100 Chapter 100: Shizun’s Last Words

Mo Ran's blood ran cold.

He had only seen Chu Wanning's guqin Jiuge once in his life, when

he'd summoned it amidst their previous life-or-death battle. Then, its chords

had split the skies and sundered the clouds. Every entity under the control of

the Zhenlong Chess Formation, from the living people to the beasts and

spirits, had recovered their consciousness at the sound of Jiuge's chords. One

song had thrown Mo Ran's million-strong army of chess pieces into utter

disarray.

Even so, summoning a holy weapon required the use of one's spiritual

core and consumed a great deal of spiritual energy. Chu Wanning couldn't

even call Tianwen anymore—how had he suddenly managed to call forth

Jiuge, a weapon even more powerful?

The confrontation above Heavenly Lake that day had been no less

fierce than the deathmatch betwixt master and disciple years before. Yet Mo

Ran's memory of it was a muddy blur—because that bloody battle had left

him without a single person by his side he could talk to.

Truth be told, even up until his death in the last lifetime, Mo Ran never

had figured out how Chu Wanning was able to summon Jiuge using only the

strength of his soul. It was a kind of connection not known to exist between

any holy weapon and its master. But Chu Wanning had managed it.

That day, Mo Ran's Zhenlong chess pieces had crumbled to dust one

after another at the thrum of the guqin. Jiuge's strength was somehow even

purer and more indomitable than the first time he'd witnessed it all those

years ago—so much so that he suspected Chu Wanning's spiritual core hadn't

been shattered at all, that he had merely been faking it all those years, had

endured the indignities and bided his time, all for the chance to take his

revenge in one fell swoop.

Later still, Mo Ran couldn't help thinking it would have been better

that way. If Chu Wanning really had simply been pretending, maybe things

wouldn't have come to this point.

If only.

Jiuge nullified Mo Ran's forbidden magic and returned awareness to

the thousands of Taxue Palace cultivators slaughtering each other. It even

shattered the enchanted ice pillars that bound Xue Meng and Mei Hanxue.

Mo Ran leapt into the sky, robes flapping in the wind, his eyes flashing with

anger and delight in equal measure. How many more surprising skills did

Chu Wanning have up his sleeve? He couldn't wait to find out.

He landed atop of the barrier and strode across it to stand before Chu

Wanning. That pair of slender, pale hands slowed, then laid themselves over

the strings of the guqin, muting its sound. Chu Wanning lifted his head, his

face the color of snow beneath sun. He spoke: "Mo Ran. Come closer."

Mo Ran walked over, though he couldn't say why he did so.

Chu Wanning lifted his fingers, and streams of jade-colored light arced

toward Mo Ran's chest. He was startled at first, thinking that Chu Wanning

meant to kill him. But the light didn't hurt at all. It only hovered before his

chest, then melted slowly into his skin and flesh, suffusing him with untold

warmth.

"I've healed the wound Xue Meng gave you." Chu Wanning breathed a

soft sigh. "So let him off, Mo Ran. If even he's gone, when you want to

reminisce about the past, who will you go to…"

Mo Ran was still processing the meaning behind these words when the

sturdy barrier beneath his feet winked out of existence, along with Chu

Wanning's Jiuge. He swiftly raised his hand to call Bugui so as to maintain

his footing between the clouds. But Chu Wanning fell, gentle as a wilted leaf,

as if his playing had exhausted the last of his strength.

"Wanning!" Mo Ran's expression shifted instantly. He urged his blade

down, down, catching Chu Wanning in his arms moments before he plunged

into the icy waters of Heavenly Lake. "Chu Wanning! You—you…"

Chu Wanning's eyes were closed. Blood trickled from his nose, his

mouth, his eyes, his ears. This man had ever valued his dignity. Even in the

years he was imprisoned within Wushan Palace, he had kept his back ramrod

straight and rarely presented himself as aught other than prim and pristine.

