Chapter 123: Shizun Visits My Dream, for He Knows I Think of Him Often

"Zhao-daozhang, Li-daozhang, have you both seen the rankings yet? The black horse that came out of the Spiritual Mountain Competition this time is really something!" Inside Pearl Teahouse, a couple of wandering cultivations were having an excited discussion over a platter of peanuts and a pot of hot tea, the topic of discussion being the current Jianghu news that's even hotter than the tea.

"Of course I have! No one expected the winner to be Sisheng Peak, that sect from the lower cultivation realm. All the old fogies from the upper cultivation realm have got their knickers in a twist now! Especially Rufeng Sect, aiyo, their ancestors are turning in their graves! What was the winner's name again, Xue Fenghuang [Phoenix]?" "Ah? Hahahaha, Xue Fenghuang? Old Zhao please you're gonna make me burst a lung laughing, Son of the Phoenix is his nickname! His surname is Xue,

given name Meng, courtesy name Ziming, and his old man is Xue Zhengyong.

Like father, like son, this Xue Ziming is quite impressively skilled!" There was a tall man in a cape sitting by the fireplace, minding his own business drinking butter tea. Overhearing their conversation, the cup by the man's lips stilled and remained there as he uttered a quiet "Hm?"     "They seriously weren't kidding when they called him Son of the Phoenix.

Every other little young master in there had a holy weapon, but he shows up with just a curved blade and cuts off all their escape routes, freakin' incredible."   "Did you forget whom his master is? It's only natural that Yuheng of the Night Sky's disciple doesn't play games!"   "To be honest though, I think Xue Ziming's win was a near thing. Surely you've heard that Xue Ziming and Nangong Si were evenly matched in the doubles; if not for that girly on his team dragging him down, heh, could've gone either way if you ask me."   At these words, the man who had been listening intently finally set down the cup of tea he had been holding up without drinking.

He turned his head, eyes clear as autumn waters yet intense as lightning— strikingly good looks to be sure. He flashed a smile at the chatting cultivators and joined their conversation. "Excuse me, I've been cultivating in the mountains these last couple of days. It's hard to even tell what day it is up there so I ended up missing the Spiritual Mountain Competition. I happened to overhear from your conversation that Xue Meng won first place… I was wondering if you would mind telling me some more?"   Those cultivators were only too eager to have an audience, promptly and enthusiastically gesturing Mo Ran over and making room for him to sit with them.

And Mo Ran knew his manners too—he was much more mature now than when he had first left to travel. He had the lady boss of the teahouse refill six teapots with Lingshan Rain and ordered candied jujubes, tart kernels, sweet liquor cherries, and snake gall melon seeds to share with everyone before smiling and saying, "Xue Ziming is the Darling of the Heavens, so for him to take first even without a holy weapon isn't much of a surprise. But I heard mention that Nangong Si of Rufeng Sect had a lady on his team in the doubles…?" Being a bunch of guys, they were more than happy to talk about ladies, even if the lady wasn't theirs.

"That he did. Truly a case of the hero's ambition sunk in the beauty's bosom,

else with Nangong Si's skills, who knows if Xue Ziming would be able to get the upper hand."   "I see. Interesting." That wasn't what happened in the last lifetime, when Ye Wangxi and Nangong Si had jointly won first place. Mo Ran originally thought that it was due to that little phoenix Xue Meng being spurred by Chu Wanning's death to really apply himself and soar to success, but it seemed that Xue Meng's side of things wasn't the only variable involved here.

"Who might this lady be?"   "The lass was named Song… something Tong, don't remember exactly, sure was pretty though. She's got the Rufeng Sect's little young master wrapped around her pinky, by the looks of it."   "Pretty's an understatement, astoundingly beautiful is more like it. If I were Nangong Si, I'd give up first place at Spiritual Mountain just to make the pretty thing happy too." Mo Ran: "..."   As he thought.

The Spiritual Mountain Competition included three events—singles, doubles,

and battle royale—with the scores being averaged across the three to determine the ultimate winner.

In the last lifetime, Xue Meng and Shi Mei had faced off against Nangong Si and Ye Wangxi in the doubles event. Ye Wangxi had gone on to become the second strongest person in the world, outdone only by Chu Wanning, so the outcome of that match need not be said. Heaven knows what went wrong in this lifetime, for Nangong Si to bring that hindrance Song Qiutong along instead of teaming up with Ye Wangxi…

Mo Ran set down his cup of tea and rubbed his temple.

