Chapter 144: Shizun, I Like You

Mo Ran plucked a piece of paper from the massive bowl and

unfolded it, spreading it flat. Upon seeing its contents, he first let out a

breath of relief, then quickly became nervous.

"What is it?" the village chief asked.

Mo Ran showed him the paper. The village chief took one look and

laughed. "Good thing there aren't any girls from Xianjun's sect here, or

Mo-xianjun might've been put in a tricky spot."

Chu Wanning, already deeply curious about the question Mo Ran had

picked up, now grew even more so. He stared at that slip of paper as if he

was going to burn a hole through it.

Mo Ran said, laughing, "But take a look. Village Chief, this has to be

against the rules, right? Everyone else only got one question, but this one's

technically asking three."

"What can I say? Xianjun got lucky, I guess!" the village chief said.

"If Xianjun isn't happy with it, toss it out and grab a new one."

But a new one would probably net something along the lines of "Do

women with long legs or thin waists look better." Mo Ran smiled and said,

"Forget it, let's stick with this one." He handed the paper back to the village

chief and announced, "The question I picked asked me to talk about the

three people I like the most."

Chu Wanning had no words.

It was just at this time that a red-eyed Ling-er returned to the group.

Afraid the others would see she'd been crying, she didn't squeeze her way

to the front, but instead sat on the outskirts of the crowd. Mo Ran didn't

notice her. In fact, once Mo Ran had shared what was on his paper, he'd

fixed his gaze on the bonfire. It was such a personal question. He felt that

he would be smothered by sheer awkwardness if he looked at anybody

while answering, so he avoided eye contact altogether. The flickering of the

fire reflected in his black eyes, casting his handsome face in light and

shadow. He stared at it for a long moment, lost in thought, then eventually

began. "I'll start with my mom."

He said: "My mom passed on when I was very young. Honestly, I

don't really remember what she looked like. I only remember that when she

was around, I always had food to eat and a safe place to sleep. So if I have

to name three people, she's one of them."

The village chief nodded. "She sounds like quite the loving mother.

All right, that counts as one, Xianjun."

"The second one is my shige. He's very kind to me, and while we

share no blood bond, he treats me better than a brother by birth."

This was an answer Chu Wanning had expected, so there was scarcely

a ripple on his face or in his heart. Mo Ran's affection for Shi Mei was

blindingly obvious; Chu Wanning had heard as much with his own ears

back at Jincheng Lake, so he wasn't surprised. He only gazed at that man

who shone in the light of the night's fire: chiseled figure firm and powerful,

face incredibly handsome, and willfulness lining his bones.

A great deal of a person's spirit showed in their eyes, and Mo Ran's

bright, black eyes were vivacious, like a lamp that would never go out as

long as a drop of oil remained. Someone with eyes like these was sure to be

incredibly stubborn, and Chu Wanning was very taken with this kind of

stubbornness. Alas, this stubbornness wasn't his for the taking.

Mo Ran went on about how great Shi Mingjing was, but Chu

Wanning heard none of it. Chilled by the night breeze, he poured himself a

cup of hot tea, wrapping his hands around it and sipping it slowly. The tea

warmed him from the inside out; down his throat, down to his belly, until

even his heart felt like it had mellowed. He silently poured himself another

cup.

Yet as he was about to take another sip, he heard Mo Ran, who had

just finished praising Shi Mingjing, pause for a moment before saying:

"There's one more. The third person I want to mention is my shizun."

"Hack hack hack—!" Chu Wanning choked on his tea as if his throat

had been burned, spluttering and coughing nonstop, his face deeply flushed.

So focused was he on wiping up the tea that he never once looked up at

Mo Ran. When someone was used to their feelings being insignificant in the

eyes of others, being pulled out of the ground and exposed would only

make them scared and anxious about the dirt they were covered in; they

would only want to dart back into the darkness once more, curling up to

hide.

But Mo Ran obviously was not planning on giving Chu Wanning a

chance to escape. The man was so closed off: if he had his way, he'd only

ever show you his back; he'd never turn to look at you. He appeared fiery

and fierce, eyes sharp as blades, filled with the promise of attack, with

roaring thunder, but Mo Ran knew it was no more than a carefully crafted

mask. After all, he had seen the gentleness of Chu Wanning's human soul,

so pitiful and helpless within the steaming mist of Mengpo Hall.

