Chapter 6: This Venerable One’s Shizun

Xue Meng had grown up on Sisheng Peak, so he naturally knew all its ins, outs, and shortcuts. Ultimately, he managed to catch Mo Ran.

Xue Meng dragged the captured Mo Ran to the mountain's backwoods. The area behind Sisheng Peak was where the mortal realm came closest to the ghost realm. Between the two realms lay a barrier, and beyond that barrier lay the underworld.

When Mo Ran took in the appalling state of the area, he immediately understood why it had been Madam Wang in the main hall receiving visitors even when this other individual was present.

It wasn't that this person didn't want to help, it was that he really couldn't step away. The barrier to the ghost realm had ruptured.

At present, the entire backwoods was permeated with the essence of evil. Incorporeal ghosts swirled in the air, wailing in despair, their howling full of rancor. A breach had ripped open the sky, so immense it could be seen from as far away as the gate to the mountains. A long bluestone staircase, thousands of steps high, extended down from the fissure in the barrier, and beyond the fissure lay the ghost realm. Menacing ghosts who had cultivated a fleshly form crawled down these steps in great numbers as they crossed from the realm of the dead into the realm of the living.

If a normal person were to lay eyes upon this sight, they would no doubt be scared out of their mind. The first time Mo Ran had seen something like this, he, too, had been soaked with cold sweat. By now, he was used to it.

The barrier between the mortal and the ghost realms had first been built in an ancient era by Emperor Fuxi. Over the passage of time, it had become thin and weakened; it often cracked and broke in various places, requiring repair by cultivators. However, a task like this not only didn't do much to elevate one's cultivation, it was also incredibly taxing on one's spiritual power. To work so hard for no reward was an arduous chore, and so few cultivators in the cultivation world were willing to take on the burden.

When menacing spirits entered the world, the ones they attacked first were the common people of the lower cultivation realm. As the protectors of the lower cultivation realm, Sisheng Peak thus took on the job of repairing breaches. The mountains behind the sect's grounds faced the weakest point of the barrier; this was all for the sake of being able to make such repairs in time. Furthermore, this ragged barrier failed at least four or five times a year, like a pot that constantly needed to be patched.

A man stood atop the bluestone staircase at the entrance to the ghost realm. His snow-white robes fluttered, expansive sleeves flying in the wind, and the aura of his blade enveloped him in a shimmering golden light. He was single-handedly sweeping up those menacing spirits, clearing the evil ghosts away, and repairing the breach in the barrier with his power.

The man was slender in form and elegant in appearance, with a graceful, ethereal aura and a face that was both exceedingly handsome and beautiful. From afar, it was easy to imagine him as a dignified scholar standing beneath a blossoming tree, studying a scroll with a mystical and studious air. But a closer look revealed sharp, sword-like brows, phoenix eyes tilted upward at the corners, and a narrow, straight nose. Despite these refined and stately features, there was something harsh about his gaze that made him look particularly unapproachable.

Mo Ran watched him from a distance. Although he'd thought himself prepared, if he was honest with himself, seeing that figure appear once more before him, healthy and well, made him shudder down to the smallest fragments of his bones. Half dread, half…thrill.

His shizun.

Chu Wanning.

The person whom Xue Meng had cried and begged to see when he'd come to Wushan Palace in their previous life.

It had been this man who ruined Mo Ran's grandest plans. He'd sunk Mo Ran's lofty ambitions and Mo Ran had, in the end, imprisoned and tortured him to death.

Logically speaking, Mo Ran should have been glad to defeat this opponent and get the revenge he'd always wanted. Like a fish free to swim in the wide oceans or a bird free to fly in the boundless skies, Mo Ran had been freed of anyone to keep him in check.

Originally, Mo Ran had thought he would think this way. But things had not panned out as such. When his shizun died, Mo Ran's hatred had been buried—along with something else that he couldn't quite put his finger on.

Mo Ran was no man of culture and didn't recognize this something else as the feeling of being evenly matched with a worthy opponent. He only knew that from then on, he had no true nemesis in the world.

With his shizun alive, Mo Ran had lived in fear, dread, and anxiety. The mere sight of the willow vine in his shizun's hand had made his entire body break out in goosebumps, just like how the mere sound of a wooden club knocking would make an oft-beaten dog shrink back, teeth aching and legs giving way, drool dripping from the corner of its lips. Even the muscles of his calves would spasm from nervousness.

