Chapter 17: Scruffy Beauty

STARTLED, Li Wei asked, "What?"

Mo Xi's head was still bowed. His chiseled features were hidden in the shadow of his hand, and his low voice was slightly nasal as he spoke. "Maybe he still remembers some things. Maybe his mind wasn't wholly damaged. Maybe he's only pretending."

"How could that be?" Li Wei's eyes widened. "Gu Mang's illness was diagnosed by Shennong Terrace, and Chonghua's foremost physician, Imperial Healer Jiang, came to assess him himself. His core's shattered, he's lost two souls, his mind is broken, he thinks he's a wolf—"

"Have you ever seen a wolf who would rather allow himself to be hurt than hurt another?!"

Li Wei was shocked stiff. Was he hallucinating? The rims of Xihejun's eyes were a little red and wet. "Wh-what brings my lord to say this…?"

Mo Xi closed his eyes. His ire wasn't directed at Li Wei; he simply didn't wish to hear any more about how Gu Mang "didn't remember anything."

"At Wangshu Manor, Murong Lian gave him two options—slice off one of my arms or let his face be cut." Mo Xi turned, gazing out at the shadows of the rustling trees. After a long interval, he murmured, "He chose the latter."

Li Wei stared, speechless.

"Tell me. What kind of wolf would make that decision?"

Li Wei thought, Tell you? What am I supposed to tell you? Have you seen that temper of yours?! If I said Gu Mang might not have understood Wangshu-jun's question, you'd leap to your feet and kick me to death!

From that day forward, Mo Xi could only be described as possessed.

Later, when Mo Xi was in a better mood, Li Wei approached him and tactfully tried to explain, "Gu Mang's mind really has deteriorated. There are many words he can't understand, and communicating with him is like communicating with a three-year-old child—any one sentence may have to be repeated multiple times."

However, Mo Xi couldn't relinquish this faint sliver of hope.

In the end, Li Wei had no other choice. "Then, my lord, why don't you go ask Shennong Terrace for confirmation?"

Mo Xi didn't respond right away. Many of those in Shennong Terrace reported to Murong Lian, so he was reluctant to visit.

Li Wei offered another suggestion. "Then you can go to the imperial healers and ask Medicine Master Jiang."

Medicine Master Jiang was aloof and blunt, and Mo Xi's impression of him wasn't especially favorable. But in the end, he couldn't bear the torment in his heart and went to pay him a visit.

Outside the arching eaves of the extravagant Healer's Manor, the attendant anxiously told him, "Xihe-jun, Proprietor Jiang left to collect medicinal supplies."

"When will he return?"

"The proprietor doesn't set dates for his trips, so it may be a few days, or it might be a few months."

"Did he say where he went?"

"When the proprietor goes out to collect ingredients for medicine, he roams the whole nation."

Mo Xi was rendered speechless. As he watched the attendant's head wobble back and forth, he could only nod, turn his horse around, and go back to his manor.

Perhaps his obsession ran too deep. He was preoccupied with Gu Mang all day, and in his sleep that night, Mo Xi dreamed.

In that hazy dream, he somehow returned to a day many years ago, the day when he finally understood his feelings and had to confess without a moment's delay.

It was a silent night in the garrison on the frontier.

Mo Xi was very young, not yet twenty. He wasn't yet the indomitable Xihe-jun, and Gu Mang was still under Murong Lian's control, having not yet made a name for himself.

They had fought a fierce battle against the Liao Kingdom, and many soldiers had died. While Mo Xi was packing up the belongings of his fallen comrades, he stumbled across a love letter. He clutched that unsent letter, staring vacantly at it for a long time.

Mo Xi's family was dogged by misfortune. Since his youth, he had only ever known treachery and deceit, betrayal and manipulation.

This was the first time he had witnessed sincere and passionate love.

The cultivator who had died in battle was a coarse man who hadn't even liked reading books. But amid the fires of war, he had carefully and earnestly written this long letter, word by word. The letter didn't mention the suffering of battle or the merits he'd won, but rather the mole at the tip of the girl's brow and new seedlings planted in a courtyard.

When the flowers bloom splendid next year, I'll play the xiao while Xiao-Yan sings clear.

The poem was clumsy and unpracticed, but it seemed to drip with tenderness.

And somehow, that coarse man was the one who had composed it. When he wrote it, he had truly envisioned singing and making music with the maiden named Xiao-Yan in the flower meadow he planted with his own hands, hadn't he?

But in the end, all that was left was this letter caked in dried blood.

Mo Xi couldn't express what he felt at that moment. He sat on the corner of his bed for a long time, holding the letter.

When the flowers bloom splendid next year, I'll play the xiao while Xiao-Yan sings clear.

If Mo Xi had been the one to die that day, was there anyone he couldn't bear to leave behind?

A familiar figure quickly came to mind, but at first, he didn't take notice of it. Only after a long while did he realize whom he was thinking of —and he was instantly shocked stiff as he broke out into a cold sweat. A blaze seemed to ignite in his chest, lighting up everything within him at once. But at the same time, it seemed like this inferno in his heart had been secretly illuminating him, lapping at him, tormenting him all along.

