Grandmaster of Heavenly Charm

The young disciples, newly initiated into their roles, stood guard around the Mo residence with palpable tension. They had meticulously placed talismans throughout the main hall and its surroundings. Inside, the servant A-Tong lay motionless, with Lan Sizhui frantically attempting to treat both him and Madam Mo simultaneously. Just as the situation seemed dire, A-Tong suddenly stirred and sat up.

"A-Tong, you're awake!" A-Ding exclaimed, her relief palpable.

However, before joy could fully register on her face, A-Tong raised his left hand and began to strangle himself.

Witnessing this, Lan Sizhui swiftly struck three of A-Tong's pressure points. Wei Wuxian knew that despite their refined appearance, the Lan clan members possessed formidable strength. Such strikes should have immobilized anyone instantly. Yet, A-Tong seemed unaffected, his grip tightening as his expression contorted in agony. Lan Jingyi attempted to pry A-Tong's hand away but found it as unyielding as iron. Within moments, a sickening crack resonated through the room as A-Tong's neck snapped, his hand finally releasing its grip.

In full view of everyone, A-Tong had strangled himself to death.

"A ghost!" A-Ding's voice quavered. "An invisible spirit made A-Tong kill himself!"

Her shrill cry sent chills through the onlookers, many instantly believing her words. Wei Wuxian, however, reached a different conclusion: this was not the work of a malevolent ghost.

He had observed the talismans the young disciples had chosen—all designed to repel spirits. They had covered the entire hall so thoroughly that any malevolent ghost entering would have triggered the talismans to burn with green flames. Yet, they remained inert.

It wasn't that the novices were slow to react; the entity they faced was simply too formidable. In the world of the occult, the term "malevolent ghost" had strict criteria: one kill per month for three consecutive months. Wei Wuxian had set this standard, and it was likely still in use. He excelled at dealing with such entities and considered a ghost killing once a week to be highly active. But this... three kills in such rapid succession? Even seasoned cultivators would struggle to devise a strategy, let alone these inexperienced youths.

As these thoughts raced through Wei Wuxian's mind, a gust of icy wind swept through the courtyard, extinguishing every lantern and candle in an instant.

In the sudden darkness, chaos erupted. Screams pierced the air as people stumbled and fled in panic. Lan Jingyi's voice cut through the commotion, "Stay where you are! Don't run! I'll catch anyone who tries to escape!"

His warning wasn't unfounded. Malevolent entities thrived on chaos, often striking when their victims were disoriented. Separating from the group or losing composure in such moments could be fatal. However, with fear gripping their hearts, few heeded his words. Within moments, the main hall fell eerily silent, save for muffled sobs and ragged breathing. It seemed many had already fled.

Suddenly, a flame flickered to life—Lan Sizhui had ignited a talisman designed to resist supernatural winds. He used it to relight the candles while the remaining disciples worked to calm the others. In the wavering light, Wei Wuxian absently glanced at his wrist, noticing another scar had vanished.

This observation gave him pause. Originally, he had two scars on each wrist. One had healed when Mo Ziyuan died, another when Mo Ziyuan's father passed, and a third with A-Tong's demise. By that count, only the deepest scar—the one harboring the most intense hatred—should remain.

Yet his wrists were now completely unmarked.

Wei Wuxian was certain that Madam Mo was among Mo Xuanyu's primary targets for vengeance. The longest, deepest scar had been reserved for her. Its disappearance could only mean one thing, and it wasn't that Mo Xuanyu had suddenly forgiven her—his soul had already been sacrificed to summon Wei Wuxian. For the scar to heal, Madam Mo must be...

His gaze slowly shifted to Madam Mo, who had recently regained consciousness and was now surrounded by concerned onlookers, her face ashen.

Unless she was already dead.

Wei Wuxian was certain that something had taken possession of Madam Mo's body. If not a spirit, then what could it be?

Suddenly, A-Ding's cry broke the tense silence: "The hand... A-Tong's left hand is gone!"

