WITHIN THE CULTIVATION academy, Jiang Yexue sat at a small poplar table inlaid with spirit jade. The legs of the table curved outward, and its frame was set with precious Guiyuan stone, flowing with abundant spiritual energy.
Most artificing workshops had a little table like this one, used to repair broken items. Nevertheless, each artificer had a different level of skill. Some could at most repair a broken bowl, while some, like Jiang Yexue and Murong Chuyi, could do much, much more.
These techniques appeared simple, but in reality, they made high requirements of the artificers who used them; the slightest imbalance in the flow of spiritual energy could trigger irreversible consequences. Any young cultivator who wanted to become an artificer would expect repair to feature heavily in their graduation exam at the cultivation academy. It was said that, for his final examination, the eldest son of the most renowned artificer family of his generation—Yue Chenqing's father, Yue Juntian—restored one hundred and seventy-eight broken treasures in an astonishingly short period of time to break the academy's century-old record. Yue Juntian loved to boast of this, and had even once tried to use it to intimidate his young brother-in-law Murong Chuyi. The story ended with Murong Chuyi losing his temper and destroying more than a thousand exquisite items in the Yue Clan's Pavilion of Treasures—and then, within a single incense time, restoring every single one before Yue Juntian's ashen face and putting a vicious dent his brother-in-law's pride. Yue Juntian never mentioned the old glory of his graduation exam again.
However, both Murong Chuyi and Yue Juntian had shattered things solely to show off their skills; those items were carelessly broken, not intentionally destroyed. Jiang Yexue's situation was different. Right now he was facing a pile of history-recording jade scrolls that had been ground almost to powder. Even disregarding the state they were in, the pieces were completely out of order.
"…What do you think?"
"No wonder the person who smashed these jade scrolls left them behind." Jiang Yexue sighed. "History-recording jade scrolls are imbued with spiritual energy. Even reduced to dust, they would still be easy to trace. But after destroying them like this, I'm afraid there are no more than three people in all of Chonghua who could restore them."
Mo Xi was silent for a beat. "My trespass into the Imperial Censorate won't remain hidden for long. I'm asking for your help— every scroll counts. Learning anything would be preferable to ignorance."
"If there was some secret motive behind Gu-xiong's old case, I'd want to uncover it too," Jiang Yexue said. "But…"
Mo Xi's gaze darkened. "Is it impossible?"
"It's not that." Jiang Yexue ran his fingers over a scroll that had been partially pieced together on the table. "But, as I'm sure you can see, I can only perform a rudimentary repair right now. I can't restore their original appearance. If you want perfect and unharmed jade scrolls, it would take at least a month."
Mo Xi shook his head. "I can't wait that long. His Imperial Majesty would definitely notice something amiss."
To this, Jiang Yexue had no answer.
"I want to at least learn something before he finds out what I did." Mo Xi raised his eyes, deep and black as an endless night. "Do you have any other ideas?" he murmured.
Jiang Yexue hesitated for a long moment. His gaze roved over Mo Xi's handsome and defined features, fixing on his hair ribbon before he lowered his eyes. He kept his head down and stroked those jade scrolls in silence.
But from this, Mo Xi seized a wisp of hope. "You do, don't you?"
Jiang Yexue closed his eyes, lifting slender fingers and carefully aligning a fragment at the edge of one of the scrolls. "Yes." Before Mo Xi could respond, Jiang Yexue quickly continued. "But Xihe-jun, this is too dangerous."
"Why? Because an incomplete restoration might show me a false version of the past, or because it would damage the scrolls and make a full repair impossible?"
Jiang Yexue studied Mo Xi. Rarely had he seen such uncontrolled anxiety on this man's face. But at the moment, Mo Xi was haggard from days of torment; his face held so many emotions he looked like a stranger.
"Because your body can't withstand it," said Jiang Yexue. "You know that even now, no one has fully restored the Space-Time Gate of Life and Death, first of the three forbidden techniques. But within the Nine Provinces, there are countless techniques and treasures derived from the Gate. Most have only mimicked the smallest fraction of it, or perhaps they're just a prototype reconstruction—like the Time Mirror you just experienced."
The haze of confusion in Mo Xi's eyes gradually dissipated. He gazed at the scrolls on Jiang Yexue's little table. "And these historyrecording jade scrolls are the same?"
