Chapter 166: Shizun’s Esteemed Madam Rong

The inscription on the stone beside Jincheng Lake read "The Path

 Forward Is Difficult" in stark, scarlet script.

 As before, Nangong Liu and Xu Shuanglin were the only living

 people on the scene. Now, however, the ground was littered with the bodies

 of countless dead. More specifically, countless dead merfolk.

 "Hurry and seal the path; we don't want other cultivators coming up

 the mountain. They'll have questions."

 "I'm almost done." Xu Shuanglin pushed a black chess piece

 between the lips of a limp merman and mouthed the words of a spell. The

 merman rose unsteadily from the ground, bowed respectfully, then leapt

 back into the ice-studded Jincheng Lake with a splash.

 "I'm not yet proficient with this forbidden technique," said Xu

 Shuanglin. "Once I get the hang of it, I won't have to feed them chess

 pieces individually. I'll be able to point at them from afar and they'll do

 whatever I say."

 "It's that powerful?"

 "Why would it be forbidden otherwise? In fact, even that kind of

 control is only scratching the surface. I've seen someone…" Xu Shuanglin

 paused and chuckled. "I mean, I've read about someone who could control

 people while preserving their awareness, making them obey his orders of

 their own volition. Now that's true power. As it stands, I can control their

 bodies but not their minds. I've got a long way to go."

Nangong Liu nodded. "You shouldn't practice too much with it

 anyway. Better not to attract attention."

 "As you say, Sect Leader."

 "Thank heavens you thought of this technique, though. If I'm to lift

 the curse, I'll need to open the gate to the Infinite Hells, and to do that, I'll

 require all five elemental spiritual essences: metal, wood, water, fire, and

 earth. Finding the spiritual essences is the hard part—we can't just show up

 at every sect and examine people one by one. But with Jincheng Lake under

 your control, every cultivator who comes here looking for weapons will

 reveal their spiritual cores to you. We can sit back and wait for them to

 come to us."

 Nangong Liu retrieved a tangerine from the saddlebag of the horse

 next to him. He peeled it and began to eat, heaving a sigh of admiration.

 "Shuanglin, all those mythical beings in Jincheng Lake didn't stand a

 chance against you. You're brilliant."

 "Jincheng Lake is a relic of the past," Xu Shuanglin replied with a

 small smile. "After millions of years, the power of Gouchen the Exalted has

 dissipated to almost nothing. That's the only reason someone like me can

 manage all this. Sect Leader's praise is undeserved."

 Nangong Liu laughed out loud. "Go on, tell me. What do you want as

 a reward?"

 "There isn't really anything I want."

 "Nah, that won't do—you have to name something."

 "Then how about Sect Leader gives me half a tangerine?"

 Laughing again, Nangong Liu blinked. "That's it?" But he peeled

 another tangerine and held it out to Xu Shuanglin. "Have the whole thing."

"Just half is enough." Xu Shuanglin smiled blandly. "I don't want

 much."

 "You know, you're a pretty strange guy. But sure, if you say so—

 here's half."

 Nangong Liu offered him a portion of the tangerine. Xu Shuanglin's

 fingers were inconveniently stained with blood, so he took the tangerine

 from Nangong Liu's fingertips with his teeth and chewed. "Sweet and juicy

 —delicious," he grinned.

 In that moment, Xu Shuanglin's smile beneath the sunlight held a

 sinister shadow. The juice of the tangerine trickled from his lips, pooling at

 the corners of his mouth. He licked it away, his tongue flicking out like a

 viper mid-hiss. Nangong Liu jerked his hand back on instinct, as though

 spooked. But the expression on his face was one of puzzled annoyance, as if

 he himself had no idea what had scared him.

 "Look at that," Xu Shuanglin said abruptly.

 "What?" Nangong Liu tore his gaze away from Xu Shuanglin's face

 to look. His eyes flew wide. A complicated expression surfaced on his

 pudgy features. "It's…that creature…"

 "The merlion piranha." Xu Shuanglin hauled the dead thing over,

 tossing the corpse upon the rocky shore to examine it carefully. The

 monster had the body of a fish and the head of a lion, its bloody fangs bared

 in a pained grimace and its lifeless, dull-black eyes bulging in distress.

 Xu Shuanglin dipped his finger into the blood on the piranha's body.

 He gave it a whiff, and his bare toes curled subconsciously as he frowned.

 "Ugh. That's vile."

