Chapter 48: This Venerable One’s Old Dragon

Now that Chu Wanning, mentioned it, Mo Ran couldn't help but

agree. His shizun was right.

A faint odor had followed the fake Gouchen. Mo Ran had thought he

was imagining it, but if Chu Wanning had also noticed it, then there could be

no mistake. The smell of death.

So not only was this Gouchen not the true god himself—he wasn't

even a living person! In other words, the one behind this mess had just pulled

the strings attached to a corpse dressed as the God of Weaponry. The real

puppeteer wasn't even here.

Mo Ran's thoughts were interrupted by a low, sorrowful chuckle from

the direction of Jincheng Lake. Immediately after, a deathly pale body shot

out from the water like an arrow as the fake Gouchen leapt into the air. But

both his appearance and behavior had become terrible to behold, his skin

wrinkled all over like a snake in the midst of molting, or a silkworm writhing

to break through its cocoon.

"Yuheng of the Night Sky, the Beidou Immortal. Chu-zongshi, you

really do live up to your name." The fake Gouchen levitated above the

crystalline water of the lake, face twisting into a semblance of a gnarled

smirk even as pieces peeled off. "How did Rufeng Sect let someone like you

slip through their fingers?"

Chu Wanning's voice was frosty as he asked, "Just who exactly are

you?"

"You don't need to know who I am," said the fake Gouchen. "I won't

let you know who I am either. You can just think of me as someone who

should have died long ago—but who crawled out of hell solely to take the

lives of you, the righteous and honorable!"

"Shameless!" Wangyue rumbled. "The Heart-Pluck Willow has been

destroyed! With your strength alone, without the help of the holy tree, you

neither have a way to use the forbidden techniques, nor a means to carry out

further transgressions!"

The fake Gouchen sneered. "You old eel, on your last breath and still

trying to get in my way. What makes you think you have the right to speak

here? Get lost!"

"And do you think that you, as a white chess piece, have any right to

speak?" Chu Wanning interrupted.

A "white chess piece," as implied by the name, was a special game

piece in the Zhenlong Chess Formation. The individual using the technique

could place a portion of their soul into a newly deceased body and fuse the

two to form a chess piece as white as pure jade.

This white chess piece differed from the common black variety, which

merely obeyed commands. In short, a white chess piece was a stand-in for

the spellcaster. Though their spiritual power was weaker than that of their

original form, they could think and act independently, and the things they saw

and heard were conveyed to the person controlling them.

The fake Gouchen's identity was exposed, but his only reaction was to

laugh and clap. "Very good! Good, good!"

After these three cries, the fake Gouchen's face had become even more

broken and contorted. It seemed that the spell was nearing its end and was

unable to support the white chess piece for much longer. Thus, the original

form of the corpse was emerging.

"Chu Wanning, don't get too full of yourself now. Do you really think

this will stop me? Even if the Heart-Pluck Willow was destroyed, my true

self can always find other sources of spiritual energy. You, on the other

hand…"

As the false god spoke, his eyes, which grew dimmer and less focused

by the second, suddenly swept past Chu Wanning to land on Mo Ran, filled

with malicious intent. Mo Ran was struck by a sudden wave of apprehension.

"If you think that I'm the only one in this world who knows the three

forbidden techniques," the fake Gouchen said languidly, mockingly, "then I'm

afraid you won't have much longer to live."

"What do you mean by that?" Chu Wanning demanded sternly, his

eyebrows lowered in a frown.

However, the fake Gouchen ceased to speak. He froze, then exploded

into foul-smelling chunks as a jade-white chess piece shot out from his body

and whirled into the air, backlit by the rising sun—before it fell into Jincheng

Lake with a plop.

It seemed that the puppeteer in the shadows, having lost the assistance

of the Heart-Pluck Willow, had exhausted his spiritual energy.

Simultaneously, Wangyue, who had also relied on the Heart-Pluck

Willow's spiritual energy to survive, staggered and fell to the ground with a

thud. "Ah…"

Xue Meng let out a startled cry, "Wangyue!"

"Wangyue!" Mo Ran also exclaimed.

All four of them gathered around the old dragon. Wangyue was barely

hanging on, his lips colorless. He looked to them and spoke with a voice that

faltered like the setting sun. "Don't… Don't believe that man's nonsense. In

his words, there was more…more falsehood than truth…"

Shi Mei's face brimmed with worry and sorrow. "Qianbei, please

don't speak any further," he said softly. "Let me heal you."

