Chu Wanning couldn't hear the words Rong Jiu was shouting
behind them. However, he only needed look around to realize Rong Jiu had
purposely provoked him back at the storehouse. He'd made Chu Wanning
angry, then seized the opportune moment to escape and snitch.
Chu Wanning was ordinarily the type to think things through rationally
no matter the situation. But when it came to anything involving Mo Ran, all
his rationality and calm seemed to evaporate into thin air. He was somewhat
flabbergasted at the ease with which he'd been hoodwinked by a few words
from a pansy like that. He looked to Mo Ran, who was running a few paces
ahead of him, and asked in spite of himself, "Did you ever…go back to that
Immortal Peach Pavilion afterward?"
Upon hearing this name he himself had nearly forgotten, Mo Ran
stumbled. "Rong Jiu, that dirty bastard!" he yelled, furious. "Did he say I
went back to Immortal Peach Pavilion?! Why would I?! Shizun, is that why
you're mad? Because he said I lied to you?"
Chu Wanning did not reply.
"After the whole thing at the Platform of Sin and Virtue, I never went
back to…to those kinds of places. I wouldn't lie to Shizun. If you don't
believe me, you can use Jiangui to bind me and ask me then."
After a second, Chu Wanning said, "No need." He glanced down at
Jiangui, still tightly gripped in his hand. Thinking how he had just injected
spiritual power into the willow vine to whip Mo Ran bloody, without care or
reason, that really had been…
Wait, a holy weapon?!
Jiangui's flames illuminated his complexion, bright against the
darkness of the night. Chu Wanning stared at it, his mind tossing and turning
frantically. He tried reversing the flow of the spiritual power, drawing it
from Jiangui into his palm, and instantly felt a strong, abundant power rush
in. Suddenly, Chu Wanning knew where he could draw spiritual power.
While such power could not flow between the living and the dead, the
powers of a holy weapon cared not a bit whether the wielder was a human,
ghost, god, or demon. As long as the weapon itself accepted, it made no
difference!
It took Mo Ran a second to notice Chu Wanning had fallen behind.
Once he did, he immediately turned back and asked anxiously, "Shizun, what
is it?" The lash wound on his face still bled, and with those bright black
eyes, he looked all the more pitiful.
Chu Wanning pursed his lips, chagrined and a little pained. He felt that
he had wronged Mo Ran, yet his pride pointed out that Mo Ran really had
entangled himself with the likes of Rong Jiu back then, so the lash had not
been wholly undeserved. Even after a moment's contemplation, Chu Wanning
didn't know what tone he ought to take or with what expression he should
face him. He could only go the simplest route and speak with neither emotion
nor expression. "Mo Ran, stop. Retreat back to the palace walls."
"To do what?" Mo Ran asked hesitantly.
Chu Wanning's tone was flat. "I'll show you a trick."
Mo Ran was baffled. Before he could wrap his head around his
shizun's words, he saw the red light of Jiangui flowing endlessly into the
fragment of Chu Wanning's soul, enveloping him in a curtain of flames. Mo
Ran's eyes widened as he watched Chu Wanning and Jiangui respond to each
other. Then, the flames vanished. The man garbed in red and gold robes
raised the willow vine high, hissing with threads of flames, and turned his
head to address him. "Mo Ran, give Jiangui an order."
Mo Ran now had a vague guess as to what Chu Wanning planned to do,
though he could scarcely believe it. He promptly shouted a command:
"Jiangui, heed Shizun's orders as you would mine!"
The willow vine in Chu Wanning's hand crackled, then erupted into
threads of crystal red sparks as the leaves on the vine glowed brilliantly. Chu
Wanning raised his free hand and brushed his fingertips inch by inch over
Jiangui. The willow vine coursed with a yet brighter radiance in the wake of
his touch. The thousands of ghost soldiers were closing in now. Behind them,
the barrier-sealed palace walls stood sky-high. There was nowhere to run.
But then, Chu Wanning wasn't planning to.
Light flared in his eyes and rippled outward, and a tempest roared to
life. Chu Wanning's robes danced in the gale as he held the willow vine high
and whipped it ferociously through the air. Jiangui struck out like a soaring
dragon, glowing golden, resplendent, illuminating the vast night sky. At Mo
Ran's command, Jiangui no longer rejected Chu Wanning, but instead
channeled its abundant spiritual energy ceaselessly into Chu Wanning's earth
soul. His eyes shone with that blinding brilliance, and his voice was deep
and steady as he commanded, "Jiangui, Ten Thousand Coffins!"
