Chapter 146: Shizun, Is She Really Getting Married?

From that day forward, Mengpo Hall was the setting of an

extraordinary sight. The table "Reserved for Yuheng Elder," long off-limits

to even the boldest disciples, now accommodated one Mo Weiyu. Disciples

passing by would frequently see Mo Ran and Chu Wanning seated across

the table from each other, eating together. And every time, Mo Ran would

pick a morsel from some dish and place it in his shizun's bowl.

"Whoa, check it out, Mo-shixiong's doing it again."

A group of nearby disciples whispered with their heads together,

betting amongst themselves in hushed voices.

"Look at that huge piece of brisket he just put in the elder's bowl. I

bet Yuheng Elder's not gonna eat it."

"I'll bet the same. Yuheng Elder doesn't seem to like beef."

"Then I'll bet he does eat it, since he ate those pigeon eggs the other

time."

As the little spies looked on with bated breath, Chu Wanning frowned

and poked at the beef with his chopsticks, then said something to Mo Ran

with a gloomy expression. They were too far away to hear much of

anything, but whatever Mo Ran said in response made Chu Wanning's

expression even gloomier. The three disciples who'd bet Chu Wanning

wouldn't eat instantly brightened up, so intent on watching the pair that

they nearly brought their soup spoons to their noses instead of their mouths.

"Look, look! The elder's not eating it, he's refusing!"

"Don't jab me with your elbow, and keep it down. If Yuheng Elder

hears the lot of you placing bets on him, he'll skin you alive!"

"Heh heh heh, I don't care, these twenty silver leaves are alllllll

mine."

That smug disciple reached for the stack of silver leaves piled on the

table. But before he touched it, he heard his friends beside him whisper

hastily, "Hold on, the bet hasn't been called yet, the elder's chopsticks are

moving again!"

"Huh?"

A second glance revealed that, sure enough, Chu Wanning was

picking up that piece of beef brisket. The group of gamblers anxiously

watched, as though it were their hearts grasped by that pair of white jade

chopsticks, trapped and tender from pinching.

"He's gonna eat it, he's gonna eat it, he's gonna eat it… Twenty silver

leaves, twenty silver leaves, twenty silver leaves…" The disciple who had

bet Chu Wanning would eat the brisket chanted, jiggling his leg nervously.

Suddenly he froze, crestfallen. "Ah!"

The Yuheng Elder had flung the beef right back into Mo Ran's bowl

with no heed for Mo Ran's protests. The disciple watched in dismayed

silence.

"Ha ha ha ha, close, so close!"

"I knew the elder wouldn't eat it. Come, all the leaves belong to me

now."

The disciple who'd lost the bet sighed and slumped face-first onto the

table. He turned his head to stare at Chu Wanning, anguish written over his

face. Elder, I was wrong; I shouldn't have placed bets on you. Now I'm so

broke I can't even afford spiritual stones this month!

But just as the poor disciple had resigned himself to misery, he saw

Mo Ran's elbows shift. That tall, broad frame leaned forward as he said

something to Chu Wanning. Then, right before the disciple's eyes, his very

own Mo-shixiong once again picked up the beef brisket, this time

accompanied by some vegetables, and brought it right to Chu Wanning's

lips.

…What?

The disciple was stunned—was Mo-shixiong planning to feed the

elder from his own chopsticks?!

Chu Wanning was clearly not accustomed to this kind of treatment; he

knocked Mo Ran's chopsticks aside with his own, face severe as he said—

the words all too easy to read from his lips—put it down!

Smiling, Mo Ran set the beef and vegetables down, not into his own

bowl, but into his shizun's. What was Chu Wanning to do? He sighed, and,

oblivious that he was in full view of a dozen or so rubbernecking disciples,

silently ate it all.

A dumbfounded silence descended over the gamblers. None were

more stunned than the disciples who'd been so assured of their victory.

They watched as the silver leaves slipped out of their grasp.

On the other hand, the heretofore-wallowing disciple was instantly

revived. He jumped up, his eyes aglitter as he cried jubilantly, "Ha ha! What

a comeback! How the tables have turned! Comrades, my sincere apologies,

but I'll be taking those leaves off your hands. Hello money money money,

let's do this again tomorrow, ha! Another round tomorrow!"

The master and disciple pair remained blissfully unaware. Mo Ran

had his chopsticks in hand, slowly finishing the rice in his bowl as he

watched Chu Wanning, head lowered, eat the brisket.

It was warm inside Mengpo Hall; Mo Ran had his left sleeve rolled up

above his elbow, revealing a long stretch of shapely forearm, lean and

muscular. The muscle beneath the honey-toned skin rippled as he ladled out

a bowl of soup. When Chu Wanning wasn't looking, he dropped a few more

ribs into the bowl, allowing them to sink beneath the broth where they

would be less noticeable. "Shizun, have some soup. It's good for warding

off the cold."

