When Mo Ran hadn't yet become the emperor, people often cursed him, calling him a dog. The innkeeper cursed him as a son of a dog, the guests called him a little dog, his cousin insulted him as a worthless dog, and his godmother, the most formidable of all, cursed him as a son of a bitch.
Of course, there were also some dog-related descriptions that weren't too derogatory. For example, his romantic escapades were often accompanied by a hint of feigned anger. They criticized his prowess in bed, sweet-talking and captivating the souls of others, and his sexual prowess that could claim lives. However, they would boast about it to others in the blink of an eye, making everyone in the brothels aware of his exceptional talents and satisfying experiences while leaving others envious.
It must be said that these people were right. Mo Ran indeed resembled a wagging and foolish dog.
It was only when he became the emperor of the cultivation world that such titles suddenly disappeared.
One day, a small sect from a distant land gifted him a milk-white puppy.
The dog had gray and white fur with three patches of fire-like markings on its forehead, resembling a wolf to some extent. However, it was only as big as a melon, with a round and chubby appearance. Despite that, it considered itself mighty and ran around the palace hall. Several times, it attempted to climb the high steps to get a clear view of the person sitting calmly on the throne. However, due to its short legs, all attempts ended in failure.
Mo Ran stared at the energetic yet brainless furball for a moment and suddenly burst into laughter. While laughing, he softly cursed, "You silly dog."
The milk puppy quickly grew into a large dog, then an old dog, and eventually died.
Mo Ran closed his eyes tightly, then opened them again. His life had been a rollercoaster ride of joys and sorrows, with thirty-two years having passed.
He grew weary of everything, finding it monotonous and lonely. Over the years, the number of familiar faces around him dwindled, and even his three trusted subordinates met their demise. He felt it was time to end it all.
He plucked a crystal-clear and juicy grape from the fruit plate, leisurely peeling off its purple skin.
His movements were calm and skilled, reminiscent of a king undressing his concubine, exuding a sense of indifference and laziness. The sparkling fruit trembled slightly on his fingertips as the juice seeped out, its dim purple color resembling the glow of a morning sky or the slumbering petals of a plum blossom.
It also resembled dirty blood.
While swallowing the sweetness in his mouth, Mo Ran scrutinized his fingers lazily and then raised his eyelids.
He thought, the time is almost here.
It's time for him to go to hell.
Mo Ran, with the given name Wei Yu, was the first monarch of the cultivation world.
Reaching this position was no easy feat, requiring not only exceptional cultivation but also an unwaveringly thick-skinned personality.
Before him, the top ten sects of the cultivation world held their ground and vied for supremacy. The sects restrained each other, and no one could single-handedly change the course of history. Moreover, all the sect leaders were well-versed in classics, and even if they wanted to bestow themselves with a title to have some fun, they would be concerned about the historians' records and feared being remembered for centuries with derogatory names.
But Mo Ran was different.
He did things that others wouldn't dare to do. He drank the spiciest liquor in the mortal realm, married the most beautiful women in the world, first becoming the leader of the cultivation world as the "Treading Immortal Monarch" and then proclaiming himself as the emperor.
The people prostrated themselves before him.
Anyone who refused to kneel was mercilessly exterminated. During his reign of dominance, the cultivation world was filled with bloodshed and mourning. Countless righteous heroes met their deaths, and even the prestigious Ru Feng Sect among the Ten Great Sects suffered complete annihilation.
Later on, even Mo Ran's benevolent mentor couldn't escape his clutches. In their confrontation, the mentor was defeated and brought back to the palace, disappearing without a trace.
The once peaceful and prosperous land was suddenly shrouded in darkness and despair.
Mo Ran, the despicable emperor, had little education and no inhibitions. During his rule, absurdities and atrocities abounded, including the choice of era names.
During his first three years as emperor, Mo Ran chose the era name "Wang Ba" (王八), which he came up with while sitting by a pond feeding fish.
In his second three years, the era name was "Gua" (呱), inspired by the croaking of frogs in the courtyard during a summer day. Mo Ran believed it to be a divine inspiration that he couldn't ignore.
Scholars and intellectuals in the common folk thought that there couldn't be more deplorable era names than "Wang Ba" and "Gua," but they were yet to learn about Mo Wei Yu.
