45 Chapter 45: This Venerable One Knew You Would Come

"What kind of shitty god are you?!" Xue Meng raged at the empty air. "Are you fucking blind? How the hell are we trespassing?! We're the ones who got snatched. Get your damn facts straight!"

"It's no use," Shi Mei said. "He isn't actually here; that's just a voice he left behind. The fake Gouchen must have meddled with the Heart-Pluck Willow's judgment to make him see us as unscrupulous trespassers."

The voice continued: "Those befitting a holy weapon ought understand virtue and resolve as a matter of course; they ought be unsusceptible to the allure of fantastical illusions and capable of remaining true to their hearts. Since thou hast come, thou must undertake my trial. If thou dost pass, I shall offer thee safe passage and a holy weapon. But if thou art selfish and falter, then thou art unfit to be such a master!"

"Virtue…" Chu Wanning said darkly between bloodstained lips. "Is this your so-called virtue, using someone as a blood hourglass?"

Obviously, he knew that Gouchen the Exalted couldn't actually hear him, but anger drove him to spit out the words, even if every utterance made him breathe harshly and pulled on his wounds. He just couldn't control that unrelenting mouth of his.

The voice heedlessly continued to reverberate through the arsenal.

"As a test of thy temperament, thou shalt imminently be submerged in the Heart-Pluck Willow's dream illusion. If thou shouldst fail to wake from the illusion in time, thy companion shall bleed out and perish."

At these words, the color drained from all three faces.

"What?" Shi Mei murmured.

So, in other words, the three of them were about to be plunged into a dream. And if they didn't manage to wake in time, they would become eternally entranced within that wondrous illusion while in reality, Mo Ran bled out his last.

Xue Meng was dumbstruck for a moment before he snarled, furious, "What kind of god even are you?! If cultivating into an immortal means ending up like you, I won't deign to so much as touch another sword for the rest of my life!"

Chu Wanning also snapped. "What absurdity!"

"Shizun!" Shi Mei hurriedly tried to calm him. "Don't get angry. Please be mindful of your injury."

But Gouchen the Exalted, that bastard, chose this moment to start leisurely reciting poetry. "If one pours water onto level ground / It itself will run north, south, east or west. / Man's life is also bound to fate, / And we should not lament at work and brood at rest. / So I pour out some wine to soothe my anxiety, / And raise my goblet to stop singing 'The Road of Adversity.' / How can my heart made of no stone or wood be indifferent? / But silently I wander around and dare not speak out."26

Xue Meng was seriously about to pass out from anger. "What the hell are you mumbling about?!"

"It's from 'The Road to Adversity' by Bao Zhao," Shi Mei explained. "The general meaning is that each person has their own fate, so why wallow in remorse? Better to make a toast and soothe yourself with a drink. Since people's hearts aren't made of stone, it's impossible to live without feeling, and many things end up going unsaid."

Gouchen the Exalted let out a long sigh. "How many people in this vast world would willingly abandon a perfect dream only to save another? The world is filled with incessant war and slaughter. If a holy weapon were to fall into unscrupulous hands, the fault would be mine own. How could I, the very creator of weapons, forgive myself for such sins?"

Suddenly, the holy weapon arsenal grew dim, and the tinkling decorations flying through the air ceased all movement. A faint light came from above, as if the stars of a resplendent sky were slowly descending one by one, their light illuminating the ground.

An intangible voice in the air whispered, "Sleep…"

The soft, translucent light seemed to have a hypnotic effect. Shi Mei and Xue Meng's cultivation levels were comparatively low, and they quickly sank into slumber.

"Sleep…"

Chu Wanning clenched his teeth and stubbornly forced himself to resist. But the power of a founding god was insurmountable, and in the end, he too was unable to hold out against the lull and fell into a dream as well.

Inside the holy weapon arsenal, as the blood hourglass, Mo Ran was the only one still awake. Blood bubbled up his throat as he coughed, and across the diminished waterfall, he could vaguely make out the other three where they were trapped in dreams.

Chu Wanning, Shi Mei, and Xue Meng, all asleep.

Mo Ran had heard Gouchen's words and knew that the only way to break the spell, and the only way for him to be saved, was for one of them to wake in time to do so.

As time passed, moment after moment, his head grew fuzzier and fuzzier, and his body began to feel colder and colder. But no one woke.

Maybe what goes around comes around, he thought. This was how he had treated Chu Wanning in his previous life, and now it was his turn to feel his blood draining away, drop by drop. How very laughable.

Who among them could possibly abandon the best dream of his life, a dream about the thing they most wanted, just to come save him?

Xue Meng definitely won't. Chu Wanning…never mind, don't even think about him. If anyone, it will probably be Shi Mei.

Mo Ran mused over this woozily, but he had lost too much blood, and his hold on consciousness was beginning to slip. He lowered his head and looked down below his feet. The blood that had drained into the bottom of the copper hourglass mixed with the water inside, dyeing the gleaming liquid a faint red.

