When Mo Ran was not the emperor, someone always called him a dog.
The villagers taunted him like a dog, his cousin called him a stray dog, and his godmother, the most important, likened him to being raised by a dog.
Of course, there were always comparisons being made to dogs, so it wasn't too bad. For example, all of his flings, always pretending to declare with anger, that his hips were as strong as a dog's when pinned to the couch, the sweet words he spoke mesmerized one's soul, the deadly weapon below the belt able to claim a woman's life, but, in the blink of an eye, they would be bragging to others and everyone would know that he, Mo Weiyu, was a handsome man with a fierce member. Those who partook in its abilities were satisfied, and those that didn't were shaken by the potential.
Indeed these people are right, Mo Ran is truly like a playful dog shaking its head and wagging its tail.
Only when he became emperor of the cultivation world that this title suddenly disappeared.
One day, a distant cultivation sect gifted him a young puppy.
The puppy was grey and white with three clusters of fire on its forehead, resembling a wolf. However, it was only the size of a melon, appearing like one as well. Even with its small size, the puppy seemed to think it had such a prestigious image. It would run around the halls like crazy, trying to climbs the high steps near the throne to see who was sitting on it, but failing because of its small legs.
Mo Ran, staring at the strong yet foolish hairball, looked at it for a while before letting out a sudden laugh. Through his chuckles, he cursed under his breath, you stray dog.
The little puppy quickly grew into a large dog. That large dog then became an old dog, and that old dog became a dead dog.
Mo Ran closed his eyes and opened them again. In that timespan, through all the ups and downs, triumphs and failures, thirty-two years had passed.
He had grown tired of everything and felt bored and lonely. In the recent years, he recognized fewer and fewer familiar faces around him, and Three-Flames had left him as well. He felt that it was time to end everything, that his life should be over.
He grabbed a pristine, plump grape from the fruit bowl and slowly peeled off its purple skin.
His movements were calm and refined, like those of Prince Qiang's in his tent when he peeled off the clothes of a woman; the lazy actions of someone who held little interest. The pale skin of the grape trembled slightly in his fingers, its juice oozing out, and its colour a faint purple, like the wild geese arriving during a sunset, or the begonia flowers resting in the spring.
Or the colour of tainted blood.
He swallowed the sweet fruit, studying his own fingers afterwards, then lazily raising his eyes.
It's almost time, he thought.
He should go to hell, too.
Mo Ran, courtesy name Weiyu.
The first emperor of the cultivation world.
It is not an easy position to sit in. It requires not just extraordinary skills but also thick-skin with rock-solid face.
Before him, the ten major sects of the cultivation world fought one another. They were like dragons clashing with tigers, each ferocious yet equal in power. They held each other back, and no one was able to make any changes on their own. What's more is that all of the sects were very traditional. Even if they wanted to give themselves a title for fun, they feared the historians and how they would be recorded in history.
But Mo Ran is different.
He is a hooligan.
He did all the things that no one else dared to do. He would drink the world's strongest wines, marry the most beautiful woman in the world, gave himself the title of "Ta XianJun" and declaring himself the emperor of the cultivation world.
Tens of thousands of people knelt down before him.
All those who didn't kneel to him were hunted and killed. In those years that he ruled over the cultivation world, there was constant sorrow and bloodshed. Countless righteous men were sent to their deaths, and one of the ten sects, the Rufeng sect, was completely annihilated.
Later, even Mo Ran's master could not escape his tirade. He lost in a duel with Mo Ran, was taken back to the palace to be imprisoned by his former disciple, and no one saw him again.
The country, which had once been wonderful and peaceful, became blanketed by a dark veil of turmoil.
The dog emperor took no interest in studies and had no restrictions on his actions. Therefore, during his reign, there was no end to his ridiculous actions. For example, what he chose to name the era.
In his first three years as emperor, the era name was "WangBa," which he thought up while sitting by the pond and feeding fish.
In the next three-year period, the second era name was "Croak." He had heard frogs croaking during the summer in the courtyard and believed it was a message from above and could not be ignored.
The learned men would have thought that there could be no worse names than "WangBa" or "Croak," but they really knew nothing about Mo Weiyu after all.
