>>suicide

That bit of time before Mo Ran had yet to become the emperor, there was always someone calling him a dog.

The manager called him a 'son of a bitch', the customers called him a 'bitch pup', his little cousin called him a 'shitty dog', and his mother was the best, saying he was raised by a bitch.

Of course, there were other dog related metaphors that weren't too bad. For example, his one-night stands would always grumble with some petulance that the strength of his back was like that of a male dog; honey dripped from his lips luring away the soul, but the weapon down below was robbing the sweetness of her life. But, they'd turn around and boast to others afterwards, so much so that the entire district knew that the man Mo Weiyu was both handsome in looks and aggressive in tool; those who tried were satisfied with their meal, and those who hadn't were dearly tempted.

It had to be said that those names were all very spot on. Mo Ran was indeed very much like a tail-wagging dumb dog.

It wasn't until he became the emperor of the cultivation world that these kinds of monikers disappeared in a flash.

One day, a small sect from a faraway land gifted him a puppy.

The puppy had a coat of whitish grey, three slashes of flames upon its forehead, kind of like a wolf. But, it was only as big as a melon, and looked kind of stupid, chubby and round. Nonetheless, it still thought of itself rather mightily, running all over the great hall with abandon. Several times it tried to climb the very, very high steps to see clearly that person who sat upon the throne so composedly, but because its legs were too short, it finally abandoned the endeavour.

Mo Ran stared at that ball of fur who possessed no wits but plenty of energy and suddenly chuckled, laughing as he called it 'Filthy Mutt'.

The puppy soon grew up and became a big dog; the big dog became an old dog, and the old dog then became a dead dog.

Mo Ran closed his eyes, then blinked them open. His life was filled with the ebb and flow of prestige and shame, sometimes up, sometimes down. Before he knew it, thirty two years had gone past.

He'd played with everything and had gotten tired of it. Everything was tasteless and lonely, and in recent years, there were less and less people he knew by his side; even that three flames dog had passed to the heavens. It was time, he thought. Time to end everything.

He picked off a glistening, full grape, and languidly peeled its purple skin.

His movement was easy and practiced, like King Yu in his camp peeling off Princess Hu's robes, but there was a laziness to it like he was tired of it all. The lustrous fruit quivered lightly in his fingertips; its juice gushed and flowed, delicately purple, like a wild goose gliding down red cliffs, like haitang blossoms entering slumber.

But more so like that of filthy blood.

He stared at his own fingers as he swallowed that overwhelming sweetness in his mouth, then lazily opened his eyes.

It's about time, he thought.

About time he went to hell.

Mo Ran, courtesy name Weiyu.

The first emperor of the cultivation world.

It really hadn't been easy to reach this position. The requirement wasn't simply that of outstanding spiritual powers; he'd also needed a thick skin as hard and solid as that of a meteorite.

Before him, the ten greatest sects in the cultivation world had divided territories, fought and hoarded against each other over their domains. With the sects clashing against one another, there was no one who could rule the world and call all the shots. And besides, every sect leader were outstandingly learned, so even if they wanted to grant themselves a title for fun, they would be wary of what the historians would pen, afraid they would receive disgrace in the books of history.

But Mo Ran was different.

He was a scoundrel.

What others didn't dare do, he'd done it all. Drinking the spiciest fine wine of the mortal realm, marrying the most beautiful woman in the world. First, he became the Alliance Leader of the cultivation world "Taxian-Jun", then he granted himself the title of emperor.

All knelt and yielded before him.

Those who refused to kneel, he slaughtered, one and all. In the years he asserted his dominance, blood flowed like a flood and mournful wails were everywhere. Countless vigilantes sacrificed themselves, even the Rufeng Sect of the Ten Great Sects was completely annihilated.

And later, even the honored master who'd taught Mo Ran wasn't able to escape his demonic claws. In a final battle with Mo Ran he was defeated, and taken prisoner in the palace by his once beloved disciple, his whereabouts now unknown.

The once great land of clear rivers and calm seas was suddenly smothered with smog and haze.

The Dog Emperor Mo Ran didn't read a lot of books and was someone who was fearless of all, so while he was in power, the world was never short of ridiculous affairs. Such as the titles for those reigning years.

The first set of three years, the title was "Bastard"[1]. It was something he'd thought of while feeding fish by the pond.

The second set of three years, the title was "Croak", the reason being he'd heard frogs croak in the garden in the summer, and determined it as inspiration granted by the heavens and shouldn't be taken for granted.

All the scholars of the country believed there could never be any reigning titles more tragic than "Bastard" and "Croak", but, alas, they understood nothing of Mo Ran.

