MO XI STOOD outside the door, looking as if he had just crawled out of a sea of corpses. His face was white as paper, his clothes mottled with bloodstains, and his gaze was terrifyingly wild.
Jiang Yexue had also come, but unlike Mo Xi, he looked uneasy in the extreme. His expression was gloomy as he sat in his wheelchair, looking in helpless sorrow at the two people on either side of the stone door. They were both filthy with blood and riddled with wounds, yet they showed the same stubbornness, the same unbreakable will.
The instant Mo Xi caught sight of Gu Mang, his composure crumpled. It was as though he hadn't felt any of the pain from his own body until then; yet now, the weight of their combined anguish crashed over him. His feet carried him toward Gu Mang, but only the first few steps could be described as walking. By the end, he was rushing forward in staggering steps and lurching stumbles. "Gu Mang…" That murmur fell from pallid lips. He called again, his emotions breaking loose as if some shackles had fallen away. "Gu Mang, Gu Mang!"
Even with his spiritual core on the brink of failure, he recklessly summoned Shuairan, breaking the chains that held Gu Mang with a single whip-strike. That body, soaked in fresh blood, fell limply down, and Mo Xi caught him in his embrace.
"It's okay, it's okay… I'll take you away, I'll take you away right now… It's okay, I'll…" The man in his arms was so cold the tips of his fingers were purple. Dark blood dripped from his temples.
With a trembling hand, Mo Xi pulled the gauze from Gu Mang's mouth, his vision blurred by tears that fell onto Gu Mang's small and filthy face.
The truth was, his shixiong had never been big or tall. His features were soft, naive, bursting with a sense of innate childishness. But those around him had grown used to his strength, his courage, his hard-charging spirit, his unfailing warmth. It was these qualities that made him their lighthouse, and why they saw him as invincible.
Only as Mo Xi held him now did he discover how frail and thin the man in his arms was. Time had sapped Gu-shixiong and General Gu's vitality; what was left for Gu Mang was merely a mortal body covered in scars. These scars, both new and old, wove together before
Mo Xi's eyes. Sorrow and anguish racked him as he realized—
Gu Mang had been shattered too many times. The deaths of his comrades, his brother's execution, his secret mission as a spy, his tempering at the hands of the Liao Kingdom, those five years on enemy lines, being forced to slay his own brothers.
Fate had pushed him from great heights again and again. He had fallen and shattered into innumerable shards, but each time had pieced himself back into human shape, again and again. He had tried his best to glue himself back together. Anyone else in his place might have been smashed to powder, reduced to dust, never able to stand again. But Gu Mang had always gritted his teeth and endured, because behind him were those brothers who would never return, and before him was the dawn he yearned for.
"Gu Mang…"
Lieying had dealt Gu Mang too great a shock; though he had escaped its worst, the memories he had painstakingly recovered had been irrevocably damaged. He turned tearful blue eyes and gazed hazily at Mo Xi.
Mo Xi knew Gu Mang still wanted to feign strength; perhaps he even wanted to push Mo Xi away. Before he could, Mo Xi caught the hand he raised, holding that icy palm covered in purpling bruises from the chains.
Gu Mang's eyes were half-lidded, exhausted, his gaze unfocused. "Mo Xi…"
"It's me, I'm here, I'm here," Mo Xi said through hoarse sobs, taking Gu Mang's hand, wet lashes trembling as he pressed a kiss to his fingertips. "I'm right here."
Gu Mang stared blankly at the man in front of him. His awareness had gone murky. The shattered remains of his memories whirled in his head as if they might dissipate at any moment. Those snowy nights in the barracks, those sunny afternoons at the academy, their desperate entwining on the night of Mo Xi's coming-of-age, each and every time his princess, his royal highness, had promised him a future together. Everything seemed to be covered in one layer of snow, then another. A snowstorm swirled over his mind, threatening to cover the traces of the past, little by little.
Gu Mang knew he might not be able to hold on much longer. The agony of losing something he had just regained was filling his body. His most beloved person was right next to him, yet he was about to forget him too.
At that moment, in the throes of torment, Gu Mang suddenly felt an unhappiness and vulnerability he had never known before. His fingers tightened around Mo Xi's hand. Eyes widening, he panted urgently, gazing at Mo Xi's face, his voice roughened and weak: "I…"
But what should he say?
I'm not a traitor? I'm not a bad guy?
It wasn't that I didn't love you, it wasn't that I was unwilling to be with you, it wasn't that I wanted to push you away.
Will you trust me?
But he couldn't say a thing. Even now, he wasn't able to say anything; he couldn't say anything!
The years-bygone storm on the Golden Terrace poured over his burning mind, extinguishing that single spark of selfishness. He seemed to hear the emperor's voice once more, imploring but oh so awe-inspiring, presenting the dream he had chased after his entire penniless life.
"We can even promise you that one day, we will show you that future, where heroes can become heroes no matter the circumstances of their birth, and every life will be treated equally."
Heroes, regardless of their background. Everyone treated as equals.
Never again would there be someone like Lu Zhanxing, pulled unwittingly into a fight between old and new powers and dying an unjust death.
Never again would there be someone like him, who couldn't protect his own brothers or do what he most wanted…who was beaten down all his life because of his lowly birth.
