Chapter 12: Murong Lian

MO XI, standing to the side, was furious. "Murong Lian, watch yourself. Without the emperor's permission, a slave collar cannot—"

Halfway through his sentence, Gu Mang cut him off.

"Such a precious gift," Gu Mang said loudly, talking over Mo Xi in a tone that brooked no argument. He reached up and accepted the tray. "Thank you, Shaozhu!"

Amid everyone else's dismay, Gu Mang calmly unfastened the pitchblack collar and looked up, bright-eyed, to where Murong Lian sat on the dais. Those pretty eyes displayed no resentment; rather, they seemed perfectly peaceful.

"Go on," Murong Lian said icily.

Holding his gaze, Gu Mang brought his hands to his neck. Unblinking, he fastened the slave collar around it with a click.

"Hey." Gu Mang touched his neck with interest, as if he had discovered a new source of amusement. "It's not too big or too small. It fits just right."

Mo Xi looked at him in disbelief, while among the nearby study attendants, those who were close with Gu Mang were on the verge of tears.

This was Gu Mang's way. Staggering turns of fortune seemed like nothing to him. If the sky fell, he'd probably grin and pull it up to use as a blanket—

"How does it look?"

Lu Zhanxing stared at him.

Murong Lian caressed the corners of his own mouth with pale and slender fingertips. "Wonderful," he said mockingly.

"This one thanks Shaozhu for the gift," Gu Mang earnestly replied.

"It's nothing." Murong Lian's expression was cool and detached. After a moment, he waved a hand. A ball of blue light leapt from his palm, and Gu Mang crumpled to the floor.

Lu Zhanxing couldn't stop himself from crying out, "Gu Mang!"

Several pitch-black cords laced with lightning shot out of the slave collar to tightly bind Gu Mang's arms and torso. The lightning sent him into convulsions; he spasmed on the ground, shaking uncontrollably.

Murong Lian seemed to think this insufficient. He tried a different spell, and the light in his palm turned red. Brambles erupted from the collar, winding around Gu Mang's tanned body. As thorns stabbed into him, blood streamed out…

"Enough!" Mo Xi couldn't stand it anymore, and he gritted his teeth. "Murong Lian, how is this reasonable?!"

"What does the discipline of my own household slave have to do with Mo-gongzi?" Murong Lian said indolently. "He's just a lowly slave. It would be of no consequence even if I beat him to death. Why is Mo-gongzi so concerned?"

"We are in the cultivation academy. By privately collaring an academy disciple with a slave collar, you are plainly holding the academy's rules in contempt. Cease this at once!"

Murong Lian turned to smile at Mo Xi. "Wouldn't it be awfully embarrassing for me to stop because you told me to? Mo-gongzi, you're as arrogant as ever, but if you're asking me for something, I can't be callous." He paused. "However, shouldn't you at least give me some incentive?"

As Murong Lian spoke, he cycled through a few different punishments, grinning all the while. By this point, the slave collar's torments had left Gu Mang in a pool of blood.

Mo Xi grabbed the hand Murong Lian was using to form the sigils and fixed his dark eyes on him. "What do you want?"

"Nothing too important." Murong Lian looked at the hand clamped around his wrist and sneered. "It's only that Mother always complains that I've been lazy in my cultivation studies, that I'm no match for others."

Those sultry peach blossom eyes narrowed. Murong Lian gazed at Mo Xi, expression inscrutable. "I'll do you this favor, so long as you lose to me at the academy's cultivation tournament on New Year's Eve."

Mo Xi turned to look at Gu Mang, only to find him looking back. Gu Mang shook his head slightly, biting his lip.

"I heard that this slave of mine has been quite the help to you on exorcism missions."

Neither of them replied.

"So? Are you willing?"

"Yes," Mo Xi said after a pause. "I give you my word."

Murong Lian laughed as he waved a hand, lifting the punishment spell on the slave collar. Gu Mang collapsed into the puddle of crimson on the floor. Those ever-smiling lips could no longer shape words.

At this, Murong Lian expressed an appropriate amount of satisfaction: "That'll do."

