The dragon rolled its eyes. "I've drawn so many already. How are you not satisfied?

That's all there

is, the inn is clean except for the ones you saw."

Chu Wanning exchanged glances with Mo Ran. "There wasn't one to assess spiritual foundations?"
Chu Wanning asked.

"Nope."

The holy weapon should have had an assessment spell, Mo Ran was sure of it, but it appeared that
it wasn't bait after all. It had been a coincidence. The dragon soared upwards at their silence,
zipping left and right. "Pay attention to me," it said. "Drawing that much is exhausting! Where's
my appreciation?" Chu Wanning wordlessly summoned another talisman, irritated already and out
of patience for the dragon's antics. "Hey!" it screeched. "I don't want to!" With no further ado, it
was pulled into the talisman anyway. The drawing slowly faded away.

"I'll call you when you're needed," Chu Wanning said.

The vanishing drawing blinked at him indignantly. "You only remember I'm here when you want
something!" Tears streamed down its face. "You're heartless!" Chu Wanning lost all pretense of
courtesy with the dragon, folding the talisman in half with an unceremonious slap and tucking it
into his sleeve.

JFC can you not be polite to someone who is doing you a favor

Night fell, and the time for sleep arrived. Chu Wanning slept in the bed, while Mo Ran took the
floor, both of them troubled. The holy weapon should have had a residue, and Mo Ran couldn't
decide if it was more likely that the puppet master had another way to gauge spiritual foundation or
that he was in no hurry to find his replacement power source. He startled a little as Chu Wanning
called him by name, and responded with a grunt.

"We'll return to Sisheng Peak tomorrow," Chu Wanning said. "If he would let an opportunity like
the auction just slip past, he has another plan up his sleeve. We're not going to find anything this
way. I'll ask Xue Zhengyong to message the other nine sect leaders to find any of their members
who might be a spiritual essence and have them guarded. Better than aimlessly hoping to stumble
into his plans by chance."

"What if he's one of the sect leaders?" Mo Ran asked.

"Unlikely," Chu Wanning replied. "Besides, he already knows we're chasing him."

"But how are we going to convince the sect leaders to cooperate? Tell them everything?"

"They wouldn't believe us," Chu Wanning said mildly. "I have other ways."

"What other ways?"

"I'll take disciples." Chu Wanning paused. "We'll tell them that the frequent breaches in the ghost
realm barrier poses a great danger. In order to guard against it, Constellation of Sisheng Peak will
accept up to five additional disciples. They've tried to send me students over and over again, so
they'll take the bait. And since they know I'll only accept those with outstanding spiritual
foundations, any essences they have are bound to show up."

"You're going to take more disciples?" Mo Ran felt himself pale, horrified at the thought. It was
worse than whatever the puppet master's plans were.
"I'll take their names," Chu Wanning corrected him. "They can practice standard barrier techniques
on their own first. If they stick with it for three years, I might actually personally teach them."

this is actively cruel to those prospective disciples and encapsulates a large part of why I do
not find Chu Wanning sympathetic

Sourness surged at the back of Mo Ran's throat as he wrestled with the idea of Chu Wanning
taking on more disciples. His teacher had been so picky in his previous life, and it was utterly
unfair that he would have to share his attention more than he already did in this second life. He
wanted to protest, but the words stuck on his tongue every time he tried to get them out and
eventually he heard Chu Wanning fall asleep. He waited until he was sure he wouldn't wake him,
and then pulled on an outer garment before slowly sneaking out of the room.

The inn's halls were still and silent, red silk lanterns glowing peacefully along the walls. The holy
weapon had been tested for spell residue, but Mo Ran hadn't tested it for resonance, to see if it
really was his. He reflected that it didn't matter, though, as he would be able to call it to his side as
long as he got within a hundred paces. His fingertips glowed with crimson light as he summoned it.
For a moment, the only answer was silence, and he felt his heart drop.

A muffled sound of a blade rang out in the distance, reverberating in Mo Ran's ears. His heart
hammered in his chest again. "No Return!" he breathed. It was his blade, struggling and crying for
blood, its deep roar reaching for him across lifetimes. It was trying to reunite with him, but he
could feel that it was trapped. Mo Ran couldn't tell what was blocking it, only that there was
something missing in their bond. They had once had a pact, seen the beautiful sights from the
tallest mountains together and waited for death together. Tears welled at the corner of his eyes as
Mo Ran wept for his blade.

A door opened with a creak. It would have been quiet during the day, but in the suffocating
darkness it was as loud as a crash of thunder.

------

Mo Ran's gaze snapped up toward the sound to see a figure in a floor-length black cloak appear at
the end of the hall. The gold patterns emphasized the figure's height, cloth obscuring even his face.
All Mo Ran could see was a pair of eyes, barely visible in the dim light. The figure held a blade -
black, narrow, and sharp. It was No Return.

"Who are you?"

"It doesn't matter," the person said coldly. His voice was warped, as if intentionally distorted. "All
you need to know is that I know who you are."

A chill ran through Mo Ran. "I'm just a disciple of Sisheng Peak," he said, striving for calm. "It
doesn't matter if you know me."

"Disciple of Sisheng Peak? Not wrong, but I think you've forgotten that you're also the Evil
Overlord, Emperor of the Mortal Realm, a vicious ghost who slew his teacher and then fled before
arriving in the underworld." Mo Ran's blood ran colder with every word as his mind added the rest
of his accomplishments - murdered teacher and family alike, tread on countless to come out on top,
married the most beautiful woman in the world. "You are Mo Weiyu," the figure said. "Evil
beyond redemption, who should have died a thousand deaths and be denied reincarnation,
deserving to be torn to pieces with your heart and eyes dug out."

"Who are you?" Mo Ran shouted, red clouding his vision. A ruthless fiendish snarl transformed his
face as he stood, at the verge of lunging for the other's throat and ripping it out for daring to utter
the names he never wanted to hear again. The person lifted a hand wrapped in black silk, covering
the hallway in layers of ice.

"You can no longer summon this blade," he said. "Can you." He approached slowly, stopping a
few paces away. "Emperor of the Mortal Realm - or should I just call you Mo Ran? How
laughable. Your heart has softened and warmed, staying by your teacher. You've even developed
feelings for him." The figure paused. "And where is that person now, whom you swore to protect?"

"What have you done with Shi Mei?" Mo Ran roared.

The person sneered coldly, refusing to answer. "Do you know why you can't call No Return to
you? Your soul is about to change, and your hatred will dissipate. Your regret, as you lay dying,
was that you couldn't protect your beloved Mingjing. Your wish, to not fail him should you get
another life." The person's eyes, piercing even in the low light, turned on him. "Mo Ran, have you
fulfilled your wish?"

"I -"

"The barrier is about to rupture. The events will repeat. Do you intend to watch him die, begging
Chu Wanning for mercy again? You're only wasting your second chance. You don't deserve to
touch this blade ever again."

"I don't need you to tell me that!" Mo Ran shouted, enraged. "What happens between me and Shi
Mei is no one else's business! Who the fuck do you think you are? A dead ghost? Gouchen's
puppet master?"

The person snickered lightly. "A dead, reborn ghost," he said lightly. "Did you really think you
were the only one?"

Blurry faces flashed through Mo Ran's mind, one after the other, of the people had died before him
in his past life. Xue Zhengyong, Madam Wang, Chu Wanning, Ye Wangxi, even Song Qiutong -
or could the person be one of those who had assaulted Wushan Palace at the very end, the day he'd
died? Xue Meng or Mei Hanxue came to mind, along with the executioners from the ten great
sects. He had to know who had found out his secret, which demon from his previous life had
climbed out of the underworld to force him back to the road of ruin.

In the split second it had taken him to think, a sudden flash blinded his eyes and the man was in
front of him. His sheer strength rattled Mo Ran almost more than No Return pressed against his
chest - a tiny bit of pressure would see it piercing his flesh right down to the heart. "Mo Weiyu, I
thought you were devoted," the man said. "But perhaps your beloved simply doesn't hold your
attention. Even in your second life, you neglect him."

"Bullshit," Mo Ran said, through gritted teeth.

"Is it, though?" the man smirked darkly behind his concealing veil, one hand closing around Mo
Ran's throat and sliding slowly down to rest on his chest. "Does he have a place in your heart or has
even his memory worn away?"

if this is Future Shi Mei, I will laugh my fucking ass off

"As if you know what's in my heart better than me," Mo Ran growled. "Show me your face."

"Don't be in such a rush," the man said, voice like smoke and eyes like mist. "I'll show you my face
right before you die."
"You die first," Mo Ran snarled, but a bone-chilling cold wound its way into his feet. The icy
thorns cast by the other cultivator had climbed up his legs without his noticing. Mo Ran wracked
his brain, trying to remember who had used ice spells and the water element in his previous life,
but he'd had so many enemies he couldn't possibly remember them all. Xue Meng used fire, Chu
Wanning used metal and wood. Ye Wangxi and Xue Zhengyong were associated with earth, but he
couldn't bring a single person to mind who had such powerful control over ice.

"You're not wrong," said the cultivator. "I'll die, too. But that won't be for a long, long time, Mo
Weiyu."

Ice spread over his body, and Mo Ran released a burst of qi to fend it off. Immensely oppressive
force bore down on him, the cultivator's strength truly terrifying. He might have been able to rival
even Chu Wanning, Mo Ran thought, and he strained to remember who used water. For a fleeting
instant, he nearly had it, a blurry face almost coming into focus, but the cultivator's hand clamped
down on his neck before he could identify it. Fingertips wrapped in black silk caressed his throat.

"Your Majesty need not concern yourself with the length of my life," he said smoothly. "Let me
help you retrieve some basic human emotion so you don't screw up my plans by doing everything
but what you're supposed to." Mo Ran felt No Return cry out in sorrow as it cut into his flesh. "It's
not deep," the cultivator purred. "Just enough to bleed. To bind the seal," he added.

Marking the space between his brows with blood from the wound, the cultivator began to chant.
Searing pain exploded in Mo Ran's head, and he began to curse loudly and creatively. "Fuck your
mother! What did I do to you, chop you into mincemeat? Kill all eighteen generations of your
ancestors? Fuck you!"

"Hush. It's just a virtue spell."

"I don't care what it is! Cut it out!"

"Ah, Mo Ran." The cultivator sighed softly, and drew a seal at his brow. "How could you be so
cruel to me?" He resumed his chanting. "Heart lesser than water, unstoppable fervor, heart gate
open." Agony burst through Mo Ran's chest instead, and he stumbled through the quickly melting
ice. He sank to his knees, unable to stand. "You should thank me," the black-robed cultivator said,
almost apathetically. "I've heightened the emotions in your heart. That should help you figure out
how you feel. If you still don't know how to do everything in your power, up to and including
giving your life, to protect Shi Mei, then you truly are utterly useless."

Mo Ran panted, still trying to call to mind a water elemental who would go to such lengths to
protect Shi Mei as his consciousness faded. He crumpled to the floor with a thud under the cold
gaze of the black-robed cultivator. He was unaware of his assailant crouching down to feel his
pulse, then gathering a brilliant blue light in his palm.

Mo Ran, you dingbat, Shi Mei’s qi affinity is water, oh my fucking god

"Forget," the cultivator murmured.The blue light glowed more brightly still, and Mo Ran's face
slowly relaxed. "You'll remember trying to summon your weapon," he said. "You won't know
someone else followed you back from death. The spell will only last for a few days, but it will
show you where your desire truly lies. You might just wake up to find yourself even more in love
with Shi Mingjing, so in love that you want nothing more than to dig out your own heart and give it
to him. See you later, Emperor Evil Overlord."

The next morning, Mo Ran found himself on the floor next to Chu Wanning's bed. The storm had
blown itself out, but the winds had opened a window. It was swinging gently in the morning
breeze, the creak of its hinges the only sound in the quiet room other than his teacher's quiet
breathing from the bed. The sky was a dull teal, pale before the rising sun broke through the
clouds. The breeze carried the scent of grass nad morning dew, and Mo Ran simply breathed for a
moment before sitting up.

A stab of pain in his shoulder caught his attention, and he frowned. His robes were ripped, a
matching cut in his skin. He'd gone out to test No Return, but it hadn't responded at all. He thought
it must be a fake, but he couldn't remember actually coming back to the room. A thick nail stuck
out from the dark brown floor, catching his eye, and Mo Ran thought it must have been what had
scratched him. He draped an outer robe over his shoulders and looked toward the bed where Chu
Wanning was in peaceful repose.

Mo Ran had gotten used to his teacher's aloofness as the man took the best of every situation and
Mo Ran settled for leftovers, but today he was irked by it. He glared at him. "Why do you get the
bed?" he complained. "Respect your teacher, yeah, but also love your children." The nail on the
floor only annoyed him further, giving him a cut for no reason. He climbed on the bed to go back
to sleep, far enough away that they didn't touch. In his last life, they had slept intimately, but now
it struck him that they lay on opposite ends of the bed.

------

The sun rose high in the sky before Mo Ran woke again. He rolled over and binked to see his
teacher still fast asleep; it might have been the Tapir Dew, Mo Ran thought, or perhaps it was his
poor health. He lay with his back to Mo Ran, dark hair spilling across the sheets, and Mo Ran
figured there was no point for him to be industrious or even vertical. The bed was comfortable
enough for him to lie around in it, but he got bored quickly and started playing with his teacher's
hair. It smelled faintly of flowers, and was soft to the touch. He brushed his fingers through the
strands, feeling a tingle inside. The breeze drifted through the window, and Mo Ran was reminded
that certain parts of him were quite energetic in the morning.

The scent of Chu Wanning's hair called bygone events to mind, and he indulged despite usually
trying not to dwell on the more sensual aspects of his past life. The feeling of his teacher's dark hair
called to mind the sensation of his body, lean muscles so different from the feel of a woman. Chu
Wanning had refused to yield to him even then, hatred in his eyes and never making a sound.
Madness, ecstasy, and gratification had been all tangled together as Chu Wanning had marked him
with a tender and yet somehow venomous touch.

Mo Ran hadn't known nor cared that he was the first one Chu Wanning had ever touched, or that
his teacher had been in love with him since before the start. Having his basest desires so granted
had been a fate worse than death. All Mo Ran had known was that every time there was the
slightest sign of resistance, he had threatened to do to Xue Meng what he had already done to Chu
Wanning. He had been delighted by his teacher's willingness to participate, then, calling him a slut
and worse, even when Chu Wanning begged Mo Ran to kill him. Mo Ran would lay out the terms
of his teacher's death - always a spectacle, always humiliating, always involving the violation of
Xue Meng - and Chu Wanning would tremble. Satisfaction had always followed Chu Wanning's
surrender, and Mo Ran would pull him back into his arms just to start all over again.

The threats had been empty, although Chu Wanning hadn't known that; Mo Ran would never have
allowed anyone else to touch what belonged to him, and him alone. Mo Ran had enjoyed fucking
him into unconsciousness after threatening him, particularly when Chu Wanning still had enough
self-possession to beg him to stop. The sudden shift of weight on the bed as Chu Wanning rolled
over jolted Mo Ran out of his memories, the past dissipating like a scattering of birds. Mo Ran's
heart pounded against his ribs as Chu Wanning's hair spilled out of his fingers.
Each individual eyelash was visible from the distance at which Chu Wanning now rested, and Mo
Ran was caught by his beauty. It wasn't soft or gentle - it was handsome, sharp and intense, the
height of masculinity. Mo Ran loved seeing the proud, unbending Chu Wanning come undone and
his heart sped up at the thought. He stared, gaze drifting down from his eyelashes to his lips, and
leaned in subconsciously.

A flash of clarity shot through Mo Ran's mind and he froze, the blood draining from his face. He
sat up and stared at his teacher. No matter how often he'd slept with him, it was all in the past. The
thought that he might be in love with Chu Wanning and not Shi Mei floated to the surface of his
mind, and Mo Ran's face paled still further. He was so unsettled that he couldn't think straight. He
buried his face in his hands, drawing in a deep breath before scrubbing his cheeks and scrambling
off the bed. Pulling on the outer robe he'd discarded earlier, he rushed out of the room as if running
away.
 Book 1, Part 7: Different Paths - The Rift Opens

Chu Wanning didn't wake until noon, the tapir fragrance dew so effective that he had slept without
nightmares for the first time since he could remember. He sat up slowly, yawning, and looked for
his disciple. Mo Ran loved to sleep in far more than he did, so it was a surprise to find him gone.
Chu Wanning stood and smoothed down his robes, putting his hair in order and checking the front
room. Steam rose from behind the elegantly painted screen divider, wreathing the mountain peaks
painted there like clouds, as if someone were bathing behind it. Chu Wanning knocked on it, but
there was no answer, and finally he walked around to look.

The part of the room specifically set aside for bathing held a large bath barrel made of camphor
wood. It was full of steaming hot water enhanced with herbs, but no Mo Ran. His disciple's clothes
were folded neatly nearby, and Chu Wanning was forced to entertain the notion that Mo Ran had
bathed and then run out naked. His temples throbbed as he shoved it aside, turning to seek
elsewhere. A sound came from behind him, and he looked over to see the naked form of his
disciple emerging from the barrel with a splash.

Chu Wanning backed up two steps, startled, as Mo Ran apparently ran out of breath. His disciple
shook himself like a dog, water flying everywhere and splashed Chu Wanning's robes. "Mo Ran!"
he snapped.

The teenager froze, body fully exposed, and gasped. "Sir?"

Chu Wanning's eyes swept across his disciple's well-proportioned figure, broad shoulders and
supple skin, with droplets of water following the contours of his chest. He looked like a merman,
wet hair clinging to his body. He wiped the water off his face with a grin and moved toward Chu
Wanning, folding his arms across the edge of the barrel. Dizzy, Chu Wanning's mouth moved
without his permission. "What are you doing?"

"Taking a bath."

"It's morning," Chu Wanning protested.

Mo Ran chuckled; he had been trying to use cold water to dampen down his libido, which had
worked quite well, but then he'd felt it was only reasonable to take a bath. The soak had felt
amazing, but he hadn't expected his teacher to wander in.

"Why are you smiling like that?" Chu Wanning glared, trying to cover up the rush of heat to his
cheeks with a cool tone. "Why didn't you wake me up? Why are you messing around in here by
yourself, where are your manners?"

"You have some water on your face, sir," Mo Ran said, wiping away the offending drops. He
laughed, leaving even more water in the wake of his wet hand. Chu Wanning stood frozen in place,
the air around him cooling several degrees.

"Get out and get dressed. We're going home." Chu Wanning spoke coldly and left, hiding his
yearning until Mo Ran couldn't see him. His student, unbeknownst to him, stared helplessly in
frustration as he left.

Chu Wanning was only emotionally honest with Mo Ran when he was pretending to be
someone else, specifically a small child, which is so much bullshit I can’t even.
Mo Ran smacked the water in annoyance, scrubbing at his face, wondering what was wrong with
him. He had just barely managed to get himself under control, and now all of his efforts had gone
to waste.

"Why did it take you so long to dress?" Chu Wanning glared at him from the window.

"I was drying my hair with a spell," Mo Ran mumbled. "But I'm not good at it. I'm sorry I kept you
waiting, sir."

Surprised at the uncharacteristic reticence, Chu Wanning's glare turned into surprise. "Go get
packed. We're going to rent a boat, since I don't feel like riding swords and I'm tired of horses."

"Sounds good," Mo Ran said agreeably. He coughed again, to cover up his inability to look at his
teacher.

"What's wrong with your throat?" Chu Wanning frowned.

"Nothing." Mo Ran packed hastily.

The cultivators stopped to pick up snacks and provisions for the trip before heading to the docks to
rent a vessel, then went down the Yangtze River. Between their starting point and their destination
were a number of impassable places, which Chu Wanning managed by expanding the wooden
wings of the boat and sending them soaring through the sky instead. Mo Ran found it a peaceful,
relaxing trip, albeit a slow one, as it took them eight days to reach Sisheng Peak.

Mo Ran lifted the bamboo curtain for his teacher, following him off the boat into the moonlit
night. Constellation Saint had written ahead announcing their arrival and forbidding a reception,
and they saw no one until reaching the main gate. Four disciples guarded the entrance, panic
flashing across their faces as they caught sight of Mo Ran and Chu Wanning. Before either of them
could so much as blink, the four disciples had dropped to their knees. "Sir, there are people inside
right now seeking retribution against you! The Sect Leader sent a message bird entreating you to
stay away, but as it didn't reach you in time, please seek shelter in Wuchang Town. Please don't
enter the compound!"

"Why are you so worried?" Chu Wanning asked.

"They're from the upper cultivation realm!" one of the disciples explained. "They're accusing you
of demonic cultivation and want to take you to Tianyin Pavilion for an inquiry!"

"The prison?" Mo Ran asked, alarmed. "The one set up for the worst criminals?"

"That's the one!" the disciple confirmed. "They're here about the incident at Butterfly Town!"

"Do you remember, Elder?" asked another disciple. "The person who was caned in punishment?"

"That's nothing more than misuse of cultivation techniques," Mo Ran objected. "And Constellation
Saint has already been punished for it. Why would they bring it up again?" He frowned. "What's
this about demonic cultivation?"

"We don't know either!" the disciple said. "We heard that everyone in Butterfly Town was killed in
a single night by some half-ghost, half-deity that seemed to be under the control of someone else.
It's exceedingly powerful, too much to be controlled by the average wandering cultivator, so the
people from the upper cultivation realm sought out the most powerful cultivator who was recently
their as their suspect."
Mo Ran laughed. "And I was getting worried. Sir, can you believe these people? If you expel a
fiend, it's taking opportunities away from the novices. You purge a major demon, and they accuse
you of demonic cultivation. This is just a simple misunderstanding that we'll easily be able to clear
up." He paused. "It might be better to stay home and do nothing, though. Just to be safe."

Chu Wanning wasn't laughing. He was silent for a long moment before he asked, "Everyone in the
town is dead?"

"Not a single survivor."

Chu Wanning closed his eyes. "It wasn't my doing, but it may have occurred because I failed to be
sufficiently thorough in my duties. If I am to blame, I will not shirk my responsibility." He opened
his eyes slowly. "Mo Ran, we're going in."

Twelve lamps of bronze lined Loyalty Hall, ten feet in height with nine layers of branches
extending from each central stand. A total of three hundred and fifty-six candle lanterns lit Sisheng
Peak's main hall as bright as day. Xue Zhengyong, dressed in full martial attire, stood tall on the
high platform. He resembled a cast-iron statue staring down at the gathered crowd with predatory
eyes.

“Prelate Li,” he said. “I will tell you one more time. Constellation Saint is not here and I can
guarantee that the massacre at Butterfly Town was not of his doing. Stop throwing around all of
these baseless –“ he paused, and Madam Wang whispered to him from behind her sleeve. “Baseless
allegations,” Xue Zhengyong finished, with a grandly imposing sweep of the hand.

In addition to Sisheng Peak’s guard, the hall was occupied by close to thirty guests dressed in
turquoise robes and carrying horsetail whisks. The robes combined with their traditional tall hats
marked them as members of the recently-established Bitan Sect of the upper cultivation realm, and
they were led by a middle-aged cultivator with a pair of long whiskers. Li Wuxin led not only the
delegation, but the entire sect, and rumor had it that he more than lived up to his name – it carried
the meaning heartless. He twirled his whiskers and sneered. “Prelate Xue, I’m only here out of
courtesy, as your sect is highly regarded. The tragedy at Butterfly Town only occurred after your
disciples took on an exorcism there, and no other cultivators have had contact with the town. There
is a clear indication of fault.”

Standing next to his father, Xue Meng lost patience. “What fucking right do you have to point
fingers? Since when have you solved any problems in the lower cultivation realm? All you ever do
is sit on your hands trying to cultivate yourselves into immortality, but you’re real fucking quick to
lay blame when something bad happens.”

“Young master Xue,” Li Wuxin said smoothly, without missing a beat. “I’ve heard of you. Son of
the phoenix. Meeting you in person has been a rather, shall we say, eye-opening experience.” Xue
Meng bit off his indignant retort before Li Wuxin could use it to insult him again, and the sect
leader turned back to Xue Zhengyong with a satisfied smile. “Prelate Xue,” he continued. “We
adhere strictly to the laws, in the upper cultivation realm, and we intend to get to the bottom of this.
If you will not cooperate and hand over Constellation Saint, Mo Ran, and anyone else involved, we
will have to request that Rufeng Sect take charge of the investigation.”

“Heh,” Xue Zhengyong said, temper flaring. “I would tell Nangong Liu himself exactly what I’m
telling you – I will not hand them over and they were not involved.”

“You may see yourself out, Prelate Li,” Xue Meng said stiffly.

“See?” burst a voice out of the crowd. “The same thing happened last time, when that Mo guy stole
my friend’s belongings, and they kicked us out without addressing the issue at all! Prelate Li, you
saw it, right? If Sisheng Peak continues to act like they’re above the law, the lower cultivation
realm will suffer!”

A quiet chuckle followed his words, and the crowd turned collectively toward its source. An
extremely handsome blue-robed young man in light armor leaned casually against the intricately
carved vermillion doorframe, watching the scene unfold. “Mr. Chang,” he said with a soft,
charming smile, “when exactly did I steal something from your friend? Rong San – or was it Rong
Jiu? I can’t remember. Was he your friend, or your whore? You should choose your words
carefully.”

The merchant who had accused Mo Ran of thievery months before whipped his head around,
howling in misery as he recognized Mo Ran. “Mo Weiyu, you bastard, my relationship to my dear
Jiu was platonic, utterly innocent! He met with such a tragic death at the hands of your fiendish ilk
and yet you dare slander his name!”

“What?” Mo Ran’s heart dropped. “He’s dead?”

“His parents are from Butterfly Town, you monster,” Chang said tearfully. “He was visiting them
on the night of the massacre. That was how I found out what you did, and went to Prelate Li to seek
justice.”

Mo Ran, having a less than positive opinion of Rong Jiu, waved off the news. “Platonic. Sure.”

“You reprobate!” Chang snarled.

From the darkness of the night outside came a deep, long-suffering sigh, deep and indescribably
lovely as the melting of an icy lake, and a slender, well-proportioned hand shoved Mo Ran into the
room. “Stop standing in the door. Go inside.”

“Sir!” Mo Ran complained.

“Sir!” Xue Meng exclaimed joyfully, louder than Mo Ran. He rushed over, followed by Shi Mei,
much to Xue Zhengyong’s consternation.

“Constellation,” he said. “Why are you here?”

“Because you can’t do without me,” Chu Wanning said, striding calmly into the hall. He was as
handsome as an immortal, graceful and elegant in the candlelight. He came to a stop before Xue
Zhengyong’s golden seat and acknowledged his sect leader before turning to the delegation with a
flourish. “I am Chu Wanning of Sisheng Peak,” he said. “Humble bearer of the title Constellation
Saint. It seems you have some questions for me.” He glanced at Li Wuxin’s stunned face. “Pray
enlighten me.”

The best parts of the chapter are the hilariously over-the-top descriptions of Chu Wanning at
the end here in the purplest of melodramatic prose

------

Standing with his hands folded behind him, solemn and dignified in glamorous robes as white as
snow, Chu Wanning looked at the delegation with equal scorn and arrogance. Li Wuxin had
recognized his face instantly, and had clearly never expected the title Constellation Saint to belong
to Chu Wanning. His mouth worked, but no sound came out.

“Prelate Li,” Chu Wanning said helpfully. “It’s been a while.”

“Why is it you!” Li Wuxin snapped, finally finding his tongue. His face paled like dry wax. “You
disappeared after you left Rufeng Sect! You were in this low-class sect the entire time?”

Chu Wanning snorted, eyes cool. “Thank you for your concern.” He paused. “We should attend to
the business at hand. Apparently you think I’ve murdered several hundred civilians in Butterfly
Town. Of course, I did no such thing. Although you have come all this way to investigate, Prelate
Li, I regret to inform you that I will not be accompanying you to Tianyin Pavilion, as I have more
important matters to attend to. I will, however, answer any questions you care to ask, right here and
right now.”

Pacing over to his designated seat, Chu Wanning sat with grace and dignity. Each elder had one,
and Chu Wanning’s was at Xue Zhengyong’s left hand. It was simple yet elegant, much less
ostentatious than any other, in keeping with Chu Wanning’s desire to keep a low profile. The
younger members of Bitan Sect had heard the title Constellation Saint, but not the extent of his
power, whereas Li Wuxin was experienced enough to know just how strong both Constellation
Saint and his old acquaintance Chu Wanning were. He clenched his fists in his sleeves.

Having already accepted a generous payment from the Chang family to investigate the matter, Li
Wuxin found himself in a tricky spot. He had looked forward to taking the infamous Constellation
Saint down a peg, but if he had known that Constellation Saint and Chu Wanning were one and the
same he would have refused the offer no matter how high the payment. He could neither proceed
nor withdraw.

A younger disciple, taking the initiative to step up and manage the unreasonable Constellation
Saint who had stymied his master, stepped forward. “Elder Chu,” he said. “You did recently
perform an exorcism at Butterfly Town, correct?”

“That’s correct.”

“You also sealed the ghost bride?”

“Do you mean Luo Xianxian?” Chu Wanning asked mildly.

The disciple’s throat worked as he realized he was in over his head; all he knew of the matter was
that the massacring spirit had been a ghost bride. He had no answer to Chu Wanning’s simple
question. He blushed. “It was her!” he blustered. “Why are you asking so many questions? She
was young, not more than sixteen, and there can’t possibly have been more than one person to fit
that description in town!”

Chu Wanning’s lip curled. “Butterfly Town has the custom of marrying the dead,” he said. “There
are well over fifty ghost brides, perhaps over a hundred. I’m really not sure which one was
responsible for the incident.”

I’m actually not sure if it’s tongue-in-cheek or not, but notice how everyone who opposes Chu
Wanning is either cacklingly maniacally evil or quickly demonstrated to be ignorant or ill-
prepared or shady in some way – there is no conflict between fundamentally decent people
who want different things, which lays out an incredibly simplistic moral worldview as the
basis for the narrative

“You!” the disciple started.

“Stand down,” Li Wuxin hissed. “Cease speaking so familiarly.” He turned to Chu Wanning with a
pleasant expression. “Grandmaster Chu,” he continued, “it’s the first time my disciple has left our
mountain. Please forgive his breach of conduct. The ghost bride in question is indeed Luo
Xianxian.”

“Her resentful spirit went berserk?” Chu Wanning asked.

“Yes.” Li Wuxin sighed. “She lost her mind, and after killing the Chen family, she slaughtered the
town. By the time I and my disciples sealed her, there were almost no survivors.”

“How can that be?” Chu Wanning muttered.

“After hearing that the one involved was Sisheng Peak’s Constellation Saint,” Li Wuxin said, “I
came to investigate. We have obtained two items from Butterfly Town which may be connected to
the incident, if you would care to examine them.” He retrieved a bloodied silk cloth from his
sleeve.

Before Li Wuxin could hand the grisly package to Chu Wanning, Xue Meng stepped forward and
snatched it out of his hands. “I’ll take it. My teacher prefers to keep his hands clean.”

Chu Wanning let him do it; he was less concerned about cleanliness than the spiritual
contamination of touching items handled by people he disliked. He sipped the hot tea Shi Mei
handed him with lowered lashes, watching Li Wuxin fume impotently. Xue Meng approached,
holding the package as Chu Wanning opened it. “The Passings Service Spell,” he said, surprised.

“Yes, Grandmaster Chu,” Li Wuxin said. “You temporarily sealed the resentful spirit of Luo
Xianxian and gave a copy of this spell to the only daughter of the Chen family. You instructed
them to copy and recite it daily for ten years.” He paused for Chu Wanning’s acknowledgement.
“This is indeed your handwriting, is this also correct?”

“It is.”

“There are, Grandmaster Chu, three extra characters at the end of this spell.” Li Wuxin raised his
voice. “I trust you recognize the Mark of the Returning Billows and are aware that it is a reversal
spell! Every time this was copied, the reversal symbol perverted the original spell into one that
caused harm, until Luo Xianxian turned into a savage ghost! Who besides you could have given
them a spell this powerful?”

“Watch your mouth, old man!” Xue Meng snapped. “If my teacher wanted them dead, why would
he be so indirect about it? You think handwriting can’t be forged? You think my teacher did this?
What if you copied it in secret just to frame him?”

Li Wuxin smiled dryly. “Young master Xue Meng,” he said. “Don’t interrupt when your betters
are speaking.”

“Prelate Li,” Xue Zhengyong interrupted, “this seems like thin evidence for such a weighty
accusation. My son is right in that handwriting can be imitated.”

“That begs the question of who would go to such trouble, just to frame Grandmaster Chu,” Li
Wuxin said silkily. Mo Ran couldn’t hold in a chuckle, and Li Wuxin shot him an irritated glare.
“What are you laughing at now?”

“You’re all busy speculating, but you forgot something.”

“What thing, Ran?” Xue Zhengyong asked.

“I’m not particularly well-read,” Mo Ran said. “But I am familiar with the Mark of the Returning
Billows.” He gathered a smudge of red spiritual power at his fingertips and drew a sophisticated
and exquisite mark in the air. “Isn’t this it?”

“When did you learn that?” Xue Meng asked.

“It’s in our teacher’s books,” Mo Ran answered. “I thought it looked cool, so I memorized it.” He
casually pointed at the spell, raising it higher. It glowed brilliantly, streaming sparks. “Please
compare this spell with the one on the cloth.”

As Mo Ran had expected, his fellow disciples enjoyed a good spectacle, and they all crowded
around the table to compare the silk cloth to Mo Ran’s brilliant display. The disciples from Bitan
hung back at first, but they too were quickly caught up in the excitement and pushed forward, and
finally both groups came to the same conclusion. The spell on the silk cloth and the spell hanging
in the air were identical down to the flourishes.

Li Wuxin’s idiot disciple, not having learned his lesson, spoke up again. “So it was you who
committed the murders!”

Mo Ran stared at him in stunned silence. Chu Wanning regarded him calmly. “What’s your
name?”

“I am the thirteenth disciple of Wuxin,” the boy proclaimed proudly. “Zhen Congming.”

Mo Ran bit his tongue; the boy’s parents had been overly optimistic to give their child a name
meaning intelligent. Chu Wanning took it in stride. “You should learn to keep your mouth shut
while elders are talking,” he said coolly.

The reference to Li Wuxin’s remonstration of Mo Ran hit home, and the prelate’s face flushed. He
couldn’t respond openly to the insult without losing more face. “Grandmaster Chu’s disciple is
outstanding,” he said. “To be able to draw this spell with the skill of a master.”

“Prelate Li, it’s not just me,” Mo Ran said. “If you knew how to draw this symbol, you’d do it in
exactly the same way, too.”

“What are you trying to say?” Li Wuxin glared.

“The strokes are complicated,” Mo Ran explained brightly. “The heaviness of the ink, the stroke
order, everything has to be exactly right or it doesn’t work. So no matter who draws it, it always
looks exactly the same. It’s got nothing to do with writing style.”

“Nonsense!” Li Wuxin snapped, embarrassed at having been corrected by a junior disciple in front
of a crowd. “No spell requires such trickiness! I may not be familiar with how to draw it, but I
know that’s ridiculous. Don’t just make things up, you little bastard!”

“He isn’t,” Chu Wanning said mildly.

Already at the end of his patience, Li Wuxin snapped. “Chu Wanning, what proof do you have?
How would you know? The flaws and weaknesses of a spell are usually known only to the creator!
Are you claiming you developed this curse?”

I would like to point out that this should actually be a very widely known flaw, as anyone who
copied the fucking thing wrong would notice that it Did Not Work until they got every fiddly
detail correct; a cultivator couldn’t possibly learn the spell without learning its major flaw

“Am I?” Chu Wanning said, taking a leisurely sip of tea. “Why don’t I make it very clear to you.”
He paused. “I am the creator of the Mark of the Returning Billows.”
Li Wuxin should be embarrassed at not knowing how to draw the curse and therefore not
knowing its exacting and fiddly nature, and the creator of the curse shouldn’t be in the
picture at all – this should have been Chu Wanning explaining that this is obvious to anyone
who ever tried to learn how to write this character. But of course we have The Great And
Powerful Chu Wanning Who Is The Best At Everything, so of fucking course he created the
spell. Of course. Can’t pass up an opportunity to beat into the reader’s heads how Awesome
he is, and parody or not, it is extremely tiresome and no longer funny. Seriously, this is
giving me strong Ayla-And-Jondalar-Invent-All-The-Things vibes.

