The first light of dawn painted the clouds red. Though it was still
early, a large number of disciples had already gathered outside the Red
Lotus Pavilion. They lined the sides of the pathway in their white mourning
robes, their heads lowered and eyes downcast.
Dong, dong, dong.
The sound of the morning bell rang out from the Heaven-Piercing
Tower. Several figures could be seen walking slowly in the distance,
bearing a coffin. Xue Zhengyong and the Tanlang Elder walked in front,
followed by Mo Ran and Xue Meng. Shi Mei and a monk dressed in worn
robes walked on either side. They approached slowly through the morning
fog, following the dew-slick bluestone path.
The monk held a lantern. Even in the light of dawn, the lantern's
brilliant glow was visible; it emitted a dazzling golden radiance, like
summer blossoms. The gathered disciples lowered their heads solemnly,
scarcely daring to breathe. They'd all heard that Master Huaizui of Wubei
Temple had hastened over for the sake of the Yuheng Elder—this
unassuming monk must be him. The juniors' reverence toward such a
legendary figure far outweighed their curiosity; none dared look too closely
as he made his way up the long mountain path. Thus the great master
passed by these reverent disciples, an airy billow of robes in his wake. His
passage, for them, was marked by the tapping of his monk's stick and the
occasional glimpse of hemp-woven shoes in their downcast gazes.
The coffin was steadily carried the whole way. Yet this was not a
burial, but a revival. No one wept. As they reached the Red Lotus Pavilion,
Huaizui looked around, then said, "Next to the lotus pond: that will do.
There's an abundance of spiritual energy there, suitable for spells."
"All right, you heard the great master!" Xue Zhengyong, leading the
others, set the black-ice coffin down beside the lotus pond. "Great Master, if
there's anything you require, only say the word. Saving Yuheng is as good
as saving my own life. If there's anything I can do to help, I will!"
"Many thanks for Xue-zhangmen's kindness," Huaizui said. "This
humble monk requires nothing at the moment. but will be sure to inform the
sect leader should the need arise."
"Of course. Please do not hesitate."
Huaizui smiled. He pressed his palms together and bowed
respectfully to Xue Zhengyong, then turned to address the others who stood
nearby. "This humble monk is unskilled and will need five years to bring
back Elder Chu's soul. So that this humble monk may not be disturbed, the
Red Lotus Pavilion will be closed to visitors from today until Elder Chu's
revival."
Though Xue Meng had already heard that it would take five years for
his shizun to return, at Huaizui's reminder, the rims of his eyes grew red
once more and he hung his head in silence.
"If anyone has any parting words they wish to say to Elder Chu,
please do so now. There will be no opportunity otherwise for over a
thousand days."
And so they stepped forward, one by one.
Xue Zhengyong and the Sisheng Peak elders went first, each taking
their turn to stand solemnly before the coffin and say their farewells. Xue
Zhengyong said, "Let us meet again soon."
Tanlang said, "Wake up soon."
Xuanji said, "Hope everything goes well."
And Lucun said with a sigh, "I kinda envy you, frozen in time for five
years like this and not aging a day."
The rest of the elders all said their piece, some with long spiels and
some with short ones. In no time, it was Xue Meng's turn. Xue Meng had
every intention of holding it together—but the young man had always been
ruled by his emotions, and this was no exception. He stood next to Chu
Wanning's coffin and began to cry.
Between sobs, while vigorously wiping away his tears, he managed to
choke out: "Shizun, I'll train hard, even without you around. I definitely
won't embarrass you at the Spiritual Mountain Competition. I'll tell you all
about how high I ranked when you wake up. My shizun has no losers
among his disciples, after all."
Xue Zhengyong walked over and clapped his son on the shoulder.
Xue Meng didn't cling to his father as he usually did, instead turning away
with a sniffle. In front of his shizun, he didn't want to look yet again like a
useless, spoiled child who relied on his father for every little thing.
Next was Shi Mei. His eyes were wet as well, but he didn't say
anything. He only looked at Chu Wanning for a time with his head bowed
before quietly backing away.
