Grandmaster of Heavenly Charm

Wei Wuxian's eyes had barely fluttered open when a brutal kick landed squarely on his chest. The impact sent him reeling, his head slamming against the hard floor.

"Playing dead, are we?" A voice like thunder crashed above him.

As he lay there, stunned and gasping for air, a wry thought flitted through Wei Wuxian's mind: "Who dares kick the great Yiling Patriarch? Quite the audacious fellow."

It had been an eternity since Wei Wuxian had heard a living person's voice, let alone such a strident barrage of insults. Through the ringing in his ears, he caught snippets of a young man's tirade, his voice cracking with adolescent rage:

"Whose roof are you under? Whose rice do you eat? Whose money do you spend? Taking a few of your things is the least I'm owed!"

The cacophony of crashing and banging filled the air as unseen hands ransacked the room. Gradually, Wei Wuxian's vision cleared, revealing a dim ceiling and a face hovering above him. The young man's eyes bulged with fury, spittle flying as he continued his rant:

"You dare complain? As if anyone in this household would take your side!"

Two burly servants appeared, reporting, "Young Master, we've destroyed everything as ordered."

"Already?" The young master's voice dripped with satisfaction. He turned back to Wei Wuxian, jabbing a finger mere inches from his face. "Let's see you tattle now, you mangy cur! A few years in some fancy sect, and you think you're above us? Look at you now, crawling back like the dog you are!"

As the trio swaggered out, slamming the door behind them, Wei Wuxian's mind raced:

"I've been dead for years, this is no act."

"Who are these people?"

"Where am I?"

"Since when did I start body-snatching?"

Attempting to sit up, Wei Wuxian found his limbs uncooperative. He managed to roll onto his side, taking in the unfamiliar, ransacked room through bleary eyes.

A shattered bronze mirror lay nearby. Wei Wuxian grasped it, only to recoil at the ghostly visage staring back at him. A face as white as death, with two asymmetrical splotches of rouge on the cheeks. If he were to stick out his tongue, he'd be the spitting image of a hanged man.

Disturbed, Wei Wuxian dropped the mirror and wiped his face, his hand coming away coated in white powder. At least this body wasn't naturally so bizarre-looking - just adorned with a truly abysmal attempt at makeup.

The shock seemed to jolt some strength back into his limbs. As he managed to sit up, Wei Wuxian noticed a circular array beneath him. It was crudely drawn in blood, still wet and reeking of copper. Within the circle were twisted, chaotic incantations, partially smeared by his body.

Wei Wuxian's eyes widened in recognition. He may have been called the Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation, but this array was clearly bad news, even by his standards.

He hadn't possessed someone - he had been summoned through a sacrificial ritual!

"Sacrificial summoning" was, at its core, a curse. The caster would use their own blood to draw an array, sit within it, and offer their body to an evil spirit in exchange for the fulfillment of a wish. It was the antithesis of possession, and far less common. Few desires were strong enough to drive someone to such extremes.

Wei Wuxian felt indignant. How dare they classify him as some sort of "ultimate evil spirit"? Sure, his reputation wasn't stellar, and his death had been... unpleasant. But he'd never haunted anyone or sought revenge! He'd challenge anyone to find a more well-behaved ghost!

Unfortunately, the ritual operated on the caster's intent. By accepting the summons, Wei Wuxian was now bound by contract to fulfill their wish, or face total obliteration of his spirit.

Examining his new body, Wei Wuxian found angry red gashes across both wrists. These wounds wouldn't heal until the summoner's wish was granted. The longer he delayed, the worse they'd become, eventually tearing him - body and soul - to shreds.

"Preposterous!" Wei Wuxian muttered, struggling to his feet.

The room was spacious but sparse and shabby. The bedding reeked of mildew. In one corner lay an overturned basket, its contents - mostly crumpled papers - strewn across the floor. Curious, Wei Wuxian gathered the papers and began to read.

The writings were clearly the ramblings of this body's original occupant, full of anxiety and disjointed thoughts. As Wei Wuxian pieced together the story, a grim picture emerged.

The body belonged to one Mo Xuanyu, of the Mo Family Estate. His grandfather had been a wealthy local landowner with two daughters. The elder daughter married into the family, while the younger - a servant's child - had a fateful encounter with a passing cultivator. Their tryst resulted in Mo Xuanyu's birth.

Initially scorned, the affair became a source of pride for the Mo family once the cultivator's status became known. He would visit occasionally, bringing gifts and status. But after a few years, the novelty wore off, and the visits stopped entirely after Mo Xuanyu turned four.

At fourteen, Mo Xuanyu was finally summoned to join his father's sect. His mother's pride soared, certain her son would become a great cultivator. But it was not to be.

Mo Xuanyu was sent back in disgrace. Not only was he attracted to men, but he had the audacity to pursue his fellow disciples. Combined with his lackluster talents, there was no place for him in the sect.

To make matters worse, Mo Xuanyu returned a changed man - unstable, prone to fits of madness. His mother, unable to bear the shame, died of grief.

Now under the care of his aunt, Mo Xuanyu faced constant ridicule and abuse. His cousin, Mo Ziyuan - the young man who had just ransacked the room - was particularly cruel. Convinced that he should have been the one chosen for cultivation, Mo Ziyuan took out his frustrations on Mo Xuanyu, stealing his possessions and tormenting him relentlessly.

When Mo Xuanyu finally worked up the courage to complain, it only made things worse.

Wei Wuxian's head throbbed as he finished reading. "No wonder the poor fool resorted to summoning a vengeful spirit," he thought. "What a miserable existence."

But now Wei Wuxian faced a dilemma. Normally, the summoner's specific wish would be clear to the summoned spirit. But Mo Xuanyu had botched the ritual, leaving Wei Wuxian in the dark. Revenge was the obvious goal, but to what extent? Reclaim stolen possessions? Beat up the Mo family? Or... total annihilation?

Given Wei Wuxian's reputation for being "ungrateful" and "insanely cruel," Mo Xuanyu likely expected nothing less than utter destruction.

Wei Wuxian sighed heavily. "I'm afraid you've summoned the wrong man, Mo Xuanyu," he muttered to the empty room. "I'm not the monster they made me out to be."

As he stood there, contemplating his next move, Wei Wuxian couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for Mo Xuanyu. Abandoned, abused, and driven to such desperate measures - it was a fate he wouldn't wish on anyone.

"Well," Wei Wuxian said, straightening his robes and wiping the last traces of powder from his face, "I may not be the vengeful spirit you wanted, Mo Xuanyu, but perhaps I can still set things right in my own way."