Chapter 101: Shizun, the Last Flame in This World

Mo Ran said nothing for a long while. Then he smiled brightly. "A

pavilion with only one master would make a good tale, huh. Well said."

His shapely feet trod unhurriedly across the ice-cold stone of the floor,

the blue vein across the top flexing as he came to a stop before Song Qiutong.

Mo Ran lifted one foot and tipped Song Qiutong's chin up with his toes,

compelling her to meet his gaze. "You've been keeping all this bottled up for

quite some time, hm?" He looked down upon her terror-stricken face with a

smile. "Empress Song, you know, there are a number of things I've never

asked you about. Since you're pouring your heart out today, why don't we

just have it all out, hm? Come, let's have a nice chat.

"We can start with the most recent," Mo Ran continued. "The day I set

out for Taxue Palace, I clearly remember locking Chu Wanning in the

residential palace before leaving. So tell me, how was it that he appeared at

Kunlun Mountain? Who let him out and allowed him to come find me?"

Song Qiutong's entire body shuddered. "I don't know!" she exclaimed.

In her panic to explain herself, she even forgot to refer to herself as this one,

slipping into I instead.

Mo Ran smiled. "All right, you don't know that one. Next, then. The

year I made you empress, I also entrusted you with the management of

Sisheng Peak. Afterward, I had to travel to Yin Mountain to take care of

some business. Chu Wanning had been disobedient at the time, so I had him

locked in the water prison to reflect on his actions."

Song Qiutong's face grew pale at his mention of this matter, and her

lips began to quiver.

"You used the excuse of a prison inspection and went to visit him, but

he thoroughly scorned you."

"Y-yes," Song Qiutong said in a rush. "But Your Majesty…A-Ran, I

told you about this incident back when it happened. Chu-zongshi dismissed

me in such a disparaging manner, and then proceeded to insult not only

myself but Your Majesty as well. I couldn't contain my anger at the time…

I…"

"This venerable one knows." Mo Ran's smile was faint. "You couldn't

contain your anger at the time. But Chu Wanning had committed grave crimes,

and his punishment couldn't be increased without this venerable one's

permission. So you carried out a piece of minor discipline and had all ten of

his nails pulled out and stinging thorns inserted into the tip of each finger."

Song Qiutong's eyes filled with horror as she scrambled to say, "Your

Majesty, when you returned, you praised me for doing well!"

Mo Ran continued to smile. "Oh…? Did I?"

"You… You said that foul-mouthed people should be treated just so,

and you even told this one that the punishment was rather light, that if he

should speak rudely again in the future, t-to break his fingers…" Her voice

trailed off until, in the end, faced with the terrifying smile on Mo Ran's face,

she collapsed to the ground in tears. "A-Ran…"

Mo Ran sighed softly. He smiled. "Qiutong, that was so long ago. This

venerable one no longer remembers what he said or didn't say back then."

Song Qiutong held her tongue. She had by now guessed Mo Ran's

intent, but her body still shuddered violently at his words.

"This venerable one's been having dreams lately. Dreams about that

day, returning from Yin Mountain and arriving at the water prison to find him

with both hands festering and covered in blood…" Mo Ran spoke slowly, but

his voice tightened toward the end, and a cold light flashed in his eyes. "This

venerable one was not happy."

"Your Majesty, Your Majesty…" Song Qiutong repeated helplessly.

"No, A-Ran… Let me explain—please calm down and let me explain…"

"This venerable one was not happy." Mo Ran continued as if he hadn't

heard a word, lowering his expressionless face to look coolly at the woman

huddled on the floor. "Indulge me a bit, won't you?"

Song Qiutong had spent these years at Mo Ran's side with her life on

the line, like sleeping beside a ferocious tiger. Nevertheless, when she saw

Mo Ran's countenance like frost and snow, paired with such an imperious

request, Song Qiutong broke out in gooseflesh, and her scalp went numb. She

could smell the scent of the oncoming storm. She lifted her deep brown eyes

and peered meekly up at him as she crawled forward on all fours to nestle

herself by his ankles. "Of course, anything A-Ran says. What can I do to

make A-Ran happy? I'll definitely…definitely…"

Mo Ran leaned over and gripped her jaw, wrenching her face upward.

