Returns To Innocent

Chapter 1: The Curse of Innocence

The war had ended, but the echoes of battle still haunted the lands of the cultivation world. The once vibrant fields of Gusu were now silent witnesses to the aftermath, strewn with the scars of conflict. Though peace had finally dawned, it came with the price of shattered sects, lost lives, and bonds strained to their limits.

Amidst this fragile calm, the leaders of the major sects convened at the Cloud Recesses to discuss the terms of peace and rebuilding. The sun cast a gentle glow over the Lan sect’s pristine courtyards, as if nature itself sought to soothe the wounded spirits of those within. Smiles were tentative but sincere, and there was a sense of shared relief—a moment to breathe, to begin anew.

Lan Wangji, the ever-stoic Second Jade of Lan, stood beside Wei Wuxian as they overlooked the gathering. The war had been cruel to both of them, yet it had also paved the way for them to stand together once more, shoulder to shoulder. Wei Wuxian's laughter, light and unburdened, echoed across the halls of the Cloud Recesses, a sound that had been absent for far too long. Lan Wangji watched him with eyes full of unspoken affection, a quiet smile tugging at the corners of his usually impassive face.

The two men had fought side by side, bridging the chasms of their past misunderstandings. Together, they had vanquished their enemies and brought an end to the chaos that had plagued their world. And now, in the stillness of post-war tranquility, they found themselves free to explore the bond that had been tested and strengthened by the fires of conflict.

However, peace in the cultivation world was as delicate as a spider’s web—beautiful but fragile. Not everyone celebrated the end of the war, and some nursed grudges that ran deeper than any truce could heal.

The night of the final banquet was one of joy and bittersweet remembrance. Wei Wuxian, always the life of the party, had coaxed even the sternest of cultivators into a few rounds of wine. Lan Wangji watched from his place, his serene expression softening every time his gaze landed on Wei Ying. There was a warmth in his heart—a warmth that only Wei Ying could kindle.

But as the night drew on, an uneasy feeling settled over the Cloud Recesses. It was subtle at first, a faint tremor in the spiritual energy that wove through the sect’s wards. Lan Wangji felt it before anyone else, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. He excused himself from the banquet, his steps swift and purposeful as he followed the trail of disturbance.

Wei Wuxian, ever attuned to Lan Zhan’s moods, noticed his departure. Concern flickered in his eyes as he set down his cup and followed. He found Lan Wangji near the secluded library pavilion, his expression unusually tense.

“What’s wrong, Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian asked, his voice light but edged with worry.

Before Lan Wangji could respond, the air around them twisted. A gust of cold wind swept through the pavilion, scattering leaves and dimming the lanterns that lined the path. An eerie whisper echoed in the night, carrying with it the remnants of a forgotten curse—a curse born from the bitterness and hatred of those who could not accept the war’s end.

A figure shrouded in dark robes appeared before them, face obscured by a veil of shadow. Wei Wuxian immediately stepped forward, his instincts sharpened by years of combat. But before he could draw his sword, a spell was cast—a curse ancient and powerful, its words dripping with malice.

Lan Wangji moved to intercept, but the curse struck with a speed and ferocity that even he could not evade. The dark energy enveloped him, seeping into his very core. Wei Wuxian reached out, his heart hammering in his chest, but he was too late. The figure vanished as swiftly as it had appeared, leaving behind only the fading echoes of a sinister laugh.

Lan Wangji staggered, his form flickering as if caught between two worlds. Wei Wuxian’s heart clenched in fear as he rushed to his side, catching him before he could fall. But as he looked into Lan Wangji’s eyes, he realized something was terribly wrong. The cold, sharp gaze of the cultivator he knew was gone, replaced by wide, innocent eyes filled with confusion and fear.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian called, his voice cracking. But the man before him did not respond with the calm, steady presence he had come to know. Instead, a small, frightened voice answered.

“W-Wei Ying?”

Wei Wuxian’s breath caught in his throat as he pulled back to see Lan Wangji, not as the formidable cultivator, but as a child no older than five. His robes hung loosely on his tiny frame, and his golden eyes, once filled with wisdom, now shimmered with tears.

“Lan Zhan…” Wei Wuxian whispered, his mind reeling. He scooped the child into his arms, cradling him close. The boy clung to him, burying his face in Wei Wuxian’s shoulder, seeking the comfort of the only person he recognized in this unfamiliar form.

The curse had taken Lan Wangji’s strength, his memories, his very identity, leaving behind only the essence of who he had been before the burdens of his lineage and duty had weighed him down. All that remained was a scared little boy who loved Wei Ying with all his heart.

As the dawn broke over the Cloud Recesses, Wei Wuxian stood at the threshold of a new journey—one filled with uncertainty and peril. He tightened his hold on the child in his arms, a fierce determination settling in his chest.

No matter the cost, Wei Wuxian vowed to protect Lan Zhan, to keep him safe from those who would see him harmed, and to find a way to lift the curse that had stolen away the man he loved. And perhaps, in caring for this small, innocent version of Lan Wangji, he would finally heal the wounds of their past and forge a bond that transcended even the cruellest of curses.

For now, all that mattered was the boy in his arms, and the quiet, unspoken promise that Wei Ying would always be there for him, no matter what.

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