When the day of the duel finally arrived, the palace courtyard transformed into a full-blown arena.
Officials, guards, servants—everyone gathered to witness the spectacle. The air buzzed with anticipation and thinly veiled bloodlust. I stood at the edge, hidden behind a carved column, heart pounding, palms cold.
At the center of the courtyard stood Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji.
They didn't speak. They didn't need to. The weight in their gazes said everything: this has to look real.
The moment stretched, silent and still.
Then Lan Wangji moved.
His strikes were fast, fluid, a blur of elegance and precision. Every movement was measured to the inch, controlled to the breath. He wasn't holding back—and yet, he wasn't trying to win either. He was walking the razor edge of intention.
Wei Wuxian countered easily, his body loose but alert, his footwork calculated. The moment he drew his flute to his lips, the courtyard seemed to still.
And then, the black smoke rose.
It seeped from the cracks in the earth, slow and sinuous, coiling like living shadows. The tendrils twisted upward with eerie grace, forming vague, humanoid shapes that pulsed with dark energy. The temperature dropped, the air thickening with an unnatural chill—a silent warning.
This was the darkness Wei Wuxian could summon with a single note. And it was beautiful. And terrifying.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
But Lan Wangji didn't flinch.
He summoned his Guqin, its polished wood glowing faintly with spiritual energy. He struck a chord, and the air answered—his music cascading out in waves of light and sound. The vibrations collided with the dark melodies of the flute, rippling in visible arcs that deflected the spirits closing in on him.
The two of them stood in the center of it all, locked in a clash that was more than power—it was memory, trust, sacrifice. I couldn't look away.
Lan Wangji's music rose in intensity, a melodic wall of protection. Wei Wuxian's countered with something deeper—haunting, mournful, the kind of sound that clung to your ribs.
Each note, each blow, each clash of energy felt like a heartbeat pulled between them. Controlled chaos. Beautiful devastation.
Wei Wuxian's army of the dead surged forward, their ghastly forms swirling like smoke, pressing relentlessly against Lan Wangji's defenses. The air crackled with spiritual energy as the two forces clashed—light against shadow, restraint against raw, consuming power.
Lan Wangji's face remained composed, but even from where I stood, I could see the tension in his jaw. His fingers danced over the strings of his Guqin with precision, but the music—usually so fluid and flawless—wavered. Just for a second.
And then the barrier cracked.
I felt my stomach drop.
Wei Wuxian didn't pause. His playing intensified, the notes sharper, faster, driving the spirits with renewed fury. They responded instantly, lunging toward Lan Wangji like wolves scenting blood.
Wait… this is too much. They're supposed to be faking. Right?
I turned my gaze to Wei Wuxian, searching his expression for a signal, a wink, some indication that this was still a performance.
There was none.
He looked… focused. Cold. Almost ruthless.
This isn't part of the plan.
Lan Wangji gritted his teeth, pouring more spiritual energy into the Guqin, reinforcing his shield with sheer willpower. The music flared, a desperate crescendo, but the spirits were relentless. Claws scraped against the barrier. Ghostly faces twisted and leered with hunger.
Why wasn't Wei Wuxian stopping? Why wasn't he calling them off?
Lan Wangji's hands moved faster—too fast. His melody reached a fever pitch, his aura flaring like a beacon.
Then a spirit broke through.
It slammed into him, and I gasped as he staggered back. The Guqin's melody faltered. A sharp, wet sound cracked through the air—Lan Wangji coughing blood.
The crimson droplets splattered across his robe, staining the white silk like spilled ink.
Wei Wuxian's eyes flickered, the briefest flash of emotion—concern, guilt—but he didn't stop. His flute continued its haunting tune, and the spirits obeyed.
My heart raced. Why are you still playing? Stop! He's hurt!
Lan Wangji dropped to one knee, his breath ragged, his entire body trembling with the effort to hold his ground. The courtyard had fallen utterly silent, every spectator frozen in shock. No one moved. No one spoke.
And still, he played.
With a final burst of strength, Lan Wangji struck a powerful chord on his Guqin. The sound erupted outward in a brilliant wave of spiritual force, scattering the spirits like ash in the wind.
Silence.
Then, he collapsed.
His Guqin clattered to the stone beside him as he crumpled, motionless.