He straightened and kicked the piranha away. "This should be quite

 an uncommon creature in Jincheng Lake. It's said that Gouchen left behind

 only auspicious creatures like dragons to guard the weapons in the lake, but

 the passage of time has wrought many changes upon them. Even devils can

 ascend and gods can fall, to say nothing of this humble creature."

 Nangong Liu muttered, "Back then, this was the one that made me

 offer up Rong Yan's heart…"

 At this, the crowd outside the illusion stood stunned. Other than Chu

 Wanning, who already knew the truth, all were shaken by this revelation.

 "What?!"

 "Rong Yan… But that's…that's…"

 While some sputtered, others had already craned their necks to look

 at Nangong Si in surprise and pity. "That's his…"

 After Nangong Si's initial astonishment, he began trembling from

 head to toe. Staggering backward, he crumpled to his knees. His face was

 ashen, his expression ghastly to behold. "Mom? No way… No way!"

 "A-Si…" Ye Wangxi tearfully murmured.

 "No way!" Nangong Si's eyes were wild. His handsome face twisted

 with fear and wrath, sorrow and shock, his features warping almost beyond

 recognition. He couldn't understand what anyone was saying; he couldn't

 hear anything at all. "That's impossible! My mom died fighting evil spirits!

 Father told me, she was fighting evil spirits when they pierced her heart and

 killed her!" He shuddered all over and mumbled, "Her heart was

 destroyed… They stabbed her in the heart, and she died…"

 He didn't cry, but his eyes were round as saucers, bulging from their

 sockets. He hoarsely repeated those words over and over, first mumbling

and muttering, then spitting and shouting, before breaking into feral howls:

 "They stabbed her! They stabbed her in the heart!"

 A memory flashed before his eyes.

 Nangong Si had been very young when his mother and father had set

 out with a group of Rufeng cultivators to seek weapons from Jincheng

 Lake. His memory of the evening before they left was distinct: he'd played

 with Naobaijin in the forest behind the mountain until it was late. It was

 long after nightfall when he crept back to his room to pretend he'd been

 studying the whole time. Little did he know that his mother had stopped by

 after dinner to give him a cloth quiver she had embroidered. Discovering

 the young master's residence empty, she realized Nangong Si had snuck out

 to play.

 Rong Yan had a naturally cold disposition. She never doted on

 Nangong Si like other mothers. When she returned to his quarters that

 night, Nangong Si was holding up a volume of Carefree Wandering, making

 a great show of reading it aloud. Rong Yan stopped him and asked, "What

 did you do after dinner?"

 Unaware that Rong Yan already knew he'd been slacking, Nangong

 Si set down the scroll, scratched his head, and said brightly, "Mother, I—

 I've been memorizing this book."

 "All this time?"

 The young Nangong Si was afraid of being punished. He stalled for a

 moment before nodding, "Uh…uh-huh!"

 Rong Yan straightened her slender neck and set her jaw. When she

 looked at Nangong Si, her gaze was sharp and cold. "You're lying."

 Nangong Si jumped. "Am not," he replied, blushing furiously.

Rong Yan didn't waste words on the child. She rolled up the bamboo

 scroll and asked, "What comes before 'If the whole world blamed him, he

 despaired not'?"

 "'If the whole world…world…'"

 "'If the whole world praised him, he rejoiced not!'" Rong Yan's

 elegant brows lowered in a scowl. She slapped the scroll onto the table with

 a crack. "Nangong Si, what have I always taught you?" she said sternly.

 "It's one thing to run around outside after dark, but now you've learned to

 tell lies?"

 "Mom…"

 "Silence!"

 In the face of her anger, Nangong Si panicked. Although his father

 was easy-going and affable, between his parents, he'd always had more

 respect for his haughty and severe mother.

 "Your behavior is unacceptable."

 The rims of Nangong Si's eyes reddened against his will. Terrified of

 an even harsher scolding, he retorted, still clinging to hope, "I—I didn't get

 back that late. I just played outside for a little after dinner."

 Rong Yan glared at him. She hadn't been all that angry to begin with,

 but watching her son rack his brain for excuses deepened her irritation into

 fury and disappointment.

 "As soon as it got dark, I came—"

 A sharp slap across the face cut Nangong Si off mid-sentence. Chest

 heaving, Rong Yan's hand hung in the air as she cried furiously, "Nangong

 Si! 'As a gentleman of Rufeng Sect, I mustn't indulge in greed, resentment,

deception, slaughter, obscenity, plunder, or conquest.' Have you forgotten

 this entirely? Are you going to stand here and lie to your mother?"

