forced laugh to pull his classmate away, but Xue Meng was both drunk and stubborn enough

to not
let go easily. “How many fingers?” Mo Ran asked, holding up a single digit.

“Three.”

Shi Mei laughed out loud. “Who am I?”

“Shi Mei, you idiot. I’m not dumb.”

“How about me, then?” Mo Ran asked.

“A dog,” Xue Meng said, after a moment of careful deliberation.

“You asshole!” Mo Ran roared, but his murderous rush was interrupted by a surprisingly brave
disciple from the neighboring table.

“Young master,” he piped up loudly enough to be heard over the ruckus. “Who’s that?” He pointed
directly at Chu Wanning.

Xue Meng sank slowly to the floor, head propped on his hand, and squinted at Chu Wanning. The
awkward silence stretched out so long that Mo Ran was sure Xue Meng was asleep with his eyes
open, but then he smiled. “Brother Immortal,” he declared proudly, reaching for Chu Wanning’s
sleeve.

For all that he had been slurring his words before, this phrase was clear and unmistakable. Mo Ran
never knew who started laughing first, but it only took a single chuckle before the entire hall was
roaring with laughter. “Brother Immortal!” echoed through the crowd, the disciples concluding en
masse that no matter how bad Chu Wanning’s temper was, he could hardly whip all of them with
Heavenly Questions simultaneously. One disciple, given cover by the general uproar, shouted that
the Constellation Saint was in fact quite pretty enough to resemble an immortal god.

and we’re back to beauty equals virtue, which is still lazy character work

Chu Wanning’s face cycled rapidly through a host of colors before he attempted to gather the
shreds of whatever dignity he had left by refusing to acknowledge that he heard anything at all. He
was accustomed to being revered from a distance, but this close-knit affection left him at a loss. He
acted as calmly as he could, but was betrayed by the bloom of pink on his ears giving the lie to the
frozen expression on his handsome face.

that’s not reverence, you twit, they just think you’re a dick and it’s your own fault

Mo Ran noticed his teacher’s turmoil, and he felt an irrational surge of jealousy. Like the rest of
the disciples, he saw his teacher’s good looks; unlike the riffraff, he understood that his teacher’s
beauty was sharp like a blade and that he was as cold as frost when unsmiling. His dim and narrow
perspective painted his teacher as a plate of aromatic, savory meat placed into a filthy broken box,
with Mo Ran himself as the only one curious enough to explore the unappetizing exterior and find
the treasure within.

that is, in fact the trait of a selfish, insecure narcissist; these two deserve whatever misery
they inflict on each other, because literally every bit of it is their own fault; neither of them
have been or are willing to do the work to form and maintain a relationship and then they cry
when they don’t have their heart’s desires handed to them on a silver platter, oh my fucking
god, am I supposed to be this frustrated with their asininity or am I still supposed to be
laughing at it, I can’t tell
Mo Ran had never worried about another person poaching his hidden delicacy before, but so many
eyes were on his private property that he was terrified. He wanted to cover the box and chase his
fellow disciples back into their previous disinterest in his teacher, but suddenly he remembered that
it wasn’t this life in which the crispy meat that was Chu Wanning belonged to him. Belatedly, it
also occurred to him that his hands were already full of translucent, delicious wontons, and he had
no room for crispy meat.

Much to the surprise of everyone present, Chu Wanning had come prepared with a performance.
He pulled a zither out of nowhere and proceeded to play beautifully enough to enrapture the entire
hall. Even the admiring whispers were faint enough not to interrupt the melody, and Mo Ran was
utterly silent. Xue Meng had passed out under the table, and Mo Ran snagged his jar of wine to fill
his own cup. Lost in thought, he watched Chu Wanning’s performance.

Instead of the quiet beauty everyone else experienced, Mo Ran felt only burgeoning irritation. His
teacher hadn’t performed at a New Year’s feast in his memory, ever, and there were very few
people who had seen him play the zither. Mo Ran had left a zither carelessly in the courtyard when
he’d held Chu Wanning prisoner in his previous life, and his teacher had unexpectedly picked it up
one day. Its sound had attracted birds, butterflies, and eventually Mo Ran, seeing Chu Wanning’s
lofty and serene profile in the sunlight.

The only response Mo Ran had been capable of then was to push his prisoner down and fuck him
into submission next to the zither, defiling the man as clear and cold as the light of the moon. He’d
only cared about chasing his own pleasure, ignoring his prisoner’s pain and even his intolerance
for cold as Mo Ran had torn his clothes open on the ice-cold ground. It had taken months of careful
tending for him to recover even partially, and Mo Ran had forbidden him to play the zither again in
public.

The serene, dignified way Chu Wanning had looked while playing had been the epitome of proper,
and yet it had destroyed all of Mo Ran’s self-control. He touched a hand to his teacher’s forehead,
almost gently, but his words were cold and ruthless. “If you don’t obey, you’ll be chained to the
bed. Don’t think I’m bluffing.”

Mo Ran couldn’t remember now how his teacher had responded then; he took another sip of wine
and watched the stage. He had been entangled with Chu Wanning for so long that many of his
memories were blurred around the edges. Eventually, he only knew that Chu Wanning belonged to
him. Whether or not Mo Ran liked him had been immaterial; Chu Wanning was his to cherish or
destroy at his whim, and no one else was allowed to touch.

Mo Ran had wanted – still wanted – his teacher’s blood to run hot with desire and for his curse to
lie in his bones. His pristine virtue hadn’t saved him from opening his legs for the world’s worst
villain, and hadn’t kept him clean in the face of Mo Ran’s defilement. His shredded garments
hadn’t been so easy to slip back on.

Mo Ran closed his eyes in the here and now, heart hammering and deaf to the sounds around him.
All he knew was the voice of his past cackling like a vulture that hell was too cold for Chu
Wanning, and that the saintly Grandmaster Chu’s destiny was to join him in the grave. The voice
laughed and laughed, sweetly until it was as cruel as a soul split asunder, and then it screamed that
Chu Wanning had given of himself to everyone except Mo Ran. “All I have from you are these
scars!” it howled. “You’ll rot with me, and your life or death is at my whim!”

The sound of applause broke through his stupor, and Mo Ran’s eyes flew open. Drenched in cold
sweat, he could make out all the disciples around him clapping enthusiastically for the end of the
performance. His vision blurred, fading in and out, as his teacher walked down the steps holding
the very zither Mo Ran had once left in a courtyard. He felt for the first time that his past self must
have been mad, and that Chu Wanning wasn’t the embodiment of evil after all.

Mo Ran swallowed, gulping alcohol until, exhausted and confused, he tumbled into oblivion.

------

Mo Ran wasn’t, in most situations, a cheap date; it took five entire jars of pear blossom wine to
drown his anxieties and build a façade of nonchalance capped off with a grin. He was barely
conscious when Shi Mei half-dragged, half-carried him back to his room, dumping him on the bed.
He wanted to call his beloved’s name, but habit was a terrible thing. All the time he’d spent in his
other life had been with the clown he was sick of looking at instead of the moonlight of his heart,
and the name that came out of his mouth was the person he thought he hated.

“Chu Wanning,” he mumbled. “Wanning.”

Shi Mei hesitated, then turned to where Chu Wanning was standing by the door. Having carried
Xue Meng back to his room, Chu Wanning had arrived with a bowl of sobering soup just in time to
hear Mo Ran’s muddled plea. He immediately convinced himself that he had misheard, as surely
Mo Ran would have addressed him as Sir. He wouldn’t use Chu Wanning’s name at all, much less
shorten it in an assumption of familiarity.

And yet, Chu Wanning remembered the night they’d slept tangled together, when Mo Ran had
called him by half his name only and pressed a kiss to his lips. He thought for half a beat that Mo
Ran might have a shred of feeling for him, but smothered the thought before it could take root. He
was straightforward in all matters except those of the heart.

I want you to die alone, Chu Wanning, and realize on your deathbed that you deserve
loneliness for never, ever making the effort not to be alone and instead just whining about
nobody loving you.

“Sir,” Shi Mei said, brightly elegant eyes watching him uncertainly.

“Yes?”

“Nothing, sir. Um, since you’re here, I’ll take my leave.”

“Wait.”

“Do you have further instructions?”

“You’re leaving for Peach Blossom Spring tomorrow,” Chu Wanning said, expressionless, and
waited for Shi Mei’s confirmation before he continued. “Get some rest. Take care of each other out
there.” He paused again. “Come back safely.”

After Shi Mei had gone, Chu Wanning hauled his wayward student upright and poured the
sobering soup down his lax throat, spoon by spoon. Mo Ran, hating the sour taste, vomited back up
almost immediately, but he sobered up enough to open his eyes and stare at his teacher.

“Sir?” he said.

“What.”

For no reason that Chu Wanning could see, Mo Ran started cackling, and then he choked out
“Brother Immortal” before passing out sprawled on his stomach. Chu Wanning pulled his blanket
back up, tucking him carefully in. Outside, many disciples were still awake to count down to the
new year. They gathered in groups, chattering and laughing, playing games or performing magic
tricks. When the hourglass in front of Loyalty Hall emptied, signifying the changing of the year,
the crowd set off fireworks and firecrackers. The sky filled with silvery flowers and branches of
fire.

The noise woke Mo Ran from his hazy half-sleep, and he pressed a hand to his throbbing temple.
He saw his teacher sitting beside him, handsome face cold and impassive. “Did the noise wake
you?” he asked lightly.

“Sir!” Mo Ran woke fully, startled to see his teacher instead of Shi Mei, and was immediately
afraid he’d said something untoward in his sleep. He glanced at his teacher’s face, but it was as
expressionless as it always was, and he felt a trickle of relief. The crackling of fireworks continued
outside as he stared awkwardly until Chu Wanning broke the silence.

“Do you want to go see the fireworks?”

“Where’s Shi Mei?” Mo Ran asked on the same beat, and realized too late that he shouldn’t have
asked. Another moment of awkward silence passed before Chu Wanning got up to leave.

“Everyone’s celebrating the New Year,” he replied. “He’s probably still awake. You should go
find him.”

Chu Wanning expected nothing less; he couldn’t help that he had a terrible temper. As Mo Ran
would reject him even if he did summon up the courage to ask his disciple to watch the fireworks
together, there was no point in asking. How humiliating, he thought, that he had even hinted at it.

Returning to the Red Lotus Pavilion, Chu Wanning sat alone beneath the crabapple tree that stayed
in bloom year-round. Alone, as he always had been and always would be, he sat with a cloak
draped over his shoulders to watch the brilliant fireflowers bloom across the night sky. The
disciples’ quarters were warmly lit, cheerful laughter washing over him from afar. He had long ago
resigned himself to his torturous solitude, and yet it hurt more than ever now. Perhaps, he
reflected, it was seeing others happy that made him feel left out. He closed his eyes and leaned
against the tree.

Some time later, Chu Wanning felt an intrusion into his barriers. He kept his eyes closed against
the hope that flared in his heart, not opening them even as panting breaths and familiar footsteps
approached. Even the sound of hesitation in his disciple’s voice failed to move him.

“Sir,” said Mo Ran. “I’m leaving tomorrow. It’ll be some time before I return. And, um, there’s
nothing going on tonight and we have to get up early, so I think Shi Mei is probably already
asleep.” Mo Ran’s footsteps came closer. “So if you still want to, I, uh.” It sounded as if he’d kept
speaking, but the noise of the fireworks drowned out his words.

how very convenient, a narrative device perfectly placed to prevent resolving the issue, it’s
honestly not funny any more

Chu Wanning opened his eyes, fluttering his lashes as he looked up to see his attractive teenage
student standing in front of him, backlit by the river of stars in the night sky and a scattering of
fireworks. His expression was pitying and a little shy, and Chu Wanning opened his mouth to
refuse the offer of company only extended from a sense of obligation. The words shifted in his
mouth with uncharacteristic candor. “Since you’re already here, sit with me,” he said. “I’d like to
watch with you.”
He turned his gaze to the sky as if he didn’t care to hear the answer, but his fingers curled
nervously in his sleeves. He didn’t dare look at his student to gauge his reaction, fixing his eyes on
the fireworks. The boundless night sky glittered brilliantly.

“Is everyone well?” he asked softly.

“We are,” Mo Ran replied. “We even found a cute little disciple to adopt. We talked about him our
letter. How’s your injury?”

“It’s nothing. Don’t blame yourself.”

pretty fucking presumptuous for someone who mostly correctly assumes everyone hates him

The sky remained intermittently lit with fireworks and lanterns for hours, filling the snowy air with
the scent of smoke, and the two of them sat beneath the flowering tree to welcome the new year.
Chu Wanning was reticent, but Mo Ran chattered until he grew tired and fell asleep with his head
on his teacher’s lap. He woke there the next morning, covered with Chu Wanning’s soft fire fox
cloak, heavy and well-made. Startled, Mo Ran looked up to see his teacher leaning against the tree
trunk, deeply asleep.

Chu Wanning’s eyelashes brushed his cheeks, quivering like butterflies in the wind with each
breath [I’m sorry I’m dead of laughing at this line . Mo Ran couldn’t figure out how they were
still there; Chu Wanning’s compulsive nature should have sent him back to his room to sleep
instead of carelessly resting under the tree with his fur cloak on the ground. Mo Ran sat up
cautiously, hair disheveled, and thought he’d been drunk but not drunk enough that it had made
him do something he regretted.

Although he’d hated Chu Wanning once, hearing an invitation to watch fireworks followed by his
forlorn retreat when he’d thought Mo Ran had refused his invitation had broken Mo Ran’s heart.
He’d thought it would be so long before they saw each other that it wouldn’t be too hard for him to
assuage his teacher’s loneliness for one night. He’d been far too brazen, he thought now.

Chu Wanning stirred, and Mo Ran stammered, “Sir.”

“Haven’t you left yet?” Chu Wanning asked, rubbing his temple.

“I just woke up.” Mo Ran could all but feel his tongue tying itself into a knot, which it did far too
often around his teacher of late. He suddenly remembered he was wearing Chu Wanning’s coat,
and scrambled to return it. His teacher’s several layers of clothing suddenly looked too thin for the
heavy snow, and he tied his own finger in the knot as he frantically tried to warm up his teacher.

“I’ll do it,” Chu Wanning said mildly, ignoring Mo Ran’s mumbled apology.

“Sir, I have to go pack and get breakfast,” Mo Ran said. “Then I have to go. Do, uh, do you want to
get breakfast with me?” He regretted the words the instant he said them.

Perhaps aware of the sentiment, Chu Wanning shook his head. “I’ll pass. You go ahead.”

Afraid he might say something even worse if he stayed, Mo Ran scrambled up. “Goodbye,” he
said.

Chu Wanning sat expressionlessly under the tree after his student left, finally using the tree as
support to slowly stand. His legs were numb from serving as a pillow for so long, and he couldn’t
walk until the circulation returned. He stood sullenly for several minutes until he could hobble
inside, and then sneezed. He’d caught a cold after spending the night outside in the bitter cold,
even with the small leafless tree shielding them from the weather.

The owner of three holy weapons, the most sought-after cultivator of the entire world, able to tame
the four seas with the mere sight of Heavenly Questions, more beautiful in white than others in
their garish colors, and yet he still suffered from the weaksauce weakness of having zero resistance
to cold. When the group of cultivators set off from Sisheng Peak, Grandmaster Chu not only wore
the form of a child but was also sneezing nonstop and had a nose running like a stream.

------

The feathered tribe led the four cultivators eastward to a port on the Yangtze River and summoned
a self-navigating ferry. With a barrier shielding the vessel, they set off to sea. It was the first time
Mo Ran had been able to spend time on an outing with Shi Mei but without Chu Wanning, but he
wasn’t as excited as he had expected. Late on the first night, after Xue Meng and Terri Fying had
gone to bed, he lay alone on the deck looking up at the starry sky.

Shi Mei emerged with some of the dried fish they’d purchased earlier in the day and sat next to
him. They nibbled idly and chatted. “Ran,” Shi Mei said. “Since we’re going to Peach Blossom
Spring, we might not make it to the Spiritual Mountain Competition. I don’t mind for me, but you
two are so strong, wouldn’t you regret it?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Mo Ran said with a smile. “Because Peach Blossom Spring means we learn
real, useful skills to protect the people who are important to me.”

Shi Mei seemed to smile, too. “Our teacher would be so happy to hear you say that.”

“What about you?” Mo Ran asked. “Aren’t you happy to hear it?”

“Of course.”

The ferry rocked in the waves, and Mo Ran stared at his beloved. He wanted to tease him, but
didn’t know what to say. Shi Mei was pure and unattainable, and Mo Ran couldn’t sully him with
lewd thoughts, so he simply stared. Shi Mei noticed, after a few minutes, and tucked the strands of
hair blown about by the sea breeze behind his ear.

“What is it?”

Mo Ran flushed and looked away. “Nothing.” He’d planned to use the outing to confess his love,
but he couldn’t get the words out. He didn’t know what would come after he said them – he
couldn’t be rough with his pure, gentle beloved, but he didn’t know how he would act no matter
how Shi Mei answered. His track record had been terrible during his first life – he had only kissed
him once, inside an illusion, and now he didn’t even know if he’d kissed his beloved or his teacher
during the illusion the second time around.

“But there’s something you want to say,” Shi Mei pressed, still smiling gently.

Mo Ran wanted to push forward heedlessly and damn the consequences, but a figure dressed in
white appeared in his mind’s eye. The figure didn’t smile, looking so lonely that it broke Mo Ran’s
heart. He turned to look at the starry night sky, and finally answered, “Shi Mei, you’re very
important to me.”

“I know. I care about you too.”

“I had a nightmare once,” Mo Ran said. “Did you know? It was that you were gone, and I was so
sad.”
“Your imagination is really something,” Shi Mei said, smiling.

“I’ll protect you,” Mo Ran said.

“Well, then, I’ll have to thank my good disciple,” Shi Mei returned.

Mo Ran’s heart caught in his throat. “I,” he said.

“Was there something else?” Shi Mei asked softly.

The boat shook around them, and the crashing of the waves grew louder. Shi Mei still looked at
him quietly, expectant. Mo Ran closed his eyes. “Nothing. Go back inside and get some sleep. It’s
cold out here.”

Shi Mei paused quietly. “What about you?” he asked.

Mo Ran completely missed the hint. “I’m going to watch the stars,” he said. “Feel the breeze.”

“Okay,” Shi Mei said, but it was several moments before he smiled. “I’ll go on ahead. Don’t stay
up too late.”

On the ferry sailing through the boundless sea, Mo Ran was oblivious to the implicit invitation that
hadn’t been explicitly tendered. He tried to search the depths of his soul to determine his own
feelings, but even pondering until the light of the rising sun brought him no revelations. He knew
that he spent every moment he could with Shi Mei, and that his feelings were deep and sincere.
He’d thought he wanted to confess as soon as he had the right moment.

The ferry reaching the end of the bridge had taught him differently; whether he thought he was too
clumsy or that he would scare Shi Mei off and make a poor start didn’t matter. He was so used to
the hazy uncertainty surrounding the two of them, to the way his heart fluttered and overflowed
with honey-sweet tenderness at the slightest touch, that he didn’t want to risk a change for the
worse.

By the time Mo Ran went inside the cabin to sleep, it was late. He stared at the dark sky outside,
seeing his teacher’s face in his mind’s eye, silent with his eyes closed. Further images appeared on
the backs of his eyelids, his teacher’s stern severity but also his sleeping form, curled up alone and
unassuming like a crabapple blossom too high on the branch to reach.

ah yes the sun brightened the sky by the time he went inside, and when he got there he looked
out at the darkness of the night, very consistent

If one didn’t consider the hatred, Mo Ran thought his entanglement with Chu Wanning in his
previous life went deeper than any relationship he’d ever had. He’d taken many of Chu Wanning’s
firsts, without regard for consent – first kiss, first time cooking, first time crying. In exchange, he’d
given Chu Wanning some of his firsts as well – first time becoming an apprentice, first time
coaxing, first time giving flowers, and his first thorough disappointment. He’d even given Chu
Wanning the first stirrings of his heart – the first person he’d had a crush on when arriving hadn’t
been Shi Mei, it had been the elder standing under the crabapple tree.

The young man in his white robes had been so beautiful that Mo Ran had made a snap decision,
and he couldn’t say when the crush had melted into hatred. Had it been the first misunderstanding,
he wondered, when he’d been lashed as punishment before stumbling back to his bedroom bruised
and battered and choking on sobs. The wounds had hurt less than his teacher’s cold expression as
he’d brought Heavenly Questions down on Mo Ran’s bare skin without a hint of mercy in
punishment for stealing a crabapple blossom from the garden.

Mo Ran hadn’t known how precious that particular tree had been, nor had he asked, to know that
Madam Wang had carefully tended it for five years before it had blossomed. He only knew that the
luminous white at the tip of the branch had caught his eye, petals clear and frosty and fragrance
mild and delicate. He’d plucked the flower before he’d realized what he was doing, reminded of
his teacher by the throbbing in his heart, and shaken the single drop of dew off the petals.

Gazing at the blossom under the light of the moon, he had no idea how pure the tenderness and
affection in his heart was, nor did he know that he would never feel it again. Before he could give
the flower to his teacher, he’d been found by Xue Meng. Instead of fulfilling his task of picking
medicinal herbs for his mother, the young heir had flown into a rage and dragged him before their
teacher.

Chu Wanning had listened carefully, gaze ice-cold. Mo Ran had started to stammer that he’d
wanted to give the flower away, still holding it in his hand, but his teacher’s gaze was so cold that
he couldn’t admit who he’d wanted to give it to. It was a familiar feeling, common in his childhood
as those around him looked at him with contempt and disdain. He’d suddenly realized that his
teacher looked down on him, and his heart froze in the face of the cold interrogation.

“No, sir,” Mo Ran had said, and set himself on the path of destruction. His teacher had lashed him
for the sake of a simple blossom, shattered his love into pieces with forty strikes. He never thought
that things could have been different if he had explained or if his teacher hadn’t been so quick to
judge.

Shi Mei had appeared, warm and gentle, as his spirit had been crushed and he had hidden on his
bed. With a bowl of chili oil wontons in hand, Shi Mei had called his name softly. Having no
feelings for him, Mo Ran had kept his face turned to the wall and told him to get out.

“I brought you some,” Shi Mei started.

“I said, get out.”

“Ran, don’t be like that. Our teacher has a bad temper, but it just takes a little getting used to. Come
on, get up and eat something.”

Stubborn as an ass, Mo Ran wouldn’t have moved if he’d been dragged by ten horses. “Nope,” he
said. “I’m not hungry.”

“Have a bite,” Shi Mei pressed. “If you don’t eat, our teacher will be angry.”

The very sentence dragged Mo Ran upright like a shot, watery eyes quivering with indignation.
“Angry?” he snapped. “It’s none of his business. It’s my body. Why does he even care? He doesn’t
want me as a disciple anyway, so it’s less hassle for him if I just starve to death.”

Shi Mei hadn’t expected his words to hit Mo Ran where it hurt and was at a loss. He stared
helplessly until Mo Ran pulled himself together. Long hair covered half his face as Mo Ran looked
away.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Shi Mei couldn’t see his face, only the trembling of his shoulders and the
veins standing out on the back of his clenched fists, until Mo Ran couldn’t hold in the sobs. He
bawled miserably, burying his face in his arms, repeating the same words over and over. “All I
wanted was to have a home,” he said. “Why does everyone still hate me?”

Shi Mei sat with him the entire time he cried, finally handing him a spotless handkerchief and the
bowl of cold wontons. “Don’t say silly things like you’d rather starve to death,” he said. “You’re
here at Sisheng Peak apprenticed to my teacher, so you’re also my disciple. Since I lost my parents
when I was young, I’ll be your family.” He smiled. “I made these wontons, so if you won’t eat
them for him, please eat them for me.”

Shi Mei held a plump wonton to Mo Ran’s lips, and Mo Ran finally opened his mouth and allowed
himself to be fed. It was no longer as delicious as it would have been while hot and fresh, but the
memory of cold wontons and an incomparably beautiful face in the candlelight were indelibly
carved into Mo Ran’s soul.

After that night, Mo Ran’s hatred for his teacher grew alongside his love for Shi Mei. A stray dog
who had frozen in the bitter cold so many times that the sight of salted roads made him tremble in
anticipation for the coming of the cold winter wanted warmth more than anyone else, and the Evil
Overlord knew in his innermost heart that he was nothing but a wandering stray. He’d spent years
looking for home, and in the end he’d loved the person who’d shown him kindness and hated the
person who’d given him a beating.

so this is mocking writers trying and miserably failing to be profound, right, I think that’s
the point

------

Travel was quick, thanks to spells cast on the ferry, and the vessel arrived at the port of Yangzhou
the next morning. Envoys waited at the harbor to receive them, stabling their horses, and providing
breakfast for the cultivators. The feathered tribe didn’t eat mortal food, and simply waited with
their eyes closed to rest their spirits.

Only a few merchants had arrived with the sun to conduct business, but the deck hands had all
gathered to eat together. Muscular to a man and dressed in simple robes, they snuck glances at the
cultivators between bites. Mo Ran heard them gossiping, and knew they’d been recognized as
residents of the Lower Cultivation Realm. He hadn’t expected it, as they had come so far, but
apparently the laborers recognized the coat of arms on their vambraces as the same sigil that graced
the Holy Night Guardian.

Mo Ran was a little surprised that the wooden evil-expelling devices had made it so far out of the
Lower Cultivation Realm, but then he heard the laborers mention Sisheng Peak and the
Constellation Saint. Despite the heavy Su dialect making it hard to understand their words, Mo Ran
understood perfectly that his teacher’s reputation had spread far and wide.

Chu Wanning understood every word of the Su dialect. He found it unexpectedly comforting to
listen to the laborers describe how his invention had been successfully distributed through the
common world. He thought there were other wooden mechanical devices he could create – self-
propelling oxen or horses, perhaps – to further ease the life of the common people.

I am reminded of the Clan of the Cave Bear series and Ayla inventing everything from
needles to horseback riding to striking sparks with flint

Mount JiuHua was a short journey from the harbor, and it took the party from Sisheng Peak less
than four hours to reach its foot. The winter sun had just reached its peak, kissing the snowy
summit with silken threads of golden light and bathing it in crystal luminescence. Hundreds of
ancient pines grew on its slopes, a resolute field of luscious green as if hundreds of immortal
hermit cultivators with lowered sleeves silently flanked the path. The scene gave rise to Mount
JiuFeng’s nickname – The Unmortal World.
The envoys whistled thrice at the foot of the mountain, summoning a charming golden canary from
the snowy piedmont. It landed lightly before them and led them west to a turbulent, tempestuous
waterfall. “Honored cultivators, please step back,” said the leader of the feathered tribe. She curled
her fingers to resemble the hand of the Buddha and silently recited a spell.

The leader of the feathered tribe pursed her scarlet lips and blew into the wind, generating a beam
of flames to divide the water curtain in two. She turned around and smiled. “Honored cultivators,
please enter Peach Blossom Spring.”

Peach Blossom Spring was vast, with no end in sight, and its very colors seemed brighter. A
sheltered world with few connections to the cultivation world, it was nonetheless bustling, lively,
and rich in qi. It couldn’t be compared to the real land of the immortals, but its beauty was
undeniable – it was full of elegant and delicate colors, sceneries as if from poetry and paintings,
and randomly changing seasons.

The cultivators followed the feathered tribe through the wilderness, hearing the sound of coursing
rivers and the cries of beasts on either shore. Vast farmlands with crisscrossing field paths full of
wheat swaying in the breeze surrounded the main capital of the land, and the city fortress itself was
full of immaculate, detailed buildings as far as the eye could see. Magnificent and beautiful with
complete provisions, the city was no less than any mortal metropolis.

Unlike the mortal realm, rare birds and immortal herons flew among falling blossoms and
sparkling snowflakes, resembling unparalleled fairies emerged living from paintings. It would have
stunned the cultivators had they not already seen the bizarre sights below the surface of Jincheng
Lake. A fork in the road appeared, and one of the feathered tribe waited there below an ancient tree
tall enough to reach the skies. She dressed in a feathered coat embroidered with a gold phoenix,
and the deep flame mark between her brows signified her grand powers.

The envoys leading the cultivators bent one knee to the ground. “Great Immortal Lord, the
cultivators of Sisheng Peak have arrived.”

“Well done,” said the lord, her voice as clear as the crowing of a young phoenix. “I am called
Eighteen. The immortal elder of my family has granted me the title of Great Immortal Lord of
Peach Blossom Spring. We are grateful that you have done us the courtesy of accepting our
invitation to train in our humble abode. Should you find any inadequacy in your stay, please forgive
us and make us aware of our deficiency.” Her beauty and graceful speech impressed the party from
Sisheng Peak.

Xue Meng smiled at the lord; while he resented men who were more beautiful than he was, he had
reached the age at which he had begun to appreciate female beauty. “My lord is too kind, but I am
curious about the name Eighteen, May we know my lord’s family name?”

“I have no family name,” Eighteen replied courteously.

Mo Ran laughed out loud. “So where’s Seventeen?” he asked, joking.

“The honored cultivator is perceptive,” Eighteen said, grinning. “Seventeen is my sister.” At Mo

Ran’s dismayed expression, she explained further. “We are born from the fallen feathers of the
Heavenly God Phoenix. Before our cultivation deepens, we often appear as a crested ibis. The first
to materialize was the elder immortal of our family, and those of us who have been generated since
then are named in numerical order. The first after the elder immortal was named One. I am the
eighteenth, thusly named Eighteen.”

Mo Ran felt privately that he had finally met someone worse at giving names than Xue
Zhengyong.

“Honored cultivators,” Eighteen continued. “You have arrived here for the first time, and are not
yet familiar with our training rules. While in the mortal world, cultivation is divided by school and
sect, we of the feathered tribe divide our students by specialty. Our three divisions are the arts of
attack, defense, and healing. You will be placed in a division according to your skills.”

“That’s brilliant,” Mo Ran said.

“You are too kind,” Eighteen said, smiling. “The cultivators from Lonemoon Sect were quite
displeased with our system.”

“But,” Mo Ran said. “Doesn’t it make more sense to cleanly divide the specialties? What were
they upset about?”

“Well,” Eighteen explained, “The young master Duan from Lonemoon sect was placed in Defense,
but his sworn sister was placed in Attack, and he was quite unhappy to be living apart from her.”

“Wait, what,” said Mo Ran. “You mean the different divisions don’t just train separately, they also
live separately?”

“I do not understand the affections and relations of mortalkind,” Eighteen said. “And so I am
unsure why this is distressing to you.”

A bright and spacious four-sided courtyard residence stood before Mo Ran an hour later, while
Xue Meng and Terri Fying stood behind him. Having failed in his bargaining with Eighteen, Shi
Mei had been sent to the south side of Peach Blossom Spring to live with the Healing Division,
quite far from the eastern barracks of the Attack Division where Mo Ran now found himself.

More than twenty four-person courtyard residences surrounding mountains, lakes, streets, and
markets made up the Attack Division, looking quite like the mortal realm. Due to the projected
length of their stay, the feathered tribe had set up their living quarters to look as homelike as
possible. It was, however, separated from the Defense and Healing Divisions by a barrier that
could only be penetrated with the Authority Staff. Only during the daily gathering of all three
divisions, to practice the novice cultivation methods of the feathered tribe, would members of any
division encounter members of another.

The worst part of the new living arrangement, according to Mo Ran, was that not only was he
separated from Shi Mei but that he would have to live with Xue Meng. He felt that he would
thoroughly experience two of the great sufferings of life for the next few years – separation from
loved ones and meeting enemies. He soon found that he was mistaken; as Sisheng Peak had been
the final stop on the feathered tribe’s journey to gather cultivators, the representatives of the other
sects had already settled in, and one of the rooms of their courtyard dwelling was already occupied.

“I wonder who lives here already,” Xue Meng said, looking at the blanket drying in the yard.

“Shouldn’t be anyone too fussy, though,” Mo Ran said.

“Why do you say that?” Xue Meng asked.

“Well, which room did you pick?” Mo Ran asked, knowing Xue Meng would have chosen the best
one.

“I’ve already picked it and you can’t have it,” Xue Meng said, giving him a suspicious look. “The
north one. That faces south. And I’ll fight you for it.”
Mo Ran laughed. “I don’t want it,” he said. “It’s too big for me. But if this residence was empty,
would you have picked that room?” He pointed at the simple and small thatched cottage.

“What am I, an idiot?” Xue Meng glared. “Of course not.”

“That’s why,” Mo Ran laughed. “See, when he got here, all the rooms were empty, but he didn’t
pick the best one. He chose that little hovel. Either he’s an idiot, or a humble gentleman.”

Xue Meng felt uncomfortably laid bare by Mo Ran’s analysis, knowing Mo Ran was calling him
out for his selfishness by praising the other man’s choice of sleeping in a dilapidated hut without
assuming he was a vulgar common cheapskate. It hadn’t been a direct enough insult to answer, but
he also couldn’t countenance it, and he flushed dark red. “I’m used to living well,” he choked out.
“I can’t stand rundown places. If he picked that one, he can keep it.”

The four rooms and their different styles were taken by fitting residents. Xue Meng’s exquisite
north quarters had pale walls and a dark roof, with the threshold lined in gold. Mo Ran moved into
the west stone cottage with a peach tree gracing the entrance. Chu Wanning picked the east
building, into which the light of the setting sun shone to illuminate the bamboo walls in crisp,
bright jade. The humble, simple thatched building in the south housed the gentleman they had yet
to meet.

Lightheaded from his lingering cold, Chu Wanning went to bed early. Xue Meng stayed with him
for a short while, but as the little disciple neither snuggled, whined, nor cared to listen to stories,
Xue Meng left in short order. In the yard, Mo Ran had pulled out a chair to watch the golden sun
sink in the west. “Is he asleep?” he asked when Xue Meng emerged.

“Yep.”

“Fever down?”

“If you care, why don’t you go check?”

“Because he’s probably not deeply asleep enough not to wake up,” Mo Ran said.

“Well, at least you’re a little considerate. I thought maybe you were like a stray dog and only knew
how to be lazy.”

“What makes you think I’m being lazy?” Mo Ran spun a peach blossom between his fingers. “I’ve
discovered a shocking secret while sitting here.”

Xue Meng was torn between curiosity and giving Mo Ran what he wanted, but curiosity won out.
He managed to keep an indifferent expression when he finally asked, “What secret?”

“Come here and I’ll tell you,” Mo Ran said, waving him closer. Xue Meng inched over, suspicious
and unwilling, until his ear was all but pressed against Mo Ran’s mouth. “Haha, got you, stupid
Mengmeng.”

“You lying asshole!” Xue Meng shouted, grabbing Mo Ran’s collar. “What the fuck!”

“How do you know I’m lying?” Mo Ran said. “I might know a secret and just not want to tell you.”

“Yeah, right, just how dumb do you think I am?” Xue Meng snorted.