------

Chu Wanning's off-handed statement shocked the room, particularly the disciples hailing from
Bitan Sect, as the crowd absorbed the information. Mo Ran was aware that most cultivators did
nothing more than memorize spells for use, while those who were more skilled had a solid
foundation of understanding. The best cultivators, he knew, were those who could adapt spells. His
teacher, however, was on another level entirely, belonging to the select few who had not only had
no need for memorization and had profound understanding, but found themselves unsatisfied by
simply adapting existing spells. These cultivators had grasped the final and highest stage - spell
creation.

The masters who refined unique pills and elixirs or created unparalleled arms and armor, the
geniuses who drafted entirely unprecedented spells and talismans, the small group of cultivators to
whom the title of Grandmaster could be bestowed - this was the company Chu Wanning kept.
Most cultivators never even met a grandmaster, and the delegation from Bitan Sect was struck with
horror that they had dared attempt to arrest and interrogate such a god-like personage.

excuse me while i howl with laughter at how over the top the preceding two paragraphs are -
if Chu Wanning wasn't clearly a parody of the Author's Pet before, he really is now

Cold sweat dotted Li Wuxin's forehead, but he knew he had to save as much face as he could. He
tried to smile, producing a strained grimace on his pale, waxy features the same color as rice shells
gleaming under a layer of grease. "What a coincidence," he stammered. "Created by Grandmaster
Chu himself. Truly, we have misunderstood you. There is, however, one more item obtained in the
conflict with Luo Xianxian's vengeful ghost. Perhaps Grandmaster Chu could offer some
explanation?"

"What item?" Chu Wanning asked coolly.

Li Wuxin waved a hand, and his idiot disciple brought a brocade box forward. "A weapon," he
said.

Chu Wanning stared at the box. "Is it a willow vine?" he asked.

"How did you know?" Li Wuxin's voice trembled, reflecting the shock that rippled through the
room. "Unless you really were - but -"

Golden light coalesced in Chu Wanning's palm, lengthening inch by inch until it coiled onto the
floor. A length of willow vine unfurled, as Chu Wanning calmly turned to face the onlookers. He
was sure that the incident in Butterfly Town was also the work of the unknown puppet master.
"Prelate Li," he said. "This is the weapon in the box. Am I correct?"

"Yes," Li Wuxin said, voice nearly giving out. The box opened to reveal a length of willow vine,
identical to Heavenly Questions in every respect.
The suspicion Chu Wanning had been harboring since replicas of What The Hell had been used to
murder the feathered tribe at Peach Blossom Spring seemed confirmed by this new development.
"Prelate Li," he said again. "May I examine it?"

Li Wuxin hesitated; allowing a suspect to touch the evidence wasn't done, but he was reluctant to
offend Grandmaster Chu any further. "Grandmaster," he said, "you are too polite. Please go ahead,
I would be honored to hear your thoughts on this matter."

The merchant Chang stood in the back of the crowd, face darkening as events turned against his
hopes. He had come to pick a fight, backed by an upper cultivation realm sect, and somehow Chu
Wanning had the upper hand. He tried to throw meaningful glances at Li Wuxin, each angrier than
the last, none of which were noticed by their intended target. The only person who paid him any
heed was the last person whose attention he had intended to attract.

"Mr. Chang," Mo Ran said. "Are your eyes okay? You seem to be squinting."

Ignoring the byplay, Chu Wanning took the replica vine from the box and examined it. It appeared
to be identical to his holy weapon and Mo Ran's, but its life force was so weak as to be nonexistent.
"Heartpluck Willow," he said, identifying the source of every replica. Xue Meng looked up at the
words, gaze sharpening.

"All of them?" Shi Mei said.

"At the lake, the old dragon said the false Gouchen had a spell requiring a strong wood elemental
to maintain," Chu Wanning said. "It seems that the spell was creating the replicas of Heavenly
Questions and What The Hell from branches of the holy tree." His slender fingers traced the golden
leaves. "He made full use of them, even depleted of spiritual power, as false evidence and as
weapons."

Flame danced above Chu Wanning's palm, and he held the replica vine to it. The replica caught fire
instantly, its blaze reflecting in the gaze of the crowd. "This is not my weapon," he said, letting it
scorch the tip of the branch before closing his palm around the flame to extinguish it. He tossed it
aside. "Heavenly Questions possesses too much qi to ignite, even had I used Sanmei True Fire
instead of an ordinary fire spell."

Li Wuxin opened and closed his mouth before thinking better and opening it again. "I've also heard
of the incident at Peach Blossom Spring," he said. "The rumor is that Sisheng Peak's young master
Mo Ran murdered the Great Immortal Lord of the Feathered Tribe."

"Hey, I didn't kill anyone," Mo Ran said.

Xue Zhengyong, visibly displeased, glared. "As I explained," he said, "that was not my nephew. I
won't be this polite next time."

A flicker teased the edge of Mo Ran's memory, but he couldn't pin it down.

"The incident at Peach Blossom Spring was a setup," Chu Wanning said. "I had no choice but to
defend my disciple's innocence. I am happy to tell you the whole story, however, in light of your
long journey here."

Chu Wanning's concise summary of the events of the past few months stunned the disciples of
Bitan Sect speechless. Li Wuxin had sweated through his clothes entirely by the time Chu
Wanning finished, and it took him several moments to gather the nerve to speak. "Grandmaster
Chu," he said. "Do you mean to say that there is an individual who has mastered the forbidden
Zhenlong Chess Formation?"

"Correct."

"But it's forbidden!" Li Wuxin protested. "Even Rufeng Sect's leader wouldn't hope to acquire-"

"I spoke nothing but the truth," Chu Wanning interrupted. "Whether or not you believe it is up to
you."

"It's impossible," Li Wuxin insisted, face pale. He laughed loudly, as if trying to convince himself
that it was all a joke. "The world would be thrown into disarray if that were true! The upper and
lower cultivation realms would be rewritten!"

The former Emperor Evil Overlord found himself more than a little miffed at Li Wuxin's baseless
panic. "He hasn't mastered it," he said scornfully. "Or there would be a much bigger mess right
now."

A sword flashing through the door interrupted whatever rejoinder Li Wuxin might have made,
depositing one of the disciples from Bitan. He spat blood on the floor before turning to face the
crowd. "Prelate, it's terrible! The barrier around Butterfly Town has broken! Vicious spirits rushed
out, and all thirty of my brethren who had been guarding the barriers sacrificed themselves to hold
them back! I'm the only one left!" He took a deep breath. "Sir, you have to notify the upper sects
that all the corpses there are being controlled with a forbidden technique!"

"What?" Li Wuxin stumbled backwards, pale and haggard, fetching up against a pillar. "We can't
hold it off with only us," he murmured.

The disciple's face crumpled, tears streaking through the blood on his face. "Prelate," he cried, and
only then did he seem to notice the rest of the crowd. He faced Xue Zhengyong, dropping to his
knees. "Prelate Xue, I beg of you, please help. All of my brethren - how can I face them? They're
all dead." He howled toward the sky in grief. "All of them, dead!"

Total silence followed his cries, broken by a sudden uproar as the crowd processed his words.
Level-headed in the face of the panic, Xue Zhengyong sent Madam Wang to notify the other eight
great sects and Xue Meng to gather the elders. He turned to Chu Wanning, but was forestalled.

"I'll go immediately.

"You don't know how to ride swords," Xue Zhengyong objected.

"I can get him there," Mo Ran butted in, eager to meet the puppet master. Chu Wanning glared at
him, but assented by not objecting out loud. They walked out of the hall together, leaving Shi Mei
frozen behind them.

Too late, Shi Mei broke through his shock and chased after his teacher. They had already
disappeared by the time he made it outside, and Xue Zhengyong scolded him for running off alone.
"Wait for the second group," he said. "Go with Xue Meng."

Despite having lived a life without hardships and being utterly unprepared, Li Wuxin was pressed
to save face. He collected himself enough to instruct his disciples to take care of the messenger and
contact the elders of his own sect. A good showing at Butterfly Town could at least help Bitan
Sect regain some dignity, he thought, and so Bitan Sect joined the assembly setting grandly off
from Sisheng Peak.

The task force rushed through the sky toward Butterfly Town like hundreds of shooting stars.
Standing on his sword at the head of the fleet, Li Wuxin stole a sidelong glance at the disciples of
Sisheng Peak. He hadn't expected to head into battle alongside the riff raff he'd always looked
down on, and he couldn't quite sort out his feelings. Regardless of his reservations, the thousand
miles fell rapidly away beneath them, and the clouds parted to reveal a blood-red stream of
demonic light flaring straight upwards.

A massive array of crimson light the size of the town itself, divided neatly into the checkered
pattern of a chess board, held the silhouettes of all the dead townsfolk in the sky. Five hundred
households and over a thousand people, a dense forest of human flesh, awaited them. "It really is
the Zhenlong Chess Formation!" Li Wuxin cried out.

"Prelate Li," Xue Zhengyong said. "Sisheng Peak will head to the southeast side. Please head to
the northwest. As the other sects have yet to arrive, it's up to us to hold the line."

Despite the sight before them, Li Wuxin still felt the sting of indignation that Xue Zhengyong was
lumping their two sects together. He nodded anyway. "Got it."

Xue Zhengyong cupped his fist in a gesture of respect and led his disciples down to land. The
defensive barrier made of the flesh and blood of Bitan Sect's disciples was on the verge of collapse,
its qi fading. On the other side of the translucent barrier waited masses of walking corpses. Before
the barrier stood Chu Wanning's white-clad form and Mo Ran in his silver-blue light armor.

"What's going on?" Xue Zhengyong called, unable to figure out why the barrier hadn't been
repaired. Chu Wanning had surely had enough time to repair it before the proverbial cavalry had
arrived, as he was the grandmaster of barriers. Constellation Saint ignored him, and Xue
Zhengyong drew breath to call again.

"No, no, Uncle," Mo Ran said. He gestured for Xue Zhengyong to approach. "Don't disturb him,"
he said, pointing at Chu Wanning.

Xue Zhengyong finallly got a good look at his man, and felt his stomach drop. "Soul Projection?"
he asked faintly.

"Yeah. It's all ghosts in there, but we couldn't find Luo Xianxian. We think maybe she's in the
deeper parts of town." Mo Ran paused. "He went in there to see if he could find her and ask what's
going on."

"She's a vicious ghost!" Xue Zhengyong flung his hands in the air. "What is there to ask? We
should be reinforcing that barrier!"

"No!" Mo Ran said sharply. "He temporarily cast his soul out because everyone in there is dead,
and he can do it without alerting them. If the barrier gets reinforced, they'll notice him and kill
him."

"Oh, shit." Xue Zhengyong pointed. "You stay right here and keep an eye on him, and I'll go tell Li
Wuxin about the change in plan."

"I'll send a blue signal as soon as his soul returns," Mo Ran said. "Then we can work on the barrier.
But if we fix it first, they will eat his soul."

"Yeah, yeah, I know!" Xue Zhengyong was already almost out of earshot by the time the words left
his mouth.

Mo Ran turned his eyes toward the failing barrier. "Not much time left, sir, surely you've found her
by now." He spoke quietly, and reached for Chu Wanning's cold hand without thinking. He was
unaware of Shi Mei and Xue Meng landing not far away, or of Shi Mei catching sight of their
intertwined hands and turning away with an ashen face.

Shi Mei has had years to reciprocate Mo Ran's feelings and has been giving him a soft no to
every advance, I have no sympathy for him either

------

Inside the barrier, Chu Wanning's living soul found the wanderings of ghosts and vague shadows
of lost souls. Every mangled corpse was missing its heart, torn out before death. It was an oddity
that he wanted to investigate, but the barrier was failing and he couldn't afford to get sidetracked.
He sped toward the Chen Manor, finding a cauldron half the height of a man placed at each
cardinal direction outside when he arrived. Each cauldron gave off colored fumes - red, blue,
brown, gold - and was full to the brim with boiling blood. A fire had been lit under each one, and
closer inspection showed him masses of flesh beneath the liquid's surface. Chu Wanning realized
he'd accidentally found the missing hearts.

"Sand Amassed Into Tower," he murmured, and understood why no trace of a search for spiritual
essence had been found. The technique called for the removal of the hearts of hundreds of people
with the same elemental affinity; the resentment of the gathered dead couldn't quite equal a
spiritual essence, but it would serve a number of purposes. Chu Wanning still couldn't figure out
why the puppet master would have targeted Butterfly Town and Luo Xianxian, and he stepped into
Chen Manor to continue seeking answers.

Landlord Chen and his wife were hanging from the ceiling in the midst of the utter disarray, hearts
gone and legs mutilated so thoroughly that the bodies had been unable to resurrect. Luo Xianxian,
however, was nowhere to be found. A bowl of mincemeat was in front of each and every tablet of
the ancestral shrine, and nausea rose in Chu Wanning's throat at the obscene offering. A burst of
crisp laughter rang out from above him, and his gaze snapped upwards.

The white paper lanterns hung throughout the shrine swayed as candles inside lit up one after
another to illuminate Luo Xianxian sitting on a ceiling beam. She wore vivid red wedding robes,
her delicately bare feet swaying as she rocked back and forth. "Oh, you found me," she said,
giggling. Her face was no different than he remembered, but her soul couldn't have been farther
from the bashful girl Chu Wanning had met. Her round eyes flickered with a demonic red, full of
unbridled arrogance. Luo Xianxian had become a demon.

"Luo Xianxian, why are you here?" Chu Wanning asked, stealthily readying a spell in his sleeve.
Having subjected her to Heavenly Questions's bite once before, she was now immune to its touch.
He could only suppress her demonic nature and hope she was willing to answer his questions
afterwards.

"Because I feel like it," she spat. "Not that it's any of your business."

"is that Chen Bo'huan's younger brother in the bowls?" he asked.

"Oh, him."

Luo Xianxian shrugged irritably. "Just the row on the left. On the right is the Yao bitch. It's exactly
what she deserved."

Chu Wanning realized she was so far gone that she didn't recognize him either, and his heart
dropped when he heard that Chen-Yao had met the same fate as the Chen family. "And their
youngest daughter?" he asked.
"She was kind to me," Luo Xianxian said, smiling with vibrant red lips. "I wouldn't treat her
poorly." She rubbed her belly. "She's in here, with me." Her smile brightened. "No one will be able
to bully her now."

"You've truly gone mad," Chu Wanning said, a blinding light bursting from his palm. The flash of
brilliance coalesced into a curse, landing on Luo Xianxian's forehead. She screeched, but Chu
Wanning was quick enough to bind her with golden chains. He pressed the tips of his fingers to the
center of her brow and chanted an incantation, fire in his eyes and expression dark as thunder. Luo
Xianxian's eyes bulged out as saliva dripped from the corners of her mouth as she shrieked
imprecations. Chu Wanning ignored her voice, continuing to chant, even as she began to scream.

The demonic voice stilled suddenly, crimson lighting her eyes as her mouth quirked into an eerie
smile. "That's what you wanted to hear, right?" Eyes widening, Chu Wanning pulled back his hand
and dodged in the same motion. The demon's strike barely missed him as he landed on the veranda.
The demon stood, showing no sign of weakness from the purification spell. "Did you really think
that little thing was going to hurt me?" She sneered. "I've devoured the life force of over a thousand
people. I've almost cultivated a flesh and blood body. Then I'll resurrect my husband, and we'll be
together forever."

Chu Wanning regarded her for a moment, realizing that her original nature was entirely gone. He
tried a different tactic. "Who told you this was how to cultivate a body?"

"What's it to you?" she asked belligerently.

"He lied to you," Chu Wanning said coldly. "You've lost your original body, and the only way to
get another one is to reincarnate. It doesn't matter how much life force you consume. You were
tricked into collecting hearts for someone else."

"He wouldn't lie to me!" Luo Xianxian shrieked.

"Who?" Chu Wanning pressed.

"I don't know!" She stumbled, clutching her head. "I don't know! I want a body! I want to live! He
can't have lied to me! It must be you who's not telling the truth! You're lying!" She rushed toward
him with her claws extended, just as an ominous sound rang out from the sky above.

Chu Wanning dodged her nails and looked up to see a long, narrow crack in the defensive barrier.
The life energy of those outside seeped through the crack, and the undead woke. He knew he had
to either recover Luo Xianxian's original consciousness or kill her before it broke entirely, and he
didn't want to lose the only lead they had.

narratively speaking, what should happen according to the rules that have been laid out for
this world, he should fail and his hubris should get him killed and fuck over everyone else,
but as this is the Great Chu Wanning, he will pull a stunning victory from the ass end of
defeat, everyone will be awestruck, and it will have been The Right Decision, because god
forbid Chu Wanning fuck anything up

Outside the barrier, Li Wuxin looked up to see the horrifying crack. "Aren't we fixing it?" he
screamed at Xue Zhengyong. "If it breaks, we're not going to be able to hold them back!"

"Just a little longer!" Sweat beaded on Xue Zhengyong's forehead. "Constellation is still inside.
Just wait a little longer."

Li Wuxin cursed under his breath, heart hammering in his chest at the sight of the crack. "How
much blood will spill if that barrier falls?" he snarled. "What then?" He whipped around to face his
disciples. "When do the other sects arrive?"

"Um." The disciple in charge of the messages flinched. "The other eight sects said this is a serious
matter that needs to be managed by sect leaders, and the leaders and elders have to discuss matters
before aid can be sent."

oh my fucking god, how much contrived bullshit has to happen so that Chu Wanning can be
the only reasonable person and therefore Save The Day

"And Rufeng Sect?" Li Wuxin snapped. "Surely Prelate Nangong isn't nearly as spineless as the
rest of them."

The communication talisman glowed in answer to the question, and the disciple grabbed it.
"Rufeng Sect is coming!" he announced, overjoyed. "They're sending people now!"

Not ten minutes had passed before blue clouds appeared on the horizon - as they sped closer, they
resolved into a drove of nearly a thousand warriors, each donning blue heron-emblazoned mangles.
They lined the sky, riding swords in impeccable formation. Nangong Si and Ye Wangxi led the
charge, the former above his beloved faewolf Naobaijin with a jade ow on his arm and a full quiver
across his back. The arrogance and intemperance of youth radiated from him, and Song Qiutong
was behind him, face shrouded in white silk and eyes downcast. Ye Wangxi was dressed in black,
Rufeng Sect's heron picked out in embroidery.

"What the fuck is going on?" Nangong Si saw the state of the barrier, and fury darkened his gaze.
He scanned the crowd, dismissing the personnel from Sisheng Peak without a second thought and
addressing the sect leader of Bitan. "Li Wuxin! Do you not see the crack? Why are you just
standing around?"

Although Li Wuxin was far senior to Nangong Si, the sole heir of the foremost sect in the
cultivation world couldn't be rebuked for a lack of courtesy. Li Wuxin flushed as he answered.
"Lord Nangong, the barrier remains in disrepair at Prelate Xue's insistence."

"Sisheng Peak?" Nangong Si glanced sideways, and waved a hand at his personal attendant. "Just
patch it up," he said. "All this yammering made me think it was something serious."

"Sir," Ye Wangxi said, trying to stop him, but Nangong Si ignored him entirely. Ye Wangxi had
no hope of convincing his attendants; Rufeng Sect's disciples only obeyed their direct superiors,
and Nangong Si's personal staff was particularly adherent to this rule. They stepped up in sync,
ignoring any and all exhortations to delay as they lay down the seals and arrays to mend the
barrier.

"Wait!" Xue Zhengyong shouted, doing his level best to disrupt the preparations, but every time he
took one apart another was already flying toward the barrier and he couldn't stop them all. One of
the seals raced toward the crack in the barrier, sparks flying everywhere, too fast for him to reach.
Blood drained from his face. "Constellation!"

A crimson bolt cleaved the seal apart, and the crowd collectively gasped as Mo Ran's handsome
figure appeared in mid-air. He stood on his swords, willow vine in hand, guarding the barrier. His
normally friendly, bright face was cast into a sharp and unyielding mold, gaze alight as sparks
coursed the length of the vine. "Didn't I fucking say no one touches this barrier?" he snapped,
brows drawn into a frown.

Whatever he might feel for Chu Wanning was between the two of them, but Mo Ran would make
one thing perfectly clear. No one else was allowed to touch or otherwise so much as a hair on Chu
Wanning's head. The savagery of his past life rode the edge of his rage to seep into his demeanor
and stun not only his fellow disciples, but his sect leader, and the entirety of the division from
Rufeng Sect.

There is a distinct overuse of Everyone Does Something Simultaneously (usually looking at

Mo Ran or Chu Wanning being Dramatic) and also of The Room Was Silent Until It Burst
Into An Uproar. Both of these are great narrative devices that work well to emphasize the
drama of a scene, but when they happen over and over again, they lose their impact. This has
been happening here.

------

Nangong Si scanned right past Mo Ran's holy weapon, gaze dark like rolling, molten iron. "Who's
that?" he asked.

"He's one of the heirs of Sisheng Peak, surname Mo," Ye Wangxi replied.

"Mo?" Nangong Si frowned. "The street rat?"

"That's the one."

"You know him?" Nangong Si asked, with a sidelong glance.

"We were in the same residence at Peach Blossom Spring," Ye Wangxi said, but he paled at
Nangong Si's answering sneer and fell silent.

"Well," Nangong Si said. "I shouldn't make him look bad. He's got a holy weapon already, there
must be something to him."

Mo Ran turned around, not having the time or the inclination to pay attention to Rufeng Sect. The
barrier was cracking, and Chu Wanning was still inside. He couldn't see the struggle taking place
inside.

Deep inside the dead town, Luo Xianxian's nails ripped the silk curtain into pieces. Chu Wanning
sensed a familiar presence from her and almost thought it was his holy weapon. It wasn't Heavenly
Questions, but there was an incredibly similar energy radiating from Luo Xianxian's ghost. He
suddenly understood. "Heartpluck Willow," he said, knowing that Luo Xianxian's body had been
cremated and that the only reason she had a form at all was that the puppet master had created one
for her out of a withered branch of the majestic tree.

The hearts and the steaming haze of fumes were four of the five elements, only waiting for Luo
Xianxian's wood affinity to complete the set. Chu Wanning ground his teeth - he didn't believe for
a second that the puppet master had concocted the entire affair just to give a ghost bride a happy
ending with her beloved. Besides, he thought, she had no relatives left alive - the thought struck a
spark in his mind, and he remembered the brother she'd had who had vanished. "It couldn't be
him," he murmured.

"All who stand against me shall die!" Luo Xianxian's flesh body and Chu Wanning's living soul
were evenly matched as they came together in conflict. Chu Wanning dodged, trying not to let his
soul take damage, and tapped between the ghost's brows again. "You can't hurt me with that spell,"
she laughed savagely. She threw her head back and summoned bands of wandering corpses. "Feral
ghosts, obey my command! Drink blood until there is no more!"
Terrifying wails and howling echoed through the courtyard, all of the undead of Butterfly Town
heeding the ghost bride's call. They poured like a flood, their cries audible even on the outside of
the barrier. The massed cultivators were shaken as they heard it, while Chu Wanning faced them
alone at the heart of the maelstrom. Only his silhouette, his lone soul manifested as a form of the
purest white, stood before the ghost of Luo Xianxian.

yes remind us that The Great Chu Wanning is standing all by his lonesome against a horde
of zombies that Terrifies Everyone Else, can you shill him any harder

The demon laughed in glee, madness lighting her eyes. Chu Wanning remained unfazed in the face
of hundreds of ghosts, brows furrowed deeply in sadness. "Luo Xianxian," he said. "Do you
remember what you once told me?" She seemed taken aback, and in her moment of distraction,
Chu Wanning flapped his sleeves open to leap upon the top of the courtyard. White silk boots,
untainted and pristine, landed on the edge of the black wooden eaves. "You told me you didn't
want to become a vicious ghost," he said. "That you didn't want to hurt anyone."

Winds from all around picked up as Chu Wanning's voice dropped. He raised his gaze to see
corpses pouring in from every direction, and swung an expansive sleeve. His hands glowed golden,
and thousands of willow vines rose from the ground. Blood flowed across Butterfly Town, corpses
littering the dirt. Thick, strong willow roots churned through the earth, glowing a blinding gold as
they bound every fleeing corpse. Chu Wanning closed his eyes, dark hair a whipping cloud around
his cold face.

"Heavenly Questions," he called. "Ten Thousand Coffins!" His eyes flashed open, blazing like
lightning as the roots grew into branches to trap the walking dead. Roaring and struggling, the
corpses were dragged into the heart of each willow tree and brutally sealed within. The largest
weeping willow materialized in the Chen courtyard, chasing the dodging Luo Xianxian.

The demon's body was made of Heartpluck Willow - kin to Heavenly Questions and What The
Hell, all born of the seeds the Exalted Gouchen had brought to the mortal realm. Chu Wanning's
Ten Thousand Coffins technique couldn't defeat the demon as handily as it could the rest of the
dead, and her vivid red robes fluttered in the wind as the giant willow grew even more humongous.
It shattered the barrier, growing straight for the heavens.

The amassed cultivators outside were stunned into silence by the sky-shattering tree, those with
weaker spiritual powers collapsing to their knees under the weight of Grandmaster Chu's
oppressive presence. The willow tree grew nearly tall enough to reach the moon as Chu Wanning
poured more spiritual power into it than he had ever released at once before. Many cultivators all
but collapsed, eyes bloodshot, and even the illustrious Nangong Si felt his chest tighten and his
heartbeat speed up.

"How did Sisheng Peak have someone like this? Constellation Saint?" Nangong Si panted through
gritted teeth.

"Sir Nangong, this is Chu Wanning," Li Wuxin said calmly. "Also known as Constellation Saint."

"What?" Nangong Si coughed out a mouthful of blood. "Grandmaster Chu?"

"Young master, please stop speaking," Ye Wangxi interjected, raising a hand to press two meridian
points on Nangong Si's body to recirculate his qi.

Utterly ungrateful, to Ye Wangxi's surprise, Nangong Si pushed him aside. "Don't touch me," he
said.
"Lord Ye, allow me," Song Qiutong said softly. As a throwback, she wasn't affected by the qi thick
in the air, and approached gracefully. Ye Wangxi ignored her entirely, and she turned her head to
gaze at Nangong Si with watery eyes. He declined her offer as well.

"Your help isn't needed," he said. "I'm just surprised to see someone I haven't seen in years. I'm not
that weak. Go help others."

Mo Ran noticed none of the byplay, dropping to the ground next to Chu Wanning's empty body.
He lifted his eyes to see his teacher's living soul engaged in battle with the demonic ghost bride.
His gaze passed to the more than a thousand corpses temporarily sealed by the grove of willow
trees. The spell would have drained spiritual powers significantly even under normal
circumstances, but given that Chu Wanning's soul was currently separated from his body, it was
orders of magnitude more impressive.

The degree to which we are supposed to find Chu Wanning Impressive has reached grossly
overdone parody, reminding me of nothing so much as the Early Days of the internet, when
ten year olds wanted you to know how Badass their avatars were and made them ten feet tall
with fangs; absolutely no sense of nuance whatsoever, which is admittedly a theme
throughout the narrative

A splitting cry caught his attention as the body born of Heartpluck Willow fell to the weapon born
of the same and Chu Wanning sealed Luo Xianxian into the giant willow tree. The enormous tree
sank slowly back towards the ground, until it stood at the same height as the other ancient great
trees. The barrier had completely shattered, but with all the corpses bound within Heavenly
Questions's Ten Thousand Coffins, there was no immediate danger.

Sisheng Peak's disciples were ordered to each tree to stand guard, as Xue Zhengyong didn't dare
relax, and they dashed for Chen Manner in an orderly horde. Mo Ran swept up Chu Wanning's
cold body and followed. He was met with the sight of Luo Xianxian's tree already forming a solid
coffin. Her expression as she lay within shifted from sorrow to savagery, and two separate voices
issued from her lips. One was full of madness, hurling threats, while the other was soft and
helpless, imploring them to stop her from hurting others. Eventually, silence settled over the coffin.

Chu Wanning's spiritual power was reaching its breaking point, but he held on through sheer
willpower, pressing his fingers against the girl's brow. "Who are you?" he asked.

The ghost bride's eyes slowly opened, colored vivid red.

"Not good," Li Wuxin said, and he prepared to kill the demon. Chu Wanning pointed in the air,
dropping a bolt of lightning in his path. "Chu Wanning!" the prelate spat.

Ignoring him, Chu Wanning stared at the delicate girl slowly sitting up inside the wooden confines
of the coffin. No killing aura was in her eyes; they were full of panic as she answered softly. "I'm
Luo Xianxian."

Chu Wanning's living soul dispersed in a sigh of relief, and his body twitched in Mo Ran's arms a
moment later. Mo Ran put him down, letting him lean against a wall, and bent to one knee to put
himself at Chu Wanning's eye level. "Sir, you're back," he said.

Phoenix eyes dazed, it took a moment for Chu Wanning to regain his focus and look at his student.
He was no less pale than he had been while his soul had been separated from his body, as he had
exhausted his qi and his spiritual core was naturally weak. He slowly rose to his feet, using the
wall as support, and approached Luo Xianxian with slow steps. Her mouth fell open in shock.
"Lord Yanluo," she said. "Why am I here? What happened?"

Eyes bright and sharp despite his physical weakness, Chu Wanning brushed her question aside.
"Tell me who fabricated your body," he said. "This is important. Do you remember?" His nails dug
into the stone wall next to her coffin, carving chips out of it.

"I - it's not very clear, but I have some memories. It was a man," she said.

"Think harder!" Xue Meng snapped from nearby.

"I didn't really see his face clearly," Luo Xianxian said. "I heard his voice, and it sounded familiar
-" Terror filled her face. "It's him!" she exclaimed. "The clementine thief! It's the clementine thief!"

"What nonsense are you babbling?" Xue Meng grumbled, but Chu Wanning understood
immediately. She had seen the thief who had tortured her as a child. The man from Linyi whose
heart had died at twenty, and Chu Wanning thought that Rufeng Sect must have been involved.
Before he could pursue the thought further, a sharp crash of thunder exploded.

Zhenglong Chess formation enveloped the sky above Butterfly Town, flashing red. "Not good!"
Xue Zhengyong shouted. "Keep watch on the coffins! The caster has noticed!"

Sand and debris whipped into the air, smoke and dust rising from all around. The cultivators fell
into defensive formations, back to back, holding their swords aloft. Chu Wanning's eyes darkened
as he turned back to the ghost bride. "There's a white chess piece in your body, letting him control
you. I'll help you purge it. Once it falls, you have to leave immediately. Stay in the underworld."

A sudden chill blanketed him, and he sensed danger. It was too late for Luo Xianxian to leave, and
she screamed. The light shifted to blood red, and lighting struck Luo Xianxian's willow-made
body. She burned, a wisp of soul rising to the skies in the midst of the smoke and blending with it
until suddenly a stream of jade-green light shot toward the heavens.

"Spiritual essence of wood element?" Blood drained from Chu Wanning's face as he realized he'd
been completely wrong. Luo Xianxian must have been a person with great wood-elemental qi
while alive - the puppet master hadn't been trying to create the qi, but gather enough resentment to
galvanize the existing spirit into becoming the temporary source for his array. All five spirits were
now complete, and the puppet master's plan had succeeded.

of course no one can sense a ghost’s spiritual affinity, so the failure here is Obviously Not
Chu Wanning’s Fault, which leads us right back to clumsy protagonist development

Chu Wanning looked at the sky, as did everyone else. Silence reigned for a moment, and then the
earth started to shake. Mo Ran was reminded of the illusion of Lin'an as a purplish black rift ripped
open across the skies. It held endless blood chaos, death, pestilence and hatred. The heavenly dome
above Butterfly Town had torn, and the door to the Ghost Realm was open.

------

The thin layer separating the worlds of yin and yang had thinned drastically since it had first been
created in the ancient times, with the occasional tear and gap becoming so common that they were
hardly cause for alarm. The blood-colored gash bisecting the sky, casting heaven and earth alike in
an unnatural and eerie hue as debris whipped through the air, was no such tear – it was a Heavenly
Rift, a once-in-a-lifetime calamity. Mo Ran was the only person present who had personally
experienced such a catastrophe, and the rest of the gathered crowd was at a complete loss.
Xue Zhengyong and his experiences with countless battles, Rufeng Sect of the upper cultivation
realm and Sisheng Peak of the lower cultivation realm, all were stunned in the face of the
phenomenon. Mo Ran’s experience did him no favors; he could feel his past life reaching out for
him as he was launched headlong into the same incident in which Shi Mei had died. He
remembered watching his beloved working with his teacher to repair the barrier, but his limited qi
had led to the ghosts and demons targeting him. He shook his head – the rift was three years early.

I’m not sure whether or not we need the reminder of barrier history or how Shi Mei died; it’s
regurgitating information we’ve already been given, but it does fit well with the simplistic
worldview in the sense that both assume very little processing power on the part of the reader

The memory struck Mo Ran, painful in its clarity. Right after New Year’s Eve, the snowy ground
dotted with the colorful remnants of firecrackers and the air tinged with smoke, they had been
more than slightly tipsy. Shi Mei’s eyes had been tender and affectionate and the sect had been
alive with laughter and merriment. Mo Ran had treasured the moment, content to just be with the
person he loved, and he and Shi Mei had started to walk home together after the festivities
officially ended.

The moonlight had reflected on the snowy ground, and Mo Ran had draped his outer robe across
Shi Mei’s shoulders. Shi Mei had been as beautiful as the fresh snow, pure and untouchable, but he
spoiled it by giving Mo Ran a concerned look. “You drank too much today,” he said.

Mo Ran had tried to laugh it off, but the sound had died in his throat as Shi Mei had cupped his
face. His warm cheeks burned hotter, and Shi Mei smiled at him. Mo Ran’s eyes opened wide.

“Your face is all red,” Shi Mei said.

Mo Ran blushed harder, so happy that Shi Mei had touched him at all that he hardly dared dream
of more. He hadn’t needed his feelings returned, filled with amazement and gratitude at the simple
gesture. They had bid each other good night, and he remembered Shi Mei’s smile as his beloved
had been backlit by the moon against the snow.

“Ran,” Shi Mei had said softly. “Thank you for lending me your robe.” Mo Ran had stammered out
surprised appreciation, and Shi Mei had continued to speak. “Ran,” he said again. “Actually, I…”

Mo Ran remembered that fireworks had exploded, drowning out whatever Shi Mei might have
said, and then it was too late. Shi Mei pushed the door open. “What did you say?” Mo Ran had
asked, panicked.

“Good things can only be said once,” Shi Mei had said, uncharacteristically coy as he paused with a
soft smile. “If I still feel like telling you in the morning, I’ll say it again.”

The Heavenly Rift had opened the following morning, and Mo Ran had never heard what Shi Mei
had intended to say. His fondest dream had died a scarlet death, and he had been left only with the
endless dreams of Shi Mei’s gentle smile. In his dreams, Shi Mei had confessed love and filled his
heart with joy, and Mo Ran had woken with that happiness spilling over so strongly that he would
forget for a moment that his beloved was dead. Tears would follow, as he knew again that Shi Mei
was dead.

A legion of countless evil spirits and demonic fiends poured forth from the rift, jolting Mo Ran out
of his flashback as the cultivators around him began to scream. Panic set in all over again as he
pushed through the chaotic, surging crowds in search of his beloved. “Shi Mei!” he screamed, over
and over. “Where are you?”
He couldn’t protect Shi Mei at his current level of cultivation – the rift had come too early, and Mo
Ran cursed himself for not anticipating that even this would happen off-schedule. He wouldn’t be
able to bear it if Shi Mei died again, if he failed to protect him. Crazed, Mo Ran kept running and
searching, until finally he heard a faint and familiar voice.

“Shi Mei!” Mo Ran screamed again. His beloved was standing next to Xue Meng, shielding them
both with a screen of water. Mo Ran bolted toward them, throat tight and eyes stinging, unheeding
of the rest of the battlefield.

“Get over here, you damn mutt!” Xue Meng grunted. He fought brilliantly, holding off as many of
the attacking ghosts as the next ten men combined, but even he couldn’t stem the unceasing tide.
“Hurry!”

Mo Ran leapt into the air, summoning What The Hell in a flash of red. He brandished it,
destroying an entire row of vicious ghosts in a single gesture. “Stay behind me!” he yelled toward
Shi Mei.

“We need to go help our teacher!” Shi Mei called back.

“No!” Mo Ran’s heart froze as Shi Mei echoed the words he’d spoken in Mo Ran’s first lifetime on
the day he’d died. Mo Ran had told him to go, that Chu Wanning would protect him, and it had
haunted him. He hadn’t taken into account how cold and heartless their teacher was, that he would
protect the needs of the many over the needs of the few or the one. “Stay here! He can take care of
himself!”

