I Became My Own White Moonlight

World-weary, scheming top who's always ready to die x Sunny, cheerful, righteous genius bottom

When he was eighteen, Jiang Wudu's sect was destroyed, and he embarked on a path of revenge.

A hundred years later, after avenging himself and losing all desire to live, he jumped off a cliff and transmigrated.

The good news: He'd returned to when he was eighteen.

The bad news: His badly injured self had been found by his eighteen-year-old self.

At eighteen, he was still called Xie Huiming. He hadn't yet experienced the night his sect was massacred, and was a gifted sword cultivator of the Yuxiao Sect with an unlimited future ahead of him.

He just wasn't very bright and was always going on about slaying demons, vanquishing evil, and upholding the righteous path.

After rescuing Jiang Wudu and saving his life, he chattered on with questions: "Who are you? How did you get so badly hurt? Where are you going..."

He was so annoying that Jiang Wudu couldn't stand it.

Hugging his sword, Jiang Wudu could hardly believe he'd been such a pest at eighteen.

So he answered coldly, "Jiang Wudu. Don't ask."

The pest knew nothing, but Jiang Wudu knew everything.

Once his wounds had healed, he covered his face and took up his sword, striking first to kill the enemies who intended to attack the Yuxiao Sect.

A hundred years of hardship had tempered him into a sword that no longer felt pain. He pressed on, with Xie Huiming close behind.

After he was badly wounded again, Xie Huiming treated his injuries.

Jiang Wudu stopped him. "You don't have to follow me."

Xie Huiming answered a different question. "Does it hurt?"

His younger self lifted his mask, traced the marks left by wind, frost, blades, and swords, and kissed the scars from burns and cuts.

Xie Huiming gazed into his eyes and asked softly, "If you were so afraid of pain, how did you endure it?"

In those young eyes, Jiang Wudu saw pity and sorrow.

He shook his head and said he didn't remember.

A hundred years had passed in the blink of an eye, leaving him old. He couldn't remember anything anymore.

Warning: Selfcest, older top, short story of around 100,000 words

Theme: Only self-salvation can lead to liberation