What the hell had that guy been thinking?

"Ah, women; even that wild horse Nangong Si got tamed in no time." One of them lamented thus, and the others broke into hoots of laughter.

Mo Ran couldn't help asking, "What about Ye Wangxi?" "Who?" Mo Ran repeated, "Ye Wangxi." The lack of recognition on their faces left a bad taste in Mo Ran's mouth.

This person was a war god who'd given Mo Ran no end of troubles in the last lifetime… how could you lot possibly not know of him!

So he gestured while explaining, "The other gongzi from Rufeng Sect; long legs, tall, good temper, doesn't talk much, uses a sword and…" Looking at all their blank expressions, Mo Ran sighed and finished the description, despite already having guessed the outcome.

"And a bow."   "Don't know 'em."

"Never heard of this person." "Bro, where'd you hear about this guy from? Rufeng Sect sent sixteen disciples to the Spiritual Mountain Competition, not a single one of them named Ye." Sure enough, Ye Wangxi hadn't participated in this lifetime.

Mo Ran fell silent for a moment. He thought back to that day at the restaurant, when Ye Wangxi had said to Nangong Si, "You come back, I'll leave," he suddenly felt a little uneasy, and a little pained.

It couldn't be, right?

Had Ye Wangxi actually left Rufeng Sect?

In the past life, right before his end, Ye Wangxi had said to the executioner that he wanted to be buried at Rufeng Sect's Tomb of Heroes, next to Nangong Si's grave. Mo Ran sighed at the recollection—how had things ended up like this? The slight changes, drop after drop, had built up into growing ripples.

The world had so turned on its head that what should've been ocean had become land.

So it was that the turn of fates could be violent as a raging storm. That a change of heart, a recantation of past hatred, could only be bought with hot blood spilt and bitter tears shed.

As it had with Chu Wanning and himself.

But the turn of fates could also be a breathless silence, as it had with Ye Wangxi and Nangong Si.

Maybe it had been only that one day at the inn, when Nangong Si had allowed Ye Wangxi's group to stay the night. Maybe Nangong Si had gotten thirsty, late at night, and gone downstairs for some tea, and just so happened to run into a pitiful Song Qiutong.

Maybe Song Qiutong had poured him a cup of water, or maybe she had tripped when going up the stairs due to the injury on her leg; there was no way to know.

It could have even been that he had just been too boorish when drinking the water, and gotten some on the wide collars of his robes, and she had gingerly offered him a handkerchief.

With nothing between them at the time, Nangong Si had probably just uttered a simple thanks.

But none of them could have known, as the Northern Dipper swept across the night sky and the stars of Shen and Shang rose and sank, never to meet,

that their lives had been irreversibly changed because of that handkerchief, that cup of water, that uttered thanks. None of them had heard the rumble of fate:

Nangong Si yawned as he walked up the stairs.

Song Qiutong stood there, watching him go.

And Ye Wangxi, in his room, lit a candle to continue reading an unfinished book.

In the past life, Mo Ran had fancied himself all-powerful and all-knowing, had thought he'd seen through life itself.

Only now did he finally realize that they were, all of them, only duckweeds adrift in this world, scattered about by rain and wind both, little green wisps of souls that could be so easily crushed by a stray tossed pebble.

He had been so very lucky, to have drifted away yet somehow returned to Chu Wanning's side.

To still be able to do his filial duty for his shizun, to still be able to say to Chu Wanning, "Sorry I let you down."   Finishing his tea, he bid the others farewell.

The wind had picked up outside, with rain soon to follow.

Mo Ran put on his cape and walked into the depths of the thick forest.

His silhouette grew more and more distant, more and more faint, until it was no more than a small dot in the twilight, like a drop of ink spreading out in a pool of water, thinning out and disappearing.

Rrrrumble——!

Lightning flashed in the horizon as thunder cracked through the darkened skies, and the rain came down in a torrential downpour.

"It's raining." Someone peeked out from the teahouse to look, only to draw back inside at the intensity of the thunder.

"That sure is a thunderstorm… damn, I laid millet out to dry in the sun, it's gonna get all soaked now." "Oh well, hey boss lady, can we get another pot of tea here? Might as well wait for it to clear up before heading home." Mo Ran walked briskly through the rain, ran through the rain, fled through the rain, hid in the rain from the thirty-two nonsensical years of his past life.

