Chapter 111: Shizun Is Like a Blade, You Are Like Water

>>rape, violence

The Fourth Ghost King's away palace had only one entrance, and there were guards stationed outside. Of course Mo Ran wasn't so dumb as to saunter in the front door. He vaulted up onto the roof, tucked the Soul-Calling Lantern into his qiankun pouch so that the light wouldn't draw any unnecessary attention, then flitted across the tiled rooftops, swift as a bolt of black lightning.

The away palace was already grand-looking from the outside, but the inside was even more massive, one courtyard after another full of winding corridors.

Mo Ran leapt to the top of a tall building and flattened himself against the dark brown tiles of the roof. Looking down from here, the away palace was like a small town that stretched out beyond where the eye could see.

Mo Ran was exceedingly anxious.

Now he knew why that man from before wouldn't tell him where Shizun had gone—he was probably afraid of ticking off the Ghost King. But even knowing that Chu Wanning was here in this palace now, he still had no idea what to do —— There were at least nine hundred rooms here, if not a thousand. Where could Chu Wanning be?

He was like a person on the cusp of finding a treasure, both his hands and heart alike tremoring even more than before.

Shizun…

Where are you?

He was absorbed in his thoughts when he noticed a row of people holding red lanterns stomp around a corner, all of them decked out in golden armor and battle boots. One by one they walked from the east gate to the main walkway,

and then, many convoluted turns and bends later, arrived at an unremarkable side room.

A massive old pagoda tree stood in front of that side room, neatly blocking off Mo Ran's line of sight. He could only see half of the courtyard, the other half hidden behind the lush foliage.

The ghostly soldiers went inside, and there was shouting and the sound of tables and chairs being knocked around, utter chaos. Then a frightened scream pierced abruptly through the sky as a disheveled woman was dragged out and tossed into the courtyard, her half-undone clothes slipping further in the rough manhandling and exposing large expanses of snowy skin.

"Trying to run?! Trying to fucking run?!!"   A whip landed viciously on the woman's body. It was probably a punishment tool of the Underworld, able to inflict searing, unbearable agony even on ghosts.

The woman huddled on the ground, trembling. She looked like she wanted to run, but there were soldiers everywhere and nowhere to run to.

"Fuckin' bitch, you think you can just leave the Fourth King's palace?"   "I lived a virtuous life! I did nothing wrong! Why are you people doing this to me!" The woman shrieked. "Let me go, I want to reincarnate, I don't want to stay here!!!"   She wailed as the lashes came down again.

"Serving the Fourth King frees you from having to suffer the cycle of reincarnation! You sure don't know what's good for you!" "He didn't even pick me! Why won't you let me leave? I——AH——"     Another lash, this time on her face. The woman started weeping, trembling uncontrollably, but still tried to crawl away.

Her animalistic desperation only seemed to amuse the Fourth Ghost King's soldiers, all of them laughing boisterously. One after another, more "tributes" were dragged out from the side room.

The leader of the soldiers spoke, "Everyone's worked hard, and I know how bored you guys get. These are all the Fourth King's leftovers; go ahead and pick whichever ones you like to play with. And if any strikes your fancy in particular,

just come register with me and you can bring them home with you." Those lecherous ghosts howled and laughed with abandon as they went into the room to pick the prettiest goods. The woman outside wasn't spared either,

boxed in by several people right there under the tree. They lunged at her like a pack of starving wolves intent on ripping her soul to pieces.

From inside the room came the sounds of rough breathing and obscene words. There were people crying, screaming, begging.

There were also those who couldn't handle the torment and wanted out, who submitted to everything and did all that they could to earn favor. In the Underworld as in the living world, people all had this same ugliness.

Mo Ran jumped nimbly off the tall building onto the roof of the side chamber,

hiding himself there under the cover of night. Based on what the grandpa at the wonton stall had told him, Chu Wanning just got here and shouldn't have gone through the Ghost King's selection process yet, so he shouldn't be here. But Mo Ran was still worried, so he lifted a piece of the dark brown roof tiles halfway up and stealthily peeked through the gap.

