sects, people I haven’t seen in years.

We talked to maybe three or four people from Taxue Palace

before, but now? They all want to give us shit. I don’t even know what to do.”

“How’s the Rufeng Sect situation affecting things?” Chu Wanning asked. “We’ve been on an
island and have no idea what’s been going on.”

“It’s a fucking mess,” Xue Zhenglong said. “That lunatic Nangong Xu had so many grudges in his
scrolls, and Rufeng Sect has completely collapsed. Lonemoon and Taxue are at each other’s
throats. And then there’s Wubei Temple.” He looked at Chu Wanning and appeared to visibly
remember that Master Huaizui was Chu Wanning’s teacher before snapping his mouth shut.

“The previous master of Wubei Temple was involved in the struggle for head of Rufeng Sect,”
Chu Wanning said. “Of course his reputation has suffered.”

Mo Ran wasn’t sure why he’d been expecting a display of sentimentality from Chu Wanning
regarding his former sect. He exchanged glances with Xue Zhengyong, who shrugged a little as if
to say, You know what he’s like. Chu Wanning pursed his lips and stared stoically at both of them.
After a moment, he spoke again.

“Where’s Nangong Si?”

“I have no idea. Lord Ye – I mean, Miss Ye – and he have been missing since the fires went out.”

Worried, Mo Ran couldn’t help but frown. He had hoped that the two of them would be able to
achieve a happy ending in this lifetime, but apparently it was not to be. Xue Zhenyong turned to
look at him.

“What’s wrong, Ran?”

“I was thinking that if we don’t know where Nangong Xu is, that they might be with him. They’re
very close,” Mo Ran said.

“All the sects have been investigating the weird shit happening,” Xue Zhengyong said. “The
minute Nangong Xu makes a move, he’ll be caught. Nangong Si and Ye Wangxi might be trapped
in the mountains, and that’s why we haven’t heard from them.”

“I hope they’re all right,” Mo Ran said.

Questions regarding their acquaintances settled, Xue Zhengyong and Chu Wanning began to
discuss the current state of affairs. Xue Zhengyong hadn’t been sure how to navigate the total
upheaval, and although Chu Wanning had been trapped on an island with no information, his keen
insight made him invaluable. He noticed, however, that Chu Wanning avoided talking about or
even looking at his disciple, and wondered what had happened to the two of them.

Once the conversation had finished, Chu Wanning decided to walk to Mengpo Hall for dinner. He
saw a person standing on the long steps, who turned at the sound of Chu Wanning’s footsteps. Mo
Ran smiled, the lantern lights shining on his face. “Sir,” he said.

The memories of years past and the present day overlapped in Chu Wanning’s vision, the youth
Mo Ran had been blurring into the man he was now. “What are you doing here?” he said.

“Waiting to eat dinner with you.” Mo Ran was holding a small box in his hands, just large enough
to hold a meal.

“I’m going to Mengpo Hall,” Chu Wanning told him.

“Oh, this was for Xue Meng,” Mo Ran said. “I made him some noodles.”

Such care for his teammate was unexpected, Chu Wanning thought, as the two of them had been at
odds for as long as he could remember. Cousins or no, they had been like oil and water. He had no
idea when they had started getting along, their relationship stabilizing and strengthening until Mo
Ran would think to bring his cousin food when he was sick.

“How is he?” Chu Wanning asked. “He was asleep when I went to see him.”

when the fuck was that, you were in Loyalty Hall the whole fucking time

“He’s awake. He ate the noodles and wanted to go out, but I convinced him to rest instead.” Mo
Ran sighed. “Zhenlong Chess drains the energy.”

“Yes,” Chu Wanning agreed, although he had some doubts. He thought Mo Ran seemed too
familiar with the minutiae of how Zhenglong Chess Formation worked.

“Sir?” Mo Ran said. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” Chu Wanning said, remembering that his pupil was now a Grandmaster. It wasn’t out
of the ordinary for him to have some knowledge of forbidden techniques. He changed the subject.
“Aren’t we going to Mengpo Hall? I have no wish to eat outside.”

“I’m going wherever you’re going,” Mo Ran said.

Not wanting to admit that he was moved, Chu Wanning looked into Mo Ran’s warm, dark eyes.
They reflected the light, simple and clean, and he could think of no reason to refuse them. The two
of them made their way to the bustling cafeteria.

In the past, Mo Ran wouldn’t have hesitated to invade Chu Wanning’s personal space. Now,
however, he felt awkward, and even a little bashful. Neither of them spoke while eating, their gazes
meeting and sliding off. Chu Wanning finally stood to put away his tray, but Mo Ran called out to
him.

“Sir, please wait.”

“Is something wrong?”

Mo Ran reached up, as if to touch Chu Wanning’s face, but pulled back. “There’s a grain of rice at
the corner of your mouth, sir,” he said.

Chu Wanning froze, then wiped his face clean. “Anything else?” he asked quietly.

“No, sir,” Mo Ran said. “Immaculate.”

Embarrassed and flustered, Chu Wanning picked up his tray and left. He felt a sense of loss to
which he did not want to admit; Mo Ran’s obedience made him deeply uncomfortable when
compared to his previous impudence. Nothing changed in the following days, either; Mo Ran acted
like a boy who had just started a relationship, doing his best to treat his new partner well. It was as
if Mo Ran didn’t want to frighten him off, and was taking each step with care.

The scorching heat was visible in Mo Ran’s eyes sometimes, but then he would look down and
gently take Chu Wanning’s hand, and the fire would fade. He was too gentle, treating Chu
Wanning as if he was made of glass. On the other hand, Chu Wanning mused, perhaps it was a
good thing after all; lustful dreams were all well and good, but they were dreams.
Real life was another matter entirely. At some point, Chu Wanning knew, there would be an end to
the steps of love, and he didn’t think he would be able to face it. He held onto the tenuous feeling
of indeterminacy until one day, holding a peach, he left Mengpo Hall. He had barely taken his
second bite when someone caught his hand.

Chu Wanning turned to see Mo Ran.

------

As soon as there was no one around, Mo Ran pulled Chu Wanning into the narrow lane behind
Mengpo Hall. There was very little space between them as Chu Wanning clutched his peach and
stared at his student. Mo Ran suddenly reached out to embrace Chu Wanning, knocking the peach
out of his hands. "Sir," he said, breath hot on Chu Waning's ears. "I feel terrible."

"Why?" Chu Wanning said, instantly worried. Mo Ran gaped at him, and then laughed. He took
Chu Wanning's hand and held it against his forehead before kissing his palm. "If you're worried,
you should see Elder Tanlang," Chu Wanning said.

"The winter pickle can't help me," Mo Ran said. "Only the little cabbage."

"Who are you calling a little cabbage," Chu Wanning snapped.

"My bad," Mo Ran said, laughing, and gazed at Chu Wanning. "I missed you, sir."

Caught in Mo Ran's embrace, Chu Wanning had nowhere to vent his ire at his absurd nickname
and could only blush. "We just sat at the same table," he said instead.

"That doesn't count," Mo Ran said. "Sir, I want to stay with you a little longer. You keep leaving as
soon as you're done eating, and I can't touch you." He sounded aggrieved. "Stay with
me." Blushing harder and harder, Chu Wanning was acutely aware of Mo Ran's magnificent hot
breath, and couldn't answer. "Sir, let me hold you a little longer," Mo Ran murmured.

Privacy was hard to come by at Sisheng Peak, Chu Wanning knew, what with more and more
cultivators trying to establish good relationships through sending delegations. He knew he was
often dragged away by Xue Zhengyong for his invaluable advice, and that meant less time to spend
with Mo Ran. As they needed to be careful in public, he mourned the fact that they had barely been
able to do so much as hold hands. He didn't wonder at Mo Ran's neediness; rather, he was
astounded that his student had been patient for so long.

The twilight deepened, and the crowds approaching the hall thickened. The laughter and chatter
grew louder, and Chu Wanning pushed Mo Ran. "I'm leaving," he said. "Before someone sees
us." Knowing that Chu Wanning prized his pure reputation above all else, Mo Ran released his
teacher. As expected, Chu Wanning immediately left, then looked at him. "Why are you still in
there?" he asked.

Mo Ran stared at him, dumbfounded. "You go ahead, sir, I need a minute."

Puzzled, Chu Wanning was about to question it, but the flush on Mo Ran's face stopped him. He
realized what had happened, and he looked down without thinking. He flushed in response,
flicking his sleeves and stalking off. Incensed at his student's audacity, Cu Wanning fumed the
entire way home.

The enforced chastity, now that he had admitted his feelings, was beginning to chafe at Mo Ran.
His blood was growing hotter by the day, the desire in his eyes shining through no matter what he
did. He occasionally even frightened Xue Meng, who was innocent enough not to recognize the
expression but became uncomfortable at the rising tension between his teacher and his teammate.
Eventually, he screwed up his courage to ask Mo Ran what was going on.

"Hey," he said, glancing around to make sure no one was in earshot. "What's up with our teacher?"

"Why do you ask," Mo Ran said, surprised. "How should I know?"

"I mean, you've been looking at him all weird lately," Xue Meng said.

Mo Ran choked. "Are you trying to jinx him?" he said, when he got his voice back.

"I'm not jinxing anyone!" Xue Meng said hotly. "Seriously, why do you keep looking at him?"

"I'm not," Mo Ran said.

"You are," Xue Meng retorted, and the conversation devolved.

Watching them from above, Chu Wanning thought they were acting more like six-year-olds than
grown adults, and glared at them coldly. They saw him staring and stopped abruptly, returning to
reciting their lessons, but kept elbowing each other in the ribs as if Chu Wanning couldn't clearly
see what they were doing. Mo Ran dodged to the side, letting Xue Meng overbalance and stumble
into him, and Mo Ran laughed.

Losing his temper, Xue Meng started shouting. "You asshole! You did that on purpose!"

"Mo Weiyu," Chu Wanning said. "Xue Ziming." His tone was icy cold, reflecting his irritation
with his immature students. "If you're going to fight, do it outside. Stop disturbing the people trying
to work."

"Yes, sir," Mo Ran said, withdrawing.

Still embarrassed and angry about it, Xue Meng followed suit and was silent. He took out a piece
of paper, writing a note and tossing it toward Mo Ran. It was intercepted by a delicate white hand,
and Shi Mei unfolded the note in confusion. Xue Meng had continued his insistence that Mo Ran
was staring at their teacher and illustrated it with a badly drawn dog making a lovesick face. He
crumpled up the paper before anyone else could see it.

The students eventually dispersed, and Chu Wanning found himself accosted by Xue Zhengyong
before his irritation could fade. Sisheng Peak had been tapped to host the refugees from the area
surrounding Linyi, which would be uninhabitable for at least five years. "I've settled some in
Changchang Town, Fenghe Town, and Baishui Village," he said. "Plus the ones you nad Ran
brought back. There are so many in Wuchang that it's easier to bring them to Cool Jade, which
needs young people."

"Cool Jade Village is more appropriate," Chu Wanning agreed.

"It's not far," Xue Zhengyong said. "I want you to head there early and start working on the
logistics. How much firewood, rice, oil, salt, and so on. Meng's no good at this, so I'll send Shi Mei
to help you out."

Being already acquainted with Mo Ran and Chu Wanning, the village chief was waiting bright and
early to greet them. Ling was also present, looking more beautiful than ever. She greeted Mo Ran
enthusiastically.

"So you didn't go to the upper cultivation world after all," Mo Ran laughed.
"Lucky for me," said Ling. "I might have died if I'd gone to Linyi." She crossed her arms across her
chest, shivering. "I'm glad I stayed down here. It seems safer now."

"Life is a cycle," said someone else in the crowd. "Lord Xue looks after us well. Maybe in a few
years, the upper cultivation world will be envious of us instead of the other way around."

"We have suffered for a long time," Shi Mei said gently. "Now things have changed, and perhaps
the lower cultivation world will prosper." He handed out Madam Wang's herbal ointment, marked
with the serpent-shaped emblem of Lonemoon Sect.

"Cold-Scale Sacred Hand made these?" Mo Ran said.

"Sect Leader Jiang sent them," Shi Mei explained.

"Shu has many evil spirits," Chu Wanning said. "Jiang Xi will send a great deal of medicines to
help counteract their effects."

"It's not like it brings back the dead," Mo Ran muttered under his breath. "They're not that useful."
He remembered the Tapir Fragrance Dew from the auction, netting Lone Moon sect millions, and
put the jar of ointment in his pocket. He felt that while Rufeng Sect had indeed fallen, Lonemoon
Sect would rise to prominence instead. Sisheng Peak was a long way from becoming a leader in the
cultivation world, he thought.

Most of the day was taken up arranging the supplies for the refugees from Linyi and finding places
for them to sleep. Chu Wanning and his two disciples were prepared to leave, but the village chief
insisted on hosting them for dinner. As the invitation was tendered with great affection, Chu
Wanning felt it would be rude to leave, and they joined the chief at the ancestral temple.

More than thirty tables had been prepared to welcome the refugees, and the atmosphere resembled
one of the festivals held annually in the ancestral temple. Sheep and cattle had been slaughtered,
rice and noodles had been steamed, and the residents of Cool Jade Village welcomed their new
neighbors. They had even remembered that Chu Wanning preferred not to eat spicy foods, and
refreshing dishes had been arranged for the honored cultivator and for the refugees.

Those who ended up sitting at the same table as the cultivators found themselves quite nervous,
and were afraid to chatter and laugh like the rest of the tables. When Mo Ran, who had been
helping in the kitchen, finally arrived, he found the table silent. He was covered in sweat, but his
eyes were sparkling. "The stuffed buns are coming!" he caroled, and one of the village ladies was
indeed following him with a large tray. She distributed them cheerfully, exhorting them to eat
while it was hot.

With a laugh, Mo Ran helped her pass out the buns, and the children came to life. Those who had
met him grinned widely while calling his name, and those who hadn't took their cue from their new
peers. Ling found her gaze transfixed, although she knew that she had no chance of a relationship.
Well, she told herself, there was no harm in enjoying the sight of such a warm and handsome man.
She smiled at him, and thanked him by name as well.

Mo Ran gave her a friendly smile in return, openly acknowledging her friendship. She blushed, and
looked down, and Mo Ran made his way toward the final two tables. The cultivators had been
seated separately, with Shi Mei joining one table and Chu Wanning another, and Mo Ran visited
Chu Wanning's table first.

"If you don't sit down and eat, it's going to get cold," Chu Wanning told him.
"Ran, you're so good at this," Shi Mei said when Mo Ran reached his table. "Thank you so much."

"I just like to be helpful," Mo Ran said, turning back.

Assuming his teammate was about to join him, Shi Mei quickly cleared a spot. "I just need one
more bowl," he said. "You can sit here."

"Oh, I'm going to sit with our teacher," Mo Ran said. "But thank you."

As Chu Wanning had been seated at the table being served the mild foods, Shi Mei frowned in
confusion. "But you like spicy food," he said.

"I've given it up," Mo Ran told him.

Shi Mei was silent for a long moment before he suddenly laughed. "I've heard of quitting tobacco,"
he said. "But I've never heard of anyone quitting pepper."

"Eh, if you give it up for a while, you find you don't want it anymore." Mo Ran waved to his
teammate and ran off toward the kitchen. "The soup's almost cold!"

------

In addition to a full bowl of rice, Mo Ran returned with a box. He sat next to Chu Wanning, who
looked at him in surprise. "Shouldn't you be joining Shi Mei?" he asked.

"Why?" Mo Ran said.

Joy suffused through Chu Wanning's heart, and he lowered his eyes before it could be seen. "I
thought you liked the cooking over there," he said.

Suddenly realizing that his teacher was jealous, Mo Ran's heart beat harder. He smiled, and
whispered, "I like the cooking wherever you are."

Chu Wanning blushed, and tried to pull his knee back from where it had been pressed against Mo
Ran's. Instead of letting him, Mo Ran scooted closer under the cover of the table. Chu Wanning
glared at him. "You!" he said, and then bit off the rest of the phrase.

"Is something wrong, honored cultivator?"

Trying to cover his slip of the tongue, Chu Wanning grunted coldly. “It’s nothing.”

Off to the side, Mo Ran stifled a laugh. He knew he had had no lecherous intentions, but he found
it incredibly entertaining that his teacher kept assuming Mo Ran was coming onto him. The farther
away Chu Wanning scooted, the more Mo Ran pressed against him. Finally, Chu Wanning kicked
him under the table, but let Mo Ran press their thighs together.

“You must be sick,” Chu Wanning told him.

Mo Ran smirked and gave him the box, full of steamed dumplings, crab and shrimp both. Having
known that Chu Wanning would altruistically allow the others at the table to eat all of the
delicious meat, he had kept some back. That he had received a special portion embarrassed Chu
Wanning, but the smudge of flour on Mo Ran’s cheek from making the dumpling wrap made him
hesitate. He opened the box and began to eat.

“Is it good?” Mo Ran asked hopefully.

“Not bad,” Chu Wanning said. “You try one.”

“Oh, I’ve had plenty.” Mo Ran grinned. “How about the shrimp?”

The flour on his cheek tugged at Chu Wanning’s heart. Although he couldn’t explain why Mo Ran
would have abandoned Shi Mei, the purity of Mo Ran’s gaze reassured him. He smiled and ate the
shrimp.

After the meal, a stage had been set by the river. Hu Qin began to play, and the performers began
to dance. It was a lively stage, but Chu Wanning was unimpressed by civilian theater. The artifices
were too easy to see through, and the crowd pressed around him uncomfortably. Shi Mei was no
more comfortable, and the two of them sidled off to the edge of the crowd with Mo Ran in tow.

“It’s getting late,” Shi Mei said quietly. “The sect leader will be worried.”

For a long moment, Chu Wanning hesitated. “Do you want to watch?” he asked Mo Ran.

“Wang Kai and Shi Chong’s conflict is interesting,” Mo Ran said, without saying out loud that he
wanted to stay and watch.

Chu Wanning, listening to what Mo Ran didn’t say, smiled. “We’ll stay until it finishes,” he said.
“Then we can go home.”

“Of course, sir,” Shi Mei said. “But we’re already late, after having stayed for dinner.”

“I know,” Chu Wanning said, and led them back into the thick of the crowd.

The play was unfamiliar to many of the Linyi refugees, and they were shocked by the dazzling
costumes and the brilliant performances. The actors on the stage threw themselves into the
performance, reflecting the shining joy in the eyes of the audience. Children stuffed their mouths
with pastries as they ate, adults drinking and cheering like the simple and crude civilians that they
were.

Chu Wanning had never seen such a boorish, lively audience; he had no idea how to respond to the
atmosphere. Shi Mei was equally discomfited by the applauding and catcalling crowd, but he bore
it with grace until one of the men next to him accidentally knocked a cup of hot tea over his
clothes. Even then, he calmly accepted the civilian’s apology.

“Sir,” Shi Mei said to Chu Wanning, distressed. “I really need to go home and change. I can debrief
our sect leader.”

“Of course,” Chu Wanning said. “Please take care.” He watched Shi Mei make his way through
the crowd and wondered if he could employ the same technique to get out of watching the play.
Cheers rippled out around him as he was looking around for someone with a full cup of tea, and he
glanced up at the stage. Orange cloth rippled over the stage to represent fire, and Chu Wanning
sighed.

Xue Meng could light an actual fire, Chu Wanning thought, and no one would have to look at this
fake nonsense. Mo Ran, however, was enthralled, eyes soft and smile bright. He leaned closer.

“I used to go to the theater when I was little,” he explained to Chu Wanning. “But I was always
chased out before the show ended. This is the first time I’ve actually been able to see the whole
thing. Do you like it, sir?”

“It’s not bad,” Chu Wanning said, unable to crush his disciple’s spirit.
Mo Ran rewarded him with another brilliant smile. A faint chant came from the stage as the scene
changed again, and Mo Ran turned to look. “It’s nearly over,” he said. “We can go.”

“Oh, we could stay,” Chu Wanning said. “For at least a little longer.”

With a pleasantly surprised face, Mo Ran shifted closer. “Okay,” he said.

As the performances continued, the villagers got drunker and rowdier. Chu Wanning was shoved
back and forth by civilians who had forgotten he was due the honor of high station, but before he
could grow annoyed, a pair of warm hands landed on his shoulders. Mo Ran moved so that his tall
and broad body protected Chu Wanning from the buffeting of the crowd. The sounds around him
faded away, Chu Wanning aware only of Mo Ran, and his ears began to burn.

Lust washed over Chu Wanning, and he wanted to join in with the crowd’s clapping to hide his
reaction. He couldn’t move, pressed up against Mo Ran as he was. He leaned into Mo Ran instead,
who embraced him more tightly before kissing him on the ear. Fire shot through Chu Wanning,
and he almost missed Mo Ran’s words.

“I know you don’t like this,” Mo Ran was saying. “But thank you for staying with me.”

“You’re reading too much into it,” Chu Wanning told him. Mo Ran laughed softly and hugged him
tighter. “Why,” Chu Wanning started to ask, but the clamor around them drowned out his words
and Mo Ran didn’t hear the question. He grew upset, not wanting to repeat himself when it had
been so difficult to ask the first time.

“I was always in love with you,” Mo Ran said. Chu Wanning’s heart began to race. “It was dumb
of me not to see it, and I’m sorry I made you wait so long.”

Fireworks filled Chu Wanning’s eyes, and his ears buzzed with static. His head spun until he didn’t
know if his feet were on the ground or in the clouds, and only the person behind him was real. The
colorless wind had become the warmth of Mo Ran’s burning breath, and all Chu Wanning had ever
wanted was to hear the person he loved give him a simple affirmation. He was so immersed in the
fierce surging of his emotion that he didn’t notice when he lost his five senses.

The whole bit where they read each other’s intentions instead of clearly communicating and
it’s presented as Proof Of True Love is one of the worst relationship tropes, it is bad, and
finding it romantic should make you feel bad; the bit where the author perpetuating the idea
that one can only Truly Love a single person ever in a whole-ass lifetime and a relationship is
Failed if it ends before someone dies is almost as nauseating

------

Chu Wanning came to in the forest, lips locked with Mo Ran’s. They were both breathing hot and
fast, thirsty for each other, lips and teeth clattering against each other so hard they even bled a little.
The rough wood of a tree pressed against Chu Wanning’s back, and all he could really hear was
Mo Ran’s breathing. Mo Ran’s lips and tongue were moist and rough, and Chu Wanning’s desire
was like a beast in his heart.

Full of ambition, Chu Wanning was nonetheless lacking in skill, and he accidentally bit the tip of
his tongue so hard that his mouth filled with sweet, fishy blood. His face got redder and redder, and
Mo Ran started laughing with tender affection. Chu Wanning’s formerly cold, hard heart had
melted into golden sparkling spring water.

Mo Ran broke the kiss, a string of lustful, sloppy saliva stretching between their mouths. Wet red
lips were below tender, lusty eyes, and Mo Ran brushed his fingers against Chu Wanning’s cheeks.
Chu Wanning wasn’t about to admit that he didn’t know what he was doing. “Why are you
laughing?” he asked angrily.

Mo Ran’s smile deepened, which only annoyed Chu Wanning further. Instead of answering, Mo
Ran embraced him again, more intimate than the embrace between a man and a woman. “How
could you do anything wrong?” he asked. “Everything you do is right.”

“And yet you laugh at me,” Chu Wanning said petulantly.

Laughing harder, Mo Ran felt his heart soften with tenderness. “That’s not all I did,” he said.

Not until Mo Ran pressed their hips together did Chu Wanning understand the double entendre. He
began to see how aggressive and violent his seemingly gentle disciple really was, and he started to
move away. Before he could so much as twitch, Mo Ran claimed his mouth and rubbed against
him. Chu Wanning found himself overwhelmed with the unfamiliar powerless sense of lust.

Eventually, the two of them made their way home, parting ways in front of the Red Lotus Pavilion.
Mo Ran had begged to be able to stay the night, but Chu Wanning had used his last bit of clarity to
refuse. He didn’t know why he’d said no, but he felt uneasy going too fast. He pushed open the
door, understanding for the first time what it meant to be afraid to look at someone else; if he saw
Mo Ran now, he would forget his resolution and succumb to his filthy passion.

With Mo Ran far enough away, Chu Wanning’s rationality began to assert itself. He couldn’t
understand how he had fallen so far, how he could have lost his composure so thoroughly. He had
no idea what to do, but he’d found answers to many previous problems in books. He thought about
the many scrolls he had read, finding none of them held the answers he sought.

Without being told, Mo Ran understood Chu Wanning’s confusion and anxiety. He always knew
when to back off, but their intimacy had grown beyond the simple holding of hands. Master and
disciple made out furiously in the alleyway behind Mengpo Hall and in the deserted forests around
Sisheng Peak. Mo Ran spoke very few words, but his eyes were full of sweet feelings. He knew he
couldn’t verbally express himself properly, but Chu Wanning would be able to look into his eyes
and read his intent. Chu Wanning found himself slotting into Mo Ran’s life as if they had known
each other for many years.

The two almost-lovers found themselves spending more and more time pressed against each other.
Chu Wanning’s mental fortitude was on par with the greatest of cultivators, allowing him to resist
further temptation, but Mo Ran had not had his level of training. His young hormones drove his
dick erect every time he and Chu Wanning touched, and he was afraid it would be noticed by
others. He also found it painful, never achieving release.

A day came where the spot they had chosen for their canoodling was supposed to host a gathering
of the elders, and eventually, Chu Wanning felt it was time to go. Mo Ran disagreed, but rather
than use his words, he refused to stop kissing Chu Wanning. He sat on his lap, leaning down,
kisses wet and sodden. Chu Wanning’s heavy breathing made him even more excited, setting his
heart and other things on fire.

Chu Wanning was equally distressed, wanting to escape, but his legs refused to obey his
commands. Mo Ran felt his whole body tingling, and Chu Wanning wondered what it would be
like if they disrobed. He couldn’t come with just kissing, though, and Mo Ran finally let him go.
He gasped, and took Mo Ran back in his arms.

Mo Ran knew his teacher was so good, the best, better than anyone else. Chu Wanning was
uncomfortably aroused, and he could feel that Mo Ran was no better off. Mo Ran groaned. “Sir,”
he said. “I can’t take it anymore.”

Chu Wanning almost told him he didn’t know what Mo Ran expected him to do about it, but then
he remembered his wet dreams. “Not here,” he whispered erotically.

Mo Ran kissed him hard, lifting him off his feet despite sitting on his lap. Chu Wanning, incensed,
pounded on his shoulder. “Put me down, you beast.”

“Where do you want to go?” Mo Ran asked, setting him down.

Before Chu Wanning could reply, the entirely predictable sight of someone approaching their tryst
registered. A wind lamp swayed in the person’s hand and his clothes fluttered in the wind. He
came closer, peering at them. “What are you two doing here?”

------

The familiar voice put the wild and handsome face into perspective, and Chu Wanning recognized
Xue Meng. Speechless, he had no idea how much Xue Meng had seen. Before he could answer,
Mo Ran spoke.

“I had something to discuss with our teacher,” he said.

With narrowed eyes, Xue Meng stared at them both. He’d heard low moans in the forest, and had
thought to catch a couple of young disciples perpetrating amoral acts. Sisheng Peak – along with
seven of the other great sects – wasn’t forbidden from dual cultivation, and Sisheng Peak’s
directive to abstain from lust simply meant not to frequent brothels or flout the rules of nature.

Being Chu Wanning’s disciple, however, meant that Xue Meng had internalized his teacher’s
attitudes. As Chu Wanning had eschewed the art of love, Xue Meng had concluded that those who
indulged were trash. He had been furious that the back of the mountain, where the barrier to the
ghost realm was so easy to break, was being used at a rendezvous point. He hadn’t expected to find
his teacher and teammate.

With no break in the barrier to repair, Xue Meng could not fathom why the two of them would be
in such a deserted place. If it had been literally anyone else, he would have derided their obviously
inappropriate behavior. That they were both men made it worse, although not by much. That they
were master and disciple would have driven him into a fury and led to a demand for immediate
expulsion from the sect.

Given the identities of the people in question, Xue Meng could only cast around for another
possible explanation – any explanation. He couldn’t reconcile his teacher with chaotic, irregular
conduct, and he just stared at both of them in a daze. Chu Wanning opened his mouth to explain,
but Mo Ran beat him to it.

“I found an osmanthus cake here,” Mo Ran said, the lie so blatant Chu Wanning couldn’t believe
Xue Meng believed it. “It was a candy year cake,” Mo Ran added thoughtfully.

“A what?” Xue Meng asked.

“It’s a cake that’s been cultivated to perfection, ten inches tall with a lotus leaf on its head and a tail
with a blue lamp at its tip.”

“I have never seen this monster in any guide,” Xue Meng said flatly.
“Me either,” Mo Ran laughed. “But I thought maybe some extinct beasts showed up after Rufeng
Sect’s Demon Suppressing Pagoda was destroyed. So I brought our teacher here to see if we could
find them.”

“Ah,” Xue Meng said, feeling relieved. He looked around. “Did you find it?”

“No,” Mo Ran said, Chu Wanning replying with the same thing almost simultaneously. “He
probably thought our teacher would eat him and is hiding,” Mo Ran added.

“Don’t you have some scrolls to copy?” Chu Wanning asked acidly.

Further relief washed over Xue Meng, now that he knew that Chu Wanning was still the coldest
vat of holy water who could not touch or be touched. He was distracted by Mo Ran innocently
asking what he was doing there. “I’m looking for the damn cat,” Xue Meng said.

“The new one? Orange? Only eats fish?”

“Yes,” Xue Meng sighed. “I will never know how a cat that fat can run so fast. I have no idea
where he went.” His eyes widened. “Oh, no, do you think the demon will eat him?”

“Oh,” Mo Ran said, stifling a smile. “No, he’s so small that I’d be more worried about the cat
eating him.”

“He is a very large cat,” Xue Meng agreed.

“I’ll give you a hand looking,” Chu Wanning said. “It’s dangerous back here.”

“I couldn’t possibly trouble you, sir,” Xue Meng said earnestly.

“No worries,” Chu Wanning said. “I have some time before the meeting at Loyalty Hall starts. Mo
Ran and I will help you look.”

Convinced that Chu Wanning was able to turn his desire off like a switch, Mo Ran glared. Being
asked to search for a cat only made things worse, and Xue Meng caught sight of his distraught
expression. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked.

“I’m feeling a little under the weather,” Mo Ran said. “You two go ahead. I’ll catch up.”

Suddenly seeing Mo Ran’s black and gold outfit and comparing it to his own loose robes, Chu
Wanning understood that Mo Ran didn’t want Xue Meng to see his stiffie. He blushed in the dark
without saying anything. He mentally resolved not to spend any more time alone with his student.

While Chu Wanning was busy avoiding his disciple, the rest of the cultivation world was abuzz.
They had narrowly escaped even worse carnage with Nangong Xu dying when he had, they felt,
and eventually turned to the Tianyin Pavilion. An organization independent of the ten great sects,
Tianyin Pavilion specialized in investigations. However, they had been unable to figure out any of
Nangong Xu’s plans.

of course, because anything worth doing is only ever done by chu wanning

After a month’s worth of fruitless investigations, Li Wuxin called a summit at the Spiritual
Mountain. The last gathering had been at the competition, but it had been drastically different.
Now, the seats belonging to Rufeng Sect were empty, and Huohuang Pavilion was only sparsely
populated. Their newly appointed sect leader was too young for his job, and Wubei Temple lorded
it over all.
Recalling the scene of the previous visit and its harmonious atmosphere, Xue Zhengyong felt
unsettled and lamented the loss. Jiang Xi, promoted to the position of First Sect Leader, would be
investigating Nangong Xu. He was utterly different from Nangong Liu, eschewing hollow courtesy
and speaking briefly and bluntly rather than use Nangong Liu’s rivers of praise. When offered the
position, he had simply answered, “Of course.”

Rich, arrogant, and bad-tempered, Sect Leader Jiang was as thick-skinned as they came, Xue
Zhengyong knew. He remembered Jiang Xi never going to the Spiritual Mountain Competition
after Nangong Liu had been promoted. He glanced at Chu Wanning, reminding him of the fact as
well.

“He’s proud and arrogant,” Chu Wanning said. “He doesn’t want to see trash promoted above
him.”

“You say that like I’m any different,” Xue Zhengyong complained.

“You’re patient enough to endure,” Chu Wanning told him.

Their conversation was interrupted by one of Lonemoon’s attendants, saluting them before
handing over a brocade case. He pointed to his ears and mouth in response to Xue Zhengyong’s
question, and Sisheng Peak’s leader realized the man was deaf and mute. Chu Wanning saw the
silver snake-shaped collar around his neck, and correctly identified the disciple as a member of the
Cold Scale Sacred Hand.

The attendant saw Chu Wanning looking at his collar and nodded, bowing respectfully. He held
out the brocade box again, raising it above his head. It held an exquisite snake-shaped emblem,
and Xue Zhengyong regarded it consideringly. “His division leader should be here,” he said.

The two cultivators looked over to see that Hua Binan, the greatest Grandmaster of the medical
sect, was wearing a straw hat and silently gazing in their direction.

------

A trace of a smile was in Hua Binan’s eyes as he gestured toward the box in front of Chu Wanning
with a pale hand. Chu Wanning nodded to him and thanked the deaf-mute servant, who bowed and
returned to his master. Xue Zhengyong glanced at his cultivator in surprise.

“You’re acquainted with the Cold Scale Sacred Hand?”

“No,” Chu Wanning said, looking at the box.

“So what’s this for, then?”

“No idea.” Chu Wanning eyed it. “Let’s open it and find out.”

The box contained five neatly packed bottles of Tapir Fragrance Dew and a letter; it stated simply
that as Grandmaster Chu had spent exorbitant amounts of money on the dew at Xuanyuan
Pavilion’s auction, the sect wished to make restitution by providing a gift, and that Hua Binan
hoped only that the Constellation Saint would accept his gesture.

“He’s trying to cultivate a relationship,” said Xue Zhengyong.

Trapped into accepting the gift so as not to disrespect Hua Binan, Chu Wanning thanked him with
a node and passed the box to Xue Zhengyong.
“For me?” Xue Zhengyong said eagerly.

“Elder Tanlang,” Chu Wanning said, and looked across the room surreptitiously. “I always felt
Hua Binan was odd. All the high value items auctioned off at the pavilion, and now he’s just
handing them out?”

“It’s not that weird,” Xue Zhengyong said defensively. “They always fetched such high prices that
for him to want to balance the scales seems fine. You’re the only one making it seem ridiculous.”

“It might not seem strange on the surface,” Chu Wanning said, annoyed. “But you should
definitely let Elder Tanlang have all five bottles. They’re probably not poisoned, but it couldn’t
hurt to have him figure out how to make it.”

“You don’t need it?”

He really didn’t, Chu Wanning realized; most of his nightmares had abated. Aside from the
occasional dream of the massacre at Rufeng Sect, he generally had pleasant dreams. It would be
wasteful to continue to drink the expensive dew, Chu Wanning felt.

The summit at Spiritual Mountain lasted a few more days, and Chu Wanning was looking forward
to seeing Mo Ran when he returned to Sisheng Peak. However, when he arrived, his disciple had
gone out to exterminate fiends, and Chu Wanning frowned.