The bird pecked the dog, and the dog bit the bird, and Mo Ran was just gearing up to really rile up
his sectmate when an unfamiliar voice interrupted them. “Are you new trainees?” The voice was
clear and crisp.

Both Sisheng Peak cultivators turned to see a man dressed in a tight suit backlit by the crimson sun.
His handsome, honey-colored face was framed by inky black hair caught up in a black jaded hair
crown. He wasn’t particularly tall or muscular, but he had an arresting aura. Particularly attractive
were his long legs, set off to perfection by the bindings of his tight black suit.

Mo Ran recognized him instantly, the blood and sin of a separate world flashing before his eyes.
He saw a silhouette kneeling in a tempest of blood, collarbone pierced with a steel chain that would
destroy his cultivation abilities, flesh ripped off half of his face and yet refusing to surrender. Mo
Ran’s heart trembled like a crystal dew drop falling from a leaf as he saw the face of one of the few
people he had respected and admired in his previous life.

all of the prose in this chapter is so incredibly purple that it brings the humor to new heights,
but the crystal dew drop line is particularly hilarious

------

The Sisheng Peak cultivators stopped bickering and stood, turning to face the distinguished
gentleman before them. Xue Meng nodded. “Yes,” he said, headstrong since birth and failing to
take his mother’s etiquette lessons to heart. He never asked for courtesy names, never gave his
own name, and declined honorifics. “And who are you?”

As Mo Ran had expected, the gentleman was too dignified to react to Xue Meng’s blatant
rudeness. “I am of Rufeng Sect,” he replied calmly. “Ye Wangxi.” His dark eyes shone like
scattered starlight, bright and piercing. “May I inquire your name?”

“Ye Wangxi?” Xue Meng frowned. “Nope, never heard of you.”

Mo Ran tried to discretely tug on his comrade’s sleeve to warn him, then smoothed his own
expression and smiled lightly in an attempt at damage control. “I’m Mo Ran from Sisheng Peak.
This is my ill-mannered little brother, Xue Meng.”

“Don’t touch me,” Xue Meng snapped, twitching his sleeve out of Mo Ran’s grasp. “And what do
you mean, little brother.”

Mo Ran sighed and turned to Ye Wangxi, smiling harder. “He’s a little stubborn. Please don’t
mind him, Brother Ye.” Although Ye Wangxi had yet to make a name for himself in this life, Mo
Ran knew that he was brilliantly outstanding – in his previous life, he had been second only to Chu
Wanning. Mo Ran had suffered grievously at his hands, and as he appeared now to still be a pure
and noble upright hero, Mo Ran wanted to get into his good graces this time.

A man of few words, also like Chu Wanning, Ye Wangxi made a polite noise and returned to his
room. Mo Ran, not wanting to suffer being on the bad side of both Chu Wanning and Ye Wangxi,
turned to Xue Meng with a shit-eating grin as soon as their roommate was gone. “What do you
think?” he asked.

“About what?”

“Our new friend,” Mo Ran said. “Like him? Think he’s handsome?”

“The fuck is wrong with you,” Xue Meng said.

Mo Ran laughed. “We’re living together and going to be seeing a lot of each other,” he said. “You
should be glad we got him as our roommate.”
“What, do you know him or something?”

Unable to explain, Mo Ran gave him a joking reply without a hint of truth. “I judge by appearance.
He’s handsome, so of course I like him.”

yeah, you say that’s a joke, but that’s exactly how every single characterization has gone so
far

“So gross,” Xue Meng said. Mo Ran flipped Xue Meng off behind his back, laughing, and
meandered into his little stone house. He barred the door, shutting Xue Meng and his outrage
outside.

The following day was the first of their three-day acclimation period before formal training would
commence, and Mo Ran got up early. He freshened up, noting that Ye Wangxi had already left and
that neither of his sectmates had yet woken. He went for a leisurely walk, seeing many cultivators
gliding through the light morning fog toward their individual cultivation grounds. He passed a
breakfast stall selling steam-fried buns, and thought of the still-ill Terri Fying.

“I’ll take eight fried buns and a pot of sweet congee to go,” he ordered.

The stall owner replied without looking at him. “That’ll be six feathers.”

“Six what?”

“Feathers,” the shopkeep repeated.

“What, do I need to pluck a chicken to pay you?”

“No feathers and you want food? Get lost.”

Torn between irritation and laughter, Mo Ran was about to press the matter when a familiar voice
came from behind him. “Some porridge, please, madam. It’s on me.” Six resplendent gold feathers
gripped in a bandage-wrapped hand came from behind Mo Ran.

The stall owner accepted the payment and packed up Mo Ran’s order. Mo Ran turned to see Ye
Wangxi standing elegantly behind him. “Thank you,” Mo Ran said sincerely, and took the package
of steaming food. Ye Wangxi fell into step beside him. “If I hadn’t run into you today, we would
have gone hungry.”

“No worries,” Ye Wangxi said. “Miss Eighteen is a little scatterbrained and often forgets to give
the newcomers some feathers.”

“So you need feathers to buy things here?” Mo Ran asked.

“Yes.”

“Where do they come from?”

“They’re plucked,” Ye Wangxi replied.

“Er, plucked from what, exactly?” Mo Ran couldn’t imagine that the gleaming items came straight
from the body of a bird, and he thought besides that all the local birds would end up bald if that
were true.

“Not what you’re thinking,” Ye Wangxi said, clearly amused. “There’s a place called the Ancestral
Abyss here, which is said to be where the Phoenix Immortal ascended. Its bottom is full of roaring
flames, hot beyond measure and hard to endure. No plant or animal survives there.”

Mo Ran remembered the red sky he’d seen in the distance when passing through the outskirts of
the city. “Is it near the northern part of the city?” he asked.

didn’t establish that last chapter, did we

“Correct.”

“And it has what to do with the feathers?”

“There’s one beast that survives the abyss,” Ye Wangxi said. “A flock of angry owls who make
their nests in the fire. They hide during the day, but come out at night, and their feathers help the
tribe refine their cultivation.”

“Aha,” Mo Ran said, grinning. “That’s why feathers are used as currency.”

“Yes,” Ye Wangxi said. “But it’s not that simple. At night, their feathers are completely ordinary.
Only at daybreak, when the thousands of owls return to the abyss, do their feathers turn gold and
have special properties.”

“Isn’t that just practicing footwork and flying? If your skills are subpar, you fall in and get roasted.
If you don’t go to harvest feathers, you starve to death.” Mo Ran clicked his tongue. “Pretty
rough.”

“Are you perhaps not skilled at light footwork?” Ye Wangxi asked.

“It’s not my best technique,” Mo Ran replied.

“That’s no good,” Ye Wangxi replied. “The owls are violent, swifter than a falcon or hawk. If you
don’t improve, you’ll go hungry in a couple of days.”

“I see, I see,” Mo Ran said, but expression said he clearly didn’t.

“I’ve gotten many feathers,” Ye Wangxi said. “If you three need some, just come ask me.”

“We couldn’t possibly,” Mo Ran demurred, smiling. “We’ll even call these six feathers a loan.
After I’ve harvested feathers tomorrow, we’ll pay you back. Thank you for your kindness.”

Bidding farewell to their new roommate, Mo Ran returned to the courtyard with breakfast. Xue
Meng’s room was empty when he arrived, and Chu Wanning had yet to wake. Mo Ran set the buns
and congee on the table and approached his bedside. The little disciple looked so familiar while he
was asleep, curled into a ball with his hands under his cheeks, but Mo Ran couldn’t figure out who
he looked like.

Chu Wanning awoke to see Mo Ran standing over him. “Mo Ran?”

“Call me brother,” Mo Ran said absently, ruffling his hair and checking for fever. “You seem
better. I brought breakfast.”

“Breakfast?” the child repeated blankly.

“Look how much your big brother cares about you. I got up so early to get you breakfast. Eat it
while it’s hot.”
Chu Wanning slid into his inner robes and approached the table, where he saw a single fresh lotus
leaf holding steam-fried buns with thin skins and crispy bottoms. Jade-green pieces of chopped
onion and black sesame adorned the tops. A small bowl of osmanthus congee sat beside it, soft and
sticky, promising to be thick and rich. He was suddenly unsure of himself. “For me?” he asked in a
small voice.

“Huh?” Mo Ran asked.

“Did you buy all of it for me?” Chu Wanning repeated.

“Yes,” Mo Ran said, surprised at the question. “Hurry and eat,” he added. “Before it gets cold.”

Chu Wanning had been at Sisheng Peak for many years, and yet his cold and stiff personality had
driven off all potential dinner companions. It also ensured no one would deliver him breakfast
from the canteen, and he’d been jealous of the disciples who were so warmly affectionate when
taking care of each other. Faced with the bowl of porridge and plate of buns, he couldn’t actually
bring himself to partake.

“What’s wrong?” Mo Ran asked, as the little disciple just stared instead of eating. He thought he’d
bought the wrong food. “Too greasy?” he asked.

Chu Wanning shook his head and picked up his spoon. He scooped up a bite, blowing on it and
eating carefully. Had he been in his coldly beautiful and distant adult body, he would have looked
elegant and refined, but the same gestures coming from a child simply looked lonely and pitiful.

“You don’t like it?” Mo Ran asked, misinterpreting his hesitation.

“That’s not it,” said Terri Fying, eyes soft.

“Well, that’s good,” Mo Ran said, awkwardly.

“No one ever took care of me like this,” he said softly. “Thank you, brother.”

Mo Ran hadn’t expected such a sentiment, particularly since he wasn’t fond of children and didn’t
have a kind nature; he only treated the little disciple well because of his advanced skills and the
anticipation that he would be a beneficial acquaintance later. It was a coldly practical decision, but
Terri Fying’s sincerity filled him with shame. It took him a moment to figure out the oddity in the
child’s words. “Wait, no one has ever bought you breakfast?”

Chu Wanning nodded silently.

“Aren’t Elder Xuanji’s other disciples friendly?”

“I don’t hang out with them much.”

“Before the sect? When you lived at home with your parents.” Mo Ran nearly bit his tongue; the
child was quick-witted and spiritually pure, and no parents would leave such a child alone nary a
visit.

“They abandoned me,” Chu Wanning said calmly, confirming Mo Ran’s suspicions. “I had no
other relatives. There was no one to look after me.”

I’m sorry and the toddler maintained a household alone how, exactly, according to this
ludicrous story? This crops up in stories that are supposed to be taken seriously and it’s
ridiculous there, too.
Mo Ran’s heart broke as he realized that this steady, mature child with his high cultivation levels
came from the same background he did. He remembered his childhood full of bitterness and
hardship, and felt a rush of sympathy creating a bond of intimacy. “Even if no one took care of you
before, I’ll look after you from now on.”

“You’ll take care of me?” Terri Fying said, with a small, surprised smile.

“If you stick with me, I’ll teach you meditation and sword techniques.”

“Meditation and sword techniques, you say,” Terri Fying said, smile widening.

Misinterpreting his impression, Mo Ran scratched his head. “Don’t mock me. I know your
cultivation level is high, but you’re still young and have a lot to learn. Elder Xuanji has so many
disciples that he probably won’t be able to give you private lessons, and you could do worse than
me. I do have a holy weapon, you know.”

“I wasn’t making fun of you,” Terri Fying said after a moment. “I think you’re pretty great.” As
Chu Wanning, he wouldn’t have been able to say those words to Mo Ran, but hidden under his
secret identity, he could take off his rock-hard mask.

On the other end of his praise, Mo Ran hadn’t heard someone speak so affectionately to him in
either of his two lifetimes. Even if it was a small, inexperienced child who didn’t know any better,
he still flushed with pleasure and could only sputter. “You think I’m great?” he finally got out.

Mo Ran suddenly remembered that his fondest dream as a small child had been to be a good
person. His small gentle wish, much like the rest of his childlike dreams, had been scoured away
by the hardships of his youth, melting like snow in the sun.

------

Gathering feathers quickly became Mo Ran’s favorite part of training; he hadn’t expected to learn
much from a tribe he’d thoroughly trounced in his previous life, and concluded that his energy was
best spent making sure he had the funds to live comfortably. He therefore spent every dawn at the
Ancestral Abyss violating birds.

After visiting the Abyss, training moved on to meditation in the ZhuRong Cave, refining their
inner qi against the cave’s burning yang energy for a solid four hours. Demon suppression practice
with the feathered tribe took up the subsequent four hours, followed by practice matches against
each other at the Asura Arena. The final activity for each day was a series of lectures on The
Demon Compendium and The Art of Exorcism at the Stargazing Cliffs.

Mo Ran’s favorite time of day was the nightly lecture, as it was attended by all three divisions of
cultivators. Knowing that Shi Mei’s footwork was lacking, he gave his beloved half of his daily
feather harvest. It was the only chance they had to interact. Instead, he and Terri Fying became
inseparable.

this seems like a poor foundation for a relationship, when one of the people is lying and
pretending to be a six-year-old, and I expect Consequences

The duo of Terri Fying and Mo Ran were often seen together, no matter the weather, until they
became an inseparable unit in the eyes of the other cultivators. One particular day, Mo Ran undid
his friend’s braid on a whim and tied his hair into a high ponytail instead. He was halfway through
brushing his hair when Ye Wangxi entered with a gloomy expression, holding his shoulder. Mo
Ran blinked at him. “Brother Ye,” he said. “Have you been hurt?”
“Got grazed in a fight,” Ye Wangxi said. “It’s nothing. He was a despicable, depraved lecher,
though.”

Mo Ran blinked again. “Did you get groped?”

“Get your mind out of the gutter,” Ye Wangxi growled.

“Sorry,” Mo Ran laughed awkwardly. “Who was it, though?”

“That flirt from Kunlun Taxue Palace,” Ye Wangxi replied.

“Ah,” Mo Ran said, wondering if it was the fellow that had all of the women stupidly twitterpated
and giggling. It wasn’t just the teenagers; even the adult women weren’t immune to his charms,
and Mo Ran had burst out laughing at one cultivator in her forties muttering lovelorn nonsense in
the flower bushes. Peach Blossom Spring was large enough and full enough of various cultivators
that Mo Ran hadn’t actually run into the person in question, and he had enough pride not to join
female disciples in their trashy gossip, so he wasn’t entirely sure of their crush’s identity.

bold of the author to write so disparagingly about the reaction she obviously wants all her
readers to have to Chu Wanning – oh wait, these women deserve to be mocked because
they’re in love with someone who isn’t Chu Wanning, it all makes sense now

“I was having a drink at LingHu Tavern,” Ye Wangxi was saying. “That bastard was there, a girl
on each arm, which was depraved enough. It wasn’t my business, so I said nothing.”

“Sure, sure,” Mo Ran agreed.

“But then a lady from the Lonemoon Sect ran inside, looking for someone.”

“Let me guess,” Mo Ran said.

“You’re right,” Ye Wangxi said. “He really is a piece of work. The Lonemoon Sect girl had
exchanged tokens of affection with him, and he’d told her he would be her cultivation partner and
be with her forever.”

“Such bullshit,” Mo Ran said. “I bet he has a bunch of copies of that token of affection. And spouts
the same pledge of undying love without even changing the words to every girl he chases.”

“Of course you’re the type of person who would know something like that,” Terri Fying broke in.

Ye Wangxi, unexpectedly, took Mo Ran’s side. “Brother Mo is exactly right,” he said. “She was
his secret admirer to begin with, so of course she believed him and gave him her virginity that very
night.”

Mo Ran squawked and covered Terri Fying’s ears with his hands. The child looked at him,
unimpressed. “What are you doing?”

“This isn’t for the ears of children. It’ll, uh, lower your cultivation level.” Keeping his hands firmly
over the child’s ears, Mo Ran turned back with enthusiasm. “Then what?”

Ye Wangxi assumed his audience was feeling the same righteous indignation he did, rather than
listening to gossip as if it was a trashy romance novel, and continued with an air of integrity. “He
denied it, of course. He didn’t even want to give her the time of day. She pulled out the token, but
the other two women had exactly the same item and said it was something he gave to all his
friends.”
“How shameless,” Mo Ran said.

“Of course,” Ye Wangxi replied. “I went to have a word with him about it.” He paused. “Talking
did no good, and we got into a fight instead.”

“I see, I see,” Mo Ran said, smiling. He suspected, given who he thought the individual was, that
Ye Wangxi was not telling the entire story. He wasn’t going to press the issue, though. “He must
be pretty good in a fight,” he said instead. “I can’t imagine just anyone being able to land a hit on
you.”

Ye Wangxi, rather than being flattered, got angry. “Pretty good?” he hissed. “He was nothing more
than mediocre! The women did all of his fighting for him!”

“You’re kidding,” Mo Ran said. Upon closer inspection, Ye Wangxi also had blood scratches on
his face that were from a woman’s nails, and he nearly fell over laughing. “He really does live up
to his reputation.”

Chu Wanning kept silent until Ye Wangxi retreated to bandage his wounds and his ego. “Mo Ran,”
he said.

“Call me brother,” Mo Ran said.

“Do you think he’s talking about Mei Hanxue?”

“I bet he is,” Mo Ran grinned.

Chu Wanning’s eyes widened in startlement. “You don’t think that he got,” he started.

“Hush.” Mo Ran raised a finger to his lips and crouched down to put himself on the little disciple’s
eye level. “You’re way too young to know what that is.”

“I just know that Mei Hanxue is very, um. Unreliable,” Chu Wanning said. “He’s allegedly done
all sorts of preposterous things, but it’s unthinkable that he’d go after even a disciple of Rufeng
Sect.”

Mo Ran laughed. “Unreliable isn’t the wrong word,” he said. “But let’s stay out of other people’s
business. Let me finish putting your hair up, okay? I bought a really nice hair clip at the market
earlier and I want you to try it on.”

Chu Wanning felt that anything Mo Ran found to be really nice was not likely to match his own
preferences, and he stared at the vibrantly gaudy hair clasp decorated with golden orchids and
butterflies in dismay. “Are you sure that’s for me?” he finally asked.

“Sure is! Little kids should wear lively colors!”

Chu Wanning wanted to make Mo Ran happy more than he didn’t want the hideous hair clip, but
he couldn’t keep the gloom out of his face as Mo Ran fastened the ostentatious clasp to his
ponytail. The decorations glimmered garishly against his inky hair, but he suddenly felt that it
wasn’t so bad after all. The kindness between them wouldn’t have come about if he looked like
himself, and the butterflies seemed suddenly dreamlike.

Six months of training passed quickly, and they were told on the day of the test that the half-year
exam would gauge their progress. “It will be your first test,” Eighteen announced gracefully to the
assembly. “It will differ depending on your division, with three different disaster scenarios.” She
went on to describe each scenario, informing them that the test would take place in an illusory
realm reconstructed using memories. “You will be in no danger,” she added. “Once you resolve the
crisis, you will return. You may undertake the test alone, or in pairs.”

After telling them that the envoys would collect them when it was time for their test, Eighteen
dismissed the assembly. Mo Ran had seen half a dozen of his division-mates pass the test already,
and had concluded that it probably wasn’t particularly difficult. It was ten days before he was
called to be tested, and Eighteen was in charge of the attack division.

“Will you be going through with a partner?” she asked, smiling.

“If I choose a partner, do they have to test again?”

“No.”

“Then I’m taking my disciple,” Mo Ran said, pointing at Terri Fying. “He’s so young I’d worry if
he went alone.”

The moon hung bright overhead as they followed Eighteen to a pitch-black cave, its entrance
covered with a thin layer of reddish-gold mist. “Please listen well,” Eighteen said. “The scene
within the Domain of Fiends is the calamity of two hundred years ago – the first breakage of the
ghost realm barrier, when masses of vengeful ghosts and malicious spirits escaped into the human
realm and slaughtered countless living beings. The illusion is based on the memories of a survivor,
and you will find yourself in the battle-torn Lin’an City. Slay the Ghost King leading the army, and
the illusion will dissipate on its own.”

Mo Ran glanced at Chu Wanning and turned to smile at Eighteen. “Ma’am, I’m pretty sturdy and
not worried about myself, but the kid here is only six. What if he gets hurt?”

“None of the injuries sustained within the illusion will remain after it is broken,” Eighteen
reassured him. “They will be marked only with a spiritual signifier. But if you’re marked at a vital
area representing a mortal injury, you fail the exam.”

Relieved, Mo Ran clasped his hands together and grinned. “I see. Thank you.”

The pair headed into the test, relaxed. Entering the pitch-black cave felt as though their bodies had
been abruptly suspended in mid-air before they were assaulted by a flood of blurry images. When
their feet landed on the ground, they found themselves in the Lin’an City of two hundred years
prior. It had been assaulted nightly by hordes of ghosts, and although the sun shone high overhead,
a putrid stench filled the air.

------

Lin’an City had been deep in the midst of war two centuries ago, suffocated by a heavy miasma of
malicious ghosts and a morass of congealed blood. Crumbled walls and ruined houses were
surrounded by withered plants. Mo Ran looked up to see a dozen crows feasting on fresh entrails
hanging off the branch of a pagoda tree. A corpse lay underneath it, eyeballs gone and guts spilling
out of a tear in his stomach.

None of the carnage was new to Mo Ran; he’d crossed the breadth of the human world to send
blood flowing in rivers and reveled in every drop. Faced with such devastation now, he felt
sympathy for the dead. Mo Ran wondered if he had been faking a good nature for so long that his
true heart had unwittingly changed to match, but he was interrupted by the sound of hoofbeats
ahead of them on the road.

No one moving so quickly in such times would be good news, Mo Ran thought, and pulled Terri
Fying behind him. A group of riders emerged in the midst of a dust cloud, some dozen in all, but as
they got closer Mo Ran could see that their horses were starving. The riders wore white patterned
in red, helmets embellished with matching feathers, and circlets of entwined dragons. They were
nearly as thin as their horses, their clothes dirty but neatly worn, and each rider had a full quiver of
arrows.

Mo Ran knew that food and weapons were the most valuable commodities during war, and
surmised that these were not ordinary people. He was trying to determine the group’s intent, but
one of them stumbled off of his horse screaming for his father. The youth – for he couldn’t have
been more than fifteen – staggered to the corpse under the tree, crying miserably.

The rest of the riders wore expressions of pity, but none of them moved to help or comfort. One of
them noticed the two cultivators and startled before speaking with a thick Lin’an accent. “Not from
around here, are you?”

“Uh, we’re from Shu,” Mo Ran answered.

“So far?” The rider was shocked. “How did you travel so far with so many ghosts stalking every
night from dusk till dawn?”

“I can fight a little,” Mo Ran said, hedging his answer cautiously. He pulled the little disciple up
next to him. “This is my brother. We were passing by and stopped to rest.” If Mo Ran had startled
the riders, Terri Fying stunned them. They whispered among themselves. “What’s wrong?” he
asked.

“Nothing,” said the rider at the head of the group. “But you should go into the city if you want to
rest. The area may be clear now, but ghosts will swarm the streets once the sun sets. XiaoMan’s
adoptive father there came looking for food during the day and then got trapped in a thunderstorm.
Couldn’t make it back before nightfall.” He sighed heavily.

Mo Ran knew similar occurrences were common in such chaotic times, and that these events had
occurred two centuries before, but he still couldn’t help feeling tightness in his chest at the sight of
the sobbing youth. He felt uneasy at how soft he had become; he’d killed hundreds without
blinking in his past life.

“When you get to Lin’an City,” said the group’s leader, “find somewhere to stay for a while.
We’re going to relocate everyone here to PuTuo soon. Their qi has warded off the ghost invasion
so far.”

“You want us to go with you?”

“That’s right.” The leader’s eyes lit up. “It’s all part of Sir Chu’s master plan, and it’ll save every
life in the city! We’re rounding up anyone out here who’s still alive to come with us. Hey,
XiaoMan, come on. Let’s go.”

Mo Ran tugged at Terri Fying. “We should go to the city first,” he said quietly.

“Do you think they succeeded?” Terri Fying asked.

“Do you want the truth or a lie?” Mo Ran asked, holding his brother’s cold hand.

“The truth.”

“The lie is a better tale for children,” Mo Ran told him.

“They failed,” Terri Fying deduced.

“You’re right,” Mo Ran said. “You already knew the answer, but you still wanted to ask as if it
would change the outcome.”

“Do you know why they didn’t make it out?”

“You ask me that as if I’m a two-hundred-year-old demon,” Mo Ran said.

“Two hundred years ago, nearly the entire city perished,” Terri Fying said darkly. “Only a few
escaped.”

“How do you know? You’re all of six. How much history have you learned?”

Terri Fying glared at him. “Constellation Saint went over this in history lessons multiple times. It’s
not my fault you didn’t pay attention in class.”

Mo Ran was speechless at receiving a scolding from a small child when even his teacher hadn’t
gotten angry. He decided there was no point to arguing with said small child, and changed the
subject. The cultivators arrived at the city gates after a short walk, looking up at the ancient city. It
stood tall on the riverbank, heavily fortified against ghosts and demons, with defensive structures
lining the walls and perimeter. Corpses with curse marks were piled against the walls, where they
would reanimate at night if not properly disenchanted.

Cultivators outside the walls spread incense ash across the corpses while the sun was high in the
sky and the ambient yang energy was strong. Some performed exorcisms with cinnabar talismans
dipped in wine. Guards stood before the spiked defensive frames in the same uniform as the group
of riders. “Halt and identify yourselves,” one said as they approached.

Mo Ran repeated his earlier story, and the guards took down their names before waving them
through the gates. Having concluded that the Sir Chu mentioned earlier was instrumental in
passing the exam, as he was the mastermind behind the relocation plan, Mo Ran asked after him.

“You know him?” the guard asked suspiciously.

“No,” Mo Ran said. “I know a little magic, and I was hoping I could help the relocation effort in
some way.”

The guard inspected him carefully and Mo Ran figured he concluded that anyone with enough skill
to bring a child unharmed through such a desolate landscape must have had some skill, because he
answered readily. “He’s the governor’s eldest son,” he said. “The governor was killed a month ago,
and he’s been leading us since them.”

“The governor’s son?” Mo Ran and Terri Fying exchanged a glance. “Why does he know magic?”

“Is that so strange?” The guard glared. “It’s not like you have to be in a sect to cultivate. Who
outlawed commoners practicing cultivation?”

Mo Ran knew that there were independent cultivators, but none of them ever amounted to much.
He thought perhaps that the amateur Sir Chu and his half-baked plan was what had gotten the city
killed, but as they headed toward the governor’s residence he had to admit to himself that he was
wrong.

The esteemed personage who happened to share a name with his teacher was clearly no amateur – a
Shangqing barrier stood around the grounds. A powerful barrier formed with purified energy and
capable of warding off all evils, it required the caster to remain within its range in order to ground
the spell and protected a relatively small area; even a mighty grandmaster like Chu Wanning could
only cover half of Sisheng Peak with a Shangqing barrier. Sir Chu, however, had erected a
Shangqing barrier covering a huge area around the governor’s residence. Although a far cry from
Chu Wanning’s capabilities, it was no ordinary achievement.

The cultivators made for the gates, Mo Ran planning on sending someone to notify the acting
governor that a cultivator was offering help. He was foiled by the several long lines of people
queued up in front of the gates. Six women, dressed like the guards, were carrying large wooden
barrels toward them as the hundreds of emaciated citizens waited to receive porridge. Those who
had received their food went to a crabapple tree near the residence.

A man in white with his long hair tied back stood under the tree, passing out protection talismans
and repeating instructions. Mo Ran could only see him from behind, but he heard the citizens
thanking Sir Chu for his kindness as they dispersed, and concluded that this man was the acting
governor. Curious, he dragged his disciple to where they could see the man’s face and was
shocked to see that he looked exactly like Chu Wanning.

Yeah, no one is surprised that even in the past The Amazing Chu Wanning is here to Save
The Day

Chu Wanning was also dumbfounded to see his adult self in the past Lin’an City, lean face with
sharp eyebrows and phoenix eyes leading to a gently curved nose. The acting governor was even
dressed in pure white. “So,” Mo Ran said shakily, after a long moment. Terri Fying mumbled an
assent. “Do you think that he, uh, looks like someone?”

“Like the Constellation Saint,” said Terri Fying drily.

“Right!” Mo Ran smacked his leg. “Why? Why does he look like my teacher?”

“How should I know.”

“You’re the one who pays attention in class,” Mo Ran said frantically.

“What part of this is on the syllabus?”

The cultivators had joined the line as it moved slowly forward, staring unblinkingly at the acting
governor. Mo Ran began to notice some differences; the governor’s face was milder, with shorter
and rounder eyes, and his expression was gentle. After several moments of close inspection, Mo
Ran suddenly turned to his little disciple. “Hey, look up here.”

“What? No,” Terri Fying said, and turned his face away.

Mo Ran reached out to grab his chin and tilt his face upwards for examination. “Uh huh,” he said.

“What,” Chu Wanning ground out, nervous.

“No wonder the people outside the city were muttering,” Mo Ran said. “You also look like him.”

Chu Wanning wrenched himself out of his disciple’s grasp. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“How did the guards see it so clearly? And I missed it entirely?” Mo Ran frowned.

His confusion was interrupted by the voice of a young child calling for his father.
while this is a perfectly reasonable device for a scene change, it would be markedly overused
in a story meant to be taken seriously, but it’s not used often enough in this parody to
actually be funny; it misses the mark entirely

------

The voice came from a small child, no more than three or four, waddling unsteadily down the
stone steps. A bamboo pinwheel in hand, he bounced toward Sir Chu. A jade pendant bumped
against his chest along with a charm for good fortune and a protection amulet of red silk. He was
nearly identical to Terri Fying, except for being a little younger.

“I wonder,” Mo Ran said. “You and my teacher are both from here, and he even has the Chu name.
I wonder if this Chu family were both of your ancestors and if maybe you’re actually related.”

Never having known his origins, and not remembering much of his childhood, Chu Wanning
stared at the father and son. He thought Mo Ran might not be wrong, but before he could come to a
conclusion, they reached the front of the line. Sir Chu held out a talisman, but stopped when he
saw Mo Ran’s unfamiliar face.

see, there’s that Interrupted By device again

“Is it your first time here?” he asked, mellow and refined voice utterly different from Chu
Wanning’s ice-cold severity.

“Uh, yes,” Mo Ran said. Hearing an open and friendly voice from his teacher’s face was entirely
disconcerting.

“I’m Chu Xun,” said the acting governor, smiling. “May I ask your name?”

“Mo. Mo Ran.”

“And where are you from?”

“Really, uh, far. Shu.” Mo Ran couldn’t help but feel that Chu Xun could see right through his
dissembling.

“That is quite far,” Chu Xun said, smiling. He glanced down at Terri Fying, and surprise flowed
over his features. “And you?” he asked.

“Terri Fying,” the little disciple supplied, just as Mo Ran pulled him closer and introduced him as
his brother.

“Doesn’t look like me, though,” Mo Ran said.

The incipient conflict was perhaps more important than unexpected revelations, or perhaps Chu
Xun wasn’t able to act outside his instructions as part of the illusion, but he only stared at them for
a moment and handed them each a talisman. “Please accept these, in these difficult times,” he said.
“And please stay for a few days.”

“I’ve heard,” Mo Ran said. “Sir, you intend to bring the citizens to PuTuo. What exactly do these
talismans do?”

“Quench spirits,” Chu Xun replied. “They conceal the aura of the living when worn on the body.”

“I see, I see,” Mo Ran said. “If the ghosts can’t tell whether we’re alive or dead, we can walk right
past them.”

“Precisely,” said Chu Xun, smiling.

As the governor seemed quite busy, Mo Ran pulled his disciple aside after thanking Chu Xun.
They found a spot by the wall to sit, and Mo Ran noticed that Terri Fying was staring at the
talisman. “Out with it,” he said.

“This is a solid plan,” Terri Fying said meditatively. “So what happened to make it fail?”

“Isn’t it in the textbooks?”

“This particular crisis is covered in the most detail in The Lin’an Records, and even that book only
has a few lines on it.”

Mo Ran frowned. “What do they say, exactly?”

“Lin’an was besieged, and no one knows what was happening inside the walls. By the time the
resistance army broke through, the houses were mostly empty and the streets full of bodies. There
were no survivors.”

“Nothing about how they died?” Mo Ran asked.

“No,” Terri Fying replied. “The city was completely surrounded. The feathered tribe saved a few
lucky survivors, but they rarely involved themselves in mortal matters and didn’t have the
perspective we would have had. The events were less important than the living, so even if they
knew what had happened, they wouldn’t have bothered to record it.” He paused. “But they’re going
in two days, so I guess we’ll find out what happened. In the meantime, we might as well walk
around to see what we can find out.”

The two cultivators tucked their talismans away and were getting up to leave when they were
interrupted by a burst of footsteps followed by a tug on Terri Fying’s sleeve. “Hey.” Terri Fying
turned to see the small child with his face. “Papa says you don’t have anywhere to stay, so you can
stay with us.”

“Uh,” Mo Ran said. “Are you sure that’s okay? Your Papa is so busy.”

“Yes,” the child said, grinning guilelessly. “There are lots of people with nowhere to go who stay
with us already. Papa keeps the ghosts away at night.” He spoke with the utmost heartwarming
sincerity.

“We’ll impose upon you tonight, then,” Mo Ran said. “Thank you.” He watched the little boy
bounce away and then poked at his disciple. “I have to say something.”

“I already know,” Chu Wanning said. “Shut up.”

“Psychic, are we?” Mo Ran ruffled his hair, grinning. “I really need to ask my teacher about this
once we get back. You guys both look so alike, there’s no way you’re not related.”

“So what?” Terri Fying said.

“Huh?”

The little disciple looked at the father and son beneath the tree. “It’s all in the past,” he said
expressionlessly, before turning and walking away.
“Aren’t you a little young to be so fatalistic?” Mo Ran said, bounding after him. “Those two could
be your ancestors. You should set up a shrine for them. Nine-foot gold statue with jewelry, the
works. Burn incense every year. Hey, what are you running away for?”

Walking around the city, Mo Ran noticed that every family was building a straw man. Asking
why, he was told that the acting governor had requested each person build a straw puppet with a
drop of blood – the same principle as tossing meat-stuffed buns to a river god that demanded
human heads – to fool as many ghosts as possible. It was a second layer of protection, in addition to
the talismans.

because even Past Chu Wanning is Perfect

Mo Ran’s heart grew even heavier at learning the plan was even better than they had realized, and
returned to the residence filled with misgivings about its ultimate failure. Night had fallen, and
many families had turned up to huddle in safety rather than return to their homes; all the rooms
were full and even the corridors were crowded. The gates were kept open at night, and guards
patrolled the premises.

Mo Ran and Terri Fying found an open spot in one of the hallways and padded it with straw, as
they had no bedding. “You’ll have to make do with this,” Mo Ran said.

“Could be worse,” said Terri Fying.

