Shizun, pay attention to me.
They were the words Mo Ran had spoken when they'd first met
beneath the Heaven-Piercing Tower. At the time, Chu Wanning's eyes had
been closed. When Mo Ran called to him, his lashes fluttered open.
These were also the words Mo Ran said when they parted for the last
time at the Red Lotus Pavilion. At that time, Chu Wanning's eyes had also
been closed. Mo Ran called to him, but he never again raised his head.
That one sentence drifted for half a lifetime, from the Heaven-Piercing
Tower to the edge of the lotus pond, and finally settled into dust. All those
years of hate and love scattered and went cold.
Mo Ran had finished his last jar of pear-blossom wine and descended
from the southern tip of Sisheng Peak toward the eve of his final day. The
next morning, the rebel army that charged into Wushan Palace discovered that
Taxian-jun, that calamity upon the world for the past ten years, had taken his
own life at the age of thirty-two.
Two lifetimes had passed.
Mo Ran opened his eyes. He had slept the night through under the
flowering tree before the Heaven-Piercing Tower, and he woke up dazed and
lost, unable to tell when he was. "Shizun…" he murmured absently, "pay
attention to me…"
Only then did he remember that, in this lifetime as well, Chu Wanning
was gone.
In his past life, Mo Ran had become accustomed to his every day being
a bitter struggle. Then, Chu Wanning had been the one who had walked with
him to the very end. He didn't want to be that vile person again in this life,
but now, Chu Wanning wouldn't be around to see what became of him.
Perhaps the heavens themselves couldn't bear it, or perhaps it was simply
fate—Chu Wanning had grown disgusted beyond endurance with him in the
past life, so in this one, he was the first to take his leave.
Mo Ran laid his arm across his eyes, holding back the tightness in his
throat.
He heard Xue Zhengyong shouting frantically in the distance. His uncle
was looking for him, calling, "Ran-er—where are you? Ran-er!"
Shi Mei was calling for him as well: "A-Ran, where are you… Hurry
and come out…"
"Ran-er, come back and keep Yuheng company! Don't do anything
stupid, Ran-er!"
Keep Yuheng company… Keep him company…
Mo Ran dragged himself up off the ground and staggered toward the
voices. He couldn't collapse, he couldn't collapse—there was so much he
still had to do. They still hadn't found the person behind all this, not to
mention the Heavenly Rift could open again at any time. Sisheng Peak had
suffered heavy losses in the catastrophe, and there were innumerable matters
that needed to be seen to. Xue Meng was heartbroken from grief, so
anguished he couldn't even rise. Mo Ran couldn't collapse too.
So Mo Ran endured it, and forced himself to pick up the pieces. He
told himself, It doesn't hurt, it doesn't hurt. This wasn't the first time he'd
lived through Chu Wanning's death. It doesn't hurt.
It doesn't hurt…
But how could it not hurt? Over three thousand steps Chu Wanning had
crawled, carrying him on his back—how could it not hurt…
He'd drained his very last reserves of spiritual energy, he'd given it
all to Mo Ran, how could it not hurt…
He had suffered an identical injury, but so as not to burden his
disciple, he had adopted a heartless expression and left on his own. How
could it not hurt…
And in the past life, Chu Wanning had also suffered the same injury as
Shi Mei. It was just that he hadn't said anything about it. He hadn't said, and
Mo Ran hadn't asked. He'd roared angrily at Chu Wanning, vented endless
hatred on him, flung to the ground those wontons Chu Wanning, who had yet
to recover from his own injuries, had worked so hard to make for him.
Before his eyes, Chu Wanning had bent down, lowered his head, and then,
one by one, had picked up each wonton and thrown them away.
How could it not hurt… How could it not have hurt?!
He had dug out Chu Wanning's heart! How could it have not hurt?!
How could it…
Mo Ran couldn't take a step further. He stood in place for a long spell,
trying to suppress these feelings, trying to rescue his calm. His entire body
trembled. It hurt. He buried his face in his hands, bit down on his lip, and
swallowed his sobs with the blood.
A very long time passed before he managed, just barely, to pull
himself together. He lifted his head, his eyes red around the rims, and drew in
a deep breath. Then, slowly, he walked down the steps.
He couldn't collapse.
"Uncle."
"Ran-er, where were you? You had me worried half to death! How am
I gonna face Yuheng in the afterlife if something happens to you?"
"It was my fault," Mo Ran said. "I'm okay now. Sorry to have made
Uncle worry."
Xue Zhengyong shook his head. He wasn't quite sure what to say, so he
only patted Mo Ran's shoulder. After a long moment, he said, "It's not your
fault. It's not your fault; you're already so much stronger than Meng-er…" He
sighed.