During his third three years, unrest began to stir in various regions. Whether it was Buddhist cultivators, Daoist cultivators, or spiritual cultivators, the righteous heroes who couldn't tolerate Mo Ran's tyrannical rule started launching successive uprisings.
So, this time Mo Ran seriously pondered and drafted numerous possibilities until a shocking and awe-inspiring era name emerged: "Ji Ba" (戟罷). It was intended to convey a good meaning, as the two characters were meant to represent "disbanding armies and laying down weapons." However, when spoken by the common people, it became awkward.
Especially for those who couldn't read, it became even more embarrassing.
The first year was called "Ji Ba Yuan Nian" (戟罷元年), but it sounded like "chicken penis first year."
The second year was named "Ji Ba Er Nian" (戟罷二年), which could be interpreted as "penis second year."
The third year was called "Chick Year."
Some people shut their doors and angrily cursed, "This is simply ridiculous! Why not have a 'Quit War' year? From now on, instead of asking someone's age, we should ask how many years of 'Chick' they have! A hundred-year-old man will be called a hundred-year-old 'Chick'!"
After enduring three years, they finally moved on from the year of "Quit War."
Everyone in the world anxiously awaited the Emperor's fourth year reign, but this time, Mo Ran didn't have the inclination to choose a new year name. In this year, the turmoil in the cultivation world finally erupted in full force. The righteous heroes and cultivators who had endured for nearly a decade in silence finally united and formed a massive army, aiming to overthrow the Emperor Mo Wei Yu.
The cultivation world didn't need an emperor.
Especially not a tyrant like Mo Ran.
After months of bloody battles, the rebel army finally arrived at the foot of the mountain of life and death. This treacherous and towering mountain, located in the heart of Shu, was perpetually shrouded in mist and clouds, with Mo Ran's palace standing tall at its peak.
The arrow was on the bowstring, and the final blow to overthrow the tyrannical rule was imminent. However, this blow was also the most dangerous one. Just as the dawn of victory was within reach, dissension started to emerge within the united forces. With the overthrow of the old emperor and the impending establishment of a new order, nobody wanted to exhaust their vital energy at this critical moment. No one was willing to be the vanguard, leading the charge up the mountain.
They all feared that this cunning and ruthless tyrant would suddenly descend from the sky, revealing his sharp, beast-like white teeth, tearing apart and devouring anyone daring to attack his palace.
Some people had a solemn expression and said, "Mo Wei Yu possesses profound magical powers and is wicked in nature. We should proceed with caution and not fall into his trap."
The generals echoed their sentiments.
However, at that moment, a remarkably handsome and extravagant young man stepped forward. He was dressed in a silver-blue light armor, with a lion-headed belt and a high ponytail, adorned with an exquisite silver hairpin at the bottom.
The young man's face looked unpleasant as he said, "We have reached the foot of the mountain, yet you all linger here, hesitant to move forward. Are you waiting for Mo Wei Yu to come down on his own? What a group of cowardly and worthless individuals!"
His words ignited a burst of commotion among the crowd.
"How dare you speak like that, Young Master Xue? What do you mean by calling us cowards? In matters of warfare, caution is paramount. If everyone acted recklessly like you, who would take responsibility if something goes wrong?"
Immediately, someone mocked, "Heh, Young Master Xue is the pride of heaven, while we are mere mortals. Since the pride of heaven can't wait and wants to compete with the Emperor Mo Wei Yu, why don't you go up the mountain by yourself? We'll set up a feast at the foot of the mountain and wait for you to bring back Mo Wei Yu's head. It would be so convenient."
This speech became more intense. A senior monk from the alliance quickly stepped forward to stop the young man from erupting. He put on a gentle and harmonious demeanor, resembling a country gentleman, and advised, "Young Master Xue, please listen to a few words from this old monk. I know that you have deep personal grievances with Mo Wei Yu. However, the matter of besieging the palace is of great importance. You must consider everyone's well-being and not act rashly."
The target of everyone's criticism, the "Young Master Xue," was named Xue Meng. Over a decade ago, he was once the admired and flattered prodigy, the pride of heaven.
However, times had changed, and he had fallen from grace. Yet, he had to endure the mockery and ridicule from these people, all for the sake of seeing Mo Wei Yu once more upon reaching the top of the mountain.
Xue Meng's face contorted in anger, his lips trembling, but he struggled to restrain himself as he asked, "Then, how long do you expect us to wait?"
