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Ba-dum.
Ba-dum.
He hears it constantly. In his sleep (if he’s sleeping), in his dreams (is he dreaming?), drifting aimlessly. Sometimes he feels pain. Great, agonizing pain, that leaves him shaking and screaming. He thinks he’s screaming.
There’s always screaming where he is.
There’s the fleeting glimpses of purple, of unshed tears, of an apology hovering in the corners of tired eyes. Then more pain.
Ba-dum.
Ba-dum.
Other days, it reverberates around in bones, rattling his teeth and feeling the pulse with every intake of breath as his ribs press against his lungs. The days when his blood feels slow and sluggish, pumping tiredly around his body, and when his heart stutters and faults as if it’s going to stop. Those are the days he hates the most, when he wonders if he should just give in to the whispers, the screams of the dead, clamouring for him to join them, join them join them join them…
Ba-dum.
Ba-dum.
In his first months, years….at the beginning, he’d tried running. Running until his legs collapsed, running from hands, from accusing eyes, empty eyes and bodies in a pool of blood. Tried running from the bones that cracked under foot as he attempted to find an exit, the scent of decaying flesh and the hollow feeling in his dantian where a golden core would sit. Before….the fall, it has been swirling with resentful energy, coiling like a snake around his organs and slithering through his meridians. He had coughed up black blood constantly, hiding it behind his sleeves and on his sleeves, letting…someone? Who had he been fooling?
(Wei Ying, where are you?)
Ba-dum
Ba-dum
Then he’d tried crawling, when his legs refused to work, bones underneath his hands and skulls leering close to his face, laughter on the wind. It sounded like Wen Xu, the prick. His knees shredded, shards of bone splintering into his thighs and calves. More agony, more blood. He couldn’t feel it anymore, couldn’t feel the trickle of blood on his skin, on his lips, from his eyes. His hands scrambled uselessly for traction in rotten stomachs, fingers plunging into rotten muscle and slimy sinew, even as he slid further backwards.
(Wei Ying, are you well?)
Ba-dum
Ba-dum
Then the days where he lay still, thinking he was a corpse after all (he was dead he died why was he still breathing?) and had been reanimated for someone’s sick sense of humour. A puppet, dancing on the strings of a cruel master determined to make others laugh at his misfortune. Was this how the others felt? Wen, Lan, Jiang, Nie, Li, Gao, Yao, Wu, Fu….all summoned back from the dead to serve his purpose of defeating a monster, of winning a war for a thankless world. Had they been conscious of their actions? Had Wen Ning been aware when he had punched a hole through the peacock’s chest? Did the Wen corpses cry inside as they cut down their comrades, their families, their sons and daughters? Were they fighting their bodies, screaming for him to stop, but he was deaf to their pleas, only focusing on his lust for blood, the need for revenge?
Did Madame Yu know, when he was brought home to Lotus Pier, that he would be the thing to destroy them all? Was that why she hated him but everyone hated him it was okay the Heart loves you the Heart will take your hate and your loneliness and it will become the loneliness of all the hatred of all he just needed to relax and come to the Heart the Heart will love him…
(Wei Ying, are you safe?)
Ba-dum
Ba-dum
There was always, on the edge of his hearing, the mournful sound of a guqin being plucked, only to be ripped away by howling winds. He had been trying to follow the sound, to walk away from the mountains; seeking, searching, screaming out names until his throat bled and itched and he lost his voice.
There was one that the wind ripped away faster than most, that the Heart beat louder to, to drown out his cries, his begging for this person to come to him. And another, that filled him with such pain, that it felt like a sword being shoved down his throat, or swallowing knives.
He had loved these people with all he had, but now could not recall their names other than the shape of his mouth when he called to them.
There was, too, a small, flickering blue string that was tied around his wrist, tugging off into the distance. He followed its direction, hoping that it would lead him out of this nightmare (was he dreaming maybe he was dreaming he wants to wake up) but no matter how fast or slow he went the string always vanished into a thick smoke, putrid water rose around his feet and it was cold, it was so cold death was cold was he dead was he dreaming but the Heart was warm, the Heart could keep him save and warm and it loved him and he should come to it, he will be protected and his rage will be its rage and the hatred will become their hatred and bitterness but it was hatred that would keep him warm it was anger that keeps him warm its cold but he could be warm…..
(Wei Ying, do you rest?)
Ba-dum
Ba-dum
He should be dead. But he wasn’t. He shouldn’t be breathing. But he was. He deserved to die, not his jiejie, all of his precious little shidi’s and shimei’s. If he was alive, why couldn’t they be alive? He’d trade places in a heartbeat, of his black, selfish heart.
Nothing but resentful energy was flowing through his meridians, he was already halfway to a ghost. Why wasn’t he dying? let me die let me die please let me die there is nothing to live for let me die why wasn’t he dead was this punishment for his jiejie dying and he deserved to die why couldn’t he rest but the Heart would let him rest and
(Wei Ying, are you at peace?)
Ba-dum
Ba-dum
And the rage. Gods, the rage. Some days he just wanted to set the whole world on fire, to become the Yiling Patriarch that everyone feared that he would become. All the rumours that had spread about him, the naysayers screaming out the atrocities that he’d committed. Desecrating graves? He’d only taken the dead from the battlefields, but some days he wondered what it would be like if he’d summoned those who had long passed. Who could dare cut down their fathers, their grandmothers? Who could cut down the visage of their children that had already died? Who could incite the fear of the enemy better than those of their blood, staring at them with lifeless eyes, shuffling to an eerie tune?
He’d thought about what would have happened if he’d raised Madame Yu, several times during the war. She had been so full of rage, of anger and bitterness and resentment. Surely, she would have made a great general of the undead, scything her way through Wen ranks.