After Shi Mei retreated, a pale pink haitang blossom was placed
gently into the coffin. The slender hand that held it, though still youthful,
was already approaching the length and span of an adult's.
Mo Ran stood at the coffin's side. A breeze danced over the surface of
the water in the pond, carrying the softly sweet fragrance of blooming
lotuses. The breeze tousled his bangs, but when he lifted his hand, it was to
brush Chu Wanning's face.
Mo Ran pressed his lips together. He looked as if he had many things
he wanted to say, but in the end, all that came out, soft and slightly hoarse,
was: "I'll wait for you."
Wait for what? He didn't specify. He'd considered saying, I'll wait for
you to wake up, but those words seemed somehow insufficient. There was
no way to express the feelings close to bursting the vessel of his chest, as
though there was a pool of scalding lava in his heart, trapped and roiling,
slamming against the walls and bringing him pain and anxiety. It felt like it
was only a matter of time before those walls were breached, and the lava
would spill out uncontrollably, the raging flow melting him to ash.
But even now, he was still unsure what that burning feeling was. So
he only said: "I'll wait for you."
With this, the Red Lotus Pavilion was shut and barred. An enormous
barrier came down like a gate separating life from death, denying entry to
all. For the next five years, no one would be allowed the fragrance of lotus
blossoms in the summer, nor the quiet solitude of winter snow within the
pavilion.
Bamboo leaves rustled in the wind and haitang blossoms drifted
slowly to the ground. From outside the Red Lotus Pavilion all the way to
the main gate, disciples dropped to their knees and bowed. At the end of
this vast river were Mo Ran, Xue Meng, and Shi Mei.
Xue Zhengyong announced in a booming voice that rang throughout
the skies and forests, "Wishing Yuheng Elder well in his seclusion."
The disciples, their heads bent to the ground, echoed solemnly,
"Wishing Yuheng Elder well in his seclusion."
Thousands of overlapping voices rose as one, rumbling from the mistshrouded Sisheng Peak and startling birds into flight. Their calls filled the
sky as they circled the treetops, afraid to land. The mass of voices rose
heavenward, rolling like thunder through streaming clouds.
"Wishing Shizun well in his seclusion," Mo Ran said in a soft voice.
He bowed for a long time.
Five years of waiting.
After Yuheng went into seclusion, each of his three disciples,
unwilling to take another elder as their teacher even temporarily, trained and
cultivated on their own.
For various reasons—aptitude, cultivation path, other such factors—
Shi Mei and Xue Meng stayed at the peak. Mo Ran chose to travel. It was
true that he really did learn better through experience, but that wasn't the
only reason for his choice. So many things had turned out differently in this
reborn life. Beyond Chu Wanning's unexpected death, Mo Ran was also still
greatly worried about the fake Gouchen.
He suspected that the person behind all this might have been reborn
too. After all, whoever it was, they were arguably quite proficient with the
Zhenlong Chess Formation. Yet no one else in his previous lifetime—all the
way up until he'd taken his own life—had been capable of utilizing this
forbidden technique to the extent he'd witnessed in the course of their
repeated encounters.
Mo Ran had no talent for sleuthing. Ever since the battle at Butterfly
Town, the entire cultivation world had been on high alert, waiting and
watching for that mysterious actor to slip up and expose themselves. He
didn't really need to get involved. Mo Ran knew he wasn't exactly smart;
his strengths lay in his abundance of spiritual energy and his natural
aptitude for cultivation. Since a future confrontation was likely inevitable,
the most productive thing he could do right now was to recover his prerebirth battle prowess as soon as possible.
In his last life, he had been a destroyer. In this one, he wanted to be a
protector.
Not long after Chu Wanning went into seclusion, Mo Ran stood
before the main gate of Sisheng Peak, a travel bag slung over his back,
ready to set off on his journey. Only a few people had come to see him off:
Xue Zhengyong, Madam Wang, and Shi Mei. Xue Zhengyong clapped him
on the shoulder and said, a little awkwardly, "Meng-er won't be coming, he
said…"
Mo Ran chuckled, "He said he'd be too busy training in the forest to
see me off, right?"