"No, there's no need. If even your master couldn't do it…then…

you…" Wangyue coughed roughly several times, then said, panting, "All

these years, many came seeking weapons. But…when that villain arrived, the

Heart-Pluck Willow was loath to let him claim the holy weapons left behind

by our master, and so destroyed them all. The only ones remaining…were…

were a willow vine equal to it in power, and the—the sword of the Exalted

God…"

At the mention of this blade, Xue Meng's expression grew darker, his

mouth set in a thin and wordless line.

"The willow vine…went to this young daozhang." Wangyue glanced at

Mo Ran. "That day, by the lakeside, I said to you that even if you were evil in

the past, I would not stop you, and that I could only hope that you would

pursue virtue in the future… But in actuality…in actuality, in accordance

with my master's wishes, holy weapons should belong only to the virtuous.

That's why, I hope that you…that you will…"

Mo Ran understood that it was already difficult for him to speak, and

so interrupted. "Don't worry, Qianbei. I understand."

"That's good… That's good…" Wangyue murmured. "Then I can…

rest easy…"

He gazed skyward, lips trembling slightly.

"It is said that when one goes to Jincheng Lake seeking a weapon, a

creature from the lake will…will make a request. Most of those requests…

were to gauge the seeker's moral character, but there were the occasional

exceptions…"

Wangyue's voice grew quieter and quieter, tens of thousands of years

flitting past his eyes like a carousel lantern.

"I had an agreement with my master. When he departed, I was to stay

and guard Jincheng Lake, without leaving… Who could have known that I

would be standing guard for millennia upon millennia? The sights I beheld in

my youth, the mountains and rivers…I never got to…to…see…them again…"

He turned his head slowly to gaze beseechingly at Mo Ran, his eyes

flickering with a warm wetness. In that instant, Mo Ran suddenly knew what

he was about to say.

Sure enough, Wangyue said softly, "Young Daozhang, the plum

blossoms at the waist of the mountain bloom splendidly throughout the year. I

was very fond of them when I was young. Even though you have already

received your holy weapon, would you still…still be willing to…"

Mo Ran was about to say, Yes, I'll go get you a branch.

However, before he could even start, the light in Wangyue's golden

eyes abruptly went out.

Jiangnan has little but for a gift of spring in the form of a blossoming

branch.

2

Snow-tipped peaks towered majestically in the distance, and gleaming

gold danced resplendent on the lake surface as the rising sun bathed the

waters in its red-hued light. The waves and spray shattered the rays into

glimmering crimson.

Wangyue had passed.

He had been among the first dragons at the creation of the world, had

once been earth-shakingly powerful, and had once bowed in servitude and

carried his master to all corners of the land. Everyone had said that the brand

compelled his submission, but it had been his respect for Gouchen that bound

him to his millennia-long promise.

In this vast land, few remained who remembered the founding of the

world. Wangyue knew. He knew that although the real Gouchen the Exalted's

veins coursed with demonic blood, his mother had been taken against her

will. Gouchen had abhorred demons, and so stood with Fuxi against their

invasion. He had used that very powerful demonic blood of his to forge the

first true sword for Fuxi's hand, and had aided him in eradicating the demon

race from the mortal realm.

But after the unification of heaven and earth, Fuxi had harbored

misgivings and resentment toward Gouchen the Exalted, due to that halfdemon blood. Gouchen the Exalted was no fool; a hundred years later, he

excused himself from the realm of the gods of his own volition and

descended to the realm of man.

During his journey, he saw endless suffering and slaughter. He

concluded that he shouldn't have brought the very notion of "sword" into

existence, and he was filled with remorse. So, he gathered many of the

weapons he had left in the mortal realm, sealed them in the arsenal in

Jincheng Lake, planted the Heart-Pluck Willow as guardian, and instructed

the creatures of the lake that of those who came seeking, only the virtuous

were befitting.

Now Gouchen was no more and Wangyue had passed. Henceforth

there would be no more holy weapons within Jincheng Lake, and no more

merfolk. With the thunderous fall of the Heart-Pluck Willow, all of these sins

and acts of repentance, the distortion and dedication, had scattered like

smoke and ash.

For a moment, no one spoke. In the ferocious snowstorm, the scarlet

words written on the stone tablet by the side of Jincheng Lake—"The Path

Forward is Difficult"—were the same as when they had first seen them.

Meanwhile, the surface of the lake, now serene, hid all the calamity and

suffering that had transpired beneath it.

It looked just like it had when they first climbed up Dawning Peak,

when they were as yet unaware of the bloody story hidden behind "The Path

Forward is Difficult."

Mo Ran looked up at the sky. Above the precipice of the peak, a lone

eagle soared against the snowdrift.

He suddenly thought of how, in his past life, Wangyue had given him a

powerful long blade. In this life, the blade he'd seen was a mere fake, and

the original that had once belonged to him had likely already been destroyed

by the Heart-Pluck Willow before he could so much as glimpse it.

