The celestial winds that once lovingly danced around the Lord of Storms now howled mournfully through the broken sky. Zi Feng stood alone in the barren desert, once full of life, now reduced to rubble.
He was like a king surveying the wreckage of his empire, victorious, yet tasting only bitterness, like ashes in his mouth.
His brothers, once lively and full of energy, now whispered quietly through the crumbling jade palace. Their laughter, once a melody in the halls, was lost among shattered emerald shards and billowing smoke that had once filled the heavenly court.
Zi Feng's eyes, once as bright as moonlight, now reflected a storm-tossed ocean, his tears falling like rivers down his scratched cheeks.
He reached out with a bloodstained hand, desperate for some comfort from the empty air. Every gust of wind slipping through his fingers felt like the last breath of his brothers, their spirits fading away.
His heart, once a lake filled with boundless affection, had turned into a hollow cave of unbearable emptiness.
His foot caught on the uneven earth. His heavenly robes billowed around him like clouds driven by the wind. Next to him, a golden rod stood in the dirt, a half-burnt flag waving feebly in the breeze.
"Li Jiu," he muttered, his voice lost in the howling wind.
"Where are you? I can't hear myself... I can't see. Li Jiu! Can't you hear my heart screaming?"
But the only answer was the cruel echo of his own grief, as though the world itself mocked his loneliness. Zi Feng, the wind god, wept as his tears fell onto the jade earth, mingling with the dust like grains of diamond. The wind, once his faithful companion, now spiraled around him in a mournful dance.
Yet, amid the ruin, there was a flicker of light, an image burned into his soul like a star in the vast emptiness. Li Jiu, his closest friend, the one who had stood by him through every storm and every calm.
Though it was but a fleeting illusion, the warmth of Li Jiu's smile still echoed in Zi Feng's heart. "Li Jiu," he cried out, desperately grabbing at the fading illusion. "Li Jiu!"
His voice broke through the storm, filled with pain. "Li Jiu, why...?"
But then, like the cold edge of a blade slicing through the air, a sharp chill spread across the land, slowing the winds to a near stop. The roar of the storm faded, leaving behind a suffocating silence.
In the dimming light, a figure cloaked in darkness stepped from the shadows, clad in black as the night itself, and red as blood, the Lord of Darkness, Yue Ling, the Night-Devouring Celestial.
"Ah," Yue Ling sneered, his voice venomous and mocking, "The mighty Wind Lord has become a crying child."
His words dripped with cruel delight.
"You lost your brothers, lost your soul, sacrificed everything for this hollow victory... and yet, you still stand here, broken. How ironic, dear Feng."
Zi Feng's face flushed with hatred. Staggering to his feet, he grabbed Yue Ling by the shoulders, eyes locked with the eternal darkness in the devil's gaze.
"Yue Ling!" he roared. "You've won. Heaven is soaked in the blood of my brothers. Please-just leave," he cried, voice breaking under the weight of grief.
Yue Ling's lips curled into a cruel smile. "Victory is sweetest when the victor drinks from the fury of the fallen. Where is it, Wind Lord? Your wrath? Your vengeance?"
Zi Feng closed his eyes, and fresh tears rolled down his bruised cheeks.
"My anger," he whispered, "is drowned in an ocean too deep to reach, an ocean of sorrow and blood. So please… just go. Don't... don't force me anymore."
"Oh, my dear Lord," Yue Ling said mockingly as he reached up and wiped Zi Feng's tears with his fingers, slow and deliberate. "If you're like this, it ruins all the fun. How about you come to my palace? We'll drink to your fallen comrades... even toast to your precious Li Jiu."
With a flicker of amusement, Yue Ling's right arm wrapped around Zi Feng's waist, pulling him close. His left hand tangled in Zi Feng's silky hair, tugging gently as he leaned in, whispering against the Wind Lord's ear.
"Besides... offering yourself up as my prize, it doesn't sound so bad, does it?"
Zi Feng flinched, unable to escape. The pain, both physical and emotional, rendered him helpless in Yue Ling's grip.
"Why...?" he gasped. "Why did you do this? If it were me you wanted vengeance from, I would've surrendered. I had to do it, I know that! I was responsible. But why did they have to die? Why did Li Jiu have to die? Answer me!"
"Shhh..." Yue Ling cooed, fingers tightening around Zi Feng's jaw, forcing him to look up. "Killing you wouldn't fix anything. No... I want you to suffer. I want you to feel every drop of pain this world can offer. I want you to watch everything you love rot and vanish into darkness."
Zi Feng's jaw clenched.
"I want you to fall," Yue Ling whispered, his voice soft and venomous. "To kneel before me and beg for mercy. But I won't stop, not until everyone you hold dear is gone. Li Jiu was only the beginning. The sun and the moon will fall. And your beloved brother… Wei Yunhe..."
"YUE LING! DON'T-!"
Yu Lingyu bolted awake, his scream ripping through the quiet night. His chest rose and fell rapidly, drenched in sweat. Tears streamed down his face, soaking the cloth pressed against his skin.
