2HA: English Translation, Annotated Version

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/36114133.

Rating: Not Rated

Archive Warning: Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Fandom: 2Ha
Stats: Published: 2022-01-01 Chapters: 17/17 Words: 539426

2HA: English Translation, Annotated Version

By Meatbun
byDoesn't Eat Meat
MissyMaia
Book 1, Part 1: Different Paths - The Death and Reincarnation of Mo Weiyu

In the brief time before Mo Ran became the emperor, he was almost constantly compared to a dog.
His superiors called him a son of a bitch, those he served called him a little bitch, and his cousin
called him a mutt. His mother, best of the lot, told him he was raised by a bitch.

It wasn’t all bad. His one-night stands would complain that he had the strength of a dog; the honey
of his lips lured away her soul while his while the weapon down below robbed the sweetness of
her life. Then they’d turn around and boast to others afterwards; the entire district knew that Mo
Ran, called Mo Weiyu, was both handsome in looks and aggressive beneath the sheets. Those who
sampled his wares were satisfied with their meal, and those who hadn’t were dearly tempted.

Mo Ran himself had to admit that those names were all very spot on. He was indeed very much
like a tail-wagging dumb dog. It wasn’t until he became the emperor of the cultivation world that
these kinds of monikers fell out of use.

Mo Ran’s life filled with the ebb and flow of prestige and shame. Sometimes one was ahead, and
sometimes the other. Before he knew it, he’d turned thirty-two. He’d played with everything and
had gotten tired of it. Everything had become tasteless and lonely. In recent years, there were fewer
and fewer people he trusted by his side. The crowd currently gathered at the bottom of the
mountain certainly didn’t have his best interests at heart.

It’s time, he thought. Time to end everything. He picked up a glistening, full grape, and languidly
peeled its purple skin. His movement was easy and practiced, but there was lethargy underneath,
the feeling that he was tired of it all. The lustrous fruit quivered lightly against his fingertips; its
juice gushed and flowed, the delicate purple of crabapple blossoms entering slumber. No, Mo Ran
thought. The shade was like that of filthy blood. He stared at his own fingers as he swallowed the
overwhelming sweetness on his tongue. It’s time, he thought again. Time I went to hell.

He was Mo Ran, courtesy name Weiyu. He was the first emperor of the cultivation world.

Reaching his exalted position really hadn’t been easy. He needed not only outstanding spiritual
powers but also a thick skin, as hard and solid as any meteorite. Before him, the ten greatest sects
in the cultivation world had been divided into territories, had fought against each other over their
domains and hoarded their wealth. With the sects devoting all their strength to clashing against one
another, no one existed who could rule the world and bring them into line.

Each sect leader was also wary, and rightly so, of what the historians would pen if they were to
grant themselves a functionally empty title; each leader feared they would receive disgrace in the
books of history. But Mo Ran had been different. He was a scoundrel and didn’t care. What no one
else dared, he saw as a challenge, and he’d done it all.

From drinking the spiciest fine wine of the mortal realm to marrying the most beautiful woman in
the world, Mo Ran’s charge had been unstoppable. First, he became the Alliance Leader of the
cultivation world, holding the moniker of the Evil Overlord. Then, he granted himself the title of
emperor. All knelt and yielded before him. Those who refused to kneel, he slaughtered, one and all.

The years of his reign were marked with rivers of blood and endless mournful wails. Countless
vigilantes sacrificed their lives in an attempt to stand against him. Even the world-renowned
Rufeng Sect, of the Ten Great Sects, was completely annihilated. Finally, the last of the resistance
to his rule fell beneath his demon claws - the honored master who’d taught Mo Ran. He was
defeated in the final battle, taken prisoner in the palace by his once beloved disciple.
we are two pages in and the story has restarted itself from in media res to explaining its
origins multiple times, what the fuck is this bullshit pacing

Smog and haze smothered the formerly great land of clear rivers and calm seas. The Dog Emperor
Mo Ran, uneducated and unencumbered with concern for the regard of others, delighted in the
resulting plethora of ridiculous affairs. He helped them along, in the beginning, naming each three-
year period of his reign with no sense of decorum.

The first three-year set was recorded as Bastard, something he’d thought of while feeding fish by
the pond. The second set of three years was titled Croak, for the frogs he’d heard croaking in the
garden in the summer. It was inspiration granted by the heavens, he’d said, and shouldn’t be taken
for granted. All the scholars of the country believed there could never be any reigning titles more
tragic than Bastard and Croak, but, alas, they understood nothing of Mo Ran.

It was during the third set of three years that grassroots unrest began to shake up various regions;
Buddhists, Taoists, spiritual cultivators, all the righteous would-be vigilantes in the world started to
rise up in rebellion. This time, Mo Ran contemplated deeply and long. After tossing away many
drafts, a title that shook the heavens and made ghosts and gods weep was born – Big Stick. It was
well-meaning. The first emperor used up all of his brainpower to come up with those two words,
taking from the fortuitous phrase “Speak Softly And Carry A Big Stick.”

The name did not have the desired effect. The first year was called the First Big Stick Year, but it
ended up sounding like the Big Dick Year. Of course, said the populace from safely behind their
locked doors, he’s the Dog Emperor and we all know how he was before he ascended to the
throne. It progressed in their minds and their mouths to the second and then the third year of the
dick.

Finally the third year of suffering ended, and it was finally time to replace the reigning year title of
Big Dick. The cultivation world waited with baited breath to see what His Majesty the Emperor
would come up with for the fourth title, but this time, Mo Ran no longer had the motivation to
draw up a name. It was the year that the riots of the cultivation world finally and completely
erupted.

After having endured for almost a decade, the would-be vigilantes, heroes, and valiant men finally
gathered together and formed an army of millions. They charged towards the First Emperor Mo
Weiyu. They shouted that the cultivation world really didn’t need an emperor, especially not a
tyrant like this. And after many months of battles drenched in blood, the rebel army finally came to
the foot of Sisheng Peak.

Situated in the Sichuan province, upon perilous mountain bluffs, surrounded by streams of clouds
and mist throughout the year, Sisheng Peak cradled Mo Ran’s grand and majestic palace at its
summit. Approaching the palace, it was too late to turn back – the end of tyranny was only a strike
away. However, this last strike was also the most treacherous.

Even as the vision of victory was before their eyes, the seeds of discord began to take root among
the rebel army. With the annihilation of the old empire, a new regime would need to be built. No
one wanted to waste their strength, and thus no one wanted to charge up the mountains first. They
were all afraid that this cunningly vicious tyrant would suddenly drop from the skies, bare his
shining beast-like white teeth, and rip apart all those who dared to surround and destroy his palace.

Some said, with a grim expression, “Mo Weiyu’s spiritual powers are great, and his person
cunning. We must be cautious lest we fall for his traps.” All the leaders agreed, and with the entire
operation in danger of destabilizing, their inability to commit to a charge was interrupted by an
exceedingly handsome, flashy young man. He wore a set of light armor wrought in silvery blue and
a belt embellished with a lion’s head. His hair was fastened in a high ponytail secured with an
exquisite silver hairpin at the roots. In contrast, his expression was dark.

“We’ve already come to the foot of the mountain,” spat the handsome young man. “What are you
all waiting for, dragging your feet? Are you all waiting for Mo Weiyu to climb down himself?
What a bunch of cowards!”

Anger exploded all around. “Such abuse, young master Xue!” said one. “What do you mean,
cowards? A soldier must always be cautious. Who takes responsibility for everything going wrong,
if we’re all brash and reckless like you?”

Immediately on the heels of his words, another started taunting the handsome young man
sarcastically. “Oh, young master Xue is the darling of the heavens, we are but mere commoners. If
the darling of the heavens can’t wait to fight the emperor of the mortal realm, then by all means,
please go up the mountain first. We’ll set up a feast down here by the foot of the mountain to await
your gracious return with Mo Weiyu’s head.”

Young Master Xue’s face darkened further. One of the old monks in the alliance stepped in before
his temper could explode, coaxing him with a gentle voice. “Young Master Xue, listen to this old
monk. You and Mo Weiyu share a deep, personal grudge. However, this palace invasion is a
critical matter; you must think of everyone without letting your emotions carry you away.”

oh my fucking god this is not how you introduce new characters and their backstory, ok, this
isn’t exposition, this is a goddamn infodump. A clumsy and poorly executed infodump.

The Young Master Xue’s full name was Xue Meng. Over a decade ago, he’d been praised by all as
a young genius, the darling of the heavens. Yet now, as all things change with the flow of time and
his fortunes had turned, he was subjected to the taunts and ridicule of the allied fighters. Xue
Meng’s face twisted with anger and his lips trembled with the effort to suppress his ire. Instead of
lashing out, he snapped, “Just how long do you plan to wait?”

“We’ve got to at least observe any movements, right?” called one leader.

“Yeah, what if Mo Weiyu has set traps?” chimed in another.

The old monk who had tried to mediate spoke up again. “Young Master Xue, don’t be impatient.
Since we’ve already come to the foot of the mountain, it’s best if we remain cautious. Either way,
Mo Weiyu is trapped inside the palace and can’t come down. There’s nothing else he can do. Why
must we be impatient and act recklessly? There are so many nobles and prominent figures among
us whose lives must be protected.”

Xue Meng could no longer contain his rage. “Protected?” he shrieked. “Then let me ask you who’s
protecting Grandmaster Chu’s life? Mo Ran has kept him imprisoned for ten years! Ten years! My
beloved teacher is right before my eyes, and you want me to wait?”

Hearing Xue Meng mention his teacher, the mob felt a trickle of consternation. Some looked
ashamed, and some glanced left and right, murmuring too softly to be heard.

“Ten years ago, Mo Ran titled himself the Evil Overlord,” Xue Meng spat. “Not only did he
slaughter all seventy-two city fortresses of the Rufeng Sect, he also planned to annihilate the rest of
the Ten Great Sects. And when he made himself emperor, he tried to eradicate all houses. In both
disasters, who was the one to stop him in the end? If it wasn’t for Grandmaster Chu putting his life
on the line, would you all still be here right now? Can you all still stand here and talk to me like it
means nothing?”

Finally, one of the war leaders cleared his throat and said gently, “Young Master Xue, don’t be
angry. With regard to Grandmaster Chu, we all feel guilty, and grateful. Just as you say, he’s been
imprisoned for ten years. Don’t you think that if anything were to happen, it would already – I
mean, you’ve already waited for ten years, waiting for another moment won’t make a difference.”

Xue Meng wasn’t mollified in the slightest. “I think it’s bullshit!” he shouted.

The war leader’s eyes widened. “Why would you yell like that?”

“Why shouldn’t I yell at you! My teacher put his life on the line, and for what? To save people like
you?” Xue Meng’s voice broke on a sob. “I’m disheartened on his behalf.” He turned his head
away, shoulders shaking, holding back his tears.

“It’s not like we said we weren’t going to rescue Grandmaster Chu,” came a voice out of the
crowd.

“Yeah, we all remember the good Grandmaster Chu has done for us, we never forgot. Young
Master Xue, you’re accusing us all of being unjust ingrates and we won’t stand for it!” came
another.

“But speaking of which, isn’t Mo Ran also Grandmaster Chu’s disciple?” someone whispered, and
silence fell around his words. “I gotta say, as a master, he should be responsible for his criminal
disciple. As they say, an undisciplined son is the father’s fault; an improperly educated son is due
to the negligence of the teacher. The whole thing is Grandmaster Chu’s responsibility to begin
with.”

The mood of the crowd shifted. “What kind of bullshit is that? Hold your tongue!” snapped yet
another war leader, who turned to console Xue Meng with a pleasant face. “Young Master Xue,
don’t be hasty –”

Xue Meng cut him off, his eyes bulging. “Fuck you! You don’t care about Grandmaster Chu, but
he’s my teacher! My teacher! I haven’t seen him in so long – I don’t know if he’s alive or dead!
Why do you think I even came here?” He panted, the rims of his eyes red. “Did you all think that if
you just showed up, Mo Weiyu would come down the mountain and kneel to beg for mercy?”

“Young Master Xue…”

“Grandmaster Chu is the only family I have left in this world.” The crowd remained silent, no one
meeting his eyes. Xue Meng broke free from the old monk’s hold on his sleeves and croaked, “If
you won’t go, I’ll go alone.”

Through the cries of bleak and wet cold winds rustling through countless leaves, the thick fog crept
among the trees like a cloud of angry ghosts. It muted the rapidly disappearing form of Xue Meng
– one man and one sword, vanishing into the gloom. Alone, he made his way to the peak, where
the majestic palace illuminated the night with calm candlelight.

starting early with the melodramatic narration, I see

Before the Heaven-Piercing Tower stood three graves. When Xue Meng approached for a closer
look, he saw long weeds growing at the head of the first grave. The tombstone was engraved with
the crooked words Grave of the Steamed Consort Chu. In contrast to the grave of the Steamed
Consort, the second grave was newly dug, the earth only just sealed. Its tombstone read Grave of
the Deep Fried Empress Song.
Xue Meng was struck dumb; ten years ago, he might have laughed out loud in spite of himself at
such a ridiculous sight. When he and Mo Ran had been disciples under the same teacher, Mo Ran
had been the class clown. Even though Xue Meng had disliked him from the start, he would still be
brought to laughter from time to time.

“It’s just like him,” he muttered, thinking that perhaps the style in which the Scholar Mo had
graced his two wives was the same as had engendered Bastard, Croak, and Big Stick, although Xue
Meng couldn’t fathom why he would give those monikers to his own empresses. He turned his
gaze to the third grave. Under the night sky, the earth was still open. A coffin rested within, but it
held no body, and the tombstone was yet blank. Before the grave was a small pot of Pear Blossom
White Wine, a bowl of now cold spicy wontons, and a few plates of spicy side dishes – all Mo
Ran’s favorites.

Xue Meng stared at the grave stunned, and suddenly his mind snapped to an impossible
conclusion. Could it be that Mo Ran had no intention of fighting? That he had dug his own grave,
ready to die? Cold sweat beaded his brow, and he couldn’t countenance the thought.

Xue Meng remembered Mo Ran as someone who never knew fatigue, even at the brink of death,
or surrender, and everything Xue Meng knew about him said that he should have fought with the
rebel army to the bitter end. Why would he…? Mo Ran had spent ten years standing at the summit
of power. What exactly had he seen? And what exactly had happened? Only Mo Ran knew – but
Xue Meng would find out. He reentered the darkness, stalking towards the brightly lit palace.

Inside Wushan Palace, Mo Ran screwed his eyes shut, face deathly pale. The juice of the grape
lingered at the corner of his mouth, its essence on his tongue washed away by deadly poison. He’d
dug his own grave in preparation and used a communication spell to dismiss his servants. This is
taking too long, he thought, before it occurred to him that his high-level cultivation was
dramatically slowing the effects of the poison and drawing out the agony of having his inner
organs chewed away.

Mo Ran’s ruminations on how he had fucked up his own demise were interrupted by the creak of
the doors swinging open. Without looking up, he gasped hoarsely, “Xue Meng. Is that you? Are
you here?”

It was a meeting of former sectmates – Xue Meng stood tall and proud on the golden floor of the
hall, his ponytail falling straight and his light armor shimmering, while Mo Ran slumped sideways,
chin propped up on his hands, his expression empty and thick curtains of fine lashes lowered
before his eyes. Xue Meng couldn’t help staring; monster and savage devil Mo Ran might have
been, but he was remarkably good looking. His nose was gentle and soft, his lips thin and dewy,
and his appearance naturally radiated kindness and sweetness. He wore a face suited to a lovable,
good person.

When Xue Meng saw that pale face, he knew immediately that Mo Ran had indeed taken poison.
Unsure of how he felt, he opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. In the end, he
clenched his fists and said the only thing he could. “Where’s Grandmaster Chu?”

“What?”

Xue Meng demanded sharply, “I said, where’s Grandmaster Chu? You know, our teacher?”

“Oh.” Mo Ran finally, slowly, blinked open his eyes. His pupils were blown wide, gaze latching
onto the sight of Xue Meng through layers upon layers of time past. “Now that I think of it, it’s
been two years since the farewell at Taxue Palace on Mount Kunlun. Since you and he have seen
each other.” Mo Ran smiled faintly as he spoke. “Xue Meng, do you miss him?”
“Shut up! Give him back!”

Mo Ran looked at him calmly, enduring the twisting pain in his stomach. His lips contorted into a
sneer as he lay heavily back against the emperor’s throne. Waves of blackness invaded his sight as
he all but felt his innards dissolving into stinking, bloody swill. With an effort, he replied lazily,
“Give him back to you? Don’t be ridiculous. Use your brain. We share such deep hatred for each
other, why would I allow him to live?”

“You!” The blood completely drained from Xue Meng’s face, his eyes widening as he backed up.
“You can’t have – You wouldn’t –”

“I wouldn’t what?” Mo Ran snickered. “Why don’t you tell me, why wouldn’t I?”

Xue Meng’s voice trembled. “But he’s your – he’s your teacher, too. How could you bear to kill
him?” He looked up to Mo Ran, high above him in the seat of the emperor. Fuxi ruled in Heaven
and Yanluo in Hell, but in the mortal realm, there was Mo Weiyu. Even so, Xue Meng knew that
even had Mo Ran become the eminent emperor of the mortal realm, he still shouldn’t have been so
corrupted. Xue Meng’s entire body shook, tears of outrage spilling over his cheeks. “Mo Weiyu,
are you still human? He once…”

Mo Ran raised his eyes as he quietly asked, “He once what?”

Xue Meng’s voice trembled. “You should know how he treated you.”

Mo Ran suddenly laughed, “Are you trying to remind me that he once beat me so hard I was
covered in blood, that he made me kneel before all to admit my crimes? Or did you want to remind
me that he ruined my great endeavors, that he stood in my way for you and for people who didn’t
matter?”

Xue Meng shook his head in pain. "No, Mo Ran. Let go of your vicious hatred and really
remember. He once trained you in cultivation and martial arts, and made sure to protect you. He
once taught you how to read and write, taught you poetry and painting. He once learned how to
cook just for you, even though he was so clumsy and got cuts all over his hands. He waited every
day for you to come home, all alone by himself, from nightfall until the break of dawn.” So many
words stuck in his throat, but in the end, Xue Meng could only sob. “His – his temper is bad, and
his words are harsh, but even I know he treated you well, so how could you?”

Xue Meng raised his head, but having held back so many tears, his throat was even more
constricted. He couldn’t say anymore. There was a long pause before Mo Ran’s silent sigh floated
from the throne.

“Xue Meng. Did you know?” Mo Ran was clearly exhausted. “He also ended the life of the only
person I’ve ever loved. The only one.” Xue Meng couldn’t answer, and deathlike silence fell over
the hall. The pain in Mo Ran’s stomach was like a blazing fire, his blood and flesh torn and ripped
into broken shreds. “Still, we were master and disciple once. His corpse is resting in the Red Lotus
Pavilion in the Southern Peak. He’s lying among the lotus blossoms, very well preserved, like he’s
only fallen asleep.” Mo Ran caught his breath and forced himself to calm down. He kept his face
blank, but his fingers dug into the long rosewood desk, joints pale to the point of bruising. “His
corpse is maintained by my spiritual powers. If you miss him, don’t waste your breath here with
me. Go now before I die.”

A lump of astringent sweetness swarmed up into his throat; Mo Ran coughed, and when he opened
his mouth again, there was nothing but blood between his lips and teeth. Yet his eyes were still at
ease. He said hoarsely, “Go. Go see him. If you’re too late and I die, breaking off my spiritual
powers, he will turn into dust.” He closed his eyes dispiritedly, the poison striking his heart.

The agony was so sharp that even the sight of Xue Meng twisted before him, sounds coming from
far away as if an ocean spanning thousands of miles lay between them. Blood continued to pour out
from the corners of his lips. Mo Ran squeezed his sleeves tight, his muscles spasming. When he
opened his bleary eyes again, Xue Meng was gone. That bastard was quick and light on his feet,
Mo Ran thought; it wouldn’t take him too long to run to the Southern Peak. He should be able to
see Grandmaster Chu one last time.

Mo Ran pushed himself up, wobbling as he rose to his feet. Hands spotted with blood, he formed a
seal to send himself to the front of Sisheng Peak’s Heaven-Piercing Tower and looked around. It
was deep autumn. The crabapple blossoms were beautifully thick and flowing in the wind. He
didn’t know why in the end he had chosen this place to end his sinful life, but since the flowers
were blooming so vibrantly, it wouldn’t be such a bad tomb. He lay down in the open coffin and
looked up to watch the blossoms of the night, soundlessly drifting as they wilted. Drifting into the
coffin, drifting onto his cheeks. Dancing and fluttering, like the past wilting away.

I’m sorry why are the trees blooming in autumn?

In this life, he had gone from the bastard son who possessed nothing to the only eminent Lord
Emperor of the mortal realm. He had blasphemed, and his hands were covered with blood. Of all
that he loved, all that he hated, all that he prayed for, all that he resented – in the end, there was
nothing left.

In the end, he had also never penned a confident and wild epitaph for himself as he had for others.
Whether a shameless Emperor of the Era or a ridiculous Deep Fried or Steamed, he had written
nothing. A spectacle that lasted for a decade finally dropped its curtains and the grave of the first
emperor of the cultivation world, in the end, left no words behind.

It was many, many hours later that the mob, winding up the road like a fire snake with torches held
high, invaded the resident palace of the emperor. All that awaited them was an empty Wushan
Palace, a Sisheng Peak without a soul except for the miserable Xue Meng who had cried himself
numb. He was prostrated over the ground covered with ashes at the Red Lotus Pavilion.

Before the Heaven-Piercing Tower they finally saw Mo Weiyu, whose corpse was already cold.

------

“My heart had already stilled and my thoughts turned to ash, but unexpectedly the light of spring
shines through the cold night. Could it be that the heavens pity the blade of grass in the secluded
valley? Yet I fear only that the world is unpredictable and full of hardships.”

The words were spoken in a woman’s crisp voice, poetic verses rolling across his consciousness
like beads of pearls and jade. They made Mo Ran’s head throb, the vein by his brow twitching
madly. “What is this noise! Where’d this wailing banshee even come from! Servants, kick this
bitch off the mountain!”

Only after bellowing did Mo Ran realize with a start that something wasn’t right. Hadn’t he died?
Hatred and coldness, pain and loneliness stabbed at his chest, and Mo Ran’s eyes flew open.
Memories of the events right before his death scattered like snow in the wind against the reality of
lying on a bed. It was not his bed at Sisheng Peak, but a bed carved with a dragon and phoenix, the
wood smelling heavily of powder. The old quilt was colored pink and purple, and embroidered
with mandarin ducks – a sight and sensation one would only find in a whorehouse.
Mo Ran froze, knowing suddenly exactly where he was. It was in the so-called entertainment
district near Sisheng Peak, which in practical terms just meant brothel – easy come and easy go.
When he had been young, there was a year in which he had spent the greater portion of half a
month at this very establishment. But it had been sold and converted into a wine shop before he’d
turned thirty.

Why, Mo Ran thought, would his afterlife look like this particular shop? He mulled it over.
Perhaps he had transgressed so much in life, wronged so many people, that the king of the
underworld was punishing him by reincarnation into a whorehouse to take customers. Mo Ran
turned over as his imagination ran wild. Unexpectedly, he came face to face with a slumbering
person.

An unpleasant shock ran through him. Why is there a naked man next to me? Granted, the man was
lovely and quite androgynous, but that didn’t make it better. Mo Ran kept his face blank, as if he
could calm his racing heart by keeping his expression still, and stared at the pretty boy. A second
shock came as he suddenly remembered. Rong San? Or was it Rong Jiu? Mo Ran shook his head;
it didn’t matter what the boy’s name was. He’d been infatuated with him years ago, but the boy
had contracted an illness and died long before Mo Ran became emperor. Even his bones should’ve
rotted away by now.

Yet here he was, delicately curled by Mo Ran’s side, his neck and shoulders dotted with the blue
and purple of love bites. Mo Ran grimaced, lifting the quilt to peer downwards, and decided on a
whim to call the prostitute Rong Jiu. Rong Jiu’s pretty little body was covered in rope burns, his
pale, tender thighs still tied intricately with red rope. Mo Ran stroked his chin. How interesting, he
thought, look at this exquisite rope art, the skilled technique. Another memory returned – he’d been
the one to tie those delicate knots. What the hell is going on here?

A thought occurred to him. As a cultivator, Mo Ran was aware of the concept of rebirth, and it
wasn’t impossible that he had somehow gone back in time. He cast around for a way to confirm his
suspicions, and found a copper mirror – worn, but good enough to make out his appearance. He’d
been thirty-two when he died, but the face in the mirror was quite young; it was a charming face
exuding youthful arrogance, no more than fifteen or sixteen.

No one else was in the room to hear the once cruel ruler of the cultivation world, Evil Tyrant of
Bashu, Emperor of the Mortal Realm, Lord of Sisheng Peak, the Evil Overlord Mo Ran himself,
expressing his heartfelt thoughts honestly. “Fuck.”

The sound awoke the sleeping Rong Jiu. He sat up languidly, thin quilt sliding off of his shoulder
to reveal an expanse of pale skin. He gathered his long soft hair and yawned, peach blossom eyes
still smudged with red ink. “Oh, young master Mo,” he said. “You’re up early today.”

Mo Ran did not respond. He’d been into Rong Jiu’s type when he was younger, but at the age of
thirty-two, he couldn’t figure out why the hell he’d found pretty and androgynous boys attractive.

“Did you not sleep well last night?” Rong Jiu pressed. “Nightmare?”

I fucking died, how about that for a nightmare, thought Mo Ran, and kept his mouth shut.

Mistaking his continued silence for a bad mood, Rong Jiu slipped off the bed to stand before the
carved window and wrap his arms around Mo Ran from behind. “Young master Mo, pay attention
to me. Why are you so distant?”

Mo Ran’s face darkened. He suppressed the urge to push the hussy away and slap his fragile-
looking face until it bruised as a reward for his temerity. He still wasn’t entirely sure what was
going on, after all; if he really had been reborn, it would be odd to assault Rong Jiu out of the blue
after having been so affectionate the day before. It would make it seem like he’d lost his marbles.
Definitely couldn’t have that.

oh my GOD that’s what your concern is? you selfish prick

Mo Ran arranged his expression into a pretense of forgetfulness. “What day is it?”

Rong Jiu stared for a second before smiling. “It’s May 4th.”

“Thirty-third year?”

“That was last year. It’s the thirty-fourth year now. They do say that great men tend to be
forgetful.”

The gears in Mo Ran’s head turned rapidly. He’d turned sixteen that year, after having just been
identified as the Sisheng Peak Leader’s long-lost nephew. He’d gone from a pathetic, bullied dog
to a phoenix on the branch overnight. But he still couldn’t tell if he’d really been reborn or if it was
just a hollow dream in death.

Rong Jiu, oblivious, smiled. “You’re so hungry you forgot the date. Wait here a minute, I’ll go
fetch some food. How does fried pancake sound?”

It would be best to act as he had when he’d really been sixteen, Mo Ran decided, at least until he
figured out the right approach. He dredged up the memories of his charismatic style and,
suppressing his disgust, playfully pinched Rong Jiu’s thigh. “Sounds delicious! I want congee too,
and I want you to feed me.”

Rong Jiu returned quickly, carrying a tray with a bowl of pumpkin congee, two pastries, and a plate
of some side dish. Happening to actually be hungry, Mo Ran was about to dig into the pastries
when Rong Jiu brushed his hand away. “Allow me to serve you.” Without warning, he picked up a
pancake and sat on Mo Ran’s lap. There was no subtlety to Rong Jiu’s actions. He wore nothing
but a thin robe, legs spread wide open, and rubbed against Mo Ran. Rong Jiu mistook Mo Ran’s
direct stare as arousal. “What’re you just looking at me for? The food’s going to get cold.”

Mo Ran was silent for a moment as he remembered the good deed Rong Jiu had done behind his
back in his previous lifetime, and the corners of his lips curved into a sweet smile. He, the great the
Evil Overlord, was no stranger to disgusting acts. Nothing was beyond the pale, if it served his
purpose. This, here, was merely putting on a show, nothing more than child’s play. He casually
leaned back against the chair, still smiling. “Sit.”

“I – I’m already sitting.”

“You know where I’m telling you to sit.”

Rong Jiu blushed. “Why the rush, shouldn’t you eat fir-ah!” Before he could finish, Mo Ran pulled
him forward and pressed him back down. Rong Jiu’s hand knocked into the bowl of congee,
turning it over, and he managed between gasps, “Young master Mo, the bowl…”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“B-but you should still eat first...… nn…… ah……”

“Aren’t I eating right now?” Mo Ran held onto his waist, the sight of Rong Jiu’s extended neck
and lovely visage reflected in his pitch black pupils.
In his previous life, Mo Ran had liked to kiss those captivating red lips; Rong Jiu was pretty and
knew just the right words to say. It would be a lie to say that Mo Ran had never felt anything for
him. But knowing now what those lips had done behind his back, he found them unbearably foul.

Afterwards, Rong Jiu sprawled bonelessly, asleep after having been fucked within an inch of his
life and his lips curved upward. The prostitute was very good-looking when he smiled, with eyes of
deep, rich black glimmering an arrogant purple from certain angles. Mo Ran’s eyes narrowed
faintly into a hint of a sweet smile at the sight. He knew he wasn’t the same man he’d been at
sixteen; then, he’d known gentleness in love and intimacy. Now, all he had left was violence, and
Rong Jiu was deserving of it.

Mo Ran dragged Rong Jiu onto the bed by his hair, and casually picked up a shard of the broken
bowl from the ground. He held it by Rong Jiu’s face; he’d always avenged every grievance and
now was no different. He had taken care of Rong Jiu during his first life, even considered buying
his freedom, and how Rong Jiu repaid him? By scheming with others against him.

Mo Ran’s smile widened as he pressed the shard against Rong Jiu’s cheek. The prostitute’s body
was his business; without this face, he would have nothing. He would be forced to wander the
streets like a dog, to crawl on the ground, to be rejected and suffer all kinds of abuse. The mere
thought of Rong Jiu’s humiliation was so pleasurable that even the disgust Mo Ran felt from
fucking him vanished like smoke.

With just a little more pressure, a captivatingly red thread of blood trickled down Rong Jiu’s cheek.
Still unconscious, Rong Jiu groaned softly in pain. Tears clung pitifully to his eyelashes. Mo Ran’s
hand suddenly stopped as he remembered his beloved.

The realization of what he was doing froze him in place, and it took him several seconds to finally,
slowly, lower his hand. He had done so much evil that it had become habitual. He had even
forgotten that he might have been reborn, but if he had – it struck him that he still had a clean slate.
He hadn’t done anything wrong. The irrevocable errors were still to come, and his beloved was
still alive. There was no need to walk the same cruel path; he could do it over.

Mo Ran sat down and propped his foot on the bed, absentmindedly toying with the piece of broken
porcelain in his hand. Suddenly noticing the oily pancake still on the table, he grabbed it, peeled
off the wax paper, and tore into it with his teeth. The pancake was this brothel’s specialty, although
it wasn’t particularly outstanding, particularly compared to the delicacies he had tasted later on.
But after the place had gone bankrupt, Mo Ran hadn’t been able to find one like it. Now, the
familiar taste once again returned to the tip of his tongue and mingled with the turbulent events of
the past. The unreal feeling of rebirth lessened with every swallow.

By the time Mo Ran finished the pancake, his mind was finally clear. He really had been reborn.
Everything hateful in his life, everything that he couldn’t take back, none of it had come to pass.
He hadn’t killed his uncle and aunt, hadn’t razed seventy two cities to the ground, hadn’t betrayed
his teacher and ancestors, hadn’t gotten married – and no one had died. Mo Ran savored the taste
in his mouth, licking along his teeth and feeling the faint thread of joy in his chest balloon rapidly
into feverish excitement.

Mo Ran had fought against Heaven and Earth in his last life, dipping into all three forbidden
techniques of the human realm. He had mastered two; only the last one, rebirth, had eluded him
regardless of his talent. Unexpectedly, that which he had failed to obtain in life had fallen
effortlessly into his lap in death.

Distaste, repugnance, desolation, loneliness – all the complicated feelings from his previous life
were locked in his chest. The sight of the army marching on Sisheng Peak, fires lit for ten thousand
leagues, still remained in his mind. Seeing it, he really had not wanted to live anymore. It was said
that his very existence cursed all who came close to him, that he was fated to die alone. The world
had turned its back on him.

Toward the end, he’d felt as though he’d died already, senseless and alone. Mo Ran didn’t know,
now, what had gone wrong for an irredeemably wicked person like himself to get the chance to
redo everything after ending his own life, but he knew it would be foolish to waste this chance.
Why destroy Rong Jiu’s face over such a petty grudge from so long ago? Besides, Rong Jiu loved
money. It would be a more fitting revenge to just not pay this time, and maybe take some silver on
top.

“I’m letting you off easy, Rong Jiu,” he said with a smile, tossing the porcelain shard out the
window. Then he emptied out Rong Jiu’s jewels and valuables, tucking all of it into his pouch. He
took his time dressing and arranging himself before leisurely strolling out of the place.

this does not count as character growth, he’s still an asshole

Uncle, Aunt, Cousin Xue Meng, Grandmaster Chu, and… Mo Ran’s eyes softened at the thought of
the final person on his list. My beloved, I’m coming.

------

It occurred to Mo Ran to wonder whether his cultivation levels had come back with his soul. He
recited an incantation and felt the qi in his body rush forth. It was abundant, but not strong – just
like it had been when he’d been sixteen the first time. It didn’t matter. He was smart, perceptive,
and blessed with innate talent; he could raise his level again. Mo Ran thought of rebirth as a
blessed event of unparalleled proportions; he wasn’t about to quibble about the details.

With this optimistic thought, Mo Ran rearranged his fierce, gloomy expression into one more
suited to a teenage boy, and cheerfully headed back toward his sect. It was the midst of summer,
and horse-drawn carriages sped past. No one but the odd village woman here and there, distracted
by his handsome face, paid him any attention. Mo Ran returned their stares with a carefree smile,
amused when the probably married women blushed bright red and looked away.

It took until evening to reach Wuchang Town, within sight of Sisheng Peak, the mountain in the
distance framed by clouds lit on fire by the setting sun. Mo Ran touched his empty stomach and
headed into a restaurant. Glancing at the menu and knocking on the counter, he placed a quick
order. He had chosen a popular rest stop currently bustling with activity; a storyteller was on the
stage, shaking his fan and animatedly telling the story of Sisheng Peak. Mo Ran picked a private
table by a window, and listened as he ate.

“As I’m sure everyone already knows, the cultivation world is divided into the upper and lower
cultivation realms,” the storyteller was saying. “Today we’ll talk about the greatest sect in the
lower cultivation realm, the sect of Sisheng Peak. Did you know that a hundred years ago, our
Wuchang Town was a poor and desolate place? We’re so close to the entrance of the demon realm
that no one dared to go out after dark. If they really needed to travel at night, then they had to shake
an exorcism bell and sprinkle incense ash and paper money. They chanted, ‘mountains block
people, paper blocks demons’ while passing through as quickly as they could. But these days, our
town is bustling and flourishing, no different from anywhere else, and it’s all thanks to Sisheng
Peak. This righteous sect stands right at the gate to the demon realm, between the boundary of yin
and yang. Even though the sect was only established not that long ago…”

Mo Ran had heard this history so many times that he could have repeated in his sleep. He started
glancing around outside the window instead. A stall set up below currently housed several
strangers from out of town, dressed in cultivator garb. They carried a cage covered with a black
cloth as they performed tricks – a much more interesting prospect than the storyteller’s tale.

“Come one, come all! Take a look at these pixiu cubs, fiercely mythical! Tamed to obediently
perform tricks and even do math! It’s not easy traveling to perform chivalrous deeds, so stick
around and watch the first trick – pixiu abacus!” The cultivators ripped off the black cloth with a
flourish to reveal a couple of human-faced, bear-bodied monsters in the cage.

Mo Ran was stunned to see nothing more than meek fuzzy bear cubs, lauded as the fierce pixiu,
and thought that only a blithering idiot could possibly swallow the story. His views of his fellow
citizens changed as twenty or thirty blithering idiots gathered to watch, cheering and clapping.
They drew the attention of everyone in the restaurant as well, taking the focus away from the
storyteller.

“The leader of Sisheng Peak right now is a man known far and wide for his strength and
brilliance,” the storyteller was saying, and a loud voice cheered. Encouraged, the storyteller
glanced toward the owner of the voice, only to find the customer’s excited gaze locked onto the
street performers below.

Excited chatter rippled through the crowd. “Oh? The pixiu is doing math on the abacus?” “Wow,
quite impressive!” “Good show! Make the pixiu toss apples again!” The entire restaurant was
laughing, everyone gathered by the windows to watch the scene below.

The storyteller tried pathetically to carry on. “The master is best known for his fan.” He was
interrupted by cheers for the fake pixiu cubs, which were now rolling around on the ground trying
to earn treats. The storyteller wiped his face, lips trembling in anger.

Mo Ran smirked, lazily calling out from behind his beaded curtain. “No one wants to hear about
Sisheng Peak. Tell a story from 18 Caresses instead, that’ll get everyone to pay attention.”

Not knowing that the person taunting him was the heir to Sisheng Peak, the storyteller gathered all
his moral integrity and stuttered, “V-vulgar stories are not f-fit for an elegant hall.”

Mo Ran laughed. “You’re calling this place an elegant hall? How are you not embarrassed.”

A burst of noise came from below, interrupting Mo Ran’s game with shouts calling out Shiseng
Peak cultivators as a black horse galloped from the mountain and broke into the streetside circus. It
carried two riders; the first wore a black bamboo hat and a black cloak, covered so completely that
it was impossible to determine age or gender in the dim and flickering evening light. The other was
an adult woman with rough hands and a weathered face.

The woman started crying as soon as she saw the false pixiu, scrambling off the horse to stumble
toward them. She knelt to embrace one of them in her arms, wailing, “My son! Oh, my son!” The
mood of the audience shifted audibly to confusion, as voices arose wondering why a human was
calling it son if they were pixiu cubs. One even postulated that the woman was a pixiu herself,
impressively able to take on human form.

Mo Ran knew exactly what had happened; rumor had it that there were cultivators who abducted
children, ripped out their tongues, and burned off their skin. These cultivators then pressed animal
hides on the children’s bloodied bodies to create monsters, as the hides became one with the
children once the blood had congealed. These children could neither speak nor write, with no
choice but to suffer abuse and obediently perform tricks to avoid a beating. This scenario perfectly
explained the lack of demonic energy, as these were living humans.
Mo Ran almost missed the person in the black cloak whispering to the cultivators, who flew into a
fury. “Apologize? That ain’t in my vocabulary!” shouted the first. “So what if you’re from Sisheng
Peak?” said the other. “Mind your own damn business! Beat him up!” They pounced on the black-
cloaked person for a beating.

“Eh, heh, heh,” Mo Ran chuckled. “How scary.” He had zero intention of helping out; he’d always
loathed the righteous and meddlesome ways of his sect, even in his previous life. His spiritual
siblings stupidly rushed to throw themselves at all sorts of trouble. They even stuck their noses into
minor matters like cats stuck in trees. The entire sect, from the leader all the way down to the
servants, every last one of them was a dimwit tilting at the windmill of the world’s unfairness.

The restaurant’s customers were delighted, shouting catcalls to the fighters, encouraging the
cultivator from Sisheng Peak and chiding the swindlers for ganging up on a lone opponent.
Whatever they thought, Mo Ran didn’t care to watch. He’d seen enough violence that the events
currently unfolding were no more significant than a fly’s buzzing. He lazily dusted peanut crumbs
off his clothes and got up to leave.

Downstairs, the swindlers and the cultivator were at a stalemate, swords ringing against each other
and – more importantly – blocking the street. Mo Ran crossed his arms and leaned against the
restaurant’s door, clicking his tongue in annoyance. What a disgrace, he thought. Now that he was
paying attention, he could see that the cultivator was a pathetic fighter failing to live up to the
widely held knowledge that everyone from Sisheng Peak was a fierce fighter the equal of ten men.
Even when dragged off the horse, the cultivator still held back.

“Honorable men speak with their mouths, not their fists. I’m trying to reason with you, why won’t
you listen?” called the black-cloaked cultivator.

Both Mo Ran and the swindlers were stunned into silence, the swindlers’ faces clearly showing
they thought their opponent had an empty skull in place of brains. Mo Ran, on the other hand, felt
his head spin. He knew that voice.

“Shi Mei!” Mo Ran shouted and rushed forward. He knocked five of the swindlers away with a
single blow, and knelt on the ground next to the masked cultivator. He reached out to help him up,
grimacing at the muddy boot marks covering the cloak, and his voice couldn’t help but tremble
slightly. “Shi Mei, is that you?”

------

Shi Mei bore an unfortunate name, feminine as it was while he was genuinely male. He was senior
to Mo Ran, considering when he’d joined the sect, and his unfortunate name was due to the
Sisheng Peak Leader’s lack of erudition. Shi Mei was an orphan, and the Peak Leader had found
him in the wild. He had been a weak and sickly child, so the Peak Leader had thought he would
give this child a humble name in the hope of thereby giving him an easier life. As a child Shi Mei
had also been very pretty, lovable and charming as a girl. After much thinking, the leader
eventually hit upon the name Shi Mei – with a girl’s name, there was no need for the world to
burden him with a man’s fate.

As Shi Mei grew older and older, he grew more and more beautiful. He possessed a slim figure;
the tips of his brows and the corners of his eyes were well-shaped, giving him a graceful mien. The
overall effect was of a striking and peerless natural beauty. His temperament matched his face, and
where another might have been aggrieved at the name, he accepted it with grace.

The person in the black cloak coughed a few times, finally catching his breath. His gaze fell onto
Mo Ran from behind a sheer layer of silk, eyes as gentle as spring water and bright as the night
stars piercing Mo Ran’s heart. “Huh? Ran? What are you doing here?”

The seal on the Evil Overlord’s hidden feelings and tender affection was shattered by this simple
look – it was Shi Mei. There was no mistake. Mo Ran and Shi Mei had been close, their
relationship ambiguously romantic. Mo Ran might have been a slut in his first life, playing around
with multiple men and women to the point where it sometimes surprised even him that the sheer
amount of sex hadn’t killed him, but he had never touched the only person to whom he had given
his heart.

Until Shi Mei’s death, Mo Ran had only ever held his hand. The one time their lips had brushed in
a kiss, it had been an accident. Mo Ran felt that he was dirty and sullied, while Shi Mei was pure
and gentle; Mo Ran was not fit to be with him. Shi Mei had been treasured in life, and after his
death, he’d become the Evil Overlord’s moonlight. Mo Ran had constantly been reminded that no
matter how much he desperately tried to relive the memories, the deceased still belonged to the
past. The dead dissolved to nothing more than a lump of earth, while in the underworld below,
traces of that transcendent figure had long been obscured.

In the moment with Shi Mei standing in front of him, alive once more, Mo Ran could only control
himself with great difficulty. He helped Shi Mei up and patted away the dust on his cloak, heart
aching with an almost physical pain. “If I hadn’t been here, they would have bullied you even
more! Why didn’t you hit them back?”

“I wanted to try reasoning with them first.”

“You can’t reason with these people! Are you injured? Where does it hurt?”

“Ran, I’m fine.”

Mo Ran turned his head, expression ferocious, and glared at the swindlers. “You dare lay hands on
someone from Sisheng Peak?”

“Ran, please stop.”

“You guys wanna fight? Come on then! Fight me!” The swindlers had taken just one blow from
Mo Ran, but it had been enough to show them that his cultivation skills were far beyond theirs.
They retreated, afraid to get into a brawl with him.

Shi Mei sighed. “Ran, stop arguing, forgive and forget.”

Mo Ran turned back to Shi Mei, a forlorn sort of distress welling up in his heart and leaking hotly
out of the corners of his eyes. Shi Mei had always been kind hearted. In his past life, at his
deathbed, there had been no resentment, no hatred. He’d tried to persuade Mo Ran to not hate their
teacher, who could have saved Shi Mei’s life but who had instead chosen to stand aside without
lifting a finger. “But they,” he started.

“I’m okay though, see, nothing happened. Having fewer problems is better than having more
problems. Please listen to me, as your senior.”

Mo Ran sighed. “Alright, I’ll listen, I’ll listen to everything you say.” He shook his head and
glared at the swindlers. “You hear that? My comrade has pleaded for leniency on your behalf!
Hurry up and get lost! What are you still here for? Are you waiting for a more explicit invitation?”

“Yes, yes! We’re leaving, we’re leaving!”

Shi Mei stopped them, and apparently assuming that he wasn’t about to let them go after having
suffered a beating at their hands, the swindlers knelt before him. “Sir, sir! We were in the wrong,
we were ignorant. Please let us go!”

“You didn’t listen to me earlier when I tried to reason with you.” Shi Mei sighed. “You kidnapped
someone’s child, breaking their parents’ hearts. How can you live with this on your conscience?”

“We’re sorry! We’re sorry! Sir, we made a mistake! We will never do it again! We will never do it
again!”

“From now on you must live a clean life, no more evil deeds, do you understand?”

“Of course! You’ve taught us a good lesson! We, we’ve learned our lesson! We’ve learned our
lesson!”

“Then, please apologize to this good woman, and heal her children with care.”

With the incident finally at an end, Mo Ran helped Shi Mei up onto his horse. He rented his own
to accompany Shi Mei back to their sect. The moon shone high up in the sky, its light piercing
through the leaves to scatter onto the footpath. As they went, Mo Ran began to feel elation growing
inside him. He hadn’t expected to be able to see Shi Mei until he was back at Sisheng Peak, hadn’t
expected Shi Mei to come down to the base of the mountain for errands or to run into him by
chance. This only cemented Mo Ran’s belief that he and Shi Mei really were fated.

We’re not an item right now, Mo Ran reminded himself, but they’d been close before. By all
indications, it would be smooth sailing in this lifetime, just a matter of time. He only needed to
worry about protecting Shi Mei and making sure that the events of that year would not happen as
they had before, when Shi Mei had died in Mo Ran’s arms. Shi Mei, with no way of knowing Mo
Ran had been reborn, chatted with him as he usually did while they went back and soon they
arrived at the foot of Sisheng Peak.

An unexpected roadblock materialized in the form of a person, standing at the front of the
mountain gate in the dead of night and glaring at them threateningly. “Mo Ran!” he snapped. “You
finally remembered to come back?”

“Huh?” Mo Ran looked up and recognized the angry little darling of the heavens. It was none other
than a youthful Xue Meng. Compared to the version he’d seen before his death, this fifteen year
old was much more unruly and handsome, but he still dressed in a set of light armor and pinned his
high ponytail with a silver hairpiece. This set of armor had a black base with blue trimming,
accented by a belt decorated with a lion’s head fastened around his strong and slender waist. A slim
scimitar on his back gleamed with a cold light, and the quiver by his left arm glittered with silver.

Mo Ran sighed, remembering that Xue Meng, whether teenage or adult, was invariably
ostentatious. Just look at him; rather than sleeping, he dressed himself in full armor. What’s he
doing? Performing a mating dance? Like a peacock displaying his tail? He disliked Xue Meng,
and the sentiment was returned in spades.

As an illegitimate child, Mo Ran had spent his childhood not knowing who his father was. He’d
gotten by working odd jobs at a pleasure house in XiangTan. It was only when he was fourteen that
he was found by relatives, and brought to Sisheng Peak. Xue Meng, on the other hand, was the
young master of Sisheng Peak, as well as Mo Ran’s cousin. He was a prodigy, nicknamed darling
of the heavens and son of the phoenix, and – obnoxiously – he lived up to it. The first three years of
the average cultivator’s training were spent on learning the basics, and forming a spiritual core
took an entire decade. With Xue Meng’s innate talent, it had only taken him five years to achieve
both. In Mo Ran’s eyes, though, phoenix or chicken, peacock or duck, they were all birds. The only
difference was in how long their feathers were.

None of this dislike was mitigated by the fact that Mo Ran was shockingly gifted as well, even
more so than Xue Meng. When Mo Ran had first arrived, Xue Meng had considered himself higher
class. He was more skillful, more educated, stronger and more handsome. How could he be
compared to his illiterate, sloppy, hooligan of a cousin?

The narcissistic phoenix boasted to his attendants. “Listen up, this Mo Ran is a loafer, an absolute
street mongrel. You are not allowed to give him any attention. Just pretend he’s a dog.” The
attendants had agreed – what else could they do? – and remarked that Mo Ran, only starting out at
the age of fourteen, would need ten years instead of the usual three for the basics and twenty to
form his spiritual core. By then, they’d said, Xue Meng would have ascended and Mo Ran would
only be able to swatch enviously from below. Xue Meng hadn’t been impressed. “Twenty?
Looking at this piece of trash, I doubt he could even form a spiritual core.”

Lowborn piece of trash or no, after a year of studying with Xue Meng’s teacher, Mo Ran had
formed a spiritual core. The phoenix felt like he’d been struck by lightning, the harsh truth of his
inferiority hard to swallow. He’d secretly wished Mo Ran would slip and fall when he traveled on
his sword, reciting curses until his tongue twisted. Every time he saw Mo Ran, the small phoenix
Xue Meng couldn’t help but roll his eyes, and his scoffing could be heard from miles away.

As Mo Ran remembered these childhood memories, he couldn’t help but narrow his eyes in
amusement. It had been a very long time since he’d experienced such trivial things. After ten years
of loneliness, even unpleasantness from the past had become very sweet to him.

Noticing Xue Meng, Shi Mei dismounted his horse and took his bamboo hat off, revealing a
peerlessly stunning face. Of course he would be dressed like this to go out by himself. Mo Ran
stole a peek from the side, feeling elation and longing, admiring Shi Mei’s truly alluring
otherworldly beauty. Shi Mei greeted Xue Meng. “Young Master.”

Xue Meng nodded, ignoring Mo Ran entirely. “You’re back? Did you take care of the man-bear
incident?”

Shi Mei smiled. “It’s been taken care of, all thanks to Ran’s help.”

Xue Meng’s proud and lofty gaze sharpened like a blade, sweeping up and down over Mo Ran
before turning away. His face twisted in displeasure as if one more look at Mo Ran would sully his
eyes. “Shi Mei, go back and rest. Stop hanging out with him, he’s a petty thief. He’ll only teach
you bad things.”

Mo Ran showed no weakness, and said mockingly, “If Shi Mei isn’t going to learn from me, then
is he supposed to learn from you? Dressed in full armor in the middle of the night, sticking your tail
out like a bird. Prince of the Heavens? Hahaha! More like Princess of the Heavens!”

wow, you sexist asshole

Xue Meng was furious. “Mo Ran! Watch your mouth! This is my home! Who do you think you
are!”

Mo Ran contemplated him for a moment. “I think I’m your older cousin. I’m ranked higher than
you, actually.”

From his expression, Xue Meng might have been splattered with a face full of dog shit. He scowled
and said sharply, “Who wants a cousin like you? Don’t flatter yourself! In my eyes you’re nothing
but a dog rolling in the mud!”

Mo Ran picked his ear nonchalantly; he’d long grown used to these things. Shi Mei, however, was
feeling rather awkward, as he said some soothing words in a low voice, and Xue Meng finally shut
his righteous beak with a sneer. Shi Mei smiled, then gently asked, “Young Master, it’s so late. Are
you waiting for someone?”

“What else would I be doing? Moon-watching?”

Mo Ran burst into laughter. “No wonder you’re dressed like this, you’re waiting for your date!
Aw, who’s the unlucky one? I pity her.“

Xue Meng’s expression darkened. “You!” he snapped.

“I’m your date?”

“I’m waiting for you, so what are you going to do about it?”

Mo Ran was utterly confused.

------

Shi Mei parted ways with them before Xue Meng brought Mo Ran to the brightly lit Loyalty Hall.
Mo Ran followed his cousin, perplexed until he saw the scene inside and realized that Rong Jiu
had actually had the nerve to come to Sisheng Peak to complain about the money Mo Ran had
stolen from him earlier in the day. Rong Jiu was crying miserably when they arrived, curled into
the arms of a large, stocky man.

As Mo Ran and Xue Meng entered the hall, the sobs grew three pitches higher, as if Rong Jiu
might swoon but for the arms holding him. A delicate lady sat on the dais behind a beaded curtain,
clearly at a complete loss. Mo Ran saluted her without sparing the repulsive pair so much as a
glance. “Aunt, I’m back.”

The temporary master of Sisheng Peak, Madam Wang, was a meek homemaker who did not dabble
in outside matters. She was entirely unlike those heroines who were every bit a match for their
male counterparts and was unable to handle matters without her husband. Even her voice was timid
as she replied, “Ran, you’ve finally returned.”

Mo Ran smiled at her as if Rong Jiu didn’t even exist. “You’re up so late, did you need me for
something?”

“Ah, well, you see, this gentleman says that you – that you took his money?” Clearly too
embarrassed to voice the issue of Mo Ran’s whoring, she had chosen to address the minor offense
instead.

Another smile curved Mo Ran’s eyes. “Really? It’s not like I’m short on money, why would I need
to take theirs? Besides, they don’t look familiar.” He turned to the pair. “Do I know you?”

The stocky man sneered. “My name is Chang, the eldest of my family. As a business person, minor
formalities matter little; you may call me Mr. Chang.”

Continuing to smile, Mo Ran deliberately dropped the formalities. “Chang, you say. It’s an honor
to finally meet you, please excuse my rudeness. And this other gentleman?”

Chang didn’t miss a beat. “Hah, young master Mo, you’re very fond of acting the fool. This is the
first time you and I have met, but you’ve spent fifteen nights this month in my dear Jiu’s room.
Have you gone blind? How would you not recognize him?”

Mo Ran matched him, still smiling as he glanced toward Rong Jiu. “What’s this, trying to slander
me? I’m a decent, honorable person, of course I’ve never slept with this guy.”

Rong Jiu’s face went red with anger, but he continued to nestle against Chang’s chest, sobbing as if
he was the one who had been wronged. “Mo, young master Mo, I know my status is low and
unseemly. If you hadn’t exploited me so cruelly, I wouldn’t have come calling, but to be treated
like this, I could do nothing else.”

“I really truly do not know you. I can’t even tell if you’re male or female, how could we have
met?”

“You patronized my business just last night, how could you be so cold? Mr. Chang, Mr. Chang,
you have to get justice on my behalf.” He burrowed even deeper into Chang’s arms, crying louder
than before while off to the side, Xue Meng listened to the absurdity with a twitching frown on his
ashen face. If not for the self-restraint of his young master upbringing, he would no doubt have
beaten this repulsive pair off the mountain long ago.

Chang patted Rong Jiu’s head while soothing him with soft words, then declared threateningly,
“Madam Wang, Sisheng Peak is a virtuous, upright sect, but this young master Mo is vulgar and
despicable! My dear Jiu works hard for his money, to buy his own freedom as soon as possible.
But this guy! As if mistreating my dear Jiu wasn’t enough, he even stole all of his savings! The
Chang family has no cultivators, but we are moneyed and have been in business for generations. If
your sect does not give us a satisfactory explanation today, we will be sure to give the whole lot of
you a hard time in Bashu!”

Madam Wang was flustered. “Ah, Mr. Chang, please calm down, I, uh.”

Mo Ran sneered internally. The Chang family dealt in salt and was ludicrously loaded; no one
would believe that the eldest son of the Chang family couldn’t afford to buy out Rong Jiu’s
freedom. He felt it suspicious, to say the least, but his smile remained fixed as he said, “Ah, so
you’re the son of Yizhou’s affluent merchant family, impressive and commanding. Truly
admirable!”

Chang looked quite smug. “So you do know your place. Why don’t you make it easy on yourself
and admit you stole my dear Jiu’s things? Hurry and return them.”

Mo Ran still did not lose the smile. “How strange, your dear Jiu takes so many guests every day.
Even if he lost something, why am I being blamed?”

“You!” Chang gritted his teeth, sneering. “Of course you’re trying to get out of it! Madam Wang,
as you’ve just seen, the young master Mo won’t be reasonable. He refuses to come clean. I won’t
waste my breath on him anymore. You’re the one in charge, you decide!”

Madam Wang knew little of such affairs, and her tongue tripped over itself in her nervousness. “I,
uh, Ran. Meng?”

Unwilling to see his mother put on the spot, Xue Meng stepped forward. “Mr. Chang, Sisheng
Peak has strict rules of discipline. If your accusations turn out to be true, if Mo Ran truly violated
the mandates against greed and promiscuity, we will naturally administer a severe punishment.
However, as it stands, it’s your word against his. Do you have evidence?”
Chang smirked. “I knew your sect would pull this. That’s why we rushed to get here before Mo
Ran arrived, to confront Madam Wang.” He cleared his throat. “All of you listen well. My dear Jiu
lost two units of pearls, ten gold ingots, a pair of gold plum blossom bracelets, a pair of jade
hairpins, and a jade butterfly pendant. Just search Mo Ran for these items, and the truth of my
accusations will be made clear.”

Mo Ran objected. “What right do you have to strip search me?”

“Looks like a guilty conscience to me.” Chang lifted his chin haughtily. “Madam Wang, what’s the
punishment for the sins of thieving and lechery at Sisheng Peak?”

Madam Wang answered softly, “Uh, my husband has always been the one in charge of sect matters.
I truly do not know.”

“I doubt that. I think Madam Wang is purposefully playing dumb to shield her nephew. Who would
have thought that Sisheng Peak was actually such a corrupt, filthy place?”

“That’s quite enough out of you. My aunt already said she’s not used to making these kinds of
decisions. Aren’t you done bullying a housewife yet?” Mo Ran interrupted, finally fed up with his
blathering. Even his usual carefree grin had faded. He aimed a sideways glare at the repulsive
couple. “Fine. Search me. But you don’t find anything, then you slandered my sect. So what kind
of restitution are you prepared to make?”

“Then I will promptly apologize.”

“Sure,” Mo Ran agreed easily. “There’s just one more thing – if you’re wrong, I want you to crawl
off Sisheng Peak on your hands and knees as an apology.”

Seeing Mo Ran’s confidence, a seed of doubt couldn’t help but sprout within Chang’s heart. He
had held cultivators in high regard since he was young, but he himself unfortunately had no talent
for cultivation. Upon hearing that his old paramour Rong Jiu had somehow earned Mo Ran’s favor,
he had approached him to make an agreement. Rong Jiu would find an opening to seize Mo Ran’s
cultivation, and Chang would buy his freedom in exchange. Chang had also promised to take Rong
Jiu into his household, and take care of him for life. Chang longed for cultivation, Rong Jiu
coveted riches – they were a well-matched pair of scoundrels.

In his previous lifetime, Mo Ran had fallen for their scheme. He’d gotten even in the end, but had
suffered quite a bit in doing so. This time around, their ploy was useless, for Mo Ran had
performed a sudden and apparently irrational about-face. A few days ago he’d drunkenly and
tenderly nestled in Rong Jiu’s arms, repeating my dear Jiu this or my dear Jiu that. But this
morning, he’d brutally screwed Rong Jiu twice, unexpectedly taken all his belongings and
valuables, and run off.

Furious, Chang had immediately dragged Rong Jiu to Sisheng Peak to complain. He was a shrewd
businessman and had calculated that if he could expose Mo Ran, then he could force Madam Wang
to disperse his cultivation. He’d come prepared with a cultivation-absorbing jade pendant to gather
the free energy for assimilation into his own spiritual reservoir later. Looking at Mo Ran now,
however, Chang hesitated and wondered if he’d underestimated his opponent’s craftiness. It was
possible that Mo Ran had already sold the stolen goods. But, he thought, he’d come too far to give
up now and there was always the possibility that the scoundrel was bluffing.

As Chang struggled with his thoughts, Mo Ran started stripping. He took off his outer robe and
casually tossed it aside. With an inviting gesture accompanied by a smile, he said, “Go ahead and
look.”
The entire racket led to nothing but some spare change, and Chang’s expression changed entirely.
“Impossible!!” he howled. “You’re playing some kind of trick!”

Mo Ran narrowed his purple-tinted eyes and stroked his chin. “You’ve already turned my robe
inside out ten times, and touched me all over seven or eight. What do you want me to do, get
completely naked?”

“Mo Ran, you!”

Mo Ran made a face as if he had had an epiphany. “Ah, I get it! Chang, could it be that you’ve
been lusting after my good looks, and put on this entire show just to take advantage of me and cop
a feel?”

Chang looked as though he was about to pass out from rage; his entire face was red with anger, and
he pointed at Mo Ran while unable to manage a single word. Watching from the side, Xue Meng
hit the limits of his patience; disapprove of Mo Ran though he might, Mo Ran was still a member
of Sisheng Peak. Outsiders had no right to degrade him.

Xue Meng strode forward with no trace of courtesy, raised his hand, and broke Chang’s finger in a
single movement. “We humored you for half the night, but it turns out you were just making wild
accusations!”

Chang howled in pain, cradling his finger. “You bastards! You’re all in on it together! No wonder
the things weren’t on Mo Ran, you’ve hidden them! You strip too, let me search!”

Xue Meng immediately flew into a humiliation-driven rage at the audacity of a merchant ordering
him to strip. “Fuck you! You really think your filthy hands are fit to touch even the corner of my
hem? Get the hell out!”

The attendants in Loyalty Hall, long since fed up with the facade, finally had an excuse to act.
They immediately surged forth to clear out the pair of ordinary people with no means of resistance,
and soundly kicked them off the mountain as Chang’s furious screeching receded into the distance.
“Mo Ran, just you wait! I’m not done with you yet!”

Standing outside Loyalty Hall, Mo Ran gazed at the night sky with a genuine smile, and sighed.
“I’m so scared,” he murmured.

Xue Meng shot him a cold glare. “Oh really,” he said.

Mo Ran said, with genuine worry, “Well, they sell salt. I’m afraid I won’t get to have any more salt
in the future.”

Xue Meng digested the words in silence before asking, “You really didn’t screw the prostitute?”

“Nope.”

“And you really didn’t steal?”

“I really did not.”

Xue Meng grunted. “I don’t believe you.”

Mo Ran raised a hand, laughing. “May the heavens strike me with lightning if I’m lying.” Xue
Meng suddenly lifted his hand to grab Mo Ran’s arm in a vise-like grip. Mo Ran stared. “What are
you doing?”
Xue Meng grunted again before rapidly chanting an incantation. A handful of beads, each roughly
the size of a soybean, fell out of Mo Ran’s sleeve and pattered softly to the ground. Xue Meng
gathered his qi and directed it toward the beads, which started to glow. They grew in size, turning
into a pile of jewels and valuables – plum blossom bracelets and jade earrings, sparkling in gold
against the ground.

Mo Ran sighed. “We’re fellow disciples of the same sect. Let’s not make things difficult.”

Xue Meng glowered. “Mo Weiyu, have you no shame.” At Mo Ran’s chuckle, Xue Meng roared,
“No one’s laughing with you!”

Mo Ran sighed again. “It’s not like I can cry on command.”

“Is this how you use Sisheng Peak’s concealing technique?” Xue Meng asked gloomily.

“Well, it’s a practical application.”

Xue Meng’s anger returned. “That salt merchant was an annoying dog, so I didn’t roast you in front
of him. But he did have one thing right: violating the mandates against thieving and lechery like
you have, no matter which sect you’re in, is grounds for punishment!”

Mo Ran grinned, undaunted. “And what are you gonna do about it? Wait for uncle to come back
and tattle on me?” He wasn’t worried. His uncle spoiled him to no end; the most he would do
would be to scold Mo Ran a little. He would never have the heart to beat him.

Xue Meng turned around, brushing his wind-blown hair aside, his eyes glinting with scorn in the
darkness of night. “Dad? No, he’s at Kunlun and won’t be back for a month or two.”

Mo Ran’s smile froze, an ominous feeling washing over him as it suddenly occurred to him that he
had forgotten someone. But if that person were here, then he should have received Mr. Chang at
Loyalty Hall instead of the oblivious Madam Wang. He couldn’t be there.

Xue Meng’s air of disdain deepened at the flickers in Mo Ran’s eyes. “Dad does spoil you far too
much. But there is someone here at Sisheng Peak who won’t coddle you.”

Mo Ran slowly backed away a few steps, his smile becoming forced. “My esteemed cousin, it’s so
late already, let’s not disturb the elder’s peace and quiet, I was wrong, there won’t be a next time,
okay? Please go get some rest, you look so tired.” Without waiting for an answer, he made a run
for it.

You’ve got to be kidding me! Xue Meng was way too harsh for Mo Ran’s taste, particularly since
he wasn’t currently the Evil Overlord, ruler of the human world. It was no time to risk falling into
that person’s hands. If he were to find out that Mo Ran had stolen and whored, he’d probably break
both of his legs. Mo Ran ran for it, before he lost the chance to run at all.

------

Having grown up on Sisheng Peak, Xue Meng knew all of its ins, outs, and shortcuts; in the end he
still managed to capture Mo Ran and drag him to – unexpectedly – the back of the mountain. The
back mountain of Sisheng Peak was the closest place in the mortal realm to the ghost realm, where
Sisheng Peak ran up against a barrier. Beyond that barrier was the underworld. When Mo Ran saw
its appalling state, he knew immediately why Madam Wang had appeared in the main hall; there
was no way that person could have stepped away from the ruptured barrier to the ghost realm.

The essence of evil permeated the entire area, disembodied spirits swirling in the air with
rancorous howls and wails of despair. A giant breach ripped open the sky at the entrance to the
mountain gate. Behind it, the ghost realm was visible – a long, stone staircase, thousands of steps
high, extended from the fissure of the barrier. Menacing ghosts with cultivated a flesh-forms
crawled down in great numbers, creeping from the ghost realm to the mortal realm. The first time
Mo Ran had seen such a sight, he had been soaked with the cold sweat of fear, much like most of
the population would no doubt be, but he had long since been inured to the terrors of the dead.

The barrier between the mortal and the ghost realms had been first built by Emperor Fuxi in
ancient times and had been battered by the passage of time. The barrier cracked and broke often,
needing repairs carried out by cultivated immortals. Repair of the barrier, however, did not elevate
one’s cultivation and was also incredibly taxing on one’s spiritual power. Such hard work for so
little reward was an arduous chore not willingly performed by many cultivators.

Sisheng Peak, as protectors of the lower cultivation world and those first targeted by menacing
spirits, had taken responsibility for maintaining the barriers. The mountains at the back of their sect
deliberately faced the weakest point of the barrier. It failed some four to five times a year, useless
as a leaky, second hand pot.

this is getting repetitive

Mo Ran now saw a figure at the entrance to the ghost realm, atop the staircase. His snow white
robes fluttered, his expansive sleeves flew in the wind, and the shimmering golden aura of his
blade enveloped him. Alone, he swept up the menacing spirits and cleansed the evil ghosts,
repairing the breach in the barrier. He was slender in form and elegant in appearance, an aura of
transcendent holiness enhanced by his beautiful face.

From afar, it would be easy to imagine the man as a dignified scholar standing beneath a
blossoming tree, studying a scroll with an otherworldly air. Up close, his expression was as sharp
as a blade, phoenix eyes slanted upwards over his straight and narrow nose. He looked to be the
embodiment of sophistication and refined manners, and yet an acerbic edge to his gaze gave him a
particularly cold and cruel impression.

Mo Ran watched him from a distance. Although he’d thought himself prepared, to see that
silhouette appear healthy and well once more made him tremble down to the smallest fragments of
his bones. Part of it was dread, but a thrill also rustled under his skin.

The man standing before him was his teacher, Chu Wanning – the person that Xue Meng had cried
and begged to see when he’d come to Wushan Palace in Mo Ran’s previous life. Chu Wanning had
been the one to ruin Mo Ran’s grand plans and ambitious ideals, but in the end he had been
imprisoned and tortured to death.

Mo Ran thought he should have been glad to defeat an opponent and get shot at revenge – the
ocean was free for fish to swim, the sky open for birds to fly, and the world was open for Mo Ran
to do as he would. With these sentiments, he had anticipated savoring his teacher’s death.
However, reality had not followed his expectations.

After Chu Wanning’s was gone, it became clear that part of Mo Ran – aside from his hatred – had
died with him. He’d felt fear and anxiety while Chu Wanning had been alive, his entire body
breaking out in a cold sweat when he saw the willow vine in his teacher’s hands. He’d resembled
nothing so much as a beaten dog shrinking away with its tail between its legs from the mere sound
of a wooden club.

Murdering his mentor had given him the impression of maturity; when Mo Ran’s eyes swept
through the mortal world, he saw no one who could force him to kneel or who dared slap him in
the face. He opened a pot of pear blossom white wine in celebration, drinking on the rooftops for
an entire night while the scars on his back – mementos of Chu Wanning whipping him in his youth
– burned in fresh pain.

Now, however, Mo Ran couldn’t help but stare at his teacher standing once more before him with
rear and resentment blending with a twisted sort of ecstasy in his gut. To regain his most treasured
opponent after having lost him should be a delight, Mo Ran thought, but his teacher was paying
him no attention at all. Chu Wanning was completely focused on fighting the scattered souls of the
dead, ignoring the two disciples who had intruded into the back of the mountains.

Without changing his expression by a hair, cool and distant even in the face of demonic air and
bloody rain, Chu Wanning faced down the ghosts. His mien would not have looked out of place if
he had been burning incense and playing the zither, but his graceful and somber form was currently
wielding a chilling long exorcist sword dripping with blood. With a single flick of his expansive
sleeve, the force of his blade sliced through the verdant stone steps with an explosion.

Rubble and debris tumbled down, a rift of indiscernible depth splitting the staircase from the gates
at the top all the way down to the base of the mountain. Such brutal ferocity, thought Mo Ran, and
wondered how many years had it been since he’d last witnessed his teacher’s strength. His familiar
valiant, overbearing force made Mo Ran’s legs weak out of habit. Unsteady, he dropped to his
knees.

Dramatic as the breach in the barrier was, it didn’t take Chu Wanning long to annihilate the ghosts
and neatly patch the rift. When it was done, he languidly descended from the sky on light feet,
landing before Mo Ran and Xue Meng. He first glanced at Mo Ran kneeling on the ground before
looking up to Xue Meng with icy phoenix eyes. “Caused trouble again?” was all he said.

Mo Ran had to concede. His teacher possessed the ability to assess a situation and immediately
come to the most accurate conclusions. “Sir, Mo Ran went down the mountain and perpetrated
criminal thievery and debauchery. Sir, please mete out his punishment,” Xue Meng answered for
him.

Chu Wanning was silent for a moment, face completely blank, before he coldly said, “I see.”

That’s it? Mo Ran had expected something more, and so had Xue Meng, if his face was any
indication. Yet just as Mo Ran was starting to think he’d gotten off lucky, he stole a glimpse at
Chu Wanning and was caught entirely off his guard by a violent flash of sharp golden light. The
lightning-like crackle whipped directly onto Mo Ran’s cheek to splatter blossoms of blood through
the air. Its speed was shocking – never mind dodging, Mo Ran didn’t even have time to close his
eyes before the flesh of his face was slashed open and a painfully burning wound was left behind.

Chu Wanning stood coldly in the deadly breeze of the deep night with his hands clasped behind his
back. The air was still filthy and thick with the stench of menacing spirits; the addition of the smell
of freshly spilt human blood only made the forbidden grounds of the back mountain even more
eerie and horrifying.

Mo Ran had been struck by a willow vine appearing out of nowhere into Chu Wanning’s hand. It
now hung all the way down to his boots, long and thin and lined with tender green leaves. The vine
was undoubtedly an elegant object, one that could have called to mind verses of poetry celebrating
the pliant embrace of one’s beloved, but unfortunately Chu Wanning was neither pliant nor in
possession of a beloved.

