Chapter 143: Shizun Is My Unattainable First Love, My Erstwhile OnceLover, the Object of My Most Sincere Affection, the Source of My Most Torturous Affliction, and Has Been All Along

No matter how slow Mo Ran might be, there was no way to

misunderstand her burning gaze. Hastily, he said, "Miss Ling-er, you've had

too much; let's talk about this tomorrow…"

"I want to talk now!"

This girl was ferocious when riled up; strands of her hair were loose

and her eyes were bright. Mo Ran eyed her warily. He didn't want to be

delayed here and was about to resort to qinggong to make a quick escape

when she latched onto his sleeve. Mo Ran was both amused and annoyed.

"Let go of me."

"No." It was said that booze gives confidence. Ling-er was bold to

begin with, and she'd been wanting to cozy up to this xianjun from Sisheng

Peak for a while now. Without further preamble, she proclaimed loudly, "I

like you. Do you like me?"

Stunned, Mo Ran had no reply.

Ling-er became instantly anxious at this lack of reaction. When

Mo Ran had first arrived in Yuliang Village, she had thought him quite

dashing and gallant. Later, she'd learned he was the very same "Mozongshi" whose fame had been growing over the past few years, and her

maidenly heart fell irrevocably deeper into infatuation. The busy harvest

season would soon come to its end, and Mo Ran would leave. Ling-er was

just some girl from the lower cultivation realm; all she had going for her

were her pretty face and good figure. She didn't know how Mo Ran felt, but

she did know that if she didn't confess her feelings now, she wouldn't get

another chance. And so, bolstered by liquid courage, she had sought out

Mo Ran to corner him with her confession.

Mo Ran was honestly a bit startled by her brazen fearlessness.

Ling-er's charming face flushed bright red as she waited with bated

breath. How wonderful it would be if Mo Ran said yes. Not only would she

win herself a handsome young man as her lover, getting together with

Mo Ran would also mean getting in with Sisheng Peak. She wouldn't be

stuck in this podunk village; she could live comfortably, she could…

"I'm sorry, Miss Ling-er, but you'd best let me go."

His blunt reply tore down all those fanciful pavilions she'd been

building in the sky. The blush on Ling-er's face had yet to recede as she

blanched, and for a moment, the color of her face looked terrible. After a

strangled pause, she asked anxiously, "Am—am I not pretty enough?"

"You're very pretty." Mo Ran was unfailingly polite as he gently

extricated himself from her grip. "But not my type."

Whatever dignity she'd had left was completely shredded by this not

my type. Tears welled up in Ling-er's eyes, though the heartbreak was

secondary. She did fancy Mo Ran, but it was mostly an infatuation. What

she really yearned for was to rise above her circumstances, and it was the

shattering of those beautiful dreams that she felt more keenly. "Then…"

She held back her tears and asked, "What's your type?"

"I—"

Her question left Mo Ran at a loss. What was his type? Out of sheer

habit, he almost answered that his type was someone like Shi Mei. But

before the words left his lips, he had a sudden feeling that no—that wasn't

quite right. He was caught off guard, unable to answer.

"Well? What's your type?" Ling-er pressed. Her lovely eyes were

fixed unwaveringly on Mo Ran's face, alert to any minute change in

expression.

Ling-er's situation was a sorry one as well. She had an older sister

who'd married an ordinary fabric merchant from the upper cultivation

realm and moved to Leizhou many years ago to live in luxury. Ling-er and

her mother had once traveled to visit her older sister, bringing with them

bundles of pepper-dried fish from their village. But her sister's husband

disliked the pungent stench of dried fish and saw his in-laws as unsightly

country bumpkins. They were an embarrassment to keep around, and he had

chased them off only a few days into their stay.

The experience had cut deep into Ling-er's heart. Since that day,

she'd been unsatisfied with her shabby life, swearing to win herself a life

even better than her older sister's and pay back the humiliation she'd

suffered in full. She'd spent the past few years looking for a strapping

young man to marry so she could change her fate. And she really didn't

want to let Mo Weiyu go.