With his shizun dead, the person Mo Ran most feared had lived no longer. Finally being able to commit the sin of murdering his mentor had made Mo Ran feel like he'd grown up. Matured.

After that, when his gaze swept over the mortal realm, there had been no one left who would dare force him to kneel, no one left who would dare slap him in the face.

To celebrate, he'd opened a pot of pear-blossom white wine and sat on the rooftop drinking for an entire night. That night, under the influence of alcohol, the scars on his back—left by his shizun's whip in his youth—had burned once more with fresh pain.

At this very moment, seeing his shizun standing again before him with his own eyes, Mo Ran couldn't help but stare. He felt both fear and resentment—but also the faintest trace of a twisted sort of ecstasy. He had regained such an opponent after having lost him. How could he not be delighted?

Chu Wanning was completely focused on fighting the scattered souls of the dead. He had no attention to spare for the two disciples who had intruded on the untamed stretch of the mountain.

He had an elegant face, with long and even brows, and beneath, that pair of phoenix eyes. His demeanor was graceful, dignified, and otherworldly; even in the face of demonic miasma and bloody rain, his cool and distant expression remained unchanged. It wouldn't have looked strange or out of place if he were to sit down on the spot to light incense and play the qin.

However, this elegant, calm, and beautiful man was currently wielding a chilling exorcist's longsword that dripped with blood. With a single flick of his wide sleeve, the force of his blade sliced through the verdant stone steps to produce an explosion. Rubble and debris tumbled all the way down to the bottom of the mountain, and a rift of unfathomable depth split that staircase and its thousands of steps.

Such brutal ferocity.

How many years had it been since Mo Ran had last witnessed his shizun's strength?

Mo Ran's legs went weak—a conditioned response to that familiar, valiant, overbearing force. Unsteady, he dropped to his knees on the ground.

In no time at all, Chu Wanning annihilated the last of the ghosts and neatly patched the ruptured rift to the ghost realm. After completing his task, he gracefully descended from the sky to land before Mo Ran and Xue Meng.

He first glanced at Mo Ran, kneeling on the ground, before looking up to Xue Meng, the cast of his phoenix eyes somewhat icy. "Causing trouble again?"

Mo Ran had to concede. His shizun possessed the ability to assess a situation and immediately come to the most accurate conclusion.

"Shizun, Mo Ran went down the mountain and committed the crimes of theft and debauchery," said Xue Meng. "Please mete out his punishment."

Chu Wanning was silent for a moment, expression completely blank. Then he said coldly, "I see."

Mo Ran and Xue Meng were struck silent. They were both a little taken aback. And? Was that it?

Yet just as Mo Ran was starting to think he'd gotten off easy, he stole a glimpse at Chu Wanning and was caught entirely off guard. A flash of sharp golden light violently slashed through the air, and a crackle like lightning whipped directly across Mo Ran's cheek.

Splatters of blood blossomed everywhere.

The speed of that golden light was beyond shocking. Never mind dodging, Mo Ran hadn't even had the time to close his eyes before the flesh of his face was slashed open. The wound burned painfully.

Chu Wanning stood stonily in the howling winds, hands clasped behind his back. The night air was still filthy and thick with the stench of menacing spirits; with the addition of the scent of freshly spilt human blood, this restricted area at the back of the mountain was made even more horrifying and eerie.

The thing that had whipped Mo Ran was a willow vine, which had appeared from out of nowhere in Chu Wanning's hand. The vine hung all the way down to Chu Wanning's boots, and it was long and thin, with tender green leaves sprouting along its length.

The vine was undoubtedly an elegant object, one that called to mind verses of poetry like "Pliant is the willow branch I gift to my beloved."7 Unfortunately, Chu Wanning was neither pliant nor in possession of a beloved.

The willow vine in his hand was in fact a holy weapon called Tianwen, and it sparked with bright gold and crimson light, illuminating the darkness all around as well as the bottomless depths of Chu Wanning's eyes, bringing them to life.

"Mo Weiyu, you certainly are brazen," Chu Wanning said, voice chilly. "Did you really think I wouldn't discipline you?"

If Mo Ran had been his original fifteen-year-old self, he might not have taken Chu Wanning's words seriously. He might even have thought that his shizun was only bluffing to scare him.

However, the Mo Weiyu who had been reborn had, in his previous life, long since paid the blood price to learn just what his shizun's discipline looked like. Instantly, the roots of his teeth ached and blood rushed to his head. His mouth was already running, feverishly denying everything in hopes of clearing his name.

