Mo Ran plucked a piece of paper from the massive bowl and
unfolded it, spreading it flat. Upon seeing its contents, he first let out a
breath of relief, then quickly became nervous.
"What is it?" the village chief asked.
Mo Ran showed him the paper. The village chief took one look and
laughed. "Good thing there aren't any girls from Xianjun's sect here, or
Mo-xianjun might've been put in a tricky spot."
Chu Wanning, already deeply curious about the question Mo Ran had
picked up, now grew even more so. He stared at that slip of paper as if he
was going to burn a hole through it.
Mo Ran said, laughing, "But take a look. Village Chief, this has to be
against the rules, right? Everyone else only got one question, but this one's
technically asking three."
"What can I say? Xianjun got lucky, I guess!" the village chief said.
"If Xianjun isn't happy with it, toss it out and grab a new one."
But a new one would probably net something along the lines of "Do
women with long legs or thin waists look better." Mo Ran smiled and said,
"Forget it, let's stick with this one." He handed the paper back to the village
chief and announced, "The question I picked asked me to talk about the
three people I like the most."
Chu Wanning had no words.
It was just at this time that a red-eyed Ling-er returned to the group.
Afraid the others would see she'd been crying, she didn't squeeze her way
to the front, but instead sat on the outskirts of the crowd. Mo Ran didn't
notice her. In fact, once Mo Ran had shared what was on his paper, he'd
fixed his gaze on the bonfire. It was such a personal question. He felt that
he would be smothered by sheer awkwardness if he looked at anybody
while answering, so he avoided eye contact altogether. The flickering of the
fire reflected in his black eyes, casting his handsome face in light and
shadow. He stared at it for a long moment, lost in thought, then eventually
began. "I'll start with my mom."
He said: "My mom passed on when I was very young. Honestly, I
don't really remember what she looked like. I only remember that when she
was around, I always had food to eat and a safe place to sleep. So if I have
to name three people, she's one of them."
The village chief nodded. "She sounds like quite the loving mother.
All right, that counts as one, Xianjun."
"The second one is my shige. He's very kind to me, and while we
share no blood bond, he treats me better than a brother by birth."
This was an answer Chu Wanning had expected, so there was scarcely
a ripple on his face or in his heart. Mo Ran's affection for Shi Mei was
blindingly obvious; Chu Wanning had heard as much with his own ears
back at Jincheng Lake, so he wasn't surprised. He only gazed at that man
who shone in the light of the night's fire: chiseled figure firm and powerful,
face incredibly handsome, and willfulness lining his bones.
A great deal of a person's spirit showed in their eyes, and Mo Ran's
bright, black eyes were vivacious, like a lamp that would never go out as
long as a drop of oil remained. Someone with eyes like these was sure to be
incredibly stubborn, and Chu Wanning was very taken with this kind of
stubbornness. Alas, this stubbornness wasn't his for the taking.
Mo Ran went on about how great Shi Mingjing was, but Chu
Wanning heard none of it. Chilled by the night breeze, he poured himself a
cup of hot tea, wrapping his hands around it and sipping it slowly. The tea
warmed him from the inside out; down his throat, down to his belly, until
even his heart felt like it had mellowed. He silently poured himself another
cup.
Yet as he was about to take another sip, he heard Mo Ran, who had
just finished praising Shi Mingjing, pause for a moment before saying:
"There's one more. The third person I want to mention is my shizun."
"Hack hack hack—!" Chu Wanning choked on his tea as if his throat
had been burned, spluttering and coughing nonstop, his face deeply flushed.
So focused was he on wiping up the tea that he never once looked up at
Mo Ran. When someone was used to their feelings being insignificant in the
eyes of others, being pulled out of the ground and exposed would only
make them scared and anxious about the dirt they were covered in; they
would only want to dart back into the darkness once more, curling up to
hide.
But Mo Ran obviously was not planning on giving Chu Wanning a
chance to escape. The man was so closed off: if he had his way, he'd only
ever show you his back; he'd never turn to look at you. He appeared fiery
and fierce, eyes sharp as blades, filled with the promise of attack, with
roaring thunder, but Mo Ran knew it was no more than a carefully crafted
mask. After all, he had seen the gentleness of Chu Wanning's human soul,
so pitiful and helpless within the steaming mist of Mengpo Hall.