“Don’t shoot the messenger,” Xue Meng said. “They’re from Rufeng Sect’s Golden Drum Tower.”
He sighed. “I’ve put a lot into our Heaven-Piercing Tower, but I don’t know how many more it can
hold. Our talismans aren’t as powerful as the ones at Rufeng Sect were.”

“That’s nineteen this month,” Chu Wanning said.

“We’ll pass some off to Li Wuxin the next time he’s here,” Xue Zhengyong interrupted. “He can
hold them at Bitan Manor’s Holy Spirit Tower.”

“That’s not a bad thought,” Xue Meng said.

“Lonemoon can hold some, too,” Xue Zhengyong said. “Their Star Plucking Tower is larger than
Rufeng Sect’s demonic prison.”

“Oh, no,” Xue Meng said. “I’m not giving that asshole Jiang Gou any of the demons I’ve worked
hard to capture.”

Figuring the Xue parent-child duo could work out their issues on their own, Chu Wanning adroitly
made his escape. He slept dreamlessly, waking to find the sun setting and the sky reddened like
blood. Mengpo Hall had closed, so Chu Wanning got dressed to leave for Wuchang Town for
snacks instead. As he had hoped but not expected, he found Mo Ran approaching the Red Lotus
Pavilion.

“Sir, Uncle Xue said you were resting,” Mo Ran said with a smile. “I came to get you.”

“Is something wrong?”

“No, sir, I just wanted to see you.”

In his heart, Chu Wanning felt that even the slightest bit of joy was worth it. He smiled at Mo Ran
internally, keeping his expression cool. “Was there somewhere you wanted to go?”
“Everywhere,” Mo Ran said with a grin.

The happiness inside Chu Wanning spread to the tips of his fingers, and he struggled not to let it
show on his face. “We should go into town,” he said indifferently. “We could get dinner.”

The relationship the two of them shared transcended words; Chu Wanning didn’t need to let Mo
Ran know how happy he made him, ask how he was doing, or even ask if his missions had gone
well. They were above such crude banalities, understanding each other with nothing more than the
merest of effortless glances.

ah, the lazy asshole fantasy of the relationship that requires no work, can I roll my eyes any
harder

Wuchang Town’s condition had been slowly improving before Chu Wanning had died, and in the
five years since the trend had continued. It had even developed new streets, and Chu Wanning
looked around at the bustling nightlife. “When I first arrived at Sisheng Peak,” he said, “no one
dared walk abroad after dark, and wards against evil hung on every corner.” He smiled slightly.
“Almost the only thing I recognize now is the name of the town.”

Mo Ran laughed delightedly. “It’s all thanks to your efforts and Sisheng Peak’s prowess, sir.”

The greenstone main street had been rebuilt, and Chu Wanning looked at the rows of stalls with
interest. Barbecued street food, candy, and hotpot were only some of the offerings, and children
darted back and forth. Myriad lights illuminated the night market, and Mo Ran’s eye alit upon the
hot pot stall. He recalled eating there with Xue Meng and Terri Fying, and pulled Chu Wanning
toward it.

“Here, sir,” he said. “It has your favorite soy milk.”

The bamboo chairs outside were squeaky and the air was cold, but the kitchen inside was hot. The
head chef himself came to take their orders; Chu Wanning asked for mandarin duck. When Mo
Ran asked for the clear mushroom soup, Chu Wanning looked at him in surprise. “I thought you
would order something spicy,” he said.

“I’ve given up pepper,” Mo Ran said, voice gentle and slow.

It took a moment before Chu Wanning understood why, and warmth bubbled through his chest.
“You don’t have to,” he said, throat thick with emotion.

“I want to,” Mo Ran told him, with a gentle smile. “I like mild food.” His thick eyelashes fluttered
against his red ears, and he did not finish what he really wanted to say – that it was too lonely to eat
from separate dishes.

The stall didn’t offer desserts, but Mo Ran ordered three jars of soy milk and watched the crowds
of diners. Men and women, old and young, black hair and gray, all gathered around steaming
dishes. He saw laughter and shouting, some arguments, a sea of gentle humanity spread across the
fragrance of vegetables and wine. Mo Ran thought how lively it was, and remembered that he had
been shut out of this comfort until he had turned fifteen and been taken to Sisheng Peak.

After becoming emperor, he remembered having no peace, and he wouldn’t have traded the scene
before him for any of his former glory. A flame rose in the air, and Mo Ran watched the spectacle
of the talented chefs creating beautiful, delicious dishes. The Evil Overlord had never appreciated
this type of thing, but Mo Ran was entranced.
“What are you smiling at?” Chu Wanning asked.

“I’m just happy,” Mo Ran said, his charming smile brightening Chu Wanning’s heart.

The sky overhead was overcast, as if it were about to rain, but the crowd didn’t seem to notice. The
two cultivators walked down the street, and Mo Ran paused at a lantern shop. The old craftsman
inside was putting together a pagoda lantern, meant to float down a river.

“Please sell me the lamp,” Chu Wanning said, raising his voice slightly, and paid with a gold coin.
He did not inquire as to the price or accept change, turning to Mo Ran. “Take it,” he said.

“For me?” Mo Ran was pleasantly surprised. Chu Wanning looked around, not deigning to answer,
and walked toward the riverbank. The lights sparkled resplendently around them. “I wanted one of
these every year, but I’ve never been able to afford them,” Mo Ran said softly, taking the lamp
with both hands.

“You were poor,” Chu Wanning said.

Mo Ran leaned against the bridge, hands tucked under his armpits, and watched Chu Wanning lift
his red-tasseled wine jug to take a sip. The red lights of the lanterns fell across his porcelain face,
smooth and indifferent, but he couldn’t conceal the heat in his gaze. Mo Ran shook his head
internally, amused at his teacher’s futile attempts to dissemble.

Finally, Mo Ran placed the lantern he had been holding on the surface of the river. It reflected red
onto the surface of the water as Mo Ran gently pushed it away, its stubborn but dim glow the only
light traversing the stream. Mo Ran watched it until it disappeared, face inscrutable, thinking about
the end as the rain started to fall.

Fat droplets spattered over duckweed and river mud, sending the merchants scurrying to cover their
wares and the diners scattering for cover. Chu Wanning stood under the bridge, not moving,
getting wetter by the second. Mo Ran hurried toward him, face and clothes soaked, and gave him a
reproachful look. “Use a barrier to dry yourself, sir,” he prompted.

“Yes, yes,” Chu Wanning said.

Poor weather didn’t make it difficult for cultivators to travel, particularly not when as skilled as Mo
Ran and Chu Wanning, but neither of them generated a barrier. They stood side by side under the
bridge, waiting for the rain to stop. The rain kept falling, heavy with mist, and the night market
dissipated. After a while, Mo Ran glanced up and down the wet street. “It’s not stopping,” he said.

“It is not,” Chu Wanning answered.

“What should we do?” Mo Ran asked, eyes sparkling. “Clearly, we cannot travel in this weather.”

The correct answer, Chu Wanning knew, would be to remind him that as a cultivator, Mo Ran was
perfectly capable of generating a barrier. Instead, he simply watched the night rain. His palms were
hot and sweaty and his heart palpitating with anticipation of something he couldn’t identify.

“Sir, I want to go with you,” Mo Ran said, and grabbed his hands.

Chu Wanning couldn’t answer. His dark eyes were wet and hot, and he found Mo Ran’s voice
obscure yet seductive. His heart pounded harder.

“It’s raining so hard,” Mo Ran continued. “Sir, you’ll catch cold if we travel in this.”
“I’m not cold,” Chu Wanning said instantly.

“Hot?” Mo Ran asked.

“No,” Chu Wanning said.

Breathing heavily, Mo Ran pressed Chu Wanning’s hand against his chest. “I’m hot,” he said, with
the rain beating against the duckweed in the background. Chu Wanning found him fretfully cute.

“We should go to the nearest inn,” he said hoarsely. “Now.”

------

Chu Wanning’s heart tightened, and he wondered why there was so much rain, why so much cold
and heat, why Mo Ran had used this lame excuse to bring him to a hotel. Even he was not so naïve
as to misunderstand Mo Ran’s intent, and he did not know how to answer. He did know that Mo
Ran would instinctively understand acquiescence or refusal, without Chu Wanning having to make
so much as a gesture.

His face burned even in the pouring rain, and he tried to bury his face in his nearly empty wine
flask. The last trace of cold pear blossom white went down his throat, and the red tassels made his
fingers seem even more skinny and pale. Mo Ran understood what he really wanted, and gently
kissed his lips, the two of them sharing the taste of osmanthus flowers.

Mo Ran hadn’t drunk pear blossom white since Chu Wanning had died and he had spent the
following night drunk on the roof. The taste of wine had reminded him too much of the death of his
teacher. Now, he licked it off Chu Wanning’s cool lips. No one was around to watch them in the
pouring rain, and the deafening sound drowned out everything else.

In contrast to the icy raindrops, Mo Ran’s kiss was very hot. He went from Chu Wanning’s lips to
his nose and eyes, forehead and temples, rough tongue licking Chu Wanning’s ears. Chu Wanning
held himself rigid, unwilling to succumb to the overstimulation, but he trembled in Mo Ran’s arms.
Mo Ran crushed him against his broad chest. “Sir,” he mumbled. “Come with me.”

Thinking he was perhaps possessed by an evil spirit, Chu Wanning let Mo Ran tug him eagerly
through the rain. It soaked them, neither of them opening an umbrella or generating a barrier, and
they followed the swaying of red lanterns to the door of an inn. They startled the attendant by
bursting through the door as if pursued, hands clasped tightly together, and Mo Ran demanded
lodging.

“Keys to our best rooms,” the attendant said, flustered.

“No,” Mo Ran said anxiously, knocking his hand against the table. “We only need one.”

The attendant was shocked, looking between the two of them. Chu Wanning abruptly turned his
face away, tugging his hand out of Mo Ran’s. “Two,” he said coldly.

“If the honored gentlemen are concerned about the cost,” the attendant said hesitantly, “I can
certainly prepare a single room.”

“Two,” Chu Wanning said forcefully, glaring angrily at the attendant. The poor man had no idea
what he had said to get on the cultivator’s bad side, but he handed over two sets of keys and
accepted payment. Chu Wanning lifted his chin, but his attempt to project cold indifference was
undermined by his dripping hair and clothes. Instead, he just looked cold.
“Get me some ginger tea towels,” he ordered Mo Ran, and stalked up the stairs alone. Mo Ran
stifled a sigh, feeling that he should have known better than to project even the slightest hint of
impropriety.

Inside the room, Chu Wanning looked at the narrow bed. He stood dripping on the floor, not sure
of what to do. The situation was so sudden and ridiculous that it had caught him off guard, and he
flinched when the door behind him opened. Mo Ran walked in, making Chu Wanning feel for the
first time as if someone else was in charge of his life.

Mo Ran bolted the door shut, making Chu Wanning’s hair stand on end. He felt the urge to flee,
but masterfully controlled himself, and Mo Ran spoke gently and with restraint. “Why didn’t you
light a candle?” he asked.

“I forgot,” Chu Wanning lied.

Mo Ran set a tray on the table. “Drink the tea while it’s hot,” he said, and went to light a candle by
the window. He stood in front of it, looking out at the lights in other buildings, and Chu Wanning
couldn’t help but look at his silhouette framed by white curtains from behind. His eyes looked like
two black butterflies, Chu Wanning thought, gazing at them.

“Don’t light the lamp,” Chu Wanning said. Mo Ran stilled, and looked over his shoulder. “Don’t
light it,” Chu Wanning repeated.

Dazed, Mo Ran realized that the Constellation of the Night Sky was actually nervous. Because he
was inexperienced, Mo Ran’s brain supplied, and he thought about how everyone else he had ever
slept with had insisted on keeping the lights on. He didn’t miss their hungry eyes staring at him,
reminding him that no one he slept with was Shi Mei. After a while it had been boring, to fuck
people he didn’t care about, but he hadn’t been able to stop.

Only abusing Chu Wanning had given him any sense of fulfillment, fucking him until he screamed
for mercy. He had defiled his former teacher in the snow, in the hot springs, even in the high seats
of the imperial court or in the ancestral halls of countless temples. Nowhere had been sacred. Chu
Wanning in that life had yearned for the darkness, but had never asked for it.

Remembering his past, Mo Ran froze. He was still for so long that Chu Wanning asked what was
wrong, and when Mo Ran said that nothing was, he walked over and hugged him gently.
“Wanning,” Mo Ran murmured.

For a moment, Mo Ran was tempted to spill the beans about his past, but his throat was too choked
to speak. He couldn’t fathom ever being able to feel such warmth, and he wanted to savor it
forever. He kissed Chu Wanning in the dark, even the sound of the rain unable to disturb their
silence.

As they explored every inch of each other, Chu Wanning began to see odd flashes in the darkness.
He saw Loyalty Hall in Sisheng Peak, with Mo Ran sitting on the grand throne and himself
kneeling naked and ashamed on the floor in front of him. He saw Mo Ran violate him and the Chu
Wanning in his vision screamed in pain. Chu Wanning watched the hallucination of Mo Ran
violate his illusory self, over his protests, until the sight finally grew too blurry to see.

Instead of an image, Chu Wanning began to hear the sound of Mo Ran taunting his illusory self,
demanding he stop biting his tongue. He repeated to himself that it was an illusion and that the real
Mo Ran would never do such a thing. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he had experienced those
things, but in the present, the Mo Ran making love to him was becoming needier. Chu Wanning
suppressed his misgivings and allowed Mo Ran to have his way with him. To his surprise, Mo Ran
spent all of his energy on Chu Wanning’s needs until he felt the sweet release overtake him.

“I love you,” Mo Ran said with the aura of a wild beast when he had finished, still full of selfish
passion and desire.

------

The room was very quiet, except for the sounds of gasping breath and beating hearts, permeated
with a sweet, fishy smell. Mo Ran shifted to hug Chu Wanning from behind, both of their bodies
sticky with sweat and other fluids. Their skin stuck together, and Chu Wanning was dizzy with
what he had just enthusiastically done. He looked down to see Mo Ran’s dick still hard.

“Um,” he said.

“Oh, I’ll just wait until you fall asleep, and then I’ll shower,” Mo Ran assured him.

“But it must be uncomfortable,” Chu Wanning said. “I shall help you with it.”

“But there’s no need!” Mo Ran said hastily, and Chu Wanning wondered if perhaps Mo Ran felt
that Chu Wanning would be bad in bed and that was the reason for his refusal.

“If that’s how you feel,” he said, but he couldn’t stop his emotions from coloring his voice.

How, Mo Ran thought, did his teacher not understand that he wanted the night to last forever, that
he wanted to know every inch of his body and merge with his spirit. He wanted to see Chu
Wanning cry in shame and humiliation, wanted to see his teacher’s body forever marked by him.
And yet, Chu Wanning had somehow misunderstood Mo Ran’s rejection of him as a rejection. Mo
Ran kissed his forehead. “How do you think I feel?” he said softly. “Of course I want you. Idiot.
Sir.”

“Don’t call me an idiot,” Chu Wanning said indignantly. Mo Ran caught his hand and kissed his
palm, and despite his irritation at the name-calling, Chu Wanning was thrilled to realize that Mo
Ran was starting all over again. He vowed to himself, he would not flinch when Mo Ran wanted to
enter him. This time, after they had both found their pleasure, Chu Wanning fell straight into sleep.

The daylight shining through a crack in the window woke Chu Wanning the next morning, and he
heard the sound of the heavy rain still falling. His head ached, and his memories of the night before
were fragmented at first. It took a few moments for the events to come rushing back, and he
flushed. Mo Ran was clinging to him tightly from behind, still sound asleep, their skin stuck
together.

Awkwardly, Chu Wanning waited for his disciple to wake. He couldn’t tell how much time was
passing, with the indistinct light from the overcast sky, and eventually he waited so long that he no
longer felt awkward. He turned over to look at Mo Ran’s extremely handsome face, and stared at it
for a long time. Finally, he took the initiative to kiss Mo Ran for the first time before extricating
himself and getting dressed.

Still spattered underneath with the fluids of the night before, Chu Wanning tried to smooth out the
wrinkles on his clothes to no avail. Maybe no one will notice, he thought, and then someone
hugged him from behind. Mo Ran had woken without his noticing, and leaned in to kiss his ears.

“Sir,” Mo Ran murmured, and then didn’t know what to say to Chu Wanning for the first time in
his life. He felt as embarrassed as a newlywed. “Good morning,” he finally said lamely.

“It’s afternoon,” Chu Wanning said coldly, continuing to dress.

Mo Ran reached out to help arrange the pendant around Chu Wanning’s neck. “It has to touch your
skin to ward off the cold,” he said.

Chu Wanning turned to look at him, seeing the matching pendant around Mo Ran’s neck for the
first time. “You said there was only one left when you gave me this one,” he complained. “Why
would-“ he broke off suddenly at the sight of Mo Ran’s soft smile, understanding his disciple’s
selfish desire to have something shared just by the two of them. “We should go home,” he said.
“Someone might see us and start talking.”

“I hear and obey, sir,” Mo Ran said, then leaned over to kiss Chu Wanning on the lips. “You’re so
nice, sir,” he added, and Chu Wanning loved to hear it.

When they reached the gates of Sisheng Peak, Chu Wanning still felt as though he were walking
on air. He couldn’t believe that someone as perfect as Mo Ran was interested in him, but Mo Ran
kept looking at him with warm little smiles. He found himself staring at his disciple, jolted out of
his thoughts by Mo Ran unexpectedly tugging him in a different direction.

“Sir,” Mo Ran was saying. “I know the Red Lotus Pavilion is that way, but Mengpo Hall is over
here and I’m hungry.”

Sitting opposite Mo Ran in the middle of the crowds in Mengpo Hall, still sticky with the evidence
of the previous night, was exquisite torture. The disciples who had bet on their behavior before
were perplexed, as the two of them simply sat staring at their food instead of looking at each other.
They watched, gossiping about the possibility of a fight between master and disciple, until
someone expressed the thought that the Constellation Saint seemed a bit off.

“It’s his clothes,” said one of the nameless disciples. “They’re wrinkled.”

The new revelation set the disciples abuzz for another few moments, until the crowd finally
decided that Chu Wanning must have spent the night repairing small breaches in the barrier and
suppressing ghosts. None of them had ever considered him to be as human as anyone else, a
creature of passion and desire, as he had spent his entire life loudly decrying such behavior. In this
way, Chu Wanning achieved script immunity.

Later, when Mo Ran and Chu Wanning announced their relationship to the entire world, many of
those who had revered him would be disappointed. They would feel as if their gods had forsaken
them, filled with anger and disgust. But they would have forgotten that placing a man on a
pedestal, forcing him to conform to expectations for which he bore no responsibility, was a cruel
thing.

One, this is trying Very Hard to have pathos and failing utterly. Two, it is clumsy
foreshadowing.

------

After their tryst in the inn, Chu Wanning and Mo Ran had no chances to meet in private. The rain
continued to pour down and the river flooded; dead fish and shrimp floated to shore and vicious
aquatic beasts began to surface. Both Mo Ran and Chu Wanning were often sent out to manage the
demons, always separately. Three Gorges Port and Yizhou were both troubled by fiends released
from the Golden Drum Tower.

Shu wasn’t the only area so afflicted; many areas of the upper cultivation world, traditionally
thought safe for civilians, came under attack by demon beasts. Energy that would have been spent
investigating Nangong Xu had to be used to suppress the demons instead. Once peaceful areas
were filled with the dead and partially eaten remains of civilians.

Mo Ran spent four days subduing the demons in Yizhou, returning to Sisheng Peak to hear that
Chu Wanning had returned and was in the Red Lotus Pavilion. He went to visit, finding the door
shut tight. He went to Xue Zhengyong for an explanation, only to be told that his teacher had gone
into seclusion. “Again?” Mo Ran asked.

“Didn’t he tell you?” Xue Zhengyong said.

“Is he injured?”

“It’s the same thing he does every seven years,” Xue Zhengyong said. “Because of his cultivation
method. You were there last time, remember?”

Mo Ran had completely forgotten; the last time this had happened, Chu Wanning had only been his
teacher for six months. In the ten days prior to his seclusion, Chu Wanning’s cultivation level had
dropped to civilian levels, and he had needed to meditate in seclusion to recover. It had been during
this time of seclusion that Mo Ran had plucked Madam Wang’s precious flower and been
castigated for it.

Thinking back on the memory, Mo Ran felt uneasy. “I should go see him,” he said.

“No,” Xue Zhengyong said. “He asked Xue Meng to check in on him for the first three days, then
Shi Mei for the next three, and then for you to keep an eye on him for the last four. Just like last
time.”

“I just want to see him,” Mo Ran mumbled.

Xue Zhengyong laughed. “There’s nothing to see,” he said. “Don’t worry about it. Besides, if you
and Meng get into an argument, it’ll only disturb him.”

Mo Ran couldn’t sleep that night. He kept thinking of Xue Meng alone in the Red Lotus Pavilion
with Chu Wanning, and jealousy ate at his heart. He knew that Xue Meng was so pure as to have
no interest in men, but he couldn’t help it. He finally dropped off shortly before dawn, waking
again after only a few hours, and felt that he absolutely had to see his teacher.

The door to the Red Lotus Pavilion was closed, and the strongest of barriers had been erected, but
Mo Ran knew that he could find his way in. He also knew that his teacher preferred to meditate in
a bamboo pavilion near the lotus pond; as he approached, he could see his teacher sitting quietly on
the ground, as expected. Xue Meng was next to him, standing in the winter sunlight. Mo Ran
watched as Xue Meng gently wiped the sweat off of Chu Wanning’s face with a fresh towel, and
then looked around as if he could feel Mo Ran’s eyes on him.

Heart in turmoil, Mo Ran was staring more intently than he had ever looked at anything in his life.
Xue Meng had been too slow to clean off their teacher’s sweat, he felt, and furthermore had been
looking at Chu Wanning in an inappropriate manner. Mo Ran scooted closer, getting more and
more annoyed. He had just concluded that he should leave before he made a fool of himself when
Xue Meng finally figured out he was there, and flung a Plum Blossom Dart at the unidentified
intruder.

The darts were easy to catch, but Mo Ran had to expose himself to do it. He stumbled into the
open, and Xue Meng’s eyes widened in recognition. “You!” he said.

“Quiet,” Mo Ran hissed, rushing up to him and shoving a hand over Xue Meng’s mouth.
It took Xue Meng several moments to remove Mo Ran’s very determined hand, and he was flushed
bright red by the time he pulled free. He straightened his disheveled hair and glared. “What are you
yelling at me for? You’re the one lurking around the bushes like a creeper.”

“I didn’t want you to disturb him,” Mo Ran said.

“He can’t hear us,” Xue Meng said impatiently. “He’s cast the Curse of Silence on himself. Until
he or someone else breaks it, he can’t hear anything.”

“He’s in a bubble of silence?” Mo Ran stared. “Then why did Uncle think I would disturb him?”

“You also needed rest,” Xue Meng said. “Our teacher cast this spell on himself to make it easier
for us to look after him, you idiot.” He stopped Mo Ran before he could sit in the pavilion. “Go
away.”

“Yeah, but I can help, too,” Mo Ran objected.

“Stop trying to steal my job,” Xue Meng protested. “I’m perfectly capable of it. I’ve done this
before.”

Unsure why Xue Meng was so irritated, Mo Ran hesitated. He saw a tea set on the table just as he
was about to leave, and noticed the familiar scent. “Is that the Cold Fragrant Snow tea from
Kunlun?”

“Oh, you can tell?” Xue Meng said, and Mo Ran barely managed to stop himself from rolling his
eyes. The tea was Xue Meng’s favorite, and he was always willing to share what he loved, but he
never stopped to consider whether or not what he was offering was suited to the recipient.

“It’s a cold tea,” Mo Ran said. “Our teacher’s already prone to cold, and this will just make it
worse.”

A blush crawled across Xue Meng’s face. “I didn’t think about it,” he said. “I Just know it’s good
tea.”

With a sigh, Mo Ran pointed Xue Meng toward the path. “Go get some fragrant rose tea and add
some honey. When he wakes up, you can add the boiling water. I’ll bring you snacks later.”

“He can’t have the snacks,” Xue Meng protested. “He has to fast.”

“Uncle said he could eat a little,” Mo Ran mumbled, and left the pavilion. “I’ll be back.”

Watching his back, Xue Meng was lost in thought. He glanced at Chu Wanning when Mo Ran was
out of sight, examining a faint bruise on Chu Wanning’s neck that he had happened to see the day
before. It didn’t look like an insect bite or a wound, and Xue Meng was mature and experienced
enough to be suspicious. He had heard suspicious sounds that night on the mountain, but no matter
how many times he had told himself it was the wind, he had grown more uncomfortable.

On the sixth day of Chu Wanning’s closed-door cultivation, Xue Meng made the decision to spy on
Mo Ran. His teammate ate dinner at Mengpo Hall and collected a box of snacks. Xue Meng hadn’t
expected him to go to Red Lotus Pavilion so quickly, and scrambled to catch up. He climbed over
the wall before entering the house under the shadow of the last vestiges of sunset.

Mo Ran’s shadowy figure approached the bamboo pavilion, following Shi Mei. Their teammate
didn’t seem to have noticed Mo Ran coming to relieve him, and he stopped in front of Chu
Wanning. Before Mo Ran could greet him, cold light flashed across Shi Mei’s hand. It was pointed
directly at Chu Wanning.

“Shi Mei!” Mo Ran called, horrified. He rushed forward, terrified that he wouldn’t be able to stop
Shi Mei in time, the vision of Chu Wanning’s corpse lying in state in this very place flashing
before his eyes. He hadn’t realized how much he hated the Red Lotus Pavilion until this very
moment.

“Mo Ran?” Shi Mei said, turning. The light faded into his sleeves. “What’s going on?”

Heart beating wildly and breath catching in his throat, Mo Ran pointed at Shi Mei’s hands. “You,”
he started. “You had, uh.” Shi Mei raised his hand to show a silver comb embedded with spirit
stones. “You’re combing his hair?”

Shi Mei frowned at him. “You’re making the worst face,” he said. “Did something happen?”

“No, I just, uh.” Mo Ran felt himself blush under Shi Mei’s considering stare. After a moment,
understanding seemed to cross his face, and his expression flattened.

“You couldn’t possibly have thought,” he said.

“Of course not,” Mo Ran interrupted. He knew Shi Mei was unerringly kind, treating them as
though they were family, and a pit opened in his stomach at how he had leapt to the worst
conclusion for no reason. “I didn’t,” he started, and fell silent.

“Ran,” Shi Mei sighed. “I didn’t say you did anything.” He clearly had figured out the
misunderstanding, Mo Ran thought, and felt even guiltier.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. He couldn’t remember Shi Mei ever getting upset with anyone, in either
lifetime, but Shi Mei just looked at him silently now. The wind blew the leaves across the surface
of the pond, and Shi Mei finally sighed.

“Ran, we’ve known each other for nearly ten years,” he said, softly and calmly. “How could you
think such a terrible thing of me?” His eyes resembled pools of cold spring water as he handed the
silver comb to Mo Ran. “He asked me to help him with his hair,” he added. “I’ll leave it up to
you.”

“Shi Mei,” Mo Ran started, but his beautiful former beloved had already walked past him. Shi Mei
walked away without turning back.

------

Shi Mei was the most important person in the world after Chu Wanning, even if Mo Ran had
realized that he wasn’t in love with his teammate. He appreciated how Shi Mei had treated him
well and cherished him, but the beautiful man in front of him seemed like a stranger. The lovely
stranger still acted like the Shi Mei of his memories, reaching out to comfort him, and it made Mo
Ran remember that – like himself – Shi Mei was an orphan.

The proud and arrogant Xue Meng was on good terms with Shi Mei, but Shi Mei always spoke to
him respectfully. The only person, Mo Ran thought, that Shi Mei could truly call a friend was Mo
Ran himself; this accusation would have felt even more like a betrayal. He turned the comb over
and over in his hands, staring at it guiltily.

Watching from his hiding place in the stand of bamboo, Xue Meng began to feel like an idiot. He
had seen an argument and nothing more. It was none of his business. In the end, however, he was
no more successful than Mo Ran had been at hiding from a teammate.
“Who’s there?” he called out.

Unwillingly, Xue Meng walked out. He wasn’t flustered, but he coughed lightly. Mo Ran stared at
him in shock, and slowly Xue Meng began to blush. “I just wanted to see our teacher,” he said, and
Mo Ran wondered if he’d been followed.

“Come sit with me,” he said, quickly adjusting his expression before Xue Meng noticed something
wrong. It must have worked, because Xue Meng made his way into the pavilion. “Tea or wine?”
Mo Ran asked.

“Tea,” Xue Meng said. “Drinking makes you drunk.”

Mo Ran lit up the stove, the flames illuminating his profile. He set the tea on the burner and sat
next to Xue Meng on the bamboo bench. As they waited, Xue Meng glanced at him seidways.

“Why did you come to relieve Shi Mei so early?” Xue Meng asked. “You weren’t supposed to be
here until midnight.”

“I had nothing better to do,” Mo Ran said with a smile. “Wouldn’t you have done the same?”

Thinking about it, Xue Meng realized that it was true. He looked consideringly at Mo Ran,
thinking about how he had changed after the battle below the heavenly rift. He was no longer the
arrogant youth he had been; instead, the disciple looking after Chu Wanning was a righteous man.
Xue Meng lowered his eyes and smiled silently.

“What?” Mo Ran asked.

“I was thinking about the last time he went into seclusion,” Xue Meng said. “You didn’t think you
could take care of him, and you ran to my dad’s to organize the books instead. You spent the whole
time sulking, and I was sure our teacher had made a terrible mistake. I never thought you’d grow
up like this.”

“People change,” Mo Ran said after a moment, and laughed.

“What are you laughing at?” Xue Meng shifted position, resting an elbow on one knee and tilting
his head back to look Mo Ran in the face. “We feel the same way about our teacher now.”

“Yes,” Mo Ran said, not meeting his gaze.

With narrowed eyes, Xue Meng looked at him for a moment and then glanced toward Chu
Wanning’s seated figure. “Good,” he said, and paused. “You know, I resented you when he died.
But now I’m glad that you’re still alive.”

“Uh huh,” Mo Ran said, not sure how to respond to that. The bell at the corner of the pavilion
tinkled in the wind, and Xue Meng sat silently.

After a moment, he turned his head and pinned Mo Ran with an intent stare. “I actually had a
question for you,” he said, and at Mo Ran’s nod, he took a deep breath. “On that day back on the
mountain,” he said, “were you, uh.” He couldn’t finish the question, face flushing and paling in
turn, but Mo Ran had known it was coming. He refused to take pity on Xue Meng, and his
teammate finally choked out, “Were you really looking for osmanthus cake?”

The water started boiling, and their gazes met through the wisps of steam. Xue Meng’s eyes were
full of anxiety, while Mo Ran’s gaze was flat and blank. “We can drink the tea,” Mo Ran said,
dodging the question.
“Were you really looking for osmanthus cake?” Xue Meng repeated, grabbing Mo Ran’s arm.

Mo Ran hesitated before picking up the cast iron pot. He filled two cups to the brim and handed
one to Xue Meng before he spoke. “Our teacher wouldn’t lie to you without a reason,” he said. “If
you don’t trust me, at least trust him.”

“I don’t doubt him,” Xue Meng muttered, trembling slightly. He looked down, shoulders shaking
as he grasped the teacup.

“Then drink your tea,” Mo Ran said, not unkindly. “It’s no use to worry about something you can’t
change.” He blew on the tea, the mist framing his uncommonly handsome face until it resembled a
reflection in a mirror rather than something real and trustworthy.

As he drank the tea, Xue Meng felt his heart gradually slow down. The cup was warm in his hands
even after the tea was gone, and he looked down at its dregs. He wasn’t sure if he was talking to
Mo Ran or just to himself. “I really love him,” he said. “That’s why I worry so much. I don’t want
him to suffer even a little bit.”

“I know,” Mo Ran said. “Me too.” Xue Meng turned to face him, and Mo Ran leaned against the
pavilion pillar. He took another sip of tea. “I even accused Shi Mei of attacking him,” he said
ruefully. “You haven’t pissed off a teammate, so you’re ahead of me there.”

“No wonder he left so quickly,” Xue Meng said, and wrinkled his nose. “You know, during a
famine, some people suffer more than others. If Shi Mei hadn’t been picked up by Sisheng Peak,
he probably wouldn’t have survived. He’s always been good to you, Mo Ran. You should be kind
to him.”

“I know,” Mo Ran said. “It was just a misunderstanding.”

It was odd, Mo Ran thought, to be having a civil conversation with Xue Meng in the pavilion under
the moonlight, almost as if they were friends. Xue Meng’s handsome, arrogant face belonged to
someone who had hurt Mo Ran badly in his previous life, their encounters always marked by tears
and blood. It seemed inconceivable to Mo Ran that they would be able to sit so companionably
under the moonlight drinking tea and wine.

Once the tea was gone, Xue Meng showed no signs of leaving. Mo Ran heated up the wine. He
drank a little, thinking that it wasn’t enough to make him even tipsy, but Xue Meng matched him
drink for drink. Mo Ran thought at first that both of them would be fine, but he had failed to
remember his teammate’s low tolerance for alcohol. He was an even cheaper date than Shi Mei.

Two glasses of the pear blossom white was enough to get him dizzy and expansive, and Mo Ran
blinked. He decided that Xue Meng had had enough, and discretely removed the jar from his
teammate’s reach. “That’s probably a good idea,” Xue Meng said, voice a little slurred. “I think I
should stop.”

“Yeah,” Mo Ran agreed. “I’ll, uh, call Uncle Xue to come walk you home.”

“No, no, no, I can go by myself.” Xue Meng grinned sloppily. “I know how to get back.” He
pushed himself to his feet, holding onto the pillar and laughing.

Mo Ran wondered how it was that Xue Meng’s alcohol tolerance lowered with age and experience
rather than the other way around, and it reminded him of New Year’s Even in Mengpo Hall. Xue
Meng had been drunk then, too, giggling as he had looked at Chu Wanning and the other two
disciples, insulting them cheerfully. Mo Ran sighed, waiting for him to do the same thing and
already annoyed.

“Brother,” Xue Meng said instead, staring at him with hazy eyes. “Brother,” he said again, as if
trying out the word. Mo Ran froze, the ache in his heart spilling over. He could only stare blankly
at Xue Meng, seeing the familiar arrogant, high-spirited face full of not contempt or anger but
something entirely different.

Xue Meng ran his hand over the sword belted at his waist, Longcheng set with the top grade
spiritual stone Mo Ran had given him after collecting it from a fearsome demon. The enchanted
sword had helped him take first place in the Spiritual Mountain Competition, Mo Ran knew, and
helped him make a name for himself. Xue Meng had never properly expressed his thanks to Mo
Ran for saving him from nameless mediocrity, but he had been bearing the obligation of gratitude
in his heart.

Particularly after coming back from Rufeng Sect and hearing that Mo Ran had rescued him from
Nangong Xu, Xue Meng had felt even more indebted to his teammate. He had cried upon hearing
that his master and teammate were still missing when he had woken; those around him had thought
he was upset about his teacher, but Xue Meng had clutched his sword and wept for Mo Ran as
well.

