Now that Chu Wanning, mentioned it, Mo Ran couldn't help but
agree. His shizun was right.
A faint odor had followed the fake Gouchen. Mo Ran had thought he
was imagining it, but if Chu Wanning had also noticed it, then there could be
no mistake. The smell of death.
So not only was this Gouchen not the true god himself—he wasn't
even a living person! In other words, the one behind this mess had just pulled
the strings attached to a corpse dressed as the God of Weaponry. The real
puppeteer wasn't even here.
Mo Ran's thoughts were interrupted by a low, sorrowful chuckle from
the direction of Jincheng Lake. Immediately after, a deathly pale body shot
out from the water like an arrow as the fake Gouchen leapt into the air. But
both his appearance and behavior had become terrible to behold, his skin
wrinkled all over like a snake in the midst of molting, or a silkworm writhing
to break through its cocoon.
"Yuheng of the Night Sky, the Beidou Immortal. Chu-zongshi, you
really do live up to your name." The fake Gouchen levitated above the
crystalline water of the lake, face twisting into a semblance of a gnarled
smirk even as pieces peeled off. "How did Rufeng Sect let someone like you
slip through their fingers?"
Chu Wanning's voice was frosty as he asked, "Just who exactly are
you?"
"You don't need to know who I am," said the fake Gouchen. "I won't
let you know who I am either. You can just think of me as someone who
should have died long ago—but who crawled out of hell solely to take the
lives of you, the righteous and honorable!"
"Shameless!" Wangyue rumbled. "The Heart-Pluck Willow has been
destroyed! With your strength alone, without the help of the holy tree, you
neither have a way to use the forbidden techniques, nor a means to carry out
further transgressions!"
The fake Gouchen sneered. "You old eel, on your last breath and still
trying to get in my way. What makes you think you have the right to speak
here? Get lost!"
"And do you think that you, as a white chess piece, have any right to
speak?" Chu Wanning interrupted.
A "white chess piece," as implied by the name, was a special game
piece in the Zhenlong Chess Formation. The individual using the technique
could place a portion of their soul into a newly deceased body and fuse the
two to form a chess piece as white as pure jade.
This white chess piece differed from the common black variety, which
merely obeyed commands. In short, a white chess piece was a stand-in for
the spellcaster. Though their spiritual power was weaker than that of their
original form, they could think and act independently, and the things they saw
and heard were conveyed to the person controlling them.
The fake Gouchen's identity was exposed, but his only reaction was to
laugh and clap. "Very good! Good, good!"
After these three cries, the fake Gouchen's face had become even more
broken and contorted. It seemed that the spell was nearing its end and was
unable to support the white chess piece for much longer. Thus, the original
form of the corpse was emerging.
"Chu Wanning, don't get too full of yourself now. Do you really think
this will stop me? Even if the Heart-Pluck Willow was destroyed, my true
self can always find other sources of spiritual energy. You, on the other
hand…"
As the false god spoke, his eyes, which grew dimmer and less focused
by the second, suddenly swept past Chu Wanning to land on Mo Ran, filled
with malicious intent. Mo Ran was struck by a sudden wave of apprehension.
"If you think that I'm the only one in this world who knows the three
forbidden techniques," the fake Gouchen said languidly, mockingly, "then I'm
afraid you won't have much longer to live."
"What do you mean by that?" Chu Wanning demanded sternly, his
eyebrows lowered in a frown.
However, the fake Gouchen ceased to speak. He froze, then exploded
into foul-smelling chunks as a jade-white chess piece shot out from his body
and whirled into the air, backlit by the rising sun—before it fell into Jincheng
Lake with a plop.
It seemed that the puppeteer in the shadows, having lost the assistance
of the Heart-Pluck Willow, had exhausted his spiritual energy.
Simultaneously, Wangyue, who had also relied on the Heart-Pluck
Willow's spiritual energy to survive, staggered and fell to the ground with a
thud. "Ah…"
Xue Meng let out a startled cry, "Wangyue!"
"Wangyue!" Mo Ran also exclaimed.
All four of them gathered around the old dragon. Wangyue was barely
hanging on, his lips colorless. He looked to them and spoke with a voice that
faltered like the setting sun. "Don't… Don't believe that man's nonsense. In
his words, there was more…more falsehood than truth…"
Shi Mei's face brimmed with worry and sorrow. "Qianbei, please
don't speak any further," he said softly. "Let me heal you."
