Chapter 95: This Venerable One’s Calamity from His Past Life

That thin boundary separating the world of the yin from that of the

yang was far from the sturdy barrier it had been in ancient times. Occasional

tears and gaps were such a common occurrence these days that they barely

registered alarm within the cultivation world.

But now, a bloody eye had ripped straight across the heavens, bathing

the sky and earth alike in an unnatural, eerie hue as debris whipped through

the air.

A once-in-a-generation calamity: the Heavenly Rift.

None present, save Mo Ran, had ever personally witnessed such an

immense catastrophe. Be it the white-haired Li Wuxin, the battle-seasoned

Xue Zhengyong, the upper cultivation realm's Rufeng Sect, or the lower

cultivation realm's Sisheng Peak, every one of the thousand-some people

gathered before Butterfly Town were aghast, without any idea what to do.

Mo Ran felt like he had been struck by lightning. The thick stench of

blood from his past life washed over him, the ruthless massacre, the endless

spilling of blood—this was it! That very same Heavenly Rift!

In his previous lifetime, this was where Shi Mei died. He and

Chu Wanning had worked together to repair the barrier. But his limited

spiritual energy had made him vulnerable, and he was attacked by the masses

of ghosts and demons pouring from the rift, and fell from such a height…

But that wasn't supposed to happen yet, not for another three years!

Mo Ran remembered that snowy night with such clarity. It had been

just after New Year's Eve. Scraps of red from spent firecrackers had littered

the snowy ground, and the faint smell of smoke lingered in the air. He had

celebrated the New Year with everyone else the night before, indulging in the

tusu wine

4

 reserved for the occasion.

Mo Ran looked up, slightly tipsy. In the warm glow of the candlelight,

Shi Mei's eyes were like the waters of spring, tender and affectionate from

every angle.

Sisheng Peak was alive with laughter and merriment. He had thought,

back then, that this was wonderful. That even if he never ended up acting on

his feelings toward the person he liked, he'd be content to stay by his side for

a lifetime and watch over him from a distance, just like this.

The festivities came to a close, and the disciples drifted back to their

quarters. He and Shi Mei left Mengpo Hall together, their path lit by the

moonlight reflected on the snowy ground. Shi Mei looked a little cold, so Mo

Ran shrugged off his outer robe and draped it over his shoulders without a

word. Emboldened by the alcohol coursing through his blood, he snuck a few

more glances than usual.

Beauty like new-fallen snow, pure and untouchable.

"A-Ran."

"Hm?"

"You drank a little too much today."

"Did I? Ha ha…" The rest of Mo Ran's laughter died in his throat. Shi

Mei had cupped his face with chilly hands, making his already warm cheeks

burn hotter. Mo Ran's eyes opened wide, and a tremor ran through his body.

"Mhm," Shi Mei said with a smile. "Look at you, three cups and your

face is all red."

"I-it's just kinda hot." Mo Ran scratched his head goofily, his face

aflame.

He had been so easily satisfied back then. Simply liking someone was

enough. He didn't need his feelings returned, didn't dare to dream of more.

That person had merely touched his face, yet he felt like he had been blessed

by the heavens. He stared in a daze, words abandoning him, his inky black

eyes glistening with wonder and gratitude.

The two bid each other goodnight before the disciple quarters. Before

leaving, Shi Mei turned to smile at him, draped in Mo Ran's robe and backlit

by the enchanting glow of moonlight on snow. "A-Ran."

Mo Ran had already turned to leave, but at the sound of his name, he

whipped around in a fluster like a spinning top for fear of missing something.

"Y-yes!"

"Thanks for lending me your robe."

"It's nothing! I was hot anyway!"

"And," Shi Mei's gaze grew even softer, so warm it seemed it could

chase away the long winter. "A-Ran, actually, I…"

A firework exploded in the distance.

Mo Ran didn't catch what he said; or perhaps Shi Mei didn't actually

say anything more. By the time it was again quiet, Shi Mei was already

pushing open the door to his room.

"Wait!" Mo Ran called out, panicked. "What did you say just now?"

Shi Mei was uncharacteristically playful, blinking his eyes as he

teased, "Good things can only be said once."

"Shi Mei—"

But that alluring person did not relent. Only the lower half of his

elegant face was visible beneath the cold-proofing curtain, bearing a soft

smile that Mo Ran would remember for the rest of his life. "It's late," he

said. "I'm going to bed. If I still feel like telling you in the morning…" Shi

Mei paused, soft lashes drooping like feathery mimosa leaves. "I'll tell you

then."

Who could have known morning would bring with it the Heavenly

Rift? In the end, Mo Ran never got to hear the rest, and the most tender dream

of his life was dyed a bloody scarlet.

How many times had he dreamt of that smile on Shi Mei's face beyond

the half-raised curtain, of its beauty and gentleness? Perhaps he'd only

imagined it, but he'd felt that smile had held boundless feelings.

Time and again, over the course of his painful life, he dreamt the rest

of that dream. In his dream, Shi Mei would say that he liked him. Mo Ran

would wake up grinning, happy, so happy that for a moment he would forget

Shi Mei was dead, that there was no turning back.

