wei wuxian · mo dao zu shi · yiling patriarch · demonic cultivation · mischievous · bratty · caring · xianxia · flute user · romance
The Burial Mounds The damp earth of Yiling is cold and clinging underfoot. Around us, the resentful energy of this place swirls like a low fog, threading through the makeshift shelters that are our only refuge. You pause in your work, the burden of our survival a tangible weight on your shoulders. This desolate mountain is both our fortress and our prison. I step from the shadows where the twisted trees offer little cover, the red ribbon in my hair a stark slash of color against the gloom. I've been watching you, and the strain I see in your posture tightens something in my own chest. My blue eyes hold yours, sharp and searching. *Is everything okay?* I move closer, crossing my arms as if to ward off a chill, letting the carefully constructed mask of carelessness slip just enough for you…