During the third three-year period, the people were ready to take action. Whether they were Buddhist cultivators, Taoist cultivators, or spiritual cultivators, the once peaceful individuals began to plot uprisings, one after another.
So, this time, Mo Ran pondered at length, and after much deliberation, the most earth-shattering, all-encompassing name was born - ' Ji Ba: Cease Battle'
The intentions behind the name were good. The name that the emperor racked his brain to come up with were inspired by the message of 'stopping the fighting.' Except, it was a bit awkward for people to say. Especially coming from those who were illiterate.
The first year was called "The Year of Cease Battle"- but then why did it sound like "The year of cocks and balls"
The second year was called "The Second Year of 'Cock.'"
"The Third Year of 'Cock'."
Behind closed doors, people scolded it: "This is ridiculous! Why not just keep it as 'No Stick' and be done with it? The next time you see a man, you won't need to ask him how old he is, just ask him how many years of 'No Stick' he is! A hundred-year old man will just be called 'Hundred-years No Stick.'!"
After three years of hardship, the name of 'No Stick' was finally going to be replaced.
People all over the world waited in fear for the emperor to name the fourth year, but this time, Mo Ran had no intention of picking another name because this was the year that the turmoil building in the cultivation world finally erupted. The righteous people who had sat with bated breath for nearly ten years, heroes and cultivators alike, joined forces and formed an army of millions, forcing their way into the palace of the first emperor, Mo Weiyu.
The cultivation world had no need for an emperor.
Especially not a tyrant like him.
After months of bloody conquest, the rebels finally came to the foot of Life-Death Peak. The steep mountain in the middle of Shuzhong is surrounded in clouds and mist all year round, and Mo Ran's palace stood majestically at the summit.
With an arrow notched in a bow, all it took was one strike to bring down the palace. But this strike also brought its own dangers. With victory on the horizon, the allied forces began to have second thoughts. With the destruction of the old rule, a new order was bound to be rebuilt. No one wanted to waste their energy, so there was no one to act as vanguard and lead the charge up the mountain.
They were all afraid that the savage tyrant would suddenly descend from the sky, revealing his white teeth like a wild beast, tearing the people who dared lay siege on his domain into shreds.
Someone said with a heavy expression: "Mo Weiyu's spiritual powers are strong and wicked. We must be alert so that we don't fall for his tricks."
The generals all agreed.
However, at that moment, a young man with an incredibly handsome and arrogant face came forward. He wore light, silver-blue armour with a belt shaped like a lion's head. His hair was pulled back in a high ponytail with a silver ring wrapped around its base.
The man's face was troubled and he said: "We've made it to the foot of the mountain and you all are still loitering down here and refusing to go up? Are you waiting for Mo Weiyu to climb down here instead? What a timid group of cowards!"
When he said this, the people around him exploded.
"Young Master Xue, what are you saying? What do you mean by 'timid'? For all soldiers, it is important to be cautious. If no one cared about caution like you, then who would take responsibility if something were to go wrong?"
Immediately, someone ridiculed: "Hehe, Young Master Xue is the proud son of heaven. We are just commoners. Since the proud son of heaven can't wait to go fight the emperor of the mortal realm, you should go up the mountain by yourself. Let's get out some wine and set up a nice banquet at the base of the mountain while we wait for you to take of Mo Weiyu's head. Doesn't that sound nice?"
Those remarks were a bit more heated. An old monk in the army quickly restrained the young man as he was about to attack, putting on a gentle face and persuading him with harmony and kindness:
"Young Master Xue, please listen to the words of this old monk. This old monk knows that you and Mo Weiyu have a deep personal feud, but the matter of storming the palace is very important. You must consider the well-being of everyone. Don't be arrogant."
This "Young Master Xue" was named Xue Meng. More than ten years ago, he was a promising young man who was prided as being a son of heaven.
However, as time passed, he fell from his once respectable position and had to endure the remarks from these people just for a chance at reuniting with Mo Ran on the mountain.
Xue Meng's face was distorted, his lip trembling, but he did his best to contain himself and asked: "Then how long do you plan to wait here?"
"Long enough to see if there's any movement."