The third set of three years, grassroots unrest began to shake up various local regions, whether it be buddhists, taoists, or spiritual cultivators, all those righteous vigilantes in the world started to rise up in rebellion.

Thus, this time, Mo Ran contemplated deeply for a long time, and after tossing away many drafts, a title that shook the heavens and made ghosts and gods weep was born—"Cease Battle"[2].

It was meant to have a well-meaning connotation. The first emperor used up all of his brainpower to come up with those two words, taking from the fortuitous idiom "Cease Troops Rest Battles". Only, when it was spoken out loud in the common world, it was exceedingly awkward.

Especially to those who couldn't read, it was even more awkward hearing the title.

The first year was called the First Cease Battle[3] year, but why did it sound like the year of Cock Balls.

The second year was called the second year of Cock.

The third year of Cock.

Some people would curse at it behind locked doors, "What complete nonsense! Why not give the title "Ji Ba Chen" to complete the circle! So next time you see a man, no need to ask how old they are, just ask how old his cock is! Hundred year old masters can be called Centennial Cock!"

Finally, three years were suffered through, and it was finally time to replace the reigning year title "Ji Ba".

People all over the world were waiting anxiously to see what His Majesty the Emperor would come up with for the fourth title, but this time, Mo Ran no longer had any care to draw up a name. Since, this year, riots of the cultivation world finally, completely erupted. After having endured for almost a decade, vigilantes, heroes, and valiant men finally gathered together and formed an army of millions, charging towards the First Emperor Mo Weiyu.

The cultivation world really didn't need an emperor.

Especially not a tyrant like this.

After many months of battles bathed in blood, the rebel army finally came to the foot of Sisheng Peak. This place was situated in the Sichuan province, upon perilous mountain bluffs, surrounded by streams of clouds and mist throughout the year. Mo Ran's grand and majestic palace sat at its summit.

It was too late to turn back, and overthrowing tyranny was only a strike away. However, this last strike was also the most treacherous. The ray of hope for victory was before their eyes, but thoughts of estrangement began to grow internally within the allied army who'd gathered to fight the same enemy. With the annihilation of the old empire, a new regime would need to be built. No one wanted to waste their strength unnecessarily right now, and thus no one wanted to head the front lines, to charge up the mountains first.

They were all afraid that this cunningly vicious tyrant would suddenly drop from the skies, bare his shining beast-like white teeth, and rip apart all those who dared to surround and destroy his palace, shred them to pieces.

Some said, with a grim expression, "Mo Weiyu's spiritual powers are great, and his person cunning. We must be cautious lest we fall for his traps."

All the leaders agreed.

Right then, an exceedingly handsome, flashy young man walked forward. He was wearing a set of silver blue light armour, a belt embellished with a lion's head, his hair fastened in a high ponytail with an exquisite silver hairpin secured at the roots.

That young man's expression was exceedingly dark. He said, "We've already come to the foot of the mountain, what are you all moseying about for, dragging your feet in going up? Are you all waiting for Mo Weiyu to climb down himself? What a bunch of scaredy cats!"

Anger exploded all around because of his words.

"Such abuse, young master Xue! What do you mean by scaredy cats? A soldier must always be utmostly prudent. If we're all brash and reckless like you, who'll be responsible if accidents happen?"

Another instantly taunted sarcastically, "Hehe, young master Xue is the darling of the heavens, we are but mere commoners. If the darling of the heavens can't wait to fight the emperor of the mortal realm, then by all means, please go up the mountain first. We'll set up a feast down here by the foot of the mountain to await your gracious return with Mo Weiyu's head, wouldn't that be nice?"

That was a rather aggravating comment. One of the old monks in the alliance immediately stopped the young man who was about to explode, and put on a folksy expression, coaxing him in a gentle voice, "Young master Xue, listen to this old monk. This old monk knows that you and Mo Weiyu share a deep, personal grudge. However, this palace invasion is a critical matter; you must think of everyone, don't let your emotions carry you away."

The one everyone addressed as 'Young Master Xue' was named Xue Meng. Over a decade ago, he'd been praised by all as a young genius, the darling of the heavens.

Yet, as all things change with the flow of time, he must now endure the taunts and ridicule of those people, if only to go up the mountain to see Mo Ran's face one more time.

Xue Meng's face twisted with anger, his lips trembling, but he still arduously suppressed himself, demanding, "Then just how long do you all plan on waiting for?"

"We've got to at least observe any movements, right?"

"Yea, what if Mo Weiyu has set traps?"

