119 Chapter 119: Shizun’s Four Souls Assembled

Chu Wanning couldn't hear the words Rong Jiu was shouting

behind them. However, he only needed look around to realize Rong Jiu had

purposely provoked him back at the storehouse. He'd made Chu Wanning

angry, then seized the opportune moment to escape and snitch.

Chu Wanning was ordinarily the type to think things through rationally

no matter the situation. But when it came to anything involving Mo Ran, all

his rationality and calm seemed to evaporate into thin air. He was somewhat

flabbergasted at the ease with which he'd been hoodwinked by a few words

from a pansy like that. He looked to Mo Ran, who was running a few paces

ahead of him, and asked in spite of himself, "Did you ever…go back to that

Immortal Peach Pavilion afterward?"

Upon hearing this name he himself had nearly forgotten, Mo Ran

stumbled. "Rong Jiu, that dirty bastard!" he yelled, furious. "Did he say I

went back to Immortal Peach Pavilion?! Why would I?! Shizun, is that why

you're mad? Because he said I lied to you?"

Chu Wanning did not reply.

"After the whole thing at the Platform of Sin and Virtue, I never went

back to…to those kinds of places. I wouldn't lie to Shizun. If you don't

believe me, you can use Jiangui to bind me and ask me then."

After a second, Chu Wanning said, "No need." He glanced down at

Jiangui, still tightly gripped in his hand. Thinking how he had just injected

spiritual power into the willow vine to whip Mo Ran bloody, without care or

reason, that really had been…

Wait, a holy weapon?!

Jiangui's flames illuminated his complexion, bright against the

darkness of the night. Chu Wanning stared at it, his mind tossing and turning

frantically. He tried reversing the flow of the spiritual power, drawing it

from Jiangui into his palm, and instantly felt a strong, abundant power rush

in. Suddenly, Chu Wanning knew where he could draw spiritual power.

While such power could not flow between the living and the dead, the

powers of a holy weapon cared not a bit whether the wielder was a human,

ghost, god, or demon. As long as the weapon itself accepted, it made no

difference!

It took Mo Ran a second to notice Chu Wanning had fallen behind.

Once he did, he immediately turned back and asked anxiously, "Shizun, what

is it?" The lash wound on his face still bled, and with those bright black

eyes, he looked all the more pitiful.

Chu Wanning pursed his lips, chagrined and a little pained. He felt that

he had wronged Mo Ran, yet his pride pointed out that Mo Ran really had

entangled himself with the likes of Rong Jiu back then, so the lash had not

been wholly undeserved. Even after a moment's contemplation, Chu Wanning

didn't know what tone he ought to take or with what expression he should

face him. He could only go the simplest route and speak with neither emotion

nor expression. "Mo Ran, stop. Retreat back to the palace walls."

"To do what?" Mo Ran asked hesitantly.

Chu Wanning's tone was flat. "I'll show you a trick."

Mo Ran was baffled. Before he could wrap his head around his

shizun's words, he saw the red light of Jiangui flowing endlessly into the

fragment of Chu Wanning's soul, enveloping him in a curtain of flames. Mo

Ran's eyes widened as he watched Chu Wanning and Jiangui respond to each

other. Then, the flames vanished. The man garbed in red and gold robes

raised the willow vine high, hissing with threads of flames, and turned his

head to address him. "Mo Ran, give Jiangui an order."

Mo Ran now had a vague guess as to what Chu Wanning planned to do,

though he could scarcely believe it. He promptly shouted a command:

"Jiangui, heed Shizun's orders as you would mine!"

The willow vine in Chu Wanning's hand crackled, then erupted into

threads of crystal red sparks as the leaves on the vine glowed brilliantly. Chu

Wanning raised his free hand and brushed his fingertips inch by inch over

Jiangui. The willow vine coursed with a yet brighter radiance in the wake of

his touch. The thousands of ghost soldiers were closing in now. Behind them,

the barrier-sealed palace walls stood sky-high. There was nowhere to run.

But then, Chu Wanning wasn't planning to.

Light flared in his eyes and rippled outward, and a tempest roared to

life. Chu Wanning's robes danced in the gale as he held the willow vine high

and whipped it ferociously through the air. Jiangui struck out like a soaring

dragon, glowing golden, resplendent, illuminating the vast night sky. At Mo

Ran's command, Jiangui no longer rejected Chu Wanning, but instead

channeled its abundant spiritual energy ceaselessly into Chu Wanning's earth

soul. His eyes shone with that blinding brilliance, and his voice was deep

and steady as he commanded, "Jiangui, Ten Thousand Coffins!"

