AGONY BURST from Mo Xi's heart and spread through his body like cracks opening in the earth. Within the history-recording jade scroll, Mo Xi went down on one knee, striving to endure it, and spat out a mouthful of blood.
The image of the prison had shattered, leaving behind a blur of light and shadow. Or perhaps it wasn't the light that was blurry, but his vision. The jade scroll was stripping his spiritual energy and tearing at his flesh. The pain in his soul and the torture of his body broke across his insides like the tide.
The icy voice of the jade scroll spoke again, echoing in his ears. "This scroll is damaged, its pages ruined beyond repair. Shouldst thou persist, thou wilt suffer severe injury to the flesh…"
Severe injury to the flesh…
What did he care about severe injury to the flesh? What physical suffering could be more painful than these truths? Gu Mang…
He was clearly a loyal subject charged with a mission, but he had buried himself in filthy mud, unable to escape.
He clearly knew the truth, but had silently endured unimaginable torment.
He was clearly a flame that wanted to warm the world, but he was trampled again and again, stamped out, ground to ash.
He had clearly just sworn an elder brother of his own…
Mo Xi coughed blood, swallowing the shattered sobs in his throat, closing his eyes with a shiver. Tears escaped his eyes, flowing freely down his cheeks—he was on the verge of collapse.
Back then…what must Gu Mang have felt?
He had just gained a sworn brother, and he'd only gotten to call him dage a few times before sending him to the executioner. He knew his dage was innocent, but he couldn't exonerate him nor tell anyone the truth.
When Gu Mang smiled as he swore that oath and kowtowed to Lu Zhanxing, what had he felt?
What physical injury could hurt more than the sorrow of being a spy?
Knowledge that couldn't be shared, love that couldn't be spoken. A pair of hands…stained against his will with the blood of his brothers, his comrades. Watching as the demons and beasts around him devastated the nation he used to protect, but having to laugh and shout as if delighted. Hearing the wailing of civilians from his motherland, the crying of infants, the enraged shouts of soldiers—but having to put on an indestructible mask, unable to shed a single tear, unable to show the slightest mercy, unable to expose the tiniest hint of hesitation or sorrow.
How must that have felt…?
His Gu Mang, his Gu-shixiong, Chonghua's General Gu, was someone who would take the military records in both hands and carve the names of each and every faceless soldier into his memory. He was so gentle, so kind, so quick to smile, so deeply caring and reverential toward every life. He could hardly bear to trample a flower on the battlefield, yet he had wielded the knife that personally stabbed those living bodies—he may as well have carved out his own heart!
Mo Xi was choking on blood, slowly staggering forward. All around was formless darkness; the only spark of light was in the distance. He knew it was the next memory he needed, stored in the history-recording jade scroll.
He walked onward. With each step it felt like invisible hands ripped into his insides, frantically plundering his body for blood and vitality. The jade scroll had consumed his spiritual energy down to the dregs, but that light was still so far from him. So far it resembled Gu Mang from eight years ago, a shabby cloth sack on his back carrying his sworn brother's head, leaving Chonghua in the setting sun, setting his steps to the strains of that old beggar's sorrowful folk song.
Time as swift as the shuttle does fly
Yet before it I think two paths lie:
In bygone days was I envy of all,
Careless years passed in careless thrall.
Alas, today is my purse light;
Each hour, minute a yearlong blight.
I, too, once rode a splendid horse,
My flag bid thousands on their course;
One cry dispersed the demon crowd;
Godlike, before my feet all bowed.
Today none mark my glories past,
Men once called friends all turn their backs;
By day I starve, my nights lack sleep,
Streetside I sing here for my keep.
Too high a flight, too far a fall;
I blame not heaven nor kin for't all.
But knowing now my bitter end,
I rue th'demons I once called friends.
And now that naught can change my state
I beg you all to avoid my fate.
And now he'd come to find out that was not the retreating silhouette of a traitor, but a hero's farewell.
Gu Mang stood upon Chonghua Bridge, looking back over the capital city, knowing that he would soon fight a battle with no one to support him, soon enter the fray splattered in blood and gore. Knowing he was walking into hell.
In a soft murmur, he had said, Goodbye.
