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The spirit moves like lightning, long claws slicing so cleanly through the air that not even a whistle follows in their path and cutting through the sleeve of Mo Ran’s robe like butter. He’s too busy falling back to notice that it’s sliced through the first layers of his skin until the blood begins to drip from his wrist a few seconds later.
“Dodge it!” Chu Wanning snaps, long ponytail flying through the air in the corner of Mo Ran’s vision. “Don’t let it touch you-
Mo Ran leaps back, head spinning; but before he can marshal Jiangui the world staggers, colors and shapes around him spinning into a whirling confusion of unreality.
“Mo Ran-!” he hears, echoing through the ringing noise in his ears just before everything goes black.
—
“-Mo Ran,” Chu Wanning’s voice says. It echoes like he’s speaking from the bottom of a deep well; but Mo Ran would know his voice anywhere, through any interference. “Mo Ran, wake up.”
“Shizun?” Mo Ran manages, blinking slowly. He forces his eyes open, and Chu Wanning’s stern face wavers into view. Mo Ran lies there for just a few moments, staring. Chu Wanning is saying something, but Mo Ran can’t parse the words through the obvious, naked concern on his blurry face. It’s so heady that Mo Ran doesn’t even try to gather his thoughts; just lies there and looks at his shizun, whose eyes won’t leave him.
Eventually, the blurriness clears from his vision; the sky overhead fades from a washed-out gray back into a charming blue that haloes Chu Wanning’s scowling face. Even its brilliant hue, however, can’t outshine Chu Wanning’s beauty: the deep black of his eyes, the bright clear tone of his skin- the soft pink of his lips. Mo Ran is struck, for a few long moments, by how deeply he wants. He wants- what does he want? His shizun, of course; the man he once married in another life. How could he have married him then, and not treasured him? In this lifetime, he would do anything to protect Chu Wanning. Will do anything. Whatever it takes.
“Wake up!” Chu Wanning snaps, the hands shaking Mo Ran rough and impatient. Mo Ran groans, the fog fading further from his head; he attempts to sit up, but fails. A strong hand slides under his shoulder, supporting him until he can rise to sitting. Before him, Chu Wanning is still staring at him, concern hidden behind the scowl on his face. It makes Mo Ran’s heart stutter in his chest; he leans in a little bit, of his own accord. Chu Wanning doesn’t move away.
“You can’t let yourself get caught like that,” Chu Wanning is scolding, the furrow between his brows addictively appealing. He’s such a handsome man, even when his ire is high and he’s on a tirade about Mo Ran’s flaws. Perhaps especially then. “You’re too good to be felled by something so small,” Chu Wanning says, furious scowl still all over his face.
Mo Ran’s chest goes a little melty. This tirade has compliments. “Shizun thinks I’m good, then?” he teases tiredly. Chu Wanning scowls back at him, eyes narrowed. Scoffs.
“Obviously you are,” he says matter of factly. “Can you stand yet? We need to move.”
“How am I good, shizun?” Mo Ran asks, drifting forward a little further. He’s still half in a daze; but he feels so good, he can’t find it in himself to complain. “Am I a good disciple?” he asks, the concept too heady to not chase after.
“Yes, idiot,” Chu Wanning says, rolling his eyes. Mo Ran’s breath catches, the air pausing in his lungs. A slow warmth suffuses through his chest and stomach, filling his whole body until it tingles with it. “Now get up,” Chu Wanning snaps, “we need to go.”
“Am I a good man?” Mo Ran murmurs into the empty space that Chu Wanning’s face was just in. “I want to show shizun how good I can be,” he says to the air, swaying. With no fanfare, he’s pulled straight to his feet, setting his head spinning. “Oh,” he says, stumbling and almost falling to the ground- but Chu Wanning’s strong arms are there, catching him and supporting him. His hands close around Chu Wanning’s biceps, circling the firm curve of the muscle. “Ah, shizun…”
Mo Ran helplessly squeezes his biceps. Chu Wanning doesn’t push him away, just frowns at him, reliable strength holding Mo Ran up.