Chu Wanning was instead possessed of the holy weapon named Heavenly Questions, currently
sparking with bright gold and crimson light to illuminate the darkness all around. Heavenly
Questions was reflected as well in bottomless depths of Chu Wanning’s eyes, lending them a
semblance of life. HIs lips were pressed thin as he coldly said, “Mo Weiyu, you are brazen. Did
you really think I wouldn’t discipline you?”

so he’s an abusive dick

A teenage Mo Ran might have assumed his teacher was only bluffing to scare him; the adult Mo
Weiyu had paid in blood to learn the depths of his teacher’s discipline. He felt the roots of his teeth
ache as blood rushed to his face, and he immediately felt his mouth wrap itself around an
aggressive denial of everything possible in an attempt to clear his name.

“Sir,” he said, cheek still bleeding as he raised his eyes and filled them with tears, trying his best to
appear nothing more than pathetic and pitiful. “I have neither stolen nor committed debauchery;
how could you hit me purely on the basis of Xue Meng’s word, without even asking for my side of
the story?” Both of his most useful weapons in his arsenal against his uncle’s rage were turned up
to eleven now as Mo Ran focused on looking so aggrieved that tears threatened to spill. “Am I
really so worthless in your eyes that you won’t even give me a chance to explain?”

Despite having seen this charade before, Xue Meng was so incensed that he stomped his foot. “Mo
Ran, you, you piece of dog shit! You’re shameless! Sir, don’t listen to him! Don’t let this bastard
confuse you! He really did steal! All the stolen property is still here!”

Chu Wanning lowered his eyes, expression cool and distant. “Mo Ran, have you really never
committed theft?”

“Never.”

“You should know what the consequences of lying to me are.”

Cold sweat beaded along Mo Ran’s entire body. He knew intimately, and yet he remained stubborn
as a mule. “Sir, please investigate!”

Chu Wanning raised his hand and the shimmering vine swept forward again – this time not to whip
Mo Ran but to bind itself tightly around him. This sensation, too, was familiar. Chu Wanning
stared at Mo Ran, hanging in Heavenly Questions’s death grip, and asked again, “Have you never
committed theft?”

Suddenly, all Mo Ran could feel was a familiar agony piercing straight into his heart, the sensation
of a sharp-fanged little snake slithering into his chest and wreaking havoc amidst his organs.
Accompanying the stabbing pain was an irresistible temptation. Mo Ran’s mouth opened in spite of
himself and he desperately tried to lie.

Heavenly Questions’s golden light went berserk, as if it could sense his lies, but Mo Ran resisted
the torture with all he had. He was just as familiar with Heavenly Questions’s second function – an
aid in interrogation. Once bound by Heavenly Questions, none could let a lie pass their tongues.
Human or ghost, alive or dead, Heavenly Questions had the ability to force everyone to give Chu
Wanning the answers he demanded. Only a single individual in Mo Ran’s previous life had, relying
on strong cultivation, finally managed to achieve the feat of keeping a secret from Heavenly
Questions.

Mo Weiyu, emperor of the mortal world, had been able to withstand Heavenly Questions’s grip.
The freshly reborn Mo Ran had high hopes of still being able to fight against Heavenly Questions’s
forceful interrogation, but his body failed him. After what felt like an eternity of biting down on his
lips, great beads of sweat dripping down his inky dark brows, and full-body shivers wracking him,
he was left prostrate from pain and knelt gasping at Chu Wanning’s feet. “I did steal,” he admitted.

The pain disappeared abruptly. Mo Ran hadn’t even caught his breath before Chu Wanning’s next
question came, voice colder than before. “Did you commit debauchery?”

It is said that clever men perpetrate no stupid deeds, and Mo Ran knew himself to be clever. Since
he had been unable to withstand Heavenly Questions earlier, he had even less hope now. He didn’t
even bother to object; the moment the pain came, he cried, “I have, I have, I have! Sir, please! No
more!”

Watching from the side, Xue Meng’s face turned blue with shock. “How – how could you – with a
– Rong Jiu is a man!” He was ignored as Heavenly Questions’s golden light slowly dimmed.

Mo Ran sucked in large mouthfuls of air, body as drenched as if he’d been fished out of the water.
His face was white as a sheet and his lips trembled uncontrollably as he lay on the ground, unable
to move. Through his dripping lashes, he could see Chu Wanning’s blurry and elegant silhouette.

A wave of powerful hatred suddenly coursed through Mo Ran’s heart. Chu Wanning! he thought
rebelliously. I wasn’t wrong to treat you the way I did in my previous life! Even reincarnated, the
very sight of you is enough to annoy me! Fuck all eighteen generations of your ancestors!

Chu Wanning neither knew nor would have cared, had he known, that his beast of a disciple had
cursed all eighteen generations of his ancestors. He stood briefly still, face gloomy, and said, “Xue
Meng.”

Xue Meng, even knowing that it was currently trendy for wealthy houses to find pleasure in the
male form and that many enjoyed playing with boy prostitutes because it was refreshing, found Mo
Ran’s admission rather difficult to swallow. That such play did not equate to liking men in general
made it no less bitter a pill. It took him a moment to reply. “Yes, sir.”

“Mo Ran has broken the three mandates against greedy thievery, debauchery, and deception. Take
him to Yanluo Hall for penance. Bring him to the Platform of Sin and Virtue first thing tomorrow
morning to be punished before all.”

Xue Meng was shocked. “W-what? To be punished before all?” For a disciple who had committed
grave sins to be so punished meant every individual in the sect would witness his shame, down to
the old ladies in the cafeteria. It would be even more humiliating for Mo Ran as a young master of
Sisheng Peak! Mo Ran had heretofore escaped this particular punishment due to his special status
as an orphan and a lost child and to his uncle’s indulgence. Failure meant only private lectures
without a hint of a beating.

Chu Wanning, however, was refusing to save the sect leader’s face and would actually drag his
precious nephew to the Platform of Sin and Virtue, would punish and shame the young master Mo
before the entire sect. Xue Meng would never have expected it. Mo Ran, on the other hand, wasn’t
surprised at all.

Lying on the ground, Mo Ran’s lips curled into a sneer. Look how righteous he is, chanted his
inner voice. So full of justice. Mo Ran knew Chu Wanning was a cold-blooded person – he’d
watched Shi Mei die before his very eyes regardless of how Mo Ran had cried and pleaded,
tugging at the hem of his robes. Mo Ran had cried his heart out as Shi Mei had died and still Chu
Wanning had watched without lifting a finger.

Being dragged to the Platform of Sin and Virtue to be sentenced in public was nothing out of the
ordinary, but all Mo Ran could do was resent his younger self for his lack of cultivation energy. He
resented that he couldn’t peel off Chu Wanning’s skin, pull out his nerves, drink his blood.
Resented that he couldn’t yank Chu Wanning’s hair back and violate him to his heart’s content,
couldn’t torment him or destroy his dignity, or make him live a life worse than death. The beast-
like savagery shone in his eyes for a moment, and Chu Wanning caught a glimpse of it.

His graceful, scholarly face completely devoid of expression, he asked, “What are you thinking
about?”

Shit! Mo Ran thought, realizing that Heavenly Questions hadn’t been withdrawn. Once again, the
vine that bound him squeezed and twisted, his organs feeling like they were going to wrench into
mush. He screamed in agony, letting loose the thoughts in his mind. “Chu Wanning! You think
you’re tough? I’ll fuck you to death!”

Silence fell. Heavenly Questions suddenly returned to Chu Wanning’s palm, transforming into
specks of golden light before slowly disappearing. Made of Chu Wanning’s bones and blood,
Heavenly Questions could appear when summoned and disappear at will.

Xue Meng’s face was pale as he stammered, “S-s-sir.”

Chu Wanning said nothing. His long, inky, delicate lashes lowered as he looked at his own palm
for a long moment. Then he raised his eyes, face unmoved except for a greater chill than before.
He pinned Mo Ran with a glare promising death for a long moment before he finally spoke quietly.
“Heavenly Questions is broken. I’m going to fix it.” With those words, he left.

Xue Meng, for all his gifts, wasn’t a bright child. “H-How can a holy weapon like Heavenly
Questions be broken?” Chu Wanning heard him. He turned and pinned Xue Meng with his icy
gaze, sending a chill down Xue Meng’s spine.

Mo Ran lay on the ground, half dead, his expression lifeless, paying no attention to the byplay. He
really had been thinking about finding a chance to fuck Chu Wanning to death. He was well aware
that Grandmaster Chu, with his titles like Constellation of the Night Sky, the Holy Grace Immortal
was someone who always paid attention to refined, elegant manners and dignity. Chu Wanning
wouldn’t abide being quashed beneath someone’s foot, sullied and oppressed. And now Chu
Wanning knew how he felt! Mo Ran howled pathetically like an abandoned dog, covering his face.
Recalling Chu Wanning’s eyes as he’d left, Mo Ran felt that he probably didn’t have long to live.

------

The sun blazed down over Sisheng Peak’s veranda, stretched out for a hundred miles. A young
sect, it was unlike other famed sects of the upper cultivation realm. Rufeng Sect of Linyi, for
instance, named its main hall Six Virtues Hall to encourage the disciples in practicing the virtues of
wisdom, faithfulness, holiness, righteousness, benevolence, and loyalty. Disciples read in an area
titled Six Demeanor Gate, reminding them to act filial, cordial, harmonious, martial, responsible,
and compassionate. Their area of study was called the Six Arts Platform, referring to the
expectation that disciples master ritual, music, archery, riding, calligraphy, and arithmetic. Other
sects embodied endless elegance in the names they chose.

Sisheng Peak’s impoverished background gave it a different attitude. While names such as Loyalty
Hall or the Platform of Sin and Virtue weren’t out of line with naming conventions of older sects,
the lack of scholarly accomplishment on the part of Mo Ran’s uncle and father meant that many of
the names were less acceptable. Eventually, they had given up and simply assigned foolish names
left and right. Sisheng Peak even had many names plagiarized from the underworld.

The self-reflection room was named Yanluo Hall, after the king of hell, whereas the bridge
connecting the recess and study areas was called Naihe Bridge, in reference to the bridge
connecting life and death. The dining hall was called Mengpo Hall in homage to the esteemed
Mengpo, distributor of amnesia-granting soup given to dead souls upon arrival in the underworld.
Sisheng Peak referred to its training field as the Mountain of Daggers and Sea of Flames. The
forbidden area behind the mountain was called, simply, Ghost Zone.

Even such tongue-in-cheek names weren’t entirely unacceptable, but the more remote areas had
had no effort put into their names whatsoever. They bore such labels as This Is A Mountain, or This
Is Water, or even This Is A Hole. The notorious Aaaah and Waaah cliffs were also a victim of
Sisheng Peak’s unusual naming conventions, and even the quarters of the elders did not escape
unscathed. Chu Wanning’s residence was no exception.

The Grandmaster liked peace and quiet, and did not want to live near others. His residence was
located at the southern summit of Sisheng Peak, hidden in a bamboo grove like an ocean of jade. A
pond lay before the main hall, covered in blooming red lotuses resplendent as crimson clouds
throughout the seasons thanks to a bounty of qi. The secret nickname of this elegant and scenic
place was Red Lotus Hell.

I can’t tell if we’re supposed to find the higher sects admirable and look down on Sisheng
Peak for its crudeness, or if we’re supposed to find the higher sects pretentious and admire
SP for being down to earth and relatable. I also can’t tell at this point if the stark contrast
between CW and the rest of his sect is deliberate. In the hands of a better author, I would
assume CW did something terrible in order to be consigned to a shitty upstart like Sisheng
Peak.

Mo Ran now found it marvelously entertaining; Chu Wanning wore a frightfully sour face day in
day out, much like the devil himself. The home of the devil could of course be nothing else but
hell. His pleasant daydream was rudely interrupted by Xue Meng snapping at him.

“The hell are you giggling about! Hurry and finish your breakfast, I have to take you to the
Platform of Sin and Virtue after this. Did you forget you’re to be disciplined in public today?”

Mo Ran sighed, and gingerly touched the lash mark on his face. “Ow.”

“Serves you right!”

“I wonder if Heavenly Questions has been fixed yet,” Mo Ran said thoughtfully. “Please don’t
interrogate me with it again if not, who knows what other nonsense I might spout.”

Xue Meng’s face flushed with anger. “If you dare to be im-improper toward our teacher in public,
I’ll rip your tongue out!”

Mo Ran covered his face with one hand and waved the other as he croaked faintly, “No need, no
need, if he ties me up with that willow vine again, I will just end myself on the spot to prove my
innocence.”

It was still early morning when Mo Ran was brought to the Platform of Sin and Virtue in
accordance with customs. He cast his gaze out at the sea of disciples dressed in dark blue below,
spread as far as the eye could see. Each of them wore the sect uniform – light armor so blue as to
be nearly black, a lion head belt, a wrist guard, and clothing trimmed in sparkling silver. The sun
rose from the east to illuminate the sea of gleaming armor below the Platform of Sin and Virtue.

Mo Ran knelt on the high platform, listening to Elder Jielu read the lengthy indictment. “Mo
Weiyu, disciple of Constellation Saint, you have disregarded commandments, ignored teachings,
disrespected sect rules, and abandoned morality. You have violated the fourth, ninth, and fifteenth
mandates. As punishment, you will receive eighty strikes, copy the sect rules one hundred times,
and reflect in confinement for one month. Mo Weiyu, have you anything to say in your defense?”

Mo Ran glanced at a white silhouette in the distance, the only person in the entirety of Sisheng
Peak who was not required to wear the standard silver-trimmed blue uniform. Chu Wanning
dressed in snow-white satin, with an outer drape of cloud-patterned silver silk, as if swathed in
clear frost from the highest of the heavens. In those clothes, the person himself seemed more frigid
than even snow and frost. He sat calmly, too far away for Mo Ran to see his expression, but Mo
Ran knew without seeing his face that he was probably entirely unperturbed. Inhaling deeply, he
replied, “I have nothing to say in my defense.”

The next step was also carried out in accordance with custom; Elder Jielu turned to the disciples
gathered below. “If anyone disagrees with the judgment, or has any other appeals, you may now
speak.”

The disciples fidgeted, glancing at one another. No one had thought that Constellation Saint Chu
Wanning would actually send his own disciple to the Platform of Sin and Virtue to be punished in
public. It was strict and impartial on the surface, but the disciples saw it as the act of a cold-
blooded demon. The cold-blooded demon Chu Wanning observed the proceedings with an air of
indifference, sitting in his seat with his chin propped up.

Suddenly a voice using an amplification technique shouted, “Constellation Saint, I would like to
plead for leniency on behalf of Disciple Mo.”

“Is that so?”

The nameless disciple was clearly trying to curry favor with Mo Ran, the Peak Lord’s nephew
whose prospects were bright and promising, even if he’d blundered. The disciple started to babble
nonsense. “Although Disciple Mo has erred, he is cordial with his fellow disciples and
compassionate to the small and weak in his daily conduct. Will you please grant leniency in view
of his kind nature?”

The first request opened a floodgate of others, on grounds more fantastic and varied by the minute.
Mo Ran felt embarrassed just listening; he’d never been pure and innocent, or broad-minded and
open. The assembly had turned into a farce; instead of punishment, he was suddenly being
commended by a babble of voices claiming he’d helped one comrade defeat demons and slay
vicious beasts, or assist another who’d experienced qi deviation to dispel his inner demons. One
even claimed Mo Ran had once bestowed upon him an elixir to save his mother due to a virtuous
and benevolent nature.

The final person disciple calling for leniency had run had nothing left to say that hadn’t already
been said, and was left at a loss for words. Chu Wanning’s frosty gaze swept toward him as he
opened his mouth, and the disciple panicked. “Constellation Saint, Disciple Mo once helped me
dual cultivate –” He was interrupted by a snort of laughter, and blushed up to his ear, withdrawing
in embarrassment.

Elder Jielu, seeing this turn of events, hurriedly tried to soothe him. “Constellation Saint, calm
down.”

Chu Wanning spoke coldly. “I have never seen a person this shameless. What is his name? Whose
disciple?”

Jielu hesitated slightly, then forced himself to quietly respond: “My disciple, Yao Lian.”
Chu Wanning raised his eyebrows. “Your disciple?”

Elder Jielu’s old face went bright red as he tried to change the topic. “His singing voice is not bad,
useful to keep around when receiving offerings.”

Chu Wanning grunted and turned away, not wanting to waste any more breath with a shameless
comrade such as Elder Jielu; thousands called Sisheng Peak home, and a couple of sycophants here
and there was to be expected.

How impressive. The flood of persistent conviction from his sect brothers was almost starting to
convince Mo Ran of their veracity, but he came to the conclusion instead that he wasn’t the only
one adept at spewing lies in broad daylight. Sisheng Peak was apparently full of talented people.

After countless pleas for mercy, Chu Wanning finally spoke. “Pleading on behalf of Mo Weiyu?”
He paused. “Very well. Come up.” Those who had pled for Mo Ran ascended nervously. Golden
light flashed in Chu Wanning’s hand and Heavenly Questions appeared as commanded to bind the
entire group firmly in place.

Not this again! Mo Ran was about to lose all hope. The mere sight of Heavenly Questions made
his legs go soft, and he tried to distract himself by wondering where Chu Wanning had even gotten
such a deviant weapon. If he ever took a wife, Mo Ran would pity her; if she didn’t get whipped to
within an inch of her life, she’d probably be interrogated to death.

With a scornful gaze, Chu Wanning asked one, “Mo Ran helped you defeat demons?”

The disciple had no chance against Heavenly Questions’s torment and immediately howled, “No!
No!”

“Mo Ran helped you break out of a qi deviation?”

“Aaah! Never! Never!”

“Mo Ran gifted you an elixir?”

“Ah! Help! Nonono! I made it up! I made it up!”

Chu Wanning released the group of disciples, but then immediately raised his hand. Sparks flew as
Heavenly Questions soared out to land brutally against the backs of the lying disciples, wrenching
out shrieks and splashes of blood. Chu Wanning frowned at the display. “Stop whining! Kneel!
Attendant responsible for discipline!”

“Present.”

“Deliver the punishment!”

“Yes, sir!” Each of the liars thus curried no favor, earning instead ten strikes for violating the
mandate against deception plus a free bonus lash from Constellation Saint.

The following nightfall found Mo Ran sprawled out on his bed, with medicinal appointment
applied to his many wounds; it was impossible to even turn over. He sniffled, eyes watering from
the pain, resembling nothing so much as a fluffy, abused kitten. His inner thoughts, though, weren’t
kitten-like at all. He gripped the blanket and bit into the bed sheets, imagining that bastard Chu
Wanning in their place. He bit down, stomped, kicked, and ripped the sheets.

Mo Ran’s only comfort was Shi Mei’s visit, complete with a bowl of handmade wontons. Under
his gentle, compassionate gaze, Mo Ran’s tears poured even more fiercely. Rather than embodying
the stoic ideal of men not crying, he loved to act spoiled in front of the person he liked.

“Does it hurt a lot? Are you able to sit up?” Shi Mei sat at the edge of his bed, sighing.
“Grandmaster Chu’s hand was too heavy. Look at these wounds. Some of them are still bleeding.”

Warmth rose in Mo Ran’s chest as he heard the sympathetic words. He batted his teary eyelashes.
“Since you care for me so much, it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“Oh, look at you, how can it not hurt? It’s not like you don’t know how he is. Please take care not
to make these mistakes in the future.” Shi Mei looked at him with equal parts helplessness and
sympathy, his expressive eyes gleaming in the candlelight.

And here we are making the victim responsible for his own abuse.

Mo Ran’s heart skipped a beat. He answered obediently, “Won’t happen again. I swear.”

“Who even takes your oaths seriously anymore?” Shi Mei scolded, but he was smiling. “The
wontons are getting cold. Can you get up? Just stay put if not, I’ll feed you.”

Mo Ran was already halfway up, but at these words, he collapsed back down immediately. Shi Mei
wasn’t fooled, but Mo Ran didn’t care. In both this lifetime and the last, Shi Mei’s cooking was his
favorite. With cloud-thin wrappers and fillings delicate as cream, every wonton was moist and
satisfying, soft and savory, melting in his mouth and leaving behind a delectable aftertaste. The
soup was the best, simmered to a rich milky consistency, and sprinkled with bits of chopped green
scallion and tender wisps of yellow eggs. Finally a spoonful of chili oil pepper stir-fried in garlic
paste warmed one from the inside when eaten.

Shi Mei fed him attentively, spoonful by spoonful. “I didn’t add any chili oil today,” he said. “Your
injuries are too severe, and spicy food is not good for recovery. Settle for the broth, ok?”

Mo Ran stared at him, smiling, unable and unwilling to look away. “Everything you make is
delicious, spicy or not.”

“Flatterer.” Shi Mei smiled back and picked the poached egg out of the soup. “Here’s a runny egg
as a reward, I know you like those.”

Mo Ran laughed mischievously. “Shi Mei.”

“Yes?”

“Nothing, just felt like calling your name.”

She Mei kept feeding him.

“Shi Mei.”

Shi Mei suppressed a laugh. “Just calling again?”

“Just calling your name makes me happy.”

Shi Mei hesitated for a moment, then gently felt his forehead. “Silly child, do you have a fever?”

Mo Ran chuckled, and rolled over halfway to peek at him sideways, eyes brightly shining. “I wish I
could eat your wontons every day.” He meant every word. After Shi Mei’s death, Mo Ran had
missed his handmade wontons. Chu Wanning, having not yet completely broken off all relations
with him, had perhaps had a guilty conscience at the sight of Mo Ran kneeling in front of Shi Mei’s
coffin in a stupor. He had quietly gone to the kitchen, kneaded dough and chopped fillings, and
carefully folded a few wontons.

Before he could finish, Mo Ran had seen him, and – having just lost his true love – couldn’t
tolerate it. It had seemed to him as if Chu Wanning was mocking him with a clumsy imitation. Shi
Mei was dead. Chu Wanning could have saved him, but had refused to help, and afterwards dared
to try to make Mo Ran wontons in place of Shi Mei. Had he thought that would make Mo Ran
happy? Mo Ran had rushed into the kitchen and knocked everything over. Plump white wontons
had rolled all over the floor.

The words he’d shouted echoed through his memory. “Who the fuck do you think you are? Do you
have any right to use the things he used? To make the food he did? Shi Mei is dead, are you happy
now? Or do you have to hound all your disciples to death or madness before you’re satisfied? Chu
Wanning! There is no one left in this world who could make those wontons ever again. No matter
how much you imitate him, you’ll never even come close!”

Eating this bowl of wontons now brought Mo Ran a deep-seated sense of joy edged in sorrow, eyes
moist above his smile, but the dim candlelight hid the minute details of his expression from Shi
Mei’s gaze. “Shi Mei,” he said a third time. “Thank you.”

Shi Mei paused for a second, then smiled gently. “Isn’t it just a bowl of wontons? There’s no need
to be so formal. If you like it, I’ll make it for you more often.”

Mo Ran wanted to tell him that his gratitude was for more than just wontons; he wanted to say
thank you for being the only person to never look down on him or mind where he’d come from,
the only person who hadn’t cared about the fourteen years Mo Ran had spent struggling to survive
by any means. He wanted to thank Shi Mei that the memory of him had stopped him from killing
Rong Jiu at the moment of his rebirth and prevented him from repeating a grave mistake that
would have set him on the same bitter path he’d walked before.

Thankfully I was reborn before your death. I will definitely protect you this time. If anything were
to happen to you, even if that cold-blooded demon Chu Wanning won’t save you, I will. The words
stuck in his throat, and he finished the soup without saying any of them. He licked his lips as if still
wanting more, dimples deep and charming, cute as a fuzzy kitten. “Can I have more tomorrow?” he
said instead.

Shi Mei didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Don’t you want to try something else? Won’t you
get tired of it?”

“I’ll never get tired of your wontons, as long as you don’t get tired of me!”

Shi Mei laughed, shaking his head. “I’m not sure how much flour is left. If there isn’t enough flour
for wontons, how about egg in sweet soup instead? I remember you liked that one too.”

“Sure! As long as you make it, anything is fine.” Mo Ran was elated, so happy he could roll around
hugging the quilt. Look how solicitous Shi Mei is, he thought. Chu Wanning, go ahead and whip
me! There’s a beauty who will take care of me if I’m laid up in bed!

Thoughts of his teacher lit a flame of anger in the midst of his gentle sentiments. Mo Ran dug
resentfully into the crack between the bed and the headboard once again, cursing internally. What
Constellation of the Night Sky, what Holy Grace Immortal, it’s all bullshit! Chu Wanning, I’ll beat
you this lifetime, just you wait and see!
------

Mo Ran lay on the bed like a dead fish for three days, but his wounds had barely started to heal
when he received a summons directing him immediately to Red Lotus Pavilion to perform manual
labor. The work was also part of the punishment; he wasn’t to be allowed out of the complex, but it
wouldn’t do to have him sitting idle, either. The solution was to carry out odd jobs, such as helping
the cafeteria lady at Mengpo Hall wash dishes, giving the three hundred sixty five stone lions on
the pillars of Naihe Bridge a scrub down, transcribing copies of files and scriptures stale and dry,
and so on.

The Red Lotus Pavilion, residence of that bastard Chu Wanning, the cursed place that everyone
called Red Lotus Hell, was not supposed to be on the list of odd jobs. Very few people at Sisheng
Peak had gone there. Of the ones who had, every single one had come back with either their arms
or else their legs broken, giving it a second secret nickname –the Pavilion of Broken Legs. A verse
had been composed to accompany the name: The Pavilion hides a beauty, the beauty holds
Heavenly Questions. Enter through the gate of broken legs, feel the agony of getting your legs
broken. If you want your meridians busted, look no further than Constellation Saint.

Mo Ran had once heard of a female disciple who had laughed in the face of death, whose lechery
reached the skies. She had dared to lust after Constellation Saint’s beauty, and snuck to the
southern peak on a moonless night to climb onto the roof, hoping to peek at him as he bathed.
Predictably, Heavenly Questions had escorted her to the fine line between life and death,
incapacitating her for no fewer than one hundred miserable days. Chu Wanning had subsequently
declared that any further transgressions would be paid for with the eyes of the interlopers. Mo Ran
found the whole incident to be boorish and insensitive.

Before the spying incident, a number of naive and foolish young girls within the sect – thinking
that the Constellation Saint would show them compassion simply because they were women –
would attempt to win his favor by giggling and teasing. Afterwards, no one dared attempt to hit on
him anymore. The Constellation Saint was indiscriminate when it came to lashing, having none of
the disposition of a proper gentleman. Chu Wanning’s only positive quality was his pretty face,
according to the disciples within the sect.

The young messenger who had come to summon him looked at Mo Ran sympathetically,
obviously wanting to say more. “Brother Mo,” he said finally.

“Hm?”

“Constellation Saint’s temper is so bad that no one who enters the Red Lotus Pavilion leaves on
their own two feet. What if you said your wounds haven’t healed and begged Constellation Saint to
let you go wash dishes instead?”

Mo Ran was very grateful for the disciple’s compassionate heart, but he rejected the suggestion.
The idea of begging Chu Wanning for anything was preposterous; all it would get him was another
round with Heavenly Questions. He dressed himself laboriously and dragged his heavy feet toward
the southern summit of Sisheng Peak. Not a single soul was in sight for a hundred miles around
Red Lotus Pavilion – no, Red Lotus Hell. No one wanted to go close to where Chu Wanning lived,
fleeing from his terrible taste and unpredictable temper to respect him from afar. Mo Ran’s
thoughts ran wild for the entire journey – he couldn’t begin to predict what Chu Wanning would
have him do.

On the other side of a dense field of bamboo groves lay the large expanse of vivid crimson lotuses.
The sun had only just risen in the east, a dazzling gleam reflected on the horizon. Stalks grew
through the heavenly lotus pads in the pond to connect the fiery red skies with the crimson
blossoms, each absorbing and reflecting the other, amplifying their radiance. Upon the pond, a
winding bridge led to the quietly elegant pavilion. Behind it, a mountainous backdrop streamed
with curtains of waterfalls, beads of water like shards of crystals beating at the rocks below.
Watery mist steamed, light shimmering through the haze to cast ethereal ambiance amidst the
calm.

Mo Ran’s visceral reaction to such tranquil beauty was distaste. There were no positive
associations to be had with wherever Chu Wanning lived – so much space for a single man, when
the disciples slept crowded together in the dormitory. He’d taken an entire mountain top just for
himself, even digging three giant ponds with an abundance of lotus flowers. Mo Ran did have to
admit that the flowers were said to be of unique breeds and could be made into medicines of rare
quality, but it was still an eyesore and should be burned to the ground

As Mo Ran was only sixteen and powerless to compete with his teacher, he still approached Chu
Wanning’s residence to stand at the front entrance. He pressed his face into a smile and announced
himself in a sweetly obsequious voice. “I have arrived, sir.”

“Come in.” The inside of the house was a mess. The cold-blooded demon himself had dressed all
in white, the high tight lapels of his robes giving him a chaste and ascetic air. He sat on the ground
surrounded by mechanical parts, hands protected by black metal gauntlets and hair kept out of the
way in a high ponytail. He held a brush between his lips. Glancing at Mo Ran coldly, he spoke
without removing the brush. “Come here.”

Mo Ran obeyed. There was very little space on the floor in which to place his feet; blueprints,
broken logs, and metal parts were scattered all over the place. His brows twitched; even in his
previous life, he’d never entered Chu Wanning’s living space, and knowing that such a poised,
handsome man lived in such filth gave him an indescribable feeling. “Sir, what are you doing?”

“Holy Night Guardian.” Chu Wanning seemed grumpy, probably because there was a brush in his
mouth and it wasn’t easy to talk.

Mo Ran mutely glanced at the parts strewn about all over the floor, remembering that his teacher
also held the title Grandmaster Chu. It wasn’t just an empty title; Mo Ran had to admit that Chu
Wanning was a remarkable man, whether because of his three holy weapons, his barrier repairing
powers, or his mechanical engineering skills. No matter how bad his temper was or how difficult it
was to please him, every major cultivation sect fought over who could keep him.

Having come across it before, Mo Ran was intimately familiar with the Holy Night Guardian; it
was mechanical armor Chu Wanning had created, cheap to manufacture but strong and effective in
battle. It could protect the common folks in the lower cultivation world from demonic intrusions at
night. In his previous lifetime, nearly every household had owned a Holy Night Guardian, as it cost
no more than a broom and was more effective than mere pictures of door guardians with their
bared teeth. They still protected the impoverished families who couldn’t afford the services of a
cultivator even after Chu Wanning had passed away.

Such heartfelt compassion extended to the lower class, when compared to the indifference with
which Chu Wanning treated his disciples, filled Mo Ran with contempt. He sat down and looked at
the Holy Night Guardian lying incomplete and in pieces, events of the past drifting through his
mind. Unable to resist, he reached out and picked up one of the finger joints to examine.

Chu Wanning clicked together the parts in his hands, finally freeing himself to take away the brush
between his lips. He glared at Mo Ran. “That one was just oiled, don’t touch.”

“Oh.” Mo Ran put down the part and schooled his thoughts. Still playing the cute and harmless
role, he smiled happily and asked, “Sir, have I been summoned here to help?”

“Yes,” Chu Wanning said.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Clean the house.”

Mo Ran’s smile froze as he looked at the room around him; it might well have just suffered an
earthquake. Genius in the art of spell craft apparently did not translate into skillfully navigating
everyday life. After cleaning up yet another shattered teacup that had been simply left on the floor,
Mo Ran finally couldn’t take it anymore. “Sir, how long has it been since you last cleaned? My
god, it’s so messy!”

Without looking up to answer the question, Chu Wanning kept studying his blueprint. “Around a
year.”

“Where do you usually sleep?” Mo Ran pressed.

“What?” Given how prickly Chu Wanning had become at the interruptions, Mo Ran reasoned that
the blueprint had some problems. His teacher ruffled his own hair and answered irritably, “On the
bed, of course.”

The bed was piled high with gadgets and gimmicks, many of which looked almost finished. It also
held saws, axes, sickles, and other weapons, each exceedingly sharp and glinting with a steely
light. Mo Ran couldn’t believe Chu Wanning could sleep there without accidentally chopping off
his own head.

The morning’s labor produced enough sawdust and dirt from the floor to fill three dustpans.
Wiping down the shelves dirtied more than ten white rags. Noon came around with only half the
place organized, and Mo Ran concluded that Chu Wanning really was more evil than a harpy. On
the surface, tidying a room didn’t sound like hard labor – but it didn’t properly convey the horror of
a place that hadn’t been cleaned for three hundred and sixty five days.

Chu Wanning’s nightmare of a home would have worked Mo Ran to the bone if he’d been healthy,
but the lashes on his back made it an even more exquisite torture. “Sir.”

“Yes?”

“This pile of clothes.” Had probably been sitting there for three months. Mo Ran did not say.

Chu Wanning finally finished connecting an arm of the Holy Night Guardian. He rubbed his sore
shoulders and looked up at the laundry basket piled high as a mountain with robes. “I’ll wash them
myself.”

Mo Ran let out a sigh of relief and silently thanked the heavens. “Sir, you know how to do
laundry?”

Chu Wanning glanced at him and replied coldly, “How hard can it be? Throw it into the water,
soak it, then pull it out to dry. Done.”

Mo Ran couldn’t help but think the ladies who secretly admired and crushed on Grandmaster Chu
would be disappointed if they knew about this. Chu Wanning really was nothing more than a
pretty face, good for nothing more than breaking tender hearts.
“It’s getting late. Follow me to the cafeteria and do the rest when we come back.”

Mengpo Hall bustled with activity when they arrived, Sisheng Peak disciples gathering to eat
together in groups of three to five. Chu Wanning placed a few dishes on his wooden tray and went
to sit quietly in a corner. Gradually, the surrounding twenty feet became completely deserted. No
one dared to sit near Constellation Saint, on the off chance that something upset him and Heavenly
Questions came out for a whipping.

Chu Wanning was aware of this and normally didn’t mind in the least; he ate alone in a refined
manner with only his cold beauty for company. Today was different – Mo Ran had arrived with
him and naturally had to stay with him. Mo Ran consoled himself that at least he had died once
already, and he was therefore less frightened of Chu Wanning than he could have been. Even the
dread of their first meeting had given way to the loathing he’d felt in his previous life. Mo Ran
reminded himself that he’d been the one to kill Chu Wanning, and sat down to face him.

The sweet and sour ribs in Mo Ran’s bowl gave way to a small hill of bones. Without warning, Chu
Wanning slammed down his chopsticks. Mo Ran blinked at him. “Would you stop smacking your
lips when you eat?”

“I’m chewing ribs, how do I chew without smacking lips?”

“Then don’t eat ribs.”

“But I like ribs.”

“Then get lost and go eat elsewhere.”

Their argument had grown louder and louder, until some disciples started to steal glances toward
them. Mo Ran suppressed the urge to flip his bowl of food over onto Chu Wanning’s head. He
pressed his oil-sticky lips into a line for a long moment, and then curved them into a sweet smile.
“Don’t yell so loudly, sir. If others hear, won’t they make fun of us?”

Chu Wanning, ever conscious of how he was perceived, lowered his voice immediately. “Scram.”

Mo Ran laughed so hard he almost fell over. “Don’t glare at me, sir, please eat, eat. I’ll try to eat
quietly.” Having had his fun, Mo Ran returned to his good and obedient act. He even ate his ribs
less noisily. Amenable to coaxing but not coercion, Chu Wanning saw that Mo Ran had done as
told and his expression relaxed a bit. He no longer looked so bitter and resentful. With his head
lowered, he continued elegantly eating his meal of vegetables and tofu.

This peace did not last long before Mo Ran started acting up again. He couldn’t have said why; he
only knew that every time he saw Chu Wanning in this lifetime, he wanted to piss him off. It only
took moments for Chu Wanning to notice that although Mo Ran no longer chewed loudly, he was
now eating with his hands, fingers covered in grease, sauce shiny and dripping. The veins in his
temples bulged angrily as he tried to ignore it. He lowered his gaze, and focused on eating his own
food.

Chu Wanning’s efforts were in vain. Forgetting form and manner, Mo Ran finished chewing a
bone and carelessly tossed it into Chu Wanning’s bowl. Chu Wanning glared at the messily
gnawed rib, the air around him freezing visibly with frightening speed. “Mo Ran!”

“Yes, sir.” Mo Ran was slightly terrified, but even he couldn’t tell how much of Chu Wanning’s
anger was real and how much was fake. “That, uh, I didn’t mean to do that.”

Chu Wanning did not appear to believe him.

“Don’t be mad, I’ll pick it out right away.” Mo Ran extended his chopsticks and quickly stuck
them into Chu Wanning’s bowl to retrieve the offending rib bone. Chu Wanning’s face paled in
disgust. Mo Ran let his eyelashes quiver and his delicate features rearrange themselves pitifully, as
if he’d been wronged. “Sir, am I that repulsive?”

Chu Wanning didn’t answer.

“Sir, I’m really sorry.”

Forget it, Chu Wanning thought to himself. There’s no need to argue with those who are younger.
He abandoned the urge to call forth Heavenly Questions and give Mo Ran a beating, but his
appetite had been wiped out. He stood up. “I’m full.”

“Eh? That’s all you’re going to eat? Sir, you’ve barely touched your food.”

“I wasn’t hungry,” Chu Wanning replied coldly.

Mo Ran was delighted inside, but his mouth kept speaking sweet words. “Then I’m done, too.
Let’s go back to Red Lotus He- I mean, Red Lotus Pavilion.”

Chu Wanning’s eyes narrowed. “Let’s?” His gaze was disdainful. “There is no ‘us’. Elders and
juniors have an order and distinction. Watch your words.”

Mo Ran put on an act of agreeable deference, obedient and adorable, but his thoughts raced. If Chu
Wanning only knew what had happened in the previous lifetime, then he would realize that Mo
Weiyu had been the superior one. No matter how noble and arrogant Chu Wanning was, how
unparalleled, in the end he had still been reduced to a mere piece of mud on the bottom of Mo
Ran’s boots. He’d lived on without purpose, only by Mo Ran’s grace. Mo Ran walked faster to
match his pace, still smiling brightly.

If Shi Mei was the pure white moonlight of Mo Ran’s heart, then Chu Wanning was the piece of
fish bone stuck in his throat. He would pull it out and crush it, or else swallow it and let it be
dissolved by stomach acid. In this new life, he could forgive anyone but Chu Wanning.

His teacher, however, didn’t appear to intend to let him off easy. Mo Ran stood in the library at
Red Lotus Hell, staring at fifty bookshelves, each ten levels high, and thought that he had surely
misheard. “Sir, what did you say?”

“Wipe every book in here,” Chu Wanning said indifferently. “And catalogue them,” he added after
a moment. “I will be checking in the morning.”

The bottom dropped out of Mo Ran’s stomach at the prospect of being stuck at Red Lotus Hell
overnight – he’d already made arrangements with Shi Mei to have his bandages changed. He
opened his mouth to bargain, but Chu Wanning ignored him. His teacher turned around with a
sweep of his sleeves and left for the machinery room, even closing the door behind him.

Date night summarily dashed, Mo Ran sank deeply into his feelings of disdain for Chu Wanning.
Burning all of Chu Wanning’s books was surely a suitable revenge, he thought, but as the gears in
his head turned, he thought of an even more ruinous idea.

------

Chu Wanning’s taste in books was truly terrible – dry, tedious, even despair-inducing. The shelves
were stuffed with titles such as Catalog of Ancient Barriers, Illustrated Archive of Unusual Flora,
Linyi Rufeng Sect Zither Music Arrangement, and even Plant Collection. Only a few books could
be counted as acceptable reading material, like the Bashu Regional Travel Guide and Bashu
Recipes.

Mo Ran picked a few of the newer-looking books, ones that Chu Wanning likely wouldn’t read
often, and doodled porn on the pages. He figured that with at least eight if not ten thousand books
on the shelves, it would take ages for Chu Wanning to discover he was now in the possession of
forbidden material. By then there would be no way to tell who had done it, and Chu Wanning
would be stuck seething. Mo Ran snickered at his unbelievable cleverness and hugged the books in
glee.

More than a dozen books received all sorts of erotic scenes as Mo Ran let his imagination run wild
and unconstrained. His brushstrokes were alluring and elegant, showing fabrics clinging to the
figures as if just rising out of water, then sweeping as if wind-blown. Mo Ran anticipated the
rumors that would spread if someone were to borrow books from the Constellation Saint and
happen to pick a book he had defaced. “The Constellation Saint is truly a two-faced beast, to insert
erotic paintings of men and women between the pages of Art of Meditation!” they’d say, or
“Constellation Saint is a fraudulent master who hides comics of homosexual obscenity in his sword
technique manuals!” They might even mutter, “‘Holy Grace Immortal’ my ass! He’s literally a
beast in human clothing!”

The more Mo Ran thought about it, the funnier it became, until he was rolling on the floor with
laughter, holding his stomach and kicking his legs in glee. He was so absorbed that he didn’t even
notice when a silhouette appeared at the library doors. As Shi Mei approached, he saw Mo Ran
rolling in a pile of books, laughing as if he had gone mad.

“Ran, what are you doing?”

Mo Ran shot up, frantically covering the lewd drawings and putting on a more presentable face.
“W-wiping the floor.”

Shi Mei held back a laugh. “With your clothes?”

“I, uh, couldn’t find a cleaning rag. What are you doing here so late, Shi Mei?”

“I couldn’t find you in your room, so I asked around and was told that you were here.” Shi Mei
stepped inside the library and helped Mo Ran clean up the books scattered all around on the floor,
a gentle smile on his lips. “There wasn’t anything else that needed doing, so I came to see you.”

Mo Ran was so overwhelmed with joy that he lost any sense of smoothness and charm and his
tongue tied itself in a knot. “Then, um, then please have a seat!” He spun excitedly in place. “I-I’ll
go get some tea for you!”

“No need. I snuck in, so I’ll get trouble if our teacher finds out.”

Mo Ran scratched his head. “I guess.” He cursed Chu Wanning’s anal retentive qualities, vowing
to remove him sooner rather than later and gain his independence.

“You probably haven’t eaten yet, right? I brought you dinner.”

Mo Ran’s eyes lit up. “Wontons?”

“Wow, you’re really not tired of them, huh? Red Lotus Pavilion is a bit far and I was afraid the
wontons would be all stuck together by the time I got here, so I didn’t bring any. Here, see if you
like this stir-fry.” Shi Mei opened the food box he brought, revealing the red-colored dishes inside.
A plate of shunfeng pig ears, a plate of yuxiang pork strips, a plate of kungpao diced chicken, a
plate of chopped cucumber, and a bowl of rice.

“Ah, you added peppers this time?”

“Just a little, so you don’t go into withdrawal,” Shi Mei said, smiling. He loved spicy food just as
much as Mo Ran. “But your wounds haven’t fully healed yet, so I only put a little bit, just to add
some flavor. Better than not having even a hint of red.”

Mo Ran chewed on his chopsticks happily. “I’m going to cry in gratitude!”

Shi Mei suppressed a laugh. “The food will be cold by the time you’re done crying. You can cry
after you’ve eaten.”

Mo Ran cheered, chopsticks flying with impressive speed. He always ate like a starved dog, and
while Chu Wanning hated it, Shi Mei wouldn’t mind. Shi Mei was always so gentle, laughing and
telling him to slow down while offering him a cup of tea. Before long, the plates were empty.

Mo Ran patted his full belly with a content sigh. “That hit the spot.”

Shi Mei asked with an air of nonchalance, “Which one did you like better, this or the wontons?”

As he took food as seriously as most took their first love, Mo Ran tilted his head to think about it.
His clear black eyes were soft as he grinned at Shi Mei. “Wontons.”

Shi Mei shook his head, smiling. “Ran, let me help change your bandages and apply new
medicine,” he said after a moment.

The medicinal salve had been made by Madam Wang, who had been a disciple of the Lonemoon
Night medical sect. Her martial aptitude was low and she disliked fighting, but she was fond of
studying medicine. She had personally planted many precious herbs in Sisheng Peak’s medicinal
garden so the sect’s supply of medicine never ran low.

Mo Ran took off his top and sat with his back to Shi Mei. The wounds were still painful, but the
discomfort faded as Shi Mei’s warm fingers gently spread the ointment over them. Mo Ran began
to feel a different sort of discomfort instead.

“All done.” Shi Mei applied new bandages and tied them off. “You can put your clothes back on
now.”

Mo Ran turned to peek at Shi Mei, whose skin shone pale like snow under the dim yellow light of
the candles. Mo Ran’s desire flared up even more. His throat dried out and it took a great effort of
will to look away and drape his outer robe over his shoulders. “Shi Mei,” he said.

“Yeah?”

With the two of them secluded and hidden in the library, it would have the perfect moment for
earth-shakingly romantic poetry if Mo Ran hadn’t been the kind of illiterate who had had turned
his own era’s name into Year of the Big Dick. He struggled until his face turned red, but only
managed to choke out three words. “You’re really nice.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“I’m also going to be really nice to you.” Though Mo Ran kept his voice carefully calm, his palms
were damp. “When I become strong, I won’t let anyone bully you. Not even Chu Wanning.”
Shi Mei was caught off guard by Mo Ran’s unexpected statement. He hesitated for a moment
before he gently replied, “Alright, then, I’ll hold you to that.”

“Uh huh,” Mo Ran mumbled in response. He grew increasingly fidgety under Shi Mei’s expressive
gaze and broke eye contact. He was always meticulously careful toward Shi Mei, determined in his
dedication.

“Ah, our teacher asked you to clean all these books? And catalogue them overnight?”

Mo Ran wasn’t about to admit to his crush that he was struggling. “It’s not too bad, I can do it, just
gotta pick up the pace a little.”

“Let me help.”

“No way, if Chu Wanning finds out, he’ll punish you too,” Mo Ran said resolutely. “It’s getting
late. You should go back and get some rest, we have class tomorrow morning.”

Shi Mei held his hand, laughing softly. “Don’t worry, he won’t notice. We’ll be super quiet.”

He was drowned out by an ice-cold voice. “And what exactly are you doing super quietly?”
Neither Mo Ran nor Shi Mei had noticed Chu Wanning silently exiting the machine room, his cold
expression framing phoenix eyes filled with endless frost. He stared expressionlessly from the
library door, dressed in a thin layer of white robes, and his gaze lingered briefly on their clasped
hands. “Shi Mingjing. Mo Weiyu. You’re quite audacious.”

Shi Mei’s face paled instantly and he abruptly let go of Mo Ran’s hand. “Sir,” he said in a small
voice.

Mo Ran’s assessment of the situation was no better. “Sir.”

Chu Wanning stepped inside, ignoring Mo Ran to look down instead at Shi Mei kneeling on the
floor. He spoke coolly. “There are barriers set throughout the Red Lotus Pavilion. Did you really
think I wouldn’t notice an unexpected guest?”

Shi Mei lowered his head to the floor, frightened. “I was wrong.”

Mo Ran panicked. “Sir, Shi Mei just came by to help me change my bandages, he was just about to
leave, please don’t scold him.”

Shi Mei also panicked. “Sir, this has nothing to do with Disciple Mo. I was wrong, and I’m willing
to accept punishment.”

Chu Wanning bit back a sigh; he’d barely scolded them before they’d rushed to cover for each
other as if he was some kind of scourge they could only face as a united front. He managed to
suppress the twitch of his eyebrows with some difficulty and finally spoke in a detached manner.
“It’s so touching to see so much compassion between fellow disciples. I assume you see me as the
villain here.”

“Sir,” Mo Ran said.

“No.” Chu Wanning shook out his wide sleeves, unwilling to keep talking.

Mo Ran wasn’t sure what had brought on his unexpected anger, unless it was how he’d acted with
Shi Mei; Chu Wanning had never been comfortable with public displays of affection, but the three
of them were frozen at an impasse. Chu Wanning broke it by suddenly turning to leave.
Shi Mei looked up with red-rimmed eyes, helpless and confused. “Sir?”

“Copy the sect rules ten times. You can go back.”

Shi Mei lowered his eyelashes and paused for a moment before he softly replied. “Yes, sir.”

Mo Ran stayed motionless. Shi Mei stood, glancing at him, and hesitated for a long moment before
kneeling again to plead with Chu Wanning. “Sir, Disciple Mo’s injuries have only just healed.
Could I be so bold as to beseech you to go easy on him?”

Under the lantern’s flickering light, Chu Wanning maintained his silence for a long moment before
he turned his head toward them suddenly with scorching eyes and his sharp eyebrows lifted. “Don’t
be so ridiculous. Why are you still here?” Mo Ran was struck again by Chu Wanning’s glorious
face and its contrast to his utter lack of gentleness. When angry, it made him even more terrifying.

Shi Mei shuddered fearfully and conceded that discretion was the better part of valor. Mo Ran
carefully hid his sigh as Shi Mei bowed quickly and left before he tried to plead his case again.
“Sir, I was wrong. Please allow me to continue the cataloguing immediately.”

His head snapped up in shock at Chu Wanning’s unexpected reply. “You can go back if you’re
tired. I won’t keep you,” Chu Wanning added icily.

Why would he let me off this easily? It must be a trap! Mo Ran would avoid it. “I’m not leaving.”

Chu Wanning paused, then smiled coldly. “Suit yourself.” He swept his sleeves, turned, and left.
Having been sure that he was about to face down another round of lashes with Chu Wanning’s
willow vine, Mo Ran was stunned.

Well into the night, Mo Ran yawned and left the library with his task complete. A dim yellow light
shone from Chu Wanning’s bedroom despite the late hour, and Mo Ran was surprised that the
pesky demon still wasn’t asleep. He hesitated for a moment before deciding to bid his teacher good
night.

Inside the bedroom, Mo Ran saw that he had been mistaken; Chu Wanning had fallen asleep but
hadn’t put out the candles before going to bed. Or, Mo Ran thought upon seeing the prototype of
the Holy Night Guardian sitting by the bedside, perhaps he’d just passed out from exhaustion. The
metal gloves were still on Chu Wanning’s hands and he still gripped half a mechanical clasp. He
seemed less harsh and cold when asleep and curled up on a bed stacked with various sharp objects.
So many of them were spread out that not much space was left to accommodate a person, and his
body was hunched over itself. He looked unexpectedly lonely.

Mo Ran stared blankly for a moment, his feelings catching him by surprise, and thought to wonder
just why Chu Wanning had been so upset when he’d caught Mo Ran with Shi Mei – it couldn’t be
simply because Shi Mei had trespassed and offered to help Mo Ran. It didn’t matter. Mo Ran
rolled his eyes and approached the bed. “Sir?” he said, lips close to his teacher’s ear.

Chu Wanning groaned softly, and hugged the cold machine parts in his arms even more tightly.
His breathing was deep and even, a marked contrast to the claw-like sharp metal glove still on his
hand.

Feeling that it was unlikely that he would wake soon, Mo Ran felt his heart thump oddly. He
narrowed his eyes and curved his mouth into a mischievous grin. “Sir, wake up.” Nothing. “Sir?”
Still nothing. “Chu Wanning?” That didn’t get him an answer either. Mo Ran muffled a delighted
giggle that his teacher remained fast asleep in front of him, utterly unaware that Mo Ran was now
plotting to settle some scores. He appeared quite peaceful in the face of Mo Ran’s abruptly
imposing posture.

Growing up in a pleasure house had had a deleterious effect on Mo Ran’s formal education but had
granted him a solid foundation of street arguments and folk stories. His insulting phrases were
nothing short of ridiculous. “Chu Wanning, you audacious rascal, you treacherous liar, you dare
look down on your Honored Emperor, you…hmm, you…” He scratched his head, having run out
of words. Even when he’d been an emperor, the words that had come out of his mouth were along
the lines of this bitch or that bastard.

Mo Ran felt that his usual repertoire was somehow inappropriate for his teacher. He racked his
brains for several minutes before suddenly remembering something one of the women at the
pleasure house had often said. He wasn’t entirely sure of the meaning, but surely that was
unimportant. Brows twisted, he snapped, “You fickle, ungrateful, despicable little donkey hoof, do
you acknowledge your misdeeds?”

Chu Wanning slept on.

“If you don’t speak, I shall consider it a confession!”

He got another incoherent mumble for his trouble, and Chu Wanning’s grip remained firmly
around his machine parts.

“Your transgressions are grave; according to the law, you must be sentenced to – uh, sentenced to
punishment of the mouth! Eunuch Liu!” He’d gotten so into his role-play that he’d forgotten Liu
was no longer part of his life. After a moment, Mo Ran decided to lower himself to act out the
eunuch’s part. He answered himself with a subservient whine. “Your Highness, your old servant is
present.” Clearing his throat, Mo Ran returned solemnly to his royal voice. “Carry out the
punishment immediately. As you command, Your Highness,” he added in the eunuch’s voice for
good measure.

The formalities complete, Mo Ran flexed his fingers and began to carry out his teacher’s
punishment. The so-called punishment of the mouth being a nonsensical phrase he’d made up in
the moment complicated matters slightly, but the once-tyrant emperor Mo Ran solemnly cleared
his throat. Gaze cold and wicked, he slowly pressed in close to the face that looked frigid as a clear
spring in a snowy valley, and gradually drew near that pair of light colored lips before stopping
with only a hair’s breadth of space between them. Glaring at Chu Wanning, he cursed, enunciating
each word slowly.

“Chu Wanning, fuck you and your peerless pettiness.” Two slaps in the air completed the
punishment. Mo Ran was in the midst of rejoicing when he felt a sudden prick in his neck and a
change in the atmosphere. He looked down abruptly to see a pair of cold and lofty phoenix eyes.
“Er,” he said.

Like the shattering of ice, balanced between frozen and elegant, Chu Wanning spoke. “What are
you doing?”

“Uh.” Fortunately, Mo Ran had spoken softly and he was fairly sure that despite Chu Wanning’s
slight frown, his teacher hadn’t actually heard him. Inspiration struck. Mo Ran reached out and
slapped the air near Chu Wanning’s face again. The former emperor met his teacher’s darkening
expression with a mollifying grin. “I – I was killing mosquitoes for you.”
 Book 1, Part 2: Different Paths - The Case of the Ghost Marriage

Chu Wanning had in fact not heard much of Mo Ran’s pretend play, and he just managed to scrape
by with some made-up nonsense. By the time he reached his room, it was very late; he barely had
time to nap before attending morning classes. His favorite morning activity followed – breakfast.
Mengpo Hall gradually filled with people as the morning went on, with Mo Ran across from Shi
Mei; Xue Meng had come late ended up taking the seat next to Mo Ran with a gloomy face as the
spot next to Shi Mei had already been taken.

That Sisheng Peak’s teachings didn’t require fasting was the best part of the sect, as far as Mo Ran
was concerned; unlike the lofty, ethereal sects of the upper cultivation world, Sisheng Peak’s
cultivation method was compatible with the consumption of all foods. The available meals had
always been sumptuous. Mo Ran drank from a bowl of savory spicy soup, slurping up peanut
crumbs and crunchy soybean. A plate of crisply yellowed pan-fried buns he’d ordered just for Shi
Mei sat untouched.

Xue Meng glanced sideways at Mo Ran and said mockingly, “Mo Ran, it’s really quite incredible
that you went to Red Lotus Hell and actually managed to walk back out on your own two legs.
Truly inspirational.”

Mo Ran responded without even bothering to lift his head. “Of course, who do you think I am.”

“Who do I think you are?” Xue Meng sneered. “Just because he didn’t break your legs, you’ve
already forgotten your place?”

“Forgotten my place, what do you think your place is?”

Xue Meng scoffed. “I am our teacher’s top disciple.”

“It doesn’t count if you’re the one that says it. Go ask for his seal of approval so you can frame it
and hang it on the wall.”

Xue Meng snapped his chopsticks with a crack, and Shi Mei hastened to play mediator. “Please
don’t fight. Eat your breakfast.”

Xue Meng snorted. Mo Ran mimicked him with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face, and Xue
Meng bristled, smacking the table. “How dare you!”

Seeing the situation rapidly deteriorating, Shi Mei hurriedly held Xue Meng back. “Xue Meng,
everyone’s watching. Eat, don’t fight.” It was a pity, Shi Mei thought, that the two of them were
fundamentally incompatible; despite being cousins, they ended up fighting every time they met. He
tried without success to talk Xue Meng down, and finally had to resort to physically wedging
himself between the two of them to ease the tension. “Xue Meng,” he asked in a desperate attempt
at distraction, “do you know when the Madam’s cat is going to give birth?”

“Oh, you mean Ali?” Xue Meng answered. “Mom was mistaken, she’s not pregnant, she just
gained weight from eating too much.”

Shi Mei turned to Mo Ran instead. “Ran, do you still have to go to the Red Lotus Pavilion to do
chores today?”

“Shouldn’t have to anymore, everything that needed to be tidied up has been tidied. I’ll help you
with copying the sect rules today.”
Shi Mei laughed. “Do you even have time to help me? Don’t you have to copy them a hundred
times yourself?”

Xue Meng raised an eyebrow. He looked with some astonishment at Shi Mei, who usually didn’t
even put a single toe out of line. “How did you end up having to copy the rules too?”

Shi Mei looked embarrassed. All of a sudden, before he could speak, the sounds of conversation in
the dining hall died down abruptly. All three of them turned around to see Chu Wanning enter
Mengpo Hall, white robes billowing behind him. He walked to the food counters without any
expression and started selecting pastries. There were more than a thousand people here eating in
the hall, but with the addition of just one individual, it had suddenly become as quiet as a
graveyard.

All the disciples lowered their heads to focus on their food; all conversation took place in the
quietest of tones. Watching Chu Wanning carry his tray of congee to his usual corner, Shi Mei let
out a soft sigh. He couldn’t help but say, “Actually, I feel kind of sorry for him sometimes.”

Mo Ran glanced up. “How so?”

“Just look, no one dares to go near where he’s sitting, no one even dares to talk loudly with him
around. It was still ok when the sect leader was here, but without him around, he doesn’t have
anyone to talk to, isn’t that so lonely?”

Mo Ran grunted. “He brought it on himself.”

Xue Meng got angry again. “You dare to mock our teacher?”

“How am I mocking him? I’m just speaking the truth.” Mo Ran put another bun on Shi Mei’s plate.
“With a temper like that, who would want to hang out with him?”

“You!”

The shit-eating grin was back on Mo Ran’s face as he peered at Xue Meng. “You got a problem
with it? Feel free to go sit with our teacher for your meals, then, don’t sit with us.”

The very prospect shut Xue Meng right up; while he respected Chu Wanning, he feared him more
– just like the rest of the sect. Angry and humiliated but with no recourse, he kicked the table leg
twice and settled into a sulk. Mo Ran reacted with an air of languid smugness, tauntingly directing
a glance at the little phoenix. Then his gaze landed on Chu Wanning and looking at the only white-
colored figure in the hall full of silver-edged blue suddenly the image of his teacher sleeping curled
up amongst a pile of cold metal. Mo Ran felt that Shi Mei wasn’t wrong to pity their teacher, but he
was supposed to rejoice in Chu Wanning’s misfortune. Even now, the thought made the corners of
his mouth quirk up.

The days flew by, Mo Ran’s daily chores were easy tasks nowhere near the Red Lotus Pavilion,
and before he knew it his month of confinement had ended. He was called to Loyalty Hall, where
Madam Wang patted his head and asked after his injuries.

“Thanks for worrying about me, aunt, I’m all healed now,” Mo Ran answered with a smile.

“That’s good. Be more mindful in the future and don’t make terrible mistakes that upset your
teacher again, understand?”

Mo Ran was an expert at acting pitiful. “Aunt, I understand.”

“And one more thing.” Madam Wang retrieved a letter from the yellow rosewood table. “It’s been
a full year since you entered the sect and it’s time for you to take on exorcism duties. This letter
from your uncle came by messenger pigeon yesterday. His instructions are for you to go down the
mountain and complete this assignment once your confinement period ends.”

Practical hands-on experience out in the world after a full year in the sect was part of Sisheng
Peak’s traditions, and each disciple was accompanied by a teacher on their first mission. The
disciple was also required to invite a fellow disciple to encourage camaraderie and gain
understanding of the meaning of loyalty of the heart evident, life or death unchanging. Mo Ran,
bright-eyed, accepted the assignment letter. He tore it open, quickly finishing it and breaking into a
gleeful grin.

Worried, Madam Wang said, “Ran, your uncle entrusted you with a difficult task in the hopes that
you will be able to make a name for yourself. The Constellation Saint is a powerful cultivator, but
swords are indiscriminate in battle, and he may not necessarily be able to protect you. Don’t fool
around too much, and make sure you don’t take the enemy lightly.”

“I won’t, I won’t!” Mo Ran waved his hands, grinning. “Don’t worry, aunt, I’ll take care of myself,
no problem!”

“This child.” Madam Wang watched his retreating back, her gentle and graceful face lined with
worry. “How is he so happy over just receiving a mission?”

What Madam Wang didn’t know was that the mission was to look into an incident in Butterfly
Town at the request of a Landlord Chen. The important part, for Mo Ran, was that, in the last
lifetime, he had fallen under the influence of a demonic poison and, in an addled state, forcibly
kissed Shi Mei within an illusory realm while on this mission. It had been one of the very few
times Mo Ran had been intimate with Shi Mei.

The prospect of repeating the kiss made Mo Ran incredibly ecstatic, in no small part because Shi
Mei had had no grounds to complain about his actions while he had been poisoned. It had been a
free kiss, with no consequences! Mo Ran didn’t even mind that Chu Wanning would also be on the
mission; he would just leave the exorcising to the master while he flirted with Shi Mei. It was a
win-win situation.

So that’s incredibly gross.

The first part of the mission went as planned, and the three cultivators made their way to the
troubled Butterfly Town on galloping horses. Its specialty produce was flowers, and fields of
flowers stretched for many kilometers outside its residential area. The town’s name came from the
flocks of butterflies gracing the fields and, by extension, the town itself.

Night had fallen by the time the cultivators arrived, but the village entrance was bustling with
activity. Drumbeats rang loud and clear as a procession of performers all dressed in red and playing
the shawm filed out of an alleyway.

Shi Mei was puzzled. “Is this a marriage procession? Why is it at night?”

“It’s a ghost marriage,” Chu Wanning said absently.

Mo Ran was familiar with these; also known as Yin marriage, the ghost marriage was a tradition
among the common people to match men and women who had died young in posthumous
matrimony. While rare in poorer areas, the practice was common in the prosperous Butterfly
Town. The showy procession escorting a sedan decorated in red and white was divided into two
lines, one carrying real satins and silks, the other carrying paper money and mock ingots. Lit with
golden lanterns, the procession made its way out of the village.

The group of cultivators stood to the side to let the ghost marriage procession pass. No live person
sat inside the sedan but a ghost bride made of paper. Her lips were painted bright scarlet and two
lines of red on her cheeks framed a deathly pale face. Mo Ran round her smiling visage frightening.

“What kind of lousy tradition is this? Is money just burning holes in their pockets?” Mo Ran
muttered under his breath.

“The people of Butterfly Town are extremely superstitious,” Chu Wanning told him. “They believe
that solitary graves will attract lone souls and stray spirits, and bring misfortune to the family.”

“That’s not actually true, right?”

“It’s real as long as the townsfolk believe it to be.”

Mo Ran sighed. “I guess. Butterfly Town’s been around for hundreds of years, so if they wouldn’t
believe us now if we told them that their superstitions aren’t true.”

Shi Mei had another concern. “Where is the ghost marriage procession going?”

“We passed a temple earlier,” Chu Wanning answered. “Not one honoring a god, and the
inscription on the door called for luck in marriage. Its altar was piled with red satin, covered in
phrases such as match made in heaven or harmony in the afterlife. I believe that’s probably their
destination.”

“I also noticed that temple.” Shi Mei looked pensive. “Sir, is the one enshrined within a ghost
mistress of ceremonies?”

“That is correct.”

The ghost mistress of ceremonies was born of the imagination of the common people and their
belief that marriage between the souls of the departed must also observe the proper customs. The
popularity of ghost marriage in Butterfly Town had led to construction of a golden body for the
ghost mistress of ceremonies currently enshrined in the temple before the cemetery outside town,
where families would worship with the ghost bride before performing the burial.

Mo Ran had rarely seen such ridiculous events, and watched with great interest. Chu Wanning,
uninterested, only gave a brief, detached glance before turning his horse around. “We should check
on the family requesting our services.”

Their client was the richest merchant in town, Landlord Chen, patriarch of a merchant family who
dealt in perfumed powder. He had four sons and a daughter. “Honored cultivators, sirs!” he said,
upon seeing them. “I’ve suffered so much! You’ve finally come! If someone hadn’t come to take
care of this soon, I-I wouldn’t even want to live anymore!”

The eldest son had married, and the patriarch had sought to move to a quieter household. With
riches and reputation to spare, they’d purchased a large plot of desirable land in a secluded area by
the northern mountain; it even had a natural hot spring pond. The very day they had begun building
their new house, the first few shovels had hit something hard. Madam Chen, upon looking to see
what had halted their progress, had immediately swooned from fright – they had somehow dug up
a brand-new, red-painted coffin at the northern mountain.

Although Butterfly Town had a cemetery where all the deceased were buried, the solitary coffin
blood-red had inexplicably been interred at the northern mountain without a grave or marker. All
construction had been halted, and the coffin was re-buried, but it was already too late. The Chen
family was haunted.

“First it was my daughter-in-law,” Landlord Chen lamented to them. “The fright affected her baby
and she miscarried. Then my eldest son went into the mountain to collect medicinal herbs to help
his wife recover and slipped and fell. By the time we found him, he was already dead!” He let out a
long sigh and waved his hand, too choked up to continue.

Madam Chen dabbed at her tears with a handkerchief. “In the months after that, our sons met with
mishaps, one after another. Disappearance, death – of our four sons, three are already gone!”

Chu Wanning furrowed his brows as he glanced past the Chen couple, gaze landing on the pale-
faced youngest son. He looked to be about the same age as Mo Ran, fifteen or sixteen, and had
delicate features now twisted with fear.

Shi Mei spoke instead. “Would you mind telling us how your other sons – how they died?”

Madam Chen sighed. “Our second son went to look for his brother and was bitten by a snake on the
way. It was just a regular grass snake, not poisonous, so no one paid it any mind at the time, but a
couple days later he just fell over while eating.” She let out a sob. “My son.”

Shi Mei exhaled, feeling terrible for having to push. “Were there signs of poisoning on the body?”

“What poison? Our family’s been cursed! The older sons are all dead, the youngest is next! Our
youngest son is next!”

Chu Wanning frowned, gaze moving to Madam Chen with lightning speed. “How do you know
that the youngest son is next, and not you? Does this malicious spirit only kill men?”

The youngest son cowered to the side, legs shaking and eyes swollen like peaches. Even his voice
squeaked and contorted as he said, “It’s me! It’s going to be me! I know it! The person in the red
coffin is coming! He’s coming! Honored cultivator, save me! Please save me!” Lost in his fear, he
scrambled over to cling to Chu Wanning’s thigh.

Averse to physical contact with strangers, Chu Wanning immediately sidestepped it. He lifted his
head to stare at the Chen couple. “Why is he so sure?”

The couple exchanged a glance and spoke with a trembling voice. “There’s a place in that we’re
afraid to go near again – sir, you’ll understand when you sees, it’s truly evil, truly.”

“What place?” Chu Wanning asked.

They hesitated for a moment before pointing toward the room housing their ancestral shrine with
trembling hands.

Chu Wanning led the way, followed closely by Mo Ran and Shi Mei while the Chen family trailed
after at a distance. As they pushed open the door, Mo Ran saw that the room appeared no different
than ancestral shrines of other big families. It was draped in fluttering white silk. Rows of
memorial tablets lined the sides of the room, lit by pale candle fire. Each tablet was painted
yellow, the names and positions of the departed engraved in neat and careful writing. A single
tablet in the center was the only exception – instead of being carved and painted, the lettering had
been written in vivid red: Spirit of Chen Yanji, erected by Living Person of the Chen-Sun Clan.

The Chen family, who had been hiding behind the cultivators, peered into the shrine room as if
hoping they had been mistaken. Faced with letters written as if on blood on the tablet, they broke
down in grief. Madam Chen wailed loudly, and the youngest son’s face was so pale he hardly
appeared alive. Shi Mei eyed the writing, cataloguing where it was wrong; it did not conform to the
traditional system of rites, and it was extremely messy, as if the person had been about to fall
asleep and struggling to write. It was nearly illegible.

“Who is Chen Yanji?” Shi Mei asked.

The youngest son, voice shaking with sobs, answered from behind him, “I-it’s me.”

Landlord Chen wept as he spoke. “Cultivator, ever since our second son passed, we noticed that –
that a new tablet was added to the ancestral shrine, but that the names written on it were those of
living people from our family. Once a name appears, that person meets with disaster within seven
days! When our third son’s name appeared on the tablet, I shut him in his room and sprinkled
incense dust by the door, and even got someone to come perform thaumaturgy. We tried
everything, but on the seventh day he still died with no cause whatsoever, just died!” He became
more emotional and more afraid the more he spoke, even dropping to his knees. “I’ve never
committed any wrongdoings in my life, why must the Heavens treat me so! Why!”

Shi Mei’s heart ached for him, and he hurriedly went to comfort the old man crying to the heavens.
He looked up and called softly, “Sir.”

Chu Wanning hadn’t even turned around. He was still staring at that tablet with great interest,
when he suddenly asked, “Living person, Chen-Sun clan. Does that refer to you, Madam Chen?”

------

“Y-yes, it’s me!” Madam Chen wept. “But I didn’t write on the tablet! Why would I curse my own
child?”

“You would not have done it while awake, but that’s not necessarily true when asleep.” Chu
Wanning lifted his hand to pick up the memorial tablet as he spoke, channeling qi into his palm.
Suddenly, blood-curdling screams erupted from the tablet, followed immediately by the heavy,
festering scent of blood. Cold eyes piercing and voice stern, he said, “Arrogant wicked spirit,
daring to run thus rampant!”

Against the heavy spiritual power gathered in his palm, the writing on the tablet was forced to
recede screaming bit by bit. It faded and finally vanished altogether, and Chu Wanning shattered
the tablet with his pale, slender fingers. The Chen family, watching from the back, was stunned.
Even Shi Mei was stunned and couldn’t help exhaling, “How impressive.” Even Mo Ran was
unwillingly impressed by the vicious action.

Chu Wanning’s face turned slightly toward them, elegant features were devoid of expression but
cheeks speckled with spatters of blood. He lifted his hand to examine the blood on his fingertips
before speaking to the Chen family. “All of you stay in the courtyard today. Go nowhere.”

There was no chance of anything but complete compliance after that display, Mo Ran thought, and
was unsurprised when the surviving members of the Chen family promptly answered, “Yes! Yes!
We’ll obey your every instruction!”

Chu Wanning strode out of the shrine room, wiping the bloodstains off of his face indifferently. He
lifted a finger to point at Madam Chen. “Especially you. Do not fall asleep under any circumstance.
That thing is capable of possession. You must remain awake.”
“Yes, of course, yes!” Madam Chen agreed repeatedly, before asking hesitantly, “Cultivator, then,
my son, is he safe?”

“For now.”

Madam Chen stared blankly. “For now? Not always? Th-then what must be done to keep my son
safe?”

“Capture the demon,” Chu Wanning replied.

In panicked worry, Madam Chen forgot her manners and threw courtesy aside. “And just when are
you planning to go capture it?”

“Right now.” Chu Wanning’s gaze swept over the Chen family. “Which of you knows the exact
place that the red coffin was dug up from? Lead the way.”

The eldest son’s wife, Yao, was tall and gallant despite being a woman. Even with the dread on her
face, she was calmer than the rest of her family as she immediately offered, “I know the location,
since I and my late husband selected it. I will guide you.”

Chen Yao led the cultivators north, quickly arriving at the Chen family’s plot of land. It was
cordoned off, plants dark and overgrown, and there was nobody around for miles. It was
completely silent, with not even the sounds of birds and insects present. Halfway up the mountain,
the space suddenly opened up into a clearing. “Honored Cultivators, this is the place,” she said.

A grave-suppression rock lay where the red coffin had been dug up, and Mo Ran burst out
laughing at the sight of it. “What good is that crappy rock gonna do? Clearly the work of amateurs,
toss it aside.”

