Promise and Betrayal: A Mo Dao Zu Shi (the Untamed) Story

Chapter 17

My brother is alive. Alive. Well. Standing below me. Grasping a flute. Not a sword. The source of the haunting flute and the resentful energy. Commanding spirits. Not a sword. No sword, he holds no sword, what is he doing, where is his sword, why is he holding a flute, where has he been, gods, where has he been, what has he been doing, if he was alive why did he not send word—

Wen Chao's scream causes my rushing thoughts to grind to a stop. I blink, jolting back to reality. Wei Ying continues to play his haunting melody, the sound eerie and strange. The longer he plays, the more Wen Chao shouts. As we watch, the former leader of the Wen Clan's army shrinks more and more into himself, his hood drawn low over his face, his shoulders shaking with fear and hysteria.

I glance at Lan Zhan. His expression is unreadable, even for me. The only thing I glimpse is a tightness in his eyes, a tightness that could be confusion, anger, or both. "Should we stop him?" I whisper softly. We do not know what Wei Ying will do next. I am torn between watching and waiting, or saving the life of someone who would never save mine. Yet, I do not believe that Wen Chao should be killed this way. If anything, his death at least deserves to be quick and painless. But I hesitate because it is my brother--he is my family, spiritual or not.

"It is not within the Lan Clan's principles to torture," Lan Zhan says, equally as soft. "We should." But he makes no move either.

Jiang Cheng stares at both of us. "Wen Chao? You want to give mercy to Wen Chao?" he scoffs. But, like us, he dares not move in either direction. We are rooted to the roof, torn between our curiosity and our morals.

While we watch, not daring to move, Wei Ying steps toward Wen Chao's quivering form, his flute music intensifying to a climax. The spiritual shackles of smoke tighten around Wen Chao. Wei Ying finishes his piece, slowly bringing the flute down to his side. He kneels down, drawing Wen Chao's face to his. They stare each other dead in the eye, prey quivering in the face of a predator. Yet Wei Ying bears no smile, no trace of pleasure. Only anger; anger and revenge. He whispers something to Wen Chao. Wen Chao cries out, squirming in Wei Ying's grip, but he cannot escape. After a final, violent attempt to break free, Wei Ying lets go and begins playing his flute again.

This time Wen Chao backs into a faraway corner, almost out of sight. Wei Ying corners, him, his music climaxing once again, then stops. This time he does not kneel. Wen Chao shakes uncontrollably now. I hold no love for the man, but I want to believe deep in my heart that Wei Ying would not kill him in such a cruel way. The Wei Ying I knew may not have been honorable, but he held morals that he stubbornly upheld. I desperately hope that those morals are still in place.

Wen Chao stills at Wei Ying's touch. As he straightens, Wen Zhuliu breaks free of his bonds, lunging toward Wei Ying. I see it before it happens. So does Lan Zhan. As one, we jump through the hole in the ceiling, landing deftly in front of Wei Ying, our swords drawn. We stare down Wen Zhuliu, the threat of violence clear on our faces. If Wei Ying is surprised at our sudden intervention, he does not show it.

"Do not touch Wei Ying," I growl softly. Lan Zhan says nothing. He does not need to.

Wen Zhuliu, recognizing the threat we pose, backs away to take a seat. Once he is seated, Jiang Cheng drops in from the roof. He gives his foster brother a once-over, but spares no other glance. Perhaps we all know that now is not the time for that conversation.

"Did you kill him?" I ask Wei Ying, turning to pull Wen Chao's hood back. I grimace at the sight of the welts, quickly replacing his hood. I do not know what to make of this new Wei Ying, a Wei Ying that wields a flute, that kills with music, that inverts talismans, that emits such wicked energy. But I do not know what happened to him during these months, and I trust him. I will save my judgements for later.