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Chapter Text

Chapter One

A Legacy Written in Flame

In the cultivation world, Omegas did not wield blades.

Their paths were gentler, their cultivation drawn from the elegant and the ephemeral—paint dancing across silk, songs carried on the strings of guqin, calligraphy ink bleeding poetry into scrolls. They danced. They sang. They cultivated grace like it was a spiritual root.

Power, for an Omega, came not from strength—but from beauty. From discipline. From stillness.

Every spring, the great sects gathered to celebrate this dance of alliances and aesthetics. The Spring Conference was more than a meeting; it was a stage. Alphas came adorned in status, Omegas in promise. Marriages were arranged beneath cherry blossoms. Bonds of jade and silk were tied behind curtained chambers.

But the soft veil of tradition cloaked something harsher beneath.

In this world, an Omega must be mated by sixteen. Not custom—necessity, they claimed. A body filled with maturing yin became unstable, radiant to the unnatural. Unmated Omegas drew the dark: restless spirits, Fierce Corpses, resentment born of death and hunger. And to prevent that chaos, the cultivation world set down the rule to have omegas mated before sixteen. As for those who failed to find a mate, only one fate awaited them: The Mating Run.

A ritual that had never been reformed. One Omega, a chosen forest, and a horde of Alphas who would hunt them under the guise of destiny. Whoever reached them first would mark them. Claim them. Bind them.

There was no dignity in it. Only possession. And most sects dared to call it sacred. 

But not Yunmeng Jiang.

From ancestral times, the Jiang clan had stood against the Run. Their Omegas were no delicate blossoms. They were swordcalloused, sun-warmed, and loud. They trained alongside Alphas, sweat and bruises indistinguishable. They learned the blade before they learned balance. It was said that a Yunmeng Omega could hold their own against seasoned cultivators—and win.

And their fiercest myth was a woman who had torn that ritual down.

Her name was Cangse Sanren.

Once, over a decade and a half ago, the world had forced her into a Run. She was eighteen—brilliant, unbound, already a disciple of the famed Immortal Baoshan Sanren. And she had fallen in love. Not with a clan heir or a renowned Alpha, but with Wei Changze, a servant-born cultivator whose name the world refused to remember.

They declared their bond in full daylight.

And the world balked.

How could such a rare Omega, powerful and wild, be allowed to waste herself on a no-name Alpha?

So the decree came.

A Mating Run.

Thirty Alphas entered.

More than half fled the forest before a day was out.

The rest, she brought to their knees. One by one. Until the Sect Leaders called the Run off—not out of mercy, but fear.

She married Wei Changze. And their legend endured.

But legends are not protection. They are warnings. And the world forgets too quickly.

Because now, it is her son—Wei Wuxian—who is being forced into the same ritual.

Lotus Pier did not wake joyfully that morning.

The sun rose silver and cold over the lake, and the wind smelled of incense and salt. The wooden bridges echoed with the steps of unfamiliar boots. From early light, disciples had stood by the outer gates, taking names, cataloging arrival after arrival.

It was not the Spring Conference that brought them.

It was the Run.

One Omega. One prize. Sixty-two Alphas already signed, and more yet to arrive.

The two disciples noting names exchanged a glance after the sixty-second entry. There were smaller sects coming now—sects that had never participated in previous Runs. Even wandering cultivators, daring the scrutiny of the Great Clans for a chance to lay claim to Wei Wuxian.

Because he was not just an Omega.

He was the Head Disciple of Yunmeng Jiang, undefeated in training matches since the age of twelve. He was a genius in cultivation, the inventor of talismans and traps that had brought in both profit and political envy. He had never picked up a paintbrush, but could carve an array blindfolded. He could pin down a rogue cultivator in one breath, and drink five jugs of wine in the next.

Whoever claimed him would not just earn a mate.

They would earn a legacy. A weapon. A mind that could shape the future of any sect.

And so they came.

By boat, by sky, by foot.

As night fell heavily over Lotus Pier, the guests that had arrived through the day were settled—some in the manor, some in the city, others in boats rocking gently on the dark lake. Yunmeng buzzed louder than any Spring Conference before it, though not with joy. The number of participants had far exceeded expectations. Sixty-two Alphas, perhaps more by morning. Too many. Far too many.

In a secluded wing of the main manor, a lone candle flickered. Shadows trembled against a folding screen where robes hung in careless knots. A low table lay buried beneath brushes and inkstones, talismans half-finished, talismans smudged. On the footboard of the bed, two stick figures scrawled in charcoal leaned together in a ridiculous kiss.

And tangled in his quilt, Wei Wuxian turned restlessly.

Sweat dampened his temples. His brows pinched tight. Fingers clutched white-knuckled at the blanket. He looked—nervous. Afraid.

But it wasn’t fear of tomorrow.

No, tomorrow he had no reason to fear. He was Cangse Sanren’s son, with a sword in his hand and a mind sharper than steel. If he could not walk out of a Run unclaimed, then who could? That legacy was his to uphold, and he would not flinch.

No—what disturbed his sleep was something else.

A dream.

A nightmare.

A memory.

—Chains biting into his wrists.

—A voice, cold and low, reciting rules like scripture.

—The taste of blood and incense.

—A mark burning at his throat.

—The echo of a child’s laughter, cut short by screams.

Wei Wuxian jerked, breath catching. His body twisted deeper into the quilt, as though the fabric could shield him.

And still the visions came.

Lan Wangji’s face, pale in moonlight.

Hands pressing him down.

A hall of scornful eyes.

Lotus Pier burning.

A man in golden robes, smiling.

The Burial Mounds—resentful spirits screaming.

Wei Wuxian’s own screams, muffled by dirty robes clenched between his teeth.

A newborn’s cry.

The shrill wail of a flute.

Wen-robed figures.

Bodies strewn like broken dolls.

Hundreds of cultivators—gold of Jins, white of Lans, green of Nies…

But no red of Wens.

No purple of Jiangs.

Wei Wuxian’s lips parted on a gasp.

In the flicker of the candlelight, his shadow trembled against the wall, stretched long and thin, as if it too were bound.

Tomorrow awaited.

But tonight, his dreams burned with something far darker than fear.

Dawn broke in a spill of color across the horizon—pink and gold bleeding into the mist that curled from the waters of Yunmeng. Lotus petals unfurled with the first touch of light, the lake breathing in rhythm with the world’s waking.

Lotus Pier stood proud against it all, regal in its purple and silver banners, the carved railings glinting with dew. It should have been a morning like any other: disciples gathering on the training grounds, their laughter loud, the clash of wooden swords echoing sharp and bright.

But the grounds were silent.

There was no morning drill.

No da shixiong to lead them, laughing louder than the rest, tousling hair and scolding sloppy stances.

No da shixiong with stories of monsters and heroes spun so vividly that the youngest cried into their sleeves before being pulled into a warm hug and a mischievous grin.

No da shixiong who could never pass a street child without offering a hand, who collected strays as if compassion itself were discipline.

Today, the beloved Wei Wuxian—pride and joy of Yunmeng Jiang, heir in all but blood—was no teacher, no protector, no brother.

Today, he was prey.

Released into the forest like a beast to be chased, hunted by more than sixty Alphas. His only crime: being sixteen, unmated, and born an Omega.

And all of Yunmeng held its breath.

Chapter Text

Chapter Two

A Vision Stained in Sweetness

 The sound of a gong split the morning air.

Its tremor ran through the manor’s beams, through polished floors, through the porcelain cup of pale-yellow tea resting before Wei Wuxian. Ripples spread across its surface like a heartbeat.

He sat in silence. Black silk draped over his frame, silver embroidery catching the light. A dark belt bound his waist, a thread of red woven through it. From it hung a clarity bell, silver glinting beside the jade token that marked him Head Disciple of Yunmeng Jiang. His hair was bound high with a scarlet ribbon, two slender braids falling from his temples to join it.

The sharp lines of his face bore the signs of a night unwelcome: shadows beneath eyes too bright, skin drawn pale, expression distant.