He didn't want to see Chu Wanning mistreat himself like that
anymore. His shizun should never have to wear that savage, terrifying mask
ever again. If he and that pride of his were unwilling to take it off, then
Mo Ran would extend a helping hand.
Not much tea had been spilled, and whatever spilled had long since
been cleaned up. Yet Chu Wanning still wiped away at invisible stains. He
was used to spinning a cocoon around himself, so he didn't look up.
Gradually, he realized that it had gone quiet around him, so quiet it was a
little queer.
A child giggled and said in a loud whisper: "Mom, Chu-xianjun is
such a dummy."
The mother hastened to cover her thoughtless child's mouth with a
hush. But Chu Wanning had heard. Dummy…
No, Yuheng of the Night Sky could not have less resemblance to the
word "dummy": he was unbridled and sharp, fierce and cold, he was—
"Shizun, if you wipe any harder, you'll wipe a hole through the
table."
A pair of black cloth boots approached, drew closer, and encroached
into his personal space before they stopped. A shadow stretched over Chu
Wanning, its presence bearing down on him with the force of a lofty
mountain, so heavy he found it hard to breathe, so heavy it was a little
humiliating, and a little enraging from how humiliating it was.
He was suddenly furious, vexed by his own unexpected vulnerability.
He slapped the handkerchief down and jerked his chin up, full of animosity,
phoenix eyes brimming with rage as he glared at Mo Ran, coiled and ready
to attack.
In that same second, Mo Ran said, full of respect and gentleness:
"Shizun, pay attention to me."
This phrase was like a spell, uttered as it was at the precise moment
Chu Wanning had looked up. Only Chu Wanning knew it was coincidence,
that he hadn't raised his head in response to Mo Ran's plea for attention.
But so what? To Mo Ran and the watching crowd, it looked like Chu
Wanning had responded promptly to his disciple's request.
Promptly. There was nothing more humiliating. He felt like his
dignity had been utterly lost. Chu Wanning's face was like ice, but his eyes
sparked with fire.
Yet what he met was only Mo Ran's gentle and warm gaze that, like
boundless spring water, washed over his sharp-toothed rage and effortlessly
engulfed it.
"Shizun," Mo Ran said, "my third answer is you."
Left with nowhere to vent his indignation, Chu Wanning resorted to
indifference. "Mn," he said after a long moment. He was the picture of cool
composure. So very calm and dignified, a Chu-zongshi above worldly
concerns. Chu Wanning mentally patted himself on the back for his
performance.
Mo Ran watched in amusement. Mo-zongshi thought to himself—
could it be that this Chu-zongshi actually was…kind of a little dummy?
Chu Wanning was completely oblivious to the fact that he'd been
slapped with the label of little dummy in his disciple's mind. In his
nervousness, he retreated even further behind his cold and haughty
demeanor. "Well?" he demanded. "Did you want something?"
The question unwittingly hit the mark, and the smile on Mo Ran's
face stiffened. Mo Ran wanted everything.
But he couldn't have anything.
So what if he liked Chu Wanning? He'd discovered it too late, when
that person was too far out of reach. He'd spent two lifetimes chasing after
Shi Mei, only to realize that he'd loved the wrong person, that he had to turn
around…in truth, it was difficult for him to accept as well.
If he had understood his own heart at the time of his rebirth, perhaps
it wouldn't have been too late. But this belated discovery only added to his
misery. He'd inflicted too many cruel torments onto Chu Wanning's body in
the previous life. To him, sex had become something he used to torture the
proud, unyielding man beneath him. He saw Chu Wanning as an immortal
being, above worldly desires, beyond such things as love or lust.
When it came to ruining Chu Wanning, Mo Ran knew of countless
ways to ravish and plunder. But when it came to treating him well? Mo Ran
couldn't think of many ways at all. He seemed to have turned really stupid,
like he'd suddenly become an idiot: all he could think to do was maintain a
proper distance between his shizun and himself, to place his shizun on an
altar while he prostrated himself on the ground.
Enfolded in this third "like" was a scalding and secret love. But
Mo Ran couldn't afford to let Chu Wanning notice that. He could only
restrain himself and disguise his feelings of adoration as simple affection
between master and disciple, which he very respectfully presented to Chu
Wanning.
And so Mo Ran replied, "I just wanted to let Shizun know. That's all."
