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Living so close to the Burial Mounds, one expected to hear the odd noise.
After all, the restless dead were rarely quiet.
But this…
This was something else entirely.
Screams the likes of which they’d never heard echoed down the slopes of the Mounds.
Cries of fear and wails of pain.
It was too much for the people of Yiling, and tired tongues began to wag.
Demonic cultivation, they tsked.
They say he’s building an army of undead.
He’ll take you away and torture you too if you don’t behave, mothers admonished their children.
Can’t you hear the final death cries of those poor souls?
Someone needs to do something, they finally grumbled, no longer even flinching at the sudden shriek that filled the air.
Word eventually reached the Sects, who took it as confirmation that Wei Wuxian needed to be stopped before he could unleash his undead army on the world.
They gathered at the base of the Mounds. Clusters of Jiang purple, Nie green, Lan blue, and Jin yellow almost garish against the lifeless, resentment filled earth.
They hesitated at a wail.
Flinched at a scream.
And yet they pressed on.
The evil of the Yiling Laozu must not continue.
…but the expected undead did not block their way.
Frightened groans filled the air, yet it took far longer than it should’ve for a Jiang disciple to look up.
“In the trees!” he cried, drawing his sword.
But an attack did not come.
The fierce corpses remained perched in the treetops, clinging to the branches like ill-fitting birds.
They paid the cultivators no mind.
“Keep moving,” Jiang Wanyin ordered. “Don’t let your guard down.”
They crept forward, eyes constantly flicking to the unmoving fierce corpses.
“No!” a terrified cry came from further up the path. “Leave me alone!”
The cultivators picked up the pace, sure the voice belonged to one they could save from inevitable death.
“Let me go!” the panicked voice shrieked, and the cultivators took off running, no longer watching the trees.
They stumbled to a bewildered halt, however, when the path opened up into a clearing, home to a few dilapidated huts, with frightened faces peering through gaps in the walls and windows.
There was no sign of any undead…for they were already seeking safety in the treetops.
There was no sign of the dying…for the cries they heard appeared to be coming from the Yiling Laozu himself.
There was, however, a duck.
A mandarin duck.
His colourful plumage a stark contrast to the dusty ground.
His red bill unnervingly bright around the beakful of pale flesh he was currently twisting on Wei Wuxian’s ankle.
The cultivators stared.
The more experienced of the group subtly probed the area for signs of a trick or illusion…only to come up empty handed.
There was no illusion.
No trick.
Just the fearsome Yiling Laozu.
Demonic cultivator feared by all.
On the ground.
Being attacked.
…and subsequently beaten.
By a duck.
…and not a particularly big one at that.
“What the fuck?” Jiang Wanyin muttered.
“Wei Ying?” Lan Wangji called, managing to finally push past his frozen Clan.
The call of his name seemed to draw the Yiling Laozu from his pained wails…but not in the way anyone expected.
Having seemingly forgotten he was the enemy of the cultivation world, and had pushed Lan Wangji, in particular, away. Wei Wuxian scrambled to his feet in a sharp enough movement to dislodge the duck for a moment before flinging himself into Lan Wangji’s arms with a desperate cry of “Lan Zhan, save me!”
And so Lan Wangji found himself with an armful of Wei Wuxian, legs wrapped tight around his waist, too thin arms around his shoulders, and a dusty face pressed against his throat.
The world around them froze.
Except the duck.
Who proceeded to waddle over, muttering in his ducky language.
A quick, sharp nip to an ankle or two had the revered cultivators hastily backing up to allow the duck to make his way to Lan Wangji.
…where he promptly sat down on Lan Wangji’s white boot, preened a few misplaced feathers, and let out a beckoning call.
To the absolute bewilderment of all, his call was answered by what could only be his mate. Who emerged from the scraggly dried undergrowth to make her way to them, two quite frankly adorable ducklings following in her wake.
A few gentle tugs at Lan Wangji’s robes, and the family settled down around his feet.
Silence reigned.
Not even the whispering resentment of the Burial Mounds uttered a single word.
Everyone far too baffled over the current situation.
“Yuan-Yang,” Lan Xichen’s voice was soft, almost reverent, as he broke the silence. “Perhaps we should take this as a sign.”
A knowing look passed between the Sect Leaders of Yunmeng Jiang and Gusu Lan, as the gathered cultivators began to shuffle uncomfortably.
And the duck gave out a single smug quack.