Emboldened by alcohol and reckless with desperation, she leaned into

him unsteadily. Ling-er possessed a soft and sensual figure; when she

walked across the paddy fields in the summer, the men would all steal

glances. Now she was going all in, betting on her warm body to pry apart

Mo-zongshi's armor. She pressed her pliant flesh against his. "Am I not

good enough? You didn't think it through. You didn't even consider before

rejecting me like that."

But this only made Mo Ran incredibly uncomfortable. He made to

pull her off him, his face rapidly darkening. "Miss Ling-er, I haven't known

you for long at all. How could I like you? Why would I think of you that

way?"

"How would you know unless you tried?"

She drew near for another attempt. Mo Ran immediately exclaimed,

"Please stay back!"

"You really don't like me at all?" Ling-er's eyes widened, and she

repeated in disbelief, "Not even a little… Just a little…?"

"I don't like you. Not even a little." Mo Ran thought maybe he hadn't

been clear. When it came to such things, a clean cut was best. So even

though it was cruel, he added, "I am not interested, not even a little bit."

Ling-er was speechless. She could understand if she wasn't his type.

But not interested… How many unmarried men could face a woman who

possessed such a charming face and figure, one who threw herself willingly

into his arms, yet say with such righteous conviction that he wasn't

interested? How could he face enticement from such a beauty and feel not a

shred of desire? Stunned, she stood rooted to the spot for a long interval.

"How…how can you… How are you…" She struggled to say the words.

She actually wanted to ask, How can you not feel any desire at all? That's

not normal.

Mo Ran could tell what she was thinking, but he didn't feel like

explaining himself. They had met by chance; even if all she wanted was a

fling, he had no such intentions. She could think whatever she liked.

"Sorry," he said in a low voice. Then he slipped off into the night.

The breeze blew into his face, and he couldn't help but squint. The

conversation with Ling-er just now had brought on a sudden realization:

when it came to love, there was something he'd always been mistaken

about.

Ling-er had asked him, "What's your type?" This question was

something he'd never given deep thought to before. Someone who rarely

received warmth hadn't the privilege of choice; if someone treated him

well, he would offer his all to them.

What's your type?

This was something he'd unconsciously never dared ask himself. In

this world, everyone had their own unique tastes and biases. When Mo Ran

was a child, he had often seen other children on the streets tugging at their

parents' sleeves with words like, "I like these, the ones with the scallions,"

or "Mommy, this red lantern is prettier than the yellow one, I like red." But

for him, saying something like that would have been pointless. He could

only afford the cheapest plain flatbread, which he would split in half to

share with his mother.

Later, when he was at the pleasure house, he would sneak peeks at the

rich young masters who came around. He would watch them fan themselves

languidly and say, "I liked the girl from last time, Cui-er. She's delicate, and

her voice is sweet. Let's have her sing for us today too," and other such

stuff. Honestly, to Mo Ran, Cui-er-zizi was nowhere near as pretty as

Bairong-zizi—but who cared what he thought?

Nobody ever asked him, "What do you like?" Whether it was who

was prettier or any other choice, making it was the purview of the rich and

powerful. Mo Ran could only accept whatever others gave him. If there was

food to eat, he should be thankful. If there were clothes to wear, he should

weep in gratitude—what was this "like"?

He'd be a raving lunatic to even consider it. How could he have any

preference? How could he dare to have a preference? What right did he

have? All he had was this lowly, worthless life, and even that was a struggle

to keep. Whatever he got, he would tightly grip onto. He'd lived like this

for so long it became more than habit; it was ingrained into his very bones.

No matter what riches and treasure he amassed, no matter how many of the

finest perfumes he luxuriated in—so much that it made him sneeze—he

could never cover the stench of poverty emanating from his marrow.

Growing up in poverty, his own feelings and preferences were like

dirt under the sole of a shoe, completely worthless. The question "What do

you like?" was something nobody would ever ask. Later, he would rise to

the apex of society, becoming emperor of everything. But serving an

emperor was like serving a tiger: those around him could only try to guess

at his thoughts and whims. "What do you like?" became a phrase nobody

would dare to ask.

But Ling-er had asked. A few simple words, yet they had him

stumped.

He had once thought that to love someone was to respect and cherish

them, to hold them in his cupped hands with greatest care, never daring to

harbor even the slightest inappropriate thought toward them. This was the

way he treated Shi Mei. He'd thought this was love, and there didn't seem

to be anything wrong with that. But at this very moment, Mo Ran was

vaguely beginning to wonder if perhaps things weren't as he'd thought.