In that split second, countless streaks of twining gold and red willow
vines erupted from the earth with a rumble, lacerating the magnificent palace
hall into broken shingles and chunks of bricks. Thick, powerful ancient vines
ensnared the ghost soldiers and dragged them in, then locked them down
tight.
Mo Ran watched in shock as all of this happened before his eyes. He
saw the holy weapon and the fragment of Chu Wanning's soul working in
concert, merging as one. He saw Chu Wanning's robes flutter, his jet-black
hair like smoke and clouds. Whether in life or in death, his spirit had always
been like this. Earth-shatteringly blazing. Unstoppable.
Taking advantage of this opportunity, Chu Wanning leapt backward and
placed his hand on the palace wall. He closed his eyes, and in seconds he
had discerned the weak point of the barrier. "Up nine feet, four inches to the
right. Attack with fire!"
Mo Ran followed his instructions without hesitation and leapt up.
Before any of those ghosts of the second palace could react, the blazing fire
spell had taken shape in his palms. He slammed it down right on the spot Chu
Wanning had indicated. The earth rumbled and the mountains shook. The
impossibly high palace walls rapidly disintegrated and returned to their
original height, and the barrier seal shattered as well, crumbling to dust in an
instant.
"Go!"
Mo Ran didn't need to be told twice; he hopped atop the wall, then
turned to pull Chu Wanning up alongside him. The two broke free of the
Fourth Ghost King's second palace, their swift figures disappearing into the
boundless night.
In a small, narrow alleyway, Chu Wanning and Mo Ran leaned against
opposite walls, both staring at each other, neither saying a word. Mo Ran
was the first to crack, letting loose a snicker. "That old ghost will probably
be so furious he'll die…hss!" As the corners of his mouth drew back, it
pulled at the injury on his cheek.
Chu Wanning eyed him. "Stop laughing."
Mo Ran stopped. In the dim alley, his lashes flickered, and his gentle,
pitch-black eyes gazed at Chu Wanning. "Shizun, are you still mad at me?"
If he had said, "Shizun, haven't you wronged me?" Chu Wanning
mightn't have appreciated it. But instead, he had asked if he was still mad.
Chu Wanning wavered for a moment, then resolutely skirted the topic. "Hurry
and cast the spell. We barely escaped from the fourth king. He might not have
the face to tell the other ghost kings just yet, but we can't count on that if this
drags on any longer."
The instant Mo Ran heard those words, he knew Chu Wanning wasn't
leaving anymore. He wasn't going to disappear. And so, his heart that had
been drawn taut as a bowstring all this time finally relaxed. He couldn't help
but grin again. "Mn." But the more he smiled, the more it hurt, and his hand
unconsciously rose to cover his cheek.
Chu Wanning eyed him again but said nothing.
Mo Ran produced the soul-calling lantern. He held it carefully before
him with both hands and bowed his head as he wordlessly recited the spell.
When he'd repeated it thrice, the soul-calling lantern flashed with a blinding
light, so bright it made them squint.
Mo Ran could vaguely hear Master Huaizui chanting, carried across
the roaring waters of the land of the dead, carried unceasingly past the quiet
and peaceful river of forgetfulness.
"Time to return… Time to return…"
The words were difficult to make out, as if they came from a great
distance. But after many repetitions, that call to return seemed to come
nearer. Then at once, the indistinct voice of Master Huaizui rang in Mo Ran's
ears. "Why are there two earth souls?" The voice held a trace of concern.
Mo Ran closed his eyes and conveyed everything to Huaizui with a
thought.
That faint voice fell quiet for a moment before speaking. "You've met
Chu Xun of Tailwind Hall?"
"Mn."
A long silence.
"Master?"
"It's nothing. If Chu-gongzi claims having two earth souls is normal,
then it should be as he said," Huaizui said. "Only—this humble monk has
never attempted to call two earth souls back from the ghost realm
simultaneously, so this may take longer than expected. I will trouble Moshizhu to wait a bit."
Mo Ran glanced at the fourth king's second palace. "How much
longer?" he asked. "We just ran from the Fourth Ghost King's second palace,
and they might catch up to us at any moment…"
"Not too long. Rest assured, Mo-shizhu." At these words, his voice
became fainter still, and was eventually overtaken completely by the sound
of the chanting.
Chu Wanning couldn't hear Huaizui's voice, and his brows were
slightly drawn together as he watched. "What's going on?"
"There's something unusual about Shizun's souls, so the master says
we'll need to wait," Mo Ran explained. "We're too close to the second
palace here. Let's get farther away."
Chu Wanning nodded, and the two walked a ways until they turned a
corner. By this time, the skies were beginning to lighten, and the old man who
had pointed the way for Mo Ran before was preparing to pack up his wonton
stall. When he spotted Mo Ran, he appeared quite astonished. "Aiya! You
found him?"