"Is it clear soup?"

Mo Ran blinked innocently. "I think so? I wasn't paying close

attention when I got it, so I don't remember."

Chu Wanning examined the surface of the soup, upon which floated

some tender green cabbage leaves. It looked quite enticing, so he accepted

the bowl and tried a spoonful.

"Is it good?"

"It's all right."

"Then don't waste it, okay?" Mo Ran smiled. "Make sure you finish it

all."

Chu Wanning leveled him with mild look. "You're one to talk. Next

time, don't fill your tray with so much food that you can't finish it and need

me to help you."

"Ha ha, okay. Next time I won't take so much."

Mo Ran waited till Chu Wanning nodded before lifting his own bowl

and blowing on its surface to cool it down. The dispersing steam softened

the bold lines of his face.

Hot soup was a certain kind of magic. A mere bowl of boiled water

with meat, vegetables, and seasoning, but the resulting concoction could

warm you right through, from the stomach all the way to the heart. Sharing

soup with someone you liked provided a contentment like the wake of a

pebble tossed into a lake, ripple after ripple spreading across the surface of

the water, scattering the light that fell across it.

Mo Ran unconsciously let out a soft sigh as he basked in the peace

he'd worked so hard to attain in this lifetime. It turned out that the ceaseless

passage of time, brought to one's lips, tasted like a simple bowl of soup.

Once he'd slaughtered ruthlessly for a bowl of soup; now that same dish

brought him the bone-deep anguish of regret. He cradled the bowl in his

hands and drank it all. Whether it was the uneasiness in his heart, the

uncertainty of the future, or his remorse and guilt, he didn't want to dwell

too deeply on it. The good days in his life had been so few that he felt he

had to fight tooth and nail for every single one.

It wasn't that he didn't want to savor it, to take things easy. In truth,

he was terribly envious of people like Xue Meng, who, by virtue of being

born to wealth and privilege, could afford to stroll through life in a leisurely

manner. Mo Ran could not afford to be leisurely. His possessions were

meager, and what little he had he'd always had to fight for like a teeth-bared

beast. And what he managed to win, he always feared would be snatched

from him, so he would wolf it down at once. In this, he had retained a

primal instinct: he didn't feel secure until the food was in his belly, safe in

his stomach. Only then would it truly be his, never to be taken away by

another.

When he was little, he had fought other kids for food. In his previous

life, he had fought the world for power. But in this life, he only wanted to

fight for this bowl of soup. He knew full well that he'd done many evil

deeds, and he dreaded the inevitable reckoning of fate to come. He only

wanted to grasp whatever sorry amount of joy he could and flee with it,

leaving fate and its reckoning far, far behind.

He was no different from any other who had committed grave sins

and, after seeing the error of their ways, wished to start over. Beneath

Mo Ran's perpetually grinning exterior ran a deep insecurity. He knew the

saying "as a man sows, so shall he reap" was more than empty words.

Whatever quiet moments he had were underscored by a lurking sense that

this current peace was a falsehood, a mirage, an illusion—that he would one

day wake to find himself back in that empty Wushan Palace, alone in his

personal hell.

So he wanted a little more soup before it went cold. This way, even if

the evil he'd done caught up with him one day and he was spurned by the

world, judged by fate, and shoved once more into the cold depths of the

abyss, he would at least have this mouthful of warmth to sustain him on that

lonely road.

"What's on your mind?" Chu Wanning asked.

"Ah," Mo Ran said faintly, coming back to himself. He smiled.

"Nothing much, just spacing out now that I'm full."

Chu Wanning glanced at his empty bowl. "All done?"

"Mn."

"You seem to really like today's pork rib soup."

"Ha ha, yeah."

Chu Wanning took up Mo Ran's bowl. "Then I'll go get you some

more."

He got up, and soon enough returned with a giant bowl of hearty

soup, filled to the brim. The bowl was hot, and after setting it down, Chu

Wanning touched his fingers to the tips of his ears, warming his ears and

cooling his hands at the same time. He sat down once more and said, "Go

on, then."

"Whoa, that's a lot of soup."

"Take your time," Chu Wanning said. "There's always more if you

want it; no one's going to take it from you."

This simple phrase was enough to stir Mo Ran's heart. He cradled the

bowl, lowering his inky-black gaze. His voice was a little hoarse as he

smiled and said, "Okay." How could Chu Wanning know that it took

everything Mo Ran had to hold back tears as he heard the words—There's

always more if you want; no one's going to take it from you—while holding

onto that full bowl of soup.

