THE HALL ERUPTED into chaos—all save for Mo Ran, who remained calm, eyes still closed.
"How can that be?"
"What cold case in Xiangtan?"
"Why would he want to kill…"
Mu Yanli spoke over them. "It's a long story, and one that happened many years ago. Many of those who witnessed those events are no longer living, but as they say, the truth will out. Despite the difficulty, Tianyin Pavilion's investigations managed to unearth irrefutable evidence."
The tension in the room rose like smoke around them, yet Mu Yanli cut through, continuing without hurry. "Have the people I dispatched you to find in Xiangtan arrived?"
Her attendant excused himself to check outside the hall before returning with his answer: "Yes, Pavilion Master. They're waiting outside."
"Invite the first one in."
The first to enter the hall was an elderly tradesman, his back stooped with age, tremulous and quivering. At the sight of the hall filled with cultivators, he fell to his knees, kowtowing frantically as the words tumbled from his mouth. "Greetings, honored cultivators… Greetings, honored cultivators…"
"It's been a long, hard journey for you, sir, but there's no need to be anxious," Mu Yanli assured him. "I merely have a few questions. All you need to do is answer them."
The old man continued to tremble upon the floor until a monk from Wubei Temple brought over a seat and helped him onto it. Even then, the man was too terrified to seat himself fully; more than half his rear hung over the edge of the seat as he made himself as small as possible.
"I'll ask two questions to start. Where are you from? What do you do?"
The old man's teeth chattered as he answered in a strong accent, "I…I'm from Xiangtan, and, and, I just…sell lanterns…by the roadside…"
The crowd eyed him curiously, from the sparse white hair on his head down to his ratty shoes. How could this lantern seller be connected to such horrific events?
"And how long have you been selling lanterns, sir?"
"Most of my life…fifty or so years; it's hard to remember…"
"That's all right, what I want to ask you about happened much more recently than fifty years ago." Mu Yanli raised a hand to indicate Mo Ran. "Do you recognize this man?"
The old man glanced at Mo Ran and caught a glimpse of a tall, strapping young man, imposing in his magnificence. Hesitant to look in the first place, he barely glanced before tearing his eyes away. After a few moments, he snuck another look, then another, before eventually announcing, "No… No I don't."
"Not surprising," Mu Yanli said. "Let me ask you this then. When you sold your lanterns near the House of Drunken Jade in Xiangtan, was there a child who liked to stand by your stall and watch you work?"
The old man's memory of this was as sharp as his eyes were rheumy. "Ah… That's right," he said, nodding away. "The child who came nearly every night. He loved to watch me make my lanterns, but he was too poor to buy one for himself… I remember speaking to him a few times. A quiet lad—timid."
"And do you remember this child's name?"
"Hm…I think it was…Mo? Mo Ran-er?"
The crowd, now hanging on the old man's every word, turned as one to stare at Mo Ran.
Lost in memory, the old man mumbled, "Was there an 'er' at the end? I dunno…but he was from the House of Drunken Jade."
"Ran-er is indeed the child of my brother and the house's madam." Xue Zhengyong said, his brows drawn low. "Pavilion Master Mu, what are you trying to accomplish by inviting this gentleman here to tell his tale?"
"Madam?" Startled, the old man waved his hands in the negative. "Nah, that's not it. The madam's son was also Mo, but his name was Mo Nian, the little tyrant of the area." The old man lowered his head to gesture at a faded scar on his forehead. "That kid was vicious; I still have this scar from where he hit me with a brick. A right little terror, that one."
Xue Zhengyong's face paled. "Mo…Nian?"
"Sir, are you absolutely certain?" Madam Wang chimed in, anxious. "The names do share a character after all. Was the name of the madam's child Mo Ran, or Mo Nian?"
The old man considered the question carefully, then nodded again. "It was Mo Nian. No mistake about it; I wouldn't forget this. It was definitely Mo Nian."
Xue Zhengyong had been leaning forward intently. On hearing this, he stiffened, then slumped back in his seat, dazed. "Mo Nian…"
Mu Yanli pressed ahead. "The child who liked to watch you make your lanterns. Do you remember what he did at the House of Drunken Jade?"
"Ay, I'm not too sure about the specifics. Maybe helping in the kitchen? I do know he had a bad reputation. Rumor was the boy was light-fingered, especially around guests." The old man racked his brain, then his face lit up. "Ah, that's right. Nothing good came of that kid. He grew worse as he got older. I remember he raped a virgin—the girl killed herself for shame."
