Chapter 98: Shizun, I'm Begging You, Pay Attention To Me

Book 2: Same Destination

Sisheng Peak has a cliff with a funny name called "Aaaaah".

There were lots of stories in the sect as to how this name came about, the most common one being that people often fell off of it due to how steep it was,

thus the name "Aaaaah".

But Mo Ran knew that wasn't it.

The cliff rose high into the clouds, a difficult climb even for apes, and it was extremely cold, its peak covered in snow year-round. This was where the dead of Sisheng Peak were kept while awaiting their funerals.

He had only ever come here once in his past life.

That time wasn't much different from right now; it was also after the rift of the Infinite Hells, the bloody battle that ended countless lives, Shi Mei amongst them. Refusing to accept the reality, he had knelt by Shi Mei's coffin for days on end, gazing at his face inside, looking almost as if he wasn't dead at all...

"It's called Aaaaah from back when your dad passed," was what Xue Zhengyong had told him as he kept him company in the cold of the Frostsky Hall in the past life.

"I only had the one brother. We founded Sisheng Peak together. But your dad… he was just like you, stubborn. He barely even got to enjoy the good life,

or maybe he got sick of it, but one slip against the demons, and he was gone."   It was freezing inside Frostsky Hall. Xue Zhengyong took a swig from the sheepskin of wine he had brought before offering it to Mo Ran.

"You can have some, just don't tell your aunt." Mo Ran didn't take it, didn't even move.

Xue Zhengyong sighed, "This cliff is called Aaaaah because I was so miserable in those days, it felt like my heart had been dug out. All I did was stay here with your dad and cry. I sound pretty awful when I cry, just howling like AAAAH, and that's where the name came from." He glanced at Mo Ran and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Uncle isn't well-read or anything, but life is ephemeral like the morning dew,

over in a blink. Just think of it as Mingjing having gone on a bit ahead of you; you can be brothers[1] again in the next life." Mo Ran's eyes slid slowly shut.

Xue Zhengyong continued, "Condolences and whatnot are just words. If you're sad, then just cry. If you don't want to leave, then stay and keep him company. But you have to eat, and drink your water. Go get a bite at Mengpo Hall first, then you can come back here and kneel as long as you want, I won't stop you." The Frostsky Hall was frigid and silent, white silk drifting lightly within the grand hall, like gentle fingers brushing the brow.

Mo Ran opened his eyes slowly.

The coffin was the same as the one in his memory, cast from the black snow of Kunlun, lustrous and translucent, threads of cold streaming from the surface.

Only, the one lying inside was now Chu Wanning.

Mo Ran never would have thought that the one to die in the Heavenly Rift of this lifetime would be Chu Wanning.

He was taken by surprise, he didn't know how to react.

Faced with this person's ice-cold body, he actually didn't feel much of anything, not joy from the death of his foe, nor grief from the passing of his Shizun.

Mo Ran stared at Chu Wanning through lowered lashes for a long time,

almost doubtful. His face looked even colder than usual, truly covered in a layer of frost now, specks of ice clinging to the lashes of his closed eyes. His lips were a pale blue, and his skin was nearly transparent, the light blue of the veins visible like minute cracks on porcelain.

How could he have been the one to die?

Mo Ran lifted his hand to touch Chu Wanning's cheek; it felt cold.

His hand trailed down, to his throat, his neck; there was no pulse.

And then to his hand.

He gripped his hand; the joints were already starting to stiffen, and the skin there felt rough.

Mo Ran thought it strange—the tips of Chu Wanning's fingers were lightly calloused, but his palms had always been soft and delicate. He looked closer despite himself, only to see scores of lacerations, open cuts that, although cleaned, will never heal now.

He remembered Xue Meng's words.

"His spiritual energy was completely drained. He was no different from an ordinary person at that time, couldn't use any techniques at all, not even a communication spell. He could only carry you on his back and climb up the stairs of Sisheng Peak, step by step…" And when he couldn't do it anymore, couldn't stand anymore, he crawled on the ground, on his knees, dragging him, until his fingers were torn, and his hands were covered in blood.

All to bring him home.

Mo Ran muttered hollowly, "Was it you who carried me back?" "..." "Chu Wanning, was it you…" "..." "I won't believe it unless you nod," Mo Ran said to the person in the coffin,

his expression placid as if certain that the person before him would wake up.

