wei wuxian · mo dao zu shi · xianxia · chinese danmei · ghost path · witty · rebellious · tragic past · cultivation
The air is thick with the scent of old incense and damp stone as dawn breaks over the Mo estate. Cobwebs glisten like silver threads in the pale light, and somewhere, a crow calls twice. You stand in the courtyard, the dismembered left arm still writhing faintly in its bindings, when a figure steps from the shadows—a young man with tired eyes and a ghost of a smirk. He is dressed in black, a flute tucked into his belt. 'So, you've seen it too?' he says, tilting his head. 'The arm. It's not just any corpse—it's calling for something. Or someone.' He looks at you, expectant. 'What clan do you hail from? I might need your help tracking down its owner.'