Still grinning happily, he would contemplate the rest of their lives

together, contemplate what delicious foods he would make for his beloved—

such important matters were worth putting some thought into, after all. But

then, grinning and grinning, tears would start to roll. He would bury his face

in his hands. He would never hear the words that had scattered into the wind

on that snowy New Year's Eve.

Ripping through thousands of miles of heavy clouds, the Infinite Hells

yawned open. Evil spirits and demonic fiends, countless in number, poured

from the rift like a legion marching to besiege a city. The screams from all

around jolted Mo Ran from his memories. Nearly crazed, he pushed through

the chaotic, surging crowd, shouting frantically, beside himself with panic,

searching—

"Shi Mei! Shi Mei! Shi Mingjing! Where are you? Where are you?!"

I don't know why the Heavenly Rift came three years early. I don't

know if I can protect you with the strength I have now. I can't bear to see

you hurt again, can't bear to watch you die again…

Please live…

It's my fault. I should have gotten stronger so I could protect you

right away—I was stupid. I didn't think things through, didn't consider that

this might happen. Where are you…

"A-Ran…" Between the clashing of weapons, he heard a faint voice.

"Shi Mei!"

There he was, next to Xue Meng, shielding the pair of them against the

onslaught of evil spirits with a screen of flowing water. Mo Ran hurtled

toward him, heedless of all else, his throat tight and his eyes stinging.

"You damn mutt! Get over here already and help!" Xue Meng fought

with the might of ten men, but the waves of corpses were a ceaseless tide.

Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead as he said through gritted teeth,

"Hurry up!"

He didn't need to say any more. Mo Ran leapt into the air with a flash

of red as Jiangui answered his summons. He brandished the willow vine, and

the holy weapon annihilated an entire row of the vicious ghosts in a single

lash, transforming them to dust in an instant. Mo Ran turned his head to yell

in Shi Mei's direction, "Stay close, get behind me!"

"I want to go help Shizun…"

"Don't move!"The words struck unadulterated fear into Mo Ran's

heart. Under no circumstances would he allow Shi Mei anywhere near Chu

Wanning in this battle. Not this time. Memories from his past life overlaid

and bled into the scene before him. Back then, he had said the same thing:

"I want to go help Shizun."

"All right, go quick. You'll be safer over there with Shizun. Stay close

and let him protect you."

Let him protect you. How absurd. Chu Wanning, Chu Wanning… Mo

Ran had planned and calculated for every possibility, but he had forgotten to

consider that this person was Chu Wanning! Cold-blooded and heartless.

Head full of "the common people," but not a whit of care for his own dying

disciple.

"Don't go over there! He can take care of himself!" Mo Ran's head felt

numb from the overlapping vision of two lifetimes. Eyes bloodshot, he

roared at Shi Mei, "Don't move! Stay right here!"

"But Shizun expended so much of his strength just now…"

"He'll live! Worry about yourself!" Mo Ran scowled darkly and

directed another powerful lash at the surging waves of undead, sending flesh

and blood flying and clumps of brain matter splattering to the ground. His

current level of spiritual power was a far cry from the heights he'd achieved

in his past life, but the forms and movements came to him like second nature.

After all, his body had seen countless battles and had crossed blades with the

likes of Ye Wangxi and Chu Wanning. He fought fearlessly, undaunted in the

face of the savage undead in their millions.

The rift in the sky grew.

The fiends that had been confined within the Infinite Hells for

centuries poured into the mortal realm in a violent deluge. They mixed with

the walking corpses of Butterfly Town that had taken advantage of the

strength afforded them by the sudden influx of yin energy to struggle free of

Chu Wanning's willow vines.

The situation grew increasingly terrifying, increasingly out of control,

frantic as a pot of boiling oil doused with water. The ghosts and demons

snatched living people and tore into them like a swarm of locusts descending

on a field of crops. Demonic encounters were routine business for those from

Sisheng Peak; they could hold their own. But the same could not be said of

Rufeng Sect and Bitan Manor. One after another, their cultivators screamed

and their blood splashed into the air.

Chu Wanning was too far away for Mo Ran to see how he fared, but he

caught sight of Ye Wangxi and Nangong Si among the throngs of people. For

all the two were at odds, their fighting styles were strikingly similar. He saw

Ye Wangxi toss aside his sword to summon a long bow in a flash of blue

light, while Nangong Si's bow was like the arc of the crescent moon in his

hand. The two exchanged a glance before dashing past one another to cover

one side each, aiming at the densest masses of undead corpses and drawing

their bows to the fullest. They let fly at practically the same instant, the white

of the arrows' fletching cleaving through the skies with a sound like the

screeching of birds. The arrows were tempered with spiritual power,

encased in blades of cutting wind that sliced through the air and ripped

through every fiend in their path.

Looking rather pleased with himself, Nangong Si reached back for

another arrow, but the quiver at his back was empty. "I'm out?"

"Here." Before his temper could begin to spark, Ye Wangxi had

already tossed him another bundle of arrows. "You never bring enough."

"Hmph!" Nangong Si scoffed, but this was hardly the time to be

stubborn for the sake of appearances. He accepted the arrows, and the two

returned to their respective battles.