The old monk who'd mediated just now also urged, "Young master Xue, don't be impatient. Since we've already come to the foot of the mountain, it's best if we remain cautious. Either way, Mo Weiyu is trapped inside the palace and can't come down. He's now at the end of his rope, nothing will come of anything, so why must we be impatient and act recklessly? There's so many of us down here, with so many nobilities and prominent figures among us, if they lost their lives by accident, who can be responsible?"

Xue Meng exploded with rage, "RESPONSIBLE? THEN LET ME ASK YOU, WHO IS RESPONSIBLE FOR MY SHIZUN'S LIFE? MO RAN HAS IMPRISONED MY SHIZUN FOR TEN YEARS! A WHOLE TEN YEARS! WITH SHIZUN JUST UP THE MOUNTAIN BEFORE ME, HOW CAN YOU MAKE ME WAIT?"

Hearing Xue Meng mention his shizun, the mob felt a trickle of shame.

Some looked ashamed, some eyed left and right, murmuring but did not speak.

"Ten years ago, Mo Ran titled himself Taxian-Jun. Nevermind slaughtering all seventy-two city fortresses of the Rufeng Sect, he also planned to annihilate the rest of the Ten Great Sects. Later, when Mo Ran made himself emperor, he tried to eradicate all houses. In both disasters, who was the one to stop him in the end? If it wasn't my shizun who fought with his life on the line, would you all still be alive right now? Can you all still stand here and talk to me like it's nothing?"

Finally, someone cleared his throat and said gently, "Young master Xue, don't be angry. In regards to Chu-zongshi, we… all feel guilty, and grateful. Just as you say, he's been imprisoned for ten years, so if anything's happened, it would've already… So, you've already waited for ten years, waiting for another moment won't hurt, don't you think?"

"WHAT I THINK? I THINK IT'S BULLSHIT!"

That man widened his eyes, "Why would you yell like that?"

"WHY WOULDN'T I YELL AT YOU? SHIZUN PUT HIS LIFE ON THE LINE AND IT WAS TO SAVE YOUR KIND OF… Kind of…"

He couldn't continue anymore, a sob constricting his throat, "I'm disheartened on his behalf."

Towards the end, Xue Meng whipped his head around, his shoulders shaking lightly, holding back his tears.

"It's not like we said we weren't going to rescue Chu-zongshi…"

"Yea, we all remember the good Chu-zongshi has done for us, we never forgot. Young master Xue, you're accusing us all of being unjust ingrates, we won't stand for it!"

"But speaking of which, isn't Mo Ran also Chu-zongshi's disciple?" Someone whispered. "I gotta say, as a master, he should be responsible for his criminal disciple. As they say, an undisciplined son is the father's fault; an improperly educated son is due to the negligence of the teacher. The whole thing couldn't be helped, so what's there to complain about?"

Now that was harsh, and someone instantly shouted, "WHAT NONSENSE ARE YOU SPOUTING? MIND YOUR TONGUE!"

Then he turned to console Xue Meng with a pleasant face, "Young master Xue, don't be impatient…"

Xue Meng cut him off, his eyes bulging, "HOW CAN I NOT BE IMPATIENT? THIS DOESN'T CONCERN ANY OF YOU SO IT DOESN'T HURT, BUT THAT'S MY SHIZUN! MINE!!! I HAVEN'T SEEN HIM FOR SO MANY YEARS! I DON'T KNOW WHETHER IF HE'S ALIVE OR DEAD, I DON'T KNOW HOW HE IS! WHAT DO YOU ALL THINK I'M STANDING HERE FOR?"

He breathing was harsh, the rims of his eyes red. "Did you all think that by just waiting here, Mo Weiyu will come down the mountain himself and kneel in front of you all to beg for mercy?"

"Young master Xue…"

"Besides shizun, I've no family left in this world." Xue Meng broke free from the old monk's hold on his sleeves and croaked, "You won't go, I'll go myself."

Throwing that out there, he went up the mountain alone; one man, one sword.

Through the rustling cries of bleak and wet cold winds mixed with millions of leaves, the thick fog crept like countless angry ghosts and aggrieved spirits within the trees, muttering in hushed voices.

Xue Meng hiked to the peak all by his lonesome. The majestic palace Mo Ran was in had calm candlelight illuminating the night. He suddenly saw that before the Heaven-Piercing Tower were three graves. When he approached for a closer look, at the head of the first grave were long weeds growing, and the tombstone was engraved with crooked and dogged words: "Grave of the Steamed[4] Consort Chu".

In contrast to this "Steamed Consort", the second grave was newly dug, the earth only just sealed, and upon the tombstone engraved: "Grave of the Deep Fried Empress Song".

