away from land. The fog that coats the dark water makes it impossible to tell whether or not there is any land out there at all. The round, green leaves of lotus plants dot the scene.
MO XUANYU: Surely you know what death is like.
WEI WUXIAN: Hmm, you got me. I guess I do.
MO XUANYU: Would you like to tell me?
WEI WUXIAN: No, I don’t think so.
MO XUANYU: Because it was so traumatic that your brain erased every little piece of the memory.
WEI WUXIAN: Something like that. But what I was really going to say is that I don’t know what my death was like because you don’t know what my death was like. I’m just a part of your brain, Mo Xuanyu! Any answer I could give you would be heavily fictionalized.
MO XUANYU: I don’t know whether or not I like this whole dream people becoming self-aware thing.
WEI WUXIAN: Besides, even if I could tell you what death is like, it wouldn’t do you any good, would it? I died, and I’m going to come back. You’re going to die, and you’re never going to come back.
MO XUANYU: Then where am I going to go?
WEI WUXIAN: Nowhere.
MO XUANYU: I can’t imagine that. Ceasing to exist in any form at all.
He shifts his position, sitting cross-legged. The boat jostles gently from side to side.
MO XUANYU: It feels so lonely out here. Like you’re stranded. Unconnected to anyone. Perhaps death is like that.
WEI WUXIAN, laughing: What, like being on a boat?
MO XUANYU: I know! I know, death isn’t like anything. Maybe this just makes it easier to rationalize. Maybe even look forward to.
Wei Wuxian leans forward a bit.
WEI WUXIAN: Wouldn’t you be looking forward to… not death itself, but the absence of life? Specifically, all the pains of life?
MO XUANYU: Yeah. I guess looking forward to is not the best way to phrase it.
WEI WUXIAN: Are you, though?
MO XUANYU: What?
WEI WUXIAN: Looking forward to it.
MO XUANYU: …We just established that’s a terrible way to put it. I know what you’re really asking me is why I would sacrifice myself.
WEI WUXIAN: Mm. Yes. Because you want me to take your revenge for you, and…?
MO XUANYU, savagely: And because I have no place in this life anymore. There’s no reason for me to continue it. Everyone hates me. Every single person I have ever known despises my guts.
WEI WUXIAN: Mm. We have that in common.
MO XUANYU: At least in death I can be of some use.
WEI WUXIAN: That’s horrible.
MO XUANYU: Look. It’s my life for yours. Who gains anything from my continued existence? The villagers get someone to laugh at. My donkey gets someone to feed him. My cousin gets someone to beat up. But you—you have family, don’t you? More than me, at least. You have friends. You have Nie Huaisang and—and Hanguang-jun or whoever else. For better or for worse, you have the attention of the entire cultivation world. Your resurrection will make a bigger splash than my death.
WEI WUXIAN: You’ve thought about this a lot.
MO XUANYU: But I haven’t!
His face contorts suddenly, a flash of rage.
MO XUANYU: This—this is just me using my last few moments of lucidity to craft elaborate thoughts and feelings and excuses and regrets and—and whatever the hell this whole fever dream is!
He lurches forward, clutching at the front of Wei Wuxian’s robes. The boat teeters with his motion.
MO XUANYU: Do you know, the last few months—years—I don’t know how long—every single one of my waking hours has been filled with this burning, boiling anger. It consumes me until I don’t know how to think. It’s a self-feeding fire that only dims to give way to fear. Anyone’s m-mind would crack under that sort of pressure.
He brings his face in close to Wei Wuxian’s, eyes wide and wild. Wei Wuxian watches him, moving only to lift an eyebrow. His expression is something between horror and fascination.
MO XUANYU: I don’t think about you, Wei Wuxian. You’re just the cleverest and evilest spirit I know of. A real fuck you to everyone in the entire world. The most consideration I have ever given to you as a personality is from Huaisang’s stories and getting off to fantasies about the Yiling Patriarch just absolutely railing me. All you really are is a weapon!
He shakes Wei Wuxian and yells:
MO XUANYU: You aren’t a person! You are the figurehead of everything everyone hates, and now who is in control of your destiny?!
Wei Wuxian’s lips quirk up. He breaks eye contact and lets out a tiny, amused snort.
WEI WUXIAN, quietly: Careful, Mo Xuanyu. I think you might be contradicting yourself. Who’s the one with friends and family, as you so nicely put it? Who’s the one who’ll make a splash? Sure, you can objectify me all you like, but am I really not a person?