He wore a lovely, innocent smile, just like the one he'd worn when he first

laid eyes on her at Rufeng Sect. Then, twin pools of sweet dimples had

adorned his cheeks as he tugged at her sleeve and said, Xiao-Shimei, what's

your name? Aiya, don't be afraid, I won't hurt you. Talk to me, okay?

She shuddered. After so many years, yet with practically the same

expression and the same tone, he said something else altogether:

"Qiutong, this venerable one knows you mean it, that you'll do

anything to make this venerable one happy…" His words were sweet and

gentle, and his fingertip caressed her soft lips. The part of her that looked

most like Shi Mingjing.

Mo Ran's lashes trembled lightly as he stared calmly at those petallike lips. Finally, he said, "Then you may go wait for this venerable one on

the road to hell."

Song Qiutong froze.

"Okay?" he asked gently.

The tears that spilled from Song Qiutong's eyes were not from

sadness, but from fear. She'd known the instant Mo Ran brought up her past

abuse of Chu Wanning that this was going to end badly for her, but she'd

thought the worst that could happen would be punishment by the rod or the

loss of her title. She did not have the courage to even imagine that Mo Ran

would actually…

That he'd actually! That he could actually bear to—!

He…he…

Madman.

He's gone mad…he's gone mad…

Mo Ran threw his head back and laughed in a low voice. His laughter

grew increasingly arrogant, increasingly unrestrained. He laughed as he

kicked open the door of the residential palace, laughed as he strode outside.

He had always trod with abandon, had trampled countless lives. Now it was

her turn.

He's gone mad…he's gone mad! Mo Weiyu has really gone mad!

Song Qiutong sank to her knees on that ice-cold floor of stone and

golden bricks. The ardor of intimacy within the residential palace had yet to

dissipate, but the fires of hell had begun to burn. With her mouth hanging

slack and her head tipped backward, she struggled to look at the sky outside

the palace.

Dawn was breaking, and the sky was the color of blood. Her

bloodshot eyes were dyed crimson. In the distance, she heard Mo Ran call,

so casual he might have been ordering his dinner for the day: "Guards, take

the empress away."

"Your Majesty!" came the panicked reactions of the retinue outside.

"Your Majesty, this…"

"Toss her in the cauldron. Fry her alive."

Song Qiutong suddenly couldn't hear anything more. Like she had sunk

deep into the sea, she couldn't hear anything more.

"Fry her alive. Fry her alive, it'll be a lively good time that way. Ha

ha… Ha ha ha…" He walked farther and farther away, yet the sound of his

laughter and shouting lingered over Sisheng Peak like a high-flying eagle,

wheeling across the sky.

The rising sun painted a long shadow behind him, a lonely figure on

the ground. Ever so slowly, he walked. At first, the silhouettes of two youths

seemed to walk beside him, and a tall man in white robes. Then the two

silhouettes disappeared, leaving only the man in white robes to accompany

him.

He walked on, and the white-robed man, too, vanished into the golden

dawn.

The rising sun was pure and unblemished, and it claimed those who

were likewise pure and unblemished—leaving only him, alone in hell,

drowning in an ocean of blood, sinking into the masses of ghosts and fiends.

Only him, all alone, growing lonelier and colder the farther he walked.

He walked until he felt like he was dead, that he had already died…

Becoming more deeply deranged with every step.

Mo Ran remembered, in the year before he took his own life, that

when he looked into the copper mirror, he sometimes couldn't even

recognize the monster staring back at him.

He remembered the night before he died, when he sat in the bamboo

pavilion at the Red Lotus Pavilion with only an old servant to keep him

company.

"Liu-gong," he had asked lazily, "what kind of person did this

venerable one used to be?" He carried on without waiting for an answer,

staring at his own reflection in the pond. "This venerable one didn't used to

wear his hair like this when he was young, much less this tasseled crown,

right?"