He didn't want to see Chu Wanning mistreat himself like that

anymore. His shizun should never have to wear that savage, terrifying mask

ever again. If he and that pride of his were unwilling to take it off, then

Mo Ran would extend a helping hand.

Not much tea had been spilled, and whatever spilled had long since

been cleaned up. Yet Chu Wanning still wiped away at invisible stains. He

was used to spinning a cocoon around himself, so he didn't look up.

Gradually, he realized that it had gone quiet around him, so quiet it was a

little queer.

A child giggled and said in a loud whisper: "Mom, Chu-xianjun is

such a dummy."

The mother hastened to cover her thoughtless child's mouth with a

hush. But Chu Wanning had heard. Dummy…

No, Yuheng of the Night Sky could not have less resemblance to the

word "dummy": he was unbridled and sharp, fierce and cold, he was—

"Shizun, if you wipe any harder, you'll wipe a hole through the

table."

A pair of black cloth boots approached, drew closer, and encroached

into his personal space before they stopped. A shadow stretched over Chu

Wanning, its presence bearing down on him with the force of a lofty

mountain, so heavy he found it hard to breathe, so heavy it was a little

humiliating, and a little enraging from how humiliating it was.

He was suddenly furious, vexed by his own unexpected vulnerability.

He slapped the handkerchief down and jerked his chin up, full of animosity,

phoenix eyes brimming with rage as he glared at Mo Ran, coiled and ready

to attack.

In that same second, Mo Ran said, full of respect and gentleness:

"Shizun, pay attention to me."

This phrase was like a spell, uttered as it was at the precise moment

Chu Wanning had looked up. Only Chu Wanning knew it was coincidence,

that he hadn't raised his head in response to Mo Ran's plea for attention.

But so what? To Mo Ran and the watching crowd, it looked like Chu

Wanning had responded promptly to his disciple's request.

Promptly. There was nothing more humiliating. He felt like his

dignity had been utterly lost. Chu Wanning's face was like ice, but his eyes

sparked with fire.

Yet what he met was only Mo Ran's gentle and warm gaze that, like

boundless spring water, washed over his sharp-toothed rage and effortlessly

engulfed it.

"Shizun," Mo Ran said, "my third answer is you."

Left with nowhere to vent his indignation, Chu Wanning resorted to

indifference. "Mn," he said after a long moment. He was the picture of cool

composure. So very calm and dignified, a Chu-zongshi above worldly

concerns. Chu Wanning mentally patted himself on the back for his

performance.

Mo Ran watched in amusement. Mo-zongshi thought to himself—

could it be that this Chu-zongshi actually was…kind of a little dummy?

Chu Wanning was completely oblivious to the fact that he'd been

slapped with the label of little dummy in his disciple's mind. In his

nervousness, he retreated even further behind his cold and haughty

demeanor. "Well?" he demanded. "Did you want something?"

The question unwittingly hit the mark, and the smile on Mo Ran's

face stiffened. Mo Ran wanted everything.

But he couldn't have anything.

So what if he liked Chu Wanning? He'd discovered it too late, when

that person was too far out of reach. He'd spent two lifetimes chasing after

Shi Mei, only to realize that he'd loved the wrong person, that he had to turn

around…in truth, it was difficult for him to accept as well.

If he had understood his own heart at the time of his rebirth, perhaps

it wouldn't have been too late. But this belated discovery only added to his

misery. He'd inflicted too many cruel torments onto Chu Wanning's body in

the previous life. To him, sex had become something he used to torture the

proud, unyielding man beneath him. He saw Chu Wanning as an immortal

being, above worldly desires, beyond such things as love or lust.

When it came to ruining Chu Wanning, Mo Ran knew of countless

ways to ravish and plunder. But when it came to treating him well? Mo Ran

couldn't think of many ways at all. He seemed to have turned really stupid,

like he'd suddenly become an idiot: all he could think to do was maintain a

proper distance between his shizun and himself, to place his shizun on an

altar while he prostrated himself on the ground.

Enfolded in this third "like" was a scalding and secret love. But

Mo Ran couldn't afford to let Chu Wanning notice that. He could only

restrain himself and disguise his feelings of adoration as simple affection

between master and disciple, which he very respectfully presented to Chu

Wanning.

And so Mo Ran replied, "I just wanted to let Shizun know. That's all."