A ragged sob tears itself from Mo Xuanyu’s throat, and he collapses forward, banging his head against Wei Wuxian’s chest. His fingers are still twisted in Wei Wuxian’s robes.
When he speaks, he sounds absolutely wrecked.
MO XUANYU: Just let me have this. This one flicker of relevance.
Wei Wuxian places a careful hand on Mo Xuanyu’s head, combing through his hair.
WEI WUXIAN: Of course. Of course.
A pause as Mo Xuanyu cries softly.
WEI WUXIAN: I’m never going to forget you, you know. I may not know you, but you’ll always be the one who brought me back.
MO XUANYU: But will I be anything more than that?
Wei Wuxian doesn’t have an answer for him.
The scene drips and swirls, like the whole world is drowning in the waters of Lotus Pier.
Jin Guangyao paces around his study in Jinlintai, his hands drawn behind his back, a grave expression on his face. Mo Xuanyu, a young man in black robes, is seated on a mat in the middle of the room, his face in his hands. He is sopping wet, like he’s just been fished out of a lake. It gives his clothes a certain sheen, like he is cloaked in a blanket of crow feathers. Water trickles across the floorboards.
MO XUANYU, muffled: We’ve been here before.
JIN GUANGYAO: We have.
He stills, watching Mo Xuanyu with his hands clasped together. Five slow seconds tick by.
Then Mo Xuanyu looks upward, and his face is ragged and his cheeks are hollow and his eyes are cold as sleet.
MO XUANYU: What do you want.
JIN GUANGYAO: What do you think I want?
MO XUANYU: Power. Domination. A core of people who trust you blindly while you prune away all the edges that stick out.
The entire surface of the floor is slick with water, an inch deep. There seems to be no end to it.
JIN GUANGYAO: What if I said I just wanted respect?
MO XUANYU: No one will respect a liar.
JIN GUANGYAO: Oh, Mo Xuanyu, I thought you would understand. Sometimes one must maintain a deception for the sake of maintaining order.
MO XUANYU: How precarious your position must be, if a single truth can topple it.
JIN GUANGYAO: You’re speaking more sense than I’ve ever heard from you.
MO XUANYU: I’m about to die. If I can’t be sensible now, I’ll never be again.
Jin Guangyao takes a deep breath in, slowly lets it out. He lifts the ends of his robes and sits cross-legged on the floor across from Mo Xuanyu, ignoring the water seeping into the fabric. It rises to lap at his knees.
JIN GUANGYAO: Perhaps the pretend lunatic would like to explain why he is so interested in truth all of a sudden.
Mo Xuanyu doesn’t answer. Lines of water trail down his face, indistinguishable from tears. He looks two steps away from a corpse.
JIN GUANGYAO, gently: Because it isn’t really about that, is it.
Beat.
JIN GUANGYAO: And I don’t believe it’s about justice, either. Do you care that I killed Chifeng-zun? Do you care what became of A-Song? Of Jin Zixuan? You’ve spoken to me in nothing but terms of righteousness, but none of that is why you really hate me.
MO XUANYU: Because—our sister—
JIN GUANGYAO: Yes, of course you care for A-Su. But it’s doing you no good to reframe your revenge quest as something noble and selfless.
He tilts his head up, smiles faintly. The water is up to his waist. Somehow, even on the ground, he is able to maintain an aura of control.
JIN GUANGYAO: You hate me because I rejected you. That’s all there is to it. Because I used up your meager talents, chose my secrets above your livelihood, and cast you back into the world that hated you.
Mo Xuanyu is shivering. His fingers dig into his palms, tense enough for his knuckles to turn white.
MO XUANYU: Should—sh—should’ve kicked me down the stairs. Poetic justice. Really b-brings out the hypocrisy.
JIN GUANGYAO: I wouldn’t have done that to you, A-Yu.
MO XUANYU: Might as well have.
Beat. The water has reached chest height.
JIN GUANGYAO: I would say us bastard sons should stick together. But he always favored you.
Mo Xuanyu finally looks at him.
JIN GUANGYAO: Even with such abysmal cultivation. But of course, that just made you more powerful when it came to the demonic path. There’s something both my father and I were keen on.
Jin Guangyao leans in closer.
JIN GUANGYAO: Do you understand why I killed him, A-Yu? Why I had to?
MO XUANYU, mumbling: For the same reason I have to kill you.