Liu-gong sighed. "It is as Your Majesty says. The crown and hairstyle

were both the recommendation of Empress Song after your ascension to the

throne."

"Oh, you mean Song Qiutong?" Mo Ran sneered and tipped his head

back to take a gulp of pear-blossom white wine. "I actually listened to her

suggestions back then, huh?"

Maybe it was because the end was nigh, and there was no more need

to worry about accidentally pricking the emperor's sore spot with a stray

word and losing his head. Whatever the reason, the drooping old man spoke

the candid truth.

"Yes," Liu-gong said. His eyes were downcast and his hands tucked

into his sleeves. "When Your Majesty first ascended the throne, Empress

Song was quite favored. There was a period of time when Your Majesty did

aught the empress asked. Did…Your Majesty forget?"

"Forget?" Mo Ran chuckled. "I didn't forget. How could I possibly

forget."

After he'd married Song Qiutong, someone had whispered to her that

the reason he favored her was solely due to her likeness to the deceased Shi

Mingjing. She was a clever person. She spared no effort inquiring after Shi

Mei's mannerisms and bearing, then subtly exhibited the same in their

everyday life as husband and wife, so that it seemed almost like the dead had

come back to life.

How could he possibly forget?

Mo Ran smiled mirthlessly, then suddenly plucked the crown from

atop his head and tossed it into the pond without bothering to look where it

landed. As startled koi fish leapt from the water and the visage reflected

therein became warped and distorted, he loosened his topknot and let his

inky hair fall. He leaned by the pondside, letting the mercurial light of the

rippling, sparkling waters dance across his face. "There we go. The crown's

gone, and the hair's down. Old Liu, help me think. What more does this

venerable one need to do to look as he did before the enthronement?"

"Um…"

"A hair tie, right?" Mo Ran examined his reflection. "That blue hair tie

commonly worn by disciples of Sisheng Peak. Are there any left in the

palace?"

"There are. When you shed your disciple uniform to ascend the throne,

Your Majesty charged this old one with its safekeeping. I will go fetch it if

that is Your Majesty's wish."

"Excellent. Go on then, bring the whole set. The hair tie, too."

Liu-gong left and returned bearing a stack of old clothes. Mo Ran sat

up. As the tips of his fingers brushed the familiar texture of the cotton and

hemp, snatches of the past fluttered up like dried leaves to land on his

tattered heart. Now eager, he took up an outer robe and put it on.

But the clothing of his youth was far too small; it wouldn't fit no matter

how he tugged or pulled. He flew into a rage: "Why doesn't it fit?! Why can't

I go back?!" He paced like a trapped beast in a cage, insanity in every line of

his face and his eyes flickering with a dangerous light. "This is this

venerable one's clothing! Isn't it?! Did you fetch the wrong set?! If it is this

venerable one's clothing, why would it not fit! Why would it not fit—!"

The old servant was by now accustomed to seeing his master in the

grip of madness. Liu-gong used to think Mo Ran's moods terrifying. But

today, for some reason, he found the man before him pitiful instead. He

wasn't looking for clothes—he was looking for himself, the Mo Ran of the

past who could never return. "Your Majesty," the old man sighed, soft, "Let it

go; you're not that young man of years gone anymore."

At these words, Mo Ran ceased his raging and fell silent. His head

whipped around fiercely to glare at the old man's withered face. But he was

unable to get a single word out, as if he were choking, and in the end only

breathed harshly as he stared with red-rimmed eyes. It was several minutes

before he finally managed, "I'm not…?"

"You're not."

A long pause. "I can't go back?"

"You can't go back."

For the first time, a childlike helplessness appeared on the face of that

thirty-two-year-old man. He closed his eyes, the jut of his throat bobbing.

The old servant stood to the side with his head bowed, thinking, Once he

opens his eyes, he'll surely bare his fangs and shred everything in his path

with a snarl.

But when Mo Ran opened his eyes again, they were wet with tears.