"At least let's observe the situation a little longer."
"Yes, what if Mo Wei Yu has an ambush?"
The old monk who had previously tried to mediate also advised, "Young Master Xue, don't be hasty. We have already reached the foot of the mountain, but it's better to be cautious. After all, Mo Wei Yu is trapped in the palace and cannot come down from the mountain. He is now in a weakened state and poses no significant threat. Why should we act recklessly for the sake of immediate gains? There are so many people at the foot of the mountain, including noble and influential figures. If someone loses their life, who will take responsibility?"
Xue Meng suddenly exploded in anger, "Responsibility? Let me ask you, who will take responsibility for my master's life? Mo Wei Yu has been imprisoning my master for ten years! A whole decade! And now my master is up on that mountain. How can you expect me to wait?"
As soon as Xue Meng mentioned his master, the expressions of the crowd became uneasy.
Some people showed a guilty look, while others looked around, whispering without speaking.
"Ten years ago, when Mo Wei Yu proclaimed himself as the Immortal Sovereign, he slaughtered the 72 cities of the Confucian School. And later, when he declared himself Emperor, he sought to exterminate the remaining nine major sects. Who was it that stopped him in both of these calamities? If it weren't for my master risking his life to protect you, would you still be alive? Would you be standing here talking to me?" Xue Meng exclaimed.
Finally, someone cleared their throat and spoke softly, "Young Master Xue, please don't get angry. Regarding Master Chu's situation, we... feel guilty and grateful. But as you said, he has been imprisoned for ten years, and if there was any hope... it would have been long gone. So, after waiting for ten years, there's no need to rush in this moment, don't you think?"
"Think? Screw you!"
The person widened their eyes, "How can you curse at someone?"
"Why shouldn't I curse at you? Master Chu sacrificed himself to save people like you... people like you..."
He couldn't continue speaking, his throat choked, "I feel sorry for him."
In the end, Xue Meng abruptly turned his head, his shoulders trembling slightly as he held back tears.
"We didn't say we won't save Master Chu..."
"Yeah, we all remember Master Chu's kindness and haven't forgotten. By speaking like this, Young Master Xue, you're unfairly accusing us of ingratitude, which is unbearable."
"Speaking of which, isn't Mo Wei Yu also the disciple of Master Chu?" someone whispered softly. "If you ask me, when a disciple behaves wrongly, the responsibility should also fall on the master. It's the father's fault if the son misbehaves, and the teacher's fault if they don't teach properly. It's a matter of common sense, so what's there to complain about?"
That comment sounded harsh, and someone immediately reprimanded, "What nonsense are you talking about! Watch your words!"
Then they turned back to Xue Meng, trying to persuade him with a gentle tone.
"Young Master Xue, please don't be impatient..."
Xue Meng abruptly interrupted him, his eyes wide open. "How can I not be impatient? You can talk comfortably, but that's my master! Mine!!! I haven't seen him for so many years! I don't know if he's dead or alive, I don't know how he's been living. Why do you think I'm standing here?"
He gasped for breath, his eyes reddening. "Do you think that if you wait like this, Mo Wei Yu will come down the mountain by himself and kneel before you begging for mercy?"
"Young Master Xue..."
"Besides my master, I have no one dear to me in this world." Xue Meng shook off the hand of the old monk holding him back and said hoarsely, "If you won't go, I'll go alone."
Leaving those words behind, he ascended the mountain alone with his sword.
The cold and damp wind mixed with the sound of countless leaves, and within the dense fog, it seemed as if numerous resentful spirits were whispering and wandering through the mountains. The majestic palace where Mo Wei Yu resided was illuminated by peaceful candlelight in the darkness. Xue Meng suddenly noticed three tombs standing in front of the Tower of Heaven. As he approached, he saw that the first tomb was covered in overgrown grass, with a tombstone haphazardly engraved with the words "Tomb of Consort Qingzhen, Empress Chu Ji."
Opposite this "Steamed Empress," the second tomb was a newly built one, its mound of earth freshly laid, and the tombstone bore the inscription "Tomb of Consort Youbao, Empress Song."
"..."
If this had happened over a decade ago, Xue Meng would have burst out laughing at the absurd scene. Back then, he and Mo Wei Yu were both disciples under the same master. Mo Wei Yu was the mischievous and playful one, and even though Xue Meng had never liked him, he couldn't help but be amused by his antics from time to time.