Jin Guangyao’s mouth falls open. When he speaks, it is soft, indignant, dangerous.
JIN GUANGYAO: A-Yu. My father didn’t love me. But I have always loved you.
Mo Xuanyu shakes his head, a spasmodic motion. He refuses to make eye contact with his brother.
The water keeps coming, gushing from his hair, from his skin. The windows have gone pitch-black. Neither moves. All but their heads are submerged.
JIN GUANGYAO: You’ll drown us both if you keep this up.
MO XUANYU: Good. How long can you hold your breath?
There’s a flash of light. The colors in the room invert. In the blinding whiteness outside, there appears, for a moment, the silhouette of a short man in dark robes. His face is obscured by an open fan.
MO XUANYU: Ni—!
Water spills into his mouth; he chokes on it. The room is deconstructing itself—furniture rises with the waves, walls float away, ceiling folds outward like a flower blooming. All is at the mercy of the inexorable flood.
Mo Xuanyu thrashes to stay afloat in this new turbulent ocean of his own creation. The sky is as dark as the waves, but mottled patterns of light still appear on the surface of the water, their source unknown. It is a sea with no end in sight, with nothing to disturb the churning waves but a single hopeless body.
One by one, artifacts from the drowned Jinlintai break through to the surface. Shelves, roofing tiles, statues, all sorts of things that shouldn’t be able to float at all. Some ways away, the carcass of a rooftop bobs up and down.
Mo Xuanyu grabs at a wooden table to steady himself and makes his way towards it.
Atop the section of roof stands the man from the window. His robes are completely dry; they flutter, slightly, though there’s not much of a breeze. He peers at Mo Xuanyu from behind his pure white fan.
Though he’s struggling for air, Mo Xuanyu manages to gasp out:
MO XUANYU: Nie Huaisang—!!
He hauls himself onto the roof and collapses immediately. His whole body is wracked with tremors. Somehow, as he rolls onto his back, the convulsions become a sort of mirthless laughter.
MO XUANYU: Nie Huaisang, is this what you wanted?
All around them, the ocean continues to regurgitate the wreckage of Jinlintai. Nie Huaisang says nothing.
MO XUANYU: Just—just raze it to the ground, is what I s-s-say. Let them feel what they’ve done to us.
Bodies are beginning to surface. Jin Guangyao, his corpse spread-eagled and almost serene. Madam Mo. Her husband. Mo Ziyuan. A-Tong. Faces all pale and ghastly, swathed in the bluish hues that illuminate the waves.
Mo Xuanyu stands, slowly, and teeters over to Nie Huaisang at the other end of the roof. He’s almost a head taller than the older cultivator. He’s barefoot now; somehow his shoes have been lost within the waves.
MO XUANYU: Was it always going to be me? Was anyone else desperate enough? Would anyone else have been so, so willing to latch onto—to fixate—
His eyes narrow suddenly, and he snatches Nie Huaisang’s fan with an exaggerated motion, tossing it to the waves a second later. Nie Huaisang’s hands fall to his sides. His eyes follow Mo Xuanyu’s face, but apart from that, his face is entirely blank. His pink lips are pressed together. His hair, as always, is done up perfectly, smooth and soft.
MO XUANYU: I—
His voice is wet, his thin composure slipping.
MO XUANYU: —might have called you a brother, once, but you…
Another agonizing beat, like the moment before a man leaps off a cliff.
Then, in a fit of passion, Mo Xuanyu reaches out and fists his hands in Nie Huaisang’s robes. He shakes him violently, teeth bared in a snarl. Nie Huaisang averts his eyes, but doesn’t so much as blink.
MO XUANYU: Nie Huaisang!! I am going to die! You made me take my own life, didn’t you, and now all I have left are these last few moments of my spasming consciousness!
He gives Nie Huaisang one final shake and then releases him, curling his taut hands into his own robes instead.
MO XUANYU: Aren’t we b-both so s-s-selfish? It’s nothing more than revenge. Th-that’s it. That’s all it is! Just a—just all of that boiling anger made physical. But… but aren’t we b-both cowards, too? You couldn’t kill him yourself. I couldn’t kill him myself. I couldn’t kill anyone!! And—and—and now I finally, finally get to kill someone, and I don’t even get the satisfaction of putting a knife through his chest.
He lets out a horrid giggle.
MO XUANYU: Isn’t that awful, Nie Huaisang? Can’t even kill myself properly. I wonder if it hurts, though. To have your s-soul destroyed. Guess I’ll find out in a moment, huh.