Chu Wanning watched him silently.
"It's just," Mo Ran added, "I couldn't help but want everyone to
know…"
"Know what?"
Mo Ran smiled. His black eyes shone with a light so brilliant it
concealed the turbulent undercurrents of desire. "To know how lucky I am,"
he said, still grinning. "To have the world's best, best, best shizun."
The same superlative three times in a row: what a clumsy expression,
yet one he'd worked extremely hard on. This was precisely the style of
Mo Ran's unpolished simplicity.
Chu Wanning gazed at him with an unfathomable expression. Only
his lashes quivered minutely. Mo Ran took a deep breath; he didn't know
where his courage was coming from, but he felt that if he missed his chance
now, he might never find such boldness in himself again for the rest of his
life. He abruptly dropped to one knee, attempting to bring himself level
with Chu Wanning where he sat. Unfortunately, with his size and height,
Mo Ran still towered over his shizun even while kneeling. But he couldn't
care about that right now. He could only feel how fast his heart was racing
and how rapidly his blood was flowing.
"Shizun."
Chu Wanning eyed him, suddenly wary. He saw so much anxiety in
Mo Ran's eyes that he reflexively leaned back, just a little.
Yet still the sharp arrow pierced right through his heart.
"I like you."
Chu Wanning had nowhere to run; the deer bounding through the
woods had been shot by the hunter and crumpled silently to the ground.
Chu Wanning stared at him blankly. A dull droning filled his mind, and he
could neither hear nor see…
Like—what a reserved, ambiguous word. Unlike "love," so nakedly
forthright that it would scorch a person's heart, "like" was a word that could
be interpreted in myriad ways, allowing lovesick men and women
everywhere to confess their feelings beneath a veneer of calm, allowing
them an outlet for some part of the affection that filled their hearts to
bursting.
Mo Ran thought to himself: I like you, but I don't want to alarm you
or force you into anything. You will think I speak of the affection a disciple
shows toward his master. It's unfortunate for me, but surely this is the limit
of what you'd want from a disciple.
Meanwhile, Chu Wanning thought to himself: You say you like me,
but it's a liking born of pity, out of obligation to the one who taught you and
saved your life. This is not the way I want to be liked. But I've done all I
can to garner this affection; I have no strength left, no more bargaining
chips to trade for anything more. For you to acknowledge me as your
shizun, to have this form of liking, is enough for me. I won't ask for more.
Neither said anything more, and the crowd watching the show praised
the deep affection between master and disciple. Only Ling-er, hidden in her
corner, sensed something amiss. The expression on Mo Ran's handsome
face seemed to conceal some deeply suppressed desire, a desire so ardent it
pricked her senses. But she was a naïve girl who had grown up in a tiny
village; homosexuality was something she had no inkling of. She couldn't
quite pinpoint what felt so off.
In this world, there would always be people who were thoughtless
and unreserved, bold and domineering, brazenly strutting about with a
devil-may-care attitude…just as long as they weren't in love. Once these
people fell in love, they became a pan of hot oil on a blazing fire, hearts and
eyes aflame. They would constantly yearn for the desire in their hearts to be
discovered by its target, wanting nothing more than to plunge deep into the
ocean of passion with them, to be forever entwined.
But should the target of their wanting actually learn the truth? These
people would then exist in an endless state of trepidation, fearing that the
object of their affection didn't return their feelings, afraid that they would
be rejected, continuously on edge. Never mind if the devil cared: if a cricket
were to chirp once or twice on a tree as it went about its crickety business,
these people would take it as an omen, anxiously thinking, Oh heavens, the
crickets have chirped. Is this a sign he doesn't like me?
At its haziest, love was a guessing game, a game of hide-and-seek. It
saturated all the air in a two-mile radius with its sour stench. Mo Weiyu had
been Taxian-jun in the previous life. Now he was Mo-zongshi. Notorious
and infamous back then; renowned and celebrated now. Once the most
wicked of devils, he'd since become the most virtuous of men. But still,
he'd never been able to escape that stench.
As for Chu Wanning? When it came to matters of love, this guy was
like a fish caught in a net. The slightest disturbance would have him all
tangled up until his head ached in confusion. Even so, he would rather die
than lose face, so he would huff and say, What a sour, rotten business.
Nothing worth discussing.
A man truly digging his own grave.