#demonic sect

The air felt so dry that it made the nostrils sting and lips crack, the occasional breeze carrying a vague scent of sulphur. If one were to take a deep enough breath, they would taste a faint metallic tinge at the back of their tongues. Outsiders were constantly reminded of the lava rivers flowing throughout Qishan, as well as its oppressive heat. The sun had just reached its apex, its light bleaching the sky a whitish-blue, the intense rays bearing down on the crowd, bathing their colourful robes with golden light, making them shine all the brighter. Beads of sweat running down crinkled brows, boots scuffing against gravel in a nervous dance, eyes suspiciously flickering from the high altar where the Five Great Sect Leaders were supposed to sit and then back at the -now- raised flags, the atmosphere wrought with barely restrained agitation.

Quiet chatter drifted into unwilling ears, though the more composed members of the crowd tried to not let it bother them, they couldn’t help but agree with the gossipers.

The whole arrangement made no sense.

Sect leaders kept their expressions neutral as their disciples pointed at the flags, whispering to each other:

There were supposed to be Five Great Sects, all their leaders accounted for.

So, why was there a sixth flag snapping against the wind?

The new flag in question had, unlike its companions, a pitch black background, with a blood-red crescent moon skilfully stitched at the centre, a snow-white huli jing was depicted, peacefully sleeping at the crescent’s crook, its nine tails lazily drooping downwards, flowing beneath the red moon in a colourless waterfall.

By itself it was a beautiful flag, the calmer ones mused.

What was causing such a ruckus was the group that the flag was attached to.

“Isn’t that…?” 

“It is! It is!” 

“But why would Wen Zongzhu invite that lot?! And to give them a seat at the table…?” 

“I’m still having trouble here…Wasn’t ‘that’ sect just a myth?” 

“This must be some kind of test! Why else would Wen Zongzhu request that clan of demons to come here?!”

“Is he trying to start a feud here and now?!” Nie Clan Heir, Nie Mingjue, quietly hissed under his breath. Choosing to focus on the altar’s highest seat, meant for Wen Zhangmen, as opposed to the main oddity. (while all the other leaders’ places were at the bottom of the altar. The young man noted with a sneer.) 

Nie Cídǐng settled a large hand on his eldest’s shoulder, firmly squeezing. “Now is not the time to make a scene, son. I’ll discuss it with Wen Zhangmen after the competition.” He murmured in his heir’s ear, thankful that all the chatter seemed to have blocked out his words from the nearby Wen disciples. He only let go when he sensed the younger forcing his tense frame to relax.

Nie Zhangmen immediately straightened his posture once he heard the heralds beating on the drums, ready to start announcing his and the others’ titles. 

“The Head of the Qinghe Nie Sect, Head of the Nie Clan!”

Giving his heir one last warning look, Nie Cídǐng stepped away from his eldest. Quietly taking a deep breath through his nose, the clan leader arranged his features into a more neutral expression and walked through a path the crowd of young cultivators made for him. Shoulders set and pace steady. 

“The Head of the Yunmeng Jiang Sect, Head of the Jiang Clan!”

Though the man was able to keep a polite smile plastered on his face, seasoned observers noticed the nervous twitch in Jiang Fengmian’s brow as he made his way to where Nie Cídǐng was standing, waiting for the rest of his fellow sect leaders at the foot of the altar. 

“The Head of the Gusu Lan Sect, Head of the Lan Clan!”

Still holding the rank of the most composed one of their group, Lan Qiren’s face hardly hinted at how he felt about the strangeness of the whole situation. It was only because he knew the man for years that Nie Cídǐng could see the tightness in the -usually unruffled- sect leader’s eyes as he got closer to the other two.

“The Head of the Lanling Jin Sect, Head of the Jin Clan!” 

Incomes the yellow eyesor -ahem!- Jin Zhangmen. That overly decorous fan of his open and hiding the bottom half of his face. Nie Cídǐng took note of the frivolous man’s attempt at acting coy, but it seems that Jin Zongzhu couldn’t stop his eyes from flitting suspiciously at the new addition among the flags. A greedy gleam in his gaze. 

“The Head of the Yiling Wei Sect, Head of the Wei Clan!”

Finally…. Nie Cídǐng thought.

Although, Wei Zongzhu wasn’t the only one walking down the path.

