Mo Ran's blood ran cold.
He had only seen Chu Wanning's guqin Jiuge once in his life, when
he'd summoned it amidst their previous life-or-death battle. Then, its chords
had split the skies and sundered the clouds. Every entity under the control of
the Zhenlong Chess Formation, from the living people to the beasts and
spirits, had recovered their consciousness at the sound of Jiuge's chords. One
song had thrown Mo Ran's million-strong army of chess pieces into utter
disarray.
Even so, summoning a holy weapon required the use of one's spiritual
core and consumed a great deal of spiritual energy. Chu Wanning couldn't
even call Tianwen anymore—how had he suddenly managed to call forth
Jiuge, a weapon even more powerful?
The confrontation above Heavenly Lake that day had been no less
fierce than the deathmatch betwixt master and disciple years before. Yet Mo
Ran's memory of it was a muddy blur—because that bloody battle had left
him without a single person by his side he could talk to.
Truth be told, even up until his death in the last lifetime, Mo Ran never
had figured out how Chu Wanning was able to summon Jiuge using only the
strength of his soul. It was a kind of connection not known to exist between
any holy weapon and its master. But Chu Wanning had managed it.
That day, Mo Ran's Zhenlong chess pieces had crumbled to dust one
after another at the thrum of the guqin. Jiuge's strength was somehow even
purer and more indomitable than the first time he'd witnessed it all those
years ago—so much so that he suspected Chu Wanning's spiritual core hadn't
been shattered at all, that he had merely been faking it all those years, had
endured the indignities and bided his time, all for the chance to take his
revenge in one fell swoop.
Later still, Mo Ran couldn't help thinking it would have been better
that way. If Chu Wanning really had simply been pretending, maybe things
wouldn't have come to this point.
If only.
Jiuge nullified Mo Ran's forbidden magic and returned awareness to
the thousands of Taxue Palace cultivators slaughtering each other. It even
shattered the enchanted ice pillars that bound Xue Meng and Mei Hanxue.
Mo Ran leapt into the sky, robes flapping in the wind, his eyes flashing with
anger and delight in equal measure. How many more surprising skills did
Chu Wanning have up his sleeve? He couldn't wait to find out.
He landed atop of the barrier and strode across it to stand before Chu
Wanning. That pair of slender, pale hands slowed, then laid themselves over
the strings of the guqin, muting its sound. Chu Wanning lifted his head, his
face the color of snow beneath sun. He spoke: "Mo Ran. Come closer."
Mo Ran walked over, though he couldn't say why he did so.
Chu Wanning lifted his fingers, and streams of jade-colored light arced
toward Mo Ran's chest. He was startled at first, thinking that Chu Wanning
meant to kill him. But the light didn't hurt at all. It only hovered before his
chest, then melted slowly into his skin and flesh, suffusing him with untold
warmth.
"I've healed the wound Xue Meng gave you." Chu Wanning breathed a
soft sigh. "So let him off, Mo Ran. If even he's gone, when you want to
reminisce about the past, who will you go to…"
Mo Ran was still processing the meaning behind these words when the
sturdy barrier beneath his feet winked out of existence, along with Chu
Wanning's Jiuge. He swiftly raised his hand to call Bugui so as to maintain
his footing between the clouds. But Chu Wanning fell, gentle as a wilted leaf,
as if his playing had exhausted the last of his strength.
"Wanning!" Mo Ran's expression shifted instantly. He urged his blade
down, down, catching Chu Wanning in his arms moments before he plunged
into the icy waters of Heavenly Lake. "Chu Wanning! You—you…"
Chu Wanning's eyes were closed. Blood trickled from his nose, his
mouth, his eyes, his ears. This man had ever valued his dignity. Even in the
years he was imprisoned within Wushan Palace, he had kept his back ramrod
straight and rarely presented himself as aught other than prim and pristine.
But now he bled from all seven orifices of his face, and his usually clear and
refined countenance was a disheveled mess.
Chu Wanning swallowed a mouthful of blood. "You said that life or
death is not up to me…but you see, Mo Ran…" His voice was hoarse.
"You've underestimated your shizun after all. If I've made up my mind to
leave, you can't stop me…no matter how you try…"
"Shizun… Shizun…" Mo Ran stared at him, feeling a chill wash over
his heart, feeling his scalp go numb as he called out, helpless.
Chu Wanning smiled, his expression almost relieved. "I've held onto
life these past few years because I didn't want to give up, always thinking…
thinking that I'd just keep you company a little longer, try to teach you…not to
commit any more sins. But now… Now…"
Mo Ran trembled as he held the man in his arms. He suddenly felt
terrified.
Terrified.
Such an emotion had been no part of him for more than ten years, but
now it rushed back in a wave, nearly carving out his heart.
"Now I see that, perhaps, it will take my death for you to…stop doing
evil…" He fell silent, as if in immense pain. Summoning Jiuge had been
more than his body could withstand. His insides were ripping apart; another
mouthful of blood spilled from his lips. Mo Ran, cradling him in his arms,
touched down on the shore of Heavenly Lake. He channeled spiritual energy
into Chu Wanning's chest without pause, his expression crazed and
anguished.