"Chu Wanning, give me a nod. Just one nod, and I'll believe you, and I won't hate you anymore… just one nod, okay?"

But Chu Wanning only continued to lie there, cold and expressionless, as if he didn't care the slightest bit whether Mo Ran hated him or not; he himself had left with a clear conscience, leaving others to survive with their guilt.

This person, whether alive or dead, was always more maddening than he was sympathetic.

Mo Ran suddenly sneered. "Then again," he said, "when have you ever listened to me." Staring at Chu Wanning, he suddenly felt that it was all so absurd.

All these years, he hated Chu Wanning because he looked down on him,

and the hatred deepened because he didn't save Shi Mei.

Turning and twisting, this hatred persisted for more than ten years, but one day, all of a sudden, he was told that—— "When Chu Wanning turned and left back then, it was to protect you." He was suddenly told that—— "The Discernment Barrier is twinned. Whatever damage you took, he suffered the same." His spiritual energy was spent, he couldn't even protect himself anymore,

he…

Great, just perfect. Chu Wanning is right in everything he does. Then what about him?

Head in the dark like a know-nothing idiot, running around in circles like a god damn clown, hissing and snarling in his hatred for so long.

And for what?!!

A brief misunderstanding is like a smudge of dirt on a healing wound. As long as it's discovered in time, washed off, and the salve re-applied, everything will be fine.

But if the misunderstanding goes on for ten, twenty years, and the person trapped in the web puts in endless hatred, too many cares, countless restraints,

and even his life.

These emotions will scab over and grow into new skin, forming part of the body.

And then, to suddenly be told that "That's not it, that's all wrong." What to do then? The dirt from back then had already lodged under the skin with the passing of time, had already immersed into the blood.

The healed flesh would have to be torn open again to remove that bygone hatred.

A misunderstanding of one year is a misunderstanding.

A misunderstanding of ten years is an injustice.

A misunderstanding of a lifetime, from life to death, is fate.

Their fate was blighted.

The heavy gates of the Frostsky Hall opened slowly.

Just like in the previous lifetime, Xue Zhengyong, a sheepskin of wine in hand, walked heavily to Mo Ran's side and sat down on the floor next to him.

"I heard you were here. Uncle will keep you company." Xue Zhengyong's fierce eyes were still red, clearly having cried not long ago.

"And him too."   Mo Ran said nothing. Xue Zhengyong twisted open the cap and took several big gulps before suddenly stilling, wiping roughly at his face and forcing a grin as he said, "Yuheng never liked it when I drank, now… sigh, no, nevermind,

nevermind. I'm not even that old, but I've already seen off so many friends. Raner, do you know what kind of feeling that is?" "..." Mo Ran lowered his lashes.

Xue Zhengyong had asked him the same question in the past life.

Back then, all he saw was Shi Mei's lifeless body, what did he care if others lived or died? He didn't understand, nor did he want to.

But how could he not understand now?

Before he had been reborn, he had stood alone in the empty halls of Wushan Palace.

One day, jolting awake from a light slumber in which he had dreamt of bygone days spent as Yuheng's disciple, he had the sudden impulse to go see his old room at the disciple quarters. The narrow room, unused for so long, was covered in dust when he opened the door and stepped inside.

He had found a small fragrance burner toppled on the floor, knocked over by someone, some time. He picked it up and reflexively went to put it back to its original place.

But the years had flowed by like a rapid stream; holding the burner, he suddenly froze.

"Where did I used to keep this burner?" He couldn't remember.

His eagle-like gaze swept across the attendants at his back, but their faces were nothing but blurs, he couldn't even tell one from another.

But of course these people wouldn't know where in the room of his youth the emperor used to keep this fragrance burner.

"Where did I used to keep this burner?" He couldn't remember, and anyone who could was already dead or gone.

How could Mo Ran not understand how Xue Zhengyong felt right now.

"Every now and then I would remember some joke from my youth, out of the blue, and just blurt it out, but then realize that not a single person who gets it is even around anymore." Xue Zhengyong took another swig of wine and, lowering his head, let out a mirthless laugh.