In that split second, countless streaks of twining gold and red willow

vines erupted from the earth with a rumble, lacerating the magnificent palace

hall into broken shingles and chunks of bricks. Thick, powerful ancient vines

ensnared the ghost soldiers and dragged them in, then locked them down

tight.

Mo Ran watched in shock as all of this happened before his eyes. He

saw the holy weapon and the fragment of Chu Wanning's soul working in

concert, merging as one. He saw Chu Wanning's robes flutter, his jet-black

hair like smoke and clouds. Whether in life or in death, his spirit had always

been like this. Earth-shatteringly blazing. Unstoppable.

Taking advantage of this opportunity, Chu Wanning leapt backward and

placed his hand on the palace wall. He closed his eyes, and in seconds he

had discerned the weak point of the barrier. "Up nine feet, four inches to the

right. Attack with fire!"

Mo Ran followed his instructions without hesitation and leapt up.

Before any of those ghosts of the second palace could react, the blazing fire

spell had taken shape in his palms. He slammed it down right on the spot Chu

Wanning had indicated. The earth rumbled and the mountains shook. The

impossibly high palace walls rapidly disintegrated and returned to their

original height, and the barrier seal shattered as well, crumbling to dust in an

instant.

"Go!"

Mo Ran didn't need to be told twice; he hopped atop the wall, then

turned to pull Chu Wanning up alongside him. The two broke free of the

Fourth Ghost King's second palace, their swift figures disappearing into the

boundless night.

In a small, narrow alleyway, Chu Wanning and Mo Ran leaned against

opposite walls, both staring at each other, neither saying a word. Mo Ran

was the first to crack, letting loose a snicker. "That old ghost will probably

be so furious he'll die…hss!" As the corners of his mouth drew back, it

pulled at the injury on his cheek.

Chu Wanning eyed him. "Stop laughing."

Mo Ran stopped. In the dim alley, his lashes flickered, and his gentle,

pitch-black eyes gazed at Chu Wanning. "Shizun, are you still mad at me?"

If he had said, "Shizun, haven't you wronged me?" Chu Wanning

mightn't have appreciated it. But instead, he had asked if he was still mad.

Chu Wanning wavered for a moment, then resolutely skirted the topic. "Hurry

and cast the spell. We barely escaped from the fourth king. He might not have

the face to tell the other ghost kings just yet, but we can't count on that if this

drags on any longer."

The instant Mo Ran heard those words, he knew Chu Wanning wasn't

leaving anymore. He wasn't going to disappear. And so, his heart that had

been drawn taut as a bowstring all this time finally relaxed. He couldn't help

but grin again. "Mn." But the more he smiled, the more it hurt, and his hand

unconsciously rose to cover his cheek.

Chu Wanning eyed him again but said nothing.

Mo Ran produced the soul-calling lantern. He held it carefully before

him with both hands and bowed his head as he wordlessly recited the spell.

When he'd repeated it thrice, the soul-calling lantern flashed with a blinding

light, so bright it made them squint.

Mo Ran could vaguely hear Master Huaizui chanting, carried across

the roaring waters of the land of the dead, carried unceasingly past the quiet

and peaceful river of forgetfulness.

"Time to return… Time to return…"

The words were difficult to make out, as if they came from a great

distance. But after many repetitions, that call to return seemed to come

nearer. Then at once, the indistinct voice of Master Huaizui rang in Mo Ran's

ears. "Why are there two earth souls?" The voice held a trace of concern.

Mo Ran closed his eyes and conveyed everything to Huaizui with a

thought.

That faint voice fell quiet for a moment before speaking. "You've met

Chu Xun of Tailwind Hall?"

"Mn."

A long silence.

"Master?"

"It's nothing. If Chu-gongzi claims having two earth souls is normal,

then it should be as he said," Huaizui said. "Only—this humble monk has

never attempted to call two earth souls back from the ghost realm

simultaneously, so this may take longer than expected. I will trouble Moshizhu to wait a bit."

Mo Ran glanced at the fourth king's second palace. "How much

longer?" he asked. "We just ran from the Fourth Ghost King's second palace,

and they might catch up to us at any moment…"

"Not too long. Rest assured, Mo-shizhu." At these words, his voice

became fainter still, and was eventually overtaken completely by the sound

of the chanting.

Chu Wanning couldn't hear Huaizui's voice, and his brows were

slightly drawn together as he watched. "What's going on?"

"There's something unusual about Shizun's souls, so the master says

we'll need to wait," Mo Ran explained. "We're too close to the second

palace here. Let's get farther away."