Lan Sizhui moved the flame talisman over A-Tong's body, confirming that indeed, his left hand had vanished.

The left hand!

In a flash of insight, Wei Wuxian connected the dots—the entity, the missing left arm—and burst into laughter. Lan Jingyi, exasperated, muttered, "This fool, laughing at a time like this!" But then, remembering Wei Wuxian's supposed condition, he thought better of scolding him further.

Wei Wuxian, however, grabbed Lan Jingyi's sleeve, shaking his head. "No, no, you don't understand!"

Irritated, Lan Jingyi tried to pull away. "What don't I understand? That you're not a fool? Stop this nonsense! No one has time for your antics."

Pointing at the bodies of Mo Ziyuan's father and A-Tong, Wei Wuxian declared, "These aren't them."

Lan Sizhui, intervening, asked, "What do you mean by 'these aren't them'?"

With an uncharacteristically serious expression that seemed at odds with his painted face, Wei Wuxian explained, "This isn't Mo Ziyuan's father, and that isn't A-Tong."

In the flickering candlelight, his words sent a chill through those present. Lan Sizhui, momentarily taken aback, pressed, "Why do you say that?"

Wei Wuxian, with a hint of pride, replied, "It's the hands. They're not left-handed. When they used to hit me, it was always with their right hands. That much I remember clearly."

Lan Jingyi scoffed, "What are you so proud of? Look how pleased you are with yourself!"

Lan Sizhui, however, felt a cold sweat break out as he pondered Wei Wuxian's words. He recalled that A-Tong had strangled himself with his left hand, and Mo Ziyuan's father had pushed his wife with his left hand as well.

Yet earlier that day, when Mo Xuanyu had caused a commotion, both men had instinctively used their right hands to restrain and expel people. It seemed unlikely that they would suddenly become left-handed just before their deaths.

While the exact reason remained unclear, it was evident that the key to unraveling this mystery lay in the significance of the "left hand." As this realization dawned on Lan Sizhui, he cast a questioning glance at Wei Wuxian, thinking, "His sudden insight... it can't be mere coincidence."

Wei Wuxian maintained his impish grin, aware that his hint had been rather obvious, but he had little choice. Lan Sizhui, choosing not to pursue the matter further, reasoned, "Regardless, if this Mo Gongzi is willing to offer guidance, his intentions are likely not malicious." He shifted his attention from Wei Wuxian to the recently fainted A-Ding, and finally to Madam Mo.

His gaze traveled from her face down to her hands. Her arms hung at her sides, mostly concealed by her sleeves, with only the fingertips visible. The fingers of her right hand were pale and delicate, befitting a woman of leisure unaccustomed to manual labor.

However, the fingers of her left hand were noticeably longer and thicker than those of her right. The joints were curved, exuding strength.

This was no woman's hand—it was unmistakably that of a man!

Lan Sizhui's voice cut through the tension: "Restrain her immediately!"

As the young disciples of the Lan Clan restrained Madam Mo, Lan Sichui stepped forward with an apologetic "Excuse me," ready to slap a talisman onto her. However, Madam Mo's left arm twisted at an impossible angle, reaching for his throat with inhuman speed.

For a living person's arm to bend like that, the bones would have to be broken. Just as her fingers were about to close around Lan Sichui's neck, Lan Jingyi let out a yelp and threw himself in front of his clansman, taking the blow.

A flash of green fire erupted where the hand touched Lan Jingyi's shoulder, causing the ghostly arm to recoil. Lan Sichui, relieved at his narrow escape, turned to thank Lan Jingyi for his sacrifice. But he found his savior in a sorry state, half of his uniform burned to ashes. Lan Jingyi, struggling to remove what remained of his clothes, whirled around angrily, "Why did you kick me, you lunatic? Are you trying to get me killed?!"

Wei Wuxian ducked away, protesting, "It wasn't me!"

Of course, it had been him. The Lan Clan's uniforms were embroidered with protective spells on the inside, capable of saving lives. But against such a powerful entity, they could only be used once. In desperation, Wei Wuxian had kicked Lan Jingyi, forcing him to shield Lan Sichui's vulnerable neck.