Looking at him now, Mo Ran couldn’t move. He remembered Xue Meng climbing the steps of
Sisheng Peak during his previous life, standing in the desolate Wushan Palace and demanding to
see Chu Wanning. He thought about how Xue Meng and Mei Hanxue had tried to assassinate him,
and how Xue Meng had told him that the world would reject him.

Hatred and anger had marked Mo Ran’s relationship with Xue Meng, all the way until the end. In
the very beginning, Xue Meng had approached him with bright black eyes and a proud bearing,
introducing him as his cousin and in the very next breath denouncing their relationship as
unwanted. Mo Ran hadn’t been able to answer that. He’d lowered his head, and Xue Meng had
demanded his name.

When Mo Ran had stammered, Xue Meng had laughed at him. He had gotten angry, accusing Mo
Ran of being weak and submissive, and he had been even more upset that they were related at all.
Silence had fallen between them, and then Xue Meng had all but thrown a box of pastries at him. “I
got you this,” he’d said sullenly.

Although Xue Meng had meant it as an insult, Mo Ran had taken it as kindness. No one had ever
given him anything before. “For me?” he’d said. “I can keep it? All of it?”

“You think I’m a dog?” Xue Meng had said incredulously. “That I want your leftovers? Of course
it’s all for you.”

The lacquered wooden box had been beautifully crafted and decorated, and Mo Ran had thought at
the time he had never seen anything so grand. He stared at it, lifting the lid hesitantly. The rich
fragrance of the snacks inside had wafted forth, nine in total, each a different flavor.

“If you’re still hungry, there’s more,” Xue Meng had said indifferently, as if it were nothing. “I
can’t eat everything I have, so you can have whatever’s left.”

His expression and words had both been rude, and he had clearly been looking down on Mo Ran,
but the snacks were real and warm. From the other side of two lifetimes, the memory of that taste
returned to Mo Ran’s tongue as he thought of the kindness Xue Meng had – however unwillingly –
shown him first. Looking at his cousin now, Mo Ran took in his drunken face under the moonlight.
Xue Meng smiled at him, and let go of the pillar. He staggered toward Mo Ran as if to pat his
shoulder or perhaps embrace him, tripping over his own feet and falling into Mo Ran’s arms.
“Brother,” he said again.

Mo Ran sighed and patted his back. The night wind blew his hair over his face. Mo Ran eased Xue
Meng down onto the bench, and his cousin leaned against his shoulder. After a moment, Mo Ran
could tell by his deep and even breathing that he had fallen asleep. “I’m not worthy to be your
brother,” he said softly.

------

An unexpected guest arrived at Sisheng Peak on the last day of Chu Wanning’s closed-door
cultivation and knocked on the door of Red Lotus Pavilion early in the morning. Mo Ran froze
when he heard the knock, and Chu Wanning glanced at the door. Still somewhat groggy from his
long period of meditation, he said coldly, “Come in.”

Mo Ran stifled a laugh. “Sir, you set up a barrier,” he said. “Only your disciples can come in.”

As if he had meant to do so all along, Chu Wanning lifted a hand to disperse the barrier. The
messenger disciple entered, reeking of alcohol. “Sir,” he said. “A great demon has come to Loyalty
Hall!”

Mo Ran nearly tripped over himself in his haste to reach Loyalty Hall, Chu Wanning ahead of him
by half a step. A huge gourd swirled around the plaza, surrounded by a crowd of elders and
disciples. None of them moved to stop it, the crowd instead seeming at a loss as to what to do.

Mo Ran squinted. “Is that a diremonster?”

“Ah, Constellation!” Xue Zhengyong greeted him. “You’re just in time. This thing escaped from
the Golden Drum Tower.” He looked torn between bitterness and laughter. “It’s a damn wine-drink
lustful gourd.”

Chu Wanning turned to look at the demon, still not quite fully awake. It was as tall as a man,
emitting a pearlescent luster and spewing peach red smoke. “It doesn’t hurt people,” Chu Wanning
said. “Although it is full of wine,” he added after a beat.

The gourd was chasing a group of disciples, squirting alcohol into their mouths as soon as it caught
them. Chu Wanning sighed. “I heard it’s pretty good booze,” Xue Zhengyong said.

Rolling his eyes, Chu Wanning moved to intercept the gourd. He summoned Heavenly Questions,
snapping it in front of the gourd. “Don’t run,” he said. “I’ll drink with you.”

The gourd shook back and forth in delight, its mouth expanding as it spat a jet of wine at Chu
Wanning’s face. It hesitated as Chu Wanning dodged adroitly and then it found itself restrained by
the brightly glowing willow vine. Chu Wanning calmly looked at Xue Zhengyong.

“I need a cup,” he said. The gourd spat out a ladle full of wine, and Chu Wanning caught it. He sat
next to the gourd, draining the ladle in a single mouthful. “Not bad,” he said. “Do you have
another?” The gourd chortled with glee and produced a second spoonful, which Chu Wanning also
drank. The gourd chattered in nonsense syllables, to which Chu Wanning appeared to be paying
close attention.

“Do you understand what it’s saying?” Mo Ran asked.

“He says he hasn’t seen the sun for a long time,” Chu Wanning said, and the gourd seemed even
happier. It poured him more wine into the ladle. “I don’t like this kind,” Chu Wanning told it, and
it produced another variety. The crowd was shocked into speechlessness at the sight of the
illustrious Constellation Saint drinking with a demon, particularly when the drinking went on until
noon without a break.

Both Chu Wanning and the demon seemed to grow more cheerful as the hours passed, and the
watching crowd only grew. Xue Meng and Shi Mei appeared, Mo Ran waving them both over. The
memory of the accusation against Shi Mei pricked him, and he wanted to apologize, but Shi Mei
turned and left the moment he saw Mo Ran. Xue Meng made his way through the crowd alone.

“He still seems upset,” he said.

“What do I do?” Mo Ran asked.

“Go talk to him and fix it,” Xue Meng said. “Or I’ll be stuck in the middle of your argument, which
is exactly where I don’t want to be.” He looked at the spectacle. “I think our teacher has everything
under control.”

Mo Ran glanced at the sight of Chu Wanning attempting to drink an alcohol demon under the table
and concluded that it wouldn’t go poorly for his teacher. “Okay, you keep an eye on things here.
Let me know if something goes wrong.”

It only took a few moments to catch up to Shi Mei, and Mo Ran called out to him. Shi Mei ignored
him the first time, but when Mo Ran called again, he stopped and turned around. “Can I help you?”
he said pleasantly.

“No,” Mo Ran said, waving a hand. “I, uh, I just wanted to apologize. I fucked up.”

“When do you mean?” Shi Mei asked, expression light and gentle. “Are you talking about at Red
Lotus Pavilion,” he said, stroking the hair out of his face. He paused. “Or did you mean when both
of you abandoned me to eat alone in Cool Jade Village. Or maybe earlier, when our teacher woke
up, and I tried to bring you a drink but you both ignored me during the entire dinner.”

Stunned, Mo Ran could only stare. “How long have you been upset with me?” he asked.

“I’m not upset with you,” Shi Mei said, shaking his head. “Ran, I respect you, and I love you, but
you’ve been deliberately pulling away from me.”

As Mo Ran had indeed been deliberately distancing himself from Shi Mei, he couldn’t exactly
refute the statement. They had been so close in the past, but they had grown apart in the years since
Chu Wanning had sacrificed himself for Mo Ran. He didn’t know how to explain any part of it to
Shi Mei, particularly not when he had to keep his new relationship with Chu Wanning a secret.
That Mo Ran had never confessed his feelings to Shi Mei made everything weirder; he couldn’t
break off a relationship that had never gotten off the ground.

As Mo Ran failed to answer and the awkward silence lengthened, Shi Mei quietly looked at him.
“When you first came to Sisheng Peak,” he said, “I told you that I had no parents or friends. You
and I were supposed to be family.”

“We were,” Mo Ran said.

“So why did you abandon me?”

Sadness washed over Mo Ran’s heart, and it occurred to him that he hadn’t exchanged more than a
few words with Shi Mei since coming back from the underworld. The two of them had been
inseparable, but Mo Ran had focused all of his attention on Chu Wanning and neglected his oldest
friend. He dropped his gaze. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Sorry isn’t the answer,” Shi Mei said, looking away. “Just forget it.”

“You’re upset,” Mo Ran said.

“I’m not upset!” Shi Mei said.

“You are,” Mo Ran insisted. “You’ve always been so kind to me. Please don’t be angry.”

“I’m not as kind to you as our teacher, is that it?” Shi Mei said with a faint smile.

“That’s different,” Mo Ran hedged. “He gave his life for me.”

Silence stretched between them for a long moment before Shi Mei sighed. “I can’t compete with
that,” he said.

Mo Ran’s heart dropped even further. “It’s not a competition,” he said. “People are different. You
–“

Before he could finish, Shi Mei put a hand on his chest and looked away. “Just stop,” he said. “I
know what you mean. I’m just – I’m just upset that you thought I would hurt him.”

Eyes warm, Mo Ran nodded. “Okay,” he said, almost gratefully.

Shi Mei’s tall and slender form leaned against the jade fence as he looked down at the rustling
leaves. “You should go back,” he said, and when Mo Ran hesitated, words spilled out of him.
“What did you want to tell me that year?” he asked.

“What?” Mo Ran froze.

“The year of the heavenly rift,” Shi Mei said, almost reluctantly. “When you said you were going
to tell me something when we came back, and then you never did.”

The memory broke over Mo Ran like a wave, and his unspoken confession weighed heavy on his
tongue. It had been the same thing Shi Mei had said to him in his first life. “I,” he started, not sure
what he was going to say, only to be conveniently interrupted by a commotion from Loyalty Hall.

“We should go,” Shi Mei said hurriedly, and they both started running.

A second fat gourd had appeared in the large plaza. Mo Ran came to a halt, staring. “What the fuck
is this shit?”

“It’s a wine lust gourd,” Xue Zhengyong supplied, not at all helpfully.

“How many are there?” Mo Ran exclaimed.

“Only two,” Xue Zhengyong assured him. “They’re twins.” He shook his head. “Well, sort of. This
one is the older brother.”

Mo Ran blinked and looked at the pair of gourds. “Don’t siblings, uh, usually like to compete with
each other?” he said. He looked at the second peach-colored gourd.

“It only obeys orders from the pure of heart,” Xue Zhengyong said.
“Xue Meng,” Mo Ran said through gritted teeth.

“Where’s Xue Meng?” Shi Mei asked, alarmed as he suddenly realized their third teammate was
missing.

“Well, he’s already made it through the trial with the wine gourd,” Xue Zhengyong said. “He’s
working on the lust gourd now.”

“Oh, good,” Mo Ran said, relieved. “He’ll definitely take care of it.”

Before he could finish speaking, the gourd spit Xue Meng into the crowd. Even Chu Wanning, still
drinking, turned to look at the sight. Xue Meng scrambled to his face, blushing angrily. “You
shameless demon!” he roared at the perverted gourd. A corner of Mo Ran’s mind noted that Xue
Meng had changed into a golden-red robe at some point, which was distantly hilarious.

“What went wrong?”

“Oh, no,” Xue Zhengyong said. “So the lust gourd also deals in infatuation. It finds the purest
person feeling unrequited love, and puts them into a room. Then it shows the person the image of a
bride and groom, with their faces covered. It waits for the person to uncover their faces.”

“So the bride and groom are really the gourd?” Mo Ran guessed.

“No,” Xue Zhengyong said. “The person will see whoever they’re infatuated with. Only the purest
of people see the gourd.”

“Wait,” Mo Ran said, looking at his fuming teammate. “Then what did Xue Meng see?”

Having been thrown out of the gourd, Mo Ran didn’t think Xue Meng had seen its true face under
the veil. He also didn’t think Xue Meng had seen the face of someone he was allegedly in love
with, as he was fairly sure Xue Meng was in love with no one. He glanced at the gourd, which was
rolling around in obvious delight at its own hilarity. It seemed to be laughing hysterically at Xue
Meng.

“It might have, uh, made a mistake,” Shi Mei said, trying to save face for Xue Meng.

Before he could finish, Xue Meng drew his sword and pointed it at the lust demon. “You asshole!”
he shouted at it. “You not only showed me my own face, you had me dressed up like a woman!
How dare you humiliate me like that?”

Had he said nothing, Mo Ran thought faintly, he wouldn’t have been embarrassed in front of the
entire crowd. However, the collected disciples of Sisheng Peak had now been handed proof on a
silver platter of how narcissistic, exactly, Xue Ziming really was. A collective laugh rippled
outwards, all of them no doubt picturing the peacock peeling back the veil to see his own heavily
made-up face.

“You’d make a very pretty girl,” Mo Ran said, choking back laughter.

“Constellation,” Xue Zhengyong said exasperatedly. “Could you please fucking fix this now?”

------

The three most innocent people in Sisheng Peak were Xue Meng, Elder Tanlang, and Chu
Wanning. The lust gourd had already defeated Xue Meng. Elder Tanlang, having been married and
widowed, was disqualified. Chu Wanning was the only possible solution. The murmuring crowd
looked at him expectantly, confident in his ability to subdue the lust gourd.

Listening to their gossip, Mo Ran was furious. He could do nothing about it, only stand there and
wait. He sidled up to Xue Zhengyong. “Why don’t I try it, sir?”

“You can’t have, ah, a history of love,” Xue Zhengyong said, looking him up and down.

Mo Ran sulked. The wine gourd had been defeated by Chu Wanning, falling to the ground with a
plop. Its green smoke dissipated, leaving a small jade gourd sitting quietly, and Xue Zhengyong
placed it in his pouch with a laugh.

“As expected of the Constellation Saint,” he said happily. “Do the other one, please.”

“No,” Chu Wanning said after a moment, showing precisely zero signs of having succeeded in out-
drinking an alcohol demon. He refused to look anyone in the face.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I drank too much and I’m tired,” Chu Wanning said. None of those watching found it a plausible
explanation, everyone having attempted to drink the Constellation Saint under the table at least
once. Xue Zhengyong stared at him impatiently.

“Don’t tell me you’re unable –“ Xue Zhengyong started.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Chu Wanning snapped, standing suddenly. His ears flushed red and his eyes
flashed, but he was terrified inside that he had lost his identity entirely.

“Then try it,” Xue Zhengyong said. “Otherwise it’s going to cause trouble.”

The crowd was staring at Chu Wanning eagerly, faces expectant, with the sole exception of Mo
Ran. He was looking down at his feet, clearly ashamed. Chu Wanning cursed internally, but he had
no way out of the situation designed specifically and conveniently to expose his lack of virginity.
“I’ll try,” he said finally.

The lust gourd sucked him inside and began to spin. None of the disciples had any doubt
whatsoever that their Constellation Saint would be able to tame the perverted lust gourd, except for
Mo Ran. He knew exactly what Chu Wanning had gotten up to only a few days past, under cover
of the rain and anonymous in an inn. Mo Ran had sullied him.

Inside the gourd, Chu Wanning opened his eyes. The interior was dreamlike, lit with red candles
and decorated with a wedding veil. He saw a thick quilt on an inviting bed, all of it red, and an old
woman with green hair smiling by the door. Her skin and even her teeth were green, and Chu
Wanning just looked at her. He knew he was no longer pure.

“Grandmother,” he said. “Just kick me out. We both know I’m not fit.”

“Hm,” said the old woman.

Chu Wanning had not been prepared for the eventuality that the emerald spirit didn’t know how to
speak like a human. He sighed and walked toward the bed, upon which sat a man wearing dragon-
patterned robes. His feet were bare and his head covered. The old lady approached slowly, smoke
rising from her hand, and she beckoned Chu Wanning to approach.

It was difficult to accept that Mo Ran was sitting in front of him wearing a bridal dress, the thought
turning Chu Wanning’s stomach. He had once done the same, playing bride to Mo Ran’s groom
while they were inside the illusion in Butterfly Town. Yet there was nothing for it; disgust or no,
Chu Wanning had to steel himself to look.

I see we are degrading drag queens and/or transvestites here, and also potentially engaging in
transphobia. That wasn’t in the list of trigger warnings.

The old woman urged him on anxiously, humming. “Yes, yes,” Chu Wanning said, and pulled the
red silk veil aside. Chu Wanning’s eyes widened as he caught sight of the man’s face – he was
wearing a crown, and his black eyes were full of mockery. He smiled at Chu Wanning, chin raised
arrogantly. He was Mo Ran without a doubt, and yet not – he was too pale, his eyes were mad, and
he wore an unfamiliar expression.

“I see you have not managed to forget me, deep in your heart,” said the facsimile of Mo Ran. He
reached out and grabbed Chu Wanning’s wrist with cold hands, staring into his eyes fiercely. The
facsimile grinned, showing a mouth full of sharp teeth. “I am pleased,” he said.

Angry and amused, Chu Wanning concluded that the lecherous gourd must have lost its mind
while imprisoned to show him such nonsense. “Let go,” he said. The pale imitation of Mo Ran did
not let him go; Chu Wanning left his wrist where it was and turned to the old lady. “Tell him to let
go.”

The bride stood abruptly, leaving Chu Wanning only enough time to see the crown sway on his
head before the world spun. When he regained his senses, he was already lying on the bed. “I see
you enjoyed the taste I gave you,” the facsimile said, breath hot against his neck. “So much that
you can’t forget me.”

Either the gourd had gone mad, or Chu Wanning had; he knew that Mo Ran was, at his heart,
gentle and polite by nature. There was no way he would be speaking to Chu Wanning in such a
discourteous manner. He couldn’t decide whether he was annoyed or embarrassed, but the golden-
red cloth suddenly sparked the memory of a dream. He had had dreams of a Mo Ran who had
looked like this, pale with mad eyes.

The facsimile had exactly the same mannerisms as the Mo Ran of his dreams, harsh and
stimulating, acting without restraint. Chu Wanning’s eyes narrowed as he realized that the
perverted gourd was mirroring thoughts from deep within his heart. It was overwhelmingly
shameful, he thought, as a wave of lust so powerful that It swept away his mind overcame him.

The facsimile of Mo Ran kissed his ear, knowing exactly how Chu Wanning liked having a hot,
wet tongue thrust against his eardrum. It was even more humiliating than the dream, knowing that
the gourd was watching. The facsimile continued its assault, touching him in exactly the right ways
to keep him from even wanting to struggle, until Chu Wanning was about to be kissed on the
mouth.

Suddenly, the facsimile withdrew, staring at him in stunned disbelief. Chu Wanning gathered his
will and pushed him away, summoning Heavenly Questions. He whipped it at the facsimile, and
the copy of Mo Ran stared at him with even more consternation. “You actually –“ he started, but
the willow vine struck him before he could finish the sentence.

The green-haired old woman vanished, along with the facsimile of Mo Ran, and an unfamiliar
young man took their place. He was green-haired with sharp ears, extremely handsome, and Chu
Wanning glared at him furiously. He stood up, yanking his clothes back in order. “You evil
creature,” he said, correctly identifying the primary demon within the lecherous gourd.

“It’s you,” said the demon, pale and fearful.

“What are you talking about?” Chu Wanning snapped, but the demon just shook harder. It fell to
its knees, pressing its face into the floor.

“Please forgive me, sir,” it moaned. “Please forgive me.”

As Chu Wanning was well-known for exterminating rampaging demons, his holy weapon
Heavenly Questions was equally notorious in demon circles. Most minor demons would run
screaming, but Chu Wanning hadn’t expected this particular demon to do the same. He lifted his
chin to glare. “Let me out,” he said coldly.

“Of course, sir!” said the demon, and the fog blinded Chu Wanning temporarily.

When the fog cleared, Chu Wanning found himself standing in the plaza again. The crowd hung
back, hollering its congratulations and support. It took Chu Wanning a moment to clear his head
from the foul-smelling mist, but he finally saw the peach-colored gourd lying on the ground.
Somewhat ashamed of how the confrontation had gone, he folded his hands. “Please take these two
gourds to the demon-suppressing pagoda.”

this is a very clumsy way to resolve the tension/conflict – establish that the Lust Demon must
be defeated by the Pure Of Heart, setting up Chu Wanning to be Exposed – oh
noes!!!!111bbq Whatever Will He Do~o??? – and then make him Just So Cool that he wins
anyway. It’s the least clever way possible to resolve the tension without revealing the secret
relationship.

Instead of picking up the gourd, Xue Zhengyong regarded Chu Wanning with a calculating stare. It
made Chu Wanning incredibly nervous, but he didn’t want to ask what was wrong. He firmed his
chin and looked back, only then realizing that the rest of the crowd had stopped congratulating him
and was looking at him with more than a little amusement. Even Mo Ran had an odd expression,
face red.

Sighing, Chu Wanning realized what had happened. He looked down to see that while he had worn
his usual clothes upon entering the gourd, he now wore a golden robe much like the one Xue Meng
was wearing. Speculation ran rampant as to who his spouse inside the illusion could possibly have
been, although one disciple who highly valued his own life protested that Constellation Saint had
beaten the gourd and must therefore still be pure of heart and loins, seeing only the gourd spirit
within. The rest of the disciples despised this mealy-mouthed coward.

One particular disciple had no fear of death whatsoever, and on a dark and stormy morning, he
appeared at Red Lotus Pavilion with an armload of snacks. He handed them over with a cheeky
smile. “So, sir,” Mo Ran asked. “Was I the one you saw inside the gourd?”

------

Rather than answer immediately, Chu Wanning ate Mo Ran’s offering of snacks. When he had
finished, he looked coldly at his disciple. “Marry you?” he said. “You’re a man. Don’t be absurd.”

‘Then were you the bride?” Mo Ran asked innocently.

Furious and ashamed, Chu Wanning refused to answer. He couldn’t tell Mo Ran about his pale,
alternate self, the one he had dreamed about. It would be too embarrassing, to admit that he had had
such fantasies. He brushed his sleeves. “Either be reasonable or leave.”

Mo Ran pursed his lips, as if he found Chu Wanning unreasonable, but he smiled obediently. “I’ll
stop asking,” he said. “Please, sir, don’t chase me away.”
“You can just call me sir,” Chu Waning said loftily, trying not to show how his heart softened at
Mo Ran’s words.

“But if I do that, sir, it’s not intimate.”

“Oh?” Chu Wanning said.

“Look, I can call you sir in public,” Mo Ran said. “But it would be weird in private.”

Chu Wanning was not fooled by Mo Ran’s attempts to act improper. “No,” he said.

Mo Ran chose another tack, calling Chu Wanning sir at every moment. He was greasy and
obsequious with it, until Chu Wanning couldn’t take it and threw a book at him to shut him up. Mo
Ran laughed, dodging. “I’ll just have to find something else to call you,” he said.

“Then pick something,” Chu Wanning said.

Mo Ran sighed. “Why aren’t you taking the bait?”

Even more displeased at Mo Ran’s transparent attempts at manipulation, Chu Wanning set about
tidying up his books. He ignored his disciple, lying lazily on his side and playing with his hair.
After several moments, Mo Ran accepted defeat.

“Sir, I want to get something better from you,” he said. “Shi Me and Xue Meng call you sir, and
there’s nothing special when I do it. I don’t want much, I just want to be able to call you something
no one else does.” Chu Wanning fixed him with a hard stare. “I won’t do it often,” Mo Ran
promised. “Just once in a while,” he added with a wheedling note.

“No,” Chu Wanning said.

Refusing to give up, Mo Ran pestered, prodded, and provoked until Chu Wanning gave in. The
brilliant smile his disciple gave him in return for his ignominious defeat was balm to Chu
Wanning’s soul, until he realized he had been cheated. It was always he who gave in to what Mo
Ran wanted, and Mo Ran ignored every single one of his boundaries.

“What can I call you, then?” Mo Ran asked, selfishly delighted.

“I don’t care,” Chu Wanning said.

“You have to care,” Mo Ran objected. “It’s important.”

Despite the years of living his second life, part of Mo Ran was still the same Emperor Evil
Overlord who had generated the era name of Big Dick. He threw out some suggestions, all of
which were vulgar and none of which made Chu Wanning any happier. Finally, Chu Wanning
started laughing at Mo Ran’s obvious despair. “Don’t overthink it,” he said.

“I’ll come up with something good,” Mo Ran promised. “Just wait.” He pulled Chu Wanning into
his lap and stared warmly at him. “No matter how many times I see you, it’s never enough,” he
murmured, and before Chu Wanning could give in to his unease and back away, his mouth had
been covered with Mo Ran’s lips.

The sound of the rain outside masked the sticky sounds the two cultivators made inside. Chu
Wanning opened his moist eyes when they finally separated, and Mo Ran smiled at him. Chu
Wanning’s heart pounded in his chest, leaning on him.
“I could call you anything, sir,” Mo Ran said. “And you’d still be the best.”

Such vulgar sentiment was sweet, but also embarrassing. Chu Wanning blushed. He stood and
retreated, then felt he had made a cowardly retreat and stepped forward again. Mo Ran laughed
delightedly.

“Don’t worry, sir, you’ll make your meeting on time,” he said, and pounced.

When the rain finally stopped, it had been falling for half a month. The sun shone from a clear sky
over many puddles and pools of water as Mo Ran walked through the bamboo forest. He had
started his morning training again, but he missed Chu Wanning, who had gone to teach some of
Elder Xuanji’s disciples weapons training. Mo Ran could hear them practicing, just as he could tell
from the sound that the disciples were poor learners.

“What are you doing here?” Chu Wanning said.

Mo Ran stepped out from the bamboo to a chorus of disciples welcoming Brother Mo to their
practice session, some of the women blushing at his arrival. He ignored them entirely, walking up
to Chu Wanning. “Try doing it blindfolded, sir,” he said.

Never one to pass up a chance to show off, Chu Wanning agreed. Mo Ran bound his eyes carefully
with his headband, stepping back. “Three,” Chu Wanning said, holding out a hand, and one of
Elder Xuanji’s disciples pressed three darts against his palm. His slender fingers separated the
darts, and he pursed his lips. With a single gesture, he let them fly.

“It’s in the bull’s-eye!” said one student excitedly before another one noticed that only a single dart
had struck the target.

“Behind you,” Mo Ran said, pointing out that the blindfolded Chu Wanning had – with a single
movement –thrown three darts in completely different directions and hit the center of the target
with each one, like the truly amazing man that he was.

All of Elder Xuanji’s disciples were rightfully shocked speechless at the dazzling display of how
awesome Chu Wanning was. The man of the hour gracefully removed the blindfold, fluttering his
eyelashes and soaking in the adulation of the young disciples as they clamored for his attention and
his wisdom. “You may show them, Mo Ran,” he said. “Students, watch his hands.”

The disciples gathered around, staring, but Mo Ran did nothing. Some of the women eyed his
hands and thought about the books they had read in town; some of them had seen the same book
that Chu Wanning had, ranking cultivators’ dicks, and wondered if big hands meant a huge cock. A
cold voice interrupted their passionate ruminations.

“What do you see?” Chu Wanning asked.

“Please forgive us, Elder,” one of the disciples said. “We’re too dumb to figure it out.”

Mo Ran smiled at them. “The callus,” he said. “See where my fingertip is rougher? It’s from how
often I practiced exactly the same thing. There are no shortcuts.”

Practicing until noon gave most of the disciples the basics of the technique, at which point Chu
Wanning left. He refused to donate his time to the disciples of others, lest they take advantage of
his kind and generous nature. He had become very well aware of the nature of the world, and
beckoned for Mo Ran to follow him. They returned to Naihe Bridge, walking side by side closely
enough that the backs of their hands brushed together.
Mo Ran glanced around, and briefly took Chu Wanning’s hand when no one was around to see. He
let go quickly, but the contact was enough to make Chu Wanning blush and drive their libidos into
higher gear. They hadn’t been able to fuck since the first time, always afraid someone would
interrupt. “Sir,” Mo Ran said. “How about tonight?”

Someone ran up to them before Chu Wanning could answer, standing up straight in front of them
and then bowing respectfully. “Constellation Saint, sir,” said the messenger. “The sect leader
would like you to go to Loyalty Hall as soon as possible.”

“What’s wrong?” Chu Wanning asked.

“We’ve had news of Nangong Xu,” said the messenger. “The sect leader would like your input on
the new situation. The rest of the elders have already heard, so you’re the only one he still wants to
talk to.”

The name Nangong Xu was enough to set Chu Wanning to running. Mo Ran followed him closely,
offering assistance as well. The use of lightness kung fu put them both in front of Loyalty Hall in
only a few moments, and Chu Wanning dramatically pushed the door open. The two cultivators
entered into a wave of silence – Xue Zhengyong and Sisheng Peak’s elders stood in their
customary places, and a pair of blood-covered men stood in front of them.

Mo Ran’s gaze fell on the scabbard fastened across one of messengers’ backs, finding it familiar. It
took him a moment to recognize it, but when he did, his eyes widened. “Ye Wangxi?”

------

Ye Wangxi turned at the sound of her name, revealing a haggard expression. She seemed to have
held up better than Mo Ran had expected, bowing to him in a masculine manner. “Young master
Mo,” she said.

“What happened to you?” Mo Ran asked.

“We’ve come from Linyi,” Ye Wangxi explained. “There were many demons on the road between
here and there.” She plucked at her robes. “My apologies for appearing before you in such a state.”

“Oh, good, you’re here,” Xue Zhengyong called, peering around Ye Wangxi to look at Mo Ran in
the doorway. “Get inside.”

Chu Wanning avoided looking at either of the petitioners until he reached his seat and sat,
straightening his clothes. He regarded Nangong Si, feeling some sadness about his situation. “Are
you okay?” he asked.

Nangong Si closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. No one else had asked how he was doing after
his sect had collapsed. “We’re doing well, sir,” he said politely.

Well aware that the young man was only being courteous, Chu Wanning sighed. Before he could
speak, Xue Zhengyong interrupted. “Constellation,” he said. “Let me sum up. They came to deliver
information regarding Nangong Xu.” He glanced at the door. “Mo Ran, why are you just standing
there? Get over here. Bring chairs.”

Despite the attempt at comfort, neither of the Rufeng Sect cultivators took a seat in their disheveled
state. Chu Wanning signaled to Xue Zhengyong to let it go and leaned forward. “Where did you go
that day?”

“We were at Mount Wei,” Nangong Si said. “It’s desolate and inaccessible, but we managed to
escape the fire. Ye Wangxi was injured during our escape, so we had to wait a while before we
could leave. We then returned to Rufeng Sect.”

“There couldn’t have been anything there,” Chu Wanning said, feeling some kind of way about the
first sect that had housed him going up in flames.

I imagine Nangong Si and Ye Wangxi also feel some kind of way about this but we only care
about Chu Wanning’s feefees

“Yes, Grandmaster,” Nangong Si said. “It’s just ash and barren dirt. But there was something
underground.”

“Underground?” Chu Wanning asked.

“These.” Nangong Si opened a bloodstained bag, full of buzzing insects. They had black-spotted
green shells and long tails, and emitted the faint scent of blood. Most of them shrank back from the
light, but a few escaped and alit on the walls of Loyalty Hall.

Mo Ran knew exactly what they were; the Soul Devourer bugs lived in the blood pools near Mount
Wei. They were undead, feeding on human flesh, but they did not die a natural death. The elders of
Sisheng Peak recognized them as well, leaning back in disgust.

I’m sorry, blood pools what

“I thought they had come from the blood pools,” Nangong Si continued. “But there are too many
of them. Ye Wangxi and I went through all seventy-two cities, and they’re infesting everything.
Not only adults, but larvae as well.” He glanced around. “Grandmaster, I’m sure you understand
the significance.”

Not knowing much about the Soul Devouring insects, Chu Wanning needed a moment to apply his
amazing skills of deductive reasoning to understand. He came to the answer quickly – Mount Wei
was separated from Rufeng Sect’s cities by a large river. While the adults, even with their weak
wings, could cross the river to feast on the flesh of the dead, the larvae wouldn’t have been able to
make the journey.

“Someone placed it there in advance?” he said.

“We think so,” Nangong Si said.

what’s the life cycle of the bugs? It’s not like the adults could have lain eggs after finding an
excess of food or anything like that, nope

“The Soul Devouring insects store qi,” Elder Tanlang said suddenly. “Vengeful spirits must be
thick on the ground after such a calamity, many of whom were cultivators. If the insects ate their
souls, they could become seeds for many types of qi. With enough of them, someone could harvest
that energy to power any number of arrays.”

Only one person could have planned so far ahead, Chu Wanning knew – Nangong Xu, the
instigator of the calamity. Xue Zhengyong spoke up. “So you think he’s using the energy of the
insects.”

“That’s right,” Nangong Si said.

“Since we can only track human qi, he could hide for a very long time, then,” Xue Zhengyong
mused. He turned to Elder Tanlang. “Could we find him by tracking insects?”
Elder Tanlang shook his head. “They go underground after they consume the soul fragments, and
we have no way of tracking them.”

“Would Master Huaizui have any insight?” Xue Zhengyong said. “He’s our ghost realm expert.”

“No,” Chu Wanning said. “Asking him is pointless. He doesn’t want to get involved in anything.”
He spoke so decisively that no one wanted to question him aloud, although faint expressions of
puzzlement and doubt flickered over multiple faces.

“So what next?” Xue Zhengyong said finally. “If Nangong Xu is using the qi of the bugs to hide,
there’s no way to locate him.”

“We need to look a different way,” Chu Wanning said. “Sect leader, when he left, he took three
items with him.”

“Luo Fenghua’s spirit core,” Xue Zhengyong said. “Nangong –“ He stopped suddenly, glancing at
Nangong Si. “Sect leader Nangong,” he continued. “And a holy weapon.”

“He must have had a reason,” Chu Wanning said. “Even in his hurry to escape, he took the time to
grab these items. Sect leader, why do you think he took his brother?”

“Revenge?”

“What about the holy weapon?”

“It could use the five types of qi to tear open the ghost realm,” Xue Zhengyong said after a
moment’s thought.

“But he already has the spirit core, which is what he wanted in the ghost realm in the first place,”
Chu Wanning corrected him. “It has to be for the Rebirth Technique.”

“Even Master Huaizui didn’t need the five types of qi for that,” Xue Zhengyong objected.

“He said the methods aren’t the same,” Chu Wanning said, shaking his head. “We can’t use his
method as a guide.”

“You have no proof of any of this, Constellation,” Elder Tanlang sneered. “All of this is pure
speculation.”

I see we are going to hang a lantern on Chu Wanning doing Adam West Batman style
speculation, because he will of course be 100% right, even if this is nowhere near the only
possible conclusion to reach with the information available, making any doubters out to be
idiots. This is still shitty writing.

“The proof is in the spiritual core,” Chu Wanning said, voice strong and steady. “I interrogated a
dead girl in Butterfly Town years ago. She met a madman who force-fed her an orange, speaking of
a man in Linyi whose heart had died at twenty.” His words recalled the fate of Nangong Xu,
framed and betrayed at the age of twenty, and drew a line to the consequences – Linyi City’s living
had become their dead, their dead had become ghouls, and the evil ghost had crawled forth to exact
its revenge.

“If that madman was Nangong Xu, then who was he talking about?” Elder Tanlang said scornfully.

“No, it was Luo Fenghua,” Xue Zhengyong broke in.

“Precisely,” said Chu Wanning. “Nangong Xu tried two separate techniques at the bottom of
Jincheng Lake – Zhenlong Chess and Rebirth. Zhenlong Chess was to control others, but who was
he trying to revive? He only brought two corpses with him. Luo Fenghua, and Nangong Liu.”

“Why revive the person who framed him?” Xue Zhengyong asked.