Chu Wanning nodded, and the two walked a ways until they turned a

corner. By this time, the skies were beginning to lighten, and the old man who

had pointed the way for Mo Ran before was preparing to pack up his wonton

stall. When he spotted Mo Ran, he appeared quite astonished. "Aiya! You

found him?"

Mo Ran hadn't expected to bump into this man again and blinked in

surprise. "Yes," he replied, "Yes I did. Thanks so much, Gramps."

"What're you thanking me for? It's all thanks to the little xianjun's own

good luck. Ay…your face is injured?"

"Oh, it's…it's a whipping from the ghost soldiers," Mo Ran grasped

for an excuse.

"No wonder. I was gonna say, nothing average can harm a ghost." The

old man sighed. "It looks painful." He pondered a moment, then reopened the

drawer he had packed away and whipped up two bowls of small wontons,

which he handed to the pair. "These're only leftovers I couldn't sell today,

but they're my treat. Eat something before you go."

Mo Ran thanked the stall owner, then saw him off. The old man

ambled away, taking his stall with him.

Chu Wanning didn't like scallions or chives, and the old man's wonton

soup was peppered with scallions. Mo Ran picked all the scallions out of his

bowl before exchanging it with Chu Wanning's. "Shizun, why don't you have

this one?"

Chu Wanning fixed him with a look, but didn't decline. He lifted his

spoon and took a careful taste. Mo Ran watched him. The ice-cold soup of

the underworld touched his pale lips, neither wontons nor soup diminishing,

just the way real ghosts ate.

"Is it good?"

"It's all right."

"Not as good as the wontons you make."

Chu Wanning choked. He looked up and stared dumbfoundedly at the

grinning man who sat beside him, chin propped in his hands. Suddenly, Chu

Wanning felt like a river mussel whose shell had been pried open and left

exposed under the sun, without a single secret left. There was a long pause.

"What wontons?" he asked. The Yuheng Elder knitted his brows, his face

stern, and feigned ignorance in a valiant attempt to preserve the teacherly

dignity that had just been spilled all over the floor.

"There's no need to hide it anymore." Before that upended dignity

could be rescued, it was shattered to pieces by Mo Ran's hand, which had

reached out to caress his hair. Chu Wanning was both furious and crestfallen.

"I know everything now."

Chu Wanning looked away.

Mo Ran retrieved the lantern holding Chu Wanning's human soul from

his qiankun pouch and placed it beside them on the stone bench. "Shizun was

awkward when alive; even in the underworld, it's still only your human soul

that's forthright."

"I did make them for you, it was only…"

Mo Ran cocked a brow and gazed steadily at him with a small smile.

It was only because what? Only because I felt bad? Because I didn't

want you to starve? Because I regretted it? Those were all words

Chu Wanning could never speak aloud.

Chu Wanning thought his own heart suffered an unspeakable affliction.

He'd always been far prouder than the average person, and considered things

like showing kindness to someone, loving them, or becoming attached to them

to be shameful. He had weathered the winds and rains of many years, and had

gotten into the habit of solitude, like a stern and solitary tree reaching toward

the sky. A great tree like this did not quiver charmingly like flowers, stirring

affection in people's hearts. Nor did it sway gently in the breeze like a string

of vines, seductive and enticing. He only stood in silence and severity, steady

and dependable, wordlessly blocking wind and rain for those who passed by,

allowing those under its branches to hide from the scorching sun.

Perhaps he'd grown too tall, his foliage too dense. The people beneath

wouldn't know that he was the one casting the gentle shade they enjoyed, not

unless they made a deliberate effort to look up. But of all those travelers

going to and fro, not one of them raised their eyes; not one had ever noticed

him. After all, most people's line of sight was habitually aimed lower than

themselves, or at eye level at most. And so Chu Wanning had gradually

grown accustomed to this, so accustomed that it became second nature. He

expected it.

But no one in the world was born reliant, or relied upon. There were

some who clung to the strong. This type of person would become ever more

charming, ever sweeter, and would limber their boneless bodies to curry

favor, to beguile, to use honeyed words to carve out their place in the world.

And then there were those like Chu Wanning. From the moment he

stepped into the cultivation world, he'd always been the one depended upon.

People like him would become ever more steadfast, ever stronger, until at

last even their face became iron, their heart steel. This type of person had

seen enough of the vulnerability and incompetence of others. They had seen

all there was of charm and sweetness, and thus refused to reveal even a

kernel of weakness themselves. These were the sword-bearers, always

standing at the ready in full armor. They could show no weakness, and they

knew nothing of tenderness.

After so long, it was easy to forget that every individual was born with

emotions and affections, both fierce and gentle. That every person had, as a

child, known how to laugh and cry. Known how to pick themselves up after a

fall, while also wishing for a pair of strong arms to help them stand.

