MO RAN PUSHED the door ajar. Through the crack, he saw Xue Meng bathed in the last glow of the setting sun, along with Shi Mei, clad in robes of green.
"We got some medicinal salve for you…" Xue Meng trailed off. "What are you doing? Open the door and let us in."
Mo Ran hesitated, then let the door swing open so Xue Meng and Shi Mei could enter the room. Xue Meng paced over to the window and craned his neck out to gaze at the sunset over the lake. "Your room has such a nice view. There are a whole bunch of camphor trees right outside mine, so I can't see a thing."
"We can switch if you like," Mo Ran offered absentmindedly. "Nah, I've already unpacked all my stuff—I was just saying." Xue
Meng waved a hand, walking back to the table. "Let Shi Mei put some salve on that wound you got from the vines. You don't want your shoulder to get infected."
Mo Ran fixed his dark brown eyes on Xue Meng. If Xue Meng knew the things he'd done in the past life, if he knew what kind of soul was hiding within his cousin's shell, would he still grin at him and bring him medicine like this…?
His focused gaze unsettled Xue Meng. "What's wrong? Is there something on my face?"
Mo Ran shook his head and sat at the table, lowering his lashes.
Shi Mei stepped up beside him. "Can you pull your robes aside so I can take a look at the wound?"
Preoccupied, Mo Ran reached up to loosen his collar. "Thanks a lot."
"Oh, you." Shi Mei shook his head and sighed. "When will you
learn to be careful? You've picked up all Shizun's bad habits—always running headfirst into danger and coming out covered in injuries. My heart hurts for you."
His hands moved as he spoke, taking his supplies from the medicine chest. He carefully cleaned Mo Ran's wound, applied the salve, and bandaged his shoulder.
"Don't get it wet or move around too much for the next few days. Those vines were poisonous, so the wound may give you some trouble. Also—give me your hand; I'll check your pulse."
Mo Ran extended his arm for Shi Mei.
Shi Mei pressed slender fingers, pale as the whitest jade, to the pulse at Mo Ran's wrist. Worry flitted across his gaze—it was gone in a flash, but Mo Ran caught it. "What's wrong?"
Blinking, Shi Mei came back to himself. "It's nothing." "Is the poison serious?"
Shi Mei shook his head. He smiled wanly at Mo Ran. "Just a little— remember to rest. Otherwise there might be side effects." He lowered his head and busied himself collecting everything back into the medicine chest. "I'll be heading out now—I have some more medicines to organize. See you two later."
He closed the door and was gone.
Staring after him, Xue Meng frowned. "Is it just me or has he been in a weird mood lately—he's acting off, like something's on his mind."
Mo Ran wasn't in the best mood himself. "Maybe he took my pulse and discovered I'm on death's door, so he's feeling sorry for me?"
"Don't say stuff like that." Xue Meng glared at him. "Are you trying to jinx yourself? I'm being serious—Shi Mei's been pretty down these past few days."
Finally Mo Ran's concern was piqued. "Really?" he asked, hands stilling.
"Really," Xue Meng insisted. "I'm telling you, he's always spacing out. I have to say his name two or three times before he responds. Do you think it could be…"
"Be what?"
"Do you think he likes someone?"
Mo Ran stared at Xue Meng. Shi Mei, liking someone? Had Xue Meng said this to him eight years ago, Mo Ran would've probably jumped to his feet and started cursing in a fit of jealousy. Now, he merely felt somewhat taken aback. He sifted through his memories for clues, only to find he hadn't paid much attention to Shi Mei at all these past few years.
He was coming up blank. "Don't ask me—at any rate, the person he likes wouldn't be me," said Mo Ran. He pulled his robes back over his shoulder and put them in order. "Besides, why are you always so worried about other people's feelings?"
Xue Meng flushed and cleared his throat. "I'm not! I was just making conversation!" As he glowered at Mo Ran, pulling clothes over his stupidly perfect physique, something niggled at him. His roving gaze landed on Mo Ran's sculpted chest and stopped—
"What are you staring at?" Mo Ran quipped, though he didn't much mind. "Like what you see?"
Xue Meng didn't respond.
In that same insufferable tone, Mo Ran added, "Keep your eyes to yourself; I'm afraid our love could never be."
