Chapter 15: A Little Test

"XI…XIHE-JUN, what…?"

Mo Xi's teeth-gritted rage was written stark across his pale face, handsome yet frightening. He looked down across the crowd from his full height, but just as that blade-like stare was about to land on Gu Mang, he quickly looked away.

"Xihe-jun…?"

Murong Lian also cast him a sidelong glance. "Oh, Xihe-jun, you were fine a second ago. Why this sudden outburst?"

Mo Xi's expression remained displeased. The sight of Gu Mang surrounded and debased filled him with an all-encompassing hatred he couldn't begin to pin down. If he'd accidentally blurted out a command for the crowd to stop, he would have landed himself in a truly difficult situation.

Fortunately, he had controlled his tongue. He took a moment to gather himself, and when he spoke, it was slowly and through a clenched jaw: "Dignitaries of the court…wine drunk and pleasure-seeking, idling in intoxication. You are all important members of the Bureau of Military Affairs. Yet all you have to perform are these despicable tricks." Each word was clipped with fury. "Where is your decorum?!"

Amid the hush of the crowd, Murong Lian spoke. "Xihe-jun, what do you mean?" He sat up from his sprawling repose. "Gu Mang is a traitor. These lords present are powerful nobles. These nobles are simply playing with a traitor, so where's the lack of decorum? How is this despicable?"

Murong Lian took another drag of ephemera. "Xihe-jun, you might be a clean freak, but why should you stop your subordinates from having their fun? Besides, this is Wangshu Manor; Gu Mang belongs to me, and everyone here today is my guest. No matter how high your rank, before you hit a dog, shouldn't you at least look at its owner?"

That speech really did it. Not only had Murong Lian insulted Gu Mang, he had demoted everyone else to the level of dogs.

But as it happened, this crowd was thoroughly drunk, and had they been sober, there was still the fact that Murong Lian was the emperor's cousin. Even if you let them borrow ten times more courage, none of them would have dared say a word of dissent against the powerful Murong Clan.

Mo Xi, however, was immune to such considerations. He stood, arms crossed, and coolly replied, "Murong Lian, the person to whom the members of the Bureau of Military Affairs have sworn loyalty is the emperor of Chonghua, not you. I don't want to hear you describe these important military and government officials as your 'dogs' again." He stared straight into Murong Lian's eyes. "Tread carefully."

"You—!"

Though Mo Xi's words were short and simple, they were extraordinarily heavy, like two swords pointed right at Murong Lian's chest.

The first sword was a reminder: the surname of the most useful and most valuable person in the Chonghua military was Mo. Murong Lian was a military official as well, but his rank wasn't as high as Mo Xi's. In Chonghua, martial law was paramount. If anyone, even a noble, were to truly enrage Mo Xi, they risked swift and immediate punishment.

The second sword was an implication: Murong Lian's behavior had overstepped.

This was even more frightening. It was said that back in the day, Murong Lian's father had participated in a power struggle between di and shu sons. Lucky for him, the late ruler had magnanimously allowed his brothers' heads to remain on their shoulders, but every member of this lesser branch of the Murong Clan was yet anxious. The words "imperial power" were two they dared not touch.

As expected, Murong Lian paled. Only after a spell did he manage to regain his poise.

"Good. Good." The corners of Murong Lian's lips moved, forcing out a mirthless smile. "Mo Xi, you've got guts."

He stared into Mo Xi's eyes, his gaze flitting away, then back again. A moment later, beams of light sprang from his palms with a hiss. A scarlet whip responded to his summons, thrashing through the air and stirring up a haze of dust in its wake.

"I misspoke earlier." Murong Lian paced around Mo Xi, whip in hand, his eyes flashing with jealous light. "Xihe-jun disciplines his subordinates with exacting control. Consider me to be, at last, enlightened. Thus…"

His eyes gleamed with the faint, flashing light of the whip.

"I'll try my hand at disciplining these stupid slaves too!"

His voice echoed in the hall as the bloodred spiritual whip swam out like a snake, pitilessly striking down upon the slaves standing anxiously in the corner.

"Ah—!"

"My lord, my lord, please calm yourself—"

As Mo Xi heard these cries for mercy, his eyes flickered slightly, then darkened. Though he was a high-ranking noble, the Northern Frontier Army he commanded was a unit of commoners whom Gu Mang had led to prominence with his blood, sweat, and tears. Those cultivators were poor, and most of them were slave-born.

Mo Xi had been friends with Gu Mang early on, and later he had forged deeper bonds with his soldiers through the flames of war. He intimately understood their hardships. This was the reason that, despite his birthright as an aristocrat, Mo Xi had never bedded prostitutes, taken slaves, or disgraced the humble.

After Gu Mang stabbed Mo Xi, the emperor had sought to prevent the rise of any additional traitors once and for all. To this end, he had issued an order to execute the thirty thousand remaining soldiers of the Wangba Army and henceforth ban slaves from learning cultivation.