As for these "Steamed Empress" and "Fried Empress," who knows what they were. They were probably epitaphs that the talented Mo had come up with for his two wives, with a style that was remarkably similar to "turtle" "croak" "halberd cessation." But why did he give such titles to his empresses? That remains unknown.
Xue Meng looked at the third tomb.
In the darkness, the tomb was wide open, revealing an empty coffin inside. There were no markings on the tombstone either.
However, there was a pot of white pear blossoms, a bowl of cold red-oil wontons, and a few plates of spicy side dishes placed in front of the tomb. They were all Mo Wei Yu's favorite foods.
Xue Meng stared at them blankly for a while, and suddenly his heart skipped a beat—could it be that Mo Wei Yu had no intention of resisting and had already dug his own grave, determined to die?
Cold sweat trickled down his forehead.
He couldn't believe it. Mo Wei Yu, this person, always fought to the end, never knowing what fatigue or giving up meant. Given his way of doing things, he would definitely fight the rebels to the death. So how could...
In these ten years, Mo Wei Yu stood at the pinnacle of power, but what did he see? What happened exactly?
No one knew.
Xue Meng turned and disappeared into the night, striding towards the brightly lit Wushan Palace.
Inside the Wushan Palace, Mo Wei Yu had his eyes tightly shut, his face pale.
Xue Meng's guess was correct; he had made up his mind to die. The tomb outside was dug by himself. An hour ago, he had used teleportation magic to send away his attendants, and he himself had consumed a deadly poison. With his high cultivation, the poison spread through his body exceptionally slowly, intensifying the excruciating pain of his organs being corroded.
"Creak," the palace doors opened.
Mo Wei Yu didn't lift his head; he just hoarsely said, "Xue Meng. It's you, right? Have you come?"
Inside the palace, Xue Meng stood alone on the golden bricks, his ponytail scattered, and his light armor shimmering.
Former fellow disciples reunited. However, Mo Wei Yu showed no expression. He leaned sideways, his long and dense eyelashes falling over his eyes.
Everyone claimed he was a ferocious and monstrous demon with three heads and six arms. But in reality, he was quite good-looking. The curve of his nose was gentle, his lips were thin and moist, and he naturally had a somewhat gentle and sweet appearance. Judging by his looks alone, anyone would think he was a well-behaved and kind person.
Seeing his complexion, Xue Meng knew for certain that he had indeed consumed the poison. His heart was filled with indescribable emotions, and he hesitated to speak. In the end, he clenched his fist and asked, "Where is our master?"
"What?" Mo Wei Yu hummed softly, finally slowly opening his eyes, which were black with a hint of purple. Across the layers of time, they fell upon Xue Meng.
"Considering it, it has been five years since we bid farewell at the Kunlun Snow Palace."
Mo Ran spoke with a faint smile.
"Xue Meng, do you miss him?"
"Enough with the nonsense! Give him back to me!"
Mo Wei Yu calmly glanced at him, enduring the spasms of pain in his stomach. With a mocking smile on his lips, he leaned back on the throne.
His vision darkened, and he could almost feel his organs twisting and dissolving, turning into foul-smelling blood.
Mo Wei Yu lazily said, "Give him back to you? What nonsense. Can't you use your brain? With the deep hatred between me and our master, how could I allow him to live in this world?"
"You—!" Xue Meng suddenly lost all color in his face, his eyes widened, and he took step after step back. "You can't... You wouldn't..."
"What wouldn't I do?" Mo Wei Yu chuckled. "Why don't you tell me why I wouldn't?"
Trembling, Xue Meng said, "But he is your... He is still your master after all... How could you lay your hands on him!"
He looked up at Mo Wei Yu, who sat high on the imperial throne. Just as the heavenly realm had Fuxi and the underworld had Yama, the mortal realm had Mo Wei Yu.
But for Xue Meng, even if Mo Wei Yu became the emperor of the mortal realm, he shouldn't have turned out like this.
Xue Meng trembled all over, tears of hatred streaming down his face. "Mo Wei Yu, are you still human? He once..."
Mo Weiyu lifted his eyes lightly. "How did he treat me?"
Xue Meng trembled and said in a trembling voice, "You should know how he treated you..."