Never again lovers who, because of blood and lineage, were forced to sneak around and hide, too afraid to give their hearts to one another…
"General Gu, we need someone loyal enough, brave enough, and clever enough. We need this person to infiltrate the Liao Kingdom and send information back to us—to become the poison in the bellies of both Liao and those old nobles."
"Subject Gu. Are you willing to endure a difficult mission as Chonghua's right hand?"
The rumbling thunder and flashing lightning above the Golden Terrace seemed to light up his mind once more. He opened his eyes, extinguishing all his human selfishness and swallowing all his words back into his stomach.
Yes, he was a spy. From the day he agreed to the emperor's request, he had relinquished any hope of turning back.
But…
As if the heavens took pity on him, as if even the heavens felt his lifetime of suffering should have some measure of sweetness in it— though he hadn't said it, he felt Mo Xi grip his hand, heard him murmur: "I trust you."
Vacant blue eyes turned sluggishly to stare at Mo Xi's grieving face.
"I'll always trust you… I'll never leave you again."
Gu Mang knew he should have been shocked. He should have asked why Mo Xi would say this now, what he had discovered and experienced—but perhaps because his mind was already a mess, his strongest feeling just then was that it was all so unfair.
I trust you.
After five years' defection and three years back home, he suddenly realized with impossible clarity—he had always been waiting to hear this sentence. Even in his sleep, in his dreams, he had longed for someone to say this. But no one ever had. No one had gifted him these three words.
Until today.
Living as a spy for so many years still hurt so much, far too much.
Tears spilled from Gu Mang's eyes at last. His throat worked, as if trying to say something, but his mouth was filled with blood. He couldn't make a sound; only his lips were moving, trembling, shivering, his silent tears adding their marks to his bedraggled face.
Never had Mo Xi seen Gu Mang cry so despondently, so helplessly. He lifted a bloodstained hand to caress Gu Mang's face; he wanted to wipe away Gu Mang's tears, but his clumsy touch left streaks of filth in its wake.
Mo Xi's tears were also falling uncontrollably; his fingers shook as he stroked Gu Mang's soft, icy cheek. He gave up trying to wipe his tears and stared at Gu Mang. There were so many people around them, but he didn't care anymore. He lowered his lashes, heavy with tears, his vision filled with one person alone. Mo Xi said hoarsely, "Shixiong, I'm sorry, I've made you wait too long. I've come to take you home."
He scooped Gu Mang up, putting his arms over his shoulders. Only then did Zhou He seem to wake from a dream and shout, "Xihe jun!"
Mo Xi didn't answer.
"Don't you know His Imperial Majesty has given orders that Gu Mang is a test subject? He—"
Mo Xi didn't let him finish; his phoenix eyes flicked up, their rims bright red. "His Imperial Majesty gave orders to do many things, some of them completely unknown to others. Right now, all I want to know is when His Imperial Majesty gave you this assignment, whether he did so with guilt."
"Have you gone mad?! Have you any idea what you're saying?!" Zhou He turned and cried, "Detain him!"
Mo Xi had gone mad. Without another word, he lifted his free hand. Blue light gathered in his palm. Jiang Yexue's face went deathly pale. "Mo Xi! Stop!"
But why would he stop? Eight years' worth of time separated him from his shixiong. If he stopped now, how could he catch up to Gu Mang from eight years ago, who walked away alone with a bag on his back, surrounded by song? Mo Xi closed his eyes and called with a furious shout: "Tuntian! Come!"
A whipping gale spun up, and a blue scepter appeared in his hand. Mo Xi felt a pang of agony like a knife twisting in his heart. Fresh blood seeped from the corner of his mouth—fine cracks spread over his spiritual core, each wisp and shred of magic doing irrevocable damage to his body.
The light at the scepter's tip blazed in Mo Xi's eyes. Channeling his spiritual energy, Tuntian lengthened into a scepter ten feet tall, towering over any man. It had a white rod and a golden finial emblazoned with a sun totem, the sapphire inlaid within emitting a dazzling light.
A clarion whistle sounded.
Tuntian's full form possessed an earth-shattering spiritual energy. The instant it touched the ground, it rumbled with waves of energy; some weaker disciples found themselves forced to their knees.
"Xihe-jun…" Zhou He's face twisted in anger. "Are you unaware that by pursuing a personal grievance within the ministry and wielding a holy weapon, you have broken martial law?!"
"Indict me, then." The blue and gold light of the scepter illuminated Mo Xi's handsome, pale, and resolute face. "I'll wait."
Zhou He was speechless.
"Mo Xi…" Jiang Yexue whispered.
Tuntian was a fearsome holy weapon that could cover ten leagues in corpses with a single flourish. Even if no one believed Mo Xi would genuinely use it against his fellow countrymen, the full form of this sun-tipped scepter was terrifying in his hand. Never mind Sishu Terrace—even the Bureau of Military Affairs, with all its martial talents, wouldn't dare stand in his way.
Mo Xi swept a glance over the crowd as they cowered from him and tightened his grip on the unconscious Gu Mang. The two of them, both covered in wounds, nestled close. Carrying Gu Mang in his arms, Mo Xi slowly walked out of that bloodstained hell.