As Lan Jingyi continued to fume, Madam Mo collapsed to the ground. Her face was a horrifying sight, flesh and blood drained until only skin clung to her skull. The unnatural male arm detached from her left shoulder, its fingers flexing as if stretching, veins and tendons visibly pulsing beneath the skin.

This, then, was the evil summoned by the Ghost-Calling Flag.

Dismemberment was a cruel way to die, only slightly less gruesome than Wei Wuxian's own demise. Unlike bodies ground to dust, severed limbs retained some of the deceased's resentment, yearning to reunite with the rest of their body. They would search relentlessly, either finding peace upon reunion or causing even greater havoc. Failing that, they would settle for the next best thing: attaching to a living host.

This left arm was no exception. It would consume the flesh and blood of its victims, moving from one host to another until it found the rest of its original body.

Once attached, the arm killed its host instantly. However, it could control the corpse, making it appear alive until all the blood and flesh were consumed. Its first vessel had been Mo Ziyuan, followed by his father. When Madam Mo had told her husband to leave earlier, his uncharacteristic aggression wasn't grief, but the emptiness of death.

The third vessel was A-Tong, and Madam Mo became the fourth. During the chaos of the extinguished lights, the ghostly hand had transferred to her. As Madam Mo perished, the last scar on Wei Wuxian's wrist vanished.

Realizing their talismans were ineffective, the Lan disciples resorted to using their uniforms. They piled their outer robes onto the severed arm, creating a cocoon-like barrier. Moments later, the bundle burst into eerie green flames. Though effective temporarily, the arm would break free once the uniforms burned away.

Seizing the moment of distraction, Wei Wuxian darted towards the west courtyard.

There, he found ten corpses standing silently, held in place by an array drawn on the ground. With a swift kick, Wei Wuxian broke the spell, then clapped his hands twice. The corpses jerked to life, their eyes rolling back as if struck by lightning.

"Rise," Wei Wuxian commanded. "Time to work!"

His control over corpse puppets had never required complex incantations, just simple, direct orders. The corpses in the front struggled forward, but as they neared Wei Wuxian, they seemed to lose their nerve, collapsing to the ground like terrified humans.

Wei Wuxian couldn't help but laugh. He clapped again, more gently this time. But these corpses, having lived and died in Mo Village, were clearly out of their depth. Though compelled to obey, they cowered on the ground, whimpering in fear of the one giving orders.

Usually, the more vicious the spirit, the easier Wei Wuxian found it to control. These untrained corpses couldn't handle his direct manipulation, and he lacked the materials to create a buffer. As the green flames in the east courtyard began to dim, a sudden idea struck Wei Wuxian.

Why search for vengeful, vicious spirits when they were right here in the east hall?

He dashed back to the east courtyard. Lan Sichui and the others had resorted to forming a sword array, barely containing the ghostly arm as it thrashed within. Too focused on their task, they failed to notice Wei Wuxian slip into the hall.

Inside, he grasped the bodies of Madam Mo and Mo Ziyuan, one in each hand. "Awaken!" he commanded in a low voice.

In an instant, their souls returned.

Madam Mo and Mo Ziyuan's eyes rolled back, their mouths emitting the sharp, piercing screams characteristic of newly-risen ghosts.

Amid the high and low wails, another corpse trembled to life, adding a weak cry to the chorus—Madam Mo's husband.

Satisfied with their loud cries and potent resentment, Wei Wuxian smiled. "Do you recognize that arm outside?"

He ordered, "Tear it apart."

The Mo family, like three dark gusts of wind, rushed out.

The left arm had just broken through the sword array when the three armless, ferocious corpses pounced on it.

Driven by both their inability to disobey Wei Wuxian and their own hatred for what had killed them, the family unleashed their fury on the ghostly limb. Madam Mo led the assault, transformed into a terrifying specter. Her hair wild, eyes bloodshot, and nails grotesquely elongated, she shrieked with a madness that threatened to tear the roof off. Mo Ziyuan followed his mother's lead, matching her ferocity, while his father filled in any gaps in their relentless attack. The young Lan disciples, who had been struggling moments before, now watched in stunned silence.

