Beads of cold sweat traced down Kaolin's brow despite the chill in the night air at the Yinlin sanctuary. His breath was laboured and irregular, and though his body lay still beneath layers of sheets, the cost of a power never meant to be wielded by a mortal threatened to claim the very life it had bestowed upon him.
At his bedside, Wei Lan sat as still with his fists trembling despite his rigid posture, eyes locked on the pale, restless face of his master. Beside him stood Guo Lan, one hand hovering above Kaolin's chest, fingertips aglow with qi. He had stood like that for minutes now, unmoving, reading the flow of energy within Kaolin, or more precisely, the disturbance of the energy within.
At last, he drew back his hand. His expression was grim. "His qi is in imbalance," he murmured. "Severely. If we don't restore it soon… Master might never fully recover."
Wei Lan leaned in. "Imbalance?" Then, more urgent at once, as another thought crossed his mind. "But why is he like this in the first place?" And when Guo Lan hesitated. "Tell me everything you know."
Guo Lan looked away, reluctant to tell the truth, knowing very well Wei Lan's rash character, but as he realised the other was not going to let him off the hook so easily, he finally caved in and spoke up.
"It's a curse," he said quietly. "A consequence of using the Forbidden Arts to push his cultivation past its natural limits. The arts require a sacrifice, the devouring of spirits – the eviller, the better. But it seems like Master resisted, but only after feeding its spiritual core more than once."
"Are you saying he—but why? Why not feed the curse again if…" Wei Lan's voice trailed off—"I don't understand…"—as he shifted his gaze back to Kaolin, although his words were directed at Guo Lan. "What's… what's happening to him?"
"It seems this has cost him thousands of years' worth of cultivation." Guo Lan said, adding. "At this rate, Master will…"
"No," Wei Lan cut in. "He won't die. I won't let him." He sought Guo Lan's narrowing eyes laced with confusion. "Tell me, how do we stop it? How do we restore him and keep that price from being paid?"
Guo Lan's brows drew together. He didn't answer immediately, as if weighing his options, before finally speaking. Although he knew what he was about to say was out of the question, dangerous even, he wanted to help Kaolin as much as Wei Lan wanted.
"If one of us… takes on the burden instead, bears the weight of the Forbidden Arts and devours the spirits in his stead, then perhaps… perhaps Master might be spared. But even so, this is no light matter, Wei Lan—"
"Kaolin saved my life. I owe everything to him, even this place and the Yinlin Revels. I owe it all to him." He took his eyes off Kaolin's still form and Guo Lan's concerned eyes. "Let me bear that burden."
"You're sure about this, Wei Lan? Not everyone can devour spirits freely, and those who do… they change. What if you degenerate into a devil?"
"It doesn't matter…"
"What about Master? If he wakes up and learns—"
Wei Lan turned to look at Kaolin. The faint rise and fall of his chest, the stiffness in his features, even in unconsciousness. He looked as if he were trapped in a bloody battle, as if he were holding back something far darker than that curse trying to claim his life, and it stirred something in him – something he had no words to describe.
"I said, it doesn't matter," he said, meeting Guo Lan's wary eyes once more, pleading with him to reconsider. "Just tell me if you can bind the curse to me or not."
There was a prolonged pause after this, one that stretched on for far too long, before Guo Lan gave a single nod. He knelt at Kaolin's side and began the transfer. His hands moved in slow formations, fingers twisting through the air as a glowing seal formed between the three of them.
Not too long afterwards, a dark mist rose from Kaolin's body, swirling through the air like smoke and surging towards Wei Lan. The moment the curse touched him, Wei Lan's body jolted, and he bent forwards with a cry and coughed blood, and his face twisted in agony unlike any other, one he met head-on and endured, his veins bulging and trembling under its vile force.
Guo Lan's hands trembled, ready to break the transfer of the curse, but Wei Lan reached out and seized his sleeve, gasping, upon seeing him hesitate, shouting as the curse relentlessly ate at his heart, igniting a savage hunger within the depths of his soul.
"You fool! If you stop now, I might truly not make it! Guo Lan! Finish it—NOW!"
Guo Lan clenched his jaw as his eyes welled with tears upon seeing the pain Wei Lan was in, before drawing a deep breath and steadying himself. Wei Lan was right. If he stopped now, the curse might not only claim one life, but two. So he resumed the transfer, this time faster and more focused, as if Wei Lan's will had lent him the strength to carry on. Then, with a final formation, the last of the dark mist entered Wei Lan's body, and the seal around them faded.