Overlapping visions of two lifetimes pounded into Mo Ran’s head as Shi Mei protested. “He used
up so much of his qi. We need to help him.”

“He’ll live! Worry about yourself!”

is this foreshadowing

Scowling darkly, Mo Ran lashed out at the surging waves of undead, flesh and blood flying and
chunks of brain splashing to the ground. His spiritual power and cultivation might have been far
below the peak he had reached in his previous life, but the forms and movements came easily. He
had been through countless battles, crossing blades with great warriors such as Chu Wanning and
Ye Wangxi, and he was undaunted even against millions of savage undead.

didn’t we have an entire passage about how he wasn’t great at fighting with the vine because
he was used to fighting with a sword? Are we supposed to think he’s overestimating his own
skill here?

Despite the troops on the ground, the rift in the sky widened. Fiends confined in the Infinite Hells
for hundreds of years poured into the mortal realm in a violent deluge, joined by the walking
corpses of Butterfly Town. The Yin energy had broken Chu Wanning’s willow trees, and Mo Ran
couldn’t stop the tide of battle. Ghosts and demons grabbed the living and tore into them with
abandon – he saw that Sisheng Peak’s cultivators, used to demonic encounters, were more or less
able to hold the line but that the warriors of Rufeng and Bitan sects were becoming overwhelmed.

Cultivator after cultivator from the upper cultivation realm screamed and bled. Mo Ran couldn’t
see Chu Wanning, but he suddenly caught sight of Ye Wangxi and Nangong Si. With strikingly
similar fighting styles, they each stood with long bow in hand. An exchange of glances and they
darted out in tandem, each taking a side to aim at the densest gatherings of the undead. The blue
curve of Ye Wangxi’s bow and the crescent moon gracing Nangong Si’s hand released at the same
instant, arrows flashing through the skies with the sound of birds.

Tempered with spiritual power, the arrows were shrouded by blades of cutting wind and ripped
through the amassed fiends. Shot after shot hit its target, until Nangong Si’s groping hand came up
empty. “Here,” Ye Wangxi called, and tossed him another quiver. “You never bring enough.”
Nangong Si scoffed, but he was self-aware enough to know it wasn’t the time or place to worry
about appearances. He accepted the arrows and they fought on.

The struggle was real; masses of vicious fiends were beaten back, but as the hour ticked by, more
and more of them flooded out of the ghost realm to replace them. Li Wuxin shouted toward Xue
Zhengyong, “We have to fix the barrier!”

Xue Zhengyong glanced at the four golden arrays glowing in each of the town’s four corners.
“Easy for you to say!” he snapped. “Do you know how to fix it? Do you have anyone in your sect
who does?”

“It’s not one of our specialties,” Li Wuxin snapped back sullenly.

“Then shut the hell up! How many Constellations do you think there are? Chu Wanning is holding
down the four critical points as we speak! If these ghosts escape our blockade, everyone in
Shuzhong will die!”

“Better Shuzhong than the entire world!” Li Wuxin shouted. “If we don’t mend that rift right now,
that’s what’s going to happen!”

I mean, technically he isn’t wrong; we’re looking at risk and reward and needs of many vs
few here

Xue Zhengyong’s temper flared. He swung his metal fan to summon a powerful gale, slicing Li
Wuxin’s cheek on the backswing as if inadvertently. “Why should the people of the lower
cultivation realm die to keep the upper cultivation realm safe?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth!” Li Wuxin hissed. “I’m saying some sacrifices have to be made for
the greater good! If this had happened near Bitan Sect, I would accept the sacrifice!”

“Talk is cheap, Prelate Li.” His tiger-like eyes full of fury, Xue Zhengyong barked out a laugh.
“The entrance to the ghost realm is located in my domain, and will never be near Bitan Sect, no
matter how many generations pass!” Despite their argument, the two men continued to fight off the
demons without missing a beat.

A streak of snow-white brilliance swept across the western horizon. Before they could identify its
source, a burst of frenzied instrumentals rang from above the clouds, resounding and resonating.
The sound fell from the heavens as if with the glint of blades. Xue Zhengyong’s head snapped up,
finally able to make out the multitude of cultivators arriving on swords. Each dressed in robes of
frozen mist silk, peach blossom petals drifting about their persons.

again? The Cavalry Arrives AGAIN? Also, I love that they are simultaneously racing toward
the battle and having flower petals drift around them, but I guess headwind doesn’t exist if
you’re standing on a flying sword

“Kunlun Taxue Palace,” he breathed. Every cultivator approaching had gentle, beautiful features
and appeared to be no older than in their early twenties by virtue of their cultivation method. Some
stood upon their swords, others sat cradling pipas in their hands or zithers on their knees. The
chords streamed forth, tumultuous and frenzied in their clear flowing melody. The demons and
ghosts shrieked in agony, held in place as if trapped by an invisible net.

The cultivator at the head of the reinforcing battalion had striking features with jade green eyes
under pale gold hair, clothed in robes the color of fresh snow and a pendant hanging over his
forehead like a drop of water. Fox fur was draped over his shoulders to protect against the snowy
frigidity of Kunlun, and he cradled an exquisite pipa. He plucked the strings with slender fingers,
luminescent peach blossom petals dancing around him with every note.

“Imperial winds across four seas, waters of virtue ever clear; don not the liveries of war, for today
we shall triumph.” The chords died down slightly, and he glanced down at the battling cultivators.

“Mei Hanxue!” came an irate holler from below. “You asshole! Why are you the one that showed
up?” Xue Meng darted over to stand beneath Mei Hanxue’s sword, tilting his head back to continue
cursing. “Out of everyone there, Kunlun Taxue Palace sent your unreliable ass?”

Turning toward the commotion, Ye Wangxi kept his irritation better hidden and his voice lower,
but he was no less annoyed at the new arrival with his pipa and blossoms and snowflakes. “It’s
him,” he said.

Nangong Si heard him. “Friend of yours?”

“I wouldn’t say friend,” Ye Wangxi muttered. He turned to leave. “I just fought him once.”

“Oh?” Nangong Si’s interest was piqued. “Any good?”

Ye Wangxi sneered coldly in response. “He had women do all of his fighting for him. What do you
think?”

not only have we firmly established Beauty Is Good, we have further refined it to say that
Deviant Physical Characteristics Represent Sexual Deviancy And That Is Bad, as the only
person who doesn’t have black hair is the serial adulterer who lies to get into women’s pants,
that’s a great look. Meanwhile, Ye Wangxi, far from Second-Best Cultivator In The Realm, is
acting like a spoiled brat by stomping away from a desperate fight because he doesn’t like
who showed up to help

------

Realizing that the new arrival wasn’t a powerful cultivator but the disciple from Peach Blossom
Spring who had led on countless women, Nangong Si lost interest. He turned back to the battle. In
the sky above, Mei Hanxue gave Xue Meng no more than a glance as his fingers danced across the
pipa. The hundred cultivators of Taxue Palace spread out in all directions, following their
musically-given instructions.

“Zither division, play the Song of Alkaid,” Mei Hanxue called. “Pipa division, perform the Magic-
Canceling Dance.”

Strong, fast-paced chords gathered in the air at his command, the resounding refrain scattering the
clouds. The demons froze, necks outstretched, staring hollowly. Li Wuxin remembered that Taxue
Palace knew something of barrier mending, in addition to their mastery of music, and called up to
them. “Good sir, do you know how to mend the rift?”

“The Heavenly Rift of the Infinite Hells is beyond my abilities,” Mei Hanxue replied.

“Hanxue,” Xue Zhengyong asked, “What about the barrier around Butterfly Town?”
Mei Hanxue bowed courteously to the sect leader of Sisheng Peak, a sect long on good terms with
Taxue Palace. “I can try,” he said.

“Great!” Xue Zhengyong clapped his hands together. “Guard its four directions and keep the
demons in. Call Constellation back –“

“Constellation?”

“Ah, dammit. I forgot, you haven’t met Constellation Saint. You’ll know him when you see him.
He’s holding the barrier down.”

Calm and collected, Mei Hanxue nodded understanding before tilting his sword to take him toward
the edge of town. Behind him, Nangong Si nocked three arrows onto his bow and released them in
three directions simultaneously. He saw Mei Hanxue’s speed and grace as the cultivator shot past,
and glanced at Ye Wangxi.

“Hey, you said he was a pretty boy who relies on women to fight for him,” he said. “He seems
perfectly capable.”

Ye Wangxi, baffled by Mei Hanxue’s self-possession, dismissed the conundrum in favor of

dispatching the now slowly-moving enemies in front of them. Held down by Taxue Palace’s
suppressing chords, the demons were vulnerable. “I guess he didn’t show me his true strength,” he
said.

Four of the ten great sects having arrived to contain the flood of demons, defeat seemed less
certain, but the situation was still dire. Those who had already come through the rift were frozen in
place by Taxue Palace’s chords, but new ghosts and demons were emerging by the minute. None
of the pipa or zither players could defend themselves, and they hung in the air, vulnerable. A
portion of their division was forced to switch to defensive magics, weakening the songs of
suppression and exorcism. The demons on the ground began to move.

The rift in the sky opened wider, allowing higher level demons to consume the mortal realm’s
Yang energy to break free of their fetters and come across. Possessing both their corpses and their
resentful souls, they were more powerful and vicious than the hordes that had already arrived.
Most of the troops on the ground couldn’t hope to face the higher-level foes, and some were
slammed to the ground immediately. Blood flowed as the high-level demons ripped open chests to
feed on the hearts filled with qi within.

Strengthened by the hearts, the demons rampaged through the crowd, causing an immediate panic.
Xue Zhengyong shouted for them to hold formation, set arrays and form groups for defense, but
those who had panicked infected others. Chaos began to take root, the air full of screaming and
crying.

Nangong Si kept his head, letting arrow after arrow fly until a hanged ghost latched onto him. Its
tongue dangled from its mouth as it aimed its claws for his chest. Too far away to help, Ye Wangxi
paled. “Si!” he shouted.

In the nick of time, Song Qiutong stabbed the hanged ghost in the arm. Having never been in a
fight, much less killed a demon, she let go of the longsword immediately and it fell to the ground.
The ghost lunged at her instead, and Nangong Si was barely able to block it with his own blade.
“Run!” he shouted. “Hurry!”

“I owe Rufeng Sect my life!” Song Qiutong protested. “I can’t just leave!”
I’m honestly not sure what narrative purpose she’s supposed to serve; this behavior isn’t in
keeping with any of her previous characterization, so I can only assume she’s being set up to
be in the right place at the right time for some Great Event, but I can see the author’s fingers
all over the plot contrivance and it’s distracting

Moved despite himself by her delicate demeanor and the determination in her tearful eyes,
Nangong Si cursed under his breath. “Ye Wangxi!” he called. “Get over here and look after her!”

Covered in blood, with grime and filth staining his handsome face, Ye Wangxi arrived. He grabbed
Song Qiutong roughly and gave her a shove. “Find Disciple Qin and stick with him.”

“No, I can’t leave,” she pleaded. “Sir, I can still help. I want to stay with Lord Nangong.”

“Just protect her here,” Nangong Si ordered, and Ye Wangxi’s face darkened in
uncharacteristically openly displayed anger.

“You have lost your damn mind,” he snarled, and vaulted back into the surging masses of the
undead without another word.

The number of high-level demons continued to increase, gutting the crowd like a fish. Any sense of
cooperation between cultivators fell apart as the fiends surrounded the living. Chu Wanning’s three
disciples had found each other and were fighting back to back, but the clear area around them was
shrinking by the second. Xue Meng cut one of the demons’ arms off, sending a spurt of foul blood
into the air, and the horde started to focus on Shi Mei instead.

Hands held in a spell sign, Shi Mei’ s qi was draining. The waterlight array flickered brightly into
being, and Mo Ran made a snap decision. “Shi Mei,” he said, “shield array. Xue Meng, get in.”

“You think I can’t handle this?” Xue Meng said, taking offense.

“Now is not the time!” Mo Ran hissed. “Do you think we can kill this many ghosts? Get in!”

“Ran, what are you going to do?” Shi Mei asked.

“Don’t ask,” Mo Ran said. “Just do.” He gentled his tone. “It’ll be okay.” The demons were
closing in, and Mo Ran looked around anxiously. “Just do it. Quickly.”

Shi Mei adjusted the seal, and a blue layer of shielding surrounded him along with Xue Meng. Mo
Ran pulled the holy weapon out of his sleeve and swiped it across his palm. He sprinkled the array
with his own blood to mark it with his qi. “Get to work,” he said in a low voice.

What The Hell flared at his words, each leaf ablaze as it grew in length by dozens of feet. Mo Ran
closed his eyes, recalling Chu Wanning’s movements as he unleashed a killing technique. He
opened them to countless ghastly fiends closing in, and whipped his weapon high into the sky in
response. Sparks erupted off the vine, raining down, as he whispered the single word. “Wind.”

An enormous array bloomed like a scarlet lotus from hell, fierce gales whipping at the ground as
each blade-like leaf sent dust and debris swirling into the air. The clouds and the sky itself whirled
into a vortex, pulling countless ghosts and demons into the maelstrom. What The hell was a blur in
Mo Ran’s hand as he ground his opponents into mince.

and if there were any cultivators alive in the area, you have just murdered them, good job

The ground was barren when the tempest settled, Xue Meng and Shi Mei stunned into
speechlessness by the display. Mo Ran turned to see if anything else was left alive, but he couldn’t
shake the feeling that he was far from where he should have been. If he’d had time to build up his
cultivation and his qi, he could have mended the fracture in the barrier with barely a thought.

“Look!” shouted one of the cultivators below, and Mo Ran followed his pointing finger to see new
arrivals from multiple directions, each group dressed differently and shrouded in different spiritual
energies. The presence of the Heavenly Rift had finally spurred the rest of the sects into action, and
their glowing swords delivered a massive influx of reinforcements. The charming and graceful
cultivators of Rainbell Isle were joined by the solemn and dignified monks of Wubei Temple, and
not one of the ten great sects was missing. The swarming locust-like horde of high-level demons
continued to make its way through the rift, but the ten great sects united weren’t outmatched.

this is the third time The Cavalry Has Arrived in the same fight, after the situation just got
worse, and it is an excellent example of diminishing returns; by this point, there’s very little
impact

On the ground, Mei Hanxue and Chu Wanning had completed the spiritual transfer, the color of
the barriers in the cardinal directions around the town melting from gold to blue. With Mei Hanxue
guarding the borders, Chu Wanning was free to ride into the heart of the battle, landing gracefully
at the center of the fiercest fighting. He looked up at the completely open rift and an immeasurable
and terrifying evil just barely perceptible on the other side. He could feel its insane strength, and
knew the barrier had to be sealed immediately to keep it on the other side.

Was the great evil the puppet master’s end game, Chu Wanning wondered, but he couldn’t imagine
what purpose it could serve. He was interrupted by Shi Mei’s voice, and turned toward his disciple.
Shi Mei ran toward him.

Mo Ran was assaulted by memories of his past life, how Shi Mei had called for Chu Wanning as
he had panted in the snow, covered in blood and grim. “You’re going to mend the rift, sir?” he’d
said. “You can’t do it alone, not a fracture into the Infinite Hells. I can help.” Mo Ran could almost
hear him now, and his blood ran cold. He grabbed Shi Mei and shoved him toward Xue Meng.
“You keep him safe!” he yelled.

“You going somewhere, mutt?” Xue Meng asked.

The wind picked up, carrying the stench of blood and worse from the battlefield. No flurry of snow
rode the breeze, giving Mo Ran hope that events could unfold differently. His gaze landed on Shi
Mei, lost and helpless, but with the beginnings of relief.

The barrier wouldn’t be mended by Chu Wanning alone, Mo Ran knew, but only his three
disciples had enough familiarity with his spiritual cultivation to support him. With the wind
whipping his hair, Mo Ran pulled Shi Mei into a fierce embrace. It was the first time he had held
him so openly, and it only lasted a moment before he pushed him away again. “I’ll help him seal
the barrier,” Mo Ran said in a tone that brooked no argument. I’ll be the one to die instead of you,
he did not say.

Facing certain death, Mo Ran suddenly didn’t care what anyone else thought. He didn’t care that
Xue Meng was watching, or that Shi Mei might reject him. He had waited for two lifetimes, and
now he was about to die. There was no other chance. In the face of the ferocious wind, he opened
his mouth to say his final words to his beloved. “Shi Mei,” he started.

The roars of vicious fiends conveniently interrupted his dramatic confession. The momentary
impulse grew cold in the delay, and fizzled out. “Ran, were you going to say something?” Shi Mei
prompted.
“Good things can’t be said twice,” Mo Ran said, heart full of the moment Shi Mei had said the
same thing to him. How cruel those words had been, he thought, cruel enough to stay with him
until death and beyond. “I’m going to help our teacher. If I come back and I still feel like saying it,
I’ll tell you then.”

With the certainty that Shi Mei would survive, Mo Ran headed for his teacher. The sky felt more
open, the world full of possibility, and he knew that the white-robed figure in front of him was the
end of his second life. His teacher, holding the world in his heart, had ruthlessly left Shi Mei to die
but this time it would be Mo Ran who suffered for that decision. The hatred and contempt Chu
Wanning felt for Mo Ran all but ensured that he wouldn’t sully his reputation by putting his
disciple’s life above his duty.

“Sir,” Mo Ran said, coming to a stop with his holy weapon glowing. “I’m here to help repair the
barrier.”

A wordless glance of acceptance followed, and Chu Wanning leapt for the highest point of Chen
Manor. Mo Ran joined him. “Set the Discernment Barrier,” Chu Wanning said.

One to the left and one to the right, the two cultivators worked in tandem. Their fingers glowed
with qi as they set the seal and invoked its form. Mo Ran felt the power stream forth, working in
rapport to establish both of them as vital grounding points of the gold-scarlet array. Its barrier
expanded outwards, growing clearer and brighter by the second, as a pair of coiled dragon
platforms formed beneath their feet to lift them high into the sky.

The ghost eye slowly began to close in the glaring light of the barrier, the ghosts and demons
coming into contact with it shrieking as if burned and fleeing back toward the rift. Those
untouched grew wilder, and the resentful energy pouring out grew stronger with each inch of
closure. The corruption was nearly palpable by the time Mo Ran was within a thousand yards of
the fissure, and he felt a heavy weight beginning to settle over his shoulders.

Across the array, Chu Wanning’s qi streamed out strong and steady, unceasingly strengthening the
barrier. The corruption in the air thickened further as the barrier closed, concentrating into a single
spot. Mo Ran could feel it digging into his flesh and bones like countless daggers, and memories
from the past began to wash out his vision. “Sir,” he choked out.

Did we or did we not establish two chapters ago that he had entirely run out of qi by
separating his soul from his body and calling forth thousands of magic trees to trap zombies
in

Mo Ran saw Shi Mei and Chu Wanning working in concert, saw the vicious ghosts feel Shi Mei’s
relative weakness and gather for their final assault. He had seen Shi Mei impaled, and he felt it
repeat – with one key player replaced. Mo Ran’s heart was pierced by a thousand ghosts, a cascade
of demonic fiends breaking through the heavy clouds from the Heavenly Rift.

Red clouded his vision, and Mo Ran felt the blood pouring from his chest. Drowning in its
suffocating stream, he turned toward his teacher. Chu Wanning’s pristine robes and coldly
impassive face didn’t even spare him so much as a glance, and the gap in Mo Ran’s heart filled
with deep hatred and resentment. He fell from the coiled dragon platform, his descent seeming like
an eternity, as his ruined heart wailed that Chu Wanning hadn’t lifted a single finger on his behalf.

that was your plan all along, you idiot man

Mo Ran’s scarlet qi dissipated as he tumbled downwards, and he felt Chu Wanning choose to pour
the remainder of his powers into the grounding point Mo Ran hadn’t been able to maintain. With
his strength alone, he forced the barrier shut with a thunderous crash. The Yin energy of the
spiritual realm was cut off, but the horde of fiends left in the mortal realm broke into a frenzied
rage.

The amassed cultivators were unprepared for the sudden rampage, multiple formations breaking
apart in seconds. Chu Wanning descended, rushing toward Mo Ran. His fall had been cushioned by
a layer of light below the pillar, but his blood pooled on the ground beneath him. Chu Wanning
beat back the fiends rushing toward his prone form, dropping a protective barrier around him with
a backhanded wave.

“Sir,” Mo Ran said again. “Don’t you have to leave again?” Outside the barrier, Chu Wanning
stood with his back to his disciple, and Mo Ran felt the taste of copper flood his mouth. He
grinned. “Are you made of wood?” he wheezed. “You don’t know what it means to feel sad or be
selfish, do you?” His vision blurred, blood dripping from a wound on his forehead past his eyes,
and he threw back his head to laugh. Bloodied tears made tracks down his face, and his voice
broke on a sob. “Look at me, Chu Wanning, are you going to just leave me here?”

Bitter disappointment tasted like iron on his tongue as his teacher didn’t even turn to look at him
while he lay dying. At least, he thought resentfully, he’d looked at Shi Mei last time, and wondered
how deep his teacher’s contempt for him ran that he wouldn’t even spare his dying disciple a
glance. As his vision faded, he saw Chu Wanning walk away to suppress the demons, and Mo Ran
knew that the least important person in his teacher’s heart was Mo Weiyu.

it takes how long for brain death to follow after cardiac death, again

------

Someone seemed to be calling Mo Ran from a great distance. He opened his eyes with great effort
to an unfocused white silhouette. Pressure against his chest was recognizable as an unbroken
stream of qi into the wreckage of his heart. It was warm, and he blinked, trying to make out who it
was. “Sir?” he breathed, fighting through the blood welling in his throat. His chest was sticky, still
bleeding ceaselessly, and something warm and wet fell on his cheek.

how much blood, exactly, does the author think is in a human body

Mo Ran’s vision cleared enough to see a pair of beautiful phoenix eyes in a deathly pale face
stained with blood. He was at a loss, staring dazedly at what should have been cold impassivity but
was instead his teacher’s crying face. He reached up to see if it was real or if he were only
hallucinating in the final moments before death, but stopped before he touched his teacher’s cheek.

Without the habit of hatred, Mo Ran thought he might be lost; he didn’t know what he would do or
how he should feel. Behind Chu Wanning were mountains of corpses and oceans of blood, and he
wondered if it were the battlefield at Butterfly Town or if he had already landed in hell. The
countless evils he had committed and his irredeemable sins should have sent him there, never to be
reincarnated, but Chu Wanning had been a good person who shouldn’t suffer for an eternity.

“Just a little more,” Chu Wanning said, the sound echoing oddly in Mo Ran’s ears. “You have to
stay awake.” Blood seeped from the corner of his teacher’s mouth as the golden light flared
brighter and brighter. The person before his eyes was enveloped in a blinding glow, shrinking into
the form of a child. “No disciple of mine would fail this task.”

“Terri Fying!” Mo Ran gasped. His teacher had transformed into his own son right before Mo
Ran’s eyes, and the shock sent him spiraling darkness on a wave of pain.
“Mo Ran,” he heard, in indeterminable amount of time later, the voice so soft it was nearly a sigh.
“I’m sorry. It was my fault.”

Despite himself, Mo Ran felt a wave of irritation at the repeated offerings of a sentiment he didn’t
want. He didn’t know what he wanted from his teacher, but it wasn’t an apology. He opened his
eyes, panting harshly, to see his room at Sisheng Peak. His clothes were soaked through with
sweat, and his chest was wrapped in layers of bandages. Red stained his fingertips as he pulled
them away, and it hurt, but his heart was beating.

The sound of curtains being lifted caught his attention, and he turned his head to see the most
beautiful sight of his life. Shi Mei startled, long black hair cascading loosely over a white mantle
lined of fox fur. “Ran! You’re awake!”

“Shi Mei!” Mo Ran exclaimed. “Shi Mei!” He felt wetness in his eyes, and scrambled off the bed
despite the protests from his unhealed wounds. He threw himself at his beloved, hugging him
tightly. “I’m so glad you’re alive! It’s over! It’s all over!”

so that white fox-fur mantle is stained with the blood seeping through Mo Ran’s bandages,
right, and we should spare a thought for the care and recovery process that has apparently
taken place while he was entirely unconscious. Very impressive, just skipping over physical
therapy like that.

The Heavenly Rift had been the greatest calamity and greatest regret of Mo Ran’s past life, pushing
him into the abyss of sin he had never managed to escape. It had loomed like a specter in his mind
after his rebirth, fear that history would repeat itself and leave him alone all over again as he
walked the road toward the empty Wushan Palace one more time. The heavens had not been
unkind to him, rewarding him for standing up to die in Shi Mei’s place.

Mo Ran knew he wouldn’t be alone, abandoned and rejected by all, that he wouldn’t be forced to
Liangshan Mountain in the dead of night like a lonely wanderer. His curse had been broken. He
clung to Shi Mei for several moments before letting go, eyes sparkling with tears, and Shi Mei
stood dazed and unmoving the entire time. Finally, as Mo Ran’s grip loosened, Shi Mei leaned
forward to press his forehead against Mo Ran’s jaw.

“Ran,” he said, and lifted his face to look at Mo Ran with a faint smile and damp eyes. “I’m glad
you’re okay.”

Mo Ran smiled, stroking Shi Mei’s hair. “Of course I am,” he said. “How could I not be?”

The curtain lifted again, interrupting them, and Xue Meng stormed in. Mo Ran’s mouth tightened
as he assumed that Xue Meng was being petty in his timing, upset that he’d been outdone at
Butterfly Town. Xue Meng paused for a beat as he saw Mo Ran awake and upright. “When’d that
happen?” he asked.

“Just now,” Shi Mei said, sounding worried.

“I see.” Xue Meng still kept his gaze averted from Mo Ran, who assumed he was still sulking
because he’d been outshone.

Happy that he and Shi Mei were both alive and that the calamity had passed, Mo Ran decided to
forgive him. “Looks like I was out for a while,” he said. “Who brought me back?”

“Who do you think?” Xue Meng said, sullenly, and flung back a sleeve. “It was our teacher.”
Taken aback, Mo Ran had no answer. Fragments of blurred memories passed before his eyes, and
he suddenly remembered that he’d seen Chu Wanning turn into Terri Fying. He wasn’t sure if it
had even been real. “Was he, uh, Terri Fying?” he asked.

“Oh, you did see,” Xue Meng said. “That Terri Fying is really our teacher.”

“What?” Mo Ran, despite having guessed, was still shocked to hear it spoken aloud.

“I thought you knew!” Xue Meng snapped, face contorting as though he were holding something in
check.

“How would I know?” Mo Ran yelped. “I thought I was hallucinating!”

The time Mo Ran had spent at Peach Blossom Spring suddenly pushed to the forefront of Mo
Ran’s mind, when he’d slept in the same bed as the little disciple. The hair clasp that had fallen out
of his teacher’s robes nudged at his mind as well, and the handkerchief he’d accidentally given Shi
Mei that had been embroidered with a crabapple blossom. He thought about clothing that grew and
shrunk with its wearer and the jar of chicken soup clutched tightly in Terri Fying’s arms.

One after another, the memories materialized and scattered like smoke, the face in Mo Ran’s
mind’s eye blurring between Chu Wanning and Terri Fying. He remembered telling Terri Fying
that he disliked his teacher, and only now did he realize how alike the two of them were. He paced
back and forth, muttering under his breath. Coming to an abrupt stop, he glared at his fellow
disciples. “You’re fucking with me,” he said. “There’s no way they’re the same person.”

“Ran,” Shi Mei started.

“No!” Mo Ran couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry. “They’re similar, but they’re not the same.
Terri Fying is a good person!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Xue Meng snapped with a sharp glare. “Are you saying our
teacher isn’t a good person?”

“Of course not,” Mo Ran stammered. “It’s just that Terri Fying was so – so sweet and sincere and I
thought of him like a little brother and how am I supposed to accept that he’s our teacher?”

“What, so our teacher is insincere?” Xue Meng snarled.

Shi Mei tugged on his sleeve, alarmed at his rising temper. “Ran just woke up, and remember what
uncle said!”

Xue Meng shook him off, dark eyes still fixed on Mo Ran’s face. The vein at his neck throbbed
with his fury. “Mo Ran, explain to me right now, what stops our teacher and Terri Fying from
being the same person. Where is he insincere? What part of him seems fake to you?”

this entire argument is extremely stilted and just – again, it’s drawing out Mo Ran’s inability
to deal with new information and using Xue Meng as a foil for Mo Ran with an absolute
disregard for his previous characterization. While he would absolutely defend Chu Wanning,
the way he’s going about it does not sound like the Xue Meng we have spent tens of
thousands of words with

Having seen Xue Meng irritated before, his annoyance slid off Mo Ran like water off a duck’s
back. He still couldn’t let it pass unchallenged. “That’s between me and him,” he said.

“Between you and him?” Xue Meng repeated. “Have you ever given him a second thought?”
“What’s it to you, Xue Ziming?” Mo Ran could only laugh as his anger rekindled itself. “When did
you lose your shit? Come on, Shi Mei, let’s go to Loyalty hall and see if someone else can figure
out what’s wrong with him.”

He brushed past Xue Meng to leave, pulling Shi Mei with him. Xue Meng stood rooted to the spot
until Mo Ran reached the door, and then he whipped around. “Mo Weiyu!” he roared. “Have you
ever in your life spared a second thought for our teacher?”

More agitated by the moment, Mo Ran stopped. His brows drew together in a scowl. Shi Mei
squeezed his hand and whispered uneasily, “Don’t mind him. He’s been irritable. Let’s go.”

Mo Ran reached for the curtain, only to be stopped when Xue Meng’s voice ran out yet again. “Mo
Weiyu, you fucker, you are a piece of shit.” He dropped the curtain, closed his eyes to gather
himself, and opened them.

“Ran,” Shi Mei said, trying to defuse the tension.

Mo Ran looked over his shoulder, and then turned to face Xue Meng fully. Taller than his cousin
despite being so close in age, Mo Ran let himself fall into a cold, menacing glare. He smiled, the
expression far from his deep and chilly eyes. “I’m a piece of shit now, am I,” he said. “I’ve never
treated our teacher with anything but respect, Xue Ziming. I didn’t stand by and watch when the
Heavenly Rift opened, either, I stepped up to help. Tell me, what the fuck did I do wrong?”

Xue Meng just looked at him.

“I’m nowhere near as strong as he is, I know that, and I fell from the pillar but he didn’t even look
at me. Wouldn’t you be pissed, if it was you? He didn’t even care if I was still alive. I’ve done my
duty. I don’t owe him anything.” Mo Ran’s features twisted as he finally gave voice to the pain that
had eaten away at him across two lifetimes. “What right do you have to stand there and insult me?
Tell me I never cared about him? I do. But he’s made of stone,” he continued quietly. “I don’t care
how powerful of a cultivator he is, how prestigious a grandmaster, that he’s the Constellation of
the Night Sky or the Holy Grace Immortal. When I was dying and I begged him to look at me, he
just walked away.”

Cold settled over him, banking his anger into a chill fury. The memory of Shi Mei dying in the
snow pushed forward, and Mo Ran saw Chu Wanning leave his own disciple’s body to cool in the
snowstorm. He fought to keep his voice even.

“I guarantee – if it had been you or Shi Mei on that pillar, he wouldn’t have saved you either. All
he cares about is his name and reputation.” Mo Ran couldn’t help his voice breaking a little after
all, forlorn disappointment washing over his face. “If you’re lucky, you’ll survive being his
disciple, but he won’t lift a finger to make sure of it.”

He felt the air pressure change before he saw Xue Meng’s blow coming, but there was no room to
dodge in the narrow room and Shi Mei was behind him. Mo Ran let Xue Meng slap him across the
face, gripping him by the collar so that he stayed upright even with the force of the blow. His
temper flared, and he twisted his wrist to seize his raging fellow disciple.

“Xue Ziming,” Mo Ran snarled through gritted teeth. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Mo Weiyu, you bastard!” Xue Meng wasn’t going to listen to reason, Mo Ran was beginning to
think, rampaging like an angry beast with no sense to speak of. He seemed determined to get into a
brawl in Mo Ran’s desolate little room, the two of them tearing at each other like a pair of trapped
beasts.
The narrative is working really hard to set Mo Ran up to be Wrong. Xue Meng’s cranky
reaction seems to indicate either permanent disability, which the author will most likely not
allow given how Special Chu Wanning is, or death. Either way, the story is working way too
hard to set up that moment of guilt and realization, which will now be nowhere near as
effective as it would have been if this author had any grasp at all on nuance or subtlety. As it
stands, there is little to no emotional impact to be had.

A single lamp flickered in the room, casting their shadows against the stone walls, and Mo Ran
suddenly heard Xue Meng choke back a sob. He thought he must have been mistaken, but warm
tears landed on the back of his hand and Xue Meng abruptly let go. He sank to the ground,
wrapping his arms around his knees and bawling miserably. Mo Ran put a hand to his red and
swollen cheek, unsure what to do at the unexpected turn of events.

“How could you say he didn’t save you?” Xue Meng screamed hoarsely through his sobs. “How
could you say that?” Tears streamed down his cheeks. “He would have been so sad to hear you say
that.”

“Wait, what?” Mo Ran asked, a pit forming in his stomach.

Xue Meng didn’t answer, only wept harder. His venomous fang had pricked Mo Ran, but he had
also caught himself. His gaze flickered between ferocity and sorrow as he cried brokenly, face
buried in the crook of his arm. Numbness climbed up Mo Ran’s body, freezing him where he
stood.

As if it belonged to somebody else, Mo Ran heard his voice ask, “Xue Meng, what did you say?”

The moment before Xue Meng got himself under control enough to answer seemed like an eternity.
“Our tacher,” he choked out, “is gone.”

The world seemed to shrink around Mo Ran. He couldn’t process the words, couldn’t understand
where their teacher could have gone. Xue Meng lifted his head slowly, hatred in his eyes,
heightened by mockery and bone-deep pain.

“Do you know why he didn’t look back?” he spat. “Father said that sealing the Heavenly Rift took
all he had. Did you think you were the only one the ghosts struck? The Discernment Barrier was
twinned! Whatever damage you took, he suffered the same! But he endured it, and said nothing of
it to anyone!”

to recap: the Author’s Pet first split his soul from his body and drained all his energy doing
The Most Amazing Technique that no one else could hope to duplicate because they’re not
Awesome enough AND he did it with his soul outside his body making it Orders Of
Magnitude More Impressive, and THEN he held A Powerful Barrier Over An Entire Town
and as if THAT wasn’t enough to make sure the reader knows how AMAZING he is, he goes
to seal a rift into hell that no one else could hope to block much less reverse AND THEN he
finishes this incredible feat with a literally shredded heart because he is just SO COOL.
There are no words for how stupidly over the top and incredibly dumb this entire sequence
is. Just. It is mindblowingly clumsy and poorly written.

Static drowned out Mo Ran’s thoughts as a horrifying thought occurred to him – the reason Chu
Wanning hadn’t saved Shi Mei in his previous life was because he, too, had been mortally
wounded. He trembled. “But he was so poised,” he said.

“When has he ever been vulnerable in front of others?” Fresh tears welled up in Xue Meng’s eyes.
“All of his qi had been exhausted. He put a barrier around you and left to draw off the enemy – to
use himself as bait to keep you safe.” Xue Meng’s voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “The battle
dragged on until nightfall, and so many were killed or injured. No one knew what had happened to
you. We didn’t even know you were gone until we got back.” He paused, breathing harshly. “Our
teacher was the one who went back for you, took the pill that let him recover his original form so
he could pull you from the wreckage and give you the last remnants of his spiritual power. He
brought you home, with his qi completely drained.”

“No,” Mo Ran whispered.

“He couldn’t use any techniques at all,” Xue Meng continued viciously. “Not even a
communication spell. He could only carry you on his back and climb the stairs of Sisheng Peak,
one by one. Over three thousand steps, without any spiritual powers.”

Mo Ran closed his eyes. He could almost see, under the pale moonlight, Chu Wanning carrying
him slowly up endless stairs, white robes stained bloody. He had been so pristine and untarnished,
the Holy Grace Immortal, and Mo Ran’s voice shook. “He can’t have,” he said. “There’s no way.”