"..."

If this was over ten years ago, Xue Meng would've laughed out loud in spite of himself upon seeing such a ridiculous sight.

At the time, he and Mo Ran were disciples under the same shizun, and Mo Ran was the class clown. Even if Xue Meng had long since disliked him, he would still be teased to laugher by him from time to time.

Who knows what this Steamed Consort Deep Fried Empress was all about. Perhaps the style in which the Scholar Mo had graced his two wives were the same as "Bastard", "Croak" and "Cease Battle". However, as to why he would give those monikers to his own empresses, there was no way of knowing.

Xue Meng turned his gaze to the third grave.

Under the night sky, the earth of that grave mound was still dug open. There was a coffin resting within, but there was no body in that coffin, and the tombstone was also yet to be marked.

Before the grave was a small pot of Pear Blossom White Wine, a bowl of now cold spicy wontons, a few plates of spicy side dishes -- they were all Mo Ran's favourites.

Xue Meng stared at the grave stunned, and suddenly his mind snapped to -- could it be that Mo Ran had no intention of fighting, and had long since dug his own grave, ready to die?

Cold sweat rolled.

He would not believe it. Mo Ran had always been someone who never knew fatigue even at the brink of death. He knew not of surrender, and based on the way he acted, he would've for sure fought with the rebel army to the bitter end, so why would…

These past ten years, Mo Ran had stood at the summit of power. What exactly did he see? And what exactly had happened?

No one knew.

Xue Meng turned around and reentered the darkness, stalking in large strides towards the brightly lit Wushan Palace.

Inside Wushan Palace, Mo Ran's eyes were screwed shut, his face deathly pale.

Xue Meng had guessed right. Mo Ran was determined to die. That grave mound was dug by himself. Two hours ago, he had used the communication spell to dismiss his servants, while he swallowed deadly poison. His cultivation was great, and so the effects of that poison were particularly slow in dissolving and circulating within his body. Thus, the agony of having his inner organs chewed away was also acutely vivid.

Creak-- the doors to the hall opened.

Mo Ran didn't look up and only gasped hoarsely, "Xue Meng. It's you, right? Have you come?"

Upon the golden pavement within the hall, Xue Meng stood tall and proud, his ponytail falling straight, his light armour shimmering.

It was a reunion of companions from the same sect once upon a time. Mo Ran sat leaning, propping up his chin, his expression empty, thick curtains of fine lashes lowered before his eyes.

Everyone knew he was a monster and a savage devil, but in truth, he was good looking. The curve of his nose gentle and soft, his lips thin and dewy, his appearance naturally radiating notes of kindness and sweetness. Just by looking at his face, anyone would think he was a lovable, good person.

When Xue Meng saw his face, he knew Mo Ran had taken poison just as he had suspected. It was hard to dissect what he was feeling, and he opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. In the end, he clenched his fists and only demanded, "Where's shizun?"

"...What?"

Xue Meng demanded again sharply, "I SAID, WHERE'S SHIZUN??? YOURS, MINE, OUR SHIZUN!!"

"Oh." Mo Ran humphed softly, and finally, slowly, blinked open his eyes, his pupils black with hints of purple, dropping them onto Xue Meng's person through layers upon layers of time past.

"Now that I think of it, ever since the farewell at Taxue Palace on Mount Kunlun, it's been two years since you and Shizun have seen each other."

Mo Ran smiled faintly as he spoke.

"Xue Meng, do you miss him?"

"STOP YOUR NONSENSE! GIVE HIM BACK TO ME!"

Mo Ran glanced at him calmly, enduring the twisting pain in his stomach, and his lips contorted into a sneer as he laid heavily back against the emperor's throne.

Waves of blackness invaded his sight, he could almost feel his innards wrenching, melting, dissolving into stinking, bloody swill.

Mo Ran replied lazily, "Give him back to you? Foolish. Why don't you use your brain to think a little? Shizun and I share such deep hatred for each other, why would I allow him to live in this world?"

"YOU--!" Blood completely drained from Xue Meng's face, his eyes bulging as he backed up, "You can't have… You wouldn't…"

"I wouldn't what?" Mo Ran snickered. "Why don't you tell me, why wouldn't I?"

Xue Meng's voice trembled. "But he's your… He's your shizun after all… How could you bear to kill him??"

He looked up to Mo Ran who was sitting high above in the seat of the emperor. There was Fuxi in Heaven, Yanluo in Hell, and in the mortal realm, there was Mo Weiyu.

But to Xue Meng, even if Mo Ran had become the eminent emperor of the mortal realm, he still shouldn't have become like this.