He seizes Nie Huaisang’s shoulders and leans in close.
MO XUANYU: It had better be fucking worth it, okay? I’ll—I—can’t come back as a ghost, can I, so I’ll just hope Wei Wuxian haunts you. You’re not getting out of this without scars, Nie Huaisang. I’d scar you myself if I could.
Mo Xuanyu stands back, waiting for Nie Huaisang’s answer. None comes. His face contorts in rage.
MO XUANYU: Fuck you, talk to me!! Tell me I’m worth something! Tell me you wish it didn’t have to be this way! Anything!
His shoulders sag; his balled fists lose their tension.
MO XUANYU: Anything…
Beat. Nie Huaisang bites his lip.
NIE HUAISANG: Aah, Mo Xuanyu, I… I really don’t know…
The fury of Mo Xuanyu’s expression liquifies into hopelessness within a single instant. He staggers backward like a drunkard, the ghost of a smile not quite materializing upon his lips.
MO XUANYU: Th—then—then you really are like a brother.
There’s a cracking sound, like lightning splitting a tree in two. Everything freezes. The water crystalizes into perfect waveforms, droplets of spray hang midair, half-submerged architecture appears as if encased in transparent ice.
Mo Xuanyu swivels around and around and around until, upon his final revolution, he spots a building that was not there before. A small hut, sitting atop the still ocean.
He abandons the sinking rooftop with its unresponsive inhabitant and begins to run towards it. His bare footsteps create ripples in the water, but he doesn’t fall through its surface.
Tunnel vision blurs his surroundings. The hut seems farther and farther away, and now new half-structures are emerging from the waves, things warped and twisted until they look like no building that exists—just the visions of a drug-addled architect, perhaps—
Figures stand and crouch on these roofs as well, and they call down to Mo Xuanyu as he weaves through them:
LAN XICHEN: …I’m sure you know how many people his death would affect—he is a very important figure in the cultivation world, and you cannot deny the positive influence he’s had on the infrastructure… Besides, I am sure that A-Yao would never hurt a fly…
NIE MINGJUE: Hm? Aren’t you going to avenge me? Yes, that’s right, you. I’m talking to you. That’s what you’re here for. I’m sure my brother has prepared you well.
XUE YANG: Aaah, Mo Xuanyu, Mo Xuanyu, so glad to see you’re finally using your demonic cultivation for good! Your progress has been delightful!
JIN GUANGSHAN: Mo Xuanyu, where are you going? Come back…
JIN ZIXUAN: Mo Xuanyu…?
SECOND LADY OF MO: Mo Xuanyu…
Mo Xuanyu ducks his head, pressing his face tight into his mask, and sprints across the water towards the hut. When he reaches it, he flings the door open and hurries inside.
Mo Xuanyu’s hut is the same as it ever was. A couple talismans are strewn about, tacked to the walls and hanging from the low ceiling. There’s a mirror, a cabinet, a lumpy straw bed, tattered blankets. Sheets of paper litter the floor.
There is someone else in here.
He is dressed in dark clothing. His hair is long and ragged. His face is powdered white, with red lips and two splotches of red makeup circling his eyes, making him look like a hanged ghost.
His face breaks into a grin when he sees Mo Xuanyu.
???: Oh! A visitor!
Mo Xuanyu stands against the door, petrified.
???: Aah, ah, you’re n-not one of them, are you…? No… no, let me see…
He pushes himself to his feet and aims a swipe at Mo Xuanyu’s face, trying to grab his mask. Mo Xuanyu jerks away.
???: Aw, no, let me see your face… been a while since I… hard not to, to want to see, when there’s a mask, don’t you think…?
He tiptoes closer, boxing in Mo Xuanyu. His movements are shy and off-kilter; he puts too much weight on each step, hands floating around Mo Xuanyu’s shoulders like he’s about to touch him.
Mo Xuanyu ducks under his arm and dashes to the other side of the hut. A blind terror seizes every muscle in his body.
MO XUANYU: No. No. Don’t touch me.
The figure blinks, upset.
???: Wh-why does no one want to touch me—?
MO XUANYU: I don’t—
???: I thought you would understand…
He twists his fingers together, face scrunching up. He takes another uneven step towards Mo Xuanyu.
MO XUANYU: No—get away from me—
???: Oh. You hate me too. Of course. Of course. Th-that’s all a mask is for. Pretty face, I think. But so—
Without breaking eye contact with Mo Xuanyu, he bends his knees and reaches out to draw a knife from underneath the bed. He tosses it over, and it lands at Mo Xuanyu’s feet with a clatter.