And then he’d thought of Jiang Cheng, in that field, choking him in grief, his body no longer obeying his brain, of the tears on his cheeks and the raw emotion in his voice. His didi would never be the same, and whatever resentment he’d held towards Wei Ying would only grow.
If A-Cheng had died, would he have resurrected him again to lead the Jiang into battle, so that jiejie wouldn’t have to? Could he have damned his didi?
no
no no no no no
Only he was allowed to be damned, he belonged here, with the resentful dead and the blood pool and the pile of bones.
He deserved to suffer with the winds that stripped the skin off his face, the shards of stone slicing his arms as he crawled and the stench of rotting flesh filling his lungs until he was choking choking choking and coughing up blood and choking on death choking on bones choking on regrets and his own wild howling grief that he wailed to the spirits that lurked in the shadows…
(Wei Ying, where are you?)
Ba-dum
Ba-dum
Where was he? Where was he? Was he in the same place that he’d started, crawling around in cirlces as the bones and flesh shifted and changed as more dead were brought to the surface? Was he heading deeper into the Heart, when he was actually trying to leave and follow the sound of a guqin? Where was he that time did not make sense, and up was down? Was he sinking deeper into the Heart, instead of going up? Did he need to go up to leave?
He had fallen down, let go, he had let go of someone’s hand and fallen down but the hand was covered in blood, he was going to fall anyway so why did he let go?
Where was he? Where could he go, if not deeper into the Heart?
There, he could rest, and his spirit could be at peace. His spirit would mingle with the other spirits, and together his pain would become their pain, his grief would become their grief, and they would all shed tears with him and share his rage and anger and rage and resentment and the hatred of those who wronged him and didn’t he want revenge on those who had harmed him the Heart would let him the Heart could help him….
“I summon the Yiling Patriarch, to return to this world, to cross the veil, to awaken the dark things in the night.”
He was dead, he couldn’t be summoned, he couldn’t come back he had murdered them all he deserved to die it was his fault his jiejie died it was his fault that Lotus Pier burned it was all his fault but the Heart would forgive him the Heart would let him be at peace it would take his rage and use it against everyone then he could be at peace then….
“I summon the Yiling Patriarch, despised of the world, fuelled by despair of fate and misfortune.”
Ba-dum
Ba-DUM
The beating of the Heart thundered n his ears, in tandem with a sudden outpouring of both petrified and grief-filled wails. There was nothing calling to him, nothing calling him home but the Heart was his Home now, he belonged to the Heart the Heart would not let him leave it would give him revenge and peace and anger and sorrows and power it would give him power to hurt those who hurt him but all he had to do was rest and return to the Heart….
“I summon thee, the YILING PATRIARCH, TO HAVE MY REVENGE!!”
BA-DUM
BA-DUM
Suddenly, the path was clearer. The guqin was louder, and the bones fell away. Something inside him ripped and tore, and there was an unearthly cry of rage as he shot forward, running alone along a single plank bridge, away from the Heart, away from the corpses that clawed at his robes and grabbed at his feet. The blue string glowed in the night, leading away from the mountains when were there mountains and blood and rivers of blood and mountains of rotting corpses screaming that the Heart could give him peace and let him rest in the Blood Pool and all he had to do is return to the Heart it would care for him but he wanted to leave and run run run run run ……
(WEI YING, CAN YOU HEAR ME? WEI YING!)
“……lan zhan.” The broken sound was pulled out of his mouth, the shape of the words familiar and warm on his tongue. Who was Lan Zhan? What was Lan Zhan? Was it someone one who chased him, who desired for his death? Had it been someone who had killed him, who had held him over that cliff-face, all of the people had despised him, it was safer to return to the Heart, the Heart would love him more than any living being could, the Heart could soothe his hurts and let him rest let him rest let him be at peace here the Heart will love your sorrows and share your sorrows and rage and rage and anger and rage
(Wei Ying, where are you? Will you return to me?)
…̷̜̀̑̕.̶̠͛̈̕͠ŗ̶̫̽e̷̥͓̞̐͒t̷̡̙͊͐ṳ̶̪̞̱̏͐r̷̥͓̤̅̽n̷̦̞̝̝̼̐̀ ̴̝̜̐̂͑̕̕t̸̛̼̟̬̬̀̾͜ơ̷͈̑͗͂ ̸͈͛̌̔m̷̪̳̓͂͐e̶̲̪̙͙͒̂
Something cold grabbed his chest, his hair, his feet. Something pulled him back, tried to drag him towards the heart, but the blue light, the blue string around his wrist grew brighter with each step how could he return to the cold, the hate when there was something soft and warm and light within his grasp? There was laughter on the edges of his hearing, so faint he thought that he’d imagined it. Could he ever laugh again or should he just return to the Heart, the Heart would take his pain away the cold the cold the Heart would make him warm and he could….
…the Heart was cold, it could only fathom death and rage and sorrows….
(Wei Ying, are you safe? Wei Ying, are you well?)
Wei Ying, was that his name? Yes, yes it was the name his niang gave him, it was the name that many called him as he grew older, his name was Wei Ying and some called him Wei Wuxian and the Yiling Patriarch and a Twin Pride of Yunmeng and Wei Ying, he was Wei Ying but someone was calling him and….
“THE YILING PATRIARCH, WEI WUXIAN, I SUMMON THEE FOR REVENGE!”
Something squeezed, something popped, his lungs burned, and he drew in a breath of air untainted by death and
despair
and smoke
and
he
s̶͙͚͌̽̐͊͌c̴̤̼͙̰̙͌̄̚̚r̵̛̹̘̟͉̄̋͋e̸̘͎̻͕͍͂͝͠a̵̞̎̀͛̚m̴̥͓͖̘̹͊e̵̱̊̊d̵͙͈̻͍̈́̆͠