When the gong rang again, he lifted his gaze toward the open window. Beyond it stretched the eastern forest—dark, endless, waiting. It was there the world would decide who had the right to own Wei Wuxian, Head Disciple of Yunmeng Jiang, and all the weight that title carried.

It was there, too, that his mother once walked, unclaimed and triumphant, her blade wet with blood.

Wei Wuxian’s silver eyes clouded, his thoughts straying far from the warmth of tea. He drank mechanically, though the taste never touched his tongue.

Until last night, there had been no fear in him. When the decree came—shaking Lotus Pier, rending his family into restless argument—Wei Wuxian alone had been calm. Perhaps he had expected it. Perhaps he had always known the world would demand his cage.

The Jiang had fought long against such cages. To them, Omegas were not meant to be silken ornaments tucked behind veils. They trained their sons and daughters, Alphas, betas and omegas alike with blades and bruises, refusing the myth of fragility. If the cultivation world demanded compliance, then Yunmeng answered with cunning: their Omegas were wed just shy of sixteen, bound before the decree could ever claim them.

It worked. For years, it had worked.

Until him.

Until Wei Wuxian—sixteen, unbound, and standing where none of his clan had dared stand since Cangse Sanren herself.

He had prepared for this. Diligently, stubbornly, with the same reckless determination that colored all his days. His family had prepared with him. Even the Meishan Yu, who cherished him as if he were their own, had sent gifts the moment the decree spread like wildfire—concealed weapons, powders and poisons, small cruelties to tip the scales in his favor. Anything to keep him safe when the Run began.

And until last night, Wei Wuxian had been confident. Too confident, perhaps. His laughter had been too loud, his words too sharp, as though mockery alone could make the ritual powerless against him.

But confidence shatters easily.

All it took was a single dream.

Or was it a nightmare? A vision? He could not say. The fragments were jagged, senseless, but they clung to him with the weight of truth.

It had felt real. Too real. As if he had already endured every chain and scream it showed him. As if it were not memory, not fantasy, but inevitability.

Wei Wuxian sighed, pressing the heel of his hand against the dull ache blooming behind his eyes. He lifted his tea and drained half the cup before setting it aside. The congee, the delicate plate of cakes—he had no appetite for any of it.

By now, the forest would already be crowded. Spectators thronging for the spectacle, hungry for the scandal of a Run held once more in Yunmeng. And beyond them, the Alphas—sixty-seven in total now. Jiang Cheng had announced the number with clenched jaw and thundercloud eyes the night before, and Wei Wuxian had laughed, careless, calling it absurd. Twice the number his mother had faced.

But he could not laugh now.

Not with the remnants of that dream clinging to his chest like a second skin.

Not when the first vision had shown him how swiftly, how easily, he was caught. Claimed.

Another sigh dragged from his lips, heavy, fraying at the edges. He forced himself to gather his thoughts, to set them in order. By the fourth gong, he would be led out. That much was certain.

He rose, reaching for the tray to set it aside for the maids. But as he lifted it, something slipped—a whisper of paper brushing wood.

Wei Wuxian stilled.

A folded square of parchment lay on the table, edges soft from being creased again and again.

He frowned, set the tray back down, and picked it up. His fingers unfolded it carefully, the brush strokes within crisp and clean.

And then he froze.

A single line, stark in black ink:

Do not eat or drink anything. Not safe.

The brushstrokes seemed to glare at him. Knives of ink, stabbing through the paper straight into his eyes.

Wei Wuxian stood utterly still, breath shallow, the faint crinkle of parchment loud in the silence. Slowly, his gaze drifted back to the tray of food. To the congee, untouched. To the neat plate of cakes. To the half-empty cup of tea.

The tea.

He couldn’t taste it then. Too lost in his thoughts. Now though, a cloying sweetness lingered on his tongue. Too sweet. Wrong.

Darkness bloomed at the edges of his sight. His knees threatened to buckle, and he caught himself against the table, one hand fisting around the paper, the other clutching at his pounding temple.

Last night’s vision unfurled again—no longer fractured, no longer dreamlike, but sharp with dreadful clarity.

He was running. Breathless. Burning from the inside out. His scent spilling, thick with panic and heat, impossibly strong, impossibly loud. Alphas closing in from every side.

No matter where he hid, they found him.

No matter how hard he fought, it wasn’t enough.

A hand at his nape. Fingers like iron. The slam of his body into dirt, helpless, weak, betrayed by his own body. The suffocating press of sandalwood filling his lungs, cold and merciless, drowning out thought, drowning out fight—

Wei Wuxian tore himself back to the present with a ragged gasp, chest heaving.

The paper crumpled in his hand, but the words burned all the same:

Do not eat or drink anything. Not safe.

“Gongzi?”

Wei Wuxian flinched. The paper crumpled tighter in his fist. He forced himself upright, swallowing bile and lingering sweetness. His voice came steady, if a touch too sharp.

“Come in.”

The door slid open to reveal Jinzhu, one of Madam Yu’s most trusted attendants. She bowed low, expression schooled, though tension pinched her shoulders.

“Gongzi, I will lead you out now.”

Wei Wuxian frowned. “Now? But the gongs—”

“The fourth gong rang just moments ago,” Jinzhu said, then hesitated. Concern cracked through her practiced neutrality. “Gongzi…is everything alright? Did you not hear it?”

Wei Wuxian swallowed again, gaze slipping past her to the window. Beyond the carved lattice lay the eastern forest, shadowed and waiting. He knew every inch of it—he had hunted there, led drills there, marked talismans into its trees until he could walk it blindfolded. It was familiar ground. His ground.

Yet now, beneath that dark canopy, it looked like nothing but a maw waiting to swallow him whole.

If his dream had been true—if this warning in his hand bore weight—then the reason was clear.

His food. His tea.

Heat inducers.

A chill bled into his veins, chased swiftly by the slow, tender coil of heat curling at his spine. His scent glands prickled, scent blocking seals straining. Too soon. Not yet. But it was already working.

Wei Wuxian had no idea how the drug had reached him, not with the layers upon layers of protection Madam Yu and Uncle Jiang had thrown around him. Even his quarters had been concealed before guests arrived. For this to slip through—it meant someone had cut deeper than their vigilance.

Beads of sweat gathered at his brow. He did not know how potent the inducers were, but he could guess the plan: timed perfectly, they would strike after the Run began. When he was prey. When he was cornered. When strength became helplessness.

His nails bit into his palms. Someone feared him enough to make him weak.

But then… who had left the warning? What did they want from him?

And what did it say of Lotus Pier’s security, that he had been touched beneath all its protections? The thought twisted sour in his chest—not as a victim, but as Head Disciple, who should never have allowed such a breach.

He sighed, final, and looked at Jinzhu. She was still watching him carefully, suspicion flickering at the edges of her concern. He could not tell her. Her loyalty to Madam Yu was too absolute; nothing could be kept from her. And if Yu ayi learned the truth, she would stop the Run at any cost. Even if it meant war.

He could not allow that.

Wei Wuxian’s fingers loosened against the paper. His lips curved in a humorless smile.

But a question lingered, soft and cutting:

Had the Wei Wuxian in his vision—

that broken, hunted shadow of himself— received a warning, too?

The ground before the eastern forest was alive with color and sound. Sect banners snapped in the spring breeze, their silks bright against the pale sky. Rows of shaded pavilions lined the clearing, the foremost reserved for the great sects, while below them, tiered benches overflowed with spectators. Anticipation rippled through the crowd like the taut string of a bow.

Across the field, gathered at the forest’s edge, stood the alphas. Sixty-seven in total—a staggering number, greater even than those who had once pursued Cangse Sanren. They waited in tight, disciplined ranks: the white of Gusu Lan, the steel of Qinghe Nie, the gold of Lanling Jin, the crimson flame of Qishan Wen. Behind them clustered the minor sects and wandering cultivators, eyes alight with hunger.

Not a single Jiang disciple stood among them. Nor a single Meishan Yu.

And still, the field was crowded. Most numerous were the Jins, their golden armour gleaming under the sun. The Wens had sent only a handful, their presence more shadow than flame, but nonetheless catching eyes.