"No, there's no need. If even your master couldn't do it…then…
you…" Wangyue coughed roughly several times, then said, panting, "All
these years, many came seeking weapons. But…when that villain arrived, the
Heart-Pluck Willow was loath to let him claim the holy weapons left behind
by our master, and so destroyed them all. The only ones remaining…were…
were a willow vine equal to it in power, and the—the sword of the Exalted
God…"
At the mention of this blade, Xue Meng's expression grew darker, his
mouth set in a thin and wordless line.
"The willow vine…went to this young daozhang." Wangyue glanced at
Mo Ran. "That day, by the lakeside, I said to you that even if you were evil in
the past, I would not stop you, and that I could only hope that you would
pursue virtue in the future… But in actuality…in actuality, in accordance
with my master's wishes, holy weapons should belong only to the virtuous.
That's why, I hope that you…that you will…"
Mo Ran understood that it was already difficult for him to speak, and
so interrupted. "Don't worry, Qianbei. I understand."
"That's good… That's good…" Wangyue murmured. "Then I can…
rest easy…"
He gazed skyward, lips trembling slightly.
"It is said that when one goes to Jincheng Lake seeking a weapon, a
creature from the lake will…will make a request. Most of those requests…
were to gauge the seeker's moral character, but there were the occasional
exceptions…"
Wangyue's voice grew quieter and quieter, tens of thousands of years
flitting past his eyes like a carousel lantern.
"I had an agreement with my master. When he departed, I was to stay
and guard Jincheng Lake, without leaving… Who could have known that I
would be standing guard for millennia upon millennia? The sights I beheld in
my youth, the mountains and rivers…I never got to…to…see…them again…"
He turned his head slowly to gaze beseechingly at Mo Ran, his eyes
flickering with a warm wetness. In that instant, Mo Ran suddenly knew what
he was about to say.
Sure enough, Wangyue said softly, "Young Daozhang, the plum
blossoms at the waist of the mountain bloom splendidly throughout the year. I
was very fond of them when I was young. Even though you have already
received your holy weapon, would you still…still be willing to…"
Mo Ran was about to say, Yes, I'll go get you a branch.
However, before he could even start, the light in Wangyue's golden
eyes abruptly went out.
Jiangnan has little but for a gift of spring in the form of a blossoming
branch.
2
Snow-tipped peaks towered majestically in the distance, and gleaming
gold danced resplendent on the lake surface as the rising sun bathed the
waters in its red-hued light. The waves and spray shattered the rays into
glimmering crimson.
Wangyue had passed.
He had been among the first dragons at the creation of the world, had
once been earth-shakingly powerful, and had once bowed in servitude and
carried his master to all corners of the land. Everyone had said that the brand
compelled his submission, but it had been his respect for Gouchen that bound
him to his millennia-long promise.
In this vast land, few remained who remembered the founding of the
world. Wangyue knew. He knew that although the real Gouchen the Exalted's
veins coursed with demonic blood, his mother had been taken against her
will. Gouchen had abhorred demons, and so stood with Fuxi against their
invasion. He had used that very powerful demonic blood of his to forge the
first true sword for Fuxi's hand, and had aided him in eradicating the demon
race from the mortal realm.
But after the unification of heaven and earth, Fuxi had harbored
misgivings and resentment toward Gouchen the Exalted, due to that halfdemon blood. Gouchen the Exalted was no fool; a hundred years later, he
excused himself from the realm of the gods of his own volition and
descended to the realm of man.
During his journey, he saw endless suffering and slaughter. He
concluded that he shouldn't have brought the very notion of "sword" into
existence, and he was filled with remorse. So, he gathered many of the
weapons he had left in the mortal realm, sealed them in the arsenal in
Jincheng Lake, planted the Heart-Pluck Willow as guardian, and instructed
the creatures of the lake that of those who came seeking, only the virtuous
were befitting.
Now Gouchen was no more and Wangyue had passed. Henceforth
there would be no more holy weapons within Jincheng Lake, and no more
merfolk. With the thunderous fall of the Heart-Pluck Willow, all of these sins
and acts of repentance, the distortion and dedication, had scattered like
smoke and ash.
For a moment, no one spoke. In the ferocious snowstorm, the scarlet
words written on the stone tablet by the side of Jincheng Lake—"The Path
Forward is Difficult"—were the same as when they had first seen them.
Meanwhile, the surface of the lake, now serene, hid all the calamity and
suffering that had transpired beneath it.
It looked just like it had when they first climbed up Dawning Peak,
when they were as yet unaware of the bloody story hidden behind "The Path
Forward is Difficult."
Mo Ran looked up at the sky. Above the precipice of the peak, a lone
eagle soared against the snowdrift.
He suddenly thought of how, in his past life, Wangyue had given him a
powerful long blade. In this life, the blade he'd seen was a mere fake, and
the original that had once belonged to him had likely already been destroyed
by the Heart-Pluck Willow before he could so much as glimpse it.