"Shizun…" Cheek still bleeding, Mo Ran raised his eyes, letting them fill with a sheen of tears. He knew that his current disposition was both incredibly pathetic and incredibly pitiful. "This disciple has never stolen anything…has never committed debauchery… Why would Shizun hit me purely on the basis of Xue Meng's word, without even having asked for my side of the story?"

Silence reigned.

Against his uncle, Mo Ran had two ultimate tricks. Number one: Act cute. Number two: Act pitiful. Now he turned both moves on Chu Wanning, looking so aggrieved that his tears threatened to spill over. "Is this disciple really so worthless in your eyes? How come Shizun won't even give me a chance to explain?"

Next to them, Xue Meng was so incensed that he stomped his foot. "Mo Ran! You—you dog leg! You—you're shameless! Shizun, don't listen to him! Don't let this bastard confuse you! He really is a thief! All the stolen property is still here!"

Chu Wanning lowered his gaze, his face cool and distant. "Mo Ran, did you really not steal anything?"

"I would never."

A pause. "You know the consequences of lying to me."

Mo Ran's entire body broke out in gooseflesh. How could he not know? Even so, he remained stubborn as a mule. "Shizun, please look into the facts first!"

Chu Wanning raised his hand. That scintillating vine swept forward again. This time, instead of whipping Mo Ran's face, it wrapped itself tightly around Mo Ran's body.

The sensation was one Mo Ran recognized all too well. Other than whipping people on the daily, the willow vine Tianwen had another use.

Chu Wanning stared at Mo Ran, bound in Tianwen's death grip, and asked once more, "You really didn't steal anything?"

Suddenly, all Mo Ran could feel was a familiar agony piercing straight into his heart, as if a sharp-fanged little snake had slithered its way into his chest and was wreaking havoc amidst his organs. Accompanying the stabbing pain was an irresistible temptation. Mo Ran's mouth opened in spite of himself, and he gasped, "I…have…never… ah…!"

Tianwen's golden light went berserk, as if it could sense his lies. But though the pain was so great that it drenched Mo Ran in cold sweat, he resisted the torture with all he had.

This was Tianwen's second function outside of whipping: interrogation. Once bound by Tianwen, none could lie under its power. No matter whether they were human or ghost, alive or dead, Tianwen had the ability to force them to speak, thereby giving Chu Wanning the answers to his questions.

Only one person in their previous life had, through sheer strength of cultivation, ever managed to keep a secret from Tianwen. That person was none other than the one who had become the Emperor of the Mortal Realm: Mo Weiyu.

The freshly reborn Mo Ran had high hopes and thought that he might be able to fight Tianwen's brutal interrogation like he once had. But, after what felt like an eternity of biting down on his lips as enormous beads of sweat dripped down his ink-dark brows and full-body shivers racked his body, in the end, he was left prostrate from pain. He knelt at Chu Wanning's feet, gasping out heaving breaths.

"I… I…did steal something…"

The pain abruptly disappeared.

Mo Ran hadn't even caught his breath before Chu Wanning's next question came, his voice even colder than before. "Did you commit debauchery?"

Clever men didn't commit stupid deeds. If he had been unable to resist Tianwen earlier, it would be even more impossible to do so now. This time, Mo Ran didn't even bother to object; the moment the pain came, he cried out, "I did, I did, I did, I did! Shizun, please! No more."

To the side, Xue Meng's face was just about turning blue. "H-how could you?" he said, shocked. "That Rong Jiu is a man, and yet you…"

He went ignored as Tianwen's golden light slowly dimmed. Mo Ran gasped down great mouthfuls of air, and his entire body was soaked like he'd just been fished out of water. His face was white as a sheet, and his lips trembled uncontrollably as he lay on the ground, unable to move.

Through his sweat-damp lashes, he could see Chu Wanning's blurry yet elegant silhouette, with its green jade crown and broad sleeves that draped to the ground. A wave of powerful hatred suddenly coursed through his heart.

Chu Wanning! This venerable one wasn't wrong to treat you the way he did in his previous life! Even after coming back to life, the mere sight of you is still aggravating! Fuck all eighteen generations of your ancestors!

Chu Wanning was unaware that his beast of a disciple was going to fuck all eighteen generations of his ancestors. He stood where he was for the moment, face dark, before saying, "Xue Meng."

Even though Xue Meng knew that the current trend among the young masters of wealthy houses was to play around with male prostitutes, and that the appeal lay in its novelty and not necessarily in an actual interest in men, he found all this rather hard to swallow. It took him a moment to reply. "Shizun, this disciple is present."