The air among the alphas was thick with restless energy. Wei Wuxian’s name had traveled far—brilliant, daring, untamed. To claim him would be to claim not only a bond, but a legend. For many, that alone made the chase irresistible.

In the pavilions, beneath Yunmeng Jiang’s banner, Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan sat in silence. Behind them, their children: Jisng Yanli serene, though unsmiling, Jiang Cheng bristling, Wei Wuxian’s absence heavy as an unsung note. Jiang Fengmian’s face remained unreadable, Yanli’s gentled with composure. But Yu Ziyuan’s disdain was open, sharp as a drawn blade—and her son’s glare mirrored it, fixed on the field of waiting alphas, and on the sect leaders who had forced this spectacle into being.

Of those leaders, only Jin Guangshan looked truly pleased. His fan flicked lazily as he spoke at length to Lan Qiren, whose mouth tightened with every word. Wen Xu, who came in his father’s stead, sprawled elegantly in his seat, looked bored near to yawning. And Nie Mingjue—rigid, severe, mountain-like—did not speak at all, his eyes fixed on the restless lines of alphas as if measuring each one against some hidden weight.

The fourth gong sounded. Its heavy strike rolled across the field, silencing voices, then stirring them into a low, eager murmur. All eyes turned to the path that would soon deliver Wei Wuxian into the clearing, into the gaze of hundreds. Today’s prize. Today’s prey.

But before he could appear, movement broke the stillness of the great sect pavilion.

Nie Mingjue stood.

The Red Blade of the North rose like a storm given form, broad-shouldered and unyielding, his expression carved in stone, the saber Baxia gleaming dark and terrible at his back. A hush fell, eyes following as he descended the pavilion steps. Each footfall struck the earth like a drumbeat.

Behind him, there was stir and whisper: Nie Huaisang, the omega’s fan fluttering with nervous speed, Lan Xichen’s frown cutting deep and his mate Jin Guangyao’s smile gone thin as paper, and—between him and his father—an exchanged look sharp as glass.

Nie Mingjue did not falter. He walked straight to the hosts’ dais, bowed, and saluted the Jiang sect leaders.

“Sect Leader Jiang,” his voice carried across the clearing, low but steady, the kind of voice that made silence listen, “please pardon my late decision.”

The crowd stilled, breath caught.

“I would like to participate in the Hunt as well.”

Chapter Text

Chapter three

The Forest Beckons 

The silence after Nie Mingjue’s words was vast.

It rippled outward from the pavilions like a stone dropped into still water. For a heartbeat, even the banners above stilled in the spring breeze, the flutter of silks held captive by the weight of a single declaration.

Then came the whispers.

“Sect Leader Nie?”

“I thought he had sworn off from ever seeking a mate.”

“Wasn’t he in seclusion?”

“Yes, yes—I heard his condition worsened, that the saber spirit nearly broke him. The elders must be restless.”

“That must be it… but what if something happens to him here? If the clan is left with no heirs?”

“Didn’t he declare his younger brother’s children as heirs?”

“Tch. How could that ever be proper for the great Qinghe Nie?”

Speculation rose like smoke, curling through the rows of spectators. Alphas at the forest edge shifted, some stiff with unease, others narrowing their eyes at the unexpected rival now entering the Run. A ripple of nervous energy swept the gathered cultivators, because this was not just any rival. This was the Red Blade of the North—a man whose saber alone could cow wandering cultivators into dropping their weapons.

But Nie Mingjue stood unmoved. His frame was a wall of steel, his expression carved in stone. The hilt of Baxia jutted over his shoulder, its dormant presence more commanding than a hundred whispered rumors. He ignored them all. His gaze fixed solely upon the hosts of this Run, upon Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan, who sat grim-faced beneath their sect’s banners.

It would have been easy for him to simply walk to the line of Alphas, to take his place without pause. But he did not. He waited. He bowed. He gave the Jiangs their due as hosts, as though his participation was not a right he could seize, but a request—one that only their word could permit.

It startled the air itself into stillness.

Yu Ziyuan’s sharp eyes narrowed, her knuckles whitening where they gripped the carved armrest. She had always regarded Nie Mingjue as too brash, too untempered, his blade as volatile as his temper. Yet in this moment, with his head bent, his bearing steady, she found her disdain tempered with an edge of respect.

Beside her, Jiang Fengmian’s brow furrowed, then smoothed. He exchanged a glance with his wife, and for once, they shared the same unease. And the same reluctant acknowledgment: Nie Mingjue’s conduct carried weight.

At last, Jiang Fengmian rose, his voice carrying over the hush.

“Nie Zongzhu,” he said, inclining his head, “it will be an honor for us Jiangs to have your blade among those who guard the sanctity of this Run.”

The approval fell like a seal in the air.

The whispers did not cease, but they shifted—less scorn, more curiosity, edged with wariness. And Nie Mingjue, as though their mutterings had never existed, straightened to his full height and turned toward the waiting Alphas.

Disciples of the Nie shifted as their Sect Leader approached, the ripple of movement as sharp and disciplined as the draw of blades. One by one, they bowed deep, foreheads nearly brushing the ground. Nie Mingjue’s nod was curt but not unkind, his gaze sweeping over them before he took his place at the forefront of their ranks.

And there he stood—an unyielding wall of steel and will. His presence towered, heavy as Mount Tai, casting a shadow that seemed to settle across the forest edge itself.

Around them, the other groups shifted uneasily.

Most of all—the Jins.

They had come in glittering numbers, arrogance draped over their golden robes as surely as the silk itself. Sixty-seven Alphas stood at the forest’s mouth, and nearly a third bore the Lanling Jin crest. It was a show of dominance, a declaration that the Jins could overwhelm not through skill but through sheer, crushing weight of numbers. Their laughter had been loud, their confidence absolute.

Until now.

Nie Mingjue’s joining cut through that bravado like Baxia through paper.

For he was no ordinary Alpha. No coddled heir polishing jade fans or flashing inherited swords. He was a Sect Leader of more than a decade, battle-forged, blooded time and time again. His saber was infamous, yes—but his name was sharper still, carved into the cultivation world as a man who bent for no injustice, who raised his voice where others bowed their heads.

And so the air shifted. The arrogance that clung to the Jins faltered, unease flickering behind their gilded pride. Because while the Run was an archaic ritual, cruel and demeaning, it still bore rules. Conditions. Laws etched into its sacred frame.

And if any dared break them here, under the shadow of the Red Blade of the North—Nie Mingjue would not stay his hand.

Not for power.

Not for face.

Not even for heaven itself.

“Gongzi, are you sure you’re alright?”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes flicked to Jinzhu, and the easy curve of his mouth appeared as if summoned by habit. The lie slid smooth as silk.

“Why, of course I am.”

As if the heat wasn’t already blooming low in his abdomen.

As if sweat didn’t trickle in uneasy lines down his spine, clinging damp to his underrobes.

As if he hadn’t sealed his scent glands twice over and swallowed the hidden pill he had, evading Jinzhu's eyes—silent, desperate, praying it might hold until… until what?

He did not know.

Gravel crunched beneath their boots as they walked. Above, the sky stretched a blinding, flawless blue, the spring breeze heavy with the perfume of lotus and lake. The narrow path bent between shaded groves, hidden from the view of the waiting crowd, and at its end lay the open ground before the forest.

Before the banners and pavilions.

Before the spectators waiting with baited breath.

Before the Alphas—sixty-seven strong—hungry to see if Wei Wuxian could be caught, tamed, bound.

He tilted his face to the sky, letting the breeze brush cool fingers across his fevered skin, lifting the strands of hair that had slipped loose from his ribbon.

No plan formed itself in his mind.

No careful stratagem, no clever trap.

Only that dream—heavy and choking.

Only the knowledge that someone had poisoned him.

Only the warning, stark and sharp in brushstrokes, proof that someone else knew. Someone Wei Wuxian isn't sure friend or foe.

And as his footsteps carried him closer to the clearing, closer to the eyes and the jaws of the world, Wei Wuxian smiled again—bright and careless.