But now he bled from all seven orifices of his face, and his usually clear and

refined countenance was a disheveled mess.

Chu Wanning swallowed a mouthful of blood. "You said that life or

death is not up to me…but you see, Mo Ran…" His voice was hoarse.

"You've underestimated your shizun after all. If I've made up my mind to

leave, you can't stop me…no matter how you try…"

"Shizun… Shizun…" Mo Ran stared at him, feeling a chill wash over

his heart, feeling his scalp go numb as he called out, helpless.

Chu Wanning smiled, his expression almost relieved. "I've held onto

life these past few years because I didn't want to give up, always thinking…

thinking that I'd just keep you company a little longer, try to teach you…not to

commit any more sins. But now… Now…"

Mo Ran trembled as he held the man in his arms. He suddenly felt

terrified.

Terrified.

Such an emotion had been no part of him for more than ten years, but

now it rushed back in a wave, nearly carving out his heart.

"Now I see that, perhaps, it will take my death for you to…stop doing

evil…" He fell silent, as if in immense pain. Summoning Jiuge had been

more than his body could withstand. His insides were ripping apart; another

mouthful of blood spilled from his lips. Mo Ran, cradling him in his arms,

touched down on the shore of Heavenly Lake. He channeled spiritual energy

into Chu Wanning's chest without pause, his expression crazed and

anguished.

But that powerful stream of spiritual energy only sank uselessly into

Chu Wanning's body, like water through a sieve. Mo Ran panicked. Taxianjun clutched the man in his arms tight to himself, trying and failing, again and

again, to pass him spiritual energy.

"It's useless. Mo Ran, I used the last of my life to summon Jiuge. This

is the end for me. But if you…yet have any clarity in your heart, then

please…forgive…"

Forgive whom?

Xue Meng? Mei Hanxue? Kunlun Taxue Palace, or the entire

cultivation world? Yes, yes… He'd forgive them all! So long as

Chu Wanning lived, so long as this man he hated to his very core didn't die

like this.

Chu Wanning raised a trembling hand, and a cold fingertip— as if out

of pity, but also almost tender—poked lightly at Mo Ran's forehead. "Then

please forgive…forgive yourself…"

The ferocity on Mo Ran's face froze in a rictus.

Forgive whom… As he lay dying, just whom was he worrying over?

Forgive…yourself…

Was that what he'd said?

As he held Chu Wanning, Taxian-jun was at something of a loss, but

also somewhat delighted; wracked by misery, but also perfectly content.

"Forgive myself?" Mo Ran muttered, his eyes bloodshot. "Your last

wish is for me to forgive myself?" He burst into laughter, and the sound

pierced the skies like a raging inferno, burning away all reason and

rationality. "Ha ha ha—ha ha ha ha ha—forgive myself? Chu Wanning,

you're even crazier than me! How naïve—ha ha ha ha—" The slopes of

Kunlun Mountain echoed with his deranged, miserable laughter. Twisted,

unrecognizable, terrifying.

Chu Wanning swallowed another mouthful of blood, surrounded by the

sound of Mo Ran's insanity. Had he still possessed the strength, his

expression would have been one of anguish. But he no longer even had the

wherewithal to furrow his brows. Only that pair of phoenix eyes—those eyes

that had been at times sharp, or resolute, or harsh, or gentle—were now

filled with sorrow.

Clear as the snow over Heavenly Lake, clouded as the frost limning

the roof tiles.

Slowly, Chu Wanning's eyes grew unfocused, and his pupils dilated.

Slowly, what had once been bright and sharp as lightning could no longer see

distinctly. After a spell, he said in a quiet voice, "Don't laugh anymore, I

can't bear to see you like this…"

Mo Ran had no reply.

"Mo Ran, everything that happened in this life…it's all because I

failed to teach you well, because I called you vile and beyond remedy. It was

I who wronged you. I won't blame you, in life or in death…" No color

remained on Chu Wanning's bloodless face; even his lips were a pale blue.