Xue Meng's entire body was shaking, his tears rolling from outrage, "Mo Weiyu, are you still human? He once…"

Mo Ran raised his eyes quietly, "He once what?"

Xue Meng's voice trembled, "You should very well know how he once treated you…"

Mo Ran suddenly laughed, "Are you trying to remind me that he once beat me so hard my body was covered in blood, that he made me kneel before all to admit my crimes? Or did you want to remind me that he once, for you, for irrelevant people, three times he stood in my way, ruined my great endeavours?"

Xue Meng shook his head in pain, "..."

No, Mo Ran.

Think back properly. Let go of your vicious hatred. Look back.

He once trained you in cultivation and martial arts, and made sure to protect you.

He once taught you how to read and write, taught you poetry and painting.

He once learned how to cook just for you, even though he was so clumsy and got cuts all over his hands.

He once… He once waited every day for you to come home, all alone by himself, from nightfall...til the break of dawn...

So many words stuck in his throat, but in the end, Xue Meng could only sob, "His… his temper is bad, and his words are harsh, but even I know he treated you really well, so why… how could you…"

Xue Meng raised his head, but having held back so many tears, his throat was even more constricted, and he couldn't say anymore.

It was a long pause before Mo Ran's silent sigh floated from the throne. "Yea."

"But Xue Meng. Did you know?" Mo Ran's voice was clearly exhausted. "He had also once ended the life of the only person I've ever loved. The only one."

It was silent like the dead for a long time.

The pain in his stomach was like a blazing fire, his blood and flesh torn and ripped into broken shreds.

"Still, we were master and disciple once. His corpse is resting in the Red Lotus Pavilion in the Southern Peak. He's lying among the lotus blossoms, very well preserved, like he's only fallen asleep." Mo Ran caught his breath and forced himself to calm down. When he said this, his expression was blank, but his fingers were digging into the long rosewood desk, his joints pale to the point of bruising.

"His corpse is maintained by my spiritual powers. If you miss him, don't waste your breath here with me. Go now before I die."

A lump of astringent sweetness swarmed up into his throat; Mo Ran coughed a couple times, and when he opened his mouth again, there was nothing but blood between his lips and teeth. Yet his eyes were still at ease.

He said with a hoarse voice, "Go. Go see him. If you're too late and I die, breaking off the spiritual powers, he will turn into dust."

Then, he closed his eyes dispiritedly, the poison striking his heart, blazing fires bringing torment.

The agony was so heart wrenching that even Xue Meng's twisted, despairing wails became faraway, like there was an ocean spanning thousands of miles between them, and his voice was coming through the waters.

Blood continued to pour out from the corners of his lips, and Mo Ran squeezed his sleeves tight, his muscles spasming.

When he opened his bleary eyes, Xue Meng was long gone. That bastard's qinggong[5] wasn't bad; it wouldn't take him too long to run from here to the Southern Peak.

He should be able to see Shizun one last time.

Mo Ran pushed himself up, and wobbled as he rose to his feet. Using hands spotted with blood, he formed a hand seal, sending himself to the front of Sisheng Peak's Heaven-Piercing Tower.

It was deep autumn. The haitang blossoms were beautifully thick and flowing in the wind.

He didn't know why in the end he chose this place to end his sinful life, but he felt since the flowers were blooming so vibrantly, it wouldn't be such a bad tomb.

He laid down in that open coffin, and looked up to watch the blossoms of the night, soundlessly drifting as they wilted.

Drifting into the coffin, drifting onto his cheeks. Dancing and fluttering, like the past wilting away.

In this life, from the bastard son who possessed nothing, after innumerable encounters, he became the only eminent Lord Emperor of the mortal realm.

He had blasphemed, and his hands were covered with blood. All that he loved, all that he hated, all that he prayed for, all that he resented, in the end, there was nothing left.

In the end, he had also never penned an epitaph for himself using that confident and wild writing of his. Whether it be a shameless "Emperor of the Era" or something ridiculous like "Deep Fried" or "Steamed", he didn't write anything. The grave of the first emperor of the cultivation world, in the end, left no words behind.

A spectacle that lasted for a decade finally dropped its curtains.

It was many, many hours later when the mob, with torches held high, invaded the resident palace of the emperor like a fire snake. However, what awaited them was an empty Wushan Palace, a Sisheng Peak without a soul, and Xue Meng, who had cried himself numb, prostrating over a ground spilled with ashes at the Red Lotus Pavilion.

And, before the Heaven-Piercing Tower, Mo Weiyu, whose corpse was already cold.