“I couldn’t speculate on motive,” Chu Wanning said modestly. “But he did take Luo Fenghua’s
corpse. I can’t think of any other possible reason for that.”

In the silence that followed, the gathered elders carefully considered Chu Wanning’s analysis of
the situation. Mo Ran could see doubt on their faces, concluding that they – like he – found it a
reasonable set of assumptions for which there was no hard proof. He tapped a finger against his
robes, thinking hard, but only Nangong Xu could truly answer the questions.

Much later, he went to find Xue Zhengyong, who was searching ancient scrolls for potentially
useful information regarding the Soul Devouring insects. “Uncle Xue,” he said.

“Ran,” Xue Zhengyong said. “Why are you still up so late?”

“I can’t sleep,” Mo Ran said. “I wanted to ask you something.” At Xue Zhengyong’s head-tilt, Mo
Ran took a seat. “Do you know what sort of person Luo Fenghua was?”

“Luo Fenghua,” Xue Zhengyong said slowly. “I didn’t know him well. I can’t tell you anything in
depth. But he seemed to be a righteous man. Resolute, impartial, and taciturn, but very kind and
brave. He sent his disciples to cultivate and exterminate demons while he was sect leader.”

“So the only wrongdoing he committed was to usurp the sect leadership,” Mo Ran said.

“Right,” Xue Zhengyong sighed. “He seemed to be a good man. I don’t know why he would curse
his own disciple so harshly.”

“Uncle,” Mo Ran said. “Does that description of Luo Fenghua just now seem like someone else we
know?”

“Who did you have in mind?”

“Ye Wangxi,” Mo Ran said, watching his uncle’s face closely.

“Ye Wangxi,” Xue Zhengyong repeated, eyes widening. She was indeed benevolent and resolute,
very similar to the Luo Fenghua he remembered. “You think so?”

“I do.”

Because they had so little in common otherwise, Xue Zhengyong hadn’t thought to compare the
two individuals, but the more he thought about it, the more similar they seemed. Older memories
surfaced, reminding Xue Zhengyong that Luo Fenghua had once dressed in much the same manner
as Ye Wangxi, and that the two of them had similar body language and intonations when speaking.

Luo Fenghua’s particular habit of keeping his little finger at a precise angle when aiming a bow,
Xue Zhengyong thought, followed by the way he unconsciously caressed his bowstring when
slinging the bow over his left shoulder was exactly like the gestures he had seen Ye Wangxi make
during the heavenly rift war. At the time, Xue Zhengyong had thought in the back of his mind that
the motions had seemed familiar, but he’d had more to worry about. He shook his head at Mo Ran.
“I think you’re right,” he said. “They have the same mannerisms.”
“She’s very similar to him,” Mo Ran said, as if he were waiting for Xue Zhengyong to reach
another conclusion. He thought about his previous life, in which Nangong Xu had died for Ye
Wangxi – not just because she was his adopted daughter, Mo Ran thought. He remembered the
man of Linyi, heart dead at twenty, and that he had named his residence the Three Lives
Courtyard. That was the act of a man who had wanted to forget, Mo Ran felt.

And yet Nangong Xu had nurtured Ye Wangxi into the reflection of his teacher. Mo Ran had a
faint inkling of why, feeling that his experience of having once been made himself gave him
special insight into Nangong Xu’s motives. He wasn’t quite ready to share his thoughts, not
without more information.

The following day, Xue Zhengyong called his elders together. He had found nothing useful in
Sisheng Peak’s library. “Lonemoon’s specialty is poisonous insects and strange beasts,” he said
without preamble. “We should let Jiang Xi know.”

“The Cold Scale Sacred Hand is the world’s foremost medical mind,” Elder Xuanji agreed. “He’s
Xiang Ji’s subordinate. They should be able to use this information.”

“Miss Ye,” Chu Wanning said. “Have you ever seen your foster father raising poisonous insects or
beasts?”

“Never,” she replied.

“Anything?” Chu Wanning pressed.

“He had a parrot,” she said. “And his medical skills were his weakest.”

“Lonemoon can’t help,” Chu Wanning said to Xue Zhengyong. “If Nangong Xu wasn’t skilled in
medicine or beast taming, then he’s not the one harnessing their energy. It’s most likely whoever
pulled him through the rift.”

“You mean you think someone from Lonemoon is involved,” Xue Zhengyong said.

“It’s only speculation. But caution is advised.”

------

Lonemoon, Mo Ran was forced to conclude, was unreliable. After the meeting had ended, Xue
Zhengyong asked Elder Tanlang to accompany him to the flower room with Madam Wang to
discuss how best to track the insects. Chu Wanning found himself at a loss for what to do next, and
by the time evening arrived he was standing at the bridge watching the fish. Nangong Si answered
his summons with lowered eyes.

"You asked to see me, Grandmaster?"

"You and Ye Wangxi are leaving Sisheng Peak day after tomorrow?" Chu Wanning asked. "Where
will you go?"

"Mount Jiao," Nangong Si replied.

It was one of Rufeng Sect's strongholds, located outside Linyi City. It was said to have been the
site of a contract established between Rufeng Sect and a flood dragon, and all of Rufeng Sect's
heroes were buried there. It protected their souls, and acted to kill intruders. The Sect Leader for
Rufeng Sect would pilgrimage there to make a sacrifice during every winter solstice. Chu Wanning
knew it as the ancestral hall of Rufeng Sect.
"My father," Nangong Si said, eyes dimming. "He told me that the temple contains money left by
previous heads in case a future generation had need. I think we have that need now."

As Nangong Si trusted Chu Wanning without reservation, he told him exactly where to find the
hidden treasure. Although he did not have the same bond as Chu Wanning's true disciples, he felt
as though only happenstance had prevented it. If his mother had not died, Nangong Si sometimes
thought, he would have called Chu Wanning his teacher.

"Mount Jiao is far," Chu Wanning said. "It is a place of respect. I have heard that one must fast for
ten days before entering, or the dragon spirit will punish one. We should fast on Sisheng Peak
before moving out."

"No," Nangong Si said. "Rufeng Sect is being targeted by the entire upper cultivation world. We
can't risk dragging you down with us."

"What are you babbling about?"

"We can't stay here for ten days. What if the Chou family found us?"

"Sect Leader Xue is too kind-hearted to simply let you leave," Chu Wanning said. "I don't want
you to go either. Please stay."

Bitter pain flooded Nangong Si's heart at Chu Wanning's invitation. "I will remember your
kindness forever, Grandmaster."

"For letting you stay for two days?" Chu Wanning shook his head. "I had another reason to call
you here. I heard Nangong Xu call your spiritual core twisted, making it easy for you to succumb
to a qi deviation. Please allow Madam Wang to assess you."

"The disease of the Nangong family has plagued us for generations," Nangong Si said with a bitter
laugh. "Even Lonemoon's Cold Scale Sacred Hand said there was nothing he could do for me. I
don't know that Madam Wang would be able to help."

"It's possible that he is less skilled at treating patients because he does not wish to act as a doctor,"
Chu Wanning said delicately. "There is also the matter of sect politics. Madam Wang has none of
these hindrances. She has a thorough understanding of how to manage unruly spiritual cores."

"Why would she want to?"

"Just go see her," Chu Wanning said impatiently.

With repeated thanks, Nangong Si left the Red Lotus Pavilion. Chu Wanning watched him go,
sighing. He was saddened by Nangong Si's change from a high-spirited arrogant youth to a man
who barely smiled. Just as he was about to go inside, another knock came. Thinking it was
Nangong Si, Chu Wanning invited him back inside.

Mo Ran came instead, holding a wooden basin. He was hesitant, eventually greeting his teacher
with a simple, "Hello, sir."

"Did you need something?" Chu Wanning asked.

"No, sir," Mo Ran said. "I just wanted to know if you wanted to bathe with me."

Nearly choking, Chu Wanning finally coughed lightly. "Where?"

"Miaoyin Springs."

As the natural hot springs were full of twisty passages and little grottoes, it was easy to find a
secluded place. Still, Chu Wanning hadn't expected an invitation to somewhere that was still
technically a public area. Nervous, he couldn't help but think that Mo Ran was something of an
exhibitionist.

The potential exhibitionist Mo Ran said, "Xue Meng just got back. He says it's pretty empty." He
blushed slightly, feeling as thought he might have overplayed his hand. "It's too cold to bathe here,
sir, you might catch cold."

Knowing he was perfectly capable of erecting a barrier to both keep out the cold air and heat his
pond, Chu Wanning still felt touched that Mo Ran had wanted to invite him out. Still, it was
impudent of him. Utterly shameless, Chu Wanning thought.

"Do you want to come with me, sir?" Mo Ran pressed, still impudent.

Aware that agreement was tantamount to consenting to the same sort of activities that had taken
place at the inn, Chu Wanning hesitated. Mo Ran knelt before him, giving off a sense of
impending doom, eyes full of heat and passion. He looked up to meet Chu Wanning's gaze,
softening his heart.

"Please come with me, sir."

"What are you, five?" Chu Wanning snapped.

"It's getting dark and I'm afraid of ghosts," Mo Ran said, clearly full of filthy intent. "The only way
I can go anywhere this late is with my big bro Wanning."

Despite Mo Ran's poor attempts at manipulation, Chu Wanning went. Most of the disciples had
already bathed and gone home, and the hot springs were indeed mostly empty. Mo Ran lifted the
soft curtain, stepping onto the colorful road in his bare feet. Surrounded by steam, he smiled at his
teacher and started off. Chu Wanning felt like pettily pointing out that Mo Ran had claimed to be
afraid of ghosts and yet was rushing ahead.

There were some popular spots in the Miaoyin Springs bath, and some less popular; Chu Wanning
could see a blurry figure here and there, but he wasn't sure who anyone was. In the Plum Pond, the
steam was so thick that it was impossible to see if anyone was there. A large hand reached for him
from behind, and Chu Wanning found himself pressed against Mo Ran's sturdy chest. Shocked, he
could clearly feel his disciple's erection.

"Stop screwing around," he ordered.

"There's a ghost up ahead, big bro Wanning," Mo Ran whispered.

"Let go," Chu Wanning said, but Mo Ran held on with a gentle smile.

"Can't do it," he said. "It's too hard."

"Are you sick?" Chu Wanning demanded.

"Uh, yes. Deathly ill. Just look at me."

Ears red, Chu Wanning stared straight ahead. "Oh, no you don't."
Mo Ran laughed hoarsely. "As you wish," he said. Despite his compliant words, his hands were
roaming across Chu Wanning's throat to grab his chin. His hot breath fanned over Chu Wanning's
neck. "Are you trembling because you're afraid of the ghosts?" he asked.

"Keep quiet," Chu Wanning hissed.

"Yes, sir," Mo Ran said, kissing his neck and pressing in close. "I'll be quiet. Please let me help
you bathe and change your clothes, sir."

Somehow the polite words sounded even dirtier, and Chu Wanning had reached his limit. He
glared at his disciple. "I'm done," he said. "I'm leaving."

Even knowing how easily embarrassed Chu Wanning was, Mo Ran found his embarrassed flight
both cute and funny. "Sir, are you sure you want to leave? What if someone sees us?"

"Then someone sees us," Chu Wanning said angrily. "I'm going."

Mo Ran smiled, eyes full of burning desire, and he had no pretense of gentleness. His mouth was
full of white teeth as he pressed himself against Chu Wanning's ear. "Sir," he said. Chu Wanning
had no idea how to react, and Mo Ran used his hesitation to take the opportunity to kiss the back of
his ear. He switched to a heavy, urgent kiss, understanding that Chu Wanning was both poison and
antidote to his desires.

"Next time," Mo Ran whispered in his ear after they had both climaxed in the bath and lay sweatily
entwined, "we'll both be serious. I won't let you feel any pain. I'll make it so good for you."

The waterfall pounded over both of them, sending aftershocks across Chu Wanning's skin, and he
started to feel numb. Mo Ran sounded so eager, but Chu Wanning could only feel shame. He
wanted to run, but his legs refused to obey him. "Stop talking," he said.

"I'll make you feel so good, sir," Mo Ran said, lips still brushing his ears. "You'll love it when you
get used to it."

He only wanted to merge with Chu Wanning's soul, Mo Ran thought, become one with him and
never be separated again. He wanted his teacher to love him and remember him always. He kissed
him, eyes bright with lust, as he begged with sincere shame and gentle urgring. "Sir, please, let me
enter you next time."

------

Mo Ran's words shamed Chu Wanning. He left the hot springs not even wanting to look at his
disciple, so angry and thin-skinned that he couldn't answer such a shameful question. Mo Ran
didn't need to make him say out loud what he would do - he should just know without asking that
Chu Wanning would do it.

The next day, Chu Wanning was sent to cover a history class for an Elder who had taken ill. There
were many more students in the class than he could manage alone, and he asked his disciples to
assist. Shi Mei and Mo Ran ended up working the hardest; Shi Mei's gentle beauty invited
questions, and Mo Ran's kind, heroic reputation did the same. Shi Mei was particularly sought
after, just so that the junior disciples could ogle his lovely legs.

Mo Ran ended up trapped in the middle of a group of women, all of whom demanded his attention
to explain minor matters. He patiently took the time to answer each question with the utmost
seriousness, which had the effect of increasing his popularity with the junior sisters. Finally, Chu
Wanning lost patience with his nonsense.
Coldly frowning, Chu Wanning watched Mo Ran continue to fulfill his duties as a teaching
assistant. He felt entirely wronged that he had asked Mo Ran to assist him in teaching a class, and
here Mo Ran was spending all of his time with the students instead of paying attention to the
teacher, instead of trying to figure out why Chu Wanning had been pointedly ignoring him since
the day before. His gaze sharpened to a silent, frosty glare, and yet Mo Ran still carried on inanely
with the women.

Perfectly aware of his teacher's displeasure, Mo Ran wasn't sure what to do. He didn't know what
he had done to make Chu Wanning so upset. Perhaps, he thought absently, he should have called
him by a pet name instead of sir when asking for permission to penetrate his anus. Steeling
himself, he looked over at the icy glare and gave his teacher a bright smile in return.

The girls surrounding him sighed in delight at his even more handsome face, which just served to
irk Chu Wanning further. He found himself now miffed that they chose to ask a mere assistant for
clarification instead of coming to him, the authority on the subject. He continued to stare, clearly
signaling that he was to be left alone, and got more and more annoyed that no one was coming up
to benefit from his wisdom.

Finally having had enough, Mo Ran dodged the next question to send the eager young disciple to
harass Xue Meng instead. He left her disappointed expression to approach Chu Wanning, waiting
until he was close enough to speak without being overheard before asking his question. "Is
something wrong, sir? You seem upset."

"Let Xue Meng take care of that section," Chu Wanning said finally. "I require your attention over
here."

Suspecting nothing amiss, Mo Ran simply followed him with his head lowered. He noticed as they
moved through the crowd that fewer disciples were approaching him with questions, and wondered
if the disciples in this section were perhaps cleverer than those in the section he had been assisting
before. Chu Wanning's shoulders relaxed as they moved, although his face remained sternly
expressionless.

The peace was not to last; as they passed a group of students studying a scroll, the two cultivators
heard a conversation in which one of the junior disciples claimed to have heard a fox spirit in
Miaoyin Springs the night before. It had been so loud, the disciple was regaling his partner, that he
had heard it from all the way across the springs. His partner wondered aloud if it had been some
disciples acting inappropriately in public instead.

"Well," said the first disciple, "it couldn't have been. Constellation Saint or Elder Tanlang would
have swooped in to murder that poor brother if that had been the case."

The two students agreed that it must have been a fox spirit replenishing its yin energy, and began to
make plans to stake out the baths to catch it. It would be a meritorious deed, they reasoned, to keep
the lustful spirit from seducing an unsuspecting sectmate. Wondering who had been seduced by
the fox the night before, the disciple who had heard the noise regretfully reported that the steam
had been so thick that he hadn't been able to see a thing. Only then did he notice that his study
partner's expression had changed.

Feeling a chill, the young brother turned to see Constellation Saint glaring at him coldly. He
flinched, begging for forgiveness, although he wasn't sure he had done anything wrong. "I'm sorry,
Elder," he said again.

"You must recite the words exactly as they are written," Chu Wanning said, gesturing to his scroll.
"Forget this nonsense regarding dual cultivation and fox spirits." He flicked his sleeves and glided
off.

Having also heard the conversation, Mo Ran had to stifle his laughter. He watched his teacher
retreat, wondering how this overly serious person could love him so much, feeling the sweet and
sour bitterness of love in his heart. He suppressed his urges until the lesson had finished, hugging
his teacher in the midst of the empty room and leaning in for a kiss as Chu Wanning was in the
midst of organizing the ancient texts.

Furious at being groped in public, Chu Wanning smacked Mo Ran on the head with a bamboo
scroll. "Miaoyin Springs was all your idea," he hissed. "How low I have fallen."

"How low, sir?" Mo Ran said gently and without any sense of shame. He stopped Chu Wanning's
indignant retort with another kiss, laughing. "Those kids are pretty creative," he said. "A fox spirit?
Really? Harvesting Yin energy?"

"I will kill you if you say that again," Chu Wanning said, threatening to stuff the bamboo block
into his disciple's mouth.

Unfazed, Mo Ran just grinned wider. "So can I pick how I die? I mean, I would definitely ask to
have my energy sucked out by the fox spirit haunting Miaoyin Springs."

"Mo Weiyu!" Chu Wanning resolved to never let Mo Ran talk him into bathing together in public
again.

Some few days later, Madam Wang called Mo Ran to ask him a question. "Did you see a strange
girl in Snow Valley during your travels a few years back?"

"Strange how?" Mo Ran asked.

"Very pale, blood on her face, likes to wear red, and always carries a basket," Madam Wang
recited. "She would chat with passersby in Snow Valley."

"Oh, you mean Xue Qianjin," Mo Ran laughed.

"You know her!" Madam Wang clapped her hands, overjoyed.

"Yeah, I do, I happened to run across her once or twice. What about her?"

"It's Nangong Si," Madam wang said. "By checking his pulse, I was able to determine that his
Scorching Sun Aura isn't uncontrollable. It's just that it requires some very rare ingredients to make
an antidote. The hardest to find is an item in Xue Qianjin's basket, but she's very hard to find. She
was last seen about twenty years ago, and before that it had been about a century, according to
Kunlun Taxue Palace's records."

The news both worried Mo Ran and brought him joy; a cure would allow Nangong Si to lead a
normal life and perhaps even marry Ye Wangxi. "After we settle things with Nangong Xu, I can go
to Snow Valley and search for her," he said. "Perhaps I can find her again." With a bright smile, he
stood to go tell Nangong Si the good news.

"Wait," Madam Wang said, putting a hand on his arm. "Ran, I've told young master Nangong
already."

Already out the door, Mo Ran didn't notice her attempts to stop him. He found Nangong Si at
Naihe Bridge, but before he could approach, Ye Wangxi walked over from the other side. Mo
Ran's heart skipped a beat and he stood watching them instead. He tilted his head, amazed at how
Ye Wangxi's training and cultivation method had made her appear entirely male.

"You called me?" Ye Wangxi said, when Nangong Si kept staring at the river insted of
acknowledging her approach.

"Uh, yes," he said finally.

"What's wrong?"

Not daring to look at Ye Wangxi, Nangong Si rested his hands on the stone lion's curled hair. "I
wanted to give you something," he said. He untied a piece of cloth from his waist, fingers fumbling
at the knots, and handed it to his subordinate. "I don't have anything valuable to give you right
now," he said, and Mo Ran could see that he was handing her a jade phoenix totem. "But please
accept this, after serving me so well for so many years." He was blushing, still not looking at Ye
Wangxi, and finally he snatched the totem back from her limp hands. "You don't have to keep it if
you don't like it," he muttered. "I'll find you a better one when I revive Rufeng Sect."

Stunned, Ye Wangxi's lips finally curled in a smile. She held the pendant in her hands, hair
blowing in the wind. Her voice was nearly drowned out by the rustling of bamboo as she said, "I
like this one, young master."

Nangong Si's face turned redder. "As long as, uh, as long as you like it, then, um."

Mo Ran suppressed a sigh at the absolute inanity taking place before him. Neither of them, he
decided, were any good at romance at all. They needed lessons. At the other end of the bridge,
Nangong Si was still talking.

"Madam Wang says I can suppress my spiritual core without dual cultivation," he was saying.

Ye Wangxi lowered her gaze, understanding spreading across her masculine face. She kept her
dignity, not wanting to embarrass herself by asking Nangong Si to stay by her side even without
the need for dual cultivation to suppress his unruly spiritual core. She could accept the jade
pendant as an apology and a gift of separation, and Nangong Si would be free to marry whoever he
chose without worrying that his partner would be overcome by his qi.

"You understand?" Nangong Si said, eyes searching her face.

"Yes, my lord," Ye Wangxi said softly.

Overjoyed, Nangong Si broke into a bright smile. "Then, if you're willing - I mean, only if you
want to - please talk to me like you did when we were kids. I liked that nickname. I'm just - I'm just
so happy." He covered his face. "What am I even saying?"

Now confused, Ye Wangxi looked up. She blinked twice, and then started to blush as she realized
she had made some very erroneous assumptions. The jade pendant was warm and smooth in her
hand, red tassels fluttering between her manly fingers, and finally she had to ask for clarification.
"What are you trying to say?" she asked.

The wind or the rustling of bamboo had softened her voice to where it might have passed as
feminine, and Nangong Si looked her in the eyes. She smiled, sun warm on her face and reflecting
in the tears that began to roll down her cheeks. Despite the way her face had changed, she suddenly
reminded him of the little girl she had been before going to train as a guard in the Shadow City.

On the day in question, Nangong Liu had set them to testing their strength in illusions. It had been
easy, but terrifying, and Nangong Si hadn't wanted to worry about anyone else. It had only taken
him a few moments to realize that Ye Wangxi was not behind him, and as he turned, he had seen a
Hanged Ghost about to attack her from behind. She had been too late to defend herself, but he had
saved her.

of course, because we can't have women actually having agency once we know they're women

Nangong Si had wanted to scold her, but she had looked so pathetic and frightened that he had
wanted to protect her instead. He had finally spit out, "How are you still afraid of ghosts?"

"What else am I supposed to be afraid of?" Ye Wangxi had returned.

"Women are so fucking useless," Nangong Si had told her.

The beautiful little girl had cried upon hearing those words. "I don't want to be useless," she had
sobbed. "I want to help! But you ran off so fast!"

It had been the first and only time, Nangong Si thought, that he had ever seen Ye Wangxi cry.
Later, after she had trained in the Shadow City, she had become as hard and cold as any graduate of
that hard school. She had suppressed her emotions, and he had forgotten what she had been like
deep down. Rather than hold him back, she had been his faithful shadow. She had followed him
silently for twenty years.
 Book 2, Part 5: Same Destination - The Return of the Plot

After ten days of fasting, Nangong Si and Ye Wangxi departed for Moutn Jiao. Naobaijin had been
wounded in the fire, and he was unable to maintain his grand form or carry Nangong Si on the
journey; he took the shape of a young cub, small enough to fit in Nangong Si's palm. He rode in the
embroidered quiver, fluffy head peeking out over the side.

Mo Ran accompanied the cultivators to the gate. "Although Mount Jiao is far, and the Imperial
Sword Technique does drain your energy, you're both competent and skilled. You can make it
there even without Naobaijin's help."

Bowing their heads and clasping their fists politely, the cultivators from Rufeng Sect mounted their
borrowed horses. "We thank you, Brother Mo. We will see you again some day."

"Travel safely," Mo Ran said, standing at the gates until their silhouettes vanished into the
distance. He smiled, wishing them luck, and turned to go. Before he could take a single step, a
conveniently timed meow froze him in his tracks. "Was that a cat?" he muttered, narrowing his
eyes.

Side by side, Ye Wangxi and Nangong Si walked down the mountain path. There were no travelers
on the road to Wuchan, and the dappled sunlight shone through the lush foliage. Nangong Si
looked at Ye Wangxi, opening his mouth to speak, and interrupted by a conveniently timed head
poking out of his quiver. Naobaijin howled in a tiny voice, and Nangong Si yanked back on his
bridle. "Look out!"

Without missing a beat, Ye Wangxi flung out a talisman right behind Nangong Si's poisoned Pear
Blossom Needles. The weapons were blocked with the ringing of metal, and before the talisman
could take effect, a barrier trapped both of them. "Who are you?" she demanded.

The sunlight shone on a man standing atop a tree, robes and hair fluttering in the wind and a
hateful expression on his face. Nangong Si recognized Jiangdong Hall's former sect leader's cousin,
Huang Xiaoyue, looking at them coldly. The dense forest filled with rustling noises, disgorging
over a hundred disciples of Jiangdong Hall, each of them wearing the bright red beads on their
foreheads marking them as elite disciples.

Twirling his moustache, Huang Xiaoyue cackled. “Were you two quite comfortable at Sisheng
Peak? We’ve been waiting for you for these ten days and nights.”

Furious, Nangong Si replied, “Huang Xiaoyue, why are you here again?”

“You’re well aware of the feud now existing between Jiangdong Hall and Rufeng Sect,” Huang
Xiaoyue said.

“Seriously?” Nangong Si said. “Your sister-in-law killed your brother, and you have to deal with
shit from your former disciples, and yet you come to harass us? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“You’re the one who’s fucked up,” shouted Huang Xiaoyue. “Your sect has done a great deal of
damage to ours, and we’re going to take it out on you!”

“Look, there’s a process for this,” Ye Wangxi said. “This isn’t it.”

“Shut up, little girl,” Huang Xiaoyue sneered, flicking his sleeves. “Stay out of men’s business.”
He lifted his chin. “You’re nothing but a silly girl who belongs barefoot and pregnant in the
kitchen. How dare you even speak to me?”

“You asshole!” Nangong Si shouted. “Be reasonable!”

“Sure, sure, then we’ll just take the entire debt out of your hide,” Huang Xiaoyue said. “Your
father had an affair with a married woman, incited her to kill her husband, namely my younger
brother, and usurp the throne. The woman next to you is the daughter of a monster – her foster
father spread everyone’s private matters to the rest of the world and ruined our reputation.” He
waved a hand, signaling his entire troop to descend.

Just before the hundred elite disciples fell upon the hapless pair, Mo Ran appeared dramatically in
the sky, landing in front of his friends. Red-lit willow vine in hand, he stared coldly at Huang
Xiaoyue and waited for a reaction. The former disciple of Jiangdong Hall didn’t disappoint.

“Grandmaster Mo,” he snarled. “What are you doing here?”

“Maybe you shouldn’t hang around forests meowing like a cat,” Mo Ran returned.

“Uh, what was that, Grandmaster?”

“That’s what I want to know, Senior Huang,” Mo Ran said calmly. “You shouldn’t waylay Sisheng
Peak’s guests. Perhaps you think we’re bored, and need some entertainment?”

“This matter is none of your concern,” Huang Xiaoyue said. “I will have justice for my deceased
brother, and I will thank the grandmaster to stay out of it!”

“Of course, Senior Huang,” Mo Ran said, “personal grudges are not my concern.” Despite his
words, he remained solidly in place, and the willow vine in his hand glowed even brighter. “I
might, however, wish to get involved anyway.”

“You!” Huang Xiaoyue gasped. Knowing he couldn’t defeat Mo Ran, he still tried to threaten him.
“Do you want to make an enemy of Jiangdong Hall?”

“No, Senior,” Mo Ran said. “I only wish for our guest to leave safely. I would do the same no
matter who was interfering.”

The hatred in Huang Xiaoyue’s narrowed eyes was nearly palpable. “You insist on protecting
Rufeng Sect?”

“I’m sorry, were either Miss Ye or Nangong Si involved in the misdeeds?” Mo Ran said. “Did they
plot against your sect? Did they reveal your private affairs?” He glared. “Or do you simply wish to
punish the innocent?”

“The son shall pay the debts of the father!” Huang Xiaoyue howled. “It’s perfectly justified!”

“Oh, so justified,” Mo Ran repeated indifferently. “Why don’t you and I spar? Whoever wins is
clearly right.”

“Stop being ridiculous!” Huang Xiaoyue howled.

“I’m being ridiculous?” Mo Ran started, only to be interrupted by Xue Meng stalking out of the
forest dramatically.

The blade Longcheng shone brightly with the reflected light of the sun, cold and sharp. “You dare
start a massacre in front of my house?” Xue Meng snapped. ”Does Jiangdong Hall have a death
wish?”

The Phoenix Xue Meng, victor of the Spiritual Mountain Competition and holding the infamous
blade Longcheng, was a force to be reckoned with. Huang Xiaoyue felt there was no way he could
defeat the enemies before him, even with a hundred men at his disposal. He lifted his chin, but
didn’t back down despite the odds turning against him.

“Go back,” Mo Ran said to his cousin.

“Let me help,” Xue Meng started.

“This isn’t Sisheng Peak’s concern,” Mo Ran interrupted. He couldn’t let Sisheng Peak start a feud
with Jiangdong Hall, no matter how much power and influence it had lost; it was still one of the
nine great sects of the upper cultivation world. The balance of power would shift again, and
destabilize the cultivation world still further. Mo Ran couldn’t let it happen. “Go home.”

Annoyed that Mo Ran didn’t want his help, Xue Meng glared at his cousin. He was caught off-
guard by a snow-white horse suddenly dashing up from a great distance, carrying a rider dressed in
pristine white with a lute on his back. The Immortal Lady of Taxue Palace in Mount Kunlun, fair
of face and beautiful of form, had arrived unexpectedly.

“Emergency!” shouted the lady as her mount came to a halt. “Urgent news!” She looked around at
the tense scene, obviously seeing it for the first time. “Er, what are you doing?”

Rather than revenge against Rufeng Sect, Huang Xiaoyue received an invitation to Sisheng Peak to
hear the news from the Immortal Lady. She stood in Loyalty Hall, red lips pressed together, and
bowed deeply. “Nangong Xu may have been found,” she said. “Over ten thousand Jade Butterflies
were sent out to track his whereabouts, and two have finally returned. There is a strange current in
the spiritual energies around Mount Huang, which may indicate that this is where Nangong Xu has
been hiding.”

“It was that easy?” Xue Zhengyong said, surprised and pleased.

“We’re not sure,” replied the Immortal Lady. “But my Jade Butterflies reported a persistent bloody
aura around Mount Huang. It seems fairly straightforward.”

“What does your palace master have to say?”

“Sect Leader, he is of a similar opinion. He also feels that the matter should be investigated
without delay.”

“Senior Huang,” Xue Zhengyong said. “We should make this a joint effort. The capture of
Nangong Xu would surely lead to justice for your brother.”

As Huang Xiaoyue had very little actual interest in justice for his brother, and he knew that he had
very little chance of defeating Nangong Xu, his heart skipped a beat. He had had other plans in
mind – plans involving the rumored treasures hidden away by Rufeng Sect outside the seventy-two
cities. He had decided to torture the information out of Nangong Si and Ye Wangxi and vanishing
with the riches. Now, however, he was backed into a corner.

“We don’t know whether Nangong Xu is there,” he said. “However, as this is a matter concerning
my sect’s reputation, it needs to be properly settled.”

“We should deal with Nangong Xu first,” Xue Zhengyong said. “Your sect can settle its debts with
Rufeng Sect afterwards.”
“Sect Leader Xue,” Huang Xiaoyue said, “Rufeng Sect is nothing more than a swathe of scorched
earth. In what way do you suggest we settle the debts?”

“That’s a question for your sect leader,” Xue Zhengyong said. “The sect is nothing more than a
wasteland, and yet you were still trying to murder two of its former members.”

Huang Xiaoyue flicked his sleeves coldly. “It is a personal matter,” he said.

“You just said it had to do with your sect’s reputation,” Xue Meng said merrily. “Make up your
mind. You’re one of the upper cultivation world’s nine great sects.”

With a cold glare, Huang Xiaoyue flicked his sleeves again. He remained silently expressionless,
leading the pack of Jiangdong Hall’s disciples toward the mountain of the dead. The cultivators
rode their swords toward Mount Huang, Ye Wangxi trying to apologize to Xue Zhengyong before
they left. He would hear none of it, smiling at her.

“Jiangdong Hall is the one who has gone too far,” Xue Zhengyong said. He glared at the retreating
backs of the disciples, gaze cold, and finally sighed. “Let’s get going.”

Mount Huang, the mountain of the dead, was so far away that traveling by sword was the only
option. A large group of cultivators was already at the foot of the mountain when they arrived,
representatives of the nine great sects. Chu Wanning dismounted from his sword first, face pale
and steps slightly unsteady. Fortunately for him, he was naturally pale, and no one noticed
anything amiss.

“You did well, sir,” Mo Ran murmured quietly.

With a soft cough, Chu Wanning looked away. The other eight sect leaders had already arrived,
and were waiting at the foot of the mountain. Xue Zhengyong hurried over, adding his qi to the
barrier reaching up to the sky. Xue Meng was one of the last to arrive, stepping off his blade with a
frown.

“Why aren’t we going up there?” he asked.

“We literally can’t,” Mo Ran said.

“It’s one of the four great evil mountains,” Chu Wanning explained. “It’s not easy to enter.”

“I just know the four sacred mountains,” Xue Meng said. “What do you mean, there are four evil
ones?”

“Mount Jiao, Mount Black Tortoise Armor, Mount Fearsome, and Mount Huang.” Chu Wanning
paused. “This is the bloody past of the cultivation world, rarely mentioned, and only known by the
well-read.”

“So where did they come from?” Xue Meng said impatiently, ignoring the indirect insult.

“Do you remember the story of Rufeng Sect’s first leader subduing the flood dragon?” Chu
Wanning asked.

“The dragon was in the Eastern Sea,” Xue Meng said. “It was sealed in the Golden Drum Tower,
and the first sect leader signed a blood contract with it. Its muscles became the earth, its blood
became the river, and its bones became the mountain. Its scales became trees. The mountain
guarded Rufeng Sect’s dead for generations, which is why it was called the Hero’s Tomb, or
Mount Jiao.”
“And that’s why it’s the transformation of the Azure Dragon Evil Spirit.” Chu Wanning flicked his
sleeves. “You all know that the other three constellations of auspicious beasts are the Vermilion
Bird, the White Tiger, and the Black Tortoise.”

“So they’re the same as Mount Jiao,” Xue Meng realized. “They were formed from the spirits of
evil beasts.” At Chu Wanning’s nod, he came up with another guess. “This is Vermilion Bird?”

The shape of the mountain resembled a phoenix with its head thrown back. Chu Wanning nodded.
“Each mountain has its own pitfalls. Mount Jiao only allows descendants of Rufeng Sect to step
foot upon its paths. Mount Huang is no different.”

“But then we just need to find the descendants of the sect that subdued the Vermilion Bird,” Xue
Meng realized. “What are we waiting for?”

“About that,” Mo Ran said. “The last male descendant passed away not long ago, but his daughter
is still alive, and you know who she is.”

------

“A thousand years ago,” Mo Ran said, “a man named Song Qiao subdued the Vermilion Bird’s
evil spirit. He was also known as Song Xingyi.”

“The lord of Huabi?” Xue Meng said, face pale with fright.

“The very one,” said Mo Ran.

“He was the last Butterfly-Boned Beauty Feast in cultivation history to become a Grandmaster,”
Xue Meng breathed.

