Return of The Yiling Laozu

Baling Ouyang

The boat rocked gently under the orange hue of a setting sun, slicing through the quiet canal waters like a patient arrow. The city of Moling receded behind them in shadows. All three were quiet at first—tired from the infiltration, the confrontation, the sprint through danger.

Lan Wangji sat at the bow, silent, his gaze forward, lips tight. The stolen scroll rested within a sealed satchel tucked beneath his robes. His hand never strayed far from it.

Wei Wuxian stood behind him, one hand resting on the polished wood rail, the other lightly holding a spiritual compass. His hair danced in the breeze, a thoughtful frown ghosting his face.

Mo Xuanyu finally broke the silence. "Why didn't we take all the scrolls?" he asked, brow furrowed. "If Moling Su has stolen techniques from Gusu, shouldn't we retrieve them all now that we had the chance?"

Wei Wuxian turned slightly, his gaze shifting to the horizon before replying. "We didn't have the time, Xuanyu. No guarantee we'd get even one scroll out—let alone all. Every second spent inside increased the risk to Lan Zhan. And to you."

He lowered the compass and folded it away. "Besides, if something happens on this journey and we never make it back to Gusu, then those scrolls would've been lost forever. Better to take only what we absolutely need."

Mo Xuanyu frowned but nodded slowly. "Still... if we survive, we should go back. Strip Moling of every stolen word and sigil."

Wei Wuxian chuckled. "You're turning bolder every day."

Mo Xuanyu flashed a grin. "You're the one who taught me to stop apologizing for being alive."

At that, Lan Wangji finally spoke, his voice quiet but firm. "Moling will not be so easy next time. Reinforcements will guard the archive. Wards will be stronger. A second infiltration with just the three of us could cost lives."

Wei Wuxian raised a brow. "Are you saying we'll need reinforcements?"

Lan Wangji looked at him, eyes calm and unreadable. "I am saying... next time, we do not go alone."

Later That Night – Aboard the Boat

The moon hung full and soft over the canal as they drifted southward toward Baling. The waters widened ahead, signaling their gradual approach to the Yangtze. Trees lined the banks like silent sentinels.

Lan Wangji rolled the scroll open under protective wards inside the cabin. Faint blue lines traced ancient healing diagrams and meridian maps, worn by time but intact.

Wei Wuxian hovered near, observing. "Ouyang Xin owes you a favor, doesn't he?"

Lan Wangji nodded once. "During the Sunshot Campaign, I broke through a Wen siege to retrieve a wounded cousin of his. He swore loyalty in return."

Wei Wuxian tapped his chin. "Well, let's hope that loyalty survived the tides of sect politics."

Mo Xuanyu leaned in from the open door. "Ouyang Xin's sect isn't big, right?"

"No," Wei Wuxian said. "But they are fiercely independent. And if they allow us passage or aid... the path to Kunlun will be easier."

Next Morning – On the Way to Baling

As sunlight poured over the low mists, the boat drifted into the city's outer port. Towering cliffs framed Baling, and banners of the Ouyang Clan—azure and silver—fluttered gently in the breeze.

Wei Wuxian narrowed his eyes at the watchtowers. "No immediate hostility. That's a good sign."

As the boat docked, a horn blew from the ramparts. Moments later, a group of cultivators in dark blue robes approached—led by a tall man with streaks of silver in his hair and sharp eyes that narrowed at the sight of Lan Wangji.