Chapter 105: Shizun’s Human Soul

The lamp cast its bright light over two people.

They were no longer at Mengpo Hall, but in Mo Ran's room. Chu

Wanning hadn't been able to see the road clearly, so Mo Ran had led him by

the hand. Chu Wanning was short two souls, unable to tell what day it was or

even whose hand he held. He allowed himself to be pulled along in a daze.

Mo Ran led him into the room, wiped the tears from his own cheeks, and

closed the door behind them.

Chu Wanning set down the bowl of wontons he had carried the whole

way. Then, feeling around, he approached the bed and asked softly, "Is Mo

Ran still asleep?"

Mo Ran watched him, unable to reply.

When no response came, Chu Wanning assumed Mo Ran was indeed

sleeping. He sighed. He seemed a little disappointed.

Mo Ran couldn't bear to watch, and on top of that, he was afraid Chu

Wanning might leave. So he sat on the bed and said, "Shizun, I'm awake."

Hearing Mo Ran call, Chu Wanning's brows twitched slightly, and he

hummed in acknowledgment. But then he seemed to hesitate and fell silent.

Mo Ran knew Chu Wanning had a thin face. If he thought Shi Mei was

here, Mo Ran was sure he'd try to escape after a handful of words. Mo Ran

picked up a hair clasp from the table and tossed it toward the door, so that it

sounded like Shi Mei had left and closed the door behind him. Then he

asked, "What is Shizun doing here? Who brought you?"

Sure enough, Chu Wanning with only half his soul was much easier to

fool. He wavered. "Shi Mingjing brought me. Did he leave?"

"He left."

"Mn…"

Another moment passed in silence. Finally, Chu Wanning spoke. "The

wound on your back…"

"The wound on my back is not Shizun's fault," Mo Ran said softly. "I

picked a precious herb without permission. I deserved Shizun's punishment."

Chu Wanning hadn't expected him to say any such thing, and was rather

taken aback. His delicate curtain of lashes quivered as he sighed. "Does it

still hurt?"

"Not anymore."

Chu Wanning raised his hand, those ice-cold fingertips seeking until

they found Mo Ran's face. Another pause. "Sorry. Please don't hate Shizun."

The Chu Wanning of the past never would have spoken such tender

words. But in death, as he'd thought back on it all while his soul drifted in

the underworld, he found that his only regret was the unkindness he'd shown

his disciple. And so, given this second chance, those words that were once

impossible to say tumbled out so easily.

Mo Ran felt like his heart was bathed in warm spring water. The

hatred that had lingered after his rebirth, the old scars that had refused to fade

year over year, his stubborn resistance, already on its last breath—all of it

had crumbled to pieces, pieces now washed away by these heartfelt words of

apology, leaving nothing behind.

In the glow of the soul-calling lantern, Mo Ran gazed at his shizun's

face. It was as if the bloodstains were gone, and a wisp of life seemed to

come again into those pale cheeks. It was as if he were peering across the

vast expanse of irreversible time to glimpse Chu Wanning's gentle

countenance as it had been when Mo Ran had first seen him. Without

thinking, Mo Ran lifted a hand to cover Chu Wanning's ice-cold fingers with

his own warm ones. "I don't hate you," he said. "You're good to me, Shizun.

I don't hate you."

Chu Wanning stared blankly for a moment, then suddenly smiled.

Though he was dead, though his face was smeared with dirt and blood,

his smile was like the first melt of a stream frozen over, filling the room with

the warmth of spring. His eyes were closed, but something seemed to glisten

between his lashes. It was the brilliant smile of one whose final wish had

been granted, proud yet reserved, radiant yet humble. It was like the

blooming of the most luxuriant and steadfast haitang tree, countless blossoms

like gentle, faint blushes carefully dotting its dignified branches, beautiful

and sweet-scented, scattered across the leaves like a skyful of stars.

Mo Ran couldn't help but lose himself in the sight.

Never in two lifetimes had he seen Chu Wanning with such an easy and

happy expression. Mo Ran wasn't smart. He thought of the saying "a flowerlike smile," but deemed it unfitting; then he thought of "a smile of a hundred

charms," but that seemed still more absurd.

Though he racked his brain, he couldn't find the words to adequately

describe the lovely vision before him. All he could do was sigh with feeling:

How beautiful.

