(3) THIS VENERABLE ONE'S SHIGE
Hm... Since Mo Ran's soul had been transported back in time, perhaps his cultivation had come along for the ride?
Mo Ran recited an incantation and felt the spiritual energy in his body surge forth. Though abundant, it wasn't strong.
That was to say, his cultivation had not carried over.
No matter. He was smart, perceptive, and blessed with innate talent; he could just cultivate all over again, no big deal. Rebirth was already a blessed occurrence of unparalleled proportions— it stood to reason that there would be some small imperfections here and there. As Mo Ran thought this, he quickly rearranged his gloomy, fierce expression into one more appropriate for a fifteen-year-old youth and cheerfully headed back toward his sect.
It was the middle of summer. Horse-drawn carriages sped past, wheels rolling, and no one paid any attention to the fifteen-year-old Mo Ran. Only the occasional village woman, taking a break from tending the fields and looking up to wipe her sweat, noticed this exceptionally handsome youth and stared a bit. Mo Ran returned those stares with his own, smiling as he did so, until those married women blushed bright red and looked away.
Around evening, Mo Ran arrived at Wuchang Town. The town wasn't far from Sisheng Peak, whose towering peaks loomed in the distance, framed by clouds lit afire by the bloodred setting sun.
Feeling a little hungry, he headed into a restaurant. As he glanced at the menu and knocked on the counter, he placed a quick order.
"Shopkeeper, one bon bon chicken, a plate of spicy fuqi feipian beef tripe in chili sauce, two catties of wine, and a plate of sliced beef, please."
This establishment was a popular rest stop and was currently bustling with activity. A storyteller was on the stage, shaking his fan and telling the story of Sisheng Peak in an animated manner, spit flying everywhere. Mo Ran picked a booth by a window and listened as he ate.
"As I'm sure everyone already knows, the cultivation world is divided into the upper and lower cultivation realms. Today we'll talk about the greatest sect in the lower cultivation realm, Sisheng Peak.
Did you know that a hundred years ago, our Wuchang Town was a poor and desolate place due to its proximity to the entrance of the ghost realm? No one dared go out after dark. If they really needed to travel at night, they had to ring an exorcism bell and sprinkle incense ash and paper money while chanting, 'People barred by mountains, demons barred by paper', and pass along as quickly as they could. But these days, our town thrives and flourishes, no different from anywhere else, and it's all thanks to Sisheng Peak's care. This righteous sect stands right at the gate to the ghost realm, between the boundary of yin and yang. Even though the sect was established not that long ago."
Mo Ran had heard this history so many times that his ears had damn near grown calluses, and so he started glancing around outside the window instead. It just so happened that at that moment, a stall had been set up below the window. There, several strangers from out of town were dressed in cultivator garb and carrying a cage covered with a black cloth as they performed streetside tricks.
This was much more interesting than the storyteller's tale, and
Mo Ran's attention was drawn to it.
"Come one, come all! Take a look at these pixiu cubs, fierce mythical beasts we tamed to obediently perform tricks— and even do math! It's not easy traveling to perform chivalrous deeds; everyone spare some tips and stick around. Come watch the first trick— pixiu abacus!" With a flourish, the cultivators ripped away the black cloth to reveal a couple of human-faced, bear-bodied monsters in the cage.
Mo Ran was speechless. Just a couple of meek fuzzy bear cubs?!
And you actually dare to claim that they're pixiu?!
That was quite some bullshit right there. Only donkey brains would believe it.
But Mo Ran's worldview was soon widened as some twenty or thirty donkey brains gathered to watch, cheering and clapping. They drew the attention of everyone in the restaurant as well, making things quite awkward for the storyteller.
"The current leader of Sisheng Peak is a man known far and wide for his strength and brilliance—"
"Nice! Again!"
Encouraged, the storyteller glanced toward the owner of the voice— only to find a customer whose face glowed red with excitement, but whose gaze was locked not on himself but on the street performers.
"Oh? The pixiu is doing math on an abacus?"
"Wow, quite impressive!"
"Good show! Make the pixiu juggle apples again!"
The entire restaurant was laughing as everyone gathered by the windows to watch the scene below.
The storyteller pathetically tried to carry on. "The master is best
known for that fan of his. He…"
"Ah ha ha ha, that light-colored pixiu wants to eat the apple. Look at it rolling around on the ground!"
The storyteller wiped his face with a towel, his lips quivering with
anger.