“Really?” Mo Ran laughed. “I thought so, too.” He stretched out beside the little disciple, folding
his arms behind his head and staring up at the ceiling. “These bird people aren’t half bad at
weaving illusions,” he said. “Even with memories as a foundation, it’s pretty impressive for it to be
so detailed that we can see the texture of the wood on the ceiling.”

“They’re half-immortal,” Terri Fying said. “They’re capable of things that mortals aren’t.”

“I guess.” Mo Ran blinked and then rolled over to face the little disciple. “I can’t sleep.”

“What, do you want a bedtime story?” Terri Fying asked sarcastically.

“Yes, please!” Mo Ran laughed. “DongYong and the seven fairies!”

“You wish.” Chu Wanning hadn’t expected his joke to be taken seriously and turned away in a
huff. “How old are you? How old am I? This is embarrassing.”

“I never had anyone tell me bedtime stories when I was your age,” Mo Ran whined. “I couldn’t
help but think how nice it would be, but no one ever did, and then I grew up. But I still want it.” He
paused. “No one told you bedtime stories either, huh?”

“Nope.”

“Wait, you don’t know how the story goes, do you?”

“What’s the point to those silly stories anyway?” Chu Wanning grumped.

“Just admit you don’t know it,” Mo Ran said. “Or you’ll grow into a boring person like my teacher
and no one will like you.”

“Who cares,” Chu Wanning spat out. “I’m going to sleep.” He rolled over and closed his eyes
pointedly.
Mo Ran cackled, but then saw his little disciple’s adorable face. He reached out to pinch his cheek.
“You’re not really asleep.”

“Yes, I am.”

Mo Ran laughed. “Then you stay that way, and I’ll tell you a bedtime story.”

“You don’t know any, either.”

“I thought you were asleep.” Mo Ran kept laughing, but the little disciple kept pointedly ignoring
him and he quieted down. The smell of the straw wafted over them, accompanied by the quiet
sounds of night. “I’m about to tell you a story I made up myself. I used to make them up all the
time when I went to sleep, because no one was there to do it for me. This one is my favorite. It’s
called Ox Eats Grass.”

rude of you guys to be so loud when it’s so crowded and there are so many people trying to
sleep around you but ok

------

Mo Ran smiled and started the story. “Once upon a time, there was a child.”

“I thought it was an ox,” Terri Fying said without opening his eyes.

“I’m not done.” Mo Ran smiled hummingly. “This child was very poor. He had no parents and
paid his landlord with work. He washed dishes and clothes, cleaned the floor, and took the ox
grazing. He received three pancakes a day, and was happy to have enough to eat. One day, he took
the ox out to graze, but they ran into a mad dog that bit the leg off the ox. The landlord beat him
soundly and sent him off to kill the dog. The child was afraid, but he brought the body of the dog
back, only for the landlord to discover that it was the beloved dog of the county master.”

“So what do they do?” asked Terri Fying, looking at him.

“Because the dog belonged to the county master, it was used to getting its way and never being
disciplined. If the county master discovered that the dog had been killed, he would be very angry,
and the landlord withheld the boy’s pancakes as punishment for his actions. He threatened to give
the boy to the county master if he came looking.”

“This is ridiculous,” Terri Fying said. “I’m not listening any more.”

“There are a lot of stupid things in the world,” Mo Ran laughed. “People with money and power
make the rules. The county master came knocking the next day, and the child was betrayed. As he
was so young, he was flogged ten times instead of being locked up.”

“Then he ran away, right?”

“Oh, no. He went back home, recovered from his injuries, and went back to his usual routine. He
even got his three pancakes a day.”

“Wasn’t he angry?”

“Not after getting fed.” Mo Ran paused. “Getting beaten ends quickly. Things were peaceful for a
decade, and the boy grew up. He followed after those his age and the landlord’s son. One day,
several guests came to the house, and the son saw that one of them had a beautiful agate snuff
bottle. He stole it. It was an heirloom, very precious, and the guest panicked when he couldn’t find
it. The landlord’s son shoved it into the boy’s hands and told him that if he didn’t admit to stealing
it himself, he would be starved to death.”

Chu Wanning had expected a more entertaining story from a person who’d grown up in an
entertainment house, but instead his disciple was telling the most depressing tale he’d ever heard.

Mo Ran continued, pleased with himself. “The bottle was soon found, and the boy took the blame
in order to continue receiving food. He was viciously beaten again, this time so hard that he
couldn’t get out of bed for three days. The landlord’s son secretly gave him a marinated pork bun,
and the boy was so happy that he forgave the son for harming him and thanked him instead.”

“What?” Chu Wanning was aggravated now. “A bun and he’s happy? What kind of bullshit is
that?”

“You’re not paying attention,” Mo Ran said. “It was a bun full of pork.” He laughed. “You don’t
get it. If he was lucky, he’d get some fatty meat on New Year’s Eve and he thought he’d never get
a whole meal of meat. Of course he’d say thank you.” Mo Ran smirked at his confused little
disciple. “He continued to collect his daily pancakes. Another day came, and the landlord’s son
committed another crime. This time, he behaved indecently toward a neighbor girl, and the oxherd
boy saw the whole thing.”

Chu Wanning thought he had the pattern of the story now. “And he takes the blame.”

“And now you know how to tell stories, too.”

“I’m going to sleep.”

“No, no, I’m almost done. This is my first time telling a story, you gotta be patient. So the oxherd
boy was told to take the blame after the girl was so ashamed that she committed suicide. The
oxherd boy wasn’t dumb; he knew a life had to be given for a life, but he had no intention of dying.
He refused, so the landlord’s son locked him inside the mill with the dead girl and ran to report it to
the authorities. Since he had a history, from killing the dog to stealing the snuff bottle, no one
believed he was innocent and he was arrested.”

Chu Wanning’s eyes widened. “Then what?”

“When autumn came, he was sentenced to the death penalty, to be sent to the execution platform
outside the city. He followed the troop on the road winding through the fields, and happened to see
someone butchering an ox. He knew with just a glance that it was the one he had been herding
since he was young, but now it was old and could no longer work. It had given a lifetime of
plowing fields, only to be butchered and eaten in the end.” Mo Ran smiled without a hint of
sadness. “But the boy had grown up with the ox, told it his secrets, hugged it and cried when he
was wronged, and felt it was the only family he had. He begged for a chance to say farewell. The
executioner believed he was trying to escape and refused.”

“Then what?”

“Then he was hung to death. The ox was butchered. Hot blood flowed over the ground, and those
who gathered to watch went home again. The landlord’s household ate beef that night, but the
meat kept getting stuck between their teeth. They threw it all away.” He flipped over and smiled
happily at his little disciple. “Okay, that was the end. How was it?”

“Get out.”

“Hey, the first time I told myself this story, I cried so hard. Your heart is cold, not even a single
teardrop.”

“You told it badly.”

“Well, that can’t be helped.” Mo Ran draped an arm around the boy’s shoulders and stroked his
hair. “I can only have so many talents. We should sleep now.”

“Mo Ran,” Terri Fying said, after a long moment.

“I told you to call me brother.”

“Why is it called Ox Eats Grass?”

“Because an ox has to eat, just like people. A lot of work has to be done so people can eat, and if
you can’t work any more, no one cares if you live or die.”

Chu Wanning fell silent. The small voices of those in the yard seeking refuge drifted through the
walls, punctuated by the occasional ominous cry from ghosts or demons outside the barrier. “Mo
Ran,” he said.

“So cheeky.”

“Does that child really exist?”

“No.” Mo Ran smiled after a moment and pulled his disciple into a hug. “He was only made up to
play with you. Be a good boy. Sleep.”

Their attempts to get some rest were interrupted by a commotion in the yard. Someone was
shouting angrily about the governor, and how he didn’t have time to mind someone else’s business.
“Get rid of that corpse!” Mo Ran heard. “Don’t you know the ones with the blue spots will rise?
Are you trying to kill us all?” Like thunder in the middle of the night, it kicked off a storm with the
words rising corpse. Everyone who had been asleep was suddenly awake and on their feet looking
for the source of the noise.

“Is that the person from earlier?” Mo Ran asked. “The one whose father was killed?”

XiaoMan was still wearing the uniform, but his spirit and aura had completely changed. He was
hugging the corpse tightly, face and personality utterly empty. The corpse’s nails were growing,
signaling that it was about to rise, and the crowd backed away from him. The administrator
continued scolding. “Your dad was my friend, too, but you were the one who was crying out of
hunger. You’re the reason he went looking for food. You killed him, and now you’re going to kill
us.”

“No,” XiaoMan sobbed. “Please let me see the governor, he can stop my dad’s corpse from rising.
I want to bury him properly, please. Please don’t cut him up.” He buried his face in his hands.
“Please let me wait until he comes back.”

“It’s almost midnight. We don’t have time to wait until he can take care of it – your dad’s corpse
already has long nails and blue spots. It’s too late.”

“No, it isn’t. Uncle Liu, I’m begging you, I’ll do anything, please don’t touch my dad.”

The administrator sighed. “You’re asking us all to die,” he said. “Guards!”

“No!” the boy howled, but it was too late. The crowd knew that the corpse would turn into a
vicious spirit if it wasn’t handled before midnight. It was dragged away to be dismembered
outside, and XiaoMan was held forcibly back as his bitter tears sullied his face. He was dragged
into the distance, until his howls faded.

The yard returned to peaceful quiet, but Chu Wanning did not fall asleep. He held his head
pensively.

“What?” Mo Ran asked, side-eying the boy.

“He lost his close family, and did something foolish. He blamed the others for his father’s death.
I’m wondering if he’s the reason the migration effort failed.”

“I thought about that, too,” Mo Ran said.

“It’s too early to tell,” Chu Wanning decided. “We should keep an eye on him.”

what, exactly, was the point of including that much bedtime story in that much detail, oh my
god, does the author think she’s Dickens and getting paid by the word

------

Nothing unusual happened on the second day. Chu Xun sent guards to tally the number of straw
men in the city while the populace packed what few possessions they had. The governor planned
for his people to leave first thing in the morning the following day, to take refuge at PuTuo. Mo
Ran sat by the gate, watching people come and go. He sighed.

“Chu Xun’s plan is perfect,” he said. “Unless something goes wrong, there’s no way the ghosts
would figure out that the city is full of decoys. Unless someone told them.” Mo Ran looked around
to see what Terri Fying thought, but the little disciple had wandered off to watch the riders getting
ready. In his place sat the governor’s son. Mo Ran blinked. “What?”

The small child pointed to an old tree with a kite dangling from the branch. “Mama gave it to me,”
he said. “It’s stuck. Can you get it down?”

“Sure, sure.” Mo Ran made it to the top of the tree easily, retrieving the kite, and landed on the
ground. “Here you go,” he said with a smile. “Don’t lose it again.” The child nodded seriously, and
Mo Ran watched him wander alone for a few moments, thinking about how his father was
probably too busy for him. “Where’s your mom?”

“In the mountains,” the kid said.

“Doing what?”

“Sleeping.” The child smiled softly. “Mama’s always sleeping there. We go see her when the
flowers bloom in spring.”

he’s four, he absolutely does not have the cognitive capacity for that sentence or half the
other shit he does, this child does not act like a child

Mo Ran looked at him quietly, at a loss for words, but the child was too young to understand death.
He played with the kite, and then thanked Mo Ran with a half-eaten piece of pastry wrapped in a
leaf. Mo Ran had no idea how he’d gotten it, as no one had enough to eat, but the child broke it in
half and gave him a piece. “Thank you,” Mo Ran said. The pastry had sweet bean paste inside, and
Mo Ran’s heart filled to aching. He accepted the sweet, and the boy grinned brightly.
Unable to bear eating the cake, Mo Ran wrapped it in a leaf and tucked it into his robes. By the
time he looked up, the child had already bounded away into the distance. Terri Fying reappeared,
raising an eyebrow. “What’s up?” he asked.

“I was just thinking about all these people,” Mo Ran said. “Why did they all have to die?”

Night fell, clouds from horizon to horizon pierced by the occasional bolt of lightning. A terrible
gale began to howl and the rain began to pour down. The attendant yin energy enhanced the
powers of ghosts and fiends – all the survivors were bid to gather near the governor’s residence and
stay inside the barrier. The rain prevented many from using their usual resting spots, and they
crowded inside to take shelter.

Mo Ran lost track of XiaoMan in the chaos, but Terri Fying was small enough to make his way
through the crowd. “I got this,” he said, and disappeared. He returned only a few moments later.
“He got away.”

“Outside the barrier?”

“Yeah.”

Mo Ran fell silent, looking at the pouring rain. Although it was only an illusion, he still felt
wretched that the hope of these people was about to be dashed. The guards milled around, making
last-minute preparations to take the people outside as soon as the sun rose, unaware that they had
so little time left. The night grew later still, and the noise began to die down as the crowd began to
fall asleep.

The disciples from Sisheng Peak remained wide awake, waiting for the Ghost King to appear so
they could kill him. XiaoMan had already left the barrier, meaning the turning point was near, Mo
Ran knew. He glanced at his comrade. “Get some rest,” he said. “I’ll wake you if something
happens.”

“I’m not sleepy.”

“Eat something. You must be hungry.”

“I’m, uh.” Terri Fying swallowed audibly at the sight of the pastry in Mo Ran’s hand.

“Here.” Mo Ran gave it to him, and Terri Fying broke it in half. He returned half to Mo Ran,
reminiscent of his ancestor’s actions hours earlier.

“Is it from Peach Blossom Spring? It tastes different.”

“How so?”

“Like osmanthus flowers.”

Mo Ran forced a smile. “Chu Xun’s son gave it to me,” he said. “It might be Lin’an flavored.”

“It’s definitely Lin’an flavored,” Terri Fying said, and then he froze. “That’s not right!” he said,
face pale.

Mo Ran blinked. “What isn’t?” The little disciple didn’t answer; he walked into the courtyard and
its pouring rain before picking up a sharp rock and gouging a gash in his arm. He bled copiously,
and Mo Ran grabbed him. “What the hell?”
“Have you still not caught on?” the disciple snapped. “Someone is trying to maim us!” Blood ran
down his arm, crimson diluted by the rain, face pale in the deluge.

Thunder rumbled and lightning split the skies, harsh light turning night briefly into day. The sound
jolted Mo Ran back into realization, and he took a step back. He recognized what was wrong.
Because nothing in an illusion could be real, no matter how vivid, the pastry should have had no
taste and the weapon should have caused no harm. Nothing in the illusion should have affected the
cultivators.

“Someone actualized the illusion,” Terri Fying said quietly. Manifesting an illusion was no easy
task, and Mo Ran knew that the Lonemoon Sect disciples were the most skilled at it. Their motto,
Medicine For The People, Divine Physician For The Heart, referred to how some of them
specialized in actualizing illusions to help individuals unable to accept the death of a loved one.
Most Lonemoon Sect disciples could only manifest brief, self-contained scenes, but the complex
and extensive illusion constructed by the feathered tribe seemed beyond the capabilities of even the
Lonemoon Sect’s sect leader.

Immediately, Mo Ran wondered if the puppeteer behind the false Gouchen were responsible, but a
strange sound from the skies above interrupted his thoughts. The dozing people jolted awake,
looking around before looking up. A deathly silence fell, broken by an eruption of screams. The
crowd tried to flee in as many directions as there were people, but there was nowhere to go and the
screams came from all directions.

one, this is not how illusions worked in the ghost mistress’s illusion OR the blood hourglass
illusion so we once again have a lack of consistency, and two, it took them two days to notice?

A fracture split the sky above them, framing a blood-red ghost eye. It was nearly pressing against
the barrier, and a harsh voice thundered, “How very bold, Chu Xun, a mere mortal trying to
deceive Me.”

“Ghost King,” Mo Ran said. It would be one of nine, he knew, some ghost kings stronger than
others. He couldn’t identify the one in front of them on the basis of an eyeball alone.

“Such arrogance!” the eyeball said, looming and dripping blood. “Absurd! Pathetic mortal! You
want to save them? I might not have annihilated the city before, but now none of you will be
spared!” A blinding red light burst forth from the eye, aiming directly for the barrier with a shrill
scream. Red clashed against gold, and the force of the impact sent debris flying into the storm. The
branches in the courtyard snapped, the sound punctuated by the crowd’s hysterical wailing.

A second red strike hit the barrier in the same spot as the first, and a crack appeared. The ghost
king’s eyeball struck again and again, sparks flying, and Chu Wanning’s blood ran cold. Inside an
actualized illusion, any wounds they took would be all too real. He knew it was possible for both of
them to die, and golden light gathered at his fingertips. He would blow his cover, but there was no
choice.

A resplendent bolt flew across the sky like an arrow, aimed at the center of the cracks in the barrier
before he could summon Heavenly Questions and give himself away. The crowd turned to see Chu
Xun standing on a tall roof, cradling a phoenix harp with his fingertips dancing across the strings.
Bolts of light swept forth to gather at the barrier, each sharp sound reinforcing the barrier.

“The governor is here!” the crowd exclaimed, some crying with joy. “Governor!”

Chu Xun held his own against the Ghost King’s eyeball, a hundred moves exchanged in an instant,
but the eyeball’s voice rang coldly and menacingly across the sky. “With your skills, you could
have escaped by yourself! Why do you meddle in the affairs of others and set yourself against the
ghost realm?”

“Your majesty wishes harm upon my citizens. How is that the affairs of others?”

“Ridiculous! We ghosts feed on the souls of the living! It is no different than you eating meat. You
will understand soon enough –when you’re dead!”

Chu Xun didn’t miss a beat, fingers flying. “We’ll just have to see if your majesty can separate my
head from my shoulders.” The chords rose to a crescendo, a brilliant light piercing through the
heavens to stab the eyeball. The resulting terrifying scream shook the foundations of the very earth
as fetid blood streamed out of the eyeball.

The ghost king unleashed a blade stronger than any he had manifested before, forcing Chu Xun
back as the sound of his harp stuttered. The crowd panicked, screaming that the barrier would
break, and families huddled together and trembled. Chu Xun grit his teeth, fire in his eyes, and
refused to give up. As he was locked in a stalemate, lights flared to life on either side. Mo Ran and
Chu Wanning flanked him, scarlet and golden light flowing into his own and sealing the barrier.

A terrifying roar sounded from above. The eyeball disappeared and the group descended to the
ground. Rotten blood pattered from the sky, gradually giving way to clear rain. Chu Xun bowed to
the cultivators, face pale, and thanked them for their help.

“Don’t mention it.” Mo Ran waved his hands. “Get some rest, you look terrible.”

The governor nodded, having burned through his reserves. Mo Ran supported him to the corridor,
where the crowd gathered in gratitude to offer water and warm clothing. Too exhausted to move,
Chu Xun thanked them one by one. The crowd built a bonfire near him to keep him from catching
cold, but it wasn’t long before their elation turned to worry and they began to wonder how the
ghost king had caught on to their plans.

The uniformed guards took exception to the following implication that Chu Xun had failed to
execute his own plan properly. “What are you trying to say?” one of them snapped. “Obviously
someone betrayed us!”

“Who would betray us to the ghosts?” the person asked. “There’s nothing to gain from it.” He fell
silent as the crowd around him began to get restless.

“Sir,” someone else asked. “The ghost won’t just leave us alone. What should we do?”

“Hold out until dawn and then be on our way,” Chu Xun replied gently, eyes closed. “They can’t
harm us in the daylight.”

“But the elderly, the young, the injured,” someone else protested. “We can’t make it to PuTuo
mountain in a single day.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Chu Xun said softly. “Get some rest. Focus on the journey tomorrow.
I’ll take care of the rest.”

Having built up a reservoir of trust, Chu Xun’s words were taken as truth. A small child offered
him a piece of sesame candy, but a guard interrupted him before he could take it. “Governor! Sir!
It’s terrible!”

“What happened?”
“Your son! He – XiaoMan, outside the temple!” Unable to speak coherently, the guard stammered
and then fell to his knees, sobbing.

Chu Xun shot to his feet, the color draining out of his face as he rushed into the rain.

------

ChengHuang Temple was at the outer edge of Chu Xun’s powers. The barrier reached to the stairs
of the temple, but no further. Candles flickered weakly inside, where a dozen ghosts who had
cultivated corporeal forms stood on either side of a women in red. She was restrained before the
statue on the altar. XiaoMan stood beside her, eyes downcast and holding a young child.

“Lan!” cried Chu Xun, and Mo Ran’s heart lurched.

Terry Fying tugged Mo Ran back before he could rush forward. “Stop.”

“What? Why?”

“They’re all dead already,” Terri Fying said quietly. “This illusion has been actualized and I don’t
want you to get hurt for no reason.”

Mo Ran knew the little disciple was telling the truth, and that he couldn’t save the people in front
of him, but his heart still broke at the sound of Chu Lan crying for help and begging his father to
save him. Chu Xun trembled at the sound. “Why are you doing this?” he shouted. “Let him go!”

XiaoMan ignored the shouting, head lowered as if he heard nothing. His hands betrayed his inner
hesitation; they trembled unceasingly, veins standing out starkly as he clutched the child. The
crowd of citizens taking refuge in the governor’s residence had reached the edge of the barrier,
aghast and furious at the sight within the temple. XiaoMan cut the ropes binding the woman before
the altar, and she turned slowly around.

The woman possessed a pure beauty like a lotus flower, neck long and elegant, but her face was
paper-pale and her lips were red as blood. She smiled at Chu Xun, terrifying rather than lovely.
“Husband,” she said softly, and Chu Xun froze. His wife looked toward XiaoMan and reached for
her son. XiaoMan tried to keep hold of the child, but Madam Chu’s ghost was stronger than she
ever had been in life. She easily pulled the child out of his grasp.

Chu Lan, having never met his mother, only continued to cry for his father to save him. Irritation
flickered across Madam Chu’s face as she whispered to the child in her arms. “Be a good boy,” she
crooned. “Don’t cry. Mama will take you to see your papa.” She walked out of the temple, down
the rain-soaked steps to the edge of the barrier. Joy mixed with sorrow on her face. “My husband,”
she said, “It has been so long. Have you been well?”

Chu Xun seemed unable to speak, hands shaking uncontrollably as he stared at the woman on the
other side of his barrier.

“Little Lan has gotten so big,” Madam Chu continued softly. “You’ve grown as well. Let me look
at you.” She reached out and pressed a hand against the barrier that she couldn’t cross, colors
flowing from her touch.

Tears seeped from Chu Xun’s closed eyes, wetness clinging to his lashes. He pressed a hand to the
barrier opposite his wife, and opened his eyes. They gazed at each other, across life and death, and
Chu Xun sobbed. “My wife,” he said. “We’ve spent more time apart than together.”

“Did the crabapple tree I planted in the courtyard grow well?”

“It’s grown tall and beautiful,” Chu Xun said, with watery eyes.

“I’m glad,” Madam Chu said, smiling gently.

“Lan loves the tree, always playing under it in the spring. He likes the flowers, just like you.” Chu
Xun broke, forehead pressed against the barrier, tears running down his face. “He picks the
prettiest flower to put on your grave every year. Wan, Wan, did you see? Did you see him?”
Wracked with sobs, every word was soaked in misery.

Madam Chu’s eyes reddened; as a ghost, she had no tears to shed, but her expression of misery was
no less unsettling. The crowd quieted, the silence only broken by the sound of someone weeping
quietly in the back. A cold voice rang out from above.

“Of course she knows. But not for long.”

“The ghost king!” Mo Ran exclaimed.

Terri Fying’s face darkened. “He won’t even show himself, the shameless coward!” The ghost
king’s laugh was the screech of nails on a chalkboard, sending their blood running cold. “Lin Wan
is a ghost now. I didn’t want to hurt her, but as you won’t stop fighting me, I have no choice.”

The ghosts in the temple began to chant an incantation, and Madam Chu’s eyes widened.
“Husband!” she cried. “Take Lan! Take him!”

“The heart is no more,” chanted the ghosts. “Let the relations be severed.”

Madam Chu tried to push her son across the barrier, but the layer of light kept him out as surely as
if he had been a ghost himself. XiaoMan looked at them, face twisted with sorrow and glee. “I put
a ghost mark on him,” he said. “He cannot pass.”

The incantation rose in pitch and intensity. “The heart is no more! Let reason be shattered!”

Madam Chu banged against the barrier in a panic, clutching the child. “Husband, please! You have
to protect him! You have to take down the barrier and let him in!”

“The heart is no more,” intoned the ghosts. “Let compassion be smothered.”

Madam Chu fell to her knees, body shaking violently as curse marks climbed up her face. “You
promised you’d take care of him!” she choked out. “You promised to take care of our son! Please,
take it down!”

Chu Xun looked as though his insides were being ripped apart. His hand lifted to dispel the barrier
and fell back down to his side, only to repeat the gesture again and again. Chu Lan bawled loudly,
tears staining his face as he reached for his father. "Papa, help me," he sobbed. "Don't you love
me?"

Madam Chu held him tightly and kissed his cheek, both begging him to take down the barrier.
"You can't!" screamed someone in the crowd, and the words were echoed across the courtyard.
"You must keep the barrier up!" The refugees dropped to their knees, pleading and groveling with
Chu Xun not to drop the barrier, desperate to live. One even pled with Madam Chu to have mercy
and remember how compassionate she had been in life.

Mo Ran watched as nearly the entire crowd except for the guards knelt and begged, crying loudly
enough to drown out Madam Chu and her son. Chu Xun looked as though he stood on the point of
a needle, being stabbed by a thousand knives, swallowed by flames and burnt to ashes. The ghosts
continued to chant, and the curse marks on Madam Chu's face continued to climb. They covered
nearly her entire face and started to bleed into her eyes, and although she could barely speak, she
continued to try to plead with her husband.

The curse marks finally sank into Madam Chu's pupils and her entire body shuddered. She
squeezed her eyes shut, and a wretched scream tore through the air, dropping into a beast-like cry.
Madam Chu's eyes flew open, stained now the color of blood and four pupils dotting each eye.

"Wan!" cried Chu Xun, and tried to step through the barrier to be with his wife. Just before he
crossed it, an arrow pierced his shoulder. His raised arm dropped to his side.

The guard who had shot him still posed with bow in hand. "Sir!" he called. "You've taught us that
the righteous put the people before the self! If you leave the barrier, it will fall! Would you throw
away the lives of those around you for your own concerns?"

"Put that bow down," said an old woman shakily. "How could you hurt the governor? He's done
everything for us! Everything!"

As they argued in the back, cries of fear broke out in the front of the crowd. Madam Chu had
completely turned, howling toward the sky with saliva dripping from her mouth. Her teeth
lengthened and her fingernails grew into blood-red claws. As her son cried for her, those claws
pierced his throat and a blanket of silence fell. Blood floated through the air like so many
blossoms, mirroring the drifting crabapple flowers after the birth of her son. She had cradled him
then and sung to him, but now the hand that had caressed him so gently tore him apart. The mother
devoured her child's entrails under the eaves of ChengHuang temple, sinking her teeth into his
heart.

Chu Xun fell to his knees, clutching his head and bashing it against the ground. He wept, drenched
in the mud and pouring rain before the ruin of his wife and child, witnessed by all the people of
Lin'an. He hunched over in the dust with his soul torn to pieces, until someone finally spoke,
triggering a flood of voices.

"Sir, we're sorry for your loss. "Sir, we will remember your benevolence forever." "Governor, you
are a righteous and kind person!" "Sir, you have saved all our lives - surely your wife and child will
ascend to paradise."

Chu Xun looked as though he had already died, unable to hear the voices around him. Covered in
mud, he knelt by the brightly lit barrier with the dead on one side and the dying on the other. Mo
Ran was suddenly reminded of his past life, when he had wantonly slaughtered the innocent, and
wondered how many men like Chu Xun he had been responsible for, how many women and
children like Chu Wan and Chu Lan. He looked down at his hands, seeing the blood covering them
for a split second before he blinked and it was only the cold rain. A warm hand took his, and Mo
Ran saw his little disciple looking down at him in concern. He looked so similar to Chu Lan, and
Mo Ran sank down to his eye level.

Terri Fying reached up to pat Mo Ran on the head, granting forgiveness to his penitent form. "It's
already happened," the child said softly. "It's all in the past."

"I know." Mo Ran scrounged up a sad smile. "It's all in the past." He didn't know if he meant the
illusion around him or his own sins, but he couldn't stop thinking about how many children like
Chu Lan had died because of him. Regret pierced his soul as he mourned his own willful cruelty.

------
Chu Lan was dead, but the illusion continued. Dawn was still hours away, the long nightmare not
yet over. The survivors returned to the residence, preparing to leave for PuTuo Mountain as soon as
the morning light broke. Chu Xun seemed like a walking soulless husk, and it was hard to have
faith that he could carry on. Mo Ran heard the people fretting all over the city that even if the
governor were still willing to carry out his plan, he might not be able. There were few citizens
more concerned for the governor than for themselves.

Before the sun could rise, the ghost king addressed the city in his cold voice. “The sun will rise
soon, and I know you plan to leave as soon as it’s light. I don’t think you’ve considered this plan –
PuTuo is too far for you to make in a single day, and you only have Chu Xun for protection once
night falls again.”

The sound of a child’s terrified wail punctuated the ghost king’s words, and the refugees stared up
at the ruptured night sky. Chu Xun stood alone with his eyes closed below his beloved crabapple
tree, as if he heard nothing. The ghost king laughed.

“His wife and son are dead because of you,” he said silkily. “Do you really think he’ll protect you?
Surely he’ll take revenge on you instead. It’s only human nature – and I was once human, too. I
understand how humans are. Kindness is performative – humans are vile by nature. Forced into a
corner, no one cares whether others live or die.” The eerie voice echoed around them. “I won’t kill
you all. The living can serve the dead. Like this one.”

A black cloud swept toward the barrier, XiaoMan riding on top. A kindly middle-aged man stood
next to him, and someone recognized him as the boy’s father. Even with the body dismembered,
the crowd marveled, the dead man stood next to his son.

“As one of the nine kings of the underworld,” the ghost king continued, “restoring the appearance
of the dead is a simple matter, even if I do not exert control over life and death as Emperor YanLuo
does. If you serve me, I will grant you the company of your loved ones. But if you oppose me, I
will inflict upon you the same fate met by Chu Xun.

Silence fell within the barrier, and then the crowd began to talk. “Would you trust him?” “What if
he wants revenge for his family?” “He won’t take us all the way to PuTuo.” The mood turned ugly,
and Chu Xun finally seemed to notice. He stared at them flatly from beneath the flowering tree.

“There’s no point in maiming you now,” he said.

The ghost king’s violent cackle echoed from above the barrier. “So he says he wouldn’t hurt you,”
he said. “If you believe him, then follow him. But if you believe me, then you will be rewarded!”
His voice was as thunder, growing so loud Mo Ran thought his eardrums might shatter. “All you
have to do is hand over Chu Xun, and I’ll return your families! My grudge is against him, not any
of you! Hand him over, and you can remain in your homes and with your families. Hand him over,
and the nightmare ends.” The ghost king’s voice grew faint. “I will be waiting at ChengHuang
Temple until the sun rises.”

The crowd’s attention focused on Chu Xun, who returned their gaze calmly. The mood, already
dark, shifted farther as fear spread through the citizens and voices in support of the ghost king
started to echo through the courtyard. Panic and doubt spread further, until a rough-looking man
stood up and said what no one else dared. “Grab him! We’ll survive if we hand him over!”

Silence fell, rippling outward, until a young woman stepped in front of him. “How dare you be so
ungrateful?” she asked. “Have you no dignity?”

The man kicked her to the ground and spit. “You have no room to talk! I have to take care of my
family and you only have to look out for yourself! Sir Chu, I’m sorry, but this is how it has to be!”
He stepped forward as if to grab the governor, but the woman grabbed his leg from where she was
still sprawled on the ground. “You dumb whore!” he shouted angrily. “Go die alone! Stop trying to
drag me down with you!”

“Even if I am a prostitute, I can still tell right from wrong!” the woman shouted. “Even cats and
dogs know how to repay kindness! How can you as a human do less?”

“Fuck you!” The man kicked her until her face was bruised and broken, and the damage had been
done. The crowd encircled Chu Xun, and emotions ran hot. The balance had tipped away from Chu
Xun, and his few supporters were swept away like leaves in a raging river.

“Run!” shouted an old woman, echoed by the voice of a child exhorting his parents not to hurt the
honorable governor. Disorder and chaos sank their teeth into the refugees, and Chu Xun stared at
his people as though he were seeing a horde of ghosts. He leaned back as if to leave, but then his
gaze fell on those who were trying to stop the mob.

“If I take down the barrier,” he whispered, “They’ll die too.” He passed a shaking hand across his
face. “Cowardly, worthless beasts wearing human skin are the worst thing in the world,” he said
softly. “Willing to say and do anything to ensure their own survival – I thought you were all good,
helpless people, but your true faces have been revealed. You’re using the humans against me,
laughing at me, hiding among the good and true, knowing that I can’t get rid of you without
hurting them, ready to tear me to pieces if I don’t help you.”

Chu Xun slowly lifted his head toward the heavens, where dawn was about to break. The relentless
rain had washed the blood from the temple steps as the governor was escorted by beasts in human
skin to his doom. He had been restrained, and his supporters likewise, the crowd smug and drunk
on their own perceived power as they were unaware he could break free in an instant.

Chu Xun did nothing. He maintained the barrier, protecting the innocent as long as he could, until
they arrived at the temple. The ghost king wasn’t there to greet them – only a candle giving off
black smoke twisting into a dark silhouette.

“You have failed to dispel the barrier!” said the ghost king’s voice. “Get rid of it!”

“Over my dead body,” Chu Xun said calmly.

“Kill him, or I’ll kill all of you!” the voice shrieked.

The first light of day lit up the endless night and the ghost king fled into the darkness. The candle
flickered and went out. Chu Xun pulled himself together, looking at the morning mist shrouding
the mountains and rivers around the temple. For a very brief moment, he stood as though it was
before the calamity, looking at a beautiful spring day.

The whispers of the crowd broke the mood, as the crowd fell back into guilty whining, pleading
and begging for forgiveness, justifying their actions. Chu Wanning watched from afar, unable to
identify the feelings in his breast. Suddenly, a pair of hands covered his eyes. “What are you
doing?”

“Don’t look,” Mo Ran said.

“Why?”

“It’ll just make you sad.” Mo Ran felt the little disciple’s eyelashes tremble against his palms.
“I won’t,” Terri Fying said. “I know it’s all in the past.”

“Then why are my hands wet?” Mo Ran said.

Chu Wanning couldn’t have said how much time passed before he opened his eyes to see the
barrier gone and Chu Xun lying in a pool of blood. People and ghosts surrounded him, demons in
human skin inhaling the scent of carnage. The air smelled like death to him as the crowd slowly
dispersed. No one feared ghosts during the day, searching for food and rest, and waiting for the
ghost king to return and reward them for their ill deeds.

