“M
O RAN…Mo Ran.”Someone was calling him.
Mo Ran opened his eyes, bleary and dazed, to the sight of an
unfocused silhouette in white. He vaguely felt that this person looked like Chu Wanning, but at the same time, he didn’t quite dare believe it. He felt that person’s hands laid over his chest, channeling an unbroken stream of spiritual energy into the still-bleeding wreckage.
So warm… Who? He blinked arduously, trying to get a better look at that blurry figure.
“Mo Ran…”
“Sh-shizun?” he murmured, fighting down the blood welling in his throat. He felt something warm and wet fall on his cheek. Slowly, his vision cleared enough to see a pair of phoenix eyes like the apricot
blossoms of Jiangnan, softly beautiful with a hint of melancholy, set in a face that was pale as death and streaked with blood. Mo Ran stared foggily at him, at a loss—he had never before seen such an expression on Chu Wanning’s face.
His shizun had always been cold, impassive. But the person before him now was crying.
Mo Ran reached a hand up, wanting to touch, wanting to check if this was real or just the hallucination of a dying man. But, with the tips of his fingers mere inches from that person’s face, he paused.
Sometimes, hating someone was a kind of habit. If, all of a sudden, he didn’t hate Chu Wanning anymore, he wouldn’t know what to do with
himself. He didn’t dare touch. He was afraid it might be real—but also afraid it might not be.
Behind Chu Wanning, Mo Ran spied mountains of corpses and oceans of blood. Mo Ran wasn’t sure if this was the battleground at
Butterfly Town, or if he had already gone to hell. He was eminently aware that he had committed countless atrocities, had sinned irredeemably, that he belonged in the Infinite Hells, never again to enter the cycle of
reincarnation. But Chu Wanning was a good person. Why would he be here with him, to suffer an eternity in hell?
“Just a little longer,” Chu Wanning’s voice was distant and hazy, as if coming to him from the depths of an ocean. “You have to stay awake, or else…”
Mo Ran watched blood seep from the corner of Chu Wanning’s mouth. The golden light grew more and more brilliant until the person before him was suddenly enveloped in the blinding glow and shrank, taking on the small form of a child. “Or else you are no disciple of the Yuheng Elder—no disciple of mine.”
“Xia-shidi?!”
Chu Wanning had transformed into Xia Sini before his eyes.
Mo Ran was so shocked that his wound blazed with pain. He passed out again before he could process a single thought.
“Mo Ran.” A voice so soft it was almost a sigh. He didn’t know if it was a hallucination from his past life or a lingering murmur by his ear.
“I’m sorry, it was this master’s fault…”
This line again! This line again!
Chu Wanning, I don’t want you to apologize, I want you to—
To what? He faltered, not knowing what it was that he wanted. If he didn’t want an apology, then what did he want?
Mo Ran’s eyes flew open. His breath came in harsh pants, and his clothes were soaked with sweat. He looked up to see a clean, tidy room, sparsely decorated.
He was back at his room in Sisheng Peak. He was still alive…
He glanced around in disbelief, then raised a slightly chilly hand to feel for the wound on his chest. It was wrapped in several layers of
bandages. Blood had seeped through the gauze and dyed it red, and it ached when touched, but underneath, his heart still beat rhythmically, powerfully, beating with the promise of the rest of his life.
He lived. He lived! His blood coursed wildly, vigorously through his youthful body. The tips of his fingers trembled with it; it thrummed
through his very soul.
He heard the soft swish of a curtain being lifted. Mo Ran looked up from where he sat on the bed and came face-to-face with the beauty that had just entered. It must have been cold outside; his long black hair cascaded loosely over a white, fur-lined mantle, and when he lifted those soft, bright eyes, a faint redness dyed their corners, more lovely than any makeup.
Shi Mei started a little; he hadn’t expected Mo Ran to be awake. “A- Ran? Y-you…”
“Shi Mei! Shi Mei!” Mo Ran called his name over and over, eyes as bright and glittering as obsidian. He jumped up from the bed, ignoring the protests of his wound, and grinned toothily as he flung himself at Shi Mingjing. He hugged him tightly and repeated ecstatically, “I’m so glad!
You’re alive! I’m alive! It’s over, it’s all over!”
The Heavenly Rift had been the greatest calamity of his past life.
