being a bitter struggle. Then, Chu Wanning had been the one who had walked with him to the very end. He didn’t want to be that vile person again in this life, but now, Chu Wanning wouldn’t be around to see what became of him. Perhaps the heavens themselves couldn’t bear it, or perhaps it was simply fate—Chu Wanning had grown disgusted beyond endurance with him in the past life, so in this one, he was the first to take his leave.
Mo Ran laid his arm across his eyes, holding back the tightness in his throat.
He heard Xue Zhengyong shouting frantically in the distance. His uncle was looking for him, calling, “Ran-er—where are you? Ran-er!”
Shi Mei was calling for him as well: “A-Ran, where are you…
Hurry and come out…”
“Ran-er, come back and keep Yuheng company! Don’t do anything stupid, Ran-er!”
Keep Yuheng company… Keep him company…
Mo Ran dragged himself up off the ground and staggered toward the voices. He couldn’t collapse, he couldn’t collapse—there was so much he still had to do. They still hadn’t found the person behind all this, not to mention the Heavenly Rift could open again at any time. Sisheng Peak had suffered heavy losses in the catastrophe, and there were innumerable
matters that needed to be seen to. Xue Meng was heartbroken from grief, so anguished he couldn’t even rise. Mo Ran couldn’t collapse too.
So Mo Ran endured it, and forced himself to pick up the pieces. He told himself, It doesn’t hurt, it doesn’t hurt. This wasn’t the first time he’d lived through Chu Wanning’s death. It doesn’t hurt.
It doesn’t hurt…
But how could it not hurt? Over three thousand steps Chu Wanning
had crawled, carrying him on his back—how could it not hurt…
He’d drained his very last reserves of spiritual energy, he’d given it all to Mo Ran, how could it not hurt…
He had suffered an identical injury, but so as not to burden his disciple, he had adopted a heartless expression and left on his own. How could it not hurt…
And in the past life, Chu Wanning had also suffered the same injury as Shi Mei. It was just that he hadn’t said anything about it. He hadn’t said, and Mo Ran hadn’t asked. He’d roared angrily at Chu Wanning, vented endless hatred on him, flung to the ground those wontons Chu Wanning, who had yet to recover from his own injuries, had worked so hard to make for him. Before his eyes, Chu Wanning had bent down, lowered his head, and then, one by one, had picked up each wonton and thrown them away.
How could it not hurt… How could it not have hurt?!
He had dug out Chu Wanning’s heart! How could it have not hurt?!
How could it…
Mo Ran couldn’t take a step further. He stood in place for a long spell, trying to suppress these feelings, trying to rescue his calm. His entire body trembled. It hurt. He buried his face in his hands, bit down on his lip, and swallowed his sobs with the blood.
A very long time passed before he managed, just barely, to pull himself together. He lifted his head, his eyes red around the rims, and drew in a deep breath. Then, slowly, he walked down the steps.
He couldn’t collapse.
“Uncle.”
“Ran-er, where were you? You had me worried half to death! How am I gonna face Yuheng in the afterlife if something happens to you?”
“It was my fault,” Mo Ran said. “I’m okay now. Sorry to have made Uncle worry.”
Xue Zhengyong shook his head. He wasn’t quite sure what to say, so he only patted Mo Ran’s shoulder. After a long moment, he said, “It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault; you’re already so much stronger than Meng-er…” He sighed.
“Where’s Xue Meng?” Mo Ran asked hoarsely.
“Sick. He has a high fever. He just drank his medicine and went to sleep. He’s inconsolable when awake, crying all day… Sleep will do him some good.” Xue Zhengyong looked exhausted. “The Heavenly Rift of the Infinite Hells has the whole cultivation world in a state. Even the upper cultivation world is sending people to look into the matter now. But whoever’s behind it covered his tracks incredibly well; Butterfly Town was practically leveled in the bloody battle, and no clues were left to be found.”
Mo Ran wasn’t at all surprised to hear this. This individual’s abilities were clearly beyond what anyone, including himself, had anticipated. Someone who could take Chu Wanning’s life obviously wouldn’t be so careless as to leave traces. “What does the upper cultivation realm plan to do?”
