ARCHIVE OF DIXING | English 镇魂 Guardian Fanworks Directory

Shen Wei liked the color green. It came in many different shades and blanketed him and his cottage in a vibrant mirage that he would never tire of seeing day after day. He knew the parrot green of the plants he added to his stews, the forest green of the ones he used to make medications, and the olive green he knew to avoid in the poisonous stems. 

It was this discernment of green that led him to realize there were discordant tones in the plants by the river. They had congealed splotches of dark red on them, and seemed to be emitting a strange, pungent odor. Shen Wei took out his dagger and walked slowly towards the plants, preparing to see a large animal of some sort. 

What he saw instead was a man.

Or: Shen Wei finds an injured man by his home and decides to take him in, not being able to fortell all the differences it will bring into his life.

“Shen-laoshi really knows how to play you like a piano,” says Da Qing, lying in Zhao Yunlan’s lap and pawing absently at the line of yarn as it’s tugged and twined around the needles.

“You’re so full of shit,” replies Zhao Yunlan. The cat snorts, a surprisingly human sound.

“Am I? Look at him – attended one meeting and immediately pinpointed your failing. And took steps to correct it, to your benefit. You’d never even consider taking up something so ridiculous otherwise – but if Shen-laoshi gave it to you? You’d do exactly what you’re doing, treasuring it.”

Zhao Yunlan looks down at his work. It’s just a long, rectangular strip of stitches, more regular in size and tension near the needles than at the start. “I’m not treasuring anything. It’s just convenient.”

If Heipaoshi would not outright ask for a seat at the table, then by god, Zhao Yunlan was going to pull the fucking chair out himself. There was only the matter of paws and not apposable thumbs standing in his way. But then, he’d never of made Chief of the SID if he wasn’t adaptable.

"How come you never do the laundry?" Ye Zun asks, frustration palpable in the way the freshly dried and folded clothes float down to form a pile.

“How do we stop it?”

“Abilities like this aren’t permanent. Either it will wear off in time, or…”

Kunlun looks at him, eyes sharp. “Or?”

Shen Wei forces himself not to look away. Not to drop his gaze like a boy, like a coward. “Or when it has run its course,” he says.