???: Said you wanted to stab someone.
Mo Xuanyu’s eyes dart towards the knife. He’s tempted.
MO XUANYU: I… I do.
???: Always wanted to get stabbed.
MO XUANYU: That’s disgusting.
???: So did you.
MO XUANYU: You want me to kill you.
The figure heaves a dry laugh. It might be a sob.
???: Best way to go, they say! Keeps the agency. And the family. N-n-no, I think I’d like to be executed. Wipe out the clan. All of them, down the drain! Won’t be remembered. No one to come back to. No coming back at all. That’s the real best way.
MO XUANYU: Yes…
???: I gazed into the emptiness there, beyond the world’s end; / Then onwards still I floated, over that watery vastness.
Mo Xuanyu, very slowly, picks up the knife. He turns it over in his hands, fascinated.
???: Though I stand at the pit’s mouth and death yawns before me…
MO XUANYU, quietly: What if I don’t want to die.
???: What—?
MO XUANYU: What if I—what if I don’t just want to be a pawn in someone else’s story.
His voice shakes.
MO XUANYU: Maybe if it’s kill everyone or kill myself I just need to…
???: They’d catch you.
MO XUANYU: I don’t care. I’m sick of being terrified every second of my life. I want to do something. I want to—
He accidentally grips the blade of the knife; blood drips from his closed fist. He drops the knife and wipes his hand across his robes, leaving a glistening smear.
???: Blood’s useful stuff, you know. D-don’t waste it.
MO XUANYU: I’ve already used all the blood I need.
???: So… it’s done?
MO XUANYU: Yeah. Now all that’s left is to see if it works. Can’t do anything more now. My body’s as good as—
A single drop of blood from his cut hits the wooden floor. It spreads faster than it should, becoming an inky stain in a fraction of a second, then a puddle that warps the floorboards, then a gaping crimson hole. Mo Xuanyu’s words cut into a yelp as the bloody gateway tugs him into its depths.
Colorless miasma surrounds Mo Xuanyu on all sides. There is no up, down, left, right—all distinction is meaningless in the void.
Eventually, Mo Xuanyu finds his footing. The floor is smooth here, cold to the touch.
In the distance lies a large structure.
As he approaches it, it appears to be a temple, suspended in space and time.
Mo Xuanyu enters. It is utterly silent; the candles inside flicker when the doors creak open but otherwise nothing moves. Even when the doors slam shut behind him, the sound seems muted. The beams and columns on the interior are painted a deep red, almost a mahogany. Drapes and lanterns line the sides. A huge metal sculpture of the goddess Guanyin rests in the center.
Unable to decide what to do, Mo Xuanyu turns to the statue and bows his head.
There is one last moment of true, peaceful silence.
Then the doors are thrown open once more, and in walks Wei Wuxian, the Yiling Patriarch.
MO XUANYU: Oh.
WEI WUXIAN: Ah, this is a nice place! I don’t think I’ve been here before!
He sidles up to Mo Xuanyu and gives him a once-over. Mo Xuanyu is still in his dark robes; his hair is messy and unbound, but it seems to have dried from his earlier swim. He is still wearing his mask.
Wei Wuxian tilts his head in contemplation, then begins undoing the sash at Mo Xuanyu’s waist.
MO XUANYU: I met someone.
WEI WUXIAN: Oh?
MO XUANYU: He gave me a knife.
WEI WUXIAN: Eh. Knives are overrated.
MO XUANYU: What?
Mo Xuanyu’s belt drops to the floor. Wei Wuxian gets to work peeling off his layers of robes, one by one. As he does so, he dresses himself in each one.
WEI WUXIAN: I don’t know. I just think so.
MO XUANYU: You’d rather have a flute.
WEI WUXIAN: Ah, something like that.
MO XUANYU, bitterly: How unique.
WEI WUXIAN: What, do you think a knife would work against twenty fierce corpses about to jump you?
He prods Mo Xuanyu’s bare chest.
WEI WUXIAN: I don’t think so! What was the knife for, anyway? Not for fierce corpses, I’d bet.
MO XUANYU: I think it was to kill him. Or myself.
WEI WUXIAN: Is there any difference?
He slides the pants off Mo Xuanyu’s legs. As before, he’s met with no resistance. He pulls them on under his robes; they snag momentarily on his boots. He straightens up, and watches Mo Xuanyu before him, naked but for his mask.
