Reckless Wildness

He had wanted to wash his face and take a look at the features of the body he now inhabited, but there was no water in the room—none for drinking, none for washing.

The only basin-like object, Wei Wuxian surmised, was probably meant for relieving oneself, not for washing up.

He pushed the door. It had been bolted from outside, probably to keep him from running around loose.

Not a single thing had given him even the faintest joy of rebirth!

He might as well meditate for a while to acclimate to his new vessel. And so he sat for an entire day. When he opened his eyes, sunlight leaked through the cracks around the door and window. He could stand and walk, but he was still dizzy and bleary-eyed, no better than before. Wei Wuxian found it strange: ‘Mo Xuanyu’s cultivation is so low that his spiritual power is negligible. There’s no reason I can’t control this body. Why is it so uncooperative?’

Only when a strange noise came from his belly did he realize it had nothing to do with cultivation or spiritual power; it was simply that this body, unused to fasting, was hungry. If he didn’t find food soon, he might well become the first Wrathful Ghost and evil deity in history to be summoned into a body and promptly starve to death.

Wei Wuxian gathered his strength and raised his foot, ready to kick the door open, when suddenly footsteps approached and someone kicked at the door, shouting impatiently, ‘Mealtime!’

They yelled that, but the door showed no sign of being opened. Wei Wuxian looked down and saw that a smaller door had been opened in the lower part of the door, just enough to see a small bowl being set heavily in front of it.

The servant outside added, ‘Hurry up! What are you dawdling for? Put the bowl back out when you’re done!’

The small door was even smaller than a dog hole, too narrow for a person to pass through, but it allowed the bowl to be taken in. Two dishes and rice, all of it looking wretched. Wei Wuxian stirred the two chopsticks stuck in the rice, a little wistful:

The Yiling Patriarch had barely returned to the world of the living, and already he’d been kicked and cursed at. The first meal to welcome him was this cold leftover swill. Where were the rivers of blood? The slaughtered chickens and dogs? The entire clan wiped out? Who would believe it? Truly, a tiger fallen to the plains is bullied by dogs, a dragon stranded in shallow waters is mocked by shrimp, a plucked phoenix is less than a chicken.

At that moment, the servant outside spoke again, but this time his voice was all smiles, as if he had turned into a different person: ‘Ading! Come over here.’

Another crisp, girlish voice answered from afar: ‘Atong, delivering food to the one inside again?’

Atong spat, ‘Otherwise what would I be doing in this wretched courtyard!’

Ading’s voice drew closer, arriving at the door: ‘You only bring him one meal a day, and you slack off from time to time and no one says a word. You have it so easy and still you complain. Look at me—I have so much work I can’t even go out and have fun.’

Atong complained, “I’m not just delivering his meals! Do you still dare to go out and play? With so many Walking Corpse around, who hasn’t bolted their doors tight?”

Wei Wuxian crouched by the door, picked up the bowl, and awkwardly manoeuvred the two mismatched chopsticks, eating while he listened.

It seemed that Mo Village hadn’t been too peaceful lately. Walking corpses, as the name suggests, were dead people that walked—a low-level and quite common type of corpse transformation. Usually they had blank stares and shuffled slowly, with little lethal power, but they were still enough to terrify ordinary folk. The stench of decay alone was enough to make one vomit.

However, to Wei Wuxian, they were the easiest to command and the most obedient puppets. Hearing about them so abruptly even felt a little familiar.

Atong seemed to be winking and grinning: ‘If you want to go out, you’ll have to take me along. I’ll protect you…’ Ading said, ‘You? Protect me? Boasting. Could you really drive those things away?’ Atong said sulkily, ‘I can’t drive them off, but no one else can either.’ Ading laughed. ‘How do you know others can’t? I tell you, today an envoy from a cultivation sect has come to our Mo Village. I hear it’s a very impressive and illustrious clan! The madam is entertaining them in the main hall right now, and the townsfolk are all gathered around to see the novelty. Listen, isn’t that a lot of noise? I don’t have time to mess around with you; maybe they’ll call for me soon.’

Wei Wuxian listened intently and indeed from the east came the faint sound of noisy chatter. After pondering a moment, he stood up, raised his foot, and kicked. The door bolt cracked with a ‘ka’.

The two servants had been exchanging flirtatious glances and chatting merrily when the door suddenly burst open, making them both shriek in fright. Wei Wuxian tossed aside the bowl and chopsticks and strode out, only to be blinded by the harsh sunlight for a long moment. Even his skin prickled slightly. He raised a hand to shade his brow and closed his eyes for a moment.

Atong had screamed even shriller than Ading just now. When he got a clear look and saw it was the madman everyone could bully, his courage swelled again. Determined to regain his lost face, he jumped over and waved his hand as if shooing a dog, scolding, ‘Go on, get back! What are you doing coming out!’