Suddenly, he wondered: If he also fell into Gouchen's illusion, what would he see?

Would he dream of delicate, translucent wontons, Shi Mei's gentle smile, Chu Wanning's praise and approval, and the sight when he had first arrived at Sisheng Peak—of haitang flowers drifting across the sky, carried by the breeze?

"Mo Ran…"

He heard someone calling him.

Mo Ran's head remained drooping. He felt like he was about to pass out. Maybe he was already hallucinating. Hearing things.

"Mo Ran. Mo Ran!"

It wasn't a hallucination!

Mo Ran abruptly lifted his head. His pupils contracted at the sight that greeted him. He almost rasped as he cried out, "Shi Mei!"

It was Shi Mei! The one who had woken from the dream, who had abandoned perfection and given up happiness, who, even when everything was exactly as wished, still remembered Mo Ran…was Shi Mei…

Watching that fragile person cross the waterfall and walk toward him, Mo Ran felt himself choking up.

"Shi Mei…you…" He wasn't sure what to say. Mo Ran closed his eyes, his voice hoarse. "Thank you… Even in a blissful dream, you still…still remembered me…"

Shi Mei waded through the water, his irises and eyebrows even more strikingly black against his soaked clothes. His looks were gentle—gentle like the first time Mo Ran had laid eyes on him, gentle like the countless times he'd appeared in Mo Ran's dreams in their previous lifetime, gentle like the way he had remembered Shi Mei when his body grew cold and he had naught else to reach for.

"Don't be foolish," said Shi Mei. "What are you thanking me for?"

Only when he got close did Mo Ran notice that his feet were bleeding.

He didn't know when the ground had become scalding hot. Gouchen the Exalted seemed intent on testing just how far a person was willing to go for their companion, and so the allure of the dream was followed by ruthless torment.

Shi Mei's boots had burnt through. If he didn't step forward, the ground would stay as it was, but if he insisted on doing so, then every step would be accompanied by a surge of flames underfoot—not so hot as to directly render him unable to move, but enough to cause searing agony.

But that gentle person, even while clearly in pain, only glanced down once before his gaze grew even more unwavering and he stepped toward Mo Ran, one foot in front of the other.

"Mo Ran, hold on just a little longer," Shi Mei said. "I'll get you down from there."

Their eyes met, and Mo Ran knew there was no point in saying, "Don't come any closer." Shi Mei's gaze was far too determined, far too resolute. He had never seen this look on Shi Mei's face before. If Mo Ran were in a calmer state of mind, he surely would have found it strange.

Furthermore, Shi Mei had always called him "A-Ran." When had he ever called him "Mo Ran"?

But he was so fixated on Shi Mei's kindness that he altogether failed to realize that the person in front of him right now wasn't Shi Mei at all, but…

Chu Wanning.

The ancient willow's last technique was called Heart Pluck. This so-called Heart Pluck switched the heart and spirit of two people.

When Chu Wanning had broken free of the dream and awoken, he'd found he had switched places with Shi Mei. The Heart-Pluck Willow's magic had transferred his consciousness into Shi Mei's body, and likely vice versa. But Shi Mei remained asleep, and so had no idea that this had occurred.

Chu Wanning had no time to explain, and Mo Ran, completely unaware of the truth, thought that the person before him was in fact Shi Mei. He firmly believed that Shi Mei would absolutely endure the pain to make it to him, just like how he had been absolutely unable to forget Shi Mei's kindness even after his death. People were stubborn creatures.

But it really was too cruel.

When Chu Wanning finally arrived at the copper hourglass and started climbing up the towering vine toward Mo Ran, countless tiny, burning thorns sprouted from that vine.

Chu Wanning was caught off guard, and his hands were burned and pierced all at once. He tried to grab on and keep climbing, but Shi Mei's body and cultivation were both weak. The thorns sliced through the skin and flesh of his hands as he plummeted down the vine.

Chu Wanning cursed under his breath, brow furrowed in pain. This useless body of Shi Mingjing's!

"Shi Mei!" Mo Ran shouted.

Chu Wanning tumbled to land on his knees, his skin instantly searing where it made contact with the ground. Brow drawn tight, he bit down on his lip out of habit and refused to cry out.

This expression would have looked stubborn and fierce on his own face, but on Shi Mei's gentle, lovely features, it was somehow only heartrending. He really couldn't compare after all.

"Shi Mei…" Mo Ran opened his mouth to speak, but tears rolled down his cheeks instead. His heart felt like it was being slashed with knives. Through his blurry vision, he watched that thin and fragile body, that frail person, slowly, bit by bit, climbing up the vine.

Thorns pierced those hands, and flames burnt that flesh. Everything was dyed scarlet, a trail of smeared bloodstains in his wake.