Because that was the only shield he had left.

The path ended in light.

Wei Wuxian paused at the threshold, drawing in a deep breath that burned sharper than the air should. Jinzhu glanced back, eyes searching his face. Only when he gave a small nod did she incline her head and step forward into the clearing.

Wei Wuxian followed.

The world shifted.

Hundreds of eyes turned to him at once—the weight of their stares sharp and suffocating. Interest flickered there. Calculation. The gleam of predators sighting prey.

But he did not walk like prey.

The spring breeze tugged at his ribbon, crimson strands snapping in the air. Sunlight caught on the silver embroidery of his robes, glinting like frost at dawn. Suibian rested in his hand, and his stride carried him with the unshaken grace of a swordsman. His head was high, spine straight, silver eyes fixed on the pavilion where his family waited.

And then—

“Da-shixiong!”

The shout cut through the crowd, raw and bright, followed by a swell of voices.

Across the rows of spectators, Jiang disciples rose to their feet, waving, hollering his name. Their cries carried over the hush, unashamed, breaking the fragile formality of the moment.

Wei Wuxian paused, turning toward them.

And he smiled.

Not the sharp curve of mischief he wielded like a blade, not the mask of brightness he wore as armor. But something genuine. Warm. Silver eyes brightened, his grin soft and brilliant in a way that scattered the weight of hunger and calculation pressing down on him.

For that heartbeat, it was not the hunted Omega who stood in the clearing.

It was their da-shixiong—their teacher, their protector, the heart of Yunmeng Jiang.

And the air itself seemed to catch on that light.

Chapter Text

Chapter four

Predator and Preys (1)

The steward’s voice rang clear over the field, cutting through the restless hum of anticipation.

“By decree of the cultivation world, these are the rules of the Run.”

One finger lifted.

“The Omega shall be granted a headstart of one shichen.”

Another.

“Self-defense is permitted. Outright killing is forbidden.”

A third.

“Each Alpha participant carries a jade token. Should one wish to withdraw, they need only break it to be released from the barrier and disqualified.”

The steward’s tone deepened, weighted by ritual.

“Should an Alpha capture the Omega, none may challenge them. The claim will stand.”

His hand hovered over the scroll.

“The Run shall last two days. From hai shi to mao shi, all combat will cease, the forest shall rest. Both sides will recover.”

Finally—

“The barrier will not fall until the final gong. The Omega must remain within it if unclaimed.”

Silence followed. A hush trembling at the edges with suppressed hunger.

Wei Wuxian stood among his family in the Jiang pavilion, posture deceptively languid, as though none of it touched him. His silver eyes, cool as moonlight, skimmed the ranks of waiting Alphas. Then he laughed softly, shaking his head.

“So many golden robes,” he murmured. “I can hardly see the forest for all the Jins.”

Jiang Cheng bristled. “Don’t waste your breath on them. It’s better Jiejie’s engagement was broken before this farce. Imagine her tied to one of them.”

Wei Wuxian’s gaze caught their sister’s. Jiang Yanli said nothing, only stepped forward with the quiet grace that had steadied them since childhood. From her sleeve she drew a talisman, its brushstrokes delicate and precise, and tied it carefully to Suibian’s scabbard. Her hands lingered a moment, fingertips trembling against the lacquer.

Wei Wuxian bent close, lowering his voice for her alone. “Don’t worry, shijie. I’ll kick that peacock’s ass for you.”

Her smile was soft, steady—fragile as porcelain, unyielding as jade. “A-Ying, just come back safely. That will be enough for me.”

Before he could answer, another hand fell heavy on his shoulder. Yu Ziyuan’s grip was iron, her gaze sharp as drawn steel.

“Use what we’ve given you,” she said. “Every weapon, every powder, every last shred of Jiang strength—use it. Squander what was prepared for you.”

She paused then, her nostrils flaring, sharp as a hunting hound catching scent. Wei Wuxian’s heart stuttered. The drugged sweetness clung to his tongue, the coil of heat curling at his spine. For one breath, terror seized him—what if she scented it? What if his Yu ayi realized how close he already was to breaking?

But before suspicion could sharpen, Jiang Fengmian’s voice called his name.

Relief struck like cold water. Wei Wuxian bowed swiftly, slipping from Yu Ziyuan’s piercing gaze, and turned toward the sect leader.

Jiang Fengmian’s smile was faint but warm, carved deep with restraint yet soft for him alone. He rested a hand on Wei Wuxian’s head, rare, paternal. “Make your family proud, A-Ying. No matter the outcome of this Run, the Jiang family will stand by you.”

The words lodged like glass in his chest. For a breath, the world blurred.

Lotus Pier, burning. Smoke choking the air. The crash of beams collapsing. Jiang Fengmian on his knees, robes scorched, a blade through his chest. Blood soaking purple silk. His hand pushing Wei Wuxian back, voice hoarse, final—

Run, A-Ying. Live.

Wei Wuxian’s breath tore free in a shudder. Fire dissolved to sunlight, ash to spring air. Jiang Fengmian’s brow furrowed at his pallor. “A-Ying? Are you unwell?”

Wei Wuxian forced a smile, lips tight. “I’m fine.”

His fingers closed around the qiankun pouch pressed into his hand—two days’ rations, carefully prepared. He accepted it with a bow, though already he knew he would discard it at first chance. No food or drink from Lotus Pier could be trusted now.

Instead of turning immediately to the path, Wei Wuxian lifted his gaze to the steward, voice bright, careless:

“And tell me, what happens if I do kill someone?”

The question cracked the silence like a whip. Gasps rippled. Whispers surged like a tide, scandal sharp on every tongue.

On the pavilion steps, a scoff sliced the air. Lan Qiren rose, arms folded, face carved with disdain. “Unlawful killing is prohibited,” he said, voice ringing cold as jade. “Is Yunmeng Jiang’s Head Disciple so ignorant of even this?”

Wei Wuxian turned toward him, lips curved in a lopsided smile, salute mocking in its precision.

“Then forgive my ignorance, Lan laoshi,” he said lightly. “But if an idiot doesn’t know when to run from danger, they shouldn’t blame me for a few missing limbs… or even lives.”

A hush swallowed the field. Suibian rattled faintly in its scabbard, his killing intent bleeding out just enough to make the closest Alphas stiffen. Several spectators flinched; even some sect leaders exchanged uneasy glances at the feral glint in his eyes.

Before any voice could rise in answer, Wei Wuxian turned on his heel, crossing the clearing without pause.

The Alphas shifted as he neared, bodies tensing, scents flaring—lust, arrogance, hunger pressed against him in suffocating waves. He wrinkled his nose, fighting the heat coiling tighter under his skin.

He had meant to ignore them, to wait in silence for the gong. But a snicker reached his ears. Then another. Derisive whispers, sharp with amusement.

Wei Wuxian’s gaze flicked sideways. As expected—the Jins.

Jin Zixuan stood stiff among them, face flushed, embarrassed. But the plump relative at his side leered openly, eyes sliding over Wei Wuxian like a merchant appraising goods.

“Tell me, Head Disciple,” the man drawled, smile sharp. “Did you have a filling breakfast?”

Wei Wuxian froze.

The words hit like a blade to the gut. Innocuous on the surface—but not to him. Not with the cloying sweetness thick on his tongue. His stomach lurched, bile rising.

He looked closer at their faces. The smugness. The too-sharp confidence.

Realization struck like a boulder.

The Jins had done it.

It was their hand that had slipped poison into his cup, that had timed the heat to cripple him in the forest.

Wei Wuxian’s grip on Suibian tightened until his knuckles whitened. For a heartbeat, he saw it clearly—every Jin head rolling from their shoulders, golden robes drenched in scarlet, Lanling’s proud bloodline cut short at the root. Suibian rattled in its scabbard, the fantasy burning bright, before it guttered.

He forced himself to breathe, to shake it off. His gaze cut back to Jin Guangshan seated above, fan flicking lazily, expression steeped in satisfaction as he leaned to say something to Lan Qiren.

Then to Jin Zixuan—flustered, scowling, but silent. Complicit, whether by ignorance or cowardice.