It was just that he hadn't recognized it before, and so hadn't understood the truth of those suppressed feelings.

He sat there blankly, the wildfire in his heart burning hotter and hotter. Something collapsed, and with a howl, something else rose in its place.

From outside the tent there came the sorrowful wailing of cultivators who had lost their brothers. He heard the faint sound of a xun and the soft sigh of the wind.

That thin sheet of paper was still in his hand. Tomorrow, who else would die? Tomorrow, who else's relics of love would end up streaked in bloody filth?

All at once Mo Xi could no longer restrain the impulse in his heart. He tossed the curtain aside and immediately bumped into a healer who had come to treat his wounds. The cultivator started in fright. "Mo-gongzi?"

Mo Xi didn't reply. He strode out of the tent, his footfalls quickening with each step, and tucked the bloodstained letter into the lapels of his robe. He would bring it back and give it to the "Xiao-Yan" mentioned within, but right now, he needed to find someone. He was suddenly in such a rush, as though if he didn't speak today, he would never get another chance; as though death lay waiting before him.

"Mo-gongzi! Mo-gongzi!" The white-robed healer ran out of the barracks after him. "Mo-gongzi, the wound on your arm—"

But Mo Xi ignored him—he didn't care about some insignificant wound. He ran out of the camp, then summoned a spirit horse and galloped ahead.

The freezing wind and early snow blew in his face, and the birds of the garrison twittered behind him. He left all those fragmented sounds in his wake. A burst of passion was growing in his heart, and he wanted to pour it out before Gu Mang, who was on night duty. He could feel his own thumping heartbeat, his emotions burning in a smoky blaze. Even amid the frigid wind and icy snow, his palms were touched with damp.

"Where's Gu Mang?" he breathlessly asked the garrison cultivator as soon as he arrived at the northern barracks, before he even dismounted from his horse. "I'm looking for him. Where is he?"

The cultivator was alarmed by Mo Xi's sudden appearance. "D-does Mo-gongzi have an urgent report?"

"Urgent report? Do I require an urgent report to visit him?" His exhales were scalding steam, his tone becoming more and more impatient.

"Then…" The cultivator trailed off, hesitating as his eyes grazed over Mo Xi's wounded arm. Mo Xi understood what he meant: Then why aren't you properly resting to heal? Why are you racing across the whole camp in the snow to look for some nameless soldier?

Mo Xi was too anxious. And too impulsive.

He had just realized something, something extremely important, something that had bothered him for a long time. He had to find Gu Mang. If he couldn't find Gu Mang right this instant, it felt as if all the passion in his heart would boil dry and burn out.

Mo Xi's temperament had always been decisive and firm; the moment he was sure of what he wanted, he had to have it in his hands. On top of that, he was young, and had never experienced the bitterness of love.

He wasn't even considering the consequences; he had no thoughts for propriety or righteousness, or whether he would be rejected.

He didn't know a thing. With his heartfelt sincerity recklessly in tow, Mo Xi arrived outside Gu Mang's tent in a rush. Standing outside it, his fingers trembled slightly, and his blood grew hotter and hotter, his heart beating faster and faster. In the end, he swallowed thickly, took a deep breath, and flung the curtain open.

"Gu Mang—"

A combat cultivator with well-proportioned features turned around. It was Gu Mang's close friend, Lu Zhanxing.

Lu Zhanxing was also one of Murong Lian's study attendants at the academy. He had grown up with Gu Mang, and he had an intractable temperament. He was gnawing on fruit and reading a sword manual when he caught sight of Mo Xi in the doorway. "Mo-gongzi?" He was shocked for a moment. "What are you doing here?"

"Where's Gu Mang?"

"Oh, you're looking for him." Lu Zhanxing took another bite of the juicy pear, then burst into delighted laughter. "How come so many people are looking for him tonight?"

Mo Xi stopped. "Who else was there?"

"Oh, no one, really. A few of our friends, taking him out to the village nearby. You don't know them, Mo-gongzi. I was going to join, but my legs aren't fully healed yet, so I didn't bother…"

As Lu Zhanxing rambled, the anxiety in Mo Xi's heart intensified. He bit his lower lip. "Where did he go?" he asked.

Lu Zhanxing laughed again, ready to answer his question…

But just as Mo Xi was about to dream of the answer he had received back then, he felt a sharp stab—as if his heart was instinctively trying to protect him, stopping him from feeling even greater pain. The heavy darkness fell with inexorable finality, crushing Lu Zhanxing's reply, and the dreamscape scattered like the most insubstantial of windblown dust.

The shadows became even deeper, the dream even darker. There were no more sounds.

In the end, it became nothingness. All returned to silence.

The next day, Mo Xi awoke to the sound of birdsong in the courtyard. He blinked, gradually coming to his senses as though surfacing from the wreckage of a beautiful illusion.

"Gu Mang…"

Mo Xi was trapped in the dreamscape's afterglow. When he lifted a hand, he felt faint warmth in his palms, as well as a thin sheen of sweat. It was as if he could still clearly recall that scorching, youthful emotion, though all that had happened in his dream had already faded.