"Where's Xue Meng?" Mo Ran asked hoarsely.
"Sick. He has a high fever. He just drank his medicine and went to
sleep. He's inconsolable when awake, crying all day… Sleep will do him
some good." Xue Zhengyong looked exhausted. "The Heavenly Rift of the
Infinite Hells has the whole cultivation world in a state. Even the upper
cultivation world is sending people to look into the matter now. But
whoever's behind it covered his tracks incredibly well; Butterfly Town was
practically leveled in the bloody battle, and no clues were left to be found."
Mo Ran wasn't at all surprised to hear this. This individual's abilities
were clearly beyond what anyone, including himself, had anticipated.
Someone who could take Chu Wanning's life obviously wouldn't be so
careless as to leave traces. "What does the upper cultivation realm plan to
do?"
"Representatives from each sect are holding a meeting at Spiritual
Mountain to discuss the matter," Xue Zhengyong replied. "I'd planned to set
off for it tomorrow…but I'm worried about leaving when Meng-er is like
this…"
He was right—even the world's preeminent zongshi, Chu Wanning,
had lost his life in the incident at Butterfly Town. Negligent as the upper
cultivation world might be, they could no longer afford to simply sit by and
watch.
Who laid down the spells that opened the barrier? What is he after?
What's his next move?
These questions circled in their hearts like vultures. Everyone wanted
answers, but an extensive investigation had yielded none. They had no choice
but to cooperate with one another.
"Don't worry, Uncle," Mo Ran said. "I'll help Aunt take care of things
in the sect while you're gone."
"That's good, that's good…" Xue Zhengyong sighed. "I wish I didn't
have to burden you with this…"
With Xue Zhengyong's departure and Xue Meng lost in his fugue, all
the accumulated scrolls of paperwork and attendant tasks fell to Mo Ran. He
threw himself wholeheartedly into the work without daring to rest for a
moment. If he stopped to rest, stopped to think, the anguish and regret would
drag him into the abyss and torture his broken soul. He wished he could bury
his head in scrolls, day in and day out, if only so he could ignore the endless
torment and guilt that wracked his heart.
When the Infinite Hells had opened, yin energy had flooded the mortal
realm, and all manner of fiends, long suppressed, had seized the opportunity
to escape and wreak havoc across the land. The letters of commission
requesting aid from Sisheng Peak had practically piled up into a small
mountain. Mo Ran busied himself taking care of it all, forgetting to sleep and
skipping meals. He often stepped into Loyalty Hall at the break of dawn and
stayed late into the night before returning to his quarters to rest.
But even buried in this ocean of paperwork, he would find himself
pricked unawares by splinters of Chu Wanning left behind.
Qingjiang region has been troubled as of late, and most of the
eighty-two families in Fengling Village are old and ailing, with no means
to defend themselves. We are fortunate to have a Holy Night Guardian
automaton made by your esteemed sect's elder to fend off the fiends for
now. But this is not a long-term solution, so we would like to request…
A drop of wax slid slowly down the candle, and the wick crackled.
Mo Ran came to with a start; he had been staring vacantly at the letter for
some time, his finger tracing the words Holy Night Guardian over and over.
In his mind's eye, he saw Chu Wanning in the Red Lotus Pavilion, his hair
pulled back in a ponytail and a sanding file held in his mouth as he poured
his focus into oiling an automaton.
Mo Ran let out a long breath. He pressed his fingers to his forehead
and rubbed lightly. Suddenly, he heard someone knocking.
"Shi Mei?"
The beautiful young man dressed in light, simple white robes entered
balancing a tray. He set it down beside Mo Ran's scrolls, then rolled up his
sleeves and stirred the candlelight back to brightness. "A-Ran," he said
gently, "you've been working all day. Have something to eat."
"All right…" Mo Ran forced a smile and laid down his scroll,
continuing to knead at the throbbing pain between his brows.
"I made a bowl of ginseng chicken soup and a few side dishes." Shi
Mei set out the plates and felt the temperature through the side of the bowl.
"Oh good, it's still warm."
As they ate, Shi Mei noticed a loose wisp of hair hanging before that
handsome, weary face, and reached out to tuck it back in. "A-Ran."
"Hm?"
"That day…was there something you wanted to tell me?"
Mo Ran's thoughts were scattered, and it took him a moment to
understand what Shi Mei was asking. He glanced at Shi Mei. "Which day?"
Shi Mei pursed his lips and lowered his gaze. He was silent for a
time, then answered, "The day of the Heavenly Rift."
Mo Ran waited for him to continue.
"You said you were going to go help…help Shizun mend the Heavenly
Rift, and that there was something—that if you still felt like telling me when
you came back, then…" Shi Mei bowed his head, and his voice trailed off. In
the glow of the candle, his delicate, snow-white ears seemed a little pink.
