Grandmaster of Heavenly Charm

It didn't take long for Wei Wuxian to realize he might have made a regrettable choice.

The colorful donkey he had casually acquired was proving to be more trouble than it was worth. Despite being just a simple beast of burden, it insisted on eating only the freshest grass, still glistening with morning dew. If the tips of the blades showed even a hint of yellow, it would turn its nose up in disgust. When Wei Wuxian attempted to feed it some wheat straw stolen from a nearby farm, the donkey chewed a few times before spitting it out with a loud, indignant "pfft!" — a sound more befitting a human than a stubborn equine.

When its culinary standards weren't met, the donkey refused to budge. It would throw tantrums, kicking its hind legs dangerously close to Wei Wuxian's face. And its braying? It was nothing short of an auditory assault.

"You're useless as a mount and even worse as a pet!" Wei Wuxian grumbled, finding himself longing for his lost sword. He imagined it now, probably hung as a trophy on some clan leader's wall.

After dragging the reluctant animal through several stretches of road, they came upon a vast expanse of village fields. Under the scorching sun, a large locust tree by the path offered a tempting patch of shade. Nearby stood an old well, complete with a bucket and ladle thoughtfully left by villagers for thirsty travelers.

The donkey, apparently deciding it had had enough, planted its hooves firmly by the well. Wei Wuxian dismounted with a sigh, patting its rump. "You've got quite the princely temperament, even more demanding than I am."

The donkey snorted in response.

As Wei Wuxian idly contemplated his situation, he noticed a group of people approaching from the distant fields. They were clearly villagers, with their woven bamboo baskets and simple cloth shoes. Among them was a young girl with a round face, her features plain but pleasant. The group seemed eager for a break in the shade, but hesitated at the sight of the eccentric-looking man and his unruly donkey.

Wei Wuxian, ever the gentleman, shifted to make room. Reassured by his non-threatening demeanor, the villagers approached. They fanned themselves and drew water from the well, their faces flushed from the heat. The young girl, settling by the well, offered Wei Wuxian a shy smile of gratitude.

One of the men in the group held a peculiar compass, its markings and needle unlike any ordinary navigational tool. Wei Wuxian recognized it as a "wind evil compass," used not for direction but for detecting malevolent spirits. He realized these must be members of a modest cultivator family, likely heading to join a night hunt with a larger clan.

The leader of the group, a middle-aged man, urged the others to drink quickly. "We're almost at Mount Dafan. We can't afford to linger here and risk others getting there first."

Wei Wuxian's interest was piqued. Night hunts were opportunities for cultivator clans to prove their worth by capturing fearsome beasts or exorcising evil spirits. It had once been his specialty, but recent days had yielded only minor spirits from the graves he'd explored. Perhaps Mount Dafan would offer better prospects.

As the group prepared to leave, the round-faced girl approached Wei Wuxian. She pulled a small, not-quite-ripe apple from her pack and offered it to him with a kind gesture. Wei Wuxian grinned and reached for it, but the donkey, suddenly alert, attempted to snatch it first. A mischievous idea struck Wei Wuxian. He fashioned a makeshift fishing rod from a branch and some string, dangling the apple just out of the donkey's reach.

The effect was instantaneous. Driven by its desire for the fruit, the donkey charged forward with unexpected speed, easily outpacing any prized horse Wei Wuxian had ever seen.

They arrived at Mount Dafan as night fell, only to find the area bustling with activity. Cultivators from various sects filled the streets, their diverse robes creating a colorful tapestry. An air of tension permeated the crowd, with heated debates breaking out over the nature of the threat they faced.

Wei Wuxian, his curiosity growing, eavesdropped on the discussions. It seemed seven villagers had fallen victim to a mysterious ailment that left them soulless husks. Some argued it must be the work of a soul-eating beast, while others insisted their compasses would have detected such a creature.

As he pondered the situation, Wei Wuxian's reverie was broken by a collision. A young woman had bumped into him, her eyes glazed and unfocused. She began to dance wildly, her movements erratic and unsettling. A distraught older woman — her mother, Wei Wuxian guessed — tried in vain to stop her.

Through snippets of conversation, Wei Wuxian pieced together the story. Months ago, a storm had ravaged the local cemetery on Mount Dafan, unearthing old graves. Since then, villagers had been falling victim to this strange affliction.

As night deepened, Wei Wuxian made his way up the mountain, his mind racing with theories. Whatever was plaguing this town, he was determined to uncover its secrets — and perhaps find a powerful spirit to command in the process.

Little did he know, his arrival had not gone unnoticed. As he ascended, a group of dejected cultivators passed him on their way down, muttering about a formidable clan leader who had asserted his authority over the hunt. The name "Jiang Cheng" hung in the air, a ghost from Wei Wuxian's past that would soon collide with his present.