Xue Meng paled and turned his face aside. "Psh—you wish," he snapped, feigning calm. But his heart was pounding like a drum—for around Mo Ran's neck, he had seen a scarlet crystal pendant hanging right next to his heart. It looked so familiar, as though he'd seen an identical pendant once before. For some reason, although he couldn't put his finger on where or when, gooseflesh rose all over his body and a low drone filled his ears.
Where had he seen that pendant?
Mo Ran smoothed his lapels. He looked down and spotted a few droplets of medicine on the table. "Do you have a handkerchief?"
"Huh?" Xue Meng blinked. "Oh. Yeah." He rummaged through his pockets and proffered a handkerchief to Mo Ran. "You never remember to carry your own."
"I'm not in the habit."
"Yet you were still insisting Shizun would make you one," Xue Meng said stiffly. "What a dumb flex."
Only then did Mo Ran remember he had begged Chu Wanning for a haitang handkerchief like his own. Whether Chu Wanning had forgotten about it or simply couldn't be bothered, Mo Ran was still waiting.
Somewhat embarrassed, he cleared his throat. "Shizun's been busy lately; he hasn't had time…"
"Even if he did have the time, he wouldn't make one just for you," Xue Meng scoffed. "I'd definitely get one too. And even…even that Nangong Si would probably get one."
At the mention of Nangong Si, Mo Ran's grim mood grew more dismal still. "Have you gone to see him?"
"Nah, why would I?" said Xue Meng. "He and Ye Wangxi are staying next to that old coot Jiang Xi. I'd rather stay a million miles away from him."
Mo Ran nodded. "That's good then. Jiang Xi's got a bad temper and plenty of other issues, but at least he's a reasonable person. He won't make trouble for them."
"Him?" Xue Meng's voice rose with annoyance. "If that stupid bastard could be called reasonable, I'd take his surname. Don't call me Xue Meng—it's Jiang Meng from now on."
Mo Ran didn't know what to say. Xue Meng had always had a gift for insulting people in every way imaginable when anger got the better of him. But with him here chattering away, Mo Ran felt some of the warmth of the living had returned to his room. Those nightmares from his past life finally began to recede.
"Speaking of," Xue Meng continued, "you don't think Shizun's really going to take Nangong Si on as a disciple, do you?"
"In those days, he certainly wouldn't have," Mo Ran replied. "But these days, neither of us can stop him."
Xue Meng stared. "Why not?"
Mo Ran let out a sigh. "Let me ask you a question. Li Wuxin was always respectful to Nangong Si. Even though he was his elder, he never dared to contradict the young master of Rufeng Sect. Why is that?"
"Because Nangong Si's dad was powerful—the leader of the cultivation realm's number one sect. Obviously."
"Okay, let me ask you another question. These days, people like Huang Xiaoyue and others not even worth mentioning don't hesitate to make Nangong Si's life difficult. Why?"
"Because…of their grudges against him?"
Mo Ran found himself momentarily speechless. Only Xue Meng could come up with this kind of answer, he thought. All of a sudden, he felt a prick of envy—Xue Meng was already in his twenties, yet his mind was childishly pure sometimes. There was always some nuance in describing someone as childish. Childish could mean innocent, simple, and straightforward, but it also implied that someone hadn't grown up, that they were still immature and unrefined.
As far as Mo Ran was concerned, it was nothing short of a miracle for someone to have lived two decades yet still look upon the mortal realm with pure eyes. Gazing at the miracle before him, Mo Ran laughed bitterly. "Why would they have that many grudges against him?"
"Rufeng Sect exposed so many of the upper cultivation realm's scandals…"
"But that was Xu Shuanglin's doing—what does it have to do with Nangong Si?" asked Mo Ran. "Wasn't Nangong Si the person hurt most deeply by the first secrets he revealed? He learned his father killed his mother with his own two hands. Nangong Si is the farthest thing from a perpetrator. He's a sacrificial lamb, a victim."
Xue Meng opened his mouth, and Mo Ran waited in silence for him to speak. But nothing emerged from Xue Meng's parted lips; after a while, he indignantly pressed them together once more. He didn't know how to refute it. After a long beat, he said reluctantly, "Then why do you think that is?"