“Representatives from each sect are holding a meeting at Spiritual Mountain to discuss the matter,” Xue Zhengyong replied. “I’d planned to set off for it tomorrow…but I’m worried about leaving when Meng-er is like this…”
He was right—even the world’s preeminent zongshi, Chu Wanning, had lost his life in the incident at Butterfly Town. Negligent as the upper cultivation world might be, they could no longer afford to simply sit by and watch.
Who laid down the spells that opened the barrier? What is he after?
What’s his next move?
These questions circled in their hearts like vultures. Everyone
wanted answers, but an extensive investigation had yielded none. They had no choice but to cooperate with one another.
“Don’t worry, Uncle,” Mo Ran said. “I’ll help Aunt take care of things in the sect while you’re gone.”
“That’s good, that’s good…” Xue Zhengyong sighed. “I wish I didn’t have to burden you with this…”
With Xue Zhengyong’s departure and Xue Meng lost in his fugue, all the accumulated scrolls of paperwork and attendant tasks fell to Mo Ran. He threw himself wholeheartedly into the work without daring to rest for a moment. If he stopped to rest, stopped to think, the anguish and
regret would drag him into the abyss and torture his broken soul. He wished he could bury his head in scrolls, day in and day out, if only so he could ignore the endless torment and guilt that wracked his heart.
When the Infinite Hells had opened, yin energy had flooded the mortal realm, and all manner of fiends, long suppressed, had seized the opportunity to escape and wreak havoc across the land. The letters of
commission requesting aid from Sisheng Peak had practically piled up into a small mountain. Mo Ran busied himself taking care of it all, forgetting to sleep and skipping meals. He often stepped into Loyalty Hall at the break of dawn and stayed late into the night before returning to his quarters to rest.
But even buried in this ocean of paperwork, he would find himself pricked unawares by splinters of Chu Wanning left behind.
Qingjiang region has been troubled as of late, and most of the
eighty-two families in Fengling Village are old and ailing, with no means to defend themselves. We are fortunate to have a Holy Night Guardian automaton made by your esteemed sect’s elder to fend off the fiends for now. But this is not a long-term solution, so we would like to request…
A drop of wax slid slowly down the candle, and the wick crackled.
Mo Ran came to with a start; he had been staring vacantly at the letter for some time, his finger tracing the words Holy Night Guardian over and over. In his mind’s eye, he saw Chu Wanning in the Red Lotus Pavilion, his hair pulled back in a ponytail and a sanding file held in his mouth as he poured his focus into oiling an automaton.
Mo Ran let out a long breath. He pressed his fingers to his forehead and rubbed lightly. Suddenly, he heard someone knocking.
“Shi Mei?”
The beautiful young man dressed in light, simple white robes entered balancing a tray. He set it down beside Mo Ran’s scrolls, then rolled up his sleeves and stirred the candlelight back to brightness. “A- Ran,” he said gently, “you’ve been working all day. Have something to eat.”
“All right…” Mo Ran forced a smile and laid down his scroll, continuing to knead at the throbbing pain between his brows.
“I made a bowl of ginseng chicken soup and a few side dishes.” Shi Mei set out the plates and felt the temperature through the side of the bowl.
“Oh good, it’s still warm.”
As they ate, Shi Mei noticed a loose wisp of hair hanging before that handsome, weary face, and reached out to tuck it back in. “A-Ran.”
“Hm?”
“That day…was there something you wanted to tell me?”
Mo Ran’s thoughts were scattered, and it took him a moment to understand what Shi Mei was asking. He glanced at Shi Mei. “Which day?”
Shi Mei pursed his lips and lowered his gaze. He was silent for a time, then answered, “The day of the Heavenly Rift.”
Mo Ran waited for him to continue.
“You said you were going to go help…help Shizun mend the Heavenly Rift, and that there was something—that if you still felt like telling me when you came back, then…” Shi Mei bowed his head, and his voice trailed off. In the glow of the candle, his delicate, snow-white ears seemed a little pink.
Mo Ran stared for a long time but couldn’t manage a single word.
He knew—without a doubt—that he loved Shi Mei dearly. But right now, in this moment, he really wasn’t in the mood, not in the least. Mo Ran was shameless and unmannerly; he couldn’t care less what others said, and things like morality and etiquette were thoroughly foreign to him.