"Yes. The Space-Time Gate of Life and Death is the original, the Time Mirror is a copy, and these…" He tapped the edge of the table with porcelain-pale fingers. "These history-recording jade scrolls operate on the same principle. Their power is limited, but these too originate from the Space-Time Gate of Life and Death that Fuxi left behind. When it comes to this forbidden technique, the legends tell of a prophecy—whoever opens the Space-Time Gate of Life and Death is doomed to a grisly death. The Time Mirror and the history-recording jade scrolls don't have the power to change the past like the Gate, and they won't lay a curse on the transgressor's life, but…" He paused, looking into Mo Xi's weary face. "Every time you cross this boundary, it'll cost you your health… You already felt the effects on Bat Island."
Mo Xi neither confirmed nor denied this.
"Xihe-jun, we've known each other half our lives. Your bloodline is pure, and your spiritual energy is unmatched. In the past, you've never shown any weakness no matter how exhausted by battle. But ever since you emerged from the Time Mirror, both your spiritual energy and your physical condition have been pushed to the brink." Jiang Yexue heaved a sigh. "What will happen to you if you recklessly enter these unrepaired jade scrolls?"
Jiang Yexue's soft, white fingers slid over those icy-cold scroll slips, which glowed a soft ivory. "Your body might be torn apart, or your spiritual core could go berserk."
"I have to go. Gu Mang had some secret back when he defected, I'm certain of it." The two of them had spoken at almost the same time.
The room fell into silence. Bamboo swayed outside the window, a soft rustle in the breeze.
Mo Xi had heard Jiang Yexue's cautionary words. He lowered his lashes. "Jiang-xiong. After all these twists and turns, I still choose to trust him."
Jiang Yexue looked back at Mo Xi, calm and silent. Those gentle black eyes seemed a little wet. "Mo Xi."
Mo Xi said nothing.
"You already trusted him once, back then."
Eight years ago in the throne room, a young general stood amid a full court of civil and military officials. He was extremely furious yet profoundly heartbroken, facing a horde of wolves and tigers alone.
Mo Xi's shaking voice seemed to filter through the sands of time to echo in their ears once more. "Who defected? How could Gu Mang ever defect?! Have you lost your minds? He didn't defect while leading our nation's great army, he didn't defect when his life hung by a thread and he was beset on all sides; he's given every last drop of his zeal and passion, he offered up the best of his youth to this land beneath your feet, and you call him a traitor? Have you lost your minds?"
Every official paled. "Xihe-jun…"
"Mo Xi!" the emperor thundered in rage. "Who gave you the guts!"
But Mo Xi was like a lonely beast that had lost its companion. No, he was hurt far worse than that. He was like an eagle shorn of its wings, a proud man with his legs torn away, an artist with his eyes blinded. Like a patriot gutted of their loyalty.
That naive, righteous, sorrowful youth faced them all, surrounded by whispers and criticism. He was the odd one out, opposing the nobles, yet those slave cultivators Gu Mang commanded could never take him into their midst. He stood alone in the middle of the hall, guarding the wreckage left by his brother, his beloved, his god.
The rims of Mo Xi's eyes were red and wet. Near tears, he still spoke with absolute faith. "He wouldn't defect."
No one answered him.
"I'm willing to swear an oath on my life, to testify on his behalf. He will definitely come back…"
In truth, he didn't know if he was speaking these vows for the emperor's ears, or as a final consolation to himself.
Jiang Yexue sighed. "You trusted him once, and you almost lost your life that time. Are you really willing to trust him again, to seek a truth that may not even exist?"
Mo Xi was silent for a moment. "That year, on the Dongting warship, I said something to him."
A string of waxen tears fell from a candle, flowing into the depths of the lotus flower lamp and quietly pooling at the bottom.
"I said I could accept anything as long as he turned back." Mo Xi closed his eyes, folding his fingers against his brow. He lowered his head, his voice a whisper. "As long as he turned back, it didn't matter if he killed me. Life, glory…none of it mattered to me anymore. But he didn't. He cut ties with me with that knife, then told me with the heads of thousands of soldiers that he had chosen a path of vengeance."
Mo Xi went on, "These past few years, he's killed countless cultivators of Chonghua. All lives lost at his hands. When those noble sons died, their parents and kin cursed me and hated me—they said back then, I had vouched for a devil. They said it was my brother who razed Chonghua's villages, who slaughtered the families of common folk… They said I was blind, that I had no conscience… Debts of blood piled up before my eyes, but still I didn't dare face him. I didn't want to fight a battle with him as an opponent."