"Yes, what if Mo Weiyu prepared an ambush?"
The old monk who was still around also advised: "Don't fret, Young Master Xue. We are all at the foot of the mountain now, so it's better to be careful. Anyway, Mo Weiyu is already at the end of his battle and poses no real threat to us now. Why act rashly on something that is no longer urgent? There are many people that live beneath the mountain, several nobles and high-ranking officials. Who will be responsible if they were to lose their lives?"
Xue Meng exploded in anger: "Responsible? Then let me ask you, who will be responsible for my Shizun's life? That Mo Ran, he has kept my Shizun imprisoned in his palace for ten years! Ten years! My Shizun is on that mountain right now. How can you make me wait?"
When Xue Meng mentioned his Shizun, everyone's expressions shifted. Some looked ashamed, others couldn't look him in the eye, no one able to answer his cries.
"Ten years ago, Mo Ran gave himself the name TaXian, slaughtered everyone in the seventy-two cities under the Rufeng sect, and even wanted to destroy the remaining nine sects. Later, Mo Ran declared himself emperor and wanted to kill you all! During these two catastrophes, who was the one to stop him in the end? If it weren't for my Shizun fighting to the death, would any of you still be alive? Would you still be standing here and talking to me?"
Eventually, someone coughed and said: "Young Master Xue, don't be angry. About Grandmaster Chu, we … are all very regretful and grateful towards him. But like you said, he has been imprisoned for ten years. If there was anything, then … ah, you've been waiting for ten years, you don't need to rush in at this moment, right?"
"Right? Like hell you're right!"
The man's eyes were wide. "How can you curse at me like that?"
"Why shouldn't I curse you? Shizun went out to die in order to save this… this …"
He couldn't speak anymore. He choked out: "It makes it seem like it was all for nothing."
After he finished, Xue Meng turned abruptly, his shoulders trembling slightly, his eyes holding back tears.
"We never said we weren't going to save Grandmaster Chu…"
"That's right. Everyone remembers Grandmaster Chu's kindness. Young Master Xue, when you talk like this, you make everyone out to be ungrateful, and that's not fair at all."
"But then again, wasn't Mo Ran also a disciple of Grandmaster Chu?" Someone whispered. "The master should be the one to take responsibility for the disciple's evil actions. Like the saying goes, the father is responsible if the son is not taught and the master is lazy if the disciple is not taught strictly. I don't see any problems with this, so what's there to complain about?"
This was uncalled for, and someone immediately called out: "What nonsense! Watch your words!"
He turned his head towards Xue Meng.
"Young Master Xue, don't worry…"
"How can I not worry?" Xue Meng interrupted, his eyes bloodshot. "You stand around and talk without any care in the world but this is my Shizun! Mine!!! I haven't seen him in so many years! I don't even know if he's dead or alive. I don't know what he's doing. Why else do you think I'm here?"
He panted, his eyes red: "Do you think that if you wait like this, Mo Weiyu will come down the mountain himself, kneel before you and beg for forgiveness?"
"Young Master Xue…"
"Except for Shizun, I have no one in this world I care about." Xue Meng pulled away the corner of fabric that the old monk was still clinging to. "If you don't go, I'll go by myself."
Saying nothing more, he went up the mountain alone with nothing but his sword.
The cold, heavy wind carried the sound of thousands of leaves fluttering with it. In the thick fog, it was like countless ghosts whispering and moving throughout mountains and forests.
Xue Meng walked to the mountaintop alone and the palace where Mo Ran resided was lit with peaceful candlelight in the night. Suddenly, he saw three graves in front of the Sky-Reaching pagoda. When he went closer, the first grave was covered in grass, the tombstone chiseled with eight large crooked characters: 'Grave of Consort Chu, the Steamed Noble Consort.'
Opposite of the "steamed consort," the second grave was made recently, fresh soil still covering it. The words carved on this tombstone were: 'Grave of Lady Song, the Stir-Fried Empress.'
"…"
If this had happened ten years ago, Xue Meng would have burst out laughing at this absurd sight.
