12.01 pm Sunday
Song Lan was dreaming.
That was the only explanation which made sense to him.
His present situation was so bizarre, so unimaginable, that his poor brain was struggling to make sense of it and in desperation, it gave him this scenario, one where he was allowed to dream about a future.
Hopes were so important, allowing a person to strive towards a goal and taking that priceless first step. He had seen one of those motivational quotes written by some ascetic, saying 'a journey of a thousand steps begins with just one' and it had remained with him.
His memories were a blur and that would be putting it kindly.
And yet his mind had preserved the softness of a particular smile, of eyes that were filled with hope, and with more, because this was a dream and he was allowed to direct its point.
The face that his mind had kept safe against all kinds of pain, it was right here, offering him promises of more.
He remembers a time, not even sure when it was, that he would deal with struggles of another kind, ones that involved burying feelings that fought for freedom, against his better judgement. And it's only now with a safety net of illusions, that he can let himself hope.
He looks up from the precious blade in his hands, a faithful servant, no...faithful friend, one looked after by the one who held his heart in his possession.
Xiao XingChen has a small smile on his face, and is watching him back. His dark eyes are filled with questions, and Song Lan wants to answer every single one.
If this was a dream, then he was going to take what he can get.
He gravitates towards XiaoXingChen, wanting it, needing it.
To explain, even if this is just a dream, that he wishes it were real.
The promise of something good, without expectations, like a wrapped gift waiting for the one it is intended for, to open it finally.
And then Baoshan Sanren turns around to face them.
"So...shall we?"
Yes, Song Lan thinks, though the question is referring to something else.
Baoshan Sanren is dealing with her own emotions right now.
On the other side of this door is the hateful person whose family is responsible for killing her beloved husband and her precious children.
Immediately comes the thought: but, was it really him?
Did she have any proof?
Her mind wars with itself, as she thinks long and hard.
She might not have proof, but then, it's not like he did anything to stop it happening, either, and inaction made a person just as guilty. Culpable.
She's about to break open the door, and another thought invades: was it right to kill him? Just because she suspected his hand in the deaths of the people that she had loved?
No...she shouldn't kill him, the thought continues, playing with her.
How could she live with herself, knowing she had killed an innocent person? That it was her hand that dealt the killing blow?
The guilt would eat her up alive.
How would she ever face Wei WuXian again?
That single thought snaps her out of it.
She would never refer to A-Ying as Wei WuXian...and these thoughts were not her own.
Through this door, Wen Rouhan was trying to control her via mental manipulation. His sharp words were designed to infiltrate her mind, using her own moral compass to stab into her heart, because compassion was a crucial guiding point. Like targeted barbs burrowing inside the soft flesh of sorrow, to wound her where it would hurt the most.
The startling realisation spurs her into action and she kicks open the door, lamenting the sure fact that if she had the gift of Compulsion, then of course, so did Wen Rouhan.
And he was trying his best to undermine her determination to end him.
All this time, he was buying himself time to escape this ill-fated death.
He was too clever.
She mentally kicked herself for allowing herself to be blindsided, even for a single second. This was a formidable enemy, and she would do better to keep her wits about her.
Anger.
That's what she needed, to focus.
People might say it was a 'bad' emotion, but each one had its uses, and rage was no exception. In this case, it was going to be a valuable tool.
Her shield against him.
She thought about her love telling her to 'move on', and that same anger flooded her mind, endorphins exploding at her giving up the reins of control.
Self preservation had her ducking the spear aimed in her direction as she burst into the room, Wen Rouhan's arm still lifted high after throwing it.
She cut it off with one slice of Heping, a gruesome satisfaction at his howl of pain.
Wen Rouhan jumped back in fear, which rose in his expression, before he masked it.
"Tut, tut, tut, it's not like you can grow another one," she scoffed, advancing menacingly. "You may as well make this easier for both of us, and let me finish the job. Come here." This last part was a command.
If he could do it, then so could she.
One step, two, and she could see him fighting against it, fighting against her control. She could hear the sounds of fighting all around her, and knew that her team was dealing with the other people already here.
They would make light work of it.
Security personnel, most of them were only trained with firearms. It varied from gun to gun, because the human race was hellbent on self destruction for the variety, but regardless, no one was trained in sword combat these days. And that was why they would win.
There was something inexplicably elegant about using a sword. Not only from a Cultivation point, but even aesthetically, it was pleasing. Sure, it required precision and skill, a mastery of one's surroundings and of course, excellent footwork as a foundation, and yet, overruling all of that was the supreme satisfaction of earning the kill.
It was a partnership between the sword and its master.
A wordless agreement that the sword WOULD kill, in exchange for wielding it with respect and an appreciation for the art.
To dispatch vermin like Wen Rouhan to the Nether World with a sword...was far more nourishing to her soul than simply aiming a gun at him and shooting.
Besides, anyone with a brain knew that bullets did fuckall in killing vampires. Unless they were made with pure silver.
She knew the exact moment Wen Rouhan broke free from her mind, that single thread which connected them.
He grabbed a gun, ironically, to shoot her. But the safety catch was on, and he needed a second hand to undo it...which he didn't have.
His hand was currently twitching on the ground between them, and Baoshan Sanren smiled, the smirk of one who knows they will be the Victor in this life or death contest.
The panic in his eyes was worth it.
She advanced, saying mockingly, "what are you gonna do, throw it at me?"
He did, and she laughed, delighted.
"TO ME!" He bellowed, and immediately, three guards dropped their fight with Xiao XingChen and Song Lan, running to stand in front of him, guns raised.
"SHOOT HER! WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?" Wen Rouhan roared out of frustration.
Baoshan Sanren realised that he had inadvertently compelled them and unless he gave them a direct order, they weren't going to do anything.
The hail of bullets making sparks fly upon impact with both of her swords as she effortlessly destroyed them midair, stepping forward and backing him up against the walls of blinking lights.
"Do you think this is my first time?" She said, calmly breaking through his control of the pawns in between them, as she made the guards turn around and point their guns towards him.
His eyes were large and round, wide with anxious fear.
She made them shoot, hoping each bullet that pierced his thick skin hurt like a bitch. It wouldn't kill him, but then, that wasn't the point.
"Your sons are dead," she added, accruing points for emotional damage.
"I know. I saw them die." He waves his single hand towards the computer screens. He doesn't seem to care.
Baoshan Sanren isn't stupid; she knows he's going to try and distract her.
Each moment was crucial.
Each moment could give the advantage to the other, a fickle lover with no loyalty.
GO AND STAND IN THE CORNER, she compels the three unfortunate guards, who move to comply immediately, leaving just her facing a bleeding Wen Rouhan.
DIE, she thinks, bringing both blades, Peace and Justice, to swing across and cut off his head at the cross section.
But she didn't see the knife holster attached to his severed limb, nor registering that it was vacant now. The adrenaline in her system didn't even allow her to feel the pain of the unforgiving steel as it plunged into her chest.