“I thought the same,” Xue Meng said. “I thought I had gone mad, started hallucinating, because it
was so impossible.” Mo Ran sobbed, clutching the sides of his head, as Xue Meng kept talking.
“The stairs are stained with a trail of blood, showing the road he took to bring you home. Go look
for yourself, Mo Weiyu. Go and see.”

oh my god it just got even fucking stupider, as if it is determined to wallow in previously

undiscovered depths of narm

Shock and helplessness beyond what he could bear sent Mo Ran into a rage. He grabbed Xue
Meng off the ground and threw him into a wall. “No! He couldn’t have saved me! He hated me!
He had nothing but contempt for me!”

Xue Meng was silent, then gave Mo Ran a rictus grin of misery. “Mo Weiyu,” he said again. “It’s
not that he despised you.” He lifted his eyelashes, wet with tears. “I despise you,” he said. “Elder
Xuanji despises you. Elder Tanlang, everyone. Who the fuck do you think you are? You son of a
bitch!” He burst out laughing, tilting his head back to look up at the dim ceiling. “He was the only
one in this entire place who thought you were worth anything at all, and this is how you paid him
back.

Bitter laughter rang out as Mo Ran let go of his fellow disciple as if burned, stumbling backwards.
He began to shake, and he hit the cold wall behind him. There was no escape from his sworn
brother’s flat, dead voice. “Because of you, we don’t have a teacher any more.”
 Book 2, Part 1: Same Destination - Seeking Chu Wanning’s Souls

Rumors abounded regarding the origin of the cliff named Aaaah, the most popular being that its
steep face led to countless people falling off and screaming on the way down. Mo Ran knew these
rumors were all untrue. The cliff rose high into the clouds, a difficult climb, cold and covered with
snow year-round. It was where the dead were kept before the funerals were held, and Mo Ran had
only visited it once in his past life. Then, as now, Mo Ran had gone in the aftermath of the
Heavenly Rift. Refusing to accept reality in his first life, he had knelt by Shi Mei’s coffin for days.
He had gazed at the face that – preserved by the cold – looked as though he were only sleeping.

“The name comes from when your father passed,” Xue Zhengyong had said then, keeping him
company in the cold of Frostsky Hall. “He was my only brother, you know, we founded Sisheng
Peak together. He was stubborn like you, and barely got to enjoy the good life before one slip
against the demons got him.” He took a swig of wine before offering it to Mo Ran. “Don’t tell your
aunt,” he said, but Mo Ran didn’t take it. Xue Zhengyong sighed. “I was so miserable when he
died that I felt as though my heart had been torn out. All I did was sit here and cry. So that’s what it
was named.” He clapped Mo Ran on the shoulder. “I’m not well-read, but life is ephemeral. Think
of it as Mingjing going on ahead to wait for you in the next life.”

Mo Ran hadn’t answered. He huddled into himself, hugging his knees. His eyes slid slowly shut as
his uncle talked.

“Condolences are just words, but you should cry if you’re sad. Keep him company. Just go get a
bite to eat first, and drink some water, and then come back and kneel as long as you want. I won’t
stop you.”

White silk drifted lightly within the frigid, silent hall as Mo Ran slowly opened his eyes. The
coffin before him and the one in his memory were the same, cast from the black snow of Kunlun,
translucently lustrous and streaming cold. Only the face inside was different.

Mo Ran would never have expected his teacher to be the one to die, and he didn’t know how to
react. Faced with Chu Wanning’s ice cold body, he felt nothing but numb. He stared, almost
doubtful despite the layer of frost coating his teacher’s face. He really does look cold now, Mo Ran
thought, his veins shining blue beneath his pale skin. He lifted a hand to touch his teacher’s cheek,
letting it trail down to his throat, where there was no pulse, and then his hand. The joints were
starting to stiffen.

Mo Ran felt the calluses at the tips of Chu Wanning’s fingers, but his palms were soft and delicate.
Helooked more closely at the scores of lacerations – they had been cleaned, but would never heal.
He remembered Xue Meng telling him how Chu Wanning had carried him on his back up each
step toward Sisheng Peak, until he could no longer stand and had to crawl on the ground, until his
fingers were torn and hands covered in blood.

that detail was not part of the previous chapter

“I won’t believe you were the one to bring me back unless you nod,” Mo Ran said to the corpse.
“Just one nod, and I’ll believe you. I won’t even hate you.” He spoke calmly, as if he expected an
answer, but Chu Wanning characteristically continued to coldly ignore him.

The Constellation Saint had died with a clear conscience and no consideration for those he would
leave behind, Mo Ran decided, and sneered. His teacher had never listened to him while he was
alive, why would he expect it to change when he was dead, he thought. He’d hated his teacher for
so many years for the contempt he had shown, and that hatred had deepened after Chu Wanning
refused to save Shi Mei.

Hearing that his teacher had abandoned him for his own protection and that both of them had
suffered the same wounds cast doubt on the hatred that had persisted for years. Mo Ran snarled.
His teacher was perfect in everything he did, up to and including dying, he thought, and resented
where that left him. All he could do was run around in circles like a clown, stewing in his hatred.

A brief misunderstanding, Mo Ran knew, was like dirt on a healing wound – discovered in time, it
could be washed off and the wound would be fine. But left to fester – for ten years, twenty – and
those emotions would become part of the body, like a scar. To be told that he had been wrong did
nothing but open fresh wounds – the scar was already there, trapping the dirt inside. His very fate
had been blighted by the man lying dead before him.

The heavy gates of Frostsky Hall opened slowly, and Xue Zhengyong appeared before Mo Ran in
a repeat of his previous life. He carried wine, walking heavily to Mo Ran and sitting next to him. “I
heard you were here,” he said. “I’ll stay with you.” His fierce eyes were bloodshot, evidence of
tears. “And him, too.”

Mo Ran stayed silent. His uncle twisted open the jug and drank deeply, wiping roughly at his face
as he finally lowered his hands. “He never liked it when I drank,” he said, with a forced grin. “It
doesn’t matter now. I’ve lost so many friends.” He sighed. “Ran, do you know what that feels
like?”

Mo Ran lowered his lashes, remembering that his uncle had asked him the same question the last
time they’d sat here. All he’d known then was that Shi Mei was dead, and he hadn’t cared about
anything else. Now he had a whole new understanding, and he hated it.

Mo Ran suddenly remembered standing alone in the empty halls of Wushan Palace, and a day
when he’d woken abruptly from a dream of when he’d been a disciple. He’d had the sudden
impulse to visit his old room, finding the narrow space covered in dust when he stepped inside. A
small fragrance burner had been toppled on the floor. He picked it up to put it away, but he’d
frozen, unable to remember where it was supposed to go. The attendants behind him were faceless
blurs, useless in the moment, and anyone who might have been able to tell him had been dead and
gone. He knew exactly how his uncle felt.

“Sometimes I would remember a joke and just say it, but no one was around who got it.” Xue
Zhengyong sipped again. “Like your dad. Our friends. Your teacher.” Tears glinted in his eyes.
“Ran, do you know why the cliff has that name?”

Mo Ran knew what he wanted to say, but he couldn’t bear to listen to his uncle talk about his dead
father. “I know,” he said. “You cried here when your brother died.”

“Ah.” His uncle paused, and blinked. “Your aunt told you?” He rubbed his eyes and inhaled
deeply. “That’s what I wanted to tell you. There’s no shame in crying for someone.”

Mo Ran couldn’t cry. His heart had hardened, over his two lifetimes, and he was unsettled by his
own numbness. He thought maybe he was heartless after all, to be so calm while his uncle drank
beside him in grief. Xue Zhengyong finally got up, movements a little unsteady, and clapped Mo
Ran on the shoulder.

“The rift has been closed,” he said. “But we still don’t know who opened it. There might be worse
ahead. Make sure you go eat something to sustain your body.” He turned and left, vanishing into
the night under the crescent moon. Treading through the snow, his voice rang out deep and rough
like a broken gong as he sang a tune of grief.

Mo Ran dug his nails into his palms; his uncle was struck by even deeper sorrow, since it had been
his friend who had died and not one of the many young disciples. He listened to the lingering
sound of his uncle’s voice as it grew distant and finally faded into the wind and snow. The world
was blanketed in white, moon high in the vast sky, leaving Mo Ran alone with his thoughts.

Eventually, he made his way slowly down the mountain. The puppet master hadn’t been caught,
and worse was yet to come, but Chu Wanning was gone. Mo Ran would have to defend himself in
the days ahead.

Mengpo Hall was nearly empty when Mo Ran reached it, save for one attendant making the late-
night supper for anyone awake through the night. He asked for noodles, warming his stomach. The
dimly lit hall was hazy through the steam from his bowl as he ate ravenously, and he remembered
that he had refused food or drink for three days after Shi Mei had died. When he had finally
ventured away from Shi Mei’s coffin, it had been to find Chu Wanning profaning his beloved’s
memory by trying to make his wontons.

The sound of the wontons and cooking implements hitting the floor rang in his ears, stilling his
chopsticks and making it hard for him to swallow. He’d thought his teacher was taunting him at the
time, but now it occurred to him that Chu Wanning had been trying to comfort him instead. His
words haunted him, the derogatory accusations he’d hurled. Mo Ran went back to his noodles,
trying to ignore the memories, but it wasn’t that easy. They refused to leave him alone.

Mo Ran could remember his teacher’s face during that incident with such clarity, that his
expression had betrayed neither joy nor sorrow but his fingertips had trembled. He remembered the
smudge of flour on his teacher’s cheek and the plump wontons scattered across the floor. He
remembered that Chu Wanning had bent down to pick them up and thrown them away himself. His
bowl was still more than half full, but Mo Ran couldn’t eat. He pushed the bowl away and fled.

Running madly thorugh Sisheng Peak, as if he could catch up to that person who had left Mengpo
Hall alone that day and apologize for hating him for so many years, Mo Ran dashed aimlessly
through the dark. Fragments of Chu Wanning’s shadow were everywhere – the Platform of Sin and
Virtue, where his teacher had taught him the alphabet and the sword, and Naihe Bridge, where they
had shared an umbrella. There was nowhere that didn’t have memories attached.

Mo Ran felt more and more upset, more and more helpless, and finally he ran into an open clearing
where he could see the moon overhead. Breathing heavily, he stumbled to a halt. The Heaven-
Piercing Tower, where he’d died in his past life and where he’d met Chu Wanning for the first
time, was infront of him. He walked up its steps, toward the magnificent crabapple tree, and
touched its trunk. Its bark was dry and hard as a calloused heart.

Only then did a well of boundless sorrow pour through his chest, squeezing out of his eyes in a rain
of tears. “Sir,” he mumbled through choked sobs. “Sir, why don’t you pay attention to me?” It was
the first thing he’d ever said to his teacher. He was again alone before the Heaven-Piercing Tower,
and no one would pay attention to him. No one would come for him. Mo Ran’s teenage body held
the adult soul of the Emperor Evil Overlord, who had seen far too much life and death, tasted all
the world’s joys and sorrows, and never showed much genuine emotion in his second life.

that is some revisionist history, Mo Ran, you have shown plenty of genuine emotion

The loss and anguish written on his face now were so raw and vulnerable that only in this moment
was he like a youth who had lost his teacher or like an abandoned child. He was like nothing so
much as a stray dog that had lost its home and would never find its way back, but in the end his
only answer was the rustling of leaves. The person with the striking features under the crabapple
tree would never look at him again.

------

That night, Mo Ran slept leaning against the crabapple tree. There were many places at Sisheng
Peak that had traces of Chu Wanning having lived there; if he wanted to pay his respects, there was
no place more suitable than Red Lotus Pavilion. But only leaning against this tree dulled the ache
in his heart, only here could he feel a faint connection to the world of the living. He had once
thought that taking Chu Wanning as his master was the greatest misfortune of his life, but only
now did he finally realize that the unfortunate one wasn’t him. The unfortunate one was Chu
Wanning.

“Honored cultivator, pay attention to me.” Vaguely, Mo Ran thought those were the first words
he’d said to Chu Wanning, or something similar. He clearly remembered his teacher’s expression,
eyes bewildered and startled, and how gentle he had seemed. Lying beneath the flower tree, Mo
Ran thought that if time could go even farther back, he wouldn’t choose Chu Wanning as his
teacher.

The price for the flicker in those eyes was endless entanglement, ending with Chu Wanning’s very
life – Mo Ran had been responsible for his death in both lifetimes. He swallowed down a sob, the
agony of a million ants gnawing at his recently healed heart, and finally drifted into sleep. In his
dreams, the memory he hadn’t dared touch since being reborn broke free of its restraints and
carved that heart out.

In the dream, he stood at the top of the human realm. Chu Wanning, his spiritual core destroyed,
was imprisoned in the palace below. Mo Ran had been targeted by multiple assassination attempts,
one after the other, culminating in one perpetrated by Xue Meng and Mei Hanxue. Too strong to
yield his life, Mo Ran had nonetheless been gravely injured. It took him over a month to fully heal.

Shuzhong saw more than its fair share of rain, and that month was particularly wet. Water fell
unceasingly from the skies, and Mo Ran stood under an awning, wrapped in a brocade cloak,
staring at the offending skies. Mirth and madness warred on his handsome face, the light in his
dark and ruthless eyes devoid of warmth. The longer he spent as emperor, the darker he became.

Footsteps rang out behind him, and he spoke without looking. “Oh, it’s you.”

“Are you going to destroy Kunlun Taxue Palace?” Chu Wanning asked from the gran hall.

“And if I am?”

“You promised me,” Chu Wanning said. “You promised you’d stop trying to kill Xue Meng.”

“You came all this way,” Mo Ran said, calmly and evenly. “And you didn’t bother to ask how my
injuries are healing, or if I’m cold. You just care about who I might kill.”

“Mo Weiyu, I came to tell you not to do things you’ll regret.”

“Regret? Isn’t that my line? You’re the one without a spiritual core, after you got in my way at
Rufeng Sect. If you’d minded your own business, you might have been able to oppose me now.
Don’t you regret it?” He glanced over his shoulder, cruel smile tugging at his lips. “You worthless
cripple, how exactly do you think you’re going to stop me?”

Silence stretched between them, Chu Wanning having no words left. A crash of thunder split the
skies, and the rain fell harder. It streamed down the roof, spilling from the eaves, and Chu
Wanning closed his eyes. He opened them again with a quiet, “Don’t go.”

Mo Ran turned, black robes fluttering. From inside the hall, he was framed by ashen skies and
torrential rain, buffeted by freezing wind. He glared at Chu Wanning. “Why not? You gave Xue
Meng his chance. When you exchanged your freedom for his life, I kept my word. But he just tried
to kill me. So tell me – why should I let him live now?” Mo Ran scoffed. “Nothing to say? Go on.
Get it off your chest. I know he was your favorite.”

“That’s enough.” Chu Wanning’s brows lowered.

“It isn’t! How could it be?” Mo Ran felt savage glee fill his heart, anger melding with ecstasy,
pouring over hatred and jealousy. His eyes glinted as he paced. “That was his only chance. I’m
going to kill him and drink wine from his skull. You can’t stop me!” He ranted about how he
would defile Xue Meng’s body, growing frenzied and crazed as he fell deeper into his fantasies. A
hand grabbing his collar and another slapping his face snapped him out of it, and he looked up to
see wetness on Chu Wanning’s face.

“Wake up, Mo Ran!” he pleaded.

“I’m awake!” Mo Ran pulled away, feeling the burn on his cheek flare into anger. “You’re the one
who’s asleep! Are you blind?” He ripped his robes open to show his teacher the bloodstained
bandages. “Are you blind? Who do you think did this?” He ripped off the gauze to show off the
wounds beneath. “Do you know who did this? It was your good disciple! If he’d aimed just a little
better, I’d be dead. Give me one good reason to let him go! Or does my life not count as a life to
you?” Rage building higher, he grabbed Chu Wanning’s hand and pressed it to the now-bleeding
cuts. “Just dig out my heart, if you want me to stop!”

Chu Wanning’s hands were cold, trembling in his grasp. Mo Ran glared at him furiously. The
deluge of rain rattled the roof, and the veins on Mo Ran’s neck throbbed.

“Go on,” he said resentfully. “Dig it out.”

Neither of them moved in the silence, and finally Mo Ran let go of his teacher’s hand. “I’m taking
Xue Ziming and Mei Hanxue’s lives,” he said, breathing harshly. “You can hate me if you want.
It’s too late to change anything now, and I think my old friends should join me on my way to hell.”

“If you destroy Taxue Palace,” Chu Wanning said, not speaking before Mo Ran was walking way.
“I will die in front of you. I may not have anything to give you, but I can choose to die.”

Mo Ran paused, glancing over his shoulder with a smile. “I won’t let you die,” he said. “As you
recall, even after all the blood drained from your body, I pulled you back from the gates of death.
You’ll spend the rest of your life with me, no matter how much you disgust me.”

Madness purged, Mo Ran’s expression slid into calm, cold and threatening. “My good teacher,” he
said, “stay here. I’ll bring Xue Meng back to see you, the god he worries over day and night,
writhing under me like a wanton slut. It’s only right that he gets full comprehension before he dies.
We share a past, after all, and a teacher.”

Grandmaster Chu defied Mo Ran’s expectations. It took a month for him to capture Mei Hanxue
and Xue Meng, standing proudly at the summit of Kunlun Mountain before the Heavenly Lake,
and he tied them to pillars of ice. Zhenlong Chess Formation served to control the thousands at
Taxue Palace to slaughter each other as his captives watched, dying the once-pristine snowy
mountain crimson and polluting the lake with blood. Mo Ran sat before the gates, eating grapes
and smiling.
“Mengmeng,” he said. “Do you like it?” His former fellow disciple didn’t react, as if he were deaf.
Mo Ran smiled, pleased, and his voice became more affectionate. “Your dear cousin staged this
just for you,” he said. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Spare Taxue Palace,” Xue Meng mumbled.

“I’m sorry?” Mo Ran blinked and leaned closer.

“Spare them,” his cousin said. “Let them go. Let Mei Hanxue go. It was me, just me, leave
everyone else out of it.”

Mo Ran couldn’t help laughing. “Are you trying to dictate the terms of your surrender?”

“No.” Xue Meng, darling of the heavens, looked up at him with hollow eyes. “I’m begging you.”

Mo Ran was delighted, gripping Xue Meng by the jaw. He opened his mouth to taunt his
helplessness, but a burst of radiant green lit up the skyline before he could speak.

A spiritual array, flowing and resplendent, stretched over the vast area covered by Kunlun
Mountain. Above the array, Chu Wanning stood with his white robes fluttering. A zither hung in
the air before him, pitch black with its tail end curving upwards into graceful branches heavy with
dew-laded crabapple blossoms. The petals glowed with luminous radiance. It was Chu Wanning’s
third holy weapon – Nine Songs.

of course he is so special that he can use a holy weapon and a spiritual array without a
spiritual core

------

Mo Ran’s blood ran cold; he had only seen the zither Nine Songs once in his life, when it had been
summoned at their battle to the death to split the skies and sunder the clouds. Its chords had freed
all those under control of Zhenlong Chess Formation, living and dead alike, and Mo Ran’s million-
strong army of chess pieces had been thrown into utter disarray by one song.

Eyes narrowed, Mo Ran recalled that summoning a holy weapon required a spiritual core and
energy – Chu Wanning couldn’t call Heavenly Questions,and Nine Songs was even more
powerful. The battle above the Heavenly Lake that followed was no less fierce than the
deathmatch between master and disciple, but not having anyone to talk to about it left Mo Ran’s
memory of it blurry, even in his dream. His dream self was vaguely aware that he had never
managed to figure out how Chu Wanning had summoned Nine Songs with nothing more than the
strength of his soul, suspecting that perhaps his teacher’s spiritual core hadn’t shattered after all
and he’d been faking it all along.

In the dream, the battle happened as Mo Ran thought he remembered. His chess pieces shattered
into dust, one after another, and Nine Songs was even more indomitable than he remembered. It
nullified Mo Ran’s forbidden techniques, and his dream self remembered the thoughts of his future
self again – had Chu Wanning been biding his time only to take his revenge in one fell swoop, and
if only that had been the case, perhaps Mo Ran might have been stopped earlier.

The enchanted ice pillars fell, muffled by the blurriness of his dream memory, and Mo Ran leapt
into the sky. Anger and delight filled his eyes as he faced his greatest opponent, eager to see what
other hidden skills Chu Wanning would reveal. Landing on top of the barrier, he strode over to
stand before his former teacher, whose hands stilled on the zither. Its sound faded, and Chu
Wanning lifted his pale face.
“Mo Ran,” he said. “Come closer.”

Mo Ran couldn’t have said why he obeyed, but he did. Chu Wanning’s fingers moved, and streams
of jade light flashed toward his chest. For a moment, he was sure Chu Wanning meant to kill him,
but the light diffused into his skin and brought warmth instead of pain.

“I’ve healed your wounds,” Chu Wanning said. “So let Xue Meng go. Who else can you talk to
about the past?”

Before Mo Ran could begin to process the words, the barrier under his feet dissolved. The zither
went with it. He summoned No Return before he could slip from the clouds, but Chu Wanning fell
as gently as a wilted leaf. Mo Ran sped downwards, catching Chu Wanning in his arms just before
he would have hit the icy waters of the lake. “You,” he ground out.

Chu Wanning’s eyes were closed, blood seeping from nose, mouth, eyes, and ears. He had always
valued his dignity, keeping his back ramrod straight and never letting anyone except Mo Ran see
him appear anything less than pristine. Bleeding from every hole in his face now, his refined
countenance was a disheveled mess. His throat worked. “You said life or death is not up to me, but
you’ve underestimated me. When I’ve made up my mind to leave, you can’t stop me.”

“Sir,” Mo Ran said. “Sir.” He stared, feeling a chill wash over his heart as his body went numb.
Chu Wanning smiled.

“I’ve kept living because I didn’t want to give up, thinking that if I just stayed with you I could
stop you from committing more sins.” He seemed almost glad. “But.” Mo Ran trembled, fear
consuming him. He hadn’t been afraid in years, but the sensation of terror rushed back in a wave to
carve out his heart. “It might take my death for you to stop doing evil,” Chu Wanning said, as if in
immense pain, and blood spilled out of his mouth.

Mo Ran understood that summoning Nine Songs had ripped his insides apart. Holding Chu
Wanning in his arms, he landed on the lakeshore. Anguish twisted his face as he channeled qi into
his teacher’s wounds, but it was no use. Mo Ran panicked, the Evil Overlord clutching the person
in his arms and trying over and over to repair his wounds.

“It’s useless, Mo Ran,” Chu Wanning said. “I’ve used the last of my life to summon Nine Songs. If
you have any pity left in your heart, please forgive…” His voice trailed off.

Mo Ran stared intently, waiting for the last word. He’d forgive Xue Meng, Mei Hanxue, Kunlun
Taxue Palace, or the entire cultivation world, as long as Chu Wanning lived. As long as the person
he despised so much survived, he would forgive anyone. Chu Wanning lifted a trembling hand,
poking him almost tenderly in the forehead. “Forgive yourself,” he said.

The words froze Mo Ran’s ferocity in its tracks. He held his teacher in his arms, delight warring
with anguish, both washed out by contentment. “Forgive myself?” he murmured. “Your last wish is
for me to forgive myself?” He laughed suddenly, the sound echoing across Kunlun Mountain in a
raging inferno of deranged misery. It was twisted and terrifying, and in its face, Chu Wanning
swallowed another mouthful of blood.

If he had had enough strength, Chu Wanning’s face would have shown his anguish, but all he had
left was his phoenix eyes. They filled with sorrow, clear as the snow and hazy as the frost. His
pupils dilated, and he lost the ability to focus on Mo Ran’s face. “Don’t laugh,” he said softly. “I
can’t bear seeing you like this. You’re like this because I failed to teach you, and because I
wronged you. I can’t blame you, in life or in death.” Arduously, he lifted his gaze in his bloodless
face, speaking with blue lips. Blood instead of tears flowed from his eyes as Chu Wanning wept.
“Mo Ran,” he whispered, “do you hate me so much that you wouldn’t grant me a moment of peace
at the end? Wake up, turn back.”

Hollow eyes open, Chu Wanning went to sleep. Mo Ran refused to believe at first that his teacher
had died, the great grandmaster of the era, so high and lofty. He stared, head lowered, and tried to
wipe his teacher’s face clean, but there was so much blood that he only smeared it around. The
more he cleaned, the worse it got, and Mo Ran finally stopped laughing. “You win this time,” he
said softly. “I couldn’t keep you alive.” Fire burned in his deep, dark eyes. “But you’ve
underestimated me as well. I can’t stop you if you don’t want to live, but you can’t stop me if I
don’t want you to die.”

what a ridiculously narcissistic death, because of course nothing would do except that Chu
Wanning die doing something literally impossible according to the rules laid out by the
author’s worldbuilding

Emperor Evil Overlord took the corpse back to Sisheng Peak, installing it in the Red Lotus
Pavilion, and kept the death a secret. He was powerful enough to keep it from decaying, to prevent
himself from having to acknowledge that he had killed the last person in the world who had cared
for him. As long as he could keep the body from turning to ash, he could tell himself that his
teacher was still alive, and there would be somewhere for him to pour his deranged hatred and
twisted love.

turn to ash? Let me tell you how decomposition works, dear author

After Chu Wanning left, Mo Ran visited the Red Lotus Pavilion daily. At first, he would curse at
the corpse, eyes flashing with malice. He would tell his former teacher that he deserved his fate,
for caring for the rest of the world instead of Mo Ran, and that he had been the worst teacher. Later
he started to ask why his teacher was still asleep, why he would fulfill his end of the bargain after
Mo Ran had given Xue Meng his life.

The servants began to wonder if their master had lost his mind entirely. Song Qiutong thought the
same, and she was frightened by the prospect. Lying beside him after a rare night of intimacy, she
took the chance to talk to him. “Ran, the dead won’t return,” she said carefully. “I know that you’re
sad, but you have to let it go.”

“Who’s sad?” Mo Ran snapped.

Adept at reading faces, a skill honed by years spent at Mo Ran’s side, Song Qiutong immediately
lowered her eyes. “I misspoke,” she said, used to the practice of treading on eggshells around her
husband.

“No,” Mo Ran said. “No. You started this. Tell me. Who do you think is sad?”

“Your majesty,” Song Qiutong started.

Thunder flashed in Mo Ran’s dark eyes, and he seized his wife by her delicate neck. He lifted her
and threw her naked body off the bed, his face twisted to resemble a beast. “And what do you
mean, the dead won’t return? Who’s dead?” He pushed each word past aggressively gritted teeth.
“No one’s dead, no one needs to return, and no one is upset!”

Song Qiutong’s lips quivered as she struggled to utter the words, “Red Lotus Pavilion.”

Mo Ran saw red. “What are you trying to say?” he raged. “Chu Wanning is asleep there! No one
else! What are you trying to imply, you bitch?”
Song Qiutong’s heart fell as she saw him fly into an uncontrollable rage. Not knowing what he
might do to her, she threw caution to the wind and raised her voice. “Your majesty,” she said, “The
person lying in that pavilion is already dead, and yet you go every day. How could I not worry?”
She picked her words carefully, framing her own selfish desire as concern for Mo Ran.

she doesn’t want to be abused and/or murdered, that’s real selfish; not that she doesn’t have
her flaws, but this is a very reasonable desire. But then again, remember how this book treats
women.

Breathing gradually slowing, Mo Ran stared at her, and she hoped for a moment that her words had
gotten through to him. “I’ve made you worry,” he said.

“I only wish for your wellbeing,” she said, with a breath of relief. “I would die for it. You’re deeply
compassionate, but I don’t wish to see you so despondent.”

“Then how do you think I should be?”

“Forgive me for being so bold, but I think it’s time to bury Grandmaster Chu. He’s gone. Keeping
his body around will only be painful.”

“Do you have more to say? Let it all out.” His expression gradually relaxed as he spoke, and Song
Qiutong’s heart slowed from its rapid rhythm.

Lowering her eyelashes, she tilted her head slightly and looked at her husband with half-lidded
eyes. She knew that she looked most like Shi Mingjing when assuming this expression, and also
that his memory was her husband’s weakness. She wasn’t sure why she failed to arouse his interest
no matter how carefully she modeled herself after his dead beloved, unless he was depressed or
drunk. All of Sisheng Peak knew that Emperor Evil Overlord’s true love had died many years ago,
and she had no idea why he was so hung up on Chu Wanning.

As far as Song Qiutong could tell, her husband not only wasn’t into women, but only saw Chu
Wanning as a plaything to vent his lust. He had traded his life for Mo Weiyu’s disquietude and
remembrance, but she knew there was nothing more than momentary guilt at the heart of the
matter. She was confident in her face, in her resemblance to Shi Mingjing, and that she wouldn’t
lose to the dead man in the Red Lotus Pavilion. She was determined to bring her husband out of his
madness.

Chaos had enveloped the world, and Song Qiutong saw the outbreaks of conflict and was terrified
she had chosen the wrong man to follow. If Mo Ran lost his standing, she would be ruined along
with him. She would never be able to climb the social ladder again. She sincerely and
wholeheartedly hoped for Mo Ran to break free of whatever madness possessed him. She
hesitated, but finally she summoned the courage to keep speaking. “There will be none worthy of
the Red Lotus Pavilion when he is gone,” she said.

“Go on,” Mo Ran said.

“The pavilion,” she said, and hesitated for a moment. “It will only remind you of the past, and
perhaps it would be best to seal it away. A pavilion serving only one master is a good tale.”

I can’t exactly condemn her self-interest here; nobody wants to be murdered by their
husband or by his enemies, so if she wants him stable so that he can maintain his power,
that’s not entirely reprehensible, no matter what the narrative would have you believe.
Remember. Misogyny is strong here, and note that there are very few men who are rebuked
by the narrative for this sort of behavior.

------

After a moment of silence, Mo Ran smiled brightly. “A pavilion serving one master is a good tale,”
he repeated. “Well said.” He trod casually across the ice-cold stone floor, coming to a stop in front
of Song Qiutong. He lifted one shapely foot and tipped his wife’s chin up with his toes. “You’ve
been keeping this bottled up for a while, have you?” He smiled at her frightened face. “Empress
Song, it occurs to me that there are a number of things I never asked you about. Since you’re
feeling so talkative today, let’s see if we can’t explore them.”

Song Qiutong paled, her body freezing. She stared up at him, mouth trembling, and Mo Ran
replaced his foot on the floor. Her chin remained tilted up at the same angle, even without being
held.

“The most recent one,” Mo Ran said. “The day I went to Taxue Palace. I locked Chu Wanning
inside when I left, so how did he get to Kunlun Mountain? Who let him out?”

“I don’t know,” Song Qiutong said, her entire body shuddering.

“So you say,” Mo Ran said, smiling. “The next one. The year I made you empress, I also set you to
managing Sisheng Peak. Shortly thereafter, I had to leave briefly. Chu Wanning was being
disobedient at the time, and I had him locked in the water prisonto practice self-reflection.” He
watched Song Qiutong’s face pale still further. “You went to visit him, using prison inspection as
an excuse, but he rejected you.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Song Qiutong said, and went on hastily. “But Ran, I told you about it when
it happened. He didn’t just reject me, he insulted you.”

“Oh, I know,” Mo Ran said. “You were so angry that you had to do something. But he was already
serving a sentence, and it couldn’tbe arbitrarily increased. You carried out a minor discipline –
inserting thorns in the tip of each finger after pulling his nails out.”

“Your Majesty,” Song Qiutong said, eyes full of panic, “you praised me for those actions when
you returned.”

“Did I?” Mo Ran smiled faintly.

“You said those who speak poorly should be so punished, and that if he was rude again in the
future I should go farther and break his fingers.” Her voice trailed off as she spoke, until she
collapsed on the ground, hiding from the terrifying smile on her husband’s face. “Ran, please.”

“That was so long ago, Qiutong, that I no longer remember what I might have said.” Mo Ran
sighed softly. His wife, having guessed his intention, shuddered violently. “I’ve been having
dreams,” he went on. “Dreams about that day. Coming back from Yin Mountain and finding him
with his hands infected, bloody, and painful.” His voice tightened at the end of his slow words,
cold light flashing in his eyes. “I was not happy.”

“Your Majesty,” Song Qiutong said. “Ran, please, let me explain. Let me explain!”

“I was not happy.” Mo Ran continued as if she hadn’t spoken, face blank as he looked coolly at the
woman huddled on the floor. “Pray indulge me.”

The frosty expression on his face, paired with his hauty request, sent goosebumps shivering over
Song Qiutong’s skin. She had spent years living at his side, managing his moods, and she could
sense the oncoming storm. She lifted her dark eyes to look meekly up at him and crawled over to
nestle by his ankles. “I will do anything that will make you happy,” she breathed.

Mo Ran grabbed her jaw, forcing her face upwards again, and gave her a lovely and innocent
smile. For a moment, he was exactly as he had been the first time she had seen him, dimples and
all, promising her that he wouldn’t hurt her. She shuddered, as he used the same expression and
tone to deliver entirely different words. “Qiutong, I know you mean it, and that you will do
anything to make me happy.” He caressed her soft lips with a finger, the part of her that most
resembled Shi Mei, staring at the soft petals of her mouth. “Wait for me,” he said, “on the road to
hell.”

Tears of fright poured out of Song Qiutong’s eyes, and she accepted that she would not be able to
divert her husband this time. She had thought he would beat her, or perhaps divorce her, but she
hadn’t thought he would go so far as to murder his wife. In that moment, she realized that he had
truly gone mad. She collapsed to her knees, still feeling the passion of intimacy now tainted by the
fires of hell. Outside, dawn had begun to break and paint the sky the color of blood. Dimly, she
heard her husband call the guards to take her away.

“Toss her in the cauldron,” Mo Ran said. “Fry her alive.” The guards’ panicked protests died, and
Song Qiutong fell into numbness. She heard her husband’s mad laughter as if from a great distance
as he walked further and further away.

discussions of Mo Ran’s character development – or lack thereof, as he does not actually have
a redemption arc – aside, the changes in POV and the indistinct shift from present to
flashback are very poorly done

The sound of Mo Ran’s laughter lingered over Sisheng Peak as the rising sun cast a long shadow
behind him. He walked slowly, accompanied by the shades of two youths and a tall man in white
robes. The youths dissipated, leaving only the tall man, until the sun rose higher and the shade of
the man vanished into the golden dawn. The rising sun washed away those who were pure and
unblemished as it was, leaving Mo Ran alone in hell. He kept walking, growing lonelier and
colder, until he felt that he had already died, his grip on sanity weakening with every step.

The year before he took his own life, Mo Ran remembered, he had been unable to recognize his
own reflection in the copper mirrors. All he had seen was a monster. On his last night, he had been
inside Red Lotus Pavilion, with only his old eunuch Liu to keep him company. “What kind of
person was I?” he had asked. Without waiting for an answer, he’d just kept speaking. “I didn’t
wear my hair like this, or have this crown.”

“No, my lord,” the eunuch had replied. “Your Majesty wore those at Empress Song’s suggestion,
after you ascended to the throne.”

“Song Qiutong?” Mo Ran sneered, tipping his head back to drink. “I paid attention to her?”

The old man, perhaps sensing that the end was near and that he no longer had to worry about
provoking the emperor, spoke candid truth. “When Your Majesty first ascended, the empress was
quite favored,” he said, eyes downcast and hands tucked into his sleeves. “You did everything she
asked. Have you perhaps forgotten?”

“How could I possibly forget,” Mo Ran chuckled. He remembered a rumor that she had been
favored solely because of her physical resemblance to Shi Mingjing, and upon hearing it, she had
done everything she could to strengthen that resemblance. He smiled mirthlessly, then took the
crown from his head and tossed it into the pond. Startled koi leapt from the water, and Mo Ran
undid his topknot to let his inky hair slide over his shoulders. “Old Liu,” he said meditatively,
“what else do I need to do to look the way I used to?” He snapped his fingers. “A hair tie. The blue
one, that Sisheng Peak’s disciples always wore. Are there any left?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. You asked me to safely store your disciple’s uniform, when you ascended. I
can go fetch it, if Your Majesty wishes.”

“Excellent,” Mo Ran said. “Bring the whole set.”

Mo Ran sat up when the eunuch returned, old clothes in hand, and stroked the cotton and hemp
cloth. Pieces of the past fluttered like dried leaves to cover the holes in his heart. He picked up the
outer robe and tried to slip it on, but the clothes of his youth were too small.

“Why doesn’t it fit?” he raged. “Why can’t I go back?” He paced like a beast trapped in a cage,
eyes flickering with a dangerous light. “This is my clothing! Mine! Did you fetch the wrong set? If
this is mine, why doesn’t it fit?”