The room smelled of sex, hot and heavy; and in that mess of debauchery, he saw a face.

Rong Jiu.

The rent boy he had been fond of in the last life, but who had used his fondness to scheme against him and try to steal his cultivation. He was in there as well.

He was a clever thing who knew death as well as he knew life.

Many people in the room were struggling, not wanting to give in. In that hazy chaos, some called out the names of their lovers in life, while others cursed and fought for their dignity. But Rong Jiu was different. Mo Ran knew what this person was like—he loved money and he loved his life; of course, he no longer had a life to love, but he still valued his soul and didn't want to suffer.

On that wide, messy bed, the other unpicked "tributes" around him were all struggling and begging, only Rong Jiu had his eyes closed, mewling softly like a kitten while letting the soldiers manhandle him without complaint.

Looking at his face flushed with arousal, Mo Ran felt a chill in his heart.

He thought of Chu Wanning.

Rong Jiu was soft and pliant, Chu Wanning was firm as steel.

Cold and hard as black iron at first glance, unbending and unyielding. But in a situation like this, Rong Jiu would flatter and fawn to seek favor, would lie back and use his softness to build himself an invulnerable fortress.

As for Chu Chu Wanning?

Mo Ran didn't even have to think about it to know what that person would do —he'd sooner scatter his soul and fall into the Eighteenth Level of Hell than allow someone to touch him.

Running water never breaks, only steel blades do.

BANG!whichever ones you like to play with. And if any strikes your fancy in particular,

just come register with me and you can bring them home with you." Those lecherous ghosts howled and laughed with abandon as they went into the room to pick the prettiest goods. The woman outside wasn't spared either,

boxed in by several people right there under the tree. They lunged at her like a pack of starving wolves intent on ripping her soul to pieces.

From inside the room came the sounds of rough breathing and obscene words. There were people crying, screaming, begging.

There were also those who couldn't handle the torment and wanted out, who submitted to everything and did all that they could to earn favor. In the Underworld as in the living world, people all had this same ugliness.

Mo Ran jumped nimbly off the tall building onto the roof of the side chamber,

hiding himself there under the cover of night. Based on what the grandpa at the wonton stall had told him, Chu Wanning just got here and shouldn't have gone through the Ghost King's selection process yet, so he shouldn't be here. But Mo Ran was still worried, so he lifted a piece of the dark brown roof tiles halfway up and stealthily peeked through the gap.

The room smelled of sex, hot and heavy; and in that mess of debauchery, he saw a face.

Rong Jiu.

The rent boy he had been fond of in the last life, but who had used his fondness to scheme against him and try to steal his cultivation. He was in there as well.

He was a clever thing who knew death as well as he knew life.

Many people in the room were struggling, not wanting to give in. In that hazy chaos, some called out the names of their lovers in life, while others cursed and fought for their dignity. But Rong Jiu was different. Mo Ran knew what this person was like—he loved money and he loved his life; of course, he no longer had a life to love, but he still valued his soul and didn't want to suffer.

On that wide, messy bed, the other unpicked "tributes" around him were all struggling and begging, only Rong Jiu had his eyes closed, mewling softly like a kitten while letting the soldiers manhandle him without complaint.

Looking at his face flushed with arousal, Mo Ran felt a chill in his heart.

He thought of Chu Wanning.

Rong Jiu was soft and pliant, Chu Wanning was firm as steel.

Cold and hard as black iron at first glance, unbending and unyielding. But in a situation like this, Rong Jiu would flatter and fawn to seek favor, would lie back and use his softness to build himself an invulnerable fortress.

As for Chu Chu Wanning?

Mo Ran didn't even have to think about it to know what that person would do —he'd sooner scatter his soul and fall into the Eighteenth Level of Hell than allow someone to touch him.

Running water never breaks, only steel blades do.

BANG!

The sudden noise startled the people in the room as well as the one on the roof.

Mo Ran raised his head to look toward the courtyard, his face blanching.