“The last person who could have opened these gates died when Rufeng Sect burned,” Mo Ran
said. “Song Qiutong.”

A commotion arose in the distance, and Mo Ran looked over to see a group of green-clad disciples
of Bitan Manor caught by the barrier. Chu Wanning frowned and stalked toward them. He pushed
his way through the crowd to where Li Wuxin leaned against one of his disciples, spitting blood.
His ejection from the array affected the rest of the sect leaders attempting to maintain the barrier.

“It was the Phoenix Nightmare,” Jiang Xi said, face pale with effort. Mo Ran knew that it was
similar to the illusions he had experienced years ago at Jincheng Lake, but that its victims often
never woke again. The disciples of Bitan Manor surrounded their sect leader, trying to rouse him to
consciousness, but he only laughed in the grip of the nightmare.

Rising to his feet with a lurch, Li Wuxin began babbling nonsense. He cackled with his mouth so
wide open that ropy strings of bloody saliva were visible between his teeth, mien changing from
glee to sorrow and then back to excitement. Mo Ran shuddered; Li Wuxin was deeply invested in
his public image, and to see it shattered so thoroughly was disheartening.

“He doesn’t look human,” Mo Ran murmured.

“Eight billion gold?” Li Wuxin was saying. “It’s too much. Please. It was originally from Bitan
Manor, and given to my teacher. Sect Leader, please lower the price of the secret sword manual.”

Chu Wanning suddenly remembered that Bitan Manor had had money problems many years
previously, which had been abruptly solved for no apparent reason. The sect’s return to financial
solvency, he thought, had coincided with the disciples’ sudden inability to use the sect’s signature
Broken Water Sword Technique. Rumor had had it that Li Wuxin’s inability to properly teach his
disciples was to blame.

Others in the crowd were having the same revelation, Chu Wanning realized, seeing their
expressions change. Some of them looked to Lonemoon sect, trying to be stealthy about it, but Chu
Wanning could read their intent. Li Wuxin, still trapped in the nightmare, continued to beg the
illusion to return the scroll, and the disciples from Bitan Manor lost their collective cool.

“Give it back, Jiang Xi!” one of them shouted, and much to Chu Wanning’s surprise, it was Huang
Xiaoyue who spoke up in Lonemoon’s defense.

“Hold your tongue, you shameless cur!” he snarled, sweat beading his face. As the newest and
least powerful sect leader, his cultivation level was lower than everyone else’s, and it was an
obvious effort just to speak.

The hotheaded disciple from Bitan Manor tried to rush toward Huang Xiaoyue, but his fellow
disciples held him back. Li Wuxin continued sobbing, caught in the nightmare, bowing to no one
and pressing his forehead to the ground until it bled. “I’ve asked your father, and now I ask you. I
even begged Luo Fenghua for it. Please return it.”

“Rufeng Sect!” someone shouted, and the mood of the crowd – already intolerant of Nangong Si
and Ye Wangxi – soured still farther as the gathered cultivators started recounting how Rufeng
Sect’s sword techniques had markedly improved in the past several years. Nangong Si’s placement
in the Spiritual Mountain Competition was called into question, and he gritted his teeth. The fallout
from his father’s shady dealings just kept coming.

“Why are you still here?” someone shouted, and the first punch was thrown. Nangong Si was
dragged away from Ye Wangxi, fists raining down over his face and chest. He did not resist,
simply turning away as the blows fell.

“Stop,” said a cold stern voice.

Spitting out a mouthful of blood, Nangong Si looked up at his rescuer. His disheveled hair lay
across his face and mud stained his robes, and the angriest disciple of Bitan Manor still tried to hit
him again. Chu Wanning caught his arm, eyes narrowed.

“I told you to stop,” Chu Wanning said, face utterly cold and blank.

Nangong Si turned to spit out another mouthful of blood, pushing Ye Wangxi away as she tried to
help him up. “This is my shit to deal with,” he ground out.

Bitan’s furious disciple grew even angrier at the words, struggling to pull himself out of Chu
Wanning’s grasp. “He had no right to torture our sect leader like this,” he howled. “No right to take
what belonged to Bitan Manor.” His words were underscored by Li Wuxin continuing to beg
Nangong Liu for the manual in the background.

Chu Wanning’s hands shook almost as hard as the disciples of Bitan Manor, watching their sect
leader relive his shame, and the disciple in Chu Wanning’s grasp began to weep tears of fury.
Finally, with no other recourse available, he spat in Chu Wanning’s face.

“Sir!” Mo Ran exclaimed.

Chu Wanning let the disciple go, still standing between him and Nangong Si. “Stay where you
are,” he snapped. Bitan’s disciple surged forward, trying to reach Nangong Si, but Chu Wanning
erected a barrier instead. He closed his eyes, the sound of Li Wuxin’s begging like blades through
his heart. “Nangong Si is the son of Rong Yan,” he said. “I will not allow him to be harmed.”

“Please return it,” Li Wuxin moaned, bowing in supplication, and Chu Wanning’s hands curled
into fists in his sleeves.

“When I left home,” Chu Wanning said, freezing tone carrying across the field despite how quietly
he spoke. “I brought no money with me. Madam Rong gave me food, tea, and shelter.”

Most of the cultivators had never heard the story, and began to quiet. Only Li Wuxin’s tearful
voice interrupted the sound of Chu Wanning’s speech. He turned his head, looking at the fallen
Nangong Si.

“That year, Madam Rong brought her young son to me in front of the temple. He had completed
the gift for his teacher, and if I was willing to stay with the sect, he would stay by my side.” Chu
Wanning paused. “I accepted.” He glanced around at the crowd. “Nangong Si is my disciple.”

Hearing the great secret, Xue Meng’s face turned ashen. Mo Ran and Shi Mei paled as well, and all
three of Chu Wanning’s known disciples kept silent with effort. All three of them watched their
teacher intently as he continued to speak.

“Nangong Si is my disciple if he completes the ceremony by bowing three times,” Chu Wanning
continued. “I have acknowledged him. If you seek revenge on him, I will answer in his stead.”

“Sir!” Mo Ran said, rushing to kneel in front of Chu Wanning. He was followed a heartbeat later
by Shi Mei, who echoed, “Sir!” a fraction of a second later.

“No,” Nangong Si mumbled, struggling to get up. Blood continued to flow from his mouth. “I
won’t bow,” he said. “I never have and I won’t now. I do not have a teacher.”

Before the tense standoff could be resolved, Li Wuxin let out a howl. He raised his head toward the
sky, bleeding from the eyes. The sect leader of the lowest-ranked sect in the world, a joke to the
cultivation world, the man who could accomplish nothing, fell over dead. The wind blew past his
corpse, and Mo Ran felt his heart ache.

Nearly all of the cultivators who had chased Nangong Si had hoped, in their heart of hearts, to gain
some or all of the treasure trove kept safe for Rufeng Sect’s revival. Bitan Manor had had none of
these intentions – they had simply tried, clumsily, to forge new relationships with Sisheng Peak
and Lonemoon Sect in order to support their fellow cultivators moving forward.

Even bullied and humiliated by Rufeng Sect, Li Wuxin had not once tried to take revenge. His last
words in the grip of the nightmare had made it clear that he would never commit the sin of thievery
or injustice, instead only beg for justice to be meted out. Mo Ran gazed at the old man’s face,
remembering also that Li Wuxin had not fled the sea of fire. He had stayed to help save as many
people as he could, lacking the skills of his sect’s heritage after he had been forced to sell the
manuscripts to keep the sect alive. Li Wuxin’s legacy was composed of the lives he had saved –
civilians, cultivators, even the disciples of Rufeng Sect that he had carried out of the sea of fire and
brought one by one to safety.

------

The disciples of Bitan Manor dropped to their knees, wailing mournfully to mark their master’s
passing, the sound broken by the barrier buzzing loudly. Sweat dripped down Jiang Xi’s face, and
he looked over his shoulder. “If someone doesn’t fill in for Li Wuxin, we’re all going to die,” he
shouted.
“Constellation!” Xue Zhengyong snapped. “Get in here!”

Not needing to be told twice, Chu Wanning the barrier master moved to assist. He could tell that
the linked sect elders were close to breaking the curse; if they failed, the backlash would move
mountains and empty seas. He flicked his sleeve, taking Li Wuxin’s place with a sharp look, and
glanced sideways at Huang Xiaoyue. The new sect leader appeared to be struggling, sweating and
red-faced, but Chu Wanning knew the instant he locked into the array that something was wrong.

The position Chu Wanning was filling bore enough evil intent for two sect leaders – Li Wuxin had
borne a double burden, because the person next to him hadn’t invested any strength into the barrier
at all, and Bitan Manor’s sect leader had picked up the slack. Chu Wanning was furious – Huang
Xiaoyue was putting on an act, and it had gotten a good man killed.

“How dare you play games,” he snapped.

“What?” Huang Xiaoyue gasped, breathing heavily and looking for all intents and purposes like a
man about to collapse.

“Fuck off right this instant,” Chu Wanning said, still maintaining the work of two sect leaders by
himself.

“Constellation!” Xue Zhengyong said angrily. “Stop harassing Sect Leader Huang! Look how
worn out he is! We’ll deal with whatever your problem is after we open the barrier!”

Anticipating chagrin, Huang Xiaoyue glanced at Chu Wanning to see a frosty gaze leveled
squarely at him. He knew he didn’t have the skill to assist in breaking the phoenix curse, and had
only placed himself in the array to make himself and Jiangdong Hall look good. He hadn’t
expected Li Wuxin to actually die, nor had he expected Chu Wanning to take his place.

Grandmaster Chu, who deserved to be chopped to pieces, had the unmitigated gall to not only stand
next to Huang Xiaoyue but also accuse him of being useless. The sweat on his forehead increased,
and he bit his tongue hard enough to bleed. Allowing blood to collect in his mouth, he first let it
seep out the corner of his lips, then coughed to spatter it everywhere.

“Grandmaster,” Huang Xiaoyue gasped. “I can’t take it. I’m done for.”

Perfectly well aware that Li Wuxin had been the stronger of the two, and that he shouldn’t have
been the first to fall if both of them had truly been using their full strength, Chu Wanning flicked
his sleeves. He swung Heavenly Questions with a single hand, flipping Huang Xiaoyue from ten
feet away. “Get out!” he raged.

The disciples of Jiangdong Hall rushed up to their sect leader, shocked and glaring at Chu
Wanning. Not being privy to his internal thoughts, a number of other cultivators were also
horrified at his apparently unreasonable behavior. Ignoring them entirely, Chu Wanning narrowed
his eyes. Coldly furious, he turned his attention to Huang Xiaoyue.

“I said get out,” he said, icily oppressive. He was furious enough for Heavenly Questions to kill,
veins standing out on the hand holding his holy weapon. “Or did you plan on using more than the
merest sliver of your qi to assist?”

“Uh, Constellation,” Xue Zhengyong said.

“When Li Wuxin was collapsing, how much of his burden did you try to bear?”

“He’s already spit blood!” screamed Jiangdong Hall’s disciples. “How much more do you want
him to do? Do you want him to die?”

The barrier trembled violently before Chu Wanning could speak. Red energy glowed around the
hands of each sect leader, and Jiang Xi took control of the situation. “The last level is about to
fall!” he snapped. “Concentrate!”

In no mood to explain himself to idiots who couldn’t see what was in front of their noses, Chu
Wanning used his rage to fuel his qi. The earth trembled as a crack appeared in the barrier with a
loud bang, eight feet tall and wide enough for five men to walk side by side. “It’s open!” Xue
Zhengyong said, close enough to the rift to feel the miasma of evil pressing against him. “It smells
terrible,” he added.

“Corpses are collected here,” said the head of Wubei Temple. “Perhaps there are more here than
we imagined.”

“That asshole Nangong Xu might actually be here after all,” said Jiang Xi coldly. He glanced
around expressionlessly. “All of you, listen. Anyone who was injured, or who is afraid, putting on
airs, or otherwise useless.” He looked at Huang Xiaoyue with a chilly expression. “Stay outside the
barrier. Everyone else, with me.”

Xue Meng hurried forward to join Chu Wanning, but he looked behind him to see that Mo Ran was
gone. He hesitated, searching for his teammate, finding him in the midst of a commotion around
Nangong Si. Chu Wanning’s barrier was still in place, but a number of disciples were furiously
surrounding it.

“Uh, Mo Ran,” Xue Meng said anxiously. “We should go.”

“Look after Shi Mei and our teacher,” Mo Ran said. “Call me if you run into trouble.”

With no choice, Xue Meng hurried through the rift. Left at the foot of the mountain with Mo Ran
were the disciples of Bitan Manor and Jiangdong Hall. “I know how you’re all feeling,” Mo Ran
said to the crowd. “But the matter of the scroll wasn’t Nangong Si’s responsibility. It’s Nangong
Xu you should be chasing.”

“We’ll fuck them both up,” growled someone, cheered on by the crowd. “Grandmaster Mo, is this
how you and your teacher – another Grandmaster – intend to carry on? Higher ranking people just
covering up each other’s crimes?”

“I want you to be fair,” Mo Ran said evenly. “We should give Nangong Si due process according
to the laws of the cultivation world. The ten great sects can question Nangong Xu at Tianyin
Pavilion. Stop trying to lynch the man.”

“Ten sects my ass,” said another nameless disciple. “It’s eight.” He wiped the bloodstains off his
face, tears trickling down his cheeks. “Bitan Manor and Rufeng Sect are both gone.” He turned to
look at Mo Ran. “You were said to be of an honorable sect, but I see that we misjudged you. Do
you really intend to protect these two criminals?”

“Go away, Mo Ran,” Nangong Si broke in hoarsely. Ye Wangxi knelt beside him, helping him to
his feet. “We’re going through the rift.”

“You were acknowledged by my teacher,” Mo Ran said. “He’s part of my sect. That makes you my
responsibility, too.” He turned to look at the disciples of Bitan Manor, who had been joined by the
disciples of Jiangdong Hall to form an unruly and restive mob.

Supported by two of his disciples, Huang Xiaoyue pretended to stagger as he came closer. He
waved away his support, staring at Mo Ran and panting harshly. “I’ve suffered a lot of injustice in
the cultivation world,” he said. “Are you really not going to help us met out justice for once?”

“You are indeed an admirable man,” Mo Ran said. “Only a moment ago, you were struggling to
breathe, but suddenly you have the energy to aid in a lynching. Truly an inspiration.”

“You!” Huang Xiaoyue clutched his chest, coughing theatrically, but Mo Ran ignored him.

“Grandmaster Mo,” said the disciple of Bitan who had spoken last. “Are you sure you don’t want
to just leave?”

A shrill voice rang out, breaking the stalemate, alerting Mo Ran to the deluge of greyish black mud
oozing out from the rift. The crowd flinched back from its path. “Is the mountain collapsing?”
Huang Xiaoyue asked.

In the next instant, the mud coalesced into wave after wave of charred zombies. Their skin and
flesh was burnt and fused, liquid seeping from cracks in their skin. Mo Ran heard someone vomit
at the appalling sight, and the barrier began to shift. It was starting to repair itself – a handy quality
for barriers to have, Mo Ran thought, and regretted that it wasn’t standard.

“We need to get moving,” Mo Ran said. “Before it traps us out here.” He glanced around. “We can
deal with everything else later.” He paused again. “Unless you just want to let Nangong Xu walk
away scot-free.”

“With all the illustrious cultivators in there now, there’s no way Nangong Xu will escape,” Huang
Xiaoyue said. “But these two assholes from Rufeng Sect will run faster than greased lightning if
we let them go, and who knows if we’ll be able to catch them again.”

Furious, Mo Ran summoned What The Hell with a crimson flash. “Are you fucking done?” he
snapped. The horde of cultivators in front of him unsheathed their swords, anticipating a fight, and
he heard a cold voice emanate from the rift behind him.

“Nangong Si isn’t going anywhere,” said the voice. “Please enter the rift.”

“Why should we believe you?” Huang Xiaoyue said.

Nangong Si finally made it to his feet. He shoved Ye Wangxi out of Chu Wanning’s barrier and
drew his sword. The snow-white light illuminated his face, and Ye Wangxi began to pound on the
outside of the barrier. “Stop it, Si!” she shouted.

“Our ancestors founded the sect with the exhortation not to indulge in greed, rape, or murder,”
Nangong Si said. “My father has broken these rules. I have been a proud man for twenty-six years,
and I have abided by these words.” The sword slid fully free from its scabbard.

“Stop!” Mo Ran shouted, also figuring out what Nangong Si had planned. He frantically tried to
unravel the barrier, but it was too well created. “Nangong,” he said, but the man inside ignored
both of them.

“As my lords are unwilling to believe me today, I have no choice. I have learned the art of
imprisonment. I will draw the earth as a prison to await your return.” He calmly placed his left
hand on the ground and drove his sword through it up to the hilt. Lightning and thunder crashed,
the forbidden technique blossoming outwards.

Ye Wangxi knelt in front of the barrier as blood seeped out around the blade, hiding her face. She
recognized the spell, a binding incantation to subdue evil, known by any cultivator. Nangong Si’s
lips trembled from the pain, but he did not cry out. He raised his head, staring at the crowd. “Get
moving,” he said.

At a rare loss for words, Mo Ran could only stare. In his previous life, only Ye Wangxi had ever
shocked him into speechlessness. In this life, it was her beloved – he had been confused, once, as to
why she had been in love with a vain and air-headed flirt, but now Mo Ran saw what Nangong Si
was made of. He knelt, bloody but ruthless to the core.

“I said move it!” Nangong Si roared. “Do you want me to pin my feet down, too?”

Bitan Manor’s senior brother stood, moving to his sect leader’s corpse. He picked it up and
returned. “We will see you at Tianyin Pavilion when this battle is over, Grandmaster Mo,” he said.
“Remember your words.” The rest of his sectmates fell into step beside him, some more resentfully
than others. “The Pavilion Master will act impartially, allowing our master to rest in peace,” he
continued, voice shaking in suppressed rage. “Mo Ran and Nangong Si, justice will be served and
you will be sentenced to death.”

------

Hoping to end the battle quickly, Mo Ran dashed toward the breach in the barrier. With the rest of
the cultivators through the rift, Jiangdong Hall had no choice but to follow. On the other side,
corpses littered the ground and hung from the trees – the dead crawled toward the living, and the
disciples of Jiangdong Hall screamed in panic. Huang Xiaoyue produced a horsetail whisk,
beheading the nearest group of zombies with a single gesture.

Surprised, Mo Ran was about to smile, but Huang Xiaoyue collapsed and spat blood. His disciples
rushed to surround him, and he quivered. “I can still help,” he gasped, failing twice to stand up. His
knees wobbled, and his disciples whimpered.

“Stay here, sir,” one of them said. “You’re wounded. It’s too dangerous.”

Bloody saliva had collected at the corner of his mouth, turning Mo Ran’s stomach. He watched in
disgust as Huang Xiaoyue allowed himself to be accompanied back to the other side of the barrier
by his fawning disciples. Only a few cultivators of Jiangdong Hall elected to remain, and Mo Ran
turned his attention back to the road.

A figure coalesced out of the gloom, blue-eyed with light golden hair and a cold expression. He
seemed startled upon seeing Mo Ran, and Mo Ran was no less taken aback. “Brother Mei,” he
said. Mei Hanxue nodded coldly. “Did you see the others?” Mo Ran asked.

“Back there,” Mei Hanxue said, and Mo Ran saw a corpse staggering up behind him. Before he
could warn the other cultivator, Mei Hanxue had already summoned his sword. Without even
looking at the zombie, he stabbed it through the heart and cleaned his blade on its clothes. “Keep
going,” he said. “The first mountain road is to the left. They’re clearing the dead from it now.” Mo
Ran thanked him, but Mei Hanxue stopped him before he could start moving. “Wait.”

“Did you need something else?”

“My mistress and Madam Rong were old friends,” Mei Hanxue said. “She’s worried about Ye
Wangxi and Nangong Si. Are they still outside?”

“They’re outside,” Mo Ran confirmed. “Nangong Si bound himself to the earth. But Huang
Xiaoyue is also waiting outside, and I’m afraid he might to something reckless.”

Barely acknowledging Mo Ran’s words, Mei Hanxue disappeared beyond the boundary. Mo Ran
started jogging toward the main force, glancing at the corpses along the way. With so many dead,
he wondered if he would recognize any of them, but they were all strangers. No cultivators were
among the festering corpses, and Mo Ran wondered if it was because the Sect Leaders had brought
such skilled fighters that everyone had survived.

Another thought occurred to Mo Ran; he wasn’t straining against the mountain’s vengeful spirits at
all. The few corpses he hacked to pieces had no qi to speak of, and it seemed far too easy. He had
an inkling of why, and it terrified him. Trying not to let his nerves get the better of him, Mo Ran
dodged a zombie hanging from a tree. It turned its head to stare at him, grabbing his shoulder. He
looked closely at it before kicking it into the crowd of corpses under attack by the living
cultivators.

“Mo Ran!” Xue Meng called to him, and Mo Ran put himself at his teammate’s back. Xue Meng’s
face was splashed with black blood and he was out of breath. “They’re not hard to defeat,” Xue
Meng said. “But there’s so many of them.”

The Immortal the Evil Overlord had been proficient in demonic techniques, and he thought his
guess was correct, but he still didn’t have enough information. “These dead weren’t cultivators,” he
said. “They were ordinary humans.”

“How can you even tell?” Xue Meng asked. “They’re so badly decomposed I can’t tell if they’re
men or women.”

“If I fought with you, and didn’t dodge in time, you’d grab my shoulder. Then what?”

“Why would you expose your shoulder? That’s a mistake even a child wouldn’t make,” Xue Meng
said.

“Why is it such a terrible mistake?” Mo Ran asked.

“Because that’s where your spiritual core is closest to the surface! If the other hand pierced your
chest, you’d die instantly!”

“So just now one of the corpses caught me like that,” Mo Ran said, raising his voice to talk over
Xue Meng’s immediate castigation of his poor fighting skills. “It didn’t even try to aim for my
core,” he said. “If it had been a cultivator, there’s no way it wouldn’t have tried. That habit has
been ingrained into us through all of our training.” He paused, and Xue Meng had the grace to look
abashed. “So they must have been ordinary people. That also explains why there are no casualties
among our group.”

“So what’s Nangong Xu doing here, then?” Xue Meng asked. “He’s got enough qi, why wouldn’t
he send cultivators after us?”

“There are two possibilities,” Mo Ran said. “Either it didn’t occur to him.”

Xue Meng scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Then it’s option two,” Mo Ran said. “He can’t.” His gaze was heavy as he stared into the corpse-
studded gloom. “He doesn’t have enough qi to control so many cultivators with his Zhenlong chess
pieces.”

“So what, he’s using these to wear us down instead?” Xue Meng kicked back another assault.

Shrugging, Mo Ran turned his attention back to the zombies. He was more and more sure of his
guess, but as he kept mowing down the hordes, he noticed some oddities. As soon as the dead hit
the ground, a tiny vine would emerge to pierce their chests. It would drag their hearts out and back
into the ground, disappearing without a trace. Mo Ran didn’t think anyone else had noticed; the
vines were small and quick, easy to miss in the chaos.

“Mo Ran?” Xue Meng called, but it didn’t even register. Mo Ran grabbed a zombie by the neck
and cut into its heart, black blood spattering his face. Xue Meng backed away, convinced that his
teammate had lost his mind, but Mo Ran sliced open the heart to reveal a black chess piece. It
wasn’t what he was looking for, though, and he kept slicing at the zombie. “What the fuck are you
doing?” Xue Meng snapped, face green with nausea at the incredible stench.

“There you are,” Mo Ran said, holding up the chess piece. A red Soul Devouring Insect was
clinging to the chess piece. Dozens of vines sprang up from the ground, aiming straight for Mo
Ran’s hands. He dodged, trying to hold his find out of their grasp, but they just moved faster. He
knew now what Nangong Xu was planning, and his blood ran cold.

Only the Immortal the Evil Overlord had been so heartless in Mo Ran’s previous life; the Soul
Devouring Insects and the corpses were part of an array. It was one he had developed, naming it
the Shared-Heart Array, and he thought it was definitive proof that he was up against someone else
who had been reborn. Not only that, but his opponent had been familiar enough with him to learn
how to recreate his technique.

Black chess piece and scarlet insect clenched in his hands, Mo Ran continued to dodge the vines.
He remembered when he had been nineteen the first time, right after Shi Mei had died; that was
when he had started to secretly learn the Zhenlong Chess Formation. He had practiced for six
months, always failing, until he had finally succeeded in creating two chess pieces. He had looked
down at them with mixed elation and sorrow; a part of him still wanted to share his success with
his teacher.

The rest of Mo Ran had hated Chu Wanning with every fiber of his being. Shi Mei’s death had
been the gap that couldn’t be bridged, and the relationship he had had with the other man was
master and disciple in name only. He had refused to acknowledge Chu Wanning at all, walking
past him silently if they happened across each other. If Chu Wanning had taken the initiative to
speak to him, Mo Ran thought now, he might have answered. But Chu Wanning’s dignity did not
allow him to speak first, and Mo Ran had hated that his teacher had selfishly placed his dignity
above their relationship.

Without guidance, the length of time it had taken Mo Ran to develop the technique wasn’t
unexpected; he had been able to grasp the theory, knowing that the pieces were formed from the
caster’s qi, but it was another thing to put it into practice. Refining a black chess piece, he knew,
would allow him to execute a hundred major techniques. Refining a white chess piece, he was
fairly sure, would have drained even the qi of a Grandmaster such as his teacher. Theory without
the qi to back it up, Mo Ran had concluded, was useless.

Still, Mo Ran had been talented and possessed of abundant qi – he had manifested two black chess
pieces. He hadn’t cared that day that he had only created two. He had succeeded. He walked out of
the dimly lit room feeling dizzy with a combination of excitement and the sudden loss of his qi.
Two disciples had approached him, and he had stuffed the pieces into his bag before they could
see. As he fastened the bag again, his legs had given way and he had collapsed.

Mo Ran had been brought back to his room, barely aware of his surroundings and unable to move,
and had felt someone taking care of him. In his addled state, he had thought it was Shi Mei. Tears
had flowed down his cheeks, and the person in front of him had wiped them away with warm
hands. “Don’t go, Shi Mei,” Mo Ran had sobbed. He had cried until he felt clear-headed, and the
person with him had stayed the entire time, holding his hand.

The two chess pieces in his bag had seemed suddenly like the source of evil, but he couldn’t let
them go. He needed them. He had looked up at who he thought was Shi Mei, intending to beg him
again to stay so that he wouldn’t be dragged down the path of evil, but he fell asleep before he
could speak. When he had woken, he had been alone. The mirage of Shi Mei was a dream, he had
thought, except that the faint scent of incense hung in the air.

Sitting up, Mo Ran had stared blankly at the table, where the remains of an incense stick sat
innocuously in its holder, a scent that he disliked and never would have chosen to burn. He had
known he hadn’t seen Shi Mei, but he couldn’t figure out who might have brought him home and
sat with him for long enough that the entire stick of incense would burn out.

All of Mo Ran’s clothes and weapons had been neatly folded and placed on the table, including his
bag. He had dashed toward it, fingers shaking as he examined the bag. Held closed with his
customary three knots, he had seen, and trembled harder in relief that it had not been opened. The
two chess pieces had still been inside, and he had felt that fate had smiled upon him. He had taken
them out, wondering what to do with them.

Heart pounding like a drum, an audacious thought had struck Mo Ran. He had swallowed hard as
he contemplated using the Zhenlong chess piece to control Chu Wanning. Would he be able to
overcome his teacher’s will, he had wondered, and make him kneel? He had thought he might be
able to finally drag an apology out of his teacher for his misdeeds, or even torture him.
Anticipation had risen sharply in his chest, lighting his eyes as he considered how best to hurt his
teacher.

Humiliation, he had concluded. He had clutched the chess pieces, mouth dry, and licked his
chapped lips. He had wanted to see Chu Wanning bow his head, but he hadn’t known what he
would do next. A sense of emptiness had lingered underneath his excitement, feeding into
dissatisfaction with no apparent source, and he hadn’t liked it.

Chu Wanning needed to cry, he had thought, and he had pressed the chess piece against his lips. It
was cool to the touch. “You won’t stop me,” he had muttered. “I will have my revenge.”

Planning on thrusting the chess piece into his teacher’s chest, Mo Ran had walked out the door.

------

Still dodging the vines, Mo Ran remained lost in his memories of the first time he had succeeded in
manifesting Zhenlong Chess Pieces. He had been nineteen for the first time, and he had wanted to
use one of them on Chu Wanning. With that in mind, he had left to find his teacher.

After wandering around the Red Lotus Pavilion, Mo Ran came to his senses. It was too dangerous,
he decided, he hadn't tested the technique, and an easier target was a better choice. He found two
junior disciples instead, feeling that a cultivator with an unstable foundation would do well. He
found two young men near the riverside competition, and - hands shaking - he inserted the chess
pieces. Moonlight shone down on their two figures as they suddenly knelt.

Like a frightened bird, Mo Ran hid himself in the nearest bush. For a long moment, he watched
them kneel. They stayed stiff and motionless, and eventually Mo Ran's heart slowed. He slunk out
of the bush, looking down at the two junior disciples. They were pale and calm, unmoving and not
reacting to his presence. Mo Ran activated the spell.

The two disciples bowed deeply and stood. They raised their blank eyes, and Mo Ran saw himself
reflected. He appeared pale and wild, and his voice trembled as he gave his first order. "Tell me
your names," he said.

Two calm voices answered in unison. "I have no name."

"Where are you?"

"I am wherever you wish me to be."

"What day is it?"

"I am whenever you wish me to be."

Mo Ran's heart sped up again. That the disciples didn't know their names or locations or the date
clearly demonstrated that the technique had succeeded. He found himself more afraid than elated,
and he didn't know why. He felt himself standing on the edge of a cliff - no, he had fallen off the
cliff into the endless abyss, and he didn't know when he would hit the bottom. Trembling, he
reached out to stroke the cheek of one of his chess pieces and swallowed. His throat was painfully
dry. "What do you want?" he asked, the last question.

"A pawn only exists to sacrifice his life for the king," said the disciples in unison.

It was as if the environment around him was frozen, silent and still, as Mo Ran fully took in his
two chess pieces. The two juniors were his puppets, doing whatever he ordered and nothing he did
not. Although the lowest level of the technique was to control the dead, his qi had been enough to
dominate two unwilling, living subjects. The fear slowly began to drain away, replaced by
excitement, as he saw his future unfold in his mind's eye.

There was nothing, Mo Ran suddenly knew, that he couldn't accomplish. Whatever he loved, he
could possess. Whatever he hated, he could crush. His heart sped up yet further as he laughed at
his own success. He had mastered one of the three forbidden techniques, and absolutely nothing
was outside his grasp. Dozens of plans whirled through his mind, tumbling and reforming, and
then suddenly all of them were shattered by a cold voice.

"Mo Ran."

As if a basin of cold water had been thrown over him, Mo Ran jerked back onto the riverbank. A
man in cold white robes stood on the gravel, looking at him expressionlessly. He had never wanted
to see Chu Wanning less. "What are you doing here?" his teacher asked.

Hand clenched into a fist at his side, Mo Ran didn't answer immediately. His two pieces weren't
perfect, and would give him away if Chu Wanning looked at them closely enough. The one thing
that could get in his way was his teacher, who frowned at Mo Ran's silence and stepped forward.
He glanced at the two disciples behind Mo Ran, an unreadable expression hushing over his face.
Mo Ran bent his finger surreptitiously, pouring all his qi into silent instructions, and finally the
two disciples acted.

"This was too short," said one disciple. "I'm going to beat you next time."

"Keep bragging," said the second. "I'll - Constellation Saint!" They stopped and bowed to him
respectfully and greeted him as was proper.

Feeling that something was wrong, Chu Wanning frowned. The two disciples withdrew, walking
along the river bank and heading toward the bamboo forest. He looked back at Mo Ran, who was
staring at him fixedly. "Stop," he said. "Come back here."
Mo Ran cursed internally, ordering the two pieces to stop walking and return. His nails dug into his
palms with the effort as the two chess pieces slowly made their way back toward the riverbank.
Chu Wanning searched their faces, placing a finger on the side of their necks, and Mo Ran
wondered if he thought they were corpses, if his teacher had figured out that they were Zhenlong
Chess Pieces. Finally, he dropped his hand.

"Go ahead," he said.

Feeling as though he had had a reprieve from certain death, Mo Ran silently ordered them to
withdraw. His teacher didn't appear to have noticed anything amiss, switching his attention to Mo
Ran instead. Mo Ran allowed his fists to unclench.

"What are you doing out here so late?" Chu Wanning asked.

"Just passing by," Mo Ran said, feeling that he couldn't ignore a direct question, but he walked
insolently away as soon as he had finished speaking. He later thought it was this unexpected action
that had distracted his teacher.

"Someone recently broke into the forbidden section of the library," Chu Wanning said suddenly.
Mo Ran stopped walking, but did not look back. "The ten great sects have copies of some
incomplete scrolls regarding the forbidden arts," Chu Wanning added.

"I know," Mo Ran said.

"There were signs that these scrolls had been touched," Chu Wanning told him.

"I don't see how that's my problem," Mo Ran said, but his palms were starting to sweat. He could
only lie as long as Chu Wanning didn't torture him with Heavenly Questions, and if he were
exposed, his dreams would come to naught.

"Mo Ran, how long will you insist on being stubborn?" Chu Wanning asked
resentfully. Anticipating the golden glow of Heavenly Questions, Mo Ran tensed. "Do you know
how dangerous this is?" Chu Wanning demanded.

Mo Ran turned his head, knowing everything was over. He stared at his teacher's pale face and
clear eyes. Still he refused to answer, pressing his lips together.

"These forbidden arts will kill people," Chu Wanning said slowly and clearly. "We've already lost
so many, after the heavenly rift, and we should cherish those we have left. Why doesn't this worry
you more?"

Realizing that his teacher didn't suspect him, Mo Ran began to relax. The sweat covering his palms
began to dissipate, and he smiled slightly. "Sir," he said, and Chu Wanning's eyes glittered. Mo
Ran hadn't addressed him so politely since Shi Mei had died. "Are you worried about me?" The
smile widened. "That fight, at the rift. Sir, what I feel about it isn't important. What's important is
that you learned mercy. Sir." He widened his smile, reckless and cruel, and then laughed suddenly.
"It was a fair exchange, sir, wasn't it? A mere disciple, the only stain on Grandmaster Chu's
conscience. I think I can finally say, sir, that Shi Mei's death was worth it."

"Mo Ran," Chu Wanning said, but there was no stopping him now.

"It was worth it, sir!" Mo Ran crowed. "It was a righteous death!"

Chu Wanning wanted to tell him to stop laughing, but he felt he had lost the right to reprimand his
disciple. He couldn't admit that he had been so weak that he couldn't have saved Shi Mei even if
he'd tried; his pride wouldn't allow it. It would have killed him instead, he knew, but he couldn't
tell Mo Ran that either. Voice trembling, he could only ask, "How long are you going to wallow,
Mo Weiyu?"

"Get out," Mo Ran said, laughter cutting off abruptly.

"Shi Mei didn't die for you to sink into madness!" Chu Wanning snarled.