After a brief, mortified silence, Xue Zhengyong swore, "That
thoughtless brat!"
Mo Ran smiled. "He's got his heart set on first place at the Spiritual
Mountain Competition. It's only natural he's diligent about training. I'll
leave it to him to add some glory to Shizun's name."
Xue Zhengyong looked at Mo Ran, then said, hesitant, "The Spiritual
Mountain Competition is the foremost tournament in the world of
traditional cultivation. I'm sure Ran-er will grow and learn much in his
travels, but the competition will probably bar the kind of hodge-podge
techniques you're going to pick up out there. It'd be a pity if you end up
missing out because of that."
"My cousin's got it covered," Mo Ran replied.
"Don't you want to make a name for yourself?"
At that, Mo Ran actually burst out laughing. Make a name for
himself? In his previous life, he had missed the Spiritual Mountain
Competition because he had committed some wrongdoing and had been
punished with confinement. He had always felt resentment over it. But now
that same thing seemed so insignificant—what did it even matter? He was
someone who had seen so much death and so many partings, awash in an
endless flood of trials and tribulations; he was someone who had gone from
defiant to hopeful, from hopeful to resentful, from resentful to relieved, and
from relieved to remorseful. The Mo Ran of the present no longer cared for
beauties and fine wines or the worship of the masses, much less for things
like revenge or the thrill of killing and destruction. He had already seen for
himself the boundless opulence and luxuries at the apex of the world, and
he had grown tired of it all. He didn't want to go back to such a cold place
with no one by his side.
After all, he had once been Emperor Taxian-jun; he had stood upon
the mightiest peak with the world in the palm of his hand, and he had seen
all there was to see. Of course he wouldn't care about trifling things like
some measly applause or a couple of cheers at the Spiritual Mountain
Competition. And as for the ranking… Whoever wanted it was welcome to
it.
"There are other things I'd rather do," Mo Ran said with a smile.
"Xue Meng is a young master, and young masters have their own lifestyles.
I'm just a loafer, and loafers lead their own loafing lives."
Madam Wang chided gently, "Silly child, what are you saying?
You're no different from Meng-er, what's with 'young master' this and
'loafer' that?"
Mo Ran laughed cheekily but felt a small pang inside. One had been
born into the lap of luxury while the other was of low and petty birth.
Although he had been so immensely fortunate as to wind up here at Sisheng
Peak, he had nevertheless spent the first ten or so years of his life in a
murky haze. How could he and his cousin possibly be the same? But he
couldn't really say any of that to Madam Wang, not when she was looking
at him with that gentle, concerned expression, so he only nodded and said,
"Auntie is right, I misspoke."
Madam Wang shook her head with a smile and handed him a small
qiankun pouch embroidered with pollia flowers. "You'll have to look after
yourself while you travel. Take this; it's filled with all kinds of medicine for
treating injuries. I compounded them myself, so they're more effective than
what you can buy in any store. Make sure to keep it safe."
"Thanks a lot, Auntie," Mo Ran said gratefully.
Shi Mei spoke next. "I don't have much of anything to give you
besides this jade pendant. Here, wear it. It warms your spiritual core."
In Mo Ran's hand, the white jade was creamy-smooth and warm to
the touch: an exceedingly rare, high-grade item. He hurriedly pressed the
jade pendant back into Shi Mei's hand. "I can't accept this; it's far too
valuable. Besides, my spiritual core is fire elemental to start with; if it's
warmed any further…I might have a qi deviation."
Shi Mei laughed. "Don't be silly. What do you mean, qi deviation?"
"In any case, I'm not taking it." Mo Ran stood firm. "You have a
weak constitution; it'll do you more good than it would me."
