WuWu one shots

“Echoes of the Past, Whispers of the Future”


 The humid air of the dragon-filled river village clung to Wu Wangyan, or rather, Qing Yi, like a second skin. “Still no result?” She asked as she meticulously strung another bead onto the growing collection adorning Cang Hao’s wrist. Jade, coral, lapis lazuli – a rainbow of colors against the roughspun fabric of his peasant clothes. She’d started this habit weeks ago, a nervous tic at first, then something…else. Cang Hao, once the brooding, vengeful demon Wu Shi Guang, watched her, a flicker of something akin to amusement in his usually dark eyes. “ Mnhh “ he replied.

“Another one, Qing Yi?” he asked noticing the beads scattered on the table, his voice roughened by disuse. He gestured to his wrist, now heavy with her creations. “The villagers whisper I’m a walking treasure trove. Aren’t you afraid I’ll be robbed?”

Qing Yi chuckled, a low, melodic sound that Wu Wangyan rarely used. “Nonsense. Who would dare touch what belongs to Cang Hao?” Her gaze, sharp and intelligent, softened as it drifted towards the small dragon child splashing in the shallows of the river.  A genuine smile touched her lips. “Besides,” she added, her eyes lingering on the child, “these are talismans. They protect us.”

Cang Hao followed her gaze. The child, their adopted son, shrieked with laughter, chasing a butterfly with clumsy, joyous abandon. A pang, unfamiliar and unsettling, resonated within him. He, Wu Shi Guang, the demon consumed by vengeance, was experiencing…fatherly affection? It was ludicrous, yet…pleasant. He found himself smiling.

Life in the village had settled into a rhythm. Days bled into weeks, weeks into months.  They fished together, Qing Yi haggling with the market vendors while Cang Hao mended nets, the rhythmic tug of the twine a soothing counterpoint to the village’s gentle hum.  Evenings were spent by the fire, Qing Yi telling stories of mischievous foxes and valiant dragons, the child nestled between them, his soft snores filling the small hut.  Cang Hao, surprisingly, found himself enjoying these moments of quiet domesticity.  He even started to reciprocate, sharing tales of the demon realm, carefully sanitized for young ears, of course.

One afternoon, Qing Yi found Cang Hao staring at his reflection in a discarded bronze mirror.  His brow was furrowed, a flicker of his old self – the brooding demon – returning.

“What troubles you, Cang Hao?” she asked softly.

He turned, the haunted look in his eyes softening as he met her gaze. “This…charade,” he said, his voice low. “This…family.  How long can we keep this up, Qing Yi?  We search, we wait, but the answers remain elusive.”

Qing Yi sighed.  “I don’t know, Cang Hao,” she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. “The dragon deity’s power…it’s as if it vanished from the very fabric of time.” She looked at him, her beautiful face etched with a mixture of hope and despair. “Do you ever wonder…what will become of us when we return?”

Cang Hao met her gaze. “Will we still be Wu Shi Guang and Wu Wangyan?” he asked, the names feeling foreign on his tongue. “Or will we be…someone else? Someone…changed?”

They fell silent, the unspoken question hanging heavy in the air. Could they go back to their old lives, their old selves, after experiencing this…this strange, unexpected happiness?  The thought was both terrifying and alluring.  He found himself cherishing the quiet moments with Qing Yi, the easy banter, the shared smiles. Would that disappear when they returned?  Would she disappear?

Weeks later, a dark shadow fell over their peaceful existence. Screams echoed through the village, the ground trembling. Grotesque figures swarmed into the village, their eyes burning with malevolent intent.

“They’re after the child,” Qing Yi hissed, her eyes narrowing.  The serenity of Qing Yi vanished, replaced by the steely resolve of Wu Wangyan. “We have to protect him.”