That woman from before who was fierce as an inferno had been pierced right through the chest by one of the soldiers. Her soul gradually became transparent as tears welled past her eyes.

Then everything froze for a second.

Before dissolving into countless specks.

Her soul had scattered.

The soldier who had destroyed her soul cursed as he stood up. There was a lash mark on his face—the woman had probably wrested his ghost-suppression whip and struck him with it. The soldier spit, "What a fucking wench! Already a ghost and still so damn prissy, bah! Stupid bitch!"   Mo Ran felt like he had fallen into an icy cave.

It was as if the one he saw just now wasn't that unfamiliar woman, but the choice that Chu Wanning would have picked.

Rong Jiu was still tumbling in bed with those lecherous ghosts. It was a skill he had honed for survival, attaching himself to someone stronger like climbing vines, engulfing them with his softness like a trap.

One by one, the tributes in the room submitted, the stench of sex nauseatingly heavy.

He didn't know how long had passed before the curtain finally fell on the lurid spectacle.

Rong Jiu really did know how to charm people. One of the soldiers pulled on his clothing and then immediately went to do the registration with his leader. All that was left now was to have the Fourth King look it over, and he'll be free to bring him home.

These ghost soldiers were subordinates of the Fourth King, and were exempt from the cycle of reincarnation. Although not quite as good as following the Fourth King himself, following these guys would still get him a fairly comfortable life without humiliation.

Rong Jiu was quite content with that.

The soldier who wanted to bring him home flirted with him for a while longer before he had to leave for guard duty. The group of fiends walked away into the distance, leaving the side room in disarray, dreary and cheerless like the aftermath of a feast, leftover wine and sentiments spilt all over the floor, growing cold.

He sat up lazily, the least bothered of the group despite being a man.

He dressed and groomed himself, and then, looking into the copper mirror,

felt that his face looked much too pallid in death, compared to the rosy glow he had in life, and didn't complement his coquettish gazes.

So, ignoring those sobbing, dazed, trembling women, Rong Jiu cheerily straightened out his clothes, put on a pair of silk shoes, and strolled into the courtyard.

Hell had primula flowers as well, of an even deeper red than those found in the world of the living. He picked an umbel of the flowers, dipping the tip of a slim finger into the sap to paint his lips and blush his cheeks.

Everyone had their own priorities. Rong Jiu had led a difficult life since birth;

in his eyes, only the well-off, who were high above the rest and didn't have to worry about going hungry, had the leisure to chase after things like friendship.

He was just some dirty thing in the mud, he couldn't afford to care about integrity and honor and whatnot. All he had was his life, and now that that was gone, all he had was his soul.

There was a slight rustling sound from behind, like someone had touched the flowers.

He thought the soldier that took a liking to him had doubled back, so he filled his gaze with a generous serving of affection—everything cost money, only affections were free.

He cast a coy glance back, looking exceedingly beautiful and charming,

indistinguishable between male and female.

But when he saw who it was standing coldly next to the flowering plant, Rong Jiu recoiled back a step with his eyes wide open and lips slightly parted, like he had been struck by lightning—— "You?!" "Me," Mo Ran said.

Rong Jiu's soft, pretty face flashed through a wild array of expressions;

shock, hesitation, gloating, anger, apprehension, feigned nonchalance.

And in the end settled on a cold, detached expression.

He was too used to wearing a smile. Those overly intense and ferocious expressions felt heavy on his face; he didn't feel like carrying them.

"Fancy seeing you here, Mo-gongzi." The two of them had parted on terrible terms the last time they met. Rong Jiu stood up straight and put on an air of indifference.