Mo Ran hadn't expected to bump into this man again and blinked in
surprise. "Yes," he replied, "Yes I did. Thanks so much, Gramps."
"What're you thanking me for? It's all thanks to the little xianjun's own
good luck. Ay…your face is injured?"
"Oh, it's…it's a whipping from the ghost soldiers," Mo Ran grasped
for an excuse.
"No wonder. I was gonna say, nothing average can harm a ghost." The
old man sighed. "It looks painful." He pondered a moment, then reopened the
drawer he had packed away and whipped up two bowls of small wontons,
which he handed to the pair. "These're only leftovers I couldn't sell today,
but they're my treat. Eat something before you go."
Mo Ran thanked the stall owner, then saw him off. The old man
ambled away, taking his stall with him.
Chu Wanning didn't like scallions or chives, and the old man's wonton
soup was peppered with scallions. Mo Ran picked all the scallions out of his
bowl before exchanging it with Chu Wanning's. "Shizun, why don't you have
this one?"
Chu Wanning fixed him with a look, but didn't decline. He lifted his
spoon and took a careful taste. Mo Ran watched him. The ice-cold soup of
the underworld touched his pale lips, neither wontons nor soup diminishing,
just the way real ghosts ate.
"Is it good?"
"It's all right."
"Not as good as the wontons you make."
Chu Wanning choked. He looked up and stared dumbfoundedly at the
grinning man who sat beside him, chin propped in his hands. Suddenly, Chu
Wanning felt like a river mussel whose shell had been pried open and left
exposed under the sun, without a single secret left. There was a long pause.
"What wontons?" he asked. The Yuheng Elder knitted his brows, his face
stern, and feigned ignorance in a valiant attempt to preserve the teacherly
dignity that had just been spilled all over the floor.
"There's no need to hide it anymore." Before that upended dignity
could be rescued, it was shattered to pieces by Mo Ran's hand, which had
reached out to caress his hair. Chu Wanning was both furious and crestfallen.
"I know everything now."
Chu Wanning looked away.
Mo Ran retrieved the lantern holding Chu Wanning's human soul from
his qiankun pouch and placed it beside them on the stone bench. "Shizun was
awkward when alive; even in the underworld, it's still only your human soul
that's forthright."
"I did make them for you, it was only…"
Mo Ran cocked a brow and gazed steadily at him with a small smile.
It was only because what? Only because I felt bad? Because I didn't
want you to starve? Because I regretted it? Those were all words
Chu Wanning could never speak aloud.
Chu Wanning thought his own heart suffered an unspeakable affliction.
He'd always been far prouder than the average person, and considered things
like showing kindness to someone, loving them, or becoming attached to them
to be shameful. He had weathered the winds and rains of many years, and had
gotten into the habit of solitude, like a stern and solitary tree reaching toward
the sky. A great tree like this did not quiver charmingly like flowers, stirring
affection in people's hearts. Nor did it sway gently in the breeze like a string
of vines, seductive and enticing. He only stood in silence and severity, steady
and dependable, wordlessly blocking wind and rain for those who passed by,
allowing those under its branches to hide from the scorching sun.
Perhaps he'd grown too tall, his foliage too dense. The people beneath
wouldn't know that he was the one casting the gentle shade they enjoyed, not
unless they made a deliberate effort to look up. But of all those travelers
going to and fro, not one of them raised their eyes; not one had ever noticed
him. After all, most people's line of sight was habitually aimed lower than
themselves, or at eye level at most. And so Chu Wanning had gradually
grown accustomed to this, so accustomed that it became second nature. He
expected it.
But no one in the world was born reliant, or relied upon. There were
some who clung to the strong. This type of person would become ever more
charming, ever sweeter, and would limber their boneless bodies to curry
favor, to beguile, to use honeyed words to carve out their place in the world.
And then there were those like Chu Wanning. From the moment he
stepped into the cultivation world, he'd always been the one depended upon.
People like him would become ever more steadfast, ever stronger, until at
last even their face became iron, their heart steel. This type of person had
seen enough of the vulnerability and incompetence of others. They had seen
all there was of charm and sweetness, and thus refused to reveal even a
kernel of weakness themselves. These were the sword-bearers, always
standing at the ready in full armor. They could show no weakness, and they
knew nothing of tenderness.
After so long, it was easy to forget that every individual was born with
emotions and affections, both fierce and gentle. That every person had, as a
child, known how to laugh and cry. Known how to pick themselves up after a
fall, while also wishing for a pair of strong arms to help them stand.