Did he really prefer gentleness over stubbornness?

Did he really like the sweet-tempered more than the firm and

unyielding?

Did he really like the tender affection of peach-blossom eyes more

than the sharp and piercing frost of phoenix eyes?

Did he… Did he really like Shi Mingjing? And not…not…

He didn't dare invoke that person's name. But his heart began to race

despite himself, his blood pumping hot and roiling in his veins. Mo Ran was

shocked by this burst of love and desire.

Love and desire: two things never meant to be pulled apart, never

meant to be separated. To be attracted by another's appearance, bewitched

by another's voice, another's scent, another's passing glances; wanting to

conquer, wanting to possess, wanting to leave his own scent on unspoiled

flesh that yet had no connection to him; wanting to drive his burning

passion into the other's body. He had always believed love was sacred, and

that the object of his love was never to be defiled. But really, how could he

not defile him? When the form of the one he loved ardently, admired, and

desired appeared before him, how could he remain unmoved? How could

he suppress the fire of lust that ran through his body?

There were many kinds of love in this world, but romantic love was

the kind that could never be pure and clean. It was bound to be stained with

hot, sticky sweat and dyed the color of bare skin; it was braided with

tangled locks of hair and the bitter pungency of photinia blossoms;8

 it was

clouded with moans and passion. It was a tender, glistening flower that

could only bloom in the sultry, damp mud of a warmed bed.

Mo Ran fled urgently into the night. He came to an abrupt stop, his

eyes startlingly bright, his expression dumfounded. Something seemed to

have snapped in his brain. The raging currents he had suppressed with

complacency and stupid stubbornness dragged him under with inexorable

force, drowning him, swallowing him whole. He stood rooted in horror.

Lust, desire.

Love.

Chu Wanning…

He finally unearthed that name. Cleared away sand and dirt to reveal

precious treasure. It had always been Chu Wanning… This intimate feeling,

this blazing love, it had always belonged to Chu Wanning!

His vision went dark. Two lifetimes' worth of delusion had been

shattered, and fragments of brick and tile were swept by violent tides,

crashing upon the walls of his heart, making it hard to breathe. He was

dumbstruck. Could this have been the truth all along? Had he been wrong

about the one he liked all this time, about his so-called love?

By the time Mo Ran returned to the bonfire hugging the jar of pear

blossom white, Ling-er was gone. Of course, no one had noticed the young

girl's departure, so no one had known of her conversation with Mo Ran

earlier. The crowd still drank in merriment, lively as ever.

After three rounds, the villagers began to play games. They wove a

grass wreath with a rice stalk while someone went up to beat the drums.

When the drumming stopped, whoever held the grass wreath would be

asked a question they were rule-bound to answer. The farming folks of the

lower cultivation realm entertained themselves this way when they had a

few moments of idleness. The rules were simple and easy to understand.

Even someone like Chu Wanning, who didn't have a single frivolous bone

in his body, could easily join in.

"All right, it's Old Bai's turn! Come on, Old Bai, come draw

your lot!"

Old Bai grabbed a tightly folded sheet of paper from the giant bowl

with a look of misery. He opened it and read aloud, "What's better, a

woman with large tits or a fat ass?"

The crowd erupted into laughter. Old Bai flushed with anger and

waved the slip of paper overhead as he yelled, "Which one of you

dumbasses wrote this question?! I'll fuck your fucking ancestors!"

"Hold on now." One of the villagers laughed and tugged on his shirt.

"Don't go fuck the fucking ancestors yet. First answer the question."

Old Bai's wife was sitting next to him, glaring at him with her

bullfrog-like eyes until his hair stood on end. He hemmed and hawed, then

eventually said in a small voice, "I think they're both pretty good."

"Bullshit, you lying liar!" someone bellowed, laughing. "You told me

just the other day you like 'em thick, with childbearing hips! What're you

doing, lying like this! Drink up! That's the penalty for lying, so drink!"

Old Bai could only grimace and drink. The moment he was done, his

wife dragged him off by the ear, chewing him out the whole way.