Chen-Yao was apprehensive. “But the gentleman from the town said that the demonic beast inside
holds the evil spirit down to keep it from getting out.”

Mo Ran smiled sarcastically. “It sure has been effective so far.”

“Then get rid of it!” Chen-Yao exclaimed.

“No need,” Chu Wanning interrupted coldly. He lifted his hand, fingertips glowing golden as
Heavenly Questions answered his call. A single flick of the willow vine cracked the rock into
pieces. Expressionless, Chu Wanning walked over to stand among the debris, and raised his hand
once again in a threat. “What are you hiding for? Get up!”

A strange chuckling sound came from below, and a twelve feet tall wooden coffin burst forth from
the ground, spraying earth and dust into the air.

“It has incredibly heavy demonic energy!” Shi Mei exclaimed, startled.

“Fall back,” Chu Wanning instructed. Heavenly Questions lashed the tightly sealed red coffin,
sending sparks flying. After a moment of silence, the lid of the coffin split open, thick smoke
dispersing to reveal the interior. Inside the coffin lay a completely naked man with a straight nose
and handsome features. He would have looked as though merely asleep if not for the paper-pale
whiteness of his skin.

Mo Ran’s gaze fell below the man’s waist and he made a show of covering his eyes. “Oh, man, the
rude jackass isn’t wearing any pants.”
Both Shi Mei and Chu Wanning looked at him in disbelief, but it was Chen-Yao who called out in
surprise. “Husband!” She made to rush toward the coffin without a second thought.

Chu Wanning reached out to hold her back, eyebrow raised. “This is your husband?”

“Yes! He’s my husband!” Chen-Yao was stricken with both fear and grief. “How did he end up
here? We interred him at the ancestral grave, fully dressed in burial clothes, how is he here?” She
started wailing, beating her chest in anguish. “How could this happen! My poor husband!”

Shi Mei sighed. “Mistress Chen, please restrain your grief.”

Chu Wanning and Mo Ran both ignored the weeping woman, Chu Wanning out of lack of
knowledge of how to comfort people, and Mo Ran out of a lack of compassion. Instead, the two of
them stared at the corpse in the coffin. Mo Ran, having already experienced the situation in his
previous life, knew more or less what was coming but still had to act his part. “Sir, something’s
fishy about this corpse.”

“Of course there is,” Chu Wanning said, derailing Mo Ran’s plans to deliver a speech derived from
the explanation he’d gotten from his teacher in his previous life and thereby shock him with his
knowledge. A teacher was supposed to encourage his disciples to speak their thoughts, give praise,
and reward them for their insight, Mo Ran thought sourly, and decided to pretend not to have heard
his teacher’s answer.

“There’s no sign of decomposition on this corpse,” Mo Ran said. “Mr. Chen died over half a
month ago, so in this kind of environment, he should’ve long since started festering and leaking
pus. There should already be a layer of corpse fluid accumulated in the coffin. This is the first
point.”

Chu Wanning shot him a cold look, which Mo Ran elected to interpret as permission to continue.

“Second,” Mo Ran said, striving to seem unaffected. “The demonic energy coming off this red
coffin was very strong before it opened, but conversely vanished after opening. Moreover, there is
practically no demonic energy on the corpse itself, which is also quite abnormal.”

Chu Wanning still said nothing.

“Third,” Mo Ran continued, encouraged. “Ever since the coffin was opened, there has been a sweet
fragrance in the wind.” The scent was very subdued, almost unnoticeable unless one was paying
very close attention. At Mo Ran’s words, Shi Mei and Chen-Yao realized that there was indeed a
faint sweet smell in the air.

“You’re right,” Shi Mei said.

Chen-Yao sniffed, her face changing color. “This fragrance,” she said, and her voice trailed off.

“Mistress Chen, what is it?” Shi Mei asked.

“This fragrance is my mother-in-law’s secret recipe, Hundred Butterfly Fragrance!” Chen-Yao

said, voice breaking in fear. No one spoke for a moment, remembering the bloody line written on
the memorial tablet in the shrine room. Erected by Living Person of the Chen-Sun Clan.

Shi Mei was the one who said it. “Could it be that this whole thing really is Madam Chen’s
doing?”

“It’s unlikely,” Mo Ran said, secure in the knowledge based on his previous experience.
“It is not,” Chu Wanning said at nearly the same time, and he glanced at Mo Ran. His expression
remained even. “You go ahead.”

Mo Ran spoke without modesty. “As far as I know, the Chen family made their fortune on the
Madam’s unique Hundred Butterfly Fragrance. Its recipe is kept secret, but the finished product is
not hard to obtain. Of every ten girls in Butterfly Town, five or six wear this fragrance. In addition,
we looked into this beforehand, and it seems that Mr. Chen also quite liked his mother’s Hundred
Butterfly Fragrance. He often mixed it into his bathwater, so it’s not at all strange that his body
carries this scent. However.” He turned his head back toward the naked man in the coffin as he
spoke. “The strange part is that he’s already been dead for half a month, but this fragrance is fresh
as if it’s been freshly applied. Am I right, sir?”

Chu Wanning said nothing.

“Could you just praise me a little if I’m right?” Mo Ran got only a grunt in reply and laughed.
“You really don’t like to waste words.” He’d hardly gotten two chuckles in before it was lost in a
flurry of robes billowing as Chu Wanning grabbed him and swiftly moved them back several feet.
Heavenly Questions glowed brightly golden in his hand, fire light dancing.

“Look out.”

The smell of Hundred Butterfly Fragrance in the air suddenly thickened, white fog materializing as
the scent filled the air and spread with alarming speed. The entire area was almost instantly
blanketed in fog dense enough to hide Mo Ran’s hand at the end of his arm, and his heart stirred.
The illusion was upon them.

“Ah!!” Chen-Yao’s shriek was the first thing he heard in the thick fog. “Cultivator!” She did not
get to finish speaking before the sound was suddenly cut off.

Chu Wanning’s fingertip glowed blue as he placed a tracking enchantment on Mo Ran’s forehead.
“You be careful while I go check out the situation.” Then he quickly disappeared into the thick fog,
following the direction of the voice.

Mo Ran touched his forehead, laughing quietly. “Well, well, well, even the position of the
enchantment is exactly the same as it was before. Chu Wanning, you really haven’t changed at
all.”

The fog dispersed almost as quickly as it had arrived, revealing a scene that had been even more
startling when Mo Ran had seen it the first time. The desolate and overgrown mountain was gone, a
vast expanse of intricate and elegant landscape gardens and pavilions with winding verandas in its
place. Rock gardens set with verdant trees lined a cobblestone path stretching beyond what the eye
could see.

The mere sight made Mo Ran want to roll on the floor in joy; he had been thinking about this very
scene the entire day. In his previous life, they’d all become separated here as well; Mo Ran had run
into Shi Mei, and had kissed him under the hypnosis of the illusion for the first – and only – time in
his life. The only downside had been that Shi Mei had run away as soon as Mo Ran had let go,
perhaps out of fright, cutting Mo Ran off from his sweet nectar before he’d barely gotten a taste.

Later, after the illusory realm had been broken, Shi Mei had never brought it up again, as if the kiss
had never even happened. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, Mo Ran had wondered if it had
just been a fantasy born of his deep obsession. Fantasy or not, he thought now as he licked his lips,
Shi Me wouldn’t escape so easily this time. I’m going to kiss him until I want to stop!
yeah because that’s also not gross at all

------

Mo Ran was unable to find his way, no matter how far he walked. The scent of the Hundred
Butterfly Fragrance in the air, a potion that caused those exposed to it overlong to have heightened
emotions and senses before inducing them to perform unreasonable acts, grew slowly stronger. Mo
Ran felt as though a flame had been lit in his stomach and was slowly boiling the blood coursing
through his body. He needed to find water, he thought, and tried to remember where the spring
was.

The first time Mo Ran had been through this experience, he had been parched by the time he’d
found the spring. Concluding that death by poison was preferable to death by thirst, he’d then
drunk several handfuls of the water. He’d felt his consciousness fading after drinking the spring
water, and he’d been incoherent by the time Shi Mei had found him. His fellow disciple had
cultivated the healing arts to dispel the poison in his body, and he, dizzy and addled under the
poison’s influence, had kissed Shi Mei on the lips as if possessed.

Even in his younger body, the former emperor of the human world was swift as the wind and
forceful as thunder, and all of his being was focused on the desire for a repeat of his dream-like
encounter. He was still unable to find the spring any more quickly than the first time, but when he
finally heard the tinkling of its water he drank to his heart’s content without hesitation. As it had
before, the spring water exacerbated the fretful agitation brought about by the scent.

Mo Ran wanted nothing more than to go deeper into the spring. Before he knew it, half his body
was underwater. Just as he was about to lose consciousness, a hand suddenly pulled him up,
sending water flying everywhere exactly as it had before. Air rushed back into his lungs with a
gasp, water droplets falling from his eyelashes as they fluttered open to look at the figure in front of
him.

The blurry silhouette slowly sharpened, helped along by an angry voice. “What’s wrong with you,
drinking the water here, are you trying to die?”

Mo Ran shook the water off like a wet dog and breathed in relief when he confirmed who it was.
“Shi Mei,” he breathed.

“Stop talking and take this medicine!”

Mo Ran opened his mouth and obediently swallowed the purple pill with Shi Mei’s incomparably
beautiful face filling his vision. As it had in his last lifetime, he felt unable to control himself – not
that he would have tried particularly hard to begin with – and he captured Shi Mei’s wrist, quickly
pressing their lips together before the other could react. Sparks flew and his mind went totally
blank.

Despite Mo Ran’s sordid history of promiscuity, he’d kissed relatively few partners; passion
between the sheets needed no contact between the lips or unnecessary affections. Shi Mei, innocent
as he was, clearly hadn’t expected to be attacked and froze in shock until Mo Ran’s tongue intruded
into his mouth. Only then did he finally react and start struggling. He pulled away just enough to
start spitting out words. “What are you do-mmf!” He only managed half a sentence before Mo Ran
yanked him back roughly and covered his lips once again.

Mo Ran kissed more intensely than he had in the previous life, tangling both of them into a heap by
the side of the spring. He kept Shi Mei pressed firmly under his body as he kissed his moist and
chilly lips, the touch as breathtaking as he remembered, and found his tongue also exploring Shi
Mei’s cheek and ear. “Stop moving,” he said, the huskiness of his voice surprising him.

The spring water was affecting him more strongly than it had the last time; then, he’d been stricken
by his conscience after only a few seconds and loosened his grip enough to allow Shi Mei to get up
and flee. In this life, he was vile and shameless with no conscience to slow him down. He felt only
desire urging him on. Mo Ran kissed as much as he pleased, holding Shi Mei down by the side of
the spring no matter how much he struggled and cried out in anger. His heart was already
possessed, and he couldn’t make out any words at all.

Shi Mei’s beautiful face swayed back and forth in his vision, his alluring lips stoking the ball of
fire that had been ignited in his abdomen. Mo Ran gave in to his desires, kisses growing
increasingly more ravenous as he pried open Shi Mei’s jaw and plundered the sweetness inside his
mouth. His heart thudded like drumbeats in his chest as he realized he had already ripped off Shi
Mei’s intricate outer robe and torn open his belt sash. His hand slid inside and caressed smooth,
firm skin. The contours of his body were surprisingly toned under Mo Ran’s hand, stoking his
desires further.

“Mo Weiyu! I’ll fucking kill you!”

A burst of powerful qi suddenly tossed him aside. Its ferocious power caught Mo Ran completely
off guard. His body flipped over and slammed against a rock while Shi Mei clutched at his
disheveled clothing and stood. Golden qi crackled in his palm, sparks whining as they flew through
the air and mirrored the fury in his eyes.

Something is wrong, Mo Ran thought, dizzy from the impact.

“Heavenly Questions, come!” A golden willow vine appeared in Shi Mei’s hand in answer to the
enraged bellow, glowing piercingly bright with streaks of fire coursing along its length in bursts of
gold. Willow leaves swirled through the air, stunning Mo Ran as he muzzily wondered when Shi
Mei had learned to summon Chu Wanning’s weapon. The thought had barely coalesced before
Heavenly Questions slashed viciously toward him, no restraint whatsoever behind the lashing to
spill his blood without mercy.

The beating was savage enough to have satisfied even Mo Ran’s worst enemies, and he finally
sobered up under the relentless storm of brutal lashings. Mo Ran finally realized that Shi Mei was
far too gentle to mete out such punishment and hadn’t summoned Chu Wanning’s weapon after all;
it was Chu Wanning standing over him. Only when his hand got tired from whipping did Mo Ran’s
teacher pause to take a breath and rub his wrist.

Leaning against the rock, Mo Ran suddenly gagged on a mouthful of blood. “No,” he moaned.
“You really are going to kill me.” More blood wormed its way up his throat until he felt his heart
sink to the depths of the abyss. He had reached the nadir of his history of debauchery, with Chu
Wanning appearing in Shi Mei’s place, wearing his face and mimicking his voice. Mo Ran wiped
the blood from the corners of his mouth and looked up, panting.

Whether it was the pain or the medication, he saw Chu Wanning’s furious face instead of Shi
Mei’s gentle visage. His teacher’s eyes were like twin bolts of lightning, utterly frightening, and
yet Mo Ran suddenly felt that he had grown shamelessly hard. In place of his teacher’s usual
immaculate and intricate white robes with collars high and tightly crossed was a disheveled mess
held up only by the tight grip of a pale and slender hand. Chu Wanning’s lips were red and
swollen, and bruises peppered the side of his neck. His fierce expression only added to the allure.

Mo Ran’s memories of Chu Wanning from his previous life came thick and fast, cycling through
insanity, bloodlust, hatred, conquest, and pleasure. He hadn’t wanted to think about any of it, but
the rusty tang of blood mixed with Hundred Butterfly Fragrance pulled them forth to swell like the
tide and flood his thoughts. Mo Ran realized that even through the loathing and the hatred, the
desire to dismember his teacher and dispose of the body, he still couldn’t bear the sight of his
ravaged body. The most intense climaxes and fervent entanglements of his previous life had all
been with Chu Wanning, but while Mo Ran was perfectly comfortable hating him, his instinctive
physical reaction made his skin crawl.

Chu Wanning sighed, his demeanor still furious and the hand holding Heavenly Questions
trembling slightly. “Awake now?”

Mo Ran choked down a mouthful of blood and answered. “Yes, sir.”

For a moment, he thought Chu Wanning would strike him again, but his teacher seemed to
recognize that he was under the influence of the illusion and wasn’t entirely to blame. Chu
Wanning still hesitated, but put the willow vine away in the end. “What happened today,” he
started.

Mo Ran rushed to speak before he finished. “No one will know besides you and I! I absolutely
won’t say anything! Let the heavens strike me with lightning if I betray a word of it!”

A grim smile prefaced Chu Wanning’s reply. “I’ve heard you swear that oath no fewer than a
hundred times, and not once did you keep it.”

“I won’t break it this time!” Mo Ran felt that while he couldn’t deny his physical attraction to Chu
Wanning, it was in the same category as a desire to eat fermented tofu – nothing to be admitted in
public. The tofu should be eaten shamefully in a corner, where its stench couldn’t be inflicted on
others, and Mo Ran’s sudden desire to screw Chu Wanning was the same. If anyone knew, it
would be the end of his reputation. It was deviant, that’s what it was, no matter what he’d done
with Chu Wanning in his previous life.

“It was a powerful illusion, one that gives the appearance of the person your heart most wants to
see to anyone you meet inside,” Chu Wanning explained. “Remain calm and focused to avoid its
influence.”

Mo Ran digested the new information, and the bottom sank out of his stomach as it occurred to him
that it might not have been Shi Mei whom he’d kissed during his first round with this illusion. He
cast a glance sideways, wondering if he’d met Chu Wanning that time as well, but he couldn’t
imagine assaulting his teacher without receiving a retaliatory whipping or at the very least a slap.

Distracted by his intense internal debate, Mo Ran was startled when Chu Wanning suddenly
stopped and pulled him behind him. “Quiet.”

“What is it?”

“There’s movement ahead.”

Events were now taking a completely different track than they had before, and Mo Ran had no idea
what would happen next. “Is it Shi Mei?” he asked immediately.

Chu Wanning frowned. “I told you not to anticipate who you might see, or the illusion will give
whoever we meet that person’s appearance. Focus your thoughts!”

Despite pouring effort into it, Mo Ran couldn’t do it. Chu Wanning frowned, and then jabbed
unceremoniously into Mo Ran’s arm with a dagger of concentrated qi. Mo Ran shrieked in pain,
only to get another scolding.
“Don’t yell.” Not only had his teacher snapped at him, he’d also slapped his other hand over Mo
Ran’s mouth. It shone gold, and Mo Ran suddenly couldn’t make a sound. “Does it hurt?” Chu
Wanning asked in a mockery of solicitous concern.

What do you think! Why don’t you stab yourself and see if it hurts! Mo Ran bit back the words and
instead nodded pitifully, eyes watering.

“Good. Focus on the pain and don’t think about anything else. Follow me.”

Mo Ran silently cursed Chu Wanning as he followed quietly behind him on the winding path.
Unexpected sounds of laughter and conversation became clearer as they approached, truly
suspicious in such a desolate place. They were coming from behind a tall, continuous wall – a
brightly lit manor draped in vibrant colors with red silk swaying gently. Well over a hundred
banquet tables stood in the large courtyard, holding all manners of exquisite dishes and anchoring a
lively crowd of guests drinking and making merry. A massive eye-catching banner advertising
good fortune in bright scarlet adorned the open gates, marking the gathering as a wedding banquet.
It was not what stood out to Mo Ran.

“Sir,” he whispered. “These people don’t have faces!”

------

Every guest, sitting or standing, playing party games or making toasts, all had an utterly blank face.
Their features might have been made of paper. The sound of voices washed over Mo Ran, but it
was impossible to tell where the voices might have come from. “What should we do?” he asked.
“Surely not go in there and drink with them.”

Chu Wanning ignored Mo Ran’s attempt at humor to focus on the situation, head down as he
thought furiously. Before he reached any conclusions, the sound of scattered footsteps pierced the
hum of conversation, and two lines of people appeared out of the fog. The procession headed
slowly toward the manor, and the two cultivators reflexively moved to hide behind a large rock in
the garden.

A smiling golden boy and a jade maiden led the procession; childlike in appearance with clear and
colorful faces, they resembled the attendants of Daoist immortals and were doubtless nowhere near
as young as their faces seemed. In the dim light of the night, they looked just like the little boy and
girl paper dolls that were burned for the dead. They each held a red candle as thick as their arms
decorated with an intertwining dragon and phoenix intertwining. The candles gave off a strong
scent of Butterfly Town’s powder as they burned.

The dull ache from where Chu Wanning had stabbed him saved Mo Ran from falling victim to the
intoxicating odor, and he pressed down on it again for good measure. Chu Wanning glanced at
him, eyebrow arched, and Mo Ran muttered, “Well, it works.” He paused. “Sir, how come you
don’t need to poke a hole in yourself to maintain your consciousness?”

“The scent has no effect on me,” Chu Wanning replied.

“What? Why not?”

Chu Wanning’s reply was frosty. “I have a strong cultivation base.”

With no answer to that, Mo Ran returned his attention to the procession, watching the twin lines
walk slowly up a flight of steps, and was caught off guard when Chu Wanning made a small noise
of surprise. Mo Ran followed his gaze curiously and was shocked to realize that the lines were
made of corpses. They retained their facial features from life, but they swayed as they walked with
closed eyes and deathly pale skin. Most seemed fairly young, not even twenty, and Mo Ran saw
both men and women. One silhouette looked familiar, and he recognized the eldest Chen son from
the red-painted coffin, somehow appearing in the parade of the dead.

Oddly, the Chen youth had no partner – unlike all the others, his companion was a ghost bride
made of paper. Mo Ran didn’t have time to figure out what it might have meant before he saw the
people at the very end of the lines and the color instantly drained from his face. Shi Mei and Chen-
Yao followed behind the lines of corpses with their heads hung low. They walked with the same
unsteady gait, eyes closed and faces pale, and it was impossible to tell whether they were still alive.
Mo Ran’s rush toward them was abruptly halted by Chu Wanning’s grip on his shoulder.

“Wait.”

“But Shi Mei!”

“I know.” Chu Wanning watched the lines slowly advance, and whispered, “Be careful. There’s a
barrier over there – if you rush through it, you’ll set it off and we’ll lose control of the situation.
Most likely, all the ghosts in the courtyard would be upon us.” As one of his specialties was
barriers, Mo Ran followed his gaze to see a nearly transparent veil at the entrance to the courtyard.
As the golden boy and jade maiden reached it, they blew softly at their candles to fan the flames
higher before slowly stepping through the barrier. Behind them, one by one, the men and women
slipped through the barrier without interference. The faceless ghosts inside the courtyard turned to
watch them enter, cheering and clapping.

“Go,” Chu Wanning hissed. “Follow them. Close your eyes and don’t breathe when you cross the
barrier. Copy what the corpses do no matter what. Absolutely do not speak.”

Anxious to save Shi Mei, Mo Ran obeyed without hesitation and stood next to his teacher in the
line of corpses. Chu Wanning took his place behind Shi Mei, necessitating Mo Ran to line up
behind Chen-Yao. The procession moved at an agonizingly slow pace. All Mo Ran could see of
Shi Mei was the side of his pale face and his helplessly bowed snow-white neck, but finally they
reached the barrier and crossed it without incident.

The courtyard was even bigger on the inside than it had looked from the outside. The three-story
manor decorated with lanterns and colored banners was augmented by a hundred small rooms
packed along the sides of the courtyard, each with a large scarlet banner denoting good fortune in
the window and a red lantern hanging by the door. The faceless guests suddenly stood up to the
sound of firecrackers and drums. A faceless ceremony official stood before the manor. “The
auspicious hour is upon us, the grooms and brides have arrived,” he announced in a vacillating
tone.

Mo Ran blinked, not having anticipated that the line of paired male and female corpses consisted of
wedding couples. He hurriedly looked to Chu Wanning for help, but the Holy Grace Immortal’s
brows were tightly furrowed to indicate that he was lost in his own thoughts. Mo Ran thought
uncharitably that the custom of bringing along his teacher while he gained practical experience was
doing more harm to his pride than good to his everything else. His ruminations were interrupted by
a group of giggling children darting into the yard, dressed in bright red with their hair tied in white
strings.

The children crowded around the two lines of people like so many little fish, each tugging a person
toward one of the rooms on either side. Mo Ran, at a complete loss, mouthed to Chu Wanning, Sir,
what do we do? Chu Wanning shook his head and pointed toward the corpses in front that followed
obediently behind the little boys and girls. His meaning was clear – they were to go along with it.
With no other options, Mo Ran could only stumble behind as a little boy with a topknot led him
into one of the rooms.

The boy waved his arm as soon as Mo Ran cleared the threshold, and the door slammed shut. Mo
Ran glared at him, wary of what the faceless little ghost might do to him. His previous experience
had been that Chu Wanning had rescued Shi Mei and broken through the illusory realm all on his
own. Mo Ran had needed to do nothing to vanquish the evil, and he’d been too busy thinking about
the sweet aftertaste of Shi Mei’s lips afterwards to pay attention to Chu Wanning’s explanation.
Without even a scrap of foreknowledge, he could only brace himself for whatever might come.

A dressing table with a copper mirror stood opposite a set of intricately embroidered black and red
wedding clothes hanging neatly on a rack. The child patted the bench, gesturing for Mo Ran to sit,
and Mo Ran thought the ghosts weren’t particularly bright. As long as one didn’t speak, they
couldn’t tell the living from the dead. He sat before the dressing table as directed, and the child
toddled over to help him wash and change.

A crabapple blossom floated through the window and gently landed on the water inside the wash
basin. Mo Ran’s eyes brightened. The flower was also known as Constellation of the Night
Sky, used specifically by Chu Wanning for silent communication. He scooped it out of the water,
its petals blossoming and unfurling in his palm to reveal a speck of mellow golden light in the
center. He picked up the speck of light and placed it in his ear, where it emitted his teacher’s voice.

“Mo Ran, I used Heavenly Questions to confirm that this illusion was created by Butterfly Town’s
ghost mistress of ceremonies, which has cultivated into an actual deity after receiving the villagers’
incense and worship for hundreds of years. Every ghost marriage makes it more powerful, so it
delights in presiding over these ceremonies. The corpses in the lines are likely Butterfly Town’s
ghost couples from the past centuries whose weddings it witnessed. It calls the corpses back into
the illusion every night to do it all over again, growing stronger each time.”

What a deviant! Mo Ran thought, reflecting that other deities might play matchmaker with the
living if they got bored enough but that holding weddings for the dead showed this deity’s inability
to grow a brain along with its divinity. Summoning them from their graves every night to do it over
and over and over again made it even worse.

Chu Wanning’s voice in his ear continued. “Its real body is not here. Be careful. Follow the golden
boy and jade maiden later to where it will have to appear in person to absorb energy from the ghost
weddings. There is no need to worry about Shi Mei. He and Mistress Chen are both just
temporarily unconscious due to the powder.” Chu Wanning was very thorough, and had anticipated
everything Mo Ran might ask. “Take care of yourself. I will handle everything.” His voice faded
away.

The child finished fussing over Mo Ran’s outfit as Chu Wanning’s speech ended. Mo Ran’s
reflection in the mirror was handsome; the corners of his lips curved naturally upwards in a perfect
complement to his clear and bold facial features. The collars of the fiery red wedding garment were
neatly folded above long hair styled with a white hairband to give Mo Ran the appearance of a
ghost groom. The child made a gesture of invitation, and the tightly closed door creaked open.

A line of corpses now dressed in wedding clothes stood in the corridor with another line across the
courtyard too far away for Mo Ran to see if Chu Wanning and Shi Mei had emerged. The lines
moved slowly forward, and the ceremony official’s voice could be heard from the manor as the
randomly paired couples, some consisting of two men and some consisting of two women,
completed the wedding ceremonies one by one. Mo Ran looked at Chen-Yao standing in front of
him as they approached the official and felt that something wasn’t quite right. He puzzled over it as
the line ahead of them grew shorter and shorter, but only when a few pairs were still ahead of them
did he figure it out.

If the individuals in the line were in the same order as they’d gone into the tiny rooms, the woman
in front of him would get married to Shi Mei while Mo Ran himself would be hitched to Chu
Wanning. It was clearly unacceptable. As the former emperor of the human world, Mo Ran
wouldn’t stand for it. He yanked Chen-Yao back unceremoniously and jumped the line to stand in
front of her, startling the child, but he immediately lowered his head like a ghost. Without a high
level of cultivation, the attendants soon lost track of the problem. Quite pleased with himself, Mo
Ran followed the line cheerfully as he waited to meet up with Shi Mei.

The former emperor’s efforts were in vain; Chu Wanning, wary of what danger might be ahead,
had reached forward to place his disciple Shi Mei protectively behind him as he peered down the
corridor. The last of the corpses had gone, and an attendant stood holding a black and red tray. She
giggled as Chu Wanning approached, the tinkling of a young woman’s voice coming from a face
devoid of features.

“Congratulations, my lady, felicitations, my lady, first meeting yet as old friends, serenity until old
age.”

Lady? Do you not have eyes? Chu Wanning restrained himself from speaking the words as he
looked at the ghost attendant’s blank face which did not, in fact, have eyes. It continued giggling as
it lifted the red veil in the tray and covered Chu Wanning’s face. Then its ice-cold hand reached
over and gripped him lightly with a delicate laugh. “My lady, this way please.”

------

The thin red veil didn’t completely obstruct Chu Wanning’s view, but his surroundings were
somewhat hazy. Expression composed behind the thin cloth, he let the ghost attendant lead him to
the reception pavilion. The sight of the person waiting for him made him feel as though the
temperature had dropped by several degrees, and by his face, Mo Ran was no less stunned.

The veil did nothing to hide Chu Wanning’s handsome but icy face, currently glaring at him with
an air of displeasure and full killing intent above an outfit of bridal scarlet. Mo Ran was stupefied
at first, but a host of conflicting emotions began to jostle for supremacy. He finally settled into an
uneasy silence across from his teacher, at which point the golden boy and jade maiden behind them
giggled and clapped before starting to sing.

“Water of the White Emperor, waves sparkling and luminous; Spirit birds greet, bearing blossoms
between their beaks. Within this coffin, two shall join; Within this sanctuary, two shall lie. Intent in
life, revealed in death. Henceforth two shall pass beneath the heavens; Henceforth in death lone
souls shall never part.”

Beneath the ghastly verse was an undercurrent of sadness and regret. If he had been able to risk
speaking, Mo Ran would have a great deal to say, but he kept his mouth shut. A pair of paper dolls
stood before the altar, one male, one female. Faceless, they were lavishly and luxuriously dressed
to stand in as the parents of the ghost couples. As the attendants finished singing, the ceremony
official began a sonorous chant. “The amorous new bride shies from words, glances tender from
beneath lowered lashes, red silk shrouds a delicate smile, may the husband please lift the veil.”

Although initially completely unwilling, Mo Ran had to suppress a gale of laughter upon hearing
those words applied to his stern teacher. Chu Wanning, on the other hand, was ashen with rage,
closing his eyes as if that would render him deaf as well. The ghost attendant giggled and handed
Mo Ran a traditional folding fan.
“Groom, please lift the veil.”

Mo Ran stifled his laughter and played along, using the fan to lift the silken veil. Even his
eyelashes quivered with suppressed laughter as he peered underneath. Even with his eyes closed,
Chu Wanning appeared to sense his mocking gaze. Fire and lightning danced in his eyes as they
snapped open with a murderous aura. Mo Ran froze, startled by how enticing his teacher appeared
in scarlet with the red veil clinging to his hair. He was suddenly reminded of a specific incident in
his previous life, and the two images blurred and overlapped in his mind until he wasn’t sure when
he was.

The moment passed quickly, but it was enough to drench Mo Ran in cold sweat. He had committed
three great sins against his teacher before his reincarnation. The first was murder – he’d used the
killing technique on Chu Wanning. The second was humiliation, when he had forced Chu
Wanning to sate his carnal desires. The third had been both the most gratifying but also his greatest
regret – not that the emperor of the human world could ever admit to regretting anything. Still, Mo
Ran hadn’t been able to escape the guilty pricking of his conscience.

Shaking his head, Mo Ran bit his lips and arduously tried to erase the face in his memories and
look over the person before him now with fresh eyes. Given that said individual was still giving
him a death glare, he didn’t want to provoke him further. Mo Ran simply smiled apologetically,
and then the ceremony official spoke again.

“Groom and bride, perform the wedding rite.”

The wedding rite first dictated that the newlyweds must first clean themselves individually, and
then wash the other’s hands afterwards. The ghost attendant brought out a porcelain pot filled with
clear water, lifting it in invitation for the two to wash their hands, and the water flowed into a basin
underneath. Chu Wanning seemed disgusted by having to participate; Mo Ran absentmindedly
washed Chu Wanning’s hands without making a fuss, but Chu Wanning unceremoniously poured
the entire pot on his student and drenched half his sleeve.

Mo Ran stared at his drenched sleeve, so preoccupied that his face hardly even showed a reaction.
His heart beat wildly as he thought about how his teacher had never changed. Every action and
every thought mirrored each other in the last life and this one. He raised his head slowly, and for an
instant, it felt as if he was back at Sisheng Peak, standing before Wushan Palace as Chu Wanning
walked toward him on a long stretch of stairs. In the next moment, he would kneel before Mo Ran;
that proud head would touch the ground, that upright spine would bend, and Chu Wanning would
prostrate himself before Mo Ran’s feet for a long time.

“The first part of the wedding rite is complete.” The ghost attendant’s abrupt chant roused Mo Ran
from his memories. He met Chu Wanning’s gaze as his teacher’s pitch black pupils flashed with a
terrifying cold light like the reflection of a sword. Mo Ran immediately lost any vague urge to try
to have Chu Wanning kneeling before him and resolved to be satisfied with memory and
imagination.

The ceremony continued as the ghost attendant chanted slowly, “Husband and wife share a cup of
wine, henceforth together until the end of the world.” Chu Wanning’s phoenix eyes narrowed
dangerously and the fury rolling off him intensified; Mo Ran wouldn’t be surprised if he chopped
the ghost mistress of ceremonies into mud at the very least, but the angrier his teacher got, the
more attractive he was.

“First bow, to heaven and earth.” Mo Ran didn’t expect Chu Wanning to kneel, playing along with
the ceremony or no, but his teacher proved dedicated to finishing what he started. Together, the
two touched their brows to the ground.
“Second bow, to parents.” Mo Ran was fairly sure the faceless paper dolls were terrible stand-ins
for parents.

“Third bow, husband and wife to each other.” Chu Wanning’s thick eyelashes lowered as he turned
and swiftly knelt without sparing Mo Ran a single glance, but his teeth were tightly clenched. As
dramatic irony would have it, the pair of skilled fighters had such poor coordination that their
heads knocked together as they bowed. Chu Wanning hissed in pain and glared vengefully at Mo
Weiyu, who was rubbing his forehead. Mo Ran could only mouth a soundless apology, and Chu
Wanning rolled his eyes gloomily.

The wedding rite continued with the official’s chant. “Cording hair to become husband and wife,
conjugal love never to be doubted.” The ghost attendant offered a pair of golden scissors. Mo Ran
couldn’t help but flinch, worried that Chu Wanning might stab him to death in his displeasure. The
thought did seem to have passed through Chu Wanning’s mind, but in the end the two undercover
cultivators ceremoniously cut a lock of hair from each other. The hair went into a brocade pouch to
be kept by the.

Mo Ran thought sourly that Chu Wanning now had the means to curse him really spectacularly, as
the pouch vanished and the official chanted that the ceremony had been completed. The two
cultivators sighed in relief and stood, only to hesitate as the ceremony official continued to chant.

“The auspicious hour has arrived. Enter the bridal chamber.”

If the two of them actually consummated this farce of a marriage, Mo Ran knew he really would
participate in a ghost wedding. Death beneath a beautiful woman might lead to being a charming
ghost, but Mo Ran wasn’t about to let his cold-blooded demon of a teacher play either of those
roles. He wondered if it were too late to flee the marriage.

------

No matter how much he might want to, Mo Ran couldn’t flee the wedding – he still had to rescue
Shi Mei – but he couldn’t help thinking that the ghost mistress of ceremonies was paying a little
too much attention to the details. The effort of controlling his indignation that she wanted to
oversee the wedding night drained the blood out of his face, particularly when he considered that
all of the happy couples were corpses. Whatever his own face looked like, Mo Ran thought Chu
Wanning’s expression must be worse and he wasn’t ashamed to admit that he was afraid to look.
He kept his eyes glued to the carpet, focusing on his desire to grab the ghost mistress of
ceremonies and curse her out.

The golden boy and jade maiden crowded around the newly married couple, pushing them to the
back of the hall where a bright scarlet coffin waited. It was enormous, twice the size of a normal
coffin, and looked exactly like the one dug up from the Chen family’s grounds. Chu Wanning
murmured something under his breath in understanding. Mo Ran, coming to the same realization,
let out a huge sigh of relief. The dead couldn’t literally consummate the wedding – they were to be
sealed into the same coffin for joint interment.

“Honored bride, please enter the bridal chamber,” chorused the golden boy and jade maiden. Chu
Wanning straightened out his wide sleeves and lay inside with a frosty expression. “Honored
groom, please enter the bridal chamber,” they continued. Mo Ran grabbed the edge of the coffin
and paused, blinking.

Chu Wanning had already occupied more than half the space. The coffin was spacious but still a
tight fit for two adult men, so when Mo Ran climbed inside and lay down he had no choice but to
disturb his teacher’s spread-out clothing. Chu Wanning glared at him, as if Mo Ran could help it.
Uncaring, the golden boy and jade maiden circled the coffin and began to sing again, the same
eerie yet sorrowful elegy as before.

“Water of the White Emperor, waves sparkling and luminous; Spirit birds greet, bearing blossoms
between their beaks. Within this coffin, two shall join; Within this sanctuary, two shall lie. Intent in
life, revealed in death. Henceforth two shall pass beneath the heavens; Henceforth in death lone
souls shall never part.”

Song finished, the attendants flanked the coffin and pushed the lid into place. The two cultivators
were sealed into the coffin, surrounded by complete darkness. The painted sides were thick enough
to block the sound of quiet voices, but Chu Wanning raised his hand and set a soundproofing
barrier anyway. “Move over,” he said. “You’re on my arm.”

Mo Ran felt there were more pressing matters than whether or not his teacher was about to lose
circulation in one of his limbs, but he shifted position. Chu Wanning, unsatisfied, grumbled that
Mo Ran was on his legs and, when Mo Ran shifted again, complained that Mo Ran was now too
close to his face. “Sir, I’m up against the side already, what else do you want?” Mo Ran whined,
aggrieved.

Chu Wanning finally grunted and fell silent, leaving Mo Ran crammed in the corner for several
very long minutes. The coffin suddenly shook around them, lifted by people on the outside, and
started slowly moving in an unknown direction. Mo Ran strained to hear the sounds from the
outside as he seethed, thinking about how Shi Mei was probably trapped in a coffin with Chen-Yao
right now, but there was nothing he could do about it.

The barrier was well-made, preventing sounds from escaping the coffin while still allowing them
to hear what was outside, and Mo Ran could hear firecrackers and drums still beating. “These
ghosts and demons seem incredibly bored. Where do you think they’re taking us?”

The darkness was too thick to see his teacher’s face as Chu Wanning replied.. “They’re following
Butterfly Town’s traditions. We should be headed to the temple outside town.”

Mo Ran nodded, forgetting that the gesture couldn’t be seen, and concentrated on listening. “Sir, I
hear more footsteps.”

“Ghosts travel at night, so all of the coffins will be carried over together. If my guess is right, the
ghost mistress of ceremonies will appear in its true form at the temple to draw ‘merits’ from the
newly wed couples.”

“Won’t people notice hundreds of coffins being carried through town?”

“They will not,” Chu Wanning answered. “The coffins are carried by ghost golden boys and jade
maidens. Ordinary people cannot see objects carried by ghosts.”

“How are you so sure about that?”

“I used Heavenly Questions to interrogate the ghost golden boy in the dressing room earlier.”

That merited a pause before Mo Ran thought of another question. “What was the deal with that red
coffin on the mountain then, the one with Mr. Chen in it? And why do people keep dying in the
Chen family?”

“Not sure.”

Mo Ran was slightly surprised. “The golden boy didn’t tell you?”
“The ghost golden boy said it also did not know.” Chu Wanning paused. “But I think the family is
hiding something from us.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Although the thing enshrined in that temple exudes evil energy, it is still a being that has
cultivated into a deity and depends on the people’s worship to grow stronger.”

Having never paid attention to his lessons before, Mo Ran had eventually figured out he was
missing much of the basic general knowledge needed by cultivators to complete their duties. This
time around, he thought perhaps he should seek some instruction. “What’s so significant about
deities?” he asked.

“What, exactly, were you doing during last month’s lesson on the differences between deities,
ghosts, gods, and demons?”

It completely escaped Mo Ran that he’d spent the entire previous month confined in Sisheng Peak
with nothing to do but chores and lessons; he wanted to answer that, having just been reborn, he
absolutely wouldn’t remember what he was doing in lessons that had taken place over a decade
ago. He thought he’d probably been staring at Shi Mei, fantasizing about porn, or imagining
dismembering his teacher, none of which were an appropriate answer either. Silence got Mo Ran a
reprimand and instructions to copy the Record of Knowledge From the Six Kingdoms upon their
return, and he thought that all the times he’d skipped class had now come back to bite him in the
ass.

“Deities differ from gods,” Chu Wanning explained. “Gods can act as they please, but deities
cannot meddle in mortal affairs without being beseeched to do so.”

Mo Ran felt a shiver run down his spine. “Which means that it killed the members of the Chen
family at the behest of a person?”

Chu Wanning’s voice sounded ominous in the darkness. “The beseecher may not necessarily be a
living person.”

Mo Ran opened his mouth to ask more questions, but before he could, the coffin shook abruptly
and tilted to the left. Between the sudden jolt and the lack of grip, Mo Ran tumbled over and
smacked firmly into his teacher’s chest. “Ow.” Mo Ran put a hand over his aching nose and lifted
his head, disoriented, but a faint wisp of the fragrance of crabapple flowers floated to his nose.

The scent was as light as the fog at dawn, with a hint of a nighttime chill. Such scents ordinarily
lulled people into a haze, but this one was clean and refreshing, clearing the head instead. Mo Ran
froze, then immediately became hard. He couldn’t be any more familiar with this fragrance. It was
Chu Wanning’s scent. But to Mo Ran, this scent had always been intertwined with desire.

------

Mo Ran felt he really couldn’t be blamed for his urges; after all, he’d fucked Chu Wanning
countless times, and his familiar scent was bound to drag up those memories. He knew he was a
reprobate besides, and that while he wouldn’t dream of besmirching Shi Mei, he had no such
compunctions about wrecking Chu Wanning. His teacher was a fitting vessel for all of his bestial
desires and bone-deep savagery, to be ground into dust and pinned down, to be torn apart and run
through, subject to every whim Mo Ran had regardless of his feelings on the matter.

Every time Mo Ran had seen his teacher in his past life, with his head thrown back to bare the
pulse beating at the base of his throat, he’d thought he might lose himself in the desire to rip open
that soft skin and guzzle his blood. The bloodthirsty beast lurking in Mo Ran had wanted to crush
his teacher’s bones; he hated him and held none of his desire back. He gave himself a Pavlovian
response to Chu Wanning’s scent – fire in his abdomen and the urge to tie Chu Wanning down so
he couldn’t escape while Mo Ran fucked him no matter how hard he tried.

The coffin echoed with the sound of Mo Ran’s frenzied heartbeats, synchronized to the feel of Chu
Wanning’s breath on his face. He was too close to avoid it if Mo Ran were to lunge forward and
bite him, but Mo Ran shuffled backward instead. He couldn’t go far. “Sorry, sir,” he laughed
awkwardly. “Didn’t expect the coffin to move like that.” As if it were mocking him, the coffin
tilted again and tipped him right back onto his teacher. As if in a farce, Mo Ran scooted away, only
for the coffin to dump him right back where he’d started over and over. “Is this a curse?”

The golden boy and jade maiden must have been going up a slope, Mo Ran thought, just as it
dumped him onto Chu Wanning again. Mo Ran thought he might be able to pull a convincing
puppy dog act and escape any censure if he tried hard enough. In the face of Chu Wanning’s
continued silence, Mo Ran gave up fighting. “I’m really not doing it on purpose,” he said, and
added in a small voice, “The wounds on my back hurt from hitting the wall.”

In the darkness, Chu Wanning seemed to sigh softly, although it was hard to tell over the noise of
the gongs and drums outside. In the next moment, the smell of crabapple flowers grew stronger as
Chu Wanning placed his hand between Mo Ran and the wall. It wasn’t an embrace, with Chu
Wanning’s arm at a distance and the lack of contact with Mo Ran’s body, but it felt intimate.

“Be careful, don’t hit it again.” His voice was deep, like porcelain submerged in a creek, steady
and dignified. It would have been a striking voice to listen to, if one listened without a shroud of
hatred.

“Uh huh.”

Silence fell, and Mo Ran began to feel that the atmosphere was both familiar and strange. Familiar,
because of who he was next to, and strange, because he was still a growing teenager and no taller
than Chu Wanning’s chin. He hadn’t been the one to be held, in his previous life; taller and
stronger than his teacher, he’d clutched him tightly in his arms as they lay in a darkness so endless
that Mo Ran had hardly been able to breathe. His arms had been shackles holding down the last bit
of warmth remaining to him, the lonesome emperor with no one left to turn to, and he would lower
his head to kiss his teacher’s inky black hair and mumble his hatred into Chu Wanning’s neck. But
his teacher was all he’d had left, by then.

Mo Ran was none too gently jolted out of his memories by a series of crashes and bumps. The
sound of gongs and drums stopped abruptly, and a deathly silence settled over them. “Sir,” Mo Ran
mumbled.

Chu Wanning reached out and pressed a finger to his lips. “Don’t talk. We’re here.”

The footsteps were gone as well as the sense of motion, and Chu Wanning lit up his fingertip to
slash a narrow gap into the coffin wall. The outskirts of Butterfly Town were visible through the
gap, the temple densely cluttered with coffins, and the heavy scent of Hundred Butterfly Fragrance
drifted through the opening. Mo Ran suddenly realized that something was off. “Sir, does it seem
like this scent and the one in the illusion aren’t the same as the one in the Chen son’s coffin?”

“How so?”

Mo Ran had always had a keen sense of smell. “When we saw Chen’s son, the scent was pleasant
and didn’t cause any discomfort. But the one in the illusion wasn’t the same. I couldn’t tell what
the difference was at the time, but I think I know now.”

Chu Wanning turned to look at him. “You dislike this smell?”

Mo Ran was still pressed against the opening, peering outside. “I’ve hated the smell of incense
ever since I was little. This scent isn’t Hundred Butterfly Fragrance at all, but the scent of the
special incense that the people of Butterfly Town burn for the ghost mistress of ceremonies. Look.”

Chu Wanning followed his gaze, and saw three arm-thick incense sticks in the burner in front of
the temple, scent diffusing leisurely into the breeze. Butterfly Town produced all sorts of
merchandise using the flowers grown around town, including the incense, and use of the same base
flowers meant that the undiscerning couldn’t recognize the subtle differences in the aromas.

“Could it be that the scent in Mr. Chen’s coffin actually has nothing to do with the one in the
illusion?” Chu Wanning said aloud. Before he could finish processing the new angle, his thoughts
were interrupted by a piercing red light from within the temple. It shone resplendent, illuminating
the whole area, as a row of red lotus lamps by the side of the temple lit up one by one.

The ghost children escorting the coffins all knelt at once, chanting. “Mistress of Ceremonies
descending, pray guide these lonely souls to escape suffering and find mates, joined in burial,
partnered in afterlife.”

The statue of the ghost mistress of ceremonies inside the temple emitted a holy golden light amidst
the thundering chant. Its eyelids lowered, the corners of its lips moved slowly, and it leapt
gracefully from the altar. Made of clay, the body was too heavy for its movements and it smashed a
huge crater into the ground. The ghost mistress stared at the crater self-consciously for several
moments before stepping out with slow, deliberate steps and rearranging its clothing.

The deity appeared to be a maiden draped in rich reds, face painted with makeup and a strand of
cypress in its hair. Haloed in darkness, it peered one way and then the other before coming to a
stop in front of the hundred coffins. The breeze was suffused with the stench of corpse rot, but the
deity’s mood seemed to improve as it slowly spread out its arms and let out the sound of laughter.
“All who believe in me and worship me shall be granted a partner in marriage, fulfilling that which
they were denied in life.” The deity’s delicate voice chimed over the gathered ghosts and monsters,
prostrated in gratitude.

“Mistress of Ceremonies, bless us,” moaned the ghosts. “Mistress of Ceremonies, pray bestow
marriage upon us.” The ghost mistress seemed delighted as it weaved slowly between the rows of
coffins, dragging its long, scarlet-painted nails along them with a shrill ear-piercing sound.

“Sir, you definitely said monsters, deities, ghosts, gods, demons, and humans each occupied their
own realms. Why’s this deity hanging out with the ghosts down here instead of in the Ninth
Heaven upstairs?”

“Because it is in charge of ghost marriages, and is sustained by the worship of ghosts,” Chu
Wanning responded. “The ghosts provide it with immense energy, or it would not have cultivated
into a deity in a mere few hundred years. With such an advantageous arrangement, it is naturally
glad to keep the company of these Underworld ‘friends’.”

The ghost mistress circled around the cluster of coffins and returned to the front. Her delicate voice
rang out again. “Each coffin to be opened shall be bestowed a marriage.”

The first coffin on the left side slowly opened, a pair of golden boy and jade girl bowing
respectfully by its side. The corpses inside climbed out unsteadily, their faces looking even more
deathly pale against the vibrant red of their wedding garments, and slowly knelt before the ghost
mistress. She put her hand between them and spoke. “As the Mistress of Ceremonies, I hereby
confer thee with a posthumous marriage. Henceforth you are husband and wife, male and female
joyous in the joining.”

Mo Ran rolled his eyes and muttered, “Don’t wax poetic if you don’t know how. These wedding
vows sound obscene.”

“You have quite the indecent imagination,” Chu Wanning snapped coldly.

Mo Ran shut up, but the ghost mistress vindicated him by promptly demonstrating she was the
indecent party; the pair of newlywed corpses appeared to have consumed aphrodisiacs. Although
clearly dead, they also tore at each other’s clothing in a frenzy despite their audience. The ghost
mistress of ceremonies spoke again, voice growing shrill and haughty. “I hereby grant thee the joys
of the natural order. Yin and Yang may mate in life or in death!”

In response, the dead grew even more animated. The male corpse had rid himself of his clothing, as
vigorous as a live man, and Mo Ran’s mouth fell open. “You can’t just fucking do that,” he
muttered.

------

The ghost mistress of ceremonies had missed her calling, as far as Mo Ran was concerned; she
should have been selling aphrodisiacs all along. Human products had a dubious effect at best, but
gods and deities could invigorate even the dead with just a slight wave of the hand. Mo Ran was
about to cheer the couple on when Chu Wanning reached over to cover his ears.

“Don’t look at such obscenity,” his teacher grated out, expression frozen over.

“Then why are you covering my ears instead of my eyes?”

“You shouldn’t look, either, but you can close your own eyes.”

“Sir, you’re, uh.” Of the two of them, Chu Wanning was the one blushing right up to the tips of his
ears, and Mo Ran found it hilarious. His teacher was a cold-blooded demon made of ice and snow
who eschewed erotica of all sorts and was now forced to watch live sex at close quarters. It actually
might kill him, Mo Ran thought.

On the subject of the dead, the late couple almost seemed to come alive as they screwed. They
even made moaning and panting noises. When his teacher turned away in disgust, Mo Ran reached
out to turn his face back. Chu Wanning flinched as if stung. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing whatsoever.” Mo Ran’s voice was honey-sweet with a hint of mockery for an adult
unable to look at such a scene without turning both red with shame and green with disgust. “Sir,
didn’t you teach us to always make sure of the opponent’s capabilities before engaging? You have
to at least look and see the ghost mistress’s capabilities.”

“What’s there to see. I’m not looking.”

Mo Ran sighed. “How are you so sensitive?”

Chu Wanning shot back, “Filthy debauchery is harmful to the eyes!”

“Guess I’ll have to look, then,” Mo Ran said cheekily, peering outside and providing running
commentary.

It infuriated Chu Wanning so much that he nearly shouted, catching himself at the last second.
“Look if you want, don’t talk!”

Mo Ran played innocent. “I thought you’d want to know.”

Chu Wanning reached the end of his rope and grabbed Mo Ran’s neck. “If you make one more
sound, I will throw you out there to feed the zombies!” he hissed.

Discretion was the better part of valor, and Mo Ran had gotten some quality entertainment. He
settled down and watched as the ghost couple climaxed. A wisp of green smoke suddenly rose
from their bodies, which the ghost mistress greedily inhaled. It wiped the corner of its mouth with
satisfaction, eyes shining. So that’s what kind of energy increased its cultivation, Mo Ran thought,
suppressing a laugh.

The ghost mistress smiled wide and started to speak, voice clear and sharp enough to pierce the
night. “I grant you the blessings of intimacy! You shall provide me worship in return! Up! Up! All
of you, up!”

Mo Ran’s heart thumped in consternation, and the simultaneous shaking of the coffins around them
confirmed his worst fears – the ghost mistress was about to start an orgy. He pulled at Chu
Wanning. “Sir!”

“What is it this time!”

“Hurry! We have to get out there! Shi Mei is trapped with that Chen woman!” Mo Ran was beside
himself with panic. “We have to hurry and save him!”

Chu Wanning glanced outside, astounded by the ghost mistress’s appetite. The coffins around
them shook more and more violently as the ghost marriage couples inside were compelled to do
the deed. His gorge rose in disgust, but the ghost mistress chose that moment to realize that
something was wrong. Her dark eyes passed over the crowd to stare directly at him, and he realized
that she knew they were alive.

The deity’s back arched abruptly and it charged, shrieking, clothing billowing behind it. A pair of
blood-red razor-sharp claws pierced directly through the wood and into the coffin, aimed directly
for Mo Ran’s head. It was too quick, and there was nowhere for Mo Ran do dodge. Just as he
resigned himself to five new holes in his head, Chu Wanning shoved him lower and took the blow
in his shoulder. The vicious claws pierced him nearly to the bone.

Chu Wanning let out a muted groan. His uninjured hand glowed with a silencing spell as he pressed
a finger to Mo Ran’s lips, blocking off his startled scream. The ghost mistress’s claws still sank
into his flesh, scratching and tearing. She could only tell the living from the dead by sound, and –
unlike the noises the fucking corpses made – any vocalization would have given them away. Chu
Wanning remained silent.

Mo Ran couldn’t see the injury from his vantage point against Chu Wanning’s chest, but he could
clearly feel trembling and began to fear that Chu Wanning would literally die. The ghost mistress
couldn’t make sense of things, and her claws brutally continued to dig. Chu Wanning shuddered,
robes drenched in cold sweat, but did not falter. He bit his lip, protecting the disciple in his arms as
though already dead.

The ghost mistress finally seemed satisfied that the people inside couldn’t possibly be alive. It
abruptly pulled out its claws, spattering blood. All the strength drained out of Chu Wanning’s tense
body at once. He let go of Mo Ran, panting quietly. The smell of blood inside the coffin was
suffocating.

By the dim light streaming through the holes, Mo Ran could see Chu Wanning’s lowered eyelashes
over the unshed tears in his silent, stubborn phoenix eyes. He wanted to talk, but Chu Wanning
shook his head and maintained the silencing spell on his lips. After a moment, he let out a slow
breath and wrote on the back of Mo Ran’s hand with a trembling fingertip. The barrier has been
breached, do not speak.

Outside, the ghost mistress tilted its head, unable to understand why the people inside were
definitely not alive yet refused to obey its commands. Chu Wanning peered at it through the crack
with narrowed eyes, a golden light enveloping his uninjured hand as his fiery willow vine
appeared. Without warning, he burst from the coffin, splitting it apart as he flew up like lightning.
Heavenly Questions lashed out with perfect accuracy to wrap around the ghost mistress’s neck as it
let out an ear-piercing screech.

“Who are you! How dare you!”

“Scram!” Chu Wanning retorted, crimson wedding robes bellowing like waves of clouds. His
entire strategy hinged on the single strike, and Heavenly Questions ripped off the ghost mistress’s
head with savage brutality. A dense red mist with a strange perfumed scent welled out from her
severed neck. Chu Wanning drew back rapidly to avoid it. “Mo Ran! Thousand Strikes!”

Mo Ran channeled qi into the blade hidden in his sleeve and directed it toward the ghost mistress’s
body as it groped around for its head. The clay body cracked open to reveal her translucent true
body, radiating red light. Chu Wanning raised Heavenly Questions again and ripped the ghost
mistress’s celestial spirit out.

The ghost mistress screamed in rage. “How dare you! Get up! Get up and kill them! Kill them all!”

The golden boys and jade maidens charged shrieking toward Mo Ran and Chu Wanning, eyes
glowing blood red in their featureless faces. The coffins around them shattered one after another,
the corpses inside rushing forward like a tide. Mo Ran searched for Shi Mei prompting a harsh
scolding. “What are you doing, making eyes at zombies! Hurry and fend them off!”

In the chaos of the battle, the cultivators ended up standing on a coffin with slow-moving corpses
crowded around. Mo Ran lit up a handful of exorcism talismans and flung them into the horde,
each one exploding, but there were too many. Every defeated zombie was rapidly replaced by
another, to the point that Mo Ran couldn’t believe there were so many dead unmarried people in
the same town. “What’s wrong with this place?” he snarled. “Why are there so many corpse
marriages?”

“Of course there are,” Chu Wanning snarled, aggravated. “The ghost mistress obviously cursed
them! Look out!”

Mo Ran flung another talisman in the direction indicated. “How is this not defeating her?”

“Normal weapons cannot hurt it.”

“Then what about Heavenly Questions?”

Chu Wanning was incensed. “Do you not see that Heavenly Questions is binding it right now! This
thing is extremely fast! If I release it, it’ll escape before I can strike!”
More and more corpses gathered, and Mo Ran kept searching for Shi Mei as he struck one after
another. A golden boy bit him savagely on the leg, and he flung a talisman into its face. He kicked
it into the crowd, hearing it explode with satisfaction.

“Do you see Shi Mei and Mistress Chen yet?” Chu Wanning asked.

Mo Ran finally spotted two familiar figures swaying in the distance. “I see them!”

“Get the hell over there and pull them back! As far away as you can!”

“Got it!” Mo Ran paused. “What are you going to do?”

“I can’t lift my other arm to summon another weapon, so I’ll have to use Heavenly Questions. I’m
going to destroy this entire area as soon as I release the ghost mistress, so get lost if you don’t want
to die!”

------

Heavenly Questions was capable of a killing technique with no blind spots; its name was a single
word – Wind. It would obliterate everything it touched within its radius, as Mo Ran had
experienced in his previous life. He was well aware of Chu Wanning’s capabilities as well, and
told himself there was no need to worry. He tossed out the last of his exorcism talismans to buy
Chu Wanning some time and leapt to the side, grabbing Shi Mei in one arm and Mistress Chen in
the other

The searing pain flared as Chu Wanning forced his hand to move. Heavenly Questions lit up
immediately with a dazzling golden light as he drew the willow vine back with a sharp movement.
The ghost mistress’s face twisted and it headed straight for Chu Wanning while his robes danced
like flames in the wind. Blood soaked half his robes as he raised his hand to the heavens with a
fierce expression. Heavenly Questions’s golden light intensified menacingly as he began to whirl it
into a golden vortex, drawing in everything from its surroundings. The ghosts, corpses, golden
boys and jade girls, even the snarling ghost mistress, all of it was pulled into the center of the
technique and pulverized.

Wind was indiscriminately destructive, uprooting even the grass and trees. Only Chu Wanning at
its center was untouched by the resplendent golden storm blanketing the skies. It consumed
everything in reach, all of it drawn into the storm and torn apart by Heavenly Questions’s swiftly
spinning length. When the dust had settled, Chu Wanning was left standing in the middle of a
barren wasteland. His solitary figure stood amidst the ruins, shrouded in brilliant scarlet like a
blooming red lotus, with Heavenly Questions glowing in his hand. A fallen crabapple blossom
fluttered over ground covered in shattered white bone.

The barren ground showed what Mo Ran had already known; Chu Wanning didn’t whip his
disciples with his full strength, and he could have pulverized them if he’d wanted. Heavenly
Questions’s golden light gradually faded and it faded into Chu Wanning’s palm. He breathed out
through the pain in his shoulder and slowly approached his disciples. “How is Shi Mei?” he asked.

Mo Ran looked down at the unconscious beauty in his arms, breathing shallow and cheek cold to
the touch. The scene was familiar, a nightmare that Mo Ran had once been unable to escape. She
Mei had been in his arms just like this when he’d stopped breathing.

Chu Wanning leaned down feel for Shi Mei’s pulse, and then Chen Yao’s. “How is the poisoning
this severe?”
Mo Ran’s head snapped up. “Poison? Didn’t you say it was nothing to worry about? Didn’t you say
they were merely hypnotized?”

Chu Wanning furrowed his brows. “Technically the hypnotic fragrance is a type of poison, but I
only expected mild symptoms. Not something like this. Take them back to the Chen Manor,” he
added in a flat, indifferent tone. “It’s not difficult to draw out the poison. What’s important is that
they’re alive.”

It was his usual voice, but it smacked of cruelty in the current circumstances. Mo Ran was
violently thrust back into his memories of the snowstorm in which Shi Mei had slowly died, when
Mo Ran’s face had been stained with tears and he’d screamed himself hoarse begging Chu
Wanning to lift a hand and save his disciple’s life. Chu Wanning had spoken in the same exact tone
then, denying Mo Ran the only time he had knelt and begged in his life.

Shi Mei had grown as cold as the snow in Mo Ran’s arms, and Chu Wanning had been responsible
for two deaths. The first was Shi Mingjing, whom he could have saved and did not, and the second
was the heart of Mo Weiyu, drowned in grief as he knelt in the snow. Mo Ran felt vicious dread
overwhelm him, malice and savagery writhing through him like a snake.

For an instant, Mo Ran felt a violent urge to grab Chu Wanning’s neck and shed his amiable
disguise. He would bare his demonic appearance, become a vicious ghost from his past life and
tear into Chu Wanning’s flesh to exact his revenge for the two helpless disciples dying in the
snow. The urge faded when his gaze landed on Chu Wanning’s bloodstained shoulder, and the
bestial roar died in his throat.

His silent gaze bordered on hatred, but Chu Wanning failed to notice. After a moment, Mo Ran
lowered his head to look at Shi Mei’s pale face with his mind blank. He didn’t know what he
would do if he were to lose Shi Mei again, but his beloved suddenly started to cough. Mo Ran
flinched, heart quivering.

Shi Mei slowly opened his eyes. “Ran?” he asked, in a hoarse, feeble voice.

“Yes! It’s me!” Relief and joy washed away all his anxieties. He pressed a hand to Shi Mei’s cold
cheek, eyes flickering over him. “Shi Mei, how are you feeling? Does it hurt anywhere?”

Shi Mei smiled lightly, expression soft. He looked around. “How did we get here? Did I pass out?
Ah! Sir, I’m sorry I was so incompetent.”

“Don’t speak.” Chu Wanning fed Shi Mei a pill. “Since you’re awake, hold this poison-cleansing
pill in your mouth, don’t swallow it.”

Shi Mei obeyed before twitching, even more color draining from his already pale face. “Sir, how
did you get hurt?”

Chu Wanning answered in the same infuriatingly flat and indifferent voice. “It’s nothing.” He
stood and glanced at Mo Ran. “You, figure out a way to take them back to the Chen Manor.”

Now that Shi Mei was awake, Mo Ran’s dejection had completely dissipated. He nodded
amenably. “Alright!”

“I’m going to head back first, there’s something I need to ask the Chen family.” Chu Wanning
turned and left.

With only the boundless night and withered grass to see, Chu Wanning let the pain show on his
face. His shoulder had been pierced to the bone, flesh and tendons torn by the ghost mistress’s
claws. As stoic as he was, sealing his veins to prevent blood loss, he was still human. He still felt
pain. It didn’t matter if it hurt; he still placed one foot before the other, wedding robes fluttering as
he remembered that while all around him respected and feared him but never dared stand by his
side. He had become inured to it.

Constellation of the Night Sky, Holy Grace Immortal – he was unloved and uncared for whether
alive or dead, sick or suffering. From the time he’d been born, he had neither needed nor depended
on anyone else. No one cared if it hurt, and there was no point in crying. Chu Wanning could treat
his own wounds, cutting off the torn and dead flesh. He would apply some salve and it would be
fine. It had been fine for years.

A burst of shrill screams greeted him at the gates to the Chen Manor. Heedless of his wounds, Chu
Wanning rushed inside to see Madam Chen, hair disheveled and eyes closed, chasing her husband
and son. Only her young daughter was spared, standing nervously to the side with her small body
cowering uncontrollably in fear. Landlord Chen and his youngest son threw themselves at him with
terrified cries.

“Cultivator! Cultivator, save us!”

Chu Wanning shielded them with his own body, gaze falling on Madam Chen’s closed eyes.
“Didn’t I say to keep your eyes on her and make sure she doesn’t fall asleep?”

“We couldn’t watch her all the time! My wife’s health is weak, so she usually sleeps early. After
you left, she tried to stay awake at first, but then she dozed off and started yelling!” Landlord Chen
cowered behind Chu Wanning, shaking and failing to notice both his wedding robes and the
gaping wound on his shoulder.

Chu Wanning frowned. “Yelling about what?”

The crazed Madam bared her teeth and charged over before her husband could respond, but her
voice was that of a young girl. “Heartless and dishonest! Heartless and dishonest! Pay me back
with your lives! I want all of you to die!”

“Ghost possession,” Chu Wanning said. “Do you know this voice?”

Landlord Chen’s lips trembled, eyes darting this way and that. He swallowed nervously. “I don’t
know, I don’t recognize it! Cultivator, please save us! Please exorcise the ghost!”

Madam Chen was now mere steps away. Chu Wanning lifted his uninjured arm and pointed. A
bolt of lightning fell from the skies and trapped her inside a barrier, and Chu Wanning asked
coldly, “You truly do not recognize it?”

“I don’t!” Landlord Chen cried. “I really don’t!”

Chu Wanning bound Madam Chen inside the barrier with Heavenly Questions, thinking that
binding the landlord would have been more helpful for his interrogation. He had his own
principles, though, and did not use Heavenly Questions to interrogate civilians. He skipped the easy
target to interrogate the ghost in Madam Chen’s body instead.

Interrogating ghosts was unlike interrogating the living; Heavenly Questions brought the truth out
of humans with pain, but ghosts were trapped in a barrier with no one else but Chu Wanning inside.
The ghost would regain a semblance of life and thus divulge the truth. Flames surged along the
vine, racing from Chu Wanning to Madam Chen. She shrieked and twitched as the orange flames
suddenly burned the eerie blue of ghost fire and traveled back toward Chu Wanning.
The cultivator closed his eyes. Ghost fire couldn’t harm him; it slipped up the length of his arm to
his chest, and then went out. The Chen family watched in horror and apprehension, unsure of what
Chu Wanning was doing. His eyelashes fluttered lightly, eyes still closed as a beam of white light
slowly materialized. A fair-skinned foot stepped out of the beam, and a young girl of about
seventeen or eighteen appeared.

------

The girl was fair-skinned with large round eyes in an oval face, long hair bound. She wore a light
pink jacket under a long skirt, the traditional image of a new wife. She rubbed her eyes dazedly in
the dark, looking around. “Where am I?”

“You are within the Truth Restoration Barrier I have set,” Chu Wanning replied.

“Who are you? Why is it so dark? I can’t see.” She sounded shocked and bewildered.

“Have you forgotten? You’re already dead,” Chu Wanning said.

The girl’s eyes widened. “I’m already – oh.” Realization spread across her face and she bowed her
head, hands crossed over her chest. She found no heartbeat. “I’m – I’m already dead.”

“Only souls can pass into the Truth Restoration Barrier. It reverses the changes made by death.
Whether you’re a menacing spirit or a normal ghost, you will be restored to how you were in life.”
The girl appeared lost in thought for a moment, as if recalling her past life, then started weeping
silently. “Do you have grievances?” Chu Wanning asked.

The girl’s voice was thick with tears. “Are you the King of the Underworld? Or are you the
Greeter of the Dead? Are you here to bring me justice?”

Chu Wanning rested a hand on his temple. “I’m neither the King of the Underworld nor the
Greeter of the Dead.” The girl continued to weep, and Chu Wanning waited for her to pull herself
together before speaking again. “However, I am certainly here to bring you justice.”

“You really are the Lord King of the Underworld!” she exclaimed in mingled joy and anguish,
looking up.

Chu Wanning decided not to argue a moot point. “Do you know what you did after you died?”

“I don’t know. It’s not clear. I only remember I was very sad and I wanted revenge. I wanted to find
them, to find him.”

Knowing that newly-woken souls often had trouble remembering details, Chu Wanning asked
patiently, “Who did you want to find?”

The girl replied softly, “My husband, Chen Bo’huan.”

Taken aback, Chu Wanning recognized the name of the eldest son of the Chen family. “What is
your name? Where are you from?” Not only did the barrier restore souls to their living aspect,
Heavenly Questions’s powers compelled them to speak truthfully.

“My name is Luo Xianxian, from Butterfly Town.”

“This town only has around five hundred households, none of which are named Luo. Who was
your father?”
It took the girl some time to recall the details and her face grew anguished. “My father used to be a
scholar here, and was an intimate friend to my father-in-law. Several years ago, he contracted an
illness of the lungs and passed away. Afterwards, I was alone.”

“Why did you die?”

The girl wept harder. “What reason did I have to live? They— they deceived my papa and stole the
secret formula for the fragrance. They beat and yelled at me, threatened me, made me leave
Butterfly Town. I’m a weak woman with no other relatives in the world, where else could I go?
Who but the Land of the Dead would take me in?”

Speaking had triggered all her painful memories and she continued to speak without prompting,
telling Chu Wanning all the suffering she had endured in life. Luo Xianxian had lost her mother
when very young, and although she had an older brother whom she’d never met, he’d gone missing
during a riot before her first birthday and had never been seen again. She had no memories of him
and didn’t know if he was alive or dead. The Luo household, consisting of only Xianxian and her
father, drifted through many places before settling into a small house in Butterfly Town the year
she turned five.

Chen Bo’huan had been Xianxian’s elder by two years, and when the Luo household arrived the
family hadn’t yet made their fortune. They had lived squeezed together into a small earthen cottage
with two rooms, and a clementine tree grew next to the low wall in the yard. The tree bore fruit in
autumn, dense branches growing past the wall into the yard of the Luo family. Luo Xianxian had
thought the branches festooned with clementines looked like the lanterns during the Lantern
Festival. An introverted child, she hadn’t played with others and only sat quietly upon her little
folding bench peeling soybeans while sneaking glances at the clementines overhead.

Xianxian had been able to easily imagine the sweet juice of the enticing clementines as she stared,
swallowing against the desire to taste the fruit, but she had never extended a hand to pick them. A
mediocre and ineffectual scholar who had failed his exams, her father had nonetheless maintained
his dignity and integrity – he had taught his daughter to be the same. From the age of three,
Xianxian had known that wealth was not to be misused and poverty was no excuse for misdeeds.
She had coveted the fruit in her heart but her hands remained clean.

One night, Xianxian had been washing clothes in the bright moonlight, humming as she worked.
Her father’s poor health had sent him to rest early, and child though she was, their impoverished
state had led her to learn how to take care of the household. Sleeves rolled up, her thin arms were
soaked in the wooden bucket and her cheeks puffed as she vigorously scrubbed the laundry. She
had been interrupted by a hoarse coughing noise from the front door, and she had looked up to see
a young man, covered in blood, stumble inside.

The youth’s face was handsome under the blood. Xianxian stared, too petrified to scream, until he
slid down the wall and demanded water. Whether out of her own innate kindness or the sense that
his attractive features meant he was not a villain, Xianxian ran inside for a teapot. She brought it to
the lips of the young man. He drank greedily and wiped at the corners of his lips, eyes lifted to
stare intently at Luo Xianxian’s charming face.

As the young man remained silent, so did Xianxian, blinking anxiously from a safe distance. He
finally spoke, lips curled into a cold smile. “You look a lot like someone I once knew. Especially
the eyes, big and round, ready to be dug out and swallowed whole.” His tone was so casual that the
words were even more chilling, and he chuckled as he spoke. Luo Xianxian shivered and covered
her eyes without thinking. “Heh, what a smart little girl,” the young man said. “Keep covering your
eyes like that, don’t stare at me. Otherwise I can’t say what my hands might do.”
Moonlight spilled across the yard. The young man licked his lips and spotted the clementine tree in
the yard. His eyes lit up, pupils shimmering brightly. He rubbed his chin and gestured. “Little girl.
Pick a clementine and peel it for me.”

Xianxian was finally moved to speak, voice quavering but without hesitation. “Sir, that tree doesn’t
belong to my family. I can’t pick the fruit.”

The young man was taken aback and his face slowly turned dark. “I said to pick me some fruit. I
want to eat clementines, so go get them for me right now!” The words were growled aggressively,
as if gnawed to pieces between his teeth before being spat out.

Shaking with fright, Luo Xianxian stubbornly remained where she was. Though she was soft-
hearted, her spine was as rigid as her father’s. “I won’t.”

The youth’s face darkened further, like thunderclouds. “Foul wench! Do you know who I am?”