Cang Hao nodded, his expression hardening. The warmth that had softened his features vanished, replaced by the familiar coldness of a warrior.  He rose to his feet, a primal rage bubbling beneath the surface. “For now,” he said, his voice low and dangerous, “we are Qing Yi and Cang Hao. And this…this is our family we must protect.”

The humid air crackled with tension as the grotesque figures, their forms twisted and gnarled, surrounded them. Qing Yi, her movements fluid and graceful, drew her long, slim sword. The blade, polished to a mirror sheen, flashed in the dappled sunlight as she moved, a dance of death. She parried a blow aimed at a villager, the clang of steel ringing out, then riposted, her sword slicing through the air with deadly precision. One of the figures, its arm severed, shrieked, a guttural sound that echoed through the once peaceful village.

Cang Hao, his expression grim, summoned his magical spear. It materialized in his hands, a shaft of polished, jet-black steel. Near the tip, a long, crimson streak of light pulsed, extending a third of the way down the spear, like a vein of fire trapped within the dark wood.  He moved with a controlled fury, a whirlwind of motion. He lunged, the spear’s obsidian point, wreathed in the red glow, piercing the chest of another attacker. The crimson light flared brighter upon impact, disintegrating the wound from the inside out. He spun, the weapon arcing through the air, cleaving through two more figures with a single, swift strike. The obsidian point, pulsing with a dark energy augmented by the red light, ensured the creatures wouldn't rise again.

They fought back-to-back, a symphony of coordinated violence. Qing Yi, nimble and agile, weaved through the chaotic melee, her sword a blur of motion. She danced around an attacker's clumsy swing, then, in a fluid motion, her blade flashed, leaving a deep gash across the creature's face. It stumbled back, clutching at the wound, giving Cang Hao an opening. He seized the opportunity, his spear thrusting forward, the crimson light at its tip burning fiercely as it pierced the creature's heart.

Their movements were a study in contrast, yet perfectly synchronized. Qing Yi’s elegance was matched by Cang Hao’s raw power. She was the wind, he the mountain. She was the whisper, he the thunder. Together, they were a force to be reckoned with.

They cleared a path towards the hut where the dragon child huddled, terrified, but their respite was short-lived. The imposing figure emerged from the shadows, his presence radiating an oppressive aura that silenced the remaining attackers. He watched them with cold amusement, his eyes fixed on the child.

Qing Yi and Cang Hao exchanged a look. They knew this was different. This was no rabid animal, no mindless pawn. This was something ancient, something powerful. The figure raised a hand, and a wave of dark energy washed over them, throwing them back against the wall of the hut. Qing Yi gasped, her sword clattering to the ground. Cang Hao staggered, his spear wavering in his grip, the crimson light flickering.

"You cannot protect him from me," the figure said, his voice resonating with dark magic. "He belongs to me."

Cang Hao snarled, a primal rage surging through him. He lunged forward, his spear, though the crimson light now pulsed weakly, aimed at the figure's heart. But the figure merely flicked his wrist, and a bolt of dark energy struck the spear, shattering it into fragments. The red light vanished completely. Cang Hao stumbled back, his hands empty.

Qing Yi, despite her injuries, scrambled to her feet. She retrieved her sword, her hand trembling slightly. She knew they were outmatched. They couldn't win. But they wouldn't surrender. Not while the child was in danger.

As the sun began to set, casting long, ominous shadows across the ravaged village, Qing Yi and Cang Hao stood side-by-side, hand in hand. Qing Yi, her face streaked with blood, held her broken sword, her stance defiant. Cang Hao, his eyes burning with a fierce protectiveness, stood beside her, his empty hands clenched into fists. They faced the approaching darkness, their expressions a mixture of grim determination and heartbreaking resignation. They knew their fate. But in that moment, as they stood together, hand in hand, they were not Wu Shi Guang and Wu Wangyan, the vengeful demon and the cunning fox. They were Qing Yi and Cang Hao, parents protecting their child. And that, they knew, was a truth that even death could not erase.

*The End*