It was Mo Xi who had dragged his ailing body to kneel for days upon end in the snow, all to ask the emperor not to condemn the army Gu Mang had left behind, not to kill Gu Mang's remaining soldiers, not to strip Chonghua's slaves of their right to cultivate.

"None of the other slaves in that army have ever moved to commit treason. Why, then, does Your Imperial Majesty wish to see thirty thousand heads roll?"

"They haven't betrayed us yet, but how does that mean they won't in the future?!" the emperor exclaimed angrily. "Gu Mang led them! They're a horde of traitors in the making! Xihe-jun, do you forget your pain as soon as your wound is healed?!"

Mo Xi's wound was in fact not healed. It still seeped blood beneath the bandages wrapped around his chest.

But he still remembered something Gu Mang had said to him when they were young. Gu Mang had been sitting on a pile of straw, chomping down on an apple and smiling at Mo Xi.

"Out of all the Nine Provinces and Twenty-Eight Nations, only the five led by Chonghua are willing to let those of us born as slaves cultivate. It would be good if even more allow it in the future. Even though Chonghua's never elevated a slave to officer, as long as the emperor is willing to let us cultivate, there'll always be a chance.

"I want to achieve something. All of us want to achieve something. We only hope the person on the throne will spare us a glance…"

Mo Xi closed his eyes as he spoke. "I ask Your Imperial Majesty to allow me to take responsibility for these thirty thousand slave soldiers."

The emperor burst out laughing. "Let you, a pure-blooded noble, take charge of Gu Mang's army of riffraff? How would you lead them? Would they accept you? Not to mention, how could you promise us those beasts won't target the throne of Chonghua like their former master?!"

Mo Xi stared straight into the emperor's eyes. "I'm willing to take the Vow of Calamity."

The emperor startled. "What did you say?!"

"I will take the Vow of Calamity."

The Vow of Calamity was a grave, unbreakable oath that could only be sworn once. The contract alone took ten years of the oath taker's lifespan. If broken, the heavens would strike them with a calamity, and the oath taker would be annihilated, becoming ashes on the wind. But even if they adhered to their vow for their entire life, those ten years could never be recovered.

Given the ruthlessness of these terms, precious few people on earth would ever take that vow.

But Mo Xi did.

He pledged an oath on ten years of his life, swearing to never let those slave-born soldiers rebel, and swearing that he would be loyal to Chonghua and its emperor for a lifetime.

All so Gu Mang's treason wouldn't result in more innocent bloodshed.

All so Chonghua would continue to allow slaves the right to cultivate.

Almost no one knew about this sacrifice he had made. All they knew was that the emperor was suddenly possessed by a strange whim and handed command of the Wangba Army that Gu Mang left behind to a pure-blooded noble.

When Mo Xi took up his post, the soldiers of the Wangba Army had called him "stepdad" behind his back. They had cursed him for his strictness and indifference, for being an aristocrat who could never understand how the poor suffered.

None of them knew what this noble young master who "didn't understand their suffering" had secretly sacrificed to keep them alive—to ensure those born with Gu Mang's same status wouldn't be condemned to a lifetime of powerlessness from the day they were born.

A decade of his life, an oath for a lifetime.

This "stepdad," whose very heart had been pierced, was imprisoned by his circumstances, unable to please either side. He'd done everything he could. It was just that no one knew.

But Murong Lian did. Because on that day, he had been at the emperor's side.

He had seen with his own eyes how Mo Xi spoke on the slaves' behalf, heard with his own ears when Mo Xi swore the oath and knelt on the ground, forehead in the snow. He knew Mo Xi had compassion for these slaves.

Murong Lian couldn't rage at the empire's general, but now that Mo Xi had displeased him, he struck out cruelly and shamelessly at those helpless slaves until blood flew through the air and wailing filled the room.

Murong Lian threw his head back and laughed, his pale, pretty face distorted by his loathing and addiction. He looked at Mo Xi and said meaningfully, "Slaves will always be slaves; their blood is destined for filth from birth. What chance could they possibly have to achieve anything?"

Nearby, Yue Chenqing was aghast. "Ephemera is no joke," he said softly. "I'm going to tell all my friends that they'd better not smoke it. It was only a little disagreement! Why did Wangshu-jun go so crazy?"

Yet whipping the slaves did not sate Murong Lian. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gu Mang standing to the side.

Murong Lian was Gu Mang's former master. For years, he had noticed every detail of his interactions with Mo Xi. Although he had no evidence, he had always felt that something about Mo Xi and Gu Mang's relationship wasn't quite right.

At this thought, a fiendish idea sprouted in Murong Lian's mind. He turned his spiritual whip and sent it sweeping toward the unwitting Gu Mang.

Gu Mang didn't have time to react before the whip had wrapped around his waist. Caught off guard, he was easily jerked before Murong Lian.