An hour passed in the blink of an eye. Though the cultivators beat back

hordes of vicious fiends, still more flooded from the ghost realm to replace

them. Li Wuxin cut down a dozen spirits in one slash, then turned to yell at

Xue Zhengyong, "We can't keep on like this, we have to fix the barrier!"

Xue Zhengyong glanced at the four golden arrays glowing in the

distance, positioned at each of the town's four cardinal points. He huffed out

a breath and snapped back, cross, "Easy for you to say—do you know how to

fix this barrier? Do you even have anyone who knows a thing about

barriers?"

"I…" Li Wuxin's face was sullen. "Barriers aren't one of my sect's

specialties."

"Then shut the fuck up! How many Yuhengs do you think there are?

Chu Wanning is holding down the four critical points right now, and if he lets

up, those damn ghosts will rush the blockade and everyone in Sichuan will

be a goner! If we cultivators can barely hold on, how do you expect the

common folk to survive?!"

"Better that Sichuan be done for than the entire cultivation world! If

you don't find someone to mend the Heavenly Rift right now, we won't be

able to anymore!"

Xue Zhengyong's temper flared at these words, and when he next

swung his metal fan to send a powerful gale hurtling toward the vicious

ghosts, he allowed it—as if by accident—to open a slice across Li Wuxin's

cheek. "And why should the people of the lower cultivation realm die for the

sake of your precious upper cultivation realm's safety?"

"Don't put words in my mouth! I'm saying that sacrifices must be made

for the greater good! If this Heavenly Rift had opened at my Bitan Manor, I

would've gladly sacrificed my entire sect to keep the peace in the land!"

"What a thing to say, Li-zhuangzhu. But talk is cheap." Xue Zhengyong,

his tiger eyes round with fury, was so angry he could only laugh. "The

entrance to the ghost realm lies in my province. It is not and will never be in

your Bitan Manor, no matter how many generations pass! So, what, the

entirety of Sisheng Peak ought to sacrifice itself a thousand times, a million

times, for 'peace in the land'?! Li-zhuangzhu, you really are something!"

The two were locked in a stalemate, bickering as they fended off

demons and fiends, when a streak of snow-white brilliance swept toward

them from the western horizon.

Before they could ascertain whether it was friend or foe, a burst of

frenzied melody descended from the clouds like a tempest, as sonorous and

resonant as a deluge from the heavens—yet also like a shower of arrows. For

though they spied no weapons, they felt as if the glint of blades was all

around them, as if they could hear the braying of warhorses and see fire

beacons lit along the walls of a distant stronghold.

"Kunlun Taxue Palace!"

Xue Zhengyong's head snapped up to gaze at the stretch of snowy

radiance. At this distance, he could see that it was indeed a multitude of

cultivators riding on swords, each clad in robes of frozen mist silk with

peach blossom petals drifting around them. The men and women alike had

faces beautiful and gentle, their outward appearances frozen in their early

twenties by virtue of their method of cultivation.

Some of the Taxue Palace disciples stood on their swords. Others sat,

half of them cradling pipas in their arms and half balancing guqins on their

knees. Their chords streamed down from the sky above, tumultuous and

frenetic yet clear and flowing, and the spirits and undead below shrieked in

agony even as they were held in place, as if trapped under an invisible net.

The man leading the formation had striking features, with pale gold

hair and jade-green eyes. He was clothed in silken robes the white of fresh

snow with a pendant resting on his forehead like a droplet of water. Within

the collars of those robes, his neck was fair and slender, like a fragrant,

delicate blossom in a porcelain vase. Kunlun was a snowy, frigid land, and

the fox fur draped over his shoulders atop those silken robes only added to

his aura of poise and elegance.

He held an exquisite pipa in his arms, and his brow was furrowed as

he plucked its strings with slender fingers, luminescent petals of peach

blossoms dancing about him with every note. "Imperial winds across four

seas, waters of virtue ever clear; don not the livery of war, for today we

emerge in triumph." The chords slowed, and he glanced down at Xue Zhengyong and

company. Yet just as the man was about to speak, an irate holler rang out

from a short distance away.

"Mei Hanxue! You damn mutt! Why is it you of all people!"

The voice belonged to Xue Meng, who had darted over to stand under

Mei Hanxue's sword as he yelled and who now tilted his head back to curse,

"Of all the people in the world, Kunlun Taxue Palace sent your unreliable

ass?!"

Ye Wangxi turned toward the commotion, equally irritated by the sight

of that man with his pipa and his flittering flower petals and snowflakes.

"They sent him?"

"What," Nangong Si asked, "another acquaintance of yours?"

"I wouldn't call him an acquaintance." Ye Wangxi was himself less

than pleased to encounter Mei Hanxue, but unlike Xue Meng, who had

stomped over to cuss him out, Ye Wangxi turned on his heel to leave

immediately. "Just fought him once."

"Oh?" Nangong Si's curiosity was piqued. "How is he? Any good?"

"Heh." Ye Wangxi sneered coldly. "He had women do all the fighting

for him—how do you think he is?"

Nangong Si stared, speechless.