Maybe, once upon a time, he had hoped. Hoped that someone would
reach down and help him up. But he'd waited once, and there had been no
one. A second time, and still, no one. He had experienced disappointment
after disappointment, and he'd gradually grown inured to it. By the time
someone, finally, came to help him up, it no longer felt necessary; it only felt
shameful.
It's just a little fall. It's not like I broke my leg. No need to make a
fuss about it.
And if the leg was broken? He was the type to simply think, It's just a
broken leg; it's not like I'm dead. No need to make a fuss about it.
And what if he had died? Even as a ghost, he might think, Well, I'm
already dead, no point fussing about it now.
This type worked so hard to distance themselves from the fussy
melodrama of the weak. Yet, without realizing it, they would instead fall prey
to a different kind of melodrama: a pride so stubborn it was like an incurable
disease.
Mo Ran stared at this incurable man, waiting to see what he would
say. In the end, Chu Wanning didn't say anything at all. He only pressed his
lips together and put the spoon down woodenly. He was very unhappy.
Thus, half a moment later, he sprang to his feet. "Try casting the spell
again," he said. "I want to go into the soul-calling lantern."
"Ah…" Mo Ran blinked for a second, then laughed. "Is the soulcalling lantern a conch shell, that you can go in and hide when you get
embarrassed?"
Chu Wanning presented Mo Ran with a stern and solemn mien. He
shook out his sleeves. "Embarrassed? And why, pray tell, should I be
embarrassed?"
"Of course, Shizun is embarrassed because—"
"Stop talking!" Chu Wanning exclaimed, angry and startled. He hadn't
expected Mo Ran would actually be thick-skinned enough to come right out
with it, and felt as though he'd been pricked by a needle.
"Because Shizun is good to me."
Chu Wanning fell silent.
Mo Ran now rose to his feet as well. The red clouds of the ghost realm
sailed across the sky, hiding the dreary crescent moon that had peeked its
head out to splash the ground with a layer of fresh frost and illuminate Mo
Ran's face. He wasn't laughing anymore—his expression was solemn and
sincere.
"Shizun, I know you're good to me. I don't know if you'll still
remember all this once your souls have returned, but…no matter what, I still
want to say it. From now on, you're one of the most important people on
earth to me. This disciple has done a lot of stupid things in the past, and even
though I clearly had the best shizun in the world, my heart was filled with
resentment and hate. Looking back now, I'm filled only with infinite regret."
Chu Wanning watched him.
"Shizun is the best, best shizun, and this disciple is the worst, worst
disciple."
Chu Wanning had at first felt uneasy. But as he listened to Mo Ran try
to express himself with his pathetic vocabulary, doing his utmost, yet still so
clumsy—Chu Wanning tried to resist, but in the end, he couldn't stifle a faint
smile. "I see." He nodded, and repeated, "Shizun is the best, best shizun, and
this disciple is the worst, worst disciple. At least you've finally got some
self-awareness."
Chu Wanning wasn't a greedy person. He gave freely to others, but
never asked much for himself. Perhaps he didn't have Mo Ran's affection.
But to be an important person to Mo Ran, to be the best shizun to him? That
wasn't so bad. When it came to feelings, he had always been destitute,
anyway—desperately poor, yet refusing to beg for more. And now here was
someone willing to give him a small piece of warm flatbread to munch on.
He was awfully happy and savored that flatbread in tiny bites. This was
enough for him.
That dummy Mo Ran, on the other hand… When he saw that he had
made this piece of soul smile as well, he was a bit stunned, and his heart
swelled with inexplicable joy. "Shizun, you should smile more. You look
prettier when you smile."
Chu Wanning stopped smiling. Here was that stubbornly prideful
disease of his, which made him think "looking pretty" to be the sort of
flirtatious praise directed at wild weeds like Rong Jiu. He wanted no part of
it.
But Mo Ran, with his woeful judgment, was still agonizingly trying to
praise his dear shizun. "Shizun, did you know? When you smile…uh…how
can I describe it…" He was wracking his brain trying to think up a phrase
that could adequately describe the beauty of the sight he'd just witnessed.
Something related to smiles.
The watchmen's rattle of the underworld clapped thrice again.
Inspiration struck. "Of course!" he blurted out. "It's a smile in the
underworld!"
23
Chu Wanning was speechless, and now he was genuinely mad. He
acted like he hadn't heard, and abruptly pulled his sleeve aside to pick up the
soul-calling lantern. "Mo Weiyu," he scolded sternly, "all this yapping and
you still can't cast the spell? One more word of nonsense and I'll march back
to that fourth king's palace myself. Better that than returning to the mortal
realm to listen to your drivel all day!"