But that powerful stream of spiritual energy only sank uselessly into
Chu Wanning's body, like water through a sieve. Mo Ran panicked. Taxianjun clutched the man in his arms tight to himself, trying and failing, again and
again, to pass him spiritual energy.
"It's useless. Mo Ran, I used the last of my life to summon Jiuge. This
is the end for me. But if you…yet have any clarity in your heart, then
please…forgive…"
Forgive whom?
Xue Meng? Mei Hanxue? Kunlun Taxue Palace, or the entire
cultivation world? Yes, yes… He'd forgive them all! So long as
Chu Wanning lived, so long as this man he hated to his very core didn't die
like this.
Chu Wanning raised a trembling hand, and a cold fingertip— as if out
of pity, but also almost tender—poked lightly at Mo Ran's forehead. "Then
please forgive…forgive yourself…"
The ferocity on Mo Ran's face froze in a rictus.
Forgive whom… As he lay dying, just whom was he worrying over?
Forgive…yourself…
Was that what he'd said?
As he held Chu Wanning, Taxian-jun was at something of a loss, but
also somewhat delighted; wracked by misery, but also perfectly content.
"Forgive myself?" Mo Ran muttered, his eyes bloodshot. "Your last
wish is for me to forgive myself?" He burst into laughter, and the sound
pierced the skies like a raging inferno, burning away all reason and
rationality. "Ha ha ha—ha ha ha ha ha—forgive myself? Chu Wanning,
you're even crazier than me! How naïve—ha ha ha ha—" The slopes of
Kunlun Mountain echoed with his deranged, miserable laughter. Twisted,
unrecognizable, terrifying.
Chu Wanning swallowed another mouthful of blood, surrounded by the
sound of Mo Ran's insanity. Had he still possessed the strength, his
expression would have been one of anguish. But he no longer even had the
wherewithal to furrow his brows. Only that pair of phoenix eyes—those eyes
that had been at times sharp, or resolute, or harsh, or gentle—were now
filled with sorrow.
Clear as the snow over Heavenly Lake, clouded as the frost limning
the roof tiles.
Slowly, Chu Wanning's eyes grew unfocused, and his pupils dilated.
Slowly, what had once been bright and sharp as lightning could no longer see
distinctly. After a spell, he said in a quiet voice, "Don't laugh anymore, I
can't bear to see you like this…"
Mo Ran had no reply.
"Mo Ran, everything that happened in this life…it's all because I
failed to teach you well, because I called you vile and beyond remedy. It was
I who wronged you. I won't blame you, in life or in death…" No color
remained on Chu Wanning's bloodless face; even his lips were a pale blue.
He lifted his gaze, with great effort, to look at Mo Ran. He wanted to cry, but
instead, it was blood that flowed from his eyes and slid down his cheeks.
Chu Wanning wept. "Do you truly hate me so much…that you won't grant me
a moment of peace…even at the very end…? Mo Ran, Mo Ran…don't do
this anymore. Wake up, turn back… Turn back…"
Wake up…
Chu Wanning told Mo Ran to wake up. But he himself, his hollow eyes
wide open, sank into an endless slumber.
Mo Ran didn't believe—he refused to believe—that Chu Wanning
could just die like this. That the great zongshi of an era, that high and lofty
man, his shizun, the person he despised more than anyone, could die just like
this. Lying in his arms at the edge of Heavenly Lake dyed red with blood.
Growing cold bit by bit, cold as frost, frozen like ice.
Chu Wanning's face was awash in blood. Mo Ran stared for a time
with his head bowed, then raised his sleeve to wipe it clean. But there was
too much blood. The more he wiped, the more he dirtied that once clear,
clean face. Mo Ran pressed his lips together and wiped harder. All he got in
return was a face smeared with gore, Chu Wanning's features nearly
unrecognizable.
At last, he stopped laughing. Closing his eyes, he murmured quietly,
"You won this time, Chu Wanning. I couldn't stop you from dying." He
paused, then opened his eyes again. They were deep and dark, yet within that
abyss, a fire burned. "But you've underestimated me, too," he continued. "I
can't stop you if you don't wish to live, but neither can you stop me if I don't
wish you to die."
Mo Ran brought Chu Wanning back to Sisheng Peak. He said not a
word about his death.
By then, he was already immensely powerful, more than capable of
staving off decay from a dead body indefinitely. Thus, he kept Chu Wanning's
body at the Red Lotus Pavilion and forced him to "live on" in this manner.
He simply couldn't accept that he had killed the last person in the world who
still cared about him. So long as he could keep Chu Wanning's body from
turning to ash, so long as he could still look at him every day, he could go on
believing that Chu Wanning wasn't dead. There would still be a place for
him to unload his deranged hatred, a place for him to entrust his twisted love.
Taxian-jun had finally gone completely insane.
After Chu Wanning departed, Mo Ran would visit the Red Lotus
Pavilion every day, without exception, to look upon his corpse. At first, his
eyes would flash with malice, and he would spit and curse before that body,
saying, "Chu Wanning, this is what you deserve."
"You cared for every person under the sun but me, you hypocrite."