"Two reasons. For the fun of it, first of all," Mo Ran said. "Those people couldn't be more thrilled at Rufeng Sect's demise. It's vastly more satisfying to bully a disgraced gongzi than a random beggar."
Xue Meng had suffered the same fate in his previous lifetime. When the son of the phoenix had hit rock bottom, he had encountered every kind of prejudice. The present Xue Meng was none the wiser, but Mo Ran knew this well. Afraid of falling afoul of Emperor Taxian-jun, not a single sect had been willing to take Xue Meng in or cooperate with him. In the first year of Mo Ran's reign, Xue Meng had run to the ends of the earth, entreating the leaders of sects large and small to join forces with him and bring an end to Mo Ran's tyrannical rule before he did anything more monstrous. Xue Meng had walked the lands for nine years, but no one had listened to him. In the end, only Kunlun Taxue Palace was willing to shelter him, and only Mei Hanxue was willing to wholeheartedly aid his cause.
Mo Ran was glad that this lifetime's Xue Meng would never have to endure such indignities.
"What about the second reason?" Xue Meng asked, wholly oblivious to Mo Ran's thoughts.
"The second reason is that they think they're upholding justice." "What does that mean?"
"Tianyin Pavilion is ruled by the descendants of the gods. Do you know what they do with criminals from the cultivation realm?"
"After the execution, they string up the condemned for three days and three nights to publicize their crimes," Xue Meng muttered. "Why are you asking me? It's not like you haven't witnessed it. Don't you remember? When you first came to Sisheng Peak, there was a criminal about to be put to death. Dad had to go there for the trial anyway, so he took us both with him. You even watched the execution. Though you were a real scaredy-cat back then—you came down with a fever for four or five days afterward…"
Mo Ran laughed. After a moment he said, "Couldn't help it—that was the first time I'd ever seen someone get their spiritual core dug out."
"What were you so scared of—it's not like someone's gonna come and dig out your spiritual core."
"Hard to say," Mo Ran replied.
Startled, Xue Meng reached out to feel Mo Ran's forehead. "You don't have a fever—what are you babbling about?"
"I had a dream once that someone stabbed me in the chest with a sword. Just a few inches to the side and both my heart and spiritual core would've been gone."
Xue Meng stared at him. "Enough already," he said, waving a hand. "You're annoying, but you're still my cousin. If anyone wants to dig out your spiritual core, I'll be the first to give them a piece of my mind."
Mo Ran grinned. His pitch-dark eyes were depthless, light and shadow flickering within, holding a million thoughts and emotions. Why was he reminding Xue Meng of those bygone events at Tianyin Pavilion? Perhaps Xue Meng hadn't thought much of them, but those scenes had cast dark shadows in Mo Ran's mind.
The defendant had been a young woman in her twenties. A large crowd had assembled in Tianyin Pavilion's public square—men and women, young and old, cultivators and commoners alike. They whispered and craned their necks to look up at the woman upon the execution platform, held down with immortal-binding ropes, soul-fixing locks, and demon-subduing shackles.
"Isn't that Madam Lin?"
"Didn't she just marry into a rich family? What crime did she commit to catch Tianyin Pavilion's attention?"
"You guys don't know? She's the one who set fire to the Zhao manor! She killed her own husband!"
"Ah…" This revelation drew gasps from the crowd.
"Why'd she do it?" someone piped up. "I heard her husband was always good to her."
As the crowd muttered and murmured, the master of Tianyin Pavilion emerged to greet the spectators with a scroll held aloft. Slowly the scroll unfurled and the charges against the Lin woman were read out; the accusations were so numerous it took an hour to list them all.
In summary, the accused wasn't actually the maiden from a distinguished clan who had been betrothed to the Zhao family. She was in fact a puppet wearing a human-skin mask, who had taken the true daughter's place with the objective of getting close to Zhao-gongzi in order to murder him for revenge. As for the betrothed maiden, she had long met a sorry end by this Miss Lin's blade.
"Quite the tale of deception," the pavilion master remarked coolly when finished. "None can escape the will of heaven. Miss Lin, it's about time you took off that mask and showed everyone your true face."