"Like your dad, or our friends from before… or your Shizun…" Fragments of light reflecting off the wetness in his eyes, he asked, "Ran-er,

do you know why this cliff is called Aaaaah?" Mo Ran knew what he wanted to say, but he was too distraught right now to want to listen to Xue Zhengyong talk about his dead father, so he responded, "I know. It's because Uncle used to cry here." "Ah…" Xue Zhengyong paused and blinked slowly, wrinkles deep at the corners of his eyes. "Did your aunt already tell you?" "Mn." Xue Zhengyong wiped away his tears and inhaled deeply. "Alright, okay, then you already know what Uncle wanted to tell you. Go ahead and let it out if you're sad, it's alright. There's no shame in crying for someone."   But Mo Ran didn't cry, maybe because his heart had already become hard as iron from two lifetimes of this. Compared to how devastated he had been back then when Shi Mei died, the current him was so very calm. So calm that he was unsettled by his own numbness, unaware that he was actually this heartless.

Xue Zhengyong finished drinking and stayed a while longer before getting up, his movements a little unsteady; maybe his legs had gone numb from kneeling for so long, or maybe he had drank too much.

His broad hand clapped Mo Ran on the shoulder. "The Heavenly Rift's been closed, but we still don't know who's behind it all. Maybe that was the end of it,

but there might also be another big battle coming up. Ran-er, make sure you go down and eat something, don't wreck your body."   Having said that, he turned and left.

It was night time, and outside Frostsky Hall, a waning crescent hung high in the skies above. Treading through the snow that covered the cliff year-round with half a skin of wine in hand, Xue Zhengyong's voice, deep and rough like a broken gong, rang out in a short tune from Shuzong.

"Greeting old friends but half are gone, meeting only in cups of wine.

Beneath the osmanthus tree hides a pot of wine, a drink shared between aged faces and streaks of white. The first light of dawn shatters the dream and all depart, leaving me alone with my old tears. I'd give what remains of my life to the God of Dreams, if only to call you back cup after cup." It was different from the past life after all; the one who died wasn't Shi Mei,

but Chu Wanning, and so Xue Zhengyong was struck by even deeper sorrows.

With his back facing the open gates of Frostsky Hall, Mo Ran listened to the lingering sound of that hoarse voice, resounding yet mournful. Slowly, the voice grew distant like a soaring eagle, until it was swallowed by the wind and snow.

The world thus blanketed by a layer of bright white, the moon high in the vast, boundless sky washing over everything until it was all so faint and insubstantial, leaving only one line to echo over and over.

"Leaving me alone with my old tears...leaving me alone with my old tears…" Mo Ran wasn't sure how long had passed when he eventually left Frostsky Hall to walk slowly down the mountain.

Uncle was right, the Heavenly Rift may have been closed, but things might not be over yet. Chu Wanning isn't here anymore; if there is to be another battle,

he'll have to fend for himself.

It was already late by the time he got to Mengpo Hall, and there was no one else around aside from the old woman making the late-night supper.

Mo Ran asked for a small bowl of noodles and found a corner spot to slowly eat. The noodles were hot and numbing, warm in his stomach. The dimly-lit Menpo Hall was hazy when he looked up between large ravenous bites through the thick screen of steam.

He vaguely recalled how stubborn he had been in the past life after Shi Mei's death, how he had refused to leave or eat for three days straight.

And how, later, when he had finally been talked into leaving Frostsky Hall to go eat something, he had happened across Chu Wanning in the kitchen, his back facing him as he clumsily rolled wrappers and mixed fillings, and how there had been flour and water on the table, and a couple rows of wontons, neatly lined.

"Clang."

The loud sound of everything being swept off that table rang out from the bygone past, stilling the chopsticks in the hands of the present Mo Ran, making it hard for him to swallow.

At the time, he had thought that Chu Wanning was taunting him, that he purposely wanted to hurt him.

But, thinking about it now, maybe Chu Wanning really did only want to make him a bowl of wontons in place of the departed Shi Mei.

 "Who the fuck do you think you are? Do you have any right to use the things he used? To make the food he did? Shi Mei is dead, are you happy now?

Or do you have to hound all your disciples to death or madness before you're satisfied? Chu Wanning! There is no one left in this world who could make those wontons ever again, no matter how much you imitate him, you'll never even come close!" Each word a stab to the heart.