"What kind of master are you? I must've been fucking blind back then
to take you as my master! You bastard!"
Later, he would ask relentlessly, every day, "Why're you still asleep?
When are you gonna wake up?"
"I've already let Xue Meng go, is that not enough for you? Get up
already."
Whenever he said such things, the servants accompanying him
wondered if he had truly cracked and gone mad.
His wife, Song Qiutong, wondered the same. The prospect frightened
her, and consequently, as she lay beside Mo Ran after a rare night of
intimacy, she seized the chance to say, "A-Ran, the dead won't come back. I
know you're sad, but…"
"Who's sad?"
Song Qiutong paused. She was adept at reading faces, even more so
after the years she'd spent at Mo Ran's side. Her every step was careful, like
treading on thin ice. When she saw his ill temper, she fell silent at once and
lowered her eyes, saying, "This one misspoke."
But this time, Mo Ran didn't let her off so easily. "No, no," he
pressed, narrowing his eyes. "You've already spit it out, so let's have it. Go
on, tell me: Who's sad?"
"Your Majesty…"
Mo Ran's dark eyes rolled with thunder. He abruptly sat up and seized
Song Qiutong by her delicate neck. With one hand, he lifted the woman he
had just lain with and threw her off the bed.
His face had twisted into something dangerous and bestial. "What do
you mean the dead won't come back—who's dead? Who's not coming
back?" Mo Ran pushed each word past gritted teeth, aggressive and
emphatic. "No one's dead, no one needs to come back, and no one is sad!"
Song Qiutong's lips quivered. She wanted to protest, but no sooner had
she uttered the words "Red Lotus Pavilion"—just that half of a sentence—
than Mo Ran saw red.
"What are you trying to say? There's no one at the Red Lotus Pavilion
but Chu Wanning, and he's asleep! What exactly are you trying to suggest?!
Bitch!"
The sight of his terrible rage made Song Qiutong's heart lurch. At this
rate, she was unsure what he might do in his lunacy. Thus she threw caution
to the wind and gambled it all, raising her voice to say, "Your Majesty, that
man lying in the Red Lotus Pavilion is already dead, yet you wallow there
every day. How can…how can this one not worry?"
She chose her words carefully to evade blame, framing her own
selfish desire as concern for Mo Ran.
Mo Ran stared at her, and his breathing gradually evened, as if her
words had gotten through to him on some level. He calmed his rage, then took
a moment to steady himself. "I've made you worry," he said.
Song Qiutong heaved a sigh of relief. "This one wishes only for Your
Majesty's well-being, and would gladly die for it. Your Majesty is deeply
compassionate, but you must not be so despondent."
"Then tell me, how do you think this venerable one should be?"
"Forgive this one for saying so, this one only means well for Your
Majesty, but it's time to bury Chu…Chu-zongshi. He's already gone, and
keeping his empty body around like this will only cause Your Majesty more
pain."
"And? You have more to say, do you not? Might as well get it all off
your chest."
When she saw his expression relax, Song Qiutong's heart, which had
leapt up into her throat, settled back in its place in her chest. She lowered her
lashes and tilted her head slightly; she knew she looked most like Shi
Mingjing this way.
Song Qiutong was perfectly aware that Shi Mingjing was Mo Weiyu's
weakness. What she couldn't understand was why, no matter how she
dressed like him or carefully imitated his demeanor, she still couldn't arouse
Mo Ran's interest. Although this temperamental man enjoyed her company, he
only ever touched her when he was very low or very drunk. Song Qiutong
suspected that perhaps Mo Ran wasn't really into women. Whatever the
reason, it definitely wasn't because he wasn't into Shi Mingjing—all of
Sisheng Peak knew that the man who had died many years ago was Emperor
Taxian-jun's true love.
Compared to that, what the hell was Chu Wanning?
Song Qiutong believed he was nothing more than a plaything on which
Taxian-jun vented his lust, a plaything he'd already grown tired of fucking, at
that. Chu Wanning may have traded his life for Mo Weiyu's disquietude and
remembrance, but she was certain it was at most a momentary guilt, a
temporary disruption to routine. She was confident in her face—this face that
looked so much like Shi Mingjing's. That person in the Red Lotus Pavilion,
neither living nor dead, could never outmatch her on this basis alone.
But Mo Ran couldn't be allowed to persist in this insanity. The world
these days was in chaos, wars springing up left and right, and she was
terrified that she might have hitched her horse to the wrong wagon. She
wasn't young anymore; if Mo Ran were to lose his standing, she was unlikely
to find another sky-reaching tree she could climb to the top. So she sincerely,
wholeheartedly, hoped that Mo Ran would pull himself together and cease
his madness.
She mulled it over, weighing the risks against the rewards. In the end,
she summoned up the courage to say, "And once Chu-zongshi is gone, there
will be none worthy of the Red Lotus Pavilion."
"Right. Go on."
"This one thinks, with that being the case, the pavilion will only serve
to remind Your Majesty of the past, so…"
"So?" Mo Ran narrowed his eyes.
"So perhaps it would be best to seal away the Red Lotus Pavilion after
this. A pavilion with only one master makes for a good tale."