#v: sisheng peak — 1.5

[tiianwens]

a starter for @dreams-of-fate // BAI QIAN

❝ DO YOU REQUIRE MY HELP WITH SOMETHING? ❞ a furrowed brow easily betrays his confusion at the invitation — being out in town without his disciples in tow is already an extraordinary occasion. Chu Wanning has never been the best at figuring out others' intentions, and this woman, for as long as he's known her, remained a mystery still. The inn is unusually quiet, too early in the day to indulge in drinking, so he raises a teacup to his lips and takes a sip. It makes him wonder — there must be something big in that forest Bai Qian mentioned, menacing enough to require a cultivator of his caliber, and desperate enough to call for his help in particular, with the ill reputation he must've acquired after the last incident.

❝ If it's a violent ghost, I know a few ways of reasoning with it, ❞ nothing more than an assumption. Though a ritual of such power would take more energy than his recently injured body might be ready to spare.

#dreamsoffate #v: sisheng peak — 1.5 #no the concept of going out with friends doesn't ring a bell

[tiianwens]

𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆: @xiianxias — YĪNG JIĀ

in the end, it's all yīng jiā's fault: being sick in the first place is a divine punishment, a sign from the heavens above that he must be a fundamentally flawed person --- because if he were good and worthy, he'd be rendered whole again; the fact that he hasn't been is a damning one. he should've known today was going to be a bad day --- he'd woken up drenched in sweat, was too nauseous to eat anything, and had gotten lightheaded even during his morning meditation. his chest is aching and burning, like something is trying to claw its way out of his lungs. yīng jiā holds a hand against the wall for support, vision clouding over with each shaky step he takes. it feels like he's dying. this time, he wonders if he really is. he tugs a bloodstained handkerchief from the sleeve of his robe and coughs into it, but this time, there's too much blood --- it soaks through the fabric and splatters down the front of his robes; in between fits of agonized coughing, he struggles to suck down even half a breath of air. the world tilts, and he steps wrong; with an uncharacteristically graceless stumble, he falls as if in slow motion, slumping on the ground. yīng jiā doubts his master is nearby; even so, to call out for him feels instinctual. after all, his master is the one who's going to teach him the cultivation techniques he needs to get better ... ! "shizun," he manages feebly. blood dribbles down his chin. he coughs again, and his vision nearly whites out. "shizun, please ... help me ... "

THE PRISTINE WHITES of his robes always shied away from the dirt and blood of worldly affairs — such is the nature of a man devoid of warmth, a wildfire raging without a spark. Disgusted at the thought of being stained, of being tainted, afraid of being too exposed, yet the gut-churning sound of such violent coughing adds vigor to his step. Chu Wanning allows it to get under his skin. He allows the words to pierce his heart. So similar to the gentle, childish voice from years ago, so vulnerable to trust. 'Shizun, please pay attention to me...'

So he lowers himself, catching the other in his arms. A glowing trail of spiritual energy flows through his fingers pressed against Yīng Jiā's chest to place a temporary seal and hold back the damage. White sleeves are so easy to stain, fresh crimson soaking through delicate fabric — there's not enough time to take out his own handkerchief, embroidered with a flower of haitang, and this amount of blood would never wash off completely, it would never–

His hands are shaking but his voice is cold. ❝ Breathe, ❞ it commands, and the glow of golden light still lingers, as soothing as he can muster, as gentle as his hands know how to be. Brows knit together, blade-sharp, nothing but collected hollowness and familiar disapproval behind his phoenix eyes — the healing spell is superficial, too weak to save a life but wilful enough to drain the life force of its caster until the flow of blood subsides. ❝ Focus on my voice and keep breathing, ❞ Chu Wanning instructs again, but with his chest pressed against the other's back, wouldn't the violence of his heart be too obvious? It's pitiful, almost, how he cannot find it in him to muster a gentler 'I'm here'. How he listens to the frantic, ragged breathing, a hand resting briefly upon the burning forehead. How he wishes to find a way to never see so much blood again.

❝ You shouldn't have exerted yourself this much, ❞ there must be a way, there has to be a way... ❝ Don't move, just breathe. I'll take you to your room when you're able to walk. ❞

#xiianxias #v: sisheng peak — 1.5 #panics in passive aggression

[tiianwens]

𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆: @cuckoo-among-beasts // NIE HUAISANG

Since his year at Cloud Recesses had been cut short and his cultivation not improved by the slightest, Mingjue decided to ask for permission for Huaisang to study elsewhere. The answer had been yes. He's aware that his dage had told about his lack of golden core, struggle to cultivate, laziness and that there had been... social challenges at Gusu. Unfortunately this does nothing to ease his anxieties and Huaisang wishes he could run and hide. He's small for a fourteen year old boy, he can hide where others can't, but unfortunately that is not an option as the very intimidating man, his teacher, looks at him. Huaisang almost whimpers. "Thank you for showing this lowly one to attend your sect's teachings," he somehow manages to say as he clasps his hands and bows deeply.

IT IS UNCOMMON for guest disciples to tread so dangerously close to the border between life and death, it is even less common for anyone to dare approach the Yùhéng Elder on their own volition — perhaps, there's more bravery to this boy than he would care to admit. There's nothing about Chu Wanning that could instil anything other than fear into the hearts of others. There's nothing about his temper to be deemed agreeable, at the very least, and from the way his brow furrows, one could easily abandon every pursuit that doesn't involve running away as fast as they can. He is more than well aware of it.

Yet still he stands, unperturbed, the whites of his robes almost blinding as he humphs — neither of them has chosen the other, then what's the point of it all?

❝ I was made aware of your lack of golden core, ❞ he speaks at last, phoenix eyes darting from the boy's small frame to his scattered gaze. The pleasantries are easily brushed aside, for he never learned to, nor cared to make himself more likeable — lest yet another fearless soul grabs his hands and wrecks the shallow tranquility of mind. ❝ It seems that Nie-zōngzhǔ intended for you to master offensive cultivation under my guidance. Among my disciples, there's no place for laziness and I won't stand for lying, so there's only one question I'm going to ask you. Are you here because your brother decided for you, or are you here to learn something? ❞

#cuckooamongbeasts #v: sisheng peak — 1.5 #fhsjfgd wanning no