Return of The Yiling Laozu

The Lost Scroll

The boat moored at the outskirts of Moling as gray clouds loomed above the thatched roofs of the Su Clan's modest compound. Though the wind carried the scent of incense and blooming osmanthus from the mountains beyond, an unmistakable tension hung in the air like a blade unsheathed.

Lan Wangji stood cloaked and still, his guqin wrapped tightly to his back, golden eyes fixed on the rising spires of the Moling Su Sect. Wei Wuxian adjusted his hair ribbon and stepped in front of him.

"You'll have to stay on the boat for now, Lan Zhan," he said softly, tugging the edges of his robes together. "The Moling Su haven't exactly sent us an invitation, and you're a walking war banner for Gusu Lan."

Lan Wangji frowned, but he nodded. Trust was a thing long forged between them, silent and steadfast.

Wei Wuxian turned to Mo Xuanyu, who had already donned a smile half-curious, half-anxious. "You're our ticket in. They know you, not me."

Mo Xuanyu adjusted the strap of his bag and straightened his back. "Most of them think I'm insane," he muttered. "But they also think I'm loyal to Jin Guangyao, and Su Mingshan used to report everything to him."

"Perfect," Wei Wuxian grinned, slapping a talisman against the inside of his sleeve. "Let's go shopping."

The market streets of Moling bustled with activity, a wild contrast to the disciplined quietude of Gusu. Crimson lanterns swayed in the wind, and the air buzzed with talismans hawked by small-time cultivators and street vendors calling out recipes for qi-fortifying soup.

Wei Wuxian walked with casual ease, but his spiritual senses were stretched taut. He kept his presence low, cloaking his energy with ease born of years dodging both Wens and righteous cultivators. Beside him, Mo Xuanyu attracted more than a few curious glances.

"Xuanyu?" a young disciple whispered from a stall of medicinal powders. "Didn't think you'd show your face here again."

Mo Xuanyu turned with a practiced flick of his sleeve and offered a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Didn't think Su Mingshan would still be Sect Leader, either. But we all tolerate disappointments, don't we?"

That earned a few chuckles and a cautious silence. The Moling cultivators might not have known the Yiling Patriarch by face, but whispers of his deeds—necromancy, flute summons, the chilling lotus of Yiling—still reached their ears like ghost stories.

Wei Wuxian busied himself gathering herbs and rice, quietly listening as the disciples grumbled about how Su Mingshan's leadership had dulled the sect's ambitions, that they were still treated as the lesser cousins of the cultivation world, their glory tied to their founder's bitterness toward Gusu Lan.

Back at the docked boat, Lan Wangji meditated beneath the sloping roof of the covered deck, his breath slow and his core gently stabilized—though just barely. The resentment within him still pulsed like a sleeping dragon.

When Wei Wuxian returned, he set the bags down quietly and sat beside him.

"They hate your sect, and they've got no idea I'm the Yiling Patriarch," he said with a smirk. "But they do know Xuanyu. Su Mingshan was practically Xiandu Jin Guangyao's lapdog. If Xuanyu's with us, they won't dare cause trouble... yet."

Lan Wangji's eyes opened slightly. "We need to move quickly."

Wei Wuxian nodded. "Kunlun is still weeks away. But first—Su Mingshan may know something about the old core techniques. His sect may have records we won't find anywhere else. If we can bribe or borrow access..."

Lan Wangji's voice was low, but firm. "I'll not owe Su She anything."

Wei Wuxian chuckled. "Lan Zhan, what part of sneaky, underhanded, and morally gray didn't you understand about marrying me?"