Mo Ran closed his eyes, blood clogging his throat. He choked, and his every word trembled. "Shi…Mei…"

That person was close now. Mo Ran saw a brief flash of pain in those eyes; he truly looked to be in a great deal of pain. Even Mo Ran's voice seemed to be a kind of torment to him. His bearing didn't waver, but those eyes could almost have been described as pleading.

"Stop calling my name."

Mo Ran held his tongue.

"Mo Ran, hold on just a bit longer. I'll get you…down…from…there…"

As that person spoke, his eyes glinted with determination like an unsheathed blade, beautiful beyond words on that usually gentle face.

Chu Wanning's robes billowed as he leapt onto the copper hourglass. His face was paper pale, and he stood unsteadily, almost on the verge of collapse. Other than the rise and fall of his chest, he seemed little different from a corpse.

In that moment, Mo Ran felt like it would have been better for him to just bleed out and die than for Shi Mei to have to suffer like this. Even his voice came out shattered. "I'm sorry."

Chu Wanning knew that this sorry wasn't for him. He wanted to explain, but as he glanced at the Exalted Gouchen's silvery-blue sword protruding from Mo Ran's chest—the sword being the likely source of spiritual energy for the vines—he worried that if he were to explain, Mo Ran might injure himself further from shock. So, he continued pretending to be Mo Ran's "Shi Mei" and asked, "Mo Ran, do you trust me?"

"I trust you." Without hesitation.

Chu Wanning shot him a glance from beneath his lashes and gripped the hilt. The sword was close to Mo Ran's main artery; the slightest slip could cost him his life.

Chu Wanning's hand shivered a little where it wrapped around the sword and didn't move.

The rims of Mo Ran's eyes were red, but he smiled. "Shi Mei."

"Mn."

"Am I about to die?" Mo Ran asked.

"You won't."

"If I'm about to die, then…can I… Can I hold you?"

He said it so cautiously, his eyes glistening with wetness, that Chu Wanning's heart softened despite himself.

However, when he remembered that the person in Mo Ran's eyes was actually somebody else, that softness instantly froze over.

Chu Wanning suddenly felt like insignificant comic relief on the stage of a play, obscured behind the fetching, flowing sleeves of the female lead and going totally unnoticed. In this touching and heartwarming narrative, he was unneeded and unwanted.

Or maybe his only use was to wear the ugly face of the clown and, with an exaggerated, painted-on smile, to act as a foil to the joys and sorrows, the love and hate of other people. How very laughable.

But Mo Ran knew nothing of his thoughts. He saw the flicker in Chu Wanning's eyes and, thinking it unwillingness on Shi Mei's part, quickly added, "Just for a little while. A little while would be enough."

A soft sigh, barely audible. "Actually, I…"

"What is it?" asked Mo Ran.

"Never mind," said Chu Wanning. "It's nothing."

With that, he leaned closer—but not too close, for fear of accidentally bumping that sword. Then he reached out and gingerly wrapped his arms around Mo Ran's shoulders.

"Shi Mei," Mo Ran whispered by his ear, "thank you for waking up. Thank you for remembering me, even in that dream."

Chu Wanning looked down, eyelashes trembling like the fluttering of a butterfly's wings. Then he smiled faintly. "Don't mention it." A pause, then he said, "Mo Ran."

"Hm?"

Chu Wanning held him, caressing his hair as if still in a dream, and sighed softly once more. "Did you know the most wonderful dreams are rarely ever true?"

Then he pulled away, the hug swiftly finished, like the light touch of a dragonfly on water.

Mo Ran looked up. He didn't really understand what Shi Mei meant. All he knew was that the brief hug had been Shi Mei's kindness to him—a piece of candy given out of pity. Sweet and sour, a hint of tartness against his tongue.

The instant that sword was pulled out, blood blossomed in the air like so many haitang flowers, blown from their branches by a fierce gale.

A sharp agony ripped through Mo Ran's chest. He thought he was about to die, and everything he couldn't let go of flooded through his thoughts all at once. He blurted out, "Shi Mei, actually, I've always liked you. Do you…?"

With the sound of the sword falling to the ground, the vines instantly dissipated, the tumultuous downpour of water abruptly ceased, and the holy weapon arsenal returned to its former tranquility.

I've always liked you. Do you…?

Mo Ran's body had reached its limits, and darkness swept across his vision.

A pair of bloodstained hands caught him as he fell into Shi Mei's arms. He didn't know if he was seeing things, but Shi Mei's thin eyebrows were drawn together as he slowly closed his eyes, and a glistening wetness seemed to slide slowly down that face. He seemed to hear Shi Mei softly whisper, "Me too."

Mo Ran's breath caught. He had to be seeing things. Why else would Shi Mei look so miserable as he answered?

"I also…like you."

Finally unable to hold out any longer, Mo Ran sank into unconsciousness.