He didn't know if the torrential rain could wash away his sins; Chu Wanning had forgiven him, but he had not forgiven himself. His heart felt heavy, so heavy that he might suffocate from it.

He wanted to use the rest of his life to do good, to make amends.

But could the downpour in the rest of his life truly wash away the evil in his bones, the filth in his blood?

He wished only that this rain could fall for five years straight.

He wished only that, when Chu Wanning awakened, he would be able to stand before his shizun a little cleaner, and then cleaner still.

He didn't want to still be this dirty when the time came, dirty like mud, like dust, like the grime on the bottom of a porter's shoes, dirt under a beggar's nails.

He wished only that, before Chu Wanning awakened, he could be a little better, and then better still.

Only then could the worst, worst disciple in the world maybe summon up the feeble courage to call out to the best, best shizun in the world.

That night, Mo Ran fell sick.

He had always been healthy and strong, but someone like this, if they were to get sick, would get terribly, horribly sick.

He lay in bed, sleeping bundled beneath a thick quilt. He dreamt of things from his past life, dreamt of how he had tormented Chu Wanning before, dreamt of Chu Wanning struggling beneath himself, of Chu Wanning dying in his arms.

Waking with a start to the howling wind and cold rain outside, he felt around for the flint to light the candle, but no matter how many times he tried, the flint wouldn't spark.

He threw the flint and steel aside in a fit of frustration. He buried his face in his hands, rubbing forcefully; pulled harshly at his own hair, the jut of his throat moving as he let out a grief-stricken howl like that of a pained beast.

He had escaped death, escaped blame, but in the end couldn't escape his own conscience.

It was scary, being unable to even tell dreams from reality sometimes,

continuously having to check whether he was asleep or awake.

It hurt, feeling like his very soul had split into two, that of the past lifetime and that of the current lifetime, the two souls tearing into one another, one cursing the other for being a ruthless lunatic with hands covered in blood, the other snapping back just as fiercely, demanding to know why the former was going about like he hadn't done anything wrong, how did he even have the nerve to walk this earth.

The soul of the present bellowed at the soul of the past:

Mo Weiyu, Taxian-jun, you scum of the earth, why did you commit such sins?! How am I supposed to make up for all that you've done?!

I want to start over, but why must you haunt me so, in my dreams, in my drunken stupors, in the dimming light of fading candles, jumping out when I least expect it to curse me with that twisted face of yours!

Cursing me with a thousand deaths, cursing me with retribution and comeuppance.

You say that this is all just a dream that will one day shatter. You sneer that sooner or later I will wake up to find myself back at Wushan Palace. You laugh viciously while reminding me that no one cares about me.

That I had already killed the only person willing to die for me with my own hands.

But was that me?!

No, no, it wasn't me, it was you, Taxian-jun! It was you, Mo Weiyu!!

I'm not you, I'm not you…

There's no blood on my hands, I—— I can start over.

The other half of the soul was shrieking as well, a sharp-fanged mouth wide open on a twisted face:

Weren't you feeling guilty?

Didn't you fuck it all up?

Then why don't you go die?! Why don't you pay recompense to all those people you hurt in the past life for no gods damned reason with your own blood?!

You beast! You pretender!

How are you any different from me? You are Mo Weiyu, just the same as me!

You bear all the memories of the past and all the sins of the past, you'll never be free of me—I'm your nightmare, your inner demon; I'm that abominable soul of yours that will one day be judged by the heavens!

Start over?

Why the hell should you get to? The nerve of you, what right do you have to start over? You're just tricking everyone, you're even tricking the people who love you.

All the good you're doing is just to ease that tiny, pathetic bit of guilty conscience in your heart, isn't it! Hah! Mo Weiyu! Do you dare to let them know just what kind of person you were in your past life?

Do you dare to let Chu Wanning know that, in the last lifetime, it was you who cut into his neck and bled him out, made his life a living nightmare! That it was you who blighted the world, made it into a hell on earth overrun with famines and disasters one after another!

It was you.

Hahahaha, you fucking beast, we are one and the same! There's no way out of this one, because I am you, Mo Weiyu! You know it to be true!

Backed into a corner and going out of his mind, Mo Ran felt around the bedside for the flint and steel again, tried to light up the candle to drive back the grisly darkness of night.

But even the candle rejected him, even the candle didn't care to save him.

