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    Just when he thought he would die here, as one of the unfortunate heroes in the war, someone in black robes appeared in his hazy vision. His long hair moved in the wind. There was a red ribbon twirling among the black threads, apparent from where it held the hair in a loose half ponytail.

    The ghostly resonance of the dizi sounded louder, closer, and the army of the corpses in their surrounding suddenly imploded into rotten blood and ashes.

    Lan Wangji could only watch when the man turned around to him. He remembered that face, he remembered those lips that he had tasted and not been able to forget ever since.


    (With a perfect polite bow and a small smile, the grey-eyed disciple introduced himself, “This one’s name is Wei Ying, courtesy Wuxian. I am the head disciple of our Wen sect.”)

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    02 Nov 2021