As he spoke, he drew on all the pride and nobility in his bones to steady himself, but his voice was shaking. Jiang Yexue could hear the sobs caught in his throat, like a jug of wine kept sealed for eight years, soaked with such bitterness his words were barely discernible.
Mo Xi gradually opened his eyes. "They weren't wrong," he said hoarsely, self-mockingly. "Through the years, I've come to know of the thousands of lives he owes Chonghua. I've walked through villages devastated by war, I've seen cultivators fallen in pools of blood, their intestines pulled out and eaten by beasts, I've seen wives who lost their husbands, old men who lost their sons, children sobbing beside the corpses of their parents."
He kneaded at his forehead in pain. In all these years, was there anyone he could say these things to? He had stayed cold, controlled, and steadfast. Others at least had their wives, their sons, their parents —but whom did he have? The only light and warmth in his life had become his darkness.
What did he have left…?
It was only today—only when he stood to risk everything for a fragile hope—that Mo Xi finally said some of this out loud to Jiang Yexue. His shoulders shivered as he continued, his voice so hoarse it was unrecognizable. "I've seen the bones of a deputy general dismembered alive, I've seen enough corpses to fill a river—all the work of a man I spoke for." Mo Xi closed his eyes in grief. "The work of the Liao Kingdom cultivators under his command… Can you imagine how that feels?"
As if all those souls of the wrongfully dead were gathered round him, condemning him, cursing him, howling at him, begging him for help, demanding his life, screaming and thrashing in anguish—your Gu Mang, your lighthouse, the one you admired and cherished most in your life—he killed us!
Xihe-jun…Xihe-jun…
The fourth in a line of loyal subjects, the son of heroes… Chonghua's guardian deity… Save us… Protect us… Please, give us justice, take that incurable demon with his hands laved in blood to the gallows, please—kill him!
We're begging you to wash away the blood of innocents from your country.
Please… Please, give us justice…
Why aren't you doing it? Why aren't you meeting him in battle and fighting him to the death, why aren't you resolutely donning your armor, entering the fray, and taking his life? Do you still trust him? Do you still love him…?
Are you still so stubbornly hoping this devil will turn back, hoping he'll come to his senses, hoping for him to return to the past?
You too are a traitor… Coward… Traitor! Coward! Traitor!
Mo Xi buried his face in his palms, then covered his ears. These voices had followed him for eight years, tearing at him, tormenting him, whipping him—
Yes! He had once wished for Gu Mang to die! When he remembered an orphaned child wailing in his arms, mewling like a kitten, dying, unable to be saved from the Liao Kingdom's black magic poison as the demonic qi spread… When he remembered a hoary, wizened old grandpa, leaning on his cane in a broken and deserted village beneath the bloody dusk, weeping endlessly, losing his mind, repeating the names of his children who would never come home… How could he not wish for Gu Mang to be executed; how could he not want the general who committed these atrocities killed?!
Yet even when Gu Mang was captured, Mo Xi had chosen to say nothing. He'd left it to Chonghua, to the emperor, to deal with Gu Mang according to the law. But…
Tears dampened his long lashes.
But when he really saw him again…he discovered that his heart, which should have been tempered into steel long ago, was still made of flesh.
He was selfish.
He was ashamed of his selfishness; day and night he felt an unease that kept him from sleep; he would see the child in his arms open blood-red eyes to scream and curse at him, he would see that old man's face transform into a hideous mask of fury to snarl and shout at him.
Traitor! Traitor…
Jiang Yexue could hardly bear to see him like this. "Mo-xiong…" he murmured.
Mo Xi didn't answer. He paused for a while, a despairing smile spreading across his lips. "If the history-recording scrolls show me the truth from back then, if I find out he really had some secret reason—" He looked up, eyes glimmering as he gazed at Jiang Yexue. "Even if I died, I would be happy. At least, in this life, I didn't protect the wrong person or make the wrong judgment. I would… We would…"
His composure threatened to shatter once more. Mo Xi closed his eyes, swallowing thickly, and fell silent.
We would finally stop being a traitor and a coward. These eight years spent drowning in a sea of blood would finally come to an end.