Wei Wuxian lowered his flute. The eerie melody faded, leaving only the echo of what had just occurred.
I stood frozen, numb. That wasn't acting. That wasn't staged.
That was real.
And I didn't know why.
Wei Wuxian stood tall, his face unreadable, voice flat and formal as he addressed the stunned crowd.
"Hanguang-jun has lost. He is hereby demoted and will serve as the personal guard to Consort Mei Lin."
His words cut through the silence like a blade. Without so much as a glance toward Lan Wangji, he turned and walked away, every step echoing against the stone like a closing door.
Soldiers rushed forward to carry Lan Wangji from the courtyard, his body limp, his skin far too pale.
I didn't move. I couldn't. My hands were shaking, and my thoughts were louder than the crowd around me.
Why did it have to go that far?
Ming Yu and I rushed after Wei Wuxian, our footsteps echoing down the corridor like the aftermath of thunder. The tension was unbearable, thick and heavy like the air before a storm.
As soon as he pushed open the doors to his quarters and shut them behind us, I couldn't hold back anymore.
"Wei Wuxian, did you really have to hurt Lan Zhan that badly?" The words came out sharper than I intended. "You don't—" My voice caught in my throat. "You didn't have to do that."
But before he could answer, Wei Wuxian staggered. His face twisted in pain—and then blood spilled from his mouth.
He collapsed.
Panic slammed into me like a wave.
"Wei Ying!" I cried, dropping to my knees beside him.
Ming Yu was already there, checking his pulse with a calmness I didn't feel. "He has internal injuries," he said tightly. "We need a healer. Now."
I didn't wait.
I bolted out the door, my voice ringing through the halls. "Prince Wei needs a healer! Now!"
Within seconds, figures in healer robes appeared like summoned spirits, their calm expressions doing nothing to slow my racing heart. They lifted Wei Wuxian gently onto a stretcher and moved quickly down the corridor toward the infirmary.
Ming Yu turned to me, jaw tight. "Go with them. Make sure he gets proper care. I'll check on Lan Zhan."
I nodded, too stunned to argue. "This is ridiculous," I muttered under my breath. "It was supposed to be fake. Just a performance."
I trailed after the healers, my thoughts moving faster than my feet. This had spiraled into something else entirely. What had started as a political stunt had somehow become an actual bloodbath between two of the strongest cultivators in the realm.
My favorite characters of all time. What if they didn't make it?!!
Nope. Not thinking about that right now.
When we reached the infirmary, they laid Wei Wuxian on a bed and began their work in hushed, efficient motion. Then they left and let him rest.
I stood there like a useless extra in my own story, arms crossed, fury bubbling just under my skin.
This wasn't how any of it was supposed to go.
Finally, after what felt like hours, Wei Wuxian stirred.
He blinked slowly, then cracked a weak smile. "I'm okay," he murmured. "Lan Zhan's spiritual power hits like a boulder."
I exhaled shakily. Relief hit me first—followed very quickly by frustration.
"Why did you two fight for real?"
He chuckled, which turned into a wince. "If I didn't hurt him, no one would believe it. We had to sell it."
"You almost died selling it!"
He waved a hand weakly, still smiling. "I may have… gotten a little caught up in the moment. I've always wanted to beat Lan Zhan. Just once."
I stared at him.
"And?" I asked dryly.
"And I did." He grinned wider—then winced again. "Sort of."
I crossed my arms. "You nearly killed him. And yourself."
He sighed, finally looking serious. "By the time I realized how much power I'd put into the attack, it was too late. Lan Zhan dispersed it to protect the crowd. But that rebound hit me harder than expected. I knew I wouldn't last long so I made the announcement and got the hell out of there."
I looked at him lying there—pale, broken, but still somehow smug—and I didn't know whether I wanted to punch him or cry.
Probably both.
I shook my head, exasperated but also relieved that he was conscious and able to explain. "You really are something else, Wei Ying."
"Is he okay?"
"I don't know since I can't go see him right now. Otherwise, our plan would be ruined." I said.
Just then, Ming Yu entered the room, his expression a mix of concern and relief. "He is okay now. His injury is severe but not life-threatening."
Wei Wuxian sighed with relief, his eyes closing briefly. "Good. That's good."
I looked between the two of them, feeling a mix of emotions. "Let's hope this plan works and we can finally put an end to this mess," I said quietly.