Chu Wanning had been gone for five years, and Mo Ran had drowned

in blame for five years. But now, after all of it, his shizun was telling him

take your time.

In that moment, Mo Ran's heart hurt so, so much. The closer he drew

to Chu Wanning, the more anguish he felt. It was easy to miss the affection

hidden behind so many small actions unless one paid very close attention.

But now he was paying attention, and he could see that Chu Wanning

treated him so indulgently, so warmly, so well. And to think he had

squandered this person in his previous life. What good had Mo Ran done in

this life to earn the privilege to walk by his side once more?

His heart quivered, writhing in pain. On one hand, he considered

himself unworthy. He thought he should stay far away from Chu Wanning.

How brazen he was, to dare smile at Chu Wanning, try to treat Chu

Wanning well. Utterly shameless! Yet on the other, there was a constant

yearning in him. Maybe this was okay. Maybe he could just let things be.

They had so much left of the rest of their lives; couldn't he slowly redeem

himself, atone for his past mistakes, bit by bit? Might this be okay?

I, full of sin and returned from the dead, with these blood-covered

hands from my past life, lift up this bowl of warm, rich soup in this one. I

would kneel in repentance for the rest of my life, I would go willingly to hell

thereafter, if only you would deign to share a taste of it with me.

"Shizun."

Xue Meng had arrived while Mo Ran was lost in thought, pulling him

back to the present. Truth be told, ever since Chu Wanning's death, he'd

found himself filled with self-reproach and uneasiness, day in and day out.

Wallowing like this was bound to give a person a morose and off-putting

air. He'd worked steadily to bring his emotions under control, but it was

really only in the last year or so that he'd mastered it. Still, once in a while,

some small thing would get to him, and a single phrase or incident would

send him back into a quagmire of self-loathing. When he lifted his head to

look at Xue Meng, his cousin started in fright at the pall of gloom that

lingered on his face.

"Sheesh, what's with the long face, you damn mutt? Do I owe you

money or something?"

Mo Ran knew he'd slipped. He forced a smile and said, "Food coma,

that's all. Were you looking for Shizun? Go ahead and have a chat; I'll head

out for some fresh air."

"Hang on, sit back down. This concerns you too."

"Concerns me? What is it?"

Xue Meng gave him a measuring look. "Don't get too upset when I

tell you, all right?"

"Just say it, Xue Meng," Chu Wanning said.

"Okay, okay." Xue Meng had wanted to keep them in suspense a little

longer, but at his shizun's order he got right to the point: "We just got an

invitation to Song Qiutong's wedding."

The color drained instantly from Mo Ran's face. Not because of Song

Qiutong's marriage, but rather Xue Meng's imputation. Well aware of Song

Qiutong's character, Mo Ran had kept a wide berth in this lifetime. There

was absolutely nothing between them and they had nothing to do with each

other.

But Xue Meng… Why did Xue Meng think Mo Ran would be upset at

the news of Song Qiutong's wedding? Mo Ran felt like his heart was being

crushed in a vise. The fake Gouchen behind all the trouble of recent years

sprang to mind: that person lurking in the shadows, that person who was

most likely also a reborn soul. Which meant they knew all about Mo Ran's

past and every sin he had committed.

Pale-faced, Mo Ran struggled to maintain his calm as he asked, "And

what's that got to do with me?"

"What are you playing at?" Xue Meng looked askance at him.

"Rufeng Sect delivered the wedding invitation today, and Miss Song went

out of her way to send you a personal letter. If you don't know each other,

why would she write to you? Mo Ran, it's not my place to comment, but

when did you get mixed up with this woman?"

Mo Ran's thoughts roiled, and he felt like thorns were digging into his

back. After a good long moment he said, "A letter to me? Could it be some

mistake…"

"Nope." Xue Meng produced an envelope from his robes as he spoke

and slapped it onto the table in front of Mo Ran. "Here it is written in black

and white. To: Mo-xianjun, From: Qiutong. There's definitely no mistake."

Mo Ran glanced at that envelope, his heart pounding like a drum.

Countless thoughts flashed through his mind. This was indeed Song

Qiutong's handwriting—but why would she write Mo Ran a letter right

before her wedding when in this life, they had met only a few times, and

those by chance?

Xue Meng crossed his arms, looking quite affronted. "Are you

planning to open it in your room, or are you gonna open it now so everyone

can see?"

Mo Ran eyed him, then turned and saw that Chu Wanning was also

looking at him, his straight, sharp brows drawn together.

"Well?" Xue Meng's feathers were ruffled, his pushiness born of his

deep disdain toward men and women associating inappropriately.

If things really were as Mo Ran feared, then there was no avoiding

this… Mo Ran felt faint; even the tips of his fingers were cold as he reached

out. Without another word, he took up the letter and opened it.