"You're wrong, sir," Mo Ran said. "He didn't die for me. He died to save your lofty ideals. Your
reputation. You're the one who benefited from his death. Sir." Joy flickered into his heart at the
pain on his teacher's face. "I can't rest easy at home, sir, because his room is right across from
mine. The lights there will never be lit again. If I try to eat, all I can think is that he will never
enjoy food again."

Mo Ran's words dug deep into Chu Wanning's heart. His eyelashes trembled, and his lips moved as
if he wanted to interrupt. He remained silent.

"You even tried to cook for me, sir," Mo Ran continued. "But I know that you wouldn't touch the
red oil and spicy peppers that Shi Mei and I loved." He smirked. "What you made was trash."

Finally, Chu Wanning turned to leave. The silver moonlight made his white robes appear to glow
against the gray sand, and Mo Ran watched his rapid footsteps. He thought his teacher had an aura
of defeat.

------

Still dodging the vines, Mo Ran remained lost in his memories of the first time he had succeeded in
manifesting Zhenlong Chess Pieces. He had been nineteen for the first time, and he had nearly been
caught by Chu Wanning when using them on two junior disciples. He had cruelly lashed out at
Chu Wanning about Shi Mei's death instead, until his teacher had fled.

Tears streamed down Chu Wanning’s cheeks as he walked away, but there was nothing he could
say to Mo Ran that would make it right. He couldn't bear the thought of it being known that he had
been incapable, and it would only make Mo Ran hate him more. Mo Ran watched him go,
imagining their conversation flowing past Naihe Bridge into the underworld, and wondered what
Shi Mei's shade would have thought of it.

Would Shi Mei have been sad, Mo Ran wondered. He stood alone on the riverbank, relieved that
he wasn't under suspicion. He had thought he had seen the golden glow of Heavenly Questions, and
yet Chu Wanning had simply walked away.

Making the chess pieces came easier to Mo Ran after that; he went from generating two at a time to
four or even ten. He implanted them into the bodies of more and more disciples of Sisheng Peak,
creating a secret army answerable only to him. However, his initial elation faded away, souring
into irritation. It was taking too long, he felt, and with every passing day there was more of a
chance that Chu Wanning would catch him.

Instead of pouring all of his strength into as many chess pieces as he could make at once, Mo Ran
returned to generating only a few at a time. He made himself return to Chu Wanning's side, playing
the part of the obedient disciple. His reasoning was two-fold; to continue to allay suspicion, but
also to increase his cultivation level as quickly as possible. On a day when he had trained too hard
and drained all of his energy, he stumbled and fell from the slender treetops.

Chu Wanning's white robes flashed past him, arm snaking out to catch Mo Ran, but he was unable
to do more than cushion his fall. Mo Ran opened his eyes to find his teacher's body beneath him, a
bloody cut on his cheek. He had lost the ability to feel gratitude or guilt toward his teacher, only
feeling that the injury was no more than Chu Wanning deserved. He also knew that it was too early
to tip his hand, and he helped Chu Wanning bandage his wounds.

"Thank you, sir," Mo Ran made himself say softly, and his teacher looked up, surprised, at Mo
Ran's sunlit face. Mo Ran wondered how his teacher would react, but Chu Wanning simply
lowered his eyes and rolled down his sleeves. He hadn't been able to read Chu Wanning's moods in
his first life, and hadn't known what to think.

Mo Ran's strength continued to grow, fueled by his natural talent. He began to dream of
conquering Sisheng Peak in a single fell swoop, but he didn't have the numbers to carry it off. He
ran calculations and scenarios, using an abacus for the math, and Xue Meng found him clicking the
beads back and forth. He looked at his teammate curiously.

"What are you doing?" Xue Meng asked.

"Settling things," Mo Ran answered absently.

"What things?" Xue Meng pressed.

"Guess," Mo Ran told him.

"I have no idea," Xue Meng said, picking up the book next to Mo Ran. It held columns of numbers,
with no heading, and he looked at them in confusion. "Three hundred sixty-five days?"

"I want to buy candy," Mo Ran said. "A month's worth of the best costs a single coin. If you save
up four copper coins a day, you could buy -"

Xue Meng did the math in his head. "Fourteen hundred and sixty."

"Damn, you're quick," Mo Ran said, and Xue Meng stared blankly at the unexpected praise.

"I've been doing this since I was little," he said, laughing. "I'm pretty good at it."

"In that case, you should give me a hand," Mo Ran said. It had been so long since he had smiled
that Xue Meng felt pity well up in his heart. He nodded, pulled up a chair, and sat down. "Ten
coppers a day," Mo Ran said.

"That's too easy," Xue Meng said, rattling off the numbers.

"How about fifteen?" Mo Ran asked, and then thought he couldn't generate so many daily.
"Twelve," he amended, and then thought again. "No, wait. If i want five thousand candies, how
long would it take?"

"What on earth are you going to do with five thousand pieces of candy?" Xue Meng asked, staring
at him. "Even you couldn't eat so much."

"Because next year is the thirtieth anniversary of Sisheng Peak's founding," Mo Ran said. "I want
to celebrate it by sharing candy with everyone."

"You're - that's kind of amazing," Xue Meng said.

"I know."

"You don't need to give me any," Xue Meng said. "I can buy my own. Okay, how long do you
need for five thousand candies, was it?"

Resting his chin in his hands, Mo Ran watched his teammate perform the mental calculations under
the flowering trees. "Thank you," he said softly. Xue Meng only snorted, too caught up in the math
to answer, utterly unaware that he was counting out the lives of his fellow disciples. He had no idea
that the last trace of kindness in Mo Ran's heart had bloomed when he had appeared and offered his
help, or that it was this kindness that had spared him the fate of so many of his fellow disciples.

The number Xue Meng gave him was too high - it would take far too long to generate so many
chess pieces, Mo Ran thought, and he came up with a new plan. Bits and pieces from various
scrolls gave him the foundation for an entirely new technique - the Shared-Heart Array. He refined
ten chess pieces that night, leaving them so incomplete that they wouldn't be able to dominate an
unwilling corpse. Instead of implanting them in cultivators, he took them to Wuchang Town.

Humming a small tune, Mo Ran made his way to a graveyard at the edge of town. He stepped
between the tombs, searching for a freshly dug grave. He raised his hand to part the earth and drag
the coffin to the surface. He kicked away the lid, letting moonlight fall on the corpse's waxy face.
Leaning over, he examined the corpse.

Although newly buried, the body was already well on its way to full decomposition. It stunk to
high heaven, maggots writhing in the remains, and Mo Ran grabbed it by the neck. He pulled it
out, implanting one of the incomplete chess pieces into the corpse's heart. "Be good," he said
softly. "Stand up straight."

The body began to move, the old man far too weak to resist even the feeblest thread of
manipulation. Its eyes opened, and Mo Ran asked it the all-important questions. Satisfied that the
corpse was under his control, he narrowed his eyes. Nine more fresh graves were desecrated that
night to make nine more zombies. None of them had any power to speak of, but it didn't matter. Mo
Ran pulled Soul-Devouring insects from inside his bag and returned to his first zombie.

"Friend, open your mouth," Mo Ran said, and threw the insect inside. "Swallow." There was no
hesitation; the insects disappeared into the bodies of the zombies. He instructed them to return to
their graves to rest.

As the first night had gone so well, Mo Ran repeated the pattern on the second night. On the third,
he fed the Soul Devouring insects to some of his living chess pieces instead. He waited patiently
for the female insects to lay eggs, leaving the larvae to resonate in the living puppets' hearts,
generating a connection between all of his puppets. The weak corpses would generate qi for the
stronger ones, and increase the power of his army.

No other grandmaster in the history of the cultivation world had developed such a technique; none
of them had been novices, lacking in qi, or demented enough to want to make armies of tens of
thousands. Mo Ran didn't realize he had done something unprecedented - he had made a forbidden
technique accessible to anyone.

"Brother!" In the present, a blood-red light flashed before Mo Ran's eyes. The evil Phoenix Spirit
had generated more vines, rushing toward him. One sliced open his shoulder, blood spurting from
the wound, and Xue Meng darted for him. Mo Ran waved him away.

"Stay back!" he shouted. "Go tell our teacher to make everyone stop!" He clutched the combination
of chess piece and insect tightly as blood dripped down his arm, mind spinning rapidly. The array
was constructed more efficiently than the one he had made in his previous life, but it was the same
principle. Cold fear spread through him at the confirmation that someone else had been reborn,
someone who knew what atrocities he had perpetrated.
In his mind's eye, Mo Ran saw the Evil Overlord's pale face under a golden crown, sinister as he
sat on the dragon throne. The images of the people he had killed rose up before him, Shi Mei and
Chu Wanning and everyone else besides. He knew they would take his life, sending his soul
straight into hell and smashing any hope of reincarnation. He closed his eyes, unable to face his
panic.

------

The battle Xue Meng ran into was intense; he waved his arms, screaming for the thousands of elite
cultivators to stop. The living had already begun to think that something was amiss, as the zombies
fell with very little resistance. When Xue Meng started shouting, the majority of the army was
more than ready to pause and stare at him.

With thousands of eyes upon him simultaneously, Xue Meng felt a frison of stage fright,
particularly since many of the cultivators were well-known and well-respected elders. He choked
for a moment, only able to answer when Chu Wanning asked what was wrong. He pointed toward
Mo Ran.

"He wants you to stop," he said. "We're just making things worse."

A junior member, grandmaster though he was, didn't have the authority to command sect leaders;
Xue Meng's heart skipped a beat as astonishment and anger began to shine on the faces around
him. Jiang Xi seemed the most furious. "He's barely past his early twenties," he spat. "What does
he know?"

Anyone else might have gotten a modicum of courtesy from the fiery Xue Meng, but he was still
holding a grudge. "More than you do, apparently!"

All of Lonemoon Sect's disciples were enraged at the insult, rebuking the heir to Sisheng Peak and
demanding he shut his mouth, but the hurled imprecations only served to put Xue Meng onto more
familiar ground. He wasn't used to public speaking, but he had been fighting with Mo Ran for
years. He was more than comfortable with being provoked.

"What, am I wrong?" he snapped, glaring at Jiang Xi. "Sect Leader Jiang, how dare you use your
age as an excuse to not listen to the one person who actually knows what's going on?"

No better at keeping his cool than Xue Meng, Jiang Xi narrowed his eyes. He let Xue Meng bait
him, fighting with a junior cultivator in front of the entire crowd. "You're the one who's in the
wrong, failing to observe the proper etiquette.";

"How is that important right now?"

"Meng, cut it out," Xue Zhengyong said. "Where's Ran? Take us there."

"How well you have raised your son," Jiang Xi hissed, flicking his sleeves, but Xue Zhengyong
refused to engage. Instead, he followed Xue Meng toward where Mo Ran stood gripping something
tightly with blood soaking half of one sleeve.

The vines around Mo Ran were burnt, and no new vines had appeared. Chu Wanning and Xue
Zhengyong both paled, Xue Zhengyong calling for a healer. Shi Mei stumbled forward, dazed,
taking Mo Ran's bloodied arm and studying it. He paled further upon seeing the wound, until the
Cold Scale Sacred Hand of Lonemoon stepped up and flicked his sleeves.

The burning pain in Mo Ran's shoulder subsided slowly. He bowed to Hua Binan. "Many thanks,
Sacred Hand."
"You can thank me by sharing your insight," Hua Binan said, voice cold and indifferent.
"Grandmaster Mo."

Mo Ran found himself in a bind. He couldn't reveal the existence of a brand-new technique - one
based on a forbidden technique - without inviting suspicion and speculation, but he also couldn't
allow the technique to be used. Zhenlong chess pawns in large numbers would wreak chaos and
havoc across the world, and no one would be safe. He opened his hand slowly. "Please look at
this," he said, showing the gathered cultivators the black chess piece and scarlet insect.

"Zhenlong Chess?" sneered Jiang Xi. "Is that your grand discovery?"

Mo Ran pressed his lips together for a moment. "It's not the chess piece," he said finally. "It's the
Soul-Devouring insect attached to it." He pointed at it, but Jiang Xi was unimpressed. Xue
Zhengyong peered at it, then looked up at Mo Ran.

"What about it?" he asked.

"There's one on every chess piece," Mo Ran answered. "This isn't as straightforward as it looks."

He glanced over the hostile crowd. He was well aware of the price he would have to pay to prevent
a catastrophe, and it was the most brilliant part of the puppet master's plan. If the puppet master
had had any doubt that Mo Ran had been reborn, this would lay them to rest.

“Have you ever seen a puppet show?” he asked the crowd. “When I was young, I went all the time.
But I was short, and unable to see over the adults. I would have to listen from behind the scenes. So
the adults saw the stage, where a few puppets appear to perform all the actions.”

“I don’t see what this has to do with anything,” Jiang Xi said.

“But the cloth puppets don’t move themselves – they have multiple stage hands,” Mo Ran said,
ignoring the sect leader’s irritated face. “So Nangong Xu may have had a similar train of thought.
There’s the surface of Mount Huang, and then there’s backstage. These zombies are like the stage
hands; they only need enough skill to move part of a puppet.”

“So, you mean,” Xue Zhengyong said.

“The real show won’t be here,” Mo Ran said. “Nangong Xu is the leader of this troupe. These
zombies are connected to the cloth puppets.”

“So there’s somewhere else,” Jiang Xi said. “The stage with its performers – the real fight.”

“You’re so perceptive, Sect Leader Jiang.”

“You’re indulging in wild fantasies, Grandmaster Mo,” Jiang Xi said coldly. “Unless you have
proof.”

“I accidentally found this insect in the corpse,” Mo Ran said. The insect in his hand was still alive,
wiggling feebly, and Mo Ran looked at Hua Binan. “Sacred Hand,” he said. “You know what kind
of compatibility these insects have.”

“Specifically which ones?” Hua Binan asked. Mo Ran waved the bug in his hand. “The larvae can
easily imitate their male counter parts,” Hua Binain said. “Until they become adults.”

“So what happens if the larvae corresponding to that chess piece is implanted into another body?”
“The same as the corpses here,” said Hua Binan. “They’ll remain linked until the insects die.”

“Spread out and keep watch,” Mo Ran said with a nod. He hacked at the insect, and the ground
trembled. The vines rushed toward Mo Ran again, but he was ready. He sliced them to pieces and
looked at the crowd. “The mountain was deliberately protecting the insects,” he said. “I don’t think
we can call that a coincidence.”

None of the cultivators present could find any holes in Mo Ran’s argument; it was an outrageous
guess, but he was so confident that even having doubts was difficult. Uneasiness rippled through
the crowd, even Chu Wanning nervous at the direction Mo Ran’s mind had taken. He wasn’t sure
why Mo Ran had been able to reason out the peculiar technique in such a short amount of time, but
put it aside as not important at the moment.

“So you think Nangong Xu isn’t here?” Chu Wanning said.

“I don’t think so,” Mo Ran said.

“I want to know where all the corpses came from,” Elder Xuanji put in. “There were upwards of
nine thousand.”

“Linyi,” Mo Ran said impatiently.

“It was burnt to ashes!” protested someone. “How could any bodies be left behind?”

“Have you forgotten that he knows someone who can control space and time?” Mo Ran snapped.

“That forbidden technique has been lost for ages,” Jiang Xi said. “You’re proposing that he was
good enough at a lost technique to send thousands of people here from in the midst of an inferno.”

“Sect Leader Jiang, these people were sent after they were dead,” Mo Ran said. “It’s easier to
transport corpses than the living.”

Having a junior disciple lead the discussion was intolerable. Jiang Xi opened his mouth to argue,
but Hua Binan smiled at Mo Ran. “Grandmaster Mo,” he said, “you’re very confident, but as we
have said before, you have no proof.”

“You’re the expert,” Mo Ran said. “Were these corpses burned or did they decompose?” The dead
lay scattered around them, prone under Hua Binan’s measuring gaze.

“Even if they’re burnt, who’s to say they’re from Linyi?”

“It’s a guess,” Mo Ran said. “Perhaps you have another theory which fits all the facts, Master
Hua.”

“I don’t have the right inclinations to unravel the evil arts,” Hua Binan said with a smile, naming
the vague fear that had encompassed the crowd.

None of the cultivators present would have followed such a malicious train of thought, and yet Mo
Ran had not only laid it out thoroughly, he had done so rapidly and in the middle of a battle. The
righteous man as which he was known shouldn’t have had enough familiarity with demonic
techniques to do such a thing. The cultivators began to eye him with trepidation.

Veil fluttering, Hua Binan smiled. “I couldn’t even begin to speculate,” he added.

“Grandmaster Hua,” said another cold voice. “Is there something you wish to say?”
“Grandmaster Chu,” Hua Binan said.

“Perspective is an individual matter,” Chu Wanning said, white robes glowing in the moonlight.
“Those with different points of view see different things. Mo Ran is a disciple of my sect, and I will
not have you insinuating absurdity.”

“Sir,” Mo Ran said, heart painfully beating in his throat at the trust Chu Wanning had extended.

Forced to retreat before he lost face, Hua Binan returned to the group of Lonemoon disciples.
“We’ll discuss this further at the top of the mountain,” he said coldly.

The peak was empty when they arrived, a red-lit array the only thing visible. Mo Ran recognized it
instantly as the Shared-Heart Array, but no one else knew it. The master of Taxue Palace frowned
in confusion, asking if anyone else knew it, but no one did. Even the expert Jiang Xi was stumped;
he probed it carefully with one hand, eyes closed, for a long moment before turning to Mo Ran.

“Do you have any other thoughts you wish to share?”

“Yes,” Mo Ran said, after a pause.

“Out with it.”

“There are thousands of weak zombies,” Mo Ran said. “But they’re connected to the performers,
which were most likely extremely powerful cultivators when alive, and who have only become
stronger after receiving energy from these weak remains.”

“You think this is why he murdered so many people?” Xue Meng asked.

“Probably,” Mo Ran said, and the color drained from Xue Meng’s face. He swayed a little, looking
over the hordes of the dead, and gritted his teeth.

“There’s something there!” someone shouted, pointing to where a white robe was visible behind
one of the tall bushes dotting the mountaintop.

------

The corpse was charred black, burnt so strongly that it had clearly been through the Linyi inferno.
Its face was ruined, the body only barely recognizable as a woman. Chu Wanning reached toward
it, eyes closed, and shook his head. “There are no traces of a Zhenlong chess piece,” he said.

“He missed one?” someone said.

Mo Ran paced over, crouching down to examine the body. He thought he knew who it was, but he
needed to be sure. He pulled a ruined chain from the wrist, wiping the soot off of red spiritual
stones. “It’s Song Qiutong,” he said, holding up the remains of the bracelet. “Do you recognize
this?” he added, showing it to Jiang Xi.

“It’s the wedding gift I gave her,” Jiang Xi said. “Since she’s the descendent of Song Xingyi, the
last of the Butterfly-Boned Beauty clan. The clan that once subdued the evil phoenix spirit, and the
key to opening Mount Huang.”

Mo Ran didn’t feel pity for Song Qiutong, but his emotions were complicated. “She was alive
when he brought her here,” he said, but before he could explain further, Jiang Xi started speaking.

“She would have needed to command the mountain,” he said. Mo Ran felt it was best to allow
someone else to take the limelight and explain matters, deflecting at least some of the suspicion.
“Although she was weak,” Jiang Xi continued, “she was the same bloodline that subdued the spirit,
and so the mountain would have obeyed only her.”

Gasps rose from the crowd. “Incredible,” someone said.

“She probably didn’t know she could command the mountain,” Jiang Xi said. “She was sold at
auction, and most likely unaware of her own bloodline. Nangong Xu must have brought her here
when the fire broke out – since she always acted in her own self-interest, she wouldn’t have
struggled.”

Xue Zhengyong nodded off to the side. “The person behind Nangong Xu is skilled at manipulating
space and time,” he said. “It would have been easy to take her and bring her here. She would have
obeyed his instructions in order to save her own life.”

“But why didn’t he use the chess piece to control her?” someone else asked.

“Because the phoenix spirit wouldn’t have listened to a puppet,” Jiang Xi explained impatiently.
“We need to find the stage, so to speak, and destroy Nangong Xu’s performer puppets.” He
glanced over at Mo Ran. “Grandmaster Mo,” he called.

Uncrossing his arms, Mo Ran cocked his head to the side. “Yes?”

“Your earlier analysis was very thorough,” Jiang Xi said. “Would you perhaps have some insight
as to where the stage might be located?”

“Maybe,” Mo Ran said, and red light coalesced in his palm. His holy weapon manifested with a
sullen red glow. “This is What The Hell,” he added. “Much like Heavenly Questions, it can
interrogate the living, evil spirits, and also the dead in order to find the truth.”

Although Song Qiutong had been dead for more than a month, her corpse was still largely intact.
Mo Ran sent the willow vine to wrap around her body, the red glow brightening and reflecting in
Mo Ran’s eyes. He took a deep breath.

“Did Nangong Xu bring you here?” he asked. For a long moment, the corpse didn’t answer. Mo
Ran repeated the question, still without a response, but just as someone called out that Chu
Wanning should try with Heavenly Questions instead, Song Qiutong’s body shook her head stiffly.

“Not Nangong Xu?” Xue Zhengyong said, shocked.

“Then who brought you here?” Mo Ran asked, holding the willow vine tightly.

Song Qiutong opened her mouth, but instead of words, a gooey snake slithered forth. Mo Ran
recognized it instantly as the Swallowing Snake, an armored parasite that could live for decades in
a human stomach. It was the Shadow Guard’s last defense against interrogation; when sensing the
truth was being forced, it would destroy its hosts internal organs. Song Qiutong’s body trembled,
blood gushing from her mouth, and Mo Ran could see that her tongue had been torn apart.

Inspecting the corpse’s hands, Mo Ran could see that the fingers and tendons had been broken to
prevent her from writing down what she knew. He knew that the puppet master was colder and
more vicious than he had assumed at the start, and shivered in the cold wind blowing across the
mountaintop. The zombies howled in the distance, sending further chills down his back.

Once What The Hell had been retracted, Song Qiutong’s body collapsed. The vines crept over it,
tugging it back into the bushes as if to preserve her. Mo Ran understood that she hadn’t been
directly killed because the mountain had protected her, and would continue to protect her corpse.
He remembered suddenly that in his previous life, no one had cared about him enough to look after
his body. He had had to dig his own grave, and procure his own coffin.

The crowd began to chatter to each other, trying to find solutions, although some stood deep in
thought and spoke to no one. Mo Ran closed his eyes, examining the facts one by one. He had seen
bloody tactics such as these in his previous life, and felt confident in his ability to predict Nangong
Xu’s thoughts and behavior. He could almost see Nangong Xu pacing back and forth in his
courtyard, barefoot, trying to figure out how to control stronger corpses.

All of the facts fit – from the Soul-Devouring insects to the Shared-Heart Array and its placement
on Mount Huang. Everything tied neatly together. Mo Ran opened his eyes. The mountain of
corpses from the Linyi inferno and Song Qiutong’s presence, everything matched his theory. He
looked around at the surging tide of corpses below, trying to figure out where Nangong Xu would
have put his stage.

It should have been built, Mo Ran reasoned. The puppet show had been painstakingly arranged,
and it needed to be performed. All Nangong Xu had to find was a place with the remains of enough
cultivators, hidden enough to protect him. “Mount Jiao,” Mo Ran murmured, looking east. Rufeng
Sect’s Hero’s Tomb was the only possible answer.

“What did you just say?” Jiang Xi snapped, but Mo Ran ignored him.

He cursed under his breath, racing down the mountainside. Nangong Xu was a madman, Mo Ran
thought, trying to control generations upon generations’ worth of legendary sect leaders. His qi
would run out, and then the corpses would break free and go berserk. That would be a calamity no
less devastating than the Heavenly Rift.

------

Racing past the tide of corpses, Mo Ran dashed to the foot of the mountain and through the barrier.
His gaze fell on Nangong Si, already released from the barrier and enchantment. Ye Wangxi was
bandaging his wounds while Mei Hanxue stood coldly between him and Jiangdong Hall’s
delegation. As the senior disciple at Taxue Palace in Mount Kunlun, a man who appeared and
disappeared mysteriously and made unpredictable movements, Mei Hanxue’s presence alone was
enough to keep them at bay.

“What happened?” Mei Hanxue asked as Mo Ran skidded to a halt in front of them.

“Everything was a front,” Mo Ran said, and Mei Hanxue frowned. The delegation from Jiangdong
Hall gathered around, leaving Huang Xiaoyue still lying on the pavilion feigning weakness.
“Nangong Xu is at Mount Jiao,” Mo Ran said, and the blood drained from Nangong Si’s face.

“Mount Jiao?” he repeated, staring at Mo Ran. “He wouldn’t have.” For all the sins Nangong Xu
had committed, he hadn’t thought his uncle would have gone so far, and he lowered his eyes.

The several thousand cultivators who had ascended the mountain now descended, Chu Wanning in
the lead. He approached with Xue Meng and Shi Mei in tow, glancing at Nangong Si. “What
happened to you?”

“I injured myself, grandmaster,” Nangong Si replied. “Thank you for your concern.”

“He’s trying to look out for you,” Xue Meng said. “Just accept it.”

“I’ve never been anyone’s disciple,” Nangong Si retorted. “I didn’t have to learn from a
grandmaster.”

The sect leaders were approaching, interrupting Chu Wanning’s attempt at a private conversation,
and he handed a small pot of medication to Nangong Si. “Apply it topically daily for three days.”

The sect leaders were within earshot, including the trembling Huang Xiaoyue. Jiang Xi glanced
around; as the head of the current number one sect, it was his place to speak first. He wasn’t sure
what direction to take the discussion, as Rufeng Sect had collapsed entirely. The accumulated
hatred and grudges over the years were directed solely at Nangong Si, but he had been directly
responsible for none of the atrocities.

The fault lay entirely with Nangong Liu, but he wouldn’t be able to repay all of his debts. Further
complicating matters was the fact that only Nangong Si would be able to command Mount Jiao.
Still hesitating, Jiang Xi opened his mouth to speak, and found himself interrupted.

“Benefactor Nangong.” Wubei Temple’s Xuan Jing’s voice was shaky. “We need you to help sort
out Rufeng Sect’s mess.”

Irritating though Jiang Xi found Xuan Jing, he was grateful that someone else had spoken up.
Nangong Si nodded. “Of course,” he said.

Stunned by Nangong Si’s easy agreement, Xuan Jing nodded respectfully. “You are both wise and
generous, benefactor Nangong.”

The resulting silence was interrupted by Naobaijin whimpering inside Nangong Si’s quiver. “I
don’t want to see my ancestors become the tools of a madman,” Nangong Si said, stroking the
wolf’s ears. “I appreciate your kind guidance.”

The process for approaching Mount Jiao was different; whether it was a member of the Nangong
family or a permitted guest, the interested persons were required to fast for ten days and approach
on foot. Eschewing swords and horses demonstrated sincerity, but it would take time. Xue
Zhengyong rapidly calculated the length of the journey in his head. “We don’t have time to return
to our sects,” he said.

Xuan Jing nodded. “If we travel together, we can discuss our plans.”

“We don’t have horses for three thousand men,” Xue Zhengyong said. “That’s the first issue.”

“I can provide some,” said a weak voice, and a man wearing a red brocade robe embroidered with a
black cat pushed forward.

“Palace Master Ma,” Jiang Xi said, recognizing the sect leader of Taobao Villa. It was another of
the nine great sects, and he was the third richest person in the cultivation world. He had arranged
many relay stations throughout the cultivation world to send and receive packages and deliveries,
rather than amass wealth through Lonemoon’s tactic of using the black market.

TaoBao Villa specialized in making spirit carriages, and had a considerable supply of horses and
oxen. Ma Yun, seeing Jiang Xi’s somewhat cold face, shrank back slightly. “Rinling Island could,
of course, also be of assistance,” he said. “Sect Leader Jiang has more horses than I.”

“I was just moved to speechlessness by your generosity, Palace Master Ma,” Jiang Xi said. “We
are much closer to Taobao Villa, and your willingness to lend assistance is much appreciated.”

“Of course,” Ma Yun said, sighing in relief. “Then I invite the company to our lowly manor to stay
the night before we depart in the morning.”
At the edge of West Lake, Taobao Villa was at the peak of a small hill bearing the grand name of
Lonely Mountain. The journey from foot to summit took approximately thirty minutes, and Ma
Yun welcomed the company to the massive crimson mountain gate with a smile. He had been the
only sect leader able to maintain an air of affability amidst the cloud of anxious worry permeating
the rest of the crowd.

The sect leaders entered the compound first, followed by each sect’s Elders, and finally their
disciples. “He’s way too cheerful,” Xue Meng whispered to Mo Ran. “Maybe he’s a double agent.”

“No,” Mo Ran whispered back.

“How can you be so sure?”

“What could he possibly do in the middle of all of the sect leaders and elders?” Mo Ran hissed.

“How could he be so damn happy?” Xue Meng hissed back.

“Money,” said Mo Ran. “He’s going to make a lot of it.”

“How?” Xue Meng demanded. “It’s not like he’s going to make us pay to use his horses. He said
he’d lend them, not rent them out.”

Before Mo Ran could answer, they had reached the gates. A lower-level disciple approached,
guiding them to a row of courtyards at the edge of the mountain. Each courtyard accommodated up
to six. As dusk fell, Mo Ran stood at the window and gazed out at the cold mountains. He ran a
hand along the windowsill, anxiety bubbling up in his chest, and rolled a ball of warm energy back
and forth in his palm. The view was beautiful, but he was in no mood to appreciate it.

The setting sun stabbed into Mo Ran’s eyes, and his expression more closely resembled the
Emperor Evil Overlord than Grandmaster Mo. He shuddered, feeling as if there was a blade at his
neck, and yet Nangong Xu did not strike. Mo Ran wasn’t even sure that it was Nangong Xu’s
hands on the blade, and he agonized over the prospect of revealing that he had been reborn. He
couldn’t bear the thought of his aunt and uncle finding out what atrocities he had perpetrated,
much less Shi Mei or Xue Meng.

Chu Wanning learning what Mo Ran had done was the worst prospect of all; his teacher would
hate him, Mo Ran knew, and a chill swept through his flesh. The mass in his hand slipped through
his fingers, and Mo Ran picked up what had somehow become a solid object. When he saw it, his
face paled.

Lying in his palm was a warm Zhenlong chess piece; he had had the habit, in his previous life, of
nervously condensing his qi into a Zhenlong chess piece to calm his irritable or anxious moods.
The palace servants around him had found it terrifying, never knowing whether or not he would
implant it into one of them. He had found it hilarious at the time, and had often feinted throwing it
at one servant or another just to see them flinch. Near the end, it had been one of the only joys he
had had left.

It had been years since he had made a Zhenlong chess piece, though, as Mo Ran had tried to
distance himself from his past self. He had thought that perhaps he had forgotten entirely how to
even make them, and yet here was one in his hands. Eight years, and he still unconsciously
returned to the filthy forbidden technique. Mo Ran’s hands trembled and despair flooded his heart.
He didn’t know whether he was truly the righteous Grandmaster Mo or the terrible Emperor Evil
Overlord.
The Zhenlong chess piece in his hands seemed to mock him, screaming at him that he couldn’t
escape, that he would be evil forever. He would become a malicious ghost when he died, the chess
piece taunted him, scourge that he was. The ground seemed to shake under his feet.

A pounding knock on the door jolted Mo Ran awake, cold sweat pouring down his back. “Who is
it?”

“Xue Meng,” said the person outside.

------

Cracking the door open, Mo Ran saw Xue Meng and Shi Mei bathed in the dying sunlight. “We
brought you medicine,” Xue Meng said. “Open up and let us in.” Unable to say no, Mo Ran
stepped back and let the two enter. Xue Meng peeked through the window at the sunset. “Nice
view,” he said. “Mine is just trees.”

“If you want, we can trade,” Mo Ran said.

“No, it’s ok, I unpacked already.” Xue Meng waved a hand. “Shi Mei can apply the salve to your
shoulder before it gets infected.”

Mo Ran wondered if his cousin would still smile at him if he knew what kind of person Mo Ran
had been in his previous life. Xue Meng became visibly nervous under his stare, and Shi Mei
stepped into the awkward silence. “Please show me the wound,” he said.

“I’m sorry to trouble you,” Mo Ran said, moving to take off his shirt.

“It’s nothing,” Shi Mei said. “But maybe listen to our teacher and don’t go running off to the front
like that.” He cleaned the wound, applied salve, and wrapped it in gauze as he spoke. “Stay out of
the water,” he said. “And try not to move the arm too much. The vines were poisoned, so the
wound will take longer to heal.” He rested his soft fingers on Mo Ran’s wrist, taking his pulse, and
a flash of worry surfaced.

“What’s wrong?” Mo Ran asked.

“Nothing,” Shi Mei said. “Make sure you rest.”

“Why, is the poison serious?”

“Maybe a little.” He packed the box back together. “I still have some work to do, but I’ll see you
later.” He disappeared through the door before Mo Ran could ask him to stay.

“Does he seem off to you?” Xue Meng asked, looking at the door.

In too poor of a mood to have sympathy left over for Shi Mei, Mo Ran snorted. “He must have
learned that my wound was fatal. Are you going to cry for me, too?”

“Don’t be an ass,” Xue Meng said. “Seriously, Shi Mei has been very weird for the past few days.”

“Are you sure?” Mo Ran said, a sliver of worry penetrating through his self-pity.

“He’s been distracted. Sometimes I’ve had to call him two or three times before he answers.” Xue
Meng paused. “Do you think he’s in love with someone?”

The Mo Ran of eight years before would have cursed at such a thought, but now he was only
surprised. He thought about whether or not he had seen the same things, but was forced to conclude
that he had been paying very little attention to his teammate. “I have no idea,” he said finally. “I’m
not the one he’d tell, anyway.” Mo Ran pulled his robes back on. “Besides, since when are you so
concerned with other people?”

“I was just saying,” Xue Meng said, blushing. He stared furiously at Mo Ran, and had the sudden
feeling that something was wrong. He looked him over, gaze stopping on Mo Ran’s muscled chest.

“Why are you staring?” Mo Ran asked. “You have a crush on me?” Xue Meng didn’t answer.
“Look, I’m flattered, but I don’t feel the same way,” Mo Ran said lightly, and Xue Meng started.

He turned, face pale, and managed a feeble retort. “You wish.” He had seen a red crystal pendant,
one he was sure he had seen before. He couldn’t figure out where, but it made him extremely
anxious.

Finding some of the salve spilled on the table, Mo Ran glanced at his curiously silent cousin.
“Hey, do you have a handkerchief?”

“Huh?” Xue Meng shook his head and produced a piece of cloth. “How do you never remember to
bring your own?”

“I’m not used to it.”

“You just think our teacher will keep giving you his.”

Remembering that he had begged Chu Wanning for a crabapple handkerchief that had never
materialized, Mo Ran cleared his throat, embarrassed. “We’ve both been busy,” he defended.

“He wouldn’t make one just for you no matter how much free time he had,” Xue Meng said. “He’d
have to make one for Shi Mei, and me, and apparently Nangong Si.”

Mention of his teacher’s alleged first disciple put Mo Ran’s mood right back where it had been.
“Did you see him?” he asked.

“Not yet, he and Ye Wangxi are next door to that asshole from Lonemoon and I don’t want to run
into him.”

“He’s a reasonable person,” Mo Ran said. “He won’t make trouble for them.”