A short while passed and, unbidden, Mo Ran's mind conjured up old

memories.

It was the year he had come to Jincheng Lake seeking a weapon.

Wangyue emerged from the water, studied him with golden eyes that were

gentle and friendly, and said:

"The plum blossoms at the waist of the mountain are blooming

beautifully. Could you go retrieve a branch for me?"

Mo Ran closed his eyes and raised an arm to cover them. He didn't

know what events had transpired below the lake in his past life. At the time,

he had taken Wangyue's request for pointless pretentiousness…

It took many days before they returned to Sisheng Peak. Chu Wanning's

shoulder was seriously injured, and the three youths were exhausted, so they

rested at Dai City for several days before returning.

Xue Meng said nothing of what had happened to Xue Zhengyong and

Madam Wang. Proud as he was, regardless of whether his parents reacted

with disappointment or sympathy, either would be salt in the wound. Chu

Wanning noticed this, and his heart ached. So, he buried himself in ancient

tomes and scrolls all day, searching for some other way of obtaining a holy

weapon for Xue Meng, or else some means of allowing a mortal to rival a

holy weapon in strength.

Apart from this, just who had that fake Gouchen been, and where was

his true self? And what was the meaning behind the last thing that white chess

piece had said before it disintegrated?

There were many and more things to worry about, and so the candle in

the library of the Red Lotus Pavilion burned all night as the water clock

dripped away. Scrolls scrawled with complicated passages littered the floor,

and buried in the depths of the files was Chu Wanning's exhausted face.

"Yuheng, look at the state of your shoulder. Don't be so reckless." Xue

Zhengyong sat next to him and chattered fussily, holding a warm cup of tea.

"The Tanlang Elder is a master of the healing arts; make some time and go

have him take a look."

"No need. It's already started to heal."

Xue Zhengyong clicked his tongue. "That won't do. Look at yourself—

you've looked terrible ever since you got back. Nine out of ten people

who've seen you say you seem like you're about to pass out. If you ask me,

there's something strange about that wound. Might be some kind of poison or

whatever. It's better to be careful."

Chu Wanning glanced up. "I seem like I'm about to pass out?" He

paused and smiled coldly. "Who said that?"

Xue Zhengyong paused for a long moment before eventually saying,

"Aiya, Yuheng, can you not always act like you're made of metal and

everyone else is made of paper?"

"I know my own limits."

Xue Zhengyong mumbled something inaudibly. From the movement of

his lips, it was very possibly, "Know your limits, my ass." Luckily, Chu

Wanning was too absorbed in his book to see.

They chatted for a while longer, until Xue Zhengyong saw that it was

getting late and got up to head back and keep his wifey company. Before

leaving, he made sure to fuss some more. "Yuheng, don't stay up too late.

Meng-er will die of guilt if he sees you like this."

Chu Wanning ignored him with gusto.

Having been met with such a frosty reception, Xue Zhengyong could

only scratch his head awkwardly and leave.

Chu Wanning drank some medicine, then returned to the table to

continue his research until he started feeling a bit light-headed. He propped

his forehead in one hand, nauseous. The nausea faded in short order, so he

chalked it up to being tired and paid it no heed.

The night grew late, and finally too woozy to continue, Chu Wanning

fell asleep with his brows drawn tightly together and his head pillowed on a

sweeping sleeve next to the small mountain of tomes. An unfinished scroll

still lay across his knees while the hem of his robes drooped to the floor like

a water wave.

That night, he dreamt. This dream, unlike most, was clear and distinct,

nearly real.

Chu Wanning was standing within Loyalty Hall of Sisheng Peak, but

this Loyalty Hall was somewhat different from the one he knew; many

furnishings and details had been altered. Before he had a chance to take a

closer look, the gates swung open, setting crimson curtains adrift.

A person walked in.

"Shizun."

This individual had a handsome face and deep-black eyes tinted

purple. He was a young man, but when he curled the corners of his lips, he

looked almost childlike.

"Mo Ran?" Chu Wanning stood and was about to walk over, but he

found that his wrists and ankles were shackled by four lengths of metal

chains that flowed with spiritual power. They fettered him in place and

rendered him unable to move.

Shock was followed by overflowing rage. Chu Wanning glared at the

chains with disbelief, anger twisting his expression and stoppering his

words. It was a good while before he lifted his head to say harshly, "Mo

Weiyu, what do you think you're doing? Unbind me at once!"

But this man acted like he hadn't heard a word of Chu Wanning's

furious bellows. A lazy smile and a pair of dimples appeared on his face as

he strode over and gripped Chu Wanning by the jaw.