Eventually, only a few people were left, weeping in grief. As they bent over him, the dead man
opened his eyes. Mo Ran’s heart skipped a beat as he recognized the Lingering Voice Spell – lost
in the modern age, he hadn’t expected to see its effects in the illusion of the past. “He used it on
himself before he died,” Terri Fying said, and for a moment Mo Ran thought he’d heard his
thoughts. “He still had unfinished business,” the disciple continued.

Chu Xun’s eyes were blank and his pupils dilated. His voice was flat. “Demons and ghosts are
treacherous,” he said. “Do not trust them. Without the barrier, they will overrun the city. Head
toward PuTuo. I have already died and will not be able to accompany you. But my power has been
concentrated into my spiritual core, and it will ward off the ghosts if you take it with you.”

The citizens around him cried harder. The cultivators felt their blood run cold – the spiritual core
was a crystalline formation within the heart. Chu Xun’s body lifted its hand and pulled the knife
out of its chest. It ripped open the gash in its chest over the distraught cries of the onlookers,
tearing out its bloody heart. It was enveloped in a golden-red flame – Chu Xun’s spiritual core, the
last light from a candle burning out. He held it out, repeating to the crowd to take it.

The falling blood shifted into red crabapple blossoms, burning as they drifted downwards. “The
road ahead is long and unpredictable. Please use this to take care of yourselves.”

Mo Ran felt cold sweat on his brow and phantom thorns dig into his back. There was a scar on Chu
Wanning’s chest, he’d suddenly remembered, extremely sensitive to the touch. Every time he
brushed against it, Chu Wanning’s face had betrayed his desire, and Mo Ran had invariably been
infuriated by it. He hadn’t asked about the scar then, and now, in this life, he felt he had no right.

------

Agog at the coincidence and unable to inspect his teacher’s chest in real time for comparison, Mo
Ran dug through his memories. The scar he thought he knew was pale, like a wound left from a
blade, not resembling Chu Xun’s savage bloody holes. Mo Ran concluded that it was different
after all and sighed in relief. As different as Chu Wanning and Chu Xun’s personalities were, they
were alike enough that it made Mo Ran nervous.

Chu Xun’s excessive gentleness, so different form Chu Wanning’s ruthless cruelty, not to mention
his wife and son, made the thought that Chu Wanning could be Chu Xun’s reincarnation
unthinkable. Mo Ran was relieved that it was impossible, and turned his thoughts to the future of
Lin’an City without the governor’s protection.

what the actual fuck is that train of thought and why is the narrative treating it with any
seriousness at all instead of consigning it to the disdain that it deserves oh god is it supposed
to be foreshadowing

Mo Ran knew the ghost king wouldn’t keep his promises. Once night fell, the rain turned to blood
and the winds grew sour. The moat was dyed the color of blood, and after the living lost their
senses their howls roared through the night. Wandering zombies roamed the streets, devouring any
flesh they could find. Mo Ran took Terri Fying into a small abandoned house, furnishings covered
in a heavy layer of dust.

Closing the door tightly, Mo Ran sealed everything he could. Only a small window in the kitchen
was left open so that he could observe the situation outside. Sharp wails and screams punctuated
the night, broken by the ominous sounds of ghosts eating the dead. Mo Ran placed Terri Fying on a
small pile of firewood in the corner and patted his head. “According to Lady Eighteen, the illusion
ends after we defeat the ghost king. Stay here.”

“You’re going out?” Terri Fying said, looking up at him.

“No,” Mo Ran said. “Not until the ghost king shows himself.”

“It’s dangerous out there,” Terri Fying reminded him. “The illusion has been actualized. You can’t
do this by yourself.”

oh did they finally remember they have an actual objective

“I can’t bring a kid into this fight.”

“I’m coming with you,” Terri Fying insisted.

“You’re very cute, my little disciple, but you’ll only get in the way. When you’re older, you’ll
learn to be more helpful. But this time, I need you to stay back.”

“I won’t get in the way.”

“That’s what they all say,” Mo Ran returned. “Just be good and listen, okay?” Terri Fying didn’t
answer, and Mo Ran breathed a sigh of relief. He peered through the window, wondering why the
illusion had been actualized and who was trying to hurt them. In Mo Ran’s previous life, he’d had
no shortage of enemies, but he hadn’t offended anyone powerful this time around. The only
candidate Mo Ran could think of was the puppet master behind the false Gouchen on their journey
to the lake.

The ability to run the Zhenlong Chess Formation with such skill, Mo Ran considered, should have
meant that the puppet master was someone he had met before. It occurred to him that perhaps he
hadn’t met the puppet master in his previous life because he, too, had been reborn. Chills ran down
his spine at the thought. He only wanted to bury the past, but another reincarnated person would
make it difficult.

“Mo Ran,” Terri Fying said.

“Yes?”

Chu Wanning steeled himself to tell Mo Ran the truth of his identity. “I really can help you. I’m-“

Mo Ran, hearing the first sentence, assumed the little disciple was only going to argue, and cut him
off. “Okay, okay, you’re not going out there. Stop trying to be tough and just listen to me.”

“No, you listen to me.”

“I will not,” Mo Ran said, losing his temper. He stuck his fingers in his ears and hummed. Terri
Fying’s face darkened, and Mo Ran felt regret. He poked him between the brows and laughed. “So
full of angst,” he said. “Angst and disobedience. Since we come from the same sect and I’m your
senior, I have to protect you at all costs. Understand?”

“Yes,” Terri Fying said in a low voice.

“Good.”

“But I’m worried about you.”

Mo Ran was taken aback, and the finger still poking Terri Fying’s forehead trembled. In two
lifetimes, no one had ever treated him with such gentleness or worried about him. Even Shi Mei
had never expressed care for him so bluntly. Mo Ran stared in amazement at the small child on his
pile of firewood, heart full to bursting. His eyes softened, and he ruffled the little disciple’s hair.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll come back alive and well.”

“Mo Ran, just let me finish.”

“Okay, okay,” Mo Ran said, grinning. “What?”

“I’m actually –“

Chu Wanning’s attempt at confession was conveniently interrupted by the door crashing open with
a bang, a man screaming as he fled inside. One leg was ripped to shreds, and he was being chased
by a horde of zombies. He grabbed everything he could reach, throwing them at the zombies and
screaming at them to stay away.

Mo Ran cursed under his breath and shoved Terri Fying behind him. Red light flashed from his
hand as he summoned What The Hell as a shield. “Disciple,” he snapped. “Go hide and stay
hidden.”

The mob of corpses began to fall under the light of Mo Ran’s vine, but Chu Wanning had yet to
fully train his disciple in its techniques. Having wielded a sabering his previous life, Mo Ran
wasn’t used to supple weapons, and the zombies slowly began to overwhelm him. What The Hell’s
motions started to become erratic, and suddenly Mo Ran heard a crisp, clear child’s voice. “Left
side, wrap around the wrist and strike three times, then jump in the air, swing around the back, and
sling out.”

Mo Ran had no time to think, following instructions automatically. The vine struck a zombie on his
left, breaking its arm, but instead of moving onto a new target, Mo Ran hit it the second and third
time he had been instructed. He bent nimbly at the waist, slinging the vine straight behind his
back. The next wave of corpses was coincidentally swarming in, and the triple strength stored by
What The Hell was released in a storm of blazing fire. The fresh zombies were slashed by the holy
weapon and decapitated. Heads rolled, black smoke curling up from where they hit the ground.

oh my fucking god we have returned to proper parody form and begun to mock overly
complicated verbal instructions getting correctly and instantly followed without an example
or any practice

Mo Ran shot a dumbfounded glance at the cool little disciple sitting calmly on his stack of
firewood. “What next?” he asked excitedly.

“Use your left hand and pat your right sleeve.”

“How mysterious,” Mo Ran said. “What move is that?”

“It’s not mysterious. Your sleeve is on fire.”

“Ah.” Mo Ran’s grin froze as he saw that his sleeve was burning. He hastily extinguished the
flames, and smiled up at his sectmate without any sense of shame. “You’re amazing. I love it.”

Chu Wanning cleared his throat and looked silently at the walls, ears turning red. Six zombies
remained in the house, but he didn’t want to look at his disciple and addressed his instructions to
the wall. “Loosen your wrist, swing the vine toward the sky, twirl six times to build power, then
slash down in a single stroke.”

Mo Ran followed his instructions, and the blazing fires shone The soft and supple vine had blazed
into an indestructible long saber, slashing all six corpses in a single blow. Mo Ran’s eyes were
round in shock. “Where did you learn this? You’re almost as good at this as my teacher! No, maybe
you’re even better – he never taught me anything like this.” He grinned. “This is so great! I don’ t
have to look at my teacher’s frowning face any more, I can just learn from you!”

“Scorning your teacher’s displeasure?” Terri Fying glared at him. “But you don’t care if I’m
upset?”

Mo Ran withdrew the vine and shut the door again. This time, he barricaded it with a table, and
then laughed. “You giving me a hard time is being good to me. We’ve gotten through hardships
together, and I remember everything you’ve done for me. Even if you beat me up in the future, I
won’t get upset.”

Terri Fying’s face darkened, and he climbed off the pile of firewood. The injured man who had
fled inside the house was still in the room, but when the little disciple examined him more closely,
his eyes widened. “It’s him,” he said.

“Who?” Mo Ran also took a closer look. “XiaoMan?”

The traitor was grievously injured, moaning in a pool of his own blood. Terri Fying examined him,
and shook his head. “Humans and ghosts can’t live in harmony,” he said. “I imagine the ghost king
threw him to the proverbial wolves once he served his purpose. He really-“

“Deserved it,” Mo Ran interrupted. He laughed half-heartedly at the scathing glance the little
disciple threw his way, guilt pricking at his heart. If anyone deserved what was coming to him, it
was Mo Ran, in retribution for all the sins he had committed in his previous life. Uncomfortable, he
changed the subject. “So what was it you wanted to tell me earlier?”

Terri Fying lowered his eyes and hesitated before he said, “I’m actually –“

Chu Wanning was conveniently prevented from telling the truth to Mo Ran through no fault of his
own by a breeze against his back. He whipped around to fight, but as he was in the body of a child,
he was much less capable as he would have been as an adult. XiaoMan had somehow risen to his
feet in a single movement and grabbed Chu Wanning by the throat with one hand. With the other,
he grabbed both of Chu Wanning’s arms.

“Get me out of here,” XiaoMan said to Mo Ran.

“Let him go!” Mo Ran shouted.

Chu Wanning seemed utterly helpless, his intact cultivation and skill apparently conveniently
negated by the small stature that had given him no difficulty until this very dramatic moment.

“Get me out of here!” XiaoMan screamed. “I’ll kill him if you don’t!”

“If you want me to save you, then I will! Don’t threaten a child! Let him go first!”
“If you don’t shut up and help me I’ll kill him now! After what I’ve done, what’s one more sin?”

Chu Wanning’s elegant child’s face was bulging and flustered, and Mo Ran began to panic. He
could kill XiaoMan effortlessly, but there was no guarantee that Terri Fying would remain
unharmed. “Okay, okay,” he said. “Just let go a little so he can breathe, and-”

Before Mo Ran could finish his sentence, blood spattered.

------

Chu Wanning was no weakling to be threatened by a dying man, regardless of what had happened
in the previous two minutes, and a brief flash of golden light severed both of XiaoMan’s hands. As
it vanished so quickly, Mo Ran didn’t recognize the holy weapon he had seen countless times.
XiaoMan screamed, only one usable limb left, and Chu Wanning stood up in rage. Too angry for
words, he turned away from the traitor.

“Are you okay, little disciple?” Mo Ran said, embracing the little boy. “Not hurt?”

Terri Fying shook his head wordlessly. The traitor was only an illusion, dead for two centuries. He
wiped the blood from his face. “As you see, it’s no safer in here than out there. I can take care of
myself and I won’t get in your way.”

Although they had spent nearly every waking moment together in the six months they had been
training at Peach Blossom Spring, Mo Ran had never seen the little disciple’s skill for himself and
hadn’t quite believed Xue Meng’s tales. “You’re pretty good,” he said.

“I’m familiar with many weapons and can help you with them.” Terri Fying stared at him. “Trust
me.” He paused. “Brother.” His goal had been to emphasize the sincerity of his words, but his
young tender voice expressed adorable softness instead, as if he were acting cute on purpose.

Mo Ran blinked and buried his face in his hands. A moment passed. “I’m worried,” he said. “I’m
worried that, uh.” Two lifetimes, and no one had been this cute to him before. He felt a wave of
fondness for the child, as if they were truly related by blood. Mo Ran hated and loved with equal
intensity – his ears turned red as he looked at the child and thought he might have been less lonely
if only he had had a real brother.

Noticing his reaction, Chu Wanning pushed harder. “Big bro,” he said. Mo Ran blushed harder at
the familiar form of address, and Chu Wanning filed away his student’s weak point. As he was in a
child’s body, he felt, there was no reason to be embarrassed about using cutesy words, so he went
yet another step farther. “Bro Ranny.”

“What.”

“Big bro Mo Ranny.”

“Oh my god, fine. I’ll take you! Stop saying that!” Mo Ran jumped to his feet, face bright red and
goosebumps running down his arms in embarrassed joy.

Hands clasped behind his back, Chu Wanning tilted his head and smiled. “After you.” He walked
slowly toward the door, hearing Mo Ran muttering behind him.

“Where did he learn that, oh my god, it was so cute I nearly died.” The awful mood Chu Wanning
had been in before was slowly lifting, and Mo Ran asked, “Hey, what were you about to say
earlier?”
Chu Wanning turned around. “Oh. That.” He paused. “I forgot.” He grinned wickedly. “If I
remember, I’ll tell my big bro Mo Ranny right away.”

“Oh my god, stop calling me that. Just call me brother. Brother is fine!” Mo Ran waved his hands
frantically.

“Sure thing, brother,” Chu Wanning said easily. “I think the ghost king should show up pretty
soon, since this illusion is based on a survivor’s memory and any survivors have left. It’s probably
getting pretty close to the end.”

“That makes sense, and it ends when we defeat him,” Mo Ran remembered. “Then I’ll find
whoever actualized the illusion and tried to kill us.”

Terri Fying nodded. “The ghost king doesn’t seem too strong, based on that fight earlier. He might
be the weakest ghost king, even. Besides, whoever actualized the illusion seems to think I’m a
normal child, and didn’t expect me to be useful.” He paused to acknowledge Mo Ran’s nod. “So
whoever it was is probably only trying to kill you.” Mo Ran nodded more vigorously. “So you
should tell Xue Meng,” Chu Wanning continued. “Strange things are afoot at Peach Blossom
Springs, and we need to take care. But first, let’s go.”

The little disciple’s prediction was correct. The massacre in the city was slowly winding down a
few hours after midnight, and a bloody rift cracked open the sky. Green smoke poured into the
wreckage and solidified into a hunched-over figure. Its eyes were bright scarlet and the skin on half
of its body was ashen pale. The other half was stark, exposed bone. He stalked across the ruined
city with a black banner, absorbing pain and suffering.

“That’s him?” Mo Ran asked from their hiding spot, a hint of relief in his voice.

Not wanting Mo Ran to twig to his true identity, Chu Wanning feigned confusion. “What?”

“You were right. That’s the weakest ghost king.” Mo Ran watched the figure approach. “We
lucked out.”

“What do you think our chances are?”

“Ninety percent sure of victory. Can’t be overconfident, you know.”

Chu Wanning knew that the Skeleton King was the weakest of the nine ghost kings, but strength
was relative and Mo Ran was young and inexperienced enough that going up alone against even
the Skeleton King was risky business. Even What The Hell wouldn’t give him enough of an edge,
but Chu Wanning was there to help.

“Help me,” came a weak voice from behind them, conveniently just before they launched a
surprise attack on the ghost king.

“He’s not dead?” Mo Ran looked at XiaoMan’s crumpled form.

“I don’t want to die,” the traitor sobbed.

Chu Wanning regarded him for a moment. “He was probably killed in reality by that horde of
zombies,” he said. “We must have changed things a little.”

“Do you think Chu Xun would have succeeded if he hadn’t defected and the city would have been
saved?”
“Maybe.”

Regardless of what could have been, both cultivators knew that it was more important to focus on
the Skeleton King and break the illusion. They charged out of their hiding place, killing everything
in their way. Mo Ran, thinking that breaking the illusion might not be so difficult after all, engaged
the Skeleton King immediately, but Chu Wanning was swamped with a wave of uneasiness despite
Mo Ran solidly maintaining the upper hand. He felt that the person trying to kill them had planned
events too precisely – understanding that Mo Ran and a person of average skill would have had
significant difficulty with the scenario, excessive force had been avoided.

Chu Wanning watched the ferocious battle; if Mo Ran died in what looked like a training accident,
there would be no suspicion of foul play, but he couldn’t figure out who the perpetrator could be.
The puppet master behind the false Gouchen came to mind, but Chu Wanning couldn’t think of
anything else as Mo Ran slowly gained the upper hand against the Skeleton King. The sky began to
lighten, draining the ghost king’s strength further, and victory seemed inevitable.

Remaining alert, Chu Wanning saw the face of a living person among the horde of ghosts and
demons sealed behind the spell Mo Ran had cast earlier. A hood hid half of his features, but Chu
Wanning could see sweetly colored lips between a sharp chin and a gently curved nose. He could
also tell from the person’s posture that he wasn’t part of the illusion as he simply watched the
cultivators. He smiled faintly at Chu Wanning, seeing that he’d been noticed, and drew a hand
across his own throat.

Chu Wanning cursed under his breath and lunged toward the living man. His opponent only
smiled, mouthing Goodbye with crimson lips and ivory teeth before disappearing. The sky
brightened behind him, clouds blowing in the wind, and Mo Ran decapitated the ghost king. Foul
blood splashed the area and the ancient city with its sunrise vanished in a blur.

When Chu Wanning’s feet were again on solid ground, he found himself in the testing cave. Mo
Ran was next to him, covered in blood, most of which wasn’t his own. He sprawled on the ground,
clearly exhausted, but he reached up to poke Chu Wanning in the forehead. “We did it.”

“I saw someone in there just now,” Chu Wanning told him. “Probably the perpetrator.”

“You what!” Mo Ran sat up, eyes wide. “Who was it? What did he look like?”

Chu Wanning shook his head. “He was cloaked and hooded, but he was male. Young. Thin and
with a pointed chin.” He thought the half of the face he had seen looked vaguely familiar, but he
couldn’t place it. Without seeing the rest of the face, he couldn’t be absolutely sure. Deep in
thought, he barely felt Mo Ran pat his shoulder.

“Hey, disciple.”

“What?”

“Look.” Mo Ran’s voice was low and cold as he pointed to the mouth of the testing cave.

Chu Wanning saw Eighteen – or, more precisely, he saw her body. She hung from the ceiling, feet
swaying in mid-air. There was no wind, and Chu Wanning immediately deduced that the murderer
had just left. It wasn’t that detail that let his blood run cold, though – the murder weapon was
wrapped tightly around Eighteen’s neck, and it was a familiar sight. The object that had been used
to kill Eighteen was a golden willow vine, with sharply bladed leaves, coursing with red light. It
was none other than the holy weapon What The Hell.
------

The blood drained out of Mo Ran’s face as he summoned his holy weapon. It appeared in his hand,
identical to the murder weapon, except for its lack of hilt. Mo Ran blinked and wondered if there
could be yet another vine-shaped holy weapon, his confusion interrupted by Terri Fying snapping
at him.

“Put that away!”

Belatedly, Mo Ran heard the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps. A crowd had gathered at the
mouth of the cave – cultivators from various sects, members of the feathered tribe, Xue Meng, Ye
Wangxi, and even Shi Mei had arrived. Mo Ran thought the crowd must have been deliberately
called, to be greeted with the sight of Eighteen’s brutally murdered body in front of two cultivators
who had clearly just been through a fierce battle.

this story really does not treat its women well at ALL

The crowd fell silent as Mo Ran stood in front of them, covered in blood and holding his holy
weapon, until a voice from the back shouted, “Murderer!” Panic spread outward from that single
word, bleeding into anger, and as the crowd began to shout, Mo Ran saw the vicious zombies from
the illusion transposed over them. He stepped back, throat dry, as the blood spilled in Lin’an two
centuries before leached into the present.

“It wasn’t me,” he whispered, and a tug on his clothes pulled his gaze to Terri Fying’s clear eyes.
“It wasn’t me,” Mo Ran said again, and the little disciple stepped protectively in front of him.

The air was electric, the crowd shouting, “Lock him up! Lock him up!” alongside cries of “Get the
kid, too! We can’t let the murderers get away!”

Mo Ran couldn’t hide behind a child; he pushed Terri Fying behind him. “I didn’t kill her! Please
listen to me!” The crowd blurred again, visions of the zombie horde from the illusion overlapping
with scenes from his past life, and Mo Ran searched for familiar faces. He saw Xue Meng and Shi
Mei, both staring at him in horror. “I didn’t kill her,” Mo Ran said again, softly, “and I’m not
planning on running. Please listen before you lock me up.”

Emotion had run too high, and someone shouted back, “You got caught red-handed! What could
you possibly have to say for yourself?” Agreement rippled out, calls for his confinement
multiplying and echoing, until Xue Meng stepped forward.

The heir to Sisheng Peak stood before the crowd, facing down the mass of angrily twisted faces.
“Please calm down!” he said, loudly and authoritatively. “Listen to me.”

“Why the hell would we listen to you? We don’t even know who you are!” rumbled the crowd, but
someone recognized the little phoenix, and whispers of recognition for the darling of the heavens
began to penetrate the crowd’s fury.

Face nearly colorless, Xue Meng took a deep breath. “These cultivators are disciples of Sisheng
Peak,” he said. “I can vouch for their characters. They would not murder an innocent. Please listen
to them.”

For a quiet moment, Mo Ran thought the crowd would listen. “Why should we believe you?”
someone called, and shattered his hope. “You don’t know their true hearts, even if you are from
the same sect!”

Xue Meng’s face grew darker, lips pressed in a thin line and hands clenched into fists. Mo Ran
stood behind him, surprised that his cousin had come to his defense at all – they weren’t close in
his reincarnated life, and Xue Meng had stood defiantly against him when he’d been the emperor
of the human realm. Warmth flooded his heart as he saw Xue Meng facing a mob on his behalf.

“You believe me?” Mo Ran murmured.

“You asshole mutt,” Xue Meng huffed, turning to look over his shoulder. “This is a fine mess
you’re in. Aren’t you older than me? Why am I the one fixing things?” He whipped back around
almost before he had finished speaking and began to yell at the crowd again. “How the fuck would
I not know them? One is my disciple and the other is my cousin? Who would know them better
than me?”

“Xue Meng,” Mo Ran said.

“How hard is it to just listen? It’s not like they can disappear! Just give them a few minutes to
explain!”

As Xue Meng’s voice died down, Shi Me pushed to the front of the crowd and stepped forward to
join him. He was clearly afraid, but his voice was clear. “Please, I can also vouch for them. They
wouldn’t hurt an innocent person. Please listen to them. Thank you.”

To Mo Ran’s further surprise, even Ye Wangxi stepped forward. He was an island of calm in the
crowd’s agitation. “These cultivators deserve a chance to explain,” he said. “We cannot take the
risk of allowing a murderer to walk free, and if they are innocent, that is exactly what will happen.”

Suspicion took root, the crowd looking at one another with alarm in their eyes at the prospect of a
cold-blooded killer hiding amongst them. “We’ll hear him out,” someone said. “But we’re still
going to lock them up. They’re guilty until proven innocent!”

Mo Ran couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. “I didn’t expect anyone to actually
believe in me,” he said. “No matter what happens, I’m grateful for the three of you.”

Mo Ran kept his explanation of events brief, but he included the important points – the
actualization of the illusion and what had happened inside of it, followed by the illusion breaking
to reveal Eighteen’s murdered body. He knew there was no way for his story to be verified, as no
record or impression of the illusion or its events could be created, but the complexity of his story
seemed to be too elaborate to be a hastily constructed lie. He could tell that there were people in
the crowd wavering, willing to believe him.

that seems like a terrible way to conduct a test – can’t monitor the candidate’s actions inside
the testing environment but use that to evaluate them, yeah, sure, ok

One of the feathered tribe spoke quietly to her subordinate before raising her voice to address Mo
Ran. “You have both presented explanations, but there is no evidence. You will both be detained to
preserve public safety.”

“Yeah,” Mo Ran said, smiling helplessly. “I thought that would happen. I’ll go quietly.”

The member of the feathered tribe nodded. “Citizens and guests, please remain on your guard to
prevent further accidents. Those who were not here in time will be questioned individually to
eliminate suspicion. I will be informing the leaders of each sect of the incident.” She glanced at Mo
Ran. “I will also summon your master.”

Chu Wanning suppressed a twitch.

“Uh,” Mo Ran said. “What if my uncle comes instead?”

“Issues involving a disciple are handled by that disciple’s teacher,” said the feathered tribe
superior. “This has always been the rule of the cultivation world. Are customs at Sisheng Peak
different?”

“No,” Mo Ran admitted, scratching his head in frustration. He was well aware of the accepted
tradition, but the thought of Chu Wanning’s indifferent face and cold eyes sank his heart. He knew
his teacher would only give him a blistering scolding with no regard for what had actually
happened.

The two cultivators were confined in a cave, not particularly cramped but spacious either, its
entrance blocked by a patch of brambles that could be controlled by members of the feathered
tribe. No daylight penetrated into the cave, and it was lit by a firepit containing continuously
burning enchanted flames. It was plainly furnished with a wide stone bed, a stone table and
matching stools, a copper mirror, and some dishes. The bed was softened by golden-red feather
cushions.

The member of the feathered tribe tasked with monitoring them seemed to have been close with
Eighteen, and although judgment had not been passed, the guard took out her grief on them. She
delivered food on the first day, but by the second, she threw raw ingredients on the floor of the
cave and told them to sort it out themselves.

“Sure. Cooking. No problem,” Mo Ran muttered, picking the ingredients off the floor. “What do
you want me to make?” he asked Terri Fying.

“Whatever,” the little disciple said.

“Absolutely the most difficult dish to master,” Mo Ran said. “I’m not good at making Whatever.
Hmm. We have pork belly and cabbage, rice and flour, but I don’t know how long this is supposed
to last.” He glanced at the little disciple. “Rice or noodles?”

“Soup noodles with spare ribs.”

“We don’t have spare ribs.”

“Then whatever.”

Mo Ran sat cross-legged on the ground, staring at the pile of supplies. “Noodles with minced
meat?”

“It’s not going to be spicy, is it?”

“That bird gave us precisely zero peppers,” Mo Ran assured him, and began kneading the flour
into dough.

With very little physical strength, Chu Wanning simply watched Mo Ran prepare the soft, white
ball. He was suddenly struck by a sense of warmth; Mo Ran didn’t know who he was, so he cared
about what Chu Wanning might want to eat and treated him as a friend. It seemed as though he had
received too much good fortune, as if he had stolen it from the real child named Terri Fying.

Mo Ran hummed, finishing the food. With so few ingredients, the dish was as basic as it could be,
but he had cooked the noodles perfectly. The fatty part of the pork had served as oil in which to fry
the meat, and it sizzled as he poured it. He was confident that it would be edible, but when he
looked up, Terri Fying had fallen asleep.
“You really do look like my teacher,” Mo Ran murmured, stroking the little disciple’s dark hair. “I
wonder how you’re all related, you and him and the Chu family in Lin’an.” He sighed. “While I’m
wondering things, who’s trying to hurt us, what’s my teacher up to, and would he even listen to my
side of the story.” He wound a strand of the child’s hair around his finger. “You don’t know him,
but he’s so hard on me, all the time. He hates me.” Mo Ran’s words fell on deaf, sleeping ears,
doing nothing to dispel the decades and decades of misunderstandings collected between them
across both of Mo Ran’s lifetimes.

So he’s 16 and had been at Sisheng Peak for a year when the story restarted and it’s been
about a year since his rebirth, making it two years in his second life that he’s known Chu
Wanning. He was 32 when he died and was reborn. So we’re looking at a total of 17 years
since meeting Chu Wanning in his first life and two years in his second life, and 17+2=19.
Yes. Nineteen years is certainly equal to Decades And Decades Of Misunderstandings. One
point nine decades, to be precise.

After the noodles had cooled enough to eat, Mo Ran woke Terri Fying. “Dinner’s ready,” he said.

The little disciple yawned blearily, eyes widening as he saw that Mo Ran had – in an effort to have
fewer dishes to wash – put the noodles directly into the pot used to fry the meat. Flabbergasted at
the unorthodox and uncultured implications, he stared. “How are we supposed to eat this?”

“Together!” Mo Ran handed him a pair of chopsticks. “The race to see who eats noodles the fastest
is about to begin!” He laughed gleefully.

“You don’t care about anything else, as long as you’re not hungry,” Terri Fying said.

“Food is the most important thing!” Mo Ran agreed, cheekily scooping up a large clump of
noodles and stuffing them into his mouth. “Doesn’t look pretty,” he said, cheeks puffed out, “but
it’s pretty tasty.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Terri Fying said flatly.

Mo Ran laughed, slapping his leg. “How are you so similar to my teacher? He used to tell me the
same thing. One time I threw a bone into his bowl and he got so mad.”

“Impudent,” Terri Fying said, teeth gritted.

“Yes!” Mo Ran crowed with delight. “That’s exactly how he reacted! Intonation, timing, pitch
perfect! Seriously, when he gets here, you’re going to have to ask him if you guys are related.”

------

The two disciples lay together on the wide stone bed, Mo Ran reflecting that trying not to be bored
was a monumental task. They had trained and eaten and there was nothing else to do. Terri Fying’s
calm and tranquil nature meant that he felt no distress, but Mo Ran paced round the cave in
agitation.

The guy who is constantly tinkering with things and always has something in his hands is
Unbothered by enforced idleness, sure. SURE. That’s extremely inconsistent characterization
but ok. Chu Wanning is Perfect, yes, we understand how Awesome he is.

“I’m so bored,” Mo Ran moaned. “What do I do?”

“Sleep,” Terri Fying said.

“It’s so early.” Mo Ran looked at the hourglass. “Way too early.” The little disciple ignored him
and Mo Ran rolled around on the bed. “Hey.” He pulled on Terri Fying’s cheek. “Hey. Hey.”

“What?” Terri Fying’s eyes flew open angrily.

“Play with me.”

“Who’s the child here?” Terry Fying wrenched himself free. “Who wants to play games with you?”

Mo Ran smiled sweetly. “You. Who else is there?” He took the narrow red cord out of his hair and
tied the ends together before winding it around his fingers in a clearly deliberate pattern.

Despite himself, Chu Wanning was curious. “What’s that?” he asked. “How do you play?”

“It’s called cat’s cradle. It’s a girl’s game, but since I grew up in an entertainment house full of
women, mostly I learned the girl games.” Mo Ran demonstrated. “Hook your finger around the
string here, no, not that one.” He instructed the little disciple slowly and patiently, and Terri
Fying’s expression slowly softened into concentration as he learned how to play the game in the
warm firelight.

yeah that’s not sexist of you at all, nope

Chu Wanning held the string taut between his fingers as he followed Mo Ran’s instructions to
weave a new pattern, but accidentally missed. Rather than a new pattern, the red string fell into its
original shape of being just a simple loop. He stared at it blankly, hands still in midair. “Why?” he
muttered, confused. “Why did it fall apart?”

“You probably just missed a string again.”

“Again.”

“No more, no more.” Mo Ran laughed. “The same thing over and over gets boring, let’s do
something else.”

“No. One more time.”

On the fourth night in the cave, Mo Ran thought he’d figured out how to cook something delicious
that his little disciple would appreciate. Having learned that Terri Fying had the same taste in food
as Chu Wanning had helped, and they had gotten a windfall of chicken and mushrooms. Mo Ran
glanced to the side at where Terri Fying had inexplicably still not gotten a handle on cat’s cradle.
“Go ahead and keep playing while I cook,” he said, “but the soup will be done before you are.”

“Put some ginger in,” Terri Fying said. “It gets rid of the raw meat smell.”

“You are just like my teacher,” Mo Ran marveled. “He likes ginger in his soup, too.”

“You remember what he likes to eat?”

“I am brilliant and amazing,” Mo Ran told him, not wanting to explain the details of his past life.
“I’m the perfect model of a filial disciple. Pity my teacher doesn’t see my heartfelt sincerity.”
Cleaning the chickens while he spoke, Mo Ran completely missed Terri Fying’s change of
expression.

“I think he knows,” Terri Fying said softly, as Mo Ran continued to prepare the chicken.

“What?”
“I think Constellation Saint probably knows that you care about him,” he said, ears turning red.

“Oh, that. It doesn’t really matter. I’m used to it. Though I did wish, once, that he would be like
other masters and ask after me, or that he’d know what I liked the way I know what he likes. But
when I first entered the sect, I was fooled by his pretty face and thought he was gentle. But really,
my esteemed teacher is so illustrious and unapproachable and busy, how could I possibly dare to
hope for his attention?”

Angry at first, Chu Wanning thought about it and concluded that Mo Ran wasn’t wrong. He had
maintained a veneer of coldness, and he hung his head. He walked quietly over to Mo Ran.

“What are you doing?” Mo Ran asked warily.

“You’re always the one who cooks. My turn.”

“You’re too short to reach the stove,” Mo Ran smiled. “Besides, I’m older than you. It’s my job to
make sure you’re fed.”

Terri Fying dragged a stool over to the stove, climbed on it, and looked triumphantly at Mo Ran.

“What?”

“I can reach just fine. Even if the Constellation Saint doesn’t know your favorite food, I’m do.”
Terri Fying shooed Mo Ran out of the way, and refused to let him help at all. There was an odd
aura of menace around him as he carved the chicken, and Mo Ran decided that discretion was the
better part of valor. Eventually, the chicken went into the pot to be covered with a clay lid.

A quiet voice at the entrance with incredibly convenient timing interrupted them. “Ran? Disciple
Terri? Are you there?”

“Shi Mei!” Mo Ran scrambled off the bed and dashed across the floor. He could barely see his
beloved behind a feathered tribe guard. “What are you doing here?”

“I have news,” Shi Mei said. “Sect Leader received our report and got here as soon as he could.
He’s negotiating with the feathered tribe now. Are they treating you well?”

“Great, great, they feed me and everything.” Mo Ran paused. “How about our teacher? Did he
come?”

“He’s still in seclusion,” Shi Mei said. “He’s not here.”

“That’s fine,” Mo Ran murmured quietly. “It’s fine.”

“But Elder Xuanji came to vouch for Terri Fying. Is he asleep?”

Mo Ran shook his head. “He’s making soup. Hey, little brother!”

Terri Fying walked over to peer through the bramble, expression unsurprised. “Yes?”

“What else could it be?” the guard answered. “People from your sect are here. Your master will
vouch for you. He’s meeting our Great Immortal Lord now.” She paused. “You can come out.
Everyone has gathered at DewSip Pavilion to hear your explanations.”