He couldn't have treated a beggar or a fly any worse. These servants had probably treated Mo Xuanyu this way all along, and since he never resisted, they had become utterly brazen. Wei Wuxian gave Atong a light kick that sent him sprawling, and said with a smile, ‘Who do you think you’re trampling on?’

After that kick, he followed the noise eastward. The East Hall and its courtyard were crowded with people inside and out. The moment Wei Wuxian set foot into the courtyard, a woman’s voice rose above the rest: ‘...we have a junior in our family who once had an immortal encounter...’

It had to be Madam Mo again, trying every trick to build connections with a cultivation clan. Without waiting for her to finish, Wei Wuxian pushed through the crowd, squeezed into the hall, and waved enthusiastically: ‘Here, here! Right here!’

Seated in the hall was a middle-aged woman, well maintained and richly dressed—it was indeed Madam Mo. Her uxorilocal husband sat below her. Opposite them sat several white-clad youths with swords on their backs. When a dishevelled, filthy-faced weirdo suddenly appeared from the crowd, all voices ceased abruptly. But Wei Wuxian seemed utterly oblivious to the frozen scene. He came forward with a thick face and said, ‘Who was just calling for me? Someone with an immortal encounter—that would be me!’

With so much powder on his face, his grin cracked it and sent flakes cascading down. One white-clad youth nearly burst out laughing with a ‘pfft’, but a glance of disapproval from the youth beside him, who seemed to be the leader, immediately made him straighten his face.

Wei Wuxian followed the sound with his gaze and was slightly taken aback. He’d assumed those ignorant servants had been exaggerating; he hadn’t expected that the visitors really were cultivators from an ‘illustrious clan’.

These youths, with their light sleeves and gently fluttering sashes, exuded a refined, immortal elegance and were a pleasure to behold. One look at their uniforms told him they were from the Gusu Lan Clan. Moreover, they were blood descendants of the Lan family, for each wore a one-finger-wide white forehead ribbon embroidered with a curled-cloud pattern.

The Gusu Lan Clan’s family precept was ‘Elegance and Correctness’. The forehead ribbon signified ‘self-restraint’, and the curled-cloud pattern was the Lan family crest. Guest cultivators or disciples from outside the clan, attached to the main family, wore ribbons without the crest. Wei Wuxian got a toothache whenever he saw people from the Lan clan. In his last life he often privately sneered that their uniforms looked like ‘wearing mourning white’, so he could never mistake them.

Madam Mo hadn’t seen this nephew for a long time, so it took a while for her to recover from her shock and recognize the heavily painted figure. She was furious but could not lose her temper in front of others. Lowering her voice, she said to her husband, ‘Who let him out? Get him back!’

Her husband hurriedly smiled in assent, the very picture of annoyance, and got up to grab him. But Wei Wuxian suddenly lay down on the ground, his limbs glued fast to the floor. The man pushed and pulled but couldn’t budge him. Calling in several servants to drag him was just as useless. If not for the presence of guests he would have kicked him long ago. Seeing Madam Mo’s face darken further, the husband sweated profusely and cursed, ‘You crazy lunatic! Get back inside or I’ll show you what’s what!’

Everyone in Mo Village knew the Mo family had a mad young master, but Mo Xuanyu had been hiding in his gloomy room for years, too afraid to see anyone. Now they saw his makeup and behavior, as grotesque as a demon’s, and started whispering among themselves, fearing they might miss out on a good show.

Wei Wuxian said, ‘I can go back, fine.’ He pointed straight at Mo Ziyuan. ‘But first tell him to return what he stole from me.’

Mo Ziyuan had never imagined this madman would have such nerve. He’d been given a lesson just yesterday, and today he dared to bring this up here. His face turning red and white, he said, ‘You’re spouting nonsense! When did I ever steal from you? Would I even need to steal your things?’

Wei Wuxian said, ‘Right, right! You didn’t steal—you robbed!’

Now Madam Mo could see clearly: Mo Xuanyu had come prepared, his mind perfectly clear, determined to make them lose face. She couldn’t help being both startled and hateful: ‘You came here today just to stir up trouble, didn’t you?!’

Wei Wuxian looked bewildered. ‘He stole and robbed from me, and I’m asking for it back. You call that stirring up trouble?’

Before Madam Mo could answer, Mo Ziyuan lost his temper and flew at him with a kick. One of the white-clad youths with a sword on his back twitched a finger, and Mo Ziyuan lost his footing, his kick grazing nothing but air, and he fell. Wei Wuxian, however, tumbled as if he had been knocked over, and even pulled open his robe to reveal, squarely on his chest, the footprint from Mo Ziyuan’s kick the day before.