Mo Ran stared for a long time but couldn't manage a single word. He
knew—without a doubt—that he loved Shi Mei dearly. But right now, in this
moment, he really wasn't in the mood, not in the least. Mo Ran was
shameless and unmannerly; he couldn't care less what others said, and things
like morality and etiquette were thoroughly foreign to him.
But that didn't mean he was heartless.
A long second passed in silence. When Mo Ran finally spoke, his
voice was soft. "Sorry. I feel really down right now, and I…don't think this
is the right time. So, about that thing—I'll tell you some other time, okay?"
Shi Mei's head snapped up, his beautiful eyes startled.
Mo Ran squeezed out a chuckle and raised his hand. He hesitated a
second, then patted Shi Mei's head. "I'm kind of dumb, and there have been
so many things to take care of lately, I… I don't know when I'll have a quiet
moment to gather my thoughts. I don't want to be careless about it."
Even the warmth of the candle couldn't conceal the gradual blanching
of Shi Mei's face. "Careless?" He paused, then smiled. "A-Ran, it was life
or death back then. I would've thought anything you were going to say at a
time like that was something you'd already given careful thought to."
"I have." Mo Ran furrowed his brow. "I've thought about it for a long
time, and it's never changed, but…"
"But?" Shi Mei leaned forward.
Mo Ran hesitated. Eventually, he said, "But not right now." His hands
clenched into fists in his sleeves. "Not right now, Shi Mei. You don't know
yet, but it's something very important. I don't want to rush it and tell you at
such a miserable time, I—"
"Young master!" A junior suddenly barged in unannounced. When he
saw that the one managing sect matters in Loyalty Hall was Mo Ran, he
hurriedly dipped his head in a bow and corrected himself: "Ah, Mo-gongzi."
At this interruption, the faint blush on Shi Mei's cheeks faded. He
flicked his sleeves and sat back in his chair, taking on a mild, unassuming
appearance.
Mo Ran looked up, oblivious to the shift in Shi Mei's demeanor.
"What is it?"
"R-reporting in. There's an esteemed guest at the sect entrance."
"An esteemed guest?" Mo Ran echoed. "Anyone of note from the ten
great sects is at Spiritual Mountain right now. Where'd this esteemed guest
come from?"
The disciple seemed both fearful and excited; his face flushed and he
stammered incoherently for a few seconds before he finally managed to blurt,
"I-it's Master Huaizui of Wubei Temple!"
"What?!" Even the ex-Emperor Taxian-jun couldn't help but jump to
his feet.
Shi Mei was startled as well. "Master Huaizui?"
Mo Ran had good reason to be shocked—Master Huaizui was
practically a legend in the cultivation world.
This man had long ago achieved enlightenment. By all rights, he ought
to have ascended. But when the great gates of the heavenly realm had opened
for him, he had pressed his palms together and said that he could not break
with the mortal realm, could not let go of his lifelong obsession, and could
not wash himself of past sins. In the end, the heavenly light dimmed, the lotus
blossom wilted, and Master Huaizui had ambled away from immortality in
his threadbare monk's robes, his staff tapping lightly against the ground.
After declining his chance to ascend and become an immortal, he had
gone into seclusion at Wubei Temple to reflect. A century passed in the blink
of an eye. One hundred years since, the cultivation world had heard his name
but never laid eyes on his person. The number of seniors still living who had
met him before his seclusion could be counted on one hand.
In his past life, Mo Ran had turned the land upside down and still
hadn't been able to meet this Master Huaizui. Huaizui had been too, too
ancient, and had passed away on a rainy spring day the year before Mo Ran
climbed to the top of the human world. No one knew how old he'd been
when he passed.
Yet how unexpected—in this reborn life, Master Huaizui had come
calling in the dead of night of his own accord.
Innumerable thoughts flashed through Mo Ran's mind in the space of an
instant—though he didn't yet know his business here, Mo Ran immediately
recalled certain rumors about Master Huaizui.
Huaizui… Huaizui! How could he have forgotten about Master
Huaizui?!
When Shi Mei died in the last lifetime, Mo Ran had been ignorant;
he'd no idea there was such a sage in the cultivation world. It was only later,
when he was emperor, that he learned from his subordinates of the existence
of one in this world who could wield Rebirth, one of the three forbidden
techniques.
That person was Huaizui.
He had dispatched people to Wubei Temple at all speed to request the
sage's presence, that he might recall Shi Mei's soul. But the people he sent
returned with the news that the great master had already passed away, and
with him, Mo Ran's last chance to revive Shi Mei.
But right now, this person of legend was still alive! He was still alive!