Before the watching crowd, hands tore the human-skin mask off and tossed it to the ground like the shed skin of a snake. A deathly pale and alluringly pretty face was revealed beneath the woman's wild tangles of hair. A disciple of Tianyin Pavilion grabbed her chin, forcing it up so the crowd could see.
Jeers broke out below. "Poisonous bitch!" someone yelled.
"You killed an innocent girl and destroyed the family that took you in, all for your personal grievances?"
"Beat her to death!" "Dig out her eyes!"
"She deserves death by a thousand cuts! Peel her skin off inch by inch!"
The crowd was made up of individuals, but they behaved as though
they shared a single, savage mind. They were a colossal beast weighed down by its own size, drooling and snarling. This unsightly creature seemed to think it was an auspicious beast, that its very existence reflected the will of the heavens and earth, its presence in the mortal realm righteous in and of itself.
The shrill cries from the onlookers became a roar that pierced the teenaged Mo Ran's ears. The fury of these people astonished him—as though the long-dead woman and the young Zhao-gongzi were not complete strangers, but their family or friends, their own son, their own lover. They cried out as if they wanted more than anything to get justice for those dear to them, to personally tear this criminal limb from limb.
Mo Ran's eyes were wide with confusion. "Shouldn't Tianyin Pavilion…be the ones to decide the punishment?" he asked.
"Don't be scared, Ran-er," Xue Zhengyong said soothingly. "Yes, Tianyin Pavilion will decide—everyone is just angry, that's all. All they can do is talk. Tianyin Pavilion will use its holy implements to decide the punishment. Everything will be fair and impartial, don't you worry."
But this business didn't unfold as Xue Zhengyong said. The shouts from the crowd grew more absurd, more extreme.
"This stupid bitch killed without a shred of remorse! You can't allow her an easy death. Pavilion Master Mu! You are the cultivation realm's arbiters of justice! You must try her properly—she needs to suffer! Make sure she gets her just deserts! Give her the punishment she deserves!"
"First, tear open her mouth, then pull out her teeth one by one, then cut her tongue into a hundred pieces!"
"Cover her in mud! After it dries, rip it off so her skin comes off too! Pour chili pepper water on her and make her suffer! Let her die!"
A brothel madam had also come to watch the commotion. She spit out her melon seed shells and smiled sweetly. "Aiya, tear her clothes off— doesn't someone like her deserve to be stripped? Stick some snakes and eels in her cunt and get a hundred men to take their turns with her—now that's a punishment that fits the crime."
Was this fury really born from their own righteousness? Back then, Mo Ran had trembled as he sat next to Xue Meng, stricken and overwhelmed.
Eventually even Xue Zhengyong noticed his unease. Just as he was about to bring them away from the stands, a loud boom echoed from the platform. A hand in the crowd had thrown an Exploding Talisman onto the platform, right at the woman's feet. This was against the rules, but whether because Tianyin Pavilion wasn't quick enough to intervene or because they didn't wish to, the talisman detonated. Instantly the woman's legs were a gory mess—
"Uncle!" The hand that gripped Xue Zhengyong's sleeve was shivering uncontrollably.
Loud whoops came from the audience, and the assembled heroes clapped in delight.
"Nice! She had it coming! Let's see another one!"
"Who threw that? Stop it!" the Tianyin Pavilion disciple shouted from the platform. But that was all—they did nothing else to control the crowd.
It didn't take long for people to start tossing all sorts of things onto the platform—vegetables, rocks, eggs, knives. The disciples cast a barrier in front of themselves and watched from the sidelines. As long as no one killed the defendant outright, they wouldn't step in. Tianyin Pavilion had always been high-minded and aloof. They wouldn't obstruct a group of concerned citizens upholding justice.
Recalling this episode, Mo Ran's heart sank like a stone. He didn't want to remember any more. He closed his eyes, then opened them again. "You'll see, Xue Meng. If Nangong Si refuses to say he's Shizun's disciple, he'll have no one in the entire cultivation realm to protect him.
And if Tianyin Pavilion really does interrogate him after we leave Mount Jiao, the outcome will be the same as we saw all those years ago."