He brought his right-hand and left-hand with him, both men half a stride behind their superior. Their sect’s black outer robes and red inner robes swishing with every step. 

Despite the fact that all three men came from the same sect, none of their outer robes were a perfect match.

Wei Zhangmen’s right-hand, Meng Ruiqi, appeared to be the most unassuming of the trio. Hands folded at the waist, a gentle, near-feminine face that was smiling serenely, eyes closed and head bowed in a subservient manner, giving off a calm, demure air. His black outer robes were dotted with Lily of the Valley flowers along the shoulders and sleeves. Both hands, one folded atop the other, resulted in the long sleeves to interconnect, the embroidery on the cuffs overlapping, forming into a completed Lily of the Valley branch. 

It was only through Nie Cídǐng’s eagle-eyes and the sun hitting the reserved man’s black robes just so , did the sabre-wielder realise that there were additional details. 

Webs. Intricately woven black threads, the shade almost blending perfectly with its dark background, forming into spiderwebs carefully stitched on the shoulder and sleeve areas. The parts where the webs were supposed to interconnect to form a centre appeared to be covered up by the white, bell-shaped flowers. 

Not knowing why he felt slightly unsettled by the abnormal design choice, Nie Cídǐng chose to aim his focus at the man on the left.

Xue Chengmei was the exact opposite of his seemingly harmless-looking partner.  

Leisurely walking behind his sect leader with his arms interlocking behind his head in a rather inappropriately casual manner, the young man could easily give one the impression of an impish youth with a boyish charm, if it wasn’t for that canine-like smile of his. Xue Chengmei would catch the eye of whoever stared at him for too long and split his lips further, showing more of his teeth in a wide grin that was just plain unnerving, forcing others to look elsewhere. The design of his black robes had one dark-green snake stitched on both sides, their heads resting on each shoulder, long bodies stretched across the torso, tail-ends interweaving around the waist. Blending perfectly with the green belt that had a scale-like pattern. 

Nie Cídǐng carefully observed the grinning man’s style of wear.

The bottom of his robes stopped at the ankles, offering more legroom, long boots that were suitable for combat and leather bracers securely wrapped around his wrists, keeping his wide sleeves tied.

A manic fighter. He thought. Someone who’s ready to jump into the fray should a brawl break out.

Nie Cídǐng’s gaze at last settled on the main attraction. Eyes meticulously studying the one at the centre who was steadily making his way to their little group. 

Wei Fàngrèn truly was an enigma.

The man made his debut in the cultivation world with little to no fanfare. No prior warnings of someone experimenting or doing Heavens’ know what with demonic qi, no whisper of a young genius capable of inventing bizarre gadgets that would make the most perilous of Night Hunts end with hardly any injury or casualty. 

And was able to build his own sect from the ground up in less than ten years.

If Nie Cídǐng didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought Wei Zongzhu just decided to pop into existence one day, leaving every cultivator scratching their heads. 

Nobody even knows the demonic cultivator’s exact age and he refused to associate himself with any established sect, all they had were rumours. 

A walking quandary at its finest…

In a single breath, all chatter ceased. The crowd watched with trepidation as the mysterious cultivator, whom they only heard about through hearsay, quietly make his way to the foot of the altar. Not even his fluttering robes made a sound. 

The man’s choice of wear easily had the most simple design. Crimson spider-lilies encircling the cuff of his sleeves, most of the flowers clustered at the tail-end of his robe, forming into a red trail thinning out as it went up. A plunging neckline cut through the red of his inner robe, revealing the pale expanse of his chest, the style ill-suited for the current occasion, along with a weimao to complete the look, its sheer curtain made of black silk, concealing their wearer’s face. 

However, the hidden face was only one of two peculiarities about the man.

Most of the disciples couldn’t help but stare at the snow-white hair streaming down the strange man’s back, while the braver ones of the crowd tried to tuck their chins to their chests, straining their eyes in order to catch a glimpse of the new arrival’s face beneath the black silk of his weimao. 

After what felt like an eternity, but was in fact only a few moments, Wei Zongzhu slowed to a stop in front of the gathered sect leaders. Cupping his hands and offering a silent bow as his first greeting to them.

The four of them nodded back and waited for the new arrival to introduce himself properly.