"Li Jiu..." he whispered hoarsely. "Li Jiu…"
"Hu Mao? Hu Mao, where are you?!"
Panic surged as he searched for his pet. In his frantic scramble, he tried to rise, but his legs caught in the blanket and sent him crashing to the floor. His palm scraped across the sharp edge of a half-finished wooden carving.
Blood dripped onto the wooden floor.
"Ah..."
Yu Lingyu recoiled, staggering back until he reached the wall, his breath hitching. His eyes locked onto the blood as though it were a ghost. His right hand trembled uncontrollably, pale lips quivering.
"Yue Ling…" he murmured, voice breaking. "Never... I'll never let you…"
He pulled his knees to his chest and hid his face between them.
"Isn't it over?" he whispered. "Why... why do these dreams keep coming?"
Three hundred years of punishment. Three hundred years. And still-
Still, the tragedy haunted him. The tragedy that had taken everything.
He didn't need to relive it.
He didn't need to see it again.
Not again.
"Yu Shixiong?"
San Jie's worried voice echoed softly through the wooden cabin. Yu Lingyu raised his head, startled, not just by the voice, but by the fact he hadn't even noticed the creak of the door opening or the sound of approaching footsteps.
San Jie froze at the threshold, breath catching as his gaze swept over Yu Lingyu's trembling figure and the bloodstains soaking the wooden floor.
His face turned pale as if he had seen a ghost.
Without another word, he knelt before Yu Lingyu and gently took his wounded hand in his own. But before he could speak-
"Li Jiu..." Yu Lingyu whispered.
San Jie's hand stilled.
"Li Jiu..." Yu Lingyu suddenly leaned forward and threw his arms around San Jie, clutching him tightly as if anchoring himself to reality.
"Li Jiu..." he called again, over and over, as tears streamed down his cheeks.
San Jie stiffened in surprise, but he didn't push him away. The warmth soaking his shoulder wasn't just blood; it was grief, desperate and raw.
"What... Li Jiu?" he asked softly, unsure, gently cradling his Shixiong as the weight of his sorrow pressed against him. Yu Lingyu clung harder.
"Don't leave me... Jiu'er..."
San Jie said nothing. His heart ached as he felt Yu Lingyu's tears, heard the brokenness in his voice.
"You're not wearing your mask, Yu Shixiong," he whispered, barely audible.
But Yu Lingyu didn't hear.
The blood continued to seep from his hand, slowly staining San Jie's clothes.
After a moment of silence, San Jie exhaled deeply and muttered with a touch of tenderness, "Alright, alright... I'm not leaving. Let go now."
"Promise?" Yu Lingyu asked, his voice fragile as porcelain.
"I promise."
The grip on San Jie's shoulders slowly loosened. Gently, as though handling something made of glass, San Jie held Yu Lingyu in his arms. One knee on the floor, he rose with him, carrying him like a wounded bird.
For a moment, his eyes caught the faint, fiery red demon mark glowing on Lingyu's forehead.
His heart clenched, but he said nothing.
With careful steps, he laid Yu Lingyu onto the couch. From his qiankun pouch, he retrieved a small bottle of ointment and uncorked it.
His fingers moved with practiced grace as he treated the wound, dabbing it gently and wrapping it with a piece of cloth torn from his own robe.
"Yu Shixiong," he said softly, almost reverently.
Only Yu Lingyu would know where the real medicine was in this chaos of a room, but he wasn't in a state to search. So, San Jie did what he could.
His fingers hesitated for a second.
Then, anger flared in his chest.
"That bastard did something to you, didn't he?" he muttered bitterly. "I swear... I'm going to kill him."
In his mind, he threw Wu Xuan off a cliff a thousand times.
Once the bandage was secure, he picked up Lingyu's fallen mask and gently placed it back on his face. It was better this way. If anyone else had seen the mark on his forehead...
San Jie shuddered.
He sat down beside the couch, exhausted, his eyes drifting over the room, scattered carvings, the faint scent of blood, a silence heavy with memory.
Then he spoke.
"But Yu Shixiong," he said quietly, "do you miss Li Jiu that much?"
************************************************************
A brisk wind swept across Jun Peak, tugging at the robes of disciples scattered across the grounds, all diligently crafting various things out of bamboo. Dust danced through the air, settling in their hair and sleeves like mischievous spirits.
Yu Lingyu, healthy and composed, stood nearby with his robes fluttering dramatically in the wind. His eyes scanned the chaotic scene, arms crossed.
"Pay attention! This isn't a festival of frogs!" came an irritated voice from across the courtyard. "You- brown hair over there! Hold the knife from the right side. Are you cutting or peeling bamboo?" Third Shixiong, Murong Meng, barked commands like a battle general at war with amateur carpentry.
Yu Lingyu glanced around, half-expecting to see another familiar face. If Third Shixiong is here... shouldn't Wei Yunhe be around too? His heart dipped when the search came up empty. Only Murong Meng had returned.