“You’re not well,” Chu Wanning says. “What do you need?”
“I need shizun’s support,” Mo Ran says, body inclining towards Chu Wanning again. It’s like it’s out of his voluntary control; all he can do is get closer. “I need you here for me- ah, but shizun, I’m dangerous.”
From Mo Ran’s sleeve spills Jiangui, spitting and hissing with red electricity, dripping to the ground like droplets of fire. It almost cuts Chu Wanning- burns through his sleeve, leaving a hissing, clean line where it followed the path of gravity.
“Not to me,” Chu Wanning scoffs. For a moment, the bubbling effusive happiness in Mo Ran goes cold and spiky- fear and hatred and denial surging up in him like the tide in a storm- before he wrestles it down. Chu Wanning is right. Not in this lifetime. He’ll never be dangerous to Chu Wanning again. He leans forward into his grip on Chu Wanning’s arms, not looking away from those deep black eyes, locked onto him with trust and regard. Never again.
Jiangui, still hissing and spitting, twists in coils on the ground, its sparks barely missing Chu Wanning’s clean white shoes. Mo Ran, hand trembling, reaches for Chu Wanning’s wrist- guides his hand down until it hovers above Jiangui’s hilt.
“Take it, shizun,” he murmurs, and Chu Wanning’s fingers close firmly and authoritatively around Jiangui. Gold light flows down its twisting form in a wave, washing the ominous red away inch by inch until all that’s left are the pure shining colors of Tianwen, quiescent in Mo Ran and Chu Wanning’s shared grasp. It curls obediently at Chu Wanning’s feet like a hopeful dog looking for praise, the only evidence of its previous fire Chu Wanning’s slit, gaping sleeve.
“Mo Ran,” Chu Wanning says; his voice is so direct and commanding, almost a yell.
“I’m here,” Mo Ran says quietly, leaning forward a little more. His hand and Chu Wanning’s are still intertwined; his other hand, still on Chu Wanning’s bicep, pulls him closer. Just a little bit; he will always respect Chu Wanning, will never harm him. It’s safe to get this close.
“Mo Ran!” Chu Wanning says; his face doesn’t match his voice, expression open and curious while his words sound increasingly furious. “Mo Ran! Snap out of it!”
“Shizun…” Mo Ran says, brow furrowing. His hand tightens on Chu Wanning’s; Jiangui’s light flickers from gold to red and back again. “Are you-”
“Mo Ran!” Chu Wanning shouts, and the world fades back into color with a tangible, throbbing snap. The rush of sensations returning is so riotous that Mo Ran can’t help but stumble back, reeling. The drone of insects, the tickle of sweat on his skin, the green scent of living things and the irony odor of blood- all assault his senses, leaving his head spinning. Where is Chu Wanning? He was standing right in front of him-
“Don’t let it control you!” Chu Wanning’s voice comes, forcing Mo Ran to stumble into a turn. His eyes catch on Chu Wanning’s pristine form, those white robes and that long black hair spinning with the snap of Tianwen. Tianwen grows a harsh, brilliant gold, the same color that Jiangui-
Mo Ran breathes in easily, looking down at Jiangui’s soft gold light in his hand. Chu Wanning stands in front of him again, letting Mo Ran’s hand on his bicep move him in close.
“What is it?” Chu Wanning asks, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. “You still need more?”
“I always need more,” Mo Ran says, mouth quirking in a smile. “But there are things I would never ask of shizun.” He can’t remember why he shouldn’t ask. Can never ask. But he knows he can’t.
“Hmph,” Chu Wanning says, hand taking Mo Ran by the chin and tilting his head authoritatively to one side, then the other. “You look fine.” His hand stays on Mo Ran’s face, as if touching Mo Ran doesn’t disgust him. “You’ve barely drunk anything. Why are you all red?”