They had only read about such battles between fierce corpses in obscure texts and rumors. Witnessing the bloody spectacle firsthand left them speechless, unable to tear their eyes away. It was... captivating!

As the three corpses and the arm fought viciously, Mo Ziyuan suddenly leapt back with a screech. The arm had torn into his abdomen, spilling intestines. Madam Mo, seeing this, roared in fury, shielding her son and attacking with renewed vigor. Her nails sliced through the air with the force of steel blades. But Wei Wuxian noticed she was beginning to falter.

Even three freshly-risen, vengeful corpses working together couldn't overpower this single arm!

Wei Wuxian observed intently, his tongue curled and lips pursed, holding back a sharp whistle. If released, it would heighten the ferocity of the corpses he controlled, potentially turning the tide of battle. But it might also reveal his involvement. In the blink of an eye, the arm moved like lightning, viciously snapping Madam Mo's neck.

As the Mo family began to lose ground, Wei Wuxian prepared to unleash his whistle. But just then, two clear, resonant notes rang out from the distance.

The sound, as if plucked casually by an expert hand, carried an otherworldly purity tinged with the chill of mountain pines. The battling monstrosities in the courtyard froze at the sound.

The young Lan disciples' faces lit up with renewed hope. Lan Sichui wiped the blood from his face, looking up excitedly. "Hanguang-jun!"

Upon hearing those two distant notes, Wei Wuxian turned to leave.

Another string vibration followed, higher in pitch, cutting through clouds and sky with a hint of killing intent. The three fierce corpses recoiled, covering their ears with their right hands. But the Lan Clan's barrier-breaking music was not so easily blocked. Before they could retreat far, faint popping sounds emerged from their skulls.

The left arm, fresh from its fierce battle, went limp at the sound of the strings. Though its fingers still twitched, the arm itself lay motionless.

After a brief silence, the young disciples couldn't contain their cheers. Their jubilation was filled with the wild joy of survivors, having endured a harrowing night and finally receiving support from their clan. Even the prospect of punishment for "improper behavior unbecoming of their sect" couldn't dampen their spirits.

As they waved at the moon in celebration, Lan Sichui suddenly noticed someone was missing. He tugged at Lan Jingyi's sleeve, "Where is he?"

Lan Jingyi, caught up in the excitement, asked, "Who?"

"That Mo young master," Lan Sichui replied.

"Huh? Why are you looking for that madman?" Lan Jingyi said. "Who knows where he ran off to, probably afraid I'd beat him up."

Lan Sichui knew Lan Jingyi was straightforward and rarely thought things through. He decided to wait for Hanguang-jun's arrival to report about the mysterious young man and the night's events.

Mo Village slumbered on, though whether it was true sleep or feigned ignorance was unclear. Even with the fierce battle raging in the Mo family's east and west courtyards, no one stirred in the pre-dawn hours. Some spectacles were best left unwitnessed, especially those filled with blood-curdling screams.

Wei Wuxian swiftly destroyed any remaining traces of the sacrificial array in Mo Xuanyu's room and darted out the door.

What rotten luck! Not only were the Lan Clan members arriving, but Lan Wangji was among them!

This was someone he had both interacted and fought with before. Time to make a hasty retreat. Urgently seeking a mount, he passed by a courtyard with a large millstone, to which a flower-patterned donkey was tethered. The animal, chewing lazily, seemed almost human-like as it side-eyed Wei Wuxian's hurried approach. Their gazes met briefly, and Wei Wuxian was instantly charmed by the hint of disdain in the donkey's eyes.

He stepped forward, grabbing the rope and tugging the animal out. The donkey brayed loudly in protest. With a mix of coaxing and pulling, Wei Wuxian managed to lure it onto the road. As the first light of dawn broke across the sky, the odd pair clattered down the main path and away from Mo Village.