Wei Lan collapsed forwards once more, barely caught by Guo Lan, who helped him down onto a nearby stool. He was pale, his lips stained red, and his entire body was shaking violently. But through it all, his eyes were still locked on Kaolin, and a faint smile played at his bloodied lips. Even though the pain pulsed through every vein in his body, something else rose above it now – a memory so vivid that it felt as if it had only happened yesterday.
He had been just a boy then, hardly eighteen years old, and completely broken and lost with no purpose in life or will left to carry on. Yet it was in that brittle moment, when he believed his life was over before it had ever begun, that Kaolin found him and brought him back to life.
The trees of Yinlin had loomed over him like giants that day, the branches rustling in mourning as he lay dying beneath their shade, the last of his clan's bloodline, savagely murdered by the Jinlian Sect for siding with the Immortals of Han-Yue, who were defeated. He lost his entire family, watched his friends and kin become slaughtered before his eyes, and was so overwhelmed with shame for surviving alone that he couldn't bear the thought of staying alive on his own.
His body had been torn and bled all over, his spirit even more so. He remembered the moment he thought death would claim him, every harrowing detail, until he saw a figure appear from the patches of fog like a beacon of hope… or perhaps just a desperate excuse to cling to life as it seeped from every open wound.
Kaolin paced with hands folded behind his back in that effortless manner he always did, untouched by the chaos of the world. That gesture, that stillness, it would become the most defining image Wei Lan would carry for the rest of his life of Kaolin.
Kaolin had crouched before him without saying a word, the howling wind tugging faintly at his dark robes and whispering through the naked trees. His gaze has lingered on Wei Lan's mangled form, studied his torn face and body, shattered by the carnage he had fled. Yet he said not a word, not a single word.
Even now, Wei Lan could not understand why Kaolin had only watched him in silence back then, offering neither comfort nor judging him for surviving on his own. Perhaps, in hindsight, he had simply waited… waited to hear from Wei Lan's own lips that he was not ready to surrender to death, not yet ready to give up on his life, and become one with the wind.
And that was exactly what he did. Just as Kaolin began to rise, he had lurched forwards with what remained of his strength and will to live, tears tracing clear lines through the blood and grime on his face—"Save… me."—and he had seized Kaolin's robes in a trembling grip, staining them crimson. "I must live… I must… kill them… all of them…"
Kaolin had looked at him quietly for a long moment, and then asked, not unkindly, but with an otherworldly calmness, one that Wei Lan would never forget even if he wanted to, striking deeper than any wound ever could: "If revenge is what you truly seek, then stop begging for your life and rise. In here," Kaolin's hand pressed gently against Wei Lan's chest. "In here," he said softly, "there's no beat. So tell me, how can I save a heart drowned in a sea of shadows?"
Wei Lan had stilled, his hand frozen mid-air before letting go of Kaolin's robes, unable to respond, words failing him. Right then, without a word, Kaolin stood up and turned his back to him, walking away. And for one chilling heartbeat, he thought it was all over, that he would die alone and bleed into the cold earth only to become one with it.
But then, Kaolin had stopped, turned back, and retraced his steps with the same calm stride as before. Without hesitation, he knelt and pressed his palm to Wei Lan's chest, so that amber qi flowed through him and life returned with it, along with a burning pain that, at least, meant he still lived.
When the healing was done, Kaolin lifted his head and met his weary eyes with a firm gaze, relaying the very words that had defied time and space, words Wei Lan carried deep in his heart, letting them shape the very core of his being, guiding every step, every breath, every choice as the sole survivor of his clan:
"Taking on Jinlian is no small matter, especially not for a mere boy," he had said. "Grow up. And grow fast. Cultivate. Learn. But above all… survive. Only then, perhaps, will you have the strength and chance to truly avenge your kin."
With those final words, Kaolin rose and vanished into the depths of the Yinlin woods. Wei Lan followed close behind him, refusing to let him slip away from sight, and Kaolin did not stop him. Thus began a lifelong journey of friendship and camaraderie: Kaolin walking ahead, lost in his thoughts, and Wei Lan quietly following, eyes fixed on his master's back and folded hands, vowing that one day they would stand as equals and he would find a way to repay his debt. It seemed that the day had finally arrived.
And now, as he looked at the man who saved his life and gave him a purpose to carry on, pale and weakened in his bed, something stirred in his chest, one of gratitude and a burning desire to repay what he owed to his master and bosom friend, even if Kaolin never quite saw him as one.
But it did not matter what Kaolin thought of him or how angry he would become once he woke up from this deadly slumber and learnt what Wei Lan had done to lighten his burden, even if only a little, for no anger could break the bond fate had tied between them.
He then wiped the blood spilling from his cracked lips with the back of his hand, a bittersweet smile cutting through the ache and the hunger clawing at his insides. "Now we're even," he whispered, "truly… even."