He did not. Instead, Wei Zhangmen straightened his spine and waved off his two subordinates. Both men merely bowed their heads and walked off to join the crowd, among a small gathering of young disciples -who everyone had just realised- were wearing their sect’s colours. 

Letting out a quiet huff of disapproval at Wei Zongzhu’s lacklustre greeting, Lan Qiren turned his back on the four and climbed up the altar. The rest slowly followed behind.

None of them spoke a single word after settling into their assigned seats. All forming one line, with Wei Zongzhu being the closest to Wen Ruohan’s elevated seat, Nie Cídǐng at his left, then Lan Qiren and Jin Guangshan. Jiang Fengmian being the furthest away from Wei Fàngrèn. 

Yet it was Jiang Zongzhu who started making a fuss over Wei Fàngrèn.

The moment Wei Zhangmen took off his weimao, Jiang Fengmian let out an audible gasp which-thanks to the suffocating silence- travelled all the way to the back of the crowd.

Nie Cídǐng snapped his head, taking a brief -enough for the sake of propriety- look at the face revealed to him.

White eyebrows, white lashes, a slanted nose, elegant features that looked to be meticulously carved, pale-pink lips, twisted into a blank smile, a beauty mark dotting the corner of his mouth, liquid-silver eyes, that long mane -snowy all the way to the roots - held up by a simple crimson ribbon. 

Nie Cídǐng looked back at his fellow sect leader, now confused.

Certainly Wei Zongzhu had a radiance that was beyond natural, but he never took Jiang Zhangmen as the type to lose his composure over a pretty face.

(The pig -Jin Guangshan- certainly wasn’t doing any better. Almost dropping his fan, mouth gaping like a fish, openly staring at the newcomer like a mongrel salivating over a slab of meat.

Nie Cídǐng decided then and there that he was going to stay by Wei Zongzhu’s side until the end of the competition. Someone had to help the newcomer ward off that dog’s advances.)

Jiang Zhangmen was also gawking at Wei Fàngrèn, eyes running over the man’s features, a look of familiarity on his face, desperately searching for…. something in the demonic cultivator’s face.

Interestingly enough, Lan Qiren was also carefully studying Wei Fàngrèn’s face. Brow crinkled and mouth stiff, as if he was reminded of an unpleasant dish he was forced to eat long ago. 

For his part, Wei Fàngrèn met the chaos he unwittingly made head-on. That smile never leaving his face, though Nie Cídǐng couldn’t help but notice the slight strain behind that nonchalant facade. 

The enigma tilted his head to the side, much like a curious cat, short strands of white hair falling around his face, framing his features. Waiting for someone to break the silence.

The drums started beating once more….

“The Head of the Qishan Wen Sect, Head of the Wen Clan!”

All of them stiffened and snapped their heads forward. Waiting for the last member of their group to join.

Nie Cídǐng resisted the urge to purse his lips in disapproval, watching as his “friend” made his grand entrance. Sunset-red and white robes bellowing as he strode past their tables with the gait of a man who clearly believed that he had the world at the palm of his hand.

Honestly, he wasn’t even surprised when the elder didn’t bother with any sort of greeting. At least Wei Zhangmen had some sense. 

What did surprise him was Wen Ruohan casually stopping in front of Wei Fàngrèn’s table, stooping down and placing his mouth close to the -now frozen- sect leader’s ear, whispering something as if they were old friends sharing a secret.

Straining his senses, Nie Cídǐng managed to hear that one sentence:

“You’ve certainly learned to be a lot more cunning this time around, Yiling Lazou.”

End.

Author's Note:

1. 慈鼎 or "Cí dǐng": 'kind stability'. (I could not for the life of me find NMJ's father's name in the MDZS wiki. I needed help here.)

2. 瑞奇 or "Ruiqi": Rui- auspicious/lucky. Qi- remarkable/ extraordinary.

3. 放任 or "Fàngrèn" (WWX's new courtesy name): Could translate to 'letting things happen without restrain' or the equivalent of letting things go.

4. Zongzhu: Address for a clan leader.

5. Zhangmen: Address for a sect leader.

This is all just an experimental chapter. I'll let ya'll imagine what happens next. Maybe I'll come back to this, maybe I won't. Really does depend where my muse takes me.

Hope you enjoyed the read.