The old eunuch, used to seeing his master in the grip of madness, had once thought it was
terrifying. Today, he saw it as pitiful; he recognized that Mo Ran was looking for the self that had
disappeared, for the past that could never return. “Your Majesty,” he said, “let it go. You’re not the
youth of the past.”

In the midst of his rage, Mo Ran whipped his head around fiercely to glare at the old eunuch’s
withered face. He couldn’t speak at first, throat constricting around his words as he panted harshly.
“I’m not?” he finally got out.

“No,” the eunuch said, not unkindly. “You can’t go back.”

For the first time, childlike helplessness appeared on Mo Ran’s adult face. He closed his eyes, his
throat bobbing as he swallowed. Liu stood to the side, sure that when the emperor opened his eyes,
he would snarl and destroy everything before him, but tears stood in Mo Ran’s eyes instead of rage.

“I see,” the emperor said hoarsely, the wetness of his eyes putting out the inferno of his heart. “I
can’t go back.” He put the robe down, sitting as if exhausted, and buried his face in his hands. “I’ll
just tie up my hair,” he said dully.

“Your Majesty,” Liu said. “Why?”

“My life will end soon, and I don’t want to be lonely when it does.” He kept his hands over his
face. “I just wanted to feel like someone still loved me.”

“You’re just pretending,” Liu said.

“I don’t mind.” Mo Ran pulled his long hair back, wrapping the tie around it and picking up his old
hair clasp. “Pretend is better than nothing.” His hand stilled as he realized he couldn’t remember
which side he’d put the clasp on. “Do you remember how I used to wear my hair, old man?”

“Your Majesty, I arrived here two years after you became emperor. I do not know.”

“I can’t remember,” Mo Ran whispered. “I need someone to tell me what I used to look like.” The
eunuch only sighed, but Mo Ran knew that his servant didn’t have an answer for him. He held the
clasp on the left, then the right, before clipping it to the left again. “That seems right,” he said. “I’ll
ask him.”

In the inner parts of the pavilion, Chu Wanning’s body lay beside the red lotus pond. Mo Ran sat
on the ground, one hand propping his cheek in the faint fragrance of lotus blossoms. He looked at
the man lying, eyes closed, among the vibrant, intoxicating red of lotus blossoms. He felt as
thought he had so much to say, but at the same time he couldn’t say anything at all. His emotions
were too jumbled to sort out, much less identify, and he didn’t know which one he felt the most.

Once, Mo Ran had told himself that he only kept his old teacher around to vent his hatred and his
desires, but he had kept the corpse. The grave had been prepared, but he couldn’t bury the man.
There was no use in keeping the cold body he couldn’t entwine with or speak to, but they had gone
through too much. No peace had been between them in life, but a cruel sort of gentility had grown
between the living and the dead.

Besieged on all sides, Mo Ran visited his teacher often with a jar of pear blossom wine in hand.
His teacher’s body was the only link to the past left in Sisheng Peak. The buildings remained the
same, but the people were different, and Mo Ran was full of the urge to hold a long conversation
with his teacher’s corpse. He knew it didn’t matter, that his teacher wouldn’t answer. When he
tried to speak, his throat tightened, and he could only say a single sentence.

“Sir, pay attention to me.”

Mo Ran’s affect when he reincarnates was absolutely not consistent with how he is depicted
here – a common flaw in narratives that proceed in two time periods simultaneously, in
which character development occurring in the past is not reflected in the present. It’s sloppy
writing that either doesn’t take into account planned character development or develop the
character as planned.

------

Sir, pay attention to me. It was the first thing Mo Ran had said when he had met Chu Wanning
before the Heaven-Piercing Tower; his eyes had been closed, but had fluttered open when Mo Ran
had called. It was also the last thing Mo Ran said, when they parted for the final time at Red Lotus
Pavilion, but this time Chu Wanning's eyes remained firmly closed.

The sentence drifted for half a lifetime, from the Heaven-Piercing Tower to the edge of the lotus
pond, before it melted into dust. The years of love and hate scattered and went cold. On the eve of
his final day, Mo Ran finished his last jar of wine and descended the southern peak. The next day,
the rebel army charged into Wushan Palace to find that the Evil Overlord had taken his own life at
the age of thirty-two.

In the present, after two lifetimes, Mo Ran opened his eyes. He had slept through the night under
the flowering tree before the Heaven-Piercing Tower to wake up dazed and lost, unable to tell
when or where he was. "Sir," he murmured, "pay attention to me." Only then did he remember that
Chu Wanning was gone. In the past, he had gotten used to his teacher being the one to remain by
his side until the end. He had wanted to be a good person in this life, and now his teacher would
never see it. Mo Ran wondered if the heavens were punishing him or if it was simply his fate that
his teacher had had so much contempt for him in his previous life that in this one he had actively
decided to leave Mo Ran behind.

Mo Ran tried to hold the tightness back in his throat, and heard his uncle shouting frantically in the
distance. He was calling his name, along with Shi Mei, shouting for him not to do anything stupid
and keep Constellation Saint company. Mo Ran scrambled up, lurching unsteadily toward the
voices, frantic in his realization that there was too much left to do for him to just collapse. He had
to find the puppet master, and guard against another possible Heavenly Rift. Sisheng Peak had
taken heavy losses, and Xue Meng was already so heartbroken that he was useless. Mo Ran
couldn't do nothing; he had to endure and carry on.
Mo Ran repeated to himself that it didn't hurt, that he'd experienced Chu Wanning's death before,
and that it was fine. Deep down, he knew he was lying; his teacher had carried him on his back for
over three thousand steps, crawling by the end, draining the last ounces of his qi to help Mo Ran.
Of course it hurts, he tried not to think, remembering that Chu Wanning had suffered the same
injuries as Mo Ran himself but had withstood the pain and protected his disciple. Of course it
hurts.

In his past life, Chu Wanning had suffered the same fatal injuries as Shi Mei and had hidden it. He
had hidden it and completed his task, and Mo Ran had castigated him, vented endless hatred upon
him and rejected his efforts at conciliation. His teacher had bent down in front of him to pick up
the wontons, and his death hurt. Mo Ran had dug out his teacher's heart, and he couldn't deny the
pain he felt any longer. He shambled to a halt, standing motionless, trying to suppress the pain and
swallow his sobs, but his entire body hurt with the effort. He buried his face in his hands and
finally took a deep breath. Slowly, he walked down the steps, determined to keep calm and carry
on.

every time she describes Chu Wanning's Final Moments, I laugh harder, because it is beyond
heavy-handed

"Uncle," Mo Ran said.

"Where did you go, Ran? You worried me half to death! How would I even begin to face
Constellation Saint in the afterlife if something happened to you?

"I'm okay, now," Mo Ran said. "I'm sorry I made you worry."

Xue Zhengyong shook his head, unsure of what to say, and patted his nephew on the shoulder.
After a long moment, he spoke. "It's not your fault," he said. "You're already so much stronger than
Meng."

"Where's Xue Meng?" Mo Ran asked hoarsely.

"Sick," Xue Zhengyong replied. "High fever. He's asleep now, but he's inconsolable when he's
awake. It's good that he's asleep." His uncle looked exhausted. "The Heavenly Rift caused a huge
commotion, and even the upper cultivation world has been sending people to look into it. The
perpetrator covered his tracks extremely well, though, and there weren't any clues left in Butterfly
Town."

The news didn't surprise Mo Ran; he knew the puppet master's abilities were clearly beyond what
anyone, including himself, had expected. Anyone who could overcome Chu Wanning wouldn't be
careless enough to leave hints. "What does the upper cultivation realm intend to do?"

"They're holding a meeting," Xue Zhengyong replied. "Representatives from each sect will be at
Spiritual Mountain to discuss the matter. I'll go to it tomorrow, but I'm worried about leaving Meng
like this."

His uncle's worry wasn't misplaced; Mo Ran knew that after the highest-ranked grandmaster in the
world had been killed, the upper cultivation sect would have to respond to the situation, no matter
how negligent they might be otherwise. He also knew that his fellow cultivators would be asking
who had done it, what his next move or his goals were. None of the sects would be able to
investigate alone, and they would have to cooperate. "I'll help Aunt Wang take care of the sect
while you're gone," he said, the only comfort he could offer his uncle. "Don't worry."

"I hate to have to burden you," Xue Zhengyong said, and left.
With Xue Meng ill, all the accumulated paperwork and other tasks fell to Mo Ran. He threw
himself into the work, not wanting to rest for even a moment. Only the continuous activity held the
anguish and regret at bay, and he wished he could bury himself in the scrolls day and night to avoid
the guilt in his heart.

The Yin energy that had flooded the mortal realm when the rift opened had allowed all manner of
previously long-suppressed fiends to escape and wreak havoc on the surrounding land. Letters of
commission requesting aid from Sisheng Peak arrived in spades, piling up to a small mountain, and
Mo Ran kept himself occupied by handling it all. He forgot to sleep and eschewed his meals,
heading into Loyalty Hall at the break of dawn and staying until late at night.

Even buried in the mountain of paperwork, Mo Ran would stumble unexpectedly across fragments
his teacher had left behind. One village's letter mentioned their good fortune in having a Holy
Night Guardian construct available to hold off some of the fiends, although it was not a viable
long-term solution. When Mo Ran read that letter, he sat and stared at it until a drop of wax set the
wick of his candle to crackling. He had been tracing the words Holy Night Guardian with his
finger, seeing his teacher at the Red Lotus Pavilion with his hair pulled back as he worked on the
constructs in his mind's eye. Mo Ran breathed out deeply and pressed his fingers to his forehead.

A knock sounded at the door. "Shi Mei?" Mo Ran asked.

Wearing light, simple robes, his beautiful beloved walked in with a tray, then rolled up his sleeves
and brightened the candle. "Ran, you've been working all day," he said gently. "Eat something."

"Okay." Mo Ran forced a smile and set down his scroll, kneading at the throbbing pain between
his temples.

"I made ginseng chicken soup," Shi Mei said. "And some other things." He set them out, feeling
the temperature of the bowl. "They're still hot," he added. He watched Mo Ran start to eat,
reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind his ear for him. "Ran," he said. "That day - was
there something you wanted to say to me?"

"What day?" Mo Ran asked; his thoughts were a jumbled mess, and he didn't know which day Shi
Mei meant.

"The day the Heavenly Rift opened," Shi Mei said. "When you said you were going to help our
teacher mend it. And you said that if you felt like telling me when you came back, that, um. You
would." His pale ears seemed red in the candlelight as he bowed his head.

The words caught in Mo Ran's throat; he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that he loved Shi
Mei dearly, but he couldn't say it out loud. It wasn't the right time, he thought, because even if he
was unmannered and uncaring of what others thought, he wasn't heartless. "I'm sorry," he finally
said quietly. "I'm feeling really low right now, and I don't think it's - I'll tell you another time,
okay?" Shi Mei's head snapped up, surprise in his beautiful eyes. Mo Ran forced out a chuckle, and
hesitated before patting his beloved's head. "I'm kind of dumb and there's been a lot on my mind
lately. I don't - I don't know when I'll have a moment to think, and I don't want to be careless with
this."

Even the warmth of the candle couldn't conceal the color slowly draining from Shi Mei's face.
"Careless?" he said, and then paused. "Ran," he said, smiling. "We almost died. I thought if you
were going to say something then, that you'd already thought about it carefully."

"I have," Mo Ran said. "I've thought about it and I haven't changed my mind, but." He paused.
"Not right now." He clenched his hands into fists in his sleeves. "Not right now, Shi Mei, it's
important and I don't want to rush it. I don't want to talk to you about it at such a miserable time."

"Young master!" One of the junior disciples rushed in unannounced, conveniently interrupting the
conversation. He saw Mo Ran and bowed respectfully. "Sir," he added.

Shi Mei's blush faded and he sat up straighter, flicking his sleeves back into order. Mo Ran glanced
at the disciple, failing to notice the change in Shi Mei's body language. "What is it?" he asked.

"An esteemed guest is at the sect entrance," the disciple stammered.

"Esteemed guest?" Mo Ran repeated. "Anyone of note from all of the sects should be at Spiritual
Mountain right now. Where's he from?"

The disciple's flush seemed to contain both terror and excitement as he finally managed to spit out
an answer. "It's Master Huaizui of Wubei Temple!"

"What!" Even ex-Emperor Evil Overlord couldn't help abruptly getting to his feet at the news. He
saw out of the corner of his eye that Shi Mei was as startled as he was at the news that a legend
was standing in front of their door. Master Huaizui had achieved enlightenment long ago and
should have ascended, but he had allegedly stood in front of the great gates of the heavenly realm
and said that he could not break with the mortal realm, that he would not let go of his lifelong
obsession, and he could not wash himself of his past sins. The heavenly light, so Mo Ran had
heard, had disappeared and the lotus blossoms had tilted, leaving Master Huaizui to amble away
from immortality in worn-out robes.

After declining his chance to become an immortal, he had gone into seclusion at Wubei Temple to
reflect and stayed there for a century. No cultivator alive had seen him in person during that time,
and the number of those still living who had seen him before his seclusion could have been
counted on one hand, Mo Ran knew. He hadn't met the old master in his previous life, either;
Master Huaizui had succumbed to his age and passed away the year before Mo Ran had conquered
the human world. No one knew how old he had been.

A thousand thoughts flashed through Mo Ran's mind at Master Huaizui's unexpected appearance,
but only one held his attention. Uncaring of what reason the old master had of his own to visit, Mo
Ran thought of the rumors he had heard. He couldn't believe he'd forgotten that such a person
existed; when Shi Mei had died, Mo Ran hadn't known he might help, hadn't sought him out, but
when he'd learned that there was an individual alive who had mastered the forbidden Rebirth
technique, he had scoured the cultivation world to find him.

His messengers had dashed his hope of calling back Shi Mei's soul with the news that Master
Huaizui had passed on. Now, news of his presence jolted Mo Ran to the depths of his heart, and he
shook in excitement. "Hurry!" he exclaimed. "Invite him in!" Before the messenger could respond,
he changed his mind. "No, I'll go welcome him myself." he said.

Before Mo Ran had taken so much as two steps, a flash of yellow came from outside. Neither the
candle nor its flame flickered, there was no hint of a breeze, but suddenly a monk in a bamboo hat
and worn-out robes stood imposingly in Loyalty Hall. He stood before Mo Ran. "I am imposing
upon you so late," he said, voice deep and mellow. "I shall not trouble you so."

Mo Ran's first thought was that this man didn't sound like he was well over a century old; he
looked and sounded as if he were no more than thirty. His eyes were bright and sharp, calm as the
reflection of light in water. "You are," Mo Ran started.

The monk clasped his palms together. "I am Huaizui."

For him to look even younger than Xue Zhengyong was perhaps the most shocking part of his
appearance, but Mo Ran knew that it was a side effect of his cultivation. As someone who had
rejected ascension, he was no different than an immortal except for the final step of shedding his
mortal body and undergoing a heavenly trial. Mo Ran relaxed after reasoning that the old master's
experience wasn't so surprising after all, but he couldn't help staring.

Only three people remained in Loyalty Hall a few moments later, and Master Huaizui requested
that no one else be disturbed. Mo Ran personally served his tea, but the old master did not drink.
He set the tea aside, politely but direct. "Please forgive my forwardness, but I have come today on
behalf of a past acquaintance."

Mo Ran's heart skipped a beat. His vision swam and he clutched the edge of the table so tightly he
nearly crushed it. He stared intently at Master Huaizui's face as the knowledge he had gained of
him in his past life surfaced. Another piece of memory surfaced abruptly - the Evil Overlord's
messengers had reported that changing fate was in defiance of heavenly will and was
immeasurably dangerous. He drew a deep breath, pushing aside the rushing thoughts of how
skillfully Master Huaizui was rumored to be able to manipulate Yin and Yang, and even deal
directly with the ghost realm. "Past acquaintance," he murmured, meeting the master's clear eyes.
A sheen of sweat slipped down his back. "Who is this past acquaintance?"

The old monk stood slowly. No shadow was beneath his feet, and his old robe drifted lightly in the
breeze like a ghost. Mo Ran could hear his own heartbeat, but he couldn't read the great master.
He stood at the same time, and couldn't hope to suppress the expression of hope that spread across
his face. The great master sighed and lowered his eyes, pressing his palms together. "My disciple
Chu Wanning perished seven days ago," he said. "Tonight is the night his soul is set to return. I
cannot bear to send off one so young, and so came to Sisheng Peak to beg your pity, that he might
return my disciple to me.”

of course Chu Wanning is So Special that his teacher will use a Forbidden Technique on him

------

That the exalted monk halfway between human and ghost was Chu Wanning’s teacher was so
unexpected that Mo Ran was momentarily unable to speak. Shi Mei reacted first, bowing formally
in respect. “I was unaware that you were related to our late teacher,” he said deferentially. “Please
accept my sincere greetings, Grandmaster Huaizui.”

“You need not call me grandmaster,” Huaizui replied. “I expelled your teacher from the sect long
ago.”

“I see,” Shi Mei said, eyes wide with surprise. Prudent by nature, he had better manners than to pry
into a manner that seemed to be a sore point with the great master.

For his part, Mo Ran was paying no attention to the conversation; he was focused on a single
possibility. “Sir, you said you came here for our teacher. Do you know some way to resurrect
him?”

“Ran,” Shi Mei started.

“Do you? Tell me!” Mo Ran’s vision swam, heart hammering in his chest through days of too
much work and not enough sleep.

“Please take care,” Huaizui said with a sigh. “That is indeed why I am here.”
Staring fixedly at the old monk, Mo Ran’s face flushed. His lips quivered before he managed to
speak. “Do you really,” he started, and couldn’t finish.

“I did not come here only to torment you,” said Master Huaizui, and Mo Ran felt a sob nearly
choke him. “The Rebirth Technique alters fate in defiance of heaven’s will, and is not a simple
matter. I truly owe Grandmaster Chu, or I would not resort to it. I have only come here after many
days of contemplation.”

“In defiance of heaven’s will?” Mo Ran repeated, turning the words over in his mouth. “Altering
fate,” he said again. “Surely, if I had such a chance, reprehensible as I was, a good man should
have the same chance.” He spoke softly and indistinctly enough that neither of his companions
understood his words.

“Grandmaster,” Shi Mei said. “Since it defies heaven’s will, and is a forbidden technique, I
imagine the Rebirth Technique must be extremely difficult and may not succeed.”

“Yes,” Huaizui answered. “It involves the caster and the deceased, plus a third person to find the
totality of the deceased’s soul. It is full of hardships, and any error could lead to eternal damnation
and a complete shattering of the soul. Therefore I will only ask Grandmaster Chu’s three disciples
if you would be willing to brave untold dangers for him. It is the only way he might be able to
return.”

None of the revelations were a surprise to Mo Ran; the forbidden techniques all required sacrifices
and involved danger. He had been willing to give his life for Shi Mei in his previous life, and he
would do no less to repay his debt to Chu Wanning. He looked directly at Huaizui. “You don’t
need to involve anyone else; it’s my fault my teacher died. I am willing to take on the task alone.”

“Ran,” Shi Mei protested, and turned to the old monk. “What will the actual trial be like?”

“While the trials may be completed by one, if more people are willing to undergo them, they are
more likely to succeed. When Xue gets here, I will explain it to all of you. Please remember, do not
call me Grandmaster, as I am no longer Chu Wanning’s teacher.”

“Why did you, uh, expel our teacher from the sect?” Mo Ran asked, having calmed down enough
to wonder.

“Nothing important,” Huaizui sighed. “I was under the care of a benefactor in my youth, but he was
ill-fated and lost his life protecting others. Afterwards, the most important rule of our sect was that
no disciple may set foot in the outside world, unless they reach enlightenment, so as not to
endanger their own lives.”

“He couldn’t do it,” Mo Ran said.

“That’s right,” Huaizui said with a forced smile. “He had the same temperament as my benefactor.
He grew up in the temple, with little experience but much skill and talent. He should have been
able to cultivate into ascension, but he went down the mountain to collect ore the year he came of
age, and found fleeing refugees. He not only found them a place, but he left the mountain without
permission to check on them in the lower cultivation realm.”

Mo Ran knew that Sisheng Peak had only just been established that year, and that the lower
cultivation realm had been much more chaotic then. He knew exactly what his teacher had seen.
He was somehow unsurprised.

“He told me he wanted to put his training on hold to help the less fortunate,” Huaizui said. “I
didn’t agree, as he was only fifteen with a pure, simple nature and a hot temper in addition to his
poor constitution. His high cultivation level compensated for none of these.”

“He didn’t listen, did he,” Mo Ran said.

“No,” said Huaizui. “We fought over it, and he accused me of not caring if others were suffering.”
Both of Chu Wanning’s disciples were shocked at how harsh their teacher’s words had been,
particularly toward his own teacher. Huaizui was faintly melancholy as he continued reminiscing.
“Control of my emotions was lacking then, and I told him he couldn’t save others if he couldn’t
even save himself.”

“How can you save others if you can’t save yourself,” Mo Ran whispered; he’d heard his teacher
repeat those words. Huaizui’s eyes glinted in the light and he sighed deeply.

“I see he didn’t change,” he said. “He still had that same unwavering conviction.” Mo Ran had
always thought those words to be empty, but he felt anguish upon saying them now. Several
moments passed before Huaizui spoke again. “I’m ashamed to say it, but I lost my temper and told
him that if he left, not to come back.” He paused, hesitating for a long moment before shaking his
head. “As you know, he chose to cut ties and leave. It’s been many years since then, and I have not
seen him since.”

“That’s not your fault,” Shi Mei said.

“Right and wrong or truth and falsehood aren’t so easily grasped,” Huaizui replied. “But Chu
Wanning was once my disciple, and I have not been able to rest since I heard of his death. I had to
try to bring him back.”

The vermillion doors slammed open, revealing Xue Meng standing outside. Mo Ran had no idea
when he’d arrived, but he’d clearly heard the salient points. Knowing only that the old master had
arrived but not his purpose, he had felt no urgency in making his way to Loyalty Hall, but now he
wished that he had run. “Bring him back?” he cried. “You can bring him back?” He stumbled into
the room and grabbed the old monk roughly. “Old geezer, are you fucking with us?”

“Young master,” Shi Mei said hurriedly.

“No, no, I’m sorry,” Xue Meng said. “That was rude of me. Sir, as long as you can bring our
teacher back, I will do anything you ask, now and forever. Just please tell me you’re serious.”

“Xue, there’s no need for that,” Huaizui said. “I came this late specifically for your teacher.” He
turned to look at the night sky. “It’s nearly time. Since you’re all here, please allow me to explain
the pertinent details.”

Before Shi Mei could agree, Xue Meng spoke over him. “Save him first!” he said.

“I understand that you’re anxious,” Huaizui said. “But you need to know that any mistake could
not only kill you but scatter your teacher’s soul. He would be unable to enter the wheel of
reincarnation.”

Xue Meng’s face flushed red. “Please explain the details,” he said.

The old monk took three lanterns from his storage pouch, made of white silk intricately woven
with threads of gold and embroidered in thirteen colors with complex spell patterns. “These are
soul-calling lanterns.” He distributed them to the disciples. “Please listen very carefully.” He
waited for them to accept the lanterns. “Each person has three ethereal souls which rise to the
heavens and seven corporeal spirits which reunite with the earth. The three ethereal souls are the
Earth Soul, which proceeds to the underworld with the Human Soul after death, and the Wisdom
Soul, which remains with the body. On the seventh day, the Human Soul returns to the world of the
living to realize an unfulfilled wish, after which it reunites with the Wisdom Soul. The merged soul
will return to the underworld to unite with the Earth Soul and await reincarnation as a complete
soul. Many have attempted Rebirth without full knowledge of its intricacies, and can only call an
incomplete soul. Naturally, it dissipates in short order.”

Mo Ran had tried to resurrect Shi Mei in his past life, but only a faint shadow had materialized. It
had vanished into glitters of light almost immediately. “I see,” he said, now understanding why.

“Chu Wanning’s Wisdom Soul remains in his body,” said Huaizui. “We must find the other two,
with the soul-calling lanterns. They can only be lit with qi and must be sustained with a continuous
stream as you pass through Sisheng Peak. They will illuminate his human soul if he does not
refuse.”

“What if he doesn’t want to see us?” Mo Ran asked, heart dropping.

“That’s the first trial,” said the old master. “It is the reason that more people have a greater chance
of success. If he has no lingering attachments and has already left, the soul-calling lantern will not
be able to illuminate him. As you can see, everything – time, place, people – must be perfectly
aligned. If any of these requirements goes unmet, then the deceased cannot be compelled to
resurrect.”

Mo Ran’s hands tightened around the lantern. “Of course he’ll want to come back,” Xue Meng said
instantly. “He loves us. What’s the next step?”

“We must then go to the underworld,” Huaizui said, shocking all three disciples. None of them had
expected to be asked to descend to the world below.

“How may a living person enter hell?” Shi Mei asked, lowering his beautiful eyes.

“You need not concern yourselves with the method,” Huaizui said. “But whichever of you finds
him first must wholeheartedly wish for him to return to the living world and be unreservedly
willing to go to the heavens above and the underworld below. If you lack conviction, his soul will
scatter halfway and never coalesce again.”

I see Shi Mei is going to fuck it up. I postulate that Chu Wanning’s soul WILL scatter but
he’s so Awesome that, unlike Humpty Dumpty, he’ll be put together again

“Uh,” Shi Mei said.

“The depth of affection and regard I hold are beyond measure,” Xue Meng said. “I would go to the
infinite hell itself.”

“I’m the reason he died,” Mo Ran said. “I owe him far too much, and I would go as far.”

“Good,” Huaizui answered. “Then listen well. Once one of you finds his human soul, the rest of us
will be unable to see him. You must keep the lantern lit until daybreak, and keep his soul within its
light.”

“How hard could it be?” Xue Meng said.

“Hard,” Huaizui replied. “Once the souls split, each is missing something. Hearing, memory,
understanding – if you’re unlucky, the teacher you meet may be unwilling to listen to you.”
Mo Ran’s heart dropped again. “But what if we say something wrong? He was hard enough to
please when he was alive, never mind a partially functioning ghost.”

Despite Mo Ran speaking from genuine worry, he had been fighting with Xue Meng for so long
that his fellow disciple assumed he was deriding their teacher. “What’s so hard about it?” he
snapped. “Just do it.”

“What happens after daybreak?” Shi Mei asked.

“His human soul will drift into the lantern. I will be waiting by Naihe Bridge with a bamboo raft,
at the entrance to the ghost realm where the waters beneath the bridge flow directly into the
underworld. The raft will ferry the one who finds the soul into the ghost realm.”

“You can get to the ghost realm on a bamboo raft?” Xue Meng asked.

“Only one of us? The others can’t help?” Shi Mei asked.

“They cannot,” said Huaizui. “The person who finds his human soul will have to go alone to the
ghost realm to search for his earth soul. If they give up halfway through or have second thoughts,
the lantern will devour his human soul and it will never be reincarnated.”

“You sit this one out,” Xue Meng snapped, looking at Mo Ran. “I don’t trust you.”

Mo Ran kept his silence, while Shi Mei defended him. “He’s not going to just back out!”

“So?” Xue Meng said belligerently. “He got our teacher killed once, why should I trust he won’t do
it twice?”

“Please don’t say that in front of the great master,” Shi Mei said quietly.

“And why not?” Xue Meng persisted. “How many times did our teacher get hurt because of him?
All he does is cause trouble.” His lips quivered and his eyes grew moist. He snatched the lantern
out of Mo Ran’s hands. “Give me the lantern and don’t make things worse for our teacher.”

Mo Ran couldn’t let go, but neither could he speak to defend himself. For the first time in his life,
he thought that Xue Meng was right. All of Chu Wanning’s injuries since his rebirth had been his
fault, from the ghost mistress of ceremonies to the rift. He was responsible for his teacher’s scars.
But even feeling in his bones that he was unworthy to beg for Chu Wanning’s return, he still
clutched the lantern tightly as Xue Meng cursed and tore at his hands. Finally, when Mo Ran’s
hands had been scratched bloody, Xue Meng gave up.

“How long do you intend to keep hurting him?” he spat.

MO Ran didn’t look at him, just kept his head down and stared silently at the empty lantern for so
long that no one thought he would answer. “I want to bring him home,” he said finally, so quietly
that Xue Meng almost didn’t hear him.

“Bring him home,” Xue Meng said, and spat on the floor. “Have you no shame?”

Shi Mei caught his sleeve. “Young master,” he said.

“Let go of me!” Xue Meng ripped his sleeve out of Shi Mei’s grasp, sorrow and resentment
flashing in his eyes. “What right do you have?” he demanded, voice raw.

Mo Ran flinched, and he lowered his gaze further. He thought for a moment that Chu Wanning was
still alive, and would rebuke Xue Meng as he always had. You’re the one who always took him for
granted, he ghought, but all he could say was, “I want to bring him home.”

“Is that all you can say?” Xue Meng demanded.

The conflict was interrupted by Huaizui sighing heavily. “Just let him be. If something goes
wrong, we’ll readjust our strategy. There’s no need for you to be so aggressive yet, Xue.”

Expression dark, Xue Meng finally restrained himself. “If anything happens, I’ll kill you.”

“Please settle your grievances another day,” Huaizui sighed. “There isn’t much time left to find the
human soul.”

“Great master,” Mo Ran said. “Please begin.”

“The lanterns are already enchanted.” Huaizui forestalled Mo Ran before he would have lit the
wick. “One moment,” he said. “If someone finds Chu Wanning’s soul, he will not be able to back
out of going to the underworld. I will cast a protection spell on that person, but it is extremely
dangerous for a living person to go to the land of the dead. One careless move and you might not
make it back alive.” He directed a solemn gaze at each of them in turn. ”Finding his earth soul in
the underworld might be easy, but it might be extremely difficult. You may be unlucky.”

“We could die?” Shi Mei asked.

“Death would be the least of your worries,” said Huaizui. “You’d both be annihilated from the
cycle of reincarnation. So if there is any doubt in your heart, return the lantern. There is no shame
in valuing your own life, and it’s not too late to turn back.”

“I’m sure,” Xue Meng said instantly, zealous and hot-blooded. “You’re a coward if you back out,”
he added, glaring at Mo Ran.

All it proved, Mo Ran thought, was that Xue Meng didn’t understand him at all and they were
nothing alike. His love and hate had been honed by the humiliation of his youth, and he would
return both pain and kindness tenfold. He shot his cousin a sideling glance. “I am also sure,” he
said.

“Very well.” Huaizui nodded. “In the ghost realm, find his earth soul as quickly as possible. Once
the two souls fuse inside the lantern, it will light up the road back to the living. Then I will take
care of the rest.”

Mo Ran thought the old monk made it sound easy, but he knew now that each step was
dangerously unpredictable. The chance of getting caught in the underworld, even after finding the
earth soul, couldn’t be ignored. Huaizui looked around one last time before they lit their lanterns.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “There is no turning back once you light the lantern and no room for
regrets.”

“No regrets,” the three disciples answered in unison.

A half-embittered smile spread across Huaizui’s face. “Good,” he said, sounding gratified. “Chu
Wanning, you were a better teacher than I.”

He recited an incantation, the lanterns flickered. Scarlet flames flared to life in the lanterns held by
Mo Ran and Xue Meng, dying the white silk a vibrant red. The lantern in Shi Mei’s hands flared
blue a moment later, the color of water elemental qi.
“Go,” he said. “Success, failure, return or perish, all will be decided tonight.” He sighed.

Mo Ran thought of the ways in which Chu Wanning had treated him well while he was alive and
felt a dull ache in his heart. He couldn’t bear to hear what else Huaizui might say. “The great
master need not say more,” he interrupted. “We’ll bring him back, no matter what.” The words as
long as he’s still willing to come back with me refused to pass his lips.

Three spots of light set out from Loyalty Hall, each vanishing rapidly into the boundless darkness
of night.

------

Once the soul-calling lanterns were lit, the disciples became invisible to the living. Mo Ran
wandered through Sisheng Peak as if he were also a ghost, searching for the fragment of his
teacher’s soul, but he couldn’t find it. He thought perhaps Chu Wanning had grown weary in life,
and did not wish to see him in death, and his blood ran cold. He had nearly given up, when he saw
someone standing at the edge of Naihe Bridge.

The silhouette was both aloof and forlorn, and Mo Ran’s heart skipped a beat. He ran toward the
figure. “Sir,” he said, but he didn’t recognize the face that turned toward him. The visible half of
his face was covered in blood, and his eyes were dull and confused. “Sorry, wrong person,” Mo
Ran said, and hurried past him. The soul only watched him pass by, frozen in place, and Mo Ran
had a sudden terrible vision of Chu Wanning with the same blank expression.

so this soul that he accidentally illuminated, that is willing to be resurrected or it wouldn’t be

visible, will now scatter and never be reborn. Good job, Mo Ran, you destroyed someone’s
soul.

Mo Ran’s heart hammered in his chest, and he found himself running as he searched. Mengpo Hall
loomed out of the darkness before him, and – thinking that Chu Wanning didn’t enjoy food – Mo
Ran was about to move on when he heard a soft sigh. It was so quiet he nearly missed it, but it
seared itself into his ears. He stumbled through the doors, hand shaking as he lifted the lantern.

Like a newly-risen sun in his hand, the lantern illuminated a white-robed figure. Mo Ran clutched it
so tightly that his nails dug into his palm. “Sir,” he murmured. The fragment of his teacher’s soul
stood alone in the kitchen, washed out and pale but the blood still vividly staining his white robes.
His skin was even paler in comparison, the color of mist, and Mo Ran thought he might vanish in a
gust of wind. Mo Ran gazed at his teacher as if at a reflection of the moon in water, afraid that the
dream would shatter if he rushed.

Regret and guilt flooded his chest as his debts to Chu Wanning flooded his mind, and Mo Ran
slowed to a stop. The lantern swayed gently in his hand, illuminating more of his teacher, and Mo
Ran could see that Chu Wanning was anxiously trying to complete a task. He couldn’t tell what it
was, and he moved closer to help his teacher’s pitiful soul, but the sight of Chu Wanning’s raw and
blood hands lanced through his heart like lightning.

Three thousand steps, Mo Ran thought, knowing that Chu Wanning bore the wounds of carrying
him up to the top of Sisheng Peak, and the pain howled between his ears. Slowly, the static faded
from his vision and he saw his teacher feeling along the table. Only then did he see that the table
held flour, seasoning, and filling, sitting next to a pot of boiling water. The steam rose up, blurring
the soul’s outlines – or perhaps it was Mo Ran’s tears.

Chu Wanning’s human soul was folding wonton wrappers in his ruined hands, once nimble and
dexterous but now trembling as they carefully folded one morsel after another. Mo Ran scrubbed
the wetness out of his eyes, but couldn’t speak. His teacher, back to Mo Ran, seemed to remember
the pot of water and felt for it with his damaged hands. The fear that he would burn himself jolted
Mo Ran out of his daze, and he finally reached his teacher’s side.

Huaizui had warned them that each split soul would be missing something, and Mo Ran thought
maybe Chu Wanning’s human soul was missing part of its senses – it couldn’t see or hear properly,
and yet he was still trying to make wontons. Mo Ran felt as though his heart might burst from the
pain, world spinning around him as Chu Wanning’s soul knocked over the salt jar with a clang.
The soul seemed startled, drawing back uneasily.

I’m not supposed to be laughing at the salt jar, right? Because I am laughing my ass off

“What do you need?” Mo Ran asked hoarsely, sobs choking his throat. “Let me help you.” Chu
Wanning seemed surprised, perhaps because he couldn’t control his emotions as well with his soul
incomplete, but he soon settled back into calm. Mo Ran forced himself to keep speaking. “Please
let me help you, sir.”

The dead were warm and lively, but the living were despondent, and Mo Ran waited with bated
breath until his teacher answered in a low, even voice. “You’re here,” he said. “That’s good. When
the wontons are done, bring a bowl to Mo Ran.” Shock lanced through Mo Ran, followed by
confusion. He watched as his teacher put the plump wontons in the pot, face gentle through the
haze of steam. “I punished him too harshly,” Chu Wanning said. “Xue Meng says he’s not eating.
When you give this to him, don’t tell him I made it. He won’t eat it if he knows.”

Mo Ran’s heart quivered, as if something quiescent for half his life was beginning to break out of
its shell. “Sir,” he said.

“He really does need to be tempered,” Chu Wanning said with a smile. “Get a bowl. A thick one.
It’s cold out, and the food needs to be kept warm.”