Hostility sharpened in Wei Wuxian’s eyes. The peacock had always been an arrogant fool, but could he truly be blind to his father’s schemes?

Wei Wuxian tore his gaze away, jaw tight, pulse roaring. His eyes swept over the rest of the Alphas. The Wens who formed a small crowd compared to others. Though they didn’t leer as the Jins did, Wei Wuxian could see the ambition in their eyes. Then, the Lans: in neat, disciplined lines, posture steady, standing out like white-clad immortals.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes lingered on Lan Wangji. The Victor who claimed him in that vision. Hanguang-Jun. He hadn’t met the man before, but he had heard the tales—commoners who spoke of the immortal-like cultivator, and his own brother who huffed and puffed about the stone-faced Sword Instructor and Head of Discipline of Gusu Lan whenever Lan’s guest lectures came.

But Lan Wangji wasn’t looking at Wei Wuxian. His gaze was fixed, unwavering, on someone seated at the Sect Leaders’ pavilion. Wei Wuxian couldn’t tell who.

His eyes narrowed before looking away. Best to study his visions carefully after he was done with this farce.

And then—he faltered.

At the edge of the Alphas’ ranks, broad shoulders rose above the rest. Dark green and silver gleamed in the sun. The heavy, infamous presence of a saber coiled like a storm barely leashed.

Nie Mingjue.

He was not leering. Not mocking. Not calculating like the rest.

He was staring. Direct. Unyielding.

Wei Wuxian blinked, confusion tugging at his chest. Memory stirred—the blurred, choking fragments of his dream. The smoke. The chains. The condemnation.

But not this.

Nie Mingjue had not stood here in that vision.

In that other life, during this very Run, he had not entered the forest at all.

The difference struck like a crack in stone. A fracture. A change.

Wei Wuxian’s lips parted, then closed again. His smile slipped away, leaving only the bare weight of silence.

Chapter Text

Chapter Five

Predator and Preys(2)

The final gong thundered, rolling across the field like the crack of heaven’s own drum. The ground beneath Wei Wuxian’s boots shuddered; he felt it in his bones, in the coil of his lungs, in the fine tremor of his fingers.

He exhaled. Slow. Measured.

The heat licked deeper through his veins, rising with every beat of his heart. His inner robes clung damp to his skin, and the talismanic seals across his scent glands tingled, straining to contain what pulsed beneath.

Ahead, the forest loomed—vast and shadowed, sunlight piercing through the thick canopy in shifting shafts of gold. The path yawned open like the jaws of some ancient beast, waiting.

The steward’s voice carried once more:

“The Omega may step in now.”

Wei Wuxian glanced over his shoulder. At the rows of Alphas poised on the field. At the spectators, leaning forward like hawks. At the sect leaders watching with unreadable faces. At his family—his brother stiff with anger, his sister steady with fragile strength, his foster father’s eyes furrowed with worry.

He smiled. Once. Bright, careless, sharp enough to cut.

Then he turned away.

Dirt crunched under his boots as he shifted his stance. Knees bending. One hand sliding to Suibian’s hilt.

He breathed in. Out.

And with a single exhale, his form blurred—an arrow loosed from a bow, vanishing in a burst of speed. Only the faint trace of his qi remained, streaks of red and gold flashing like foxfire, before the forest swallowed him whole.

The Omega was gone.

For a long moment, silence prevailed. Surprised. Shocked. Disbelieving.

From the Sect Leaders seated above, to the spectators waiting for spectacle, to the Alphas poised to give chase—none had expected that.

Jin Guangshan’s fan, an ostentatious golden thing that gleamed in the sun, stilled mid-motion. The smug curve of his mouth froze in place, brittle as lacquer.

Beside him, Lan Qiren’s frown deepened, lines creasing like storm clouds gathering across a rigid face.

Beside them, Wen Xu straightened in his seat. The boredom that had draped him like a cloak did not vanish, but his eyes sharpened, a flicker of genuine interest igniting. Not for the Omega himself—never that—but for the promise of something entertaining. A hunt worthy of watching.

And below them, whispers broke the stunned quiet.

“What… was that?”

“Did he just–disappear?”

“I thought Yunmeng Jiang’s Head Disciple was only half as skilled as the rumors claimed. What in the heavens’ name was that?”

The Jiang disciples among the crowd puffed with pride, their backs straight, faces alight. Their voices rang above the doubters, bold and unrepentant.

“Ha! Did they think da-shixiong was chosen as Head Disciple for no reason?”

“The less a man has seen, the more he has to wonder at!”

Smirks bloomed on their lips as they basked in their brother’s brilliance, barbs aimed at anyone foolish enough to underestimate him.

Among the Alphas at the line, the air shifted. The bravado that had swollen the field wavered, thinned by unease. Smaller sects, wandering cultivators—those who had hoped for an easy capture—suddenly looked less sure.

Even the Jins faltered.

The plump relative beside Jin Zixuan blinked rapidly, his earlier smugness draining away, leaving only the pale shock of a man who thought he’d glimpsed an illusion.

“Cousin… what was that?”

Jin Zixuan scowled, irritation snapping in his voice as though his cousin’s confusion embarrassed them both.

“Are you that dense? It’s Yu Di Lian Fa, Yunmeng Jiang's main footwork technique. Hard to practice, even harder to master.” 

But even as he said it, a furrow creased between his brows. He had sparred with Jiang disciples before. He had seen their famed footwork, fluid and sure. What Wei Wuxian displayed just now was something else entirely—something honed sharper, faster, burning bright enough to unsettle even him.

Nie Mingjue’s gaze lingered where the crimson ribbon of Wei Wuxian had vanished into the forest. Not surprise. Not shock. Only a stillness, sharp and precise, like the edge of a blade drawn and held.

Beside him, his deputy leaned closer, a trace of wonder in his voice.

“I have heard of this footwork,” Nie Zonghui murmured, “but never met a Jiang who executed it so… perfectly.”

The rest of the Nie disciples nodded, quiet agreement with Zonghui’s words rippling through their ranks.

“Zongzhu,” Zonghui’s tone shifted, teasing now, sharp and playful, “no wonder you decided to participate at the last moment. That Omega would make the perfect Nie furen.”

A flicker of amused acknowledgment passed through the disciples, some lips curling in quiet smiles.

Nie Mingjue did not reply. Nor did he give any sign that the comment touched him, whether with interest or irritation. His eyes stayed fixed where the bold red ribbon had disappeared, unyielding and dark.

Within them lay weight—memories too heavy for words. Memories of a life ended in death and suffering. Of Victors who toyed with human lives as if they were mere puppets. Memories no one else could understand, and that he would never allow to be forgotten.

Wei Wuxian tore through the forest without pause. Each step sent a thrum through his chest, a pounding echo that matched the rush of his blood. Sweat slicked his face, dripping down his temples, catching the dappled sunlight as he ran. He did not stick to a single path—he weaved, darted, doubled back, an erratic dance of motion meant to confuse and disorient any pursuers.

In one hand, a small qiankun pouch swung, spilling a fine powder into the underbrush. The powder was subtle, meant to disorient Alphas, to give him an edge. One shichen was all he had—enough, he thought bitterly, if the Jins hadn’t sabotaged his breakfast. If he had seen the warning note sooner.

But as the Heat began to rise, curling in his veins like fire threatening to consume him from the inside, dread coiled tight in his chest. The pill he had swallowed—meant to suppress the effects—was doing nothing. Nothing at all. One shichen wasn’t nearly enough.

His mind clicked through possibilities, fast and ruthless. The Jins had wealth, connections, cunning—what poison could they have procured, what inducer beyond the ordinary, one that no simple suppressing talisman or pill could counter? And worse, it could be the type that accelerated with the use of his qi. That made every attempt to fight, every use of his power, a gamble he might not survive.

He had tried already, right after darting into the forest. Pushing qi through his body, forcing it to flush toxins, to cleanse him. But it failed. Every effort worsened the coil of fire inside, making his skin flush, his pulse race, his breath catch sharp in his throat.

