#wwx reads it and is like... wow this person is very thorough but they spent all this brainpower on something so... ??????

[vermillioncrown]

That thing where WWX wakes up blearily in MXY's body all "what the fuck, wasn't I dead" gets funnier if this a two for one deal. Spiderman pointing but the two pointing hands belong to the same body

"what the fuck, i... shouldn't be here?"

there's an echo to wei ying's words, and then a flash of fear that disappears so quickly it was as if he imagined it.

he's alone.

"i - i shouldn't be alive," he murmurs, looking around the room woke up in. to him, it's an unfamiliar place - messy beyond an innocuous laxness, marks gouged into the walls, what looks like dried blood carefully drawn onto the floor.

as unfamiliar as it was, a part within feels contrary while deeply agreeing with his words - i shouldn't be alive.

wei ying studies the room a little bit longer until he's interrupted by intruders. the pair, a young master and his manservant, make a further mess of the room (animal shed, wei ying realizes), digging for belongings, berating the owner of the previous body -

"- mo xuanyu, you freak! hiding like a little wench now, huh?!" the young master grabs his face, expression twisting with deep contempt. "you disgusting cutsleeve, do you want to trick some poor man into taking you, like your whore mother?!"

it's only because wei ying doesn't quite understand the situation yet that he doesn't fight back. without an entertaining reaction, his aggressors eventually leave.

"mo xuanyu, huh..."

a sense of exhaustion, pain, and shame blooms from his gut. the sensation is so visceral that wei ying fears, for a moment, someone might have stabbed him.

"who are you?" he finds a dented bronze mirror and eagerly peruses it.

that obnoxious young master was right, to an extent. this mo xuanyu was beautiful, and made even moreso by artful application of cosmetics. even, jade-like complexion marred only by bruises along the jaw, the shape of upturned eyes emboldened by a steady flick of ink, brows as delicate as painted fairy women. soft colors the gradient of peaches faded in from the highs of cheekbones and outer corner of the eyes.

wei ying had to pat himself down, to reassure himself of his manhood. the foreign layers of an elaborate ruqun slowed him down.

even as he did this, the pervasive feeling of shame, shame, shame never left.

"mo xuanyu, who are you? why did you bring me here?"

the obvious answer would be in the array. wei ying knows it well - he speculated on its design himself. the cuts on his left forearm, on former mo xuanyu's forearm, are also damning pieces of evidence.

enough time passes that the shame seems to morph. impatience, it becomes - wei ying finds himself drawn to a corner of the shed. as his arms instinctively dig around the mess (he realizes it is all carefully constructed, as much a façade as the presentation of this mo xuanyu), he realizes something more important.

"you're still here."

terror, denial, shame again flood him. wei ying kneels over, wincing when his wounded arm reaches out to steady himself. the other arm roots around the broken items, and pulls out a small bound book.

'read it'

"how arrogant, mo xuanyu - you decided to summon the yiling laozu, you must understand who you are dealing with! the audacity of ordering this master around!" wei ying flaps the book around, each flick threatening to toss it outside the shed.

panic, terror, and then nothing.

'please, senior - this unworthy one's entreaty is written there. afterwards, this body is yours.'

"since you've asked so sweetly, and with such a pretty face," wei ying makes a big show of giving in.

it's not like he isn't a little curious.