Chapter 113: Shizun, Imprisoned

The largest courtyard on the east side was as Rong Jiu described.

There were three floors in all, room after room of cells. It was the grandest

sector of the vast estate, but also the most unkempt. An old tree hung low by

the entrance to the courtyard, and on it perched countless dead crows. Each

held an eyeball in its beak that spun madly, surveying the surroundings for

anything out of the ordinary.

Two small groups of patrolling ghost soldiers stomped back and forth,

guarding the "tributes" that were to be offered to the Fourth Ghost King.

Concealed behind a corner, Mo Ran observed the ghosts' patrol routes as he

sized up the blind spots around the building. All the lights were lit in those

small, box-like rooms. From time to time, he could hear the ghosts inside

weeping or sighing. The sounds mingled and overlapped in the night like an

eerie elegy echoing from the ancient past. It was enough to make one's hair

stand on end.

There were upward of three hundred rooms, and the patrol passed by

every ten minutes. There was no way he was going to be able to so easily

find Chu Wanning in ten minutes—and on top of that, every floor had a guard

by the stair armed with a soul-shattering whip and wearing an emergency

signal whistle around their neck.

Mo Ran was fretting anxiously when he spotted a lone ghost

approaching from a distance. He was dressed in the same uniform as the

guards, with a red-on-black token hung at his waist. Mo Ran scooted farther

into the shadows and watched as this man passed right in front of him,

coming to a stop at the foot of the stair.

The ghost exchanged nods with the guard there. The night was very

still, and from his hiding spot, Mo Ran could hear every word of their

conversation.

"Qi-ge, you here to relieve Lao-San?"

"Mhm. You're almost off too, right?"

"I'm just waiting for the next guy to take over. I'm off as soon as he

gets here."

The newly arrived ghost soldier went up the stairs to begin his shift.

The guard on the first floor yawned in boredom and continued to watch his

post in the howling wind. Mo Ran was suddenly struck by a risky idea…

In the distance came three sounds: whack slam thud. The crows on the

branch screeched, and the guard at the entrance snapped to alertness. He

peered around and spied, through the thin layer of fog, the hazy silhouette of

someone steadily approaching. As the figure drew close, he could see that it

was an unfamiliar young man. The guard grew warier. "Who are you?"

"I'm here to relieve you."

Red clouds drifted past overhead, and the bright moon above peeked

out to illuminate the new guard's face—and what a handsome young ghost

soldier he was. His features were straight and even, charming and naturally

expressive.

This "ghost" who had come to change shifts was none other than Mo

Ran. He was decked out in a ghost soldier's armored uniform that he had

acquired from who knows where, complete with a black-red token swinging

at his waist and an emergency whistle that dangled by his chest, reflecting a

cold, silvery light.

"I've never seen you before." There was a challenge in the guard's

voice.

"I'm new."

The guard stuck out his hand, unconvinced. "Token?"

Mo Ran untied the token at his waist and handed it over. His

expression was even and unperturbed, but inside, his nerves were stretched

taut. Luckily, even after looking the token over several times, front and back,

the guard found nothing strange. He didn't feel like pressing the matter, so in

the end he clapped Mo Ran on the shoulder and said, "Well then, we'll be

counting on you for the rest of the night. I'm off."

"Have a safe trip home, Qianbei."

The ghost cackled a bit, well pleased at this respectful address, and

waved his hand. "Good lad. I'll see you around."

"Ah… Qianbei, a moment please!"

"What is it?" The guard turned to look over his shoulder.

Mo Ran grinned and, very casually, asked, "Any tributes in this batch

have the surname Chu?"

The guard was cautious. "Why do you ask?"

"Just asking around for Sir Chu of Tailwind Hall," Mo Ran said.

"Apparently a distant relative of his came down here recently, but Tailwind

Hall couldn't find him. So he was wondering if he might be here."

As expected, Chu Xun's name carried some weight around here. The

guard hesitated a beat, then pointed toward the second floor. "There are three

people named Chu in the innermost rooms up there. You can go take a look."

Mo Ran smiled brightly. "Many thanks for the tip, Qianbei."