“If you want water, I, I’ll pour you some. If you want food, there’s some in the house. But the
clementine tree doesn’t belong to my family. Papa said to take without asking is to steal. I’m a
woman of integrity. Wealth is not to be misused and poverty is – is no excuse for split peas.” Her
tongue had tripped her up in her fear, a tiny girl stubbornly clinging to her father’s teaching in the
face of overwhelming terror.

That young man was silent; at any other time, such pretentious phrases coming from the mouth of a
little girl would have been hilarious. But now there was a violent, soaring anger crushing his heart.
He used the wall behind him to shakily regain his feet. “I hate people like you, so called men of
compassion, integrity, charity, heroes.” He painfully staggered to the clementine tree.

Under Xianxian’s terrified gaze, the youth inhaled the scent of clementines with greedy yearning,
climbed the tree, and started violently shaking it until whole branches of clementines tumbled
roughly to the ground. They rolled across the Luo family’s yard and the youth smirked twistedly as
he shouted, “Fuck taking without asking is stealing! Fuck wealth is not to be misused! Fuck
strength is not to be exploited!”

“Sir! What are you doing! Please stop! Papa!” Luo Xianxian hadn’t wanted to call for her father, a
scholar in poor health with little physical strength; he, too, would be powerless to stop the young
man. The scared little girl, however, had reached the end of her rope.

“Stop yelling! I’ll beat your dad too!”

The Chen family having gone to visit relatives in the neighboring village, there was no one home
to stop the youth. He shook the tree until all the fruit had fallen, and then stomped them into the
dust. Aggression fueling a burst of strength, he climbed the wall into the Chen yard, found an axe,
and chopped down the tree. Then he flipped back into the Luo yard and laughed heartily. Then he
stopped abruptly and squatted down. Eyes unfocused, he twisted his head over and beckoned Luo
Xianxian over. “Little girl, come here.”

she is an extremely unreliable narrator and also this is way too much detail and backstory for
something that is not that important to the main narrative

Luo Xianxian stayed where she was, shuffling her little cloth shoes embroidered with yellow
flowers. Seeing her reluctance, the young man softened his tone and spoke with as much kindness
as he could muster. “I’ve got something good for you.”

“I…I don’t want to. No, I won’t,” Luo Xianxian mumbled.

Before she could finish her sentence, the young man erupted in rage. “If you don’t come here right
this instant, this I’m gonna go into your house and chop your dad into minced meat!”

Luo Xianxian shuddered violently and finally shuffled slowly towards him. He looked askance at
her. “Hurry up, I ain’t got time to watch you do the Yangko dance.” She drew closer to him, head
bowed. When she was still a few steps away, he suddenly reached out and yanked her closer. Her
startled squeal was muffled by the clementine he shoved in her mouth, unpeeled and unwashed,
still covered in mud. She couldn’t eat it in one bite, and yet he forcefully stuffed it farther in, skin
ripping to smear juice and mud against her cheeks. He cackled, smashing the fruit into her face.
“Aren’t you a woman of integrity? Not gonna steal? Then what are you eating right now, huh?
What are you eating right now?”

seriously this is just writing the gross humiliation of a little girl for no narrative reason

“I don’t want it,” Xianxian sobbed. “Papa… papa…”

“Swallow it.” The young man’s eyes curved into crescents, and he stuffed the last bit of fruit into
Luo Xianxian’s mouth. “Swallow the goddamn thing!” He watched Luo Xianxian as she was
forced to swallow the clementine, sobs choking from her throat as she cried weakly for her father.
His smile was more terrifying than his savage expression had been. He ruffled Luo Xianxian’s
hair, satisfied, and said warmly, “Why call papa? Shouldn’t you call for me? Is the clementine I
gave you sweet? Is it good?” He picked up another fruit from the ground and attentively peeled off
the skin, even picking out the white fibers clinging to its flesh. The he wiped his hands, pulled off a
piece, and brought it to Luo Xianxian’s lips. “If you like it,” he said in a chiding, gentle voice,
“Then eat some more.”

It was now clear to Xianxian that she had encountered someone who was mentally disturbed; with
no other recourse to survive, she obeyed. The sweet and sour juice in her throat sent turbulent
waves through her stomach as the young man fed her fruit bit by bit. He hummed a little tune,
voice rough and coarse, dropping words here and there into the unrefined melody. “Three, four
drops of petals upon the pond, one, two cries of strings rang from ashore. Youthful years before
crowing be the best of years, hooves light horses fast, see the ends of the world – little girl,” he
suddenly said. He clicked his tongue and cupped Luo Xianxian’s small face with his hand. “Let me
take a look at your eyes.”

Trembling, Xianxian had no power to resist and could only allow him to thoroughly examine her
eyes, bloody fingers rubbing over her brows inch by inch.

“So alike,” he said. Luo Xianxian whimpered and shut her eyes, afraid that he would pluck them
out as he had the fruit. He didn’t touch them, only spoke in a somber, chilling voice. “Didn’t you
teach me that wealth shouldn’t be misused and poverty is no excuse for misdeeds? I have
something to teach you.” He paused as she sobbed. “Open your eyes.” She kept them tightly shut
and he hissed in exasperation. “I won’t dig them out, now open them! Do you think keeping them
closed will stop me from pulling them out of your head?”

Luo Xianxian opened her large, round eyes. Her long, soft lashes trembled as her tears fell, and her
pitiably fearful expression seemed to please the mysterious young man. He let go of her cheek and
paused for a moment, then gently patted her head. Intently staring at her eyes, a trembling smile
curled his lips. His expression was twisted, savage, and a little sorrowful.

“There was a man from Linyi whose heart died at twenty,” he said, turned around, and slowly
disappeared into the shadows. The only indication that he had been there at all was the mess left
behind on the ground.
------

Conveniently gone during the uproar, the Chen family returned just as conveniently the following
morning to see the tree chopped down and the fruit smashed into the ground. Only the Luo family
lived close by, and they remembered the way Luo Xianxian had gluttonously looked at the
clementines. They concluded immediately that she had not only stolen the fruit but also chopped
down the tree out of jealousy.

Full of righteous anger, the Chen family immediately went to Scholar Luo. Humiliated, he
promptly called his daughter over to angrily ask if the accusations were true. Crying, Xianxian
denied that she had stolen the fruit and chopped down the tree, but when asked if she’d eaten any
clementines she was unable to lie and could only answer that she had. Before she even had time to
explain, her flustered and exasperated father ordered her to kneel.

Xianxian was disciplined with a ruler before the Chen family. As her father beat her, he said,
“Girls are inferior to boys! How could you commit such a deceitful act so young! You’re an
embarrassment! As your punishment, you will not be allowed to eat today. You will face the wall
for three days and painstakingly repent!”

“Papa, it wasn’t me! It really wasn’t me!”

“Don’t you dare talk back!”

Nobody believed her. As rough as the lower cultivation world was, Butterfly Town was an
exception. Its residents had always lived simple and honest lives without even locking their doors
at night. A blood-covered maniac appearing in the middle of the night was a ludicrous tale. Her
father’s ruler left the skin on Luo Xianxian’s hands raw and bleeding while the Chen family coldly
watched. Only the oldest son seemed different, tugging on his mother’s sleeve as if wanting to
speak, but she paid him no attention.

The Chen boy furrowed his handsome brow and turned aside rather than continue watching. That
night, Luo Xianxian crouched under the roof of her house and miserably carried out her
punishment, afraid to enter the house. Theft was intolerable to her father, and furthermore he was
stubborn and would refuse to listen to reason.

A day of hunger left Luo Xianxian faint. She heard a small voice calling her name and turned to
see a handsome face over the low wall. It was the oldest Chen boy, Chen Bo’huan. He looked
around to make sure no one was around and climbed over the earthen wall. He extracted a steamed
bun from inside his clothes and stuffed it into her hand. “I saw you standing here all day with
nothing to eat. Quick, take this.”

Shy by nature, Xianxian had barely exchanged words with the boy next door although she had
lived there for months. She couldn’t help but back away now, running into the wall. “I can’t take
it,” she stammered. “Papa won’t let me.”

“Ah, your father’s stuck in a book,” Chen Bo’huan said. “Don’t pay attention to him. Starving like
this will just make you sick. Eat before it gets cold.”

The bun was white and tender, soft and fluffy, still hot enough to steam. Luo Xianxian stared at it
for a moment and swallowed hard, but she was too hungry to resist. Unheeding of the proper
manners, she gobbled it down. After she finished, she looked up with her round eyes. The first
clear sentence she said to Chen Bo’huan was, “I didn’t chop down the tree, and I didn’t want to
steal the fruit.”
Chen Bo’huan slowly started to smile. “Sure.”

“But no one believed me.” Under the boy’s friendly gaze, Xianxian began to speak. Her tragic tale
poured out like an avalanche, and she began to cry. “No one believed me,” she repeated. “I didn’t
take them, I didn’t.”

Chen Bo’huan patted her frantically. “I know you didn’t. You stood under the tree every day
without taking a single clementine. If you wanted to steal, you would have done it a long time ago.”

“It wasn’t me! It wasn’t!” She wailed even harder, tears and snot trickling down.

Chen Bo’huan continued to pat her. “It wasn’t you, it wasn’t you.” So started the friendship
between Xianxian and Bo’huan.

Not long after, news reached Butterfly Town of a violent crime occurring in a nearby village. A
blood-soaked bandit had broken into a house, demanding a room for the night, and killed the entire
family when the owner refused. He’d casually slept through the night in the house full of the dead,
staying until late the next day. He’d left an eloquent essay documenting all of his deeds written on
the walls in blood, as if afraid the crime would go unnoticed. Once discovered, news of the atrocity
spread until it reached Butterfly Town.

The night after the family had been murdered was the exact night that Luo Xianxian had met the
crazy man – her father and the Chen family were stunned to realize she’d been telling the truth.
Resolving the misunderstanding brought them closer together, and the Chens came to see Xianxian
as a cute, hardworking, and thoughtful girl. Thinking it would be hard to find a better daughter-in-
law, given their family circumstances, they arranged for an engagement between Chen Bo’huan
and Luo Xianxian.

The families planned for a formal ceremony once their children reached adulthood, and their lives
went quietly on. If Scholar Luo hadn’t been interested in the art of fragrance, perhaps the two
families would have led the modest but content life they envisioned, but he accidentally created the
Hundred Butterfly Fragrance. Its scent was nothing special, no different than others commonly
found in town, but it had a unique benefit – it lasted for a hundred days. It was exactly the type of
high quality, inexpensive product that every household sought.

However, Scholar Luo believed knowledge to be more important than its practical applications,
and refused to sell the fragrance in the belief that it would ruin his identity. Those who knew of it
couldn’t let it go; Madam Chen tried to obtain the recipe, and failing that, encouraged Scholar Luo
to open a store. He refused. Madam Chen tried a few times to change his mind, but didn’t want to
be thought foolish for continued failure and appeared to give up. However, she didn’t forget the
fragrance.

The year that Luo Xianxian turned fifteen, an opportunity came. Scholar Luo, who had always
been sickly, contracted tuberculosis and passed away after a few months of suffering. As
Xianxian’s mother-in-law-to-be, Madam Chen helped arrange the funeral. Xianxian was moved to
tears by her thoughtfulness, not seeing the hidden agenda.

While organizing Scholar Luo’s belongings, Madam Chen quietly swiped the recipe for the
perfume. That night, she lit up an oil lantern, excited and ready to read the recipe. Upon seeing it,
she was left dumbfounded – Scholar Luo’s characters were written in an elegant and confident
calligraphy that Madam Chen couldn’t read. She had no choice but to just as quietly put the recipe
back.

After a few months, Madam Chen invited Xianxian over for a meal and casually brought up her
father’s fragrance. Thinking that the recipe was doing no one any good if it was just tucked away
in the house, and that Madam Chen had always been kind to her, Xianxian took out her father’s
possessions and even helped Madam Chen interpret the writing. Little by little, she sorted out the
complex recipe.

Madam Chen was over the moon. Once she obtained the recipe, she began to plan for the opening
of a shop with her husband. At that time, she still treasured her gentle and sensible future daughter-
in-law –the older Xianxian got, the more beautiful she became. Misfortunate though her family
was, her face was one in a hundred, and quite a few young men from the town had begun to notice
her.

If they waited, Madam Chen thought, complications would arise – but Butterfly Town’s traditions
forbid a wedding within three years of both parents’ deaths. It was far too long to wait, and
eventually Madam Chen hit upon a solution. As Xianxian braided the hair of the youngest Chen
girl, with whom she had a close friendship, Madam Luo stepped into the courtyard to call her into
the inner hall. “Xianxian,” she said. “You and Bo’huan are childhood sweethearts, and you’re
engaged. Now that your father has passed, you are all alone and life has become difficult. Even
though you’re supposed to marry into our family this year, tradition prohibits it for another three
years. How old will you be then?”

Luo Xianxian bowed her head without answering, but she was clever and could guess where
Madam Chen was going. Her cheeks began to blush.

As expected, Madam Chen continued. “Living alone is difficult and tiring. What if you married
into our family behind closed doors, and we kept it secret? If anybody asks, we can tell them I’m
just looking after you. We’ll satisfy custom on the surface, and ease your father’s spirit in private.
When the three years have elapsed, we can have a proper wedding. What do you think?”

Madam Chen’s pretty words sounded as though she were thinking of no one but Xianxian, and as
she had no bad intentions herself, Xianxian suspected no ill will in others. She agreed. Later, the
Hundred Butterfly fragrance made the Chen family fabulously wealthy, and they moved out of
their old home to a large plot of land in town. They had become a big and influential family, but
Xianxian became a hidden shadow who hardly showed her face.

The whole town believed Madam Chen was kind to look after the poor girl, unaware that she and
Bo’huan were married, and Xianxian continued to assume that her kindly mother-in-law was
simply trying to avoid rumors. Chen Bo’huan treated her with sincerity, and their time spent
together was sweet and loving. Xianxian still thought they were only waiting for the three years to
pass, when she could openly get married, but as the three years passed, still nothing happened. The
day of the official marriage ceremony, the day that Luo Xianxian waited for, never came.

The Chen family’s business flourished, and their handsome eldest son was noticed by many
unmarried women – even daughters of rich families in nearby villages paid attention. Madam Chen
began to regret the arrangement she’d made with Xianxian – the girl had been her best option when
they’d all been poor, but now she was neither pretty enough nor clever enough to make up for her
lack of money. The more Madam Chen thought about it, the more irritating she found the girl.

Chen Yao’s appearance sealed Luo Xianxian’s tragic fate. Mistress Yao was the governor’s
pampered daughter, tomboyish and with a preference for martial attire. One day, returning from the
hunt atop a fine horse, she passed by a fragrance store and stopped to look. But rather than
acquiring a fragrances, she instead acquired the handsome and hard-working young man inside the
shop. That young man was none other than Chen Bo’huan, Luo Xianxian’s husband in all but
name.
------

Chen Yao, in addition to being a tomboy, had a spirited personality. She eschewed food and drink
once home in favor of pestering her father to ask after about Chen Bo’huan, and because Chen
Bo’huan’s marriage was secret, the word the governor conveyed to his precious daughter was that
the boy was unmarried. He spared no effort in conducting a background check, eventually deciding
that the Chen’s eldest son was both capable and gentle in temperament with a satisfactory family
situation. The governor sent a messenger to the proposing marriage between their children.

Landlord Chen could have imploded with chagrin on receiving the proposal. He politely told the
governor’s messenger that they need some time to think it over and closed the door. His wife, also
having heard, immediately started arguing.

“Look where your haste got us!” the landlord yelled. “That broke scholar died early leaving his
daughter in mourning for three years! If you hadn’t urged them to get married ahead of time, our
son could still have gotten out of it! Look at this mess!”

Madam Chen was just as anxious. “Oh, so you’re blaming me now? Weren’t you the one who
wanted to arrange the betrothal to begin with? This is the governor’s precious daughter we’re
talking about here! How could Xianxian hope to compare?”

The pair of old bastards argued behind closed doors until they were blue in the face, both breathing
roughly across the table. “What should we do? Maybe we should turn the governor down.”

“Absolutely not. Our family is counting on this precious mistress for fame and fortune.”

“Do you really think the treasured daughter of the Yao family would be willing to be a concubine?
Do you? Our son is already married! And besides, look how in love they are!”

“Say, old Chen, the way I see it, no one outside our family even knows about this thing between
Luo Xianxian and our son.”

There was a moment of silence, both of them shaking in combined apprehension and excitement.

“Y-you mean…”

“If no one knows about it, then the marriage never happened. We’ll chase her out one way or
another. If asking doesn’t work, then we’ll just use force. Everyone knows our son is yet
unmarried. And do you remember that incident where she stole clementines when she was
younger? As long as all of us stick to the story, even if she grows extra mouths to cry about it, who
would believe her!”

Landlord Chen strode to the door to make sure it was closed tight and edged back over to his wife.
The two had been arguing like a pair of fighting cocks a mere moment ago, but were now huddled
together, scheming in quiet whispers.

“I don’t think it’ll work,” Landlord Chen said.

“Why not?”

“Our son will never agree to it. He’s liked Luo Xianxian ever since he was little, but now you want
him to just ditch her. He won’t go for it.”

Madam Chen patted her husband’s hand. “Don’t you worry. I’ll take care of it.”
It wasn’t long before Madam Chen came down with a grave illness; the doctor found no physical
symptoms but she was incoherent and muttered nonsense day in and day out. She insisted she was
possessed by a ghost; her husband, worried sick, even invited a Taoist priest with a horsetail whisk
who discerned that something in the Chen family boded ill for Madam Chen, and if not resolved it
would cause her death before year was out.

“What bears ill will toward my mother?” asked Chen Bo’huan in a paroxysm of filial piety.

The priest walked around for some time in enigmatic pretension before uttering his verdict. “A
beauty who never sees the sun,” he intoned.

One by one, the Chen brothers all turned to stare at Luo Xianxian, all of them stunned.

Xianxian had been called unlucky since she had been a little girl, those around her muttering that
she brought misfortune, that she had killed her mother at birth, was responsible for the deaths of
her brother and then her father. Now the finger pointed at her again, accusing her of the impending
death of her mother-in-law.

Distressed, the Chen brothers took upon themselves one by one to convince her to leave – no one
knew she was married, her reputation was intact, they would pay her well to find a new place to
live. Xianxian anxiously worried that she truly had cursed Madam Chen and cried day after day.
Her husband’s heart ached as he watched his mother grow weaker and weaker; trapped between
mother and wife, he suffered and lost weight rapidly.

The younger Chen brothers reached the end of their rope; while Bo’huan was out, they found their
sister-in-law in the greenhouse, making Hundred Butterfly Fragrance. They smashed her tools,
covering her in the powder until the heavy scent soaked into her bones, and surrounded her. They
berated her with the principles of womanly duty and filial piety, but Luo Xianxian was as resilient
as she was timid and cried that she didn’t want to leave. She begged them to think of another way.

The second Chen brother grew agitated. He slapped her, accusing her of cursing her parents to
death and her brother to a fate unknown, and called her a harbinger of disaster. The others took
their cue and rushed in to hit and kick their sister-in-law, cursing her to leave, for she had no family
to enact justice on her behalf. Of one mind with their mother, they had been in on her plan from the
start and were more than willing to take advantage of their eldest brother’s absence to drive his
secret wife away.

It snowed that night as Luo Xianxian was tossed unceremoniously into the cold, body bruised from
head to toe. She crawled away slowly, sobbing as the night grew deeper. With the chill wind, the
streets were empty and there was no one to see her crawl through the drifts. She didn’t know where
to go or what to do, only that no one would shelter her. The pure white world before her eyes was
vast, but it had no place for her.

Frail to start with and with no warm clothing, Xianxian rapidly began to shiver and soon became
numb. She made her way to the edge of town, taking refuge in the temple dedicated to the ghost
mistress, blue with cold inside and out. She looked up at the painted, splendid clay idol, and tears
rolled down her cheeks. According to tradition, marriages should have been observed by a master
of ceremonies, but her private joy had only been witnessed by the red flower tucked behind her ear.

She wondered dully if the ceremony behind closed doors had been nothing more than a dream, if
the blushing face in the copper mirror had been an illusion born of her deepest desires. She knelt
before the statue, bowing over and over as her freezing body grew heavy, and laughed as she cried.
“Cording hair to become husband and wife, conjugal love never to be doubted. Joy…in this…
eve…” Xianxian grew dizzy, vision blurring as it had that first year in the yard when she’d cried to
Bo’huan that she hadn’t stolen the fruit.

Even now, she knew that no one would believe that she was Chen Bo’huan’s properly wedded
wife, no matter how often she said it. She was still the little girl by the low wall that no one
heeded. Nothing had changed. At least when she had been a child, someone had climbed the wall
to press a hot bun into her hands and encourage her to eat. That person was gone, and she couldn’t
trust that he would look after her when he returned.

Curled up in the temple, her tears slowly drying, Xianxian whispered, “Mistress of Ceremonies, I
want to be with him. I’m his wife. There was no one to witness our wedding, and I know you’re a
ghost mistress who doesn’t speak to the living, but you’re the only one I can talk to.” Her last
words came out in a broken sob. “I didn’t lie.”

The snow continued falling without a sound in the long, silent night. It wasn’t until the next day
that some citizens passing by the temple found Luo Xianxian’s ice-cold body.

The entire subplot between the ghost ceremonies and the ghost flashback goes on for far too
long and includes an excessive amount of extraneous detail; it’s self-indulgent, particularly
the first part, and would benefit from some editorial attention. Also, if this story is from the
ghost’s POV, how does she know about the Chen couple’s private conversation? Is she just
making shit up?

------

Luo Xianxian’s story incensed Chu Wanning. Upon hearing the circumstances of her death, he
wanted to withdraw Heavenly Questions from the ghost and direct it to the Chens instead, but the
barrier would vanish the moment he opened his eyes and no ghost could be trapped by it more than
once. Wanting to hear the rest of her story, he could only cling to his rage as she related her journey
to the underworld.

Numb and disoriented, Xianxian’s spirit encountered a lady resembling the temple’s ghost
mistress, dressed in resplendent colors, standing before her and speaking in a soothing voice. “You
and Chen Bo’huan could not lie together in life,” she said. “Do you wish to lie together in death?”
In a panic, Xianxian answered that she did. “I will bring him to you quickly, my child,” said the
lady.

Luo Xianxian hesitated. “Am I dead?”

“Yes. I am the Ghost Mistress of Ceremonies of the Underworld. I will give you your good match
and fulfill your longtime wish.”

“But if he comes to keep me company, will he also die?” Xianxian asked.

“Yes. But the heavens are compassionate. Whether alive or dead, it makes no difference to your
souls.”

Chu Wanning wasn’t surprised that the ghost mistress had used trickery to lure people into making
wishes on the lives of others; truly, she was an abominable deity.

Despite her wrongful death, Luo Xianxian was not a malicious ghost and shook her head
repeatedly. “No, don’t kill him, it wasn’t his fault.”

The ghost mistress gave a melancholy smile. “Such kindness will get you nothing in return.” It
wasn’t, however, allowed to coerce spirits into making malevolent wishes and it therefore
gradually faded away. Its voice became fainter. “When you return to the living world on the
seventh day after your death, as all souls do, visit the Chen family. I will come to you again, and
ask then if you are still without regret.”

Luo Xianxian’s spirit regained awareness and returned to the world of the living at the appointed
time. She followed the familiar roads to the Chen Manor, eager to see her husband one last time,
but found it festively adorned with lanterns and banners. The reception area was piled high with
betrothal gifts, and a massive wedding banner hung in the main hall. Madam Chen’s face glowed
with good health as she smilingly directed servants to pack the gifts in red silk and ornate
decorations.

A wedding? thought Xianxian. Betrothal gifts? She’s spared no expense, how grand it is. She
made her way through the busy crowd, listening to their voices congratulate her former mother-in-
law on her son’s engagement to Governor Yao’s daughter and tell her how truly blessed she was
that her health had improved so rapidly after announcing the upcoming nuptials. Others compared
Madam Chen’s son and Mistress Yao to gold and jade, a match made in heaven.

If Xianxian had still had a heart, it would have been beating rapidly as she roamed the familiar
halls and yard searching for her husband. Finally she found him standing before the peonies in the
rear hall, face pale and cheeks sunken but dressed in festive red. He wore the traditional butterfly-
embroidered robes donned by a prospective son-in-law when visiting his desired bride’s house to
formally propose.

The bottom dropped out of the stomach Xianxian no longer had as she realized that her husband
had prepared all of the lavish gifts of gold, silver, and pearls for the daughter of the Yao family.
When he had married her, there had been nothing but two people and a single heart, no master of
ceremonies or wedding party or gifts. He had only placed a single clementine blossom in her hair.

“How do I look?” Xianxian had asked, and he had told her that she was beautiful and deserved
better, but she hadn’t minded. He had promised to make it up to her in three years, to pick her up in
a sedan carried by eight men and adorn her with precious metals. The memory of his voice rang in
her ears.

It had been three years and the ceremony was indeed grand – everyone was invited and the hall
was piled high with betrothal gifts, but he was marrying someone else. Anger and sorrow washed
over her, and she tried to tear down the silk and brocade. She couldn’t touch any of it. As if sensing
something, Chen Bo’huan looked back, gaze hollow as the silks in the room drifted despite there
being no wind. His little sister approached, a white jade pin in her hair; she was mourning secretly
for someone.

“Bo'huan,” she said. “Please eat something. You haven’t eaten properly for days, and you still have
to travel to the governor’s residence to propose.”

“Xiao, do you hear someone crying?” Bo’huan asked suddenly.

“What? No. Bo’huan, you…” She fell silent without finishing the thought.

Chen Bo’huan continued to stare at the place where the silks drifted. “How is Mother? Is she well?
Has she recovered from her illness?”

“Bo’huan.”

“I’m glad she’s recovered.” Chen Bo’huan paused and mumbled, “I’ve already lost Xianxian, I
can’t lose Mother too.”
“Bo’huan, please go eat.”

Xianxian screamed for her husband not to abandon her, but his exhausted figure turned a corner
and disappeared. She stood alone in a daze, tears dripping down her cheeks, and heard the voices
of her husband’s younger brothers.

“Mother is overjoyed that things are finally falling into place.”

“Really? It took half a year of pretending to be sick to finally get rid of the unlucky pest. Of course
she’s happy.” The youngest brother clicked his tongue and added, “I can’t believe she died, though,
it’s not like we were trying to kill her. We just wanted her gone. How should we know she had
nowhere else to go?”

“Who knows, maybe she was just weak like her father. It’s not our fault that she died. I mean, the
governor’s daughter or some peasant girl? Only an idiot would choose her. Besides, we can’t afford
to offend the Yao family.”

“You’re right, she was an idiot. If she wanted to freeze to death, that’s not our fault.”

Only in death did Luo Xianxian finally understand that bringer of misfortune meant nothing more
than that she was poor with low status. Only an idiot would choose the peasant girl. Heart filled
with hatred and resentment, she lost her humanity and returned to the temple of the ghost mistress.
It was where she had died, weak and helpless, and it was there that she returned with a bitter stone
heart. Once so kind and good-natured, now she called up all the hatred and wickedness that she had
never let loose before. She screamed herself hoarse, eyes red and soul quivering.

“I, Luo Xianxian, am willing to give up my soul to become a malicious ghost. I beg the Ghost
Mistress only for vengeance! I want the entire Chen family to die miserably! I want my mother-in-
law, who is worse than a beast, to kill her sons with her own hands! All of them! I want Chen
Bo’huan to keep me company in hell! I hate! I hate!”

The clay idol in the shrine lowered its eyelids, the corner of its lips curving into a smirk. A voice
echoed inside the temple. “Your worship has been accepted, and your wish will be fulfilled.
Henceforth you are a malicious ghost. Go forth and slaughter all who have wronged you.”

There ended Xianxian’s memories.

Chu Wanning didn’t need Xianxian to tell the rest of the story – he knew that the ghost mistress
had controlled her to possess Madam Chen and murder her family one by one and that Chen
Bo’huan had been in the red coffin to fulfill Xianxian’s wish for him to keep her company in hell. It
had intentionally placed the coffin where he and his new wife would build their house as both curse
and vengeance, and the scent inside was the perfume that had been on Xianxian’s body when she
died. Its resentful energy and heavy fragrance had both drawn their strength from her soul.

With no family, Xianxian had been customarily cremated rather than buried and – without a body –
could only take on form inside the ghost mistress’s coffin. When Chu Wanning had split open the
coffin with a whip, Luo Xianxian’s soul had lost its shelter and scattered, temporarily unable to
reconvene. Thus, the coffin’s resentful energy had been strong when closed but faint once opened.
It took Chu Wanning another few moments to figure out why all the corpses had been matched in
pairs except for Chen Bo’huan, who had been with a paper ghost bride – the ghost mistress
wouldn’t break its own promise, and the paper bride had been meant to represent Xianxian.
Everything was clear.

Chu Wanning didn’t know what to say to the helpless girl caught in his barrier; he was terrible with
words, and he finally resigned himself to saying nothing. She stood in the darkness, eyes soft and
round, and spoke just before he would have opened his eyes to release her spirit.

“Lord of Hell Yanluo, sir, there’s something else I wanted to tell you.” At his soft sound of
acquiescence, she lowered her head and started crying into her hands. “My lord, I don’t know what
I did, but I really don’t want my husband to die. I don’t want to be a malicious ghost. I didn’t steal
fruit, I’m Chen Bo’huan’s wife, and my whole life, I really, really never wanted to harm anyone. I
beg you, please believe me.” Her trembling voice was broken with sobs. “I didn’t lie.”

Chu Wanning’s voice rang out in the darkness without hesitation. “I believe you.”

Luo Xianxian tried to wipe away her tears but couldn’t stop crying. She finally bowed deeply
toward the person she couldn’t see in the darkness. Chu Wanning opened his eyes and said nothing
for a long while. As time passed differently inside the barrier than it did outside, the whole story
had passed by in a mere instant for those on the outside. Mo Ran had yet to arrive, and the
remaining members of the Chen family were still watching him apprehensively.

Heavenly Questions withdrew, and Chu Wanning glanced at Madam Chen. “I will voice your
grievances. You may sleep.” Madam Chen collapsed to the ground with a thud, unconscious. Chu
Wanning lifted his head again, gaze sweeping past Landlord Chen’s face to land on the youngest
son. “I will ask one last time,” he said slowly, clearly enunciating each word in a flat and cold
voice. “You really do not know whose voice that was?”

------

The youngest son shook uncontrollably as he looked up at his father, whose eyes darted left and
right. “I don’t know who it was,” he insisted.

Chu Wanning’s face was cold like frost. “Liar,” he said softly. His appearance was already severe,
but with his eyebrows lowered in an aura of fury, he looked even more terrifying than a malicious
ghost. Landlord Chen unconsciously took two steps back. Chu Wanning struck the ground with
Heavenly Questions, sparks dancing from the vine, and Landlord Chen promptly fell on his ass.
“Was the Hundred Butterfly Fragrance really made by your family? Was that your eldest son’s first
marriage? Do you recognize the name Luo Xianxian? Such hypocrisy, at your age!”

Landlord Chen’s mouth opened and closed wordlessly, like a fish, and his face turned from ashen
to scarlet. His youngest daughter, who had been cowering off to the side, heard the name of her
friend and immediately started crying. She stumbled over to kneel before her mother and shake her
unconscious body. “Xianxian! Xianxian, was it all you? I know you were wronged, but please, if
only for me, please spare my family! Please, Xianxian!”

Heavenly Questions’s golden hilt lifted Landlord Chen’s chin so Chu Wanning wouldn’t have to
touch him directly. “Do you really think I can’t tell when someone’s lying to me?” He spoke
coldly, seeing himself reflected in Chen’s frightened eyes. It is indeed an unlikeable face , he
thought, cold and harsh, like a blade covered in frost. But no matter. The Constellation of the
Night Sky doesn’t need affection.

what a fucking narcissist

“Cultivator, Cultivator, Sisheng Peak sent you, and I’m the client, you’re not supposed to pry into
my private business.”

“Fine,” Chu Wanning said. “I’ll get out of your business. You can die.”
“Wait! Waitwaitwait! You can’t!”

“I can’t?” Danger flickered in Chu Wanning’s narrowed eyes. “I can’t what?”

“I’m – you’re – you –”

“If someone like you were a disciple of my sect,” Chu Wanning said, stroking Heavenly Questions,
“I’d whip you bloody and snap your bones right here.”

Landlord Chen gave up his act upon hearing those words. The cultivator before him was without a
hint of the compassion he had expected, and his legs gave way beneath him. He knelt, throwing
self-respect to the wind, and wailed. “Cultivator, w-we had no other choice, we couldn’t afford to
offend the governor’s daughter! We, we were so worried we could hardly eat, Cultivator.” He
reached out to hug Chu Wanning’s legs, still wailing.

Chu Wanning’s phobia flared up and he brought the willow vine down without a second thought.
“Don’t touch me!”

Landlord Chen howled in pain as he was lashed and he shouted in indignation. “Unbelievable!
Sisheng Peak’s cultivator beats up common folk!”

“You!”

Mo Ran, supporting two invalids, stepped into Chen Manor to be greeted by the sight of Landlord
Chen kneeling on the ground and sobbing. He pointed at Chu Wanning with a shaky finger,
yelling, “Which other sect does that? Sisheng Peak took the fee, and, and not only did you not
protect the client, y-you attacked me instead! How dare you? I-I’m gonna announce it to the world!
I-I’ll make sure everyone knows about your sect’s attitude! I’ll destroy your sect’s reputation, and
make sure you never get paid again!”

“So what if you have money?” Chu Wanning snarled. “Does that allow you to flip right and wrong,
to repay kindness with cruelty? Does money let you do whatever you want, break all your
promises?”

sadly, yes, that is exactly how shit works, you naïve dingbat

The Chen family’s youngest son spoke up timidly. “It’s not like we killed that Luo Xianxian, we
just knocked her around a bit and chased her out. It’s not our fault she didn’t look for shelter from
the snow, okay, we didn’t kill anyone and you can’t declare us guilty just because you’re some
mighty cultivator.”

He wasn’t technically wrong, Chu Wanning knew; the Chens hadn’t broken any laws, and even if
they were dragged to court they would receive no more than a rebuke for heartless dishonesty.

“You may not have killed her, but she died because of you. Not that a court would convict you.”
Chu Wanning’s hand shook with anger. The old weasel had already collected his wits and realized
that the cultivator couldn’t leave the job unfinished after his sect had already been paid. Coming to
this realization assuaged his fear.

“Convict? Of what?” he cried. “We’ve committed no crime, committed no murder. Luo Xianxian’s
death wish has nothing to do with us, and if you don’t properly exorcise her, I’ll lodge a complaint
with your sect!”

Chu Wanning threw his wallet on the ground before the landlord finished speaking. “Your fee has
been refunded in full. Feel free to lodge that complaint.” Heavenly Questions glowed brightly,
willow leaves sharp as knives, and Landlord Chen squealed like a rat as it rose to strike. He hid
behind his daughter to avoid the lash, but Chu Wanning was a practiced hand at whipping people.

The willow vine pulled back immediately to avoid hitting the Chen daughter before circling around
to head directly for Landlord Chen’s face. He shrieked loudly as blood spattered across the ground,
Landlord Chen not having expected the cultivator to be unfazed by his posturing. His air of
arrogance melted into a puddle of mud, and he fled wailing. “Wait! Hold the whip! Hold the whip!
Cultivator! Cultivator, I was just talking nonsense! Just nonsense! Please spare me! I’m begging
you, I’m getting old, I can’t bear this! Cultivator, have mercy, it was our fault! It was our fault!”

Chu Wanning wasn’t even listening; his ears were stopped with anger, phoenix eyes narrow as the
whip danced in the air. His client rolled around on the ground in pain, tears and mucus streaming
down his face. Mo Ran, at the gate, was stunned speechless. He had never seen Chu Wanning
whip a civilian with Heavenly Questions, and it was as ruthless as if he’d been whipping a beast.

A contractor beating up a client, whether in the upper or lower cultivation realm, would utterly
destroy the cultivator’s reputation. Mo Ran knew it didn’t matter how bad Chu Wanning’s temper
was or how much he let his heart overrule his head. This was a worse blunder than his own theft
and debauchery.

For his part, Shi Mei was pale from shock and he pulled at Mo Ran in a panic. “H-hurry and stop
him!”

Mo Ran handed the still unconscious Chen-Yao – the treasured daughter of the Yao family – over
to Shi Mei and stepped forward to grab Chu Wanning’s wrist. “Sir,” he said, alarmed and
apprehensive, “what are you doing?”

“Let go!” Chu Wanning bellowed, in a terrible mood.

“Sir, this is against the rules.”

“That’s rich, coming from you! Which of Sisheng Peak’s seven hundred and fifty rules do I not
know better than you? Let go!”

“Then why aren’t you stopping?” Mo Ran shouted.

Without wasting another second on his impudent student, Chu Wanning lashed his client again.

“Sir!”

“Get lost!” Chu Wanning growled, eyes frosty.

Seeing Mo Ran’s handsome and amiable face and incorrectly assuming he was a good person,
Landlord Chen hurriedly crawled over to cower behind Mo Ran and tug at the corner of his
clothing. “Cultivator, please talk to your teacher, I was wrong, I can’t take this kind of beating,
please stop him.”

Contrary to Chen’s expectations, Mo Ran felt disgust instead of pity upon seeing their client’s face
and moved quickly away. Landlord Chen saw that this cultivator could not be relied upon, and his
gaze moved on to Shi Mei, who was helping Chen-Yao into a chair not too far away. With a last bit
of hope, he crawled toward him, wailing and crying.

“Cultivator, Cultivator, please show some kindness, show some mercy, I know I was wrong, please
don’t hit me anymore, I’m old, my body can’t bear it.” He cried pitifully, genuinely begging for
his life as he crawled to Shi Mei’s side and tugged at his clothes.
The kind-hearted Shi Mei was moved to pity and turned to implore Chu Wanning. “Sir, the old
man already knows he’s wrong, please show mercy.”

“Out of the way,” Chu Wanning snarled. Shi Mei didn’t move. “Did you not hear me!?”

Shuddering in fear, the disciple moved out of the way. Heavenly Questions ripped through the air,
headed directly for Landlord Chen. Their client covered his head with both arms and let out a
frightened cry. Hearing the pitiful sound, Shi Mei couldn’t help but step back in front to block the
hit. Heavenly Questions struck – despite Chu Wanning’s efforts to pull it back, Shi Mei was too
fast and Chu Wanning hadn’t seen him in time. Blood splashed and Shi Mei dropped to his knees,
covering his delicate cheek.

------

The only sound breaking the resulting silence was Landlord Chen’s sobbing. Shi Mei pressed a
hand to his wounded cheek, blood trickling through his fingers, and he spoke with an earnest gaze.
“Sir, if you don’t stop, Sisheng Peak will suffer.”

Mo Ran thought he would die of shock; reprobate though he was, he was utterly devoted to Shi
Mei. He had sworn to protect him and treat him well after his reincarnation, and yet it had only
taken two or three days for Shi Mei to be injured. Mo Ran ignored his teacher entirely, hurrying to
his beloved’s side instead.

did you forget about the month he spent grounded at home as punishment, dear author????

“I’m okay,” Shi Mei said.

“Let me see it.”

“It’s really nothing.” Mo Ran ignored Shi Mei’s wishes and pulled his beloved’s hand away from
the wound. It was a deep gash, raw and bloody and reaching all the way to his neck. Mo Ran saw
red. He had to bite his lip to compose himself before glaring at their teacher.

“Are you quite done yet?” he yelled.

Chu Wanning, face gloomy, was silent. He neither moved nor apologized, only standing stock still
with Heavenly Questions in hand. Mo Ran felt countless frenzied demons in his chest at the sight
of Shi Mei suffering again. He glared at Chu Wanning and neither one backed off nor gave in. Red
crept around the edges of Mo Ran’s vision as the years of hatred for Chu Wanning manifested
again. When he had first joined the sect, he had made an error and his teacher had nearly whipped
him to death. When Shi Mei had been injured, Chu Wanning had watched one of his only three
disciples die. Sisheng Peak had subsequently been destroyed and Mo Weiyu had become the sole
Evil Overlord of the cultivation world.

Only Chu Wanning had stood against him at every turn, a constant reminder that no matter how
mighty the Emperor Evil Overlord, underneath it all he was just a lunatic abandoned by everyone
close to him. In life and in death, Chu Wanning was always there. Mo Ran suddenly noticed their
matching wedding robes, but they might as well have been separated by a gaping chasm.

explain to me why I should be sad that they’re not getting along; no reconciliation has been
earned

Chu Wanning finally put Heavenly Questions away. Landlord Chen let out a huge sigh of relief,
kneeling and bowing repeatedly in front of Shi Mei. “You’re so kind, good sir, you are truly a
living Buddha, our savior, thank you for saving my entire family, sir, thank you.”

Chu Wanning bit back a curse; he would vanquish the evil spirit, but as he would also deal out
vicious punishment to inappropriate targets, he was invariably designated the villain while
someone else was hailed as a compassionate savior. It had always been this way. He didn’t regret
his ill temper, but he did feel some remorse for having accidentally whipped his own disciple. Yet
he couldn’t bring himself to apologize for his action, so he left to stand in front of the young Chen
girl instead.

I’m pretty sure we’re supposed to feel bad for him but I just think he’s a dick and has it
coming

The little girl looked at him and subconsciously stepped backwards in fear. She was the only one
who had consistently shown Xianxian kindness, and Chu Wanning softened his voice. “Your
mother suffered ghost possession, and her lifespan has been reduced by at least twenty years. If she
doesn’t repent, she will be plagued by negative energy and die even sooner. When she wakes, tell
her to handcraft a memorial tablet for Miss Luo using red peachwood, and clearly acknowledge her
status thereon. Luo Xianxian was Chen Bo’huan’s properly wedded wife. This hidden truth must
be made public.”

He paused and handed her a scripture book. “Additionally, your whole family must kneel and recite
the ‘Incantation of Deliverance’ three times a day to help Miss Luo’s soul find peace and purge the
spirits haunting your family. This must be done for ten years without stop, or Miss Luo will return
for vengeance.”

The little girl’s voice shook as she thanked him. Chu Wanning turned to glare at Landlord Chen
and his son, gaze sharp as a snow-covered dagger. “When Chen-Yao awakens, the two of you must
tell her everything and let her make her own decision. If you try to hide anything at all, I’ll rip out
both your tongues!” His opinion of them as no more than posturing cowards was confirmed when
they prostrated themselves and swore up and down to follow his every instruction.

“As for Hundred Butterfly Fragrance,” Chu Wanning continued, “it was created by Mr. Luo alone,
but you shamelessly claimed it as your own. You know what you have to do.” He swept his sleeves
and made to leave.

“W-we’ll definitely go make corrections in the store and clarify that this fragrance was made by
Mr. Luo.”

After sorting out the Chens, Chu Wanning instructed Mo Ran to take Chen-Yao inside so as to
draw out the poison. Despite the hatred in his heart, Mo Ran knew that he was still supposed to be
more respectful than defiant toward his teacher and did not protest, only squeezing Shi Mei’s hand
and whispering, “Go take care of your face and stop the bleeding. I’ll take her inside.”

A big red wedding banner still hung in Bo’huan’s room, likely forgotten in the chaotic tragedy.
Now that he was dead, it looked as though it was mocking his second marriage, and Chen-Yao had
become collateral damage of this ridiculous avarice-riddled farce. Mo Ran wondered what she
would choose on waking as his teacher drew out the poisoned blood and fed her a restorative in
silence. He stood to the side holding a basin of water and handing over towels without speaking or
even looking at his teacher.

As he left, Chu Wanning’s gaze swept past the wall with indifference before he did a double-take
and it returned to the poem hanging there. The columns of letters were in regular script, neat and
upright; the ink had not been dry for long, and the edges of the paper had not yet begun to yellow.
Hands of a delicate tint pour golden wine, it read. The city lies in spring, and she the willow behind
the palace wall. The east wind full of malice brought thin joy and a skein of sorrows. Years of
separation are wrong, wrong, wrong. Spring is still spring. It’s we, without reason, who waste
away. Tears streak rough, stain silks. Peach blossoms fall. Your room by the pond, empty. What
good are our vows, which stood like mountains? With even letters barred, nothing, nothing,
nothing.

Sorrow pierced Chu Wanning’s heart. The writing was neat and careful, signed by Chen Bo’huan,
the three characters glaringly conspicuous. He had married the daughter of the Yao family against
his wish, and could only keep the misery in his heart to himself. Had he spent the final days of his
life standing by the window, brush in hand, helpless but to transcribe this famous ode to loss and
partings? Chu Wanning didn’t want to remain at the Chen Manor even a moment longer. Ignoring
the searing pain in his shoulder, he turned and left.

As two of the three cultivators were injured and unfit to ride, and Chu Wanning disliked traveling
by sword, the group decided to stay the night at an inn. It served the secondary purpose of allowing
them to examine the temple the following day to ensure it had been properly taken care of. Though
the bodies of the demons and corpses had been pulverized by Chu Wanning’s technique, their
spirits had not been destroyed, and staying a few days to see that nothing else would happen would
do no harm. Chu Wanning walked ahead of his two disciples in silence.

Shi Mei finally noticed their odd attire while failing to see his own. “Ran,” he said, “The clothes
you’re both wearing, uh, what’s going on?”

“Oh, right, wedding robes.” Deathly afraid Shi Mei would misinterpret their matched clothes, Mo
Ran hurried to explain. “Don’t misunderstand! It’s, um, from the illusion from before. Just ignore
it.” It was then that he realized Shi Mei was also wearing wedding robes, having been through the
ghost wedding himself, but stained and ripped and of a different design. Wedding robes, Mo Ran
felt, were still wedding robes, and as he stood beside his beloved, he could almost imagine that
they had been one of the ghost mistress’s happy couples. He stared at Shi Mei in a daze.

Shi Mei smiled warmly. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing,” Mo Ran mumbled. A few steps ahead of them, Chu Wanning stopped and turned
around. It was unclear how much of the conversation he might have heard.

Their teacher was backlit against the clouds brightened by the rising sun, sky lightening along the
horizon as the first light of daybreak emerged. The sun was the crimson of a torn and bleeding
heart as it struggled out of the abyss of darkness and painted the skies in splendid colors, mirroring
the vermilion of Chu Wanning’s robes and bestowing upon him a golden halo. His face was in
shadow, expression indecipherable, and qi surged forth to rip the wedding vestments to pieces.

I’m sorry am I supposed to be impressed

Fragments of red fluttered like so many petals of wilting crabapple blossoms scattered by the wind.
Chu Wanning’s white undergarments blew against his inky black hair, the blood on his shoulder
where he’d been injured protecting Mo Ran vivid and conspicuous. He stood still long enough for
the growing light to illuminate his cold sneer. “Mo Weiyu, what is there between us that could be
misunderstood?”

Mo Weiyu was the name Chu Wanning used when angry, because it was a cold and polite form of
address without a hint of warmth. Mo Ran choked, caught off guard, and had nothing to say.
Satisfied that his barb had struck home, Chu Wanning turned and walked away.
No one was around at this hour to see how the earth and sky blurred together with Chu Wanning’s
self-pitying tears. He made it to his room at the inn and closed the door before his harsh and
mocking demeanor dissolved into a pained expression with gritted teeth. He lifted a hand to touch
his shoulder, torn apart by the ghost mistress’s powerful claws. Not having been cleaned out
immediately, it was infected and beginning to fester.

The pain was unbearable. Chu Wanning carefully tried to remove his undergarments, but the dried
blood had latched the fabric onto his skin. Unbelievably, it hurt more when he pulled. Not wanting
his disciples to hear him through the walls, not wanting them to know he felt pain when injured,
Chu Wanning gritted his teeth and yanked the cloth off in one ruthless motion. He let out a stifled
grunt and gasped for breath. His face was completely devoid of color and his body covered in cold
sweat.

Chu Wanning lowered his long lashes, shaking as he assessed the damage as still manageable
without assistance. Holding onto the table for support, he slowly lowered himself into a chair. He
had the inn’s attendant bring water and a towel and cleaned the wound bit by bit with his uninjured
hand, enduring the pain. Using a sharp knife, he cut out the dead flesh before applying Madam
Wang’s healing salve. Slowly and with difficulty, he wrapped his shoulder without help.

Unused to showing weakness in front of others, Chu Wanning had gone through this kind of pain
alone many times before. He liked to compare himself to an injured animal, hiding to lick its
wounds, feeling that his solitary existence would never end. He knew he was unlikeable, and had
no intention to pitifully beg for help. He had his dignity, and it wouldn’t allow him to ask for what
wasn’t spontaneously offered.

all his misery is self-inflicted and I have zero sympathy but I’m pretty sure the author wants
me to find him noble and tragic and like, no, he’s a fucking incel who thinks he’s a sigma

A brocade pouch had fallen to the floor when Chu Wanning had removed his robes, red satin
embroidered with silk flowers, and his fingers shook as he found and opened it. Two locks of hair
corded together lay inside – his and Mo Ran’s. His first urge was to light the pouch on fire, but he
couldn’t bring himself to follow through. Cording hair to become husband and wife, conjugal love
never to be doubted.

He could almost hear the golden boy and jade girl’s quiet giggles igniting the throbbing deep in his
heart and loathed himself for it. He clenched the pouch tightly in his hand and closed his eyes,
wishing he had no feelings for his teenage student. He wished he could dig out his own heart, cut
out the despicable thoughts, and discard them.

Where, he thought, was his decency, his propriety? What kind of a teacher was he? He was worse
than a beast! Chu Wanning’s train of self-loathing thoughts was interrupted by a sudden knocking
at the door. He flinched, eyes opening wide as he hurriedly tucked the brocade pouch away in his
sleeve. His face settled back into its usual ill-tempered expression.

did he or did he not take off the robe, when did we establish that he got dressed again

“Who is it?”

“Sir, it’s me.” Mo Ran’s voice came from the outside, and Chu Wanning’s heart started to race.
“Can I come in?”

------

Face full of doom and gloom, Chu Wanning’s directive to his pupil to get the hell out stuck in his
throat for a long moment before they reluctantly emerged as a muttered “Get the hell in here”
instead.

“Huh? Your door isn’t locked?” Trying to make up with him after playing cold war, Mo Ran
pushed the door open and walked in as if nothing was wrong. His teacher had no expression, sitting
at the table, and only looked at him.

Mo Ran brightened a room with his appearance alone, firm skin glowing and the corners of his lips
tilted in such a way as to make even a neutral expression resemble a smile. Chu Wanning kept
himself under control, lowering his long lashes to avoid looking at his student. He extinguished the
incense burning on the table before he spoke. “What are you doing here?”

Mo Ran cleared his throat. “I came to check on your injury.” His gaze alit on his teacher’s
bandaged shoulder. “You already took care of it?” Chu Wanning grunted assent, leaving his pupil
speechless. While Mo Ran held a grudge against Chu Wanning, he did have a conscience; once
he’d calmed down, he’d remembered how Chu Wanning’s shoulder had been injured – Chu
Wanning had used his own body to protect Mo Ran.

Grudge or no grudge, a whole host of complicated feelings were mixed into Mo Ran’s loathing for
his teacher. His lack of youthful education made it difficult for him to grasp delicate concepts,
particularly when it came to matters of the heart. He could recognize simple feelings in himself –
like and dislike, love and hate, happy or unhappy – but he couldn’t work out how he felt for Chu
Wanning. Even as emperor, feeling more than one emotion at once had given him vertigo.

Typically, Mo Ran had managed his confusion by ignoring it entirely; only Shi Mei deserved his
energy, as far as he was concerned, but his guilt had driven him to knock on his teacher’s door.
Wanting to settle the debt, he’d intended to dress the wound. Mo Ran hadn’t expected Chu
Wanning to stubbornly manage it himself, and the pile of bandages on the table, coupled with the
bloody water in the bowl and the knife casually tossed aside with bits of flesh still clinging to the
blade, gave him a headache.

How did he do that? Mo Ran wondered. It made his own shoulder hurt just thinking about it – Shi
Mei had whimpered from the pain when Mo Ran had cleaned out his wounds before knocking on
Chu Wanning’s door. The level of pain his teacher must have withstood was inhuman, and Mo Ran
couldn’t help but respect him for it. The Constellation Saint was truly impressive.

“Uh,” Mo Ran said, coughing softly and scraping his toe along the floor. “I’m sorry about earlier,
sir. At the Chen manor.” Chu Wanning said nothing, and Mo Ran continued awkwardly. “I, uh,
shouldn’t have yelled at you.” His teacher didn’t even look at him, face a study in indifference.

Chu Wanning would never admit feeling wronged out loud, but inside, he resented Mo Ran’s
interference.

Mo Ran approached cautiously, only then able to see that his teacher had done a poor job of
wrapping his own shoulder. Given that Chu Wanning couldn’t even do laundry, Mo Ran felt he
shouldn’t have been surprised. “Sir, please don’t be upset.”

“Who says I’m upset?” Chu Wanning retorted.

Mo Ran licked his lips, casting about for the best reply. “Sir, that’s not how you bandage-“

“You think you know better?” Chu Wanning shot back.

Mo Ran really wanted to fix the bandages, and lifted his hand to reach for them before thinking
better of it. He didn’t want to get slapped for touching his teacher without permission. But, he
thought, better to be slapped than allow the wound to go poorly treated, and raised his hand again.
Anxiety got the better of him and he lowered his hand, the cycle repeating itself several times.

Irritated, Chu Wanning shot him a sideways glare. “Are you threatening me?”

Mo Ran did want to kick the shit out of his teacher, but not at the moment. He gathered his resolve
and pressed his hand against his teacher’s shoulder. “Sir, let me fix the bandages.”

With his pupil’s warm skin against his, it felt too late to refuse. Chu Wanning’s mouth was
suddenly dry, and he couldn’t bring himself to voice an objection. Mo Ran unwrapped the gauze,
layer by layer, revealing the five spine-chilling wounds. Mo Ran shuddered at the sight, the
damage worse than Shi Mei’s lash to the face.

Unable to articulate why, Mo Ran softly asked, “Does it hurt?”

“Not too much.” Chu Wanning mildly denied the agony, eyes downcast.

“I’ll be gentle.”

Chu Wanning felt his cheeks and even his ears grow hot and censured himself for his absurd
thoughts toward his student. His expression hardened. “Do as you will,” he muttered angrily.

In the dim yellow light of the single candle flame, Mo Ran could see that the medicinal salve
hadn’t been applied properly either. If this was how his teacher typically managed injury, he
thought, it was a miracle that he was still alive. “Sir,” he said.

“Hm?”

“What happened at the Chen Manor today? Why did you beat them?”

Chu Wanning was silent for a moment before answering, “I was angry, that’s all.”

“What made you so angry?”

It was easier to explain Luo Xianxian’s story than argue with his disciple.

Mo Ran shook his head when the account was done. “That was silly of you. No matter how mad
you are, you can’t confront them like that. If it was me, I’d just fake the exorcism and then let
things run their course. You gotta adjust for the situation sometimes, you know. Look, you made
such a big deal over some asshole, and even accidentally hit Shi Mei!”

Mo Ran caught himself halfway through the rant. He shut his mouth hastily, looking at Chu
Wanning. Focused on the bandages, he’d slipped back into his present persona rather than
imitating his teenage self. His teacher hadn’t missed his slip; Mo Ran was now on the receiving
end of a death glare. He started scrambling to think of an excuse, but Chu Wanning spoke before
he found one.

“Do you think I wanted to hit Shi Mingjing?”

The mention of Shi Mei drove all reason out of Mo Ran’s head. “Yeah, but you still did it.”

Unable to admit that he was ashamed of having hit his disciple, Chu Wanning scowled and said
nothing. His bullheadedness collided with Mo Ran’s infatuation, and the tension ratcheted back up
into a hopeless impasse.
“It’s not like Shi Mei did anything wrong,” Mo Ran pressed. “Sir, shouldn’t you apologize to
him?”

“Don’t tell me what I should do,” Chu Wanning snapped.

“I’m not,” Mo Ran insisted. “I’m just upset that he was wrongfully injured and you didn’t even say
you were sorry.”

The handsome youth dressing his handsome teacher’s wound in the light of a single candle
appeared tender on the surface, but a clever observer would have noted their ill tempers. Chu
Wanning in particular had a sour expression as if he’d bitten into a lemon. Resentment swelled in
his chest at Mo Ran’s consideration for someone else.

Oblivious, Mo Ran continued. “It’s gonna take at least half a year for that cut on his face to fade,
but he still didn’t want to blame you, sir. Even if he doesn’t, though, do you really think you were
right?”

His words only added fuel to the jealous fire, and Chu Wanning snapped. “Get out,” he growled.
Mo Ran paused, shocked. “Out!” Chu Wanning repeated, physically manhandling his disciple from
the room and nearly catching Mo Ran’s fingers in the closing door.

Mo Ran’s hackles rose at his teacher’s arrogance; even the venerable Emperor Evil Overlord had
been able to apologize, but the mere Holy Grace Immortal thought it was beneath him. No wonder
Chu Wanning was still single at his age, even with his pretty face – Mo Ran thought he deserved to
die alone and unloved. “That’s what I get for wasting my time on you,” he muttered to the closed
door and left to sit with Shi Mei instead.

“Back already?” The beautiful Shi Mei was resting when Mo Ran entered; he sat slowly, long
black hair draping his body. “How is he?”

“He’s just fine, and so is his temper.” Mo Ran pulled up a chair and straddled it backwards, hands
propped on its back, a lazy smile playing on his lips as he took in the sight of Shi Mei with his
long, soft hair loose.

“Maybe I should go check on him after all,” Shi Mei said.

“No, don’t do that to yourself.” Mo Ran rolled his eyes. “He’s having a hissy fit.”

“Did you make him mad again?”

“He doesn’t need me to make him mad, he can do that all by himself.” Shi Mei shook his head,
caught between laughing and crying. “Lie back down, I’m gonna go make some food for you.”

“Oh? You were up all night too, shouldn’t you sleep?”

“I’m plenty awake.” Mo Ran laughed. “But if you don’t want me to leave yet, I can keep you
company till you fall asleep?”

Shi Mei hurriedly waved him away. “I wouldn’t be able to sleep with you watching. You need to
take care of yourself, too.”

Disappointed, Mo Ran fought to keep the smile on his face. Shi Mei always maintained a certain
distance between them, even though he was always kind, and he resembled nothing so much as the
moon reflected in water – visible but untouchable. “Okay,” he said, forcing the smile back. His
smile was radiant when he wasn’t playing pranks. “Just call if you need anything. I’ll be right next
door. Or downstairs.”

“Sure.”

Mo Ran desperately wanted to pat Shi Mei’s hair, but he restrained himself. “See you later.”

Outside the room, Butterfly Town’s cheap supply of fragrances and the inn’s overindulgence in
incense finally made him sneeze uncontrollably. Each room had multiple types; one to keep out
evil spirits, another to remove moisture, and a third to make the rooms smell nice. Mo Ran hated it,
but Shi Mei seemed to like it, so he bore it.

Downstairs, Mo Ran swaggered over to the innkeeper and slid a silver ingot over with a smile. “Do
me a favor.”

Seeing the silver ingot, the innkeeper’s smile became even more courteous. “What does the good
sir need?”

“Since I don’t see many people here for breakfast, can I trouble you to turn away the other guests
and lend me the kitchen for the morning?”

The inn wouldn’t sell enough breakfast to earn a silver ingot in half a month; the innkeeper agreed
eagerly and led Mo Weiyu’s swaggering form to the kitchen. “Are you going to cook yourself, sir?
Would you care to direct our chef? He’s quite talented.”

“No need.” Mo Ran grinned. “Have you heard of the House of Drunken Jade in Xiangtan?”

“Ah, the famed high-class entertainment house that burned down a little over a year ago?”

“That’s the one.”

The innkeeper peeked outside to make sure his wife was busy before giving a sneaky grin. “Who
hasn’t heard of that place? It was the most famous theater by the River Xiang. They even produced
a star singer. Pity it’s so far, or I would have gone to see her perform.”

Mo Ran laughed. “I thank you on her behalf.”

“On her behalf?” The innkeeper was puzzled. “You know her personally?”

“More than just know her,” Mo Ran intimated.

“I wouldn’t have guessed by just looking at you. But can you cultivators even, uh.”

Mo Ran cut him off with a laugh. “What else do you know about the place?”

“I heard the food there was also unparalleled.”

Mo Ran gave him a cheery grin as he picked up the kitchen knife with an air of familiarity. “Before
I was a cultivator, I worked as an assistant in their kitchens for many years. Who do you think
cooks better, your chef or me?”

The innkeeper was even more amazed, stumbling over his words. “The good sir is truly…” He
seemed to be stuck, repeating the word truly, until Mo Ran took pity on him.

“Alright, out you go then,” he said, smiling smugly and projecting self-assured laziness. “Let this
illustrious chef get to work.”
Unaware that he was speaking with the ex-lord of darkness, the innkeeper made what seemed like
a small and reasonable request. “I’ve long heard about the delicacies at the House of Drunken Jade.
When the good sir is done, could I perhaps ask to try some?”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes, sir!”

“Keep dreaming!” Mo Ran grabbed a radish and started slicing, muttering to himself. “Like I
would cook for just anyone. This is for Shi Mei, or I wouldn’t deign to step into a kitchen.”

The innkeeper stood awkwardly to the side, denied and ignored, before quietly slipping away.
“Deign?” he grumbled. “What an overinflated opinion of himself.” He rolled his eyes, assuming
that cultivators were as loony as the rumors made them out to be.

Mo Ran, meanwhile, occupied the kitchen for four solid hours, not finishing until nearly noon. He
darted up the stairs to wake his beloved, slowing as he passed their teacher’s door. No, he decided,
he hadn’t made enough to share with his teacher’s nasty temper, and walked past without stopping.

------

The dining area got louder as the sun climbed higher in the sky and more customers arrived.
Wanting to avoid the ruckus, Mo Ran had the attendant bring the dishes he’d made up to his room.
After some more thought, he decided to invite his teacher; after all, he was the highest ranked, and
Mo Ran's lowly status as not the emperor meant he had to play by the rules.

Three bowls of steamy noodle soup sat on the square beech table. He’d made the noodles himself,
smooth and chewy, piled high with thick-cut slices of beef, fried sausage, fresh and tender pea
shoots, plump napa cabbage, and golden colored egg floss. The colorful ingredients were artfully
arranged. Mo Ran was most proud of the milky white broth, simmered on a low fire for four hours.
A layer of sesame chili oil floated on top; Mo Ran had ground copious amounts of both chili and
peppers himself and simmered them with the broth to ensure its rich taste. He had been thinking of
Shi Mei’s love of spicy foods, and smiled widely watching his beloved eat with relish.

“Is it good?” he couldn't resist asking.

“It’s delicious,” Shi Mei answered.

Their teacher said nothing, face as sour as if the heavens owed him a hundred mountains of gold
and silver. Quite pleased with himself, Mo Ran said, “Just let me know whenever you want it
again. I’ll make it for you.”

Shi Mei’s eyes were watering from the spiciness as he looked up to smile gently at Mo Ran. Only
Chu Wanning's icy presence made it easy for Mo Ran to choose to eat his noodles rather than his
beloved. Shi Mei ignored the pea shoots and sausage, but the beef and cabbage were quickly gone.
Mo Ran, watching quietly from the side, reached out with his chopsticks and moved the offending
ingredients into his own bowl. He traded his own beef, following a practice common in Sisheng
Peak's Mengpo Hall, and Shi Mei found nothing strange in his actions.

“Ran, you don't like beef?”

“I like pea shoots.” Mo Ran ate them with gusto, red staining the tips of his ears.

Without shifting his expression, Chu Wanning pulled the pea shoots out of his bowl and tossed
them all into Mo Ran’s. “I don’t like pea shoots.” He tossed his beef to Shi Mei. “I don’t like beef
either.” He stared at the rest of the food in his bowl with furrowed brows and pressed his lips
together.

Shi Mei asked carefully, “Sir, is it not to your taste?”

Chu Wanning didn’t respond, only lowered his head and silently picked up a piece of cabbage. He
all but dropped his chopsticks, face souring. "Mo Ran, did you use an entire jar of hot sauce?"

Mo Ran paused, a noodle still dangling from his mouth, and blinked at the unexpectedly harsh
criticism. He tried to answer around the noodle. "Huh?"

“Huh?” Chu Wanning mocked. “Is this even fit for human consumption?”

It took Mo Ran several seconds to realize that his teacher was rebuking him. “Of course it is!”

“It’s truly unpalatable,” Chu Wanning sniffed.

Mo Ran choked; he'd learned from the best of the best. “Sir, I think you're a little too picky.”

“Sir," Shi Mei put in. "You haven’t eaten all day. Try it, even if you don't like it.”

“I don’t eat spicy foods,” Chu Wanning informed them coldly, and left.

An awkward silence blanketed the table. Shi Mei finally broke it. "I didn't know he doesn't eat
spicy foods. Ran, did you know?

“I, uh.” Mo Ran stared blankly at his teacher's all but untouched bowl and then lied through his
teeth rather than admit he'd forgotten. "Nope, I didn't know.” Mo Ran, having spent the greater part
of his life intimately associated with his teacher, knew all of his likes and dislikes, but he didn't
care enough to keep them in mind.

Still dressed, Chu Wanning threw himself onto his bed. Between the blood loss and his excessive
use of qi, he couldn’t sleep. Not having eaten since the day before, as if he could feed himself on
anger instead of solid food, his mood simply worsened. He couldn’t identify a cause for his anger –
or rather, he chose to pretend he didn’t know. A face swam into his mind’s eye, lips curled into a
brilliant smile and purple-tinged eyes flickering with light.

Chu Wanning gripped the blanket until his knuckles turned white, closing his eyes in an attempt to
escape the familiar face, but the past swamped him like a tide. He remembered the first day he’d
met Mo Ran, on a day when the sun had been fierce and all twenty elders of Sisheng Peak gathered
beneath it. The Constellation Saint had been the only exception, loitering alone beneath a flowering
tree and examining the flexibility of a newly-made metal gauntlet.

The armor wasn’t for Chu Wanning’s use; he was far too skilled to have need of such items. He
had developed it for the lower-level disciples, who were often injured or even killed in conflicts
with the denizens of the ghost realm. He had told no one of his efforts, working on the light armor
in secret. He could hear the other elders chattering from where he stood.

The topic of conversation was the long-lost nephew of the sect leader, who had barely been saved
from a fire. He had been the only survivor, rescued at the last second, and the other elders
speculated that the ghost of his father had been protecting him. He had been considered a tragic
figure, to have survived so many hardships at the tender age of fifteen, and the elders had
wondered whether he had been granted a courtesy name.

He grew up in a brothel, Chu Wanning thought sourly. He’s lucky to have a name at all.
The conversational topic of how close the sect leader was to choosing a name gave way to how
much his wife spoiled the new boy, and that their darling of the heavens was likely the only person
to be displeased by this new disciple. Chu Wanning privately agreed with the other elders that Xue
Meng was ill-behaved and insolent, idle with an air of entitlement, but he would never utter these
sentiments aloud. Xue Meng was his own disciple and if Chu Wanning had even an iota of
consideration for the opinions of others, he would have been insulted to hear the other elders
speaking thusly.

Instead, Chu Wanning was concerned with the gauntlet; he thought it flexible enough but not
sufficiently tough. It would need to pierce demon hide in a single strike, he thought, and considered
adding dragon bone powder to the mix. The chattering elders noticed his lack of reaction to their
indiscrete ruminations on his disciple, and returned to their conversation.

This time, the topic was who the sect leader might choose as Mo Ran’s teacher – apparently, the
boy’s cultivation nature and his uncle’s style weren’t compatible. It was, they agreed, ostentatious
to gather them all together so that the boy could pick and choose as if at a market, although they
were of course far too polite to say such words directly. Adding to their irritation was the length of
time the sect leader made them wait, and when he finally climbed the thousand steps with a
teenager in tow, they were in none too fine a mood. Chu Wanning continued to ignore the entire
commotion; he might have been compelled to wait with everyone else, but he had more important
matters to which to attend.

Choosing an apprentice on Sisheng Peak was unlike any other sect in the cultivation world; it was
considered right and proper for the teacher to unilaterally decide whether or not to accept a new
disciple, and the new student had no say in the matter. Sisheng Peak required the teacher and
student to both agree to the new relationship and gave them time to get to know each other so that
an informed decision could be made. New disciples would then deliver a letter of intent to their
desired teacher to be accepted or rejected.

As he was exceptionally skilled in addition to being fair of face, Chu Wanning would have had his
yard filled to the brim with hopeful disciples if not for his vicious temper. It was widely known
that he would whip women like men and sink men to the bottom of his pond. Very few newcomers
were hardy enough to brave his ire, preferring the polite distance of Elder rather than the
familiarity of the title Teacher. Only the darling of the heavens Xue Meng and his closest friend
Shi Mei relieved the stark loneliness of the Constellation Saint’s quiet residence.

Chu Wanning’s customary lofty expression and insistence that he remained unbothered by the
disciples’ continued efforts to avoid his temper were reinforced by his tinkering with the gauntlet
and refusal to pay attention to the proceedings. It was more important, he thought, to help all the
disciples avoid suffering than chase after a high-status student. He was shocked when Mo Ran
chose him without hesitation.

Only the widening bubble of silence clued him in to what had happened, and Chu Wanning
impatiently looked up from the gauntlet to see a handsome face brilliantly lit by the sun. The
youth’s head was tilted back, lips curled into a smile and dimples gracing his cheeks. His eyes
were tinted purple, and he stood so close that it bordered on impudence. Startled, Chu Wanning
flinched backward and ran into the tree.

“Um,” said the boy, eyes widening, and the awkward silence continued.

Chu Wanning finally broke it. “What are you doing?”

“Honored cultivator, sir, I’ve been watching you. Why aren’t you paying attention to me?”
------

Chu Wanning thought later that it was his own fault for not maintaining alertness on the sect’s
grounds; he’d slipped, letting the boy approach without warning. It had to be the new disciple, the
sect leader’s nephew, but Chu Wanning couldn’t quite remember his name. Mo something, he
thought, perhaps Mo Shao or Mo Zhu, but it didn’t matter. He adopted a frosty expression to cover
his baffled surprise and opened his mouth to scold the teenager.

Mo Whatever-It-Was was ahead of him again; he grabbed Chu Wanning’s hand without warning
and left him flummoxed for a second time. No one in his life had ever dared to be so casual with
his person, and he had no idea how to react. He was so paralyzed with indecision that the boy had
time to examine the gauntlet he’d been working on.

“What’s this on your hand?” he asked, grinning artlessly. “It’s so pretty. Would you teach me how
to make it? You’re the only one who hasn’t introduced himself, what’s your name, sir? Oh, are you
ok? Because you hit the tree pretty hard.”

The rapid-fire questions would have given Chu Wanning a headache if he hadn’t had one already,
and Heavenly Questions’s golden glow began to coalesce in his other hand. The other elders,
knowing what was about to happen, were horrified at the prospect of a new disciple being whipped
without warning – the sect leader’s nephew, to boot. But once again, the new disciple was too
quick for the Constellation Saint.

Mo Ran grabbed the glowing hand and smiled radiantly, unaware of how close he was to being
beaten. “I’m Mo Ran,” he said. “I don’t know anyone, but I like your face the best. Will you
instruct me?”

The gathered elders were gob smacked by the unexpected turn of events, torn between howling
with laughter at the absurdity and cringing with dread at the anticipated response to the new
student’s shocking boldness. Chu Wanning had expected Mo Ran to choose the kind and gentle
Elder Xuanji as his instructor – an easy cultivation method coupled with a magnanimous
personality meant that he was responsible for most of Sisheng Peak’s disciples. The forthright and
spirited Elder Pojun would have been Chu Wanning’s second guess, and yet, the boy was giving
him a fond and intimate smile.

Feeling as though he had been designated as the comic relief, Chu Wanning was utterly flustered
and at a total loss. He rejected Mo Ran reflexively, and it was Mo Ran’s turn to be stunned. He
lowered his pretty face. “It’s gotta be you,” he said in a small voice.