“Drunk?” Mo Ran repeats, unable to look away from the soft black of Chu Wanning’s sword-shaped brows, the firm pink of his lips. Chu Wanning raises one of those beautiful eyebrows, chin gesturing down at the table. It’s covered in cups and a wine jug; it’s pear blossom white, he can tell without looking. Of course; they’re sitting at Chu Wanning’s table together, drinking wine. Chu Wanning’s fingers are still on Mo Ran’s chin, holding him still to be examined. Mo Ran is hot, so he shrugs his robes open a little, pulling at them with his free hand. Chu Wanning’s fingers rest on his other, as if their hands were clasping around something together; but there’s nothing in his grip, just empty air and the tingling of Chu Wanning’s skin where it brushes his knuckles. He desperately wants to turn his hand over; let Chu Wanning’s palm rest on his. Chu Wanning is staring so deeply into his eyes. He’s not looking away. His lips are wet with traces of the pear blossom white. Mo Ran licks his lips.
“Cover yourself,” Chu Wanning finally says, drawing back with a huff. As he sits back Mo Ran leans forward, loathe to let the distance between them open up. Chu Wanning’s hand doesn’t leave the back of his as he does.
“But shizun,” he says, guiding that hand to his open collar, pressing it against his bare chest, “it’s so hot. Don’t you feel it?”
Chu Wanning’s lips are slightly parted, his gaze fixed on the dip in Mo Ran’s robes, the sweat of Mo Ran’s skin making their contact electric. His hand feeds cool on Mo Ran’s heated skin; and even as the moment draws out into two, three, he doesn’t draw his hand back. Mo Ran’s breaths rise and fall, moving Chu Wanning’s hand. Mo Ran’s skin begins to tingle, electric sensations moving across it; the power of Chu Wanning’s spiritual energy, tightly leashed. Tianwen is threatening to burst forth, miniscule zaps making Mo Ran’s pecs twitch and his breath go tight. Chu Wanning could push him away; fight him, harm him, face off against him with all his power. He’s not been declawed, spiritual energy sealed and core destroyed. He’s all of himself, the most powerful cultivator in the world, the only one Mo Ran ever feared. He’s here, all his power at his disposal, Mo Ran’s vulnerable heart beneath his hand.
Tianwen does not burst forth.
“Shizun,” Mo Ran says, heartbeat pounding under Chu Wanning’s dangerous, careful touch. “Shizun, I-”
“-fight it,” Chu Wanning says, still gazing into Mo Ran’s eyes. “You have to fight it.”
“I don’t want to fight you anymore,” Mo Ran says. He’s desperate. He needs Chu Wanning to believe him, needs it so badly it hurts. Chu Wanning nods, the liquid golden light of Tianwen dripping out from between his fingers onto Mo Ran’s chest; the willow vine curls around Mo Ran without any pain, wrapping his torso in a loose embrace, making his breath catch. It doesn’t hurt at all; nothing hurts. “Shizun,” he breathes, leaning forward until Chu Wanning’s eyebrows furrow in surprise, “shizun, I-”
“Tianwen!” Chu Wanning shouts, though his lips barely move. The tingling sensation of Tianwen’s vicious spiritual energy fills the air, though where it loops around him it still doesn’t harm him.
From Chu Wanning’s lips, in front of him, drip a single line of blood.
“- Ran,” he hears through the tingling in his ears. “Get up- you-”
Mo Ran staggers to his feet, shaking his head; Tianwen’s gentle golden light disperses around him in haloes of gold, no substance to it. The quiet of the room fades into violent sound, the heat of midday and the droning of insects flowing into his awareness in pulsing, living motion. He grasps his temple and finds his forehead soaked with sweat, his bangs plastered to his face. Suddenly his vision doubles; there before him is a confused Chu Wanning, still sitting with the pear blossom white; and beyond him a second, equally vibrant Chu Wanning, panting and robes torn and blood staining his white collar.