Not far away, Lan Mei, Meng's younger disciple, sat weaving thread with a furrowed brow, gaze tilted toward the sky. "Murong Shixiong!" she called out. "Do you think the brothers from Mount Juyao will bring their famous mooncakes?"
Murong Meng looked like someone had just cursed his ancestors.
"Those sugar bombs? They're rotting teeth faster than I can sharpen a blade," he snapped.
"Oh... I guess our mooncakes are going to waste then,
Suddenly, with perfect timing, a loud voice echoed down the slope.
"Hello there, Yu Lingyu!" Wu Xuan announced grandly as he approached, flanked by his Juyao Peak disciples. He seemed more spirited than usual.
Yu Lingyu gave a silent sigh of relief. Thank heaven, he thought. Murong Shixiong may be short-tempered, but he isn't hateful. If Wu Xuan had ignored second shixiong, I'd be listening to complaints until the new year.
"Pfft. Jun Peak will be blown away by the wind at this rate," sneered Yuan Yu Yi beside Wu Xuan, trying to keep her hair from turning into a bird's nest.
"And Juyao Peak reeks of sugar," Murong retorted, folding his arms. Though he'd never outright opposed Wu Xuan, Yuan Yu Yi was fair game.
For a moment, the Jun Peak disciples stopped working and smiled with Murong Meng. Although not as infamous as Chuangzhou, Jun Peak had a well-known rivalry with Juyao Peak.
"Oh, come now," Yuan Yu Yi teased. "Don't tell me none of you dream about living on Juyao Peak while you swing your swords around like bamboo sticks."
"They dream of swordsmanship, not living in a rat hole," Murong Meng fired back, sharp as a blade.
Yu Lingyu said nothing. He simply watched. Murong Meng was still his Shixiong, after all.
Then, from behind, a small voice squeaked out.
"Honestly, Shixiong... I dream about both."
The wind seemed to pause. Even the leaves held their breath. All eyes turned to Lan Mei, who looked like she wanted to disappear into the earth. Her face was the color of a ripe chili pepper.
Murong Meng's jaw dropped.
Wu Xuan's eyes lit up with mischief, a slow grin spreading across his face. "See? Even your own disciples appreciate the finer things," he said.
Yuan Yu Yi folded her arms, smug. "Subtlety is wasted on sharp-tongued men."
Murong Meng was quiet for a beat before finally letting out a chuckle and nodding in surrender. "Well, well. You win this round, Miss Pastry. But wait until the event, if your 'delicious' confections give my disciples a toothache, I'll personally sculpt a clay statue from Juyao peak."
Laughter rang out. The rest of the day passed in a spirited haze. Arguments flared here and there, brief sparks in the wind, but they never lasted long.
Later, Yu Lingyu lay quietly beside a large plant, the leaves swaying gently above him like protective arms. His thoughts drifted back to the dream he had the night before. It had been terrifying, so vivid, so real, but in the middle of all that fear, San Jie had appeared.
Was he really there in the dream?
Or… had he actually come to his room?
"Yu Shidi!"
Wu Xuan's voice cut through the quiet. Yu Lingyu blinked, pulled from his thoughts. Since morning, the entire sect had been busy preparing for the upcoming festival. Since Yu Lingyu was in charge of the students of the Lingxiao Sect, they barely saw each other amidst all the bustle.
"Where's your father?" Wu Xuan asked as he approached.
Yu Lingyu gave a wry smile. "He went to town. Otherwise, why would I be sitting here all desolate?"
The setting sun painted long shadows behind Wu Xuan as he sat down beside him.
"You left without telling me," Lingyu said quietly, a thread of reproach in his voice. He'd woken up that morning to find Wu Xuan already gone.
"I didn't want to wake you up."
Wu Xuan reached into his Qiankun pouch and pulled out a small brown bag, placing it gently in Lingyu's hand.
"What's this?" Lingyu asked, opening the bag. Inside were mooncakes, small, white, and intricately carved like they belonged to a fairytale. He lifted one carefully, hesitating.
"What?" Wu Xuan asked, noticing the hesitation.
"It's too pretty to eat." Lingyu admitted, voice low.
Wu Xuan laughed heartily at that. "You always say strange things."
But Lingyu wasn't done. His gaze lingered on the mooncakes, thoughtful. "How did you know?" he whispered.
Wu Xuan tilted his head, puzzled. "Know what?"
"About my identity." Lingyu didn't look up, his voice soft but heavy.
"Oh," Wu Xuan exhaled and leaned back on the grass, folding his hands behind his head as he stared up at the deepening sky. "I knew from the beginning."
Lingyu's breath hitched. "What?"
"Did you think it was a coincidence?" Wu Xuan's voice drifted like wind through trees. "That the little boy named Yu Lingyu met the little rabbit?"
A chill brushed Lingyu's spine. He clutched the mooncake a little tighter, as if anchoring himself with it.
"Rabbit?" His voice came out like a whimper.