He lifted his gaze, with great effort, to look at Mo Ran. He wanted to cry, but

instead, it was blood that flowed from his eyes and slid down his cheeks.

Chu Wanning wept. "Do you truly hate me so much…that you won't grant me

a moment of peace…even at the very end…? Mo Ran, Mo Ran…don't do

this anymore. Wake up, turn back… Turn back…"

Wake up…

Chu Wanning told Mo Ran to wake up. But he himself, his hollow eyes

wide open, sank into an endless slumber.

Mo Ran didn't believe—he refused to believe—that Chu Wanning

could just die like this. That the great zongshi of an era, that high and lofty

man, his shizun, the person he despised more than anyone, could die just like

this. Lying in his arms at the edge of Heavenly Lake dyed red with blood.

Growing cold bit by bit, cold as frost, frozen like ice.

Chu Wanning's face was awash in blood. Mo Ran stared for a time

with his head bowed, then raised his sleeve to wipe it clean. But there was

too much blood. The more he wiped, the more he dirtied that once clear,

clean face. Mo Ran pressed his lips together and wiped harder. All he got in

return was a face smeared with gore, Chu Wanning's features nearly

unrecognizable.

At last, he stopped laughing. Closing his eyes, he murmured quietly,

"You won this time, Chu Wanning. I couldn't stop you from dying." He

paused, then opened his eyes again. They were deep and dark, yet within that

abyss, a fire burned. "But you've underestimated me, too," he continued. "I

can't stop you if you don't wish to live, but neither can you stop me if I don't

wish you to die."

Mo Ran brought Chu Wanning back to Sisheng Peak. He said not a

word about his death.

By then, he was already immensely powerful, more than capable of

staving off decay from a dead body indefinitely. Thus, he kept Chu Wanning's

body at the Red Lotus Pavilion and forced him to "live on" in this manner.

He simply couldn't accept that he had killed the last person in the world who

still cared about him. So long as he could keep Chu Wanning's body from

turning to ash, so long as he could still look at him every day, he could go on

believing that Chu Wanning wasn't dead. There would still be a place for

him to unload his deranged hatred, a place for him to entrust his twisted love.

Taxian-jun had finally gone completely insane.

After Chu Wanning departed, Mo Ran would visit the Red Lotus

Pavilion every day, without exception, to look upon his corpse. At first, his

eyes would flash with malice, and he would spit and curse before that body,

saying, "Chu Wanning, this is what you deserve."

"You cared for every person under the sun but me, you hypocrite."

"What kind of master are you? I must've been fucking blind back then

to take you as my master! You bastard!"

Later, he would ask relentlessly, every day, "Why're you still asleep?

When are you gonna wake up?"

"I've already let Xue Meng go, is that not enough for you? Get up

already."

Whenever he said such things, the servants accompanying him

wondered if he had truly cracked and gone mad.

His wife, Song Qiutong, wondered the same. The prospect frightened

her, and consequently, as she lay beside Mo Ran after a rare night of

intimacy, she seized the chance to say, "A-Ran, the dead won't come back. I

know you're sad, but…"

"Who's sad?"

Song Qiutong paused. She was adept at reading faces, even more so

after the years she'd spent at Mo Ran's side. Her every step was careful, like

treading on thin ice. When she saw his ill temper, she fell silent at once and

lowered her eyes, saying, "This one misspoke."

But this time, Mo Ran didn't let her off so easily. "No, no," he

pressed, narrowing his eyes. "You've already spit it out, so let's have it. Go

on, tell me: Who's sad?"

"Your Majesty…"

Mo Ran's dark eyes rolled with thunder. He abruptly sat up and seized

Song Qiutong by her delicate neck. With one hand, he lifted the woman he

had just lain with and threw her off the bed.