The light of the slave collar went out.

"Just stay there until you stop bleeding," Murong Lian jeered at Gu Mang. "It'll save you from having to do extra laundry. I hope this gift is sufficient to remind you at every moment who you really are." His gaze was like wasp venom. "Remember the filth that is your blood. Remember to whom you belong, to whom you owe your loyalty."

Murong Lian was beyond despicable and beyond insane. Mo Xi had been abjectly disgusted with him for ages now.

What Mo Xi could never understand was why Gu Mang had been so hell-bent on staying at Murong Lian's side despite the cruelty. More than twenty years had passed without the slightest hint of rebellion from him.

Gu Mang was no masochist. He was exceptionally intelligent, fearless, and assertive, which was why Mo Xi found this foolish loyalty absurd. He couldn't even begin to guess what Gu Mang had been thinking, nor did he know what exactly had transpired between Murong Lian and Gu Mang. It was a mystery even to this day.

And now, as Li Wei brought up their old quarrels again, Mo Xi couldn't help but think that his reminder was rather unnecessary. Wangshujun had always been wholly vile. How much worse could he get?

He certainly didn't expect that when he finally saw Murong Lian again in person, he would be unpleasantly surprised.

One day, once court matters had concluded, a few young masters suggested going to relax at the new pitch-pot tavern in the eastern part of the city. A new female cultivator was joining in on the fun.

"Xihe-jun, why don't we go together?" she asked.

Mo Xi said, "My apologies."

"Another rejection?" The cultivator pursed her lips and mumbled, "I know you have Princess Mengze, but are you so dead set on her that you won't give anyone else a chance?"

Before Mo Xi could reply, Yue Chenqing popped up from behind her. "Heyyyy, Xihe-jun, what do you mean by that?" He patted the cultivator's shoulder. "Let's have some fun together," he said helpfully. "Drink some tea, play a game of pitch-pot. What's wrong with that?"

The others started trying to persuade him as well, smiling.

"Exactly, come with us."

"Pitch-pot is loads of fun."

At that moment, a man's voice came from outside. It sounded like a ghost's, hoarse and wavering, without the slightest trace of warmth. The only emotion it held was scorn. "Idiots pitching at pots. The pastime of imbeciles."

Along with these words came the rustling of footsteps from the darkening hall doors.

Mo Xi turned to see a man holding a gauze umbrella slowly ascend the steps. His was a chilly and aloof silhouette, like a lonely wraith wandering in the evening snow. The man retracted the umbrella to his side, shaking off the snow that had amassed on its surface. He lifted his gaze to sweep it across the people in the hall, then smeared an insincere and mocking smile over his face. "Everyone's here?"

All the juniors of the Bureau of Military Affairs started, each of them performing obeisance. "Wangshu-jun."

"This junior greets Wangshu-shenjun."

It was Murong Lian.

The consummate slacker had finally shown up.

Many years had passed, but when Gu Mang's old master stood before Mo Xi once more, he looked as soft and dainty as ever. Those sultry eyes were long and narrow, curving at the ends like willow shoots. There was cruelty in his charm and coldness in his fragility, and his cheeks were even sharper and more sunken than Mo Xi remembered. His arrogant manner and spiteful haughtiness had also become more pronounced.

Murong Lian's gaze slithered across Mo Xi's face, as if he'd only just noticed him in the crowd. Licking his lips, he smiled. "Oh, Xihe-jun's here too? How uncivilized of me—long time no see."

Yue Chenqing was a brainless loudmouth who could get along with anyone, so he waved at Murong Lian with a grin. "Murong-dage, I haven't seen you in a long time either."

Yue Chenqing may as well have not existed; Murong Lian spared not a glance in his direction.

Yue Chenqing shut his mouth.

After waiting several moments with no response from Mo Xi, Murong Lian flashed another chilling smile. "Xihe-jun, you and I have been apart for a long time. Why don't you seem the least bit happy to see me? That proud and distant character of yours hasn't changed in the slightest."