The sect leader, watching from the side with amusement, laughed. “Ran, do you know who he is?”

“How would I?” Mo Ran retorted. “He hasn’t told me.”

“Then why are you so set on him?”

Still holding Chu Wanning’s hands, Mo Ran smiled brilliantly. “Because he looks like the gentlest
and most easygoing instructor here!”

Chu Wanning shook off the memories, wondering what had been wrong with Mo Ran to find him
gentle. For once, the entirety of Sisheng Peak had agreed with his opinion of a disciple. He pressed
a hand against his throbbing temple, the pain mirrored in his throbbing shoulder and emptily
twisting gut. He wouldn’t be able to sleep. He was about to light a stick of incense to calm himself
down when he heard a knock at the door again.
Despite his utter lack of response, the door swung open. Chu Wanning looked up, the lit match
between his fingertips burning itself out. “Get the hell out,” he snapped.

Mo Ran deliberately misinterpreted the command and slipped inside with a freshly made bowl of
noodles in his hand. It was a simple dish, plain noodles in pure white broth sprinkled with onions
and sesame seeds. It even had some pork, cabbage, and a poached egg lightly crisped around the
edges. Starving though he was, Chu Wanning gave Mo Ran a disparaging look before turning
silently away. Mo Ran set the bowl on the table. “I had the inn’s chef make these,” he said quietly.

Chu Wanning suppressed disappointment that Mo Ran hadn’t made them himself.

“They’re not spicy,” Mo Ran coaxed. “No beef. No peas.” He left, closing the door behind him.

The noodles grew cold as Chu Wanning sat by the window, lost in thought. Only when the steam
had faded entirely did he pick up the cold, congealed mass and slowly begin to eat. Thus
concluded the case of the haunting of Chen Manor.

this seems like a natural end to a chapter but no it keeps going wtf

The three cultivators rode their black horses back toward their sect the following morning, hearing
the townsfolk chatter from tea stands and food stalls about the Chen family’s misfortune. The
scandal would be the talk of the town for at least a year, and public opinion was sympathetic
toward poor Luo Xianxian. Others blamed Landlord Chen’s bad behavior on his sudden wealth,
opining that the poor should stay poor to retain their virtue, while still others found Chen-Yao to be
the most pitiable of the lot. She surely couldn’t remarry after having been swindled by the black-
hearted Chen couple, the townsfolk said, no one would take damaged goods.

Mo Ran energetically listened to every word as they rode, and if not for Chu Wanning’s dour
expression, he might have lingered to join the gossip. The three of them eventually made their way
to the edges of the town without becoming separated. Shi Mei, focused on the distance, let out a
surprised sound.

“Sir,” he said. “Look.” A large group of farmers in coarse clothes were ferrying bricks around in
front of the destroyed temple, apparently intent on rebuilding it and reconstructing the ghost
mistress of ceremonies. “Sir,” Shi Mei said again, worried. “If they make another one, will it
cultivate into a deity, too?”

“No idea,” Chu Wanning said.

“Should we try to talk them out of it?”

“Butterfly Town’s ghost marriage tradition has been around for generations,” Chu Wanning said.
“We’re not going to convince them to let it go. Let’s leave.” He galloped off, trailing clouds of
dust.

The sun was below the horizon when the three cultivators reached Sisheng Peak. Chu Wanning
instructed his disciples to report to Loyalty Hall while he went to Discipline Court, and Mo Ran
was confused. “Why?” he asked, but Shi Mei had already understood. Worry touched his face.

“To receive punishment,” Chu Wanning replied. It was commonly said that a crime was a crime
whether committed by emperor or peasant, but also widely known that the emperor would never
actually pay for his crimes. So it was in the majority of cultivation sects – the elders would escape
censure for misdeeds while the disciples were held to stricter standards of behavior.

Chu Wanning’s determination to be whipped for striking his client was all but unprecedented.
Elder Jielu, hearing his confession, was green with nausea. “You actually struck the client,
Constellation Saint?” he asked faintly.

“I did,” Chu Wanning replied, and glared at his peer when Elder Jielu tried to make excuses for
him. Elder Jielu gave up. “In accordance with the rules, the punishment for this transgression is
two hundred strikes, three days of protracted kneeling in YanLuo Hall, and three months of
confinement,” Chu Wanning added. “I have no disputes, and I am prepared to receive the
punishment.”

Elder Jielu glanced around and hooked his finger. The doors to the Discipline Court closed with a
thud, leaving only the two of them standing face to face in silence.

“What is the meaning of this?” Chu Wanning asked.

“Constellation Saint, I’m not sure how to say this, but it’s not like the rules apply to you. No one
has heard. This can stay between you and I. If I actually strike you, and the Sect Leader finds out,
he’ll have my old hide.”

“I hold myself to the same standards as I hold my disciples,” Chu Wanning said, kneeling in front
of the hall and facing the plaque above the door. The word discipline loomed large in his vision.
“Carry out the punishment.”
 Book 1, Part 3: Different Paths - The Punishment of Chu Wanning

The news of the Constellation Saint’s punishment spread as if it had wings, reaching every member
of the sect before the end of the night. Two hundred lashes would spell death for a civilian, and
would seriously injure a cultivator. Xue Meng was particularly horrified when he heard. “What?”
he shouted. “He went to the Discipline Court?”

“Young master, please speak to the Sect Leader. He’s already injured, how could he endure two
hundred lashes?”

“My dad?” Xue Meng chewed on a fingernail. “That won’t help, he’s still at Taxue Palace and we
can’t get a message back and forth in time. Why didn’t you stop him?” Mo Ran and Shi Mei
exchanged a glance at the absurdity of this accusation. “Damn it, I’m gonna go after him right
now.”

Xue Meng dashed off toward the Discipline Court. Before he reached its gates, he spotted a group
of Elder Jielu’s disciples crowded around the doors to the main hall and whispering amongst
themselves.

“What are you doing? Get out of my way! Move!”

“Young master!” said someone.

“Ah, the young master is here,” said someone else. “Make way for the young master.”

The doors of Clearsky Hall stood open to showcase Chu Wanning silently kneeling inside with his
back straight and eyes closed. Elder Jielu, holding a metal rod, read the rules of Sisheng Peak
aloud. Each rule was accompanied by one brutal strike with rod.

“The ninety-first rule of this sect: do not injure the innocent. Do not use cultivator techniques
against the common people. Under the rod, do you have any complaints?”

“No complaints.”

“The ninety-second rule of this sect: do not act rashly of one’s own accord. Do not indulge in self-
gratification. Under the rod, do you have any complaints?”

“No complaints.”

Elder Jielu did not dare to go easy on Chu Wanning; after the more than ninety strikes, his robes
were soaked in blood. Xue Meng, holding Chu Wanning in such high esteem, was horrified, and he
shouted, “Sir!”

Chu Wanning pretended not to hear; his eyes remained closed, a slight furrow between his brows.
Elder Jielu glanced over to the door and said quietly, “Constellation Saint, the young master is
here.”

“I’m not deaf, I heard.” Blood trickled out from the corner of his lips, but he still did not look up.
“He’s just being a noisy child, pay him no mind.”

Elder Jielu sighed. “Constellation, is this truly necessary?”

“My disciples are always disobedient.” Chu Wanning spoke mildly. “If I do not receive my due
punishment today, how will I have the right to discipline anyone in the future? Please continue.”

Elder Jielu looked at Chu Wanning’s pale, delicate neck, exposed above his open collar. “May I at
least go easier?”

“That would be deception,” Chu Wanning said. “I can manage the two hundred lashes, don’t
worry.”

“Constellation Saint…”

“Jielu, continue the lashes.”

The metal rod fell once again. “Elder Jielu!” Xue Meng snapped. “Why are you still fucking
hitting him? Why won’t you obey me? Stop hitting my teacher!” It was Elder Jielu’s turn to
pretend not to hear and ignore Xue Meng’s anger. “Have you gone deaf, you shitty old man? I
order you to stop, on my father’s authority!” It was the only card he had to play – as a teenager, his
strength and status were far below that of the instructors.

Elder Jielu continued to read the rules aloud, striking Chu Wanning. Blood dripped down,
spattering the floor, and Xue Meng lost his composure entirely. He started to rush into the hall,
only to come up short at Chu Wanning’s swiftly erected barrier. Hand lifted without apparent
effort, Chu Wanning glared at his student through narrowed phoenix eyes over the blood dripping
now from his lips as well. The barrier forced Xue Meng back several steps. “Get out.”

“Sir!”

“I won’t hide behind your borrowed authority,” Chu Wanning said harshly. “Get lost!”

Tears shimmered in Xue Meng’s eyes as Mo Ran lazily arrived. “Oh, no,” he said. “Little phoenix
is going to cry.”

Xue Meng whipped his head around to glare at Mo Ran with red-rimmed eyes. Refusing to let the
tears fall, he pulled himself up and straightened his robes, kneeling to face the hall. “Sir, I was
wrong,” he said. Back rigidly straight, Chu Wanning knelt with cold sweat on his pale brow. “I
will not leave you, sir,” Xue Meng added, kneeling in front of the door.

when did we establish he was knocked off his feet??

Mo Ran found it extremely on brand for Xue Meng, the darling of the heavens, to conduct himself
like a chicken in front of Chu Wanning while acting the phoenix in front of everyone else. If he
hadn’t been so sure Xue Meng had no interest in men, he would have wondered whether there were
romantic interest at play. A sour taste flooded his mouth through the contempt in his heart for Xue
Meng’s ostentatious actions, but he couldn’t let his rival be the only one to show devotion.

“I won’t leave you either,” Mo Ran said, coming to the conclusion that if he didn’t, Chu Wanning
would be even more biased against him. Shi Mei, too, succumbed to peer pressure.

With the three disciples kneeling outside the hall, the rest of the sect found one excuse or another
to stop by to see the show, all abuzz with speculation and gossip at how the Constellation Saint had
beaten a civilian in a fit of rage while gleefully shushing each other lest they be next on the
whipping block. His kneeling disciples received sympathy, particularly given Mo Ran’s handsome
face and popularity with countless female disciples, but no one was brave enough to want to
interfere.

The last of the two hundred lashes fell and Chu Wanning dropped the barrier. Xue Meng scurried
forward, shrieking in rage at Elder Jielu. “Couldn’t you have at least held back, you asshole?”

“Xue Ziming,” Chu Wanning said, eyes closed but voice still commanding.

Xue Meng’s joints cracked audibly as he let Elder Jielu go and shoved him aside. Mo Ran was
hard on his heels, having assumed that Elder Jielu would have held back in consideration of Chu
Wanning’s status and smiling at Xue Meng’s overreaction. His smile froze abruptly as he saw Chu
Wanning’s condition and realized that his teacher hadn’t mentioned the injury on his shoulder – in
fact, Mo Ran noted, he had angled himself to take most of the blows there and layer new injury
atop old.

A tidal wave of intense dislike swept over him, but Mo Ran didn’t know what its target was or even
why he felt so strongly. Chu Wanning suffering at his hands was nothing new, but he couldn’t
abide someone else scarring his teacher’s body. Chu Wanning belonged to him, and no one else
had the right to decide his fate. Originally, he’d thought the two hundred lashes were
inconsequential – because of Chu Wanning’s status or because of his unhealed wounds – but his
teacher had deliberately hidden his condition.

As Mo Ran hesitated, Xue Meng reached Chu Wanning first. Mo Ran watched them retreat, their
teacher leaning on Xue Meng, and couldn’t identify the feeling in his chest. He couldn’t move as it
finally struck him that his previous life had never happened. None of the experiences he had shared
with Chu Wanning were real, and it didn’t matter who hit or supported his teacher, who spent time
with him, or even whether he lived or died. They had no relationship.

omfg you’re literally his student that is a relationship you insufferable twat

Shi Mei approached him. “Let’s go give them a hand.”

“I’ll pass. Xue Meng has it covered. I’d just get in the way.” Mo Ran’s expression didn’t reflect
the chaos in his heart, and he still couldn’t tell what he felt. Is this hate?

------

That night, Mo Ran lay in his bed, completely unable to sleep. The events of the past played out in
his mind, one by one, until finally every fragment became Chu Wanning’s cold and elegant face.
Mo Ran never understood just how he felt about his teacher. He’d first seen him under the
flowering tree in front of the Heaven-Piercing Tower, wearing a loose robe with wide sleeves, the
only one out of the twenty elders who was not dressed in the fetching silver-blue armor of Sisheng
Peak.

Mo Ran hadn’t been able to look away from his focused and gentle profile as the unidentified elder
had fiddled absentmindedly with the armored claw on his hand, resembling a white cat bathed in
warm, golden sunlight. His first impression of Chu Wanning had been literally glowing. Once he
had become his student, the negligence, punishments, and cold harshness had laid bare the white
cat’s sharp teeth and claws.

The sea of fire had nearly killed him, but he’d thought Sisheng Peak would have given him a
compassionate teacher to care for him. Nothing could be farther from the truth; Chu Wanning
acknowledged none of the effort he made and the smallest mistakes earned him whippings that left
him raw and bleeding. He even learned that Chu Wanning looked down on him from the bottom of
his heart, calling him deficient by nature, beyond remedy.

Mo Ran had once wholeheartedly adored the cold moon that was Chu Wanning, but that cold
moon regarded him as a disciple who had been forced upon him, a lowlife who was bad to the
bone, a no-good child raised in a brothel. A filthy reprobate. Mo Ran pretended he didn’t care, but
his respect had slowly turned to hatred and an aggressive unwillingness to yield.

Instead of impressing with his obedience, his resentment had driven him to provoke his teacher into
giving him attention, praise, or astonishment. Shi Mei’s praise would send him over the moon, but
Mo Ran would have given his life for even backhanded appreciation from his teacher. But Chu
Wanning never praised him, never gave him more than a slight nod of acknowledgement.

Mo Ran hated that nod, but he could only kneel before Chu Wanning like a docile stray dog and
promise to keep his teachings in mind. In front of Chu Wanning, Mo Weiyu was lowly to the bone
– worthless no matter who his uncle was, and he finally understood that someone like Chu
Wanning would never look at him with anything but contempt. Even after Mo Ran took over
Sisheng Peak and became the first ever emperor of the cultivation world, setting the world
atremble with fear under his dark banner until no one remembered his unmentionable origins, after
Mo Weiyu no longer existed and was only the Evil Overlord and thousands had screamed his name
in unison as they prostrated themselves before him, Chu Wanning had despised him.

The Constellation Saint’s cultivation had been abolished by then, leaving him tied up below the
hall and reduced to a mere prisoner beneath the steps. Mo Ran had already decided to execute him.
But he didn’t want Chu Wanning to have a quick and easy death, so he’d shackled his limbs, cut a
small gash in the artery of his neck, and enchanted the wound to not congeal. Blood trickled out
drop by drop as the sun blazed overhead.

When the coronation ceremony had been underway for some time and Chu Wanning’s blood
should have been nearly drained, freeing Mo Ran from his past at the same moment he was
crowned emperor, his teacher had still been indifferent. His coldly elegant face had been entirely
without color and yet his expression was still impassive. He looked on the Evil Overlord with
neither praise nor fear, only revulsion and disdain. Mo Ran had shuddered when he had seen a hint
of pity – Chu Wanning, dying before him, had pitied him.

That shudder had ignited the flood of rage that had been building for a decade – in front of the
former Loyalty Hall, now renamed Wushan Palace, Mo Ran had lost his mind. He’d stood in front
of the thousands of people screaming their acclamation and flattery and walked down the steps
with his black robes billowing around him. “Sir,” he’d said, taking his teacher by the jaw and
giving him a sweetly menacing smile, “today is a happy occasion for your disciple. You should be
celebrating.”

A deathly silence blanketed the crowd at his words. Chu Wanning’s cold voice was clearly audible
as he said, “I have no disciple like you.”

Mo Ran burst out laughing, the sound circling the golden hall like so many vultures. “You’re so
heartless, sir. I’m disappointed.” His voice echoed over the crowd. “No disciple like me? Who
taught me cultivation and martial arts? Who taught me to be so cold-bloodedly ruthless? Who left
my body scarred by the whip?” He dropped his smile, a cold light in his eyes, and his voice
became vicious. “Chu Wanning! Are you that ashamed of having a disciple like me? What part of
me was too low-class for you? Let me ask you, Chu Wanning, what does ‘deficient by nature,
beyond remedy’ mean?”

Mo Ran’s voice twisted into a bellow. “You’ve never seen me as your disciple! Never thought
anything of me! But I respected you, adored you! Why did you treat me like this? Why did you
never spare me so much as a single word of praise? Why is it that no matter what I did, I could
never get even the slightest bit of approval from you?”

wow this is like the worst possible way to act in public as an authority figure
Chu Wanning’s entire body shuddered, face growing even paler. His phoenix eyes widened as he
stared at Mo Ran. His lips moved, as if wanting to say something, but nothing came out. The last
two disciples of Sisheng Peak stared at each other, and Mo Ran finally noticed the uncomfortable
nature of the silence around them. He closed his eyes, opening them with the cruel smile that made
others shiver.

“Sir, you’ve always looked down on me,” Mo Ran said gently. He paused, gaze sweeping across
the thousands kneeling before his palace like so many crouching dogs, all acknowledging him as
the Evil Overlord of the cultivation world, and smiled. “How about now? Before you die, let me
ask you again. Who’s the better person now? Who won and who has lost?”

way to undercut your own authority, my dude

Chu Wanning still refused to look up, and Mo Ran gripped his face to forcibly meet his eyes. In
that instant, he froze – it was the first time he’d ever seen regret on Chu Wanning’s face. It was so
unfamiliar that that he abruptly pulled back his hand as if burned. The regret was shot through with
pain, as if his teacher were enduring agony in the depths of his soul, and he finally spoke.

“I’m sorry, Mo Ran,” Chu Wanning said, so quietly that no one else could hear. “It’s all my fault.”

The quiet statement swept the rest of the world away – the sound of the wind, the billowing of
robes, all of it, until Mo Ran was only aware of Chu Wanning’s face looking up at him. He waited
to feel glee, smugness, anything, but he could only wonder when he had gotten so much taller than
his teacher. So much time had passed, he thought, and so many things had changed.

Mo Ran’s lips moved on their own. “What did you just say?”

Chu Wanning only smiled, a smile that Mo Ran knew yet also did not, and in that pair of phoenix
eyes he saw the reflection of his own twisted expression. Then those eyes slowly closed, and Chu
Wanning fell backwards. Mo Ran gripped his shoulders, screaming. “Chu Wanning! Chu
Wanning, what did you say? Say it again!” The person in his arms did not reply, lips pale as pear
blossoms, handsome and aloof face frozen into a sad smile in the moments before death. He wore
the same expression as Mo Ran’s memory of when he’d first seen him in front of the Heaven-
Piercing Tower. “Chu Wanning!!”

The gentleness shattered, crabapple flowers withered and scattered all over the ground. Mo Ran
had gotten what he’d wanted, climbing to the top of the world over his teacher’s back, and it was
bitter. The anguish and hatred in his chest only grew worse. A faint black fog gathered in Mo Ran’s
hand as he quickly tapped Chu Wanning’s meridians, sealing the last remains of his life.

“Did you think you’d get the last word?” Mo Ran’s eyes bulged, his expression vicious. “I’m not
done with you, Chu Wanning. I still have a score to settle with you! I’m not fucking done! If you
don’t say it to me clearly, I’ll crush Xue Meng, Kunlun Taxue Palace, and all the people left that
you wanted to protect! I’ll rip them all to shreds!”

Mo Ran completely forgot about his coronation and the thousands of people watching him lose
control; he only cared that Chu Wanning live. He gathered him up, leaping across the tall
overhanging eaves in a single bound with his robes fluttering like a lone eagle unfurling its wings.
He headed for the southern peak and the Red Lotus Pavilion, where Chu Wanning had once lived,
to ravage its stores of qi and medicinal herbs. He had miscalculated; he couldn’t hate Chu Wanning
unless his teacher was still alive to acknowledge it.

The taste of past memories lingered on Mo Ran’s tongue as he lay in bed, still unable to sleep. He
washed his face and headed for Yanluo Hall, knowing that his teacher had carelessly bandaged his
wounds before reporting for discipline, knowing how stubborn his teacher was and how
unyielding. Chu Wanning gave not an iota of consideration as to whether his body could cash the
checks his ego wrote, and even Xue Meng couldn’t convince him differently.

As Mo Ran expected, Chu Wanning knelt with his back facing the door of Yanluo Hall, figure
upright as a pine. He regretted coming here in the middle of the night, thinking he must have gone
made, but he’d already made the effort and it would be a waste to simply turn around and leave.
Mo Ran set the lantern by his feet, coming to a compromise. He stood outside the window,
propping his elbows on the frame and resting his cheeks on his hands. He stared at his teacher
from afar.

The copper bells hanging from the roof swayed gently, and the sweet fragrance of flowers and
plants filled the night air. The two of them, one standing, one kneeling, were separated by a red
lattice window and by the empty silence of the hall. Before his rebirth, Mo Ran would have had the
authority to order Chu Wanning to stop reflecting and rest – would have had the ability to force
him physically if his teacher had refused. His teenage self had neither. He wasn’t even as tall as
Chu Wanning. His thoughts whirled in confusion.

Chu Wanning never noticed Mo Ran watching him, and neither could see the other’s face. The
white cat knelt all night, never turning around. The dumb dog stood all night, never once leaving.

50K words into this and I’m not sure if this is playing toxic danmei tropes straight or not – I
think I’m supposed to find Chu Wanning tragically romantic but he refuses to acknowledge
his feelings and actively pushes people away; he inexplicably thinks it’s beneath him to
control his temper and wants love and affection while refusing to do the work to create and
maintain relationships. Mo Ran, on the other hand, is selfishly centering his own wants and
needs, projecting his desires onto people who have demonstrated they cannot or do not want
to meet them. Neither of these people deserves sympathy for their misery, which is 100% of
their own making, and there has been absolutely no character development.

------

Xue Meng was surrounded by his fellow disciples at the Platform of Sin and Virtue during the
meditation session in morning classes. Skewed young - in their teens and early twenties - the
disciples were prone to gossip during meditation rather than sitting with hearts in peace, like still
water. Their chatter consisted of one topic, and one alone - the Constellation Saint kneeling for
three days at Yanluo Hall as punishment for beating a civilian following his two hundred lashes for
the same sin. Those who had witnessed the beating told the tale with obvious relish to those who
had not, exclaiming how ruthless the strikes had been and describing how blood had spattered the
ground until the Constellation Saint had lost consciousness. Xue Meng himself was tacked on as an
afterthought, as his classmates described his brawl with Elder Jielu.

The darling of the heavens had inherited his teacher's terrible temper, but no matter how hard the
vein in his forehead throbbed, he couldn't stop all of his classmates from chattering. Mo Ran sat
beside him, yawning, and was thus the only acceptable target of Xue Meng's ire. He grumbled
spitefully at his classmate. "Morning is the most important time of the day. How are you so lazy
first thing? Is this what we've learned?"

"Huh?" Mo Ran yawned again. "Are you that bored? You don't get to lecture me. Show your older
cousin some respect, you cheeky brat."

"Sure, I'll respect my older cousin the dog," Xue Meng spat back venomously.
"Wow, our teacher would be so disappointed in you disrespecting me like this," Mo Ran laughed.

"How dare you," Xue Meng hissed. "Why didn't you stop him from going to Discipline Court
yesterday?"

"Mengmeng," Mo Ran said. "That's our teacher you're talking about. The Holy Grace Immortal.
Constellation of the Night Sky. I'd like to see you try to stop him."

Distracted, Xue Meng leapt to his feet and drew his sword. "What the fuck did you just call me?"

"Be a good boy and sit back down," Mo Ran said, smiling. "Mengmeng," he added.

"Mo Weiyu, I will kill you!"

Shi Mei heaved a long-suffering sigh, caught between his fellow disciples and their routine
bickering, and tried to focus on his book instead. “Fill the vessel day and night; the spiritual core
shall be formed in time. The heavenly order is absolute; life and death shall remain separated as the
stars of Shen and Shang.”

Chu Wanning completed the portion of his punishment consisting of kneeling in reflection, and
was slated to start the next stage – three months of confinement on Sisheng Peak, performing odd
jobs. Elder Jielu fretted at this, saying that the typical tasks assigned grounded disciples would be
beneath the Constellation Saint. He did not say that he wasn’t sure Chu Wanning even knew how
to perform basic chores.

Chu Wanning reported to Mengpo Hall without a hint of doubt or hesitation, setting loose a storm
of apprehension on the staff and patrons alike. With his handsome face composed, Chu Wanning
was the very image of an immortal come down from the heavens – far too beautiful to perform
menial chores, the dining hall supervisor felt. However, the Constellation Saint lacked cognizance
of his own beauty and the status it conferred, and simply stepped into the kitchen. The staff were
one and all taken aback as his cold gaze swept over them.

“What should I do?” Chu Wanning asked.

“If you wouldn’t mind washing vegetables, sir,” the supervisor finally said carefully.

“Sure.”

The supervisor sighed in relief. Chu Wanning’s elegant hands weren’t suited to menial labor, and
he wasn’t sure the Constellation Saint was capable or willing to perform such tasks. The quick
agreement settled his nerves, but he had been hasty in his assessment of Chu Wanning’s abilities.

Clutching a basket of cabbages, Chu Wanning made his way to the small, clear stream in front of
Mengpo Hall. He carefully peeled each leaf from each head of cabbage, washing every one
individually before patting it dry. The disciples belonging to Elder Xuanji, whose area this was,
were shocked to the point of incoherence by the sight of the Constellation Saint washing vegetables
in the stream and were barely able to stammer out the appropriate greetings. None of them had the
courage to tell him that he should only wash the outside of the vegetables.

By the time noon came and went, Chu Wanning was nowhere near finished washing the basket of
cabbages and the attendants – having no idea where he was – paced back and forth in
consternation. If Chu Wanning didn’t return, they said amongst themselves, they wouldn’t be able
to cook the planned lunch. The supervisor sighed and changed the menu. Chu Wanning returned to
the hall to find his carefully washed cabbage superfluous.
Feeling himself ill-used, Chu Wanning frowned unhappily. “Why did you have me wash cabbage
if you weren’t even going to use it?”

The supervisor broke out into a cold sweat, blurting out a phrase he would regret for the rest of his
life. “We were hoping you would make a pot of cabbage and tofu stew!” At Chu Wanning’s
extended silence, the supervisor added hurriedly that it was no problem if the honored Elder didn’t
want to.

“Where’s the tofu?” Chu Wanning interrupted.

“Constellation Saint, sir, do you know how to cook?”

“I’m not completely ignorant. I can try.”

Not anticipating the incoming chaos, the disciples sauntered into Mengpo Hall at noon, cheerful
and talkative, and approached the counter in groups of three to five for their meals. Anticipating
rich, delicious food, they lined up eagerly for the perfectly fatty braised beef, the savory shredded
pork, and the appetizing peppered fish. The first disciple in line, a follower of Elder Lucun, held up
his tray without looking and asked for a bowl of tofu.

Instead of mapo tofu, the disciple received a mound of unappetizing black. “What the hell,” he
said.

“Tofu and cabbage stew,” came the reply.

Staring in horror at the abomination on his tray, the disciple failed to recognize the Constellation
Saint, and he snapped in frustration. “In what world is this tofu and cabbage stew? It looks like
poison! Take it back!” He finally looked up to see the chef who he was berating and shrieked in
terror at Chu Wanning’s cold face. “I mean, no, that is, I didn’t,” he stammered.

“If you’re not going to eat it, give it back,” Chu Wanning said expressionlessly. “Waste not, want
not.”

The disciple picked up the bowl numbly and handed it over before awkwardly shuffling away.
Silence spread behind him as the disciples filled their plates in a panic. They greeted Chu Wanning
deferentially at the end of the line, respectful and cautious to the extreme, but none of them asked
for the tofu and cabbage stew.

Slowly, the line grew shorter and shorter, and the food in front of all the other chefs was almost
gone. Only the pot in front of Chu Wanning was filled to the brim, the food inside gone cold, and
still no one wanted any part of it. Chu Wanning’s face betrayed nothing, but his heart fell at the
rejection of all of his hard work.

how lacking in self-awareness could you POSSIBLY BE

As if on cue, the Constellation Saint’s three disciples walked in. Xue Meng, dressed in his usual
silver-blue light armor uniform, came over energetically. “Sir!” he said. “How are you doing? Do
your wounds still hurt?”

“No,” Chu Wanning said calmly.

“That’s good,” Xue Meng replied.

Chu Wanning glanced at him. His next words fell out in a rush. “Do you want to eat tofu?”
Here we have physical appearance as an indication of a person’s relative worth, similar but
not equivalent to the earlier use of physical appearance as shorthand for character traits;
that it should somehow be beneath Chu Wanning to wash vegetables because he has a pretty
face is super gross, and so is the idea that tasks necessary for the sect to continue functioning
such as cleaning and cooking are inherently degrading. This isn’t necessarily an attitude
specific to this author or this work, but it’s still pretty shitty.

------

The young master of Sisheng Peak, determined to show his sincerity, asked for three whole
servings of charred tofu. Chu Wanning’s eyes lit with rare approval, and Mo Ran was immediately
aflame with jealousy. The former Emperor Evil Overlord and his ineffable fixation on Chu
Wanning’s acknowledgement immediately asked for three servings of tofu.

Instead of giving him an approving look, Chu Wanning raised a dubious eyebrow. “Can you eat it
all?”

“Three servings is nothing,” Mo Ran said, determined not to be outdone by Xue Meng. “I could eat
six.”

“Well.” Chu Wanning gave him six portions. “Waste not, want not.”

Shi Mei once again succumbed to peer pressure and also received three servings of tofu, thus
ensuring that the Constellation Saint inflicted the runs from food poisoning on all three of his
disciples on his first day of confinement.

The second day of Chu Wanning’s confinement saw Elder Jielu tactfully informing Chu Wanning
that Mengpo Hall had no need for extra helpers and directing him to sweep fallen leaves and wipe
pillars at Naihe Bridge. Connecting the main areas of Sisheng Peak with the disciples living
quarters, the bridge was wide enough for five carriages to pass through side by side. It was a
majestic structure, with nine beasts of white jade representing the nine sons of the dragon atop its
main pillars, and three hundred and sixty low pillars decorated with lion heads.

Chu Wanning quietly swept the ground before diligently wiping down the jade beasts. As the sky
started getting dark, it began to rain. Most of the disciples returning from their classes had no
umbrellas, squawking as they scampered through the puddles toward their quarters. Drops of rain
splashed the stone steps and the disciples, whose smiles were bright and carefree despite being
soaked to the skin. Chu Wanning knew that those smiles would vanish the moment they saw him;
looking for a place to hide, he stood under the bridge.

The first disciples to reach the bridge were surprised to see a barrier covering the bridge, its
translucent gold energy sheltering the path all the way to their quarters. Stunned, they started
speculating that it was the work of Elder Xuanji – he was known for his kindness and compassion.
They shook the water out of their dripping hair, shoving playfully at one another and laughing as
they ducked under the barrier and continued toward their quarters. Chu Wanning stood under the
bridge, listening to the commotion until the disciples had gone before slowly putting away the
barrier and walking out.

“Sir.” The voice calling for him seemed to come out of nowhere – there was no one on the shore.
“I’m over here.”

Mo Ran sat sideways on the white jade bridge with one leg draped lazily over the edge, dressed in
the sect’s silver-blue light armor. Chu Wanning was struck by his eyelashes, long and thick as a
pair of fans hanging over his eyes. He held an oil paper umbrella, and his lips were quirked in
something resembling a smile. One on the bridge, leaves rustling in the wind; one under the bridge,
rain splashing in the river.

The misty rain blurred the line between heaven and earth as they simply looked at each other for a
moment, neither speaking. Fallen bamboo leaves drifted between them, carried by the wind and
rain, until Mo Ran laughed. “Elder Xuanji, you’re getting wet,” he said teasingly.

“How did you know it was me?” Chu Wanning asked.

“Elder Xuanji can’t manage a barrier of this size,” Mo Ran said, dimples deepening. “Who else
could it be but you?” Knowing that Chu Wanning wouldn’t bother to create a barrier for himself,
he tossed his own umbrella at his teacher. “This is for you, sir. Catch.” The red paper umbrella
drifted slowly down and Chu Wanning plucked it out of the air. The glossy jade-green handle held
the warmth of Mo Ran’s hands and the droplets of rain sliding along its curved top sparkled as they
fell.

“What about you?”

Mo Ran grinned deviously. “You’ll keep me dry, sir.” Chu Wanning snorted, but waved his hand
to create a translucent gold barrier above Mo Ran nonetheless. Laughing, Mo Ran looked up. “It’s
so pretty. It even has peonies on it.”

“Those are crabapple blossoms. Only five petals.” Chu Wanning left, white robes under the scarlet
umbrella, leaving Mo Ran in the rain to count the flower petals by himself.

“One, two, three, four, five. Ah, he was right.” When he looked back up, Chu Wanning was
already far away, and Mo Ran’s childlike grin faded away to be replaced by a complicated
expression. Once again, he couldn’t sort out how he felt about his teacher – it wasn’t a simple
emotion like pure fondness or pure loathing.

The rain fell for four days. When the clouds parted at last, an entourage arrived at Sisheng Peak’s
main gate. Horses and carriages splashed through the puddles and broke apart the reflection of the
skies, bells jingling as it came to a halt. A red-tasseled folding fan peeked through the bamboo
screen, immediately followed by a pair of silver-trimmed blue battle boots hitting the ground with
a heavy thump. The burly man was about forty years of age and wore a full set of Sisheng Peak’s
armor. His thick eyebrows, big eyes, and full, well-kept beard contrasted sharply with his delicate
and scholarly fan.

The fan opened with a pop. The side facing others read Xue is beautiful, but the side facing the
owner read others are ugly. It was known throughout the realm, both for its owner’s martial
prowess and for the extreme awkwardness of its decorations – it reeked of narcissism. There was
no one in the cultivation realm who didn’t know this fan, owned by the master of Sisheng Peak,
Xue Meng’s father, Mo Ran’s uncle, Xue Zhengyong.

The saying went that as dragons bear dragons and phoenixes bear phoenixes, so digs the mouse’s
son holes. It was just as true in reverse; the peacock son’s father was just as prone to showing off
his tail feathers. Though Xue Meng’s delicate looks were completely different from his brawny old
man, the same blood ran in their veins. Xue Zhengyong stretched and shook his limbs out. “Ah,
finally home, my ass is numb from all that sitting.”

Inside Loyalty Hall, Madam Wang was busy blending medicine. Mo Ran and Xue Meng sat beside
her, helping. “Four taels of staunching herbs and a shouyang ginseng, please,” she murmured.
“Here you go, Mom, already weighed.” Xue Meng handed the herbs over.

Madam Wang sniffed them carefully. “These are no good, they’ve been tainted from being stored
with patchouli for too long. Please go fetch some fresh ones.”

“Alrighty.” Xue Meng got up to dig through the medicine cabinet in the inner room.

Madam Wang continued. “Three qian of wulingzhi, and one qian of dodder.”

Mo Ran passed the materials over deftly. “Aunt, how long will it take to boil the medicine?”

“No need to boil this one. It can be brewed,” Madam Wang answered. “When I’m done grinding it,
would you bring it over to Constellation Saint?”

Mo Ran knew that if he didn’t, Xue Meng would; he couldn’t explain why, but he didn’t want his
comrade to hog their teacher’s attention. “Sure,” he said, and paused. “Is it bitter?” he asked.

“Somewhat,” Madam Wang said. “Why do you ask?”

Mo Ran grinned. “No reason.” He grabbed a handful of candy from the fruit bowl and stuffed it
into his sleeve just as a burst of bold, unrestrained laughter came from the door.

Xue Zhengyong strode into the hall, grinning radiantly. “Honey, I’m home!”

Despite his status as sect master, he arrived completely unannounced and startled his wife so much
that she nearly spilled the medication she was grinding. Her pretty eyes widened. “Darling!”

Mo Ran also stood in greeting. “Uncle.”

“Ah, Ran, you’re here too?” Xue Zhengyong’s appearance was powerful and imposing, but his
manner of speech was kindly. His big hand smacked Mo Ran’s shoulder. “My boy, I haven’t been
gone that long, how did you get taller? How’d it go at Butterfly Town?”

Mo Ran grinned. “Went alright.”

“Good, good, good! I knew nothing could go wrong with Chu Wanning there – oh yeah, where is
he? Cooped up by himself fiddling with those playthings again?”

“Er,” Mo Ran said, uneasy. His uncle had a fiery temper and was prone to acting impulsively,
which had led to his death in Mo Ran’s last lifetime. Mo Ran therefore didn’t want to tell him
about the two hundred lashes and three months of confinement. His pondering on how exactly to
break the news was interrupted by Xue Meng and his burden of staunching herbs. He was ecstatic
to see his father.

“Dad!”

“Meng!”

Mo Ran secretly let out a sigh of relief. The two of them would stand there and flatter each other
for long enough to let him figure out how to break the news about Chu Wanning, and he watched
the two peacocks spread their tail feathers.

Zhengyong In General does explain why Chu Wanning hasn’t been kicked out for abuse

“My son, you’re even more handsome! You’re looking more and more like daddy!”
Xue Meng took entirely after his mother and looked nothing like his father. “Dad, you’re even
more muscular!”

Xue Zhengyong waved his big hand, grinning. “The whole time I was at Kunlun Taxue Palace, I
kept thinking about how none of the youngsters out there could hold a candle to my son and
nephew! I got so tired of looking at that gaggle of girly boys. Meng, do you still remember Mei
Hanxue?”

here we go again with this misogynistic bullshit

Xue Meng immediately took on a look of contempt. “The chubby one who’s been training in
seclusion for like, a dozen years? The eldest disciple of Taxue Palace? Did he finally come out?”

“Hahaha, what a good memory, that’s him. Remember the kid stayed with us for a while way back
when? You two even shared a bed.”

“How could i forget? Fat like a dog, and kicked in his sleep, too. I got kicked off the bed so many
times. You saw him?”

“I saw him, I saw him.” Xue Zhengyong twirled his beard.

Xue Meng, darling of the heavens and competitive to a fault, asked impatiently, “And?”

Xue Zhengyong laughed. “Of course you’re better. The boy’s master taught him stuff like
instruments and dance for some godforsaken reason. He even made flower petals fly everywhere
and I almost died laughing!”

Xue Meng wrinkled his nose, as if disgusted at the thought of a fat little cultivator playing
instruments and dancing through flower petals. “How’s his cultivation?” Having beaten Mei
Hanxue in terms of looks, Xue Meng was now set on comparing cultivation skills with the disciple
who had trained in seclusion for more than ten years.

Xue Zhengyong didn’t answer immediately this time. “I didn’t get to see his skills much,” he
answered finally. “No matter, Meng, you’ll surely get to cross swords with him at the Spiritual
Mountain Competition.”

Xue Meng’s eyebrow twitched. “Who knows if that stupid fatso will get to challenge me.”

Madam Wang finished blending the medicine and patted Xue Meng’s head with a smile. “Meng,
dear, don’t be so arrogant. Remember to be modest and respectful.”

“What’s the point in being modest? That’s for losers. I’d rather be like dad.”

Xue Zhengyong chortled. “See, this tiger dad ain’t got no pup for a son.”

Madam Wang was displeased. “Look at you, teaching him all of your bad habits and none of the
good ones.”

At the irritation in her expression, Xue Zhengyong understood that she was unhappy and
immediately checked his grin. “Honey, I was wrong. I’ll do whatever you want.”

Madam Wang had been a disciple of Lonemoon Sect in her early years, and rumor had it that Xue
Zhengyong had stolen her. Mo Ran didn’t know whether or not the rumor was true, but he did
know that his uncle was deeply in love with his aunt and that she had him wrapped around her little
finger. Madam Wang, however, was not quite so passionate toward her husband and would often
express anger over small matters. It had been plain to see over the years that Xue Zhengyong felt
more deeply than his wife.

The flirting dynamic wasn’t a pleasant prospect for Xue Meng, who clicked his tongue and turned
to leave. Quite embarrassed, Madam Wang tried to call her son back, but he waved his hand and
quickly left. The couple’s reunion was an excellent excuse for Mo Ran to dodge his uncle’s
questions, and he felt that the topic of Chu Wanning’s punishment was best brought up by Madam
Wang. He collected the medicine on the table and made his escape.

Goods in hand, he strolled leisurely over to the Red Lotus Pavilion. Because of his injuries, Chu
Wanning was weak and the customary barriers around the pavilion had been taken down. He had
no way of knowing when someone came in, but it didn’t occur to him to change his behavior. Mo
Ran therefore walked in on his teacher, the virtuous and incorruptible Constellation Saint, bathing
in the lotus pond with two other people.

------

Still hidden by the lotus leaves, Mo Ran froze as if struck by lightning. Something inside him
shattered, and he felt shocked indignation, jealousy, and irritation explode through his heart. His
mouth worked, but no sound came out. He was furious that Chu Wanning dare allow himself to be
touched by someone else when he had been claimed by Mo Ran. In that moment, Mo Ran
completely forgot that he had had no intimate relations with his teacher, and he lost all control of
himself. The ten years that hadn't happened yet were so vivid in his mind that he couldn't
remember that they hadn't happened.

Only now did Mo Ran realize how clearly he remembered the taste of Chu Wanning's lips, the
passion and desire as they had entwined until ecstasy consumed the core of his being. He had tried
not to think of it, after he'd been reborn, but seeing his teacher's naked back had brought the
memories rushing back. The familiar figure with broad shoulders and long legs, taut with muscle
down to the slender but strong waist submerged in clear water wrung an involuntary reaction out of
his body. He could do nothing to stop the low heat pooling in his belly as he watched, and he was
moving before he knew what he was doing.

“Chu Wanning!” Mo Ran shouted angrily, and Chu Wanning had the unmitigated gall to ignore
him. The two people supporting his shoulders were shrouded by the mist hovering atop the water
and Mo Ran couldn't make out their faces, but he could see that they stood far too close to his
teacher. He shouted again and waded into the water to drive them apart.

Too late, Mo Ran realized his mistake. The two figures belonged to a pair of metal and cedarwood
constructs, transferring energy through the lotus pond to Chu Wanning's all but unconscious form.
Light had poured out of their palms into the wound on his shoulder, but Mo Ran's interference had
broken the spiritual bounding field and the light was abruptly extinguished. To his horror, the
effects began to reverse themselves as soon as the light scattered. Chu Wanning's wound gaped
open again and he gagged on a mouthful of blood. The scars on his back started to tear open, blood
sheeting over his skin to turn the water red.

Even dumbfounded, Mo Ran recognized his teacher's Flower Spirit Sacrifice Technique and
realized how grave of an error he had made. Chu Wanning's qi was both the wood and elemental
type - those with an affinity for metal type qi were skilled in offensive magic while the wood type
energy was used for healing. The Flower Spirit Sacrifice Technique was a wood-aligned technique
in which the spiritual essence of flora was used to mend wounds. It was particularly susceptible to
disruption; if foreign qi entered the array, the flora spirits would conversely worsen the injury. In
the worst case, they would devour the patient's spiritual core.
Fortunately for Chu Wanning's soul, Mo Ran had a passing familiarity with the technique from his
previous life and was quick enough to cut off the flow of energy. He caught Chu Wanning as he
sagged out of the constructs' grip and held him steady. His teacher's unconscious face was pale,
lips blue and body cold. Mo Ran hauled him out of the pool and half-carried, half-dragged him
back to his room. He tried to wake him, calling several times, but the only indication that Chu
Wanning was even alive was the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

The past rose up in his mind's eye and choked the breath out of his throat. His heart began to race
as he saw the two people who had died in his arms - Shi Mei and Chu Wanning. The love of Mo
Ran's life and his mortal enemy had died in the same place; Shi Mei's death had erased Mo Weiyu
from the world, and Chu Wanning's had - Mo Ran didn't know. He had no longer recognized the
world around him without his teacher in it. All he could fathom was the sense of panic that the
person in his arms was slowly growing colder and colder.

In the dim candlelight, Mo Ran saw his teacher's bare torso. The Constellation of the Night Sky
wore clothing that showed so little skin that no hint of his extensive injuries peeked past the screen
of dignity and propriety. Because Chu Wanning had been on his feet and walking around the
following day with no hint of pain, Mo Ran had thought that what he'd seen of the lashing must
have been exaggerated in his memory. He now realized that the wounds were far worse than he
had imagined - the ghost mistress's claws had ripped his teacher's flesh down to the bone.

The salve that hadn't been evenly applied had left the unreached places infected and festering, and
the purple bruises from the lashes spread across Chu Wanning's entire back. No part of his mottled
skin was unbroken. The wounds stemming from the spiritual rebound had washed his skin red, and
the blood flowed ceaselessly to drench the sheets underneath him.

I have some thoughts here on medically accurate depictions of injury and how it affects range
of motion, as well as the matters of hypovolemic and septic shock, but also I'm pretty sure Mo
Ran evenly applied the salve before rebandaging the shoulder in that one scene, which we are
now inexplicably pretending never happened.

If Mo Ran hadn’t seen his teacher wiping down pillars and creating a massive barrier to shield
disciples from the rain, he wouldn’t have believed that it was the same severely wounded man
lying here before him. He wanted to grab him by the collar and shake him, demanding to know
how he had so little care for his own condition, so little regard for himself that he’d use constructs
to heal his wounds rather than show even the slightest hint of weakness.

While cursing silently, Mo Ran worked swiftly to stop the bleeding. He drew a pail of warm water
and cleaned the blood from his back. Sterilizing a knife in the candle flame, he cut off the
gangrenous flesh. Chu Wanning groaned in pain, but Mo Ran held him down and started cursing
aloud. “The fuck are you bitching about now? If you don’t shut up, I’m going to stab you through
the heart and then you won’t feel anything. Problem solved!”

Only now, with his teacher unconscious and no one else to see, could Mo Ran let his real nature
show through and yell at Chu Wanning the way he had during his previous life. There were too
many wounds that had festered, the skin gone white and dead, and Chu Wanning panted heavily as
Mo Ran hacked away at it little by little. Even unconscious, he stifled his voice and refused to cry
out as the cold sweat drenched his body.

maybe we should in fact have that conversation about septic shock oh my fucking god this is
the dumbest and most ridiculously medically inaccurate shit

It seemed to take hours to finish applying the medicine and bandage the wounds. Mo Ran dressed
his feverish teacher, laying a thick quilt over him, and sighed in relief. He brewed the medicine
Madam Wang had given him, carrying a bowl back to Chu Wanning’s bedside. “Wake up,” he
said.

With one hand, Mo Ran lifted his unconscious teacher and leaned him against his shoulder. He
used the other to bring the bowl to Chu Wanning’s slack lips, lightly blowing to cool it down. He
fed it slowly to his teacher, but he was only able to tilt half a spoonful of liquid into Chu
Wanning’s mouth before he choked and coughed it all out.

“Is it the bitter taste?” Mo Ran wondered. He knew that, if he were awake, Chu Wanning would
drink it without complaint and sneak a piece of candy afterwards. Mo Ran didn’t think he could
lose his temper at an unconscious person, and instead resigned himself to feeding the mixture to
Chu Wanning in tiny spoonfuls. It wasn’t particularly difficult; he’d performed the same actions in
his previous life. Chu Wanning had resisted him then, and Mo Ran would slap him across the face
before kissing him to force the medicine down, the coppery scent of blood mingling with – Mo
Ran poured too much liquid into his teacher’s mouth in an effort to distract himself, and Chu
Wanning choked again.

“I’m doing this out of the generosity of my heart,” he said, dumping his teacher roughly back down
on the bed. “If you kick off this quilt while you’re already feverish and get sicker, I won’t be held
responsible.” His temper flared and he kicked the leg of the bed. “Why the fuck do I care if you get
sicker? I hope you do! I hope you’re miserable and it kills you.”

Mo Ran turned around and stalked off, getting as far as the door before a gut feeling pulled him
back. He retraced his steps and blew out the candle before leaving again. The second time, he got
as far as the lotus pond before he felt compelled to return. The lotus flowers were red as blood,
vibrant and healthy with Chu Wanning’s life force, and Mo Ran snarled at them as he walked past.

Moonlight shone softly in the half-open bamboo window, illuminating Chu Wanning’s now
peaceful face. Mo Ran stared at the room for a moment before deciding that the open window was
what had bothered him and closing it. Sisheng Peak was humid, he thought, and it wouldn’t be
healthy to let the air in.

“If I come through that door one more time, may I be a dog,” he muttered, and left for the third
time.

Just as Mo Ran cleared the doorway, Chu Wanning flung off the quilt. Mo Ran froze. He couldn’t
go back on his word. He opened the window, and vaulted into the room to replace the quilt.
Hearing the pained, labored breathing and seeing his back shudder, Mo Ran couldn’t muster up
any of his usual anger. His heart ached, and he sat by his teacher’s bedside to keep watch.
Exhaustion slowly settled in, and Mo Ran dozed off.

Mo Ran’s sleep wasn’t restful in the slightest; he could hear Chu Wanning toss and turn and groan
under his breath, and in his light and hazy sleep he didn’t know when he ended up lying next to his
teacher to hold the trembling man in his arms. Still half asleep, he stroked Chu Wanning’s
wounded back and murmured nonsensical comforting phrases, feeling as if he’d returned to his
past life and the empty, somber Wushan Palace.

After Chu Wanning’s death, Mo Ran had slept alone. Thinking now about those endlessly cold
days of loneliness hurt – wishful thinking had consumed him then, but he’d known that Chu
Wanning wasn’t coming back. He held him now, caught between dreams and the haze of sleep,
afraid to open his eyes. He couldn’t tell if he’d been reborn or if that had been just a dream. He was
terrified that he would awaken to a cold bed and the prospect of spending the rest of his life utterly
alone.
Wetness gathered in his eyes as Mo Ran felt the warmth that the thirty-two-year-old the Evil
Overlord had thought he would never feel again. “You’ll be okay,” he murmured, stroking his
teacher’s hair as if he were the Mo Ran of the past. He was so tired that he didn’t realize what he
was saying, and finally fell into a deeper slumber.

Chu Wanning’s eyelashes fluttered the following morning and he slowly woke. His strong
cultivation had reduced his fever, and he tried to pull himself out of bed. He found himself
restrained by another person in bed with him. “Mo Weiyu?” he said aloud, and his student awoke.

“You should let me sleep and go make egg and meat congee for me,” Mo Ran muttered. Chu
Wanning could only stare, and made no move to make him breakfast. Mo Ran’s sleep-fogged mind
declined to press the matter and instead prompted him to reach out and give Chu Wanning a chaste
kiss on the mouth. “Or you can just stay here,” he said. “That’s fine too. I had the most terrible
dream.” He yawned and wrapped himself back around Chu Wanning, who had frozen completely
still. “Never mind,” he said. “Just let me hold you a little longer.”
 Book 1, Part 4: Different Paths - The Sacred Arsenal

The sudden kiss drove Chu Wanning’s ability to understand Mo Ran’s words right out of his head;
all he heard was a distant murmur like heavy rain. Mo Ran, oblivious of Chu Wanning’s desire to
shake an explanation out of him, fell back to sleep. A crabapple tree in full bloom swayed outside
the window, and a single pale pink petal landed on the tip of Mo Ran’s nose. He swiped at it, but
didn’t waken.

Chu Wanning intended to shove him, but his hand picked up the flower petal without his
permission, and he remembered that Mo Ran had dressed his wounds and fed him medicine. He’d
then held him in his arms, gently stroking his hair and whispering softly into his ear. Chu Wanning
was baffled, and thought the memories couldn’t possibly be real. His ear tips turned the same
bright color of the petal between his fingers and the harsh words died in his throat.

The petal drifted through the closed window, I see, and changed color between landing on
MR’s nose and being picked up by CW

There was nothing Chu Wanning could say that didn’t sound like a girl regretting taking a man into
her bed. The barely-even-there kiss was a non-issue – compared to what he and Mo Ran had done
in the illusion, it wasn’t really a kiss at all. He couldn’t bring attention to it without embarrassing
himself.

At a complete loss, the Constellation Saint could only roll over and bury his face in the quilt. His
slender fingers plucked at it irritably before he decided to pry Mo Ran off so that he could rise and
dress himself. He sat on the edge of the bed, fully dressed and staring at Mo Ran with a chilly
expression as Mo Ran finally opened his eyes. Cold sweat appeared on Mo Ran’s face.

“Uh, sir,” he said.

“You broke my Flora Spirit Boundary yesterday,” Chu Wanning said.

“I didn’t mean to,” Mo Ran started.

“Shut up,” Chu Wanning said, waving his hand in dismissal. “Go to class.”

Mo Ran scratched his head in agitated confusion. “Why am I in your bed?”

“You look tired,” Chu Wanning said smoothly. “Probably didn’t get much rest yesterday.” He
glanced at the table. “Don’t enter Red Lotus Pavilion unannounced in the future.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You may go.” Looking as though he had narrowly escaped death, Mo Ran scurried away. Chu
Wanning lay back down and lifted his arm, stretching out his hand. From the space between his
fingers, he watched the radiant blossoms outside of his window drift and fall like snow in the wind.
Their soft colors mirrored his hazy memories of the previous night – delicate and with an inability
to distinguish truth from wishful thinking. He concluded that he would never speak of the matter
again, prioritizing his precious sense of pride. Saving face was more important than protecting his
life.

The Constellation Saint was elegant and composed when Mo Ran saw him a few days later, white
robes billowing gracefully. Mo Ran took his cue from his teacher, and neither of them spoke of that
night. Mo Ran’s gaze lingered, but Chu Wanning turned away immediately and coldly before
stealing another glance when he thought Mo Ran wasn’t looking.

so I see that we are going to ignore the injuries now, which were Absolutely Terrible for One
Night and are now conveniently Gone, because we will not be consistent in applying narrative
consequences and instead only keep them when convenient

The master of Sisheng Peak, protective to a fault, was furious when he learned of Chu Wanning’s
punishment, but as Xue Zhengyong couldn’t direct his ire at anyone in particular he only closed his
door to sulk alone. He would have made an exception for the elders when writing the rules if he’d
known an elder would actually follow them. His wife made him a soothing pot of tea and
eventually managed to talk him out of his funk.

“He’s too stubborn,” Xue Zhengyong said. “If he tries to do this again in the future, please help me
talk him out of it. He wouldn’t join the upper cultivation sects even when they begged him, and
now he’s over here suffering so badly. How am I supposed to live with myself?”

so you’re okay with beating the shit out of your disciples – teenagers and young adults who
are still learning – but not out of grown-ass adults who should know better?!

“It’s not that I didn’t try,” Madam Wang said. “You know how he is, stubborn to a fault.”

“Ah, forget it. Honey, give me some of those painkillers and tissue-regrowth medicines you made,
I’m gonna go check on him.”

“The white one is to be taken orally. The red one is a topical application.” Madam Wang gave him
two small porcelain bottles. “Ran mentioned that Constellation Saint’s been wiping down the lions
at Naihe Bridge lately. You should be able to find him there.”

Xue Zhengyong tucked the bottles into his pocket and rushed to the jade bridge, where he found
Chu Wanning standing alone on its gentle curve. Shortly past noon, the disciples were all busy
with training; few people were passing by the bridge. Leaves rustled softly on the shores, and Chu
Wanning’s white robes amongst the graceful bamboo made him the picture of refinement.

“Constellation Saint, watching the fish?” Xue Zhengyong said.

“You must be joking, my lord, this river connects to the yellow springs of the Underworld. There
are no fish.”

“I’m just screwing with you. You’re all elegance and no sense of humor. You’ll never find a wife
like that.” He offered the two bottles. “Here, my wife made them. Drink the white one, put the red
one on your skin. Super effective.”

Only Xue Zhengyong’s pride in his wife’s medicine overcame Chu Wanning’s aversion to
accepting help from others; he couldn’t imply that Madam Wang’s contributions weren’t valuable.
“Thank you.”

Although crude, Xue Zhengyong was more reserved in front of Chu Wanning and considered his
next words carefully. “Say, Constellation, the Spiritual Mountain Competition is in three years.
Young talents from every sect will gather to vie for the top. What do you think Meng and Ran’s
odds are?”

“Three years is a long time. I can’t say at the present. But right now, Mo Ran lacks the drive to
improve, and Xue Meng is overly conceited and prone to underestimating his opponents. Neither
has the right attitude.”
His blunt words embarrassed Xue Zhengyong. “Ah, they’re just young,” he muttered.

“They’re adults.”

“You’re not wrong,” Xue Zhengyong admitted, “but still, they’re not even twenty yet.”

“An undisciplined child is the fault of a neglectful father and an irresponsible teacher,” Chu
Wanning said. “If the two of them end up walking the wrong path in the future, that blame will fall
directly on you and I.” Xue Zhengyong said nothing. “Do you still remember Linyi Rufeng Sect’s
two prodigies, my lord, some years back?”

Xue Zhengyong’s heart dropped at the mere mention. Rufeng Sect, the foremost sect of the upper
cultivation realm, had produced a pair of brothers twenty-odd years before. Both were immensely
gifted and equally skilled at a young age – able to take down hundred-year-old demons at the age
of ten and devise new skills at the age of fifteen. They had both fallen victim to their own egos,
falling out with one another and attempting to start their own sects. At that year’s Spiritual
Mountain Competition, the younger brother stole his older brother’s secretly developed technique,
for which he was censured, scorned, and punished by their father. It had broken his pride; he had
turned to evil and become a crazed monster in the end.

Chu Wanning’s point, Xue Zhengyong thought, was that heart was more important than skill.
While he agreed, his love for his son and nephew blinded him to their faults, and he only laughed.
“If you’re guiding them, they won’t end up like those two.”

“Human nature can’t be changed without tremendous resolve,” Chu Wanning said, shaking his
head.

Xue Zhengyong couldn’t help feeling a little uneasy at Chu Wanning’s words, unsure if they had a
hidden meaning. He hesitated before he finally said, “Constellation, do you perhaps look down on
my idiot nephew?” The unexpected misunderstanding caught Chu Wanning so off guard that his
words dried up in his throat, and Xue Zhengyong continued rambling. “Actually, I don’t really care
if they come out on top at the competition or not. Especially Ran, it really wasn’t easy for him,
growing up, it can’t be helped if he’s a little difficult or disobedient. I hope you don’t dislike him
for having been raised in an entertainment house. He’s all I have left of my brother, I can’t stop
feeling guilty for not having been there for him all those years.”

Chu Wanning interrupted him. “My lord is mistaken; if I minded his background, I wouldn’t have
accepted him as a disciple.”

“Good, good,” Xue Zhengyong said with relief.

Chu Wanning’s gaze fell back to the river, surging and crashing beneath the bridge. As it had in
Mo Ran’s previous life, the conversation was washed away by the rushing water. Tragically, Chu
Wanning’s admission that he did not look down on Mo Ran was never heard by a third person.

Three months of confinement passed, and when it ended, Chu Wanning called his disciples to the
Red Lotus Pavilion. “Since your spiritual cores have now stabilized, I’ve called all of you here
today to take you to Dawning Peak, where you may attempt to summon your own weapons.”

Xue Meng and Shi Mei’s eyes widened, faces ecstatic. Dawning Peak was a sacred mountain in the
upper cultivation realm, thousands of feet tall with steep cliffs. Gouchen the Exalted, god of
weaponry, had once forged weapons there, according to legend. He oversaw the northernmost and
southernmost ends of the heavens and controlled all the weapons of the world, and had forged the
first true sword during the Heavenly Emperor’s war against the demons with the mountains as raw
material, the seas as his quenching pool, and his celestial blood as the forging flames.

The first sword pierced heaven and the earth alike, splitting the land into pieces and forcing the
seas to flow in reverse. The Heavenly Emperor had suppressed the demon race with it in hand,
forcing them below the earth and preventing their return with two blows. These blows rendered a
pair of deep gashes in the earth across the human realm.

The skies wept and ghosts howled through the nights after the war. A thousand years of rain
plagued the realm with flooding and desolation until the pair of gashes filled with water to become
the Yangtze and Yellow Rivers and nurture countless lives. Dawning Peak, birthplace of the holy
sword, hence became a sacred place to which many cultivators journeyed. The qi of the gods
remained strong, allowing peculiar flora and mysterious creatures to thrive. Many cultivators
reached enlightenment and ascended to the heavens there.

The most captivating aspect of Dawning Peak was Jincheng Lake, where the holy sword had been
forged. An icy lake at the summit of the peak, it was frozen over year-round. Each morning, it
reflected the light of the rising sun. It was said that its source was the drop of blood cut from
Gouchen's palm, still fresh after many thousands of years, and the waters were so clear that the
bottom of the lake was unobscured. Some cultivators were able to use the power of their spiritual
cores to temporarily thaw the lake, allowing an ancient mythical beast to leap ashore with a
weapon in its mouth and offer it to the cultivator.

Chu Wanning's students were excited at the prospect of visiting the lake. "Sir," Xue Meng asked,
"What kind of mythical beast offered you your holy weapon?"

"A Kunpeng fish-bird," Chu Wanning told him.

Xue Meng’s eyes sparkled. “Awesome! I can’t wait to see a Kunpeng!”

Mo Ran jeered. “Thaw the lake first.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? You think I can’t do it?”

Mo Ran laughed. “Don’t get your feathers so ruffled. I said no such thing.”

“It might be something else," Chu Wanning said. "Hundreds of mythical beasts are supposed to
live in the lake. Whichever one likes you will come to offer you its weapon." He paused. "In
addition, they each have their own temperament and will set a quest for you. If you fail, it will take
its weapon back.”

“I see," said Xue Meng. "Sir, what did the Kunpeng request from you?”

“It wanted a meat bun,” Chu Wanning replied. The three disciples were silent for a moment, and
then broke out into laughter.

“You scared me," Xue Meng said. "I almost thought it would be something challenging.”

Chu Wanning smiled a little. “I just got lucky. The requirements these mythical beasts have are
bizarre; they could ask for anything. I once heard of someone who summoned a Xishu giant rat,
which asked for his wife’s hand in marriage. He refused, so the rat took the weapon back and left.
He never got an opportunity to acquire a holy weapon again.”

“What a pity,” Shi Mei murmured.

Chu Wanning glanced at him. “Pity? I respect him for his noble character.”
Shi Mei hurried to correct himself. “No, sir, I didn’t mean it that way. Of course he couldn't sell his
wife. I just think it’s a pity that he missed out on such a godly weapon.”

“It’s just a rumor, anyway,” Chu Wanning said. “Not something I personally witnessed, although I
saw repulsive things many years ago at Jincheng Lake.” He paused as if reminiscing, expression
darkening as his brows furrowed. “Forget it. Who knows what this lake has seen over the last
thousand years, chilling heartlessness or unwavering loyalty. How many people are even capable
of resisting the allure of a holy weapon, of abandoning their chance at advancement, just to stay
true to their heart?” Chu Wanning let out a cold chuckle, as if perturbed, before resuming
an impassive expression.

that speech is long and out of character as it's been established over the last 65000 words

“Sir, we heard that all of Jincheng Lake’s holy weapons have a personality. Was it easy for you to
get the hang of yours when you first got it?” Xue Meng asked, trying to change the topic.

Chu Wanning raised an eyebrow. “I have three holy weapons," he said tonelessly. "Which one are
you asking about?”

------

Only Chu Wanning would deliver such earth-shattering news in such an inappropriately calm tone,
Mo Ran thought distantly, remembering that he never wanted to see his teacher's third holy weapon
again. Xue Meng blinked in astonishment, while Shi Mei tilted his head as if in fascination.

“Did you get Heavenly Questions from Jincheng Lake?” Shi Mei asked.

"I did."

“And the other two?”

“One, yes, one, no. When you get yours, don't worry about its personality. They don't tend to be
strong.”

Xue Meng sighed in admiration. “I'd love to see your other weapons, sir.”

“Heavenly Questions is more than enough for most purposes, and it would be best if the others
remained forever hidden.” Xue Meng reluctantly made a noise of agreement. Chu Wanning noted
his apprentice's hesitation, and made a mental note to provide the proper guidance. Xue Meng's
heart was in the right place, he felt, even if he was combative by nature.

Off to the side, Mo Ran stroked his chin with an enigmatic smile. A weapon's only purpose was to
take life, and a righteous man would use it only as a last resort. Chu Wanning's righteousness
would be his downfall all over again, Mo Ran reflected, simply because he had taken to heart all of
the fictional nonsense about justice triumphing over evil. Chu Wanning deserved the fate of a
prisoner beneath the steps, nothing more than bones in the dirt, despite his exceptional talent and
martial prowess.

“Sir.” Shi Mei’s voice cut off his musing. “I heard that thousands climb Dawning Peak every year
in search of a weapon, but only one or two are able to thaw the lake and no one at all in the last few
years. My cultivation is so weak compared to Ran and the young master, maybe I should just stay
here to practice the basics.”

Mo Ran watched Chu Wanning fail to respond with so much as a shift in his expression; Shi Mei
had stayed behind in his previous life, and Mo Ran grinned at him. “There’s no harm in trying.
Even if it doesn’t work out, just think of it as taking a trip. Why not go out and see the world
instead of staying cooped up at home?”

“No, but, I really am too weak, and there are so many people at Dawning Peak. If disciples from
another sect challenge me to a fight, I’ll lose and embarrass everyone."

“Is that what you were afraid of?” Chu Wanning asked, and Shi Mei couldn't tell whether or not the
question was rhetorical. He felt a creeping chill in his heart and looked up to meet his teacher’s
cold, biting gaze.

“Sir,” he said.

“You specialize in healing," Chu Wanning told him coolly. "Fights are not your forte. If someone
challenges you, simply refuse. There is no shame in it.”

Mo Ran grinned. “Don’t worry, Shi Mei, you have me.”

The three cultivators packed for the trip and set off for the upper cultivation realm. It would be too
physically stressful to ride, and Chu Wanning still declined to travel by sword. A slow ten-day
carriage trip saw them reach Dai City, at the foot of Dawning Peak. The three disciples
disembarked, but Chu Wanning stayed seated. He lifted the bamboo screen.

three cultivators packed for the trip but four arrived at the destination...

“We’ll stay the night here," said the Constellation Saint. "We'll reach Dawning Peak tomorrow.”

Dai City wasn't overly large, but it was affluent and bustling. The women wore silk and jade, and
the men were dressed in expensive brocades. It was easily more opulent than even the richest
locales of the lower cultivation realm. Xue Meng clicked his tongue at the sight.

“Look at these upper cultivation realm mutts," he said. "The scent of meat and wine waft out of the
doors of the rich while the poor starve and freeze to death in the streets.”

Mo Ran disliked it as well, and didn’t quibble with Xue Meng. “No kidding," he said sweetly
instead. "I’m so jealous. No wonder so many people are desperate to move here. Even being a
civilian here is a much better life than down there.”

Chu Wanning donned a silver mask before leisurely alighting from the carriage and glancing at the
crowded streets. Distracted from Mo Ran's sarcasm, Xue Meng asked, “Why are you wearing a
mask?”

“This is Linyi Rufeng Sect’s area," Chu Wanning answered. "It’s best if I don’t show my face
here.”

Seeing the lingering confusion in Xue Meng’s expression, Mo Ran sighed. “Little phoenix, you
must have left your head back home to forget he used to be Linyi Rufeng Sect’s guest master.”

His words jolted Xue Meng’s memory, but the darling of the heavens wasn’t about to admit to an
error. Red-faced, he rolled his eyes instead. “Of course I knew that! But he was only a guest master
there, so there’s no reason he couldn’t just up and leave. Even if the Rufeng Sect people do see
him, what’re they gonna do, drag him back?”

“You blockhead," Mo Ran said snippily. "Do you not remember that he kept his location secret
from the entire upper cultivation realm when he left? That we just tell people we're apprenticed at
Sisheng Peak and not who our teacher is?”
The author is giving the idiot ball to Xue Meng for the sake of very clumsy exposition; there is no
reason for any of them to have forgotten this important information

“No one is supposed to know where you are?” Xue Meng asked. “But you’re so strong. Why do
you need to hide?”

“I’m not hiding. I just don’t want to be bothered.” Chu Wanning twitched his robes into place.
“Let’s go.”

remember when we speculated that in the hands of a better author, we would assume CW
had done something horrible to get kicked out of the upper cultivation realm and end up in
Sisheng Peak, because otherwise why would someone so skilled and accomplished be in such
a trashy sect? Because that would have been an excellent example of subtle foreshadowing. It
has now been made blindingly obvious that subtle foreshadowing is not part of this author’s
skillset, because of course Everyone Wants The Awesomely Amazing Chu Wanning and I
cannot roll my eyes hard enough

“Welcome, will the good sirs be staying with us?” The attendant jogged over, greasy face
gleaming.

“Four rooms,” Xue Meng ordered.

The attendant forced a smile, hands twisting. “I’m so sorry, sir, it’s been so busy that I’m afraid we
don’t have four empty rooms. Would you accept just two?”

Mo Ran sighed internally; they would all just have to share, he thought, but the trouble started
when he demanded to share a room with Shi Mei as their teacher pre-paid the bill.

“Like hell,” said Xue Meng.

Mo Ran feigned shock. “I thought you wanted to stay with our teacher?”

“That’s not,” Xue Meng started. He respected Chu Wanning but he was just as afraid of him, and
he blushed. Mo Ran grinned smugly at the sight.

“My little brother,” he said smugly. “It’s not that you don’t want to be near him, it’s that you’re
afraid of him.”

Eyes perfectly round, Xue Meng tried to deny it. “Why would I be afraid?”

Mo Ran’s shit-eating grin widened. “Did you know he hits people in his sleep?”

Terror and apprehension flashed across Xue Meng’s face before his wits caught up with his heart.
“Hey,” he said. “How do you know what our teacher is like in his sleep? You’ve slept with him?”

Not that Xue Meng meant the double entendre, Mo Ran thought, but he sneered to himself
nonetheless. I’ve slept with him before and I’ve slept with him before, he didn’t say, telling himself
that real men didn’t flaunt past conquests. “See for yourself if you still doubt me,” he said instead.

Xue Meng’s furious rejoinder was interrupted by Chu Wanning joining them again with a mild
“Let’s go.” His three disciples tailed him up the stairs and waited before the doors, united in their
meekness despite their earlier bickering. None of them had any say in how the rooms were
assigned, and could only wait for their teacher. “There are only two rooms,” Chu Wanning said
after a moment. “Which of you –“ He paused, a self-conscious edge to his voice. “Which of you
wants to be with me?”

The question struck him as cautious, even pitiful, unworthy of the Constellation Saint’s style and
status. For a moment, he considered ordering Mo Ran to room with him, but that would make him
no better than a shady bandit carrying off a woman against her will. As a respected cultivation
master, his image was his most prized possession. The night at the Red Lotus Pavilion loomed
large in his memory, and images whirled behind his impassive expression.

“Xue Meng will room with me,” Chu Wanning said finally, lifting his chin with a slight nod.

Mo Ran’s smile dropped unexpectedly off his face; it was exactly the outcome he had wanted, and
yet he was irate that Chu Wanning had rejected him. He resembled nothing so much as a puppy
with a callous owner, a puppy who was regularly fed but otherwise neglected, until his owner
appeared with a bowl of millet seeds instead of his usual bone and patiently fed a beautiful bird
instead. The puppy, Mo Ran, was dumbfounded, having had no doubt that his teacher would have
chosen him.

------

Mo Ran stared at the wall, cheek in hand. Chu Wanning and Xue Meng were on the other side, and
Shi Mei had left a change of clothes folded neatly on the bed before leaving to seek hot water for
bathing. The walls were thin enough that Mo Ran could hear voices from the adjacent room, but he
couldn’t make out what his teacher was saying. Xue Meng’s voice was clear as a bell as Mo Ran
heard him declare something a little tight and then ask if it hurt.

“No, keep going,” Mo Ran heard Chu Wanning say, followed by Xue Meng’s promise to be gentle
and Chu Wanning’s complaint that he talked too much.