"You're welcome." Qianbei was dumb as fuck. "Matter of course."

With that settled, the guard wandered off leisurely, humming a light

little tune. He strolled right past the corner without noticing his real comrade,

the one who was meant to relieve him, trussed up with a binding spell and

tossed in a ditch. The poor ghost had been stripped of his armor and left in

only his thin inner garments. Glare as he might, he was gagged so well and so

thoroughly that he couldn't make a sound and lay there fuming uselessly.

Mo Ran didn't trust Rong Jiu not to pull something. The unpicked

tributes were kept together in the side palace. Although there was only a

barrier outside and no guard, there might still be patrols. Considering how

much Rong Jiu hated him, he would definitely rat on Mo Ran if a patrol

should pass by. There was no time to lose; he had to move fast.

Mo Ran stood and waited for a patrol unit to pass him. The second

they were out of sight, he turned and bounded up to the second floor. The

guard at the top of the stairs blocked Mo Ran with his pike. "Halt. State your

business."

"It's my first day as a guard here, on the first floor."

The guard furrowed his brow. "Then go guard the first floor. What're

you doing up here?"

Mo Ran tried dropping Chu Xun's name again, but this guard wasn't

buying it. "So what if it's for Sir Chu of Tailwind Hall?" he snapped, stern.

"Once a soul's in this here palace, they're the property of the fourth king. If

he wants to rescue his relative, he can take it up with the fourth king himself.

Keep me out of it!"

Mo Ran grumbled internally—this guy seemed a bit sharper than the

one downstairs. He put on a bold front and tried again. "It's not like I'm

gonna take him today, but at least let me have a look and see if I've got the

right person."

"That's easy. Give me the name and I'll look it up. No need for you to

go yourself."

Mo Ran was indescribably vexed. He tamped down his anger and

said, "Chu Wanning. His name is Chu Wanning."

The soldier had lifted the roster to check, but the second he heard this

name, he set it back down.

Mo Ran was immediately worried. "What is it? What's the problem?"

"What's the problem?" The guard echoed with a sneer. "You sure

don't know your place, new guy. The fourth king came by earlier today to see

the beauties, and he's sweet on this Chu-xianjun. He's only still here because

his seven days aren't up, so his three souls aren't united, and he can't yet be

taken to the fourth level of hell. Otherwise, he would've been given to the

ghost king this very night. And you want him? What do you think the problem

is?"

Mo Ran's face had gone blue before the guard was halfway through.

He stared at him for a long moment. "The Fourth Ghost King fancies him?"

"So?"

"…Nothing. Never mind then, sorry to bother you." Mo Ran turned and

took two sullen steps down the stairs. Then Jiangui formed in his hand, and

before the guard could so much as blink, Mo Ran had spun around and

wrapped it tightly around the guard's neck with a flash of piercing scarlet.

Holy weapons could maim ghosts and gods alike. That guard's last

impressions were of scarlet willow leaves flying past and the newcomer

exclaiming angrily, "What makes you think I wouldn't fight the ghost king for

him!" before he lost consciousness and crumpled to the floor.

Mo Ran raised his hands and cast a spell to bind the guard and seal his

lips, then kicked him aside. He sped toward the end of the hall. The three

rooms down here all held souls with the surname Chu.

Although Mo Ran wasn't sure how, he seemed to know in his heart

which way to go—so much so that, before he'd even stopped to wonder at

this peculiar feeling, his hand had already pushed open the door. He stood

looking into the second room, slightly out of breath from running so fast.

He panted. A strand of inky black hair fell across his eyes, but he paid

it no mind, his eyes fixed on the interior of the room. It was just as Rong Jiu

had said: a small room the size of an animal's cage, with drab, ashy walls the

color of death. But the person inside seemed so very warm, like a blazing

flame in that cold expanse of white.

Not every tribute was bound, or at least Chu Wanning wasn't. Perhaps,

since the fourth king had already set his sights on this one, the guards didn't

dare offend him. There was even a snow-white animal pelt on the floor, thick

and soft as a layer of fresh snow in deepest winter. Chu Wanning lay asleep

on this fur rug. He was the kind of person who, though he appeared resolute

and undaunted, was in truth ever a little uneasy deep down. This manifested

most clearly in sleep—he always slept curled up, shrinking into himself to

make himself smaller. As if he was trying to keep warm, but also as if he was

afraid to take up too much space. Seen like this, he looked frail and a little

pitiful.