Mo Xi glanced at him indifferently. "Yet Wangshu-jun has changed a great deal. I presume the affairs of the capital have been a terrible strain; they've caused Wangshu-jun to lose so much weight."

Murong Lian smiled. "Yes. Unlike you, I'm part of His Imperial Majesty's inner circle, and thus must help him shoulder his burdens."

"How moving," Mo Xi said icily.

Xihe-jun versus Wangshu-jun was like thunder against lightning or stone against blade, filling the atmosphere with tension.

Out of all the people in that hall, only the good-natured blockhead Yue Chenqing was willing to speak. He looked at both sides and persevered. "Wangshu-jun, it's so late. What made you decide to take a stroll around the palace?"

"I was just passing by." Murong Lian finally acknowledged him after a beat. "It happens that I am free, and I wanted to invite everyone to come to a gathering at Wangshu Manor…" As he finished, he turned his gaze, bringing with it a slight chill. "…to drink, and so on."

No one dared to dismiss any of Murong Lian's suggestions, least of all the many people in the crowd who wanted to curry favor with him.

"So that's how it is!" they quickly said.

"Obviously it would be impolite to refuse an invitation from Wangshu-jun."

Murong Lian shot a glance at Mo Xi's face. "Xihe-jun, are you coming?"

Mo Xi looked over at Yue Chenqing. Since Yue Chenqing was still young and easily influenced, he thought it would be best for him to keep his distance from Murong Lian.

"Yue Chenqing and I are busy," he said. "We won't be attending tonight."

"Wah, no way! It's so late—how can we be busy?!" Yue Chenqing's eyes flew open. "As if I'd want to discuss military matters with you! I want to go drink at Wangshu Manor…" He ducked behind Murong Lian, looking as if he'd rather be beaten to death than read another imperial military memorial.

Since Yue Chenqing had openly demonstrated where he stood, Mo Xi couldn't force him. All he could do was furrow his brow slightly.

Murong Lian turned, arms behind his back, and gazed at the snow fluttering down outside the hall doors. "On that note, Xihe-jun," he said, "you haven't seen Gu Mang in a long time, have you?"

Mo Xi said nothing.

"I know you hate him. Back when Gu Mang defected, you kept trying to protect him, claiming he would never betray Chonghua." Murong Lian suddenly smiled again. "Later on, when you met him face-to-face in battle and attempted to obtain confirmation from his own mouth, he wounded you —and you nearly died."

"Why bother bringing up the past?" Mo Xi asked frostily.

A snicker. "As if you wouldn't remember it so long as I didn't mention it. Xihe-jun, we may not be friends, but it just so happens that Gu Mang deceived, disappointed, and betrayed us both," Murong Lian drawled. "So, even though you're unwilling to admit it, I'm afraid that the one man in the whole world who can understand my hatred and despondency is you and no other."

After this, Murong Lian turned his sickly pale face to the side, his eyes flashing with unreadable light.

"He was my slave all those years ago, and now he's in Luomei Pavilion, under my control." He tilted his head, looking bored. "What about it? Why don't we go take a look?"

Yue Chenqing naively poked his head out from the side. "Hey, Luomei Pavilion? Wangshu-jun, you'd better be joking. We've got maidens in the Bureau of Military Affairs. It wouldn't be appropriate for them to go play at Luomei Pavilion."

The few women cultivators who heard this waved their hands hastily. "We won't be attending—we hope Wangshu-jun has a good time."

Yue Chenqing scratched his head. "Well, even if the girls don't go, Xihe-jun hates brothels more than anything. Why would he go somewhere like that?"

"Oh. That's true." Murong Lian curled his lip. "General Mo is the finest commander of Chonghua, ever pristine and honorable, proper and unwavering. There's no way he could possibly deign to enter an unspeakable house of pleasure. How filthy."

Mo Xi made no reply.

"Then what about this?" Murong Lian tilted his neck and stretched tight muscles before continuing. "Luomei Pavilion isn't far from my manor. I'll have Gu Mang brought there straightaway, and we'll let him liven things up for us tonight. General Mo, it'll be my way of giving you…" His lips were wet, his words sinister. "A warm welcome home."