There was no time to rest. No time to pause and catch his breath. No room to form a cohesive plan. The forest blurred around him, every tree a shadowed threat, every brush a potential snare.

He ran on pure instinct. Pure survival. Every thought condensed into one singular purpose: survive the dreaded two days. He could not afford to lose. Not with the vision still clawing at the edges of his mind, still burning through him with glimpses of chains, fire, screams, and the consequences of failure.

Failure was unthinkable.

And so he ran, faster and faster, the forest a maze of gold and green, the Heat rising, the threat pressing in from every side, and the ghost of inevitability following close behind.

He knew this forest like the back of his hand. He had explored it countless times, run drills for his shidi and shimei, memorized every nook, every shadowed corner. Every root, every hollow was etched into his mind. And so he had prepared.

Traps of varying degrees littered the forest. The outer circle held simple, playful diversions—hidden pits, crude animal snares, plants that sprayed foul-smelling liquids or induced hallucinations. Farther in, the stakes grew. Hidden traps with explosive talismans, snaring mechanisms, and more insidious tricks awaited any Alpha daring enough to follow. In the innermost circle, near his intended hide, Wuxian had laid labyrinthine arrays—maze-like constructs designed to confuse, mislead, and wear down his pursuers.

He had trained his brain to move faster than his limbs, orchestrating chaos in precise patterns. Every measure, every trick, every ounce of cunning was meant to make the impossible possible.

And then, as he set the last stroke for his illusion wards and abandoned the qiankun pouch with suspicious rations in the center, the gong sounded.

Wei Wuxian froze.

He could feel it.

The Alphas were entering the forest.

With a quick wipe at his forehead, he tapped his foot and leapt to the highest crack of a nearby tree. He exhaled sharply as the breeze brushed across his flushed skin, cooling sweat that clung to him. From this vantage point, he surveyed the entry point, noting the faint purple shimmer of the barrier that would enclose the forest for the next two days.

Wuxian waited for a beat. Ears straining through the rustle of leaves, the birdsong, the thundering of his own heartbeat.

And—

A scream tore through the forest. High-pitched. Terrified. It startled the entire forest.

And despite the Heat threatening to burn him from within, despite the knowledge of the inducer coursing through him, Wei Wuxian grinned. 

Sharp. Predatory. Almost feral.

He would not let his mother down.

Chapter Text

Chapter Six

Predator and Preys (3)

The final gong still echoed in the air when the first Alphas stepped across the shimmering boundary. Some rushed inside like arrows loosed from impatient bows, blades flashing, eyes sharp with hunger. Others moved with caution, their earlier bravado tempered by the Omega’s display of skill—one blur of footwork that had unsettled more than a few.

Among the great sects, the small cluster of Wen cultivators entered first, their formation tight and measured, like a tide that never faltered. Behind them surged the sea of gold—rows upon rows of Jin cultivators, gleaming with arrogance.

As soon as the Jins passed the threshold, they split into smaller hunting packs. Jin Zixun, lips curled in a smirk, lifted his chin.

“Do as we planned.” His voice carried easily, sharpened by glee. “Hunt him down in groups. Even drugged, the Omega may fight—but against five or six, he’ll be subdued before he knows it.”

He turned, gaze narrowing, eyes glittering with malice. “The Jiangs dared to humiliate us by breaking off the engagement. Let’s see how they react after we are done with their beloved Omega.”

His words drew laughter, nods, the cruel camaraderie of predators sharing a meal before the kill.

But Jin Zixuan’s stomach twisted. The arrogant hand clapped on his shoulder only deepened the bile crawling up his throat. He brushed it off roughly, scowling as he turned away. His steps carried him fast, away from the clamor of his own clan.

He knew what his father had done—using his mother’s hand to orchestrate the drugging. He knew exactly what his cousin and the others intended if they caught Wei Wuxian. The thought of it curdled his insides.

It wasn’t as though he held any affection for Jiang Wanyin or Wei Wuxian—both were insufferable, both bullies in their own way. And as for his ex-fiancée, he had hated the engagement from the very beginning. But… Jiang Yanli. She was their sister. She had looked at him with soft eyes, poured tea with careful hands, spoken to him with patience when he’d deserved none.

If he had a sister like that, would he hand her to a clan like the Jins?

No. Never.

Jin Zixuan’s grip tightened on his sword hilt. He didn’t like Wei Wuxian. He didn’t want to.

But conscience drove him forward, a grim scowl set on his face. He would find him first, if he could—warn him, at least. Anything less would leave his hands just as stained as the rest of his clan’s.

The Lans and the Nies entered last.

The Lan cultivators moved in silence, robes pristine white, their formation flawless. At their head walked Lan Wangji, his expression carved in stone, his steps deliberate. His presence seemed to draw the air itself taut, like a guqin string ready to break.

As they neared the Nie disciples, Lan Wangji slowed, then paused altogether. His gaze turned to the tall figure standing at the head of the group.

Nie Mingjue stood with arms crossed, shoulders squared, the green and silver of his robes almost blending with the green shadows of the forest. Baxia’s hilt gleamed over his shoulder, heavy with promise. At Lan Wangji’s approach, Nie Zonghui and the other Nie cultivators stiffened instinctively.

Everyone knew something had changed.

When the Nie sect leader had emerged from seclusion, no word had been sent to the Cloud Recesses. He had not greeted the Lans properly upon arriving at Lotus Pier. He had not so much as looked at his sworn brothers—even when the newly married Lan furen stood at the gates.

Speculation had whispered through the Nie ranks. Perhaps resentment. Perhaps jealousy. Perhaps something deeper, darker, unspoken.

“Dage.”

Lan Wangji inclined his head in formal salute, his voice as calm as a still pond.

Nie Mingjue did not move. His expression remained hard, unyielding, his silence heavier than steel.

Nie Zonghui stepped in quickly, bowing low. “Hanguang-jun.” His voice was respectful, smoothing the edges of the tension even as the other Nie disciples followed his lead.

The moment stretched, taut and uncomfortable. The eyes of spectators prickled at their backs, sensing the crack in what had once been an unbreakable brotherhood.

And then—Lan Wangji bowed again. Deeper, deliberate.

“If my brother or I have offended you, Dage, forgive us. I wish you well for the Run.”

He straightened, turned, and led his sect into the trees.

Nie Zonghui finally let out the breath he had been holding.

“Go ahead,” Nie Mingjue’s low voice rumbled at last.

The Nie cultivators obeyed, stepping past the boundary one by one, Nie Zonghui waited behind his master. Nie Mingjue moved—but paused after two steps, looking back.

Nie Zonghui froze.

That gaze—dark, unrelenting, carrying the weight of command and memory both—pinned him where he stood. The Alpha scent that rolled from Nie Mingjue was a storm breaking over stone, suffocating in its dominance.

“None of you,” Nie Mingjue’s voice was soft, but it struck like thunder, “will claim him.”

Nie Zonghui swallowed hard. His knees almost buckled. His instincts screamed at him to bow, to submit. He wasn’t sure if he nodded, or if the crushing aura simply eased, lifting like a boulder rolled from his chest.

And then Nie Mingjue was gone, swallowed by the trees, leaving silence in his wake.

Nie Zonghui’s heart thundered. He dragged in a breath, steadying and shaking hands.

None of them would dare disobey.

No sooner had the last of the Alphas crossed into the forest than a scream shattered the stillness.

It rang sharp through the trees, high-pitched and desperate—pitiful, even coming from an Alpha throat.

The entire field went taut. Spectators craned their necks. Disciples froze mid-step, blades half-drawn. Instincts stirred like a whipcrack, the primal edge of predator and prey both bristling to life.

The source soon became clear.

In a shallow clearing, two Jin cultivators writhed upon the ground, their golden robes smeared with dirt and brittle leaves. Their bodies convulsed as they clawed at their skin, shrieks breaking between gasps for air. Angry red hives bloomed across their arms and necks, spreading fast where the fabric had failed to shield them.

“Do something!” Jin Zixun barked, his voice sharp with outrage. He jabbed a finger at the fallen disciples, but his command hung unanswered in the air.