Mo Wei Yu suddenly smiled. "Are you trying to remind me that he once beat me to the point where I was covered in injuries, and made me kneel and confess in front of everyone? Or are you trying to remind me that he stood in my way multiple times for you, for unrelated people, hindering my plans and ruining my great ambitions?"
Xue Meng shook his head in pain. "..."
No, Mo Wei Yu.
Think about it carefully, let go of your ferocious hatred. Turn around and take a good look.
He once guided you in cultivation and martial arts, protecting you at every step.
He once taught you calligraphy and painting, guided you in reading and poetry.
He once learned to cook for you, clumsily, with hands full of wounds.
He once... He once waited for you day and night, alone from dusk... until dawn...
So many words were stuck in Xue Meng's throat, and in the end, he could only choke out:
"He... He had a terrible temper and spoke harshly, but even I know how well he treated you. Why... How could you bear to..."
Xue Meng raised his head, holding back too many tears, but his throat was blocked, and he couldn't say anymore.
After a long pause, a soft sigh from Mo Wei Yu echoed in the hall. He said, "Yes."
"But, Xue Meng, do you know?" Mo Wei Yu's voice sounded exhausted. "He once... He also killed the only person I ever deeply loved. The only one."
Silence reigned for a long time.
Mo Ran felt his stomach burning like a raging fire, as if his flesh was being torn into countless pieces and reduced to ashes.
"Nevertheless, we were master and disciple. His corpse is resting in the Red Lotus Water Pavilion on the South Peak. It lies in the lotus flowers, well-preserved, as if sleeping," Mo Wei Yu said, relieved, forcing himself to remain calm. As he spoke, his expression was blank, and his fingertips rested on the rosewood table, their joints turning pale and bluish.
"His body is being sustained by my spiritual power, keeping it from decay. If you miss him, don't waste time here with me. Go quickly before I die. Once my spiritual power is gone, he will turn to ashes."
A metallic taste surged up in his throat, and Mo Wei Yu coughed a few times. When he spoke again, blood stained his lips and teeth, but his gaze remained relaxed and at ease.
"Go. Go and see him. If you're late and I die, once my spiritual power is cut off, he will turn to ashes."
After uttering these words, he closed his eyes wearily. The poison was attacking his heart, tormenting him with fierce flames.
The pain was so excruciating, tearing at his heart and lungs, that even Xue Meng's twisted and mournful howls seemed distant, as if separated by a vast expanse of water.
Fresh blood continuously welled up from the corners of his mouth. Mo Wei Yu clenched his sleeves, muscles spasming.
Opening his eyes blurredly, he saw that Xue Meng had already run far away. That kid's lightness technique wasn't bad. It wouldn't take him much time to run from here to the South Peak.
He should be able to see his master one last time.
Mo Wei Yu propped himself up and stood up unsteadily. His bloodstained fingers formed a seal, and he teleported himself to the top of the Tower of Life and Death, where life and death converged.
It was deep autumn, and the blossoms of the sea of begonias were dense and beautiful.
He didn't know why he ultimately chose to end his sinful life here. But he felt that the blossoms were so brilliant, serving as a worthy tomb.
He lay down in the open coffin, looking up at the blooming flowers in the night sky, silently expressing his gratitude.
Floating into the coffin, drifting onto his cheeks. Falling, one by one, like withered memories.
In this lifetime, from a penniless illegitimate child, he went through countless trials and became the only Emperor and Lord in the mortal realm.
He was utterly sinful, covered in blood. Love, hate, desires, and detestations—all disappeared in the end.
In the end, he didn't even leave a single word on his tombstone with his audacious calligraphy. Whether it was the shameless "Emperor of the Ages" or the absurd "Stir-Fried" or "Steamed," he wrote nothing. The burial mound of the emperor of the cultivation realm remained devoid of a single word.
After several hours had passed, as people raised their bright torches, like a fiery snake, and rushed into the imperial palace, what awaited them was the empty Wushan Hall, the desolate Tower of Life and Death without a soul, and Xue Meng, who had collapsed in a heap of ashes beside the Red Lotus Water Pavilion, crying until he was numb.
And there, in front of the Tower of Life and Death, lay Mo Wei Yu's cold, lifeless body, already devoid of warmth.
—
The author has something to say: Long wait, although there probably isn't anyone waiting, hahaha.