Terri Fying looked at the soup on the stove. “I’ll pass. I’m not done cooking yet. Mo Ran, you can
speak for me.”
“You’ll miss your chance to defend yourself if you don’t go,” the guard warned. “If you’re
condemned, there goes your head.”

The little disciple seemed utterly unconcerned, and Mo Ran shook his head at Shi Mei’s attempts
to convince him otherwise. “Let him be,” he said.

“But Elder Xuanji,” Shi Mei started.

“Please send him my regards, Brother Mo,” Terri Fying said. Shi Mei cleared his throat and pulled
Mo Ran through the mouth of the cave as soon as the brambles had widened enough to let him
pass. Mo Ran was surprised to hear the little disciple call for him as soon as he was outside.
“Brother.”

“Do you want to come along after all?”

“No. I just wanted to remind you that if you take too long, the soup will get cold.”

Mo Ran blinked, and then laughed helplessly. “Okay,” he said. “Wait for me.” He felt the little
disciple’s eyes on his back as the brambles closed again.

DewSip Pavilion was close to the prison. The group hadn’t been walking long before Shi Mei
peered at Mo Ran. “You seem close to him,” he said.

“We went through a lot together.” Mo Ran smiled. “Jealous?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Don’t worry. You’re still my favorite person.”

“I just think he’s odd.”

“Odd?” Mo Ran thought about it. “I guess he is. He’s so little, but he talks like an adult, and his
cultivation skill is no joking matter. Oh, and he might be related to our teacher.”

“Why do you say that?” Shi Mei asked.

“We saw someone in the illusion,” Mo Ran explained. “The son of Lin’an’s governor two centuries
ago. His family name was also Chu, and he looked just like our teacher, and his son-“

Mo Ran was conveniently interrupted by a burse of loud cursing just as he reached the salient point
of his news. He looked up to see Xue Meng striding toward him, and cursing loudly. “You
shameless mutt!”

------

Xue Meng blinked at the sight of his cousin, and Mo Ran smiled at him with the memory of Xue
Meng’s defense in front of the mob fresh in his mind. Xue Meng glared at his friendly grin. “Stop
smiling! What reason do you have to be so happy?”

“I’m saying hello to you,” Mo Ran said.

“Asshole!”

Mo Ran’s attempt at friendly conversation having been derailed, Shi Mei smiled at Xue Meng. “So
who are you upset with now?”
“Who do you think?” Xue Meng flung his hands in the air. “The same asshole as always!”

“Just tell us,” Mo Ran said.

“Was it that womanizer?”

“He’s a beast!” Xue Meng snapped. “A pervert! Why hasn’t he contracted syphilis? I’d give ten
years of my life to see him covered in sores, see how many women want to fuck him then, that
despicable, shameless, obscene-“

“There he is!” Shi Mei exclaimed, pointing behind him, trying to derail Xue Meng before he really
got going.

Xue Meng flinched hard and cursed under his breath as a flash of fear crossed his face. He fled
with his proverbial tail between his legs, looking back to shout, “I just remembered I have a prior
obligation!”

Mo Ran laughed, amazed. “That lecher is really something, if just the mere mention scares Xue
Meng away.”

“Ever since he ran into him at the restaurant and got into a scuffle, it’s been like this,” Shi Mei
explained.

“I have got to see this for myself,” Mo Ran said, but he was inwardly cackling in glee. He was sure
he’d correctly anticipated the so-called lecher’s identity. He had no time to dwell on Xue Meng’s
dismay, as he was approaching the DewSip Pavilion.

Xue Zhengyong and Elder Xuanji had reached it ahead of him, and were deep in conversation with
the Elder Immortal of Peach Blossom Spring. The Elder Immortal was divine, bathed in the glow
of spiritual light despite her appearance of a young woman. Mo Ran heard her explaining the case
to Xue Zhengyong as an attendant walked in ahead of them and announced their arrival.

Mo Ran entered the pavilion at her invitation, noting absently that Xue Zhengyong was waving his
infamous fan. “Uncle!” he called.

“My child,” his uncle said, eyes lighting up. “Come sit next to me.”

“I didn’t kill her,” Mo Ran said.

“Of course you didn’t,” Xue Zhengyong said, sighing. “We’ll prove your innocence. You look
terrible,” he added, and pulled Mo Ran to sit next to him.

The Elder Immortal didn’t prevent him, watching them passively. Mo Ran greeted Elder Xuanji,
noticing that the elder didn’t seem to notice that his disciple was absent. He only nodded at Mo
Ran in greeting.

“Where’s the other child?” the Elder Immortal asked. “Disciple Terri Fying.”

“Oh, yes. Where’s my disciple?” Elder Xuanji asked.

Mo Ran concluded that the elder didn’t care about Terri Fying at all. “He’s still in jail. He said to
convey his greetings.”

“Is that so,” Elder Xuanji said. “Why is that?”

“He’s cooking,” Mo Ran explained.

Baffled for a moment, Xue Zhengyong laughed. “And this is more important than clearing his
name?”

“I’ll check on him when we’re done here,” Elder Xuanji said, smiling.

“No need. After the meeting, we still gotta eat.”

Mo Ran rolled his eyes. “Interrogate us however you want, ok, can we do this?”

“Elder Immortal,” Xue Zhengyong said. “To continue our previous conversation, we have an elder
in our sect who is skilled at the refining of pills. I requested a number of truth pills before we left.”

“Truth pills?” The Elder Immortal tapped the corner of her lips with a dainty crimson fingernail.
“It makes mortals speak the absolute truth?”

“Correct.”

“The procedures are complicated and difficult,” the Elder Immortal said. “Even in Peach Blossom
Spring, it would take half a month to produce the pills. I’m amazed my lord has such a medical
expert at home. Why is he also not here?”

“Antisocial,” Xue Zhengyong grunted. “He hates traveling with others. He’ll send the pills by
pigeon post within ten days. At that time, I would request that the Elder Immortal assess their
effectiveness and then give them to our disciples. The truth may then be revealed.”

The Elder Immortal considered. “Acceptable,” she said, inclining her head graciously.

“Wonderful,” Xue Zhengyong said. “Then I shall collect my other disciple from confinement.”

“Stop.”

“What?”

“Before this affair is cleared, we cannot grant the two of them their freedom. They are still persons
of interest.”

Xue Zhengyong slapped his fan closed. Still smiling but with cold eyes, he spoke. “That’s a little
disingenuous, Elder Immortal.”

The near-immortal stared at him out of scarlet eyes. “Are you dissatisfied with our decision, my
lord?”

“Of course,” Xue Zhengyong blustered. “They haven’t been found guilty. For what reason are they
still being detained?”

“It is hardly mistreatment,” Elder Immortal replied coolly. “Their daily meals are uninterrupted.
Only their movements have been restricted.”

Xue Zhengyong’s smile went cold. “Hardly mistreatment?” he said. “The detention cave has no
natural light and is used to imprison criminals. How incredible that the honored Elder Immortal can
say that my disciples are being treated fairly.”

“Sect Leader Xue,” chattered the guards, resembling a flock of birds. “Please maintain courtesy!”

“Have I been improper?” Xue Zhengyong demanded. “I have neither cursed your superior nor
spoken untruthfully. My words lacked the courtesy a guest owes a host, but it is not unreasonable.”
oh, yeah, misogyny ahoy

The guards became even more enraged at his excuses, and a jade-white hand reached out to stop
Xue Zhengyong. The Elder Immortal snorted indelicately. “We had heard rumors that the sect
leader of Sisheng Peak was fickle and lacking in education, although strong in spiritual powers. We
see today that the rumors were untrue, and that the sect leader is an eminently reasonable man.”

“I am but a vulgar man,” Xue Zhengyong said, with a mirthless smile. “Pray, Elder Immortal, pay
me no mind.”

Elder Immortal grinned at him, picking up a tangerine and carefully peeling it before holding it out
to her guest. “Then we shall reach a compromise,” she said. “They cannot have their freedom, but
we shall not leave them in the detention cell. They may reside in Campsis Pavilion, a place for
receiving guests, and I will keep them under guard and house arrest there. Is this acceptable?”

Xue Zhengyong hesitated for a long moment before accepting the tangerine.

Campsis Pavilion, being an area designated to receive guests in a land that rarely saw them, had
been considerably neglected. Knowing the state of the pavilion, despite having never visited Peach
Blossom Spring, Mo Ran intended to clean it before Terri Fying was released. Leaving their elder
and sect leader to continue their conversation with the Elder Immortal, Mo Ran and Shi Mei
approached the pavilion.

Located in the northwest corner of Peach Blossom Spring, Campsis Pavilion boasted blossoms
abundant as forests. They reached it as the skies glowed brilliantly with the fall of twilight. The
guards accompanying them didn’t bother Mo Ran at all. “It’s so nice,” he said happily. “They’re
treating us so well.”

“How?” Shi Mei said. “You didn’t kill anyone, so they’re accusing innocent people of wrongdoing.
Pity our teacher isn’t here, he could just use Heavenly Questions to interrogate everyone, and then
we wouldn’t have to wait for the truth pills.”

“Ah, Shi Mei, you’re so naïve,” Mo Ran said. “Heavenly Questions is a holy weapon and its
effectiveness is dependent on the mind of the caster. Do you think those birds would let me be
interrogated by my own teacher?”

“Fair point,” Shi Mei said.

Mo Ran began to tidy the house, with Shi Mei’s help, and he kept thinking how odd it was. Only
when he finished and finally had time to sit and drink some tea did he realize that he had felt no
secret joy at the prospect of being alone with Shi Mei. He choked on the realization, nearly spitting
out his tea. Shi Mei flinched.

“What’s wrong?” Shi Mei asked.

“Nothing,” Mo Ran said, waving his hands in denial, but he was shaken. He wondered if he had
been training under Chu Wanning for so long that he had also lost his ability to be moved. The
pavilion around them was desolate and lonely, thick with peach blossoms, leaving him with the
perfect romantic opportunity to flirt with Shi Mei. Mo Ran wondered if he had developed Chu
Wanning’s purity of mind. “The peach blossoms outside are beautiful,” he said, with a dimpled
smile. “I’ll pick a branch for you.”

“They’re living beings,” Shi Mei admonished him. “Let them bloom properly on their branches.”

“Oh, right,” Mo Ran mumbled, but he was left with nothing to talk about. With the lessening of the
time they spent together, the less he felt they had in common. He glanced over at his beloved,
noticing a sheen of sweat on his brow for the first time. He pulled a handkerchief out of his sleeve.
“Here,” he said.

Shi Mei glanced at it, and smiled at Mo Ran’s nervous grip. “Thank you,” he said, smiling gently.
The cloth was light and soft, made of fine silk. “I’ll wash it before I return it,” he said.

“Sure,” Mo Ran replied. Regardless of the oddity of the moment, he would deny Shi Mei nothing.
“If you like it, you can keep it,” he added.

“No, I couldn’t possibly,” Shi Mei said. “Look how well it’s made.” He opened it, smoothing out
its creases and starting to fold it again. “That’s odd,” he said, delicate white fingers touching the
open handkerchief.

“What is it?”

“You really want to give this to me?” Shi Mei looked up with a smile.

“If you like it, keep it, I told you. What’s mine is yours.”

Shi Mei laughed. “Borrowing flowers from others to worship the Buddha – aren’t you worried that
our teacher will be upset with you?”

“What?” Mo Ran frowned. “What do you mean? What does our teacher have to do with anything?”

“Well, look at it,” Shi Mei said, face unreadable. “Such a big crabapple blossom. When did he give
you his handkerchief?”

------

“It’s what?” Mo Ran blinked, and then blushed bright red. “No, no, no,” he said. “That’s not mine.
Where’s mine?” He stared at the handkerchief and its accusing crabapple blossom in a panic,
unable to remember where it had come from. “Aha!”

“What,” Shi Mei said.

“I remembered!” Mo Ran took it back with a smile. “Sorry, this one isn’t mine and I can’t give it to
you. But it’s not our teacher’s either, okay, not everything with a crabapple on it is his. It’s Terri
Fying’s.”

Shi Mei looked thoughtful. “Really?” he said.

“Yeah, since we’ve spent the last few days together, I think I grabbed the wrong one from the
drying rack. How embarrassing.”

“No big deal,” Shi Mei said, smiling gently. “It’s getting late. We should go get him.”

It didn’t take long for Shi Mei to start falling behind, but Mo Ran didn’t notice until he stumbled
on a rock and nearly fell. Mo Ran finally noticed how pale he looked. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Shi Mei said, and then took a deep breath. “I didn’t eat much for lunch,” he amended.
“I’m just a little light-headed. A bit of rest will fix it.”

The more Shi Mei tried to reassure him, the more Mo Ran worried. He knew Shi Mei wasn’t
skilled at light footwork, and that meant it was difficult for him to collect the feathers he needed to
pay for everything from food to clothing. He’d given Shi Mei half his feathers before the test, but
he’d been locked up and unable to collect them and Mo Ran knew Xue Meng wouldn’t have
thought to look after Shi Mei. “You used to skip lunch all the time, but it didn’t make you look like
this. Tell me the truth, when was the last time you ate?”

Shi Mei looked down and to the side instead of answering.

“Okay, come on.” Mo Ran grabbed his wrist and dragged him in the opposite direction. “We’re
going to feed you before we do anything else. Why didn’t you take care of yourself while I was
gone? You always do this! You look after everyone but you!”

“Ran,” Shi Mei said, but Mo Ran ignored him all the way to a tavern.

The establishment was part of the attack division area, which Shi Mei as part of the healing
division would not normally have been allowed to enter without a token. Following the incident
with Eighteen, the feathered tribe had chosen to open all areas to all people and allow for the
greatest possible freedom of movement to alleviate public anxiety. “Order something,” Mo Ran
said once they go inside.

“Anything is fine,” Shi Mei said. “I’m sorry. I wanted to help, but I ended up being a burden
instead.”

“You never have to apologize to me,” Mo Ran said, and flicked his beloved’s forehead. “Order
whatever you want. I’ll pay for it and you take as much time as you need to eat.”

“What about you?”

“I have to collect Terri Fying. There’s a guard at the cave, but the real killer is still on the loose.”

Shi Mei’s eyes darkened. “Just two buns, then. I’ll eat them on the way.”

A birdlike chitter of feminine voices conveniently interrupted Mo Ran’s insistence that Shi Mei sit
and eat a proper meal. The two looked up to see a group of female cultivators in full makeup
entering the building. “I have a question,” the lady at the front asked. “Has the banquet room been
reserved for tonight?”

“Indeed it has.”

The tavern’s proprietor was all smiles, but Mo Ran knew it was that pervert’s doing. The feathered
tribe had figured out quite quickly that he liked wine and song, and held a party every night. He
was invariably accompanied by no less than a dozen laughing ladies. The group Mo Ran watched
were thrilled and immediately began to check their hair and makeup with each other.

“Buns it is, then,” Mo Ran said, eager to leave before the man actually showed up. “Let’s get out
of here before you get eaten alive by these carnivores.”

Shi Mei laughed at Mo Ran’s indignant expression. As luck would have it, the tavern specialized in
huge, juicy meat buns. An order of ten went with them out the door, and Mo Ran finally felt he
could relax a little as he watched his beloved devour the first delicious meat bun. Unfortunately for
both Mo Ran and Shi Mei, a weak stomach combined with a prolonged period of hunger was more
than Shi Mei’s delicate innards could handle.

Forced to choose between collecting Terri Fying and carrying a pain-wracked Shi Mei back to
DewSip Pavilion, as the feathered tribe guards trailing Mo Ran could not assist in any way, Mo
Ran could only do one thing. Having left the groaning Shi Mei on the bed he’d just made, he
rushed back to find a doctor. After administering the medication and helping Shi Mei drink some
water, Mo Ran buried his face in his hands. “Does it still hurt?”

“It’s okay,” Shi Mei said quietly, voice weak. Mo Ran reached out and rubbed his stomach gently
through the quilt, and Shi Mei fell asleep under his careful ministrations. When his breathing had
evened out completely, Mo Ran stood to leave. His hand was caught before he straightened his
legs. “Don’t go,” Shi Mei said, apparently in his sleep.

Mo Ran’s purple-tinged eyes widened. Shi Mei never asked for anything; only asleep were his
defenses low enough to express a wish for himself. Mo Ran sat back down, gazing at his beloved’s
face as peach blossom petals drifted lazily across the darkening sky. Mo Ran didn’t remember he’d
told Terri Fying he would be back for dinner until it was midnight.

Shi Mei was conveniently deeply asleep and didn’t protest as Mo Ran jumped to his feet with a
loud yell. “Oh, no! No, no, no!” Mo Ran dashed outside, preparing to rush toward the caves, but
Elder Xuanji descended from above with Terri Fying in his arms. The little disciple held a clay jar.
“Sir!” Mo Ran exclaimed.

“What happened?” Elder Xuanji asked reproachfully. “You were going to pick him up. If I hadn’t
been concerned and gone to check myself, he would have been in that detention cave until dawn.”

“I made a mistake,” Mo Ran said, lowering his head. He snuck a peek through his lashes at Terri
Fying. “Little brother.”

Still holding the clay jar, Terri Fying squirmed to be let down and they bid Elder Xuanji goodbye.
“Have you eaten?” the child asked Mo Ran.

“No,” Mo Ran said, having entirely ignored the perfectly good meat buns Shi Mei hadn’t eaten.

“It’s still warm,” Terri Fying said, handing him the jar.

Mo Ran pulled him into a hug before he knew what he was doing, jar pressed between them.
“Okay,” he said. The soup jar was wrapped in Terri Fying’s outer robe to keep it warm for Mo
Ran, and the child himself felt a little cold. Mo Ran pressed his forehead to Terri Fying’s. “It was
my fault,” he said. “I’m sorry.” Mo Ran had never spoke those two words, not in either lifetime.

Inside the house, Mo Ran decided the outer robe was too wrinkled for his disciple to put back on,
and that a blanket was more appropriate. While he was searching for it, Chu Wanning climbed
onto the bench to search for soup bowls. He found the meat buns instead. Frowning, he climbed
back off the bench and walked to the bedroom door to stare blankly at Shi Mei’s beautiful, sleeping
face. His heart froze into a solid block of ice.

Terri Fying was sitting at the table when Mo Ran returned, one foot on the bench and an arm
propped on the windowsill. Mo Ran handed him the fox-fur blanket he’d found. “It’s cold at
night,” he said, but the boy ignored him. Mo Ran frowned. “You don’t like it?” The boy closed his
eyes, as if resting. “I’ll find you another one, then,” Mo Ran said with a smile, and ruffled the
child’s hair. Turning to go search again, he noticed that the clay jar of soup was gone. “Hey,
where’s my soup?”

“It’s mine,” Terri Fying said coldly. “Not yours.”

“Okay, where’s your soup?” Mo Ran said, assuming that the usually mature and reasonable boy
was throwing a childish tantrum.

“I threw it out.”
“Out?” Mo Ran said faintly, and Terri Fying got up and went to the door. “What? No, hey, what?”
Mo Ran forgot about the blanket; he couldn’t let the boy leave when there was a killer on the
loose. “It’s not safe,” he said, and ran after him.

The soup jar was under the peach tree, and Mo Ran sighed in relief. He was sure he was to blame
somehow; Terri Fying was surely upset with him for something and this was his way of expressing
it without actually telling Mo Ran what had angered him. He walked over to the peach tree and sat
down next to the little disciple, who was holding the jar.

Terri Fying ignored Mo Ran, opening his jar and trying to reach inside with a spoon bigger than
the opening of the jar. Mo Ran hadn’t given him the spoon; he didn’t know where it had come
from. Terri Fying pitched the spoon away in anger, and it shattered when it hit the ground. He
stared at it in confusion.

“Just drink out of the jar,” Mo Ran said. “There’s no one but me here, to see, no need to be
embarrassed.” The feathered tribe guards who were supposed to restrict them to the house were
nowhere to be seen. “No?” Mo Ran said when the child continued to glare at the jar. “I’m going to
drink if you don’t, since it’s the first time you cooked for me.” He reached for the jar, grinning.

Terri Fying slapped his hand away. “Get lost.”

“What?” Mo Ran blinked, and then his grin returned at full wattage. “I was wrong,” he said.
“Please don’t be made at me. Shi Mei got sick, and I had to take care of him. I didn’t mean to keep
you waiting.” Terri Fying hugged the jar and didn’t answer. “No, seriously, I was busy the whole
time and I haven’t eaten. I’m starving.” Mo Ran pulled on the child’s sleeve piteously. “Please
give me some soup.”

Terri Fying put the jar down. He lifted his head and tilted it to the side. “Take some,” he muttered.

“Thanks!” Mo Ran grinned harder. The jar was stuffed full of meat, and Mo Ran stared at it for a
moment. “Are you sure this is soup? It looks more like stew. You’re so generous.” Breaking off
two small branches from the peach tree, Mo Ran carved them into chopsticks with a burst of qi and
dug into the food his disciple had worked so hard to make. “It’s delicious!” he exclaimed through a
full mouth. “It’s so good. You’re so good at this.”

The soup was too salty in addition to being unpalatable, but Mo Ran ate with gusto. He ate most of
the chicken as Terri Fying ignored him, and finally drank the broth. It was so salty that it was
bitter, but he swallowed without making a face. He scooped up another drumstick and was about to
eat it before it occurred to him that chickens only had two legs.

“Hey,” Mo Ran said, looking from the drumstick hanging from his chopsticks to the bone of the
drumstick he’d already eaten. “Wait a minute,” he said. You didn’t eat either? You were waiting
for me this whole time? Did all of the broth evaporate out of the jar because it took so long? And I
just thought you were bad at cooking and reduced it too much? He couldn’t say any of it out loud,
and he hadn’t realized until far too late that he’d eaten Terri Fying’s dinner as well as his own.

that cooling liquid would evaporate out of a closed jar in the cold is the most ridiculously
contrived thing that happened so far to create misunderstandings that clearly are no one’s
fault, I did not think the parade of conveniently timed interruptions could be topped but here
we are, peak hilarity, excellent skewering of profoundly stupid contrivances used to prolong
drama

“You said you would be back for dinner,” Terri Fying said calmly. “So I waited. If you don’t
intend to keep your promises, at least tell me so I’m not waiting like an idiot.” Mo Ran couldn’t say
anything. “Just tell me that you’re going to keep Shi Me- Shi Mingjing company instead. Would
that have been so hard?” He kept going. “You took my jar and didn’t bother to ask me if I’d eaten.
Would that have been so hard? You could have looked to see how many drumsticks were in the
jar, but you didn’t.” Mo Ran almost laughed out loud at how ludicrous the last complaint sounded,
but the sight of tears on the child’s face froze his dimples.

Chu Wanning knew he wouldn’t have cried as an adult, but the sap had affected his self-control
and his temperament. he became childish when tired or overexerted. It was a hidden quality of the
sap that couldn’t be detected by taking his pulse.

ah, yes, monitoring an individual’s heart rate and intensity can create a detailed map of their
psychological and physical condition, all you need to do to perform a complete head to toe
assessment of mental, physical, and spiritual strength is touch the wrist, it’s AMAZING

“I’m only human,” Chu Wanning sobbed. “I get sad and hungry too.” His shoulders shook
uncontrollably although he exerted iron self-control as tears spilled over his cheeks. He had
endured so much pain silently for so long, no one had ever loved him or kept him company
because no one had cared enough to show him they loved him as he actively drove them away and
did everything he could to make sure that no one would want to spend time with him and it had
hurt him so much but he had pretended that he didn’t mind. He never betrayed the misery of no
one caring enough to see that his anger and abuse were his way of telling others that he really
wanted love and attention but couldn’t bear the shame of admitting that he wanted such shameful
things.

Chu Wanning was above the reverent crowd, lofty and composed, pretending he was better than
everyone else because he didn’t need human connection. But with his mind tinged by childish
thoughts, he broke down and admitted that he had actively lied to himself and everyone else.

Mo Ran was moved by the child’s heart-wrenching tears, and reached out to offer him the love and
affection that Chu Wanning desperately wanted. Chu Wanning slapped his hand away. “Don’t
touch me.” He wiped his tears away, determined to save face and reject the offer of exactly what he
wanted, because needing something made him weak. “I’m going to bed. You can keep your
beloved company. Stay away from me.”

The door to the other bedroom slammed shut. Mo Ran had planned on letting Shi Mei sleep in one
bedroom alone while he slept in the other with Terri Fying, but the child had locked the door. Mo
Ran couldn’t flirt with Shi Mei after he’d made Terri Fying cry, and he certainly couldn’t crawl
into bed with him, so he wandered around the courtyard instead, clutching the clay jar of soup. He
cursed himself for his idiocy and eventually lay down on the ground outside, staring at the sky.

Blurry images flashed through Mo Ran’s mind as he grew drowsy; the little disciple, Shi Mei, his
teacher, Xue Meng, the false Gouchen and the unknown killer, and even Chu Xun and his son. A
sense that something was wrong seeped through his consciousness, but it was so faint that it
disappeared before he properly registered it. Peach blossoms drifted down, one landing in his hand.
He held it up to the moonlight, remembering the crabapple blossoms that had fallen from the sky
when he had died.

“I’m in love with Shi Mei,” Mo Ran said softly, but he had chosen to bury himself under the
crabapple tree where he had met Chu Wanning. He was afraid of his past self, after having been
reborn, and what he had done. The more time he spent as a teenager, the less he understood why
his adult self had been so cruel. Why had he slaughtered cities and oppressed the weak, raped and
killed his master? He tossed the peach blossom away, laying a hand across his forehead and
closing his eyes.
Terri Fying had said he was only human, and it reminded Mo Ran of Chu Wanning saying the
same thing. His teacher appeared before his mind’s eye, dressed in white, but then the robes bled
into the crimson wedding robes he’d worn during the ghost mistress’s illusion. Sorrow weighed
down his chest, and he felt as though the regret would burst out. Cold sweat covered his face. “I’m
sorry,” he said, not knowing to whom he was apologizing.

Shi Mei woke in the bedroom and padded over to the window. He saw Mo Ran lying under the tree
with his arm around the clay jar. From the window, he couldn’t tell what Mo Ran was thinking. He
didn’t turn on the light.

The following morning, Mo Ran wrinkled his nose and breathed in the fresh air. He stretched
lazily, but a shriek shattered the peaceful air before he finished. His eyes flew open and he jumped
to his feet. The sight before him was stunning – fifteen guards had surrounded Campsis Pavilion
when he’d gone to sleep, and every one of them was hanged by the neck with a scarlet, glowing
willow vine. Each of them dangled among the grove of peach blossoms, crimson sleeves drifting in
the breeze, faces uncannily beautiful after they had been strangled to death.

The scream had come from the maid coming to deliver breakfast, and she trembled in fright.
Congee and pastries littered the ground in front of her, and she shook even more violently when she
saw Mo Ran standing in the courtyard. She reached behind her back, and Mo Ran started forward.

“No, wait,” he said, but it was too late. The maid had activated the Seal of Imminent Crisis, which
urgently summoned the entire feathered tribe. The tribe’s members sprouted fiery wings descended
upon the housemen masse, stunned by the sight before them. A moment’s silence was soon
interrupted by shocked screams and wails, drawing cultivators from every area as well. Shock and
suspicion driven by anger and grief saturated the air.

“You murderer!” someone called. “Lunatic!” screamed someone else, and the crowd’s mood
turned even uglier. It only took a few moments for someone to start screaming for him to be killed.

Mo Ran couldn’t have defended himself had he been blessed with a hundred silver tongues, and he
only had a mouth made of clay. “It wasn’t me,” he said dumbly. “Why would I wait here to get
caught?”

“Then why are they all dead and you’re still alive?” someone hissed. “Deceitful! Treacherous! The
killer is someone related to you, even if it isn’t you!” The calls for his blood got even louder, and
Mo Ran could barely stop himself from laughing out of pure ironic fury.

In the past, Mo Ran had slaughtered thousands, and yet no one had dared to speak to him in this
manner. It was ludicrous to be so accused when he was legitimately innocent, he thought, and
closed his eyes to prepare to speak. His words were conveniently interrupted by the Elder Immortal
descending lightly from the sky.

The near-goddess scanned the grounds coldly, expression dark. “Mo Weiyu,” she said.

“Elder Immortal.”

The Elder Immortal paced over to one of the corpses and lifted the vine wrapped around its neck.
“Show me your holy weapon,” she said.

Mo Ran sighed. Many people had seen What The Hell while he was training, and more had caught
a glimpse of it when Eighteen had died, which didn’t matter because either he pulled it out so it
could implicate him in the murders or he refused so that an impression of a guilty conscience could
implicate him in the murders. “Feel free to look, Elder Immortal.”
What The Hell’s scarlet blaze appeared in his palm.

------

The crowd’s mood turned uglier as they saw the similarities between What The Hell and the vines
wrapped around the necks of the murdered women. Elder Immortal pressed a hand to her temple.
“Mo Weiyu,” she said coldly. “I will ask you again. Did you kill them?”

“I did not.”

“Very well,” Elder Immortal said. “Seize him.”

Having woken, bathed, and gotten dressed without hearing any noise from outside, Shi Mei walked
out the door to see Mo Ran restrained by over a dozen members of the feathered tribe. His hands
were tied with immortal binding rope and he was bound by magic. The color drained out of Shi
Mei’s face as he hurried to Mo Ran’s side. “What happened? What are you doing?”

No one answered, but the corpses swaying eerily between the peach blossoms caught Shi Mei’s
gaze. “Don’t panic,” Mo Ran told him. “Go get my uncle and Elder Xuanji.”

Emotions were running high enough that Mo Ran didn’t feel safe in assuming that the feathered
tribe would accommodate due process, and he didn’t think he could defeat them with his current
level of cultivation. Shi Mei nodded and left, and Mo Ran faced the mob alone. Their faces were
twisted with rage, and the nearest one to him spit at him.

“You killed so many people and yet you dare call for help?” she hissed. A ball of flame gathered in
her palm and hurtled toward Mo Ran. He barely dodged it, seeing it snap a tree trunk in half as it
sped past. The peach tree collapsed, flowers scattering across the ground. Mo Ran regarded his
attacker.

“I told you, I didn’t kill them. The truth pills will arrive in ten days. Surely you can wait that long
for your revenge.”

“How many more people will be dead by then?” the member roared furiously. “Give their lives
back!” She launched herself at Mo Ran, and once again Mo Ran barely dodged.

The Elder Immortal only stood to the side, watching, and Mo Ran felt fury of his own. “Hey!” he
squawked. “You old bird! Control your people!” She simply stared. “Fucker. You actively want
me to get burned to death? If I’d known you shitty birds couldn’t tell right from wrong, I wouldn’t
have come to this ass end of nowhere to begin with!”

A twitch of the Elder Immortal’s lips was followed her sleeve moving in a sweeping flourish to
slap Mo Ran across the face. Human in appearance though they were, Mo Ran knew that they
didn’t think the same way – the head of even a small martial sect wouldn’t leap to conclusions
without evidence, but the feathered tribe was half-beast. Their blood, he knew, was beast-like in
nature, and he watched her hair turn from black to bright scarlet and steam seeped from each
strand.

The only group run by women and they are described as animalistic and implied to be less
than human, wow, great representation for women here

“Watch your mouth!” the Elder Immortal hissed. “Who is your master, to produce such an uncouth
disciple?”

The rest of the feathered tribe began to close in on Mo Ran, shrieking murder written in their
scarlet eyes. An arrow of flame streaked directly for Mo Ran’s heart, and he began to dodge while
brandishing his holy weapon. The arrow had been a distraction, he discovered, as another member
rushed toward his back with her sword drawn. The half-beasts meant to kill him here and now, Mo
Ran thought, and steeled himself.

wasn’t he restrained with magic AND his hands were tied? More inconsistency AHOY

Calling to mind how his teacher had wielded Heavenly Questions, Mo Ran flicked his wrist. What
He Hell pulled taut and whirled into a blur to create a massive vortex. It pulled everything in its
path, air included, and shredded it until nothing remained – Mo Ran had instantaneously mastered
one of Chu Wanning’s ultimate techniques, Wind. The feathered tribe screamed in terror as the
member trying to skewer Mo Ran lost her sword and was pulled to the edge of the blood-red storm

“Let me go, you lunatic!” she screamed, unable to break free.

The Elder Immortal flew into a rage at seeing her people directly threatened. Her red robes
fluttered as she rose into the air, a brilliant red crystal materializing in her hand. A frenzied gale
arose around the whirling maelstrom, flattening trees and grass, as the image of a phoenix appeared
behind her. Her face twisted around her unsettlingly deep red eyes. “Still not standing down?”

“Yeah, if I stop, you’re just going to kill me. You first.”

The phoenix cast its massive shadow over Mo Ran as the Elder Immortal rose higher in the air.
“You have no right to make demands of me!” The phoenix dove toward Mo Ran, only to be met
with golden light. The force of the collision sent shockwaves through the air and knocked the
weaker members of the mob to the ground, even tossing some several feet away. When the dust
settled, a familiar figure stood blocking the air in front of Mo Ran.

White robes with sleeves billowing in the wind enclosed the cold, composed form of Mo Ran’s
teacher. His phoenix eyes swept over Mo Ran’s kneeling form, and when he spoke, his voice was
cold and deep. “Are you hurt?” Mo Ran drank in the sound like clear water on a hot summer’s day,
eyes wide and jaw on the floor. Chu Wanning turned back to the Elder Immortal. “You were
asking for me?” His incredibly qi slowly dissipated as he descended. “Sisheng Peak’s Chu
Wanning answers,” he said coldly.

“You what?”

“I said, I am his master,” Chu Wanning said impatiently, having no desire to entertain the bird
people’s lack of comprehension of courtesy. “I don’t remember giving you permission to discipline
my disciple.”

Black blood seeped from the wounds Chu Wanning had inflicted on the Elder Immortal as he had
shattered the phoenix. Her expression soured still further as he spoke. “How dare you!” she hissed.
“A mere mortal! Who allowed you to enter my domain?” Almost crazed, she continued to
harangue him. “You conceited –“

Heavenly Questions lashed her across the face, spilling blood.

“Go on,” Chu Wanning said, smiling coldly. He smoothed the sleeve that had been displaced by
his movement, and grabbed Mo Ran by the collar. He pulled him effortlessly to his feet, gaze fixed
on the Elder Immortal. “Conceited, you were saying?”

“How dare you?”

“How wouldn’t I dare,” Chu Wanning returned, unimpressed. “Should I be afraid?” He paused.
“This one is mine, and I will be taking him.”

Having barely recovered from his shock at his teacher’s deus ex machine-esque appearance, Mo
Ran was staggered anew at being claimed. “Sir,” he said.

“Shut up.” Mo Ran could see the anger simmering in his teacher’s eyes despite his impassive face.
“You’re nothing but trouble.” Chu Wanning slapped him upside the head, and then bounded into
the air with Mo Ran in tow. He covered several dozen feet in a single leap, and Mo Ran saw the
barren outskirts of Peach Blossom Springs almost instantly.