“Him?” Xue Meng snorted. “If he’s a reasonable person, then my name isn’t Xue.”

His cousin’s ability to create a ridiculous ruckus was a trait with which Mo Ran was very familiar,
and it made him feel warm now. Some of the horror of his past life faded away. Xue Meng,
however, wasn’t finished.

“Doesn’t it seem like our teacher really wants Nangong Si as a disciple?” Xue Meng was saying.

“It’s not like we can stop him,” Mo Ran said. “Look, Li Wuxin really loved him. Do you know
why?”

“Because his father was head of the foremost cultivation sect?” Xue Meng said.

“Okay, then why would someone like Huang Xiaoyue bully him?”

“Political enmity?”

Only his cousin would be able to give those answers with a straight face, Mo Ran thought, and he
thought Xue Meng had never seemed more childlike. Despite being an adult, he saw the world
through clean, innocent eyes. Mo Ran felt it was nothing short of miraculous. “Why does this
enmity exist?”

“Because Rufeng Sect did a lot of shady shit,” Xue Meng replied.

“That was Nangong Xu and Nangong Liu. Doesn’t involve Nangong Si.” Mo Ran didn’t say that
the shady dealings had hurt Nangong Si as much as anyone, as he had learned that his father had
killed his mother. He waited for Xue Meng to reach a conclusion, but his cousin only opened his
mouth and shut it again.

“What, then?” Xue Meng finally asked, unwillingly.

“There’s much more engagement in bullying the young master than there is in chasing a nobody,”
Mo Ran said. “So they make it about the sect matters.”

It wasn’t Xue Meng’s fault, Mo Ran thought, that he hadn’t experienced hardship or deprivation.
The Xue Meng of his first life had been shunned by every sect after Emperor Evil Overlord had
ascended the throne. He had spent nine years running and hiding, given succor only by Mei
Hanxue of Taxue Palace. In this life, Mo Ran was glad that his cousin had been spared such
humiliation.

“That can’t be all,” Xue Meng said.

“Acting on behalf of the heavens,” Mo Ran said. “Tianyin Pavilion punishes felons by making
them hang for three days and three nights.”

“I know that,” Xue Meng said impatiently. “The first time you saw it, you were so terrified that
you were sick with fever for days afterwards.”

“That was the first time I saw someone digging for spiritual cores,” Mo Ran said.

“No one’s going to take yours,” Xue Meng told him.

“The world is an unpredictable place.”

Xue Meng pressed a hand to Mo Ran’s forehead. “Nope, no fever. You’re just being weird.”

“I dreamed that someone stabbed me through the chest,” Mo Ran said. “And nearly destroyed my
core.”

With a sigh, Xue Meng waved his hand. “If you don’t stop talking nonsense, I’m going to dig out
your damn core.”

Mo Ran laughed. He had been deeply affected by the brand of justice practiced by Tianyin
Pavilion; the convicted felon had been a young woman in her twenties, and the crowd had been
densely packed in front of the public plaza. They had stared at the woman, bound by multiple
magical artifacts – Immortal-Binding Ropes, Soul-Binding Locks, and Demon-Subduing Chains –
and speculated as to why a woman who had just married into a famous family was about to be
executed.

The list of offenses, when it had been read aloud, was so long that it had taken more than an hour.
The young woman had murdered the recent bride and stolen her identity, intending to commit
further murder for revenge. Her real face, when it was exposed, was just another pretty girl, and the
audience had started screaming for her blood.
The crowd had become a mob before Mo Ran’s eyes, lusting for terrible atrocities to be
perpetrated, and he had been stunned by the vicious anger. He had had the impression that the
crowd thought of itself as righteous, that they could not avenge the wrongs done to them or their
families, but they could make someone else pay for a crime. He had backed away, asking his uncle
why the mob was shouting for punishment when Tianyin Pavilion was supposed to dispense
justice.

Xue Zhengyong had tried to console him by saying that the woman had been tried and would be
sentenced by Tianyin Pavilion, and that it would be fair. But Mo Ran had only seen the vicious
cheers get louder and more bloodthirsty, demanding more and more extreme punishments. They
hadn’t been angry because of a desire for justice, Mo Ran had thought, and he had tried to get Xue
Zhengyong to take him out of the plaza.

A loud bang from the stage had stopped Mo Ran in his tracks, and he had looked back to see that a
detonator had exploded. The woman’s leg was simply gone, and he had started trembling. The
crowd had begun to cheer and applaud, and the disciples of Tianyin Pavilion made only a token
attempt to tell the crowd not to fling objects at the prisoner before abandoning the stage.

More and more object had sailed through the air – vegetables, eggs, stones, even knives – and the
disciples of Tianyin Pavilion hid behind barriers and made no attempts to stop the chaos.
Remembering how it had been nothing like justice, Mo Ran closed his eyes for a moment. He
looked at Xue Meng. “When we’re done at Mount Jiao, if Nangong Si goes to Tianyin Pavilion for
sentencing, exactly the same thing will happen to him.”

“But that year, everyone was so angry because she admitted to murder,” Xue Meng said.

“And that means they were justified?” Mo Ran bit his tongue before he could ask how many
people in the world perpetrated atrocities in the name of justice, using the veil of good works to
vent their resentment and aggression.

After his cousin had gone, Mo Ran took the Zhenlong chess piece out of his sleeve again. With a
little strength, he burnt it into ashes and cast them into the wind. He was shaking almost as much
as the leaves outside, and when he finally retreated from the window to sit on the bed, his thoughts
continued to spin. He didn’t know what to do.

The puppet master had plans for him, but he didn’t know what they were. Tianyin Pavilion wasn’t
the bastion of justice that it pretended to be. He paced the room like a wild beast, until finally he
couldn’t bear the company of his own thoughts, and stalked down the hall.

Chu Wanning was moments from sleep when he heard a knock on his door. He opened it to see
Mo Ran standing outside. “Why are you here?”

Feeling as though his own thoughts would drive him mad, Mo Ran made up his mind to tell his
teacher everything. But when he looked at Chu Wanning’s face, his courage deserted him. “Sir, I
can’t sleep,” he said instead. “Could I stay with you?”

Even Chu Wanning could feel the anxiety humming beneath Mo Ran’s skin as he brushed past him
into the room. “Did something happen?” he asked quietly.

“I,” Mo Ran said, and then walked to the window. He closed it firmly and turned to look at his
teacher. “I have something to tell you,” he said.

“About Nangong Xu?”

“No,” Mo Ran said. “Yes. Sort of.” The lantern light reflected scarlet in his eyes, and Chu
Wanning raised a hand to brush the hair off his cheek. No sooner had his fingertips touched Mo
Ran’s face than Mo Ran closed his eyes, trembling as if stung. He turned away. “I’m sorry. Can
we turn off the lights? I can’t say it if I’m looking at you.”

In all the years they had known each other, Chu Wanning had never seen his disciple quite like
this. He hesitated before nodding. Mo Ran breathed out, and then raised his hand to extinguish the
burning candles. The afterimage danced before Mo Ran’s eyes as he gathered up his courage to
speak.

------

Despite his resolution to speak, Mo Ran could only move his lips. His temples throbbed and the
cold was sunken into his bones, but the only word he could say was, “Sir.” He opened his mouth
again, forcing himself to speak. “Actually, sir, I, uh.”

His previous life was over; he had killed himself in Wushan Palace, and he was only carrying the
memories of a corpse. He hadn’t done anything wrong. He had thought that saying it aloud would
soothe the pricking of his conscience, that he would be able to see his cousin and aunt and uncle
alive, and that everything would be fine. He had the experience of having lived through events
something like this, and his foreknowledge should have given him the chance to atone for his sins.

Wasn’t this the reason he had kept his memories, Mo Ran thought, so that he could explain that
their opponent had been reborn and was a step ahead of them. Even his life shouldn’t have been too
high a price to pay, and yet he couldn’t make himself speak. If they all knew what he had done, he
would never be able to outrun his past. Silent tears flowed down his cheeks.

Suppressing the trembling in his voice, Mo Ran tried again to speak. “I don’t know how to begin,
sir,” he said, and found himself embraced from behind.

“If you don’t want to say it, you don’t have to,” Chu Wanning said softly. “Everyone has their own
secrets, and everyone has made mistakes.”

Stunned, Mo Ran realized that Chu Wanning understood. His teacher had seen him make mistakes
many times, and had seen him confess and atone. He must have understood that Mo Ran wanted to
confess a wrongdoing. “Sir,” he said.

“If you want to tell me, then you can say it. I’m here for you. But if not, I won’t pursue the matter.
I already know you don’t repeat your mistakes.”

The words stabbed Mo Ran in the heart like a knife, and he shook his head. It wasn’t as simple as
Chu Wanning was making it out to be; he had murdered and committed genocide, destroying half
the cultivation world. He had been responsible for Chu Wanning’s death. He collapsed in on
himself again, guilt at being comforted by the man he had killed overwhelming him. His tears
began to flow again.

“Mo Ran,” Chu Wanning murmured.

“I have to say it,” he said. “I just don’t know how. I don’t know how to begin.” His voice was
strangled and choked in his throat.

“You don’t have to say it,” Chu Wanning said, and turned him around. He caressed Mo Ran’s face,
wiping away the tears. “You don’t have to say anything else.”

The fragrance of crabapple blossoms surrounded him, followed by the sensation of Chu Wanning’s
lips on his. He was raw and clumsy, but full of joy. Mo Ran let him pry his lips apart bit by bit,
leaning into him, until his desire came forth.

“This is enough.” He held him in his arms. Only the person in front of him could suppress his pain
and cleanse his soul. “There’s no need to do anything else.”

Feeling heartbroken for no reason, Chu Wanning raised a hand to caress Mo Ran’s face, and Mo
Ran grabbed his other hand. He clumsily rubbed his cheeks against Chu Wanning’s palms, turning
his head to press his lips to the rough skin. Chu Wanning’s ears turned red, and he leaned forward
to kiss Mo Ran again.

“Sir.” Mo Ran dodged. “Please stop.”

“You always wanted to do this,” Chu Wanning said, pulling his hand away and grabbing the back
of Mo Ran’s neck. “Today you will listen to your teacher.”

“Sir,” Mo Ran protested again.

Looking at his watery eyes, Chu Wanning patted the back of his head. “Be a good boy.”

He kissed Mo Ran again, pressing him against the wall, and Mo Ran called out his name. He felt
drunk on the love and attention from his teacher, his whirling thoughts finally settling into
incoherence. His heart pounded, and he almost didn’t hear Chu Wanning mumble the word light
against his throat. “They’re already off, sir,” Mo Ran gasped.

“No, turn it on,” Chu Wanning said. “I want to see you.”

Chu Wanning’s eyes were bright and clear in the newly-born light, ears red on either side. Mo Ran
felt his heart ache as though it would break, unable to survive under such a warm, pure gaze. He
pressed Chu Wanning’s hand against his chest. “Remember this,” he said. “If I am ever guilty of an
unforgivable crime, I want you to strike me here.”

Shocked, Chu Wanning stared. “Do you know what you’re asking of me?”

Mo Ran’s smile contained Grandmaster Mo’s beautiful sincerity as well as the Evil Overlord’s evil
madness. “My spirit core and my heart both exist because of you. If I have to die one day, I want
them to still be yours.”

There was so much more that Mo Ran wanted to say, but he couldn’t find the words. Chu Wanning
couldn’t get over the shock of hearing his righteous student say such horrifying things, but he was
distracted by Mo Ran’s kiss. His lack of mental fortitude was assisted by his unwillingness to face
such despair in the person he loved, and he poured it into his passion instead.

Engrossed in each other, they nearly missed the knock on the door. Chu Wanning snapped out of
his daze first, lifting his head from where he had pinned Mo Ran naked on the bed, and his face
paled. Mo Ran immediately covered his teacher’s mouth with one hand, the other still busily
stimulating Chu Wanning. Before Chu Wanning could decide whether or not to be angry, the
knock sounded again.

“Sir, are you in there?”

Furious now at Mo Ran’s impudence, Chu Wanning glared at Mo Ran. He patted the bed, and Mo
Ran swallowed heavily. “I know, I know,” he whispered. “Xue Meng.”

“Sir?” Xue Meng said again, and then, “I can see the lights on, he has to be there. Sir?”
Despite his words, Mo Ran had not halted his actions. He wasn’t about to leave Chu Wanning
alone without being forced, and Xue Meng did not seem inclined to leave. Chu Wanning felt
himself stuck between a rock and a hard place. He pulled Mo Ran’s hand off his mouth. “What’s
wrong?” he asked loudly.

“I can’t sleep, sir,” Xue Meng said. “I wanted to tell you something.” His voice dropped at the end,
and Chu Wanning could visualize his head drooping to match. Why, he thought philosophically,
had two of his students both picked the same night to have a crisis at him.

“Get dressed,” he said roughly.

“You want him to come in?” Mo Ran said, looking at him like a whipped puppy.

“He’s obviously upset,” Chu Wanning hissed.

“What about me?” Mo Ran whined.

“Get dressed and hide under the bed.”

------

His teammate’s poorly timed interrupted infuriated Mo Ran; full of rage and resentment, he
couldn’t understand why Xue Meng would choose this moment to come talk to their teacher. He
couldn’t force Chu Wanning to ignore him, though, and he got up. Glancing under the bed, he
stood back up. “Sir, I can’t fit under there.”

“There’s nowhere else to hide,” Chu Wanning said.

“See if you can get rid of him,” Mo Ran suggested.

“Can we talk about this tomorrow?” Chu Wanning called through the door. “I’m about to go to
sleep.”

“I just need a few minutes, sir,” Xue Meng said. “I’m kind of messed up, and there are some things
I need to talk to you about. Or I really won’t be able to sleep, sir.”

Irritated with Xue Meng’s soft pleading, Mo Ran was now also intensely curious as to what was
driving his teammate. He looked around and had an idea. He whispered in Chu Wanning’s ear,
only to get a furious refusal. “Then you’re going to have to get rid of him,” Mo Ran whispered.

Chu Wanning opened his mouth, only to be interrupted by Xue Meng’s footsteps outside the door.
Thinking it must have been something serious for his disciple to be so persistent, Chu Wanning
cursed under his breath instead. “Get rid of the clothes on the ground, too,” he said, pushing at Mo
Ran.

“Sir?” Xue Meng called.

“I hear you,” Chu Wanning said. “Come in.”

The room had a familiar odor when Xue Meng entered, but he couldn’t place it. The curtains had
been lowered over the bed, and Xue Meng started across the floor when they were partially drawn
back to reveal a sleepy face. “I’m sorry, sir,” Xue Meng said.

“Sit down,” Chu Wanning ordered, and Xue Meng sat at the table. “What did you want to tell
me?”
“I, uh.” Xue Meng tapped his fingers, looking conflicted. He had finally remembered where he had
seen Mo Ran’s necklace before – it had been the same one he had given to Chu Wanning, the one
that had allegedly been the last one in the store. The more Xue Meng thought about it, the weirder
he felt. But now, with Chu Wanning staring at him, he wasn’t sure how to explain it.

“Sir, do you think that Mo Ran seems a little off?” Xue Meng said finally.

Chu Wanning’s heart skipped a beat, but he kept his expression smooth. “Weird how?”

“You didn’t notice, sir?” Xue Meng gnawed on his lower lip. “Sir, it seems like he’s, uh. Like he
really really wants to please you.” He couldn’t quite come out and say that he thought Mo Ran was
flirting with their teacher, but he was worried.

“Why do you say that?” Chu Wanning asked neutrally.

“I saw something on his neck today,” Xue Meng said, twisting his hands in his lap and staring at
them.

Hidden behind the curtains, Mo Ran raised a hand to touch his pendant. Chu Wanning didn’t
answer, simply looking at Xue Meng and waiting for him to continue, only to be surprised by a
large, warm hand touching his leg. Assuming Mo Ran was about to do something perverted, he
took advantage of Xue Meng’s distraction to glare at him. Mo Ran pointed at the pendant around
Chu Wanning’s own neck, and he understood.

“He had the same pendant as me?” Chu Wanning asked.

“I didn’t mean – I just thought it was weird,” Xue Meng said.

“I gave it back to him,” Chu Wanning said.

“You did?”

“There’s no reason you can’t return a gift,” Chu Wanning told him, and Xue Meng let out a sigh of
relief.

“It was just that he’d said it was the last one, and I thought he –“ He slapped his forehead. “Sir,
please ignore me. I let my imagination get the better of me.”

Terrible at lying, Chu Wanning wasn’t sure what to say next. No matter what, Xue Meng trusted
him so thoroughly that he would disbelieve the evidence of his own eyes and ears in favor of what
Chu Wanning told him, and it made him a little uncomfortable. Xue Meng kept looking at him and
apologizing for his stupidity, and the more he said it, the guiltier Chu Wanning felt. ”Xue Meng,”
he said finally, and then froze.

There was nothing Chu Wanning could say that felt right; he couldn’t ask Xue Meng to always
keep him in his thoughts, and it would be selfish of him to ask his disciple to let him cling to him
through the many decades left in his life. Xue Meng widened his round eyes. “Yes, sir?” he said.

“Nothing,” Chu Wanning said. “I wanted to get some tapir fragrance dew from Elder Tanlang to
quiet your habit of overthinking things. Was there something else you wanted?”

“I – yes,” Xue Meng said, and then rushed into his next words. “Sir, do you really plan on taking
Nangong Si as a disciple?” He had been worried about this matter for some time. “Wouldn’t he
become the senior brother?”
“Is that what you were worried about?” Chu Wanning burst out.

“Yes,” Xue Meng said forthrightly. “I was the most senior.” He suddenly looked a little
embarrassed, rubbing at his shirt. “But if you accept him, then I, uh.”

“That wouldn’t mean I would care about you any less,” Chu Wanning said gently, unable to help
his smile. Xue Meng had loved to be babied when young, and he had gleefully played with Mo
Ran in the same way.

“No, sir, I don’t want him to be the most senior disciple,” Xue Meng protested. “He was first to be
accepted, but he’ll acknowledge you the last! He can enter the sect, sir, that’s fine, but can’t he be a
junior disciple or something?”

Seeing that Xue Meng was entirely serious, Chu Wanning fought back a wider smile. “If you
want,” he said, and Xue Meng broke into a grin.

Hiding on the bed behind the curtains, Mo Ran could read his cousin’s body language, and Xue
Meng showed no sign of leaving. Chu Wanning didn’t seem to care, however, not looking annoyed
when Xue Meng came up with yet another question. “Mo Ran said you promised to give him a
handkerchief,” he said.

“I haven’t finished it,” Chu Wanning said. “Why, did you want one, too?”

Xue Meng’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

“I was going to give one to all of you,” Chu Wanning said. “But we’ve been a little busy.”

Stunned, Mo Ran nearly missed Xue Meng’s look of pleasant surprise. He felt wronged, as if Chu
Wanning had taken something away, but his teacher noticed nothing. The more he thought about
it, the more annoyed he got. Even knowing that Chu Wanning wasn’t banging Xue Meng on the
side, it still galled that he would embroider him a handkerchief.

“It’s difficult to sew,” Chu Wanning said. “I’m not actually that good at it.” He coughed lightly.
“The best way to embroider is with the Perception Scripture that I learned from Master Hauizui at
Wubei Temple.” His voice faltered to a halt, brows lowering.

“Sir, what’s wrong?” Xue Meng asked.

“Nothing,” Chu Wanning hedged. “Did you need something else?”

“I had another question for you, but I’ve forgotten it. Let me think a minute.” Xue Meng lowered
his gaze, deep in thought.

Chu Wanning gasped, glaring at Mo Ran furiously. Mo Ran had intended to encourage Chu
Wanning to chase Xue Meng out, but he had been unable to restrain himself. He felt that he was
primitive in the aspect of lust, only able to control himself because of the respect he bore for Chu
Wanning. The love and guilt shackled him in bed, preventing him from acting too shamelessly.

At this moment, however, frustration and jealousy had unlocked the shackles. Mo Ran glared back
at Chu Wanning, and then he silently started to move. He slipped along Chu Wanning’s legs,
feeling his teacher tremble. Chu Wanning took him by the shoulders and pushed him down. He
could see the fury on Mo Ran’s face, directed at Xue Meng, and Mo Ran became even angrier that
his teacher would take Xue Meng’s side.

Mo Ran switched targets, starting to suck and lick at the tender skin of Chu Wanning’s inner thigh.
He felt his teacher tremble harder, and smiled at the thought that Chu Wanning must be regretting
his actions. Chu Wanning dug his nails deep in Mo Ran’s shoulder, but it did nothing to stop him.

“Sir, are you listening to me?” Xue Meng said.

In the next few moments, Chu Wanning was hard-pressed to maintain his even expression and
level tone of voice. Mo Ran had started sucking him off, devilishly silent, and it took every iota of
willpower to keep Xue Meng from seeing his reaction. He was, after all, a grandmaster and skilled
in many arts.

“I understand,” Xue Meng said finally.

“Then go back to bed,” Chu Wanning said. “Don’t let your imagination run so wild again.”

“Yes, sir,” Xue Meng said. “I’ll get going. Should I turn off your lights?”

“Yes,” Chu Wanning said, just as Mo Ran did something with his tongue. He kept silent, but his
mouth remained hanging open and his face flushed slightly.

“Sir, do you have a fever?” Xue Meng asked.

“No,” Chu Wanning grated out.

“Your face is red,” Xue Meng said, getting up and pressing a hand to Chu Wanning’s face. He
looked concerned, and Chu Wanning almost laughed at the absurdity of it.

On the one hand, a worried disciple was touching Chu Wanning’s face, and on the other hand, an
overly amorous disciple was sucking his dick. “I’m fine,” he said, voice nearly breaking.

“Does something hurt?” Xue Meng pressed, and it took another few minutes for Chu Wanning to
convince him to leave.

The entire time Xue Meng stood there, Mo Ran was fuming in a jealous rage. He could have been
making Chu Wanning feel even better, he thought resentfully, if only Xue Meng would have
fucked off like he was told. Finally, the lamp was extinguished and the door closed, and Chu
Wanning threw aside the quilt in a fury. He slapped Mo Ran in the face.

“You bastard,” Chu Wanning snarled.

Crazed with desire, Mo Ran felt no pain. He grabbed Chu Wanning, intent on having his way with
him, and made it his mission in life to make Chu Wanning utterly unaware of anything or anyone
else. This time, Mo Ran vowed, he would press himself inside of his teacher and drive him over the
edge of ecstasy.

Afterward, when Mo Ran had penetrated Chu Wanning to his great satisfaction, Chu Wanning
peered up at him. “Did you like it?” he asked.

“I liked it,” Mo Ran said slowly. “I love you the most, Wanning.”

------

Chu Wanning woke from a shallow dream in the middle of the night to see Mo Ran dressed and
sitting at the desk. A single lamp was lit, and he was looking at a pile of objects. "What are you
doing?" Chu Wanning asked.

"Did I wake you, sir?" Mo Ran asked.

"No. What are you doing?" Instead of answering, Mo Ran gave him an embarrassed smile, so Chu
Wanning put on his robe and paced barefoot to the desk. He leaned over and looked at the table,
seeing his handkerchief serving as a template for three others. "Embroidering handkerchiefs?" he
said.

"I don't want anyone else to get one that you made," Mo Ran said. He put down the needle and
thread and took Chu Wanning around the waist, leaning over to kiss the scar over his heart. He had
never asked about it, although he would touch it tenderly. "I'll sew the handkerchiefs for the
others," he added. "They'll never know the difference." He picked up the one he had been working
on. "Looks like yours, right, sir?"

"You don't need me to tell you that you're right," Chu Wanning said. He stroked Mo Ran's hair,
wondering why he was so jealously possessive, and smiled gently. "Are you still thinking about
what bothered you earlier?"

"No," Mo Ran said after a blank look.

"That's good," Chu Wanning told him. "Let nature take its course."

There wasn't much he could do for Mo Ran's distress other than be there for him, remind him that
he wasn't alone and that everyone had selfish thoughts. Mo Ran felt that if he had to enter hell
again, it wouldn't be so bad - he had this memory to sustain him now. He leaned into Chu
Wanning's touch.

The cultivator army gathered outside the manor to leave for Mount Jiao in the morning, with
Palace Master Ma ordering his subordinates to prepare horses for all three thousand of them. Each
saddle held a black bag embroidered with a cat, and Xue Meng picked his up with an annoyed
face. The word horse was embroidered on the back.

"He has terrible taste," Xue Meng heard someone say, and turned to look at Mei Hanxue astride a
tall white horse. He looked up at Xue Meng with a smile that wasn't, the droplet-shaped crystal on
his forehead swaying with an enchanting luster. Xue Meng rolled his eyes at the sight, but Mei
Hanxue only chuckled. "You look pale today, young master Xue. Is everything all right?" He
paused, but Xue Meng refused to be baited. "I have some medicine to help you sleep," he added
helpfully.

"Oh, shut up," Xue Meng grumbled. "Didn't Taxue Palace kick you out? Why are you sniffing
around Sisheng Peak?"

"My master sent me," Mei Hanxue said, still smiling. "To give your father the concealed weapon
he asked for."

"Then do it and fuck off."

Mei Hanxue still didn't get upset, but smiled wider. "Oh, I"m leaving." The bastard was irritating as
hell, Xue Meng thought, either feminine-soft or stone-cold, and today he was warm and friendly.

"We're not enemies," Xue Meng forced himself to say. "Right?"

"We are not."

"Or friends," Xue Meng pressed. Instead of answering, Mei Hanxue tilted his head to allow the
sunlight to strike his golden hair and glint off his pale eyes. Xue Meng suddenly didn't want to
know what he would say. "So you can just do your thing and leave, okay, I don't care who you
hook up with as long as you leave me alone."
The man actually had the audacity to laugh out loud, but his hands curled into half-hidden fists at
his side. He coughed lightly, and regarded Xue Meng with a considering stare. "Sure," he said. He
took the reins, the wind coaxing a tinkling noise from the silver bells tied at his waist, and cast a
sidelong glance at Xue Meng. "I'll be going," he added.

"Did you want me to send you off with firecrackers?" Xue Meng snapped, irritated at his dithering.

Mei Hanxue hadn't gone two steps before he stopped and turned back. "There was one more thing,"
he said.

"What," Xue Meng ground out.

"You are terribly cold," Mei Hanxue said, pressing a slender finger to his lips. He waved cheekily
at Xue Meng's strangled cry and cantered off with a self-satisfied air.

By the time Mo Ran found his teammate, Mei Hanxue was long gone but Xue Meng's expression
was still twisted. "Did you eat something bad?" Mo Ran asked.

"Oh, leave me alone," Xue Meng grumbled, pushing Mo Ran away. "You're just as bad as he is."

With a great clamor, the thousands of cultivators departed from the mountain toward Mount Jiao.
The sight of so many cultivators on horseback was rare, Xue Meng thought, as he was much more
used to seeing them traveling by sword; many of them were unused to riding, and found it difficult.
The bag at the front of each saddle proved to include refreshing potions, scented fans, and
brochures for new products. Xue Meng stared at Palace Master Ma, astounded at his audacity. He
was already the second richest man in the world, and yet he was genially hawking his goods as he
moved through the army.

Despite his determination not to fall for such schemes, Xue Meng eventually found himself bored
enough to look through the booklets. He found and circled a few items that he liked, and then felt
disgusted with himself. He finally understood what Mo Ran had meant by it being a sound
financial opportunity - even if Palace Master Ma wasn't charging for the horses, he had gotten a
captive audience for his advertising.

Seven days of traveling took the army to the Pan Long mountain range. Xue Zhengyong looked at
the huge boulder next to the road, inscribed with worn text. "Prideful dragon's spine, hoping to
meet the emperor," he read, and turned to Nangong Si. "Young master, what does this mean?"

"It means we have to go on foot from here," Nangong Si told him. "We also need to remain pure of
heart, word, and deed until we reach the barrier, or we will be punished."

The sect leaders passed down the message; Hua Binan informed Lonemoon Sect with a great
swarm of flying insects, which aggravated Xue Meng. He turned to Shi Mei. "Hey, you went to
Rinling Island to study," he said. "Please tell me you weren't around that man. Please tell me you're
not going to start playing with bugs."

"You're so funny," Shi Mei said with a smile, as the messengers from Sisheng Peak began to
spread through the crowd.

A loud, confident voice echoed through the forest, instructing the army to use the Silencing Moon
technique on themselves if they had no confidence in their self-control. The echoes lingered in the
air, making the clouds tremble, and rendering the army speechless.

------
The first day on foot passed without incident. The second night brought them their first casualty - a
cultivator who had gone into the woods to relieve himself was bitten by a mosquito and idly cursed
at it. Echoes rumbled in the distance, and he suddenly remembered the instructions to avoid
profanity. He ran for his life, screaming for help from his sect master, Huang Xiaoyue. The
assembled army saw only a Jiangdong Hall cultivator chased by a hundred black snakes. Some of
them had wrapped around his legs, finally overwhelming him and sending him crashing to the
ground.

Huang Xiaoyue moved to help his disciple, but Nangong Si grabbed his wrist. "This snake is
formed from the whiskers of a dragon. If you kill one, another will only rise up to take its place."

"Sacrifices are necessary," Huang Xiaoyue said, voice shaking as his disciple was engulfed by the
tide of writhing snakes.

When the mass of scales dispersed, all that was left was a pool of blood on the ground. It was a
sobering reminder of the strictures by which everyone was to abide. Xue Zhengyong slapped a
silencing spell on himself and Xue Meng; they were used to speaking freely and crudely, and he
couldn't take the chance that one of them would let something slip.

On the third day, the army arrived at the Tomb of Heroes at the foot of Mount Jiao. The barrier
differed from the one they had seen on Mount Huang - it was transparent, showing the mountain
clearly. Jiang Xi examined the scene carefully. "This is the burial ground?" he asked.

"Yes," Nangong Si said, moonlight illuminating his face. The mountain had been created by a
demonic dragon, which had been subdued by the Rufeng Sect's first leader. A blood contract had
been established, transforming the mountain into a repository of Rufeng Sect's honored dead, and
their riches. It held their ancestral temple and hall, and Nangong Si remembered visiting with his
father every winter solstice to maintain the halls.

The vast stretch of white jade steps stretched upward, Shadow Guards on either side. "Welcome,
Young Master," they chorused.

The army knelt in unison, and Nangong Si remembered walking up the path with his father. His
reverie was interrupted by Huang Xiaoyue. "Young master," he said. "We should move as quickly
as possible. Please open the barrier."

Nangong Si gritted his teeth; he could have punched the man in the face, before his sect had fallen,
and no one would have blinked. Now Huang Xiaoyue dared to give him instructions in front of his
own ancestral hall. He swallowed his pride. "Please step back," he said, and approached the barrier
alone.

Massive tombstones made of Dark Spiritual Stones flanked the path, carved in the shape of deities.
A single toe was the size of a small child as they guarded the barrier. Their eyes had been open
every other time Nangong Si had seen them, but now they were tightly closed. Nangong Si moved
his hands to generate the traditional spell.

"Nangong Si, of the seventh generation of Rufeng Sect, pays his respects."

The earth rumbled beneath their feet, and the crowd gasped. One statue on each side of the path
opened their eyes, amber-colored with slit pupils like a snake. The statue on the left spoke, voice
grinding like stone. "Nangong Si, do you recall the Seven Edicts of Rufeng Sect?"

"I am a gentleman," Nangong Si returned. "I have molested no one."

"So you say," sneered Huang Xiaoyue, loud enough for those around him to hear. The murmuring
in the crowd grew louder, as the gathered cultivators muttered about Rufeng Sect's edicts being
nothing more than a mockery.

The statue on the right spoke, gravel tones distant. "Nangong Si, there is a mirror hanging above.
Below it is the vast Underworld."

"I have no regrets." Nangong Si had memorized the script as a child, the words of his ancestors
hoping their descendants would be virtuous men. He wondered if his father had ever felt the
slightest twinge of guilt or remorse for falsely answering these questions every year as they visited
the mountain, but it made no difference now.

The barrier opened. The stone statues knelt slowly. "Master, please enter the mountain."

Standing with his back to the crowd, no one could see the expression on Nangong Si's face.
Naobaijin whimpered from within the quiver, white claws clinging to its edge. "Come inside,"
Nangong Si said, and stepped across the barrier.

Xue Zhengyong released his silencing spell. "Do we need to watch our language inside?" he asked.

"No," Nangong Si said. "It is a method to determine who might be approaching with ill intent. Now
that the guardians know you aren't enemies, they won't monitor how you speak."

Despite the reassuring words, no one was inclined to make much noise as they walked up the
mountain. Every three hundred yards, two totem stones stood on each side of the path. Every other
pair was human, the others animals, marking the burial grounds for Rufeng Sect's heroes. The
graves were ranked, those who had contributed more being placed higher, and the lowest level was
the Boneyard. It was marked with a white piece of jade, upon which names were engraved. The
words Soul Of Loyalty were handwritten across the top.

"These are the graves of loyal servants," Xue Meng whispered to Mo Ran. "Thousands, all told."

The ground was densely packed with graves, and Shi Mei looked around worriedly. "What if they
rise as zombies?" he said.

"They won't," Xue Meng said hurriedly. "Don't jinx us."

"They might," Mo Ran said darkly, slipping away from the group to stand in front of one of the
tombs. He half-knelt, examining it. Rather than a traditional tomb, it was a translucent jade coffin.
It looked like thick ice, set half in the ground with the top exposed to display the preserved corpse
inside. It was covered in a thick layer of dust, and Mo Ran could only vaguely see the figure inside.
He stared at her for a while, feeling that there was something wrong.

Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, Mo Ran put his hands on the coffin lid and
probed it with his qi. He found an evil aura inside, but it wasn't strong enough to animate the
corpse. He frowned, wondering if he was wrong.

"Mo Ran," Xue Meng called from ahead.

"Gotta be quicker," Mo Ran muttered to himself, brushing the thick dust off the lid. He wanted to
see the woman's face more clearly. His hand met an unexpectedly clean spot on the side of the
coffin, and he crouched down to look. Four marks of varying lengths had been scratched into the
stone, and he held out a hand. The marks were exactly placed where fingers would have scratched
the coffin climbing out.
Before Mo Ran could shout a warning, he felt the air in front of him move. A dead white face
stared at him, and he saw a woman in a shroud hiding behind the tombstone.
 Book 3, Part 1: Decisive Battle - Battle at Mount Jiao

Mo Ran dashed toward the foot of the mountain, chased by a howling corpse. "Go back! Retreat!
Retreat!"

"Mo Ran?" Xue Zhengyong said faintly.

"Back! Go back!" Mo Ran dashed toward Nangong Si. "Drop the Soul-Resisting Stone in front of
us!"

The tombs of the senior disciples were protected by a great wall, toward which Nangong Si began
to run with Ye Wangxi hot on his heels. He stopped before he reached it, seeing a group of people
slowly walking down from the top of the path. Their green robes were decorated with cranes, their
bearing heroic, but Nangong Si felt the wrongness emanating from them. Ye Wangxi felt it, too,
skidding to a halt next to him.

Each individual's eyes were bound with an embroidered ribbon - the tradition for the dead of
Rufeng Sect. Nangong Si backed away. "Run," he whispered to Ye Wangxi without turning his
head. "Tell Grandmaster Mo it's already too late." He braced himself. "All the high-ranking dead of
Rufeng Sect have been resurrected and are heading toward us."