Back then, he and Mo Ran were disciples together under the same Shizun. Mo Ran was the disciple known for his jokes and tricks. Even though Xue Meng had never been fond of him, he still found himself amused by Mo Ran from time to time.
He didn't understand what the Steamed Consort or Stir-Fried Empress meant. They were most likely headstones erected by the righteous Master Mo for his two wives. The style of naming was very similar to "WangBa," "Croak," and "No Stick." Although it remained unknown where these names came from and why.
Xue Meng looked at the third grave.
In the night, the grave was unfilled with a coffin lying inside it. However, there was no one in the coffin, and the tombstone had not even been decorated.
But there was a jug of Pear-Blossom White in front of the grave, a bowl of chili oil wantons, and a few side dishes of spicy foods, which are all Mo Ran's favorite foods.
Xue Meng stared blankly at the grave for a few moments before he was suddenly shocked. Could it be that Mo Weiyu didn't plan on resisting? Had he already dug his own grave and was prepared to die?
He broke out in a cold sweat.
He doesn't believe it. Mo Ran always fought to the bitter end, not knowing the meaning of 'exhaustion' or 'giving up.' With his personality, he would always fight until his final breath, so how can he…
In the past ten years, Mo Ran stood at the peak of power. What had he seen during those years? What had happened…?
No one knows.
Xue Meng turned back into the night and strode toward the brightly lit Wushan Hall.
Inside Wushan Hall, Mo Ran's eyes were clenched, his face pale.
Xue Meng was right: he was set on dying. He dug the grave outside for himself. An hour ago, he had dismissed his servants with transportation spells and had taken a highly poisonous elixir. His cultivation levels are very strong, and the poisonous effects of the elixir moved slowly throughout his body because of it. This meant that the pain of his organs being eaten away by the poison became even greater.
With a 'creak,' the doors of the palace opened.
Mo Ran didn't look up. "Xue Meng. It's you that's come, isn't it?" He said hoarsely.
On the golden bricks of the hall, Xue Meng stood alone, his ponytail flying, his light armour shining.
The two disciples met each other one again. Mo Ran was expressionless as he leaned on his arm, his slender, thick lashes hanging down in front of his eyes.
Everyone describes him like a terrible demon with three heads and six arms, but, in reality, he is actually incredibly handsome. The curvature of the bridge of his nose is soft, his lips are pale yet full. From his appearance alone, one would think he is a kind and good-natured person.
When Xue Meng looked at his face, he knew he had taken a poison. He looked like he was about to say something but stopped himself, clenching his fist instead and simply asking: "Where is Shizun?"
"… What?"
"I asked you where is Shizun! Yours, mine, our Shizun?!" Xue Meng exclaimed.
"Oh." Mo Ran scoffed softly, finally opening his purplish-black eyes. It seemed like years before his eyes finally settled on Xue Meng.
"If I recall, you and Shizun have not seen each other since the farewell at the Kunlun Taxue Palace two years ago," Mo Ran said, smiling slightly.
"Xue Meng, do you miss him?"
"Stop talking nonsense! Give him back to me!"
Mo Ran glanced at him calmly as he endured the pain ripping through his stomach. The corners of his mouth twitched mockingly as he leaned back in his seat.
Blackness erupted in his vision and he could almost feel how his organs were liquifying, dissolving and turning into foul, dirty blood.
"Give him back to you?" Mo Ran lazily said. "Stupid. Think about it. How could I ever allow Shizun to live in this world if I hate him this much?"
"You-!" Xue Meng's blood drained from his face, his eyes widening as he stepped back. "You couldn't… you wouldn't…"
"I wouldn't what?" Mo Ran chuckled. "You talked so freely before. What were you going to say?"
"But he… he was your Shizun… How could you have done something like that?"
He raised his head and looked at Mo Ran sitting high on his throne. There was Fuxi in the heavens, Yama in the underworld, and Mo Weiyu in the mortal world.
But, as far as Xue Meng was concerned, even if Mo Ran became emperor of the mortal world, he never should have become like this.
Xue Meng's whole body was shaking, tears of hatred rolling down his face.
"Mo Weiyu, are you still human? He used to…"
Mo Ran slowly raised his eyes. "What did he used to do?"