"But at the trial back then," Xue Meng said, "everyone was mad because that woman killed someone. So…"
"So whoever holds the knife can turn it on whomever they want, isn't that right?" Mo Ran was more and more despondent. He had thought to say more but found he couldn't go on. How many people in this world used the pretense of upholding justice to do evil? They took all the dissatisfaction in their day-to-day lives—all the indignation, fury, and resentment in their chests—and poured it out this way.
They finished their tea and chatted a while longer. The sky grew dark, and Xue Meng took his leave. Mo Ran walked to the window and retrieved the Zhenlong chess piece from his sleeve. He glanced at it one last time; with a flash of spiritual energy at his fingertips, he pinched it to dust.
The wind picked up and the leaves shuddered in the trees. The man at the window, too, shuddered. Slowly, he raised his hands and hid his face behind them. He stood in a daze for a long, long time, elbows propped on the window frame. Eventually, he turned away and walked into the dimmest corner of the room, letting the darkness swallow him.
Mo Ran sat in his lightless room for hours, losing himself in his thoughts until he felt shattered, broken beyond repair. He didn't know what he ought to do. There were things he thought he should speak of, but he didn't know if doing so would be a help or create yet more chaos.
Either way, once he spoke there would be no going back.
What to do? He didn't know…The more he thought, the more frustrated he grew, and the greater his confusion. Anxiety and bitter pain swept through him.
He thought of the mysterious villain holding the knife behind him.
He thought of the cultivation realm's worshipful reverence and blind faith in Tianyin Pavilion.
He thought of that woman on trial, her legs blown to bloody rags.
He paced in his room like a caged beast, like a lunatic. The shadows of Taxian-jun and Mo-zongshi flitted across his gallant features, one swallowing the other in an infinite cycle.
When he could take it no longer, his footsteps halted. He pushed the door open and left the room.
Night had fallen. Chu Wanning was preparing to sleep when he heard a rap at his door. When he opened it to see Mo Ran standing outside, he was slightly taken aback. "What are you doing here?"
Mo Ran felt he was on the brink of madness; this calamity that might descend at any moment was like a sword hanging over his head—it was about to drive him crazy. He had screwed up all his courage, intending to confess the entire, absurd truth of his existence. But the instant he saw Chu Wanning's face, his gathered courage splintered into a million pieces, turning to dust, into fragile selfishness.
"Shizun…" Mo Ran's voice was pinched. "I can't sleep. Can I come in and sit with you a while?"
Chu Wanning stepped aside to let him in; Mo Ran closed the door behind him. He emanated an unease so strong Chu Wanning could tell his heart was in turmoil before he said a word. "Did something happen?"
Mo Ran didn't respond; he only stared at Chu Wanning. Then he strode to the window and pulled it firmly shut, cutting the room off from the outside world.
"There's…" Mo Ran began, his voice terribly hoarse. Anguish surged in his chest, seeming to rouse his desperate impulse to confess. "There's something I need to tell you."
"Is it about Xu Shuanglin?"
Mo Ran shook his head. But after a moment's hesitation, he nodded, only to shake his head again.
The candlelight flickered in his eyes like a viper's scarlet tongue, weaving and swaying. His expression was so distraught and the light in his eyes so scattered that Chu Wanning couldn't bear to merely look; he reached up to touch Mo Ran's face.
The moment Chu Wanning's fingertips brushed his cheek, Mo Ran's eyes snapped shut as though viciously stung. His lashes quivered and the jut of his throat rolled; turning away, he said thickly, "I'm sorry."
Chu Wanning didn't know what to say.
"Can we put out the light?" He hesitated. "If I see your face, I can't say it."
Chu Wanning had no idea what had happened; he'd never seen Mo Ran like this. Goosebumps rose on his arms. It was a devastating sight, as if some great object had fallen from the sky and crushed everything beneath it. He stilled for a moment, then nodded.
Mo Ran went to the candle, gazing into the flame. Then he reached over and snuffed out that last bit of light. The room was plunged into darkness, but the afterimage of that flame danced across his vision. Its vivid orange faded into flashing colors, its outline bleeding from crisp to blurry.
He didn't move, his back to the room. Chu Wanning didn't rush him; he waited quietly for Mo Ran to speak.