This soul wasn't like his human soul. His handsome face was clean of

bloodstains, and the clothes he wore were different too. He was clad in

vibrant red silks the color of sunset. They were loose-fitting and broadsleeved, and richly patterned with images of coiling dragons and soaring

phoenixes, of dancing golden butterflies.

Mo Ran stumbled forward and dropped to his knees beside Chu

Wanning. He reached out with trembling hands to caress his face.

"Wanning…"

The syllables that slipped out weren't Shizun, but the name by which

Mo Ran had called him in those final days of his past life. Those twisted

days of hatred and entanglement, carved into his very soul. Mo Ran lifted

Chu Wanning into his arms, but it took some time for the drowsy man to

wake.

When Chu Wanning's eyes fluttered open, he found himself lying in Mo

Ran's embrace. The look of concern on the young man's face, those features

that had yet to fully mature, was an expression the likes of which he'd never

seen. He furrowed his brow and thought that perhaps this was some kind of

dream. Thus, after a moment, he sighed and closed his eyes once more.

"Shizun!" someone called by his ear. It wasn't Wanning this time.

"Shizun! Shizun!"

Chu Wanning's phoenix eyes flew open. This time, although his

expression remained unchanged, he was betrayed by the minute trembling of

his fingertips.

Mo Ran took hold of his hand and pressed its palm to his own face,

laughing and crying until his handsome features were a sorry mess. "Shizun,"

he choked back a sob as he gazed at him, unblinking, then repeated the word

over and over like he had forgotten how to say anything else. "Shizun…"

Chu Wanning finally returned to his senses to find himself clutched

tightly in Mo Ran's arms. Feeling unconsciously that this was improper, he

struggled free and sat up to nail Mo Ran with a glare. Long moments passed

as he stared at Mo Ran, not saying a single word.

Then, he flew into a rage.

Before Mo Ran could react, Chu Wanning had jerked his hand away

and struck him across the face with a backhanded slap. "You idiot!" He

scowled furiously. "How did you die too?!"

Mo Ran opened his mouth to explain, when he saw, in the haziness of

the moonlight, that beneath all his anger, the eyes overshadowed by Chu

Wanning's long lashes were sorrowful. They seemed to suppress myriad

emotions, as if he didn't want to believe the evidence of his eyes, and also as

if he were holding back tears that would well up at the slightest touch. When

he'd finished cursing, he bit down hard on his lower lip, using all his will to

repress the shameful, humiliating tightness in his throat.

There were those who would make a great show of the tiniest cut and

ensure everyone knew they'd been injured. And then there were those who

were too proud to say anything; who would rather swallow their grievance

and suffering—even if it tore their throats bloody—than speak a word of it.

He'd never said, so Mo Ran had never known. But now that he did, his heart

ached terribly. He wanted to hold Chu Wanning, but Chu Wanning pushed him

away. His voice was hoarse as he said, "Get the hell out."

Chu Wanning turned his face away, a thousand layers of heartbreak

hidden under that veneer of brittle coldness. "You've got some nerve, coming

to see me after dying so young."

"Shizun…"

"Out." Chu Wanning's face turned away even further. "You're no

disciple of mine. I don't take anyone so useless as to end up dead in his

prime."

Dead in his prime…

Mo Ran had originally been dejected, but after being reprimanded so

seriously like this, he felt warmth flood his heart like trickling spring water.

He raised a hand and clapped his palm to his forehead before dragging it

down to cover his eyes. Then, unable to help himself, he began to laugh,

bitter and sweet and sour all mixed together.

The light sound of his laughter made Chu Wanning angrier still. He

whipped his head around to chide, "What're you laughing about, you—" In a

fit of rage, he drew his arm back slap Mo Ran again, but Mo Ran swiftly

caught his hand.

The young man's gentle eyes blinked, slow. Without a word, he

solemnly brought Chu Wanning's hand to press against his own chest