“Sir!” he exclaimed. “The other disciple is still there.”

“Terri Fying?” Chu Wanning said with a cold grunt.

“We have to save him,” Mo Ran babbled. “He’s still there.”

“I sent him to Elder Xuanji with a spell,” Chu Wanning said.

Mo Ran sighed in relief. “Sir, why are you here?” he asked.

The commotion outside had woken Chu Wanning, and he had taken one of the temporary aging
pills. He could hardly explain himself to his disciple. “Why shouldn’t I be?” he asked coldly. He
materialized a golden crabapple bud on the tip of a finger and chanted a spell. The bud blossomed
resplendently in a flourish of light, and Chu Wanning flicked his slender fingertip. “Seek.”

The flower disappeared into the forest as Mo Ran watched. “What spell was that, sir?”

“Flower Toss,” Chu Wanning said expressionlessly. “It didn’t have a name,” he added. “So I just
gave it one.”

Mo Ran couldn’t tell if his teacher was joking or just incredibly lazy.

“I already know what happened,” Chu Wanning said. His voice was deep and cold as jade in a
stream. “The perpetrator is likely the same as the person behind the incident at Jincheng Lake.
Zhenlong Chess Formation was used here, as well.”

Mo Ran was stunned; he had already checked for signs of the forbidden technique, namely the
stench of blood accompanied by unfounded yet intense resentful energy. The puppet master would
have had to have been exceedingly skilled at the technique to hide its use so perfectly. “Wouldn’t
the feathered tribe have noticed?” he ventured, as the feathered tribe was half-demon.

Chu Wanning shook his head. “The puppet master was able to control the ancient spiritual beasts
at the lake. While they weren’t even close to holy beasts in terms of strength, they were the
equivalent of half-immortals. He is likely doing the same thing now.”

------

The crabapple flower equipped with a tracking spell scouted Peach Blossom Springs and sent a
golden amulet to Chu Wanning mere moments later. “The Ancestral Abyss?”

The Ancestral Abyss, where feathers were plucked daily from angry owls, was filled with roaring
flames. Anyone other than the angry owls would be melted into nothing if so unlucky as to fall in.
Chu Wanning set a concealment barrier to avoid detection, and they arrived at the Ancestral
Abyss. An eerie red light shone from below, thousands of owls perched slumbering along the walls
of the steep cliffs. They were packed so densely that they resembled countless dots on the cliffside.
If the Zhenlong Chess Formation was indeed set up within the abyss, Chu Wanning had explained,
then the story about fierce flames was pure fiction. “But how can we be sure that the fire down
there isn’t actually dangerous?” Mo Ran stared at the eerie light down below. “Looks real enough
to me.”

“Throw something in first.”

“How about a rabbit.”

“No need.” Chu Wanning leapt up with a flutter of his pristine robes and disappeared into nearby
peach trees, returning a moment later with a blooming branch in hand. Mo Ran understood – peach
blossoms were fragile and would indicate safety if they remained unburnt. Chu Wanning ran a
finger lightly down the branch as he mouthed a spell and pointed toward the abyss. It floated
gently down, limned in blue light; one foot, ten feet, a hundred.

The light faded as the branch fell out of sight, but Chu Wanning could still sense its condition
through the spell. “The flowers are fine,” he said finally, opening his eyes. “Let’s go.”

Mo Ran immediately leaped into the Ancestral Abyss alongside him, both nimbly arriving at the
bottom with ease. The scene sent a shiver running down his spine, despite his attempts to mentally
prepare himself, as he saw the source of the eerie red light. Thousands of crosses covered at the
bottom of the abyss, a naked and blood-drenched member of the feathered tribe tied to each one.
Lingchi fruit had been stuffed into each of their mouths, the fruit emitting the piercing red light
visible from above.

Chu Wanning was horrified; being well-learned, he knew of this forbidden fruit. Putting it into the
mouth of a person on the verge of dying would extend their last moment into three hundred and
sixty five days, forcing them to endure slow death instead. It was one of the worst torments he
could imagine.

The dense throng of the feathered tribe’s living dead were being used as pillars to contain the
resentful energy of the Zhenlong Chess Formation, Mo Ran realized, and before he could stop
himself, he murmured the name of the technique aloud. “Soul Locking Array.”

Thoughts tumbled quickly one after the other – Mo Ran shuddered as he wondered if Jincheng
Lake’s puppet master was truly the same person working at Peach Blossom Springs. The puppet
master at the lake had seemed unskilled in the forbidden techniques, but the facsimiles of the
feathered tribe that had been training them for months were nearly indistinguishable from their
living counterparts. They had even been capable of using the feathered tribe’s unique magic, and
only their lack of emotional maturity had seemed odd.

As Mo Ran considered whether the puppet master could have learned to use the forbidden
techniques so quickly, Chu Wanning walked to the crystal pillar at the center of the array. It, too,
held a feathered tribe member, but this one had long since died, the fruit withered in her mouth.
Her yellow robes embroidered with golden thread marked her as the real Elder Immortal, and Mo
Ran looked to see the star-shaped mark between her brows confirming his guess.

“Correct,” Chu Wanning said, and Mo Ran realized he’d spoken aloud. “There are eight hundred in
the array, if not a thousand. She wouldn’t have tolerated this if she were alive.” He paused. “I
thought she seemed weaker than the ghost mistress at Butterfly Town earlier, but this explains
why. All of them are nothing more than walking corpses.”

Mo Ran was shocked that Chu Wanning had reached the same conclusions that he had, and he
turned to leave without thinking. His teacher blocked his path. “Where do you think you’re
going?”

“I have to tell Uncle Xue and the other cultivators. It’s far too dangerous to stay here.”

“Stop and think,” Chu Wanning said. “We’re out in the open, and our enemy is hidden in the
shadows. There are many cultivators here, and we don’t know who might be pulling the strings. If
we act rashly, we’ll make it worse.”

“Ha,” Mo Ran said. “Nice to see Grandmaster Chu is still so cautious.”

A small giggle came from above, and their heads snapped up to see a mangled child of the
feathered tribe sitting on a branch sticking out from the cliffside, kicking his legs. The dead child
tilted his head, eyeballs soaked in bloody tears rolling around in their sockets, and grinned brightly.

“Zhenlong Chess Formation!”

Chu Wanning cursed under his breath. “Another white chess piece.”

“That’s right, another white chess piece.” The child clapped gleefully. “What, did you think I
would come here personally? I’m not dumb.”

“So you’re the one from Jincheng Lake! What do you want, you madman?”

“Who do you think you are, you no-name sproutling, you aren’t even fit to speak to me. Tell your
master to do the asking himself.”

Chu Wanning reached out to hold Mo Ran back without lifting his gaze from the dead child. “What
is your purpose?” he asked coldly.

The child continued kicking his legs, movements stilted like a puppet on a string. “Nothing,
really.”

“Then why do you keep fucking with my disciple?” Chu Wanning asked even more coldly.

“It’s not a great plan, but I do need his spiritual core.” The child beamed. “He can only blame
himself for the quality of his core. It’s even better than yours. Which I’d want, being that it’s such
a superb wood elemental spiritual element, except that his is better.”

“I’ll destroy my fucking core myself if you ever catch me,” Mo Ran snapped. “Don’t even think
about touching me!”

“I don’t want to touch you,” the child crooned sweetly. “I just need your core. If I were to touch
someone, it would be your teacher. He’s so much prettier than you.”

“You think you have the right, you ugly bastard, hiding behind your white chess pieces?”

The child rolled his eyes at Mo Ran’s outburst and turned back to Chu Wanning. “Grandmaster
Chu, back at Jincheng Lake, I advised you to leave things alone. You just don’t listen. I’m so
hurt.”

“Even if you stop targeting my disciple, I’m still coming after you.”

“I thought you might.” The child was silent for a moment, and grinned again. “Why are you
righteous types all so stubborn? Well, since Grandmaster Chu here refuses to let it go, we’ll just
have to wait and see. I guess it’ll be fun to figure out whether your Heavenly Questions is stronger
than my forbidden techniques.”
“Must you slaughter so many innocents for your ends?” Chu Wanning asked darkly.

“The people of the world are like the oranges from HuaiNan.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sour.” The child started giggling. “Super sour. All these worthless people are sour, I hate them
and want to crush them.”

“You are truly irredeemable,” Chu Wanning said murderously.

“Grandmaster, you think I’m irredeemable, but you’re just as bad. Why sweat the details.” The
child tilted his head to and fro. “Just think of our little spat as a game of chess. You won the match
at Jincheng Lake, and since I haven’t quite gotten my hands on your little disciple, let’s just say
you won this one too.” He paused. “But you better watch out. You may have protected him this
time, but I wonder if you can protect him his whole life. And as for the secret down here, I suggest
you keep it to yourselves.” The child rolled a red and gold feather between his fingers.

“The golden feathers used as currency in the Peach Blossom Springs?” Mo Ran said, alarmed.

“That’s right. These feathers are everywhere by now. If you keep quiet and leave, then nothing
will happen. But if you try to reveal me, these feathers with the resentful energy of the feathered
tribe won’t kill but they can dissipate the better part of everyone’s cultivation.”

“You planned this from the start?!” Mo Ran said angrily.

“Of course.” The child was incredulous. “Did you think everyone was a dumb brute like you?”

Mo Ran was furious; he knew he wasn’t a particularly good strategist, but having the puppet
master call him out so overtly made him want to summon his holy weapon and beat him like the
dumb brute he supposedly was.

“Grandmaster Chu,” the child continued, as if Mo Ran wasn’t trying to murder him with his eyes,
“no one will thank you for your attention to duty, if their cultivation is severely damaged.”

“I wasn’t planning to worry them,” Chu Wanning replied coldly. “Which you know, since you
were eavesdropping.”

“Don’t tell them later, either,” the child warned, smiling widely. “I’ll destroy Peach Blossom
Spring the same way I did Jincheng Lake, and there will be no evidence to support your story.”

“You calling Mo Ran a dumb brute is the pot calling the kettle black,” Chu Wanning said icily.

The child burst into flame, twirling in place. “Save some of that for when you catch me,
Grandmaster,” he said. “Out of respect for you, I’ll warn you to stay out of this one last time.” The
body disintegrated, and a white chess piece fell from the sky.

“Sir,” Mo Ran said after a moment, “we’re not really going to just do as he says, are we?” He knew
the puppet master wouldn’t spout empty threats, but he couldn’t bear the thought of following his
directions.

“Best not to take any chances for now. Let’s leave the Peach Blossom Springs first.” Chu
Wanning’s expression was dark. “Since he went to the trouble of putting down a Soul Locking
Array, he still wants to keep things quiet. I will send word to the Sect Leader to take Xue Meng and
Shi Mei and leave as soon as possible without alarming the enemy.” Chu Wanning paused. “He
was after you, both times. This time around, he planned to frame you with the hopes of isolating
you from help. You should stay out of this matter. The Sect Leader can step in and take care of it.”

“What should I do, then?” Mo Ran asked. “It wouldn’t be right to let others protect me while I sit
on my hands and do nothing.”

“What are you trying to prove? It’s obvious what he’s after – he lost the holy tree and he’s looking
for a replacement. Your spiritual essence is suitable, but if he can’t get to you, he’ll look for
something else.” Chu Wanning paused. “Once he finds it, there will be another massacre. He must
be stopped.”

“That’s not wrong, but, sir, it’s not like spiritual essences are easy to find. If he wants to find a
substitute, he’d, uh.” Mo Ran stopped talking and stared at Chu Wanning before continuing, “If
that little bastard wants to find other spiritual essences, he’ll have to check sect by sect. But
cultivators don’t release their spiritual foundation without cause. The simplest way to test for the
essence is to sell weapons and refinement crystals that use qi so it’s not suspicious that he’s
checking compatibilities. If we just keep watch on the weapon markets, we’ll have a pretty good
chance of sniffing him out.” He noticed Chu Wanning looking at him thoughtfully. “I think?” he
added.

“It’s a good guess,” Chu Wanning said slowly, and narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Mo Ran. Is
there something you’re not telling me?”

“What could I possibly be hiding?” Mo Ran said, but the hairs on his back were standing on end.
He felt as if Chu Wanning’s eyes, clear as glass, were staring right through his reborn body at the
soul cowering within.

A moment passed in silence before Chu Wanning turned away. “You will go with me to covertly
investigate the major sects. We will not be returning to Sisheng Peak for the time being.”
 Book 1, Part 6: Different Paths - The Auction

After leaving Peach Blossom Springs, it proved markedly difficult to gather information for when
each sect’s weapons market was open. Several days of rapid travel with very little rest saw the two
cultivators staying the night at a small town inn, and Mo Ran had retired early to sleep. Chu
Wanning sat at the table, contemplating the porcelain bottle in his hand. It held over thirty pills,
warm and golden in the candle light.

Fortunately for Chu Wanning’s ability to keep his secret, Elder Xuanji had brought it with him.
“It’s new medicine from Elder Tanlang,” he’d told Chu Wanning at the cave. “Each pill will let
you regain your adult form for seven days.”

“Send Tanlang my thanks.”

“Oh, he doesn’t need them,” Xuanji had said, smiling. “He’s curious about your condition, and
he’s enjoyed putting these together. He did say to let you know that intense emotions might cause
the pills to stop working, by the way.”

Caught up in his thoughts, Chu Wanning heard a knock on the door. He tucked the bottle away and
extinguished the incense before calling, “Come in.”

Mo Ran, wearing a thin bathrobe and squeezing water out of his long hair, walked into the room.
Chu Wanning cleared his throat, keeping his face neutral with an effort. “I don’t like my room,”
Mo Ran whined. “Can I sleep on your floor?”

“What’s wrong with it?” Chu Wanning asked, perfectly aware that his student had an ulterior
motive.

“It’s just no good,” Mo Ran mumbled. He glanced at Chu Wanning through his lashes. “The walls
are too thin.”

Chu Wanning was too noble, chaste, and naïve to catch his meaning. He pulled on his outer robe
and went to investigate. Mo Ran followed. “It’s a little bare, but not intolerable.” Chu Wanning
glared at him. “Why are you so spoiled?”

A crashing noise came from the next room over, and Mo Ran grabbed his teacher’s sleeve before
the noises became more explicit. “Sir, we should, uh. Go.”

Chu Wanning furrowed his brow. “Really, Mo Ran, I don’t see what the problem is.”

Mo Ran opened his mouth to avert the inevitable awkwardness, but coquettish giggles drifted
through the walls, followed by explicitly dirty talk. The walls were thin enough that Mo Ran could
even hear the couple’s clothes rustling below the woman’s moans. He glanced at his teacher,
finding to his incredulity that it still took several moments for him to realize what was going on.

“How shameless!” Chu Wanning said, face paling and then flushing. He stormed angrily out of the
room.

Mo Ran couldn’t help laughing, particularly since his teacher’s arms were stiffly swinging out of
synch with each other as he stalked away, but Chu Wanning didn’t notice. It took the privacy of his
room and entire cup of tea to restore his composure. He nodded at his student.

“Such obscenity is detrimental toward cultivation. You may stay here.”

Mo Ran, having been beside himself with shock and joy that his teacher had rushed to his defense
against the zombies of the feathered tribe, had retained those positive feelings. Even his teacher’s
usually impassive face seemed cute rather than obnoxious. He sank to the floor, sitting cross-
legged, and smiled.

“What,” Chu Wanning ground out.

“I haven’t seen you for so long,” Mo Ran said. “I need to make up for lost time.” It occurred to him
that his teacher really did bear a marked resemblance to Terri Fying. Chu Wanning ruined it by
glaring at him.

“Dry your hair instead of staring,” he said. “It’s dripping all over.”

“I forgot the towel,” Mo Ran said, smiling. “Would you mind getting it for me, sir?”

Chu Wanning had taken care of his students when they had been injured in the past, including use
of his qi to warm towels and evaporate water. He looked at Mo Ran’s perfectly healthy self.
“You’re neither sick nor injured,” he grunted coldly. “Why should I?” He glanced at the door, and
waved Mo Ran over. The candle cast its warm light on his student’s handsome face.

It had been nearly a year since Mo Ran’s rebirth, and he had grown several inches taller in the
intervening time. He was gratified to realize that he was nearly as tall as his teacher, which
admittedly made it difficult to have his hair dried. He leaned back and shifted himself lower. At the
side of the bed, Chu Wanning rolled his eyes before tending to his student. Mo Ran yawned
contentedly, closing his eyes and hearing a frog croak outside. “Sir,” he said, after a moment.

“What.”

“Did you know that the feathered tribe’s illusions sent me to Lin’an two hundred years ago? I met
a guy named Chu Xun.”

“Why would I know that,” Chu Wanning said, hands continuing to dry Mo Ran’s hair.

“He looked just like you.” Mo Ran grinned.

“There are plenty of people who look alike,” Chu Wanning said. “Nothing odd there.”

“No, really,” Mo Ran said. “He looked almost exactly like you. I thought maybe he was your
ancestor.”

“It’s possible,” Chu Wanning said. “But it was two hundred years ago, so who can say?”

“He had a son,” Mo Ran continued. “Who looked just like Terri Fying. I think this is more than
just a coincidence. Maybe Terri Fying is related to you.”

“I have no family,” Chu Wanning said.

Mo Ran sighed. He could smell the light, soothing scent of crabapple, and it was relaxing him. It
had calmed him down in his past life, as well, and he leaned into the familiar scent. He
remembered coming home, a sinner, a drenched stray with no home to speak of, and Chu Wanning
was the only person in the echoing, mostly empty Wushan Palace who had been able to bring him
peace. He had made his teacher stroke his hair to calm the madness inside.

With his eyes closed and his teacher drying his hair, Mo Ran felt as if the past was barely distant.
Chu Wanning looked down at his soft, relaxed face, noticing the striking definition of adult beauty
taking form. The deadly freshness and vitality of the young lay over his natural handsomeness like
an attractive haze, and Chu Wanning’s heart sped up. Without knowing why, he said, “Mo Ran.”

Mo Ran absentmindedly mumbled a reply, and as if exhausted, leaned closer and pressed his face
against Chu Wanning’s waist. His heartbeat heightened further, quicker than war drums on a
battlefield. Chu Wanning pressed his lips together and continued to dry Mo Ran’s hair, steaming
away the last droplets of water. He couldn’t bring himself to do anything else. Finally, he set down
the towel. “All done. You can sleep now,” he said softly.

Mo Ran opened his purple-tinged eyes. Finally breaking out of his daze and noticing that he had
automatically leaned into Chu Wanning’s waist, he was startled that he hadn’t been pushed away.
He blinked in astonishment, resembling a surprised dog. Chu Wanning, still uneasy, couldn’t help
smiling at his expression. Mo Ran saw the smile and was even more shocked.

“Sir,” he said. “You smell really nice.” He frowned, as if trying to remember something, and a look
of recognition crossed his face. “Hey, you smell the same as Terri Fying.”

Chu Wanning went rigid, flung the towel at Mo Ran’s head, and threw him off the bed. “I’m tired.
Go away and go to sleep.”

Mo Ran landed on his back, caught completely off guard. He lay on the floor for several moments
before rubbing his nose and turning over to go to sleep.

------

Mo Ran fell asleep quickly, but Chu Wanning’s restless, erratic thoughts kept him tossing and
turning. He finally fell into a fitful slumber, only to find himself kneeling in the snow with his eyes
open. Wind howled around him, and he wondered if he was dreaming. The sky above him was dark
gray, heavy with clouds, and the snow had piled up past his ankles. The thick cloak across his
shoulders couldn’t keep out its wintry bite; it was sky blue and lined with fur, sewn with intricate
patterns in silver thread. It looked familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

Trying to get up, Chu Wanning discovered that his body refused to obey his commands. Snow
covered his shoulders and specks of ice clung to his eyelashes. “Grandmaster Chu,” came the
quavering voice of an elderly person from behind him. “His Majesty won’t see you today. Please,
let’s go back.”

Footsteps crunched through the snow and an umbrella appeared above him. “Thank you, Eunuch
Liu. Please go home first, as you’re getting on in age.”

“Grandmaster,” he heard.

“Go on.” The feeble voice sighed, and Chu Wanning heard the steps retreat before coming back.
The umbrella returned.

“I’ll stay.”

Chu Wanning felt his eyes close. The two of them remained silent, and he tried to figure out what
was going on. Inner palace politics had no place in the cultivation world he knew. He tried to look
at the world around him through his limited gaze, and thought he recognized Sisheng Peak. Many
of the structures were the same, except for being lavishly decorated. The corridors around the
courtyard were draped with lilac veils embroidered with stars. Bells carved into the shape of
dragons dangled from the roofs. Chu Wanning knelt facing the main hall and a row of guards in
unfamiliar uniforms. The sky darkened, but he couldn’t figure out which sect the guards were
from.

A line of maids filed out from the side door to light the standing lamps, each as tall as a person with
nine layers including forty-nine crabapple shaped lamps hanging off slender copper branches.
Candles glowed brightly at the center of the fruit, light scattering on the ground, and the head maid
glared coldly at Chu Wanning. “It’s freezing tonight,” she said. “His majesty and the empress are
indulging in the revelries, and won’t even notice you kneeling here.”

A rush of indignation that a lowly maid would speak to him in such a manner shot through him.
Chu Wanning opened his mouth to scold her, but the words weren’t what he intended. “I did not
mean to interrupt his pleasure, but I have important matters to discuss. Please inform him that I
have come.”

“I’m not your messenger,” the maid sneered. “Who would dare interrupt his majesty and the
empress’s leisure? Perhaps they’ll spare you a glance in the morning.”

“His majesty favors your mistress,” came the quavering voice of the eunuch from behind Chu
Wanning. “But please take some care in how you address my master.”

“Care?” the maid spat. “Who here at Sisheng Peak doesn’t know that His Majesty despises this
man? Why should I respect him? Bold of you, you senile old fool, to lecture me!” She glared at
both of them. “Guards, extinguish the fire basins.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The guards extinguished the fires, which Chu Wanning found quite clever. With
the weather so painfully cold, she had no need to directly force them to leave. Extinguishing the
fire would drive away even the hardiest person.

The night wore on, and the sounds of celebration drifted from the warmly lit palace. Chu Wanning
continued to kneel, legs having long since gone numb. The eunuch behind him pleaded with him to
return, knowing that Chu Wanning was weak against cold, reminding him that no doctor would be
sent to treat him if he fell ill.

“My ruined body isn’t worth anything,” Chu Wanning said. “I’ll die to keep Kunlun Palace safe.”

“Why?” the eunuch pled.

His dream body already weakened severely, Chu Wanning coughed. “It’s my fault that he became
like this.” He tried to keep speaking, but a violent coughing fit overtook him. Iron flooded his
throat, and his hand was spotted red when he pulled it away. Blackness overwhelmed his vision
and he collapsed into the snow. He could hear a confused racket near his ears, but it sounded as if
it were far away. He heard the old eunuch calling in a panic, but he could only make out a few
scattered words.

Footsteps surrounded him and he saw light through his closed eyelids. The music had stopped, and
a gust of warm fragrant air washed over him. Chu Wanning felt someone pick him up and carry
him inside, where a large hand touched his forehead and then flinched away. A low, familiar voice
bellowed. “Why was I not informed of this?” No one answered, and the loud sound of something
heavy being smashed rang out. The voice continued to roar. “Are you trying to defy me? He is the
master of the Red Lotus Pavilion, and none of you came to notify me that my former teacher was
kneeling outside?”

Chu Wanning felt rather than saw the head maid fall to her knees with a thud. “I deserve death,”
she sobbed. “I dared not disturb your celebrations.”
The sound of angry footsteps intensified, and Chu Wanning saw black robes trimmed with gold
billow across the floor through his tightly closed eyelids. “His constitution is poor,” he heard. “He
can’t take the cold. And you put out the fire in the courtyard!” The icy fury in the next words
chilled him to the bone. “You wanted to kill him.”

The maid’s forehead hit the ground over and over. “No, your majesty! No! Please have mercy!”

“Take her to the Platform of Sin and Virtue and execute her.”

“Your Majesty!” The shrill voice scratched along the inside of his ears as the dreamscape began to
fall apart under her terrified shrieking, the scene scattering like the drift of snowflakes.

“Do you have any idea how much effort it took to drag him back from the gates of death? No one
else is allowed lay a finger on him.” The hoarse voice was perfectly calm, betraying the
frightening madness beneath. Chu Wanning heard the person come closer and stop in front of him.
A hand gripped his jaw.

Blearily, he opened his eyes to a blurry face with strong brows, a straight nose, and eyes tinged
purple in the candlelight. “Mo Ran?”

“Sir!” He suddenly heard the voice clearly and his eyes flew open to the room at the inn, lit by a
single candle. Mo Ran was sitting on the side of the bed with a hand pressed to his forehead.

“What happened?” He felt out of sorts, as if the vivid dream had been reality and he was dreaming
now.

“You were having a nightmare,” Mo Ran said, tucking him in. “Shivering. I thought maybe you
were cold or running a fever, but you feel normal.”

“Oh,” Chu Wanning said quietly, and glanced at the open window. “It was snowing in my dream.”
He sat up abruptly, burying his face in one hand. “I must have been overtired.”

“I’ll make you some ginger tea, sir.” Mo Ran eyed him. “You look terrible.” Mo Ran pressed his
warm forehead against Chu Wanning’s clammy, diaphoretic forehead. “I take your silence as a
yes.”

Startled by the sudden closeness, Chu Wanning reflexively leaned backward and grunted. \

Mo Ran, not quite awake, offhandedly stroked his hair as he had in his past life, pulled on his robe,
and went to borrow the kitchen. He returned with a tray; he had a debt to his teacher for saving him
at Peach Blossom Spring and before, regardless of how much he might have resented him. He was
grateful in the moment. The tray held a small pot of ginger tea and a jar of brown sugar, for Chu
Wanning disdained strong flavor but enjoyed sweet food. The tray also held a bun sliced into thin
pieces and soaked in fresh milk before being fried until crispy.

Color slowly returned to Chu Wanning’s face as he slowly sipped the cup of ginger tea. He looked
at the sweet crispy bun for a moment. “What’s this?”

“I just threw something together,” Mo Ran said. “It doesn’t have a name. It’s sweet. You’ll like it.”

Chu Wanning took a bite, his love of sweets overcoming his dislike of fried foods. Mo Ran looked
at him hopefully, but Chu Wanning said nothing. The bun disappeared rapidly, however, and the
nightmare faded like smoke. He yawned and lay back down.
“Wait,” Mo Ran said, and wiped the corner of his mouth. “You’ve got some crumbs there,” he said
with an open smile.

Chu Wanning felt his ears turn red, and he rolled over to hide his face. He heard Mo Ran collect
the dishes and leave, returning a few moments later. His student approached the bed, leaning over
it to close the curtains. “Wait,” Chu Wanning said. “It’s too cold to sleep on the floor.” He
intended to instruct Mo Ran to sleep on the bed, but the words wouldn’t come. He felt his cheeks
growing warmer and warmer, as he wrestled with the realization that he didn’t want Mo Ran to
leave.

He valued his dignity above his emotional needs, and anticipating rejection – which would ruin his
dignity and reputation alike – made Chu Wanning feel pathetic. It had been so much easier to be
Terri Fying, as it was acceptable for children to ask for affection. He remembered that Mo Ran had
been good to him, though, remembering to bring him brown sugar and cooking him a special dish,
and he dared hope for a second that Mo Ran harbored some regard for him.

“Sleep up here,” he said.

“I’ll go see if they’re done and just sleep in my own bed,” Mo Ran said, conveniently at exactly the
same time. Mo Ran didn’t fully process Chu Wanning’s words until he’d finished speaking. His
eyes widened.

“You do that,” Chu Wanning said hastily. “Go ahead.”

“Sir,” Mo Ran said.

“I’m tired. Go away.”

“Sleep well, sir,” Mo Ran said. He left, the door opening and closing. Chu Wanning opened his
eyes in the dark, humiliated by his loss of self-control and idiocy in mistaking kindness for
affection. Irritated, he buried his face in his pillow and wallowed in self-loathing. He knew Mo Ran
was in love with Shi Mei, and yet he had fallen for him anyway. The Mo Ran from his dream
floated in his mind’s eye, looking at him with contempt.

The door creaked open, and Chu Wanning froze. He heard someone approach the bed and sit on it,
radiating the light scent of freshly laundered clothes. “Sir, are you asleep?” Chu Wanning
pretended that he was. “They’re still at it,” Mo Ran said matter-of-factly, and chuckled. “I’m going
to take you up on your offer.” He lay down, and Chu Wanning felt his hackles literally and visibly
rise; Mo Ran couldn’t possibly have failed to notice. “You like to ignore people, sir, but I already
told you that I take your silence to mean yes.”

Chu Wanning couldn’t stop the grunt, and he could all but feel Mo Ran smirking behind him.
Teasing Chu Wanning was a game he apparently never tired of. For his part, Mo Ran only knew
that Chu Wanning sparked something in him that Shi Mei never could. He wanted to bite him until
he cried or laughed, break down that impassive expression, and so any reaction that Chu Wanning
would give him was exciting. “Sir,” he said.

“What.”

“I just wanted to see if you’d answer.” He paused. “Sir,” he said again.

“If you have something to say, say it. Otherwise, be quiet.”

Mo Ran laughed, and then something occurred to him. “Sir, is Terri Fying your secret son?” Chu
Wanning, having been through far too much emotional turmoil for one night, had a shorter fuse
than usual, and suppressed a growl. “I’m not trying to play games,” Mo Ran said. “I’m really
serious.”

“Yes, he’s my son,” Chu Wanning answered coolly.

“Oh, that’s what I figured,” Mo Ran said breezily. “So he’s – hey, he’s your son?”

Chu Wanning rolled over to glare at Mo Ran expressionlessly. He had lost too much face tonight,
come to close to having his secret discovered. If Mo Ran was going to make a joke, Chu Wanning
was going to take it as far as it would go and hope that it helped keep his secret safe. Without the
slightest hint of jest, he stared down his pupil. “He is my illegitimate son and he has no idea. No
one else knows. If a third person ever finds out, I will end you.”

------

If Mo Ran hadn’t known Chu Wanning quite so well, he would have been fooled by his serious
demeanor. How dumb did Chu Wanning think he was anyway, Mo Ran thought resentfully, to fall
for such a ridiculous lie. He couldn’t brush his teacher off, though, so he simply played along with
the story. He had no idea why Chu Wanning would say such a thing, so he started to make a joke
of it. Stopping at a teahouse for a snack, Mo Ran pestered Chu Wanning as to why he refused to
acknowledge his son.

“Poor Terri Fying,” Mo Ran said, keeping his face straight only with great difficulty.

While side by side on horseback, Mo Ran reached up and snapped a passing willow branch, then
decided harassing his teacher was a better game. He began to pester Chu Wanning about the secret
wife that had given birth to his secret son, insisting that she must be devastatingly gorgeous, only
for Chu Wanning to turn it back on him and tell him that Terri Fying’s mother had died in
childbirth. Mo Ran felt it was rather outrageous of him to have killed his pretend wife off already,
and nearly fell off the horse trying not to laugh.

His next assault was trying to figure out the mythological wife’s name, but Chu Wanning refused
to take the bait. Mo Ran tried to get a favorite scent of incense, so that they could pay their respects
on the right days of the year, but Chu Wanning had an answer for that too, and told Mo Ran that
she hadn’t been worldly enough to care about such things. Mo Ran rolled his eyes internally,
knowing full well that Chu Wanning hadn’t put enough thought into the details of his fake
backstory.

“Was she a cultivator?” he asked innocently.

“Yes.” Chu Wanning ate a cherry slowly.

“Which sect?”

“Rufeng,” Chu Wanning said, obviously doing hasty calculations in his head to see where he would
have been at the time of Terri Fying’s conception.

Mo Ran stopped himself from making a face; the female disciples of Rufeng Sect weren’t allowed
to reveal their names to the outside world, although the male disciples were expected to bring glory
to the sect with their individual actions, and Chu Wanning could make up whatever he wanted
about his alleged ex-lover with precisely zero way to confirm the information. Mo Ran pressed for
details of their meeting, but Chu Wanning suddenly clammed up.

“I don’t have to give you the details of my private life,” he said coldly, and spurred his horse faster.
None of the markets at the smaller sects yielded any information of note in the first couple of
weeks. Chu Wanning kept Xue Zhengyong updated via crabapple blossom messages, and he had
just sent off another report of finding nothing the day the two cultivators set off to investigate
Lonemoon Sect. It was the premiere medicinal sect of the world and the home of Xue Meng’s
mother, and it was built on an island called Rainbell Isle.

Technically, Mo Ran found out, it was less an island and more the back of a giant tortoise. The
animal was tens of thousands of years old and bound to the founder of the sect. It was compelled
by geas to carry the entire sect on its back as it traveled the oceans, and nourish the flora of the
island with its qi. The disciples were enigmatic, removed from the world by the nomadic nature of
their home, only interacting with the outside world at the start and middle of each month. The
tortoise would dock at Yangzhou Port to facilitate trade of medicine, weapons, or spiritual stones
with other sects.

The island’s most famous attraction, however, wasn’t the cultivation sect, but the Xuanyuan
Pavilion. Named for the legendary Yellow Emperor, it was a subsidiary of Lonemoon Sect and a
well-known trading post. Twice a month, when the tortoise docked, they opened their doors for
auction and trade. Much of the merchandise toed the line of permissibility according to the
cultivation world’s taboos, but as no one wanted to make an enemy of Lonemoon Sect, the market
remained open. In some ways, Lonemoon Sect was as powerful as Rufeng Sect.

“Put on your hood,” Chu Wanning instructed as they arrived. “Too many eyes here.” He tugged his
own hood lower, wanting to avoid as much attention as possible from the thickening crowds. The
auction house at Xuanyuan had lavish private rooms for each great sect, but the shady nature of the
merchandise meant many cultivators preferred not to be recognized patronizing its halls. Stolen
goods weren’t uncommon either.

Mo Ran and Chu Wanning stepped into the pavilion, and Mo Ran looked around curiously. The
interior was split into three floors, the center of the first floor occupied by a massive nine-petaled
lotus flower of white jade surrounded by nine layers of defensive barriers. He knew it was where
the merchandise was displayed during auction. Rows of redwood benches extended out in each of
the four cardinal directions, comprising the standard seats.

The second floor held the private booths, each fronted by a large window of golden cedar and
silver moon silk. The silk was translucent from inside, but opaque from the outside, protecting the
privacy of the guests, but they were prohibitively expensive. Chu Wanning disliked crowding in
with masses of people, and paid the nine thousand gold per two hour block for a private booth
without hesitation.

Despite the death pacts rumored to exist between the servants and the master of the pavilion
preventing the leak of personal information, Chu Wanning remained wary. He ordered tea and
snacks to the booth with the best view and then dismissed the servant before lowering his hood. He
stood by the window looking down at the crowd.