Mo Ran said, "I'm looking for someone."   Rong Jiu seemed to scoff, "Who would've thought that a philanderer like Mogongzi would be so attached to someone even in death." Mo Ran didn't feel like wasting breath with him. He simply took out the drawing scroll and handed it to Rong Jiu, asking, "Have you seen him?" Rong Jiu gave the drawing a quick glance and sneered, "Eh, averagelooking. Which whorehouse is he from?" Mo Ran frowned and said, "What do you mean whorehouse, just tell me if you've seen him." "Nope," Rong Jiu said indifferently. "Wouldn't tell you even if I have." "..."   "I'm tired now, gonna go get some rest. Please see yourself out and go back wherever you came from." Mo Ran called out to him, "Rong Jiu!" The slim figure paused, and the pretty face turned a bit, wearing a smug expression. "Yes?"   "I'm going to rescue him. If you want, I'll rescue you too. This place is ruthless, surely you don't mean to actually hang around with those soldiers," Mo Ran said. "Go reincarnate." Turning more, Rong Jiu spoke sweetly, "Such words, Mo-gongzi. Sure, this place may be ruthless, but what place isn't? Rong Jiu lived a difficult twenty years up there, and honestly it's not much different down here, only my patrons are now ghosts instead of people. What does it matter if I reincarnate or not?"

"...You'd be living under a knife here."   Rong Jiu burst out laughing. He pulled himself together, still laughing as he glanced Mo Ran over. "When have I not lived under a knife? People are knives,

I'm just the meat on their chopping block. If I'm lucky and get someone nice,

maybe they'll pay me a little more. But if I get someone 'extra nice' like Mogongzi, not getting paid is the least of it, with the way you stole from me and then turned around and pretended you didn't even know me. Mo-gongzi, first you stab me, then you tell me to be careful of knives, how very kind of you."  

Author's Notes:

Today's Weibo has the adorable Inkstone's "Dog teasing the big white cat"

illustration~it hits where it's cute, a faceful of blood!

There's also the adorable Shuanghua stabbing Meatbun with a sword (...)'s "Dog misses his mother" illustration, it made me cry.....fuck, I felt like got stabbed, the content below is not written by me, it's written by Shuanghua stabbing Meatbun with a sword!! I've typed the words on the illustration here~ at the service of those who going to weibo is inconvenient for-"Mother, mother! Today, A-Ran managed to eat a lot of desserts that he never got to eat before! Super happy!!

I even got a Shizun! He's so pretty! There's also two shixiongs~oh,

no, one of them isn't, he's my cousin!

I kind of want to kick his teeth in a little! But A-Ran will get along well with him!

Mother...

A-Ran wants to let you taste the desserts we normally don't get to Wants to let you see the beautiful Shizun A-Ran misses you a lot A-Ran still wants to be with Mother (heart)"

--Shuanghua stabbing Meatbun with a sword qaq Goddammit, this is god-level knifery, this one has lost.

When Dog was younger, he had once set his heart on being someone who did not bear grudges or hatred, who would build houses for all the homeless of the world. But it was also this person, who became a demon whose hands were permanently stained with bloodsheds and sins that he could not wash away. If Dog's mother had still not reincarnated, and knew of this in the Underworld, she must be very sad.

As for him looking pitiful in yesterday's update, actually, he isn't that pitiful,

because those were the best days of his first fifteen years of life.

He'd already said so at the beginning of his recollection: back then, at least,

he still had his mother.

Afterwards, he no longer had his mother.

Actually, you don't have to intentionally categorise actions as "right or wrong", or people as "good or evil"; some good people will turn evil, and others will crawl from hell back to humanity. A character will have aspects worthy of liking, aspects worthy of hate, aspects worthy of pity; only then can they be realistic. A world can only be complete if there are mistakes, regrets, injustice,

and justice.

If a story only contains good characters of the same mold and a single worldview, without emotional conflict or opposing characters and moralities-where the theme song is "The Spring Winds of Re(cough)volution Come ASweepin'", where there is universal joy, where everyone is honest and trustworthy, where I'll stay by the roadside for a whole year waiting for the owner of the fifty-cent coin I found to return and claim it--you might as well turn on the television at seven-thirty to watch the very long-running serial drama "Xinwen Lianbo"[8], your satisfaction guaranteed…

[8] Daily Chinese news programme aimed to "broadcast the voice of the party and the government, and disseminate news on things happening all around the world"