Mo Ran was dumbfounded. "Smile in the underworld"… Had he used
it incorrectly? But Chu Wanning did have an especially pretty smile, and they
were currently in the underworld. It—it wasn't wrong…
Bickering out in the open like this would draw too much attention. Mo
Ran had no idea where he'd misstepped, but if Shizun told him to shut up, he
would shut up. Thinking this, he scratched his head and dragged Chu Wanning
into a more out-of-the-way corner. The steady chanting in his mind had by
this time grown louder. Mo Ran ventured to ask Huaizui, "Master, are you
almost ready?"
It was quiet for a moment on the other side. Then came the hollow
knocking sound of a wooden bell,
24
and Huaizui's voice, crystal clear, spoke
as if right beside his ear: "Almost."
Huaizui's voice had just faded out again when motes of golden light
began to diffuse from Chu Wanning's second earth soul. His figure grew
fainter and fainter as the golden light scattered until, finally, it shattered into
millions of streaming fireflies, which flowed into the soul lamp like the stars
of the Milky Way.
Mo Ran could hear Master Huaizui chanting, carried across the
roaring waters of the land of the dead, carried unceasingly past the quiet and
peaceful river of forgetfulness. "Time to return… Time to return…"
All mortal sufferings were gradually washed to a faded white by the
sighs of that Buddhist chanting, distant yet close. Mo Ran hugged the soulcalling lantern and felt his body become lighter and lighter, emptier and
emptier.
Dong! One crisp tone from the wooden bell. It cut like a sharp knife,
brutally shattering the trance-like recitation.
Mo Ran's eyes flew open, and he jolted back to himself. Everything
from the ghost realm had vanished, like he had woken from a long dream. He
found himself lying on a bamboo raft moored by Sisheng Peak's Naihe
Bridge. The waters beneath the bamboo strips lapped and splashed around
him.
The sky was the blue of a crab shell, dyed with a smear of pale red.
The bamboo leaves on the shores of the great river danced in the breeze, the
thousands of whispers of their millions of leaves tender in the air. Dawn was
about to break.
Mo Ran blinked dazedly. When he discovered the soul-calling lantern
he had held in his arms was gone, he sat upright in a rush, scared out of his
wits.
"Shizun—!"
"Don't yell," said a voice evenly.
Mo Ran panted like he'd awoken from a nightmare. His face was pale
as he turned his head and saw Huaizui kneeling on the shore, knocking on a
wooden bell set upon a rock, his clear eyes open. "Even if you yell, he won't
hear you."
The soul-calling lantern rested beside to the wooden bell, radiating
with light, glowing and magnificent. The force of Chu Wanning's soul was
indescribably beautiful.
Huaizui picked up the lantern and rose to his feet. He nodded toward
Mo Ran. "You've done very well, young Mo-shizhu."
Mo Ran clambered to his feet as well and leapt easily from the
bamboo raft to the shore. He tugged anxiously at Huaizui. "Master, shall we
go find Shizun's mortal body in Frostsky Hall? Let's go now! If we wait too
long, I'm afraid his souls will disperse again."
Huaizui couldn't hold back a chuckle. "How could the souls disperse
so easily? Don't worry; this humble monk has already sent Xue-shizhu to
speak with your esteemed sect leader. Chu Wanning's mortal body should
now be on its way to the Red Lotus Pavilion. I will go into seclusion there
while I perform the rite to transfer your shizun's souls back into his body."
"Then let's go, quickly!" Mo Ran urged. When he saw Huaizui's faint
smile, he hastily added, "I mean, do take your time, Master. No rush, no
rush." But nothing about him indicated that there was no rush—his brow was
obviously furrowed, his feet were striding forward of their own accord, and
he almost wanted to reach out to pull on Huaizui's sleeves.
Huaizui shook his head. He sighed, then said with a smile, "The young
shizhu needn't be so impatient."
Mo Ran waved his hands. "No rush, no rush, slow and steady is best."
"Indeed, steadiness is important. When souls leave the body, they
cannot immediately return to the flesh. To do so would go against the laws of
heaven, and the souls would naturally dissipate. Certainly, this humble monk
will go slowly."
"Right—right, right. Good, good, good, do it slowly." Mo Ran agreed.
Even so, he couldn't restrain himself, and after some hesitation, he asked,
very carefully, "Then…how long will it take before Shizun comes back to
life?"
Huaizai replied tranquilly, "Five years."
"I see, five years is g—five years?!" The color drained from
Mo Ran's face. He felt like he was choking.
"Five years at least."
Mo Ran was struck absolutely, completely, totally speechless.