 Dazed from the slap, Nangong Si took a long moment to come back

 to his senses. His eyes pricked with tears of indignation as he wailed, "Wh

why would I lie if you weren't so mean? You're always hitting me and

 yelling at me… You're horrible! I don't like you! I only like Daddy!" He

 jumped to his feet, ready to run off to find Nangong Liu.

 "Don't even think about it!" Rong Yan yanked him back with an ugly

 expression. She tapped Nangong Si on the nose with a nail painted scarlet

 with cardamom, anger surging in her eyes. "What's your dad going to do?

 He nods yes to everything all day long, worthless bootlicker that he is. Do

 you really want to be like him? Sit down!"

 "I won't! I won't!"

 Rong Yan gritted her teeth and dragged the struggling child back onto

 his chair. But as soon as she let go, Nangong Si tried to make another

 escape. At last, Rong Yan had no choice but to raise her hand and bring

 down a restraining barrier with a crash. The barrier held the child firmly in

 place. Nangong Si fell to his knees, humiliated and furious, panting like a

 caged beast.

 "Lemme go! I don't want a mother like you! You… You never say a

 kind word to me! You don't care about me, you just yell at me… All you

 ever do is yell at me!"

 Rong Yan's face turned red and then white. After a long pause, she

 said through trembling lips, "Stay in your room and behave. Memorize

 Carefree Wandering from beginning to end—I will test you tomorrow. Keep

 making trouble, and I'll…" She found herself at a loss. What would she do?

She really didn't know. She'd always been a spirited and iron-willed

 woman; she thought nothing of reprimanding her craven husband in public

 to put him in his place.

 But when it came to Nangong Si…what would she do?

 She stood for a while, bitter and resentful, sorrowful and exasperated.

 As rage curdled her heart, she began to cough violently. It was an old illness

 that had plagued her for many years; after a spate of coughing, she hacked

 out a mouthful of dark blood. Feigning nonchalance, she wiped her mouth

 clean with a handkerchief before Nangong Si noticed.

 "Si-er, you are young," she said, her voice hoarse and somber. "You

 haven't learned to see what's good or bad, what's right or wrong, with your

 own eyes. Sometimes, those who indulge you don't have your best interests

 at heart, and those who are strict with you may not wish you ill. Your father

 is weak and incompetent, he…" She paused. "I don't want you to become a

 cultivator or sect leader like him," she finished.

 Nangong Si bit his lip in silence.

 "Yes, you're a troublemaker and you don't apply yourself to your

 studies—these are small things. But where did you learn to lie? Our Rufeng

 Sect is built upon centuries of storied tradition. Only by maintaining the

 values of gentlemen can we stand at the forefront of the cultivation world.

 Your father has never earnestly taught you these principles, but as your

 mother, I will remind you of them every time. Even if you don't listen, even

 if you think I'm harsh, even if you hate me for it."

 "If Daddy doesn't teach me, that's because he sees me as Si-er. He's

 happy when I'm happy, unlike you!" Nangong Si snapped. "What kind of

 mother are you?! You only see me as Rufeng Sect's young master and the

future sect leader! I never have any fun with you! I'm not gonna listen to

 you!"

 Rong Yan was furious. Her cheeks, usually white as snow, were

 unnaturally flushed. She covered her mouth with the handkerchief as she

 was overcome by another coughing fit. This time, it took her longer to catch

 her breath. At last she said sternly, "Fine. If you won't listen, I'll tell you

 every single day until you understand."

 Nangong Si, surpassingly stubborn even as a child, had clapped his

 hands over his ears.

 Rong Yan sat down and gradually smoothed her emotions, but her

 chest still twinged with pain. This old heart injury was one she had

 sustained while exorcising demons. She took medicine for it every day, but

 it only worsened with time. When she looked up and saw her son's

 rebellious expression in the candlelight, she had to again close her eyes.

 Finally, she said in a more measured tone, "Si-er, I won't be by your

 side forever. There will come a day when I can't watch over you. I only

 hope that in the future, you'll understand…" She trailed off. Within her

 barrier, Nangong Si was curled into a tiny ball, crying. Her child, her

 carefree and bright Si-er, had begun to sob under the force of her scolding.

 For a long while, Rong Yan could only stare. Slowly, she rose and

 walked over to the barrier. She reached out, wanting to undo the spell, to

 lean down and take this child in her arms, to touch his reddened face, to

 press a kiss to his forehead.

 But she restrained herself, her figure stiff and unrelenting. With

 effort, she finished the sentence she had started: "You need to understand…

'As a gentleman of Rufeng Sect, I mustn't indulge in greed, resentment,

 deception, slaughter, obscenity, plunder, or conquest.'"