Perhaps it was this that extinguished the inferno in his heart. Mo Ran opened

his mouth and, in a voice hoarse and weary, murmured, "I see… I see… I

can't go back… I can't go back…" 

He set down the robe as if exhausted, took a seat by the stone table,

and buried his face in his hands. A long moment passed before he said,

"Then I'll just tie up my hair."

"Your Majesty, why do all this…"

"This venerable one's life will soon end. Don't want to be too lonely

when the time comes." His face remained in his hands as he spoke, his

expression indiscernible. "I just want to change my clothes and feel like I

still have old friends around for company."

Liu-gong sighed. "That's just make-believe."

"Make-believe is fine," Mo Ran replied. "Make-believe is better than

nothing."

He pulled his long hair back, wrapping the tie around it once, twice.

Then he picked up a hair clasp with faded edges from the pile of old clothes,

intending to pin it in his hair just as he had when he was young. But as he

looked at his reflection in the water, his hand stilled.

Which side did the pin go in from again? Was it the left or the right?

He hadn't used this hair clasp for many years; he could no longer

remember. Mo Ran closed his eyes and asked, "Old Liu, do you know how I

used to wear my hair?"

"To answer Your Majesty, this old one only came into the palace two

years after your enthronement. This old one cannot answer you."

"But I can't remember," Mo Ran insisted. "I need someone to tell me."

Liu-gong remained silent.

"Where can I find someone who knows?" Mo Ran murmured. "Who

can tell me what I used to look like…"

Old Liu heaved a lengthy sigh but couldn't think of a single name.

Truthfully, Mo Ran also knew, in his heart, that the old man had no

answer to give him. And so, he held that black hair clasp uncertainly to his

left, then his right, before settling on the left side and pinning it there. "That

seems right," Mo Ran said. "Let me go ask him."

He strode toward the inner recesses of the pavilion and came to the

side of the red lotus pond where Chu Wanning's body lay, looking for all the

world as if he were merely asleep. Mo Ran settled himself down on the

ground, then propped his cheek in one hand and said, "Shizun."

The breeze carried with it the faint fragrance of the lotus blossoms. As

he looked at that man lying with his eyes closed within the vibrant,

intoxicating red of the pond, Mo Ran now found he had quite a lot he wanted

to say, but at the same time, he didn't know what to say at all.

When it came to Chu Wanning, Mo Ran seemed always to be full of

emotions. But those emotions were too jumbled, contained too many flavors;

amidst the sweet and the sour and the bitter and the spicy, he couldn't tell if

the greater part of what he felt toward this man was hatred, or something

else. He really, honestly didn't know how to behave toward this person.

He had once convinced himself that the sole reason he kept

Chu Wanning around was to vent his hatred and sate his desires. But then Chu

Wanning had died, and Mo Ran still kept this corpse that he could no longer

even lie with. The grave had been dug, but Mo Ran couldn't bear to bury

him.

What use was there in keeping this cold, unmoving corpse that couldn't

speak? Even he didn't really know. The two of them had been through too

much, and whatever tiny, pure thing there had been at the start had been

drowned to death long ago.

When Chu Wanning was still alive, the two rarely passed any peaceful,

amicable days together. But now that Chu Wanning was gone, a kind of cruel

gentleness grew between the living and the dead. Mo Ran visited him often, a

jar of pear-blossom white wine in hand, and looked without saying much at

all.

Now he was besieged on all sides and knew that his life was at an

end. Dead as he was, Chu Wanning was the only person from his past; the last

one left in this Sisheng Peak that looked the same but held none of the same

people; the only one who had stayed beside him all this time.

Mo Ran suddenly wanted to have a nice, long heart-to-heart with this

cold corpse. Chu Wanning was dead; he could neither protest nor berate him.

No matter what Mo Ran said, his shizun would have no choice but to lie

there and listen. Yet when Mo Ran tried to move his lips, his throat felt tight.

In the end, he only managed to say one thing.

"Shizun, pay attention to me."

Chapter