"My lord." Li Wei saw that he was awake and approached with small, courteous steps, bowing to speak. "Early this morning, Changfeng-jun sent a messenger with some gifts. They're currently being kept in the flower pavilion. My lord, do you wish to accept them?"

"Changfeng-jun?"

After awakening from a depressing dream of the past, even the brilliant and extraordinary Xihe-jun needed some time to gather himself. Only after a long while did he knead his brow and frown slightly as he remembered.

Changfeng-jun was a downtrodden old noble. At present, though he still had his status, it was only in name. Moreover, Changfeng-jun hadn't interacted with other highborn families in many, many years.

Mo Xi was rather grumpy upon waking. He pressed at the protruding veins at his temples. "Why's he sending me gifts all of a sudden?" he asked.

"He didn't say."

Mo Xi was upright and incorruptible to a fault. After a moment of thought, he said, "Then return them. You can say I've accepted the intention, but since it's neither a holiday nor a celebration, I can't accept the gifts."

"Yes."

After Mo Xi washed and dressed, he walked to the flower pavilion to face a scene of true excess: a delivery of eight chests containing treasures of pearls and jade, silky gauze and damask brocade, magical devices and spiritual medicines, and all sorts of other gifts. Upon seeing this, he frowned and summoned the busy Li Wei.

"Is Changfeng-jun in trouble?"

"Eh?" Li Wei looked at him in surprise. "He isn't."

"Then what does he mean by this?"

"Well…" Li Wei thought to himself. Apparently, Changfeng-jun had recently offended quite a few nobles at the cultivation academy because of something to do with his daughter. A few of these nobles were of powerful and prosperous great families. Sending gifts to Xihe-jun was an obvious attempt to test the waters and see if he could get the help of this formidable commander who had recently returned to the city and wasn't yet caught up with events.

But Housekeeper Li was a highly intelligent man. He knew it was best to avoid involving oneself in matters concerning multiple clans. "If my lord doesn't know, then I couldn't possibly know either."

Mo Xi solemnly glanced over the gifts a few more times. He still couldn't figure out the sender's intentions, and so he decided to waste no more time on it. "I'm leaving," he said, adjusting the fall of his sleeves. "I won't be returning at noon. Tell the kitchens there's no need to prepare a meal."

"Oh…" Li Wei replied, unable to stop himself from sneaking a peek at Mo Xi.

These past few days, his lord's behavior had been a bit off.

Ever since he returned from Wangshu Manor, it seemed that as long as there were no courtly nor military matters, he went out every day without fail. Sometimes he was gone for half a day, sometimes for the entire day, sometimes only returning in the dead of night. And he never let his attendants follow.

Given these clues, no matter how you looked at it, it seemed he was having a secret rendezvous with a beautiful paramour…

As soon as this thought came to mind, Li Wei nearly broke out into a cold sweat.

No, no, no! How could it be? How could it be?

First there was Mengze, and then there was Yanping—and that was to say nothing of all the virtuous beauties and scheming seductresses from other illustrious houses. All of them sought to win over the noble, aloof, and icy male idol that was Xihe-jun, but not a one had ever succeeded.

Li Wei thought that if Xihe-jun really was secretly meeting up with a maiden, she had to be a calamitous beauty of prodigious talents.

Expression stormy, Mo Xi took a seat at a tea stand at the corner of a street and asked for a pot of yangxian tea. The tea was promptly brought to him, along with some dried fruits and honey preserves. Mo Xi drank slowly. From time to time, his elegantly shaped eyes peered across the street.

Across the street was the lotus pond in the back courtyard of Luomei Pavilion. A certain scruffy "beauty" had not appeared there for some time.

Starting more than a week ago, Gu Mang had spaced out before this pond almost every day. He stood alone on the floating bridge and did nothing but quietly stare at the fish in the pool below.

His face was vacant, as if blanketed by heavy snow.

At first, Mo Xi didn't understand what was so interesting about these fish—until one day he saw Gu Mang try to grab one. Obviously, he couldn't catch it, so he remained crouched on the shore, blankly watching the ornamental carp shimmer as it swam away. The jut of his throat bobbed as he swallowed, his eyes gradually growing glazed.

Only then did Mo Xi realize that Gu Mang was hungry.

It had been more than ten days since Murong Lian declared that he would reduce Gu Mang's rations for an entire month. So poor Gu Mang wanted to catch a fish to eat…

But for some reason, since the day of that one unsuccessful attempt, Gu Mang hadn't appeared again. Mo Xi came every day, but never again saw him crouching for fish. Today was no different.

Slowly, Mo Xi reached the bottom of the teapot and asked the shopkeeper to bring him a fresh one. He sat there for a long time, but still there was no sign of Gu Mang.

It had been five days since he'd emerged. Could something have happened in Luomei Pavilion?

Despite his indifferent facade, as Mo Xi thought, he grew inwardly anxious. He endured it silently, drinking the last of the yangxian tea in a futile attempt to extinguish the fire in his heart. Finally, he rose to his feet and walked across the street.