“A weapon named To Return will be auctioned off today,” he said tonelessly.

“Never heard of it,” Mo Ran said.

“It’s a holy weapon,” Chu Wanning clarified. “Allegedly found in a nameless grave in Jun
Mountain,” he added, forestalling Mo Ran’s protest that Jincheng Lake was gone. “Its master
didn’t have heirs, most likely, so it was buried with him.”

Mo Ran forbore to point out that the holy weapon would only have accepted the heirs of its master,
and that it would refuse to recognize whoever bought it in the auction. He felt there was no point in
buying it, as the new owner wouldn’t be able to draw out its power. Chu Wanning saw him frown.

“It’s still stronger than normal weapons,” Chu Wanning said. “Even if it doesn’t betray its true
power, it’ll still kick off a bidding war.”

“Since most people go their entire lives without even seeing a holy weapon, this one will be really
attractive. Because it was allegedly found in a nameless grave, it could have any kind of qi, and
everyone here will draw out their own energy to test compatibility.” Mo Ran paused. “They might
even think they could be related enough to its original master to get it to recognize them, no harm
in trying,” he added.

“Precisely.”

Mo Ran continued. “It’s way too convenient,” he said contemplatively. “Rarely even seen, but one
without an owner pops up for sale? It’s bait. This is the puppet master’s doing.”

“Of course it is,” Chu Wanning said, pouring himself a cup of tea. He drank it slowly, watching
the crowd. “But regardless, we need to investigate.”

A ruckus spread through the crowd, and both cultivators looked to its source. The open gates had
been penetrated by two rows of blue-robed men with hair caught up in jade crowns, faces bared to
the crowd. The leader strode into the black market with his head held up proudly, making zero
attempt to conceal himself.

Mo Ran’s mouth fell open. “Ye Wangxi?”

------

The modest gentleman who had shared Mo Ran’s residence back in Peach Blossom Spring, Ye
Wangxi, had arrived decked out in the heron mantle of Rufeng Sect. His hair was fastened with a
royal blue ribbon, and his cloak was embroidered with silver silk to match the fragrance pouch
hanging at his waist. He wore no armor, exuding an aura of elegance and valor combined.

“Sir Ye,” said the grand manager, approaching.

“I’ve come in my sworn father’s name to bid on an item,” Ye Wangxi said. “Please lead me up to
the pavilion.”

His arrival having been announced beforehand, a booth had been prepared. The dozen disciples of
Rufeng Sect followed Ye Wangxi up the stairs, leaving the crowd to whisper behind them. None
of them recognized Ye Wangxi, and Mo Ran couldn’t help but be curious as to why.

“Sir,” he said to Chu Wanning. “You were at Rufeng Sect for a while. Do you know him?”

“No,” Chu Wanning said. “But he does look familiar.” He paused. “Not sure why.”

Mo Ran scratched his head. “Sir Ye stayed with me back at Peach Blossom Spring. His cultivation
was pretty good, and if he’s here to bid, his status with the sect probably isn’t low. You don’t know
him?”

“There are seventy-two city fortresses within the sect. I can’t possibly know everyone.”

The curtain in the booth reserved for Rufeng Sect glowed yellow with candlelight, and Mo Ran
assumed Ye Wangxi had arrived. The highest level of the pavilion was reserved for the great sects,
who – not wanting to be seen patronizing a black market – hardly ever occupied them. The crowd
watched the booth avidly, as it was a rare event, and anticipation for the auction ratcheted higher.

The jade lotus platform brightened as a brilliant red satin roll fell from the ceiling. A dainty girl, no
more than eleven or twelve, caught the satin. She spun and landed lightly on the platform. “Thank
you for waiting, honored sirs,” she said. “I am the Second Pavilion Master in Command.” She
smiled demurely, face clever and handsome. “Honored sirs have come from all over the four seas
in praise of our name. The Xuanyuan Pavilion will, as always, return our gratitude with the rarest
and best of items to show for everyone.”

Mo Ran’s hearing was good enough to hear the crowd griping that the Second Pavilion Master was
an immature girl, until someone shut them up by revealing that she was over a hundred despite her
youthful appearance. Lonemoon Sect was indeed amazing, Mo Ran thought, and wondered what
else would be brought out for auction.

The Second Pavilion Master didn’t disappoint. With a snap of her fingers, a gap cracked open at
the center of the stone lotus to reveal a small podium in the shape of a bulb. It held five silk
brocade boxes, each open wide to reveal medicinal pills. At least one was recognized as the not
rare at all Pill of Obsessive Affection, much to the crowd’s disappointment, and the Second
Pavilion Master smiled at the complaints. “Well done,” she said. “This is the Pill of Obsessive
Affection. They are hard to refine, but nothing exotic.”

So saying, the cultivator picked up a box, and closed it. The snake markings on the box’s cover
became visible, and the crowd’s anticipation picked up again as the box proved to belong to Hanlin
the Sage. The sound of gasps rippled through the hall.

“That’s right,” the Second Pavilion Master said. “These five pills come from the refinery kiln of
Hanlin the Sage. The standard pill will confound the heart, but for no more than half a year, and it
can be easily countered. These five pills guarantee obsession for a decade, and there is no
antidote.” She waited for the commotion to die down before smiling again. “In order to
differentiate them from the standard pills, these have been named Love Pills. Dissolve it in water,
and convince the other party to drink it, and they will become obsessed with you for ten years.”

“Really?” called the voice of a female cultivator. “What if I fall out of love with him before the ten
years are up? Will he keep harassing me?” The crowd chuckled at the question, and the Second
Pavilion Master smiled politely.

“My lady has uncovered a truth,” she said. “We of Xuanyuan Pavilion take this chance to remind
you that there is no cure. Nothing will break the bond for a decade. Unless it is a true case of
unrequited love, we recommend not using this pill.”

The bidding started, prices rising rapidly. Mo Ran noted that most of the voices were women, and
he shook his head. “Terrifying,” he said.

“Indeed,” Chu Wanning agreed. “Far too tasteless.”

Mo Ran smiled at him. “You’ll have to watch out,” he said. “You’re so good-looking that there are
doubtless several women who would be more than tempted to use this on you, and you’re a
married man. It would be immoral.”

Chu Wanning wanted to be angry that his student was teasing him, but Mo Ran had never
complimented his looks before. He pressed his lips in a straight line, refusing to acknowledge
either the humor or the insult. “Doubtless,” he murmured.

“They’d really fall tragically in love,” Mo Ran said, and he watched the five boxes of pills vanish
quickly. “How sad.”

Chu Wanning stared at the wall for a moment. “If they truly loved the other, how could they
betray them with such a thing? You’re still young, and there are things you don’t understand.”

Mo Ran looked at him, smiling. “Things that I don’t understand but you do? Are you going to tell
me about your wife now?”

“Get out,” Chu Wanning growled.

While they bickered, the second item presented itself. “Tapir Fragrance Dew,” the Second Pavilion
Master introduced crisply. “Also from the kiln of Hanlin the Sage. This is the newest medicinal
dew. The first generation of disciples of Lonemoon Sect have tried it, and it works magic.”

Chu Wanning raised his trembling lashes over the five porcelain bottles. “Tapir Fragrance Dew –
from the Dream-Consuming Tapir?”

The rest of the crowd wasn’t quite as perspicacious as Chu Wanning, and the Second Pavilion
Master had to explain. “It’s called Tapir Fragrance Dew is because the formula contains claw blood
from Dream Tapirs. With only a drop in a cup of tea, the effect will last for seven days, and a good
dream is guaranteed every night. This may not mean much to ordinary cultivators, but with the
influence of cultivation methods and spells, there are those who experience relentless nightmares
and trouble with peaceful slumber. If the problem persists it can lead to qi deviation, which is why
this Tapir Fragrance Dew is the utmost best choice.”

Chu Wanning was suddenly reminded of his hyper-realistic dream; it hadn’t been a nightmare but
it had unsettled him. The Second Pavilion Master continued her sales pitch. “Tapir Fragrance Dew
also has the ability to manage qi, and aid in cultivation.” Chu Wanning was still deep in thought,
untouched by it. “If there are any children training at home, the Tapir Fragrance Dew is extremely
beneficial for them. Hanlin the Sage had the foresight that there might be elders and teachers
purchasing for young trainees, and specially made the five bottles of Tapir Fragrance Dews into
five different flavors. With but one sip, the taste will remain on the lips and tongue for an entire
day, quite lovely.”

Just as she finished, a silver stick dropped from a dignitary seat on the second floor – the distance
between the pavilion and the upper floors was high enough to make bidding out loud vexing, and
bids were made by sending spell-wrought silver sticks. The Second Pavilion Master caught the
stick – enchanted to reach her – and gave it a glance. Chu Wanning casually laid down his brush
and sipped his tea. Mo Ran watched from the side, and his lips couldn’t help but twitch.

The voice of the Second Pavilion Master rang from below. “From the Tian dignitary seat of the
second floor, five hundred thousand gold. Is anyone going to bid higher?”

Given that the much more popular Love Pills had sold for three hundred thousand gold combined,
the bid for the five bottles seemed outrageous. The crowd grumbled that some asshole was bidding
for their over-privileged child, but at least one cultivator suffering qi deviation raised his voice to
bid fifty thousand gold higher. A second silver stick floated down, and the Pavilion Master caught
it.

“I apologize,” she said. “Apparently he intended to pay five hundred thousand per bottle.”

No one was foolish enough to outbid such a ludicrous sum, and Mo Ran watched the five bottles
delivered to their room in astonishment. Two million, five hundred thousand gold, he thought, for
sweets. Chu Wanning, apparently sensing his dirty look, raised a shoulder indifferently. “Yes?”
“Nothing,” Mo Ran said. “I just wouldn’t have expected you to spend money on this.”

look we already know chu wanning is always ready to spend other people’s time, money, and
expensive ingredients, this is not a surprise

“Children’s things?” Chu Wanning said. “I bought it for Terri Fying.”

Mo Ran twitched at his teacher’s brazen lies. Let’s see how long you can keep this up, he thought.
He returned to watching the auction.

Items came one by one, none of them holding any interest for Mo Ran or Chu Wanning despite
their unique qualities as they waited for the holy weapon to appear. Mo Ran leaned by the window,
his shirt pulling tightly around his narrow waist to emphasize his broad shoulders and long legs. He
glanced down, and then looked up at the Rufeng booth on the floor above.

“So how did the matter at Peach Blossom Spring get settled?” he asked. “You never did tell me.”

“It’s not really settled, as we can’t alert the enemy. Our Sect Leader knows the truth, and he did
end things completely with the feathered tribe. Both Shi Mei and Xue Meng are back at Sisheng
Peak, but it was a public fight. The disciples of several sects saw. Some thought the Peach
Blossoms Springs weren’t reliable and also left. I imagine this Ye Wangxi is the same.” Chu
Wanning finished an orange osmanthus cake and reached for a second one. “The Sect Leader told
the outside world that you caused trouble, and currently shut in Sisheng Peak in reflection, so this
could hide your tracks for a while at least.”

Mo Ran scratched his head. “Sounds like quite the mess.”

An amplification spell sent the sound of the Pavilion Master’s throat-clearing echoing through the
pavilion. “The next number is a rare treasure of the highest grade, hard to come by, and within the
top ten of our auction guide in the last three years.”

Silence rippled outward, and then the crowd exploded with excitement. Just laying eyes on the item
was extremely lucky, and the anticipation was nearly tangible. Mo Ran watched the crowd crane
their necks, and even those in the booths lifted the blinds. All eyes were on the platform. “Is it the
holy weapon?” Mo Ran murmured.

The Pavilion Master’s clear voice rang out again. “Presenting,” she said. “The Butterfly-Boned
Beauty Feast.”

“What?” Mo Ran screeched, gripping the window sill. “It’s not the holy weapon?”

Chu Wanning had shot to his feet, crowding Mo Ran. A stone divan rose slowly from the center of
the platform, a living creature chained with eight iron imprisonment chains as thick as Mo Ran’s
arms. It was covered with a wool blanket, and Mo Ran couldn’t tell what it was. The crowd didn’t
seem bothered, as the very name was the stuff of legends.

During the HongMeng period, before the heavens and earth had been separated and the humans
and demons had lived on the same cultivation continent, the Butterfly-Boned clan of demons had
been renowned for their immense qi. They were weak of body, but consuming their flesh or
engaging in intercourse with them would enhance a human’s cultivation. Cultivators without a
spiritual core formed one immediately, and those with one entered grandmaster level.

During the beginning of the world chaos, they had been exterminated – captured to be sex slaves or
killed and eaten. Some of their descendants had survived, most of whom were no different than
ordinary cultivators. A very few were throwbacks to their demonic ancestors, and while they were
weaker in comparison, they could still greatly enhance a cultivator’s abilities. These were referred
to as the Butterfly-Boned Beauty Feasts – either for feeding or fucking, depending on the buyer’s
preferences.

Throwbacks weren’t classified as human, according to the cultivation world, but were instead
legally considered to be merchandise out of pure personal greed. The practice therefore violated no
taboos, although a just and dignified grandmaster such as Chu Wanning would be displeased by
the process. It was, he thought, a horrifying ordeal.

what the actual fuck, this is some fucking bullshit worldbuilding and it is gross AF, and Chu
Wanning being “displeased” but not doing shit about it makes him, by the way, 100%
complicit

“This Butterfly-Boned Beauty Feast was not obtained by Lonemoon Sect. This is an entrusted sale,
thus the Xuanyuan Pavilion will be taking thirty percent of the agreed transaction payment as
commission. Will the honored sirs keep a clear account when bidding, and bid within your ability.”
The Second Pavilion Master snapped her fingers crisply, and the wool blanket covering the divan
fell with the signal.

Abrupt silence blanketed the pavilion as the crowd stared at the body chained upon the stone
divan. It was a young girl, skin as a white as snow and long hair as black as coal. She was covered
in the sheerest silk, her trembling clearly visible. The eight chains holding her down rattled as she
struggled, arousing the savage desires of the men.

“A supreme treasure of the highest grade. A female Butterfly-Boned Beauty Feast at her ripening
age.” The Second Pavilion Master smiled and approached to release one of the chains. Before the
girl could fight back, her hand was caught and raised to the air. “Hanlin the Sage has marked her
arm with a dot of chastity cinnabar. She is still a virgin.”

A snow white cloth was bound around her mouth to muffle the throwback’s pitiful cries, and large
tears fell from her eyes, their golden color confirming her identity as a throwback. Mo Ran
suddenly felt as though he were surrounded by starving wolves rather than trained cultivators. Chu
Wanning withdrew his gaze from the auction dais and looked to Mo Ran, whose face was pale as
his nails dug into the wood. He had broken a corner of the windowsill with his grip.

“What is it?” Chu Wanning asked.

“Nothing,” Mo Ran said. “It’s – this is disgusting. Selling humans.”

Mo Ran hadn’t told the whole truth; this woman was none other than Song Qiutong – the first
beauty he had taken as a wife when he had titled himself emperor of the world.

------

In Rufeng Sect’s private room on the third floor, Ye Wangxi stood tall and elegant. His eyebrows
were drawn tightly together as his hand rested on the intricately carved wooden railing.

“Lord Ye,” said one of his companions. “Elder Xu sent us for the holy weapon. If you bid on this
item as well, we may not have sufficient funds.”

“I’ll use my own supplies.” Seeing that Ye Wangxi wouldn’t budge, the attendants exchanged
glasses and returned their attention to the auction floor.
“The starting bid,” the Second Pavilion Master announced, “is ten million gold. The bidding is
now open.”

The bids came thick and fast, the noise in the hall rising along with the soaring price. Silver tabs
floated from the second floor booths as well, and the Pavilion Master collected them. Bidding
paused as she fanned them out in her hand.

“The current high bid is thirty-five million,” she announced, and many of the cultivators on the first
floor sat down. “From the Xuan booth.”

The crowd collectively turned to look at the booth in question, but while there was light glowing
from behind the curtain, none of the people inside were visible. The crowd murmured, Mo Ran
catching snatches of speculation that one of the ten great sects had a representative in the booth.
Chu Wanning turned to Mo Ran. “You don’t have that kind of money with you, do you?”

“No,” Mo Ran snapped, and then paused. He hadn’t expected to see his ex-wife. “What are you
planning?”

“I’m going to buy her.”

“No, you can’t – she’ll just slow us down, we can’t bring her with us.”

“Who said she was coming?” Chu Wanning held out his hand. “Give me the money. I’ll just set
her free.”

“I don’t have any,” Mo Ran said, clutching his pouch.

“I’ll pay you back,” Chu Wanning said impatiently.

“This is for the holy weapon.”

“You have a holy weapon!” Chu Wanning pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just give me the
money.”

Mo Ran’s head hurt; when he’d met Song Qiutong in his past life, she had been a disciple of
Rufeng Sect as he had razed it to the ground. She had looked like Shi Mei, and he had spared her
life. She had had a similar temperament as well, clever and docile, so he had married her. It was
one of his greatest regrets.

Mo Ran glared at his teacher, whose secretly kind heart wanted to spend at least forty million gold
to buy a woman he wouldn’t have paid four coppers for. Mo Ran wouldn’t take her if the auction
house paid him forty million gold. A tab floated down from the third floor, ending their staring
match, this one a gold buyout tab representing at least fifty million.

The crowd fell silent in shock yet again before chattering that Rufeng Sect had pulled out all the
stops. Chu Wanning turned away from Mo Ran’s death grip on his money to look at Rufeng Sect’s
booth. Ye Wangxi had pulled aside the curtain and to stand by the carved railing. His solemn,
handsome face betrayed nothing as he stared at the commotion in annoyance before turning away.

“He’s a good person,” Mo Ran said. “He won’t mistreat her, sir. You can rest easy.”

In his booth, Ye Wangxi sat at the table covered in an intricately embroidered cloth and poured a
cup of fragrant tea. By the time he had finished, a knock sounded on the door, and he gently
instructed the pavilion maid to leave his item and go. The demon throwback knelt on the floor in
silence, hands and feet bound with spells and panic in her peach-blossom-shaped eyes. Ye Wangxi
glanced at her, no hint of impropriety in his face, and dissipated the spells.

“The floor must be cold, and you seem frightened,” he said. “Sit, and have some tea.” The
throwback trembled, beautiful eyes wide, and didn’t move. Ye Wangxi sighed and gestured for his
attendants to bring her a cloak. “Miss, I didn’t buy you to enhance my cultivation. Please put on the
cloak so we can talk.” She still only shivered on the floor, and Ye Wangxi got out of his chair to
kneel beside her. “My name is Ye Wangxi,” he said. “What are you called?”

“Song,” she said hesitantly. “Song Qiutong. Thank you, my lord.”

Mo Ran thought his ex-wife must have been purchased from the auction house in much the same
manner during his first life. As a disciple of a major cultivation sect, she had been able to have
something of a normal life, and he sighed. Despite what he’d said to Chu Wanning, he didn’t know
Ye Wangxi that well, only having crossed swords with him once. His swordsmanship and dignified
posture had left a deep impression – he had been the only serious opposition Mo Ran had faced
while destroying the seventy-two cities of Rufeng Sect. His seven cities had given Mo Ran no end
of trouble.

In the end, when his cities had finally fallen and he had knelt before Mo Ran, his eyes had been
clear and unrelenting. The Nangong leaders of the sect had long since fled, and others had groveled
for their lives at Mo Ran’s feet, but this man had simply knelt with his eyes closed and his
expression cold. Curious, Mo Ran had asked if he would surrender, but Ye Wangxi had proudly
refused.

The gilded seat adorned with dragon and phoenix upon which Mo Ran had sat was meant for the
master of Rufeng Sect, and it had given him a vantage point from which to observe the throngs of
people before him. Six or seven city lords and more than a dozen generals had been among the
ordinary disciples, and Mo Ran had lifted a hand. “Kill them all.” In his arms, he’d held the
beautiful Song Qiutong, her delicate body trembling. “Don’t be afraid,” he’d said to her. “There’s a
good girl. Tell me your name again, and what you did at Rufeng Sect.”

“I was Ye Wangxi’s maid,” she had replied, voice quavering. “My name is Song Qiutong.”

Mo Ran had had no idea at the time how a demon throwback had been allowed into the sect, much
less become a lord’s personal maid. What no one else had known then was that Ye Wangxi had
been defeated after Song Qiutong had betrayed information to Mo Ran. He scowled now, hating
her even more, and hating that he had ever compared her to Shi Mei.

“The last item,” said the Second Pavilion Master’s pleasant voice. “Is a masterless holy weapon,
put up for auction on behalf of a third party.”

As the crowd had anticipated the item, what with the rumors floating around, the gathered
cultivators settled at the announcement. The jade lotus floor blossomed again, the rising stone
platform carrying a satin case embellished in silver. It was intricately embroidered, the fine
needlework the signature of the XianYun Pavilion of the house of Gusu. The case alone was worth
hundreds in gold.

“This holy weapon,” the Pavilion Master continued, “was found at the burial mound on Mount Jun.
Its former master has passed and we have verified that it has yet to take on a new master. As you
know, the name is engraved on the holy weapon’s body. However, time has worn away the
inscription and only one character remains legible. Return.”

The crowd chattered impatiently, and Mo Ran turned to Chu Wanning to share his amusement. His
teacher’s face was pale as frost and slender fingers of cold jade pressed against his temple. “Sir,
are you okay?”

“I don’t feel well,” Chu Wanning said.

“How? Did you catch a cold?” Mo Ran felt his forehead. “No fever.” Chu Wanning just shook his
head silently. “I’ll pour some tea,” Mo Ran said, unsure what to do. He added some of the Tapir
Fragrance Dew, and some of the color returned to Chu Wanning’s face as he drank. Mo Ran
watched anxiously and poured another cup.

“There is no way to know the weapon’s full name, but as the stars aligned to return it to the world
and its inscription contains the word return, we at Xuanyuan Pavilion have named it To Return.”
Someone in the crowd lost patience with the Pavilion Master’s sales pitch and shouted for her to
open the box. She smiled. “All things in due time, my lord. In accordance with the laws, a holy
weapon is inherited by the blood heirs of its master. To Return’s master could not be identified, but
all those present are invited to reach out with their qi to test the weapon. If it resonates, that person
is of its original master’s bloodline and will be given the weapon free of charge.”

The crowd burst out into sardonic laughter, most of them sure that there was no chance of such a
coincidence, but willing to try anyway.

“It can’t hurt to try your luck,” the Pavilion Master agreed crisply. She snapped her fingers and a
pair of Lonemoon Sect’s disciples floated to the platform to place their delicate hands on the satin
case. Each held an intricate key, inserted into the sides of the case, and it unlocked with a pair of
clicks.

Mo Ran was reminded of Ever-Yearning opening under Chu Wanning’s hands instead of Shi
Mei’s. The audience held their collective breaths, staring as the lid slowly opened. The tension in
the room was thick enough to touch, so silent that Mo Ran could have heard a pin drop. Every
person stared unblinkingly at the ancient blade, but the color drained from Mo Ran’s face. In his
two lifetimes, Mo Ran had owned two holy weapons and crossed blades with over a dozen others.
He would have said he had no care for whatever was in the box, but he would have been wrong.

“Holy Weapon To Return,” the Pavilion Master said, her crisp voice shattering the silence. “Four-
foot blade, three inches wide, no scabbard. Pure black, casts no reflection.”

“No Return,” Mo Ran whispered soundlessly. “No Return.” The past flooded Mo Ran’s mind.

“Why do you ask me to seal its spiritual cognizance rather than give it a name?”

“Sir, I’m uncultured, and I only have one chance to name it. I don’t want to give it the wrong
name.”

“Ran, how have you not picked a name?”

“It’s fine, it’s fine, I’m just thinking. A holy weapon should have an awesome name.”

Shi Mei had died not long after that conversation, and Mo Ran had wanted to name the weapon
Mingjing. Chu Wanning’s qi had been drained and corrupted by the fight, and he hadn’t been able
to unseal it. Later, they had severed relations, and Mo Ran hadn’t wanted to ask him about it. It had
remained nameless for years, but no one was unaware of Mo Weiyu’s cursed blade.

The name-sealing spell on the blade that fell on blood and hatred had dissolved as Chu Wanning
had died, and Mo Ran had drunk copious amounts of pear blossom wine in celebration or sorrow.
He hadn’t been sure which. He’d run his hand down the body of the blade, flicking it to listen to
the reverberations of a crabapple chilled to the bone, and laughed uncontrollably. When he’d
woken in the morning, sober, the nameless blade had been engraved with two clear-cut characters
meaning No Return.

Mo Ran hadn’t expected it to appear, now that the lake was gone, and certainly not in an auction.
Thousands of cultivators released streams of their spiritual energies, each trying to commune with
the blade, but Mo Ran knew they would all fail. He was the only person in the world who could
command it, but he was hesitant to reach out. The puppet master’s goal might not have been to test
for spiritual essences after all, if he knew who the blade’s master was and had released it when he
knew Chu Wanning and Mo Ran were searching for him.

The weapon could have been real, or it could have been well-constructed bait, Mo Ran thought,
and finally he reached out with a tendril of his own qi. He sent as little as possible, not wanting the
resonance to be noticed, but a soft sound from behind him caught his attention. He turned to see
Chu Wanning collapsed at the table, lips blue and face paler than frost. Mo Ran panicked, pulling
his energy back and rushing to his teacher’s side.

“Sir, what’s wrong?”

------

A willowy innkeeper stood outside the Fragrance Inn of Rainbell Isle, pearl bracelets jingling on
her wrists as she ate melon seeds. She was clever as well as beautiful, able to guess what her guests
wanted. Many cultivators stayed at the Fragrance Inn when there was an auction. The sun shone on
her from overhead, and she expected the auction to continue for a few hours yet. Any cultivators
who didn’t choose to sleep at the inn would still come looking for a meal, she expected, and turned
to instruct her staff to get the establishment ready.

A silhouette at the end of the road caught her attention just before she turned to go inside, and she
paused. It was a handsome cultivator dressed in black, carrying a white-garbed figure in his arms,
racing toward her in a panic. “I need a room!” he shouted.

She looked him over quickly and discreetly. He wore a cloak and had probably been at the auction,
but the hood had fallen back from his attractive face. More importantly, he wore an embroidered
pouch specifically given to patrons of Xuanyuan Pavilion, indicating that he was wealthy. She
glanced at his burden, the high quality silk of his robes and delicate skin of his hands indicating
beauty. She assumed it was a case of dual cultivation, not unheard of between men, and glanced
over her shoulder. “Open a room,” she ordered a staff member. “The best one we have.”

Mo Ran was grateful that they were at Lonemoon Sect already, as Chu Wanning’s illness had
come upon him with no warning, and it was easy to find a skilled physician. The doctor took his
pulse silently, fingers resting on Chu Wanning’s wrist for several moments. Mo Ran grew
impatient.

“Well?”

“It’s not serious,” the doctor said.

“Well, then, what?” Mo Ran said, even more impatiently.

“Your master’s cultivation is remarkable, a higher level than almost everyone else in the world, but
his spiritual core is exceedingly fragile.”

Mo Ran had heard the spiritual core described as the vessel holding the essence of cultivation; the
core was inborn, whereas cultivation was built up over time. An innately powerful core made it
easier to cultivate, but after a certain point, cultivation reinforced the core in a cycle of power. A
grandmaster at the level of Chu Wanning should have had a robust core, Mo Ran knew. He was
shocked. “How is that possible?” he asked.

“I had the same thought,” the doctor said. “But I’ve re-checked it multiple times.”

“How could it be so fragile? Please check again.”

“If you would like to get a second opinion, sir, you certainly may. But I am quite sure of myself.”
The doctor paused. “He appears to have received communion from a powerful weapon just now,
resonating with him but without belonging to him. Rebound was suffered as a result, and he fainted
due to his weak core. With some decoctions and rest, he’ll be fine.”

After the doctor left, Mo Ran watched his teacher sleep and wondered how he could possibly have
a weak core. He reasoned that the doctor couldn’t have seen the auction, and had correctly
surmised that Chu Wanning had encountered a powerful weapon – being correct regarding one part
of his deduction meant, Mo Ran felt, that he was likely correct in the entirety of his assessment.

Some regret that he had been unable to see if the blade at auction was indeed his weapon No
Return seeped into him, and Mo Ran wondered why it would have resonated with Chu Wanning.
He didn’t know how long he spent pondering such matters before his teacher stirred, brow knitting
as if he were having a nightmare. Mo Ran stroked his face. “Sir,” he said. “Chu Wanning. I’ve
lived two lifetimes, but perhaps there are still things about you that I don’t know.”

The medication, prepared by the innkeeper according to the doctor’s instructions, arrived in the
room. Mo Ran tasted it – bitter, as he had expected – and asked the innkeeper for something sweet
to offset his teacher’s hatred of bitter concoctions. She had sold out, much to Mo Ran’s
disappointment, and he saw her out politely.

Mo Ran carried the medication over to the bed, and tried to wake his teacher up. He had no
success, and concluded he would just have to feed him again. He’d had practice by now, he felt,
this being the second time he’d done such a thing. He couldn’t explain to himself why, when he
knew without a doubt that he disliked Chu Wanning intensely, and yet felt compelled to take care
of him.

Chu Wanning had no appreciation for Mo Ran’s efforts, muttering that it was bitter and trying to
refuse it despite being unconscious. Mo Ran frowned and worked harder. Eventually he resorted to
telling Chu Wanning that the next spoonful would be sweet, and his teacher swallowed the entire
bowl without complaint.

“You liar!” Mo Ran heard, just before receiving a slap across the face, and his teacher went right
back to sleep.

“Well, then,” Mo Ran muttered, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be upset. Chu Wanning still
looked as though he were having a nightmare, and Mo Ran’s eyes fell upon the Tapir Fragrance
Dew that Chu Wanning had tried in the auction booth. He felt it couldn’t hurt, and poked his
teacher in the face. “If you stay here, I really will get you something sweet,” he said.

Chu Wanning sighed, and mumbled in his sleep. “It wronged you,” he said.

Mo Ran froze. “What?”

Chu Wanning trembled, face growing paler again, and kept mumbling incomprehensible words.
Mo Ran felt his heart skip a beat, a strange feeling coming over him, as if he were close to
unveiling a secret. “I wronged you,” he heard Chu Wanning say. The dim light of the candle
glinted off wetness caught in Chu Wanning’s eyelashes, and Mo Ran stood abruptly.

The blood in his veins burned and then froze as his heart hammered hard enough to break open his
chest, and he seized his teacher by the throat. “What did you say?” he snarled. “Chu Wanning, say
it again!” In that moment, he was making no pretense of being the teenager Mo Ran, but fully
inhabiting his adult self.

I wronged you, I won’t blame you in life or death – the curse he could never forget and the
nightmare that had haunted him for two lifetimes had fallen from the lips of a man who should
have said no such thing. Chu Wanning had whispered it as he lay dying, and hearing it now chilled
Mo Ran to the bone. Has he also been reborn?

------

Panic and rage swept over Mo Ran, and he shook uncontrollably as his hand tightened around Chu
Wanning’s throat. He tried to press the rest of the phrase out of his teacher’s mouth, proof that he
had reincarnated, but Chu Wanning only groaned. His face flushed from lack of air and his
struggles grew weaker. Mo Ran abruptly let go, madness and clarity chasing each other across his
eyes, and saw finger-shaped bruises across Chu Wanning’s throat.

He opened his mouth, trying to say something, but he could neither call Chu Wanning by his usual
honorific sir or by name, and he swallowed. His throat was dry, as if scorched with fire. Mo Ran
tried to gather up the scattered pieces of his composure, reminding himself that Chu Wanning
hadn’t acted as though he remembered a past life, not once. Yet Mo Ran couldn’t shake the echo of
his dying words, the words Chu Wanning had uttered only to save Xue Meng and the rest of those
sanctimonious cultivators.

Mo Ran had never once believed that Chu Wanning actually intended to admit his wrongs,
knowing full well that his teacher detested him and looked down upon him. Mo Ran didn’t regret
killing him, in that past life. He regretted nothing. He turned away, closing his eyes, suddenly
finding the room too confining for words. What does it matter, he thought bitterly, if he lives or
dies now? But his feet refused to move.

Chu Wanning’s cold, handsome face swam into focus in Mo Ran’s mind’s eye, gentle at the very
end. Covered in blood at the edge of Kunlun’s Heavenly Lake, he had lifted a hand to poke Mo
Ran’s forehead, a glimmer of warmth in his phoenix eyes. Mo Ran had been sure at the time that
he had imagined it, but now, hearing his teacher call his name, he began to tremble.

Without willing it, Mo Ran was suddenly standing at the bedside. He leaned over Chu Wanning,
staring fixedly at him, and heard his name uttered again. He dug his fingers into the hard surface of
the bedframe, trying to restrain something he couldn’t identify. “Did you mean it?” he asked in a
hoarse whisper. “Everything you said, did you mean all if it?”

His chest hurt so much it felt as though it might burst; Mo Ran was sure Chu Wanning hadn’t been
reborn, but for him to say those words meant he was already feeling remorse for how he had treated
him. Mo Ran desperately wanted him to mean it, waiting for a sign that his teacher was speaking
from the heart and not just mumbling in his sleep, but there was only silence. Mo Ran reluctantly
opened his eyes, only to be met unexpectedly by a pair of hazy phoenix eyes caught between
wakefulness and sleep.

Chu Wanning’s gaze was vacant and glazed, as if they held eternity within, and Mo Ran could tell
he wasn’t truly awake or aware. The Constellation of the Night Sky always had a piercing look, and
he was unexpectedly beautiful without his usual sharp edges. The corners of his eyes were tinged
with red as he looked at Mo Ran unguardedly, and Mo Ran felt his heart skip a beat. Throat tight,
he tried to speak.

For a moment, Mo Ran felt as though he were still at Wushan Palace. The Chu Wanning before
him looked as he had when Mo Ran had held him captive and made love to him, his personal
plaything. His mouth dried out and his breath grew heavy, but they didn’t have a relationship in this
life. Mo Ran reminded himself not to touch his teacher – they were nothing more than master and
disciple.

Mo Ran held himself back from crossing the line, looking down at Chu Wanning with one hand
braced against the headboard. His hair spilled over his shoulder to brush against the pillow upon
which Chu Wanning lay, his own hair spread loosely around him with his dazed expression.
Slowly, the sense returned to his eyes, and Chu Wanning hesitated. As if still caught in a
nightmare, he reached out slowly before touching Mo Ran’s brow.

“I wronged you,” he said with uncharacteristic gentleness.

A wall collapsed inside Mo Ran with a thunderous crash, setting his blood to boiling and fever
crackling through his head. All the rationality he had worked so hard to retain fell apart, and he
leaned down to give in to the familiar desire. The past slammed into him like a wave, the memory
of Wushan Palace and silky red satin washing over him, the image of Chu Wanning struggling and
cursing. Mo Ran felt as though he had never died, wanting to hold and humiliate the person
beneath him until Chu Wanning tipped over the edge and begged for more. “Chu Wanning,” he
murmured hoarsely.

