What if dying in the Burial Mounds wasn't the end? What if fate pulls on the strings of reality and gives Wei Wuxian infinite chances at life? If this was truly the case, how would Wei Wuxian spend those lives?
Yay! Long chapter that I didn't bother to edit myself. This chapter is the end of the flashback. Its slightly longer than usual. Well, anyways, hope you enjoy!
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Wei Wuxian gasped for air, his chest heaving as if he had just surfaced from the depths of a turbulent ocean. His hands clutched tight around the crumpled sheets beneath him, the fabric twisted and contorted from the intensity of his grip. Beads of sweat dripped relentlessly from his furrowed brow, tracing a path down his face. Goosebumps erupted on his skin, a testament to the lingering effects of the nightmare that had held him captive in its clutches.
"N-nightmare..." he mumbled to himself, his voice barely a whisper in the stillness of the room. Each shaky breath he took felt like a desperate attempt to fill his lungs with much-needed oxygen. The scars of war, both physical and emotional, were still painfully fresh in his mind, etching themselves into his memory with the persistence of a vengeful spirit. They were like resentful energy, dark and unyielding, looping around his limbs and coiling within his very being, keeping him chained within the confines of his own tortured mind.
With trembling hands, Wei Wuxian mustered the strength to lift himself from the bed, his body feeling weak and fragile. The little warmth that had enveloped him moments ago now dissipated, escaping like ethereal vapor slipping through one's fingers. Shivering slightly, he reached for one of the robes that were neatly folded at the corner of his bed, enfolding himself in its comforting embrace.
Sliding open the door that led out of his quarters, Wei Wuxian stepped into the dimly lit corridor, his footsteps echoing softly against the polished floor. His destination was the nearby cleaning station, where he hoped the cool touch of water on his skin would provide some solace, washing away the memories of his troubled dreams. Approaching the basin, he cupped his hands and splashed his face with the revitalizing liquid, feeling the droplets cascade down his features and drip onto the smooth surface below. The sensation brought a momentary respite, a brief interlude of clarity amidst the haze of his restless thoughts.
As he gazed at his reflection in the mirror, Wei Wuxian realized he had been neglecting the gravity of the situation he found himself in. The recent events had left him with little time for thought, his mind consumed by a seriesof uncertainties and unanswered questions. The revivals that had taken place, defying all logic and reason, demanded his attention and understanding. What should have been impossible had become a haunting reality, and only Wei Wuxian stood witness to this law-defying event. Yet, now that he had been stripped of his usual responsibilities and duties, left with nothing but time to wander the hallowed halls of the Cloud Recesses and ponder, he found himself compelled to delve deeper into the secrete of his revivals.
Armed with a sheet of paper, a brush, and stolen ink from Library Pavilion, Wei Wuxian seated himself at a small table. He began the tedious task of drafting up theories, of attempting to make sense of the revivals. Yet, with each stroke of his brush, each word that graced the page, he found himself increasingly discouraged. Each explanation he conjured seemed more preposterous than the last, leaving him defeated.
Revival, he knew, was within the realm of possibility. After all, he himself had been the creator of techniques that defied the natural order. But what he was experiencing now surpassed the boundaries of ordinary reincarnation. The body he currently inhabited was not his original vessel; it was a vessel crafted or sacrificed specifically for him.
Moreover, each time he perished, his soul was forcibly thrust back into this borrowed form. This factor somewhat resembled his own revival technique, in which the summoner will forcefully insert the soul into themselves.
However, very much unlike his own techniques, time rewound with each reincarnation, leaving only Wei Wuxian with the fragments of memories from his previous lives.
Exhaling a weary sigh, Wei Wuxian rubbed his temples, the creases on his forehead deepening with the weight of his thoughts. He had been at it for hours, his mind in pursuit of an elusive answer. Yet, despite his tireless efforts, his theories always looped back to the start, leaving him with nothing but speculation. Frustration gnawed at him, threatening to unravel his resolve. The sheet of paper that had once been filled with meticulously written theories now lay abandoned, forgotten amidst the chaos of his scattered musings.
Weary from the mental exertion, Wei Wuxian's mind began to wander, seeking respite from the labyrinth of his own creation. The abandoned page, once a canvas for his theories, transformed into his personal sketchbook. With a few strokes of his brush, rabbits sprang to life, their forms taking shape with each masterful stroke. Blades of grass swayed gently in the breeze, creating a tranquil environment, a nice contrast to the chaos his mind was just in.
As he immersed himself in the act of creation, Wei Wuxian found solace in the rhythmic dance of his brush against the parchment. A quiet tune escaped his lips, a melody that seemed to have been plucked from the depths of his memories. He couldn't recall where he had first heard it, but its soothing notes wrapped around him like a gentle caress, offering a semblance of peace amidst the storm that raged within.
Suddenly, the creaking sound of a door being opened sliced through the air, jolting Wei Wuxian from his artistic reverie. Panic coursed through his veins as he realized the location of his makeshift refuge – the medical area. He had chosen this secluded spot, hoping to avoid any prying eyes or unwelcome intrusions. Hastily turning around, he found himself face to face with a sight that both relieved and troubled him.
Lan Wangji was there, propped up by his own brother. His whip scars seem to have opened again. Futhermore, Lan Wangji didn't seem to be sober. He was grabbing at nothing and muttering a name under his breath.
The first to notice Wei Wuxian's presence was Lan Xichen, and a mask of forced cheerfulness settled upon his countenance, a feeble attempt to maintain appearances.
With a somber gaze, Lan Xichen motioned for Wei Wuxian to leave the room, his eyes conveying an unspoken understanding. There were matters that needed to be addressed, wounds that required tending, and perhaps conversations that needed to be had – conversations that were best held in private.
As Wei Wuxian reluctantly stepped away, his gaze couldn't help but be drawn to Lan Wangji's injured form. Lan Wangji's muttering became louder and more desperate with each passing second. As Wei Wuxian began walking out the door, he strained his ears to hear what Lan Wangji was saying.
"Wei...Ying.."
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Hello! Hope you enjoyed the chapter. I am lonely and bored so please talk to me T-T. All joking aside, if there is anything that you want to see happen in the story in particular, I am open for suggestions. While I already have a plan, it's still flexible and I would be happy to incorpriate things into the story!