This person was so beautiful. How had he never noticed?

Mo Ran was struck by sudden, fortuitous inspiration. "Shizun," he

said, his voice hushed, "there's something I want to tell you."

"Hm?"

"I really didn't know how valuable Madam Wang's haitang flower

was. When I picked it that day, it was because I wanted to give it to you."

Chu Wanning seemed surprised. Mo Ran's voice grew yet softer,

a little bashful, even a little helpless as he repeated, "It was for…for you."

"But why would you pick that flower for me?"

Mo Ran's face flushed despite himself. "I-I-I don't know. I just, just

thought it was really pretty. I…" He trailed off, vaguely surprised that he

somehow remembered quite clearly how he'd felt when he picked that

flower for Chu Wanning so long ago.

Chu Wanning lacking two souls was unbearably gentle, like a cat

without its claws—all soft, docile belly and snowy, rounded paws. He patted

Mo Ran's head and smiled. "Dummy."

"Mn." Mo Ran's eyes stung as he gazed up at him. He sniffled. "I'm a

dummy."

"Don't do it again."

"I won't do it again." Mo Ran thought about how, after he'd lost hope

in the past life, he had perpetrated all manner of evil and terrorized others.

He had so angered Chu Wanning that his shizun finally gave up on him and

tossed him that verdict that he had resented for a lifetime: vile by nature,

beyond remedy. A hundred emotions welled up in his chest. "Shizun, I

promise, from now on, I won't do anything to disappoint you. I'll be good, I

won't be bad."

He was hardly well-read and didn't have any powerful oaths to swear

or resounding vows to take. But he could feel the hot blood boiling in his

chest as that pure and simple soul that he once had as a child seemed to stir

from its slumber. "Shizun, this disciple is slow-witted, and only now

realized how good you've been to me." His eyes were bright as he rose from

the bed and knelt before Chu Wanning, bowing low. When he lifted his head,

his face was solemn and serious. "So from now on, I, Mo Ran, will never

bring disgrace upon you again."

Sat side by side, the master and disciple had a long talk—though Mo

Ran did most of the talking. He was actually quite adorable when he set his

mind to cherishing someone. Chu Wanning listened quietly, shaking his head

now and again with a smile. Before they knew it, the sky outside the window

had lightened, like water diffusing the rich darkness of Huizhou ink.

The long night was coming to a close.

Master Huaizui stood by the stone bridge, the hems of his monk's

robes wet from the spray of the water as it rushed past. Yet he seemed not to

notice at all as he waited in silence.

The sun rose steadily in the east. The light of dawn filtered through the

leaves of trees to strike the turbulent waters of the Yellow Springs, instantly

gilding those racing currents with dazzling gold. The fine spray shimmered

like the delicate scales of a dragon, and the light coruscated across the

water's surface as it billowed into waves, glistening and resplendent.

Huaizui was presently in the void dimension and would be visible

only to he who found Chu Wanning's soul. Shi Mei and Xue Meng had both

passed this way, but neither could see the old monk by the bank. From a

distance, Huaizui appeared tranquil—but unconsciously, he thumbed the

string of prayer beads in his hand faster and more urgently with each passing

moment.

Without warning, the coils of prayer beads broke and scattered, the

Bodhi beads dropping like rain all over the ground. Huaizui's eyes flew open

and he pressed his lips into a thin line. The color drained from his face. It

was an ill omen. He stroked the frayed edge of the broken string and watched

as the rolling waves tossed stray beads back onto the shore, and the beads on

the shore rolled into the waters. He stared blankly for a spell, his face

growing gradually paler.

"Great Master!" someone suddenly called out to him exuberantly.

"Great Master!"

Huaizui whipped around to see Mo Ran sprinting toward him from

afar. The soul-calling lantern in his hands glowed with both scarlet and

golden light. As dazzling as those first rays of dawn had been, this young

man's eyes were brighter still, gleaming like a pair of crystals. He screeched

to a halt in front of Huaizui, his cheeks flushed, panting slightly,

uncontrollably excited.

"I found him," Mo Ran brushed his disheveled bangs aside with one

hand, keeping that lantern bearing Chu Wanning's human soul tucked snugly

against his chest. "He wasn't unwilling to see me. He's…he's in here." He

pointed to the lantern in his arms, but then hesitated. He wanted to hand it

over to Huaizui, but was also loath to part with it, and his hands extended

only a couple of inches before drawing back again.