 "I don't get it, I don't want to, I… I…" Lifting tearful eyes, Nangong

 Si railed at his mother who stood outside the barrier. "I hate you! I don't

 want a mom like you!"

 Rong Yan was silent. In that moment, her face, visible through the

 barrier, was pale and resolute as ever, yet seemed to contain a measure of

 grief and heartbreak.

 For twenty years, Nangong Si had seen that face in his dreams. Each

 time, his pillow was wet when he awoke. His younger self was like a

 scorpion brandishing its pincers, injecting venom straight into his mother's

 heart.

 It hurt. It hurt so much. It was a pain that would persist for a lifetime;

 he would never forgive himself.

Three days later, Rong Yan still hadn't come to the residence to see

 Nangong Si. Instead, she asked her maid to deliver the quiver embroidered

 with camellia flowers, along with a letter. Even her writing was formal and

 solemn, unadorned with niceties. She said that she knew Si-er had recently

 been learning martial arts and taken a liking to archery, so she'd

 embroidered a quiver for his use. She would be traveling to Jincheng Lake

 with his father. Upon her return, she still intended to review Carefree

 Wandering with him, and she hoped he wouldn't continue to stubbornly

 shirk his studies.

 And what had Nangong Si done? Angry and resentful, he had taken a

 knife and cut his mother's quiver into countless scraps. He had tossed his

 mother's letter into the fire and burned it to ash. He had ripped up the copy

 of Carefree Wandering on his table.

 As a young child, he had delighted in these daring acts of destruction.

 He lashed out at her. He hated her. He wanted her to know that he'd never,

 ever listen to such a terrible mother. He would never bend to her will, he…

 He'd bared his venomous fangs and erected his walls. He waited for

 his mother to humble herself before him, to admit her mistakes. Or…

 perhaps, back then, he'd summoned this pathetic burst of malevolence as a

 tool to trade for a single gentle word, a single warm embrace from his

 mother.

 So he waited.

 But he never received any of those things. An admission of

 wrongdoing or a hug, some show of remorse or gentleness—he would've

 accepted anything. He had stood his ground, quite self-satisfied, waiting to

fight another round with that woman—only to receive, instead, her cold

 corpse.

 "Rufeng Sect's leader was ambushed in the forest late at night. His

 wife shielded him from the attack. She was stabbed in the heart and passed

 away."

 When the coffin arrived, Nangong Si stood dazed at the foot of

 Rufeng Sect's towering city gate. The ground was littered in white silk and

 paper money. As the heir to the sect, his place was at the front of the

 procession. According to funeral customs, after an elder shattered an

 earthenware pot, the madam's coffin would be carried over a fire pit and re

enter the sect. Her son was to kneel and cry, knocking his head against the

 ground, to welcome back his mother's soul.

 But Nangong Si couldn't cry. He felt the whole thing was absurd,

 empty and unreal. The brilliant sunlight dazzled his eyes as it glanced off

 the ground. He felt dizzy and nauseated.

 It wasn't real.

 It wasn't real!

 If it were real, what should he do? How could he possibly accept it?

 Before death had separated them, the last reminder his mother had given

 him was this: As a gentleman of Rufeng Sect, I mustn't indulge in greed,

 resentment, deception, slaughter, obscenity, plunder, or conquest.

 And how had he answered her? He didn't want to remember, but his

 hateful cries from that day had been carved into his bones. His mother's

 face outside the barrier had been so pained, so sorrowful.

 It hurt…

It really hurt too much. The last words he had said to his mother in

 this lifetime were…

 I hate you.

 I don't want a mom like you.

 The coffin was hoisted over the fire. The elder smashed the

 earthenware pot, thousands knelt and wept, and his father choked with sobs

 at the side of the casket. But Nangong Si stood alone, clutching that

 camellia quiver he had cut to pieces. Its embroidered petals were a vivid

 red, the stamens canary yellow. The flowers it depicted were dusted with

 snow yet flourished nonetheless, as though his mother's warm fingertips

 had but touched the coarse fabric and awoken these brilliant blooms.

 Perhaps she'd had some premonition before her death, or perhaps it was

 only happenstance—her embroidery was so detailed, the flowers so lifelike,

 that it seemed she had taken all the love she hadn't spoken aloud, all her

 future lessons and advice, and stitched them, thread by thread, onto that

 little cloth quiver.

 Nangong Si clutched the quiver tightly. It was the very last thing his

 mother had left for him.