Fiends and demons had descended from above, stolen Shi Mei, and thrown
Mo Ran into the abyss of sin. This was the one thing that had haunted him after rebirth. He had been afraid it would happen all over again, that he would be left all alone once more, on the lonely path toward that empty Wushan Palace, treading on the bones of those he had once loved and cared for.
But the heavens were not unkind to him. Everything had changed when he’d stepped forward with the will to die in Shi Mei’s place.
He wouldn’t be alone again, abandoned and rebuked by all; wouldn’t be cast out in the dead of night, henceforth a lonely wanderer. Starting today, the curse was broken.
He had truly escaped the nightmare of his past life, truly been reborn.
Mo Ran clung to Shi Mei for a long time. When he let go, his eyes were bright like fireworks, glittering like the starry night.
Shi Mei stood dazed and unmoving while Mo Ran wrapped his arms around his shoulders and smiled down at him. They stayed that way for several minutes before Shi Mei slowly came back to his senses and leaned in to press his forehead to the underside of Mo Ran’s jaw. “A-Ran.”
“Mhm?”
Shi Mei lifted his face. He wore a faint smile, but his eyes were a little wet. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”
Mo Ran smiled and stroked his hair, then gathered Shi Mei’s hands in his own. “Of course I’m okay, silly,” he reassured him. “Why wouldn’t I be? I…”
Before he could say more, the curtain was lifted again as another figure strode in.
“Xue Meng?”
No response. This guy was always so petty; he was probably still
upset to have been outdone at the battle at Butterfly Town. Xue Meng wore a sullen expression, and his lips were pressed into a thin line. When he saw Mo Ran up and about, he paused for a beat before turning to Shi Mei. “When did he wake up?”
Shi Mei hesitated before answering. A hint of worry crept into his voice as he said, “Just now.”
Another pause. “I see.” Xue Meng still refused to look at Mo Ran.
Look at this little brat, Mo Ran thought to himself, sulking like this just ’cause he didn’t get to be the hero. He’s acting like someone stole his candy or something. But Mo Ran was in quite a buoyant mood, so for once, he was willing to overlook it. He smiled and said, “Looks like I was out for a while there, huh? Who brought me back?”
“Who else?” Xue Meng flung his sleeve and tucked his hand behind his back. “It was Shizun, of course.”
“Ah.” Mo Ran was taken aback at this revelation. Fragments of blurry memory from his half-conscious state passed before his eyes. Now that he was awake, he was so overwhelmed with shock and elation that he was even less sure what of the things he’d seen back then were real or imagined.
“Shizun…” he mumbled. “Xia-shidi…”
At this, Xue Meng twitched almost imperceptibly. “So,” he asked stiffly, “you saw?”
“Saw what?”
“That Xia-shidi is Shizun.”
Mo Ran had still been only guessing. Upon being suddenly told outright like this, his entire face went white. “What?!”
Xue Meng’s head snapped around to stare at him. He wore a strange
expression, as though it were taking all he had to keep some emotion in check. “What do you mean what? I thought you already knew.”
“How would I know that!” Mo Ran yelped. “I just… I was drifting in and out, and it was all blurry. I thought I might have seen the two of them overlapping. I…”
He thought back to the time he’d spent with Xia Sini at the Peach Blossom Springs, and the two of them asleep in the same bed. He thought back to when he’d lost control at Rainbell Isle, and the golden hair clasp that had tumbled out as he tore at Chu Wanning’s robes.
And the handkerchief, embroidered with a haitang blossom.
Clothing that grew and shrank with its wearer.
The little jar of chicken soup, clutched tightly in Xia Sini’s arms.
The way he had looked up at Mo Ran and called him shixiong, and how Mo Ran had patted him on the head and grinned, saying, We’ll be brothers from here on out. Shixiong will dote on you.
One after another, those memories rose before his eyes and scattered like smoke. Now it was Chu Wanning, his face impassive, expression far too cold; now it was Xia Sini, his lips pressed together, refusing to speak.
He had once told Xia Sini that Chu Wanning was no good, that he disliked him. He had also once patiently brushed Xia Sini’s long hair. His hair had been so soft, flowing between his fingers like ink.
Now that he thought about it, they really were so much alike.
Mo Ran felt like his head was about to explode. He paced in a tight circle, back and forth, as he muttered, “Shizun is Xia-shidi… Shizun is Xia-shidi… Shizun is…” He came to an abrupt stop, almost crazed.