A short while passed and, unbidden, Mo Ran's mind conjured up old
memories.
It was the year he had come to Jincheng Lake seeking a weapon.
Wangyue emerged from the water, studied him with golden eyes that were
gentle and friendly, and said:
"The plum blossoms at the waist of the mountain are blooming
beautifully. Could you go retrieve a branch for me?"
Mo Ran closed his eyes and raised an arm to cover them. He didn't
know what events had transpired below the lake in his past life. At the time,
he had taken Wangyue's request for pointless pretentiousness…
It took many days before they returned to Sisheng Peak. Chu Wanning's
shoulder was seriously injured, and the three youths were exhausted, so they
rested at Dai City for several days before returning.
Xue Meng said nothing of what had happened to Xue Zhengyong and
Madam Wang. Proud as he was, regardless of whether his parents reacted
with disappointment or sympathy, either would be salt in the wound. Chu
Wanning noticed this, and his heart ached. So, he buried himself in ancient
tomes and scrolls all day, searching for some other way of obtaining a holy
weapon for Xue Meng, or else some means of allowing a mortal to rival a
holy weapon in strength.
Apart from this, just who had that fake Gouchen been, and where was
his true self? And what was the meaning behind the last thing that white chess
piece had said before it disintegrated?
There were many and more things to worry about, and so the candle in
the library of the Red Lotus Pavilion burned all night as the water clock
dripped away. Scrolls scrawled with complicated passages littered the floor,
and buried in the depths of the files was Chu Wanning's exhausted face.
"Yuheng, look at the state of your shoulder. Don't be so reckless." Xue
Zhengyong sat next to him and chattered fussily, holding a warm cup of tea.
"The Tanlang Elder is a master of the healing arts; make some time and go
have him take a look."
"No need. It's already started to heal."
Xue Zhengyong clicked his tongue. "That won't do. Look at yourself—
you've looked terrible ever since you got back. Nine out of ten people
who've seen you say you seem like you're about to pass out. If you ask me,
there's something strange about that wound. Might be some kind of poison or
whatever. It's better to be careful."
Chu Wanning glanced up. "I seem like I'm about to pass out?" He
paused and smiled coldly. "Who said that?"
Xue Zhengyong paused for a long moment before eventually saying,
"Aiya, Yuheng, can you not always act like you're made of metal and
everyone else is made of paper?"
"I know my own limits."
Xue Zhengyong mumbled something inaudibly. From the movement of
his lips, it was very possibly, "Know your limits, my ass." Luckily, Chu
Wanning was too absorbed in his book to see.
They chatted for a while longer, until Xue Zhengyong saw that it was
getting late and got up to head back and keep his wifey company. Before
leaving, he made sure to fuss some more. "Yuheng, don't stay up too late.
Meng-er will die of guilt if he sees you like this."
Chu Wanning ignored him with gusto.
Having been met with such a frosty reception, Xue Zhengyong could
only scratch his head awkwardly and leave.
Chu Wanning drank some medicine, then returned to the table to
continue his research until he started feeling a bit light-headed. He propped
his forehead in one hand, nauseous. The nausea faded in short order, so he
chalked it up to being tired and paid it no heed.
The night grew late, and finally too woozy to continue, Chu Wanning
fell asleep with his brows drawn tightly together and his head pillowed on a
sweeping sleeve next to the small mountain of tomes. An unfinished scroll
still lay across his knees while the hem of his robes drooped to the floor like
a water wave.
That night, he dreamt. This dream, unlike most, was clear and distinct,
nearly real.
Chu Wanning was standing within Loyalty Hall of Sisheng Peak, but
this Loyalty Hall was somewhat different from the one he knew; many
furnishings and details had been altered. Before he had a chance to take a
closer look, the gates swung open, setting crimson curtains adrift.
A person walked in.
"Shizun."
This individual had a handsome face and deep-black eyes tinted
purple. He was a young man, but when he curled the corners of his lips, he
looked almost childlike.
"Mo Ran?" Chu Wanning stood and was about to walk over, but he
found that his wrists and ankles were shackled by four lengths of metal
chains that flowed with spiritual power. They fettered him in place and
rendered him unable to move.
Shock was followed by overflowing rage. Chu Wanning glared at the
chains with disbelief, anger twisting his expression and stoppering his
words. It was a good while before he lifted his head to say harshly, "Mo
Weiyu, what do you think you're doing? Unbind me at once!"
But this man acted like he hadn't heard a word of Chu Wanning's
furious bellows. A lazy smile and a pair of dimples appeared on his face as
he strode over and gripped Chu Wanning by the jaw.