Because no one dared move closer.

The clearing was not empty. At its center, swaying with an unnatural grace, bloomed a cluster of red flowers. Their petals glistened wetly, almost too vivid, like fresh blood in the sunlight. From their throats curled threads of yellow-green vapor, rising, twisting, spreading across the air like ghostly fingers.

The fumes drifted toward the Jins. The cultivators nearest the boundary staggered back, cloths pressed over their mouths and noses, eyes wide with fear.

“Spore lilies,” someone whispered from the sidelines, voice low with unease. “Rare. Wild. Their pollen burns the blood.”

“And hallucinates the mind,” another muttered.

The forest stirred with murmurs, awe laced with dread.

For a heartbeat, silence pressed down heavily. The two Jin cultivators thrashed, helpless in their agony, their screams a cruel backdrop to the sight of the poisonous flowers waving in the breeze.

And then—soft, distant—another sound broke through.

A laugh.

Not loud. Not mocking. But sharp. Predatory.

It carried from somewhere deeper in the woods, low enough that many could not be certain whether they had heard it at all. But those with keener senses stiffened.

Wei Wuxian was moving.

And the hunt had begun.

What happened next was nothing short of horrifying.

At first, the Alphas surged forward, blades flashing, swagger thick in their steps. But arrogance burned away quickly. Because the forest was alive—watching, waiting, waiting to strike.

The first scream was not the last.

Everywhere they turned, traps waited with cruel patience. Some were almost laughable—snares that sent cultivators tumbling face-first into mud, talismans that slapped onto their robes and ignited harmless bursts of sparks. Tricks that would humiliate more than harm. Playful, mocking.

But others…

Others bit deep. Hidden pits lined with barbed stakes. Flowers that wept toxic fumes. Nets of razor-thin threads, invisible until they carved into exposed skin. Arrays that spun the senses until cultivators lashed out at each other, convinced their companions were monsters.

It wasn’t chaos—it was precision. Each trap layered on the next, guiding, herding, breaking down the Alphas’ ranks step by careful step. And that precision—that thought behind every cruel diversion—was what froze hearts cold.

Within half a shichen, no less than twenty jade tokens shattered. The forest chimed with the echo of retreating cultivators, cowards too terrified to take another step, or victims too battered to continue. Most belonged to rogues or minor sects, those without tools or artifacts strong enough to shield them.

But soon, the cracks spread wider.

The Jins.

The same Jins who had swept into the forest like a golden tide now scattered like startled chickens, their polished robes dragging through muck, their discipline shattered. Their bright confidence dimmed under the weight of Wei Wuxian’s unseen hand.

By the time their numbers thinned, laughter—dark and knowing—echoed among the trees. Some of the other sect cultivators smirked, murmuring their amusement.

“It wasn’t against the rules,” someone whispered. “But to send in that many from one clan… greedy.”

“Now look at them. Running.”

No sect leader had raised a word of protest yet, but the spectators’ eyes gleamed, their interest piqued by the irony.

And in the forest, the lesson cut deep.

No one strode boldly anymore. No one rushed headlong.

Every Alpha moved with care, blades gripped white-knuckled, ears straining at every rustle, every whisper of wind. The bravado of the hunt had withered into something rawer, thinner—like prey suddenly aware that they had walked into a predator’s den.

The forest belonged to Wei Wuxian.

And the Alphas were beginning to understand it.

Midday sun pressed heavy over the forest, light fractured through the canopy in shifting shards of gold. It did little to ease the suffocating heat crawling under Wei Wuxian’s skin.

He crouched low behind a thicket, sweat slicking his temples, arms wrapped tight around his midsection as if he could will the cramps away by force. His breath came rough, ragged, each inhale scraping his throat raw.

Hunger gnawed at him. The bitter berries he had gathered barely dulled it. His lips still tasted faintly of the stream where he had drunk, where he had splashed water across his burning face, chasing relief that never lasted. Hours stretched ahead until the first mandated rest. Hours he had no idea how to survive—when Alphas would eventually slip past snares, cut through diversions, and find him.

His Heats had never been unbearable. He knew how to manage them: suppressants, cold baths, careful circulation of qi to keep the fever at bay. Normally, it passed in days—three, sometimes one if fortune was kind.

But he had no fortune now.

Not when he was drugged. Not when the forest itself was crawling with Alphas, every one of them chasing the same end.

A shudder ripped through him as he felt it—the subtle snap of another broken seal. His scent bled out despite himself, humid and sharp, the storm-soaked tang of rain-drenched earth threaded with the faint sweetness of Heat. It spread like a beacon in the wind.

Wei Wuxian exhaled harshly, frustration biting his tongue. Without hesitation, he bit into his finger, copper bursting on his lips. His hand moved fast, scrawling blood into desperate, jagged strokes over his wrists, across the sensitive glands throbbing at the base of his neck. Crude seals, layered atop what talismans had already failed him.

Unconventional, dangerous—but blood made the barrier stronger. Strong enough, maybe, to hold until–

His body froze. Instinct screamed.

He dove sideways, barely in time. The thicket behind him exploded in a burst of scorched leaves, the acrid tang of charred earth flooding the air.

Wei Wuxian landed hard, knees jarring, limbs aching from the relentless strain. He forced himself upright, Suibian rattling faintly against his hip, eyes narrowing through the smoke.

An Alpha stood in the clearing. Older. Robes marked with deep crimson and black. The Wen sigil blazed across his chest. His sword slid easily back into its sheath, casual as if he had merely trimmed weeds instead of obliterating a hiding place.

His head tilted. The smile that curled his lips was sharp, predatory.

“Found you.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Seven

Fire Beneath the Skin

The forest held its breath.

Not a whisper of wind. Not a rustle of leaves. Even the birds had vanished from the canopy—as though nature itself dared not intrude upon the violence simmering between two figures locked in the clearing.

Wei Wuxian spat blood onto the dirt. It burned on his tongue, sharp as copper and rage.

Across from him, the Wen Alpha smiled—a slow, predatory stretch of teeth. His sword gleamed crimson in the noon light.

“Tired already, little Omega?”

“Try me,” Wei Wuxian rasped. His knuckles whitened around Suibian’s hilt.

The Alpha lunged again. Steel split the air with a scream. Wei Wuxian met the blow, the impact numbing his arm to the shoulder. Another strike came before he could recover, forcing him back—step by step—over trampled roots slick with blood and ash. The Wen fought like fire: wide, consuming, leaving nothing standing in his wake.

Wei Wuxian’s body moved on instinct, the old rhythm of combat written into his bones long before this life. His Heat throbbed beneath every motion, molten ache flooding his limbs. Each breath came ragged, tasting of iron and smoke.

He parried, ducked, twisted—but the Alpha was relentless. The sword clipped his sleeve; a line of blood bloomed across his arm. His scent, already heavy with fever, spiked in the air. The Wen’s eyes gleamed gold with want. 

“Submit,” the Alpha growled. “It’ll hurt less.”

Wei Wuxian laughed. The sound was wild, wrong, half broken.

He shifted his stance. The world tilted, blurred—and then something snapped inside him.

The next exchange wasn’t a fight.

It was slaughter.

Suibian sang as it cut through air—a single, perfect note that trembled in the marrow. The Wen’s grin faltered. His weapon met Wei Wuxian’s—then shuddered, splintered, shattered.

A flicker passed through Wei Wuxian’s eyes—brief but unmistakable. Crimson bled into silver. His scent changed too: no longer the sweetness of Omega heat, but something darker, storm-soaked, ancient.

The Wen’s mouth opened on a scream. He never finished it.

Suibian flashed. Blood arced, bright and hot against the pale afternoon. The body fell in two halves, the forest painted red.

For a heartbeat, Wei Wuxian stood still, chest heaving, the blade humming softly in his grip. His reflection stared back from the steel edge—pupils rimmed with red, eyes unfamiliar.

When he blinked again, the color was gone. His knees trembled.

“No,” he whispered. “No, that’s not—”

But the forest was already stirring. Voices—closer now. The Wen Alpha’s dying shout had drawn others.