Hidden in the crowd, Chu Wanning found himself equally

discomfited and intrigued by this game. If these vulgar questions were

posed to him, however, he would certainly be unable to answer.

Just then, the village chief held up a strip of black cloth about a foot

long and said with a grin, "Let's change the drummer; switch Old Zhang

out so he can play too. Who wants to take over?"

Chu Wanning was quick to volunteer: "I'll do it."

He walked over to the drum of thick cowhide, took the drumsticks,

and settled himself down. The village chief covered his eyes with the strip

of cloth, adjusting it carefully. "Too tight?"

"No."

"Can you see through it?"

"No."

The village chief smiled. "All right then, Xianjun, go ahead and start

beating the drum. Stop whenever you like."

"Okay." Chu Wanning raised the drumsticks and experimentally

tapped the leather surface a couple times. Soon he was nimbly tapping out

staccato drumbeats, rhythmic and fast-paced.

Blindfolded as he was, he couldn't know that Mo Ran was watching

him across the bonfire with a gaze full of turmoil and confusion. Sparks

flew from the fire like orange fireflies scattering into the black night. He

gazed at that man whose white robes brushed the ground. Like a sharp

blade, his gaze scraped across every inch of Chu Wanning's face, from his

forehead to the tip of his nose, his lips, his chin. Chu Wanning held an

indescribable allure to Mo Ran, blindfolded as he was like this. This time,

Mo Ran did not allow that allure to slip from his grasp; instead, he chewed

it over in his mind, lapped at it in his thoughts.

Within it, he found the taste of love.

He felt once more the shock in his heart, and he once more verified

it… He was not mistaken. He did feel love toward Chu Wanning. It was not

the kind of love between master and disciple, and certainly not a love born

from mere gratitude. He was simply in love with him, and desired him, and

wanted him.

He…

Finally he realized that, all this time, he had loved Chu Wanning. It

was love. He couldn't believe how obtuse he'd been, how biased, how

foolish, how blind. He couldn't believe it had taken him this long to come

to his senses.

He was in love with Chu Wanning.

The mound of dirt that had been piled over the grave of his mind

finally burst open. Memory after memory that had never made sense,

question after question that had gone unanswered—all came rushing up in

the wake of this late-realized love.

But he didn't have a chance to savor it or think it over. The drum

ceased its beat with a final dong, its echo lingering in the air. The grass

wreath chose this exact moment to land on Mo Ran's knees, and he picked it

up in a daze. He looked up just in time to see Chu Wanning sigh as he

pulled the black blindfold aside with one hand. Those phoenix eyes blinked,

bright and clear as moonlight, and looked over, pure and guileless, curious

as the rest to know where the wreath had landed when the drum stopped.

His eyes met Mo Ran's.

An awkward silence stretched between them. Few things were more

uncomfortable than locking eyes with someone you'd been sneaking peeks

at. Their gazes met, both evasive.

But that didn't last. Chu Wanning noticed with a start the

complicated, confused tenderness on Mo Ran's handsome face.

A tenderness so starkly and scaldingly visible, leaping across the crowd and

the sparks of the bonfire, a tenderness that wasn't concealed in the least;

trying would have been futile. Chu Wanning's phoenix eyes widened

imperceptibly.

"Looks like you're the lucky one, Mo-xianjun." Laughing, the village

chief pulled Mo Ran to his feet.

Mo Ran hesitated, then put the woven grass wreath on his head

according to the rules. His dark eyes were bright, but he felt lost. Crowned

with rice stalks, he stole another careful glance at Chu Wanning. That

handsome, tanned face began to gradually flush red under the firelight.

Chu Wanning was startled by his peculiar reaction. His eyes grew

wider as he stared at Mo Ran until they were almost round. Under Chu

Wanning's naked stare, Mo Ran lowered his gaze, lips pursed and utterly

silent, looking obedient and a little bashful. He was acting like a slowwitted youth who had reached the age where love was on the mind and was

experiencing his first puppy love: all clumsy and awkward, pathetically yet

adorably so.

If Chu Wanning had been startled before, he was shocked now. Was

he going blind? Why else was he seeing this strapping, red-blooded young

man acting like a blushing maiden? Was he possessed?!