Huaizui released a subtle sigh of relief and looked Mo Ran up and

down. "There's no need to give it to me," he said with a laugh. "Since you're

the one who found him, you can keep him."

So, very carefully, Mo Ran continued to hold the lantern.

Huaizui took up the monk staff he'd leaned against the tree and tapped

it lightly against the water's surface. A jade-green bamboo raft seemed to

appear from thin air, a white cord tied to its curved bow. "There's no time to

lose. Please board."

It was common knowledge that the river that cut through Sisheng Peak

flowed to the ghost realm. But since there was a barrier between, traveling to

the underworld wasn't a simple matter of floating downstream. Master

Huaizui's bamboo raft carried an enchantment that allowed it to pass

between the yin and the yang, and thus, after sitting alone on the raft for half a

day and sailing many miles, Mo Ran came to a waterfall.

The waterfall to the underworld.

This waterfall bridged the infinite cosmos above and the deepest

reaches of hell below, with no defined boundaries and neither beginning nor

end. The water thundered down in a great cascade, and the spray of droplets

sent up a foggy mist.

Mo Ran hardly had time to take in this sight. In moments, the bamboo

raft had carried him straight toward that curtain of rushing water, as massive

as a prehistoric beast. Before he could react, the powerful streams were

upon him like countless blades poised to tear through flesh and bone.

"Shizun—!"

Amidst this danger, Mo Ran's only thought was for the soul-calling

lantern cradled in his arms. He held it tightly against his body to shield it,

never once loosening his grip even as he was drawn into the raging

whirlpool. All was dark, stormy chaos…

Mo Ran didn't know how much time had passed when the deafening

sound of the waterfall vanished along with that knife-like deluge. He opened

his eyes slowly, and only let out a breath of relief after confirming that the

soul-calling lantern was safe and sound. When he finally looked up, he was

stunned speechless by the sight before him.

The waterfall traversing the realms of yin and yang was nowhere to be

seen. The bamboo raft now drifted gently on the surface of a vast and tranquil

lake. Its deep blue waters flowed with specks of starlight, and wisps of halfseen souls swam in its currents like shoals of fish. Reeds flourished along its

shores, blooming with lambent flowers that drifted to and fro in the breeze.

From the depths of the reeds on either bank came the voices of a man

and woman lifted in song. The notes floated out as if from a dream, sorrowful

yet serene. "My body into the thunderous abyss, limbs ground to paste. My

skull into the open world, eye sockets sunk to dust. Scarlet ants devour my

heart and vultures tear my guts… Only the soul returns… Only the soul

returns…"

Green waters of the Yellow Springs flow east, the past is gone, never

to return.

Mo Ran drifted on the bamboo raft for some time, until a great gateway

reared up in the heavy darkness of night, towering into the black sky.

Once the raft drew closer, he could see that the enormous structure

was majestic in scale and covered in fine, exquisite details. It stood in the

dark, as it had for time immemorial, like a massive beast of gold and jade

adorned with amber pearls. This splendid, treacherous beast crouched with

its bloody, putrid maw open wide, ready to welcome untold numbers of

lonely souls and lost ghosts into its gullet.

Closer. The sinister turrets were like fangs that could pierce the sun,

and the whole structure was like the imposing head of a behemoth lying in

wait to swallow the grievances of the world.

Even closer. The piece of Chu Wanning's soul in the lantern seemed to

grow nervous, its golden glow pulsing and swaying.

"It's all right," Mo Ran sensed the soul's unease and hugged the lantern

tight. He leaned in, his lips nearly brushing the silk, and whispered soothing

words as he channeled more spiritual energy into the lantern to keep Chu

Wanning company. "Don't be afraid, Shizun. I'm here."

The light quivered for a moment, then settled back into a steady glow.

Lowering his thick lashes, Mo Ran peeked into the lantern and

couldn't help but chuckle. He reached out and caressed its edge, then hugged

it tighter.

In the darksome night, the words Ghost Gate were writ large and bold,

as striking and vivid as if newly inscribed each day in the fresh blood of the

living. The bamboo raft reached the shore, and Mo Ran set foot on the road

to the underworld. The very ground was saturated with the smell of blood.