"But I had someone purchase it at the Xuanyuan Pavilion auction just
for you…"
Mo Ran felt warm at his words, but more than that, his heart ached for
him. "Then it must've been really expensive… This jade pendant really
won't do much for me, but it'd be great for you. Shi Mei, I appreciate the
thought, but please keep it for yourself, and remember to wear it so it can
nourish your spiritual energy."
Before Shi Mei could reply, Mo Ran uncoiled the thin cord and looped
the jade pendant around Shi Mei's neck. "It looks good on you," he said
with a grin, then lifted a hand to pat him on the shoulder. "Much better than
it would on me. I'm such a rough-and-tumble kind of person, I'd probably
break something like that in two days."
"Ran-er is right. The jade pendant can be worn by anyone, but it's
best for people with water elemental spiritual cores. Mei-er, you should
keep it."
Now that even Madam Wang had spoken, of course Shi Mei had to
concede. He nodded and said to Mo Ran, "Take care of yourself, then."
"Don't worry, I'll write to you often."
Despite his sorrow at having to say goodbye so soon, Shi Mei
couldn't help but smile at that. "You do realize only Shizun can read your
handwriting, right?"
The mention of Chu Wanning left Mo Ran with a feeling he couldn't
describe. The hatred that had gnawed at his very bones had dissipated, but
the remorse lingered, like a wound scabbing over: a dull, itchy ache in his
heart. Holding that feeling in his chest, Mo Ran set off down the mountain
alone.
"One, two, three…"
He counted in his head as he walked, head bowed.
"One hundred and one, one hundred and two, one hundred and
three…"
At the foot of the mountain, he couldn't help but look back toward
Sisheng Peak, shrouded amongst the high clouds, up the long flight of stone
steps that seemed to rise without end.
He murmured, "Three thousand, seven hundred and ninety-nine."
He had counted as he walked. That was the number of steps up to the
main gate, the number of steps that Chu Wanning had climbed that day,
carrying him on his back. He was certain that for as long as he lived, he
would never forget Chu Wanning's hands, cold as ice, chafed raw and
bloody.
The truth of the matter was, whether a person did good or committed
evil was rarely ever a feature of their inherent nature. Each person was like
a plot of farmland: some were lucky, and their fields were sowed with grain
which, come autumn, would bear an abundant harvest, paddies awash with
the gentle fragrance of rice, fields of wheat rolling in the wind like waves.
Looking out on the land, one would find it to be good and praiseworthy.
But others were not so lucky. Their fields were planted with poppy
seeds, and the spring breeze brought only the miasma of intoxicated sin and
euphoric decadence, filling the skies and blanketing the land with that vile,
bloody red and gold. The people abhorred it, cursed it, and feared it even as
they indulged in its blissful stupor, rotting away before its filthy stench.
In the end, the righteous and upstanding would gather to set fire to the
field, and as the twisting smoke rose into the sky, they would say, Oh, he
was a breeding ground of sin, he was a demonic fiend, he was vicious and
ruthless, he had no conscience, he deserved it. All while he convulsed in
the blaze, crying out in pain as the poppies shriveled into a charred, muddy
morass.
But this person had once been a plot of good farmland too. He had
once wanted nothing more than water and sunlight. Who was it who had
planted that first seed of darkness, who sowed the disaster that grew out of
control? That plot of land, once temperate and lush, went up in flames and
sank into ash. Laid fallow.
Mo Ran was a plot of unwanted, abandoned land. He never thought
someone would come into his life to plough these fields again, would give
him a second chance.
Chu Wanning. It would be five years before he could see him again.
Today was day one. He found himself already missing Chu Wanning's face
—his stern, angry, gentle, serious, steadfast face.
Mo Ran slowly closed his eyes. He recalled his lives, past and
present, so many bygone days scattering like snow in the wind. He realized
that the Heavenly Rift incident had, in fact, been the greatest crossroads of
his life.
In his last life, he had loved someone dearly. Later, that person had
given up his life, and Mo Ran had fallen into hell.
In this life, there was someone who loved and protected him. Later,
that person had given up his life, and brought Mo Ran back to the world of
the living.