Maybe, once upon a time, he had hoped. Hoped that someone would

reach down and help him up. But he'd waited once, and there had been no

one. A second time, and still, no one. He had experienced disappointment

after disappointment, and he'd gradually grown inured to it. By the time

someone, finally, came to help him up, it no longer felt necessary; it only felt

shameful.

It's just a little fall. It's not like I broke my leg. No need to make a

fuss about it.

And if the leg was broken? He was the type to simply think, It's just a

broken leg; it's not like I'm dead. No need to make a fuss about it.

And what if he had died? Even as a ghost, he might think, Well, I'm

already dead, no point fussing about it now.

This type worked so hard to distance themselves from the fussy

melodrama of the weak. Yet, without realizing it, they would instead fall prey

to a different kind of melodrama: a pride so stubborn it was like an incurable

disease.

Mo Ran stared at this incurable man, waiting to see what he would

say. In the end, Chu Wanning didn't say anything at all. He only pressed his

lips together and put the spoon down woodenly. He was very unhappy.

Thus, half a moment later, he sprang to his feet. "Try casting the spell

again," he said. "I want to go into the soul-calling lantern."

"Ah…" Mo Ran blinked for a second, then laughed. "Is the soulcalling lantern a conch shell, that you can go in and hide when you get

embarrassed?"

Chu Wanning presented Mo Ran with a stern and solemn mien. He

shook out his sleeves. "Embarrassed? And why, pray tell, should I be

embarrassed?"

"Of course, Shizun is embarrassed because—"

"Stop talking!" Chu Wanning exclaimed, angry and startled. He hadn't

expected Mo Ran would actually be thick-skinned enough to come right out

with it, and felt as though he'd been pricked by a needle.

"Because Shizun is good to me."

Chu Wanning fell silent.

Mo Ran now rose to his feet as well. The red clouds of the ghost realm

sailed across the sky, hiding the dreary crescent moon that had peeked its

head out to splash the ground with a layer of fresh frost and illuminate Mo

Ran's face. He wasn't laughing anymore—his expression was solemn and

sincere.

"Shizun, I know you're good to me. I don't know if you'll still

remember all this once your souls have returned, but…no matter what, I still

want to say it. From now on, you're one of the most important people on

earth to me. This disciple has done a lot of stupid things in the past, and even

though I clearly had the best shizun in the world, my heart was filled with

resentment and hate. Looking back now, I'm filled only with infinite regret."

Chu Wanning watched him.

"Shizun is the best, best shizun, and this disciple is the worst, worst

disciple."

Chu Wanning had at first felt uneasy. But as he listened to Mo Ran try

to express himself with his pathetic vocabulary, doing his utmost, yet still so

clumsy—Chu Wanning tried to resist, but in the end, he couldn't stifle a faint

smile. "I see." He nodded, and repeated, "Shizun is the best, best shizun, and

this disciple is the worst, worst disciple. At least you've finally got some

self-awareness."

Chu Wanning wasn't a greedy person. He gave freely to others, but

never asked much for himself. Perhaps he didn't have Mo Ran's affection.

But to be an important person to Mo Ran, to be the best shizun to him? That

wasn't so bad. When it came to feelings, he had always been destitute,

anyway—desperately poor, yet refusing to beg for more. And now here was

someone willing to give him a small piece of warm flatbread to munch on.

He was awfully happy and savored that flatbread in tiny bites. This was

enough for him.

That dummy Mo Ran, on the other hand… When he saw that he had

made this piece of soul smile as well, he was a bit stunned, and his heart

swelled with inexplicable joy. "Shizun, you should smile more. You look

prettier when you smile."

Chu Wanning stopped smiling. Here was that stubbornly prideful

disease of his, which made him think "looking pretty" to be the sort of

flirtatious praise directed at wild weeds like Rong Jiu. He wanted no part of

it.

But Mo Ran, with his woeful judgment, was still agonizingly trying to

praise his dear shizun. "Shizun, did you know? When you smile…uh…how

can I describe it…" He was wracking his brain trying to think up a phrase

that could adequately describe the beauty of the sight he'd just witnessed.

Something related to smiles.

The watchmen's rattle of the underworld clapped thrice again.

Inspiration struck. "Of course!" he blurted out. "It's a smile in the

underworld!"

23

Chu Wanning was speechless, and now he was genuinely mad. He

acted like he hadn't heard, and abruptly pulled his sleeve aside to pick up the

soul-calling lantern. "Mo Weiyu," he scolded sternly, "all this yapping and

you still can't cast the spell? One more word of nonsense and I'll march back

to that fourth king's palace myself. Better that than returning to the mortal

realm to listen to your drivel all day!"