Then he carefully pocketed the only travel ration his homeland would grant him—the pastry the old beggar gave him, already stonecold. He lowered his head and walked toward his seventy thousand dead brothers. L
Gu Mang… Gu Mang…
Stop walking, will you… Why can't I catch up to you…?
Mo Xi took step after step toward that light, tears ceaselessly flowing down his face. The darkness around him seemed to take the form of innumerable dancing shadows, mocking him and cursing him; all the vicious things he said in the past pierced his bones once more.
"Traitor!"
"Don't you know how dirty you are…"
"You wanted revenge! For your dashed prospects, for your dead comrades-in-arms, for your own advancement. You didn't care whose blood you spilled!
It wasn't like that…
It wasn't like that.
Don't curse him, don't curse him, he's innocent…!
Mo Xi was being driven crazy by those wild shadows in the dark. He could no longer feel the torturous pain inflicted by the jade scroll; his only wish was to wade back into the river of time to tell his past self: It wasn't like that. The truth wasn't like that.
Gu Mang, he…had never thought of revenge, had never thought of ambition. He only wanted to guard those seventy thousand gravestones, the last dignity his brothers deserved. He only wanted to see Chonghua sprouting green after the snow melted, red peach blossoms blooming again on the shore. He only wanted… He only wanted to see realized those promises the emperor had made to him on the Golden Terrace: a peaceful world of equality that would blossom from bodies that had been trampled into mud. To see the old replaced by the new, verdant growth replacing spilled blood, right replacing wrong, happiness replacing sorrow.
He only wanted to see heroes becoming heroes regardless of their birth, to see the gravestones of martyrs receive a jug of clear wine and a burned slip of paper peace.
When did he ever bear the slightest hatred…?
He just wanted to bring his brothers home.
Mo Xi staggered along, step by step, walking toward that light— as if each step could bring him closer to that General Gu from eight years ago.
It hurt too much…
His spiritual energy was spent, but he didn't stop. The jade scroll began to pull power from his core, threatening to crack open his heart. But he didn't feel the sickening pain; he just had a thought—
The instant it occurred to him, his tears fell like rain. He thought: When Gu Mang's core had shattered, did it feel like this? Did his little shixiong who was so afraid of pain, who was so very gentle and cried so easily, feel ten or twenty times this agony?
Even while in that much pain, had he endured the scorn and the judgment of his comrades, with no one to care for him, no one to look after him, no one to recognize how much he had sacrificed?
When that smiling General Gu turned to leave Chonghua, no one knew what he felt exactly.
"Gu Mang…"
As he labored onward, Mo Xi had a vision. He saw, in that faltering light, a Gu Mang who wore the military uniform of Chonghua. He was smiling, and followed by Lu Zhanxing, followed by the figures of all those brothers who had died in battle—Zhao Sheng, Wei Ping, Luo Xiaochuan… They surrounded him. Gu Mang looked so happy: sharper, more polished, more high-spirited and heroic than Mo Xi had ever seen him.
Mo Xi walked toward them. Gu Mang seemed to notice him, his black eyes flashing with surprise. An impossibly brilliant smile crinkled the elegant ends of his eyes. He smiled so brightly, without the slightest pain or shadow in his eyes. He held out his arms to Mo Xi. "Shidi, stop crying, it's fine… Look, this is the dream I've had all my life. I hope one day the world will right itself, here in Chonghua or within the entire cultivation world. Don't laugh at me for being naive or idealistic. I know things will get better and better, just as flowers will bloom, rain will cease, and winter will pass… My princess, my royal highness, believe me. When has your Gu Mang-gege ever lied to you?"
Gu Mang had once said these words to the young Mo Xi as they lay on the riverbank in their academy days. Now, as they crossed time and space, tears streamed down Mo Xi's cheeks.
Flowers will bloom, rain will cease, winter will pass. Believe me… My princess, my royal highness. Because…if even you lose faith in me…
The light dimmed. Gu Mang's silhouette distorted, and the military uniform turned into snowy-white slave robes as a pitch-black collar locked itself around his neck. The figures of Lu Zhanxing and his brothers scattered and faded behind him like swirling snow.
In the darkness, in the unending night, Gu Mang fell to his knees with his hands soaked in blood, curling up like an abandoned beast.
If even you lose faith in me, then I truly will be fighting on my own. I will really be alone.
Believe in me, won't you…?