He was abandoned in the darkness, hands shaking uncontrollably as he tried over and over to strike the flint and steel, over and over again, but there was no spark, there was no spark.

He finally collapsed onto the bed and burst into loud sobs. He apologized over and over again—in the darkness of night, there seemed to be a crowd gathered around his bed, each and every shadowy, wavering figure cursing at him, demanding his life in vengeance, howling at him that he was once evil and would always be evil. Mo Ran didn't know what to do; helplessly, he muttered again and again, "I'm sorry… I'm sorry…" but no one paid him any mind.

No one wanted to forgive him.

His head was scalding hot, and his heart felt like it was on fire.

Suddenly, he seemed to hear a soft sigh.

Opening his eyes, he saw Chu Wanning amidst the phantom shadows,

looking just as he had—white robes draping loosely to the floor, wide, sweeping sleeves, features elegant and defined.

He walked over and came to a stop before the bed.

Mo Ran choked out between sobs, "Shizun...is it that I...have no right to see you again…" Chu Wanning said nothing, only picked up the flint and steel, and calmly lit up the candle that Mo Ran never managed to.

Where there was Shizun, there was light.

Where there was Chu Wanning, there was a flame.

He looked up evenly at Mo Ran from where he stood by the candle holder with his long eyelashes downcast, and gave him a small, serene smile.

He said, "Go back to sleep, Mo Ran. See, the light is lit now. Don't be afraid." Mo Ran's heart felt like it had been brutally crushed by something heavy, and his head hurt so bad it felt like it might split open; these words sounded so familiar, as if he had heard them before.

But he couldn't remember.

Chu Wanning brushed his sleeves aside and sat down at his bedside. The rain outside was bitterly cold, but it was warm inside the room, and the night was no longer dark.

Chu Wanning said, "I'll stay with you."   His heart ached at these words, clenched and tried to twist itself into a knot.

"Shizun, don't leave." He clutched at Chu Wanning's hand under his broad sleeve.

"I won't." "It'll be dark again if you leave." Mo Ran was crying. Feeling embarrassed, he lifted his other hand and covered his eyes. "Please don't leave me behind… I'm begging you… I really… I really don't want to be the emperor anymore, Shizun… please don't throw me away…" "Mo Ran…" "Please." Maybe it was the fever making him feel all faint and dazed, or maybe it was because some part of him knew that this was only a dream, that Chu Wanning wouldn't be here when he wakes up; he muttered over and over again, "Please don't throw me away."

That night, the icy raindrops outside pelted against the window like countless vengeful ghosts come knocking, trying to get inside and claim his life in retribution.

But inside Mo Ran's dream, Chu Wanning lit up the light, and that small, faint light drove away the ceaseless chill. Chu Wanning said, "Alright, I won't leave." "You won't leave?" "I won't leave." Mo Ran opened his mouth, wanting to say thanks, but the only sound that came out was a whimper, the kind of pitiful sound a dog makes when gingerly trying to suck up to someone.

"That's what you all say, that you won't leave, won't abandon me." On the verge of drifting off, Mo Ran muttered dazedly with heavy-lidded eyes. "But then you all end up leaving anyway. No one wants me, I've been a stray dog for half my life… every time someone takes me in, they'll just throw me away again in a few days time… I'm so tired… really… Shizun… I'm really so tired, I can't do it anymore, can't keep going anymore…"   Just like a starving stray dog with no home to go back to, with mangled paws and a grimey coat of fur, with no choice but to fight over food with beggars and feral cats just to survive.

There was no trust left after so long being abused; if someone were to crouch down nearby, a domestic dog might expect to be fed food, but a stray dog would only expect to be hit with rocks. Anxious and on edge, he kept walking, walking, snarling at anyone and everyone—this was his fate.

"Shizun, if someday, you don't want me anymore, then please just kill me,

don't throw me away." He muttered quietly between sobs.

"It really hurts too much to be thrown away again and again, I'd rather die…"   The fever burned so high that it turned him into a muddled mess.

Until he couldn't even tell where he was, and even forgot whom the person in his dream had been.

"Mom." The last thing he muttered before passing out was, "it's getting dark,

I'm scared… I want to go home…"  

Author's Notes:

The title is taken from Du Fu's "An old friend visits my dreams, for he knows I think of him often. Now that you are ensnared, how can you sprout wings and wander freely?"[8]  To avoid misunderstandings, I'm specially stating the source here.

[8] Du Fu's "Dreaming of Li Bai"