The villagers of Mo Village were watching the drama with relish and excitement: that footprint certainly couldn’t have been self-inflicted. No matter what, he was still Mo family blood—this family was too cruel. When he first came back, he clearly hadn’t been this crazed; he’d probably been driven mad by them. Whatever the case, as long as there was a spectacle to watch, they were happy. It wouldn’t hurt them, and this spectacle was even better than the visiting cultivators!

With so many eyes watching and unable either to beat him or drive him away, Madam Mo swallowed her anger and forced herself to smooth things over. Coolly, she said, ‘What’s this about stealing, robbing? So ugly. We’re all family here—it was only borrowed for a look. Ah-Yuan is your little brother; what does it matter if he takes a few things? As his older brother, are you this petty? Throwing a childish tantrum over such a trivial matter and making a fool of yourself… it’s not like we won’t return them to you.’

The white-clad youths looked at one another; one who had been sipping tea nearly choked. Disciples raised in the Gusu Lan sect had been nurtured on moonlight and flowers, snow and elegance—they had probably never seen such a farce, let alone heard such lofty reasoning. Today was certainly an education. Wei Wuxian laughed inwardly, held out his hand, and said, ‘Then return them.’

Of course Mo Ziyuan couldn’t produce them; they had long been thrown away or broken, and even if he could, he wouldn’t be willing. His face livid, he cried, ‘Mother!’ and shot her a look that said: Are you going to let him humiliate me like this?

Madam Mo glared at him, telling him to stop making the scene worse. But then Wei Wuxian added, ‘Actually, not only shouldn’t he have stolen my things, he especially shouldn’t have come stealing in the dead of night. Everyone knows this young gentleman here likes men. He might have no shame, but I do know the meaning of “don’t pull up your shoes in a melon field”.’

Madam Mo drew a sharp gasp and cried out, ‘What are you saying in front of all the elders and villagers! Have you no shame? Ah-Yuan is your cousin!’

When it came to acting wild, Wei Wuxian was a master. In the past, he had to maintain some dignity, lest people say he was ill-bred. But now he was a madman anyway, so why bother with face? He might as well just let loose, however it pleased him. He thrust out his neck and declared righteously, ‘He knows he’s my cousin yet still doesn’t avoid suspicion—who’s the shameless one here?! You don’t care about that, but don’t ruin my reputation! I’m still looking for a good man!!!’

Mo Ziyuan let out a roar and swung a chair at him. Wei Wuxian, seeing he’d finally exploded, scrambled up and dodged. The chair smashed to pieces on the ground. The idlers who had been crowded three layers deep around the East Hall, gloating over the Mo family’s enormous loss of face, scattered like startled birds and beasts at the smash, afraid of getting hurt in the crossfire. Wei Wuxian dodged behind those almost stupefied Lan youths, hollering, ‘You all saw it, right? A thief beating a man—utterly devoid of conscience!’

When Mo Ziyuan tried to chase and pummel him, the leading youth hastily blocked him, saying, ‘This… young master, let’s talk calmly.’

Madam Mo, seeing the youth’s intention to shield the madman, felt a twinge of apprehension. She forced a smile and said, ‘This is my younger sister’s son. He’s a bit… not right in the head. Everyone in Mo Village knows he’s a madman, always spouting strange talk; you can’t take it seriously. Immortal masters, please…’ But before she could finish, Wei Wuxian poked his head out from behind the youth: ‘Who says my words can’t be taken seriously? Let anyone try stealing from me again—I’ll cut off one of their hands for every time they steal!’

Mo Ziyuan, who had been held down by his father, nearly erupted again upon hearing this. Wei Wuxian, with a ‘la la la’, darted out like a slippery fish. The youth hurried to block the doorway and changed the subject, speaking with grave seriousness: ‘Well… then we’ll make use of the West Courtyard tonight. Please be sure to remember what I said earlier: after dusk, keep all doors shut, do not walk around, and above all do not go near that courtyard.’

Madam Mo was trembling with fury, but blocked as she was she couldn’t push him aside. She could only say, ‘Yes, yes, thank you, thank you…’

Mo Ziyuan cried in disbelief, ‘Mother! That madman slandered me in front of everyone! Are we just going to let it go?! You said it yourself, you said he was nothing but a…’

Madam Mo snapped, ‘Shut up. Whatever you have to say, you can say it later at home!’

Mo Ziyuan had never suffered such a loss or such humiliation, nor been scolded by his mother like this. Seething with hatred, he roared, ‘That lunatic is dead tonight!’

After his bout of madness, Wei Wuxian left the main gate and took a stroll around Mo Village, startling countless passersby. He was enjoying himself, beginning to appreciate the pleasure of being a madman. He even grew rather fond of his hanged-ghost makeup and was reluctant to wash it off. He thought to himself: there’s no water anyway, so I won’t bother. He tidied his hair and glanced at his wrist: the wounds showed no sign of fading or healing. That venting for Mo Xuanyu was far from enough.