As he walked, more and more people appeared around him. Men and

women, old and young, even wailing infants who had died almost as soon as

they'd been born—all of them drifted toward the inner reaches of the

underworld. It mattered not whether, in life, they had been emperors,

generals, or ministers with riches and splendors untold, or commoners and

peasants without a penny to their name, nor with how much money or what

goods they had been buried. In this time, in this place, all were compelled to

travel the final road alone.

Mo Ran followed the swarming crowd of souls to the entrance of the

ghost realm.

At the gate sat a man fanning himself with a palm-leaf fan—a soldier,

judging by his clothes. He had died with his stomach sliced open, and his

intestines spilled out from time to time. The gatekeeper used the fan's handle

to shove his organs back in with an air of impatience, then glanced up lazily

to interrogate the newly deceased soul before him.

"Name?"

"Sun Erwu."

"How'd you die?"

"I—I died of old age."

The gatekeeper picked up a large stamp and carelessly stamped an

underworld entry pass with the words Died of Old Age. He handed it to Sun

Erwu. "Don't lose it, or you'll have to go to Seventeenth Hall to apply for a

replacement. You can go. Next!"

Sun Erwu was extremely nervous; in fairness, any newly dead person,

regardless of how valiant or knowledgeable they'd been in life, would

probably be the same. "A-am I gonna be put on trial? I'm a darn good person,

I ain't never killed 'smuch as a chicken in me life. Just wonderin' if I can

maybe get a better lot in the next one, or at least have enough money to get me

a wifey…" The old man prattled anxiously on and on.

The gatekeeper quickly tired of his babbling. "Trial?" He waved a

dismissive hand. "That's still a ways off. There are so many souls here in the

ghost realm; it'll take at least eight years to get through the reincarnation

queue, if not ten. Just hang around and wait your turn. It's not much different

from the living world. Save all that about chickens and wifeys for the lord

judge when the time comes. Next!"

Sun Erwu was dumbfounded. "Eight or t-ten years?!" he stammered in

his thick accent.

A few heads back in line, Mo Ran was equally shocked. "Wha—? It

takes that long to get judged for reincarnation?"

"'Course. Though it's a different story if you're truly reprehensible or

have something weird going on with your soul." The gatekeeper snickered

maliciously at his own comment. The movement made his intestines slip out

again, and he had to pause to stuff them back in. "The ones destined for the

eighteen hells never have to wait long."

Mo Ran gaped at him.

The dense half-wit Sun Erwu had more questions, but the gatekeeper's

patience was at an end. He shooed him off, saying, "Go on, go on, away with

you. You're not the only one waiting to get reincarnated, y'know. Don't hold

up the line. Next! Next!"

Thus Sun Erwu was driven off with a wave of the guard's palm-leaf

fan.

The next person in line was a young woman with her pretty face

skillfully made up. When she parted her lips to speak, the line of her gaze

bespoke the poise and coquetry unique to a certain profession. "My lord,"

she said in a soft voice, "this humble one is called Jin Hua'er. I was beaten

to death by a brutish villain…"

The ghosts took their turn at the front of the line, and each had their

own thoughts and manners of death. There were few sights more bustling and

jumbled than this—every chaotic facet of life seemed to be represented here.

Amidst this crowd, Mo Ran held the lantern in his arms as close as he could.

He owed his shizun; he didn't care about anything else. All he cared about

was finding the last piece of Chu Wanning's soul.

"Name?" The gatekeeper yawned. He lifted his eyes to peer at

Mo Ran.

Mo Ran was just about to answer when the man quivered, as if he

sensed that there was something off about this young man. He abruptly stood

to stare intently into Mo Ran's face.

Mo Ran mentally cursed—he had already died once; what if there was

something odd about his soul? Not to mention he was currently holding a

piece of someone else's soul, which was pretty questionable in itself. But

there was only one entrance to the ghost realm, so he had no choice. Mo Ran

braced himself and met the gatekeeper's gaze squarely.

The man narrowed his eyes.

Mo Ran feigned a calmness he didn't feel as he gave his name. "Mo

Ran."

The gatekeeper waited.

Mo Ran's heart thundered like a drum as he willed his expression to

remain steady. "I had a qi deviation and died on the spot. I'd like an entry

pass, please."