[Mo Dao Zu Shi x Reader]
──❝Lotus Serenade❞──
In the enchanting world of "The Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation," amidst the chaos and intrigue of ancient cultivation sects...
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──❝Echoes of the Chenqing: Haunting Melodies in Moonlit Reverie❞──
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❝Wen Clan ran amok, and people suffered. Righteous Clans launched the Sun shot Campaign to oppose Wen. Wei Wuxian, the Yiling Patriarch, contributed a lot during the campaign. However due to his demonic path and great power some feared him, and had him set up. He was thusly despised by the public. His home destroyed by his beloved brothers and he died miserably.❞
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〖 The 20th Year Of The Reign of Xuanzheng 〗
− The Year Of Gengchen −
In the heart of the nocturnal embrace, the moon held court, reigning high above the world. Its luminous tendrils caressed the landscape, painting an otherworldly tableau upon the towering canopy of trees. The night sky, a canvas of profound depths, wore a cloak of inky blue and profound gray, the hues so vivid they appeared almost palpable—a tapestry woven by the celestial realm. The moon's soft radiance, like a celestial spotlight, draped the surroundings in an ethereal luminescence, a mystical aura dancing upon the earth below. The heavens above seemed to possess a tactile quality, their ominous yet captivating presence beckoning as if one could indeed stretch out and touch the enigmatic expanse that spanned above. The canvas of the night sky bore no celestial jewels, devoid of the usual twinkling stars that adorned the inky black expanse. Instead, ominous clouds loomed overhead, their weighty presence veiling any glimpse of the ethereal beauty that lay beyond.
The trees stood tall and imposing, their branches outstretched like skeletal fingers in the eerie darkness, their leaves rustling softly in the cool night air. The silence was almost overwhelming, broken only by the distant caws of crows and the occasional rustling of unseen creatures in the underbrush. A shroud of darkness, tinged with an air of foreboding, eclipsed the once-starry spectacle, leaving the heavens cloaked in an impenetrable obscurity.
The forest exuded an otherworldly chill capable of sending shivers down the spine of any wandering soul. Yet, for a certain clan, navigating these woods was an ingrained instinct. Their lithe figures glided effortlessly through the tangled foliage, honed by years of training and an acute survival intuition. This tight-knit assembly, numbering no more than twenty, advanced cautiously. Some bore lanterns that pierced the thick mist enveloping the forest floor, the fog seeming to shift and draw closer with every stride they took. A sudden cessation in their movement abruptly shattered the tranquility. A lantern plummeted with a resonant thud, the ensuing silence charged with an electric tension. One Wen member was a central figure, locked in a moment, his eyes expanding, almost bulging from their sockets, as if absorbing the very essence of the unfolding scene.