The illusion cracks, but doesn’t dissipate completely; it feels like Mo Ran is moving in two worlds, staggering to avoid the furniture as he attempts to join Chu Wanning where he slashes at the spirit with Tianwen. The Chu Wanning in the illusory world is standing, rising to his feet in alarm, hands coming up to steady Mo Ran. Mo Ran tries to ignore him, tries to push past- but he can feel his touch, the contact of it so arresting that it momentarily pulls him out of the real world, setting him vibrating in and out like a plucked guqin string.
“Mo Ran!” the illusory Chu Wanning says in alarm, and Mo Ran pitches forward, falling to his knee, then to his side.
He’s lying down in bed; the world quiets, the hum of insects at night soothing and familiar. In front of him is Chu Wanning, eyes soft and concerned and robes only half-done, a dim white in the gentle, protective darkness. Chu Wanning seems to have not noticed the way that his thin inner robe drapes enticingly open, drawing Mo Ran’s eyes to his throat and collarbone; he’s stroking Mo Ran’s hair, firm touch gentle enough that Mo Ran feels his eyes go hot.
“Don’t make that face,” Chu Wanning says, voice slightly shaken, thumb stroking the corner of Mo Ran’s eye. “I asked.”
“I’ve taken advantage of shizun’s kindness,” Mo Ran says, hand squeezing Chu Wanning’s waist where it rests beneath the sheets. “You shouldn’t let me into your bed. I’m-” a beast, a monster. The words won’t come.
“...I can’t be trusted,” Mo Ran manages, after a long pause.
“And yet,” Chu Wanning says, hand sliding to Mo Ran’s back. “I would have you.” He’s holding Mo Ran, the way he never once did when Mo Ran forced him in marriage. Mo Ran’s chest hurts with it. He’s trembling.
“I have chosen you freely. You can’t harm me, Mo Ran,” Chu Wanning says solemnly.
“I can,” Mo Ran says, heat leaking from the corners of his eyes. “I have.” He reaches up to touch Chu Wanning’s face; the sharpness of his eyebrow. “I will,” he murmurs, cheeks tickling with the progress of warmth down them.
“Perhaps,” Chu Wanning says, intelligent sharp eyes staring at Mo Ran. He doesn’t release Mo Ran from his embrace. “Yet still.” Mo Ran’s breath catches; he stares at Chu Wanning, unable to look away. Chu Wanning’s expression is as firm as he’s ever seen it when he speaks. “I would have you nonetheless.”
A gasp escapes Mo Ran’s lungs. The words reverberate in his chest so intensely that they hurt; it feels like all of his being is suddenly alive with something right on the edge of pain. Something that makes him ache and ache, even as Chu Wanning’s strong arms pull him closer yet. So close that they’re touching, chest to bare chest, heart to heart. He hurts; his ribs, his head. It hurts, it hurts. It hurts.
“You would?” Mo Ran gasps, voice catching on his words as he carefully tucks his face into Chu Wanning’s loose, flowing hair.
“Yes,” Chu Wanning says. His deep, resonant voice is so firm that Mo Ran’s chest feels like it simply- rips, torn down the center. He muffles a wet breath into Chu Wanning’s hair, pulling him close.
“I want…” he begins, breathing out carefully. “I would like, one day,” he says. “To hear you say that. For real.” Chu Wanning is warm and solid in his arms, holding Mo Ran as tightly as he’s ever wished for. Chest shaking, Mo Ran breathes out carefully.
He forces his eyes open.
Spiritual energy lances out across the field in a slow-motion explosion, following the path of flying debris and a flash of white. Mo Ran’s arm aches as if fire is eating its way up it. He tries to force himself to his knees, but the arm won’t hold him; it’s a dangerous, vivid red, swollen around the shallow slices in the flesh. Teeth gritted, Mo Ran shifts his weight and climbs to his feet without using his hands, Jiangui unspooling from his good hand even as agony screams through his other. It hisses and spits, burning through the grass like molten metal fresh from the forge. He begins to trudge toward Chu Wanning and the spirit, power gathering around him in a vicious cloud.