He went back to eating his noodles, not wanting to think about it anymore.

But it wasn't that easy; his memories wouldn't leave him be.

He remembered Chu Wanning's face with such clarity, clearer than ever before; his face had betrayed nothing, not joy and not sorrow. He remembered every detail of that moment with such unprecedented clarity.

He remembered the faint trembling at the tips of those fingers, the smudge of flour on the side of that cheek.

He remembered the plump, snowy wontons all over the floor.

He remembered how Chu Wanning had lowered his lashes and then bent down to slowly pick them up from the floor, those wontons that could no longer be eaten, and then thrown them away himself.

Thrown them away himself.

There was still more than half the bowl of noodles with peas left.

But Mo Ran couldn't eat another bite. Pushing the bowl away, he fled this place that was going to drive him insane. He ran madly through Sisheng Peak,

as if trying to outrun this decade-long misunderstanding, as if trying to get back those ridiculous years, as if trying to catch up to that person who had left Mengpo Hall all alone that day.

Catch up to him so that he could say.

"I'm sorry, I was wrong to hate you."   In the darkness of night, Mo Ran ran aimlessly, he ran and ran… but he saw fragments of Chu Wanning's shadow everywhere he went: The Platform of Sin and Virtue, where he had taught him to read and trained him in the sword; Naihe Bridge, where he had shared an umbrella with him as they walked together;

Clearsky Hall, where he had endured punishment by striking, and left all alone.

He felt more and more distraught, more and more helpless.

Suddenly, he ran into an open clearing, and it abruptly felt like the haze had dissipated and he could see the bright moon high above again.

Breathing heavily, he stopped running.

The Heaven-Piercing Tower...   The place where he had died in the past life. The place where he had met Chu Wanning for the first time.

Mayhem in his eyes like a battlefield in chaos, heartbeats wild like the beating of war drums, unable to ward off the tidal surge of the past and helpless to avoid its relentless assault, he had been forced here in the end.

Where the moonlight was a pale white, and the breeze a gentle caress.

Where they had first met.

Mo Ran finally stopped running; he knew he couldn't escape it, the fact that,

in this life, he was bound to owe Chu Wanning.

Slowly, he walked up the steps, walked toward that magnificent haitang tree.

He reached out and touched the bark of the trunk, dry and hard like a calloused heart.

It had already been nearly three days since Chu Wanning's death.

Mo Ran looked up; the flowering tree was gentle as it always had been. Only then did a bout of boundless sorrow suddenly well up in his chest, and, pressing his forehead against the trunk of the tree, he finally started crying, tears falling like rain.

"Shizun, Shizun…" He murmured between choked sobs, repeating, over and over, his words from when he first met Chu Wanning. "Won't you pay attention to me… pay attention to me…"   But though things remained the same, the people had changed, and in front of the Heaven-Piercing Tower now there was only him. No one paid attention to him, no one would come again.

The reborn Mo Ran had the body of a youth, but inside was the soul of the thirty-two year old Taxian-jun. He had seen far too much life and death, tasted all the joys and sorrows that the world had to offer, and so, in this reborn life, he never really showed much genuine emotion, always muted as if hidden behind a mask.

But right now, the loss and anguish written on his face was so raw, so vulnerable, so genuine, so naive.

Only now was he truly like an ordinary youth who had lost his Shizun, like a child who had been abandoned, like a stray dog that had lost its home and could never again find its way back.

He said, pay attention to me.

Pay attention to me...[2]   But, in the end, his only answer was the rustling of the leaves and the dancing shadows of the flowers.

The person with the striking features under the haitang tree that year would never again, could never again lift his head and look at him—not even just one last glance.

Author's Notes:

Big white cat's talking corpse: [thanking jjwxc readers] Pup: "QAQ" Pup.exe is still glitching, big white cat shoots him a glance, sighs, and takes the script from his hands.

Big white cat reading pup's lines for him: [the rest of the thanks]

[1] "Brothers" here refers more to being close friends than blood relation

[2] 理理我 "pay attention to me" has a lot of nuance that can't be captured by any single word in English--it's a plea for recognition, acknowledgement, and attention, a lot of desires rolled up in one