But that didn’t mean he was heartless.
A long second passed in silence. When Mo Ran finally spoke, his voice was soft. “Sorry. I feel really down right now, and I…don’t think this is the right time. So, about that thing—I’ll tell you some other time, okay?”
Shi Mei’s head snapped up, his beautiful eyes startled.
Mo Ran squeezed out a chuckle and raised his hand. He hesitated a second, then patted Shi Mei’s head. “I’m kind of dumb, and there have been so many things to take care of lately, I… I don’t know when I’ll have a quiet moment to gather my thoughts. I don’t want to be careless about it.”
Even the warmth of the candle couldn’t conceal the gradual
blanching of Shi Mei’s face. “Careless?” He paused, then smiled. “A-Ran, it was life or death back then. I would’ve thought anything you were going to say at a time like that was something you’d already given careful
thought to.”
“I have.” Mo Ran furrowed his brow. “I’ve thought about it for a long time, and it’s never changed, but…”
“But?” Shi Mei leaned forward.
Mo Ran hesitated. Eventually, he said, “But not right now.”
His hands clenched into fists in his sleeves. “Not right now, Shi Mei. You don’t know yet, but it’s something very important. I don’t want to rush it and tell you at such a miserable time, I—”
“Young master!” A junior suddenly barged in unannounced. When he saw that the one managing sect matters in Loyalty Hall was Mo Ran, he hurriedly dipped his head in a bow and corrected himself: “Ah, Mo-
gongzi.”
At this interruption, the faint blush on Shi Mei’s cheeks faded. He flicked his sleeves and sat back in his chair, taking on a mild, unassuming appearance.
Mo Ran looked up, oblivious to the shift in Shi Mei’s demeanor.
“What is it?”
“R-reporting in. There’s an esteemed guest at the sect entrance.”
“An esteemed guest?” Mo Ran echoed. “Anyone of note from the ten great sects is at Spiritual Mountain right now. Where’d this esteemed guest come from?”
The disciple seemed both fearful and excited; his face flushed and he stammered incoherently for a few seconds before he finally managed to blurt, “I-it’s Master Huaizui of Wubei Temple!”
“What?!” Even the ex-Emperor Taxian-jun couldn’t help but jump
to his feet.
Shi Mei was startled as well. “Master Huaizui?”
Mo Ran had good reason to be shocked—Master Huaizui was practically a legend in the cultivation world.
This man had long ago achieved enlightenment. By all rights, he ought to have ascended. But when the great gates of the heavenly realm had opened for him, he had pressed his palms together and said that he could not break with the mortal realm, could not let go of his lifelong obsession, and could not wash himself of past sins. In the end, the
heavenly light dimmed, the lotus blossom wilted, and Master Huaizui had ambled away from immortality in his threadbare monk’s robes, his staff tapping lightly against the ground.
After declining his chance to ascend and become an immortal,
he had gone into seclusion at Wubei Temple to reflect. A century passed in the blink of an eye. One hundred years since, the cultivation world had heard his name but never laid eyes on his person. The number of seniors still living who had met him before his seclusion could be counted on one hand.
In his past life, Mo Ran had turned the land upside down and still hadn’t been able to meet this Master Huaizui. Huaizui had been too, too ancient, and had passed away on a rainy spring day the year before Mo Ran climbed to the top of the human world. No one knew how old he’d been when he passed.
Yet how unexpected—in this reborn life, Master Huaizui had come calling in the dead of night of his own accord.
Innumerable thoughts flashed through Mo Ran’s mind in the space of an instant—though he didn’t yet know his business here, Mo Ran immediately recalled certain rumors about Master Huaizui.
Huaizui… Huaizui! How could he have forgotten about Master Huaizui?!
When Shi Mei died in the last lifetime, Mo Ran had been ignorant;
he’d no idea there was such a sage in the cultivation world. It was only later, when he was emperor, that he learned from his subordinates of the existence of one in this world who could wield Rebirth, one of the three forbidden techniques.
That person was Huaizui.