“You’ve got to be kidding me! How could Shizun possibly be Xia-shidi?!”
“A-Ran…”
Mo Ran didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “S-sure they’re pretty similar in a lot of ways, but…but they’re not the same. Xia-shidi is such a good person; how could—”
“The hell do you mean by that?” Xue Meng cut him off, pinning him with a sharp glare. “Xia-shidi is ‘such a good person’? So, what, someone who’s a good person couldn’t possibly be Shizun?”
“Of course I’m not saying Shizun isn’t a good person,” Mo Ran countered. “It’s just that Xia-shidi has always been so sincere with me. I basically viewed him as my own little brother! How am I supposed to just accept it when you suddenly tell me he’s actually Shizun.”
“Xia-shidi is sincere, huh?” Xue Meng snarled. “Then Shizun is insincere?”
Hearing the temper rising in Xue Meng’s voice, Shi Mei hurried to tug on his sleeve. “Young master, remember what Uncle said! A-Ran just woke up. He…”
But Xue Meng shook him off, his brown eyes still fixed on
Mo Ran’s face. So infuriated was he that the vein at his neck throbbed like a hissing viper, about to sink venomous fangs into its prey, ready to devour it. “Mo Weiyu, you’d better explain it to me here and now: Why can’t Shizun be Xia Sini? In what does he lack sincerity, huh? Tell me clearly, what part of him do you consider fake?!”
The interrogative onslaught rankled Mo Ran only a little; it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen Xue Meng pissed off before. In the last lifetime, Xue Meng had been more or less like this during every single one of their encounters after he became Emperor Taxian-jun. Still, it was irksome. Mo Ran frowned and snapped, “What’s it to you? That’s between me and him.”
“Between you and him?” Xue Meng repeated. “Have you ever even
thought about him?”
Mo Ran was so mad he laughed. “The hell’s your problem, Xue Ziming? Seriously, when did you finally lose it? C’mon, Shi Mei, let’s go to Loyalty Hall. Maybe Uncle and Shizun know what’s set him off.” He brushed past Xue Meng, pulling Shi Mei along.
Xue Meng stood rooted in place for some time, as if trying his damnedest to stop himself. But just as Mo Ran was about to step out the door, his restraint cracked, and he whipped around, roaring, “Mo Weiyu, have you ever once spared a thought for this shizun of yours?!”
Mo Ran said nothing. He became even more agitated; his steps halted, and his originally cheerful and relaxed brows drew low in a scowl.
Shi Mei squeezed his hand. “Don’t mind him,” he whispered uneasily, “he’s been a bit irritable lately. Come on, let’s go.”
Mo Ran paused. “Mn.”
But his hand had only brushed the curtain, hadn’t even lifted it yet, when Xue Meng’s voice rang out again, stifled, inflamed and distraught, like it had leapt from a raging fire. “Mo Weiyu, you fucker, you piece of shit.”
The curtain dropped back into place with a swish. Mo Ran closed his eyes, then opened them again.
“A-Ran…” Shi Mei tried to pull him back, but Mo Ran gently pushed him aside.
Mo Ran turned his head to look at Xue Meng, then faced him squarely. The two of them were around the same age, but Mo Ran was already taller by a span, and he could appear quite cold and menacing when he wanted to. His mouth curved in a smile, but his black eyes were deep, without the slightest hint of mirth. “So I’m a piece of shit now, am I.
Xue Ziming, I’ve never treated our shizun with anything but respect. Nor
did I stand idly by at the battle of the Heavenly Rift. The barrier to the Infinite Hells couldn’t be mended by his strength alone, so I stepped up to help. Let me ask you—as his disciple, have I done anything wrong?”
Xue Meng remained silent.
“My strength falls far short of his, so I couldn’t hold out till the end when we were mending the barrier. I fell from the coiled dragon pillar, but he didn’t spare me so much as a glance. He couldn’t care less whether I lived or died. Let me ask you again, in my shoes, would you not feel bitter and disappointed?”
“Mo Ran…”
Mo Ran finally gave voice to the grievance that had eaten away at him for two lifetimes. His handsome features twisted into something dark as he spoke of this sore spot. He forced out each syllable, enunciating every word. “As I see it, I’ve done my duty, and owe him nothing. What right do you have to stand here before me and call me a piece of shit? Xue Meng, you think I’ve never cared for him? You’re wrong, I have.
