UNLIKE THE ILLUSION from Peach Blossom Springs, Mo Ran wasn't physically present in this one. He was only an invisible bystander. He walked up among the soldiers and looked down at the youth sobbing over the corpse.
Mo Ran felt a vein throb in his forehead. Cold seemed to seep into his bones, and goosebumps broke out over his skin. Looking upon this scene for the second time, he knew full well what role the youth before him had played in those tragic events in Lin'an. He had betrayed the governor's son, Chu Xun, to bring his adoptive father back to life, letting the entire city be slaughtered in the process.
"Xiaoman, he's gone. He's not coming back. Pull yourself together, all right? It's not safe here—we should go."
"No… No… I'm not going anywhere. I want Daddy… H-he died because he left the city to find food for me. It's my fault. Dad! Daddy!"
Mo Ran watched him. Who was he? Huaizui's father? Or…
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of Xiaoman's left hand. There was a dark mole between his thumb and forefinger, about the size of a grain of rice. Huaizui had a mole on his hand too—in this exact same spot, identical in size and shape.
Mo Ran went rigid with shock.
At the same time, a distant voice sighed in his ears. "I was born in Lin'an and grew up an orphan. A groom in the governor's employ took me in and raised me as his own. When I was fourteen, the Heavenly Rift to the ghost realm opened, and Lin'an was besieged. Our family ran out of rations, and I was starving. Despite the danger, my adoptive father went out to look for food. But by nightfall, he hadn't returned."
Impossible—Huaizui was Xiaoman from two hundred years ago?
"By the time I found him outside the city gates, the ghosts had killed him," Huaizui continued softly. "His stomach had been torn open, and the crows had pecked out his eyes. I'll never forget that sight as long as I live."
Head buzzing, Mo Ran followed Xiaoman into the city. Back then, Lin'an had been beset by ghosts and demons after the Heavenly Rift opened, and the ghost king had tempted the citizens to give up Chu Xun. The events were still as tragic and deplorable as the first time Mo Ran had seen them unfold.
The night before the calamity, he watched Xiaoman beg the townspeople not to dismember his father's body. He implored the head steward to wait until Chu Xun returned, to see if Chu Xun might know a way to keep his father's corpse intact.
"Please, just let me wait a little bit longer, until the gongzi comes back. I'll keep an eye on his body, I promise—if his corpse rises, I won't let it get away. Please, I'm begging you…"
"You won't be able to do a thing to the corpse if it rises! Think of the consequences!"
"No! Don't dismember him, I beg you, don't dismember him…"
Xiaoman prostrated in the pouring rain, bashing his forehead against the ground until it bled. But in the end, the other residents yanked his father's body out of his arms. The steward dragged this corpse which might reanimate at any moment to the governor's residence, and a group crowded around it. Xiaoman couldn't see past their backs, but after a while, he watched blood seeping under the crowd's feet, a wash of pink beneath the torrents of rain.
"I was selfish back then. I was heartbroken, and I blamed the townspeople for my loss. I betrayed Lin'an and became a servant of the ghost king. I sought revenge."
As Huaizui narrated, Mo Ran saw again those terrible scenes. He watched the mother devour her own child's heart, the citizens turn their backs on their hero. He saw Chu Xun kneeling on the steps of the City God Temple, weeping with his back bowed.
He watched the mob shove Chu Xun out of the temple, like a flock of dark vultures. For the chance to prolong their own wretched lives, none hesitated to sacrifice Chu Xun's.
He watched Chu Xun carve out his own heart and spiritual core, passing them into the hands of the wailing townspeople. He exhorted them to leave this place behind…
Xiaoman, too, had witnessed it all.
"Later on, I went to the ghost realm. Whenever I was alone, I found myself thinking of Chu-gongzi's miserable plight, how he had offered us his heart, how he had always shown us kindness. It ate away at me. More and more, I was unable to escape my own guilt."
Huaizui paused. When he next spoke, his voice was steeped in bitterness: "I was a traitor."
