Sixteen years ago.
I stood, with my flute in hand. I edged close to the cliff, I'd fall and meet my end. I wanted that.
Them fighting and shedding blood played before my eyes, my mind had blackened, it mattered no more. The bleakness of reality seeped through wounds that would never heal, I had seen too much.
They fought, each in want of the Stygian Tiger Amulet. Swords clashed one another, blood dripped from the wounded. Necks were slashed and so were faces. Hands were cut, each stopping the other from grabbing the Amulet.
I could only stand and watch, the tension, the raging cries of combat, and swords, dropping to the ground, as dead as their owners.
My eyes were moist; I vomited mouthfuls of blood. He was right, everything came into effect: the death of my sister, my crooked ways, the hatred my brother had for me, which was expressed through actions and tears, never words. I couldn't bear being taunted.
They say my wickedness led me here. I'd say wicked fate had led us all here.
Matters had come to the brink of this. This bloodshed, this destruction, this rampant and mindless kill and avenge cycle. But I knew no better. For I was the infamous Yiling Patriarch, known for wicked tricks and implications of inferior and crafty methods. Known for founding the demonic path of cultivation: the immoral path. And now where I stood. Was I to be proud?
The past, how pleasant it was. When I knew a safe place, rooftops and liquor bottles and my sister's home cooked soup. Where I'd wander nights worriless of dangers. A free and untamed soul.
I guess we all have to pay a price to live. So what cost does death bring?
I did not look back, I let myself go and let myself fall. It was how it was going to be.
Someone held my hand and stopped me from falling, I got stunned, I looked at the hand that held me, then I looked up at the person, it was him. He was bloodied and tired as everyone else, except, he seemed unbothered by the cruelty happening around him and I, he only looked at my face and bled more blood. He refused to let me go.
"Lan Zhan."
"Let go." I wanted this no more. I wanted to be freed.
I did not realize when my brother crept upon Lan Zhan, his sword dripped off blood, yet he seemed not quenched enough, he looked at my face, the hatred, the frustration, it was all undeniable. But I only smiled.
"Jiang Cheng."
"Wei Wuxian..." "GO TO HELL!" I closed my eyes and waited for him to finish this. He knew me so well.
He raised his sword high and plunged it into my hand, causing me to fall, to my death, the final stage.
As I fell, the last thing I thought of would be what I felt, all throughout my life, and if Lan Zhan and I'd ever meet again, in the next life. Probably not, a saint like him should never associate with an immoral dog like me.
Whatever the cost, I had already paid the price, tenfold. I prayed never to return again.
**AUTHOR'S NOTES**
'If you liked this story, you can check out other works by me such as, 'Pretty Boys Don't Cry' and 'That Glamorous View On Me!'