The quivering intensified, and Mo Ran could almost hear his heart shattering as a memory broke
out of the depths of his mind and washed over him. The first time he’d had Shi Mei’s wontons,
after he had been whipped for plucking Madam Wang’s treasured flower and had refused to get up
or eat in an aggrieved protest for his mistreatment. He’d regretted choosing Chu Wanning as his
teacher with his heart and soul, and Shi Mei had been the one to comfort him. Mo Ran had eaten
Shi Mei’s wontons and fallen in love with the man who had made them. How could he have known
that he had been wrong?

Even the state of Chu Wanning’s soul broke Mo Ran’s heart; not curious like Luo Xianxian or
empty like the soul he had seen at Naihe Bridge, Chu Wanning’s human soul returned to the
human world and tried to right the wrongs he thought he had done. He poured the wontons in the
bowl, topping it with scallions and chili oil, and turned to hand the bowl to his disciple. “I was too
unkind,” he murmured, and stood for a moment. “Never mind, I’ll take this myself, and
apologize.”

The blood drained out of Mo Ran’s face as he realized that he was the regret Chu Wanning had
had. He had always assumed his teacher was cold as iron or ice, and had never once suspected that
his teacher had actually been kind to him. Mo Ran buried his face in his hands, shoulders trembling
as he understood that his teacher’s heart wasn’t like iron at all. He fell to the ground before the
soul that couldn’t see him, sobbing hoarsely in the light of the lantern at his feet, groveling in the
dust and clutching at the hem of his teacher’s bloodstained robes.

Your heart wasn’t as unyielding as a rock, he thought, it was that I misjudged and misunderstood
you. “Sir,” he whimpered, “I was wrong, I’m sorry, please, come back with me. I don’t blame you,
I don’t hate you. I was the one who was wrong, always making you angry, but if you comeback
with me, I’ll respect and cherish you forever.”

what a load of fucking bullshit; after actively projecting the image of being a heartless
asshole, Chu Wanning is upset that everyone thinks he’s a heartless asshole, and Mo Ran is
now overcome with remorse that he also assumed his teacher was a heartless asshole. What a
dysfunctional fucking mess, as I see we will now reward Chu Wanning for his toxic behavior.

Mo Ran wished he could cut open his chest and give Chu Wanning his own heart, drain his own
blood to fill his teacher’s veins, do anything to make up for his mistakes. His teacher’s robes were
gossamer-thin in his shaking hands.

“Sir,” he said, voice breaking. “Let’s start over.” He could see the Heaven-Piercing Tower and the
crabapple tree as the grandmaster lifted his head and the cicadas chirped. It had been twenty years
and two lifetimes, and Mo Ran was greedy and shameless to want yet another chance, but he
couldn’t stop himself. Sir, pay attention to me.

------

The soul-calling lantern cast its bright light across the two people in Mo Ran’s room. Unable to see
clearly, Chu Wanning had been led by the hand, and short two souls, he was unable to tell who was
leading him. He simply followed as Mo Ran wiped the tears from his face and closed the door, still
clutching the bowl of wontons.

I have some questions about dead souls touching real objects, are they all poltergeists? Does
this happen all the time?

“Is he still asleep?” Chu Wanning asked, setting down the bowl and feeling around for the bed.
Hearing no response, he gave a disappointed sigh.

“I’m awake, sir,” Mo Ran said, hurrying over to sit on the bed before Chu Wanning could leave.
Hearing a response, Chu Wanning hesitated. Knowing that his teacher prized his reputation above
all else, Mo Ran deduced that he wouldn’t stay if he thought Shi Mei was watching, so he tossed a
hair clasp toward the door to mimic the sound of it closing. “Why are you here, sir?” he asked.

It was easier to fool his teacher with a broken soul. “Has Shi Mingjing gone?” Chu Wanning asked.

“He has.”

A moment of silence passed. “The wound on your back,” Chu Wanning started.

“It’s not your fault,” Mo Ran said softly. “I picked a precious herb without permission. My
punishment was well-deserved.”

so much to unpack here but You Were Right To Beat Me Bloody is the wrong take

Not expecting Mo Ran’s response, Chu Wanning sighed. “Does it still hurt?” he asked.

“It doesn’t hurt.”

Chu Wanning’s ice cold fingers reached for Mo Ran’s face, tracing his cheek. “Please don’t hate
me,” he said softly. Mo Ran knew he wouldn’t have said such soft words in life, but in death he
was wholly focused on the regret he felt for his unkindness toward his disciple. The words that had
seemed so impossible in life dropped easily from his lips in death.
The sensation of warm spring water streamed over Mo Ran’s heart, the heartfelt words washing
away his hatred and old scars as he gazed at his teacher’s face in the light of the soul-calling
lantern. A wisp of life seemed to be gracing Chu Wanning’s cheeks, as if Mo Ran were seeing him
for the first time under the crabapple tree. He covered Chu Wanning’s cold fingers with his warm
hand. “I don’t hate you,” he said. “Sir, you’re good to me, and I don’t hate you.”

A smile suddenly broke over his teacher’s face, the first melt of a frozen stream, filling the room
with the warmth of spring. Even the blood and dirt on his face couldn’t dampen the effect of the
brilliant smile of a person whose final wish has been granted. Wetness glinted between his lashes,
expression as radiantly humble as a blossoming crabapple tree. Mo Ran couldn’t help staring at the
first time he had seen his teacher with such a carefree expression.

Mo Ran had seen people described as having a flower-like smile or a smile of a hundred charms,
and he had thought it absurd. The phrases still didn’t do justice to the vision of loveliness before
him, and he could only sigh at its beauty. He couldn’t believe he had never noticed how beautiful
Chu Wanning was. “Sir,” he said, “There’s something I want to tell you. I really didn’t know how
valuable the flower was. I just wanted to give it to you.” At the surprise crossing his teacher’s face,
Mo Ran’s voice softened. “It was for you,” he repeated.

“For me? But why?”

Mo Ran flushed despite himself. “I don’t know, sir. I just thought it was really pretty.” He was
surprised to find that he still remembered how he had felt so long ago, and even more surprised
when Chu Wanning – gentle, without his other two souls – patted Mo Ran gently on the head with
a smile.

“Idiot,” he said fondly.

“I know,” Mo Ran said, eyes stinging with tears.

“Don’t do it again,” Chu Wanning said.

“I won’t.” Mo Ran remembered how he had given up hope in his past life, hurt and terrorized
others until his teacher had given up on him in return. Deficient by nature and beyond remedy, he
had said, and Mo Ran had resented it for a lifetime. “I promise, sir,” he said. “I won’t disappoint
you again.” He wasn’t well-read and couldn’t recite pretty words, but he could feel his once pure
and simple soul burning with emotion. “Sir, I’m an idiot, and I didn’t realize how good you were to
me.” He knelt before his teacher, bowing low, and looked up with bright eyes in his solemn face. “I
won’t disgrace you again, sir.”

ugh. Reinforcing toxic bullshit. JFC.

Master and disciple spoke through the night, with Mo Ran doing most of the talking. His teacher
listened quietly, shaking his head now and again with a smile until the skies outside the window
began to brighten. Mo Ran poured himself into cherishing the man who had cared for him.

By the bridge, Huaizui waited silently as the water splashed the hem of his robes and the sun rose
slowly in the east. The racing currents reflected a dazzling gold as the sunlight struck the turbulent
waters of the underworld, glistening and resplendent. Huaizui stood in the void realm, visible only
to a person with a soul inside the lantern. He had watched Shi Mei and Xue Meng pass by, both
unaware of his presence, and his hand anxiously moved across a string of prayer beads.

The coil of beads fell apart, dropping like rain over the ground, and the monk pressed his lips
together at the ill omen. He stroked the broken string, watching beads roll into water and then wash
up onto shore, and his face grew paler. A voice called to him, and he looked to see Mo Ran
sprinting toward him with his lantern raised. The soul-calling lantern glowed with scarlet and
golden light, Mo Ran’s eyes brighter than the morning sun as he skidded to a halt with flushed
cheeks.

“I found him,” Mo Ran panted, lantern tucked snugly against his chest. “He – he’s in here.” Mo
Ran hesitated, not wanting to hand the lantern over.

“You’re the one who found him,” Huaizui said with a relieved laugh. “You should hold onto the
lantern.” He picked up his staff and tapped it lightly against the water. A jade-green raft
shimmered into view. “There’s no time,” he said. “Please board.”

Mo Ran knew it was common knowledge that Sisheng Peak’s river was connected to the ghost
realm, but the entrance was usually blocked by a barrier. The raft had been enchanted to allow it to
pass between Yin and Yang, and after a day and a half of sitting alone on the raft with the lantern,
Mo Ran came upon a waterfall. It connected the infinite cosmos above and the deepest reaches of
hell below, with no defined boundaries. The watery curtain thundered downward, giving rise to a
foggy mist, and the current carried the raft toward it before Mo Ran had time to react to its
presence.

so did he just pee into the river or what

The powerful stream of water were like countless blades, and Mo Ran shielded the lantern with his
body. “Sir!” he shrieked, holding the lantern tightly as he was drawn into a raging whirlpool of
dark chaos. The deafening sound of the waterfall vanished abruptly along with the sensation of
knives, and Mo Ran slowly opened his eyes. The lantern was safe in his grasp, and he sighed in
relief.

No sign of the waterfall remained; Mo Ran was floating on a vast and tranquil lake, deep blue
speckled with the light of countless souls swimming through its waters. Reeds flourished along the
shores, sprouting faintly glowing flowers, and sorrowfully serene voices sang from their depths.

“My body into the thunderous abyss, limbs ground into paste. My skull into the open world, eye
sockets withered into dust. Scarlet ants devour my heart and vultures my innards, only the soul
returns. Only the soul returns.”

Mo Ran didn’t know how long he drifted on the bamboo raft before a great gateway appeared,
towering into the black sky above him. It was grand and majestic, exquisitely carved, but he
thought it resembled a vile beast of gold and jade with its putrid mouth wide open in the dark to
lure untold numbers of lonely souls into its stomach. The turrets resembled sun-piercing fangs, and
Mo Ran thought his teacher’s soul in the lantern seemed nervous as they approached. The lantern’s
light pulsed and it shook in his arms. “It’s okay,” Mo Ran whispered, hugging it to himself. “Don’t
be afraid, sir, I’m here.”

The light quivered again before settling, and Mo Ran peeked into the lantern. He chuckled and
caressed its edge before looking back at the gate. The words Ghost Gate were visible, strikingly
vivid as if written in the fresh blood of the living. The raft reached the shore, and Mo Ran set foot
on the road to the underworld.

The ground under his feet was saturated with the scent of blood, and Mo Ran found himself
surrounded by ghosts. They were old and young, rich and poor, all drifting to the inner reaches of
the underworld. No matter their station in life, all ghosts traveled the final road alone. Mo Ran
followed the swarming crowd of souls to the entrance of the ghost realm.
A person sat before the gate with a palm-leaf fan, a soldier by his clothes. Mo Ran saw his
intestines hanging out from his stomach, and the gatekeeper occasionally paused in his fanning to
push them back in. He looked up at the next soul to approach, demanding his name and manner of
death. Upon receiving a satisfactory answer, the gatekeeper carelessly stamped an entry pass with
the words Died Of Old Age and handed it to the fresh ghost. “If you lose it, you have to go to the
Seventeenth Hall to apply for a replacement. Next.”

The fresh ghost hesitated, looking up at the gate. He burst into a nervous speech, asking if he
would be put on trial for his misdeed and insisting he had been a good person in life. The
gatekeeper waved a hand to stop him.

“You’re going to be in the ghost realm for a while,” he said. “At least eight years in the
reincarnation queue, maybe ten. Just wait your turn and talk to the lord judge. Next.”

“It takes that long to be judged for reincarnation?” Mo Ran asked from his spot shortly down the
line, amazed.

“Of course,” the gatekeeper answered. “Though it’s another matter for the reprehensible ones or
the weird ones,” he added, snickering maliciously. His intestines slipped out again with the force of
his laughter, and he absentmindedly shoved them back in. “The ones headed for the Eighteen Hells
never have to wait long.”

The nervous ghost in front of Mo Ran still hesitated, but the gatekeeper drove him off and waved
the next forward. She was a young woman, pretty face made up and with poise unique to a certain
line of work. “My lord,” she said. “My name is Gold Flower, and I was beaten to death by a brutish
villain.”

The line in front of Mo Ran shrank, each ghost taking its turn. Mo Ran heard more chaotic
portrayals of life than he could count, holding the lantern clutched tightly in his arms. He cared
about nothing other than finding the next part of his teacher’s soul. He reached the front of the
line, and the gatekeeper yawned before asking his name. Mo Ran was about to answer when the
gatekeeper’s eyes sharpened.

Mo Ran cursed internally, knowing that he was one of the weird ones; he had died once, and he
was holding a piece of someone else’s soul in his arms. He had no choice but to press onward
through the only entrance to the ghost realm. He braced himself and met the gatekeeper’s gaze.
“My name is Mo Ran,” he said, feigning calmness. “I died of a qi deviation. I’d like an entry pass,
please.”

------

"Qi deviation?" the gatekeeper repeated slowly. "You're a cultivator?"

"Yes."

"You're a cultivator and you're already dead? How unfortunate." He smirked sardonically at Mo
Ran, but the jealousy for even the most average cultivator's foundational aptitude shone through.
"Your soul doesn't look right. Like it's tainted." Mo Ran remembered that an enchantment had been
laid on Mo Ran to cover up his living scent so the ghosts couldn't tell he was alive, but it
apparently wasn't foolproof. The gatekeeper sat down and rummaged around until he found a pitch-
black ruler. "Sin-measuring ruler," he grunted smugly.

Mo Ran wasn't sure what the gatekeeper had to be smug about, but in his experience those in lower
stations tended to put on more airs. The gatekeeper slapped the ruler down on the table and looked
at Mo Ran. Sweat beaded at the base of Mo Ran's spine.

"Stick your hand out, I'm going to measure your merit in life."

Whatever the stick showed, Mo Ran was sure he would get punted directly over to King Yanluo to
be ground into dust. As he was in front of a crowd of ghosts, he had no choice but to hold out one
hand. He shifted the lantern to his other hand, watching the gatekeeper place the ruler against the
inside of his wrist. The moment the instrument made contact, it wailed loudly and began to bleed.
Mo Ran could make out the voices of those he had killed, screaming for mercy or for justice. He
jerked his hand back, face paling, but the damage was done.

The crowd stared. The gatekeper, face inscrutable, looked from Mo Ran to the ruler, which had
returned to normal the moment it was no longer touching Mo Ran's skin. As they watched, a line of
letters appeared. Sins beyond redemption, they read. Send to level-- as Mo Ran had removed his
hand before it finished measuring, the inscription was incomplete. The gatekeeper grabbed his arm
violently, staring at him like a predator with rare prey while his nostrils flared and a strange light
flickered in his eyes. He seemed unaware that his intestines had fallen out again.

"Hold still while I retake this," he said, face greedy. His hand dug into Mo Ran's wrist as he
slapped the ruler down again. Catching a ghost for one of the eighteen hells would mean a
promotion, Mo Ran knew, at least three tiers - enough to avoid sitting at the gate ever again. "A
proper job this time!"

The ruler lit up again, blood and screams streaming forth. Mo Ran wondered if the ghosts of all
those he had killed had been crammed inside the ruler, screaming their hatred as they wept and
wailed. Mo Ran lowered his eyes, feeling worse and worse by the second. Suddenly, he heard a
familiar voice whispering, almost inaudible. "I'm sorry, Mo Ran, it was my fault." His eyes flew
open, full of grief and sorrow at the sound of his teacher's voice on the day that he had died. It was
so gentle and sad that it felt as though it had cleaved his soul.

The voices finally faded, the lines of writing once again appearing on the ruler. Mo Ran didn't
move, waiting for it to finish, but it didn't generate a level to which to send him. The gatekeeper
blinked, tapping the ruler. "Is it broken?"

The writing vanished without warning in a layer of celestial haze rising from the instrument. It
shone brilliantly as the melodious sound of birdsong drifted through the illusory clouds to entrance
the gathered souls. Even the gatekeeper's face smoothed out, only returning to its tense lines when
the music came to a halt. Once again, a line of writing appeared on the ruler: Everything normal,
allow to pass.

"Impossible," cried the gatekeeper, and grabbed the ruler again. He tried several times, but each
time the instrument behaved in the same way - screams followed by melodious harmony - and
finally the gatekeeper had no choice but to allow a normal soul to enter the underworld. He shoved
his guts spitefully back inside. "That's some qi deviation you had, alright," he muttered spitefully.
"Take your damn entry past and get lost!"

Just as surprised, Mo Ran was happy to oblige. He assumed Huaizui's spell must have confused the
ruler and let out a sigh of relief. Before he could go through the gates, the gatekeeper stopped him
again.

"What's that you're holding?"

Mo Ran kept his expression steady as his heart raced. "It's my burial item," he said in a moment of
divine inspiration. "A magical relic."
"How interesting," the gatekeeper said. "Put it here and redo the measurement. It must have
interfered with the ruler."

Cursing the gatekeeper in his head, Mo Ran set the lantern down and presented his wrist for
measurement. To the gatekeeper's clear displeasure, the result was exactly the same. He finally
waved him through, and Mo Ran snatched up the lantern. He walked through the gate without
hesitation.

A long passageway appeared, the light changing at its very end to reveal the ghost realm. It was the
first level of hell, stretching to the distance with no end in sight under a scarlet sky. Strange plants
dotted the ground and rows of uneven roof tiles lined the immediate area. Mo Ran could see more
palatial structures on the horizon, and a monolith bearing the inscription Thy flesh returns to dust,
thy soul to Nanke Town stood at the entrance. A red-painted gateway stood next to it, the town's
name carved in liquid gold, each character the height of a man.

All the deceased would stay in the first level of Hell, Mo Ran assumed, until they were summoned
to the second level to stand trial. He looked around as he walked, still clutching the lantern, and
noted that the town of the dead looked very much like the towns of the living. He counted eighteen
streets, nine running from north to south intersecting with nine running east to west, along which
were residences and shops. The souls of men, women, and children thronged the roads, laughing
and weeping.

Some ghosts wept about their fates, snatches of their stories audible as Mo Ran walked, some
newly dead gathering by the date, and older ghosts farther inside the town. These ghosts had been
back to the world of the living and resigned themselves, and were calm and collected as they
mimicked the living while waiting for trial. By the time Mo Ran reached the third street, he could
almost forget he was surrounded by the dead. All the souls around him had yet to drink Mengpo's
soup and lose their connection to their mortal lives.

Mo Ran saw entertainers putting on performances, seamstresses weaving clothings pun from the
clouds of hell, and butchers sharpening their tools. Mo Ran thought they dared not kill beasts while
in hell, but they kept busy all the same, and the town even sounded lively and energetic. He
stopped by a ghost selling calligraphy, so thin that Mo Ran thought he must have literally starved
to death, who looked up at him with bleary eyes. "Young master, do you wish a painting?"

"I want you to draw me a portrait," Mo Ran said. The request seemed to depress the scholar, who
tried to convince hi to buy a landscape scene instead. "I don't care for landscapes," Mo Ran told
him. "I need you to draw someone for me."

Even more displeased, the scholar glared at him. "The kind know how to appreciate mountains,
and the wise cherish the waters," he said. "You're still so young, and need to learn some culture. I'll
lower my prices for you, to help you out."

"I want you to draw a person," Mo Ran insisted, and the scholar flushed so hard that he nearly
looked alive.

"I don't draw people," the scholar said finally. "It's ten times the price."

"Things still cost money here?" Mo Ran said.

"Paper money, burned by friends and family," the scholar replied coldly. "Money makes the world
go round, and though I am a scholar and disdainful of riches, a gentleman earns his money through
proper work. We have no relationship, so why should I do something for you without cause?"
"I just got here," Mo Ran protested. "No one's burned money for me yet."

"No money, no deal," the scholar said.

After a moment, Mo Ran had an idea. He pointed at the painting that the scholar seemed most
enthusiastic about and said, "Okay, no deal. But I'm bored, so maybe you could tell me about your
landscapes."

"You really want to know?" the scholar said, anger vanishing immediately to be replaced with
delight.

"I do," Mo Ran said. "Do I have to pay you for it?"

"Of course not," the scholar answered. "To charge money for knowledge would sully its purity."

Mo Ran was fairly sure he knew how the scholar had starved to death and found it comical and
pitiful in equal measures. The scholar took the painting from its frame and puffed out his chest,
clearing his ghostly throat, and pompously said, "I shall start now."

"Please enlighten me," Mo Ran said, pleased that the bookworm had taken the bait.

------

The scholar spoke for a solid four hours, none of it comprehensible to Mo Ran, but he had grown
quite skilled at faking attentiveness during his lessons. His favorite technique was to look slightly
confused, and then, when it prompted more of an explanation, to relax as if he had understood,
then widen his eyes with a sigh of insight and understanding. It was hard work, as his eyelids kept
growing heavy, but – unlike Chu Wanning, who had never fallen for his tricks – the scholar was so
delighted that all of his earlier reservations vanished into thin air. He was glowing by the end of his
lecture.

“I understand now,” Mo Ran told him. “I can see how truly invaluable it is, beyond the value of
money.” The scholar beamed like a child, fidgeting excitedly, the happiest ghost Mo Ran had ever
seen, and Mo Ran concluded that it was time. He got up and made a gesture of respect. “It’s getting
late,” he said. “I need to find a place to stay. I’ll come again tomorrow, if you’re not too busy,
professor.”

“Oh, no,” the scholar exclaimed, excited and afraid in equal measure. “I took the exam several
times, but I didn’t pass even the lowest level, I’m hardly a professor.”

“The depths of knowledge is measured by the heart, not by content and ranks,” Mo Ran said,
smiling.

“To think you were capable of such eloquence,” the scholar said, shocked.

“I’m just borrowing words from my teacher,” Mo Ran laughed.

“It’s not every day that I hit it off so well with someone,” the scholar said, starting to pack away
his possessions. “I’m pretty free myself, and it is said that when meeting friends over wine –“

“Were you gonna say we should go for a drink?” Mo Ran interrupted.

“Yes, yes,” said the scholar. “A little wine to lift the spirits.”

“Wonderful,” Mo Ran said. “Professor’s treat, then.”

Despite the look the scholar shot him, they found themselves seated at a greasy little table with a
few scattered peanuts and two half-full cups of wine. A single dingy candle provided light for the
entire cavern, and the sly-looking owner stood behind the counter wiping a cracked bowl. “It’s not
fancy,” the scholar said uneasily, “but I never really got paper money, and this is the most passable
of the places I can afford.”

“It’s fine,” Mo Ran said, picking up the cup. “Do ghosts still eat?”

“Sort of,” the scholar said. “It works like offerings.” He put a pair of the peanuts in his mouth, but
they didn’t disappear. “It’s like this. We just taste things.”

Mo Ran put down the cup; he would have been revealed as alive by actually swallowing the
beverage. Several rounds later, the scholar seemed to cheer up again, chatting, and finally he
brought up the subject of the portrait again. “A lover?” he asked.

“No, my teacher,” Mo Ran said.

“Oh,” the scholar said, surprised. “I’ve been here many years and have been asked for paintings of
beautiful people many times, but never for someone’s teacher. Is he good to you?”

“He’s very good to me,” Mo Ran said, guilt heavy in his heart.

“I see,” said the scholar. “Why do you want a painting of him?”

“To find him.”

“He’s here, too?” The scholar was surprised again.

“I heard the deceased stay here for several years,” Mo Ran said. “I wanted to spend that time with
him.”

His words moved the scholar. The little man mulled it over briefly and sighed. “Such devotion is a
treasure,” he said. “Young Mo, I’ll do this favor for you.”

Overjoyed, Mo Ran thanked him over and over, asking for his name so that he could burn him a
pile of money once back in the world of the living as the scholar set out his tools. The entire
process screeched to a halt as soon as the scholar asked Mo Ran to describe his teacher. “He, uh,
he’s beautiful,” Mo Ran said finally.

“I need a little more detail than that,” the scholar said.

“He’s beautiful,” Mo Ran repeated. “Just draw him.”

“Okay, what kind of face does he have?”

“What kind of face?” Mo Ran stared blankly. “A face is a face,” he said.

Irked, the scholar pressed for more detail. “Oval? Heart, or square? Round face?”

“I, uh, it’s a handsome face,” Mo Ran said, and when the scholar just looked at him, he frowned.
“If you don’t know then just draw it like my face, they’re pretty similar.”

The scholar drew an outline, and then looked at him. “How about the eyes?” He held up a hand.
“Don’t just say eyes are eyes,” he added.

“Uh,” Mo Ran said. “They’re scary but charming? And cold, but gentle.”
“This is useless!” the scholar snapped, flinging his brush down. “Find someone else!”

“No, no!” Mo Ran reached for him hastily. “You’re the best!”

The scholar couldn’t remain angry in the face of Mo Ran’s sincerity, and he deflated. “Okay, but
you have to give me proper answers.”

Feeling wronged, as his answer had been perfectly fine, Mo Ran frowned. He didn’t have any other
options, he thought, and needed to make the best of this one. He nodded obediently and clutched
the lantern.

“Now,” said the scholar. “Leopard eyes? Round? Almond? Phoenix?”

Mo Ran’s head spun at the unfamiliar terms. “Slit eyes? No, that’s way too small, they’re
upturned, but – I don’t know what they’re called, but they swoop upwards and it’s really pretty.”

“Phoenix eyes,” the scholar said, drawing. “What about the nose? High or flat?” He went on to ask
about the lips and eyebrows, drawing as he received Mo Ran’s answers of high, thin, and sword-
straight, respectively. “Any birthmarks?” he asked, finally.

“A mole on his left ear,” Mo Ran replied, flushing as he remembered how sensitive the spot was
when kissed. The scholar failed to notice his blush in the dim light of the tavern, and kept drawing.

“Usual attire,” he said.

“He likes to wear white, with his hair up in a jade crown or high ponytail,” Mo Ran said. He
paused. “But sometimes he likes to wear it down, and he’s really –“

“We’ll stick with his hair up,” the scholar interrupted.

The drawing wasn’t quite as beautiful as Chu Wanning, and didn’t resemble him exactly, but Mo
Ran figured it was good enough for what he needed. “Many thanks, professor,” he said. “It’s
great!”

The scholar gave him a flat look and started to pack away his supplies.

“I’ll be sure to thank you properly when I find him,” Mo Ran said. He stayed with the scholar for a
while longer, drinking and chatting, and finally the scholar sent him to a place called Tailwind Hall
on the fifth street that specialized in information for the new arrivals.

The hall was decorated with a banner depicting black serpent. Mo Ran pushed open the door,
entering to see a long counter stretching across the main hall. A dozen ghosts dressed in ochre red
robes sat behind the counter, each wearing a wooden mask carved with an angry face. In front of
each masked ghost stretched a long line, illuminated by the hundreds of white candles floating up
near the ceiling. Yet more ghosts came and went ceaselessly.

Mo Ran heard snatches of the ghosts’ requests, as they searched for siblings and spouses, and
sometimes even affairs of the world of the living. One ghost wanted to find someone he’d been in
love with from afar while alive and whether they were fated to be in their next life. The masked
ghosts asked for names and portraits, and Mo Ran watched as the dead couldn’t let go of their
worldly attachments even though their mortal bodies were long gone.

The lantern dug into Mo Ran’s arms as he walked around the hall, listening. The masked ghosts
accepted either money or years of lifespan in payment, neither of which he could provide; he had
no money, and if he offered life, the dead might realize he was alive. He grew anxious, and
couldn’t help cursing Huaizui for not giving him paper money to bargain with. The cost of
inquiring after a person wasn’t high, he soon found, and hatched another plan.

Mo Ran raced toward the tavern, using all of his powers of persuasion to finagle cash from the
scholar, and returned to Tailwind Hall. He got in line, and waited, and finally reached the masked
ghost and handed over the portrait. “I need to find this man,” he said urgently.

“Oh,” the masked ghost said. “Why are you looking for him?”

“You know where he is just by looking at the picture?” Mo Ran asked, astounded.

“Of course,” the ghost sniffed. “But first tell me why you’re searching for him.”

“I know him,” Mo Ran said.

“Wait a moment, please,” the ghost said, and leaned over to have a whispered conversation with
his colleague. His tone warmed up considerably as he turned back. “Payment won’t be necessary,
as you’re Sir Chu’s acquaintance. Follow me upstairs.”

let me guess, they bring him to Chu Xun.

------

Mo Ran followed the masked ghost up the worn-out wooden stairs, hearing them creak under his
feet with every step. “You call him Sir Chu?” he asked.

“Yes,” said the masked ghost. “Lord Yanluo himself sent him to act as our superior.” Surprised,
Mo Ran said nothing. “Here we are,” he added, stopping in front of a half-moon-shaped vermillion
door. It was partially open, and he knocked lightly on it. “Sir Chu, your acquaintance is looking for
you.”

A beat of silence followed, and then a warm, gentle voice spoke. “Him again? I’ve already said I
don’t wish to see him. Please ask him to leave.”

“No, Sir Chu, it’s not him this time.”

“Who else is there?” After a pause, Mo Ran heard, “No matter, come in.”

The room was simple and elegant, furnishings plain, but the floor was covered with a soft,
luxurious rug. Mo Ran’s feet sank into it as he stepped in, and it released the sharp scent of fur.
Standing by the window was a man pruning a flower branch, inky hair falling loosely down the
back of his white robes. The vivid red flowers quivered between his delicate fingertips, and his
face was covered with a dark blue mask decorated with bared fangs and bulging eyes. It somehow
looked gentle on him.

Before turning around, the masked man finished trimming the excess branches and discarded them.
Mo Ran felt uneasy about the conversation, afraid that Chu Wanning had forgotten him, and
unsure what this part of Chu Wanning had lost. The man put down the pruning shears and walked
toward him, and Mo Ran – undaunted by heaven or earth – found himself flustered. “Sir,” he said.
“Teacher.”

The man stopped and chuckled. “Teacher?” he said. “I believe you have the wrong person.”

Mo Ran’s heart fell into his stomach, an endless abyss. He was at a total loss, mouth hanging open,
and the man in front of him removed his boldly painted mask to reveal an elegantly composed
face. Mo Ran recognized him, and spoke before he thought. “Chu Xun?”

Although Chu Xun was gentle where Chu Wanning was cold, for all intents and purposes they
were identical; Mo Ran knew exactly how the masked ghost at the counter had gotten confused.
He was staring at the acting governor of Lin’an City he had met in the illusion of two centuries
before. The real Chu Xun, not having met Mo Ran, was surprised. “Do you know me?” he said.

“No, I was looking for someone else,” Mo Ran said. “Oh, but I do sort of know you,” he added
hurriedly, peering at Chu Xun.

Despite having died several decades before, Chu Xun had yet to be reborn. Mo Ran thought it was
because he had been assigned this task by Yanluo, and so he existed outside the cycle of
reincarnation. He hadn’t expected to meet his teacher’s ancestor, and it felt very strange. Chu Xun
only nodded calmly. “I see,” he said, and smiled. “Who are you looking for? Since you’re here, I’ll
help, or who knows how long it will take. There are so many ghosts in this town.”

Having expected to offer a quick explanation and then return to the scholar to have the painting
redone, Mo Ran was unexpectedly warmed to find Chu Xun as kind in death as he had been in life.
“Sir Chu, I couldn’t thank you enough!” he said, handing over the portrait.

“He does look like me,” Chu Xun said, unrolling it. “No wonder they brought you here. What’s his
name?”

“Chu Wanning,” Mo Ran said. “His name is Chu Wanning.”

“Chu? What a coincidence.”

“Could he be related to you?” Mo Ran asked, heart leaping.

“You’d have to ask the Ninth Ghost King about that,” Chu Xun said. “He’s the one who handles
the affairs of the living, and I have a death grudge against him. We don’t talk.”

The Ninth Ghost King, Mo Ran remembered, was the one who had broken through the barrier at
Lin’an when Chu Xun had died. Even centuries later, his face was shadowed as he spoke. Mo Ran,
feeling guilty that he had brought up those memories, shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Chu Xun smiled and fetched a gold yin-yang patterned compass. "Please sit," he said.

"This tells us where he is?"

"Eight or nine times out of ten."

"What about the rest of the time?"

"Sometimes a soul's energy is strange and can't be found," Chu Xun explained, "but it's rare." The
golden needle began to move as he set up the divination, pointing first north then south, moving
from east to west, and finally spinning in a circle.

"What does that mean?" Mo Ran asked cautiously.

"Well," Chu Xun said, clearing his throat. "Apparently you are unlucky."

Mo Ran wasn't surprised, as he had always been unlucky. He sighed and thanked Chu Xun, about
to go back to the sea of people and keep searching when the compass suddenly halted. Its needle
swung hesitantly in a tiny arc, as if unsure, and Chu Xun called him back.
Mo Ran stopped, hurrying to the table to look at the compass. The needle swiveled back and forth,
pointing in a general direction but not holding still. "That's odd," Chu Xun said, gazing at the
compass. "He seems to be in two different directions." The wisdom soul being in Chu Wanning's
body and the human soul being in the lantern, the earth soul should have been the only one
roaming the underworld, Mo Ran thought, startled. He didn't see how his teacher could still be in
multiple places at once. "In any case, one southeast and one northeast," Chu Xun continued. "You
should check both, as the compass might have been affected by some kind of magic."

Anxiously thanking Chu Xun, Mo Ran hurried out of the hall toward the east. He ran straight as
long as he could, until he was stopped by a fork in the road. He didn't know which direction to go.
He held up the lantern, but as he stared at the manifestation of his teacher's human soul, he felt
something move in his heart. It waxed and waned as he followed it along narrow roads and dark
alleys, sharpening as he went. He felt as though his teacher's earth soul was calling to the lantern in
his hand, until he reached an old wooden building.

Two stories tall, the building boasted a large, heavy plaque reading Ailing Souls Sanitarium. Its
black paint had peeled off under the sun and the wind, the red paint faded from the lettering to
reveal moldy decaying wood underneath. Mo Ran's heart hammered as he wondered what the
words meant, and if it was perhaps why the compass hadn't worked. He pulled the door open
apprehensively and stepped across a tall threshold.

Hundreds of beds were inside holding unconscious souls, and several ghosts in white masks were
channeling qi into them. Mo Ran realized that he had found the underworld's infirmary, and went
to find the physician, who was in the inner section. He cupped his hands and bowed respectfully.
"Doctor," he started.

"Prescription pickup on the second floor, examination queue to the left," the doctor said
impatiently.

"Where do I go if I'm looking for someone?" Mo Ran held up the portrait. "Have you seen him?"

Taking the painting, the doctor looked it over before glancing at Mo Ran with pity in his eyes. "Are
you related?" he asked.

"Uh, yes."

"His earth soul is damaged," the doctor said. "He's in the innermost partitioned compartment. The
illness isn't curable, and can only be managed for a while. You should go to see him."

"Damaged?" Mo Ran stared. "Damaged how?"

"Who knows? The cycle of reincarnation is agonizing and mysterious, and may have damaged his
soul. He's a cultivator, and may have had a qi deviation. Either way, it's no longer whole."

"Would a damaged earth soul affect anything?" Mo Ran asked apprehensively.

"Affect?" The ghost doctor thought for a moment. "It's only one of the three souls that's
incomplete, so he should still be able to reincarnate. It might shorten his next life or give him bad
luck. He might have a weak constitution."

Although Mo Ran was reluctant to accept it, there was nothing he could do except thank the doctor
and head upstairs. It was less crowded than the first floor, and only one doctor was in the entrance
hall. Mo Ran wondered if it was because the souls upstairs couldn't be helped and didn't need care,
but he found the doctor napping on a chair. He left him alone and headed inside.
Not more than ten or twenty sickbeds were in the massive space, each laid out to rosewood
windows and partitioned off with space in between. There was no noise, except the floor creaking
beneath his feet, and Mo Ran's eyes went straight to the innermost compartment. A half-moon-
shaped door was next to it, opening to a balcony to allow moonlight to pour through the thin silk
curtain. Despite more than twenty souls being present, Mo Ran knew exactly where to go.

Holding the soul-calling lantern in his hands, Mo Ran walked straight to the innermost
compartment. He lifted the curtain to see the last piece of Chu Wanning's soul, eyes closed and
face colorless, looking exactly like his body resting in Frostsky Hall. Mo Ran's heart ached and his
eyes stung as he looked down at the frail, blood-stained figure despite the hope of rebirth being
within reach. He wanted to reach for his teacher's hand, but the body was incorporeal. His fingers
passed right through to land on the clean, white sheets, and Mo Ran's heart contracted further at
how close he had come to losing his teacher.