His figure became smaller and smaller, more and more stooped. Mo Xi rushed toward him as if crazed, heedless of anything else, shouting in grief—
"Gu Mang!"
Gu Mang. I believe you… I believe what you said, that flowers will bloom, rain will cease, winter will pass… Will you turn back? Will you turn from that dark road?
In his thirty-three years, his Gu-shixiong had been a slave for more than twenty, a traitor for five, a prisoner for three. If you made a reckoning of his life like this, he had never lived a single good day. It hit Mo Xi then that Gu Mang had never once thought of himself. He had never wondered where he would be, with his filthy body and bloody hands, on the day the flowers bloomed, the rain ceased, and the winter passed.
Yet Mo Xi had once said to that selfless and noble commander—
You didn't care whose blood you spilled!
When had Gu Mang ever not cared whose blood he spilled? By the time he was forced to kill his first innocent citizen of Chonghua… he was probably already dead and buried in his own heart.
That beam of light at the end of the jade scroll flickered. Gu Mang grew more and more distant; Mo Xi couldn't catch up.
He heard Jiang Yexue's voice from far away, as if he were speaking across the sea. "Mo Xi! Mo Xi! Wake up! If you keep going, your core will shatter! Mo Xi!"
The illusory Gu Mang stopped walking and turned. "Mo Xi… don't chase after me anymore."
Flimsy snow-white robes fluttered in the wind, ink-dark hair framed his hollow cheeks. In the many years since he had gone from worshipped commander to despised traitor, he had thinned so much, weakened so much. He would never be as strong and healthy as he used to be; even the color of his eyes had changed. But those eyes, which had seen untold death and blood, hidden countless secrets and sorrows, were still so bright and so gentle. Even in the furthest depths of suffering, they held the strongest hope.
"Don't follow me any farther. Everyone has their own path. I chose this one long ago… It's not an easy road to take. But I know it was right."
"Gu Mang…"
"It was the right one, so I don't regret it."
The wind rose, fluttering through Gu Mang's robes. Slowly, he scattered in the breeze like crushed flower petals. Gu Mang smiled at him before he dissolved, a smile so radiant it was like the first golden bloom of winter jasmine, bravely poking its head from the snow. As if to say, Look, I didn't lie to you. Spring will come. Spring has already come.
A sudden force yanked him out of the darkness. The afterimage of Gu Mang lingered in his vision, but Mo Xi had at last returned to Jiang Yexue's residence.
He hadn't yet come to his senses. Blood streamed endlessly from his split skin and from his mouth, but he couldn't feel the pain. He heard Jiang Yexue calling for him, anxious, his fingers on Mo Xi's heart vein as he passed him spiritual energy.
He felt nothing.
His eyes were open. He didn't blink; he was afraid, if he did, what remained of Gu Mang's smile would disappear completely. Tears left tracks on his bloodstained face, rolling down his temples.
"Mo Xi…" Jiang Yexue saw that Mo Xi's spiritual energy was exhausted, that his core, once damaged by Gu Mang, was again on the precipice of failing. He found himself asking, voice rough, "Why… What was this all for…?"
Mo Xi didn't respond, as if his soul had died. After a long while, his lips moved. Gently, he withdrew his hand from Jiang Yexue's grasp.
"Mo Xi…?"
Even in this state, he struggled arduously to his feet. Mo Xi forced himself to stand, bolstered by some unknown strength, and walked unsteadily toward the door.
At the sight of him on the verge of collapse yet still obstinately moving forward, Jiang Yexue turned pale as a sheet. "Where do you think you're going?"
Mo Xi paused. "Home."
He had to go home and see Gu Mang… He had to tell Gu Mang, who'd recovered his memories, the truth he'd seen… He needed to get home as soon as possible…
He needed to rush back to belatedly say, "Wait for me," as he should have said eight years ago. He needed to add, "I believe you."
I'm sorry…
I'll never let you be alone again. In darkness or in infamy, I'll endure it with you… I will brave it…with you…
"He's not at Xihe Manor anymore!" A sudden shout, like a peal of thunder. Mo Xi turned.
Jiang Yexue's expression was unsightly, as if he couldn't decide whether to speak or not. But at last, he gritted his teeth. "When you were reading the scroll, Murong Lian came by. Sishu Terrace has taken Gu Mang away."