XiCheng: The Last Lotus [AU- OMEGAVERSE]

38

"I'm not an expert or anything... but I think your water just broke."

The rays of victory shone down on the battlefield- illuminating the bodies and corpses below. The gentle breeze drifted through the air, carrying with it- the smell of carnage and death. The tattered remains of red robes littered the ground as flags fell from towering heights. The roar of the crowd strummed through the air- the excitement building as soldiers ransacked the Nightless City. The cries of relief echoed into the heavens- the sheer joy and disbelief of finally winning. The decapitated head of Wen Ruohan hung high up on the pike- the eyes ripped from its socket.

Clans scurried this way and that- the grey of Qinghe Nie leading the siege. Cultivators sank to their knees, the long wait finally over. Families reunited in a kaleidoscopic of screams and howls- their relief clear in their voices.

Leaders flocked one another- all trying to hoard the best spoils of war for themselves.

Amidst the chaos, a lone figure was seen rushing through the courtyards- his normally placid and calm demeanor- now hurried and hasty. His blue ribbon trailed after him, the soft ends floating in the wind.

At his side, his sword was stained bloody and red- the brilliant light of Shuoyue dimmed by the carnage that tainted its blade.

In front of him, his uncle stood- tall and unwavering, with an unusually worried look of concern plastered across his stern features.

"Xichen," the old man greeted, nodding in approval at the low bow his nephew executed.

"Uncle," the young sect leader of Gusu murmured, straightening. "Uncle, I trust you will take care of our disciples in my absence?" he asked, letting the question hang in the air between them.

It was somewhat of a test- to see if his uncle would allow him to prioritize his beloved over whatever duty he held to his clan.

Although- not much of one. Because no matter what Lan Qiren said- the honorable Zewu Jun would no doubt rush to his husband's side- regardless of his uncle's approval or not.

Sensing this, the older man gave a curt nod of his head, letting the concern wash over his face.

"Be careful, Xichen. You are drained," he warned, noticing the slight crookedness of Lan Xichen's ribbon- a clear testament to how tired the young man was.

Xichen bowed, his hands coming up to overlap one another.

"Yes uncle," he murmured, the mask carefully falling back into place.

While it was highly unlikely that an untrained eye could see the tiredness that seemed to radiate from Zewu's Jun's very being- it was still very much possible.

If Lan Qiren could do it, why couldn't someone else?

And Lan Xichen couldn't afford to show any signs of weakness yet- especially not when he was still so new to this position of power.

He bowed again, reaching for Shuoyue.

"This one humbly bids uncle goodbye," he said, nodding his head in inclination.

Mounting his sword, Lan Xichen gave one last look at his disciples, before immediately instructing his sword to move in the direction of Qinghe. Luckily for him- Qinghe rested at the foot of Qishan- making it no more than half a day's journey to get there.

He flew as fast as he could without overwhelming himself- his body straining at the precipice of exhaustion. He was toeing the line between life and death- his tired mind only a hairbreadth away from passing out.

A deadly mistake- no doubt, as he was currently flying thousands of miles up in the air.

Lan Xichen closed his eyes, relaxing slightly as the wind whipped through his hair- running imaginary fingers in the soft, silky locks.