Bending down even though he knew he couldn't lay his forehead against Chu Wanning's, Mo Ran
leaned in close as if he could embrace the fragile earth soul. "Sir," he said, overlapping with his
teacher's soul under the moonlight. He sighed slowly, heart heavy and bitter. His teacher's body
and human soul had both been broken in different ways, and now his earth soul was damaged; Mo
Ran had felt new and complex emotions each time. Guilt had haunted him before his teacher's
body and repentance before his human soul. Dread filled him before the earth soul, a sudden fear
that this was his punishment for his many sins.

What right did he have, Mo Ran thought, to have his teacher by his side again? He kept his eyes
closed, the wetness seeping from his eyelashes soaking into the pillow. He had thought once that
the heavens were unkind to him, but it seemed like an absurd joke now - the heavens had been
more than kind but his own heart had been hard. His own heart had blinded him to his blessings
and led him down a road of no return. Mo Ran wanted to go back, make amends and repent.

The Evil Overlord, the Emperor of the Human Realm, didn't need to exist - only Mo Ran, leading a
righteous life worthy of Chu Wanning, should live. Recognition of mistakes was the first part of
change for the better, Mo Ran had always heard, but he had sinned so deeply that he didn't know
how long it would take to make up for it. He thought he might never be able to escape the endless
remorse, even after death.

"Sir," he said again, and fell silent in the moonlight. "Let's go home," he said, finally, picking up
the soul-calling lantern and reciting the incantation. The earth soul disappeared inside the lantern
immediately, and Mo Ran waited for the road home. He looked around, but nothing happened. He
knew the earth soul had merged with the human soul, but still the road did not illuminate.

The blood drained out of Mo Ran's face as he realized something had gone terribly wrong. The
spell Master Huaizui had cast should have taken him home, after he had merged the souls, and yet
nothing was happening. The bottom dropped out of his stomach at the thought that the spell had
failed.

------

Ice threaded Mo Ran's veins as he hugged the lantern, head full of static. He descended the stairs in
a haze, looking for the physician. "Doctor," he said.

"You again," the doctor said. "What now?"

"You're sure that was my teacher's earth soul," Mo Ran said.

"Of course it is," the ghost doctor said, annoyed. "I wouldn't make a mistake with that."
Refusing to give up, Mo Ran tried again. "What if it's his wisdom soul?"

"No," the doctor said. "A person has three souls. Earth, wisdom, human. I've been here for a
century and a half, and if I couldn't tell them apart I'd have been kicked back into the wheel of
reincarnation long before now."

A thought occurred to Mo Ran. "Doctor," he said. "Have you, uh, have you ever seen someone
with two earth souls?"

"What's wrong with you?" the doctor snapped. "Your head's not right. Let me take your
pulse." Afraid that the doctor would discover that Mo Ran wasn't dead if he touched him, Mo Ran
fled out of the sanitarium into the dimness of the ghost realm, offering a hurried apology behind
him.

Holding the lantern tightly, Mo Ran looked up at the sky and tried to gauge whether it was day or
night. he had learned that a lukewarm sun indicated daylight, illuminating the clouds red, and a
cold moon indicated night. The moon hung above him, roads slowly emptying. He walked through
the streets with his head down, not sure what to do. The farther he went, the more helpless and
alone he felt - it was unsettling to face emotions once so familiar. He thought of the people he had
known at the pleasure house where he'd grown up, and how it had burned down in the end. He had
been the only survivor.

Counting the years, Mo Ran thought those who had perished there should still be waiting for
reincarnation, and wondered if he would run across anyone he knew. He thought of Xue Meng, and
his cousin's angry bellows as he had tried to pull the lantern from Mo Ran's arms. Mo Ran clutched
it more tightly, walking slower and slower until he stopped altogether and gazed into the gentle
golden flame visible through the white silk. "Sir," he asked softly, "is it that you don't want to go
back with me?"

The flame didn't answer; it burned silently as Mo Ran stared into it and tried to calm himself down.
The underworld was vast, and he didn't know where to go or who to ask for help, until he
remembered Chu Xun. He hurried back toward Tailwind Hall, reaching it right before it closed. A
masked ghost was shutting the doors, and Mo Ran planted himself in the doorway to entreat him to
wait.

"I'm sorry," he said, one foot inside the building.

"You," said the masked ghost, the same that had led him upstairs. "Why are you back?"

"I'm sorry, but it's urgent," Mo Ran said, panting. He swallowed, throat dry. "I want to see Sir Chu
again."

As Mo Ran was led back into the room, Chu Xun was staring absently at a branch of crabapple
blossoms in a slender porcelain vase. He seemed startled to see Mo Ran return. "Why have you
come back?" he asked. "Were you unable to find him?"

"I found him," Mo Ran said. "But, he, uh."

Seeing his anxious tension, Chu Xun invited him inside. He closed the door, leading Mo Ran to a
seat. As he did so, Mo Ran carefully stowed the soul-calling lantern in his pouch to avoid prying
questions. He didn't feel that Chu Xun was a malicious ghost, but he didn't want to chance leaking
the secret that he was alive. "You went southeast," Chu Xun prompted, and at Mo Ran's nod of
assent, he asked, "Ailing Souls Sanitarium?"
Mo Ran nodded. "I saw him there," he said slowly, choosing his words carefully. "But his earth
soul was incomplete and couldn't move or speak. He's transparent, and I couldn't touch him."

"That's not uncommon for a damaged earth soul," Chu Xun said somberly. "Some souls can even
scatter, never to be gathered again."

Mo Ran chewed on his lip. "The doctor there said that people with incomplete souls will have
impairments in life, but the person I'm looking for was fine in life. I was wondering if there might
be a mistake somewhere." He paused. "Is it possible that he has two earth souls?"

"Two earth souls?" Chu Xun asked, surprised. In direct contrast to the doctor at the sanitarium,
Chu Xun mulled the question over for several minutes. "It's not impossible," he said, finally.

Chu Xun inclined his head gravely. "Normally, a person only has three ethereal souls and seven
corporeal spirits, but I knew a woman once with two wisdom souls."

"Could you tell me more?"

Chu Xun shook his head and took a moment to steady himself, clearly shaken by the memory. "It's
long past," he said. "I'd rather not talk about it. That person suffers now in the seventh level of hell.
Anyone else with an abnormal soul is sent there by Yanluo, to have their soul slowly peeled apart."

Mo Ran's anxiety ratcheted upwards, blinding him to the pain in Chu Xun's eyes. "Why did she
have an extra wisdom soul?" he asked. "Normally if a person needs to gather three souls after their
seventh day, would all four souls need to be gathered if there's an extra one?"

"Most likely."

"So that woman," Mo Ran pressed.

"She was used by the Ninth King in death, forced back to the living world." Chu Xun paused,
slender hands clenching slowly into fists. "She ate her own child alive."

The past events of Lin'an abruptly came to Mo Ran's mind and he realized that the woman of
whom Chu Xun spoke was his wife. Mo Ran had made him revisit his most painful memories, and
he understood that Chu Xun had elected to wait in Nanke Town for his wife's extra soul to be
removed so that they could reincarnate together. He couldn't bear to pry any further.

Chu Xun closed his eyes. "Her soul became scrambled and torn," he said softly. "It fused with her
child's wisdom soul."

In death as in life, Chu Xun sacrificed his own pain to the needs of others, Mo Ran thought, and
continued to feel worse. He couldn't apologize directly for his actions. "I understand," he said
softly. "You don't need to say any more."

"I'm saying this," Chu Xun said, "to let you know that if this young master Chu does indeed have
two earth souls, that one of them most likely wasn't originally his."

"You don't think it's possible that he has one earth soul, split in two?" Mo Ran asked after a
moment.

"It's possible," Chu Xun said. "But not in this case."

"But why?"
"I've seen a soul split apart as well, but that's a different story," Chu Xun explained. "It's something
that generally only happens when someone has sinned so deeply and killed so wantonly that their
soul cannot bear the pain. In this case, it's the human soul that shatters, as it's responsible for
morality and humanity."

is the puppet master mo ran's other human soul, then, does elemental affinity change if the
soul splits apart

"I see," Mo Ran said. He knew that the scenario described didn't apply to Chu Wanning, but he
was suddenly worried about his own human soul.

"Besides," Chu Xun added, "if it really was one damaged soul split into two, neither of them would
have been able to walk and both would have been sent to the sanitarium. Since you only saw the
one damaged earth soul there, the other should be a complete and healthy soul."

Understanding clicked into place and Mo Ran's face lit up. "Thank you, Sir Chu," he said. "I'll go
back to searching!"

"Excellent. The compass also pointed northeast earlier, and you should try going in that direction."
Chu Xun sighed. "Nanke Town is vast, with many ghosts." His gentle eyes were tinged faintly with
pity, and Mo Ran knew that he wanted to say how hard it would be to find a single soul in all the
masses of ghosts, if they weren't fated to be, that two souls could pass each other on a crowded
street in broad daylight with neither knowing the other was there. His gentle nature won out in the
end, and he put a hand on Mo Ran's shoulder. "You're so determined that surely you will meet him
again," was what he said.

Looking so much like Chu Wanning, Mo Ran almost saw and heard his teacher in Chu Xun's face.
Tears welled in his eyes, and he lowered his head to hide them. He clasped his hands in a gesture of
respect. "Thank you," he said hoarsely.

Chu Xun made no answer, simply standing and watching even as Mo Ran left. He was visible
through the gap in the closing door, a hint of bewilderment flickering in his eyes. He thought he'd
seen tears, but ghosts were notoriously unable to weep. He thought he might have been mistaken,
but the blossoming crabapple branch in the vase caught his attention. Flowers from the living
world couldn't hear the Yin energy of the underworld, and even with careful tending a petal had
drifted away. Chu Xun picked up the vibrant petal from the aged tabletop, and it withered
immediately into powder.

was he or was he not touching the flowers when Mo Ran walked in on him the first time

"Guard," he said, and a masked person entered immediately. Chu Xun didn't turn, gazing at the
crabapple blossoms as he spoke. "Has that person come to Tailwind Hall recently?"

"No, sir," the guard said. "Same as always, a branch of blossoms every ten days. He doesn't come
here, but has someone deliver it for him." The guard paused. "Is something wrong, sir? If that
young man just now was bothering you, we can always go to Lord Yanluo."

"No," Chu Xun said. He turned to smile at his subordinate. "It's nothing," he said. "He probably
wasn't sent by that person, and even if he was, he was looking for someone else."

"But if that person sent him, then why did you go to the trouble of helping?"

"He wasn't involved in that person's sin." Chu Xun stood quietly next to his flowering branch. "Let
him be."
The streets were desolate as Mo Ran left Tailwind Hall to head northeast. He went door to door
with Chu Wanning's portrait, but he met with no success. Some of the ghosts he met refused to
even look at the portrait, and most of them cursed at him before moving on. Dead though they
were, they had yet to sever the emotions and desires of their mortal lives. Most of them had
reverted to behaving much as they had while alive while waiting for judgment and reincarnation,
seeking out friends and relatives, or adopting pets. Mo Ran even saw some of the lying down as if
to sleep, through the windows, although ghosts didn't need to sleep.

With night falling, even fewer people were willing to speak to him and finally he walked alone
down a long endless road stretching into the northeast. He continued to knock on every door,
gathering curses and recriminations. One person he found had been someone he'd met earlier in the
day, who had said he thought he remembered seeing someone like the person in the portrait before
his wife had thrown him a sharp look, but now told Mo Ran that he hadn't seen him at all. Finding
him again, Mo Ran was unwilling to give up.

The man shoved him brusquely out the door and pulled it shut in the face of Mo Ran's frantic
begging, but all Mo Ran had learned was that his teacher might have been somewhere in the east
market. The commotion drew the attention of nearby ghosts, and a crowd gathered to watch. The
man bellowed angrily at Mo Ran, trying to bar the door, heedless of Mo Ran's hand on the
doorframe. It slammed shut on all of his fingers, but he refused to pull them from the closing gap,
pushing the door open instead.

I see some inconsistencies regarding the door in this paragraph

Abruptly wrenching the door open, the man shoved Mo Ran roughly backwards. He took no notice
of the blood welling up on Mo Ran's hands, shouting at him instead. "I said I don't know! Fuck
off!"

------

Ghosts drifted eerily through the streets as Mo Ran wandered across wet steps dotted with clumps
of moss, only noticing after he calmed down that his fingers were scraped raw and bloody. The
doorframe had left splinters embedded in his skin, but the few ghosts around him didn’t notice his
wounds in the dim light. They were less painful than the agony of his heart.

The firmly-shut door said clearly that the man inside wouldn’t come out to speak, and Mo Ran –
having a great deal of experience with begging from strangers – had known from the moment the
man changed his story that it was hopeless. He hadn’t been able to give up despite his certainty,
persisting until he was brutally refused. No matter how much time passed, he was still the same
low-life scum Xue Meng had once accused him of being.

At the time, Mo Ran hadn’t cared what the little phoenix had said; he’d been almost proud of his
humble origins. He glanced over his shoulder at the door and left to the sound of laughter from the
watching ghosts. Voices of derision and ridicule surrounded him, bringing back memories of his
childhood. He started walking, remembering the days before the pleasure house, when he and his
mother had roamed the streets of Linyi near Rufeng Sect.

Mo Ran’s mother had loved him, in those days. She hadn’t wanted him begging on the streets, and
had left him in an abandoned shed while she earned enough coins each day dancing to buy a meal
to share. Mo Ran had always given her part of his share, saying he wasn’t hungry or didn’t care for
it, and been happy through his own hunger that she seemed at ease. He had even snuck out of the
shed to beg a few streets over while she propped up her pole and danced upon it with her frail body.

The ground in the areas she performed was covered with sharp rock and broken ceramic,
dangerous if she fell but a draw to spectators hungry to see someone else bleed. There came a day
that the pregnant wife from a wealthy family, bored and irritable, came upon Mo Ran’s mother as
she danced. After watching for a while, she sent her attendant to speak to the dancer.

The rich woman was unsatisfied with the stage and offered more gold than Mo Ran’s mother had
ever seen in her life to replace the rocks with knives, blades up, and dance over them. It was a cruel
request, the risk to her life even higher, but she only replied that she couldn’t afford knives. The
wealthy woman laughed and sent another attendant to buy the blades and arrange them.

“Dance,” the richly-adorned woman said. The audience that slowly collected was decked out in
silk and jade, sparkling in the sun, vultures keyed up with the scent of blood. They all began to call
for her to dance, offering tips and payment, closing in on the penniless dancer in rags.

Mo Ran’s mother, life as cheap as wild grass, smiled to the crowd of vultures and thanked them for
their patronage. She began to dance gracefully, staking her life to garner their favor. Her mistake
was to look at the knives pointing in her direction, and she fumbled in her panic. The pole tilted,
and she fell. Blood spattered as her leg was slashed open, and she stood quickly with an apology.

“You need to practice more,” the crowd agreed, although a few kinder-hearted individuals called
for her to stop and treat her wounds. Mo Ran’s mother shook her head, demurring that she couldn’t
afford treatment. The crowd grew misty-eyed, one old lady digging a single copper coin from a
purse bulging with gold and jewels to press it in the dancer’s hand. “You deserve this,” she said.
“Take it.”

The dancer accepted, thanking the woman for her generosity, and looked for the patron who had
purchased the knives. The wealthy woman had already left, without paying what she had promised.
The dancer chased after her, still bleeding, only to be shoved to the ground by the attendants and
cursed out for daring to offend the wealthy madam with the unlucky sight of blood.

No one opened their purse for the dancer, no one came to help her as she twisted with pain on the
ground. She had put her life on the line to dance, garnering only a single copper coin that wouldn’t
buy more than a single piece of flatbread. She wouldn’t be able to dance the following day, with
her injury, and all she could think of was that her child would go hungry again.

The narrative is working extremely hard to present Mo Ran’s mother as pitiful and
deserving of sympathy, but she has no personality. She doesn’t even get a name. The author
has the same attitude toward her that the lady who gave her a copper coin does.

The dancer curled up in the mud and wept, the onlookers and pedestrians simply walking around
her. A dirty, stinking child burst through the dwindling crowd and ran over to her, clinging to his
mother. She stopped crying immediately, determined to be strong for her child and denying her
pain and weakness. She smiled, tears still on her face, and pressed the coin into her son’s hand.

“Go buy a piece of flatbread,” she told him. “I’ll wait right here for you.”

The child Mo Ran suppressed his sobs, telling his mother to sit and rest before picking up one of
the discarded knives and calling out to the crowd that he would put on a special performance. His
innate qi meant he was much stronger than the average citizen, even without cultivation skills, and
he broke the sharp and sturdy blade with his bare hands.

The crowd was startled, and Mo Ran escalated to snapping two knives. The crowd began to cheer
as the child broke thicker and thicker stacks of metal. He urged them to spend, promising a show
for their tips, as they tossed the cheapest copper coins toward him until his hands were covered in
blood. The vultures scattered when he became unable to continue performing, and he gathered up
the meager coins.

His tearful mother wept uncontrollably as Mo Ran promised her medicine, pulling him into her
arms and hugging him tightly. His bright, pure smile scorched her heart; she sobbed that she was to
blame for not taking proper care of him, while he promised to give her a good life when he grew
up.

“I just want you to grow up healthy and strong,” she said, stroking his hair.

“If I make something of myself,” Mo Ran said, “you’ll never have to put up with this again. I’ll
make them apologize to you. I’ll make them dance on knives!”

“Quiet now,” Mo Ran’s mother said. “Don’t hate them. I want to see you grow into a good man.
Promise me you’ll be kind.”

Mo Ran’s mother had been his first beacon, when he was small and impressionable. He thought
about her words for a moment. “I promise,” he said finally. “I’ll build houses for people without
homes instead, and plant food for people who don’t have enough to eat. No one will have to live
like us again.”

lost sight of that, did he

Neither of them could have anticipated then that someone who made that promise would perpetrate
as many sins as the Emperor Evil Overlord. The emperor had never looked back on his earliest
past, refused to acknowledge the promise he had made in his mother’s arms in the days when he
had hated no one no matter how hard things got. He had been guided by the beacon of his mother’s
love.

Another memory surfaced, that of a child from a wealthy family sitting at the gate of his family’s
courtyard, eating dumplings with chopsticks. He only ate the filling, spitting out the wrappers and
tossing them on the ground for his dogs. Mo Ran walked over cautiously, his foul odor alerting the
rich boy to his presence.

“Could I have the dumpling wrappers?” Mo Ran asked quietly, but the rich boy only laughed. He
told Mo Ran that he would feed his plump dogs instead, and tried to drive him off. Mo Ran
followed his gaze to the well-fed, sleek dogs and couldn’t help but think that they looked delicious.

“You want to eat my dogs!” the child screeched, and no matter how much Mo Ran protested that
he wouldn’t actually do it even if they looked tasty would mollify him. He started screaming,
panicked by the thought that someone would think of his pets as food, demanding the household
servants chase the freak away.

Mo Ran scrambled to grab as many fried wrappers as he could before he was forced to leave,
hiding from the kicks and punches doled out by the household staff, until the rich boy fled. The
child flung the dumplings to the ground in his haste, and Mo Ran crawled out of hiding to grab
both of them. He was beaten black and blue, but happy that he would have delicious food to share
with his mother. One of the servants stomped the dumplings into the dirt before Mo Ran could
touch them.

The return of The Narm; not quite the level of asinine melodrama of Chu Wanning crawling
up three thousand stairs, but pretty close

Mo Ran staggered to a halt, staring at the ruined dumplings as the servants continued to rain kicks
and punches down upon him. He sobbed, only wanting something that another child had thrown
away. He couldn’t understand the malice that would waste the food instead of letting him have it.

Later, as the young master of Sisheng Peak, he was an object of flattery. His birthdays were filled
with gifts and well-wishes, the child who had scrambled for trash finally receiving an abundance of
praise. He would stand before the piles of gifts, gripped with a vague sense of dread. He feared that
they would disappear, become crushed underfoot like the dumplings he hadn’t been allowed to eat.
He would quickly use what he could, eat the food, and hide the rest of his intricate gifts.

Xue Meng had made fun of him, laughing that it wasn’t a big deal if some of the perishables went
to waste. He hadn’t seen their value, or understood Mo Ran’s worry that his riches wouldn’t last.
Having only just arrived, Mo Ran only grinned at his cousin’s mocking words and continued to eat.

“Don’t force yourself if you’re full,” Xue Meng said eventually. “No one can eat that many
pastries.”

Suddenly, Mo Ran saw the dumpling boy from his past, the one who had tossed the wrappers to
his dogs, in his cousin’s handsome face. Xue Meng had grown up like that, he realized, and was
consumed with envy for how little worry his cousin had suffered. As much as he told himself that
he should now be able to enjoy the same attitude, he couldn’t. He could only wash down the
pastries with a cup of water and keep eating.

yeah, that’s not something that fixes itself, and yet, he has displayed none of the
characteristics one would expect from these descriptions of his childhood; it’s very
inconsistent

As the Emperor Evil Overlord, Mo Ran had owned everything under the skies. All of it had been
gifted to him in a never-ending stream from all around the world. Rare treasures were too
numerous to count, brought by those hoping to curry favor and receive a title of nobility or an
official post, until one day a merchant gifted him with a ten thousand year old black fire jade. Mo
Ran usually ignored the priceless treasures, and would have ignored the fire jade if it hadn’t been
for its cold-expelling properties and the fact that Chu Wanning had just come down with the chills.

Wanting his plaything to heal quickly, he agreed to see the merchant. Mo Ran had recognized him
immediately as the dumpling boy, never having forgotten his face, and he stared silently at him
until the merchant fell terrified to his knees and stammered incoherently. The merchant trembled
under his clothing, until Mo Ran suddenly smiled. Little did he know that Mo Ran had obsessed
over those dumplings for half of his life, and he shifted into sycophancy at the Emperor’s smile. In
that moment, Mo Ran understood more clearly than ever that the world would rather lick the boots
of the strong than extend kindness to the weak.

this entire flashback is incredibly poorly paced and poorly placed

In the underworld, Mo Ran shook off the memories. He didn’t like to think about the past, but the
door by door rejections reminded him so strongly of begging as a child that he had been caught up
in the darkness of his life before he knew it. He remembered the promise he had made to his
mother, and thought about how he hadn’t kept his word. He had even caused the death of the last
person who had treated him well.

Mo Ran’s heart ached at the thought of his teacher, and he took the portrait out of his robes. The
paper had become wrinkled and he smoothed it out, smearing his blood on it in the process. He
jerked his hand back in horror, but still walked door to door asking ghosts if they had seen his
teacher. He continued alone through the endless night, feeling as though he would never reach the
dawn until he found a stall selling wontons by the side of the road. He bought them, sneakily eating
when no one was looking, and then held out a spoonful to the soul-calling lantern. “Do you want
some, sir?”

so what does he do when he needs to eliminate bodily waste? I feel like that would attract
some ghosty attention

Chu Wanning didn’t answer, so Mo Ran ate the cold wontons instead. He remembered that Chu
Wanning preferred sweets to wontons, and promised to make him pastries every day when they got
home. He sat alone with his lantern by the wonton stall in the night breeze, and even the
underworld seemed serene.

“Peach blossom cake,” Mo Ran said, and listed the types of cake he would bake for his teacher.
After a while he fell silent, and then forced a smile. “Where is your other earth soul?” he asked,
and caressed the surface of the lantern. He stroked it the way he had stroked Chu Wanning’s
corpse the year he’d turned thirty.

“You new here?” came a rough voice. It was the owner of the stall, terribly nearsighted in his old
age. He sat next to Mo Ran and took a pipe out from his burial clothes with the chatty air unique to
the elderly.

“First day,” Mo Ran confirmed.

“Ah, no wonder I don’t recognize you. How’d you die so young?”

“Qi deviation.”

“Ah.” The old man smoked the unlit pipe. “A cultivator.”

Mo Ran took the portrait from his robes, not expecting anything from the nearly blind old man.
“Grandfather, I’m looking for my teacher. He came not long ago. Did you see him?” Taking the
drawing into the light, the old man stared at it for a long moment. Mo Ran sighed and took it back.
“It’s okay. No one else I’ve asked has seen him either.”

“I’ve seen him,” the old man interrupted. “I’m sure of it.”

Mo Ran felt his heart jolt, excitement rushing along his veins. “Where?” He sketched a respectful
bow at the end, all but dancing on the balls of his feet in excitement.

“Don’t see people with these looks every day,” the old man muttered. “Have you seen that grand-
looking palace on the first street? He’ll be there.”

“What kind of place is it?” Mo Ran asked.

“The Fourth Ghost King’s away palace,” the old man sighed. “He doesn’t live there, it was just
constructed to lock up all of the beautiful people he has his underlings kidnap. He’s a real lecher,
takes male and female concubines alike. The ones that get selected go back to the fourth level of
hell with him, the ones that don’t are given to his underlings to play with.”

Mo Ran didn’t even wait for him to finish talking before he darted off toward the building. The old
man paused for a second, watching him run into the darkness. He sighed enviously.

“Must be nice to be young enough to run so fast.”

------
The Fourth Ghost King’s second palace only had one entrance, with guards stationed outside. Not
about to waltz in through the front door, Mo Ran vaulted onto the roof after tucking the lantern into
his pouch to avoid its light drawing unnecessary attention. He darted across the rooftops, noting as
he ran by that the inside of the palace was even more stunning than the outside, with courtyard
after courtyard full of winding corridors.

Mo Ran leapt to the top of a tall building with a single bound and flattened himself against the wall.
The palace looked like a small town from above, stretching farther than the eye could see. Even
knowing that his teacher was inside the palace complex didn’t help, as there were hundreds of
rooms. Mo Ran felt his heart trembling with frustration and anticipation.

A row of people carrying red lanterns and dressed in golden armor marched around a corner,
headed from the east gate to the main walkway. Mo Ran watched them arrive at an unremarkable
side room, marked by a massive pagoda tree. It blocked his line of sight, and he couldn’t see inside
its courtyard. He saw the soldiers march past the tree, and heard the sound of shouting. Furniture
crashed, and then Mo Ran heard someone scream before a disheveled woman was tossed into the
part of the courtyard he could see.

The woman’s half-undone clothes slipped further as she scrambled across the ground, trying to
evade the whip that landed viciously on her exposed skin. She trembled, finally boxed in with
nowhere to go, and Mo Ran heard the soldiers accuse her of trying to escape. “I lived a virtuous
life!” she protested. “I did nothing wrong! Let me go!”

The whip came down again, the soldiers jeering that serving the Fourth Ghost King would free her
from the cycle of reincarnation as the woman sobbed that he had rejected her. The lash came down
again, opening a gash on her cheek. She trembled, trying again to crawl away as the soldiers
laughed raucously. More of the rejected tributes were dragged out of the side room, and the
soldiers’ leader finally spoke.

“These are the Fourth King’s leftovers,” he said. “You’ve all worked hard and deserve a reward.
Pick whichever one you want to play with, and if you want to take one home with you, just register
them with me.”

The lecherous ghosts cheered and surged into the room, and Mo Ran heard the sound of crying and
begging. He heard obscene words from inside the room, and those who cooperated out of fear. He
thought the dead were no better than the living, and leapt nimbly onto the roof of the side chamber.
He didn’t think Chu Wanning would be in that room, not having gone through the selection
process, but he couldn’t help his anxiety.

Lifting a piece of the roof tile allowed him to see into the room as a waft of air fetid with the odor
of sex drifted out. To Mo Ran’s surprise, he saw a face he recognized – Rong Jiu. The prostitute
Mo Ran had been fond of in his first life and whose schemes he’d foiled in his second life before
he’d died in the massacre at Butterfly Town was as clever in death as he had been in life. Others in
the room struggled or fought for their dignity, but Rong Jiu clearly felt it was in his best interests to
pretend enthusiastic participation. He let the soldiers manhandle him without complaint.

Mo Ran suddenly thought of Chu Wanning, comparing the prostitute’s soft pliancy with Chu
Wanning’s steely firmness. Where Rong Jiu chose to survive by seeking favor with which to build
himself an invulnerable fortress, Chu Wanning would scatter his soul and fall into the Eighteenth
Level of Hell rather than allow someone to sully his purity. Mo Ran’s blood ran cold at the
thought.

A sudden loud sound from the courtyard startled Mo Ran and the people in the room. He looked
over to see the first woman who had been dragged outside with a soldier’s blade through her heart.
She faded before his eyes, and then dissolved into countless specks. The soldier who had destroyed
her soul cursed and stood, a lash mark on his face. Mo Ran admired the woman’s grit for wresting
his weapon out of his grasp and striking him with it, but he knew Chu Wanning would have done
the same.

Mo Ran saw the rest of the tributes follow Rong Jiu’s lead and submit, and waited for the
spectacle to subside. Finally, he saw one of the soldiers pull on his clothes and register his choice
of concubine with the leader. He knew that as subordinates of the Fourth King, the soldiers were
exempt from the cycle of reincarnation; he figured Rong Jiu felt that attaching himself to the
Fourth King’s soldiers wasn’t a bad lot in the afterlife. Mo Ran watched the soldier flirt with Rong
Jiu before leaving, realizing that the Fourth King would still have to sign off on assigning
concubines to his soldiers.

Eventually, the soldiers left. The room was in disarray, most of the people inside sobbing and
trembling. Rong Jiu was calm; Mo Ran saw him dress and arrange his hair, even using makeup to
simulate the glow of life in his lips and cheeks. Having lived a difficult life, he had his own
priorities – integrity and honor hadn’t helped him survive. Now that he was dead, all he could do
was protect his soul.

Mo Ran landed lightly on the ground behind him, rustling the flowers Rong Jiu had just touched,
and waited for him to turn around. His former lover cast a coy glance backwards, clearly assuming
his paramour had returned, only to recoil when he recognized Mo Ran. “You,” he said.

“Me,” Mo Ran replied, and watched a dazzling array of emotion flicker across Rong Jiu’s soft,
pretty face before he finally settled onto cold detachment. It didn’t suit him.

“Fancy seeing you here, young master Mo,” he said, standing up straight.

“I’m looking for someone,” Mo Ran said.

“Who would have thought a philanderer like you would be so attached to someone, even after you
died,” Rong Jiu scoffed.

Mo Ran took out the portrait. “Have you seen him?”

“Average-looking,” Rong Jiu said, barely glancing at the drawing. “Which whorehouse is he
from?”

“Just tell me if you’ve seen him,” Mo Ran said. “Wait, what do you mean, whorehouse?”

“Haven’t seen him,” Rong Jiu said. “Though I wouldn’t tell you if I had. I’m going to go get some
rest. Feel free to see yourself out.”

“Rong Jiu,” Mo Ran said, as his ex-lover started to walk away.

“Yes?” Rong Jiu’s slim figure paused, a smug expression on his pretty face.

“I’m going to rescue him,” Mo Ran said. “I’ll help you too, if you want. You can reincarnate.”

“Such sweet words,” Rong Jiu said. “But it’s no worse down here than it was up there. My patrons
are just ghosts instead of people.”

“You’re living under a knife here,” Mo Ran protested.

Rong Jiu burst out laughing, the first honest emotion Mo Ran had ever seen him express. “When
have I not? People are knives. I’m just the meat on their chopping block. If I’m lucky, I get paid a
little more. If I’m not, I get someone like you.” He paused. “You stabbed me in the back, and now
you warn me about living under a knife. How kind of you.”

------

The first day Mo Ran had been reborn, he had stolen Rong Jiu’s gold and jewelry, in retaliation for
a plot Rong Jiu had hatched against his life before Mo Ran had been reincarnated. He hadn’t been
quite so involved with the merchant Chang in this life, and Mo Ran had no justification for his
theft. “I’m sorry,” he said, not wanting to fight. “I’ll return everything I took from you.”

“How?” Rong Jiu asked. “Or what good would it do me now? Besides, you can give me back the
jewelry, but what about my life?”

“Your life?”

“Yes, my life.” Rong Jiu’s face darkened, as if in pain. “Do you know how I died?” A torrent of
words poured fourth, as if a festering hurt long suppressed had been freed. “Chang is ruthless; he
had no use for me once you weren’t interested in me. He pretended that he was really in love with
me but his family didn’t want him to be with a prostitute. I was so blind that I thought he was
telling me the truth, that he cared for me. I was so stupid.”

“How is that my fault?” Mo Ran asked. “Blame Chang for it.”

“How is it not?” Rong Jiu snapped. “I had almost enough to buy my freedom, and you stole it all. I
lost the will to keep working, but I couldn’t leave without money. I had to flee. If you hadn’t stolen
from me, this wouldn’t have happened!”

“You ran away?”

“I ran to his place,” Rong Jiu said hatefully. “But he wouldn’t let me in, even when the people
from the brothel were closing in. I got dragged back and beaten up.”

“But Chang said you went to Butterfly Town to visit relatives,” Mo Ran said. “And that’s why you
were there when the barrier broke.”

“Relatives?” Rong Jiu said, mockingly. “If I had relatives, I wouldn’t have been working at a
brothel. Let me tell you what it’s really like to live under a knife.” His pretty, androgynous features
had twisted with rage until he resembled a vicious ghost. “Let me tell you how I really died! I was
locked up in that brothel without food for so long, just being tormented, and nobody cared – none
of my patrons, no one. Chang suddenly appeared one day, saying he couldn’t let me in because his
parents would have had me beaten to death.”

“You didn’t believe him, did you?” Mo Ran shook his head at the obvious lie.

“I believed him,” Rong Jiu said, eyes glistening. “I believed him. Why wouldn’t I? I have to
believe, or I have no hope. Chang said he’d take me home, but I’d have to live in a nearby town
until he could convince his parents to accept me.”

“That’s how you got to Butterfly Town,” Mo Ran said, expression darkening. He knew what had
happened, but Rong Jiu kept talking.

“I happily packed what little I had left after you stole everything from me. I thought at least I had
Chang.” He fell silent for a moment. “He didn’t kill me, you know, it was all of you that cornered
me until I had no other choice but to go where he told me. All of you are responsible for my
death.” Rong Jiu took a deep breath. “I followed him to a large manor, quiet and empty with no
servants, and he told me to stay and rest while he bought furnishings and decorations. He came
back with a man.”

“Did you see his face?” Mo Ran asked urgently.

“No,” Rong Jiu said, shooting him a look. “He wore a mask and had a cloak, and Chang was
fawning over him harder than I ever did for a client, and he told the man that I had residual wood
elemental spiritual essence from being intimate with you. That I was a good offering. Something
like that.”

Mo Ran’s face went numb as he realized that Chang had been correct about the traces of qi, and
that the false Gouchen would have jumped on it no matter how faint it was. The energy would
have been pure enough to be used in spells. He had signed Rong Jiu’s death warrant the first time
he’d slept with him.

“There’s not much to say about what happened next,” Rong Jiu said, his face deeply cold. “I died.”

The Mo Ran of his first life would have refused to bear any responsibility, but now he couldn’t find
it in himself to laugh. He hated Rong Jiu, hated how unscrupulous he was, how he was always
dishonest with his clients. They had been physically intimate but never spoken honestly together,
and he wasn’t sure how it made him feel to be so open with his former lover now. Rather than
process it, he decided to just let it go. “Rong Jiu,” he said, “I’m sorry.”

No one had ever apologized to Rong Jiu, and Mo Ran had now done it twice in a single
conversation. He was caught off guard, and looked at Mo Ran with wide eyes. “I’m still not gonna
tell you where your portrait person is,” he said.

“That’s not why I said it,” Mo Ran said.

Rong Jiu sat for a moment with his head down. “Did you know that Chang was plotting with me to
kill you and steal your cultivation?”

“I knew.”

“You did?” Rong Jiu stared blankly at him. “He ratted me out?” he said resentfully. “If I’d known
things would end this way, I would have listened to him and killed you. Then I might have lived a
good life instead of just getting a miserable death.”

“Do you always do whatever other people tell you to?” Mo Ran asked.

“So what if I do?” Rong Jiu snapped. “I just want to live well. What’s wrong with selling my body?
How is that different than selling anything else? It’s just a way to make a living.” He smoothed his
robes. “I know all the young masters like you looked down on me, but reputation and dignity
won’t buy good wine or red meat. If I could save myself by killing you, why would I say no?”

Mo Ran wanted to tell him it was wrong. The sins of his past life reared their many heads and
regarded him from his mind’s eye, and he found that he couldn’t say anything at all. Not noticing
his internal struggle, Rong Jiu kept talking.

