The Tears of Thirteen Years

Chapter 1

I have become entranced by this amazing story Módào Zǔshī and this story would not leave my head. I just love Lán Wàngjī!

I have only read the parts translated by the amazing Exiled Rebels Scanlations and highly recommend giving it a go.

English is not my first language and I have no Beta. Any mistakes are my failures.

I own none of the artwork. It all belongs to the creators of the anime.

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Note 2021: The amazing ZhanYing12 has translated this story into Spanish! You can find it here: 

https://www.wattpad.com/1095580523-las-l%C3%A1grimas-de-trece-a%C3%B1os-traducci%C3%B3n-esp-notas

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He would never tell anyone what happened that wretched night. The truth that Wei Ying was gone settling in his bones like poison, the grief and the madness born from it, stole any sense he might have had.

He would vaguely remember later, falling to his knees, one hand buried in the black soil of the Burial Mounds, screaming until his throat bled, despair so potent that it took the very breath in his lungs. Wei Ying was gone. The thought a nightmare he desperately wished would end.

Bloodloss, the trauma of his skin flayed and the exhaustion of all but crawling to this mountain of terror and sorrow, brought him closer to the point of no return. The soil was soft beneath his hand, a laugh so carefree echoing on the wind, startling grey eyes so expressive...gone.

Blood ran freely down his skin, soaking his robes a vibrant red. It was fitting, that his blood fell to the lands that saw the last breath leaving that beloved body, the place that was the cradle of his demonic path and a sanctuary for so many. Wei Ying.

His long black hair fell as a curtain around his face, his white ribbon flying into the unforgiving wind, ripping another sound, a low cry from his lips. They had taken his life, murdered him with the joy of their terrible blood lust singing in their veins. They had wanted his death, craved it, planned it...

He should have been here. He should have protected him or at least stood with him at the very end.

When Ying had shouted 'Get Lost!', cruel and bitterly angry, had he been trying to protect him?

Did Wei Ying know his fate? And knowing it had he pushed the one who loved him most of all, away to preserve someone? That was Wei Ying. In madness or sanity, he always sought to protect others.

A softer cry was heard only by the black soil, absorbed into its endless depths of death and loss.

In the midst of this maelstrom of agony, he had a moment of pure clarity. A moment that stretched out into the ether of darkness, in this foreboding place. If Wei Ying was gone...why must he live?

If he gave his life, would he be able to see Wei Ying again?

Would his soul find his? Would he be able to stay with him, whether wanted to or not? His companion in the existence after death? Why must he live, take breath when they had robbed Wei Ying of his life?

Bichen was his blade, imbued with his energy, with his love for Wei Ying. It was a long blade and carefully maintained for the optimal sharpness, a perfect weapon to gift Wei Ying his life.

Wei Ying even at the height of his demonic madness, would have been horrified, he thought. His body found no doubt by his brother, held by the black soil of despair, filthy and clearly dead by his own hand. a final, everlasting disgrace.