Mo Ran could only assume that they were fucking as he pressed his ear to the wall. The faint
sound of clothes rustling reached him under the noise of Chu Wanning’s stifled groans. It sounded
exactly like the type of noise Chu Wanning had made in bed countless times before, when feeling
extreme pleasure or extreme pain, and he could see his teacher biting down on his lower lip in his
mind’s eye. Mo Ran could even see the unshed tears in his teacher’s eyes, remembering how he
would push just a little harder.

“Wait,” Mo Ran heard Chu Wanning say. “Don’t touch that.”

“Would you prefer to do it?” Xue Meng asked.

Before he knew what he was doing, Mo Ran was knocking on the door. A flurry of noises came
from within, and his face grew darker. “Sir,” he called through the door. “What are you doing?”

The door opened with a creak to reveal a fully-dressed Xue Meng holding a piece of blood-stained
gauze. He glared at Mo Ran with narrowed eyes. “What do you want? Trip over a ghost or
something?”

Mo Ran opened his mouth, but couldn’t speak. Looking over Xue Meng’s shoulder, he could see
Chu Wanning sitting at the table, fresh bandages and medicinal salve in front of him. “What were
you doing?” he finally got out.

“Treating our teacher’s shoulder injury,” Xue Meng said, glaring. “It hasn’t healed yet. It’s been a
few days since he changed the dressing, and some of the wounds are infected again.”

JFC that has to be osteomyelitis by now and should actually kill him, because we know damn
well and good this society doesn’t have the appropriate antibiotics to treat it, but we’re just
going to keep going Oh No Poor Baby How Sad And Tragic And Noble He Is For Bearing Up
Under So Much Pain because author didn’t do the medical research and also it’s not
admirable to not take care of yourself it is dumb as shit

“What was too tight, then?” Mo Ran asked numbly.

“Too tight?” Xue Meng blinked at him in confusion before his expression cleared. “Oh, the
bandages were wrapped too tightly. They were stuck to the wounds with blood and wouldn’t come
off.” He paused abruptly. “You were eavesdropping?”

Of course bandages can stick to bleeding wounds when the wounds clot, that’s not abnormal,
that’s what saline solution is for and that is not the indication that they were improperly
applied. The adverse outcome of wrapping a wound too tightly is loss of circulation and
perfusion in the affected limb, which has obviously not happened here, oh my fucking god, do
your damn research

Mo Ran scrambled to save his sorry face. “Who’s eavesdropping! The walls here are so thin you
can hear everything, go see for yourself if you don’t believe me.”

“Oh, really?” Xue Meng gave him a skeptical look. “Mo Weiyu, you are such a freak!”

Just as angry, Mo Ran retorted, “Who knows what perverted things you might do?”

The one area in which Xue Meng was entirely lacking was precisely where Mo Ran’s implications
landed, and having no idea what Mo Ran was accusing him of only made him angrier. “What are
you talking about? Sir, he-“

“Did you need something?” Chu Wanning interrupted him, putting on his outer robe and looking
Mo Ran up and down. He paced over to stand in front of him.

“I, uh, I heard,” Mo Ran fumbled for words. “Um, stuff, so I thought Xue Meng was bullying you.”

Chu Wanning didn’t understand at all. “Who’s bullying me?”

Mo Ran wanted to slap himself, because now they were awkwardly staring at each other, and Shi
Mei came up the stairs right in the middle of it.

“Ran? What are you doing here?”

“I, uh,” Mo Ran stammered. “Um, there was a misunderstanding.”

Shi Mei smiled. “Has it been resolved?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mo Ran said hurriedly. “Shi Mei, didn’t you go ask the attendant for hot water? Our
teacher probably hasn’t bathed either. I’ll go ask them to bring more.”

“No need.” Shi Mei took out four bamboo tablets, smiling. “The attendant said there’s a natural hot
spring by the inn which the innkeeper built into a bath. These tablets are passes, I got one for
everyone.”

Given his proclivities, Mo Ran felt it would be inappropriate for him to enter the hot spring with
his comrades; while he didn’t care about Xue Meng’s orientation and Shi Mei was pure and divine
and not to be lusted after, Mo Ran knew that seeing Chu Wanning naked would drive him mad. He
buried his face in a hand. “I’ll pass,” he said.

“You don’t bathe before bed? Gross!” said Xue Meng.

“I’ll just ask the attendant to send some hot water up.”

“Oh,” Shi Mei said. “They don’t do that here, because they have the hot spring.”

Having no other choice, Mo Ran could only grab a change of clothes and join the others at the hot
spring. The bath had been named Daybreak Reflected in Jincheng to curry favor with the inn’s
primary clientele – cultivators hopeful for a weapon and headed to the lake. Afraid of losing
control of himself, Mo Ran changed in a rush and raced to the hot spring to find a secluded spot.
There were few people there at the late hour, none of them close to one another.

Mo Ran sank into the water up to his eyes with the white towel folded on his head and let out a
breath. Bubbles burst against his skin as the first of his comrades appeared. To his relief, it was
only Xue Meng – handsome though the little phoenix was, he wasn’t the Evil Overlord’s type.

“You stay away from me,” Xue Meng said, unprompted.

“Huh?”

“You’re dirty,” Xue Meng informed him, scrubbing himself clean. He looked through the misty
water vapor. “Sir, we’re over here,” he called.

Mo Ran nearly choked on the water still covering his mouth, looking despite his better judgment. It
nearly killed him – he gasped at the sight, water going down his throat and into his lungs. He sank
even deeper, until only his eyes were above the water, swallowing the mouthful he’d inhaled. Chu
Wanning and Shi Mei had come out together, Shi Mei’s soft and slender beauty a direct contrast to
Chu Wanning’s broad shoulders above a narrow waist firm with toned muscle.

Shi Mei’s inky black hair draped over his shoulders, skin gleaming like the bright moon above, and
he was just as unreachable. Mo Ran’s gaze slid over him to stare at Chu Wanning cold beauty, hair
piled high on his head and skin almost entirely covered with a white bathrobe. The robe was too
small to be pulled closed and exposed a broad expanse of smooth, firm chest. Mo Ran thought he
would suffocate and wanted to look away, but his traitorous eyes refused to obey his command.

Above the water, Mo Ran’s ears turned red. Chu Wanning might have glanced his way through the
heavy mist before placing a waterproof barrier over his bandages and stepping into the water. His
legs were outlined by the wet fabric of his floating robes, long and slender. Mo Ran gave up and
sank entirely beneath the water, feeling entirely wronged. He hated his teacher, but he couldn’t
help but remember all of the times he’d fucked him senseless.

literally the only person who has behaved appropriately here is XM – wash before you soak,
MR, you asshat, and CW? You do not wear a robe into the water, that’s disgusting, AND you
didn’t wash first? Great job, guys, you’ve fouled the entire bath

Mo Ran’s Adam’s apple bobbed as a celestial war raged inside him and he wanted to cry. He hated
himself for his fixation on Chu Wanning while Shi Mei was right in front of him. Whatever
relationship he’d had with his teacher was in the past, and it wasn’t fair to Shi Mei to fail to let go
of it. Mo Ran lowered his head and tried to dispel his wicked thoughts for several long moments
until the fire in his belly faded. He burst out of the water and opened his eyes, only to come face to
face with his teacher.
Even worse, he’d splashed his teacher. Mo Ran watched a single drop leisurely track across Chu
Wanning’s sharp eyebrow toward his beautiful phoenix eye as if in slow motion. Neither of them
spoke. Neither of them had had any idea the other was there, Chu Wanning looking for soap and
Mo Ran entirely submerged with his eyes closed. Mo Ran tried to back away, but the water was
deep and buoyed him right into his teacher’s arms instead.

------

Chu Wanning reached out automatically to steady Mo Ran and the two of them stood pressed
together in the warm spring water. Mo Ran felt a spark go through his body, shivering against his
skin. It far surpassed the near-naked embrace they’d shared at the Red Lotus Pavilion and its dire
circumstances. One hand against Chu Wanning’s chest and the other on his waist, legs tangled
together under water and the heat of the spring melting into his skin, Mo Ran felt the blood rush
straight downward with the intensity of a rushing river.

“Sir,” he said, trying to escape, but that only rubbed his erection against Chu Wanning.

Chu Wanning’s eyes widened, face stricken with horror, and he backed immediately away. The
water on his face dripped into his eyes, and he tried to dry them. He had no towel and the robe he
wore was soaking wet.

Face red with absolute shame, Mo Ran grabbed the towel off his own head and wiped it across his
teacher’s face. It did not ease Chu Wanning’s distress, but Mo Ran saw him suppress his panic and
pretend he had felt nothing.

“Pass the soap,” he said.

“Uh, sure.” Mo Ran crabwalked stiffly to the edge of the pool and picked up the box of soap sitting
on the bank. “Which scent would you like?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Chu Wanning grunted.

“Uh, none of them are called Doesn’t Matter,” Mo Ran said with utter sincerity.

Chu Wanning sighed. “Crabapple. Or plum blossom.”

Mo Ran saw both, and handed them to his teacher. Their fingertips brushed, and he trembled again.
He couldn’t shake off his memories – if this had been the past, the two of them would have been
entwined by the side of the pool already no matter who was watching. A vision appeared unbidden
before his mind’s eye, Chu Wanning half-kneeling as he tried to resist while Mo Ran fucked him
until he came.

Tearing his eyes away, Mo Ran quickly finished washing himself and muttered that he was sleepy
and would go to bed first. His carnal desires turned his vision red, and even looking at Shi Mei
seemed safer than thoughts of his teacher. He bolted to his room and locked the door.

again, you wash before you soak

Although it seemed safer to soil Shi Mei’s pure image than think of his teacher, it was Chu
Wanning’s face Mo Ran saw in his mind’s eye as he masturbated himself to climax. When he
finished, he rested his forehead against the cold wall with a mix of shame, loathing, and lingering
arousal. He hadn’t expected to still have such strong reactions to his teacher and was disgusted with
himself.

For years, Mo Ran had told himself that he’d poured his passions into other relationships because
he couldn’t have Shi Mei; even Rong Jiu had been fascinating because of his resemblance to Mo
Ran’s beloved. The feelings he had for Chu Wanning, he was now realizing, were completely
different. The intense pleasure he got from their interactions was unlike anything he felt with
prostitutes. Mo Ran shut down that line of thought. He was, always had been, and always would be
in love with Shi Mei.

Slowly calming his breathing, Mo Ran closed his eyes. Anxiety and annoyance still flooded him;
he didn’t want to automatically associate Chu Wanning with lustful thoughts and then go right
back to hating his teacher when he wasn’t aroused. He wanted to be in love with Shi Mei.

Back in the hot spring, Chu Wanning was also distressed. He had seen and felt his student’s
obvious desire. His sixteen-year-old body was quite mature, like hot iron waiting to be forged. Chu
Wanning showed nothing on his face, but his mind was full of static and disbelief. He too had had
an erection, fortunately hidden by the bathrobe he habitually wore even in a hot spring, or he never
would have been able to face his disciples again.

omfg what is wrong with you do not wear clothes in hot springs that is so incredibly
disrespectful

In his bed later that night, Chu Wanning still couldn’t let it go. He couldn’t fathom that Mo Ran
might be attracted to him, pinching himself before his mind could complete the thought. His
personality was too harsh for anyone to love him, and he beat others besides. His bad temper and
his cruel words, combined with his lack of good looks when compared to Shi Mei, not to mention
his advanced age, ensured that he could not be desired. Even if he liked men, Mo Ran couldn’t
possibly have such poor judgment. Chu Wanning was aloof and haughty on the outside, but years
of cold treatment by others had slowly destroyed his self-esteem as he walked a long and lonely
road.

this is seriously some incel bullshit, because CW has the ability to Not Do all of the shit that
he is telling himself makes him unattractive – he treats others poorly, so they react by not
being friendly, and then he acts as though it’s not his fault that no one likes him and there is
nothing to be done and he just sits there pitying himself instead of making the effort, but he’s
already indicated that treating others well is beneath his dignity and it is just such fucking
bullshit and I am 100% done with his Oh Poor Me act

Both Chu Wanning and Mo Ran held secrets in their hearts as they met in the hallway of the inn
the next day, neither of them wanting to speak until Mo Ran put on the mask of normalcy. “Sir,” he
said with a smile.

Relieved to not face any consequences, Chu Wanning only nodded. “We should wake Shi Mei. We
can pack quickly and depart for Dawning Peak.”

Covered in snow all year, Dawning Peak was exceedingly cold, even for a cultivator. Not having
brought cold-weather gear from home, Chu Wanning went to the tailor to buy overpriced winter
cloaks and gloves for his disciples. The shopkeeper smiled around her pipe, lips painted bright red.
“What a handsome young fellow,” she said to Mo Ran. “The embroidery on this black cape’s
golden dragon is of the highest quality. See the light in its eyes?” She paused. “It took me more
than three months to complete!”

Mo Ran laughed a little, embarrassed. “Miss, your words are very sweet, but I’m just going into the
mountains to seek a weapon. There’s no need for me to wear something so formal and ornate.”

The shopkeeper tried Shi Mei, instead. “Young prince, more beautiful than the loveliest girl in the
city, this red peony and butterfly cloak would suit you perfectly.”

Shi Mei forced a smile. “Miss, aren’t those women’s clothes?”

Xue Meng avoided the aggressive sales pitch by refusing to join the expedition at all; despite
having been long established as a peacock who took great pride in his appearance, he hated
shopping for clothes. For him, Chu Wanning chose a black cloak with purple lining and white
rabbits embroidered around the brim.

“Sir,” the shopkeeper interjected, “this cloak is a bit small for you. It would be better suited for a
teenager.”

“It’s for my disciple,” Chu Wanning said expressionlessly.

“Oh!” The shopkeeper quickly smiled. “You must be a great teacher.”

No one had ever assumed Chu Wanning to be a good teacher; he froze, face betraying nothing, but
his gait was uneven as he walked away. Mo Ran chose a light gray cloak and Shi Mei a moonlight-
white garment. For himself, Chu Wanning chose white with a dark purple lining. Xue Meng was
displeased with his cloak, but refused to say so aloud when Chu Wanning asked what was wrong;
he only muttered that he disliked purple when he thought his teacher was out of earshot. He
flinched when he heard Chu Wanning coldly reply that if he didn’t like it, he could freeze instead
of wearing it.

Despite their leisurely pace, the four cultivators reached Dawning Peak and the end of the road
before nightfall. It was rich in spiritual power, home to many beasts and monsters. Even cultivators
tread cautiously, but Chu Wanning’s presence was enough that the group had no worries. He
conjured three crabapple petals from thin air and imbued them with spirit-repelling properties.
Each disciple received one, tucked into his sash.

Mo Ran looked at the peaks outlined against the night sky, resembling a huge, ancient beast
crouched deathly still, and a myriad of emotions poured into his heart. In the past, he had stood on
Dawning Peak to declare to the sun and moon, ghosts and demons, that he was not satisfied with
the current cultivation world and would be its new ruler. It was on Dawning Peak that same year
that he’d taken a wife and concubine.

They reached it before nightfall or it’s dark when they get there, make up your mind

His wife, Song Qiutong, had been a real unparalleled beauty and from certain angles had strongly
resembled Shi Mei. Uncaring of etiquette or honor or the tedious rites of marriage, Mo Ran had
simply taken Song Qiutong’s delicate hand and pulled the red-veiled woman up a flight of
thousands of stairs. They had walked for over an hour, until Song Qiutong had been in too much
pain to continue. Mo Ran had lost his temper at her frailty, but before he could yell at her, he saw
Shi Mei reflected in her face under the moonlight.

The angry words had died in his mouth. “Shi Mei,” he’d said with a shaky breath. “I’ll carry you.”
His wife had made no complaint at his choice of name, and for the last several thousand steps, the
Evil Overlord, Master of the Mortal Realm, Ruler of the Shadows, steadily, one foot in front of the
other, had carried his red-adorned bride to the peak. He’d lowered his head and watched their oddly
shaped shadows moving on the ground, overlapping with each other.

He’d laughed a little. “Shi Mei, I’m the Master of the Mortal Realm now. From this day on, no one
will be able to hurt you.” The woman on his back hadn’t known what to say, only making a soft
sound of assent, and she hadn’t been able to see Mo Ran’s eyes fill with tears at the voice that
could have been his beloved’s. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting for so long,” he’d said.

Song Qiutong, thinking Mo Ran was admitting a long-term infatuation with her, had replied softly,
“Husband.” Although her voice was clear and crisp like morning dew, feminine and pleasing to the
ear, Mo Ran had jerked to a halt. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Mo Ran had started walking again, and when he spoke, he had had control of his voice.
“In the future, it’s better if you call me Ran.”

Song Qiutong had been caught off guard, and wasn’t so bold as to be so familiar. “Husband,” she’d
said.

Mo Ran had threatened to throw her off the mountain, and his wife had quickly apologized and
done as he’d asked. Mo Ran had remained silent, lowering his head and continuing to walk.
Remembering it now, he could clearly see that the shadows on the ground had only been shadows
and he’d seen only what he’d wanted to see – it had all been in vain.

“Shi Mei,” Mo Ran said.

“Yeah?” Shi Mei replied, over the sounds of shifting leaves and rustling grass. The light of the
moon reflected onto his face. “Ran, what is it?”

“Are you tired from walking?” Mo Ran glanced at Chu Wanning and Xue Meng in front of them
and whispered, “If you’re tired, how about I give you a piggy-back ride?”

Before Shi Mei could reply, Chu Wanning turned to look back at them. He glared coldly at Mo
Ran. “Are Shi Mingjing’s legs broken? Does he need you to carry him?”

“Sir,” Shi Mei said hurriedly, “Ran was just joking, don’t be angry.”

Chu Wanning frowned severely. “Ridiculous. What do I have to angry about.” He whirled back
around with a flick of his sleeve.

Mo Ran and Shi Mei looked at each other. “He seems mad, though,” Shi Mei said softly.

“You know how he is,” Mo Ran whispered back. “His own heart is smaller than a needle tip, cold-
blooded and heartless. Can’t even stand to see other people doing good things for their peers.” He
wrinkled his nose and lowered his voice even further. “Seriously the worst.”

Chu Wanning’s voice rang out from in front of them. “Mo Weiyu, if you say one more word, you’ll
find yourself thrown down the mountain!”

Mo Ran silenced himself as if in obedience, but secretly grinned over at Shi Mei and mouthed,
‘See, what’d I say?’

------

“The cold moon reflects upon the frosty snow; the frozen mountain embraces the icy lake. The
tallest of the tall cannot be crossed, and the despair of the world is in this timely moment.” Xue
Meng wiped snow off of the large boulder with gloved hands and read the cinnabar inscription
aloud. “Sir, we’re here.”

A luscious crescent moon was high in the sky, its shimmering glow blanketing the icy lake. Cold
air embraced thick forest leaves in an absolute world of ice. Not a trace of snow graced the surface
of Jincheng Lake, its surface clear as a sheet of glass arcing between sky and earth beneath
snowfall resembling the Milky Way itself fallen upon mere mortals or ten thousand miles of falling
stars, a scene peerless in magnificence. It was the end of humanity, to a world covered in
beautifully untainted snow.

I still remember that they reached the lake before nightfall but ok

The group reached the lake, its surface mirror-smooth and filled with magnificent, glimmering
light. A stone embankment stretched to the center of the lake, and a frost-covered stone tablet lay
next it. Intersecting patterns spread across the stone around the simple phrase The Path Forward is
Difficult written in powerful calligraphy.

“Only one person can go into Jincheng Lake at a time to seek a weapon,” said Chu Wanning.
“Which of you will go first?”

“Sir, I’ll go first!” Xue Meng said rashly.

Chu Wanning thought about it for a moment, but shook his head. “You’re too hasty.”

Shi Mei laughed a little and said, “Sir, how about I go in first, since I probably can’t break through
the icy lake anyway.” He crept along the stone embankment, which was only wide enough for one.
In accordance with custom, he summoned a ball of qi to his hand and leaned over to place it against
the ice. The qi traveled along the surface of the ice until a white light flickered from the distance.

Mo Ran held his breath from afar and clenched his hand into a fist. No matter how long Shi Mei
tried, the ice remained firm. With a forced smile, he gave up and walked back. “Sir, my apologies.”

“No matter. Try again after cultivating a few more years.”

More disappointed than either of them, Mo Ran went to comfort Shi Mei. “It’s fine, you’ll get
more chances. Next time I’ll come with you to try again.”

“Don’t yap so much,” Chu Wanning said. “Step up, it’s your turn now.”

In his past life, Mo Ran had made this journey during his most carefree days of youth with nothing
but boundless enthusiasm toward the prospect of a holy weapon. In this life, it was mundane; he
already knew what would be waiting for him. He felt no anxiousness or expectation but rather a
kind of warmth, as if he was about to reunite with an old friend. He walked along the stone
embankment and knelt before the icy lake.

Bending down, Mo Ran pressed his palm against the surface of the ice and closed his eyes. His
long, bare blade – the sinful, vicious blade which had witnessed the world’s flowers and tasted all
the blood in the human realm – awaited him. He whispered to it. “No Return, I’m here.”

As if sensing the call of its destined master, a huge black shadow suddenly appeared under the
surface of the ice. It became clearer and more vivid until thousands of feet of ice loudly shattered.
Mo Ran could hear Xue Meng’s distant shout of alarm from the shore. Water surged up, waves
crashing against the form of a huge, turquoise-black dragon, each scale on its body seven feet wide.
Jincheng Lake’s surface flooded instantly with heavy fog, blanketing the dragon shimmering
brilliantly under the moonlight. It spouted a breath from its nose as an ancient barrier fell around
the edge of the lake to separate Mo Ran from the others.

Inside of the barrier, human and dragon regarded each other through silver mist. Mo Ram could
see the bare blade in the dragon’s jaws, ancient yet still thick and sharp, capable of carving iron
and smashing gold. The dragon shrunk the blade until it could fit Mo Ran’s hand and slowly
lowered itself to place the blade in front of Mo Ran. It didn’t lift its head immediately, instead
turning to stare at him. Mo Ran’s own image stared back at him, reflected clearly in the dragon’s
eyes. He stood with bated breath, waiting for it to speak.

If nothing had changed, he only needed to retrieve a plum blossom from the foot of the mountain
and bring it back. The old dragon he’d seen sought only peace and elegance, giving him an easy
task, but Mo Ran hadn’t realized that this was not the same dragon. This dragon’s beard fluttered
as it narrowed its enormous golden eyes and lifted its front claw to write in the snow.

Mortal one?

Mo Ran stared. The dragon should have been able to speak; why, he thought, was it mute? It
regarded him for another moment then wiped away the writing and produced another sentence.

No, a mortal would not have such strong qi. Are you a god?

The dragon thought better of it, writing again.

Not a god; you have evil energy in your body. Are you a kind of demon?

Mo Ran desperately wanted to shout at the dragon for its nonsense; he’d been reborn, there was no
reason to stand there deliberating instead of giving him his sword. The old dragon seemed like it
could sense his impatience for his weapon, and suddenly lifted its scaly claws to press the blade
underneath its foot. It wrote again on another patch of snow.

No need to take offense. I saw two other shadows in your body. I have never seen anything like it in
my life. So tell me, are you a mortal or ghost? God or demon?

Mo Ran raised an eyebrow. “Of course I’m human.” Technically it was true; he was just a human
who had already died once.

The old dragon paused for a moment. One human soul, split like this. This really is never seen
before, unheard of, it wrote, and shook its head in a puzzled manner.

Mo Ran couldn’t help but find it funny. “What’s so strange about that? Anyway, Elder, what’ll
take it for you to give me the blade?”

The old dragon stared at him.

Stand there and don’t move. Let me use a technique to peer into your soul, and I’ll give the blade
to you. How is that?

Mo Ran would never have predicted that request. Under the dragon’s profound stare, he began to
feel hesitant – if it could see his past life, it might not give him the weapon. No Return being
almost within his grasp gave him pause; it had a strong, fierce power and was one of the rarest holy
weapons in existence, and if he refused he’d never have the chance to possess it again. “That’s fine,
Elder, but will you give me the blade no matter what you see inside of me?”

The old dragon drew on the ground.

These are the terms; I keep my word.

“Whether I was good or evil in the past?” Mo Ran pressed.

The old dragon paused for a moment.

Even if you were evil in the past, I will not stop you. I can only hope that you will pursue goodness
in the future.

Mo Ran smiled into his hand. “Then I have no objections. Please examine all you like, Elder.”

The old dragon lifted itself slightly. Its radiant, serpentine body bowed and it exhaled from its nose.
Both eyes emitted a bright red haze, showing Mo Ran a hazy indistinct shadow on either side of his
reflection. Mo Ran whipped around in shock, but behind him was only emptiness and unceasingly
falling snow.

As he turned back, the figures in the dragon’s eyes became clearer, as if something sunken in water
was slowly floating up to the surface. The two silhouettes were extremely familiar; Mo Ran took a
step forward and their closed eyes snapped open as their faces crystallized into Shi Mei and Chu
Wanning.

Mo Ran staggered backwards in shock, stuttering so much he couldn’t speak. The three people in
the old dragon’s eyes stood quietly, expressions without a hint of emotion, staring into the distance.
The blood red fog rose again and the figures in the dragon’s eyes blurred until they disappeared
altogether. The old dragon huffed out its nose, shook its body, and then wrote quickly.

I cannot make sense of it. I have seen much in my lifetime, but I have never seen a person’s soul
with the imprints of two others upon it. Utterly perplexing.

“My soul has their imprints?”

Yes. A pause. I do not know what happened to you. How deep must an obsession run, for another
person to be entangled so tightly in one’s own soul?

Mo Ran stared at the messy lines in the snow, face growing red as if he were being suffocated.
That his obsession with Shi Mei ran so deep through his bones as to imprint upon his soul wasn’t
surprising. He was shocked, on the other hand, to have also seen Chu Wanning – perhaps it was
the extreme hatred, he thought, that had created such an entanglement.

Human and dragon were so immersed in contemplation that they did not notice when the surface of
Jincheng Lake started to ripple unnaturally. The water rushed up and the waves broke through, the
surface of the lake split apart as if sliced by a sword. The water on both sides rushed up toward the
sky on either side of two tightly packed groups of beasts rushing out of the waves.

The beasts had the bodies of leopards and the heads of oxen. Smaller than the old dragon, the horns
on their head shone coldly, and all of their claws were sharp and menacing. Despite their hundreds,
the old dragon showed no fear and only looked at them askance.

“What happened?” Mo Ran asked.

The Exalted Gouchen.

When he read the four words, Mo Ran felt as if he’d been struck by lightning. Gouchen the
Exalted, he thought in a daze, the god of weapons, the founding god who created the first sword in
the world and helped the Heavenly Emperor Fuxi lay waste to his demonic enemies. He’s actually
these hundreds of cows? Mo Ran thought, but it was too horrifying to accept. As he stared blankly,
he heard the sound of an ocarina coming from far away.

As the music approached, the raucous group of beasts slowly stilled and bent their forelegs until
they kneeled along both sides. A handsome man with delicate and benign features in splendid
robes with a long sword rode a qilin through the path. As he stood playing the smooth, deeply
colored ocarina, his robes gently billowed in the wind and the snow fell. When the music finished
playing on a soft note, the beasts suddenly dissolved into water. He put down the clay ocarina,
looking at Mo Ran, and gently smiled.

“Truly a strange person, the likes of whom are rarely encountered. No wonder you piqued
Wangyue’s interest,” he said. “I am Gouchen the Exalted, who forged all of these objects of little
consequence. Please excuse my humble work.”

Despite the words of both the old dragon and the man before him, Mo Ran couldn’t believe it.
“You’re Gouchen the Exalted?”

The man smiled patiently. “Yes.”

On the verge of choking, Mo Ran stammered, “God of a Thousand Weapons? That guy?”

“Correct.” Gouchen the Exalted raised his eyebrows delicately, laughter in his eyes. “The later
generations do seem to call me that. How embarrassing. I just make a few trinkets when I’m bored,
yet people idolize me so.”

False humility, Mo Ran felt, was the most grating thing on earth. His teacher’s deliberately off-
hand reference to his multiple holy weapons had been bad enough, but the man in front of him was
even worse. The prized objects he created weren’t trinkets and deserved respect. He stewed for a
while and finally said, “Shouldn’t you be in the heavenly realm? What are you doing in the lake?”

“I like to fight, so I often ended up disturbing the Emperor’s peace and quiet. After I pissed him off
one too many times, I figured it was better to just stay down here.”

“How long have you been here?” Mo Ran asked.

Gouchen looked thoughtful. “Not too long. A few hundred years.”

“A few hundred years,” Mo Ran repeated, and then laughed drily. “Doesn’t the Exalted God think
that’s a bit long?”

Gouchen’s expression was placid. “It’s not too long. Besides, forging a sword for the Heavenly
Emperor used up much of my spiritual power and the abundantly opulent heavenly realm gets
rather boring; it’s much better here.”

sour grapes much, buddy?

Despite his curiosity, Mo Ran decided it wasn’t his place to pry into the personal matters of the
legendary god of weapons and he had more pressing matters at hand besides. “Exalted Elder,” he
said,
“you didn’t come out to see me today just because you thought my soul was special, right?”

“Why not? Your spiritual power is rare.” Gouchen smiled. “I worry that if I give you this blade, it
would be wasted potential.”

“It’s not too bad,” Mo Ran replied. “It seems like it would suit me.”

“That’s what I thought at first, too,” Gouchen continued pleasantly. “But then I found that it isn’t
the case. I’m curious about your rare talent, so I want to invite you to the bottom of the lake for a
chat. We’ll see which among those millions of blades would be best suited for you.”

Even compared to the many experiences of the Evil Overlord’s previous life, Mo Ran found
himself in an unexpected situation. He choked at the thought that the god of weapons was inviting
him to pick his own, and Gouchen the Exalted took his silence for fearful reluctance.

“There’s no need for you to worry,” he said. “Even though there are many monsters under the
water, they all answer to me. I guarantee they will not harm you. Wangyue can testify to it.”

The old dragon said nothing, slowly bowing, and Mo Ran realized that he had received a genuine
invitation. He felt a jolt in his heart. “Would the Exalted God grant me a request?”

“What kind of request?”

“The person who sought a weapon before me is a close friend of mine.” Mo Ran pointed to the
shores beyond the barrier. “He was denied just now, so I’m thinking, if I grant the Exalted God’s
wish, then can the Exalted God grant my wish as well and give him a weapon?”

Gouchen laughed. “It would be easy.” He flicked a hand, and the ancient barrier covering the sky
disappeared. “This is a simple matter. Let all three of them come over, and if any weapon catches
their eyes, it is as good as theirs.”

Mo Ran was delighted by the unexpected solution to his problem, and more excited by the
prospect of Shi Mei receiving a holy weapon than his own potential upgrade. With Gouchen
standing off to the side, Mo Ran waved his comrades over and excitedly relayed what had
happened. However, as Chu Wanning stepped out from behind his disciples, Gouchen blinked as if
recognizing him.

“You?” said the god of weapons.

------

Showing a reaction to even gods or immortals was beneath Chu Wanning. “Does the Exalted God
recognize me?”

what a fucking asshole

Gouchen smiled in a refined manner. “Many years ago, when you came to Jincheng Lake in search
of a weapon, the depth and purity of your spiritual strength was such that I almost couldn’t resist
coming out to see you. Is the weapon to your liking?”

“Which weapon is the Exalted God referring to?”

ok mary sue

“How absentminded of me, to forget that I gave you two,” Gouchen said with a slight smile.

“No matter,” Chu Wanning said. “Heavenly Questions works very well.”

“Heavenly Questions?”

“The willow vine.”

Gouchen was still smiling. “So that’s what you named it. What do you call the other one?”

“Jiu’ge.”

“How is Jiu’ge?”

this seems incredibly rude; even if it weren’t a god, knowing what someone is asking and
making it difficult for them for absolutely no fucking reason – dude is asking how you like
THE GIFTS HE GAVE YOU – is a dick move, fucking hell, you absolute prick, CW

“It has a chilling nature. I rarely use it.”

Gouchen sighed. “What a shame.” He turned to the dragon, having finished speaking with Chu
Wanning. “Wangyue, I’ll be taking them down below. Please head back soon yourself, as it’s not
healthy for you to be up here where the qi is so thin.” The old dragon nodded and dove into the
lake, glittering scales vanishing beneath the water.

Chu Wanning ignored the god to cast water-repelling charms on himself and his three disciples,
inviting admiration from Gouchen the Exalted. The god, having rarely seen such proficiency in his
thousands of years watching cultivators, was impressed and wondered who his teacher was. Chu
Wanning’s attitude of aloofness made even the immortal understand that it would be inappropriate
to pry.

this reads very much like an example of Shilling The Wesley played straight

Armed with Chu Wanning’s charm, the four cultivators were as unhindered under the freezing
waters of Jincheng Lake as they would have been on land. A seemingly boundless underwater
world slowly opened up before them, with plants drifting gently in the currents among rows upon
rows of finely detailed buildings lining intersecting streets of white sand. The streets were full of
myriad monsters and beasts, appearing to coexist in harmony.

“Jincheng Lake’s plentiful qi embodies a kind of paradise,” Gouchen explained. “The creatures
who make their home here stay for generations, and may not behave as one might expect in the
human realm. You’re welcome to look around, if you wish.”

A snow-white rabbit with scarlet eyes rode past on a tiger, punctuating his words. The rabbit was
dressed in white robes, poised and arrogant as it berated the meek, obedient tiger to go faster. The
four cultivators watched, speechless. Countless shops crowded both sides of the main road, while
the street itself was full of creatures. The four cultivators followed Gouchen the Exalted through
the crowd, arriving eventually at the center of the city. Even more demons had gathered there,
strange to their eyes.

“Jincheng Lake rarely has visitors, but you can barter for nearly anything you need here.”

“Legend has it that Jincheng Lake was formed from your blood,” Xue Meng said. “If your qi is
what’s sustaining it, wouldn’t that make you the master of this place?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” Gouchen smiled a little. “Besides, that’s all in the past. My spiritual
strength declined when I left the realm of the gods, and those heaven-and-earth-shattering events
seem almost like a dream now. I’m just a mere swordsmith.”

The lake’s denizens demonstrated the truth of Gouchen’s words, peddling their wares as he walked
past without minding him at all. Mo Ran heard them hawking fish blood buns and Shuairan
Snakeskin leather, squid ink brow filler made with ink spat out by the seller; in another corner, a
headless ghost selling combs and makeup brushed the hair of its own bloody head on its lap with
long, scarlet-painted fingernails. “High quality bone combs,” Mo Ran heard it say.

Xue Meng glanced left and right, eyes wide, and noticed an apothecary staffed by mermaids – its
medicinal herbs were unfamiliar, and he started toward it with the intent of bringing them home to
his mother. He was interrupted by a shrill voice from behind him demanding he make way, and he
looked down to see a tiny pile of rocks scurrying along the street. “Uh,” he said. “Is it a rock spirit
or something?”

“Fuban Bug,” Chu Wanning grunted.

“Pug?”

Chu Wanning shot him a look. “It’s one thing for Mo Ran to not pay attention in class, but you
too?”

While dedicated to the practice of martial arts and always upright and attentive during class, Xue
Meng had no patience for literature or history – everything Chu Wanning had tried to teach them
went in one ear and out the other. His face reddened now, having been caught. Worse, Mo Ran
laughed at him.

“Hey, that’s not fair,” he said. “I totally listened in that lecture.”

Xue Meng decided to call his bluff. “Oh? You explain it, then.”

“Fuban is a type of bug, very greedy by nature. It tries to gather up any and all pretty rocks it sees,
and usually ends up crushed to death under its pile of rocks.” Mo Ran looked expectantly at Chu
Wanning with a grin on his face. “Sir, am I right?”

Chu Wanning nodded. “It’s extinct in the outside world. I didn’t expect to see one here.”

Gouchen laughed. “This one just lucked out. It’s only still alive thanks to the local apothecary.
Watch, here he comes.”

They watched the bug trudge to the steps of the apothecary and yell, “I can’t take it anymore!
Hurry and save me, doctor!”

A turquoise sea dragon quickly emerged; clearly used to the bug, he smiled and poured golden red
liquid medication out of a white porcelain bottle as if it were nothing out of the ordinary. “Good
harvest today, clever one?”

pouring liquid medication through the water is actually the weird thing here

Enjoying its medicinal bath, the bug huffed. “Not bad, not bad,” it said. “If I get another hundred
tomorrow, I’ll have four million eighty five thousand six hundred and seventeen rocks at home.”

Only Shi Mei mustered up any sort of verbal response as the three disciples looked on in shock.
“That’s, uh, quite a hoard,” he mumbled.

The dragon finished administering the medication. “Remember to come earlier tomorrow, or even
this strengthening dew won’t save you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll come earlier,” the bug said, but then a rock in the corner caught its eye. “Hey,
little eel,” it hollered. “I mean, Dr. Dragon, could you put that pretty rock on my back?”

Xue Meng couldn’t resist. “What do you need so many rocks for? Are you building a house?”

“A human?” came the bug’s shrill, conceited voice. “I haven’t seen one of you for so long- hey,
what’s it to you what I want rocks for?”

Shi Mei was too curious not to butt in. “What are they for then?”

“To count!” the bug said, as if it were the obvious answer.

Anyway, after they strolled around briefly, Gouchen guided them to his residence. An enormous
seashell had been erected on the corner of the street, resembling a folding screen, concealing a
large courtyard divided into six sections. Halls and corridors led to side wings and flower gardens,
bead curtains made of pearls and kelp swaying gently in the water. Some rooms were dark while
others were lit with candle light, and graced with faint notes of harp and ocarina.

candles underwater, you say

All the servants in the god’s residence were merfolk, some with dragon tails and others with legs
ending in bare feet. Gouchen waved a hand airily. “I live with my good friend Wangyue,” he said.
“Formerly the crown prince of the eastern seas. He brought these servants when he took up
residence here.”

As the dragon had gifted Mo Ran with his holy weapon in his previous life, he was rather fond of
it. “Where is he, anyway?” he asked with a grin. “He probably assumes a different form down
here, right? Or he wouldn’t fit.”

Gouchen nodded cheerfully. “Of course, but he gets tired easily in his old age. He’s probably
already resting after going above water. You’ll have to wait for him to wake up if you want to see
him.”

A merman with long brown hair floated over and bowed deeply to Gouchen. “Exalted God,” he
said in a soft, graceful voice. “Welcome back. Lord Wangyue has explained everything. Would the
Exalted God like to take the guests to the holy weapon arsenal forthwith?”

Instead of immediately answering, Gouchen looked politely to his guests and nodded when they
gave assent. “Very well,” he said. “Please have the kitchen prepare food and wine. We shall dine
when we return.”

The arsenal was in the deepest section of the estate, reached through a courtyard with a massive
willow tree towering toward the skies. Its trunk was so thick that ten men standing hand to hand
would not have reached around it, bark ancient and twisting. Vines hung from it like an emerald
curtain to the ground.

did we forget again that we are underwater

“How old is this tree?” Xue Meng asked.

“I’m not sure,” Gouchen replied. “At least a hundred thousand years.”

Startled, Xue Meng blurted, “What kind of tree is it, to live that long?”

“Trees naturally live longer than humans, and this one in particular was nourished by the qi of
Jincheng Lake,” Gouchen said repressively. “Please follow me closely. The entrance to the arsenal
is in the tree.” He looked at Xue Meng. “Please don’t touch the branches. It has already cultivated
a spirit and can feel pain.”

Xue Meng had already plucked a leaf. He yelped over the sound of a pained groan drifting faintly
through the air and hurriedly dropped the leaf. “Why is there blood?” he asked.

A small stream of blood trickled down the branch, and the discarded leaf writhed on the ground
until it curled up and withered away. “It’s a spirit,” Gouchen said. “Why would you pluck its
leaves?” He shook his head and examined the wound, soothing the willow and staunching the
bleeding with his qi.
I am just going to stop paying attention to the fact that the author only wants objects to
behave as if they’re underwater when it’s narratively convenient or when it Looks Cool

“Xue Meng,” Chu Wanning said. “Come here and don’t touch anything else.”

“Yes, sir.” Understanding he’d erred, Xue Meng hung his head and obeyed.

The founding god graciously accepted Chu Wanning’s apology, saying only that the young master
had a swift hand. Xue Meng blushed red as he stuck close to his teacher.

Following Gouchen, the cultivators passed through the curtain of lush branches and arrived at the
trunk. The willow seemed even more overwhelming up close than it had from a distance, its trunk
thicker and its leaves greener. A hollow in the trunk formed a huge arched gateway wide enough
for three brawny men to pass through and protected by numerous complex barriers. Gouchen
dispelled them one by one before turning to the cultivators with a smile.

“Please come in,” he said. “Accept my apologies for the arsenal being rather small and messy.”

Curious, Mo Ran tried to follow right on Gouchen’s heels but found himself held back by his
teacher.

“Don’t rush,” Chu Wanning said mildly, slipping in ahead of Mo Ran. It was the same pattern of
behavior that Mo Ran remembered from his previous life – Chu Wanning would take point every
time they sallied forth to suppress demons. Mo Ran had thought then it was borne of arrogance and
a desire not to be outdone by his young disciples, but he thought now that he had been mistaken.
As Chu Wanning’s white robes disappeared into the darkness of the tree, Mo Ran doubted he was
motivated by impatience and arrogance.

idk, Mo Ran, Chu Wanning’s unwillingness to let his disciples learn through experience is
kind of helicopter parent-y and besides, there is zero reason to assume it’s going to be
dangerous in there

------

A long flight of stairs made of smooth, slippery stone led them down through a narrow passage to
a bright light at the end. The Exalted Gouchen’s small and messy arsenal was larger on the inside
than it appeared on the outside, as if it encompassed the heavens above and swallowed the earth
below. It was lined with towering shelves packed with tens of thousands of weapons proudly on
display, so tall that they couldn’t see the ceiling, a vision of boundless grandeur and immense
splendor.

In the center of the arsenal, several unfinished weapons soaked inside a smelting pool and radiated
waves of blistering heat from the red-hot molten metal. The intense, searing heat made them
glisten all the more, radiant and resplendent. Parts soared through the air on their own, tiny
decorative pieces and ornamental jewels colliding with delightful tinkles like so many glittering
fairies

“It’s a little cramped in here,” Gouchen said, smiling.

Mo Ran wondered if calling the god of weapons a motherfucker would be out of line. Gouchen the
Exalted answered their stunned silence by instructing Mo Ran’s fellow disciples to choose
whatever weapon struck their fancy. He took a personal interest in Mo Ran, handing him several
different weapons and then taking them rapidly away.
“I don’t know how to play,” Mo Ran told him, when Gouchen handed him a smooth, glossy zither
scorched black in the back.

“Just give it a strum,” Gouchen said, and Mo Ran tried. The weapon resonated shrilly and
Gouchen snatched it away, giving Mo Ran a jade lute instead.

“Uh,” Mo Ran said, feeling that the lute was a womanly instrument better suited to the girly boys
at Kunlun Taxue Palace, but Gouchen glared at him until he took it and swiped at the strings. They
broke under his aggrieved plucking, and Gouchen’s glare grew harder.

“Do you know what that string is made of?”

“Why, are you going to make me pay for it?” Mo Ran retorted.

“Wushan Goddess’s white hair,” Gouchen muttered. “It’s the spiritual essence of the earth
element, impervious to sword and fire alike. But not to you.”

“Sir! I broke it and can’t afford to buy it!” Mo Ran called in alarm, looking for Chu Wanning.

“Earth is naturally weak to wood,” muttered Gouchen, rubbing the broken end of the string
between his fingers. “Are you suited to a wood elemental weapon? That shouldn’t be.” Gouchen
now glared at Chu Wanning.

“What shouldn’t be?” Chu Wanning asked boredly.

Rather than answer, Gouchen called forth a ceramic ocarina, blowing into it to generate a blood-red
summoning array above them. “Ji Baihua,” he called.

Mo Ran’s head snapped upwards, and his fellow disciples crowded around. The air around
Gouchen’s fingertips swirled with power, spinning the array until it spit out a fox spirit with fluffy,
luxurious tails in a splendid shower of glittering silver. It circled overhead before floating leisurely
down to land in front of Mo Ran. Up close, it could be seen that the pretty fox spirit was male, a
dot of red between slightly lifted peach blossom eyes. Draped in ornate, finely embroidered
garments, he held a golden brocade box in his hands with an air of being somewhat angry but
unreservedly polite.

“Exalted God,” said the fox spirit, and smiled.

“You already know what I called you for?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“What do you think?”

Ji Baihua smiled. “Not bad. Worth a try.”

Mo Ran couldn’t resist. “What are you talking about?” he asked.

“Impatient already?” the fox spirit said with a smile. “You know, I felt your qi before I appeared
and thought for sure you’d be a white-haired old man instead of a handsome young thing.”

“Ji Baihua,” Gouchen said. “Serious matters first.”

“I was just having a bit of fun.” Ji Baihua squinted, fluffy tails swishing. Evoking qi, he floated the
brocade box in his hands over to Mo Ran. “Here, take it.”
Mo Ran examined the brocade box, turning it around in his hands. It was resplendently golden and
shrouded in light, but gave no hints as to what manner of holy weapon was inside. It had no seam
or crack, and its only decoration was a pair of koi fish on its top, holding each other’s tails in their
mouths to form the yin-yang symbol. “How does it open?”

“It’s a secret,” said the fox spirit.

“Are you trying to tell us to leave?” asked Xue Meng.

“That won’t be necessary,” Ji Baihua replied, smiling. “I’ll just borrow him for a minute.” He
waved a hand and they were suddenly alone in a small secret chamber. “Don’t worry, I just
teleported us.”

Mo Ran smiled. “It’s fine. What is it, though, to merit the secret box?”

“I really can’t say,” Ji Baihua said. “Holy weapons have their own temperaments and this one is
secretive. If you offend it, it won’t recognize you as its master even if you do manage to open the
box.”

Mo Ran could only force a smile. “Seriously? Okay, okay, so how do I open the box?”

Ji Baihua quite approved of Mo Ran not pushing boundaries and clapped his hands with a laugh.
“Since you’re so blunt, I’ll just tell you. The box is called Ever-Yearning and can only be opened
when two conditions are met.”

“Which are?”

“As we fox spirits believe in fated love, the only person who can open the box is one who is
extremely important to you, whom you love dearly, and who is wholly devoted to you in return.”

Mo Ran smiled. “I see. Strange, but not too hard.” Shi Mei would definitely be able to open the
box, he thought.

The corners of Ji Baihua’s lips curved faintly. “Oh? The heart of another has been a mystery since
time immemorial. Many have lost sight of their own hearts and not known their own most beloved.
In thousands of years, very few have successfully opened the box.”

“Can’t you just try someone else if the first person can’t open it?”

“The second condition,” the fox said, “is that only one other person may touch Ever-Yearning. If
you choose the wrong person, the box remains forever closed and no one will ever be able to
acquire the item within.”

he clearly implies both that many people have tried and failed to open the box, then explicitly
says that if one person fails the box will never open for anyone else ever, make up your damn
mind

Mo Ran laughed. “No wonder you didn’t want anyone else here; it would be awkward if the others
knew I would be offering the box to my precious beloved.” He paused. “So it’s basically a one-use
lock and the wrong key will disable it for good.”

“Of course you only get one chance to open it. What did you expect?” Ji Baihua glared. “You
mortals are so preoccupied with self-indulgence in your mere few decades of life. Love is not
unlike this Ever-Yearning; you cannot so easily take back a wrong choice.”
“Don’t worry, O Great Immortal Fox. Others might choose wrong, but I’ve got this in the bag.” Mo
Ran bowed to him with a smile. “I won’t squander this yearning.”

I desperately want him to give it to Shi Mei and be Wrong but I suspect Chu Wanning will
touch it By Accident and open it oh look at that what a Shock

“Don’t be so sure about that, young man,” the fox said in a soft, graceful voice. “As I see it, you
don’t actually seem to know your fated person at all.”

Mo Ran’s smile froze on his face. “What do you mean?”

“To yearn unwittingly breaks the willow branch,” said the handsome immortal, self-proclaimed
devotee of fated love.

Not being an educated man, Mo Ran couldn’t follow the sour-tasting scholarly bullshit, but he was
fairly sure the fox was trying to give him a hint. He had no idea what it might be, and was about to
ask the fox for clarification when it smiled faintly and sent him back. The form of the fox froze and
broke into pieces after Mo Ran faded from sight, leaving only a single black chess piece on the
ground. Had Mo Ran seen, events at the bottom of the lake might have gone very differently.

this, on the other hand, is the least subtle foreshadowing that ever did foreshadow

Mo Ran came to inside the holy weapon arsenal, Ever-Yearning still in his hands. Gouchen the
Exalted smiled broadly at his return. “That little fox is really too much. Do you know how to open
it now?”

The moment of truth was upon him. Mo Ran smiled. “Yeah, it’s easy.” He casually walked up to
Shi Mei. “I bet you couldn’t figure this lock out no matter how hard you try, but give it a shot.” He
very casually offered the brilliantly glittering box to Shi Mei. Its golden glow lit up his gentle,
elegant face. Although Mo Ran tried to act nonchalant, his stomach was in knots and his palms
were sweating; he was gambling on his only chance to get a holy weapon, but he knew he was
making a sure bet. Having died once, he surely must know whom he loved – he wasn’t an idiot.

1. clumsy.

Shi Mei hesitated briefly before accepting the box, and Mo Ran’s heart lodged itself in his throat as
nothing happened. Shi Mei examined it carefully, tracing the yin-yang koi fish. “There’s no seam
at all. I can’t find a keyhole, either.”

Mo Ran thought he might vomit, until it occurred to him that the lack of reaction might be due to
Shi Mei’s gloves – perhaps the box had to be touched with bare hands. He was about to ask Shi
Mei to remove them when Chu Wanning abruptly snatched the box. “Sir!” Mo Ran screeched
miserably, sure he had lost his one chance.

Chu Wanning was so startled that he nearly jumped and dropped the box, but his iron will had
suppressed his reflexes so thoroughly that he didn’t even twitch. Xue Meng reacted for him. “What
are you wailing about?” he snapped. “It’s just a box! Why are you yelling like someone stole your
wife?”

“I – I –“ Mo Ran stammered, light-headed with anger and unable to tell them why. He buried his
face in his hands helplessly. “Oh my god.” Of course Chu Wanning isn’t wearing gloves, he
thought, when it’s full of ice and snow and he’s sensitive to the cold and – Mo Ran abruptly
realized that their demon-repelling crabapple flowers were linked to Chu Wanning’s qi through his
palms. Their teacher hadn’t had gloves to begin with, all so he could protect them, and Mo Ran
suddenly felt guilty that none of them had noticed their cold-sensitive teacher suffering and
freezing through the entire journey.

ah yes once again we are beaten over the head with Chu Wanning The Noble And Tragic
Martyr Who Suffers In Silence Because Real Men Don’t Express Their Emotional Needs

Between his pricking conscience and the holy weapon slipping from his grasp, Mo Ran wanted to
cry. No tears fell, only crowded against his heart. Chu Wanning’s fingers brushed against the yin-
yang fish as the pressure mounted, and they came to life. The carved fish swam nimbly around the
box, coming together again to rise above the surface and transform into a pair of handles with two
crisp clicks.

Chu Wanning turned the handles, and Ever-Yearning opened to reveal the radiant golden object
inside. Mo Ran was stunned, and the fox’s words rang in his ears – only his most precious
beloved should have been able to open the box, being loved by him and loving him in return, but
he didn’t see how it could have been opened by his teacher.

Open box or no, Mo Ran was sure it was a mistake – the box must have been broken, he reasoned,
and he was so caught up in his internal outrage that he almost missed Chu Wanning reaching inside
the box to remove the holy weapon. All of them froze simultaneously in shock as a glistening
willow vine dangled from Chu Wanning’s fingers, until Mo Ran finally managed to choke out the
weapon’s name. “Heavenly Questions?”

------

The weapon inside Ever-Yearning was Heavenly Questions, or at least a golden willow vine
identical in every aspect. To yearn unwittingly breaks the willow branch, Mo Ran remembered
numbly. Chu Wanning’s calm veneer finally cracked slightly as he handed the vine to Mo Ran and
then called forth his own weapon. The two were mirror images with no discernable difference. No
one could have anticipated the turn of events, and Mo Ran was stunned and confused.

Everyone’s gaze turned collectively toward Gouchen the Exalted, who was no less surprised. “Two
cultivators alive simultaneously with the spiritual essence of wood?”

“What does that mean?” Xue Meng asked.

“There are five elements in the world, as you all know,” Gouchen explained. “In cultivating a
spiritual core, every person is aligned with one or two of the elements. In each generation, the
person with the most of any given element is its spiritual essence of that generation, and only one
person can have the highest level of an element at a time. The spiritual essence of wood is the
person to whom I gifted the first wood elemental weapon many years ago.” His gaze landed on
Chu Wanning. “When forging the five top-tier holy weapons, I originally planned to make only
one of each element. Everything went as intended for the other four, but the wood elemental holy
weapon broke into two pieces inside the forge. I recognized it as the will of the heavens, and so
made the two halves of the willow vine separately into two weapons. But even so, I was certain
that these two weapons would never find owners at the same time, so I entrusted one to Ji Baihua
and his brocade box, as a precaution against any unscrupulous scheming.”

isn’t that convenient

Gouchen shook his head, but he was interrupted by lustrous red seeping into the golden radiance of
the willow vine in Mo Ran’s hand and changing it into the scarlet of a raging inferno. Without
thinking, Mo Ran blurted out, “What the hell!”
Chu Wanning was too late to shush him, as both he and Gouchen looked at Mo Ran with pity; Mo
Ran abruptly remembered that holy weapons changed colors when recognizing their owners and
requesting a name. The phrase What The Hell inscribed itself in exquisite and powerful calligraphy
on the willow vine’s silver handle.

Mo Ran’s fellow disciples hadn’t known how holy weapons were named, but they were both
capable of drawing the correct conclusions; Xue Meng doubled over with laughter, clutching at his
stomach. “Only you would manage to name your holy weapon What The Hell,” he choked out.

Their amusement didn’t stop Xue Meng from choosing a long sword, while Shi Mei picked a short
flute. Neither weapon changed colors in their hands, apparently not yet willing to submit to their
new masters, but it was of no cause for concern. The group returned to Gouchen’s estate for the
evening, accepting his generous offer to stay the night before leaving.

Gouchen the Exalted spared no effort as host, loading his banquet tables with meat and wine, and
arranging for energetic drumbeats to accompany their merrymaking. Guests and host alike
emerged tipsy and were guided to rooms to rest. The guest rooms were next to the arsenal

Everybody came out a bit tipsy. Afterwards, Gouchen had the chamberlain bring the guests to their
rooms to rest. The guest rooms were adjacent to the holy weapon arsenal. Looking at the massive
tree, Mo Ran thought of the weapon he had just received, and couldn’t help calling it forth to look
it over. To yearn unwittingly breaks the willow branch rang in his mind, and he couldn’t help but
wonder what the fox had known and what it had meant

The alcohol in Mo Ran’s blood muddled his brain, but if the box wasn’t broken he didn’t see how
Chu Wanning could have opened it. He glanced toward his teacher, only to unexpectedly meet his
gaze. Mo Ran’s heart skipped a beat, a faint sweet-sour feeling surging through him. He reflexively
gave his teacher a toothy grin, and the feeling instantly faded into regret. The warm feeling of
peace when he looked at his teacher was inexplicable, given how much he disliked him, and Chu
Wanning was only staring at him impassively.

are we supposed to have sympathy for his obtuseness? I’d be more sympathetic if he thought
that the box was broken or that the fox was lying, but he has accepted that the box is not
broken, thinks the fox is telling the truth, and still doesn’t understand. It’s dumb AF.

Seeing that Mo Ran had called out What The Hell, Chu Wanning summoned Heavenly Questions
and approached his disciple. The other willow vine appeared to have a temper; it crackled with
sparks of scarlet light, some of it splashing onto Xue Meng. Heavenly Questions, in contrast, had
grown used to Chu Wanning and was quite well-behaved despite also being proudly combative. It
brightened gradually into a dazzling brilliance as it saw Chu Wanning did not disapprove, as if
determined to show What The Hell the steady composure expected of an exceptional weapon.

Two holy weapons originally from a single branch, one fresh and inexperienced and the other
seasoned through hundreds of battles. What The Hell flared with the red light of impatient and
excitable youth, while Heavenly Questions coursed with the golden radiance of a proud and
haughty master standing atop a tall peak. Chu Wanning glanced between the vines.

“Mo Ran,” he said.

“Yes, sir?”

“Take up,” he said, and then hesitated. It was embarrassing to say What The Hell out loud. “Take
up your willow vine,” he said finally. “We’ll spar.”
“Please don’t joke like that,” Mo Ran said, his thoughts whirling. “Have mercy, sir.”

“You can have the first three moves,” Chu Wanning said.

“Sir,” Mo Ran protested.

“Ten.” With no further warning, Chu Wanning flicked his wrist over his disciple’s protests and a
flash of dazzling gold cleaved the air between them. Mo Ran’s fear of Heavenly Questions was
deeply embedded into his soul, and he raised What The Hell in a panicked block. The willow vines
split the skies, entwining like a pair of dragons locked in battle, giving off sparks of gold and
scarlet.

Mo Ran hadn’t studied the willow vine, specifically, but he’d watched his teacher’s combat style
for so long that he was able to use his exceptional innate talent to turn his observations into
defense. The two exchanged several dozen blows in the freezing lake water, Mo Ran’s outstanding
performance exceeding Chu Wanning’s expectations despite the master holding back, light
resplendent in their wake.

this is essentially a circlejerk

The willow vines ripped through the once-calm water, stirring it to life and tearing it apart as gold
and scarlet intertwined. Chu Wanning’s gaze was one of praise, but Mo Ran, gasping for breath
and utterly exhausted, didn’t notice. Without preamble, Chu Wanning dismissed his weapon, and
the formerly fierce and unrelenting willow vine became immediately pliant in his palm. Mo Ran
panted, What The Hell crackling with red light in his grip. He collapsed on the snowy ground,
expression aggrieved.

ah, yes, the snowy ground outside the lake, except that you are underwater on the fine white
sand

“Stop bullying me,” he whined.

“I let you have ten moves.”

“How could ten moves possibly be enough? I need more like a hundred! My arms are gonna fall
off, Shi Mei, Shi Mei, rub me down.” Xue Meng cackled mockingly and Shi Mei tried to calm
them both down. Chu Wanning glanced at them quietly, the corners of his mouth seeming to curve
in a faint yet warm smile under the green waters of the freezing lake. The expression was gone as
soon as it had come, and he turned with a hand casually held behind his back as he gazed at the
enormous tree.

oh now we know where we are, do we

Mo Ran’s guest room that night had a soft, clean floor of white sand. The walls were painted
aquamarine, enchanted to gleam softly in the light piercing the deep water. The pearl curtain in
front of the half-open window drifted gently in the evening breeze, and a night-glow pearl lamp on
the table illuminated the room. The seashell shaped bed in the center of the room was lined with
fine, soft satin, and Mo Ran sank into it. He summoned What The Hell again, intending to examine
it, but fell asleep within moments. The willow vine pulsed gently on his chest with dim red light, as
if following him into slumber.

a breeze underwater, you say, apparently I will not let this go

When he awoke, Mo Ran didn’t know where he was or how long he had slept. He felt an icy chill,
followed by a burst of searing pain from his wrist. He clutched at his head and slowly sat up,
seeing a gash on his wrist. It had already scabbed over. Mo Ran glanced around, seeing a dark and
unfamiliar stone room with a ventilation shaft in the ceiling. The cold light of the lake shone
through into the narrow space, barely a few feet wide. Its ash-green stone walls were damp and
glistened faintly with slime in the feeble light.

ah, I see he is underwater, but the walls are only damp, ok then

------

Three of walls around Mo Ran were unadorned stone, and the fourth consisted of red-lit magical
bars. Its only furniture was a crude bed, also made of stone and covered in straw. Mo Ran found
his hands and feet to be shackled, chains clanking with every movement, and his spiritual powers
were suppressed. His mind raced with anxious thoughts, but he could do nothing except lie on the
bed.

A sudden creaking sound heralded the arrival of two merfolk, and Mo Ran growled angrily at
them. “What’s going on? What do you think you’re doing? Where are my friends? Where’s
Gouchen?” The merfolk ignored him entirely until they had placed their burden on the bed. It was
human-shaped, wrapped in red fox fur. “I’m talking to you, you little eels,” Mo Ran said.

“Quit yapping,” one of the merfolk said contemptuously. “You’re a spiritual essence. It won’t be a
bad deal for you.”

“Pretty sweet deal,” the other one sneered.

“The fuck are you talking about?” Mo Ran snapped. “And what’s that?”

“What’s that?” one of the merfolk mimicked. “Your beloved, of course.”

Mo Ran froze in shock. “Shi Mei?”

“The spring of youth is fleeting,” said the other merperson. “Since the two of you are fated, we’ll
give you this single night, and then you’ll find out why the Exalted God went to so much trouble.”

With his hands and feet restrained, Mo Ran couldn’t move. The merfolk exited the room, leaving
silence behind, and despite struggling until his wrists and ankles were bloody he couldn’t break
free. He turned to look at the person on the bed, wrapped in fox fur with only a long strand of dark
hair visible.

he’s going to be shocked to see Chu Wanning, which is Incredibly Annoying

Panic and arousal hammered erratically in his chest, and it occurred to Mo Ran that their
imprisonment would allow him to realize his covetous desire for Shi Mei. His thoughts ground to a
halt, and he couldn’t quite countenance profaning his beloved. His breaths were heavy and stifled
as he stared at the ceiling with the sensation of weight on his chest. Instead of excitement, all he
felt at the prospective realization of his desires was unease.

Mo Ran knew that whatever Gouchen was planning wouldn’t be good – and regardless of what
happened to Mo Ran himself, he couldn’t forgive himself if Shi Mei suffered because of it. Shi Mei
hadn’t consented to any of this, and no matter how terrible of a person Mo Ran was, he needed to
protect the person he loved. He resolved not to take advantage of Shi Mei when his beloved
awoke.

…….how noble of you, doing literally the bare minimum of not committing sexual assault.
Tho tbh this may sadly represent character growth

Mo Ran didn’t know how long it was before the person on the bed beside him shifted, and Mo
Ran’s head whipped around. “Shi-“ he said, but he choked on the second half of the name.
“Wanning?” came out in a strangled croak. The chivalrous conviction he’d felt a moment ago
drained away, his mental fortitude dissipating rapidly. His bold statements to himself about not
taking advantage of others felt like a slap to the face as the blood drained out of his cheeks.

It had finally become blindingly obvious that every inhabitant of Jincheng Lake, up to and
including Gouchen, was utterly misguided to think that he was in love with Chu Wanning. The fox
spirit and the merfolk were laughably blind – unless, he thought, they’d figured out he’d fucked his
teacher in the past and was fixated on doing it again. But, he reasoned in a fit of self-righteous
indignation, physical attraction wasn’t the same as emotional intimacy.

While Mo Ran fumed, Chu Wanning’s phoenix eyes slowly opened. He could almost hear the
gears in his head grinding to a broken halt. The wreckage, composed of foul-smelling black ashes,
was generating a twisted kind of scalding heat. It seemed as though a fire-spitting dragon swept
abruptly through the stillness of the dark night, pouring scorching lava and raging flames out of a
silent abyss. His reason and self-control burned to ash in the roaring blaze.

The Constellation Saint’s usually piercing eyes were hazy with sleep, languid and dazed as if an
external force were suppressing his consciousness. He sat up slowly, the fox fur slipping off his
shoulder to reveal a naked expanse of supple skin. He wore nothing underneath but bruises, love
bites in hues of red and blue, and Mo Ran burned with the entirely new fires of jealousy. No one
was allowed to touch Chu Wanning but him, Chu Wanning belonged to him – Mo Ran was so
overcome with hatred that he didn’t stop to consider that Chu Wanning belonged to nobody but
himself.

and yet you still rant and rave that Oh I’m Not Interested In My Teacher, it’s tiresome

All he could see was his teacher’s familiar firm, well-proportioned body covered with unfamiliar
marks. “Sir,” he said, voice low and hoarse, but Chu Wanning didn’t appear to hear him. Like a
puppet on a string, he leaned over Mo Ran to caress his face. He drew closer, until their lips
touched.

Brilliant, frantic colors exploded before Mo Ran’s eyes – rarely had Chu Wanning ever initiated a
kiss. The agony of jealousy still ate at his heart, but the heat flaring up where his teacher had
touched him was stronger. His chest heaved as they parted, and he opened his eyes to see his
teacher’s face flushed with desire. Mo Ran wanted to reach up and stroke his face in return, but he
was bound in chains and unable to move.

Chu Wanning glanced at his bonds and moved to straddle him. Mo Ran swallowed hard, but
stickiness sliding down his teacher’s thighs caught his attention and he was again enveloped in
rage that someone else had touched Chu Wanning. “Who the fuck did this to you?” he roared. “I’ll
kill him!”

It didn’t matter whether it was Gouchen he Exalted or the Heavenly Emperor himself, a god, a
demon, a ghost, or the fucking Buddha who had defiled Chu Wanning – the Constellation Saint
belonged to the Evil Overlord. Even trapped in his teenage body, he was still the Emperor of the
Mortal Realm and Chu Wanning was his.

“Mo Ran!” he heard distantly, but he was engulfed in flames of rage. He would kill them all –
where was What The Hell? Mo Ran struggled to summon his weapon, the insufferable humiliation
of having his property tainted by another feeding his anger in a vicious cycle. He’d cut out eyes
and fed them to their owners, in his previous life, for the crime of looking covetously upon the
Constellation of the Night Sky. Afterwards, he had always held Chu Wanning down and fucked
him into exhaustion.

“Mo Weiyu!” came the voice again. It was so familiar, but he couldn’t place it through the fires
cascading across his mind. It was as though he’d heard it over and over, as if it had kept him
company for years. “Mo Weiyu, wake up! Have you lost your mind? What do you think you’re
doing?”

Mo Ran’s eyes flew open. Pristine white robes and a pair of sharp eyes registered, and then it
snapped together to show him his teacher standing outside with an expression of worry. “Sir?” Mo
Ran stammered, and the blood drained out of his cheeks. If his teacher was standing outside the
cell, then who was on the bed?

Mo Ran’s head whipped around to see a human corpse with the face of a fox, empty eyes and pallid
skin without a hint of life. It was pressed against him. He nearly retched, realizing he’d kissed a
corpse while in the throes of an illusion. “What’s happening?” he choked out.

as I recall it was straddling you and we never established that it stopped doing that but ok

Chu Wanning held up a cursed talisman between two fingers. As the dead fox demon was no
longer moving, Mo Ran guessed his teacher had used a spell to remove it from the corpse in the
nick of time. A stream of dark red blood bubbled from the talisman as it was touched with qi, the
paper shrieking as it burned to ash. Chu Wanning opened his hand, and the black ash gathered into
a chess piece. “It’s the Zhenlong Chess Formation,” he murmured, and then pinned Mo Ran with a
harsh gaze. “What food does Shi Mei make for you when you’re sick?”

“Uh,” Mo Ran said. His mind had gone utterly blank. “What? Why?”

“Just say it,” Chu Wanning snapped.

“Wontons?” Mo Ran said hesitantly, and saw his teacher’s expression ease slightly.

“Mo Ran, I want you to pay attention. Gouchen is not Gouchen. He’s an imposter, adept at
illusions, and knows the forbidden Zhenlong Chess Formation.” He paused. “It’s why I had to be
sure that you were you.”

“Why would I be tied up if I were an illusion,” Mo Ran felt compelled to point out, indignant.

“Oh, right.” Chu Wanning regarded him. “Let me get you out of there.”

“Sir, sir,” Mo Ran said. “What about Shi Mei and Xue Meng?”

“They’ve also been locked up, after succumbing to the drugged wine.” At Mo Ran’s expression,
Chu Wanning added, “No need to worry. They’re fine and waiting outside, since I didn’t know
what to expect in here. You’ll see each other in a minute.”

No further explanation of the Zhenlong Chess Formation or forbidden techniques appeared to be

forthcoming, but Mo Ran didn’t need it. He knew that it was one of three powerful, notorious
forbidden techniques of the cultivation world, one which used others as chess pieces to be
maneuvered at will. The cultivator using it wouldn’t appear on the battlefield at all, instead
manipulating his chess pieces from the shadows. The technique could be used to control everything
from living people to the ghosts of the dead, beasts on land or birds in the skies. The living puppet
would be loyal unto death, and the dead would obey until torn limb from limb.
The one limitation of the Zhenlong Chess Technique was the spiritual strength of the cultivator
using it – those newly dead were easiest to control, followed by the ancient dead. Live beasts were
harder, and control of the living was the most difficult. Very few people had the capability to carry
out the highest tier of the technique, but the Evil Overlord had been one of them.

The year the Emperor had faced off against his former teacher in a death match, he’d laid down a
scroll a hundred feet long. It had been a chessboard of splashed ink holding an army of hundreds of
thousands of chess pieces. Winged beasts had blotted out the golden sun and dragons had burst out
of the raging seas. Armies of countless living people had been his to control, leavened by endless
beasts of land and sky. It would have been a rare sight even in hell.

The fox corpse, Mo Ran could see now, had been controlled by the forbidden technique with an
overlay of illusion. It was, Chu Wanning explained as he easily freed Mo Ran, a piece of fur from
the Qingqiu fox clan’s earliest ancestor – divided into forty-nine pieces of varying size, it had been
made into magical artifacts. One of its properties was that if one dripped a person’s blood on the
fur before wrapping the fur around an object, that object would take on the appearance of the
person’s heart’s desire. Only the person whose blood touched the fur would see the illusion;
anyone else would see the truth.

Once the explanation had wound down, Mo Ran still had one question. “Sir,” he asked. “How did
you know Gouchen was a fake?”

------

“The real Gouchen wouldn’t use dead things,” Chu Wanning replied. “And his powers, while
strong, are nowhere near those of a god.”

Mo Ran didn’t feel he had received enough of an explanation. “So when you saw the dead fox, you
knew?” he asked.

“No.”

“Then when?”

“Do you remember what Gouchen asked me when he first showed up?”

Mo Ran thought about it. “When he asked about your weapons?”

“Correct,” Chu Wanning said. “I’ve never hidden their auras. He should have immediately known
that I had two holy weapons from Jincheng Lake. But since the matter at hand was acquiring
weapons, it seemed prudent to keep a close eye on him and foil his plans at the first opportunity
instead.”

“But,” Mo Ran said. “If he’s not Gouchen, how did he create the holy weapons?”

“That’s just a rumor,” Chu Wanning told him. “No one knows why all these weapons are in the
lake, and that Gouchen created them is only one possible explanation. Second, this person also
allowed you all to choose whatever you wanted, and may not have had the right to do that. And
third, Xue Meng and Shi Mei both got fake weapons.”

“Fake?” Mo Ran said, alarmed.

“Uh huh.”

“Wait,” Mo Ran said. “But What The Hell is-“

“What The Hell is real,” Chu Wanning said. “But his goal wasn’t just giving you a weapon.”

“First he locks us up and then he sets up something sickening like this.” Mo Ran glared at the fox
corpse, disgusted. “What does he want?”

“You.”

“Huh?”

“You were half right. He’s not trying to trap us, just you.”

“What does he want with me? I’m just some dumbass.”

Chu Wanning glared at him. “I’ve never met a dumbass who could cultivate a spiritual core inside
a year.”

Mo Ran opened his mouth to argue, but realizing that his teacher had just praised him slammed his
thought process to a halt and sped up his heart. He slowly blinked, mouth still agape, and felt
himself blush. His teacher was paying no attention to him at all, muttering under his breath.

“Heavenly Questions and What The Hell are linked to that willow tree; I’ve read about it in ancient
texts. Gouchen the Exalted brought three willow branches from the imperial court with him when
he descended to the mortal realm, but the texts were incomplete. I don’t know what he did with
them.” He paused. “If the rumors are true, Heavenly Questions, What The Hell, and the tree in the
courtyard could be those three branches.”