How did he forget that! How could he forget?
Mo Ran's heart lurched, and he trembled all over. A blaze lit his eyes
as he said hastily, "Hurry, invite the great master in!"
Before the disciple could respond, Mo Ran changed his mind.
"Actually, I'll go welcome him in myself." But he'd taken only two steps
when there was a sudden flash of yellow from without the hall.
Neither the candle nor its flame shuddered. There was no hint of a
breeze. No one, not even Mo Ran with his keen eyes, had seen him enter. Yet
a monk arrayed in a bamboo hat and threadbare monk's robes now stood
commandingly inside Loyalty Hall. He had moved like lightning and stopped
right in front of Mo Ran, who started at the sudden proximity.
"This one is already imposing so late at night and shall not trouble
Mo-shizhu
9
so." A deep, mellow voice drifted out from beneath the bamboo
hat, startling both Mo Ran and Shi Mei. How was this the voice of a
hundred-year-old man?
Mo Ran had barely finished the thought when the monk removed his
bamboo hat. In the candlelit hall, he looked no more than thirty years of age,
with a pleasant appearance and a mild demeanor. His eyes were bright and
sharp, but rather than projecting menace, they were calm and lucid, like the
reflection of light in water.
"You are…?"
The monk pressed his palms together and bowed low. "Amitabha,
10
this humble monk is Huaizui."
No one had expected Master Huaizui, who was a hundred years old at
least, to look younger than Xue Zhengyong. For a beat, there was only
stunned silence. But Mo Ran knew a thing or two when it came to cultivation.
Huaizui was someone who had rejected ascension and chosen instead to
remain in the mortal realm. The only difference between this man and an
immortal was that final step of shedding his mortal body and undergoing the
heavenly trial.
11 After following this line of reasoning to its conclusion, Mo
Ran relaxed a little—though he still couldn't look away from Huaizui.
Huaizui didn't wish to disturb anyone else, so they sat down in Loyalty
Hall just the three of them. Mo Ran poured tea for the great master with his
own hand. Huaizui accepted and murmured his thanks but did not drink. He
set the tea aside on the small sandalwood table and slowly raised his head.
He spoke in polite and mellow tones but cut straight to the point: "Moshizhu, pray forgive this humble monk for being so forward, but the reason
for my visit today is a past acquaintance."
Mo Ran's hear began to race. His vision swam, and his fingers dug
into the table's edge with such force he nearly cracked it. He stared intently
at Master Huaizui's face as words from his past life whirled through his mind
like drifting flakes of snow.
There's a rumor that someone has successfully used Rebirth, one of
the three forbidden techniques. But it's a rumor only; there's no knowing
whether there's any truth to it…
Where is this Master Huaizui? I'll pay any price to bring Shi Mei
back!
To answer Your Majesty, Huaizui…has already passed away, many
years ago. He wrote nothing in all his life, and, regarding Rebirth, he said
only that "To change fate is in defiance of Heaven's will, its dangers
immeasurable." Other than that, he left nothing else…
The words streamed past his ears.
Master Huaizui had an unfathomable grasp of mortality and
reincarnation.
Word has it that he had dealings with the ghost realm. If he yet lived,
perhaps Mingjing-shixiong might be returned from the grave, but
unfortunately…
Master Huaizui was like a ghost lingering in the world of the living.
He undoubtedly had a hand in anything and everything to do with the yin
and the yang.
Mo Ran drew in a deep breath and was surprised to find that his voice
trembled faintly. "Past acquaintance… A past acquaintance…" he murmured,
his own eyes locked with Master Huaizui's clear ones. Mo Ran's back was
covered in a sheen of sweat. He asked in a voice so soft it was nearly
inaudible, "Who is this past acquaintance?"
The monk rose slowly; in the low candlelight, no shadow pooled
beneath his feet. The sleeves of his plain, thin yellow robe hung low. The
robe was obviously worn, but was completely smooth and free of wrinkles
as it drifted lightly in the breeze like the flickering outline of a ghost. This
great master was certainly inscrutable.
Mo Ran could practically hear the pounding of his own heart in his
ears. He unconsciously stood with Huaizui, and the two of them gazed at one
another. "Great Master." If there had been a mirror before him right now, he
would have seen the light of hope that had dawned unbidden on his face, and
the pleading look that followed in its wake. "Who is this past
acquaintance…"
Was it him? Was it him?
Huaizui lowered his lashes and sighed as he pressed his palms
together again. "My disciple Chu Wanning perished seven days ago. Tonight
is the night his soul is due to return. This humble monk cannot bear to send
off one so young, and comes to Sisheng Peak to beg Mo-shizhu's pity: please
return this old monk his disciple."