“But he’s made of stone,” Mo Ran continued in a low voice, every word like a knife to his heart, each one drawing blood. “Xue Meng, listen to me, I don’t care how powerful a cultivator he is in the eyes of the world, what a prestigious zongshi, that he’s Yuheng of the Night Sky, Beidou Immortal—none of that matters. What matters is this: at the battle of the Heavenly Rift, I nearly died. Yet when I begged for him to look back, to spare me a glance, he wouldn’t even give me that.”
It was such a chilling, enraging thing. But as he spoke of it, he was strangely calm; only his eyes were a little red. “And Xue Meng, I can
guarantee you, no matter who had fallen from the pillar back then—even if it wasn’t me, even if it was you or Shi Mei—he wouldn’t have saved you either.” Because I saw it with my own eyes. Chu Wanning had turned and
left his own disciple’s body to cool in the snowstorm that blotted out the sky. “After all, nothing is more important than his good name as the Beidou Immortal,” Mo Ran sneered coldly. Perhaps it was due to the room’s dim light that he looked a little forlorn. “You’ll live if you’re lucky. Die if you’re not.”
His last word was still hanging in the air when there came a blur before his eyes alongside a rush of wind. The room was narrow, and Shi Mei was behind him. Even if he sensed it coming, Mo Ran couldn’t dodge lest Shi Mei come to harm. He stood his ground and took the blow.
Xue Meng lunged at him like a cheetah, gripped him by the collar, and a loud crack rang out as he struck Mo Ran across the face, holding nothing back. At being slapped out of the blue, Mo Ran’s temper flared as well. He twisted his wrist to seize the raging youth and snarled through gritted teeth, “Xue Ziming! The fuck do you think you’re doing?!”
Xue Meng didn’t answer, bellowing, “Mo Weiyu, you bastard!”
He had no interest in talking anymore, but rampaged like he really had lost his mind. He brawled brutally with Mo Ran right there in that desolate little room, the two instantly at each other’s throats like a pair of trapped beasts. They fought like they wanted to rip each other to ribbons, like they wanted to tear one another apart and swallow each other blood, bone, and all. A single lamp flickered in the room, and it cast their
maddened silhouettes against the stone wall, like a shadow play of bloodthirsty beasts, or a picture of frenzied demons.
Suddenly, Mo Ran heard Xue Meng choke back a sob. It was so quiet that he suspected he’d misheard. But just as he thought so, several fat teardrops splashed onto the back of his hand.
Xue Meng suddenly released Mo Ran and shoved him away. Then he curled up on the ground, wrapped his arms around his knees, and
started bawling miserably where he sat.
Mo Ran’s cheek was yet red and swollen, but he was utterly
stumped by this turn of events. It wasn’t like he’d actually attempted any deadly moves. Surely he hadn’t hurt him that bad—besides, his cousin had thrown the first punch. So why’d he…
He was still puzzling it over when Xue Meng raised his voice, screaming hoarsely between broken sobs. “How could you say he didn’t save you? How could you say he didn’t save you?!” Tears rolled down his cheeks, insuppressible.
Off to the side, Shi Mei sighed and looked down in silence.
It seemed that Xue Meng couldn’t keep things quiet, after all.
Between sobs, Xue Meng choked out, “He’d be so sad if he heard you say that from the underworld.”
These words were too sudden—Mo Ran couldn’t process them at first. In a daze, he asked, “What?”
Xue Meng wept on and on. His venomous fangs had indeed pierced Mo Ran’s neck, but he had also pricked himself. He cried so miserably, so brokenly, wiping desperately at his face, at his eyes, his gaze flickering between ferocity and sorrow. Xue Meng refused to get up from where he crouched on the floor. There he stayed, his face buried in the crook of his arm, for a long, long time.
Mo Ran felt a slow numbness creep up from the soles of his feet until his entire body was frozen. He felt his lips move. Heard his voice ask,
“Xue Meng, what did you just say?”
Xue Meng sobbed for what seemed like ages—or perhaps it was actually seconds, and only felt like an eternity to Mo Ran as he waited for that thunderbolt of an answer.
“Shizun…” Xue Meng finally choked out. “He’s gone.”