“I don’t see what I have to do with it,” Mo Ran said.

“How could it not?” Chu Wanning said. “You awakened What The Hell.”

Mo Ran sighed. “See why I said what the hell.”

“Whatever he wants probably has something to do with the willow tree, but that’s all I can infer
from the information we have.”

Mo Ran felt that the entire story was pure speculation, but that Chu Wanning was clever enough to
guess the truth. He followed his teacher along the gloomy underwater dungeon paths until they
reached an exit, taking advantage of the element of surprise, and escaped.

The tunnel took them to the courtyard with the giant willow. Mo Ran emerged, blinking, and
stiffened in surprise. Four coffins had been placed in front of the tree, three of them already holding
Chu Wanning, Xue Meng, and Shi Mei. “The fuck is this?” Mo Ran yelled.

“Corpse-sacrificing coffins,” Chu Wanning said. “See the vines wrapped around the edges? Linked
to the willow? They’re used to transfer the victim’s cultivation into the willow, like extracting
blood.” He paused at Mo Ran’s expression. “Don’t worry, they’re fine. I pretended to be
unconscious from the drugs as well and dispatched the merfolk guarding the coffins. These are
their bodies.”

Mo Ran couldn’t help but wonder exactly how much cultivation the merfolk had; Chu Wanning
would have had to have dispatched all of them with a single blow, without making a sound, for
them not to sound an alarm. It had been so long since he’d last fought on an equal footing with Chu
Wanning that he’d forgotten how impressive his teacher was. Chu Wanning was a figure of storm
and hail, shaking sky and earth, eyes shining bright like Mercury.
“What?” Chu Wanning asked.

Mo Ran jolted back to awareness. “Nothing. I, uh, I was just wondering how you got the guards to
look like this.”

Chu Wanning smiled coldly. “Simple illusion. It’s not too difficult for the false Gouchen, so it’s
definitely within my capabilities. Leave them here to cover our escape, and we’ll give him a taste
of his own medicine.”

It was too dangerous to take more than a short rest before continuing to the meeting place Chu
Wanning had arranged with his other two disciples, but it was empty when they arrived. Mo Ran’s
face paled. “Where’s Shi Mei?”

Chu Wanning lifted his ring finger, and it glowed golden. The crabapple flowers he’d tucked in his
disciples’ sashes at the base of Dawning Peak could be used to track them. After a moment, he
cursed under his breath and the light went out. “Something unexpected must have happened here. I
suspect they left the area to avoid merfolk patrols, and may have gone toward the market.”

Using their incredible skill, the two cultivators easily avoided the merfolk patrols. They flipped
over the tall courtyard walls and rushed toward the market in the center of the city. While most
places underwater would have no discernable night and day, Jincheng Lake was so clear that the
rising of the sun and setting of the moon was clearly visible. When they reached the market, the
sun was rising in the east.

The morning market was beginning to rouse in the distance, the bustling city center filling with
people. Mo Ran released the breath he’d been subconsciously holding; if the market looked
normal, then his friends were safe. Chu Wanning looked less relieved, and pulled Mo Ran toward
himself.

“Sir?” Mo Ran said.

“Come here.”

“Why?”

“Stay close.” Chu Wanning’s voice held an odd note. “I’ve lost the other two. I’m afraid that if-“

Mo Ran snuck a look at his teacher’s pale face, and realized he was worried for him. It was such a
surprise that it took him a moment to try to comfort Chu Wanning. “I won’t get lost,” he said.
“Come on, let’s go look.” He took Chu Wanning’s hand and started walking toward the market,
feeling his teacher’s fingertips seem to tremble for a split second. Preoccupied with Shi Mei, he
immediately decided he was mistaken.

I think we are supposed to see this minor breakdown of Chu Wanning’s self-control as an
indicator of How Strong his feelings are for Mo Ran but it just reads as out of character,
given the much worse shit he has endured without so much as twitching. Some of which also
involved danger to Mo Ran. Mo Ran’s continuous refusal to see what is right in front of his
face, on the other hand, is in character but steadily more irritating every time it happens

The lake’s denizens peddled their wares as they walked past without minding them at all. Mo Ran
heard them hawking fish blood buns and Shuairan Snakeskin leather and squid ink brow filler
made with ink spat out by the seller. He pulled Chu Wanning along with a silly smile on his face
until he realized what was wrong with the scene in front of him. Looking toward another corner, he
saw exactly what he expected to see – a headless ghost selling combs and makeup brushed the hair
of its own bloody head on its lap with long, scarlet-painted fingernails. “High quality bone combs,”
Mo Ran heard it say.

The words and actions of every person on the street was identical to what it had been the day
before and Mo Ran recoiled. He crashed right into Chu Wanning’s chest. “Sir,” he asked hoarsely.
“What is this? An illusion?”

Chu Wanning was looking around as if his own suspicions had been confirmed, and he gripped Mo
Ran tightly. He shook his head. “Mo Ran,” he said slowly. “Did you consider the many different
beasts and creatures of Jincheng Lake? Some of them must have seen the real Gouchen. They
should have recognized the fake.”

The color drained from Mo Ran’s face. “You’re right,” he said, afraid again.

“So,” Chu Wanning said. “If you were pretending to be Gouchen the Exalted, hiding out in
Jincheng Lake, how would you make everyone else say what you want them to say, do what you
want them to do, listen to your every word, and put on an act for you?”

Mo Ran understood immediately – the imposter had used Zhenlong Chess Formation, a technique
he understood better than anyone. He nearly said it aloud, but stopped himself before he could let
Chu Wanning hear a teenager’s mind go straight to a forbidden technique. “That would be very
difficult,” he said instead.

“No,” Chu Wanning said. “it’s very easy.” He paused. “You just need them all to be dead.”

------

The same bug as before screamed in a shrill voice before Mo Ran could respond, trudging to the
apothecary with its heavy pile of rocks and screaming for help in the same words. Instead of the
turquoise dragon, however, a white-haired merman emerged. His tail glittered a resplendent gold, a
contrast to the simple clips holding back his hair. His wrinkled face was well-proportioned, and his
glowing golden eyes were tranquil. Mo Ran thought he must have been handsome in his prime, and
he glanced toward Mo Ran before bending over the bug.

again we dip into the well of pretty=good

The merman removed the rocks one by one. As the last rock slipped free, the illusion shattered.
The bug exploded, blood diffusing into the water, mirrored almost instantly by the rest of the
crowd in the market. Their bodies dropped bonelessly and split apart, saturating the lake water with
a miasma of blood. It thickened until the two cultivators were surrounded as if with crimson fog,
unable to see their hands in front of their faces.

“Mo Ran,” Chu Wanning said.

“I’m here, sir, don’t worry,” Mo Ran replied. He’d figured out by now that Chu Wanning was less
a man of few words and more a man who was terrible with them.

“Be careful,” his teacher said, and Mo Ran could hear the concern in his voice. It was a rare
moment of warmth from Chu Wanning. He gripped his teacher’s hand more tightly. Standing back
to back, Mo Ran felt Chu Wanning’s heartbeat and breathing and knew the other felt the same.
Heavenly Questions appeared in Chu Wanning’s hand, and Mo Ran summoned What The Hell a
breath later.

“Sir, look!” Mo Ran called. Chu Wanning followed his disciple’s gaze toward the apothecary,
where several dozen bright white spots of light had appeared on the ground. The pair approached to
see that the bug’s rocks were the source of the lights. They had been arranged into three neat rows,
each giving off a gentle radiance. A figure slowly materialized before the rocks, becoming the
white-haired merman.

“Who are you?” Mo Ran asked, but the merman only glanced between them before wordlessly
lifting a hand to point at the rocks on the ground. “You want us to pick up the rocks?” Mo Ran
asked, garnering a nod and a single raised finger from the merman. “Only one?” Mo Ran guessed,
but the merman shook his head before pointing at him with his raised finger and then at Chu
Wanning. “We each pick one,” Mo Ran concluded. The merman nodded vigorously and speared
them with a fixed stare. “Should we do as he says, sir?”

“It’s not like we have any other options,” Chu Wanning said, and both of them chose a stone. As
soon as their fingertips touched the rocks, a multitude of distorted colors flashed and the world
spun around them. When it settled, the red fog had vanished and they stood in the center of the
holy weapon arsenal.

“Sir!” came Xue Meng’s voice, followed by Shi Mei calling out.

“Sir! Ran!”

Both of Chu Wanning’s other disciples rushed toward them, and Mo Ran felt his teacher’s grip on
his hand tighten. The teleportation spell in the rock had been unexpected, and he glanced sideways
to see Chu Wanning looking green, hand pressed to his forehead as he clung to his student.

Chu Wanning treasured the rare opportunity to express closeness to his student, rather than
watching their friendly relationship from afar, but Mo Ran’s exclamation of “Shi Mei!” reminded
him that the warmth he was currently savoring meant less to his student than a worn-out pair of
shoes – if he even noticed it at all. Mo Ran slipped his hand out of Chu Wanning’s grasp the
moment he saw Shi Mei, and Chu Wanning barely managed not to snatch it back. He had no
excuse for it, though, no courage to admit to being in love. His pride was all he had.

Watching Mo Ran smile so easily at Shi Me, hug him casually and gently stroke his hair, Chu
Wanning’s hand fell back to his side. His impassive expression betrayed no hint of the
embarrassment or awkwardness he felt. He wondered if the coldness in his chest was a side effect
of his age interacting with the teleportation array, but the warmth in his fingertips still lingered. He
straightened slowly, holding onto the sensation, and arranged himself to be tidy and proper.

“Are you feeling ok, sir?” Xue Meng asked. “Your face is so pale.”

“I’m fine,” Chu Wanning answered. “Did the merman teleport you here as well?”

Any answer Xue Meng might have given was interrupted by a burst of bubbling sounds from the
smelting pool, and Chu Wanning turned to see half a bloody face attached to a disfigured person
emerge with a splash. The figure was raw and burnt all over, but clearly no mortal – or at least not
alive in the traditional sense – for clearly it still drew breath. Chains shackled his four limbs,
holding him inside the pool to suffer. He opened his eyes and bowed repeatedly to the group of
cultivators, clearly begging them to approach.

The burned figure didn’t seem to be able to speak, but waved arms with bloody flesh barely
clinging to bone. A small wave surged forth from the molten pool to form several rows of ancient
script in the air. None of the disciples could read it.

“It’s ancient Cangjie script,” Chu Wanning explained. “I haven’t taught you how to read it yet.”
“So what does it say?” Xue Meng asked.

“He’s asking for help,” Chu Wanning said, after spending a few minutes carefully studying the
writing. The writing of the heavenly realm was nearly a lost art in the human world, and even an
accomplished master such as Chu Wanning couldn’t read it fluently. He could at least understand
the gist. “He says he’s the spirit of the willow tree, named Heart-Pluck Willow. Gouchen brought
him here from the seventh heaven of the realm of the gods when he was just a sapling, and then
abandoned him. Heart-Pluck Willow hasn’t seen him since, and doesn’t even know if he’s still
alive. But Heart-Pluck Willow was nourished by the qi here and followed his instructions,
protecting the lake and guarding the arsenal until he cultivated into human form. And then…” Chu
Wanning paused.

“What’s wrong?” Mo Ran asked.

“I don’t recognize these three characters. They might be a name.” Chu Wanning pointed at the
complex, twisting characters. “This person came to the lake. He was powerful and cruel. He
slaughtered everything in the lake, and controlled their bodies with Zhenlong Chess Formation.
The tree was no exception.”

“The false Gouchen!” Mo Ran exclaimed. The willow spirit’s eyes flickered and he nodded twice.
“Hey, I was right!” Mo Ran grinned and rubbed the back of his head. “Guess I’m pretty clever after
all.”

Chu Wanning gave him a mild glance and continued reading. “In the years since then, Heart-Pluck
Willow has been unconscious, without even half a day of clarity. Fortunately, the other two
branches once connected with it in body and spirit have both awakened.” Chu Wanning indicated
Heavenly Questions and What The Hell. “Heart-Pluck Willow was able to borrow their strength
and awaken, or it would have lost control and hurt us all.”

The willow spirit’s audience was both incredulous and apprehensive at those words, and the three
disciples simultaneously turned their heads to stare at it.

“Senior Willow,” Mo Ran started.

“Really?” Xue Meng hissed.

“You want me to call him Senior Pluck?” Mo Ran hissed back. “I don’t think you’ll like hearing
this, but, uh, there seem to be some holes in your story.” The willow spirit, while unable to speak,
was still able to understand spoken words and turned to face Mo Ran. “You said you were under
the false Gouchen’s control, but woke up again because of Heavenly Questions and What The
Hell. But the false Gouchen gave me What The Hell to begin with, why didn’t he see that
coming?”

Heart-Pluck Willow shook his head, and the characters in front of Chu Wanning changed.

“Because I am of the Realm of the Gods, he knows little about me,” Chu Wanning read. “He was
unaware that the holy weapons could affect my consciousness. In his pursuit of the three forbidden
techniques, he needs to draw upon my power, but my lifespan is coming to its end, and he has been
frantically looking for a way to extend my life. But I do not wish to continue living. I would rather
die than help this villain, but I have no will of my own.”

Chu Wanning paused.

“That must be why he brought Mo Ran here. Mo Ran is a wood elemental spiritual essence, and
the false Gouchen must be planning to combine his spiritual power with that of What The Hell to
offer it as sacrifice to you.”

Heart-Pluck Willow nodded, but Mo Ran still didn’t quite understand. “But the false Gouchen said
there are two wood elemental spiritual essences so why did he only lock me up?”

Heart-Pluck Willow wrote, “Younger sacrificial offerings have always been better, and even more
care must be taken when making an offering to a tree spirit. The offering must be sated in appetite
and desire, satisfied in every need, and their life must be taken as they are immersed in a euphoric
illusion. Otherwise, the offering would have remaining regrets, and the resentful energy would
accelerate my withering instead.”

Mo Ran felt that was a solid explanation of the fox spirit, an emotional fattening of a pig before the
slaughter. It also explained, he thought, why he’d seen Chu Wanning and not Shi Mei – defiling
his beloved would have led to regrets.

Chu Wanning, seeing Mo Ran’s strange expression, thought he was still uneasy, and was moved to
comfort him. “What are you thinking about?” he asked.

“N-nothing.” Mo Ran’s face started turning red.

Chu Wanning stared blankly for a second before comprehension dawned on him and he
immediately closed his mouth. It took him a moment to turn away in a fit of embarrassed rage for
not having realized that Mo Ran must have been thinking of his desires – perhaps even
daydreaming about them. He flung back his sleeves in indignant anger. “Shameless,” he muttered,
face frigid.

Mo Ran thought it was lucky that Chu Wanning hadn’t been able to see whose face the dead fox
had worn, or he would have been skinned alive. His musings were interrupted by the ground
beneath their feet suddenly starting to shake.

It was Xue Meng who shouted the loudest. “What’s happening?”

------

Heart-Pluck Willow did not get a chance to respond before his expression twisted and he clutched
his head in pain, mouth open in a soundless scream. His lips twisted around the words save me and
Mo Ran could all but hear the screams the willow spirit couldn’t utter. It struggled in agony as a
black fog surged out from the smelting pool to envelop the body trapped inside, and the chains
holding it down rattled until sparks flew.

Chu Wanning moved rapidly to protect his disciples. “How can I save you?” he snapped. The
willow spirit moved slowly, but the molten metal still swirled into rows of the ancient Cangjie
script. “I am about to lose control and attack you,” Chu Wanning read. “I don’t want to, but it is
out of my control. There are three techniques I will use against you. Sweetest Dream, a nightmare
technique, puts the afflicted to sleep and traps them with their heart’s desire – even those with
strong enough spiritual power to recognize the illusion would choose not to waken. Temptation of
the Heart uses a person’s heart’s desire to induce the afflicted to slaughter one another. The final
technique, Heart Pluck –“ Chu Wanning broke off as the molten metal lost its form.

The willow spirit struggled, blood spraying outward. It dragged a finger through the miasma, eyes
fixed on Chu Wanning.

“Sir!” Xue Meng pulled his teacher back. “It might be a trap!”
The willow spirit held up the lone finger, tears welling up in its eyes.

“You want me to approach?”

Heart-Pluck Willow nodded slowly. Despite Xue Meng’s exhortations, Chu Wanning shook him
off and extended a hand to the willow spirit. Heart-Pluck Willow made as if to bow, deep gratitude
written on his ravaged face. He wrote shakily on Chu Wanning’s palm, each motion soaked in
agony. Draw your lots. Break the nightmare. Do not lose sight of your heart. Once the nightmare
is broken, the trial ends!

The last character was barely complete when the willow spirit crumpled bonelessly into the
smelting pool and disappeared from view. A wave of scarlet rose from the pool, molten metal
surging into the sky as nine dragon-shaped pillars of flame roared up from the ground. Chu
Wanning was forced to retreat, the fire reflecting in his eyes.

you. Are. Under. Water.

Four tokens appeared from the fiery pillars and hung in mid-air. Shi Mei, remembering Heart-
Pluck Willow’s words drew an immediate conclusion. “Those are the tokens for drawing lots.”

Chu Wanning stopped his disciple from touching the tokens. “All of you get behind me.”

“Sir,” Shi Mei started.

“I’m here,” Chu Wanning said. “I’ll protect you. Let me take point.”

Mo Ran’s heart quivered, even though his teacher’s voice had been mild. The Chu Wanning before
him overlapped before his eyes with the heartless teacher from his previous life who had watched
his own disciple die. How, Mo Ran thought, could he stand here and speak those words when he’d
done nothing to help Shi Mei? Mo Ra suddenly had the impression that he’d never understood his
teacher.

Chu Wanning ignored his disciples, pulling one of the tokens out of the air. It was made of light
yellow jade, and Chu Wanning examined it closely. “There’s nothing on it,” he said in response to
Xue Meng asking what was wrong.

under. water.

“What?” Xue Meng said, puzzled. “Let me try.”

Each of them picked a token – Xue Meng and Shi Mei also found yellow jade tokens, blank on
both sides. Mo Ran’s had writing on the back, but he couldn’t read all of it. “Uh,” he said. “It says
blass.”

Xue Meng shuffled over. “It does not. You just read the half you can actually read.”

“Blood hourglass,” Chu Wanning corrected. Mo Ran wasn’t about to doubt him, after watching his
teacher read the ancient script for several minutes without a noticeable error.

“What’s that mean?” he asked.

Chu Wanning shook his head. “No idea.”

The arsenal’s towering roof shuddered and disgorged a massive copper hourglass mottled with
rust. It had a cross mounted on it, the purpose of which Mo Ran couldn’t decipher. Chu Wanning
looked between the token and the hourglass and a flash of enlightenment lit his eyes. “Throw the
token away!” he snapped.

His tone left no room for argument. Mo Ran moved to obey without conscious thought, but the
jade token was stuck fast to his hand. Chu Wanning cursed under his breath and tried to pry it off,
but dozens of thorny vines burst out of the hourglass and headed straight for Mo Ran.

“Move!” Chu Wanning snarled.

“Sir!” Mo Ran gasped.

The Constellation Saint had managed to shove Mo Ran aside, but the thorns pierced him like so
many arrows and sent blood spattering all over. Mo Ran’s teenage body didn’t have the strength to
withstand his teacher’s push, and stumbled backwards to fall on the ground. The sound of tearing
flesh was somehow louder than his fellow disciples’ shrill screams, and Mo Ran couldn’t
countenance that the man who beat him, scolded him, and never looked at him kindly had shielded
him with his own body. How could Chu Wanning have watched his own disciple die, have
repeatedly told Mo Ran that he was deficient by nature and beyond remedy, and yet still allow
himself to be impaled from back to front by sharp, densely packed vines?

The old wound from the ghost mistress’s claws had been ripped open again, and Mo Ran was
forcibly reminded of his teacher protecting him in the coffin. Other memories followed – Chu
Wanning secretly shielding disciples from the rain, and clumsily making wontons after Shi Mei’s
first untimely death. Chu Wanning was ill-tempered and ill-spoken, afraid of bitter medication and
unable to handle spicy food, and Mo Ran didn’t know if he hated or pitied him more.

“Sir!” Mo Ran screamed and scrambled toward him.

Chu Wanning’s hand trembled as he lifted his blank token slowly and extended it toward Mo Ran.
“Trade with me,” he said, eyes bright and resolute beneath a layer of wetness. “Hurry!”

Mo Ran half-crawled to Chu Wanning only to stare helplessly at the horrifying wound. “Sir, no,”
he said.

“Sir!” Xue Meng and Shi Mei crowded closer as well and Chu Wanning erected a barrier with a
flourish to keep them away.

“Heavenly Questions!” he called harshly. The willow vine appeared to slice through the dozens of
vines, but Chu Wanning could feel them devouring his qi even after they’d been severed. He
steeled himself and grabbed the broken ends, barely hesitating before ripping them out. Blood
poured from the wounds and he let the vine fragments go to tap his meridians and stanch the flow
temporarily. He glared at Mo Ran. “Give it to me,” he grated.

“Sir,” Mo Ran protested.

“Trade!” Chu Wanning roared harshly.

Mo Ran knew now what was meant by Blood Hourglass; Gouchen’s curse was the same torture
he’d inflicted on his teacher in his previous life. It was the most commonly devised punishment
when aiming for cruelty – drain the victim’s blood into the hourglass in place of sand or water to
keep time. The time to be measured ended when the blood ran dry, much as the Evil Overlord had
done at his coronation by watching his blood drip out bit by bit. Now, with Chu Wanning staring
down Gouchen’s blood hourglass, he saw his teacher willing to place himself willingly on the cross
in his place.
Mo Ran’s heart felt as if it were beating out of time. The copper hourglass brandished its thorny
vines in preparation for a second strike, and Chu Wanning stared at him with a trembling gaze.
Face pale with pain, he panted softly. “Mo Ran,” he said. “Give me your token. Hurry.” His face
was pale as fresh snow under moonlight. “Do you want me to block the next attack as well?”

“Sir!”

The vines lanced outward just as Mo Ran finally raised his token and Chu Wanning reached for it.
Mo Ran’s eyes flashed as he pulled his hand back and turned to shield Chu Wanning behind
himself. He met the second wave of vines head on. They enveloped him and dragged him to the
copper hour glass, coiling around his limbs and pinning them tightly to the cross. Mo Ran dragged
his head to look at his teacher, lips opening and closing around barely audible words.

Chu Wanning heard him clearly. “Sir,” Mo Ran was saying. “I’m not beyond remedy.” Please
don’t give up on me. It didn’t matter whether he finished the sentence; he hadn’t said them in his
previous life, and it was too late in this one as well. Mo Ran didn’t want to owe him anything,
couldn’t figure out what he felt toward his teacher and didn’t want to get any more confused than
he already was.

The rapid shifts in point of view are not well executed

Mo Ran knew he loved Shi Mei and no other and that he didn’t want to exchange tokens with his
teacher only because he didn’t want to owe him a favor. His heart wasn’t made of stone, and he
didn’t want to watch his teacher bleed out again. He was happiest when receiving kindness – a
small gesture of affection would leave him with a smile brighter than the spring, but great acts left
him willing to die without complaint in return.

The dense vines spat out a glistening sword – undoubtedly a holy weapon, it carried an
overwhelming aura of valor despite its age. A pair of rings flanked its hilt, and the pommel was
etched with thorned patterns in the shape of a bull-headed dragon. Its slender blade coursed with
azure radiance that gave off the air of slicing through the softest hair to the toughest metal.

Mo Ran barely had time to see Gouchen’s name written on the sword before the sword of the God
of Weaponry stabbed directly into his chest. Blood gushed into the hourglass and a curtain of water
poured into the arsenal. Its torrential deluge separated Mo Ran from everyone else, blocking their
view of him.

in the middle of a laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaake, I haven’t forgotten they’re underwater but

you have

“Ran! Ran!” Shi Mei shouted, while Chu Wanning tried repeatedly to break through the water. He
failed over and over, until he was soaked through. His dark eyes dominated a colorless face as he
called Mo Ran’s name in a hoarse, shaking voice. Shi Mei flinched at the sound, turning to see his
usually calm and collected teacher soaked and disheveled with worry written plainly on his face.
Chu Wanning summoned Heavenly Questions, savagery writ across his face, and Shi Mei grasped
at him in unease. “Sir, stop, there’s no way to get through!”

Chu Wanning shook him off and raised a barrier to break through the waterfall, but it was infused
with the qi of Jincheng Lake. Chu Wanning not only couldn’t break through, but the water beat
down on him as if composed of arrows cutting and piercing his body. Chu Wanning staggered,
weakened from his already-grave injuries, and clutched his chest. He dropped to one knee, face
pale as the wounds on his back tore open and bled.

clotted that fast did they, wounds that impaled him all the way through from front to back
“Sir,” Shi Mei sobbed, and the wetness on his face could have been water or tears. “Why?”

“What do you mean, why,” Chu Wanning spat. “Do you think I wouldn’t do this for you or Xue
Meng?”

I feel that they are both focusing on something inconsequential just so the narrative can point
out Chu Wanning’s Feelings and like, not only is it badly written wangsty melodrama, it feels
forced

A sword flashed unexpectedly from behind the waterfall, effortlessly parting the torrential
downpour as if slicing tofu. Its energy was immense as it drove toward Shi Mei’s heart, and Chu
Wanning used the last of his qi to erect a barrier around his disciple. He coughed out a mouthful of
blood from the overexertion.

I’m sorry, I’m just laughing hysterically at the shitty line about slicing tofu and also at the
hacking up blood in true wuxia tropey form being somehow Dramatic when, again, this man
has been impaled by multiple objects and should be experiencing hypovolemic shock. His
arm should also be dangling uselessly but apparently not even punching through the
shoulder joint entirely can stop The Great Chu Wanning from waving his hands around and
it’s just really, really funny. Like, I can’t take any of this seriously, it’s not even endearingly
cheesy, just bad.

A deep and clear male voice rang out unhurriedly, reverberating inside the holy weapon arsenal. “I
am the God of Weaponry, Gouchen the Exalted. How dare ye crooks trespass on the forbidden
territory of holy weapons!”

------

“What kinda shitty god are you?” Xue Meng screamed. “You fuckin’ blind? Where do you see us
trespassing? We were kidnapped, you asshole!”

“It’s no use,” Shi Mei said. “He isn’t actually here, this is just a voice he left behind. The false
Gouchen must have addled Heart-Pluck Willow’s judgment, to make him see us as unscrupulous
trespassers.”

“Those worthy of holy weapons should embody virtue and resolve, unsusceptible to the allure of
fantastical illusions and capable of staying true to thy heart. Since thou hast come, thou must
undertake my trial. If thou dost pass, I shall offer thee safe passage and a holy weapon. But if thou
art selfish and faltering, then thou art unfit!”

“Virtue,” Chu Wanning snapped through bloodstained lips. “Like using someone as a blood
hourglass?” It didn’t matter that Gouchen couldn’t hear him or that every word exacerbated his
injuries, he was unable to control his temper.

Gouchen’s voice continued to reverberate, unheeding. “As a test of thy temperament, all of ye shall
be imminently submerged in Heart-Pluck Willow’s dream illusion. If thou doth fail to wake from
the illusion in time, thy companion shall bleed out and perish.”

All three cultivators paled, and Xue Meng recovered his voice first. “What kinda god even are you!
If cultivating into an immortal means ending up like you, I won’t deign to touch another sword for
the rest of my life!”

Chu Wanning wasn’t far behind. “What absurdity!”

“Sir!” Shi Mei tried to calm him. “You’ll only make your injuries worse.”

Shi Mei’s efforts were gainsaid by Gouchen choosing that moment to leisurely recite poetry.
“Water poured upon even ground chooses its own way. Sigh as thou walk and brood as thou lie, life
is predestined. Fill thy cup as comfort, song interrupted by toast, yet the road remains arduous. The
heart is not unfeeling wood or stone, words unspoken and steps untread, no words remaining.”

“What the hell!” Xue Meng snarled.

“It’s from Difficult Paths by Bao Zhao,” Shi Mei told him. “It means each person has their own
fate and there’s no point in wallowing in misery or trying to drown it in drink. We have feelings,
and we don’t always express them.”

if there was any tension, the poorly-timed insertion of the poem and its explanation would
have killed it

Gouchen the Exalted sighed. “How many people in this vast world wouldst be willing to abandon a
perfect dream just to save another? The world is filled with such incessant war and slaughter. If a
holy weapon were to fall into unscrupulous hands, the fault would be mine, and how could I, the
very creator of weapons, forgive myself.”

The arsenal grew dim and the floating parts ceased all movement. The only light came from above,
as reflections of stars slowly descended. It caught Shi Mei and Xue Meng in its hypnotizing effect
and rapidly cocooned them into slumber. Chu Wanning resisted a moment longer, but even he
could not resist the power of a founding god and fell into the dream.

oh yes the guy who was bleeding out a few minutes ago is the one who with the greatest
physical and mental fortitude, sure

Mo Ran remained wakeful inside the blood hourglass, blood bubbling up as he coughed. The
waterfall had diminished, and he could dimly see the outlines of his sleeping friends. All he could
do was wait for one of them to wake in time, but his body grew colder as the minutes crept past
with none of the other cultivators stirring. His head spun, and he thought dizzily that this was
perhaps retribution for the time he’d made Chu Wanning bleed out drop by drop.

It was laughable, Mo Ran knew, to hope that one of his friends would abandon a dream of their
heart’s desire just to save him – there was no chance at all that Xue Meng would, and Chu
Wanning was an even less likely prospect. He thought it would have to be Shi Mei or no one as his
hold on consciousness began to slip.

Mo Ran’s head dipped and he saw the bottom of the hourglass beneath his feet. The blood had
mixed with the water inside to dye it a faint, gleaming red, and he wondered suddenly what he
would see if he were to fall inside Gouchen’s illusion. Delicate, translucent wontons, he thought,
Shi Mei’s delicate smile and Chu Wanning’s praise and approval.

“Mo Ran,” someone said, but he couldn’t lift his head. Perhaps he was falling into the illusion after
all, but the voices didn’t stop calling. Mo Ran summoned a surge of strength and looked up to see
Shi Mei, just as he had hoped. His beloved hadn’t abandoned him, even when offered everything
he had ever wanted.

Tears choked his throat. “Shi Mei,” he got out. “You – you still remembered me.”

Wading through the water, Shi Mei’s hair and eyebrows were an even more striking black against
his soaked clothes and yet he still seemed as gentle as the countless dreams Mo Ran had had of him
in his previous life. “Of course I did,” Shi Mei said.

Only when he got close did Mo Ran notice that his feet were bleeding and that the ground had
become scalding hot – heat rose in waves, becoming more intense with every step forward Shi Mei
took. Gouchen was testing his companions’ hearts, Mo Ran realized, and the heat had already
burned through Shi Mei’s boots. It wasn’t enough to render Shi Mei unable to walk, just cause him
excruciating pain, and yet Shi Mei walked unwaveringly forward.

that is not how burns work, and also, they are still at the bottom of a fucking lake, ok

“Hold on just a little longer, Mo Ran,” he said. “I’ll get you down.”

The exhortation to stop and save himself died on Mo Ran’s lips – Shi Mei’s gaze was far too
determined. He didn’t even realize Shi Mei hadn’t called him Ran, so fixated on his kindness that
he couldn’t see that the person in front of him was Chu Wanning. Mo Ran didn’t understand that
the ancient willow spirit’s final technique, Heart Pluck, was an exchange of the heart and spirit
between two people. When Chu Wanning had broken free of the dream, his consciousness had
been placed in Shi Mei’s body.

Still asleep, Shi Mei was unaware of the transfer. Chu Wanning had no time to explain the truth to
Mo Ran, who still believed with heart and soul that his beloved would endure the excruciating pain
to save him. His persistent belief stemming from his memory of Shi Mei’s kindness was
exceedingly cruel to Chu Wanning.

is this satire? a parody of every over-the-top piece of tropey garbage? I can’t believe it took
so long to realize it reads like a twelve-year-old’s idea of what’s cool because it is deliberately
mocking bad writing and I am so much more entertained now

Tiny burning thorns sprouted from the towering vine as Chu Wanning finally reached the copper
hourglass and started climbing toward Mo Ran. He was caught off-guard, hands burned and
pierced, hindered by Shi Mei's weak body and low cultivation. The thorns sliced through his flesh
and sent him plummeting downward. He cursed Shi Mingjing's useless body under his breath,
biting down on his lip and refusing to cry out. He heard Mo Ran call Shi Mei's name as he tumbled
to the ground, knees scalded as he failed to land on his feet. Shi Mei's gentle beautiful face
transmuted his fiercely stoic expression to something heart-rending, and he could see tears start to
roll down Mo Ran's cheeks.

Mo Ran felt Shi Mei's injuries as though they were own, as his beloved climbed the vine with his
thin and fragile body although the thorns pierced his hands and the flames burnt his flesh. A trail
of scarlet spread in his wake, and Mo Ran closed his eyes against the blood bubbling up in his
throat. He choked on it, voice trembling, as he called Shi Mei's name again. His beloved was close,
eyes full of pain, and even Mo Ran's voice seemed to increase his torment. His eyes were pleading
in his implacable face.

"Please," Shi Mei said. "Stop calling my name. I've almost got you, Mo Ran." His eyes glinted with
determination, beautiful beyond words like the unsheathing of a blade.

oh my fucking god that's great, i love how she jumps from Pleading Eyes to Determined Eyes
and the comparison to a sword is just peak Bad Writing, excellent satirical choice

Chu Wanning leapt onto the hourglass, robes billowing and face wan. He was unsteady, nearly on
the verge of collapse, and only the rise and fall of his chest indicated that he was still alive. Mo
Ran felt it would be better for he himself to bleed out and die than for Shi Mei to suffer so, and his
voice broke as he answered, "I'm sorry."

Knowing the apology wasn't for him, Chu Wanning wanted to explain. He glanced at the Exalted
Gouchen's silver-blue sword protruding from Mo Ran's chest, and concluded that it was most
likely the vines' source of qi. It would only injure Mo Ran further were he to explain, he thought,
and simply asked, "Mo Ran, do you trust me?"

“I trust you," Mo Ran said without hesitation. .

Chu Wanning glanced at him from beneath his lashes and gripped the sword; it was close to the
main artery and the slightest slip could cost Mo Ran his life. His hand trembled but didn’t move.

Mo Ran smiled with red-rimmed eyes. "Shi Mei," he said. “Am I about to die?”

"No," Chu Wanning said.

"If I'm about to die, can I hold you?"

The question was so hesitant, Mo Ran's eyes glistening with wetness, that Chu Wanning's heart
softened despite himself. Remembering that the person Mo Ran saw was someone else froze the
softness as soon as it had come, and he felt as though he were the comedic relief obscured behind
the beautiful flowing sleeves of the female lead. He was an unwanted part of this heartwarming
scene, his only use to wear the ugly face of the clown and act as a foil to the main characters' joys
and sorrows.

Mo Ran, unaware of his teacher's thoughts, saw only the flicker in his eyes and interpreted it as Shi
Mei's unwillingness to grant his request. "Just for a little while," he said quickly. "Just a little."

"I," Chu Wanning said, and sighed softly.

"What is it?"

"Never mind," Chu Wanning said. "Nothing." He leaned closer, taking care to avoid touching the
sword, and wrapped an arm around Mo Ran's shoulder. He heard his disciple thanking Shi Mei for
remembering him even in the dream and waking, and looked down with eyelashes fluttering like
butterfly wings. "It was nothing," he said, holding him and caressing his hair as if still in the dream.
"Did you know that the most wonderful dreams never come true?" he added. Mo Ran looked up,
not understanding what Shi Mei meant and only knowing the brief kindness he had been shown.

The sword was pulled out, and blood blossomed in the air like a flurry of crabapple blossoms in a
fierce gale. Sharp agony ripped through Mo Ran's chest and he knew he was about to die. "Shi
Mei," he said urgently. "I've always liked you. Do you like me back?"

The sword fell to the ground and the vines dissolved. The downpour ceased, and the arsenal was
once again tranquil. Mo Ran's body had reached its limits, and darkness cast him into Shi Mei's
bloodstained hands. The last thing he saw was Shi Mei's thin eyebrows drawn together and tears
sliding down his cheeks. "I like you too," Shi Mei seemed to whisper, and Mo Ran's last thought
was to wonder why Shi Mei looked so miserable as he confessed his love.

peak comedy, oh my god, the juvenile Do You Like Me on top of the overblown Blood
Fountaining Like Flowers, this is seriously a glorious skewering of every bad romance novel

------

Mo Ran opened his eyes to the sight of the arsenal, feeling as though he had been asleep for a long
time although only a few seconds seemed to have passed. He was lying on the ground without a
single injury, perhaps owing to the spell having been successfully broken, and the terrible wounds
on his body had been relegated to the realm of nightmare. He was surprised and delighted, and
looked over to Shi Mei to find that although his beloved had also lost consciousness, he was free of
wounds as well. He wondered if the Exalted Gouchen had healed the wounds they had received
when they had passed his test.

None of it felt real to Mo Ran, as if he had barely escaped with his life. His fellow disciples had yet
to awaken, but Shi Mei's eyes slowly fluttered open first. Mo Ran was overjoyed, calling to his
beloved. "Shi Mei! We made it! Look at me! Look!"

Confusion flickered over Shi Mei's face before awareness returned. "Ran!" he exclaimed. Mo Ran
embraced him tightly before he could continue, and Shi Mei gently patted his shoulder, even more
confused. "What happened to you?" he asked.

“I’m sorry that I made you suffer so.”

Shi Mei was confused. “I just had a dream," he said. "Nothing to worry about.”

“But the pain was still real!” Mo Ran insisted.

“What pain?” Shi Mei asked, but his words were drowned out by Xue Meng awakening with a
shout.

"Insolent ruffian!" he yelled, bolting upright. "How dare you grope me?"

"Young master," Shi Mei greeted him.

"What?" Xue Meng, apparently still thinking he was dreaming, frowned. "Why are you here?"

Still euphoric over surviving intact, Mo Ran found even Xue Meng's foibles endearing. He smiled
and explained what had happened to both of them, and Xue Meng finally realized what had been a
dream and that he was now in reality.

"I thought," Xue Meng said, and then cleared his throat. Trying to avoid the awkwardness, he cast
his gaze around to find that Chu Wanning had inexplicably not yet roused despite being the
strongest of them all. "Why is our teacher still out?" he asked, astonished.

The three disciples gathered around their teacher, and remembered that he had been injured before
they had fallen into the illusion. As only illusory injuries had been healed, Chu Wanning's shoulder
was still in a shockingly blood-soaked state.

"Let's wait and see if he wakes up," Mo Ran said, sighing.

In the time it took Chu Wanning to finally and slowly open his phoenix eyes, the disciples could
have burned an entire stick of incense. His eyes were empty and cold, like a heavy blanket of snow,
and it took him several moments to look at Mo Ran. Like Xue Meng, he seemed to wake while still
caught within the dream state. He reached for his student, voice cracking. "You," he said.

"Sir," Mo Ran answered, and Chu Wanning's hand froze in mid-air.

Warmth suffused Chu Wanning's pale face and his eyes brightened.

"Sir!" Xue Meng pushed forward, throwing himself at Chu Wanning and clutching his hand. "Are
you ok? Do you feel better? You were unconscious for so long, I thought the worry would kill me!"
A look of bemusement hushed over Chu Wanning's features as he saw Xue Meng. As his eyes fell
on Mo Ran holding Shi Mei's hand tightly, the last traces of fog faded from his gaze and his
expression cooled before dying as thoroughly as a fish in a dried pond.

"Sir, does your shoulder hurt?" Shi Mei asked with concern.

"No," Chu Wanning said calmly. "It's fine." He stood with Xue Meng's assistance, and Mo Ran
noticed that, although his shoulder was injured, he moved as though his feet hurt.

Under the impression that Chu Wanning was unaware of what had happened inside the illusion,
Mo Ran gave him a brief account. Shi Mei, having thought the story seemed odd the first time he'd
heard it, was more sure the second time. "Ran, you said I saved you?" he said, and frowned at Mo
Ran's assent. "But I was dreaming the whole time," he said. "I never woke up."

Mo Ran froze, then laughed. "Stop kidding around," he said.

"I'm not joking," Shi Mei insisted. "I dreamed that my parents were still alive. It felt so real that I
didn't think I could leave them behind." He looked as though he would have said more, but Chu
Wanning interrupted flatly.

"Gouchen probably wiped your memory," he said. "Xue Meng didn't save him, nor did I. If he says
it was you, then it was you." Seeing that Shi Mei looked unconvinced, Chu Wanning's face grew
colder. "What other explanation is there? That Gouchen has a way to swap souls between bodies?"

I love that here she uses failed dramatic irony to highly the asininity of putting forth What
Actually Happened as an absurdity, as if it's the first thing that would come to mind when
looking for something that would never happen - this is almost never done well and usually
comes off as stupidly contrived. See: skewering bad writing by presenting a clear example
and then playing it utterly straight

Hoping that Mo Ran had noticed that the person in the illusion hadn't been Shi Mei, Chu Wanning
hadn't wanted to suffer for nothing. He'd wanted Mo Ran to know that he'd bodyswapped with Shi
Mei. Hearing Mo Ran's confession of gratitude to Shi Mei brought a wave of embarrassment that
he'd looked into Mo Ran's bright black eyes and thought for even a moment that Mo Ran cared for
him even just a little. Even that humble expectation was such a weak and vulnerable spot that Chu
Wanning could barely admit to it in secret, but only he knew of the blood he had shed and the
injuries he had suffered. Mo Ran had no need to know.

Chu Wanning was a clever man, able to see how much his disciple treasured the beautiful and
gentle Shi Mei, and knew there was no reason Mo Ran would ever pay attention to the doll piled
with dust in the corner that he was. He knew he had lost to Shi Mei the moment Mo Ran confessed
his long-term crush, knew that Mo Ran thought Shi Mei had deigned to embrace him inside the
illusion. Mo Ran didn't need to know that accepting the embrace was charity he had bestowed upon
the pitiful soul of Chu Wanning, who believed that Mo Ran would never fall in love with him and
suppressed his feelings accordingly.

Reckless affection, Chu Wanning knew, and passionate obsessive entanglements only grew in the
soil of youth, and he had entertained them in his youth as well. He had waited and waited, but a
beloved had never appeared. As his name became more and more known within the cultivation
world, so did his reputation of having an unreasonable character. Time spun a cocoon around his
true self, the light of others around him initially visible but slowly cut off as the cocoon grew
thicker and thicker through the years to leave him in the darkness with only himself for company.
Chu Wanning lost the ability to believe in love and chance encounters, and refused to seek out
emotional intimacy.

What was the purpose, he thought, of fighting through the cocoon to cover himself with the
emotional wounds of vulnerability, when no one would be waiting for him on the other side. No
matter how he felt about Mo Ran, the boy was out of his league, too young and fiery. Even if Chu
Wanning got close, that flame would burn him to ashes. He had spent his youth waiting for others
to make the first move and actively avoided connecting with others as an adult, but he didn't know
what he had done wrong that every small daydream of being loved would be drowned in the frigid
rain of isolation.

I seriously do not know how I ever believed this backstory should be taken seriously. How did
I miss that this was a parody of The Alpha Male, honestly.

“Sir, look over there, quick!” Xue Meng’s sudden startled cry brought Chu Wanning’s mind back.
He followed Xue Meng's voice to see the smelting pool once again roiling in agitation. The willow
spirit broke through the water again, surrounded by flames. Its eyes were rolled back in a state of
senselessness, but it held Gouchen the Exalted's shimmering sacred sword.

Details like being at the bottom of a lake but simultaneously surrounded by air, and a
smelting pool being something that exists outside of Transformers comics or the idea that
smelting metal involves water at all, all of these absurd inconsistencies highlight the practice
of sloppy writing, I see it now and it is in retrospect on of the most consistently hilarious jokes
in this story

"Run! Hurry!" Chu Wanning ordered. The disciples dashed toward the exit as the willow spirit
raised its head to the sky and shrieked, chains clinking and clanking.

A voice rang out all around them although no one spoke. "Stop them! None shall escape!"

Xue Meng cried out in dismay. "There's someone in my head!"

"It's the Temptation of the Heart technique!" Chu Wanning snapped. "Ignore it and run!"

The three disciples remembered the technique, now that their teacher had reminded them, and that
it would use greed and desire as bait for its victims to slaughter each other. Chu Wanning heard the
voice hissing in his ear even as he spoke. "Such a respected cultivator, Constellation of the Night
Sky," it said. "Such an honorable man secretly in love with his own disciple. You give and give
and all he does is take without even a hint of gratitude - he only cares about that gentle, beautiful
Shi Mei. How pathetic you are."

Steely darkness adorned Chu Wanning's face as he ignored the voice entirely and focused on
reaching the exit.

"Come to my side," the voice hissed. "Take up the sword, kill that little simp, and no one will stand
between you. I will make him love only you, if you just come to me."

"Shut up, you wretch!" Chu Wanning snarled. He could see his disciples struggling with their own
temptations, and although they had slowed, they were still moving. The closer they got to freedom,
the louder Heart-Pluck Willow screamed in their minds and thrashed above the smelting pool.

"Once you leave, there will never be another chance!" the spirit moaned. It shrieked sharply,
tempting all of them with different offers. "Chu Wanning, do you want to die alone?" it asked, and
"Mo Weiyu, only I know where the resurrection pill is." It had other words for Shi Mei. "Only I
know the desire in the depths of your heart," it crooned, while it offered yet another temptation to
Xue Meng. "The weapon you've chosen is a fake! Only one item left in Jincheng Lake was crafted
by Gouchen the Exalted - come to me and I will give you this ancestral sword! You'll never be able
to compete with anyone else unless you have a holy weapon!"

Mo Ran suddenly noticed that his cousin had disappeared from his side, and called Xue Meng's
name. He turned to see that his cousin had come to a halt, staring at the sword. His heart fell, and
he remembered how obsessed Xue Meng had been with getting a holy weapon - how disappointed
he would have been to learn that he had received a fake. Heart-Pluck Willow couldn't have chosen
a better tactic to ensnare Xue Meng's heart.

"Don't believe him!" Mo Ran called, and Shi Mei chimed in with agreement, adding that they were
nearly free.

Xue Meng turned back to them, a lost expression on his face, but the echoing in his ears grew
sweeter. "They're jealous of you," the spirit sang. "They don't want you to have a holy weapon. Mo
Weiyu has his - why would he want you to be able to compare to him? If he's the only one to
succeed, of course he'll become the honored leader of Sisheng Peak instead of you."

"Shut up," Xue Meng muttered. He could see Mo Ran's mouth moving, but he couldn't make out
any of the words. "Shut your mouth!" he screamed. "Shut up!"

"Xue Ziming," whispered the voice. "There are no other weapons for you in this holy arsenal. If
you don't take the ancestral sword, you'll be subservient to Mo Weiyu forever. As your master,
he'll demand you kneel before him and obey his every command! But if you kill him, you can
escape this fate! Even fratricide has been forgiven throughout history, and he's only your cousin!
Why do you hesitate? Let me give you the sword."

"Xue Meng!" Mo Ran screamed, over Shi Mei's shout of "Young master!"

Xue Meng stopped struggling and opened his eyes. His pupils shone red.

"Come to my side," crooned the voice. "Darling of the heavens, worthy of leading an army of
millions."

"Xue Meng!" Chu Wanning called sharply, but he couldn't drown out the spirit.

"Only when you have become leader of Sisheng Peak will the lower cultivation world know peace!
You will alleviate suffering and avenge the injustices you've suffered!" Xue Meng stood before the
pool and reached out with a trembling hand. The willow spirit extended the silver-blue sacred
sword to him, and Xue Meng took it. "Kill them," the spirit said. "Kill Mo Weiyu."

Xue Meng screamed and pulled the long sword abruptly out of its sheath, a splendid steal blossom
in his hand. He struck swiftly, his handsome visage reflected in the sword's spiritual aura. His eyes
were clearer and brighter than Mo Ran had ever seen them, illuminated by the shine of the blade,
and they held not a hint of bloodlust. The blow was aimed not at Mo Ran but at the body of the
willow spirit. It pierced his abdomen, and he shook.

The trembling of the spirit was mirrored by the earth as the spell broke. The holy weapon arsenal
cracked and began to collapse around them. Xue Meng panted harshly; he'd used all of his qi to
break free of the enchantment. His young face was filled with determination and innocence as he
looked at the willow spirit, pride and naiveté in his gaze. "Don't fuck with me," he said. "And don't
even think about hurting anyone else."

The stench of blood filled the air as Xue Meng wrenched the sword out of the willow spirit's body.
It slumped in death, consciousness returning to disperse the resentful energy. The spirit clutched its
chest, steadying its failing body. "Thank you for stopping me," it mouthed.

The willow spirit was matched with the ancestral sword in power, resulting in a grievous loss for
both as they clashed. The sword dimmed in Xue Meng's hand, its spiritual aura nearly flickering
out. The million-year-old tree spirit's form dissipated, scattering millions of sparkles through the
water. Like fireflies, they danced until fading away, never to be seen again.

“Young master, come quick! This place is going to collapse!” Shi Mei called.

The earth shook around them as Xue Meng gave one last look toward the holy weapon arsenal. He
tossed the destroyed ancestral sword to the ground and left it behind as the ceiling of the arsenal
crashed down behind him like an avalanche.

------

The four cultivators - three exhausted and one injured - rested once they reached the
corridor outside the arsenal. No one spoke, three of them inspecting injuries while seated or
standing to recover their strength. Xue Meng stood lost in thought, head down. Mo Ran, noticing,
murmured his name, but Xue Meng only walked stiffly to stand in front of Chu Wanning. He
looked up to his teacher and opened his mouth to speak.

"Sir," Xue Meng said, voice like shattered glass. Chu Wanning wanted to pet his tousled hair, but
restrained himself. "Did I get a fake holy weapon the first time?" Chu Wanning's silence was
answer enough, and Xue Meng's eyes grew redder. Only his pride kept tears from falling. "Will I
ever get one?"

Chu Wanning sighed, and silence fell in the corridor. "Silly child," he said. Xue Meng's composure
crumpled, and he threw himself into Chu Wanning's arms.

"Sir," he choked out, bawling. "Sir." Failure to obtain a holy weapon all but forfeited a cultivator's
chances for advancement. No matter how accomplished, a mortal's powers were finite. Without a
holy weapon, the cultivator would be limited by their flesh and blood. The heirs of most sects had
holy weapons passed down from their predecessors, powerful even if not a perfect match with their
spiritual energies. Only Xue Meng had never received a weapon from Jincheng Lake, and his
choice to wield the sword against the willow spirit had meant giving up on his dreams of leading
the cultivation world.

Chu Wanning said nothing, only held his student and stroked his hair as he cried. Xue Meng's
pampered upbringing meant he had never suffered injustice, spending his days in arrogance. It was
the first time he had cried that he could remember, words broken like the holy weapon he had
destroyed, shattered like the aspirations he had once been so sure of. "Xue Meng," Chu Wanning
said, as the waves at the bottom of the lake rippled past his white cloak and long inky hair.

note how the narration skips back to being underwater here - the author is very committed to
this gag

Mo Ran could only see the fine curtain of lashes over the gentle fragments of light in Chu
Wanning's eyes, then the waves picked up and he could no longer see his teacher's face clearly in
the dim light. He heard him consoling Xue Meng, voice not quite gentle, but words softer than any
Mo Ran had ever heard him speak. Silence fell in the corridor, each cultivator lost in thought.

Mo Ran leaned against the cold wall, heart heavy as he watched his teacher console Xue Meng,
and pondered how they had arrived at the lake fresh and energized but were leaving laden with
sounds. The darling of the heavens for fifteen years, well-regarded and high-spirited, Xue Meng
had lost everything. He would have to spend the rest of his life trying to forget past glory.

The willow collapsed slowly into the pool as they escaped the arsenal, an ancient colossus finally
exhausted, as if the sun itself had gone out. The merfolk scattered in terror, and the ancient arsenal
ceased to exist. The celestial tree fell with a deafening rumble, precipitating a surging tide in
Jincheng Lake. Faced with the sucking whirlpool, the merfolk transformed desperately back into
their original forms, filling the lake with glimmering scales. Little room was left for mere mortals.

"We can't escape this way!" Mo Ran shouted. A thick tail smashed toward him, and he barely
dodged. A black dragon swooped toward them, larger than the rest, black scales limned in gold.
"Wangyue?"

The great dragon let out a mighty roar. Formerly mute, he spoke with a low voice reminiscent of
the chime of a great clock. "Hurry, climb on my back. Now that Heart-Pluck Willow is gone, the
lake is soon to follow. I'll take you to safety!"

Whether Wangyue was friend or enemy did not matter to the group; they had no other choice.
Wangyue surged through the perilous waters with his precious burden, the crowd of dragons
parting in his wake. He burst out of the water and soared into the skies. The four cultivators barely
managed to hold on, water hitting them like a ton of bricks. Only when they were soaring through
the clouds high above the lake were any of them able to even open their eyes. Droplets of water
flew off the dragon's mirror-like scales, fracturing into countless rainbows in the sky. Wangyue
raised his head in a roar as color washed over the land.

"Oh my god, I'm flying on a dragon!" Xue Meng exclaimed from behind Mo Ran, distracted from
his troubles by the spectacle.

Wangyue gradually shrunk as he descended, landing on the shore of the lake at less than half of his
original size and remaining still until all four of them had climbed down. The icy surface of the
lake had melted, waves churning and scattering the remaining fragments. The first light of dawn
shone pure white in the eastern sky as sunlight spilled brilliantly in to the lake.

I am dead of laughing that Our Heroes have destroyed the holy arsenal, destroyed the holy
lake, and also destroyed the local economy since there will be no more pilgrimages to a place
that doesn't exist. Nice job breaking it, hero.

"Look at the dragons in the lake!" Shi Mei called, and his companions saw the dragons twisting
and coiling beneath the surface gradually stop moving until they crumbled one after another into
specks of dust. Black chess pieces floated up from the lake, gathering in the air.

"Zhenlong Chess Formation," Mo Ran muttered, only now realizing that nothing in the lake had
not been under the puppet master's control. He shuddered, realizing that the timeline was off. The
first time he'd been alive, there had been no one who had had this level of skill with the forbidden
technique. What was the false Gouchen's real identity, he wondered.

"Wangyue!" Xue Meng cried abruptly.

The old dragon was crouched motionless on the ground; although no chess piece had appeared
near his body, he appeared extremely weak. "You did well," he said softly. "Far preferable to have
our exalted god's creation be destroyed than have it fall into the hands of a villain." Light subsumed
his body as his voice faded, shrinking into a human form with the face of the elderly merman who
had led them into the arsenal. A hint of guilt was in his eyes.
"Why did you take us in there?" Xue Meng demanded. "Did you want to help us or hurt us? If we
hadn't passed the spirit's test, we would have-" He broke off.

"Please accept my apologies," Wangyue said, looking down. "I could do nothing else. The false
Gouchen's cultivation being insufficient, he relied entirely on Heart-Pluck Willow's spiritual power
to wield the forbidden technique. Only by overcoming the willow could the technique be defeated.
I had to rely on you." Chu Wanning approached him and began to channel qi into the dragon's
injuries. Wangyue let out a long sigh. "You are kind, but it is my time. I, too, have been sustained
by the willow's qi. The order of life and death cannot be forced, and I have seen my greatest hope
already fulfilled with the nightmare of the lake destroyed. I regret that I had to involve you all."

"No matter," Chu Wanning said. "Do you know who the pretender is, or what he wants?"

“I do not know who he is," Wangyue replied, "but his goal is most likely enough power to
command the three forbidden techniques.”

“The forbidden techniques require an incredible amount of qi," Chu Wanning mused. "It would
indeed be much easier with the help of an ancient tree spirit.”

“Yes, so he said. He said that ancient spirits are immensely powerful but extremely difficult to
find. The only one traceable from the ancient records was Heart-Pluck Willow. He's only been here
a short while, and has spent all his time at the bottom of the lake practicing Rebirth and Zhenlong
Chess Formation." The dragon sighed, eyes empty and dull.

Mo Ran's heart fell; the trip to the lake was nothing like his memory. He had no idea what had
happened to change history so much.

"He couldn't control the living," the dragon said. "So he killed countless denizens of the lake and
controlled their corpses instead. It only took a few weeks for him to massacre them all. A few, such
as myself, were left alive to become experiments."

“When you came out of the water to meet me," Mo Ran asked, "were you being controlled?”

“No.” Wang Yue slowly closed his eyes. “He could control the others, the fox spirit or even Heart-
Pluck Willow, but he could not control me. I am a spiritual beast tamed by the Exalted Gouchen at
the creation of the world, millennia ago. I was branded with his seal, loyal to only one master in life
and in death.”

“Then why,” Mo Ran started.

“It was an act," Wangyue sighed. "I had no choice. Even though he couldn't control me completely,
enough of the brand's effectiveness had faded over millions of years to allow him to take partial
control. I couldn't speak because he had control of my throat, and regained the ability to speak
when his magic was dispelled."

“Did he know you were pretending?”

“I doubt it.” Wangyue looked at Mo Ran. “He would have taken your spiritual core today in order
to extend Heart-Pluck Willow’s life, but he didn't know I planned to bring you into the arsenal to
destroy the ancient willow and so took no precautions against it.”

“Perhaps," Chu Wanning said suddenly, "it’s not that he did not take precautions against you, but
rather that he did not have the strength to spare.”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s something else odd about the pretender.”

------

The faint odor clinging to the pretender hadn’t registered until Chu Wanning had pointed it out, but
Mo Ran suddenly recognized the smell of death. Not only was the pretender not the god, he wasn’t
even alive. The puppet master was pulling the strings on a corpse dressed as the God of Weapons
from somewhere else entirely.

A sorrowful laugh drifted out of the lake, followed immediately by a deathly pale body shooting
out of the water. The false Gouchen’s skin had wrinkled like a silkworm breaking from a cocoon,
and he levitated above the crystalline waters with his face twisted into a gnarled smirk.
“Constellation of the Night Sky,” he sneered, pieces of his skin falling off, “The Holy Grace
Immortal. Grandmaster Chu, you live up to your names. How did Rufeng Sect let someone like
you slip through their fingers?”

“Who are you?” Chu Wanning asked frostily.

“You don’t need to know who I am,” the false Gouchen said. “Think of me as someone who
should have died long ago but crawled out of hell just to take the lives of you righteous, honorable
types!”

“Shameless!” rumbled Wangyue. “Heart-Pluck Willow has been destroyed! You cannot hope to
use the forbidden techniques to perpetrate further transgressions without its help!”

The false Gouchen sneered. “You old eel, on your last breath and still trying to get in my way.
What makes you think you have the right to speak here? Get lost!”

“As a white chess piece,” Chu Wanning interrupted, “what gives you the right to speak?”

The white chess piece, Mo Ran knew, was a special type of pawn; always a newly deceased body,
it held a portion of the user’s soul and acted as the user’s stand-in and with some independence. It
was able to convey what it saw and heard to its user. The false Gouchen, identity exposed, laughed
and clapped. “Well done,” it cried. “Very good, very good indeed.” Its face collapsed further, spell
nearing its end and allowing the original form of the corpse to show. “Do you really think this will
stop me?” it sneered. “Don’t make me laugh. My original self can always find other sources of qi.
You, on the other hand.”

The false Gouchen’s eyes swept past Chu Wanning to land on Mo Ran with malicious intent. Mo
Ran was struck with a wave of apprehension. The false Gouchen mocked him.

“I’m not the only one who knows the three forbidden techniques,” it said. “Watch your back.”

“Explain yourself,” Chu Wanning snapped sternly, eyebrows lowered in a frown.

Instead of complying, the false Gouchen’s body froze and exploded into a foul-smelling miasma. A
white chess piece tumbled into the lake below, signaling the end of the puppet master’s qi.
Wangyue staggered at the same moment, falling to the ground with a thud.

“Wangyue!” cried Xue Meng, echoed by Mo Ran.

The cultivators gathered around the dragon. He spoke with a voice as raspy as the setting sun.
“Don’t believe his nonsense,” he gasped. “There were more lies than truth to his words.”

“Elder, please don’t speak,” Shi Mei said worriedly. “Let me heal you.”
“No,” the dragon said, coughing. “Your master couldn’t do it. Don’t try. The willow tree destroyed
all of the holy weapons left behind when the imposter came, leaving only the willow vine and the
Exalted God’s sword.” Xue Meng’s face darkened at the mention of the sword, mouth set in a thin
line. “The willow vine went to this young cultivator,” the dragon continued. “When I told you that I
would only hope you would pursue goodness in the future, that was a lie. In truth, my master
wished for holy weapons to belong only to the virtuous. I hope that you will be so.”

“I will, Elder,” Mo Ran murmured.

“Good, good,” the dragon murmured, and gazed skyward with trembling lips. “When one goes to
Jincheng, the creature of the lake will make a request. Most of these requests gauge the seeker’s
moral character, but sometimes there were exceptions.” His voice grew softer. “I was ordered to
stay and guard the lake, but who would have guessed that I would be here alone for thousands of
years, never to see the sights of my youth again?” He gazed beseechingly at Mo Ran, tears in his
eyes, and Mo Ran knew what he was about to say. “Young cultivator, the plum blossoms at the
base of the mountain bloom year-round. Even though you already have your weapon, would you
still be willing?”

Mo Ran’s fervent agreement was on the tip of his tongue, but the light in the dragon’s eyes was
abruptly extinguished. Snow-tipped peaks towered majestically in the distance as the rising sun
bathed the waters in its red light. The waves reflected gleaming crimson to mark the passing of one
of the oldest dragons. Present at the creation of the world, Wangyue had once been earth-shakingly
powerful, and had served Gouchen out of respect and not out of obedience to the brand.

Wangyue knew what few others did – that Gouchen the Exalted had demon blood coursing through
his veins. His mother had been taken against her will, but he had abhorred his heritage and stood
with Fuxi against his kin’s invasion. He had used his demonic blood to forge the first true sword
and sweep his kin from the land. After the unification of heaven and earth, Fuxi had harbored
misgivings and resentment, leading Gouchen to leave the realm of the gods for the realm of man.

Endless suffering and slaughter greeted the god of weapons on his journey, and he believed he
shouldn’t have created the sword. Remorse filling him, he gathered the weapons and sealed them
into the arsenal at the bottom of the lake. The willow tree was planted as guardian and instructed
the denizens of the lake to only entrust them to the virtuous.

With the death of the dragon, no more holy weapons remained and the merfolk were no more. The
realm below the surface of the lake had scattered like so much smoke and ash, and the four
cultivators stood in silence. The scarlet letters shone brightly in the ferocious snowstorm as they
had when the cultivators had first seen it – The Way Forward Is Difficult – and the now-serene
surface of the lake hid the suffering that had transpired below.

ah, yes, it is well known that the sunrise is especially visible in the middle of a raging
snowstorm

Mo Ran looked up at the sky to see a lone eagle soaring above the precipice. He remembered the
powerful long blade he had received in his first life, and wondered if it had been destroyed by the
willow before he could so much as see it. More memories followed unbidden – Wangyue emerging
from the water with gentle, friendly eyes and asking for a plum blossom from the base of the
mountain. Mo Ran had thought then that the request was pointless pretension.

The journey back to Sisheng Peak took many days; the three disciples were exhausted, and Chu
Wanning’s shoulder was seriously injured. The group spent several days in Dai City before
embarking. When they arrived, Xue Meng said nothing to his parents; either sympathy or
disappointment would have been salt on his still-open wounds. Chu Wanning buried himself in
ancient tomes and scrolls to find another method of obtaining a holy weapon for his student or a
way to allow a mortal to rival a holy weapon in strength.

Chu Wanning had other matters to investigate, as well – the puppet master behind the false
Gouchen occupied his thoughts as he spent nights in the library of the Red Lotus Pavilion. Candles
burned down and the water clock dripped to the tune of his exhaustion.

“Constellation,” Xue Zhengyong said, holding a warm cup of tea. “Don’t push yourself so hard.
What about your shoulder? Elder Tanlang is a great healer, let him take a look at it.”

“No need, it’s already started to heal.”

Xue Zhengyong clicked his tongue. “You look terrible,” he said. “Like you’re about to fall over.
Everyone says so. Maybe the wound is poisoned.”

Chu Wanning blinked. “About to fall over?” he said, with a cold smile. “Which everyone said so?”

“Constellation,” Xue Zhengyong complained. “It’s not like you’re made of metal and the rest of us
are made of paper.”

“I know my limits,” Chu Wanning said.

“Know your limits, my ass,” Xue Zhengyong said, too quietly for Chu Wanning to hear. As it got
late, he got up to take his leave and return to his wife. “Constellation,” he said, “don’t stay up too
late. Meng would die of guilt if you got worse because of him.” Chu Wanning pointedly ignored
him, and Xue Zhenglong gave up.

I see we continue to poke fun at the idea that Not Needing Others Is Admirable, this time by
having Chu Wanning act like an asshole to his friend trying to help him

Chu Wanning downed medication and returned to his research until he was derailed by dizziness
and nausea. The stomach upset faded quickly, and he put it out of his mind. The night grew later,
and he finally fell asleep with his head pillowed on a sweeping sleeve. With a small mountain of
tomes next to him and an unfinished scroll across his knees, Chu Wanning dreamt.

Unlike most dreams, Chu Wanning’s vision was clear and distinct. He stood inside Sisheng Peak’s
Loyalty Hall, but many of the details looked different. Before he could examine them, the gates
swung open and someone walked in.

“Sir,” he said.

“Mo Ran?” Chu Wanning asked. His student was a grown adult, handsome of face but almost
childlike in his smile. He wanted to approach, but his wrists and ankles had been shackled by metal
chains and qi. Shock was followed by rage, twisting his expression and strangling the words in his
throat. “Mo Weiyu,” he finally choked out. “What is the meaning of this? Untie me at once!”

Mo Ran strode silently over with a lazy smile and gripped Chu Wanning by the jaw.

------

The adult Mo Weiyu was gallant, broad-shouldered and long-legged, half a head taller than Chu
Wanning himself. He stared in shock as Mo Ran looked down at him mockingly.

“Dear teacher,” he said, “you should really take a look in the mirror.” His finger slid along Chu
Wanning’s face to rest by his ear, eyes cold as he leaned over to press his lips against Chu
Wanning’s mouth. Chu Wanning’s head hummed with white noise as something in his mind
snapped and he felt Mo Ran’s filthy, sinful desire. His spiritual powers were gone and he couldn’t
gather enough physical strength to break free. The dream version of Mo Ran was utterly unlike the
one he knew, deferential ingratiation replaced with overbearing tyranny. Mo Ran’s heated breath
scalded him like lava, threatening to melt his flesh and bone alike.

Anger suffused his face, and Chu Wanning couldn’t accept that Mo Ran was holding him captive.
Even harder to countenance was the heat gathering in his abdomen, leaching the strength out of his
legs. Mo Ran pressed his face against the back of his ear, panting against the base of his neck.

“Didn’t you want to talk conditions?” Mo Ran whispered hoarsely, voice nearly unrecognizable.
Chu Wanning could see his throat bob as he swallowed in a bid to maintain control. “But since you
have almost nothing left, you only have one thing to bargain with.”

“What do you mean?” Chu Wanning asked, his own voice hoarse.

Mo Ran backed him into a wall, raising a hand to strike the hard surface. His other hand gripping
Chu Wanning’s shackled wrist, he bit an earlobe. Chu Wanning shuddered violently, a frightening
numbness spreading from his spine up through his scalp. “Let me fuck you,” Mo Ran whispered,
“and I’ll grant your request.” Chu Wanning’s eyes widened. Mo Ran’s hand was already on his
waist, venomous words unsoftened by the tender tone. “But since I hate you so much, it might be
hard to summon interest in your body. You’ll have to work a little for it.” Mo Ran paused, but gave
his words the lie by pulling him in closer. “If you’re willing, get on your knees like a good boy and
put your mouth to work. Afterwards, spread yourself on the bed, and beg me to fuck you.”

The virtuous, proud austere Constellation Saint had kept his distance from men and women alike,
indulging in neither erotic art nor amorous song, and knew nothing in matters of love or lust. In
spite of his anger, his defenses fell apart in the face of the unfamiliar heat pooling below Mo Ran’s
grip on his waist.

Mo Ran cursed under his breath at Chu Wanning’s lack of reaction and began to touch him again,
unable to hold back. He was none too gentle, and Chu Wanning’s scalp grew number still when
Mo Ran began to pull roughly at his robes. “Virtuous and saintly, my ass,” Mo Ran muttered as he
tore Chu Wanning’s clothes off. His gaze was heated and crazed, the light of long-accumulated
hatred spilling out over a lava-hot wave of desire. As if burned by his predatory gaze, Chu
Wanning wanted to look away. Mo Ran gripped his face tightly before he could so much as twitch.
“Look at me,” he ground out, voice rough and heated. “I said, look at me!”

Chu Wanning closed his eyes, shaken by the absurdity of the dream, and heard a soft, warm voice
in his ear. It was a familiar tone, calling for him to wake, and his vision resolved into Mo Ran’s
youthful face hovering inches from his own. He automatically reacted with a well-placed slap to
his student’s cheek, and Mo Ran squeaked in surprise.

“Sir,” he said. “What was that for?”

Chu Wanning’s phoenix eyes flickered between anger and alarm, dream not quite faded. Mo Ran
inched toward him, looking concerned. “Stay away!” Chu Wanning snapped, brows lowered in a
scowl.

“Did you have a nightmare?” Mo Ran asked cautiously after a moment.

Chu Wanning stared at him blankly, before it sank in that he had been dreaming. He was in the
library, at the Red Lotus Pavilion, not in Loyalty Hall. The Mo Ran in front of him was a teenager,
not an adult. Finally fully awake, he schooled his expression into propriety and made a show of
rearranging his clothes to hide the persistent remnants of agitation and unease. “I was dreaming of
hitting someone,” he said finally.

“Who?” Mo Ran asked, rubbing his reddened cheek and wincing. “You hit me so hard.”

Chu Wanning pressed his lips together in embarrassment and loftily refused to reply. His face was
calm, betraying nothing of the surging of his heart. He could all but feel his pride on the verge of
shattering into a million pieces at the memory of preposterous, filthy dream. How shameless he
truly was, that even his body had reacted with enthusiasm, Chu Wanning thought, and was grateful
that his robes were loose enough to hide his erection.

Propping a forehead on one hand, Chu Wanning’s face darkened as he thought that while he
couldn’t vent his anger on the dream version of his student, the real Mo Ran had conveniently
delivered himself for punishment. “What are you doing, barging into my private quarters in the
middle of the night?” he asked sullenly. “Since when do you bear the title of Constellation Saint?”

Mo Ran felt ill-used by the undeserved slap followed by a scolding. “Why are you so mad?” he
asked, voice small.

“I’m not mad.” Chu Wanning scowled. “I’m going back to sleep. Get out.”

“Sir, it’s already morning,” Mo Ran said, and hesitated before plunging on with his explanation. “I
only came in here without permission because we were waiting so long.”

Light was visible around the shuttered window, and Chu Wanning opened it to hear birds singing.
The sun was high in the sky. He scowled, as if he might summon Heavenly Questions to whip Mo
Ran. If he hadn’t been woken, the dream that had trapped him might have continued. He gripped
the window frame until his knuckles turned white – having practiced mental cultivation, restraint,
and discipline, he was proficient in suppressing desires.

Chu Wanning had never entertained an unbecoming thought, much less a wet dream. He had
thoroughly and successfully suppressed all desires, looking on lovers and dual cultivation partners
with contempt and self-satisfaction at his own incorruptible virtue. He would never have
anticipated falling to his own needs.