Could it really be that he was expected to wipe out the entire Mo Clan?

…To be honest, it wasn’t exactly difficult.

Lost in thought, Wei Wuxian drifted back to the Mo residence. As he tiptoed past the West Courtyard, he saw those Lan disciples standing on the rooftops and eaves, solemnly discussing something. Then he tiptoed back and looked up at them eagerly.

Although the Gusu Lan Clan had played a major part in the siege against him, back then these juniors had either not been born or were just toddlers, so it really had nothing to do with them. Wei Wuxian stopped to watch them handle the situation. As he watched, he suddenly felt something was not quite right.

Why did those black flags fluttering in the wind atop the roof and wall eaves look so familiar?

This type of flag is called a “Spirit-Summoning Flag.” If stuck into a living person, it draws all yin spirits, wronged souls, Fierce Corpse, and malevolent entities within a certain range to attack only that living person. Because the person with the flag becomes a living target, it is also called a “Target Flag.” It can also be stuck into a building, but the building must contain living people, in which case the attack range expands to everyone inside. Because the area around the flag is always thick with yin energy, like a whirling black wind, it is also called a “Black Wind Flag.” These youths set up a Flag Array in the West Courtyard and told others to stay away, clearly intending to lure the Walking Corpse there and wipe them all out in one fell swoop.

As for why they looked familiar… how could they not? The maker of the Spirit-Summoning Flag was none other than the Yiling Patriarch himself!

It seemed that no matter how the Hundred Clans of the Mystic Gate screamed for his blood, they had no qualms about using the things he made…

A disciple standing on the eave saw him watching and said, ‘Go back. This isn’t a place you should be.’

Though it was a dismissal, the intent was kind, and the tone was vastly different from the servants’. Wei Wuxian, taking him off guard, jumped up and snatched one of the flags.

The disciple was startled and jumped off the wall to chase him: ‘Don’t touch that! That’s not yours to take!’

Wei Wuxian ran and yelled, his hair wild, arms flailing—every inch the madman: ‘Won’t give it back! Won’t! I want it! I want it!’

The disciple caught up in two steps and grabbed his arm: ‘Give it back or I’ll hit you!’

Wei Wuxian clung to the flag, refusing to let go. The youth in charge, who had been arranging the flag array, was alerted by the commotion and lightly hopped down from the eave, saying, ‘Jingyi, let it go. Just get it back properly; why get into it with him?’

Lan Jingyi said, ‘Sizhui, I didn’t really hit him! Look at him, he’s wrecked the flag array!’

Amid the tussle, Wei Wuxian had already swiftly examined the Spirit-Summoning Flag in his hand. The patterns were drawn correctly, the incantations complete and without error; it would work without a hitch. Only, the person who painted it lacked experience—the finished design could attract evil beings and walking corpses within a five-li radius at most. Still, it would suffice.

Lan Sizhui smiled at him gently: ‘Young Master Mo, it’s getting dark. We’ll soon be catching walking corpses here. It’s dangerous at night; please go back to your room now.’

Wei Wuxian sized up the young man for a moment. He was refined and elegant, with an outstanding bearing, a faint smile at his lips—truly a promising sapling worthy of praise. Wei Wuxian approved inwardly. This boy had arranged the flag array with order and precision, and his upbringing was excellent. Who in that rigid, terrifying nest of the Gusu Lan Clan could have raised such a junior?

Lan Sizhui began again, ‘This flag…’

Before he could finish, Wei Wuxian threw the Spirit-Summoning Flag to the ground and snorted, ‘Just a broken flag, what’s so great about it! I draw them much better than you do!’

He flung it down and then fled. The youths still leaning on the rooftop watching the fun heard his boast and nearly laughed themselves off the eaves. Lan Jingyi also laughed in exasperation, picked up the Spirit-Summoning Flag and dusted it off, saying, ‘What a madman!’

Lan Sizhui said, ‘Don’t talk like that. Come back and help now.’

Wei Wuxian, for his part, continued to loaf around aimlessly for a couple more rounds and only drifted back to Mo Xuanyu’s little courtyard in the evening. The door bolt was broken, the place a mess that no one had cleaned up. He paid it no mind, picked a relatively clean spot on the floor, and sat down to meditate again.

But before his meditation could last until dawn, a commotion from outside pulled him out of his trance.

A chaotic scramble of footsteps, mixed with wails and shrieks, approached rapidly. Wei Wuxian heard a few phrases repeated over and over: ‘…rush in, drag him straight out!’ ‘Report to the authorities!’ ‘Report to what authorities? Beat him to death with a sack over his head!’

He opened his eyes. Several servants had already burst in. The whole courtyard was ablaze with torchlight, and someone shouted, ‘Drag that murdering madman to the main hall and make him pay with his life!’