“People kill animals and eat their flesh to live,” he said angrily. “How would this be different?”

“Is there any meaning to living like that?” Mo Ran asked, not knowing if he was talking to Rong
Jiu or his past self.
“I don’t know what meaning is,” Rong Jiu said dully. “I was sixteen when I was sold. My first
customer was a cultivator in his fifties. When I was alive, all I wanted was money so I could buy
my freedom and not have to bow and scrape to others. But I never got it. Thanks to you.”

Mo Ran couldn’t say anything for a long moment. “You’d kill me if you got another chance?”

“I would.”

“Then if I could do it all over, I’d still swipe all your money just to screw you over.”

“You asshole!” Rong Jiu was so angry that his face looked even more alive under his makeup. He
shook with anger for a moment, and then slowly calmed down. He tucked a few stray strands of
hair away and schooled his face back into a coy smile. “Say what you want,” he said. “I have my
way of living.”

“Enjoy your time down here, then.”

Rong Jiu narrowed his eyes. “Oh, I will. All I have to do is spread my legs and lie back, and I’ll be
spared the misery of reincarnation. I know what a good deal it is, unlike the rest of these idiots.”

A brief smile tugged at Mo Ran’s lips. “They work for the Fourth Ghost King,” he said. “He’ll be
the one that has the final say.”

Rong Jiu flinched, his pretty eyes narrowing again. “What are you trying to say?”

Mo Ran didn’t want to argue with him; he had better things to do. But Rong Jiu was unforgiving,
for all of his docile temper, and it was hard to retain his calm in the face of his animosity. “The
person in the drawing,” he said. “You might think he’s average, but I think he’s great. Everyone’s
taste is different. Who says the Ghost King won’t like him?”

“That frigid dick?”

“You never know,” Mo Ran said. “If the Ghost King was into the softer type, he would have
picked you.” Rong Jiu’s face darkened at that, and Mo Ran pressed further. “He has a fierce
temper. If he gets picked, he’ll flip the entire underworld upside down. And then the Fourth Ghost
King’s people won’t be let off easy. If you’re going to be a climbing vine, that’s cool, just make
sure you pick a sturdy tree.”

Already pale, Rong Jiu’s face blanched further. “I doubt that will happen,” he said. “I’ll make a bet
with you on whether or not your friend gets picked.”

“I’m not making a bet with you,” Mo Ran said viciously. “I’ll rescue him, Rong Jiu, and it’s my
life that will be on the line.”

Rong Jiu’s hand shot out abruptly to press against Mo Ran’s chest. “Who is he to you? How long
have you been lovers?” He paused. “He better than me in bed? You’re not the kind of fool who
would risk your life for someone else. I don’t believe you.”

Mo Ran pinched his cheek and pushed Rong Jiu’s hand away. “I didn’t have a heart before,” he
said. “I do now.”

Eyes snapping up, Rong Jiu stared at a person with the same face as the free and easy Mo Weiyu
but with an utterly different soul inside. He was scorching hot, and his face suddenly looked as
though he wanted to flee. Rong Jiu flinched as Mo Ran spoke again.
“Between he and I,” Mo Ran said, “There will be no impropriety. I respect and love him without a
single impure thought. Don’t you dare sully him.” He shoved Rong Jiu away, into a colonnade, and
Rong Jiu simply stared at him.

“He isn’t your lover?” he said finally.

“He’s my teacher,” Mo Ran said.

Despite Mo Ran’s protests, Rong Jiu could tell how he felt – he knew love when he saw it, and Mo
Ran was in love with the man in the portrait. He felt bitter jealousy that even the philandering
young Mo Ran would risk life and limb for a lover, wondering if he would have been the recipient
of such love if he had been more sincere. His ruminations were interrupted by Mo Ran’s cold,
vicious voice.

“I will ask you one more time where he is. If you still don’t tell me freely, I am a cultivator and I
can force you to talk. I’ll talk to the Ghost King myself if I have to.” He spoke right over Rong
Jiu’s attempts to interrupt. “I was a terrible person,” he said softly. “I did horrible things. I want to
repent, but if no one helps me, I’m the same Mo Weiyu. Think carefully where you answer, Rong
Jiu.”

Resolution stared down the resentful, fiery against frosty, and finally the ice in Rong Jiu’s eyes was
melted by the wildfire in Mo Ran’s oppressive gaze. He knew that no matter how deep his hatred
and envy ran, he was no match for the man across from him. “Why would you go so far for him?”
he asked.

call the waaambulance

“He treated me so well, and I tormented him like he was my worst enemy. I owe him.”

“I really haven’t seen him,” Rong Jiu said. “I’m not lying,” he added, seeing Mo Ran’s expression.
“I do know that all the newly captured ghosts are kept in the biggest hall on the east side,
separately locked in tiny rooms with patrolling guards. He should be there.”

He had barely finished speaking before Mo Ran was off and running. Staring after him in a daze,
Rong Jiu felt bitterness flood his heart again. “Mo Weiyu!” he shouted. “You want to lead a proper
life? It’s no use! Neither of us gets another chance! I’ll do whatever I can to survive, sell my body
or my soul, but you? The stench of blood is in your bones! We’ll see who has the last laugh!” Rong
Jiu dropped to his knees, burying his face in his hands. “It’s not fair that you get another chance,”
he sobbed. “Why are you the one who has someone who loves you?”

------

The largest courtyard on the east side had three floors, the grandest sector in construction but also
the least well-maintained. An old tree grew by the entrance, playing host to countless dead crows
with spinning eyeballs in their beaks, and two platoons of ghost soldiers patrolled back and forth to
guard the tributes.

Mo Ran hid in a corner, watching the patrol routes and looking for blind spots. The walls were
dotted with windows, each one lit up, and he could hear the ghosts weeping and sighing within. He
counted three hundred rooms before he gave up, timing the patrol at ten minute passes, and
concluded that there was no way he could search hundreds of rooms so quickly. Mo Ran also saw
guards by the stairs armed with soul-shattering whips and emergency whistles.

A lone ghost approached from the distance as Mo Ran tried to come up with another plan, wearing
the same uniform as the guards and carrying a red and black token. Mo Ran watched as he
exchanged nods with the guard, close enough to hear their conversation. The new ghost was
starting a shift, and the guard at the stairs was nearly done with his, and Mo Ran was struck with
inspiration.

The crows on the branch screeched a warning, and the guard snapped to alertness. An unfamiliar
silhouette in uniform approached, handsome in the moonlight. “I’m here to relieve you,” Mo Ran
said, having waylaid the actual guard and stolen his clothing.

“I’ve never seen you before,” the guard said.

“I’m new.” Mo Ran held out the token from his waist at the guard’s request, face remaining
smooth. The guard examined the token and found it valid.

“Have a good shift,” he said. “I’m off.”

“Have a safe trip home, sir.”

The departing guard cackled, pleased by Mo Ran’s courtesy, and waved. “Good boy. See you
around.”

“Ah, sir, one moment.” Mo Ran grinned as the guard turned back. “How many of this batch have
the surname Chu?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I’m making inquiries for Sir Chu in Tailwind Hall,” Mo Ran said. “He had a distant relative come
down here, but they couldn’t find him, so he was wondering if he might be here.”

The guard hesitated for a moment, but Chu Xun’s name carried some weight. He pointed toward
the second floor. “Three of them,” he said. “In the innermost rooms. Go take a look and see if you
can find him.”

“Many thanks, sir,” Mo Ran said with a bright smile, thinking that this soldier was an absolute
idiot. The guard strolled off, humming as he went, failing to notice his usual replacement restrained
with a binding spell and tossed into a ditch. Mo Ran had made sure to gag the guard as well, so that
he could make no noise at all.

Besides the guards on site, Mo Ran also worried about Rong Jiu; he absolutely did not trust his
former lover not to take the absolute first opportunity to alert the Fourth Ghost King’s staff to his
presence. He had no time to waste. After the patrol passed by, he rushed to the second floor, where
he was met with an unexpected obstacle. The guard on the second floor blocked his path.

“I’m a guard on the first floor,” Mo Ran explained. “It’s my first day.”

“Then go back to the first floor,” the guard said, and Mo Ran tried to trade on Chu Xun’s name.
This guard wasn’t having it. “Tributes belong to the Fourth Ghost King,” he said. “He can deal
with him.”

“It’s not like I’m trying to steal the tribute,” Mo Ran said. “I Just want to know if he’s there.”

“No problem. Give me the name.” Vexed, Mo Ran had no choice but to give the guard Chu
Wanning’s name, but the guard’s reaction surprised him. “Are you fucking with me?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mo Ran protested.

“The Fourth King came by earlier today, and he’s definitely interested in this Cultivator Chu. If it
weren’t for the fact that it hasn’t been seven days and all three of his souls aren’t here, he’d have
been taken tonight. You want to rescue him? You tell me what you think the problem here is.”

“The Fourth King’s interested in him?” Mo Ran forced out, blue in the face.

“So?” said the guard belligerently.

“Nothing,” Mo Ran said. “No reason.” He turned as if to leave and took two steps down before
summoning What The Hell and striking the guard. The willow vine wrapped around his neck as
Mo Ran hissed, “What makes you think I wouldn’t fight the Ghost King for him?”

The ghost guard crumpled to the floor, and Mo Ran set a binding spell on him before shoving his
body out of the way and hurrying down the hall. The three rooms at the end held ghosts surnamed
Chu, he remembered, and his heart led him to the right room on the first try. He was out of breath
as he pushed the door open to see a small room with ashen walls. A thick white pelt softened the
floor, and Chu Wanning lay sleeping on it. He was curled tightly in a ball, looking frail and pitiful.

No bloodstains were visible, and he wore vibrant red silk decorated with dragons, phoenixes, and
butterflies. Mo Ran stumbled forward, dropping to his knees, and caressing his teacher’s face.
“Wanning,” he said, the name slipping out as it had in the final days of his past life. He lifted his
teacher into his arms, but it was a long moment before Chu Wanning awakened.

Chu Wanning opened his eyes to find himself lying in Mo Ran’s embrace, concern on his student’s
youthful face. His fingertips trembled as Mo Ran called to him repeatedly, and Mo Ran took his
trembling hand to press against his cheek. Tears streamed down his face as he laughed.

“Sir,” he said again. “Sir. Sir.” He choked back a sob, gazing unblinkingly. “Sir,” he repeated, as if
he had forgotten how to say anything else. “Sir.”

Feeling that it was improper, Chu Wanning struggled out of Mo Ran’s arms and sat up straight. He
stared blankly for a long moment and then slapped Mo Ran. “You idiot!” he snapped. “How did
you die?”

Mo Ran would have explained, he told himself, but his teacher’s eyes were subdued and sorrowful.
He watched Chu Wanning bite down hard on his lower lip, as if to hold back tears. He knew his
teacher was too proud to reveal injury, and knowing how much pain he felt made Mo Ran’s heart
ache for him. He wanted to hold Chu Wanning.

“Get out,” Chu Wanning said, pushing him away. He turned his face away, hiding his heartbreak
under a layer of stiff coldness. “You have some nerve, coming to find me after dying so young.”

Chu Wanning does not deserve to be rewarded for this asinine behavior

“Sir,” Mo Ran said.

“Out.” Chu Wanning’s face got colder. “You’re no disciple of mine. I don’t acknowledge anyone
so useless that he dies in his prime.”

you mean like you, Mr. Chu?

The dejection Mo Ran had felt vanished in a warm glow. He covered his eyes, unable to help the
laughter that spilled out of his throat, bitter and sweet and sour all at once. Chu Wanning whipped
around to glare at him, even angrier.
“What are you laughing at?” he demanded, raising a hand to slap Mo Ran again.

Mo Ran caught his hand, gentle eyes blinking slowly. He solemnly brought Chu Wanning’s hand
to press against his chest without saying a word.

it is beyond infuriating that the man is dead and still perpetrating his toxic double-standard
bullshit

------

A slow steady heartbeat pulsed against Chu Wanning’s hand, and he blinked. Surprise, joy,
awkwardness, and embarrassment flitted across his features, but he had his calm mask firmly in
place after no more than an instant had passed. “Why are you here if you’re not dead?” he asked
instead, and regretted the question as soon as he heard himself speak. Rescuing him was the only
possible answer. Above and beyond the only obvious answer to his question, Chu Wanning was
afraid of how he would react if Mo Ran actually said the words aloud. Panic suffused him, and he
could only stare helplessly at Mo Ran, trying to maintain his icy calm.

Knowing instinctively that answering honestly would only embarrass his teacher, Mo Ran simply
gazed at him for a moment and tried to think of another answer. "Why do you think I'm here?" he
said finally.

"Looking for trouble," Chu Wanning shot back.

"So your name is trouble now," Mo Ran said, grinning. "You should have said something."

Chu Wanning jerked his hand back as if he'd been stung, embarrassed and angry. "How impudent,"
he said. "What nonsense."

Rather than upset by his teacher's rejection of him, Mo Ran was delighted to know a secret - he
knew that his teacher's anger was a mask. He understood that Chu Wanning was so socially
awkward that he preferred the menacing mask over allowing others to see the slightest hint of
honest emotion or vulnerability. Mo Ran found it endearing, how idiotic his teacher had been, but
he knew he was no less blind for having taken two lifetimes to stop taking Chu Wanning's anger
and rejection at face value.

Further lightening Mo Ran’s mood was that with all four of Chu Wanning’s three souls, rebirth
was finally within reach. He grabbed his teacher’s hand again, not letting go as he explained in
detail about Master Huaizui and the spell that had gotten him to the underworld. He had to pause
periodically to let the tightness in his throat pass, and the phrase he said the most was an apology.

Chu Wanning wasn’t sure how to answer the flood of words; he treated others well, not for what
they would do in return, when in fact he was mortified at the idea that someone would feel
indebted to him. He was most afraid that he would reach out to someone and be rejected, and thus
always hid his kind deeds. As the person he loved suddenly saw through his mask of indifference,
he felt as exposed as a crab without a shell, and could only stare blankly at Mo Ran kneeling before
him.

oh for fuck’s sake get over yourself literally everyone has to deal with being rejected this does
not make your actions somehow sympathetic, you coward

For a split second, Chu Wanning thought Mo Ran was about to do something audacious. He hated
himself for his shameful thoughts, but he couldn’t help but think his brazen disciple was about to
pull something. His face darkened at his own stupidity, and he fell back on cool detachment. But
Mo Ran did nothing, only continued to hold his hand as though he were holding a treasure.

“Sir,” Mo Ran said. He had set aside all of his hatred and was now earnest and respectful. “I was
wrong,” he continued. “From now on, I’ll do what you say. I just want you to be happy.” Tears
glistened in his eyes, even as he kept smiling. “So please come back to life with me.”

Face expressionless like still water, Chu Wanning’s heart nonetheless burned like a beacon of fire.
Mo Ran’s voice was soft and youthful as he poured all of his energy into love instead of hatred. He
could walk no middle ground.

“Sir,” he said again. “Please say you’ll come back with me.”

Still, Chu Wanning did not respond. He only stared blankly. Mo Ran began to worry that his
teacher was upset, and he tried to maintain his composure so as not to embarrass Chu Wanning
with unseemly displays of emotion.

“Sir,” he said. “You could just nod.” Afraid that Chu Wanning might not even do that, he added,
“I’ll count to three, and I’ll interpret your silence at the end as a yes.” Nervous though he was, Mo
Ran gently waited before slowly counting.

Chu Wanning remained frozen in pain, unable to respond to the unfamiliar sensation of being
wanted. Someone who treasured him stood before him, surrounding him with enough warmth to
thaw his icy heart, and he was overwhelmed with a lifetime of pain. Every inch of his soul hurt,
and he trembled with the force of it.

oh cry me a fucking river literally all of it was self-inflicted and could have been stopped at
any time if you had made even the slightest effort but no you had to passively wait for
someone to do all the work for you because god forbid you admit to having A Feeling that is
such a load of bullshit

Anxious at Chu Wanning’s continued frozen silence, Mo Ran was terrified that his teacher had lost
heart and did not want to return to the mortal world. He didn’t dare move, for fear that his teacher
would leave him behind again. He smiled warmly and tried again. “I counted too fast,” he said.
“I’ll do it again.” Chu Wanning still remained frozen, and Mo Ran forced himself to keep smiling.
“Sir, did you hear me?”

No matter how many times Mo Ran counted to three, his teacher remained staring fixedly at his
face without a hint of emotion. Mo Ran could do nothing but continue to repeat himself, as if he
could make time flow backwards with the effort. He kept counting until his voice trembled and his
smile became panicked.

“Sir,” he said. His eyes were red but he refused to cry in front of the man he had already wronged
so deeply, refused to case him more pain. He swallowed his tears and kept his voice light. “Please
pay attention to me,” he said. “I’ll count again. One. Two.”

Chu Wanning felt as if his heart was being stabbed over and over again by Mo Ran’s warmth and
tried to pull his hand from his student’s grasp. But Mo Ran held on tightly. With dogged
persistence, Mo Ran gazed at him unblinkingly, until their stalemate was broken by the sound of
rapid footsteps outside. Shouting and cursing came along with them, and Chu Wanning’s head
finally snapped up.

The ghost soldiers were closing in. Rong Jiu must have found a chance to tell the soldiers about
him after all, Mo Ran thought, forgetting about the soldier he’d left tied up in a ditch and the two
abandoned posts outside that were equally capable of arousing suspicion. The voices shouted that
the thief had gone upstairs as chaos broke free, flickering shadows slipping among ghosts and
torches.

Mo Ran didn’t turn around; holding his teacher’s hand, he felt at peace. His beloved, respected
teacher who had always treated him with the utmost kindness was with him. Chu Wanning glared
at him. “What the fuck are you doing?” he snapped. “Let’s go! Why are you just sitting here?
You’ll get us caught!”

“We’re going?” Mo Ran said. “You’ll really come with me?”

“What did I just say?” Chu Wanning snapped.

Mo Ran smiled brilliantly and let out the breath he’d been holding. He clasped their hands tightly
together, interlocking their fingers. He pressed his forehead against Chu Wanning’s, and
whispered, “Three.”

“What absurd nonsense are you babbling about, you idiot? Hurry up!”

The ghosts outside were drawing closer, and Mo Ran finally turned to look. He let out a frightened
noise at the horde closing in. “Sir, put up a barrier to hold them off while I get your soul into the
lantern,” he said.

“Can’t do it,” Chu Wanning grunted.

“What?”

“Did you really think I’d be trapped in this stupid little cage if I could use my qi?” Chu Wanning
said waspishly, and Mo Ran realized that this part of his teacher’s soul was missing its cultivation.

Several uninterrupted seconds were needed for the incantation to get the soul into the lantern, and
Mo Ran was sure they didn’t have them. He could only grab his teacher and make a run for it. His
teacher had no cultivation, but he had his martial arts skills and was able to keep up as Mo Ran beat
a hasty retreat. A torrential stream of ghost soldiers pursued them.

“Where are we going?” Chu Wanning asked, as they got to the door.

“No idea,” Mo Ran said. He pointed at the walls, not at all discouraged. “We can look for a way
out from up there.”

With a solid foundation in light footwork, Chu Wanning was capable of climbing the walls with
ease. They both landed gracefully on the roof and he snapped at Mo Ran to summon his holy
weapon. The strand of piercing scarlet radiance appeared like a hissing snake, settling into a coil by
his feet. Chu Wanning gave terse instructions, and Mo Ran followed them to the letter.

“Not too much qi,” Chu Wanning cautioned, after Mo Ran had already performed the instructed
movement. A noisy explosion shot forth from the weapon, followed by several more, piercing the
ranks of the ghost soldiers. The raging inferno blazed through the corridor, flames moving the stars
themselves, and scorching dozens of soldiers into sparkling smithereens. “I said not too much
energy,” Chu Wanning said peevishly, looking at the utter destruction.

“By the time you said that, it was too late,” Mo Ran retorted, but then remembered that Chu
Wanning must be respected. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said. “You’re right to scold me for my error.”

“Forget it.” Chu Wanning flicked his sleeve. “Get moving.”

------

“Come on,” Mo Ran said. “Sir, I killed a lot of ghost soldiers. The underworld might not let us off
easy.”

“It’s fine,” Chu Wanning said. “The technique you used doesn’t scatter the soul, just shatters it.
They’ll piece themselves back together in a couple days.”

The specks of souls were floating around the charred remains, glowing like fireflies. Mo Ran
couldn’t get more than a glimpse of them before Chu Wanning was dragging him away and
another wave of furious soldiers was racing toward them. The cultivators sped along the rooftops.
“Sir,” Mo Ran asked. “Since they won’t die and we won’t piss off the underworld too much, can’t
I just use the technique again?”

“Try it and see,” Chu Wanning said.

Mo Ran turned around, raising the willow vine, but all that happened was a sad trickle of smoke.
He whipped around and started running again, glancing sidelong at Chu Wanning. “Um,” he said,
when no explanation seemed to be forthcoming.

“The more qi you use, the longer the refractory period,” Chu Wanning said. “Refrain from excess.”

“I see,” said Mo Ran. “Sir, I remembered something. Guess what.”

“What.”

“At Peach Blossom Spring, in the illusion, when you taught me how to use the willow vine. You
were really short.” Mo Ran grinned. “You didn’t even come up to my waist.”

Chu Wanning glared at him and lost his footing. “Get out.” His ears tried to flush in
embarrassment despite being dead. “Trying to compare heights with a child? Pick on someone your
own size.”

No longer visibly shorter than Chu Wanning, Mo Ran smirked and refused to take the bait. He
stole a sidelong glance at his teacher and made a mental note to wait a couple years before
challenging his height again. He cackled internally at the thought, knowing he would be
significantly taller when he finished growing.

As the former emperor schemed, the Constellation Saint fretted. He was fairly sure his student was
aware of his alter ego, but it was a humiliating ordeal for someone as thin-skinned as he was. He
had looked up at his student and called him Big Brother. The more he thought about it, the more
embarrassing it was, and the angrier he got. He ran faster, leaving Mo Ran behind in the dust.

Understanding without being told what his teacher was experiencing, Mo Ran let him be and only
kept half a pace behind. Fleeing from their pursuers, he watched the red robes fluttering around the
man in front of him. He felt bittersweet contentment, grateful that he could still see his teacher and
receive his guidance. He looked forward to standing taller than his teacher and teasing him about
their height difference. The heavens were truly kind, he felt, and his heart warmed.

Mo Ran knew not everyone had the chance for a do-over after committing atrocities, and that not
everyone could forgive and let go after being hurt. He knew his teacher was so warm under his
cold exterior, but it had taken him so long to see past the perfectly projected persona. As they ran,
more pursuers nearly caught up with them, and they barely evaded capture until finally the main
gate was in sight.
Mo Ran exhaled in relief as they approached, no signs of pursuit close enough to catch them. A
clap of thunder from in front of them staggered him, heralding the appearance of a massive sedan
carried on the shoulders of eight brawny men. The bearers knelt on the ground as a plump man
lounged on the chair. His long hair fell loosely over snowy furs and two beautiful women
accompanied him. One massaged his shoulders, while the other fed him cherries.

The fat man had cultivated a body, Mo Ran saw, as he was actually eating the fruit. The man
licked his lips, grabbing on of the women by the jaw and planting a sloppy kiss on her mouth
before glancing at Chu Wanning. “Trying to steal my little darling?” he said. “That won’t do.
You’re quite the bold little cultivator.”

Chu Wanning’s face darkened as his face paled in humiliation at a greasy lecherous fat man
calling him terms of endearment in front of Mo Ran. He would have ground him into mincemeat if
only he had been able to summon his holy weapon. Mo Ran, for his part, was disgusted, but aware
that he was unable to protect Chu Wanning from a ghost king at his current level of cultivation. He
could only try for a diplomatic solution.

“My lord,” he said, cupping a fist respectfully. “My apologies for the damages to your palace, but I
will be taking this individual.”

“Is that so,” said the ghost king. “Do you see what he’s wearing? That’s a ghost wedding gown,
the ceremonial robes of the underworld. He belongs to me, and can’t step outside the gates of this
palace. Go ahead, try it.” He paused. “If you try to force him out, the qi of the robes will shatter
your souls.”

Mo Ran suddenly realized why Chu Wanning hadn’t been tied up despite Rong Jiu warning him
that the beauties had all been restrained. He clenched his fists in his sleeves. “Of course, I wouldn’t
take him without compensation,” he said. “Please tell me what I can offer in return.”

“Only beautiful people are fit for a king,” said the ghost king. “Not the docile kind, they’ve gotten
boring. I’m looking for a little more spice.” He sat up leisurely. “To be honest with you, though,
this is the first time someone’s broken into my palace like this. What kind of relationship do you
have?”

“He’s my teacher,” Mo Ran said.

“That’s it?” The ghost king grinned. “I thought it was something deeper than that.”

“What’s the point of keeping him here when he’s not interested in you?”

“That’s irrelevant,” the ghost king said. “I’m after his body, not his heart. Besides, it’s not like he’s
in love with you, either, or you would have a different relationship.” He paused with a sneer. “And
I wouldn’t be interested in second-hand goods.”

“Wait,” Mo Ran said. “So if my teacher was married, the ceremonial robes wouldn’t have any
effect?”

“Why would I like to a little no-name ghost like you?” the ghost king said. “I told you, I’m not a
homewrecker.” He paused. “Is your teacher married?”

“No,” Chu Wanning said, desperate to protect his reputation before all else.

“Yes,” Mo Ran said, valuing his teacher’s life and freedom instead. He pulled Chu Wanning
toward the gate. “Don’t mind him, sir, my teacher’s memory is bad. I’ll just go ahead and take him
out, and if we make it through the gate, you’ll let us go. If I’m lying, we’ll have it coming.”
“Mo Ran, it was an act,” Chu Wanning hissed, having cottoned on to Mo Ran’s plan. “Butterfly
Town doesn’t count.”

“Of course it does,” Mo Ran said. “We drank the wine. We did the bows. Ancestors above and
earth below. It counts.”

Watching a quarrel after thousands of monotonous years was apparently vastly entertaining to the
ghost king. He leaned back, propping his cheek in one hand. He patted the thigh of the woman next
to him and accepted the fruit she held out. “Go ahead,” he said. “If you make it out, you can go. If
you die, that’s on you.”

A barrier covered the gate, flickering faintly purple, and Chu Wanning hesitated. He was
absolutely sure the sham ghost marriage wouldn’t count, and he didn’t want to die permanently.
Mo Ran leaned in. “Don’t worry, sir, our marriage was valid.”

“How?” Chu Wanning demanded.

“Just trust me,” Mo Ran said. “I know what I’m doing.” He laced their fingers together. “And even
if I’m wrong, we’ll still be together.” Chu Wanning stared at him in astonishment as Mo Ran
smiled brightly. “I owe you far too much to leave you behind, sir.”

“Why go to all this trouble,” Chu Wanning muttered.

“What about you, sir? Why did you do all of it?”

Chu Wanning capitulated, sighing, and they stood hand in hand before the crackling purple barrier.
The horde of ghosts gathered behind them to watch the show. “Let’s go,” he said.

Afterwards, neither of them knew who tightened his grip first. One hand freezing, the other
scalding hot, pale dead skin against wheat-colored living tissue, they stood before the waterfall that
was the barrier. They stepped in together, the current of qi cascading over them like lightning. It
flared with blinding light, a might strong enough to swallow rivers and rend mountains, but it was
no match for the love between Mo Ran and Chu Wanning.

Mo Ran had made up his mind not to sully his teacher with impure thoughts, but in that moment he
turned to look at Chu Wanning one last time. He saw his teacher looking back at him from amidst
the deluge of sparks around them, eyes tranquil and holding deep affection. His chest flooded with
burning affection at the expression he had never before seen on his teacher’s face, overwhelmed by
the searing heat in his heart.

Without thinking, Mo Ran pulled Chu Wanning into a tight embrace. He had never thought of
dying with his teacher before, knowing only that he was in love with Shi Mei , but it was Chu
Wanning that he pulled into his arms now. They stood in the center of the barrier, souls embracing.

“You really are star-crossed lovers,” said the ghost king, amused. “The honored cultivator really
was married.”

Mo Ran’s eyes snapped open as he realized that the searing energies that he’d thought would tear
them apart had turned into gentle fluff while he wasn’t paying attention. The Fourth Ghost King
stood with a smile, clapping slowly. “It’s been hundreds of boring years,” he said. “And that was a
good show.”

Still in a dazed stupor, Mo Ran looked from the ghost king to the person in his arms. He was
suddenly struck by the impropriety of a public display of affection and withdrew hurriedly. Chu
Wanning also jerked back to reality, turning away with an unreadable expression. He straightened
his robes in embarrassment. Mo Ran lifted his chin to look at the Ghost King. “I wasn’t lying,” he
said.

longest brick joke ever

“You were not,” said the ghost king, shaking his head. “I’ll let you go, if only for the
entertainment value.”

Delighted, Mo Ran found the Fourth Ghost King far more magnanimous than the Fifth. He turned
to leave with Chu Wanning in tow, but as they started to move away, the clouds above them
scattered. The light of the moon shone down on Mo Ran and cast a shadow at his feet. It took a
moment for the ghost king to notice, distracted by the beauty at his side feeding him a peeled
grape, but when he did his gaze sharpened.

I’m sorry when did we establish that ghosts don’t have shadows

“Stop,” thundered the ghost king. “What is that at your feet?” His indulgent expression vanished,
eyes narrowing like a vulture. “How did a living person get into hell?”

------

“Run!” Chu Wanning saw the light gathering in the ghost king’s hand and shoved Mo Ran into
action. They fled toward the doors, leaping and bounding through the air. As they ran, Mo Ran
cursed Huaizui for being so careless as to leave him with a shadow. Chu Wanning didn’t react to
his teacher being slandered, only glancing at Mo Ran as though he wanted to say something but
didn’t.

“Trying to escape?” the Fourth Ghost King snorted. “As if I’d let you off that easy.”

Both cultivators were experts in the art of lightness kingfu, and raced up the wall to leap off the
roof. The Fourth Ghost King flung lightning over the doors, and the walls expanded abruptly
upwards to all but connect to the heavens. The doors swung closed, and Mo Ran dragged Chu
Wanning in another direction.

They were literally standing in the exit oh my fucking god how did they fuck this up

Racing back inside the palace turned out to be the correct move, as the Fourth Ghost King’s
physical body was weak after years of debauchery – once handsome and fit, he had spent years
stuffing himself into a fatty to make up of the deprivation of mortal pleasures. He refused to allow
any of his servants to utter the words fat or obese, and he had removed all mirrors from the palace.
There was no possibility that he could personally catch the fleeing cultivators, and the horde of
ghost soldiers who had been watching the show were incapable of giving chase as they were
reluctant to physically outperform their king. Furthermore, to the cultivators’ great good fortune,
the Fourth Ghost King was not on good terms with the other ghost kings due to his propensity for
stealing ghosts from their realms.

Both agile cultivators made good use of the twists and turns of the interior of the palace, eventually
hiding in a dark, narrow alley. Chu Wanning, being a ghost, couldn’t tire no matter how long he
ran. Mo Ran needed to rest, and he leaned panting against the wall.

“He’s completely sealed the palace,” Chu Wanning said.

“It’s fine, sir,” Mo Ran panted. “Come into the lantern so we can both go home. He won’t catch
us.”

Chu Wanning nodded, doubt shading his face. Mo Ran failed to notice, taking out the lantern and
reciting the spell. The light only flickered faintly before vanishing again, and Chu Wanning’s earth
soul remained conveniently solidly present. Mo Ran was shocked.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“The deliverance spell doesn’t work here,” Chu Wanning answered. “As I suspected all along.
We’ll have to leave the palace.”

Mo Ran bit his lip. “I’ll get you out of here, sir,” he said.

“We need to hurry,” Chu Wanning said, giving him an unreadable look. “The palace is massive
and we can easily hide, but you’ll need food and water before long.”

“I can endure hunger,” Mo Ran said. “I grew up with it.” The watery cool moonlight bathed their
silhouettes as they made their way out of the alley and walked side by side down the empty street.
“Sir,” Mo Ran said after a moment. “I offended you at the gate. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Chu Wanning said, startled before lowering his gaze.

“Both word and deed,” Mo Ran said, needing to make amends for contradicting his teacher and
thereby nearly saving both of their lives. “I apologize for both. It was very improper of me to
contradict you and tell the Ghost King that you were already married.”

“How long are you going to keep apologizing?” Chu Wanning snapped, voice cold. “Don’t you
know how to say anything else?”

Mo Ran’s heart raced, and he stuttered, “I’m sorry?”

Chu Wanning glared at him and left. Mo Ran couldn’t figure out what he’d done wrong this time,
and simply followed obediently. “Sir,” he said. “Have you, uh, been through any karmic events?”

“What do you mean?” Chu Wanning turned to face him.

“You had another earth soul,” Mo Ran explained. “So you have an extra soul piece. Chu Xun said
it shouldn’t have been something you originally possessed.” He hesitated. “But I’ve seen four
pieces of soul, so I was wondering if something happened to you in the past.”

A light kindled in Chu Wanning’s eyes, as if he’d remembered something, but he remained silent
for a long moment. “I have four souls?” he said, having no idea what the cause might be. He
contemplated for another long moment and sighed. “I can’t answer, and it doesn’t make a
difference right now, so let’s table it for now.”

The two cultivators carefully followed remote little paths inside the Fourth Ghost King’s palace
complex, inspecting the spell sealing the walls. Chu Wanning brushed the barrier, blue light
flickering, and closed his eyes to capture the sense of energy flowing beneath the stones. Without
his spiritual power, the effort drained him, and he dropped his hand dejectedly.

“All barriers have a weakness,” he said, “but I can’t find it without my cultivation.”

“If you teach me, I might be able to do it,” Mo Ran said.

“No,” said Chu Wanning. “Barriers are too complex to learn so quickly.”
“What are the typical weak points?” Mo Ran pressed. “We could try them one by one.”

“Each barrier’s weakness is unique,” Chu Wanning snapped. “We don’t have time to try
possibilities one by one.”

“How do we know if we don’t try?” Mo Ran asked, smiling. “Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

At the periphery of his vision, Chu Wanning saw a moving shadow and reflexively tried to
summon his holy weapon. Nothing happened, and his face darkened. “Who’s there?” he yelled.

The white shadow tried to flee, but Mo Ran was too quick. He rapidly subdued the ghost, covering
its nose and mouth to prevent it from crying out. He twisted its arms behind its back and pushed it
to the ground, only seeing its face. “Rong Jiu!” he shouted.

Tender and fair as he knelt, Rong Jiu’s eyes held resistance. He tilted his head back silently. The
beautiful young man remained rigid as Mo Ran glared at him angrily.

“You really think I won’t kill you for betraying us?” Mo Ran snapped.

“You know him?” Chu Wanning asked.

It occurred to Mo Ran that he couldn’t possibly explain how he knew Rong Jiu as he remembered
that his teacher had put him on trial in front of everyone for theft and debauchery. At the time, Mo
Ran had thought his teacher to be cruel and malicious, but now he knew that he had been publicly
humiliated for his own good. His heart writhed in shame at how he had failed to appreciate the
kind-hearted lesson.

Failing to notice Mo Ran’s inner turmoil, Chu Wanning looked Rong Jiu up and down, assuming
that he was an acquaintance of Mo Ran. “Don’t leave him behind,” he said. “He followed you all
the way here. We can take him with us.” He carefully looked Rong Jiu up and down. “He’s a
decent person. Top priority for reincarnation.”

The panic that had suffused Rong Jiu’s face faded, and he suddenly smiled. “This is your teacher?”
he asked with a gentle and charming smile.

“You watch your tongue,” Mo Ran said. “He’s my teacher. You call him my teacher.”

“Oh,” Rong Jiu said languidly, still feeling some vague resentment. “I’ll call him my teacher,
then.”

“You bastard!” Mo Ran hissed, and Chu Wanning finally noticed that the two of them were less
than friendly.

“Are there some hard feelings between the two of you?” he asked curiously.

“No, sir,” Rong Jiu answered before Mo Ran could get more than a syllable out. “Please don’t be
angry with him. We just have some shared history.” His words were ambiguous, but his tone was
affectionate.

Depression blanketed Chu Wanning’s face for the briefest of instants before he returned to his
usual indifferent expression, albeit with a brittle edge. Rong Jiu, with a lifetime of experience
reading expressions, was surprised to find that Mo Ran’s audacious feelings for his teacher were
unexpectedly returned. He sighed, disgusted at the impropriety Sisheng Peak allowed its
cultivators. Dual cultivation between men wasn’t necessarily unknown, but it was considered vile.