"Mo Ran has violated the three mandates against greed, promiscuity, and deception. Take him to Yanluo Hall for penance. At dawn tomorrow, bring him to the Platform of Sin and Virtue to be punished before all."

Xue Meng was shocked. "Wh-what? Before all?"

To be "punished before all" meant that a disciple who had committed grave sins would be dragged before the gathered disciples of the sect to be sentenced and punished in front of them. Even the grannies in the cafeteria would be brought out.

It would be utterly humiliating.

You must understand that Mo Ran was a young master of Sisheng Peak. Although the rules of the sect could have been said to be strict, Mo Ran had always been accorded special status. His uncle, feeling sorry for how Mo Ran had lost his parents at such a young age and had been stranded in the outside world for a whole fourteen years, always coddled him. Even if Mo Ran made mistakes, he only got a private lecture from his uncle, and the man had never once beaten him.

But Mo Ran's shizun wouldn't give face, even to the sect leader. He indeed intended to drag the man's precious nephew to the Platform of Sin and Virtue, where he would punish and shame Mo-gongzi before the entire sect. To Xue Meng, this was utterly shocking.

Mo Ran, on the other hand, wasn't surprised at all. He lay on the ground, his lips curling into a sneer. Oh, how righteous his shizun was—so full of justice.

Chu Wanning was a cold-blooded person. In their previous life, Shi Mei had died before his very eyes. Mo Ran had cried and pleaded, tugged at the hem of his robes, knelt on the ground, and begged for his help. But Chu Wanning had turned a deaf ear on his pleas.

And so, Chu Wanning's own disciple had breathed his last at his feet, while beside him, Mo Ran cried his heart out. Even then, Chu Wanning had watched on without lifting a finger.

It wasn't remotely strange for him to drag Mo Ran to the Platform of Sin and Virtue and sentence him in public.

Mo Ran could only resent his current self's weak cultivation. He resented that he couldn't peel off Chu Wanning's skin, pull out his nerves, and drink his blood. Resented that he couldn't yank Chu Wanning's hair back, couldn't violate and corrupt him to his heart's content, couldn't torment him and destroy his dignity, couldn't make him live a life worse than death…

Mo Ran only let the bestial savagery in his eyes slip for a moment, but Chu Wanning caught a glimpse of it. He glanced at Mo Ran's face, his own graceful, scholarly mien completely devoid of expression. "What are you thinking about?"

Shit! Tianwen hadn't yet been withdrawn!

Mo Ran once again felt the vine binding him squeeze and twist, making his organs feel like they were going to wrench into mush. He screamed in agony, letting loose the thoughts in his mind.

"Chu Wanning! You think you're so tough?! Watch me fuck you to death!"

Silence fell.

Chu Wanning was speechless. Even Xue Meng was dumbfounded.

Tianwen abruptly returned to Chu Wanning's palm, transforming into specks of golden light before eventually disappearing out of sight. Tianwen manifested from Chu Wanning's essence, and it could appear when summoned and disappear at will.

Xue Meng's face was pale as he stammered, "Sh-Sh-Shizun…"

Chu Wanning didn't speak. His long, inky, delicate lashes were lowered as he looked at his own palm for a long moment. Then he raised his eyes, face unmoved other than for how it had become slightly icier than before. For a long moment, he pinned Mo Ran with a glare that said, "This beastly disciple deserves death." Then he spoke, voice low: "Tianwen is broken. I'm going to fix it."

After dropping this statement, Chu Wanning turned and left.

Xue Meng wasn't a bright child. "H-how can a holy weapon like Tianwen be broken?"

Chu Wanning heard him. He turned and once again used that "this beastly disciple deserves death" gaze to glance at him. Xue Meng felt a chill run down his spine.

Mo Ran lay on the ground, half-dead, his expression lifeless.

Earlier, he really had been thinking about finding a chance to fuck Chu Wanning to death. He was well aware that this Chu-zongshi, with his titles like "Yuheng of the Night Sky" and "Beidou Immortal," was someone who paid exacting attention to refined, elegant manners and his own dignity. More than anything, he couldn't bear the thought of being quashed under someone's foot—of being sullied and abused.

How could he have let Chu Wanning hear something like that?!

Mo Ran howled pathetically like an abandoned dog, covering his face. As he recalled the look in Chu Wanning's eyes as he'd left, Mo Ran got the feeling that his own demise was probably imminent.