Mo Ran couldn't say what he felt. Sometimes, a split second was all the difference between good and evil. For some, regret came in the instant after the knife fell. But what good was that? They'd already passed the point of no return.
"Not long after, I heard Chu Xun's souls had entered the underworld. He was a good man—although his cultivation wasn't sufficient to ascend to immortality, it was enough to ensure his next life would be comfortable and peaceful should he enter the cycle of reincarnation. But he didn't. The tragedy in Lin'an had left the souls of his wife and child scattered and lost. He begged Yanluo himself for succor, offering up his next three lives of good fortune in exchange for their deliverance. But it was nowhere near so straightforward."
In the illusionscape, Mo Ran saw Huaizui rushing about in the ghost realm. Out of shame and guilt, he carefully avoided Chu Xun. But he pulled aside all the guards and workers he came across, asking for any information they would give him:
"What happened to the wife and child? Did Yanluo say anything? Is it possible to piece their souls back together so they can enter the cycle of reincarnation?"
"Can you think of a way? Please."
"I'm begging you to help Chu Xun-gongzi. Name any price; I'll discuss it, no matter how high it might be…"
One of the ghost minions had sneered. "I've heard all about your great deeds. Weren't you the one who went over to the Ninth Ghost King and killed Chu Xun's entire family? Why the sudden change of heart? Are you afraid Chu Xun's ghost will seek you out for revenge?"
Mo Ran walked behind Huaizui and watched him kneel to many people in entreaty. Or to be more accurate—many ghosts. But oftentimes, living people and ghosts were no different in nature. It was just as Chu Wanning had once said. Reincarnation might change many things about a soul: their personality, interests, or temper. But their fundamental nature remained the same.
It didn't take long for the ninth king to hear of Huaizui's interest in Chu Xun's family. The king already bore a deep grudge toward Chu Xun for taking out his eye. After learning that his subordinate Xiaoman was meddling in the Chu family's reincarnation behind his back, the king flew into a rage. He stripped Huaizui of the token that allowed him to come and go from the ghost realm as he pleased, banishing him to the world of the living. In the same stroke, Huaizui lost the eternal lifespan enjoyed by the ghost realm's underlings.
"Get your ass back to the mortal realm. Once the yin energy of the underworld dissipates from your body, you'll die, and your souls will fall into the Infinite Hells. They'll be tormented for all eternity there without reincarnation." The Ninth Ghost King fixed his one good eye on Huaizui. "Thinking you could conspire against me with your old master—this is what you get."
The underworld's darkness lightened. Mo Ran heard the gentle patter of rain—it was springtime, and new leaves glistened green in the drizzle. He saw Huaizui, now a monk with a shaven head, making his way through the rain.
"When I returned to the world of the living, a hundred years had passed. Although the ghost king had taken away my token, I still had yin energy on me. Around midnight, when the yin energy was most concentrated, this was enough to allow me to return to the ghost realm from time to time. But it sapped my strength if I stayed more than a night. In truth, I…was still very frightened of death, and didn't dare remain in the ghost realm for long. I only went back when I had no other way of gathering information or assistance."
Mo Ran watched Huaizui walk through a bamboo forest alone, tapping a roughhewn staff against the ground. Through snow-dusted plum blossoms, through rain-laden lotuses, his solitary figure stepped onward. From the flourishing heights of spring to the frosted depths of winter, he wore out pair after pair of hemp-cloth shoes.
Huaizui searched far and wide for any records that might hold clues to restoring the mother and child he had ruined.
"This was my opportunity to atone for some of my sins," said Huaizui.
Others might have felt nothing at these words; they might have found Huaizui laughable. But Mo Ran's eyes welled with tears.
Atonement.
Anyone who'd ever done wrong, who'd ever sought to repent, would yearn for atonement like a fish yearned for water. He and Huaizui were no exception.
Neither of them was a good person. Their hands were laved in blood; with every step they trod upon shattered skulls. How could they atone for what they had done? Using those hands that had committed slaughter, they could guide what remained of their lives onto the righteous path. But would that negate the sins they had committed?