When Mo Xuanyu speaks, his voice is hollow.
MO XUANYU: Why does it have to be this way?
WEI WUXIAN: Because this is what you chose.
He puts a gentle hand on Mo Xuanyu’s shoulder and nudges him into a kneeling position. That being done, Wei Wuxian produces a length of spirit-trapping rope from his sleeve and twiddles it around his finger for a moment before looping it around Mo Xuanyu’s torso. It bites into his flesh, tight enough to leave welts if it were to chafe. Mo Xuanyu does not react.
MO XUANYU: I thought it would be quick and painless.
WEI WUXIAN: I don’t suppose souls like to die.
MO XUANYU: So what is this? This… dreamscape?
WEI WUXIAN: Your screams. What else?
MO XUANYU: They’re so colorful.
WEI WUXIAN: They often are.
MO XUANYU: What would you know?
WEI WUXIAN: Hey, I died too, remember?
MO XUANYU: What did you see? All your loved ones? All your regrets?
His voice grows bitter and strained once more. The rope constricts his lungs, his diaphragm.
MO XUANYU: I hope it hurt. I hope it was just—just a deluge of pain. I hope you saw every single soldier you slaughtered. Everyone you ever loved dying before your eyes.
Wei Wuxian laughs.
WEI WUXIAN: All this, from someone who wants me to kill his whole family?
MO XUANYU: You—I need you to appreciate your life. Take better care of it than I did.
Wei Wuxian finishes his knotwork. He skims his fingers over Mo Xuanyu’s knee idly.
WEI WUXIAN: Then you’ve accepted it.
MO XUANYU: No.
WEI WUXIAN: Do you want more time?
MO XUANYU: To fade away into oblivion? To converse with the specter that’ll haunt the space where I once existed?
WEI WUXIAN: It’s not where you existed. I’m bringing my own ties back into the world, you know. All your knots have unravelled.
He produces a knife from his sleeve.
MO XUANYU: I thought you said knives are overrated!
WEI WUXIAN: Mmm… they do the job, though.
He thrusts the blade into the middle of Mo Xuanyu’s chest, and begins to cut. Flesh, muscle, and bone fall away as if they’re made of jelly. Wei Wuxian peels away the skin that covers Mo Xuanyu’s left breast and pries apart his ribs to expose his heart. Blood cascades down his torso.
WEI WUXIAN: You think I’m killing you, don’t you? You want me to be your murderer so badly.
He hesitates, eyes locked upon Mo Xuanyu’s face.
WEI WUXIAN: Mo Xuanyu?
In a tiny voice, Mo Xuanyu breathes:
MO XUANYU: Yes?
WEI WUXIAN: Give me your heart, won’t you?
Mo Xuanyu’s eyes dart down to his chest. His breath hitches.
WEI WUXIAN: There’s not too many arteries. Here, we can do it together. I’ve got the steadier hand; I’ll sever them for you.
He cuts around Mo Xuanyu’s heart like he’s clipping the strings of a puppet. Blood sputters and spurts. The heart continues to beat.
WEI WUXIAN: There we go.
He holds out his hand.
Very, very slowly, Mo Xuanyu pulls his own heart out of his chest and places it in Wei Wuxian’s palm.
WEI WUXIAN: Good. I’ll bury it somewhere nice for you.
With his other hand, he unties Mo Xuanyu’s mask and places it on his own face.
WEI WUXIAN: Well. Thank you, Mo Xuanyu.
He stands, turns, and begins to walk towards the door. Blood continues to dribble from the heart in his hand. His footsteps ring out; each one reverberates through spacetime.
Mo Xuanyu stares unseeingly at the door, mouth hanging open slightly. Blood soaks his legs and pools around him. The hole in his chest gapes, bright and angry.
MO XUANYU: W… Wei Wuxian…
Wei Wuxian turns.
WEI WUXIAN: Mm?
MO XUANYU: Will you remember—will they—you said you’d remember—
Wei Wuxian considers this.
WEI WUXIAN: Hm. But I am not Wei Wuxian. Who’s to say what he’ll think of you? What they all will? How much of it will be true?
The doors swing wide open. Outside, the world is pure white.
WEI WUXIAN: You’ve played your part well. The rest of us will take it from here.
Wei Wuxian walks out, and disappears into the void.
Mo Xuanyu sits there, bleeding out, for a very long time.