Heat rolled over Mo Ran, filling his soul until even the tips of his fingers felt as though they were
on fire. The beating of his heart was like the thundering of drums, and Mo Ran had never expected
to lose control like this in his second life, but he couldn’t get Chu Wanning’s robes open.
Something falling out of his robes poked him unexpectedly, and he stumbled against the bed.

The robes must have been enchanted, Mo Ran thought, and he climbed off the bed to find a blade
to cut them off. The metallic object that had pricked him caught his eye, and he did a double take.
It was a golden hair clasp, vibrantly colored and decorated with orchids and butterflies – the very
clasp he had given Terri Fying at Peach Blossom Spring. Mo Ran had personally pinned it to the
child’s ponytail.

Feeling as though he had been doused in cold water, Mo Ran picked up the hair clasp. He couldn’t
comprehend why Chu Wanning would have something he’d given to Terri Fying. A frightening
thought occurred to him, and he turned around slowly. Chu Wanning had passed out again, and Mo
Ran stared at his face. He had been so sure his teacher was fucking with him, but now he thought
the child might actually be Chu Wanning’s son.

------

Chu Wanning woke to the sight of Mo Ran sitting at the table, staring vacantly at the flickering
candle. He tried to get up, but his limbs felt like water. The curtains wafted above him, and he
shifted laboriously onto his side. Mo Ran didn't stir at the sound, and Chu Wanning just watched
him.

Mo Ran was in shock at the revelation that his teacher hadn't been lying about his secret child after
all; he couldn't help but wonder what kind of woman would have caught his eye. It then occurred to
Mo Ran that Terri Fying should have existed in his previous life, as well, and yet there had been no
sign of him in all the time they had spent together. Mo Ran dropped his head on the table, unable to
reconcile it but also unable to think of any other possible explanation for the hair clasp being in
Chu Wanning's possession. A dull headache started to throb behind his eyes, and Mo Ran
groaned.

"What are you doing?" Chu Wanning asked evenly.

"Sir, you're awake," Mo Ran said, bouncing up in surprise.

"Are we in an inn?" Chu Wanning asked. "On Rainbell Isle?"

"We are," Mo Ran said. He paced over to the bed. "You fainted at the pavilion suddenly, so I, uh,
brought you here to rest. I got a physician to look at you and prescribe medicine, even, and, um."
Heard you talking in your sleep, his mind supplied, was reminded of some past affairs, and tried to
rip your clothes off. Mo Ran choked on the words.

The expression on his face combined with the news that he had been examined while unconscious
dropped Chu Wanning's heart into his stomach; Mo Ran must have found out about the curse, he
reasoned, and his hands tightened on the quilt. "What did the physician say?" he asked hoarsely.

"That you were affected by the holy weapon," Mo Ran said, and hesitated. "Your spiritual core," he
started.

"Don't worry about it," Chu Wanning interrupted him. "It's just a little weaker than the average
core."

Mo Ran blinked, thinking about the matching scars above Chu Xun and Chu Wanning's hearts. He
thought there must be a connection, but his teacher seemed to be denying the possibility. “How,
though?” he asked. “You’re so powerful that there’s no way you have a naturally frail core. How
did it start?”

“When I was injured many years ago,” Chu Wanning said, with an indifferent hand-wave. “Did he
say anything else?”

“Nope.” Mo Ran shook his head.

“Then why were you banging your head on the table?” Chu Wanning asked with a thoughtful look.

“I, uh.” Mo Ran couldn’t think of an explanation that wasn’t the truth. “Found this,” he finished
lamely, and pulled out the hair clasp. It glinted in the light.

Chu Wanning’s heart sank through his stomach and into his shoes as he realized Mo Ran had
found out after all. He sighed, and prepared to admit the truth. A moment of silence passed.

“Is he really your son?” Mo Ran mumbled.

Relief flooded him, and Chu Wanning nearly gave himself away. He glared at Mo Ran. “Idiot,” he
said. “Of course he is.” He calmly took back the hair clasp. “I told you all of this already. Why are
you asking again?”

“Just, uh. Making sure,” Mo Ran said, face buried in his hand. A small kernel of doubt still lodged
in his breast, and he resolved to grill Terri Fying about the matter the next time he saw him. He
wouldn’t believe they were father and son until they both acknowledged it in front of him.

“My clothes,” Chu Wanning said, having moved on from the matter. He managed to sit up, and ran
a hand over his robes. “Why are they disheveled?” he finished.
“Er,” Mo Ran said, and then coughed. “You must be hungry, sir. The food here is supposed to be
pretty good. Let’s go eat. My treat.”

“With the money I gave you?” Chu Wanning said coldly. He still climbed out of bed and
straightened his clothes to follow Mo Ran to the dining room.

The dishes of Rainbell Isle were light and refreshing, tending toward sweet, and were exactly what
Chu Wanning preferred. As the auction had ended and most of the crowd dispersed, neither
cultivator felt the need to continue to conceal his identity in the dining room’s private booth. Tea
arrived, along with the menu, and Mo Ran offered it to his teacher first.

“Order for both of us,” Chu Wanning said. “There’s nothing here I dislike.” He took a sip of tea.

While waiting for the food to arrive, he went over the situation with Mo Ran. As neither of them
had seen the end of the auction, they didn’t know who had bought the sword. Chu Wanning felt it
wouldn’t be difficult to find it. Matter settled, they turned their attention to the food starting to
arrive. Chu Wanning spared an eye to Mo Ran’s apparent anxiety.

“Have you been here before?” he asked.

“Nope,” Mo Ran said, referring only to his second life. He had seen the apricot blossoms and misty
rains in his first life, but he could hardly admit it.

“You ordered all the best dishes,” Chu Wanning said neutrally.

Mo Ran froze, only realizing in that moment that he had ordered exactly what Chu Wanning liked,
and had forgotten that he shouldn’t be so familiar with the local cuisine. “I worked in the kitchen of
an entertainment house,” he said finally. “Of course I’ve heard of these dishes, even if I’ve never
eaten them.”

Chu Wanning let the matter drop. Each dish was exquisitely made and elegantly plated, from the
seafood to the meats and vegetables. Mo Ran watched the waiter set down the final dish –
osmanthus cake – and wondered what Chu Wanning would pick first. He placed a wager with
himself that it would be the crab meatballs, his teacher’s favorite local dish, and Chu Wanning
didn’t disappoint.

The surprise came from the adorably plump meatball landing in Mo Ran’s bowl, “Sir,” he said.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” Chu Wanning told him.

Mo Ran thought he must have been hearing things. He had been thanked. Chu Wanning had never
said anything along those lines in his previous life. He felt himself blushing, cheeks hot as his eyes
widened. Chu Wanning took a smug sip of tea at the reaction to his words, but he was feeling his
own inner turmoil. He had begun to feel a bit guilty, as he had seen how Mo Ran interacted with
Terri Fying and how he had spoken of Chu Wanning himself. He thought he had perhaps been too
harsh and overly stern, and vowed to do better.

Chu Wanning had even asked Elder Xuanji for advice, before they had left Peach Blossom Spring,
on how to be less intimidating to one’s disciples. Surprised, his peer had told him that first and
foremost, a master should show their disciples that they cared. Chu Wanning was making the
effort. “Stewed crab meatballs,” he explained, “are made of finely minced pork, shrimp and crab
roe, and crab meat. They’re simmered with bok choy, and then presented colorfully.”

Mo Ran was dumbfounded, but it only got stranger. Under the impression that he was introducing
new dishes to his disciple as a form of showing affection, Chu Wanning described the recipe and
cooking process of every dish on the table as he handed Mo Ran the first morsels to try. The food
grew cold as he kept talking, and Mo Ran would have flipped the table over and left if not for the
soothing nature of his teacher’s voice.

“Hey, did you hear?” Mo Ran heard from the next booth over. Despite the private booths’ bamboo
screens blocking line of sight, they did very little to muffle the sound of overly loud neighbors.
“Linyi Rufeng Sect took the last item at the auction!”

Chu Wanning was interrupted from his description of the next menu item by the information they
sought conveniently falling into their laps with no effort at all, and they both listened with rapt
attention.

“A holy weapon, right?” answered the first voice’s companion. “Three hundred million gold, paid
on the spot. I’ve never seen that much money in my life.”

“And they bought a Butterfly-Boned Beauty Feast,” the first voice said smugly. “Fifty million.”

“How crass,” said the second voice. “Aren’t they for eating or dual cultivating? I can’t believe the
biggest sect in the world parades its proclivities around in public like that.”

“It’s a perfectly reasonable cultivation method,” the second voice said. “It’s not like they’re human.
It’s just like eating fairy fruits.”

A third voice joined the conversation. “The one who bought the throwback was one of the young
disciples who’s almost never seen in publish. I heard he’s pretty, too. Wouldn’t have expected
someone like that to rely on screwing women to cultivate. Rufeng Sect is going downhill.”

“Rufeng Sect,” Chu Wanning repeated quietly. Mo Ran nodded. “That makes things more difficult,
as we’ll have to go there to continue our investigation.”

“You used to be in that sect,” Mo Ran remembered. Chu Wanning’s sour face prompted him to
ask, “What, you don’t want to go back?”

“They may be a famous sect in the upper cultivation world,” he started, only to be interrupted by a
commotion in the main hall.

“We’ll give you five hundred gold to clear out all the riff raff,” shouted a loud voice. “Our young
master wishes to reserve the entire place.”

------

“My lord is so generous, but we really must be courteous to all of our guests. We can’t just hustle
them out without warning. We do have a spacious private room inside, reserved for honored guests
of means such as yourself, if you would –“

The sound of tables and chairs being overturned interrupted the innkeeper’s gracious voice. “Who
gives a shit about your private room? We don’t want it! We’ll pay you a thousand to clear this
place out!”

“My lord seems to be such a scholarly, reasonable man, surely he wouldn’t force such a difficult
decision on this humble establishment?” The innkeeper didn’t bat an eyelash. “There are far too
many guests here already, but if my lord is uninterested in the Pavilion of Returning Fog, I can
certainly offer a smaller, just as elegant room plus an entertainment package for free.”

“Fifteen hundred and that’s our final offer! Stop dragging your feet, or our young master will be
very angry! You won’t like him when he’s angry!”

Mo Ran snorted into his drink; a thousand gold had been pocket change to him when he’d been
emperor. He’d given priceless treasures to his wife to humor her, and this level of bribery was
laughable. “Sir,” he said around his chopsticks, “sir, they think they can get rid of us for fifteen
hundred.”

Chu Wanning shot him a glance and peered around the curtain. A crowd had gathered, dressed in
plain clothes to conceal their sect but every one wearing a high-quality blade. Faewolves
accompanied them as well – nearly impossible to come by, labeling the group a prestigious sect.
All the guests within view had stopped eating to stare at the spectacle, silence rippling outward
until not a sound could be heard.

A white blur rushed into the room and paused, a heartbeat of silence until the onlookers recognized
the huge snow-white faewolf with crimson eyes as a monster. Upon its back sat a young man with
an arrogant face, dressed in sleek scarlet hunting gear with gold embroidery topped by a silver
helmet emblazoned with a lion swallowing the sun. A red tassel hung from its crown, and a jasper
bow was laid over his knees.

The plainly-dressed cultivators dropped to one knee with a hand across their chests. “Greetings to
the young master!” they called in unison.

“Yeah, yeah.” The young man waved an irritated hand. “You had one job.”

Mo Ran cackled quietly. “What an asshole.”

Angry was the word to describe the young man as he demanded to see the proprietor. Clearly
nervous but stepping forward bravely, the innkeeper managed a smile. “Yes, my lord.”

“I’ll stay here tonight,” he said. “But I’m not pleased by all of the others. Get rid of them. I’ll make
up your losses.”

“My lord,” the innkeeper hedged.

“Yes, yes,” he said impatiently. “I know it creates difficulty for you. Give each table an apology on
my behalf.” He tossed her a pouch. “If they insist on staying, then let them stay.”

Mo Ran could barely make out the golden pills inside the pouch, pegging them as nine-turn
returning pills even at a distance – they would allow a cultivator’s energy to grow exponentially
for ten days, and a single pill cost more than two thousand gold. This, he felt, was a slightly more
appropriate display of extravagance. Relief softened the innkeeper’s silhouette as she clearly came
to the conclusion that no one would be insulted by trading such a pill for their space.

“Do I really have to do everything myself,” the young lord said, as the innkeeper made her rounds
and the room slowly emptied out.

“My lord is, as ever, brilliant an indomitable,” replied the attendants.

Returning to the main hall, the innkeeper offered her apologies. “My lord, two guests declined
compensation. They said that as it is already late, and one of them is unwell, they do not wish to go
elsewhere.”

“No matter.” The young man waved a hand. “As long as they don’t bother me, there’s no reason to
hassle an invalid.”
The invalid, Chu Wanning, glared from behind the bamboo curtain at the innkeeper’s warm smile.
“My lord is too kind. Would you prefer a rest, or a meal first?”

“I’m hungry. Bring me food.” The innkeeper began to list the dishes, but the young man cut her off
almost immediately. “Pass. These are ridiculous names.”

Mo Ran wondered if he was just an outrageously rich merchant and not a cultivator after all. The
innkeeper didn’t falter. “If my lord has a preference, we shall certainly do our best to
accommodate.”

“Five catties of beef for each, ten for me, a catty of soju, and two legs of lamb. We shouldn’t eat
too much this late at night.”

Mo Ran turned to his teacher, intending to mock the bottomless pit masquerading as an appetite,
but Chu Wanning was staring intently at the scene with an indecipherable expression. “You know
him, sir?” he asked instead.

“The only son of Rufeng Sect’s leader,” Chu Wanning answered, and Mo Ran blinked in surprise.
He hadn’t expected an answer. “Nangong Si,” Chu Wanning added.

Mo Ran looked more closely at the sect leader’s son; for Chu Wanning to know him wasn’t
surprising, as he had been part of Linyi Rufeng Sect. By the time Mo Ran had butchered Rufeng
Sect, the leader’s son had died of an illness and Mo Ran hadn’t met him. He had assumed the
leader’s son to be a sickly cripple, but the man in front of him was healthy and egotistical, and Mo
Ran wondered now how he had succumbed to disease.

Downstairs, Nangong Si was devouring the beef and lamb, along with copious quantities of wine.
Mo Ran couldn’t help staring at him. “Sir,” he said. “I thought Rufeng Sect was elegant and
refined and why is he like that? He’s worse than Xue Mengmeng.”

Chu Wanning pretended he wasn’t also staring at the young master, shifting his body away from
the side of the booth without turning his head. “Don’t make up nicknames for your comrades.” He
pressed a finger against Mo Ran’s forehead, physically pushing him out of line of sight of the
spectacle downstairs.

Mo Ran laughed, but his teacher’s garments suddenly caught his attention. The sleeve brushing
Mo Ran’s face was made of an extremely light material that Mo Ran hadn’t noted when he’d been
trying to tear off Chu Wanning’s clothes but now recognized as Kunlun Taxue Palace’s frozen mist
silk. As the most aloof and detached sect, inducting its disciples at five and sending them to
secluded cultivation at six to cultivate in seclusion until generating a spiritual core, they were
unable to wear standard clothing.

No one was allowed to enter a disciple’s area during the ten to fifteen year process of awakening a
spiritual core; no goods could enter or leave the area, either. The disciples could forage for food in
the nearby Wangmu lake, but growing children needed new clothing on a regular basis and they
were unable to weave their own. The frozen mist silk had been created to address this need –
naturally enchanted to repel dirt and dust, they rarely needed washing, and they grew along with
their wearers. This allowed Taxue Palace’s disciples to have properly fitting clothing during their
long years of seclusion. A disciple of Rufeng Sect, as Chu Wanning allegedly was, should not be
wearing clothing of Taxue Palace, and Mo Ran felt a spark of insight begin to flash.

The revelation of perhaps having been mistaken about something from the very start was
interrupted by a confident but courteous voice. “Excuse me,” said one of the attendants Mo Ran
had seen from Rufeng Sect at the auction earlier in the day. “May I ask where the innkeeper is?”
The attendant’s heron-patterned mantle floated around his ankles as he held the door open with his
sword but did not enter the premises from the street.

Mo Ran perked up immediately upon recognizing Ye Wangxi’s people; Nangong Si’s group,
sitting in a private room, had yet to notice their sectmates enter the inn. Mo Ran wouldn’t have
been surprised if they had gone unrecognized regardless of whether or not they were seen; Rufeng
Sect’s seventy-two cities and thousands of disciples meant no one knew everyone. He anticipated
an entertaining interaction between the two very different young masters of the same sect.

The innkeeper, looking as though she was cursing herself for forgetting to lock the door, hurried
over. “We’re truly sorry,” she said, “but we’re fully booked for tonight.”

The attendant’s face fell. “Ma’am, all of the other inns are full, and there’s a frail maiden with us in
dire need of rest. We were hoping to find somewhere to give her a good night’s sleep.” He looked
around at the obviously empty dining room, and came to the correct conclusion that the party in the
private room had reserved the entire space. “Is there any way we could possibly request some
space?”

“I –“ The innkeeper glanced over her shoulder at Nangong Si. “I doubt he’ll be willing,” she said.

“Please ask,” said the attendant. “I won’t mind if he says no.”

One of Nangong Si’s attendants, having overheard, stood up in a rage before the innkeeper had a
chance to answer. “The answer is no!” he shouted. “Don’t disturb our young master’s meal! How
rude!”

Another attendant glared. “How dare you take a young woman to a private room while wearing the
uniform of Rufeng Sect,” he spat. “Dragging the sect’s name through the mud.”

Ye Wangxi’s attendant blushed bright red at the misunderstanding. “Of course we are principled
and virtuous,” he retorted. “We are conducting no such impropriety. Our young master has rescued
this lady, that’s all.”

“Young master?” the attendant said, glancing at where Nangong Si was ignoring the conversation
entirely. Clearly taking it as tacit encouragement to continue, he smirked. “There’s only one young
master at Rufeng Sect,” he said. “And he’s right here. Whoever you’re with is clearly someone
else.”

“Ye Wangxi, of Rufeng Sect,” came a gentle, graceful voice from outside. It was so commanding
that every head turned to see who had spoken. Ye Wangxi stood framed by the door, wearing solid
black. He stepped inside, followed by a veiled woman.

The vein in Mo Ran’s temple throbbed at the mere sight of Song Qiutong and he cursed his luck.
Nangong Si’s attendants were no happier, taken aback by Ye Wangxi’s appearance. Surprise
shifted to contempt on several faces, and Mo Ran thought back to what he knew of Ye Wangxi. As
the adopted son of Rufeng Sect’s chief elder, Ye Wangxi had initially attached to the sect’s shadow
city – the home of the shadow guard. His training had been as a bodyguard and assassin, but his
cultivation nature had ended up being incompatible and he had been reassigned.

As he had been brought up to be a shadow guard, Ye Wangxi habitually kept a low profile. Mo
Ran knew, however, that he was highly regarded by the sect leader and acted as his right-hand
man. He had even heard rumors that Ye Wangxi was the old man’s bastard child, which meant that
Nangong Si as the rightful heir, would be on bad terms with him.
Being attached to Nangong Si meant, Mo Ran suspected, that his attendants wouldn’t bother to
observe the social niceties of courtesy to one’s sect superiors. One of the attendants laughed
coldly. “Lord Ye,” he said, proving Mo Ran right, “you may take your leave. There is no room
here.”

Even Song Qiutong urged Ye Wangxi to leave, tugging at his sleeve with slender fingers, and Mo
Ran rolled his eyes at her nearly inaudible protest against wasting more of Ye Wangxi’s money.
She had tricked him with the same tone, over and over, and now Ye Wangxi was about to fall for
it. The young lord opened his mouth to reply, but he was interrupted by a huge white shadow
darting out from the inner room to head straight for his back.

“My lord!” Song Qiutong exclaimed loudly, and Nangong Si’s white faewolf charged toward Ye
Wangxi. To the shock of the entire room, rather than tearing out his spine, the massive faewolf
started bounding in excited circles and rolling around on the floor like an overly enthusiastic
puppy.

“Naobaijin?” said Ye Wangxi faintly, recognizing the faewolf. At the sound of its name, the
faewolf nudged its massive head under Ye Wangxi’s hand to ask for ear scratches. Dazed, Ye
Wangxi obliged and looked around for the inevitable.

The bamboo curtain surrounding the private pavilion was lifted by a scarlet-clad arm holding a
bottle of wine, and Nangong Si appeared with a sneer. “You always show up,” he said. “What kind
of rumors are you trying to start about us now?”

------

Ye Wangxi visibly stiffened at the insult, but it only took him a moment to gather his bearings. "I
am here on the sect leader's orders," he said. "I'm purchasing merchandise, not following you."

Mo Ran and Chu Wanning exchanged glances, deducing that Ye Wangxi had bought the holy
weapon. Nangong Si swung his jar of wine, unimpressed. "So you're running errands for my father
now? Are you trying to replace me?"

"Of course not, Si."

"Who said you could call me that?" Nangong Si scowled, eyes crackling. "Lord Ye, just because
my father likes you is no reason to be so familiar with me. You should be ashamed of yourself."

"I use this form of address at the sect leader's command." Ye Wangxi paused. "Take it up with your
father if you don't like it. There's no point in yelling at me."

"Don't use my father against me!" Nangong Si visibly calmed himself, a cold light in his eyes.
"Lord Ye," he said. "I'm afraid my father told you that because he has certain misconceptions about
your position in the sect. I advise you to know your place. You'll never be my equal due to your
birth alone."

Ye Wangxi lowered his thick lashes, an unreadable expression flashing across his face. "The young
master is correct. I have never sought to be your equal."

Appeased by the change in tone, Nangong Si drank from the jar. He stared for a moment longer,
and the waved his hand with a scoff. "That's what I thought," he said. "Just look at you. How could
you -" he broke off and pressed his lips together, obviously catching himself before revealing too
much.

Even after bearing humiliation and insult, Ye Wangxi kept his eyes lowered. He maintained his
calm gentility in the face of the thickening tension. Nangong Si looked around awkwardly, gaze
finally landing on the veiled woman. As if to distract from his near blunder, he cleared his throat.
"You rescued her?" he said, and Ye Wangxi nodded. "Where's she from? You can't just pick up
strays."

"She was an auction item," Ye Wangxi said.

Having had no interest in the auction, Nangong Si was surprised. His gaze sharpened as he peered
at the outlines of Song Qiutong's face beneath the veil. "She's a Slave-Boned or a Butterfly-Boned
Beauty Feast?"

The other type of person it was considered appropriate to be bought and sold openly in the
cultivation world was the offspring of human and demon - the Slave-Boned. Their demonic nature
was feared; if they were discovered, their vital energy would be destroyed and they would be
cursed with a slave mark on their shoulderblades. They weren't rare, Mo Ran knew, generally
ending up as servitors for the large sects or playthings of the rich and powerful. Certainly, he
thought, one of them wouldn't have been worth a slot at the Xuanyuan Pavilion auction.

"Butterfly-Boned Beauty Feast," Ye Wangxi answered, as if it should have been obvious.

Nangong Si ignored the implied insult, suddenly interested in the merchandise. He circled around
her, looking her up and down. "What's wrong with its leg? Is it defective?"

"She was injured," Ye Wangxi said. "We've applied salve and it's healing." He paused. "That's
why we can't walk far and were hoping to stay here."

Nangong Si narrowed his eyes, leaning into Song Qiutong's neck to sniff at her as if he were a
wolf. She paled, frozen in fear. "She smells perfectly normal," he said. "Like perfume powder.
How much did you pay for her?" he added, as if offhandedly.

"Fifty million."

"Silver?"

"Gold."

"Are you out of your mind?" Nangong Si snapped. "Do you have any idea how many top-grade
whetstones that would buy? And you fucking got a woman to bring back to me? Do you have no
concept of money?"

"I didn't use the sect's funds," Ye Wangxi said. "And I didn't buy her for you."

Nangong Si's face darkened in anger. "I see how it is!" He turned to glare at the girl, expression of
anger deepening. The veil seemed to infuriate him even more. "Take that rag off your face!"

Afraid, Song Qiutong clutched Ye Wangxi's sleeve and tried to hide behind him. "Sir, I don't want
to."

No fear darkened Ye Wangxi's eyes as he faced the taller and more muscular Nangong Si and
tilted his head slightly. "Sir, she doesn't want to. Please leave her be."

"You talk too much," Nangong Si snarled. "If you saved her, she owes the sect her life and that
means she does what I say. Take it off."

"I saved her, and then I set her free. Please don't force her, young master."
"What the fuck!" Nangong Si punched the door frame. "Why do you defy me at every turn? If I tell
her to take it off, she takes it off. That's the only way you're staying here."

Ye Wangxi sighed almost imperceptibly. "Let's go," he said to Song Qiutong.

Never mind Nangong Si's attempts to save face, Mo Ran thought, Ye Wangxi was in possession of
the holy weapon and couldn't be allowed to simply leave. "Go stop him," Chu Wanning said,
apparently having the same thought.

Mo Ran paused. "Where would he sleep, sir?"

"Half of our room," Chu Wanning snapped. "Go."

"That's, uh, not a good idea."

Chu Wanning turned to him. "Why not?"

"Sir, there are some things you don't know about him, but it's best that we don't stay in the same
room. Besides," he added, "he won't agree to it. He's, uh, he's actually -" The sound of Nangong Si
kicking over a table conveniently interrupted Mo Ran before he could reveal important
information, cups and dishes clattering to the floor, and then the screech of a bench being dragged
across the floor.

honestly, this is the shittiest way to draw out Dramatic Tension about Ye Wangxi's Secret

"Who said you could just leave!" Nangong Si bellowed. "Are you revolting? Get back here!"

His attendants shuffled awkwardly behind him, but Ye Wangxi was long-used to Nangong Si's
temper. He pretended to have heard nothing as he tapped Song Qiutong on the shoulder and
gestured for her to follow him out the door.

"Ye Wangxi!" Nangong Si shouted, louder and louder, until he was screaming. "Ye Wangxi!!"

Mo Ran could see the vein in Ye Wangxi's temple twitch from his vantage point as the Rufeng
Sect disciple looked back to see a wine jar hurtling directly for his face. He tensed to dodge, but a
blur of white intercepted the projectile. A delicate voice cried out in pain, startling the entire room,
as Song Qiutong pressed a trembling hand to her forehead. Blood spilled around her fingertips from
where the heavy jar had struck her fair skin, tears flowing from her eyes.

"Don't touch it," Ye Wangxi instructed. "Let me see."

"I'm all right, as long as my lord wasn't injured."

"Can't you talk without throwing things?" Ye Wangxi said over his shoulder with a sullen glare.
"Get the Jinchuang medicine," he ordered his attendant, turning back.

"Sir, we're out," the attendant said. "Should I go fetch more?"

"I have some," Nangong Si mumbled guiltily. "Lan, fetch my bag."

Still angry, Ye Wangxi pressed his lips together and ignored the sect leader's heir as Nangong Si
held the bottle out stiffly. Eventually, shame won out over pride, and Nangong Si shoved the bottle
at Song Qiutong instead. "Here," he said. "Use it if you want. I don't care."

Like a frightened deer, Song Qiutong stayed frozen for a long moment. She looked between the
two men, finally accepting the bottle when she saw that Ye Wangxi wasn't indicating that she
shouldn't. She lowered her head in gratitude to the person who had injured her in the first place.
"Thank you, my lord Nangong."

Taken aback at receiving thanks after nearly cracking her skull open, Nangong Si goggled at her
before regaining his self-control. He waved his hand with an awkward cough. "No problem."

Rooms were prepared for Ye Wangxi's party following the incident, meaning the holy weapon was
still on the grounds. Mo Ran sat by the window, cheek propped in his hand, watching the candles
flickering throughout the inn. In the nearly two years since his rebirth, he had seen several events
unfold completely differently. It was odd, to say the least, to have the familiar objects and people
reappear. He anticipated Ye Wangxi's name resounding through the cultivation world, second only
to Chu Wanning, but he resolved to stay far away from Song Qiutong this time around. The
thought of No Return made the breath catch in his chest. "Sir," he said.

two chapters ago, it was nearly a year since he'd been reborn. where did the extra year come
from?

"What is it?"

"You've been working on that talisman for an hour. Isn't it done?"

"Almost." Chu Wanning carefully brushed the finishing strokes across the talisman in cinnabar and
put it down to reveal a vivid drawing of a soaring dragon. Mo Ran shuffled over to look at it.
"Rising Dragon Array," Chu Wanning forestalled the question. "It detects all spells in an area, big
or small, and will show traces of any efforts to use the holy weapon to test for spiritual essence. In
this way, we'll know whether the weapon appearing was coincidence or not."

"That's pretty neat," Mo Ran said. "Uh, why didn't you do this back at the pavilion?"

"You'll see," Chu Wanning said. He pricked his finger and brushed the blood across the dragon's
scales. The drawing began to glow golden, eyes and tail moving across the paper. "Are you a real
dragon?" Chu Wanning asked.

A squeaky voice answered from the paper, startling Mo Ran. "Absolutely!"

"Prove it."

"Stupid mortal! What is there to doubt?"

"If you're a real dragon, jump out of the page."

"Like that's so hard."With a flash of golden light, a dragon the size of Mo Ran's hand leapt out of
the paper, wiggling its body and baring its fangs. It flew around Chu Wanning's head, clearly
pleased with itself. "I'm a dragon, big and real, and I know so many secrets, but I'm not going to tell
you what they are!"

Cold as an icy lake, Chu Wanning's gaze swept over the dragon before he trapped it under a cupped
hand. "See?" he said to Mo Ran.

"I see," Mo Ran said.

"You're messing up my whiskies!" screeched the dragon indignantly. "You stupid mortal!"

Chu Wanning lifted his hand and poked at the blood-colored scales at the dragon's throat. "Shut up
and get to work."
------

"I got it, I got it!" The little dragon zoomed back in through the window less than ten minutes after
it had left. "So many magic traces at this inn!"

"Are you afraid the neighbors might not hear you, you little lizard?" Mo Ran said. "Yell louder."
He reached over to pet its body, getting a smack from its tail for his trouble.

"Don't touch me, you annoying pretty boy," the dragon said. "I'm not married. You can't just feel
me up like that!"

Mo Ran burst out laughing. "A paper dragon like you? Married?"

"Who are you calling paper, you dingy mutt?"

"Wait, why are even you calling me a dog?" Mo Ran said, indignantly. "Are you related to the Xue
family?"

"Idiot brat," the dragon huffed. "I am the Dragon of the Candle, unmatched, splitting the heavens
and cleaving the earth! My name is Zhu Jiuyin and don't you forget it!"

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that."

"You!" The little dragon turned angry cartwheels, smashing into the candlestick but failing to
overturn it. Mo Ran tried to steady it, but the dragon bit his hand. He grabbed it by the tail and
flung it to the side, where it impacted with Chu Wanning's collar and stuck there. "Chu Wanning,"
the dragon whined. "The mangy mutt hit me."

Chu Wanning peeled the dragon off his clothes and dropped it unceremoniously on the table.
"What did you find?"

"You have to speak to me respectfully first."

I feel bad for the dragon, they're actually being dicks to it. It's obnoxious, yes, but clearly
sapient.

"Speak," Chu Wanning said, glaring coldly. Puffing up with anger, the dragon's whiskers stood
straight up as it glared at Chu Wanning with its beady little eyes. It heaved up a gush of ink. "Waste
any more ink and I will set you on fire," Chu Wanning threatened. He reached for it, as if he would
carry through. "Then you'll really be a candle dragon."

"Fine! Fine! You win! I'll tell you everything!" The dragon cleared its throat and spit, sending
drops of ink scattering across the table. "So damn mean, no wonder you're still single."

"Oh?" Mo Ran blinked. "Didn't you say you were married?"

Chu Wanning ignored him. "Less talking, more writing," he snapped at the dragon.

Grumbling, the dragon gathered ink in its claws and began to scrawl messily across the page. It
wasn't able to name the spells it saw - its brain didn't process information that way - but it could
draw the traces of magic out. Chu Wanning was more than capable of discerning the original spells
based on the residue. He watched the dragon's progress, and named the spells quietly as it went
along.

"Waning moon, a soothing spell for insomnia. Celestial defense array. Radiant countenance spell,"
he added.

Mo Ran laughed. "I know this one! Lots of girls use it at night. I bet it's the throwback."

Chu Wanning ignored him, watching the dragon's drawings for something less inconsequential.
"Next," he said, and the dragon kept going. "Heart-clearing spell," Chu Wanning said. "It's just for
meditation." The next one was for beast-taming, and Chu Wanning got frustrated. "Skip the
unimportant ones," he said. "Keep going."

"So picky," the dragon said, huffily wiping his little claws across the paper. His next drawing was a
complicated, mysterious array, and Mo Ran didn't recognize it. Two circles with a cross and a
vertical line might have been a yin-yang divination spell, and he asked if that was what it was.

"No," Chu Wanning said, dashing Mo Ran's hopes that they'd found the spell put on the holy
weapon. "This one changes voices. Some people like to sound different for trivial reasons. This
isn't difficult, and it's probably not important." He paused. "It does damage the throat after a while,
though, so the caster can't go back to their original voice. It's unusual enough that I wonder who's
using it."

"Ah," Mo Ran said. "That makes sense."

Chu Wanning blinked. "What do you mean, that makes sense? What do you know?"

"What could I possibly know?" Mo Ran said. "I was just thinking it was perfectly normal. Maybe
it's the throwback. Maybe her real voice is hideous."

And he is actively choosing not to share the information he was conveniently prevented from
sharing before, thus prolonging the Dramatic Tension in a very contrived way. Shitty
example of foreshadowing.

"Stop wasting your time with nonsense." Chu Wanning turned back to the dragon. "Next."

The dragon drew the same symbol as the heart-clearing spell, and Mo Ran was about to tell him he
was supposed to skip the inconsequential spells when the dragon slapped a blotch of ink into the
center of the drawing and smear it around. "Black-hearted spell?" Mo Ran guessed.

"Affection spell," Chu Wanning said, looking awkward. "It bewitches the person to fall in love
with the caster, and it's mostly used by women."

oh yeah great attitude towards women in this book

"You think it's the throwback?"

"How should I know?" Chu Wanning said, flinging his sleeve irately. "I don't involve myself in
other people's love affairs."

"You should be more interested in this love spell," the dragon said gleefully, its tail swaying. "If
you're respectful enough, I'll tell you why."

"Next spell," Chu Wanning said, glaring murderously at the dragon.

"You're going to regret it," the dragon warned, and sat down with a plop to scratch idly at its belly.

"Is that all of them?" Chu Wanning asked.