The wise, strong, noble, aloof Grandmaster Chu dared not look at the object of his desire as he
snapped, “It’s time for morning practice. We’re going to the Platform of Sin and Virtue.” He turned
abruptly and left.

peak comedy, honestly, this is a hilarious caricature of Purity and it’s so funny

Chu Wanning’s other two disciples were seated under a tree chatting when he arrived. Shi Mei
seemed distraught. “He’s never late,” he fretted. “What if something happened?”

Xue Meng looked even more worried. “Mo Ran’s been gone so long,” he said. “What if
something’s wrong with our teacher? I hope he’s not sick.”

“His injuries were so severe,” Shi Mei said. “Even with the proper care, his body is so frail.”

Xue Meng stood abruptly. “I can’t wait any more. We shouldn’t have sent Mo Ran for him, he’s
utterly unreliable. I’m going to go check.”

Chu Wanning strode up to him, pristine robes fluttering, and both of his disciples called for him
simultaneously. He held up a hand. “I was delayed. We’ll start training now.”
Behind him, Shi Mei sidled up to Mo Ran. “What was it?” he whispered. “Is he ok?”

“Just overslept,” Mo Ran whispered back, rolling his eyes.

“What?” Shi Mei squawked.

“Quiet,” Mo Ran hissed, rubbing his still-sore cheek and hoping to avoid an encore.

“Hey, why’s your left cheek red?” Shi Mei asked.

“If you don’t shut up, my right cheek will match,” Mo Ran muttered. “Come on.”

Shi Mei and Mo Ran were instructed to hold the first practice match while Xue Meng was
instructed to sit. He obeyed promptly, and Chu Wanning sat across from him. “The spiritual
mountain competition is in three years,” he said. “What are your plans?”

Xue Meng gritted his teeth. “Win,” he finally said. Had he been asked before the trip to Jincheng
Lake, his answer would have been proudly certain. All that was behind his answer now was a
simple and stubborn refusal to give up his pride. He knew how low his chances were, but he
couldn’t step aside and give up his reputation as the darling of the heavens without a fight. He
snuck a glance at his teacher, anxious to see his reaction.

No derision or doubt showed on his teacher’s face. “Good,” he answered.

Xue Meng’s eyes lit up. “Sir, do you think – do you think I can still –“ He stumbled over his words
in his excitement.

“My disciples don’t give up before the fight.”

“Sir.”

“Outstanding youths from all sects participate in the Spiritual Mountain Competition,” Chu
Wanning said. “Those without holy weapons are naturally no match for you, but even if your
opponent does have a holy weapon, there’s no need to be afraid. A holy weapon cannot be easily or
quickly mastered, and your Longcheng blade is a superb, high-quality weapon of mortal
craftsmanship. If you train and practice diligently for these three years, winning is certainly not
outside the realm of possibilities.”

Between Grandmaster Chu’s reputation for a discerning eye and judgment in the realm of martial
arts and Xue Meng’s experience in his lack of inclination to tell encouraging white lies, Xue Meng
felt immense relief. “You mean it?” he said.

“How old are you, Xue Meng?” Chu Wanning asked. “I don’t coddle anyone over the age of five.”
Xue Meng grinned at his words, embarrassed. “Win or lose, your pride is what’s important. Just do
your best.”

“Yes, sir!” Xue Meng exclaimed.

Having done his due diligence by Xue Meng, Chu Wanning headed toward the back of the training
field and its supply of training dummies. It had been built out of the way, at the other end of a long
corridor and around a corner, in order to prevent accidentally injuring passersby. Mo Ran and Shi
Mei were chatting, barely within hearing distance, their backs to him. Chu Wanning was about to
call them over, but the sight before him froze the words in his throat.

------
Chu Wanning was too furious to speak - he loved weapons, and the idiocy before him was
unbearable. Mo Ran had summoned What The Hell, shrinking it nearly into insignificance. The
holy weapon was no wider than a cord for tying hair, looking like nothing so much as a red string
of fate. The dignified tool looked utterly pitiful.

"Shi Mei," Mo Ran was saying, "tie this on your finger. I want to see if it has the same power as
Heavenly Questions, to coax the truth out of people."

"You want to test it on me?"

"Yep," Mo Ran said, smiling. "I know you'd never lie to me, and we're so close."

"That's true," Shi Mei said hesitantly. "But."

"I won't ask anything weird," Mo Ran said. "Pinky swear."

Shi Mei didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “How old are we already? Isn’t that childish?”

“C’mon, let’s pinky swear, if it’s fine at eight then it’s fine at eighteen, eighty-eight, too.” Mo Ran
grabbed Shi Mei’s right hand and pried his pinky out with a cheeky grin. Shi Mei submitted, caught
between anger and laughter at his antics. Instead of hooking their pinkies together, Mo Ran
grinned. “What The Hell, time to get to work.” What The Hell tied itself around Shi Mei's pinky in
a flash, the other end fastened to Mo Ran's little finger. He laughed like a fox, dimples appearing,
and said, “Congrats, you fell for it.”

Shi Mei felt even more torn between tears and laughter. "Let me go!"

“Later, later.” Mo Ran grinned. “Just a couple of questions first.”

Mo Ran had been plagued with unease since Shi Mei had been unable to open the Ever-Yearning
box. Gloves or no gloves, he couldn't shake his doubts. That Chu Wanning had successfully
opened the box made him feel worse, and although Mo Ran told himself he was sure the box must
have been broken, he wanted to use What The Hell to confirm Shi Mei's feelings for him. He
clearly remembered the confession under the lake, but he thought he might have imagined it.

Shi Mei's gentle demeanor and indiscriminate kindness couldn't be more of a contrast to Chu
Wanning's sullen and unlikeable temperament, Mo Ran thought, and feigned a casual air to cover
his anxious heart. "First off," he said, and decided to use a couple low-stakes questions to set the
stage. "What do you think of Xue Meng?"

What The Hell pricked his finger, and Shi Mei confessed. "He's a good person, but he's too
straightforward and utterly tactless."

Mo Ran laughed out loud. "He even gets on your nerves? Wow, yeah, he's so annoying."

Shi Mei blushed uncomfortably. "Be quiet. What if he hears you?"

"Okay, okay, okay." Mo Ran grinned. "I like it when you badmouth him. What do you think about
our teacher?" he continued.

"He's good, too, but his temper is, uh." Shi Mei looked reluctant, but the holy weapon bound his
hand. "He's a little short-tempered."

"A little?" Mo Ran cackled. "More like incredibly. He gets pissy every other day, and won't even
admit it. Worse than the empress herself."
Neither of them were aware of Chu Wanning listening from around the corner.

"If you're aware of his bad temper, why'd you pick him?"

"He's cold on the outside," Shi Mei said. "But kind on the inside. I'm not gifted, but he doesn't
mind. He says everyone deserves to learn, and he teaches me what I'm good at. He's very kind to
me."

Mo Ran's glee faded and his face fell. "When was he kind to you?" he snapped. "All he ever did
was teach you some techniques and maybe take care of you occasionally, but that's the bare
minimum."

"That's different."

"He's not good to you!" Mo Ran insisted, cheeks puffed out. "Whatever he does for you, so can
I!" An awkward silence fell, and Mo Ran tamped down the flames in his heart. Seeing Shi Mei
silently stare at the ground filled him with guilt. "Sorry," he whispered.

“It’s alright,” Shi Mei said, but suddenly added, "Before you came to Sisheng Peak, I was walking
outside when it suddenly started storming. I hadn't chosen my teacher, but I bumped into him. He
was holding an umbrella, and he offered to share it with me. I knew his reputation, and I was very
nervous."

"Then what happened?"

"We were quiet the whole way home," Shi Mei said softly.

Mo Ran nodded. "He's a terrible conversationalist."

"Yes." Shi Mei smiled a little. "He doesn't talk much. But when he left me at the door, I saw that
his other shoulder was drenched. I didn't get rained on at all." He paused. "It was a small umbrella,
only big enough for one person, but he used it to keep me dry. That was when I asked him to accept
me as a disciple."

"That's enough," Mo Ran said. "You're way too soft-hearted. Pathetic, even."

"Ran," Shi Mei said softly. "Don't you think Chu Wanning deserves your pity? His only umbrella
is the little one because he's always alone. So even if he's strict or yells, I don't mind. I remember
how wet he was."

The tip of Mo Ran's nose turned red to reflect his forlorn heart. He wasn't even sure why he was
sad.

"Ran, can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Do you hate our teacher?"

Mo Ran hesitated.

"You don't like him, right?" Shi Mei's usually gentle gaze seemed sharp, and Mo Ran found
himself speechless in the face of it. He couldn't answer either way, and finally forced a smile.

"Hey, I'm the one that's supposed to be asking the questions here," he said. "Can't let you turn it
around like that."
It didn't escape Shi Mei that Mo Ran had dodged the question, but he only smiled. "I was just
wondering," he said. "It's not a big deal."

Mo Ran looked up at Shi Mei through his lashes. His beloved was no less beautiful than the moon
in the sky, and although Mo Ran had planned to ask him if he liked him for his third question, his
heart now felt too heavy. "He's just my teacher," he said instead. "Nothing more. It doesn't matter if
I like him."

Chu Wanning's eyelashes quivered like the wings of an injured butterfly as he heard Mo Ran's
words; his head felt light enough to float away but his heart felt heavy enough to sink into the sea.
He felt cold, as if autumn had come early. The light and intermittent nausea plaguing him washed
over him again, and he turned to leave. He had only taken a few steps when Mo Ran's voice
reached his ears again.

"You've done Xue Meng and our teacher. Do me next." Chu Wanning thought he sounded almost
pathetic as he asked, "Shi Mei, what do you think of me?"

Shi Mei was quiet, and What The Hell's scarlet radiance grew brighter around Shi Mei's finger.
Chu Wanning surmised that it did have the same interrogative abilities as Heavenly Questions, and
Shi Mei winced in pain.

"Just say something." Mo Ran's heart ached for him, but the question had sunk so deeply into his
heart in both of his lives that he couldn't let it go. "What do you think of me?"

Shi Mei closed his eyes, shaking his head as if in a great deal of pain. Sweat gathered on his
forehead.

"Forget it," Mo Ran said, and he was about to remove the holy weapon when Shi Mei spoke.

"I think you're great," he said hoarsely, face pale. Mo Ran's eyes widened, and Shi Mei blushed. He
looked down, avoiding Mo Ran's gaze.

Mo Ran couldn't help the chuckle, face as warm as the first bloom of spring as he looked at Shi
Mei. Wetness gleamed in his eyes, belying the lazy smile in his voice. "I'm glad. I think you're
really great, too. I said it to you at the lake, but you don't remember it, so I'll tell you again. You're
really, really likeable." Despite Mo Ran not explicitly confessing lust, Shi Mei blushed all the way
to his neck, and Mo Ran stared at him with eyes as bright as an ocean full of stars. "I want to treat
you right and make you happy," he said.

Shi Mei knew exactly what Mo Ran was getting at, and he lowered his head. Mo Ran reached out
to stroke his hair, but a flash of sharp golden light struck him on the face. Mo Ran turned in shock
to see his teacher staring coldly at them from in front of the walls. His robes were paler than snow
and one hand was behind his back. Heavenly Questions coiled on the ground, willow leaves
rustling.

"Sir," Shi Mei said, startled.

"Sir," Mo Ran echoed, hand cupping his injured cheek.

Chu Wanning didn't care if he was disliked, or even loathed - it couldn't make him cry, so he
would deliver a beating instead. Expression frosty and voice frozen over, he snarled at his students.
"Slacking off from training? Mo Weiyu, do you think receiving the last holy weapon makes you
impressive? Invincible? What hubris."

"Sir, I was just," Mo Ran started to protest.

Chu Wanning glared until Mo Ran quieted. "Shi Mingjing, spar with me," he said. "Mo Weiyu, go
practice," he added resentfully. "If you can't hold me off for ten moves later, your punishment will
be to copy the book of meditation techniques three hundred times. Go."

Mo Ran felt privately that practicing was pointless, and he should start copying immediately.

parody or not, hurting your alleged beloved to try to force a love confession that he doesn't
mean or isn't ready to give is gross AF, as is Chu Wanning’s I Won’t Cry Because I’m Sad
I’ll Just Beat The Shit Out Of You Instead
 Book 1, Part 5: Different Paths - The Feathered Tribe

Chu Wanning spent the next three days even more sullen than usual, temper worse and resentment
writ large across his face. Disciples scattered like chickens at the mere sight of his murderous aura,
and even Xue Zhengyong dared not approach him. Despite his refusal to admit his feelings for Mo
Ran, the murderous rage that had flared up at the sight of his two disciples acting affectionate with
each other left a sour feeling in his chest.

Disgust at his disciples and himself filled Chu Wanning; he had no relationship with Mo Ran aside
from teacher and student, and he had no right to interfere in his disciple’s love life. He found that
he had been unbearably petty, to break them apart. Whatever desire he felt for Mo Ran was
irrelevant, shackled beneath his pride and self-restraint so that no one would ever know of his
unsightly affection. The brocade pouch with two locks of hair would be the only testament to the
love they would never have.

I am on the floor howling with laughter, that is a brilliant passage

Chu Wanning would never admit that he had saved Mo Ran at the bottom of the lake, enduring
searing agony. Neither would he admit to his feeling of jealousy. For months, he tried to avoid Mo
Ran, minimizing all interactions outside of training or practicing cultivation, until the end of the
year rapidly arrived.

JFC it just gets funnier as it skewers Badly Written Time Skips

Returning from a trip down the mountain to suppress monsters, Chu Wanning tugged his robes
closer for warmth as the snow began to fall. He walked briskly toward Loyalty Hall, where a hearty
fire waited, reflecting that he was weak against the cold. He was to report to Xue Zhengyong, but
his sect leader was nowhere to be found. Instead, the only person inside Loyalty Hall was Mo Ran.

Chu Wanning hadn’t been alone with his disciple in several months, and he felt awkward. That
Loyalty Hall was the setting of his wet dream made matters worse, as did the number of times he’d
had the dream since the first time. Each time, the dream had been clear and vivid. He’d struggled
at first, but then he’d gotten bored and let the dream version of Mo Ran just run his mouth.

The dream always ended abruptly at the critical moment, and Grandmaster Chu decided that his
pure and noble disposition meant even his fantasies remained above reproach to regain a fragment
of dignity for his fragile glass maiden’s heart. The combination of Mo Ran with Loyalty Hall,
however, put him on edge. Mo Ran, oblivious, grinned toothily.

fragile glass maiden’s heart, wow, I’m not sure about this incredible bit of misogyny; use of
the feminine in a derogatory manner for humor or any other purpose is also gross

“Sir, you’re back,” he said. “Are you looking for Uncle Xue? Aunt Wang’s feeling a little under
the weather, so he’s taking care of her. I’ll tell him you’re here.”

“No need,” Chu Wanning said, and turned to leave.

“Sir, please wait,” Mo Ran called.

“What is it?” Chu Wanning turned back, surprised to feel Mo Ran’s hand brushing against his
brow. His fingers swept back and forth, as if it were natural.
“You’re covered in snow,” Mo Ran said, and Chu Wanning froze. He stood frozen as Mo Ran
fussed over him, dusting off the snow and patting his hair dry with a handkerchief.

Chu Wanning was weak to the cold, easily becoming ill with even the slightest exposure, but he
made no effort to avoid it. He had watched the fish in Mo Ran’s first life, unheeding of falling
snow. He’d been sick more often than not, particularly after the destruction of his spiritual core left
him frail enough to be bedridden for half a month every time he fell ill.

Mo Ran had acted on instinct, when he’d seen the snow, only belatedly realizing that his behavior
was too intimate. He looked up to see a pair of reticent phoenix eyes glaring at him, and withdrew
sheepishly. “I’ve overstepped my bounds,” he said. “You don’t need me to do this for you.”

Relieved, Chu Wanning was silent for a pointed moment before taking the handkerchief. The
dream was only a dream, after all, and his disciple was nothing like the man he dreamed of. He
removed his cape and warmed his hands by the fire before drying the snowmelt from his hair.
“When did you learn about boundaries?” he asked. “You’ve never cared about them before.” Chu
Wanning tucked the handkerchief away absently, then glanced at his disciple.

“I’m helping organize a year’s worth of files,” Mo Ran said.

“That’s Shi Mingjing’s job,” Chu Wanning interrupted.

“Sir, your memory is impressive,” Mo Ran offered.

“Where is he?” Chu Wanning demanded, unmoved by flattery.

“He had a headache this morning,” Mo Ran said. Seeing the look in Chu Wanning’s eyes, he
hurriedly continued. “He was feverish and I told him to get some rest. It’s not his fault.”

Mo Ran’s concern for his beloved pricked at Chu Wanning like a sharp needle. He drew his brows
together in a frown. “Is he all right?”

“I gave him medicine and waited for him to fall asleep,” Mo Ran said, relieved to avoid a scolding.
“It’s just a cold. He’ll be okay in a few days. Thank you for your concern, sir.”

“Who said I was concerned,” Chu Wanning retorted. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

As Sisheng Peak forbid its disciples from doing another’s duties, Mo Ran had been sure he was
about to be punished. He was dumbstruck to have been let off so easily, unable to act until Chu
Wanning was nearly out of sight. “Sir!” he called, picking up an umbrella. “Sir, wait!” Chu
Wanning turned around as Mo Ran skidded to a halt in front of him and opened the umbrella. “It’s
really snowing hard,” he said. “Take this.”

Chu Wanning refused. “No need.” He felt only irritation at Mo Ran’s attempt to hand it over, and
the umbrella was blown away in the struggle. He looked at it, several feet away in the snow, and
wanted nothing more than to just leave it there. He had, however, reached the end of his rope. “Mo
Weiyu,” he snapped. “Stop fucking around. I’m not Shi Mingjing. I don’t need someone else to
take care of me.”

Golden light gathered in his hand, and Mo Ran flinched away from what he thought would be
Heavenly Questions. Instead of coalescing into a willow branch, the light spread into a barrier
blocking the snow and the wind. Chu Wanning’s expression was frigid.

“Do I look like I need an umbrella?” he snarled, apparently truly angry. The barrier shifted colors,
gold to red, purple, blue, and finally green. Each barrier had a different effect, blocking only snow
or only wind, or keeping its interior warm, and each was a powerful technique in its own right. The
display of power was so sulkily ostentatious that Mo Ran was rendered speechless.

“Sir, don’t be angry,” he said, finally.

“I’m not angry!” Chu Wanning snarled, face pale with anger. “Get lost!”

“I’m going, I’m going.” Mo Ran glanced at the barrier. “Uh, don’t waste your energy.”

“I said go!” The energy in the barrier shrank into a lightning bolt and struck the ground at Mo
Ran’s feet.

Nearly getting struck by lightning in return for showing concern out of the kindness of his heart
sparked resentment in Mo Ran. He looked up to snap back, but his teacher’s eyes were red-rimmed
in his pale face. “You,” Mo Ran started, startled.

“You and I are master and disciple,” Chu Wanning hissed. “Nothing more. There’s no need for
unnecessary concern. Take your umbrella and get lost.”

“Sir,” Mo Ran said, epiphany slamming him in the face. “Did you hear me and Shi Mei talking
that day?”

Chu Wanning turned wordlessly, and Mo Ran let him leave. A few steps away, Chu Wanning
sneezed. His steps faltered for a brief moment, then sped up as if he were fleeing. Mo Ran stared at
his back until it disappeared, lost in thought.

By the time he reached the Red Lotus Pavilion, Chu Wanning knew he was ill. He found the use of
barriers to ward off rain and snow, thus preventing illness and allowing him to function at full
capacity and perform his duties, to be a waste of energy. His sneezes were rapidly followed by
headache and fever, and he took his usual medicine before going to bed to sleep it off.

The nausea that had come and gone since Jincheng Lake was particularly unpleasant that night,
and he felt as though he were burning in a furnace while drenched in cold sweat. He didn’t wake
until noon, and it took him several minutes to gather the will to crawl out of bed. When he went to
put on his shoes, he frowned. They had gotten bigger.

The truth was more than even the vaunted Constellation Saint’s composure could handle; he stared
blankly at his body and the perfectly-fitted robe that had somehow slid off his shoulder. He had
gotten smaller.

------

A crabapple blossom floated over to Xue Zhengyong, practicing his sword at the northern peak. He
caught it, pulling the golden orb of light out of its center and placing it in his ear. “Constellation’s
messenger crabapple,” he muttered. “Lazy bastard, can’t even be bothered to come over here.”

“Sect Leader,” came the unfamiliar voice of a child. “Please come to the Red Lotus Pavilion.”

Xue Zhengyong went. He stepped off his sword in front of Chu Wanning’s residence to see a child
aged no more than five or six in the pavilion, hand behind his back, wearing a frosty expression
with icy eyes to match. Chu Wanning’s robes were draped around him, dragging on the ground like
a fish with a huge sweeping tail. His expression wordlessly promised death in the face of laughter.

Xue Zhengyong cackled loudly.

“Why are you laughing?” The child slapped the table angrily. “What’s so funny?”

“I’m not laugh- oh, I can’t!” Xue Zhengyong roared with mirth. “Constellation, I told you to get
that wound checked out, but you just wouldn’t listen.” He held his stomach with both hands,
laughter punctuating every word. “I’ve never seen a kid with such a murderous aura.”

At least, Chu Wanning reflected while Xue Zhengyong went to fetch him an appropriately-sized
uniform, he hadn’t lost his spiritual power when whatever curse was now afflicting him had
reverted his body to its childish form. The new-fitting clothes, although a disciple’s uniform,
looked less ridiculous. He straightened out the silver-trimmed hand guards, and glared at Xue
Zhengyong. “I will murder you if you tell anyone.”

“I won’t,” Xue Zhengyong laughed. “But how are you going to fix it? I don’t know about healing,
I can’t do it. I can ask Elder Tanlang to come over.”

Chu Wanning tried to sweep his sleeves dramatically, but the disciple’s uniform was tight around
the limbs, and it didn’t produce the same effect. “Come over and do what? Laugh?”

“I could ask my wife,” Xue Zhengyong offered. Chu Wanning pressed his lips together in
indignation. “So that’s a yes.” The sight of Chu Wanning turning his back, looking like nothing so
much as a small child throwing a temper tantrum, sent Xue Zhengyong over the edge again, and he
howled in laughter.

Heavenly Questions flickered into sight, Chu Wanning glaring over his shoulder. “I dare you to
laugh again!”

“Okay, okay,” Xue Zhengyong said, barely managing to keep himself under control until he left.
“I’ll be right back.” He returned with a worried Madam Wang in tow.

“Constellation Saint,” she said faintly, but she was as kind and compassionate as her husband was
tactless. After performing an assessment, she came to a conclusion. “Your qi is fine, and your body
is in good shape for its age.”

“Do you know how to break the curse?” Chu Wanning asked.

Madam Wang shook her head. “There is no other known case of this ailment,” she said. “I don’t
know how to treat it.” At Chu Wanning’s look of stunned disappointment, she hurried to add,
“Constellation Saint, the willow vines likely contained a self-healing secretion that got into your
wound, and it’s not a curse. I don’t think very much of it was in there, or it would have affected
you sooner, and I think it’s only affected you now due to overwork. Rest for a few days, and see if
that helps.”

“There’s nothing else for it,” Chu Wanning said with a sigh. “Thank you, Madam.”

“You’re welcome.” She looked him over again. “I don’t think anyone will recognize you,” she
added.

Chu Wanning looked at his reflection in the pond, and thought that she was probably right. He
turned to Xue Zhengyong with some relief. “Sect Leader, I will maintain seclusion in the Red
Lotus Pavilion for a few days. Please take care of my disciples.”

“Of course, of course,” the sect leader said. “Ran is my nephew, Meng is my son, and Shi Mei is a
disciple here.” He grinned. “You just worry about yourself.”

Three days of rest and meditation did nothing to return Chu Wanning’s body to normal, and he
grew more and more anxious. Completely unable to rest and relax as instructed, he decided to take
a stroll down the mountain one evening after dinner. As it was before evening classes, the paths
and corridors were crowded with disciples, none of whom paid him any attention. He strolled
leisurely to the bamboo forest near the Platform of Sin and Virtue, his favorite practice area for
training his disciples.

The tranquil rustling of bamboo leaves filled the air. Chu Wanning plucked a leaf and blew a
melody on it to soothe his agitated mind, but he was interrupted by Xue Meng’s rude voice. He
looked up to see his disciple’s long legs and slim waist set off by his glistening blade against the
backdrop of the bamboo forest. “Hey, kid,” he said. “I’m going to practice here. Go blow your leaf
somewhere else.”

It felt odd to have his disciple try to boss him around. Chu Wanning regarded him steadily. “I’ll
stay here with my leaf. It won’t interfere with your practice.”

“No,” Xue Meng said. “You might get hurt.”

“No, I won’t.”

Xue Meng clicked his tongue. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he said impatiently. “It’s not my fault
if you end up injured.” He unsheathed his sword with the powerful sound of a serpent emerging
from the depths of a lagoon to soar into the skies. It became a dancing shadow in his hand, a
brilliant trail flying in its wake. A single slice separated a leaf into ten pieces and shook further
leaves loose, each motion as smooth as the glide of snow in wind.

With the knowledge that even a mature cultivator would be impressed by his display, Xue Meng
expected the child to be stunned. He was shocked to see the small figure just sitting on his rock as
if nothing interesting was happening in front of him. Irritated, he sheathed his blade and leapt down
from the tops of the bamboo trees.

“Hey,” he said, but the child ignored him. “Kid, I’m talking to you.”

The child lowered the leaf and slowly opened his eyes. “What? Did your master not teach you to be
courteous when speaking to others? I have a name, you know.”

“Why do I care about your name?” Xue Meng scoffed. “Blades don’t have eyes. Scram before
mine cuts off your head.”

“If you can’t avoid my head, is there any point to you practicing at all?”

“You!” Xue Meng thought he’d never been so insulted by his life, particularly not by a novice who
didn’t know his place. “Do you even know who I am, you impudent child?”

“Who are you?” the child said mildly.

“I am the heir to Sisheng Peak,” Xue Meng snapped indignantly. “How could you not know?”

The child quirked his lips upward; it would have been a mocking expression on Chu Wanning’s
adult face, but its effect was multiplied a thousandfold on his currently youthful features. “You’re
just the heir,” he said. “It’s not like you’re the sect master. Why would I know you?”

“What did you just say?”

“Quit putting on airs and practice your sword.” The child went back to his leaf, slow melody
wafting in the breeze.
Infuriated, Xue Meng still couldn’t bring himself to hit a child. He leapt up to hack ruthlessly at the
bamboo forest, carving wide swathes of destruction with his swift and vicious blade. He sliced
dozens of bamboo spears with blunt points, sending them streaking toward the child; an enemy
would have received razor-sharp points aimed at their hearts, but the junior disciple only needed
blunt points scattered around his feet. He miscalculated slightly, and rushed downward to knock
the child out of the way.

To Xue Meng’s great surprise, the child flicked his fingers before the spears reached him. The
bamboo leaf in his hand morphed into hundreds of fine threads, each of which struck a falling
spike with stunning precision. He stood up as the spikes around him disintegrated to powder. Xue
Meng stumbled to a halt, frozen in shock, face both pale and red.

ok this whole bit has fallen flat as far as the humor goes, what with being predictable and
pedestrian and honestly the most boring direction possible for the concept of Child Chu
Wanning Meets Xue Meng

“You wanna go again?” the kid asked. “You have the right energy, but it’s erratic and unsteady.”
Xue Meng opened his mouth and closed it again. “Start over from the sparrow form,” the child
continued. “Go through each segment in time with my tune.”

Receiving instruction from a small child was humiliating, and Xue Meng stood still. Chu Wanning
waited to see if he could overcome his pride for the sake of improvement, but Xue Meng
disappointed him by suddenly stomping his foot, flinging down his sword, and turning to leave. It
was a pity, Chu Wanning thought, that his disciple was so close-minded and stubborn.

okay, that’s a good line, poking fun at Chu Wanning’s lack of self-awareness

Xue Meng picked up a branch, surprising him, and said, “I’m going to practice with a branch, then,
so I don’t hurt you accidentally.”

“Okay,” Chu Wanning said with a smile.

Further surprising him, Xue Meng plucked a fresh leaf and wiped it clean before handing it over.
“For you, little brother,” he said.

Chu Wanning threw him a glance, amused at being called little brother, and settled back on the
rock with his new leaf. Xue Meng’s rash personality led him to attempt flashy moves; one that he
hadn’t ever gotten quite right involved a mid-air turn followed by six stabs and a strike. He now
failed it several times in a row, growing more frustrated each time. The child sitting on his rock
was the very image of composure, and Xue Meng felt a hint of shame at his lack of complaint.

Rallying his spirits, Xue Meng kept working. He slowly got closer to matching the melody’s
rhythm, trying until the moon hung high in the sky and the sun had long past slipped below the
horizon. He had finally mastered the maneuver, and he wiped the sweat off his brow. “I couldn’t
have done this without you,” he said happily. “Whose disciple are you? You’re pretty amazing, and
I should know who you are.”

“Elder Xuanji is my master,” Chu Wanning said, having considered the answer ahead of time;
Xuanji had so many disciples, no one could keep track of them all.

“The Rubbish King, huh?” Xue Meng said.

“What?”
“Oh, sorry.” Xue Meng misunderstood the surprised tone. “It’s just a nickname, not an insult. Your
teacher accepts everyone. Rubbish refers to his talentless disciples, not your master, and not you.”

“Does every elder have a private nickname?” Chu Wanning asked.

------

"Of course they get nicknames," Xue Meng said, in a good mood and eager to help the new
disciple. "You look pretty young. You're what, five? You must be new. Once you've settled in,
you'll see the disciples have nicknames for all of the elders."

"Oh. Like what?" Chu Wanning asked, expression indecipherable.

"Where do I even start?" Xue Meng laughed. "It's late and I'm hungry - why don't I get you a snack
as a thank you? We can talk over food."

"Sure," Chu Wanning said with a smile, after a moment's thought.

Putting away his sword, Xue Meng took the child's hand. The oblivious disciple walked with his
master toward the main gate. "What's your name, little brother?"

"Terri," Chu Wanning answered calmly.

"Terri what?"

“Terri Fying.”

Xue Meng completely missed the joke. “That’s a nice name,” he said. “How old are you? Was I
right?”

“Close,” said Chu Wanning, his expression terrifying enough that Xue Meng would have died of
fright had he been looking at the child instead of the road. “I’m six this year.”

“You’re amazingly talented,” Xue Meng said. “Not quite as clever as I was at your age, but you’ll
grow up to be outstanding. Hey,” he added. “If you ask nicely, I’ll see if my master will take you
on instead of Elder Xuanji.”

“Nicely,” said Chu Wanning flatly.

“Yes,” Xue Meng said, flicking him in the forehead. “This is a rare opportunity, you know.” He
laughed at Chu Wanning’s complicated expression. “Speechless with joy?”

A voice from behind them interrupted the conversation Xue Meng was enjoying so much before it
could lead to his untimely demise at the hands of a small child. “Mengmeng, what are you doing
here?”

“Mo Ran, you asshole,” Xue Meng said, correctly surmising that there was only one person at
Sisheng Peak with the balls to use that nickname. “Call me that again, and I will rip out your
tongue.”

Mo Ran grinned easily, clothes fluttering under the clear moonlight, until he noticed the dainty
child holding hands with his fellow disciple. “Who the hell,” he said.

“None of your business,” Xue Meng said, pulling the child protectively behind him.

“No, no, no, don’t hide him,” Mo Ran protested, and snuck behind Xue Meng to extract the child.
“Hey, you look familiar,” he said. “Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?”

Chu Wanning was displeased and afraid; he would never be able to face anyone ever again if they
knew. He turned to run.

“Hold it!” Mo Ran said, and grabbed him with a mischievous grin. “Tell me your name.” Chu
Wanning, afraid of being recognized, kept trying to back away. Mo Ran assumed he was simply
shy, and laughed. “Don’t hide,” he said. “Is your last name Xue?” Mo Ran pointed at Xue Meng.
“Is he your papa? If you tell me the truth, I’ll buy you candy.”

“Mo Weiyu, what is wrong with you?” Xue Meng snapped, face red. “What the fuck do you think
you’re implying?”

Chu Wanning was no less surprised, but he was also relieved. “My name is Terri,” he said. “Elder
Xuanji’s disciple. Terri Fying.”

“Terrifying?” Mo Ran laughed, catching on immediately. “How cute are you.”

Xue Meng shoved Mo Ran away. “He’s my new friend, go away. We’re going for a snack.”

“Fine, fine.” Mo Ran moved aside to let them pass, falling into step beside them with a grin and a
swagger.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m hungry, too.”

Xue Meng grumbled, but decided it wasn’t worth the argument and led the way to Wuchang Town.
Once infested with ghosts and ghouls, it had regained its peace after Sisheng Peak had been
founded nearby. The night market was lively when they arrived, many stalls open for business. The
disciples chose a stall selling hotpot, and sat in its outdoor area.

Hotpot was so named for both the spiciness of the broth in which one dipped the fresh, raw
ingredients and for the fact that the broth needed to be boiling to cook each ingredient as it was
dipped in. ChuanShu Province was known for its hotpot, but Chu Wanning only ate it with clear
broth, as he couldn’t handle spicy food. Xue Meng and Mo Ran, on the other hand, had grown up
in the area and loved spicy food; assuming their new friend could also handle it was perfectly
reasonable.

When Xue Meng ordered extra peppers and chili oil, the child tugged on his sleeve and asked for
his own pot of mild broth. “You want what?” Xue Meng thought he must have misheard. At Chu
Wanning’s face, he nodded. “Not from around here?”

“No.”

“I see, I see. Rough, to leave home so young.” He sighed and turned to the waiter. “Okay, an extra
pot of broth.”

Chu Wanning couldn’t help but notice that Xue Meng seemed reluctant, and his impression was
borne out. “Disciple, when in ChuanShu, you have to fit in. Learn to eat spicy foods. How are you
going to get along with people if you don’t eat the same food? Even if you don’t know the dialect,
food is a universal language.” He paused. “Where are you from, anyway?”

“Lin'an.”
“Ah.” Xue Meng mulled it over, but he knew very little of the area. “Do you guys eat rabbit heads
there?”

“Of course not,” Mo Ran interrupted. Both Xue Meng and Chu Wanning glared at him as he sat
with a foot up on the wooden bench and his arm propped on his knee. He grinned and tilted his
head. “What? They don’t.”

“Is that true?” Xue Meng asked.

“It is.”

Xue Meng glared at his compatriot. “How did you know? You ever been there?”

“Nope.” Mo Ran grimaced. “But little brother Terri here and our teacher are from the same place
and you know he doesn’t eat rabbit head. He eats tofu with scallion or sweet osmanthus lotus root.
Look for yourself next time.”

“I guess I never really paid attention,” Xue Meng said. “I’m too nervous since that one time I saw
him eat breakfast.” He rubbed his chin with distaste. “He has terrible taste. He likes savory tofu
pudding.” Turning to the child, he said with the utmost sincerity, “Do not mimic the Constellation
Saint, or no one will want to eat with you. Rabbit head and spicy foods are both mandatory. When
you have tofu pudding for breakfast, do not eat it with savory sauce.”

“Or seaweed,” Mo Ran added helpfully. “And dried shrimp.”

“Oh yes,” Xue Meng agreed. “Absolutely unacceptable.”

Chu Wanning expressionlessly watched his two disciples in a rare instance of uniting against a
common enemy, rescued from the conversation by the arrival of their dinner. Each dish was
perfectly cooked and it was complemented by a jar of freshly made soy milk. The little table
creaked under the weight of the food, and even Xue Meng and Mo Ran were more relaxed with
each other after they had made significant inroads into it.

“Where’s the brain I put in here?” Xue Meng complained, swirling his chopsticks around the broth.

“In your head,” Mo Ran said.

“The pig brain!”

Mo Ran bit his chopsticks with an impish grin. “That’s the one.”

“You asshole!”

“Hey, there’s your brain! Time to eat!”

Xue Meng walked right into the trap. “Stay away from my brain!”

Chu Wanning sat on his stool, leisurely drinking his sweet soy milk and watching his disciples
bicker. Neither of them were after his pot of mild broth, leaving him relaxed. He licked his lips as
if still hungry.

“Do you like it, little disciple?” Mo Ran asked, smiling.

“It’s not bad,” Chu Wanning said, after calculating that his chances of avoiding his disciples
calling him little were less than zero.
“Another jar of soy milk for my little disciple here,” Mo Ran called to the waiter.

Chu Wanning thoroughly enjoyed his second jar of sweet soy milk; he’d always loved candy, but
overindulging had given him a cavity, and he’d refrained from overindulging in order to protect his
pride. Being a child meant that he could eat what he wanted. Mo Ran watched him, cheek propped
against his hand.

“You like exactly the same food as our teacher,” he said.

“The Constellation Saint?” Chu Wanning asked, maintaining composure.

“Yep,” Mo Ran said, smiling. He pushed a basket toward the child. “Try this.”

The steamer held buns full of sweet bean paste. Chu Wanning ate with enthusiasm, and Mo Ran
smiled as he encouraged him to have another. The conversation continued until Chu Wanning had
eaten his fourth bun and suddenly remembered Xue Meng’s earlier revelation.

“By the way,” he said, “earlier you said every elder has a nickname. What’s Constellation Saint’s
nickname?”

------

“Oh, he doesn’t have one,” Xue Meng said seriously. “No one would dare.”

“Bullshit,” Mo Ran interrupted. “Everyone knows you like him, so they don’t tell you.” He rolled
his eyes. “Don’t listen to him. Constellation Saint has more nicknames than anyone else on Sisheng
Peak.”

“Oh?” For once, the child looked interested.

“One of the nice ones is white-clothed ghost.”

“What for?”

“Because all he wears is white.”

“What else?”

“Little napa cabbage.”

“What for?”

“Because all he wears is white.”

“What else,” Chu Wanning asked, beginning to get suspicious.

“Big buns.”

“Why?”

“Because all he wears is white.”

“Is there another one?”

“Little widow. Do you know why?” Mo Ran was laughing hysterically, unaware of the murderous
aura flashing in the child’s eyes. “Because all he wears is white.”
Mo Ran had no idea how lucky he was that one of his teacher’s specialties was never losing his
temper. “Is there another one?” the child asked.

I cannot believe she spent a hundred thousand words setting up that Chu Wanning loses his
temper at the slightest provocation just to set up this one-line pointless joke with zero
significance to any part of the plot, oh my fucking god

“If I tell you any more,” Mo Ran said, looking at his cousin, “Mengmeng here might pour the
hotpot on my head.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Xue Meng snapped, hitting the table. “Who let them do that? Napa cabbage?
Big buns? Little widow? Do they have a death wish?”

“Man,” Mo Ran said, still laughing. “I can’t believe that got to you so much. Wait until you hear
what the girls call him.”

“Oh, no.” Xue Meng’s eyes widened. “What?”

“What else?” Mo Ran drawled. “They’re girls. Pear blossoms under the pale moon or spring
snows, lotus blossom beauty. God.” His audience reacted with silence. “I mean, it could be worse,”
Mo Ran said. “Like Elder Tanlang and his terrible temper but no pretty face to go with it.”

The misogyny is not actually funny

The child perked up; he had the worst relationship with Elder Tanlang of all twenty of Sisheng
Peak’s elders. “What do they call him?” he asked.

“Wintertime pickles,” Mo Ran said, laughing. “Or mustard greens. Because his skin is dark.
Mengmeng, don’t look at me like that, you have nicknames, too.”

wow the racism is also not funny

“I what,” Xue Meng said, looking as if he’d bitten a lemon. Mo Ran just grinned. “Well, what are
they?” Xue Meng demanded.

“Fanny,” Mo Ran said promptly.

“Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Mo Ran couldn’t keep anything resembling a straight face. “You’re like a
peacock fanning its tail feathers.”

“Mo Ran!” Xue Meng howled, bounding to his feet. “I’ll kill you!”

It was past midnight by the time they finished their meal. Chu Wanning’s two idiot disciples sent
him off to Elder Xuanji’s quarters upon their return to Sisheng Peak, and he awkwardly avoided
making concrete plans to meet Xue Meng the next day.

“If I have time,” he said. Only when the disciples had gotten far enough away did he leap lightly
up to the roof and make his way back to the Red Lotus Pavilion.

Finding himself still stuck in a child’s body was more dispiriting the following morning, after he
had spent such an enjoyable evening. Chu Wanning stepped on a wooden stool and stared at the
person in the mirror, lacking the motivation to even comb his hair properly. He went to Xue
Zhengyong in despair.
“You saw Meng and Ran yesterday?”

“I said Elder Xuanji was my master. They bought it,” Chu Wanning explained. “Please cover for
me if Xue Meng comes to ask. But more importantly, I’ve cultivated for ten days and nothing has
changed. I’m going to have to ask for Elder Tanlang’s help after all.”

“Oho,” Xue Zhengyong said. “Suddenly less worried about our reputation, are we?” Chu Wanning
glared coldly, but his features made it less imposing and more like a child having a tantrum, Xue
Zhengyong thought, and he was an adorable child, besides. He reached out to pat the boy’s head.

“Sect Leader,” Chu Wanning said suddenly. “When I get my body back, could you ask HuanSha
Hall to tailor me a set of Sisheng Peak robes? Not in white.”

“I thought you didn’t like light armor,” Xue Zhengyong said, surprised.

“Sometimes change is good,” Chu Wanning said darkly, and left.

Elder Tanlang, despite his chilly relationship with Chu Wanning, tried to hide his distaste in front
of the sect leader. While he didn’t sneer openly, he failed to conceal his thoughts. Chu Wanning
regarded his gleeful eyes expressionlessly as Elder Tanlang took his pulse.

“Madam Wang’s diagnosis was essentially correct.” The elder let go, and Chu Wanning yanked his
hand away.

“Then why didn’t I get better?”

“Although you only received a small amount of sap from the ancient willow, its effects are quite
potent. It may take a long time to return you to your previous form.”

“How long?” Chu Wanning asked casually.

“It could take as long as ten years,” Elder Tanlang said, nearly losing his composure at Chu
Wanning’s suddenly widening eyes. Voice brimming with glee, he continued, “Yes, ten years. I’m
sure of it.”

“Are you playing a joke on me?” Chu Wanning asked gloomily.

“Perish the thought,” Elder Tanlang said, smiling. “I wouldn’t dare mislead the great Constellation
Saint. I wouldn’t worry too much – your body is perfectly healthy, just smaller, your mentality is
slightly younger, and your cultivation is unaffected.”

Ashen-faced, Chu Wanning could only stare.

“However,” Tanlang continued, “you may not stay in the child’s body. This type of tree sap
migrates along the same paths as your qi. If you avoid using them for three to five months, you
should regain your original form.”

“That’s perfect!” Xue Zhengyong’s face lit up.

“Not quite, Sect Leader,” Elder Tanlang said. “Even after he regains his adult body, he won’t be
able to overuse his techniques or he’ll revert to the child’s body.”

“What counts as overuse?”

“Since the sap has spread through his entire body, two moves a day at most.”
“The boundary to the ghost realm develops breaches that need constant repair. Forging constructs
uses qi. If I’m limited to two moves a day, I’m useless.”

“What do you want me to do about it?” Elder Tanlang asked. “The Holy Grace Immortal is the one
who got himself poisoned.”

“Cut it out, Tanlang,” Xue Zhengyong fretted. “You’re one of the best medical cultivators in the
world. Surely you can come up with a solution. Constellation Saint isn’t as effective in a child’s
body, which leaves us vulnerable to other sects.”

“Sect Leader,” Tanlang sneered. “The sap Holy Grace Immortal infected himself with is from an
ancient spiritual tree. I can’t come up with a solution off the top of my head.” He swept toward the
door. “I have to extract medication for pills. Please see yourselves out.”

“Tanlang!” Xue Zhengyong snapped. Chu Wanning tugged at the hem of his robes.

“Sect Leader, let’s go.”

“Chu Wanning,” Tanlang Elder called from the back room. “If you’re willing to beg me with the
appropriate level of humility, I might be willing to look for a cure for you. I haven’t seen your
condition before, true, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be able to figure something out.”

“What counts as appropriately humble?” Chu Wanning asked over his shoulder.

Tanlang sorted bundles of silver needles, lazily reclined on the couch. “Others get on their knees to
beg for help, when they’re desperate enough,” he said disdainfully. “I wouldn’t ask your face to
touch the floor, as we’re colleagues. Your knees are enough.”

“Wintertime Pickles,” Chu Wanning said, with an indifferent look, “you must be dreaming.” He
flicked his tight-fitting sleeves and left, leaving Tanlang in consternation and confusion.

The days passed slowly. Chu Wanning explained his absence by publishing a declaration that he
would be going into seclusion to meditate, and Elder Xuanji was informed of the true identity of
his alleged new disciple. A few months passed in the blink of an eye, and the Constellation Saint’s
disciples slowly became more and more worried that none of them had seen their teacher.

“More than seventy days,” Xue Meng said. “Why hasn’t he come out?”

“Maybe he’s refining his cultivation level,” Shi Mei said, sipping spiritual mountain dew and
looking at the overcast skies. “It’s going to snow, and soon it will be the new year. Maybe we’ll
see him before then.”

Flipping lazily through a manual of sword techniques, Mo Ran shook his head. “No, he sent us that
message via crabapple blossom that it would still be a while.”

The three disciples had gathered on their rest day to enjoy freshly brewed tea and warmed wine in a
small pavilion in the yard, its bamboo curtains half drawn. Xue Meng, having taken quite the shine
to Elder Xuanji’s new disciple Terri Fying, had dragged his new playmate over to join them. Mo
Ran reflected that it had become a common occurrence since their teacher had gone into seclusion.
The child ate with mannered poise, but the pastries in front of him nonetheless vanished rapidly.

“Little disciple, you are a bottomless pit,” Xue Meng announced, watching the pastries disappear.

Chu Wanning ignored him entirely in favor of defending his last piece of crispy lotus pastry from
Mo Ran’s greedy hands; lightning crackled between their gazes. “Let go,” Chu Wanning said.
“You’ve had eight,” Mo Ran retorted. “This one is mine.”

“You can eat anything you want, just not the lotus pastry.”

“If you eat too many sweets, you’ll end up with cavities,” Mo Ran said with the air of someone
using his secret weapon.

“I’m six,” Chu Wanning said. “It wouldn’t embarrass me at all.”

“Mo Weiyu,” Xue Meng said, slapping his hand on the table. “Stop fighting children for food.”

Chu Wanning grabbed the pastry as Mo Ran instinctively flinched, hands as quick as his face was
expressionless. He was feeling quite satisfied with himself when a sharp whistling sound pierced
the skies. His face fell. “The gathering whistle?”

Xue Meng lifted the curtains to look out the window, seeing other disciples outside also look
around with expressions of surprise. Use of the gathering whistle could only mean an emergency
situation, most often a breach of the ghost barrier in the days before Chu Wanning joined the sect.
Since the Constellation Saint had begun maintaining the barriers, the whistle had gone unused.

“What’s going on?” Shi Mei put down his book.

“No point in asking,” Xue Meng said. “Let’s go see.”

Mo Ran remained silent, having foreknowledge of what had prompted this particular instance of
the gathering whistle. The timing was off, he knew, much as it had been with other events. He
followed his fellow disciples to Loyalty Square, lining up as instructed.

As the final ranks filled out, Xue Zhengyong emerged from Loyalty Hall, standing on the platform
above them. Six beautiful women followed, all impossibly gorgeous and dressed only in thin
muslin robes despite the bitterly cold weather. Their red skirts mirrored the clouds at dawn, and
their eyes seemed lit with scarlet flame. A crimson blaze marked the space between each woman’s
eyebrows.

“Envoys of the feathered tribe,” Xue Meng finally said, voice trembling. “Did they come from
Phoenix, the land of immortals?”

------

The residents of Phoenix, despite its name of Land of the Immortals, were not immortal but were of
mixed demon and human heritage. In the cultivation world, they most resembled true immortals
and were known as the feathered tribe. They lived in the hidden land of peace and prosperity called
Peach Blossom Spring beyond the maze of Mount JiuHua, rarely interacting with full humans.
Only in times of turmoil or disaster did they appear in the cultivation world to render aid to
mortals.

The feathered tribe had appeared to oppose Emperor Evil Overlord, but even they had been unable
to stand against his mastery of the three forbidden techniques and every one of them had been
slaughtered. Phoenix had been burned to ash within a single day. Remembering it later, Mo Ran
had broken out in a cold sweat and thought he must have been a man possessed by endless cruelty.
In his teenage body, Mo Ran knew he couldn’t contend with the feathered tribe – even most adult
cultivators fell short of their demonically acquired spiritual strength. In Sisheng Peak, only a few
elders could briefly hold their own in a match.

Catching sight of Mo Ran’s face, Xue Meng felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. “What’s
wrong?”

“Nothing,” Mo Ran whispered. “I just ran too fast.” He couldn’t explain that the arrival of the
feathered tribe had been the beginning of the events leading to Shi Mei’s death, or that it was
happening too soon. Why, he thought, was everything so different than before? The faint winter
sun hung weakly in the sky, its light washing the color out of the land below, and Mo Ran couldn’t
help reaching out for Shi Mei’s hand.

It was now Shi Mei’s turn to ask, “What’s wrong?” Mo Ran shook his head and said nothing.

when the story becomes plot-driven, it becomes intriguing beyond the realm of parody –
there are hints of A Story with potential – but the author, unfortunately, keeps trying to make
this a character-driven narrative. However, even taking into account that this is a parody of
a plethora of often poorly-executed tropes, the jokes of Chu Wanning’s Expressionless Purity
and Mo Ran’s fixation on Shi Mei rather than admitting his own feelings start to fall flat –
it’s getting to the point where it’s tedious rather than funny. This comes to mind now because
I’m actually interested in the changing timeline, and because the child-Chu-Wanning
narrative has been a lackluster slog.

“I have called you all here because envoys of the feathered tribe have arrived,” Xue Zhengyong
said. His words, at least, hadn’t changed from the speech Mo Ran remembered. “As they did
eighty years ago, they have left Peach Blossom Spring to assist the human world in a foretold
calamity.” He paused to look over the disciples gathered below. “The barrier to the ghost realm
was first created by the god Fuxi, but it has gradually eroded over the past million years. Breaches
began to show up, first a few decades apart, and now it grows weaker by the day. Despite all of our
efforts –“

Xue Meng snorted under his breath. “Despite Chu Wanning’s efforts,” he muttered.

“-the breach grows bigger still,” Xue Zhengyong continued. “The barrier will eventually break, as
it did decades ago. At that time, the human realm will be assaulted by thousands of ghosts and
spirits. The envoys of the feathered tribe have come to select those with the most suitable qi to
cultivate in seclusion in preparation for this calamity.”

The crowd broke out in a commotion, each disciple harboring secret hopes that he or she would be
selected to visit the famed Peach Blossom Spring and receive special training. Only Mo Ran felt
apprehension instead of excitement, so much so that he was unable to summon his usual ability to
dissemble. He knew that Shi Mei would be selected for the special training, and that a huge
breakdown with multiple breaches would occur not long after he returned. Shi Mei would fight
alongside Chu Wanning in the ensuing battle, each of them working one side of an array to seal the
largest point of failure.

The horde of ghosts and demons, correctly identifying Shi Mei as the weak point of the cultivators’
resistance, would converge upon him in a murderous last-ditch effort. They would kill him,
demonic energy piercing his heart and soul. Chu Wanning would do nothing to help as Shi Mei fell
from atop the coiled dragon pillar, instead continuing to work to seal the barrier.

ah, there it is, because of course The Heroic Chu Wanning can do Nothing Wrong

Snow had been falling that day, and Shi Mei’s falling form had resembled a small, insignificant
snowflake as it tumbled down. Shi Mei’s death had been no more impactful than the melting of
that snowflake, with only Mo Ran to care for him in the midst of the pandemonium. He had
watched Shi Mei’s breaths grow shallower, begging their teacher to save him, but Chu Wanning
had placed his pride and reputation and duty to seal the breach above his disciple’s life.

Mo Ran had remembered all of Chu Wanning’s favorite things in that moment – the sound of rain
in the lotus pond, the melancholic verses of the poet Du, his strict adherence to form. Mo Ran
remembered that he’d taught them to put their duty before their lives, and in the moment of Shi
Mei’s death, he’d found it laughable. Duty meant nothing to him as his beloved had died – what
did he care if commoners suffered and died while the breach remained open? Mo Ran had known
in that moment that Chu Wanning was a despicable hypocrite who spouted duty and compassion
while placing the lives of insignificant and meaningless commoners above his own disciple’s life.

Commoners and cultivators alike had adored Chu Wanning afterwards, no one but Mo Ran sparing
a thought for those who had perished. He had confronted his teacher, demanding to know if he
mourned for his disciple at all, demanding to know how Chu Wanning could preach putting duty
before self while he had survived and those under his command had died. “You never cared about
us at all,” he had spat.

The loss of an ungifted disciple had been the price Chu Wanning had paid for peace and
prosperity, and none faulted him for it. Only Mo Ran had seen that the brilliant crown of adoration
atop his head was made of the bones of the dead, and had hated him from the bottom of his heart.
Nothing would ever change that.

“Young disciple,” came a voice, warm hand on his forehead ripping him out of his black
memories. A delicate face filled his vision, bright and lovely, one of the envoys of the feathered
tribe smiling at him. “Such an opportunity, and you pay it no mind,” she teased gently.

“Ah, elder sister, please take no offense,” Mo Ran said, trying to cover his feelings with a smile.
“I’ve always been a daydreamer. I was so hoping to be selected that I was lost in imagining what
Peach Blossom Spring might be like.”

The envoys had begun to move through the crowd while Mo Ran had been lost in his memories,
but he’d failed to notice that they were choosing their disciples. The woman in front of him smiled
sweetly. “Your qi is pure. Your cultivation and aptitude are remarkable. Please join us in Peach
Blossom Spring.”

The world contracted around him as Mo Ran stared at her in shock. Only Chu Wanning and Shi
Mei had been chosen in his previous life, and this unexpected point of deviation left him unable to
speak. His stunned reaction was close enough to the amazement expected of one chosen to be a
disciple, and those around him only stared at him enviously. By the time he followed the envoy to
Loyalty Hall, Mo Ran had begun to feel elation – the differences between this life and the last
meant that Shi Mei might not be chosen to repair the fateful barrier breach.

Mo Ran didn’t know what had changed his fate, but if training at Peach Blossom Spring meant that
he could repair the barrier instead of Shi Mei, he wouldn’t question it. He had yet to learn the
meaning of altruism, but he would sacrifice body and soul for even a scrap of kindness from his
beloved. However, the lineup of selected disciples pierced Mo Ran’s bubble of hope – it was
completely different from what he remembered.

As a result of being in seclusion, Chu Wanning hadn’t been chosen. Shi Mei was among the ranks,
as was Elder Xuanji’s tiny disciple Terri Fying. Xue Meng, shockingly, had been invited to Peach
Blossom Spring as well – the envoy had apparently noted the lingering essence of the Exalted
Gouchen’s sacred sword.

The deep sound of a clock striking reverberated through Sisheng Peak, preceding the envoys’
announcement. “From Sisheng Peak of the Lower Cultivation Realm, the chosen are Xue Ziming,
Mo Weiyu, Shi Mingjing, and Terri Fying.” The envoy lifted her hand with a vividly colored
messenger myna bird perched on her fingertip. “These four are exceptional individuals, suitable in
aptitude and genuine in character. Over and out.”

The bird fluttered its powerful wings and vanished into the vast skies toward the coveted realm of
Peach Blossom Spring. No cultivator would refuse the great and rare honor of being chosen to
study techniques to maintain the barrier to the ghost realm, even though training could take
anywhere from a few months to a few years. However, understanding the importance of the timing,
the envoys informed their chosen group that they should wait to leave until after the new year
holiday.

Anticipating the trip to Peach Blossom Spring with Shi Mei, Mo Ran was overjoyed. It wasn’t long
before the happiness faded, but Mo Ran couldn’t figure out why until he glanced up to see the
sealed-off Red Lotus Pavilion. He slowed and then came to a stop, gazing up to where the
mountain disappeared into clouds. His teacher had been in seclusion for three months, and during
that time, Mo Ran had begun to feel his hatred ebbing away.

Remind himself though he would about the expression on his teacher’s face as he abandoned Shi
Mei to die, Mo Ran couldn’t help but feel a spark of empathy here or there. Terri Fying, walking
with him, tugged on his sleeve. “What is it?”

Yeah, the time for this revelation was forty thousand words ago. This is really poorly placed.

“Little disciple, do you think he’ll come out before we go?”

“He?”

“Ah.” Mo Ran paused and smiled at the child. He had come to feel that he was clever and sensible,
and begun to be quite fond of him after they had spent so much time together. “I was talking about
my teacher,” he said. “Constellation Saint.”

“I see,” said Terri Fying.

Mo Ran sighed. “He’s never been in seclusion this long before. I wonder if the injury he got at the
lake was more serious than we thought.”

Chu Wanning hadn’t heard him spontaneously bring up the topic of his teacher in a long time.
Expecting a negative answer, he still couldn’t help but ask, “Do you miss him?”

------

At first, Mo Ran couldn’t understand the question. Although Chu Wanning had done him dirty in
his past life, he hadn’t in this one. Mo Ran had been protected instead, over and over, while Chu
Wanning had been injured in his stead. After a long moment, he answered, “He’s been hurt so
many times because of me.”

The expression on his face brought a feeling of warmth to Chu Wanning’s heart. He opened his
mouth to reply, but Mo Ran wasn’t done talking.

“He’s done too much for me. I can only hope to help him recover a little faster, so I don’t owe him
so much.”

The flicker of warmth froze over, the cold spreading into Chu Wanning’s limbs. Of course, he
thought dully. The only relationship we have is teacher and student. He was the only one to blame
for his own feelings of disappointment, having dared to hope for more. He forced a smile,
knowing it likely wasn’t convincing. “You’re overthinking it,” he said. “You’re his disciple and
owe him nothing. What he does, he does willingly.”

Pfffffffffffhahahaha yes good we are back to the ludicrous ridiculousness of Chu Wanning’s
self-pity

“You’re so little, but you keep talking like a grown-up,” Mo Ran laughed, rubbing Terri Fying’s
head brightly.

Chu Wanning suffered it for a moment, but the smile fell off his face and his eyes began to fill with
tears. “Mo Ran,” he said to his beautiful disciple, “I’m done playing with you. Let go.”

Mo Ran, being socially inept, had failed to notice the change in his little friend’s expression. He
pinched Terri Fying’s cheeks and made a funny face. “Why are you so cranky this time?”

The reflection of a child’s face stared back at Chu Wanning from Mo Ran’s eyes, ugly smile
rendering him into a pathetic monster. “Let go,” he said.

Still oblivious, Mo Ran kept teasing him. “Okay, okay, I won’t tease you for talking so mature,” he
said. “Call me big brother and we’ll make up.”

“Let go of me.”

“Be good, call me big brother,” Mo Ran wheedled. “I’ll buy you osmanthus cake.”

Chu Wanning closed his eyes, lashes trembling. “Mo Ran, I’m not kidding,” he said hoarsely. “I
don’t want to play with you any more. Let go of me. Please.” He squeezed his eyes tighter, trying
to hold the tears in, but he couldn’t control his voice. “Mo Ran, please. It hurts.”

It hurt too much to love his disciple, and he had to hide that passion in the depths of his heart. Even
if Mo Ran didn’t love him, he could bear it as long as he could silently protect him, but seeing Mo
Ran reject him and only offer kindness to others tore at his heart with barbs and thorns. Every time
they interacted, his heart bled more, and Chu Wanning didn’t know how long he could bear the
terrible agony of having the feelings he never expressed rejected.

Finally noticing something wrong, Mo Ran hastily let go. Chu Wanning was suddenly grateful for
being in a child’s body; it was socially acceptable for him to express pain and be vulnerable, and
Mo Ran would look at him with concern. He could never have demeaned himself so as an adult.

Chu Wanning is so self-absorbed that he is sure this is All About Him and doesn’t consider
that Mo Ran has his own perspective. That he also actively chooses to hide how he feels,
actively chooses not to reach out to other people, actively gives off the impression that he
wants nothing to do with anyone else, and then sits there and whines Nobody Loves Me, oh
my fucking GOD. I mean, I assume this is the point of the parody, but seriously, it’s getting
mind-numbingly boring and edging into actively irritating at this point

New Year’s Eve arrived rapidly. The liveliest time of year on Sisheng Peak, it saw all the disciples
putting up red paper talismans and sweeping away snowdrifts. The head chef was busy from dawn
until dusk preparing delicacies for the year-end feast, and the elders had all prepared spells and
charms for their specialties to add to the festivities. Elder Tanlang transformed a pool of fresh water
into fragrant wine while Elder Xuanji released three thousand firelight mice to scatter around the
sect and spread light and warmth. Elder LuCun enchanted snowmen to run around screaming
Happy New Year.
No one expected the Constellation Saint to join in, as he was still in seclusion. Xue Meng stood by
the window watching a storm of crabapple blossoms flutter from the sky. “We’ll be gone
tomorrow. I guess we won’t see him after all. I wonder what our teacher’s doing right now.”

“Cultivating,” Mo Ran said through a mouthful of apple. “Speaking of which, all of the elders are
supposed to put on a performance. Suck that he’s not here and we can’t see him being forced to
join in.” He laughed. “I wonder what he could even do. Maybe a skit about how to get really pissed
off?”

“How about a tutorial on whipping Mo Weiyu to death?” Xue Meng countered, glaring.

The New Year holiday blunted Mo Ran’s habitual ire with his fellow disciple. “Have you seen our
little friend today?” he asked.

“Terri Fying?” Xue Meng thought for a moment. “No, but I mean, he’s Elder Xuanji’s disciple,
and the elder has graciously let him spend a lot of time with us already. We can’t expect him to
abandon his duties during the holiday.”

“I guess,” Mo Ran laughed.

The setting sun shone above Red Lotus Pavilion, and Chu Wanning carefully looked over the pill
in his hand. Xue Zhengyong sat across from him pouring a cup of tea. He snagged a crispy pastry
as well, neither of which had been offered. He grinned at the elder, cheerfully ignoring etiquette.
“Aren’t you done looking at it yet, Constellation? Tanlang can be pretty sarcastic, but he’s not ill-
intentioned. He wouldn’t deliberately hurt you.”

“What are you trying to imply, Sect Leader?” Chu Wanning asked lightly. “I was just thinking that
if Elder Tanlang could make one pill to give me my adult form for a day, then he could make
more. Then I can use them when I need them.”

“It’s not that easy,” Xue Zhengyong reminded him. “The raw materials for this are rare beyond
measure, and the three of them he’s already made have drained his supplies entirely. This is not a
feasible long-term plan.”

I love how it’s a waste of energy and resources to use his own energy to keep himself from
getting sick, but he’s absolutely willing to demand other people work hard to give him things
to make his life a little easier while he suffers the consequences of his own unwillingness to
make the effort to take care of himself

“I see,” Chu Wanning said. “In that case, please thank him for me.”

“You know,” Xue Zhengyong said, “you two are actually a lot alike. Cranky as hell but kind at
heart.” Chu Wanning glared at him before washing the pill down with a cup of tea and stealing the
last pastry from underneath the sect leader’s questing fingers.

The disciples filtered into Mengpo Hall at nightfall, one after another, as each elder shepherded
their disciples to knead dough and make dumplings. The enchanted snowmen and firelight mice
threaded through the crowd, passing jars of salt and red pepper powder and saucers of chopped
scallions. Each table bustled with excitement and laughter, with the exception of the Constellation
Saint’s table.

The three disciples present looked around, feeling the absence of their teacher. “I miss him,” Xue
Meng sighed.
“Didn’t he send us a letter telling us to have fun?” Shi Mei said. “To work hard at Peach Blossom
Spring and that he’ll come see us as soon as he can?”

“Yeah, but when is that?” Xue Meng sighed more heavily, eyes traveling listlessly past the open
door, when he suddenly sat bolt upright. His face paled and then flushed a dizzying shade of red,
eyes shining brightly. He was too excited to speak properly, stammering as he lifted a hand and
pointed.

Mo Ran assumed one of Elder Xuanji’s rare spiritual beasts had escaped, and that Mo Ran was
overreacting out of inexperience. He laughed. “Look at you, flinching as if you saw an immortal.
What are you so surprised for.” He turned around, still grinning, and faltered as he saw what had
startled his classmate.

Standing in the snowy dusk outside the door was Chu Wanning, wearing white robes with a vivid
red cape. He turned elegantly to the side to discard his umbrella and shake off the snow before
looking toward his disciples with slender phoenix eyes. Mo Ran’s heart sped up and his palms
prickled, his breathing coming to a stuttering halt.

Though usually the disciples didn’t dare react when Chu Wanning entered a space, his appearance
now after so long spent in seclusion led to a gradual ripple of silence. The white snowflakes still
clinging to him made his face even fairer in comparison and his eyebrows darker. His own
disciples broke the silence, shouting for him and running to embrace him.

Xue Meng was the loudest. “Sir, you’re finally here! I thought we wouldn’t see you before we left,
but you do love us! Sir, sir!”

Shi Mei slowed to a halt before perpetrating the gross impropriety of hugging his teacher, and
bowed respectfully instead. “Congratulations on ending your seclusion, sir.”

Chu Wanning patted both of their heads. “I apologize for taking so long. Let’s greet the new year
together.”

He sat down at the feast, properly upright and calm. His three disciples mimicked him, the table
completely silent as they regarded the traditional ingredients in front of them and the brand-new
copper coin. As Mo Ran was the best cook of the group, it was wordlessly decided that he would
take charge.

I can’t even tell if that’s supposed to poke fun at terrible transitions or if the author’s just
bad at it

“Guess I’m in charge,” he said, grinning. “Who knows how to roll dough?” None of them
answered. “I’m on wrappers, then. Shi Mei, your wontons are excellent, so you’re in charge of the
dumpling filling. They’re pretty similar.”

“But not the same,” Shi Mei said. “What if I do it wrong?”

“It’s fine as long as it’s edible,” Chu Wanning said. “Don’t worry too much.”

“Xue Meng, pass the water and keep our sleeves out of the way, I don’t know. Don’t get in the
way.” Mo Ran grinned. “Sir, would you like to watch and enjoy your tea?”

“I’ll wrap the dumplings,” Chu Wanning replied coldly.

“I’m sorry, what?” Mo Ran stuck a finger in one ear and wiggled it. “I must be hearing things.
What did you say?”
“I said, I’ll wrap the dumplings.”

Mo Ran thought that he would have much rather been hearing things after all.

------

The finished product was surprisingly appealing, given the clumsy wrapping techniques. The
dumplings were adorably round, lined up neatly as if at attention in front of the three dumbstruck
disciples. None of them could keep his mouth shut on an expression of awe and disbelief, but Chu
Wanning was close enough to hear every word no matter how quietly they spoke. He pressed his
lips together, ears growing pink.

“Sir, is this the first time you’ve made dumplings?” Shi Mei finally asked, and when Chu Wanning
nodded, he was bold enough to continue. “Then why do they look so nice?”

“It’s like making constructs,” Chu Wanning said. “A fold here and there, very simple.”

Memories of the last and only time he’d seen Chu Wanning cook crept up on Mo Ran, when his
teacher had tried to make Shi Mei’s special wontons and Mo Ran had dumped them all over the
floor. He couldn’t remember their shape, only the look of stunned surprise on his teacher’s face
and the bits of flour that had clung to his cheeks. Mo Ran had expected anger, but instead his
teacher had only gathered up the dirty wontons and thrown them in the trash. Mo Ran had actively
avoided thinking about what might have gone through Chu Wanning’s mind at the time and he
wasn’t about to start now.

The enchanted snowmen carried the finished dumplings to the kitchen for cooking. The copper
coin had been placed in one of them, bringing good luck to whoever found it. In short order, the
snowmen had returned with their finished meal, complete with spicy and sour dipping sauces.

“Sir, please go ahead,” Xue Meng said, and Chu Wanning graciously accepted.

After placing a dumpling in his own bowl, Constellation Saint served each of his disciples instead
of eating his dumpling immediately. “Happy New Year,” he said mildly as they stared at him in
shock.

“Happy New Year, sir,” they chorused back.

Mo Ran nearly broke a tooth on the copper coin as it cracked against his mouth on the very first
bite. He was caught completely off guard. Shi Mei laughed at his grimace. “Ran, you’re going to
be lucky this year.”

“Lucky bastard,” Xue Meng echoed.

“Sir,” Mo Ran lisped. “You’re too good at this.”

“Speak properly,” Chu Wanning said.

“I bit my tongue,” Mo Ran returned mournfully, and rubbed his cheek. A sip of tea offered by Shi
Mei numbed the pain, and he immediately regained his good humor. “Sir, did you deliberately
memorize which dumpling had the coin and give it to me?”

“You wish,” Chu Wanning said coldly, and turned away to start eating. His face seemed a little red
under the candlelight, Mo Ran thought, but he couldn’t be sure.

A sumptuous dinner followed the lucky dumplings, the head chef’s hard work materialized in a
spread of meat and fish covering the entire table. Xue Zhengyong and Madam Wang directed the
enchanted snowmen to deliver red packets to every table from the seat of honor, even to Chu
Wanning. He didn’t notice the snowman’s attempts to get his attention at first, and blinked in
surprise. The red packet contained a handful of expensive gold leaves.

Surprised, Chu Wanning looked up at his sect leader, only to see a carefree grin turned in his
direction and a cup of wine raised in a toast. He stared for a few moments, but couldn’t help the
faint smile that finally curved his mouth. He raised his own cup in acknowledgement, swallowing
its contents in a single gulp. The leaves were divided amongst his disciples.

Several rounds of drinks later, the atmosphere at the table had finally succumbed to the nonstop
stage performances and risen to meet the occasion. The three disciples appeared to have lost some
of their fear during his seclusion, no doubt helped along, Chu Wanning felt, by his inability to hold
his alcohol.

“Sir, l wanna read your palm,” Xue Meng said, the first to lose his sobriety. He carefully examined
his teacher’s palm, emboldened by drink. “You have a long but disjointed lifeline,” he said. “You
get sick way too easily.”

“Accurate,” Mo Ran laughed. Chu Wanning glared.

“Long and slender ring finger, so good fortune with money,” Xue Meng continued, ignoring the
byplay. “The love line branches off at its tip to merge into the wisdom line, which should mean
you sacrifice for love.” He peered at Chu Wanning closely. “Is that true?”

“Xue Ziming, do you have a death wish?” Chu Wanning hissed.

Too drunk to detect a threat, his disciple simply grinned at him and went back to examining his
palm. “Oh, the love line makes an island right below the ring finger, sir, you have terrible taste in
people. Absolutely dreadful.”

Chu Wanning snatched his hand back and pushed his sleeve down. Mo Ran was howling with
laughter, doubled over holding his stomach, but he caught a glimpse of his teacher’s icily
murderous gaze and made an obvious attempt to stifle his glee. “What are you laughing at?” Chu
Wanning snarled.

Xue Meng grabbed his sleeve before he could storm off in rage, pulling him down to burrow in his
arms. All the laughter drained out of Mo Ran as Xue Meng hugged his teacher. “Don’t go,” he
muttered. “Stay for another round.”

Chu Wanning thought he might choke on his own indignation. “Xue Ziming! Control yourself!”

this is why no one likes you, Chu Wanning, when they try to include you, you act like an
asshole and storm off in a snit, why the fuck would anyone want to be around someone who
acted like that

His attempts to salvage his wounded dignity were thwarted by the enchanted snowmen gesturing
him toward the stage; in a moment of supremely poor timing, Elder Tanlang had finished his sword
dance performance, and it was Chu Wanning’s turn to entertain. All eyes in the hall turned to him
just in time to see his disciple drunkenly clinging to his waist like a spoiled child. It was his worst
nightmare, and he couldn’t move without injuring his disciple. Rescue came from an unexpected
source.

“Come on, Xue Meng, aren’t you too old to act like a spoiled kid?” Mo Ran reached out with a