If only the mortal world could be divided cleanly into right and wrong, if only karmic reward and retribution were just—if only things could be so simple. But he knew it wasn't so.
"I walked the mortal realm for another century." Huaizui's voice was slow and sighing. "Wherever I went, I sought to relieve what hardship I came across. I knew no matter how many good deeds I performed, I was powerless to change my fate: I looked forward to endless torment after my death. I only wanted to lessen the weight in my heart. If the gongzi were still in this world, I thought that surely…he would partake of the sufferings and worries of others."
Snatches of these hundred years flowed by in the vision. Mo Ran saw Huaizui carrying a blind orphan on his back, walking through a mountain forest. He saw Huaizui toiling in a rice paddy, head bent low. He saw him mending his worn robes beneath the light of a single candle, having given all his money to rebuild a village ravaged by evil spirits.
"Chu-gongzi never reincarnated. Once, I broke off a branch from a haitang tree in full bloom. I remembered haitang blossoms had been his and his wife's favorite flowers. I summoned all my courage and, in a moment of delusion, went to see him in the ghost realm. The result was a foregone conclusion—he threw me out and told me never to return."
Huaizui stood in one of the ghost realm's alleyways, his figure small and slight, his back already faintly stooped.
"I didn't dare harass him further, and so that visit was my last. But he kept that haitang branch. I thought perhaps he was still fond of this relic of the living realm that had no match in the underworld. I continued to pick haitang blossoms, and entrusted them to others to bring to him. I hoped they might soften his hatred toward me, if only the tiniest bit.
"Later, I heard Madam Chu's souls could be repaired with time, but the souls of the child were scattered beyond saving. Even if one scoured the highest heavens and sifted through the Yellow Springs, there would never again be another little Chu-gongzi. After I learned of this, I was overwhelmed with guilt and regret—until one day, I came upon something in my travels."
A misty river on a moonlit spring night came into view. Huaizui sat in a small boat, surrounded by the winking lanterns of fishing vessels, their scattered light glancing off an object in his hands.
Mo Ran stepped up to Huaizui and took a seat next to him. From here, he could see Huaizui was holding a peculiar-looking piece of wood. Any ordinary tree would have rough bark and fine whorls; this had neither. It was no wider than a man's palm, covered in smooth, delicate bark that gleamed subtly. Even in the illusion, Mo Ran seemed to catch the light fragrance emanating from it.
"The Flame Emperor's sacred tree."
Mo Ran drew in a breath, eyes flying wide as he stared at the luminous object in Huaizui's hands. This was…from the Flame Emperor's sacred tree?!
According to legend, this tree grew in the farthest reaches of the East Sea, which no human could reach. After two lifetimes traveling throughout every corner of the jianghu, of course Mo Ran had heard of the Flame Emperor's sacred tree. It was said this tree could bring the dead back to life and produce artifacts mightier than any ordinary holy weapon. Its influence could even help commoners ascend, allowing them to bypass the suffering of reincarnation to walk among immortals.
Huaizui evidently knew these tales as well. "The sacred tree possesses its own spirit," he explained softly. "If one refined its wood into their own spiritual core, they would soon reach ascendence… If so, I would never have to face the torments of hell."
Mo Ran suddenly recalled a rumor he'd heard about Huaizui—that he had rejected the summons of the heavens and chosen to remain in the mortal realm. Could it be that he had failed in his efforts to refine the Flame Emperor's sacred tree?
"I had a very…strong urge to put this piece of the sacred tree toward my own ends. For a period of time, I thought it had come into my possession by the grace of the heavens, as a sign I wasn't meant to suffer in the underworld."
On the boat, Huaizui ran his fingers over the wood. Yearning flashed through his eyes, followed in turns by indecision. The voice echoing in Mo Ran's ears, too, was racked with turmoil.
"However, there was something else I had once read in an ancient text: that the Flame Emperor's sacred tree had the same properties as Nüwa's clay. This piece of wood could be used to create a living person."