Mo Ran pursed his lips in a smile and leisurely called out from behind the bead curtain. "Forget Sisheng Peak, tell a story from Eighteen Caresses instead. I guarantee it'll pull back everyone's attention."
The storyteller didn't know that the person behind the curtain was one of the young masters of Sisheng Peak himself, Mo Ran. He gathered all the moral integrity he had to stutter out, "V-vulgar stories are not f-fit for an elegant hall."
Mo Ran laughed. "You're calling this place an elegant hall? How are you not embarrassed?"
A burst of noise came from below.
"Ah! What a fast horse!"
"Must be a cultivator from Sisheng Peak!"
In the midst of the chatter, a black horse galloped from the direction of Sisheng Peak and, in a flash, charged into the streetside circus.
There were two people on the horse. One wore a black bamboo hat and was shrouded in a black cloak that covered them so completely, it was impossible to tell their age or gender. The other was a thirty- or forty-year-old woman with rough hands and a weathered face.
The woman started crying as soon as she saw the man-bears. She scrambled off the horse and stumbled toward them, kneeling to embrace one of them in her arms as she wailed. "My son! Oh, my son—"
The audience was stumped.
"Eh? Aren't these pixiu cubs?" someone muttered while scratching his head. "Why's this woman calling it her son?"
"Maybe it's a pixiu mother?"
"Aiyo, that'd be quite something, then, if the females can even take on human form."
These villagers had no relevant knowledge or experience and were only babbling nonsense, but Mo Ran instantly figured out what was going on.
Rumor had it that some rogue cultivators liked to abduct children, rip their tongues out so they couldn't talk, burn their skin off with boiling water, and then stick animal hides on their bloodied bodies so that once the blood had congealed, child and fur would become one, making them look just like a monster. These children couldn't speak or write and had no choice but to suffer abuse and obediently perform tricks like "pixiu abacus"; any resistance only earned them a beating.
No wonder he hadn't sensed any demonic energy. These "pixiu" weren't monsters at all, but actual living humans.
While Mo Ran was thinking to himself, the person in the black cloak said something in low tones to the cultivators, who flew into a rage.
"Apologize? That ain't in my vocabulary!"
"So what if you're from Sisheng Peak?"
"Mind your own damn business! Beat him up!"
They pounced on the black-cloaked person for a thrashing.
"Aiyo." As Mo Ran watched his fellow disciple get beat up, he only let out a low chuckle. "How scary."
He had zero intentions of helping out. Even in his previous life, he'd always loathed the righteous and meddlesome ways of his sect.
The lot of them rushed to throw themselves at any trouble that cropped up like so many idiots. They would even bother with some minor inconvenience like Mrs. Wang's cat getting stuck in a tree.
Every single last member of the entire sect— from the leader all the way down to the servants-was a dimwit.
There were countless injustices in the world, so what was the point of caring? It was enough to exhaust a person to death.
"They're fighting, they're fighting! Ho! What a punch!"
Within and without the restaurant, everyone gathered to spectate.
"So many of you ganging up on one person! Aren't you ashamed?!"
"Watch out behind you, sir! Aiya! Close call! Wah—"
"Nice dodge!"
These people loved a good fight, but Mo Ran didn't care to watch. He'd seen plenty of bloodshed; to him, the events currently unfolding were like unto a fly's buzzing. He lazily dusted peanut crumbs off his clothes and got up to leave.
Downstairs, the cultivators and the black-cloaked person had reached a stalemate, swords swishing. Crossing his arms, Mo Ran leaned against the restaurant's door. All it took was one glance to make him click his tongue in annoyance. What a disgrace.
Everyone from Sisheng Peak was a fierce fighter, each the equal of ten men, but the black-cloaked person was a pathetic combatant.
Even when they were dragged off the horse, surrounded, and kicked, they held back.
Instead, this person cried out politely, "Honorable men speak with their mouths, not their fists. I'm trying to reason with you— why won't you listen?!"
The cultivators were as speechless as Mo Ran.
The cultivators were thinking, The hell? This person's already been so soundly whipped and they're still preaching that nonsense? Is this what they call "mantou for brains, all empty inside"?
But Mo Ran's face changed abruptly as, for a second, his head spun. He held his breath, eyes wide with disbelief. That voice...
"Shi Mei!" Mo Ran shouted and rushed forward, agitated. He let loose an attack filled with spiritual power that instantly knocked away five of the jianghu cultivator swindlers and knelt on the ground to help up the black-cloaked figure, who was covered in muddy boot marks. His voice couldn't help but tremble slightly as he said,
"Shi Mei, is that you?"