Murong Lian grabbed Gu Mang's chin and wrenched his face toward Mo Xi. Those sultry eyes were filled with malice. "C'mere, Gu Mang, look at this man in front of you. Do you recognize him?"

Gu Mang blinked with a bestial wariness.

"It's fine if you've forgotten him. Let me tell you this: Even if you didn't say it back then, I could tell. You might have called me master out loud, but in your heart, you wanted to renounce the Murong family to get on all fours like a dog for this Mo-gongzi."

Mo Xi's expression darkened. "Murong Lian, have you lost your mind?!"

"How have I lost my mind? Today is the day of our long-awaited reunion, but I haven't prepared a present. What about this? I'll test his intentions again. If he still wants to follow you, then I'll consider letting him have his way and relinquishing him. Okay?" Murong Lian looped an arm over Gu Mang's shoulders and leaned against him.

"I've even thought of how to test him. Here—"

"Murong Lian!"

Murong Lian had long since been thoroughly intoxicated by the fumes of the ephemera. He brought a finger to his lips and wagged it. "Shh, don't get mad; let me finish. I promise it's very interesting."

As he spoke, he lowered his head. "General Gu," he said, his voice syrupy sweet. "I'm going to give you two choices. Listen up:

"To be honest, I've always been disgusted by your face, and I dearly want to cut it up. But if you can help me…" He drunkenly pointed at Mo Xi. "If you can help me cut off one of his arms…" Smiling, he told Gu Mang in a stage whisper, "I'll spare you."

These words shocked a measure of sobriety into the drunken guests. Their bleary eyes widened in astonishment as they stared at the trio before them.

"What did Wangshu-jun just say…?"

"He wants General Mo's arm?"

Yue Chenqing slapped his forehead, grumbling, "I shouldn't have come." Then he shouted, "Wangshu-jun, Murong-dage! You've had too much ephemera! You're addled! Where do you keep your sobering medicines? I'll go get some for you!"

But Murong Lian didn't acknowledge him. He draped himself over the ignorant Gu Mang, grinning. "So, Gu Mang? Will you do it?"

As Murong Lian finished speaking, the spiritual whip in his hand transformed into a dagger gleaming with cold light. He held it up to Gu Mang's cheek.

"Either get rid of his arm or let me cut up your face. Your mind's broken, isn't it? I really can't wait to see which one you'll choose."

Mo Xi felt a shiver in his heart. Murong Lian wasn't drunk at all.

It was obvious that with Gu Mang's current abilities, even if he took the dagger, he wouldn't be able to touch a hair on Mo Xi's head; there was no danger whatsoever. Murong Lian was merely testing Gu Mang to see if he really had lost his memories, and therefore how much value Mo Xi had in Gu Mang's heart.

"I'll count to three."

The dagger was right at Gu Mang's face. Another inch and it would draw blood. Gu Mang made no sound, turning to look at Murong Lian's dagger nigh indifferently.

"One."

Mo Xi's heartbeat sped up. He wanted more than anything to stop Murong Lian this instant.

But on the other hand…he couldn't help but wonder what exactly Gu Mang would do.

In truth, Mo Xi had his suspicions. He too had considered the possibility that Gu Mang's apparent mental deterioration might be a facade.

If Gu Mang's mind really was broken, running on bestial instinct, then he wouldn't hesitate for a second. If, as Li Wei said, Gu Mang really believed himself to be a wolf, given the choice between self-harm and harming another, he would no doubt choose the latter.

Then why had Gu Mang still not moved to attack?

The atmosphere grew ever more tense.

Murong Lian was smiling, Yue Chenqing was shouting, the crowd was pleading. Smoke wound through the room, making for a surreal and strange scene. Memories of Gu Mang's face rose before Mo Xi's eyes: calm, beaming, concerned, icy.

They swam past in fantastical shapes, like the flashing scales of a massive fish; the light glancing off each scale was a silhouette of Gu Mang from the past, floating up like a dream:

Long time no see, Mo-shidi. Can I sit with you?

Would you like to rot with me?

I really will kill you…

These memories roared past in a torrential flow, surging through Mo Xi's eyes. In the end, they were pierced by Murong Lian's voice, and Mo Xi was hauled back to reality.

Which left only this Gu Mang, still somewhat calm, with only a faint furrow between his brows.

"Two…"

For some reason, Gu Mang still hadn't moved.

Why wasn't he choosing self-defense?! Wasn't he a beast, unable to remember a thing? And that was to say nothing of the ruthlessness he'd heretofore shown Mo Xi. Gu Mang had stabbed him, so he should… He should…

"Three!"

"Stop!" Mo Xi reacted instantaneously, sparks of light flashing in his hands as a talisman sigil erupted from his palm and swept toward the dagger Murong Lian had lifted.

It was too late.

The dagger flashed toward Gu Mang's cheek, and blood spurted.

Mo Xi's eyes widened.