"You should remember how he used to treat you," Xue Meng trembled.
Mo Ran smiled suddenly. "You want to remind me that he used to beat me to the ground and forced me to kneel and confess my guilt in front of everyone. Or do you want to remind me that he repeatedly blocked my way for your sake, for irrelevant people, keeping me from accomplishing what I wanted to do?"
"…" Xue Meng shook his head in pain.
No, Mo Ran.
Think about it. Let go of your insidious hatred. Look back.
He used to take you to practice cultivation martial arts, always protecting you.
He taught you how to read, write, compose poetry and paint.
He learned how to cook for you, always hurting his hands from being so clumsy.
He used to… He used to wait for you to return from day until night, alone from dark… until dawn…
There were so many words stuck in his throat. In the end, all Xue Meng managed to choke out was:
"He… He had a bad temper and spoke harsh words, but even I know that he treated you well. Why are you… how can you bear…?"
Xue Meng raised his head, holding back an abundance of tears. His throat was blocked and he couldn't say anymore.
After a long pause, there was a soft sigh at the end of the hall.
"Yes."
"But Xue Meng. Did you know?" Mo Ran's voice sounded so tired. "In the past, he killed the one and only person I ever loved. The only one."
There was dead silence for a long time.
His stomach felt like it was on fire, his flesh and blood feeling like they were being torn into tens of thousands of pieces.
"Regardless, we were Shizun and disciple. His corpse is at the Red Lotus Pavilion (Hóng Lián Shuǐxiè) on the southern peak. He's lying in the lotus flowers, well-preserved, as though he were asleep."
Mo Ran sighed, forcing himself to remain calm. He stayed expressionless as he said this, his fingers resting on the red sandalwood table, but his knuckles were white.
"His corpse depends on my spiritual powers to keep it from rotting. If you miss him, don't bother with me here. Go see him while I am still alive."
There was a foul taste in his throat. Mo Ran coughed a few times and, when he spoke again, his lips and teeth were bloody but his eyes were still relaxed.
"Go," he said hoarsely. "Go and see him. If you arrive too late and I die, my spiritual powers will be lost and he will turn to ashes."
After he finished his sentence, his eyes squeezed shut. The poison had begun attacking his heart and he was overtaken by the raging pain.
The pain tore seemed to tear through his heart so strongly that even Xue Meng's heavy sobs seemed distant, like they were coming from the waters of a vast ocean.
Blood kept pouring from the corners of his mouth. Mo Ran squeezed his sleeve tightly, his muscles cramping.
Opening his eyes halfway, he saw that Xue Meng had already run off. The young man's qinggong wasn't too bad so he should have no trouble reaching the southern peak in time.
He should be able to see Shizun one last time.
Mo Ran propped himself up, shakily getting to his feet. His blood-stained figures formed a seal and he transported himself to the area in front of the Sky-Reaching pagoda.
It was well into autumn and the begonia flowers were in full bloom.
In the end, he didn't know why he chose to end his sinful life here. But since the flowers bloomed so splendidly, it made a fine spot for a tomb.
He lay down in the open coffin and looked up at the beautiful flowers as they fluttered down.
They floated down into the coffin, brushing his cheeks. One after another, like the past slowly fading away.
In this life, starting as an illegitimate child with nothing, he went through countless trials and came out as the only emperor of this world.
He was the pinnacle of evil, stained with blood. He loved and hated, desired and detested, but in the end, there was nothing left.
In the end, he didn't write anything on his tombstone with his carefree names. Whether it was the shameless "Emperor of the Ages," or the ridiculous "Steamed" or "Stir-Fried," nothing was written. After everything, no words were left on the tomb of the first emperor of the cultivation world.
A farce that had lasted for ten years finally came to an end.
Several hours later, when everyone came rushing into the palace, a trail of torches in hand like a fiery snake, what was waiting for them was an empty Wushan Hall, a deserted Sisheng peak (Life-Death Peak), and Hong Lain Shui Xie (the Red Lotus Pavillion), with Xue Meng who was surrounded by ashes, having cried so much that he had become numb.
And finally, in front of the Sky-Reaching pagoda, was Mo Weiyu, whose corpse had already grown cold.