Mo Ran was dumbfounded. "Smile in the underworld"… Had he used

it incorrectly? But Chu Wanning did have an especially pretty smile, and they

were currently in the underworld. It—it wasn't wrong…

Bickering out in the open like this would draw too much attention. Mo

Ran had no idea where he'd misstepped, but if Shizun told him to shut up, he

would shut up. Thinking this, he scratched his head and dragged Chu Wanning

into a more out-of-the-way corner. The steady chanting in his mind had by

this time grown louder. Mo Ran ventured to ask Huaizui, "Master, are you

almost ready?"

It was quiet for a moment on the other side. Then came the hollow

knocking sound of a wooden bell,

24

 and Huaizui's voice, crystal clear, spoke

as if right beside his ear: "Almost."

Huaizui's voice had just faded out again when motes of golden light

began to diffuse from Chu Wanning's second earth soul. His figure grew

fainter and fainter as the golden light scattered until, finally, it shattered into

millions of streaming fireflies, which flowed into the soul lamp like the stars

of the Milky Way.

Mo Ran could hear Master Huaizui chanting, carried across the

roaring waters of the land of the dead, carried unceasingly past the quiet and

peaceful river of forgetfulness. "Time to return… Time to return…"

All mortal sufferings were gradually washed to a faded white by the

sighs of that Buddhist chanting, distant yet close. Mo Ran hugged the soulcalling lantern and felt his body become lighter and lighter, emptier and

emptier.

Dong! One crisp tone from the wooden bell. It cut like a sharp knife,

brutally shattering the trance-like recitation.

Mo Ran's eyes flew open, and he jolted back to himself. Everything

from the ghost realm had vanished, like he had woken from a long dream. He

found himself lying on a bamboo raft moored by Sisheng Peak's Naihe

Bridge. The waters beneath the bamboo strips lapped and splashed around

him.

The sky was the blue of a crab shell, dyed with a smear of pale red.

The bamboo leaves on the shores of the great river danced in the breeze, the

thousands of whispers of their millions of leaves tender in the air. Dawn was

about to break.

Mo Ran blinked dazedly. When he discovered the soul-calling lantern

he had held in his arms was gone, he sat upright in a rush, scared out of his

wits.

"Shizun—!"

"Don't yell," said a voice evenly.

Mo Ran panted like he'd awoken from a nightmare. His face was pale

as he turned his head and saw Huaizui kneeling on the shore, knocking on a

wooden bell set upon a rock, his clear eyes open. "Even if you yell, he won't

hear you."

The soul-calling lantern rested beside to the wooden bell, radiating

with light, glowing and magnificent. The force of Chu Wanning's soul was

indescribably beautiful.

Huaizui picked up the lantern and rose to his feet. He nodded toward

Mo Ran. "You've done very well, young Mo-shizhu."

Mo Ran clambered to his feet as well and leapt easily from the

bamboo raft to the shore. He tugged anxiously at Huaizui. "Master, shall we

go find Shizun's mortal body in Frostsky Hall? Let's go now! If we wait too

long, I'm afraid his souls will disperse again."

Huaizui couldn't hold back a chuckle. "How could the souls disperse

so easily? Don't worry; this humble monk has already sent Xue-shizhu to

speak with your esteemed sect leader. Chu Wanning's mortal body should

now be on its way to the Red Lotus Pavilion. I will go into seclusion there

while I perform the rite to transfer your shizun's souls back into his body."

"Then let's go, quickly!" Mo Ran urged. When he saw Huaizui's faint

smile, he hastily added, "I mean, do take your time, Master. No rush, no

rush." But nothing about him indicated that there was no rush—his brow was

obviously furrowed, his feet were striding forward of their own accord, and

he almost wanted to reach out to pull on Huaizui's sleeves.

Huaizui shook his head. He sighed, then said with a smile, "The young

shizhu needn't be so impatient."

Mo Ran waved his hands. "No rush, no rush, slow and steady is best."

"Indeed, steadiness is important. When souls leave the body, they

cannot immediately return to the flesh. To do so would go against the laws of

heaven, and the souls would naturally dissipate. Certainly, this humble monk

will go slowly."

"Right—right, right. Good, good, good, do it slowly." Mo Ran agreed.

Even so, he couldn't restrain himself, and after some hesitation, he asked,

very carefully, "Then…how long will it take before Shizun comes back to

life?"

Huaizai replied tranquilly, "Five years."

"I see, five years is g—five years?!" The color drained from

Mo Ran's face. He felt like he was choking.

"Five years at least."

Mo Ran was struck absolutely, completely, totally speechless.