“Don’t let it cut you this time!” Chu Wanning yells, fierce expression marred by the specks of blood that dot his lips. He’s breathing heavily, the patch of red on his chin larger than it was before. His spiritual circulation has been damaged by this noxious spirit.
“Yes, shizun!” Mo Ran manages, breathing as steadily as he can through the pain. The spirit’s ghastly pale face looms out of the red glare of sunset, its sharp talons clawing towards him once again. He twists out of the way with a neat sidestep and Jiangui hisses through the air so quickly that the spirit almost seems to fall into its coils of its own accord. It shrieks, loud enough to deafen, as the red vine wraps, almost alive, along one arm, binding its way up from wrist to shoulder.
“Hold it there!” Chu Wanning commands as the spirit writhes and twists towards Mo Ran, clawed hand raised. “Tianwen!”
In mirror of Mo Ran’s spiritual weapon, that bright, effusive golden light pours its way up the spirit’s other arm, binding it in place so that it can’t do anything but struggle madly. Though it thrashes and screams, it’s pinned in the twin vines of the two cultivators, unable to escape as Chu Wanning steps in, fingers faintly glowing, and places them firmly against its forehead.
“Disperse your resentment and rest,” he commands coldly. A cool, misty light shimmers around the spirit as its struggles slow. Its limbs gradually fall limp.
The rising breeze lifts Chu Wanning’s long bangs as the seconds pass, making the loose ends float gently around his face. He gazes down, face unchanging, at the spirit slowly dissolving into pale light; the minutes go by in silence.
Chu Wanning doesn’t move until its residual glow has completely faded, leaving Chu Wanning and Mo Ran alone, twin vines loosely coiled and overlapping on the ground, colors blending together in a rich harmony.
“You shouldn’t have gotten hit,” Chu Wanning says, withdrawing his fingers from the air and throwing Mo Ran a cool look. Mo Ran completely fails to tear his eyes away from the beauty of Chu Wanning’s face, fine skin and dark hair and red blood staining his mouth.
“Yes shizun,” he says, stepping forward and raising an unthinking hand to Chu Wanning’s face to wipe off the blood from his chin. Chu Wanning brushes the hand aside with an unimpressed look that intensifies to a glare at Mo Ran’s flinch. He grabs Mo Ran’s hand, turning it over to see the scratches.
“Amateur,” he scoffs, dropping Mo Ran’s arm. Mo Ran cradles it, unable to stop himself from smiling through the sweat of the pain. “Well?”
“Thanking shizun for his notice,” Mo Ran says, as cheekily as he can muster. He digs in his qiankun sleeve one-handed and fumbles out a small bottle, which he uncorks with a pop. Chu Wanning scoffs, and stands there and watches while Mo Ran applies the ointment. When he’s finished, Chu Wanning nods without speaking and turns to lead them back to the village.
“Shizun,” Mo Ran says, tapping his face. Chu Wanning glares mildly for a moment- then turns away, raising his hand to his own face. He must see it when his fingers come away with blood; he reaches into his sleeve, but Mo Ran is already there with a handkerchief, held casually by his elbow. Chu Wanning snatches it and rubs brutally at his face as he marches stiffly forward, not facing Mo Ran even once.
Mo Ran watches his figure, striding away, for a moment. His eyes flutter closed of their own accord, the breath sighing out of him. The spell of the spirit has faded; no illusory world attempts to draw him in. And yet he lingers there for a moment, caught in the memories of the taste of Chu Wanning’s blood on his lips. All the times he hurt him, in his last life…
Mo Ran’s mouth quirks in a desultory smile. He knows that the spirit’s powers have faded; if it was fantasy, Chu Wanning wouldn’t have been forced to bleed from Mo Ran’s mistakes.
“Coming, shizun,” he calls; and he steps forward to follow after Chu Wanning.