“What about you?”

"I'll hold them off as long as I can." He glanced toward her. "Tell them to set off a flare when they
reach the foot of the mountain, and I'll join them there."

Biting her lips, Ye Wangxi was well aware that all she could do to help was toss her quiver to
Nangong Si. "You never bring extra," she said.

A fierce battle had already commenced, the corpses of Rufeng Sect's servants attacking the enemy
cultivators. Their bodies were pale under their burial coats, giving them the impression of a
snowstorm blanketing the army. Nangong Xu had been crafty, leaving the illusion of corpses
inside the tombs and setting up the lower-level zombies to drive the army into the waiting arms of
the elite dead. Ye Wangxi finally found Mo Ran.

"What is it?" Mo Ran asked, fending off five corpses at once, but one look at Ye Wangxi's face
told him the answer. He cursed, and a zombie bit him in the arm. He shoved it off, spattering black
blood, and it hit the ground. The expression on Ye Wangxi's voice made him shiver.

"Si told me to tell you to retreat and wait for him at the foot of the mountain," she said. Mo Ran
nodded and activated a sound-amplifying technique to call for retreat.

"We're supposed to capture Nangong Xu," Huang Xiaoyue said anxiously. "We weren't prepared
for this." His initial intent had been to seek the treasure, but he wouldn't sacrifice his disciples for
it, and he called for a retreat. The servants' corpses weren't powerful, but they had been cultivators
and were numerous; multiple lives were lost during the retreat. Moving toward the foot of the
mountain, Huang Xiaoyue sneered at Mo Ran. "First you tell us to come here, and now you tell us
to pull back. You're doing an excellent job so far."

A cloud of thunder interrupted Huang Xiaoyue attempting to bait Mo Ran, and Nangong Si rode
Naobaijin into the fight. Feeling that he had just fallen further into the trap, Huang Xiaoyue glared
at the last cultivator of Rufeng Sect. He switched his attention to Nangong Si.
"You're leading the dead of Rufeng Sect against us?" he hissed.

Ignoring him completely, Nangong Si made for the road. Naobaijin was fast enough to outrun the
corpses that - it rapidly became clear - were chasing him with murderous intent. Huang Xiaoyue's
eyes widened at the sight of the oncoming tide. Nangong Si flung himself off the faewolf,
returning the quiver to Ye Wangxi. "Get everyone out of here," he gasped.

"What are you going to do?" Ye Wangxi asked, her heart falling.

"Nothing much," he assured her.

The elite dead of Rufeng sect approached, and Huang Xiaoyue began to panic. He berated
Nangong Si in his distress. "You did this! This is your fault! You're just afraid that you won't be
able to get the treasure by yourself, so you brought all of us here to die for you!"

With a frown, Xue Zhengyong laid a hand on his shoulder. "That's enough, Prelate Huang."

"Enough?" Huang Xiaoyue laughed thinly. "He's going to get us all killed." Not even the
expression on Xue Zhengyong's face could stop him. "He lured them to us on purpose, just so he
could survive!"

His tirade was interrupted by a resounding slap, and Ye Wangxi glared ruthlessly at the trembling
man before her. "Bastard," she said coldly. "How dare you speak with such disrespect?"

The disciples of Jiangdong Hall pointed their swords at Ye Wangxi, hurling threats and
imprecations. Mo Ran started to stand at her side, but the sound of a whip slicing through the air
was quicker than he was. Chu Wanning stepped out of the crowd, facing the east river with Ye
Wangxi at his back. "I told you this before," he said, biting off every word. "Nangong Si is my
disciple. If you will not wait for Tianyin Pavilion to pass judgment upon him, you'll have to go
through me." Dead silence rippled outward.

The horde of corpses continued to race down the mountain as Huang Xiaoyue realized that he had
only managed to damage the reputation of Jiangdong Hall by setting them in opposition to the
Holy Grace Immortal. The crowd grew restive, looking back and forth between Jiangdong Hall and
Chu Wanning, until finally a commotion broke out. Cultivators from all sides exhorted their
comrades to settle their differences after they had escaped the tide of the dead.

Mo Ran couldn't help thinking that following Nangong Si's directions would have been the clever
course of action; he clearly had had a plan in mind. He glanced toward him, finding his face
shrouded in an indescribable expression, and Mo Ran shuddered. Suddenly realizing what his
friend was about to do, he shouted, "Nangong Si!"

It was already too late; Nangong Si had been silently chanting a forbidden spell since he had
reached the army. Countless vines burst from the ground, catching every living cultivator and
flinging them clear of the barrier. Ye Wangxi rolled to land on her feet, face pale. "Si!" she
shouted. "What are you doing?"

Before she could charge past the barrier again, Nangong Si raised a hand. The massive statues rose
to their feet, reaching toward each other, and the translucent barrier snapped back into place with
Nangong Si on the other side. His back was to the cultivator army, his face to the thousands-strong
tide of animated corpses. "I have a plan," he said. "The Dragon's Tendon Vine will drag anyone
without Nangong blood into the ground and bury them alive."

"Honorable Nangong!" Ye Wangxi snapped, full of grief and rage. "You're the last of your sect!
You can't die like this!"

"I'm not the last," he said, glancing over his shoulder. "You're still here." He grinned, a wild and
unrestrained smile that hadn't been seen on his face since the destruction of his sect. He had given
that smile to Ye Wangxi countless times as they had fought together, from the first time they had
entered the training illusion as children. "You girls really are useless," he said. "It's my duty to
protect you." He swung back around, and walked toward the oncoming horde.

wow, let's try and use sexism and misogyny to create a Touching Last Farewell, that's super
fucking gross

Three steps away from the barrier, Nangong Si thrust his sword into the ground. He opened the
bandage covering his hand, and dragged his palm against the blade. Blood flowed freely down the
metal and into the earth, and he looked forward without fear. In his silhouette, Mo Ran saw the
image of Ye Wangxi, fighting to the death in his previous life. "Blood-Sacrifice Azure Dragon,"
Nangong Si said. "Activate the array!"

A second set of vines burst forth from the disturbed ground, raining sand and mud into the air.
Scarlet and leafless, it seemed as though a network of blood vessels had latched onto every corpse
under Nangong Xu's control. A thousand dragon tendons, soaking up qi, and Nangong Si began to
tremble. "Burial!" he snapped, face pale as he gave his final order.

The vines dragged the struggling zombies downward, and Nangong Si poured more of his energy
into them to counter their resistance. He staggered as the corpses sunk ankle-deep, then knee-deep,
and then up to the thighs. The zombies howled, redoubling their efforts. He could feel his
reservoirs draining, and pushed harder to sink them up to the waist as the horde furiously twisted
and tried to break free.

Only one option was left. Nangong Si knew he had to bury the horde deeply enough to give the
army outside a fighting chance, and he dug even deeper. The last option was to use up his spiritual
core, and he poured it into the spell. Dull pain spread outward from his heart, and he pushed
himself farther. Blood seeped from the corner of his lips. They hadn't been sunk deeply enough,
and he drew on his spiritual core again to push the horde farther underground.

Dizziness washed over Nangong Si, and he dropped to one knee. Blood flowed from his mouth,
dripping onto the black soil, but the zombie horde had been pulled chest-deep into the hungry
earth. They were held fast, at least for a moment, and he laughed. Outside, Ye Wangxi screamed
for him to open the barrier, along with Xue Zhengyong. More and more of the army began to
scream encouragement and praise.

Not everyone was heartless, Nangong Si thought, and although he had not cried even after the
annihilation of his sect, tears began to roll down his cheeks. He raised a trembling hand to release
the barrier, but the ground lurched under him and sent him sprawling sideways. Nangong Si
pushed himself upright, staring at the zombie horde in confused consternation.

There was only one possibility that Nangong Si could think of, and it sent a wave of cold through
him. He began to tremble, slowly raising his head. His vision blurred in and out as he saw a tall,
heroic man walking down the white jade stairs. His luxurious robe was embroidered with flood
dragons swallowing the sun and moon, and its golden threads glowed under the moonlight.

A neatly tied silk ribbon concealed his eyes, but as he got closer, Nangong Si could see that it was
black instead of green. He stared at the man, his heart skipping a beat. "Grand Sect Master," he
gasped, and the figure's face swam into focus.
The only person in the world, dead or alive, who could compel the evil dragon to disobey the
commands of the Nangong family heirs was the person who had defeated it in the first place. He
had subdued countless evil beasts to found the greatest immortal sect the world had ever seen, the
greatest grandmaster of the past, the man who had given up the power of flight to enter the
heavenly realm while still alive.

His name was Nangong Changying.

------

Enough paintings of Nangong Changying existed that his face was instantly recognizable to many
of those outside the barrier. Ye Wangxi paled, calling for Nangong Si to open the barrier, but he
was less afraid of the first-generation sect leader than of the fact that Nangong Xu had managed to
turn such an illustrious figure into a Zhenlong chess piece. It shouldn’t have been possible; even
dead, Nangong Changying was far too legendary, and yet it had happened.

“Nangong Xu!” Nangong Si howled. “Come out and face me yourself!”

The silence lingered, somehow mocking in its stillness, and the only person who reacted was
Nangong Changying. He turned slightly, fingers sliding across his sheath, and raised his sword. He
stepped forward, aura threatening, and Nangong Si couldn’t help falling back a step. Nangong
Changying kept advancing, tip of his sword scraping along the jade steps with an ear-piercing
sound. “Who are you?” he asked, voice low and ghostly. “Why have you trespassed?”

“Grand Sect Master,” Nangong Si said, swallowing against his dry throat. He let go of his sword,
kneeling to bow deeply. “I am a direct disciple of the seventh generation of Rufeng Sect. I have
come to pay my respects.”

“The seventh generation,” Changying said slowly, and then shook his head. “Kill.” He swung his
blade at Nangong Si, who barely managed to parry in time. Arm going numb under the strength of
the blow, Nangong Si staggered back. “Those who trespass must die.”

“Grand Sect Master!” Nangong Si protested.

Outside the barrier, Xue Zhengyong watched in horror. Changying’s blade moved like art, and
there was no way Nangong Si could possibly defeat him. Even without a weapon, his physical
strength was enough to crush his descendent. Nangong Si was steadily pushed back, and Nangong
Changying raised his sword again. “Kill,” he repeated.

Xue Zhengyong furiously hammered at the barrier, the rest of the sect leaders milling in an
ineffective knot behind him. Only Chu Wanning watched Nangong Changying closely, feeling that
something about the situation was very wrong. The first-generation sect leader had subdued two
demonic beasts, and had had incredibly qi – but without his soul, many of his spells would be
useless. His fighting techniques, Chu Wanning thought, should not have been affected.

Chu Wanning knew there was a lake in lands governed by Rufeng Sect, containing a small hill.
When Nangong Changying had subdued the second demonic beast, he had shattered a rock a
thousand feet tall with nothing more than his fists. A man with such strength should have been able
to break Nangong Si with his initial blow, which meant that the corpse was suspect.

Staring at the corpse, Chu Wanning’s gaze focused on his sword arm and realization swept over
him. Nangong Si was struggling to maintain his hold on his sword as Chu Wanning shouted from
behind him. “All the meridians in his left arm have been cut off!”
“Grandmaster Chu?”

“Focus!” Chu Wanning glared. “He can’t use his left arm!”

The gathered sect leaders looked at Changying’s left arm and found that Chu Wanning was correct.
“Who could have done this?” Xue Zhengyong said. “Was it done after he died?”

No one had an answer, but Ye Wangxi – familiar with the history of the sect – had some insight.
Nangong Si, still fighting, looked at his ancestor’s face. It matched the jade carvings exactly, and
Nangong Si wondered if his ancestor were perhaps still alive. “Naobaijin!” he called, and leapt on
the faewolf’s back.

Focusing on his ancestor’s left arm, Nangong Si saw scenes of his childhood in his mind’s eye.
The magnificent jade statue in the Hall of Sages had been incomplete, the arms carved in different
thicknesses. His mother had told him it was carved to mimic its living human model exactly, but
Nangong Si hadn’t been satisfied by this explanation; his two arms matched each other, he had
reasoned, and the statue should have been the same.

Remembering that his mother had explained that the Grand Sect Master’s habit had been to use his
left arm, that he had used it so much that it had been visibly thicker and stronger than his right,
Nangong Si understood that his ancestor was fighting at a considerable disadvantage. Their blades
clashed, but Nangong Si was wounded and exhausted. Despite Changying’s handicap, the fight
was still too close to call.

“Did he break it himself?” Xue Zhengyong gasped, and a buzz of surprised agreement rose up.
Many of those around him had begun to have the same thoughts; the crane-embroidered ribbons
across the eyes of the dead bound their spiritual power, perhaps because Nangong Changying had
anticipated that their corpses would be desecrated in the future. He had acted to prevent disaster.

The holy weapon that had accompanied him in life was not inside the coffin - he held only a
longsword, and he had disabled his meridians, Chu Wanning thought. As multiple blows were
exchanged, Nangong Si heard his ancestor muttering. Outside the barrier, Mo Ran observed the
battle closely. His experience with the Zhenlong chess formation meant he was able to glean more
information than the others present, and he could tell that Changying was different from the
other zombies.

It seemed to Mo Ran that the Grand Sect Master was attempting to regain consciousness,
something that he had worried about when casting the Zhenlong chess formation in the past; with a
strong-willed subject, the caster would need to continuously suppress their will using qi. If the
caster ran out of qi, the puppet would go berserk, and the spell could backfire on the caster. Many
had even died. Mo Ran eyed Changying, almost certain that Nangong Xu couldn't continue to
control him.

It was beginning to become clear to the gathered cultivators that Nangong Si was no match for his
ancestor, and Mo Ran's fingers clenched on the barrier. Had he been fresh and unwounded, it
would have been a different story, but Mo Ran was beginning to think he would have to chivvy the
sect leaders and Elders into action. He glanced at the barrier, frowning; if Nangong Si didn't open
it, they wouldn't be able to get inside to help.

Changying flung Nangong Si onto his back, tearing open the wound on his hand again and sending
his sword skidding to the edge of the barrier. It was stained with blood. Ye Wangxi begged
Nangong Si to stop fighting, tears running down her cheeks, and Mo Ran thought that she looked
feminine for the first time. The cold and resolute mask the Nangong brothers had forced upon her
had been broken.
Nangong Si strained, trying to regain his feet, but a snow-white blade flashed in front of his face.
He stared at his ancestor, and Mo Ran thought in that moment that they looked alike. The bright
sword hung above him, and deathly silence reigned inside and outside the barrier.

------

Heart beating like a drum, Mo Ran clenched his hands. His temples throbbed, and he feared that
Changying could take Nangong Si’s life at any moment. He shivered, wanting to burst in to help
but unable to get past the barrier. He gripped the hidden weapon in his sleeve, fingers stroking
along the edge of the sharp arrow, and felt afraid.

Before Mo Ran could act, Changying started to shudder. It was clearly visible to all onlookers as
he raised his sword. Nangong Si froze, just slightly off of where his ancestor’s sword was poised to
strike, and then Changying spoke. “You are Nangong Si?”

A shiver ran through the crowd as they began to realize that Nangong Changying was conscious
inside his own corpse. Mo Ran tucked the hidden arrow into his sleeve, feeling cold sweat soak his
back. He hadn’t had to expose his past, through the purest of luck, but his relief was tinged with
disgust at how glad he was for a few more moments of secrecy.

It was clear to Mo Ran that Nangong Xu was a clumsy puppeteer; Nangong Changying hadn’t
quite managed to regain consciousness, but he was clearly fighting for it. It was only a matter of
time before he wrested himself free of Nangong Xu’s control. The sword inched closer to Nangong
Si, and suddenly a muffled sound shook the ground.

Blood blossomed, and Ye Wangxi’s scream echoed in Mo Ran’s ears. She was frantic, on the verge
of doing something stupid, but she wouldn’t be able to get through the barrier either, Mo Ran
thought. Changying’s sword pierced Nangong Si’s shoulder. He ripped the blade out again, a wash
of blood following, and he choked on the blood rising in his throat.

Mo Ran closed his eyes, trembling. He couldn’t tell exactly what had happened to Nangong Xu;
either he had used his spiritual core or perhaps he had passed out in his bid to control his ancestor,
but Changying was now nothing more than a murderous zombie. Blood flowed down the grooves
of his blade to drip into a puddle on the ground. Nangong Si’s face was nearly unrecognizable
under its coating of blood and mud.

Despite his disgrace, no sadness lit Nangong Si’s eyes – only fire. A white flash leapt over him as
Naobaijin pounced on Nangong Changying. Outside the barrier, Ye Wangxi hammered on its
gossamer veil as Nangong Si ignored her to stare at Jiang Xi and mouth his instructions. Eyes
narrowed, Jiang Xi watched him intently with his hands clasped behind his back.

“I understand,” Jiang Xi said.

Changying struck a second time, his hand connecting with a dull thud. Naobajin tumbled across the
trees and leaves and vanished into a puff of smoke. A white puppy rolled out of the smoke, dashing
forward to clamp its tiny jaws onto Changying with renewed vigor. “Stop that,” Nangong Si said
weakly, but the pup refused to let go.

Changying ignored the pup, moving his fingers to cast an enchantment. The corpses that had been
so painstakingly buried were pulled out of the ground just like that, and Nangong Si’s eyes flashed.
He slammed his hand on the ground, shattering his spiritual core. The energy that he had cultivated
for over twenty years coursed outward as he directed the vines to bury the dead of Rufeng Sect.

The core of Nangong Si’s heart had cracked, light as the wind and heavy as a mountain, all of it
reduced to smithereens. A vague sense of relief came over him, followed by a wave of pain, and
the evil dragon’s spirit trembled in the face of Nangong Si’s sacrifice. The corpses slammed back
into the ground, and Changying hesitated.

Rufeng Sect’s founder paced toward Nangong S, who was unable to move without his qi to lend
him strength. Wounded and exhausted, he couldn’t recall his own sword. He could barely lift his
head, gasping in the moonlight. “Grand Sect Master,” he said.

The black ribbon fluttered in the cold wind, the blood vines frozen, but Nangong Si was nearing
the end of his strength. He knew that the moment Changying countermanded his orders again, the
army of the dead would rise. He was ashamed that he had been so weak.

Outside the barrier, Mo Ran reached for his hidden arrow again. He trembled as he listened to
Nangong Si plead with Changying, watching his friend close his eyes in anticipation of a fatal
blow. The sword hovered above Nangong Si, but once again Changying spoke.

“Your name is Nangong?”

“Great Sect Leader,” Nangong Si whispered. “Can you hear me?”

“I shouldn’t fight you,” Changying whispered, words dragged out as if with the greatest of effort.
“My heart – I have memories of the past. I was afraid that this future would come.” He paused, as
if marshaling his strength. “When I finish chanting the incantation,” he said, “take the bow and
arrow away.”

Unable to react in time, Nangong Si slashed at the ground. He staggered back, clothes fluttering in
the wind, and Changying shuddered again. He forced the words past his lips, fighting against the
puppeteer’s control. “Cloud-Piercer,” he said. “Come.”

The ground in front of Nangong Si split apart, a dark blue bow emerging into the endless night.
Even Chu Wanning’s face twitched in surprise at the sight of a martial god’s weapon, and
Changying glared furiously at Nangong Si. His mouth worked soundlessly for a moment.

“Take it!” he said finally. “Quickly!” His hands spasmed, shaking as he fought to regain control of
his body. “The arrows can burn flesh and blood,” he grated out.

“Burn what?” Nangong Si asked, face bloodless.

“Me!” Changying roared. He stood tall and elegant. “Rather than let my body be used for evil, burn
it.”

------

Of all the heroes in the history of the cultivation world, only ten were listed in the Cultivator
Manual. Nangong Changying was one of them. In his past life, Mo Ran hadn’t particularly cared;
he had had no respect for Rufeng Sect, and felt that the man who founded it couldn’t have been
much to speak of. When the Evil Overlord had razed the entire sect to the ground, he had walked
across the bloodstained ground to push open the door to the Hall of Sages, smiling arrogantly as he
had looked up at the jade statue commemorating the sect’s founder.

The statue was set with spirit stones, eyes set with inlaid crystals, crown painted with crystal sand.
The morning light had spilled from the carved skylight to glitter over its tall, straight lines, and the
Evil Overlord’s smile had widened. “I’ve heard so much about you, Immortal Nangong,” he had
said.
The black crystal had glistened, and Mo Ran had laughed. He had spoken to the statue for long
time, laughing animatedly and snapping his fingers. His smile had been bright, and his words
intimate.

“I didn’t see your grandson,” he had said. “He escaped before the city was destroyed. Such a pity.
But all of your disciples became ghosts under my sword. I’ve heard your praises being sung, heard
how impressive you were, with many loyal followers singing your praises.” He had paused. “I’m
just wondering one thing – why didn’t you take the title of emperor, when you founded the sect?”

Mo Ran had paced around the statue, gaze landing on the tablet behind the statue. It had been
carved by Nangong Changying at the age of ninety-six, dyed gold and red after his death, and it
held the words by which the sect should live. He had stared at it, and laughed wildly.

“As a gentleman, I shouldn’t act like a greedy, resentful, perverted killer- is that it?” He had
clasped his hands behind his back. “Immortal Elder Hao Bai, do you think he thought this would
happen to his sect?” He had laughed wildly, staring at the statue. “It’s nothing more than a puddle
of dirty water. You yourself aren’t clean.”

The only person the Evil Overlord had spared had been Song Qiutong. He had walked out of the
Hall of Sages, wearing his black robes, resembling nothing so much as an evil spirit. Dark joy had
arisen in his heart as he had seen the splendid morning dawn over the countless corpses of Rufeng
Sect, and he had trembled with excitement. He had remembered how he had begged a coffin for his
mother in Linyi City, only to be ridiculed and turned away, how he had been forced to drag his
mother’s corpse all the way to Dai City and its unmarked cemetery. He had remembered that it had
taken him fourteen days, and that no one had helped him.

“Mother,” the child Mo Ran had sobbed, rubbing his face against the stinking dead oozing corpse.
Maggots had writhed in her rotten flesh and he hadn’t cared. His wails had echoed from the
cemetery, begging for someone to bury him as well. The Evil Overlord had seen Rufeng Sect burn,
and he had had his revenge for the weeks he had spent dragging his mother’s rotting corpse down
the road. He had had his revenge for the shallow grave he had had to dig with his own hands, the
dirt he had thrown, the callous disregard of Rufeng Sect’s cultivators and the commoners it
protected as none had given him so much as a mat in which to wrap the body.

every time the author goes back to Mo Ran’s childhood, the Trauma just gets more and more
ridiculous and it just gets funnier. I don’t think I’m supposed to be laughing my ass off at the
passage above, but it is so over the top that there is no other possible reaction

After his visit to the Hall of Sages and Nangong Changying’s statue, he had become increasingly
certain of his ambitions. He had vowed that he would also become a god, venerated across the
mortal and cultivation world, worshipped by the people and revered by all. He had dreamt of
surpassing Nangong Changying – the man who had founded the sect that had shown him such
cruelty, the man who was nothing more than a hypocrite spilling pretty words while fostering such
evil.

“Greedy and resentful,” whispered a weak voice, breaking into Mo Ran’s memories. “Killing and
raping, the seventh generation. It can’t be.”

Mo Ran focused his vision on Nangong Changying, seeing the divine arrow piercing his chest,
seeing the same face that had been on the jade statue. Qi clung to the arrow, the weapon driving its
cleansing fire into Changying’s chest. It had not been Nangong Si who had drawn the bow, Mo
Ran realized, but Nangong Changying who had controlled his weapon from afar. The flames
burned through the body, Changying’s face serene and unperturbed.
“Did he know this was coming?” Xue Zhengyong muttered in wonder. “Did he foresee this day?”

For Nangong Changying to have foreseen that he would one day be controlled as a Zhenlong chess
piece, and to prepare for it by breaking his own meridians and burying his holy weapon with a
reservoir of qi to compensate for the fact that the man who would draw it would have no spirit core
meant that he was indeed legendary. Mo Ran was in awe of the man before him, staggered at how
meticulously the man had planned for exactly the scenario that had come to pass, humbled by how
he had misjudged such a glorious hero so badly.

Blazing flames surrounded Changying’s erect form, and Mo Ran understood that he had been one
of the best. He had been uncorrupted by power, contrary to what Emperor Evil Overlord had
assumed. The black silk ribbon still covered his eyes so that he couldn’t be sure, but Mo Ran
thought that Changying was smiling.

yes, you can’t tell if he’s smiling because his eyes are covered, it’s not like you smile with your
mouth

“Grand Sect Master,” Nangong Si wept, kneeling with the bow in his hand. “I have failed you.”

The black chess piece buried in Changying’s body had been destroyed by the divine flames of the
Cloud-Piercing Fire, body nearly burnt to ash along with it. His soul was gone, and most of his
memories with it. Still, Changying was able to speak. “How many years, since my sect was
founded?” he asked.

“Four hundred and twenty-one,” Nangong Si replied.

Nangong Changying tilted his head. “It’s been a long time,” he said, voice as faint as the wind. “I
thought it would last perhaps two centuries before reaching the end of its natural lifespan, to be
replaced by something new. This is not a tragedy.”

Face pale as his life’s blood soaked into the earth, Nangong Si’s voice trembled. “Grand Sect
Master,” was all he could say.

“The legacy of Rufeng Sect is not in its four hundred years or in its number of disciples,”
Changying whispered. “It is in those who remember that we do not commit the sins of greed, theft,
or rape.” His sleeves gently wafted in the breeze, and the Dragon’s Tendon vines tightened around
the unquiet dead. The corpses were pulled deep into the ground. “As long as you remember, you
have not failed me.”

With the last syllable, Changying’s body dissolved into ash. Golden-red starlight scattered through
the forest, and Nangong Si sobbed aloud. Ye Wangxi knelt outside the barrier, and the gesture
rippled throughout the assembled army. The honored dead of Rufeng Sect were all heroes.

oh my god the purple-prose melodrama

------

Mount Jiao was once again calm, the vines gone and the undead with them. Nangong Changying
had died a second time, his corpse scattered to the four winds. The bow in Nangong Si's hands
dulled sank downwards as his strength dwindled. His blood trickled into the earth at his knees and
the boundary dissolved.

Ye Wangxi ran to knee beside him. "Don't move," she said, voice trembling. "I can fix this."

"I don't think you can," he said, gently pushing her aside. "Sect Leader Jiang, if I could trouble
you."

"I'm coming," Jiang Xi said; as the leader of the foremost medical sect, he was capable of healing
wounds beyond the skills of others. He placed his fingertips at Nangong Si's wrist, eyes narrowing
as he felt the crushed spirit core. He looked up to see Nangong Si regarding him steadily; as he met
Jiang Xi's eyes, Nangong Si's gaze flicked to Ye Wangxi and he shook his head slightly.

"What's wrong, Sect Leader?" Ye Wangxi asked.

Silently withdrawing his hand, Jiang Xi took a porcelain bottle from his bag and handed it to her.
"His injuries aren't serious," he said. "Apply this powder daily to the wound, and it should take
approximately ten days for him to recover." He gathered his qi and pulsed it through Nangong Si's
acupoints, finishing by placing his palm against the puncture wound. When he removed his hand,
the bleeding had ceased. "We shouldn't stay here long," he said, finishing and rising to his feet.

i'm sorry, did he or did he not get impaled, can we talk about the trauma to his thoracic
cavity pls, and also that he should be in hypovolemic shock

"Everything is fine," Nangong Si said, smiling at Ye Wangxi. "Don't cry. When did you become so
useless?"

With Ye Wangxi's help, Nangong Si rose to his feet and led the amassed cultivators once again
toward the white jade steps. He knew there were three checkpoints that would need to be activated
with the blood of a member of the Nangong family to allow them to pass, and thought with a rueful
smile that he had taken enough wounds to activate a thousand checkpoints.

No further obstacles met the cultivator army on the way up the mountain; Nangong Si smeared his
blood across the final checkpoint, russet against the white jade dragon's eye, and the last heavy
stone gate sank into the ground to reveal the heavenly palace atop Mount Jiao. It was surrounded
by a dense forest, at the top of a 9,990-step path, high enough that it seemed to rest on a base of
clouds.

Dim shadows spread across it under the pale moonlight, yet its magnificent workmanship was
clearly visible. It invoked feelings of anger and jealousy in many of the cultivators' hearts, that
such beauty had been hoarded by the heads of Rufeng Sect.

Ma Yun shook his head. "More stairs?" he groaned. "Tell me again why we can't travel upwards by
sword."

Huang Xiaoyue laughed bitterly. "The old man jests," he said. "Nangong Changying was able to
climb these stairs. We can do the same."

"Construction of the palace was started during the reign of the third Sect Leader, Nangong Yu. It
was finished two generations later, during the reign of the fifth Sect Leader, nangong Xian. It has
nothing to do with Nangong Changying," said a cold voice from behind him. Huang Xiaoyue
looked back to see Chu Wanning regarding him steadily. "It would be wise to be cautious with your
words, Sect Leader."

Looking at his teacher's face, Mo Ran worried that Chu Wanning would summon Heavenly
Questions to teach the insolent sect leader a lesson; his teacher had been pushed to the limit of his
tolerances by the events, and could not bear to listen to such disrespect.

Furious at the loss of face in front of not only his peers but many Elders and even junior disciples,
Huang Xiaoyue's mouth twisted. Before he could answer, Jiang Xi spoke. "Huang Xiaoyue," he
said, "do you regard Nangong Xianchang's pure reputation lightly?"

By speaking so, Jiang Xi had clearly shown his allegiance. Huang Xiaoyue paled, but he forced a
laugh. "Why so serious, Sect Leader Jiang? My words were naught but idle speech."

"And I should indulge your idle disrespect?" Jiang Xi said, coldly rolling his eyes. Unlike Chu
Wanning, who had only martial prowess and combat ability, he had real political power. He flicked
his sleeves, content that his message had been received, and walked toward the steps. Some
cultivators followed, while others regarded Huang Xiaoyue with disdain or pity.

If it weren't for the seriousness of the situation, Mo Ran thought he would have found it funny. He
walked forward, climbing the steps. No one had gotten far before Nangong Si came to a halt,
frowning.

"Why are there orange trees?" Nangong Si said, looking at the surrounding forest. White orange
blossoms thickly coated the branches. "None of these should be orange trees."

"There's someone there!" called a sharp-eyed cultivator, pointing toward a shape under a luxuriant
orange tree next to a tinkling spring. It was a seated man, facing away from the path.

"Is that a man or a ghost?" Xue Zhengyong asked.

"I'll go check it out," Mo Ran said. He moved lightly toward the figure, circling around until he
could see its face, and then stopped in shock. He hadn't expected to see Nangong Liu, who should
have been bound to an array, dying, after being fed lingchi fruit. And yet, he sat calmly in the trees,
uninjured and washing a basket of oranges. His face bore a dreamlike expression as he hummed a
quiet tune. Moonlight dappled his arms, showing unblemished skin with no sign of the curse that
had plagued him.

Though he was clearly under the control of a Zhenlong chess piece, Mo Ran thought that Nangong
Liu had retained much of his free will. He seemed to be acting almost normal. He made his way
quickly back to the path to report.

"Well?" Xue Zhengyong said.

"It's Nangong Liu," Mo Ran said softly, with a sidelong glance at Nangong Si. His words incited
immediate hatred, many in the crowd drawing their blades to assassinate the former sect leader on
the spot. Nangong Si's face dropped. "There's something odd, though," Mo Ran said. "He seems to
be a Zhenlong puppet, but his curse is gone. We should be careful."

"Can the effect of the lingchi fruit be countered?" Chu Wanning asked.

Jiang Xi frowned. "Perhaps," he said. "But not without great effort. I can think of no reason for
Nangong Xu to go to the trouble of feeding him the fruit and then healing him of it." He paused.
"But his presence here surely means that Nangong Xu is here, as well."

Catching a glimpse of a shadow moving, Jiang Xi turned his head to see the head of Rufeng Sect
stepping out of the woods with a basket full of oranges. He held a walking stick, and as he grew
closer his smile became visible. Nangong Si, despite his resolution, found himself unable to look
away from his father. His heart ached.

"Nangong Liu!" shouted someone from the back. "You'll pay in blood for what you did!" An arrow
followed the words, too quickly to stop, but it was aimed poorly and struck the basket instead.

Consternation spread throughout the leaders of the army, but the identity of who might have loosed
the arrow became meaningless as Nangong Liu registered their existence. He slowly looked up,
then walked directly toward them with the same vague expression. Many of the cultivators began to
draw their swords, feeling threatened, and Nangong Liu came to a swaying halt. "Gentlemen," he
said.

The sound of his voice broke the spell of silence, several cultivators drawing their swords
completely out of their sheaths, and Nangong Liu smiled at them warmly. It was the same
expression he had given them many times, but this time he straightened his sleeves and knelt
respectfully on the ground. The oranges tumbled out of his basket, rolling across the ground.

"You have come from afar," Nangong Liu said. "Allow me to welcome you." He straightened and
picked up the oranges, replacing them in the basket, and then laughed. "Such distinguished guests,"
he added. "Are you here to visit his Majesty?"

Goosebumps spread across Mo Ran's flesh. The last person he had heard addressed with that
particular title was Emperor Evil Overlord, and he couldn't help but feel as though Nangong Liu
were referring to him. Others glanced back and forth, confused, and Nangong Liu frowned.

"Are you not going to see his Majesty?" he pressed. "Surely, there is no other purpose for the
presence of such distinguished guests." In the face of the confused silence that followed, he
repeated the phrases, until finally a voice interrupted him.

"Who is his Majesty?"

"He is his Majesty," Nangong Liu answered, puzzled. "You must ascend the path to its summit,
should you wish to see him, but he is very busy. He may not have time for you."

"Busy?" Xue Zhengyong laughed, despite the tension. "He has been puppeteer for a dead man on a
hill, playing chess against himself. Busy, ha. I think he will have time for us."

"If the door is closed," Nangong Liu said, “Then you may wait in the city. He will emerge when he
has time." He smiled. "I shall accompany you, as I must deliver these oranges. His Majesty will be
angry if I delay." Without waiting, he started walking smoothly up the white jade stairs.

A debate sprang up around Mo Ran, cultivators arguing as to whether or not they should ascend the
staircase, but he ignored them. He bounded upwards, taking the lead, running past Nangong Liu.
The army fell away behind him, and finally he reached the top. Breathing heavily, Mo Ran stood in
front of the palace's magnificent main gate.

The palace atop Mount Jiao was one of two in the world glorious enough to blind the sun. It was
carved with scenes of the Yellow River, Tenglong Tengyi, and Huohuang Tuyue; the sun and the
moon were depicted across dragon scales glittering with pure gold, and every phoenix feather was
set with jewels. Bronze lamps hung glowing from the rafters, above the glow of countless candles.

The blue and gold door opened easily under Mo Ran's fingertips. The army, just starting to catch
up, was shocked to see him act so recklessly. Those who saw him wondered what sort of trickery
was afoot.

------

Every brick and stone beneath Mo Ran's feet reflected his figure as he walked up the Heavenly
Palace's central path. His footsteps echoed in the lonely hall, but he felt as though he were
accompanied by countless ghosts. Nangong Liu and Nangong Xu numbered among
them, shrieking in pain to his right. On his left, he saw Luo Xianxian with her hair neatly plaited,