Chu Wanning watched him silently.

"It's just," Mo Ran added, "I couldn't help but want everyone to

know…"

"Know what?"

Mo Ran smiled. His black eyes shone with a light so brilliant it

concealed the turbulent undercurrents of desire. "To know how lucky I am,"

he said, still grinning. "To have the world's best, best, best shizun."

The same superlative three times in a row: what a clumsy expression,

yet one he'd worked extremely hard on. This was precisely the style of

Mo Ran's unpolished simplicity.

Chu Wanning gazed at him with an unfathomable expression. Only

his lashes quivered minutely. Mo Ran took a deep breath; he didn't know

where his courage was coming from, but he felt that if he missed his chance

now, he might never find such boldness in himself again for the rest of his

life. He abruptly dropped to one knee, attempting to bring himself level

with Chu Wanning where he sat. Unfortunately, with his size and height,

Mo Ran still towered over his shizun even while kneeling. But he couldn't

care about that right now. He could only feel how fast his heart was racing

and how rapidly his blood was flowing.

"Shizun."

Chu Wanning eyed him, suddenly wary. He saw so much anxiety in

Mo Ran's eyes that he reflexively leaned back, just a little.

Yet still the sharp arrow pierced right through his heart.

"I like you."

Chu Wanning had nowhere to run; the deer bounding through the

woods had been shot by the hunter and crumpled silently to the ground.

Chu Wanning stared at him blankly. A dull droning filled his mind, and he

could neither hear nor see…

Like—what a reserved, ambiguous word. Unlike "love," so nakedly

forthright that it would scorch a person's heart, "like" was a word that could

be interpreted in myriad ways, allowing lovesick men and women

everywhere to confess their feelings beneath a veneer of calm, allowing

them an outlet for some part of the affection that filled their hearts to

bursting.

Mo Ran thought to himself: I like you, but I don't want to alarm you

or force you into anything. You will think I speak of the affection a disciple

shows toward his master. It's unfortunate for me, but surely this is the limit

of what you'd want from a disciple.

Meanwhile, Chu Wanning thought to himself: You say you like me,

but it's a liking born of pity, out of obligation to the one who taught you and

saved your life. This is not the way I want to be liked. But I've done all I

can to garner this affection; I have no strength left, no more bargaining

chips to trade for anything more. For you to acknowledge me as your

shizun, to have this form of liking, is enough for me. I won't ask for more.

Neither said anything more, and the crowd watching the show praised

the deep affection between master and disciple. Only Ling-er, hidden in her

corner, sensed something amiss. The expression on Mo Ran's handsome

face seemed to conceal some deeply suppressed desire, a desire so ardent it

pricked her senses. But she was a naïve girl who had grown up in a tiny

village; homosexuality was something she had no inkling of. She couldn't

quite pinpoint what felt so off.

In this world, there would always be people who were thoughtless

and unreserved, bold and domineering, brazenly strutting about with a

devil-may-care attitude…just as long as they weren't in love. Once these

people fell in love, they became a pan of hot oil on a blazing fire, hearts and

eyes aflame. They would constantly yearn for the desire in their hearts to be

discovered by its target, wanting nothing more than to plunge deep into the

ocean of passion with them, to be forever entwined.

But should the target of their wanting actually learn the truth? These

people would then exist in an endless state of trepidation, fearing that the

object of their affection didn't return their feelings, afraid that they would

be rejected, continuously on edge. Never mind if the devil cared: if a cricket

were to chirp once or twice on a tree as it went about its crickety business,

these people would take it as an omen, anxiously thinking, Oh heavens, the

crickets have chirped. Is this a sign he doesn't like me?

At its haziest, love was a guessing game, a game of hide-and-seek. It

saturated all the air in a two-mile radius with its sour stench. Mo Weiyu had

been Taxian-jun in the previous life. Now he was Mo-zongshi. Notorious

and infamous back then; renowned and celebrated now. Once the most

wicked of devils, he'd since become the most virtuous of men. But still,

he'd never been able to escape that stench.

As for Chu Wanning? When it came to matters of love, this guy was

like a fish caught in a net. The slightest disturbance would have him all

tangled up until his head ached in confusion. Even so, he would rather die

than lose face, so he would huff and say, What a sour, rotten business.

Nothing worth discussing.

A man truly digging his own grave.