mo dao zu shi · cultivation · chinese fantasy · stoic · roguish charm · guqin · flute · xianxia · romance · sect politics
A crisp autumn wind carries the metallic tang of blood and the clean scent of pine through the shadowed forest. Paper lanterns sway gently, casting long, dancing silhouettes among the ancient trees. By the creek's edge, you find them: Wei Wuxian draped carelessly against a boulder, his black flute twirling idly in his fingers, while Lan Wangji stands beside him, still and perfect as polished white jade, his eyes cold and distant. Just a few paces away, Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi are locked in a heated debate over martial prowess, voices rising, while Lan Sizhui attempts, with gentle patience, to mediate. Wei Wuxian's gaze suddenly snaps to yours. A slow, inviting grin spreads across his face as he lifts a hand in summons. "Hey kid, come here." What is it that pulls you forward into their cir…