He had dispatched people to Wubei Temple at all speed to request the sage’s presence, that he might recall Shi Mei’s soul. But the people he sent returned with the news that the great master had already passed away, and with him, Mo Ran’s last chance to revive Shi Mei.
But right now, this person of legend was still alive! He was still alive! How did he forget that! How could he forget?
Mo Ran’s heart lurched, and he trembled all over. A blaze lit his eyes as he said hastily, “Hurry, invite the great master in!”
Before the disciple could respond, Mo Ran changed his mind.
“Actually, I’ll go welcome him in myself.” But he’d taken only two steps when there was a sudden flash of yellow from without the hall.
Neither the candle nor its flame shuddered. There was no hint of a breeze. No one, not even Mo Ran with his keen eyes, had seen him enter.
Yet a monk arrayed in a bamboo hat and threadbare monk’s robes now stood commandingly inside Loyalty Hall. He had moved like lightning and stopped right in front of Mo Ran, who started at the sudden proximity.
“This one is already imposing so late at night and shall not trouble Mo-shizhu9 so.” A deep, mellow voice drifted out from beneath the
bamboo hat, startling both Mo Ran and Shi Mei. How was this the voice of a hundred-year-old man?
Mo Ran had barely finished the thought when the monk removed his bamboo hat. In the candlelit hall, he looked no more than thirty years of age, with a pleasant appearance and a mild demeanor. His eyes were bright and sharp, but rather than projecting menace, they were calm and lucid, like the reflection of light in water.
“You are…?”
The monk pressed his palms together and bowed low. “Amitabha,10 this humble monk is Huaizui.”
No one had expected Master Huaizui, who was a hundred years old at least, to look younger than Xue Zhengyong. For a beat, there was only stunned silence. But Mo Ran knew a thing or two when it came to
cultivation. Huaizui was someone who had rejected ascension and chosen instead to remain in the mortal realm. The only difference between this man and an immortal was that final step of shedding his mortal body and undergoing the heavenly trial.11 After following this line of reasoning to its conclusion, Mo Ran relaxed a little—though he still couldn’t look away from Huaizui.
Huaizui didn’t wish to disturb anyone else, so they sat down in
Loyalty Hall just the three of them. Mo Ran poured tea for the great master with his own hand. Huaizui accepted and murmured his thanks but did not drink. He set the tea aside on the small sandalwood table and slowly raised his head.
He spoke in polite and mellow tones but cut straight to the point:
“Mo-shizhu, pray forgive this humble monk for being so forward, but the reason for my visit today is a past acquaintance.”
Mo Ran’s hear began to race. His vision swam, and his fingers dug into the table’s edge with such force he nearly cracked it. He stared
intently at Master Huaizui’s face as words from his past life whirled
through his mind like drifting flakes of snow.
There’s a rumor that someone has successfully used Rebirth, one of the three forbidden techniques. But it’s a rumor only; there’s no knowing whether there’s any truth to it…
Where is this Master Huaizui? I’ll pay any price to bring Shi Mei back!
To answer Your Majesty, Huaizui…has already passed away, many years ago. He wrote nothing in all his life, and, regarding Rebirth, he said only that “To change fate is in defiance of Heaven’s will, its dangers immeasurable.” Other than that, he left nothing else…
The words streamed past his ears.
Master Huaizui had an unfathomable grasp of mortality and reincarnation.
Word has it that he had dealings with the ghost realm. If he yet lived, perhaps Mingjing-shixiong might be returned from the grave, but unfortunately…
Master Huaizui was like a ghost lingering in the world of the living.
He undoubtedly had a hand in anything and everything to do with the yin and the yang.
Mo Ran drew in a deep breath and was surprised to find that his voice trembled faintly. “Past acquaintance… A past acquaintance…” he murmured, his own eyes locked with Master Huaizui’s clear ones. Mo Ran’s back was covered in a sheen of sweat. He asked in a voice so soft it was nearly inaudible, “Who is this past acquaintance?”
The monk rose slowly; in the low candlelight, no shadow pooled beneath his feet. The sleeves of his plain, thin yellow robe hung low. The robe was obviously worn, but was completely smooth and free of wrinkles as it drifted lightly in the breeze like the flickering outline of a ghost. This