His face had twisted into something dangerous and bestial. "What do

you mean the dead won't come back—who's dead? Who's not coming

back?" Mo Ran pushed each word past gritted teeth, aggressive and

emphatic. "No one's dead, no one needs to come back, and no one is sad!"

Song Qiutong's lips quivered. She wanted to protest, but no sooner had

she uttered the words "Red Lotus Pavilion"—just that half of a sentence—

than Mo Ran saw red.

"What are you trying to say? There's no one at the Red Lotus Pavilion

but Chu Wanning, and he's asleep! What exactly are you trying to suggest?!

Bitch!"

The sight of his terrible rage made Song Qiutong's heart lurch. At this

rate, she was unsure what he might do in his lunacy. Thus she threw caution

to the wind and gambled it all, raising her voice to say, "Your Majesty, that

man lying in the Red Lotus Pavilion is already dead, yet you wallow there

every day. How can…how can this one not worry?"

She chose her words carefully to evade blame, framing her own

selfish desire as concern for Mo Ran.

Mo Ran stared at her, and his breathing gradually evened, as if her

words had gotten through to him on some level. He calmed his rage, then took

a moment to steady himself. "I've made you worry," he said.

Song Qiutong heaved a sigh of relief. "This one wishes only for Your

Majesty's well-being, and would gladly die for it. Your Majesty is deeply

compassionate, but you must not be so despondent."

"Then tell me, how do you think this venerable one should be?"

"Forgive this one for saying so, this one only means well for Your

Majesty, but it's time to bury Chu…Chu-zongshi. He's already gone, and

keeping his empty body around like this will only cause Your Majesty more

pain."

"And? You have more to say, do you not? Might as well get it all off

your chest."

When she saw his expression relax, Song Qiutong's heart, which had

leapt up into her throat, settled back in its place in her chest. She lowered her

lashes and tilted her head slightly; she knew she looked most like Shi

Mingjing this way.

Song Qiutong was perfectly aware that Shi Mingjing was Mo Weiyu's

weakness. What she couldn't understand was why, no matter how she

dressed like him or carefully imitated his demeanor, she still couldn't arouse

Mo Ran's interest. Although this temperamental man enjoyed her company, he

only ever touched her when he was very low or very drunk. Song Qiutong

suspected that perhaps Mo Ran wasn't really into women. Whatever the

reason, it definitely wasn't because he wasn't into Shi Mingjing—all of

Sisheng Peak knew that the man who had died many years ago was Emperor

Taxian-jun's true love.

Compared to that, what the hell was Chu Wanning?

Song Qiutong believed he was nothing more than a plaything on which

Taxian-jun vented his lust, a plaything he'd already grown tired of fucking, at

that. Chu Wanning may have traded his life for Mo Weiyu's disquietude and

remembrance, but she was certain it was at most a momentary guilt, a

temporary disruption to routine. She was confident in her face—this face that

looked so much like Shi Mingjing's. That person in the Red Lotus Pavilion,

neither living nor dead, could never outmatch her on this basis alone.

But Mo Ran couldn't be allowed to persist in this insanity. The world

these days was in chaos, wars springing up left and right, and she was

terrified that she might have hitched her horse to the wrong wagon. She

wasn't young anymore; if Mo Ran were to lose his standing, she was unlikely

to find another sky-reaching tree she could climb to the top. So she sincerely,

wholeheartedly, hoped that Mo Ran would pull himself together and cease

his madness.

She mulled it over, weighing the risks against the rewards. In the end,

she summoned up the courage to say, "And once Chu-zongshi is gone, there

will be none worthy of the Red Lotus Pavilion."

"Right. Go on."

"This one thinks, with that being the case, the pavilion will only serve

to remind Your Majesty of the past, so…"

"So?" Mo Ran narrowed his eyes.

"So perhaps it would be best to seal away the Red Lotus Pavilion after

this. A pavilion with only one master makes for a good tale."