Wei Wuxian turned and ran.

Branches whipped at his face. The world pulsed with heat and heartbeat and panic. His body screamed to nest, to hide, to find safety—but his mind was racing, fractured, haunted by the flash of crimson in his own eyes.

Something inside him was waking.

Something that remembered how to kill.

How to burn.

He didn’t know how long he ran before the trees opened into a narrow path of sunlight, leading toward the hollow where he’d intended to hide. He almost laughed in relief when he saw it.

Almost.

Because a sword struck the ground in front of him, stopping him cold.

He hadn’t even heard the approach. No sound. No scent. Nothing—until that instant when the air turned cool and clean and cruelly familiar.

Cold sandalwood threaded through the heat.

Wei Wuxian froze. Slowly, he lifted his gaze.

Lan Wangji stood between the trees, robes white as the sunlight bleeding through the canopy. The pale blue of his forehead ribbon caught the breeze. His eyes were carved from winter.

“Hanguang-jun.” Wei Wuxian forced a crooked smile. “You must be lost. The righteous path is that way.”

Lan Wangji said nothing. His gaze fixed on Wei Wuxian—steady, unreadable, unrelenting. Under the sharp purity of sandalwood, Wei Wuxian’s own scent flared in desperate counterpoint—sweet and raw, impossible to hide.

The silence pressed in until it hurt.

Another wave of Heat hit. His legs gave out. He stumbled, catching himself on Suibian’s hilt as his vision swam. Every nerve screamed for relief, for escape, for something.

Lan Wangji moved.

One heartbeat he stood still, the next he was there—too close, too fast. His hand closed around Wei Wuxian’s wrist, turning, disarming him with a grace that felt rehearsed. Suibian fell, the clang echoing through the trees.

Then Lan Wangji’s hand found the back of his neck.

Cold. Controlled.

The contact shattered everything.

Fire and ash.

Burial Mounds, burning.

Corpses wailing. 

An Omega kneeling in blackened soil, hands bloody, clutching the charred remains of a child. Screaming until the sky split, until the sound became wordless grief.

And above him—the righteous sects, gleaming in light and disdain, blades raised against the heretic, the Yiling Patriarch.

Lan Wangji among them.

His face half-shadowed, unreadable. His sword unsheathed.

His silence is louder than any condemnation.

The vision ripped through Wei Wuxian like lightning. He jerked away, a hoarse cry tearing from his throat. The heat became agony. His qi roared out of control, surging wild, refusing to obey.

Lan Wangji’s grip tightened— it only made the memory burn brighter. Wei Wuxian’s body convulsed, grief and fury breaking through the surface like floodwater through cracked stone.

Then—

Everything stopped.

The air shifted, thick and sudden. A new scent rolled through the clearing—pine, iron, and smoke. Strong. Alpha. Overpowering. It crashed into the sandalwood and swept it aside.

Lan Wangji’s fingers ripped away as though burned.

Wei Wuxian’s knees gave out. The world tilted. Warmth caught him, steady and solid, before the ground could.

He managed one breath, catching the edge of that scent—pine and steel.

A voice followed. Deep, rough, threaded with command.

“Enough.”

Darkness claimed him before he could see the face.

It was terrifying.

It felt like his body was splitting open from the inside out.

Wei Wuxian bit down on the piece of cloth jammed between his teeth, his muffled screams vibrating through it, tears cutting hot tracks down his cheeks. Sweat clung to his skin, every breath a struggle between agony and survival.

A face hovered above him—round, frightened, impossibly young. Doe eyes wide with panic.

A’Ning—?

The name surfaced without thought. It felt familiar and foreign all at once, like a dream he’d once lived and forgotten. The young Omega pressed another cool, damp cloth to his forehead, whispering soft words that blurred at the edges.

“Focus, Wuxian.”

Another voice. Female. Older. Calm, but strained.

His vision swam, the room melting into streaks of dim firelight and shadow. His body convulsed with another wave of pain—sharp, tidal, all-consuming.

He gripped the mattress so hard his nails tore through the fabric. His breath came in harsh gasps. His body moved on its own, instinct and agony guiding him. The pressure built low and deep, relentless. His legs trembled—bare, bent, open.

“Almost there,” murmured the voice from between his knees.

Another contraction hit, cruel and blinding.

Wei Wuxian screamed until his throat tore. His entire body strained, his mind fragmenting under the weight of it. He pushed—once, twice, again—until the world cracked open with him.

Then, through the haze of pain and heat and tears—

A cry.

Thin, piercing, new.

The sound cut through everything—through the firelight, through the scent of blood and herbs, through the fragments of lives overlapping in his mind.

Wei Wuxian’s chest heaved. His eyes fluttered open, searching through the blur.

There, in trembling hands, something small and red and impossibly alive.

A baby.

His baby.

Wei Wuxian woke with a gasp.

The sound tore through the dim air, ragged and wet, like he’d been drowning. For a heartbeat, he didn’t know where he was. Didn’t know who he was. The memory of that infant’s cry still rang in his skull, fading only to be replaced by something worse.

Heat.

It coursed through his veins like molten gold, sharp and relentless. His skin burned; his body ached. Every pulse felt too loud, too close. His thoughts splintered, scattering under the crushing weight of instinct—hide, nest, mate.

The scent of himself filled the air, thick and cloying, sweet enough to choke on. Beneath it twined another—pine and iron, dark and steady, an Alpha’s mark that made his muscles go slack for a second, made a low, helpless sound hum in his throat before reason clawed its way back.

Wei Wuxian buried himself deeper into the nest he didn’t remember building—blankets, robes, shredded bits of his outer garments, all tangled together and steeped in scent. He pressed his burning face into it, panting, slick damp between his thighs. The faint pulse of that foreign pheromone surrounded him like a phantom touch, coaxing something inside him to yield.

Then clarity struck—cold and bright.

No.

He forced his eyes open, blinking through the sweat and haze. The world around him swam—stone walls slick with condensation, a dim fire flickering in a makeshift pit. The light caught the ceiling, turned droplets into trembling stars.

A cave.

He turned his head slowly, each movement sending waves of dizziness through him. Beyond the firelight, he could just make out the narrow mouth of the cave, shadows pooling like spilled ink. Outside, it was dark.

Nightfall?

Wei Wuxian’s breath hitched. His stomach twisted.

He’d fainted.

He remembered Lan Wangji’s fingers—cold, precise—pressing against the back of his neck, the flare of Heat answering touch with fury. And then… nothing.

“What… happened after that?” he whispered, though no one could hear him. His voice cracked.

The fire hissed softly in reply.

And beneath that sound, faint and steady as a heartbeat, came another—footsteps. Slow. Heavy. Moving closer.

Wei Wuxian tried to move.

The effort was pitiful. His limbs trembled so violently he barely managed to lift himself before his elbows gave out. The motion only made it worse—the ache low in his abdomen flared, sharp and molten, spreading down to the core of him.

He groaned, breath shuddering, and collapsed back into the nest. The heat between his thighs throbbed with humiliating insistence, his hips twitching before he forced them still with sheer will. Every instinct screamed at him for relief—for friction, for touch—but he bit it back, teeth sinking into his lip hard enough to taste blood.

His Heats had never been like this.

Even without suppressants, he’d always managed. Breath work. Meditation. Control. Discipline. But this—this was wild. Unrelenting. Like something deeper was being dragged up from his very marrow, something older than this body.

Footsteps echoed softly against stone.

Wei Wuxian froze. His pulse leapt, pounding in his ears. The air thickened with scent—Alpha, heavy and commanding, threaded through with pine and cold iron. It rolled through the cave, washing over him until his breath caught, his inner walls fluttering helplessly at the power of it.

A shadow fell across the cave mouth.

He watched through half-lidded eyes as the figure bent low to enter, the firelight catching on wet rock and a silver crown of the person. Broad shoulders. A sharp jawline. A face carved from restraint and command.

Nie Mingjue.

For a moment, Wei Wuxian simply stared. Confused. Bewildered. The world spun too fast around him.

Nie Mingjue?