If the reveal of the identity swap had been astonishing, it was nothing compared to the shock that resounded through the hall at the revelation that Mo Ran had ruined an innocent young woman. A number of the cultivators in the hall, parents themselves, took it especially hard. One man growled through clenched teeth, "Who knew…the upright Mo-zongshi is actually a beast disguised as a man!"
"How vile!"
"Make him pay with his life!"
Mo Ran said nothing, silently watching the old tradesman. In his previous life, the bloodbath he'd made of the cultivation world had caused Tianyin Pavilion to step in as well. Back then, this very same old man had been brought forward by Mu Yanli to identify him.
And what had Mo Ran done back then?
He'd laughed in their faces, uncaring. He'd turned to Xue Zhengyong and Madam Wang, the mirth on his face twisting into a sneer. "And?" he'd said. "Do you hate me? Detest me? Will you turn on me, just like my good shizun did? Gonna tell me I'm vile by nature, beyond remedy?"
By then, Mo Ran had long been studying the Zhenlong Chess Formation. All his plotting had more or less been dragged into the open, yet Xue Zhengyong had still believed in him. Only after hearing the man's tale did Xue Zhengyong jump up, so enraged he was ready to spit blood, his tiger-like eyes bulging and teeth bared as he shouted, "Bastard! You…you bastard!"
The word bastard drew another guffaw from Mo Ran, deranged in his delight. He laughed so hard the corners of his eyes began to mist with tears. Raped a virgin? Xue Zhengyong believed he'd done that.
Xue Zhengyong seriously believed he'd done that.
Mo Ran's laughter had wrenched to a stop as he relinquished the last of his hope. His handsome face distorted like a candle melting into a warped mess of wax. "That's right. I committed every single one of those terrible crimes. I killed your nephew, I sent that pitiful girl to her death—and so what if I did? If Uncle wants to act as judge and jury, just go ahead and ki—"
Pain seared through his chest.
Xue Zhengyong was an impulsive man. Before Mo Ran had finished his sentence, he was already lunging forward, tears of hatred bright in his eyes, the sharp edge of his fan slicing across the skin above Mo Ran's heart.
Mo Ran had frozen where he stood. Then the corners of his mouth lifted. He lowered his head to look at the fresh blood dripping from his chest, then sighed. "Uncle… You've raised me for so many years now—yet you doubt me?"
"Shut up!"
Mo Ran smiled, but there was a quiver to the set of his shoulders. "Fine, whatever. When it comes down to it, we're not related by blood after all. So this sham of a family, this Sisheng Peak… There's nothing left for me to be sentimental about!"
Blood splattered hot and crimson across his face.
Numbly, Mo Ran watched as Xue Zhengyong crumpled at his feet. He hadn't wanted to kill him—but Xue Zhengyong, rash as ever, had been the one to strike first… He'd practically asked for it.
After a long moment, Mo Ran lifted his bloody gaze to the horror-struck Madam Wang. Licking his lips, he stepped over his uncle's body toward his aunt.
Xue Zhengyong reached out with the last of his strength to grip the hem of Mo Ran's robes, refusing to let go. There seemed to be a genuine distress and heartache beneath the fury of this middle-aged man. But Mo Ran, lost in his madness, had no idea how to interpret such an emotion in his uncle's eyes, or the tears welling up in them—nor did he want to.
"Don't…" Mo Ran heard Xue Zhengyong say. "Don't hurt…"
"She's a witness. I can't let her go." Mo Ran's voice was calm, even amiable. "At least Xue Meng's not around. In exchange for all those years you spent raising me, I'll spare his life."
What could Madam Wang do against Mo Ran? She couldn't fight him; she could only weep and repeat her husband's words. "Bastard…" As the blade slid in and blood spilled out, as her consciousness faded, as she looked at Mo Ran for the last time, she mumbled, "Ran-er…why…?"
In truth, Mo Ran's hands had trembled, unsteady, as he'd stabbed her. When he pulled out the dagger and looked down, they were slippery with blood. The dagger gleamed filthy and crimson in his grasp, still warm, but the warmth soon faded to nothing. Just like his home, like every single person he could call his kin. He'd lived with an undercurrent of unease all these years—deep down, he knew Xue Meng, Xue Zhengyong, and Madam Wang…none of them were related to him. Their real nephew had long died at his own hands.
"Ridiculous!"
The shout broke Mo Ran out of his reverie. His head shot up, but in his confusion, he looked left and right before realizing it was Xue Zhengyong who had cried out.
"I've raised this kid. I know better than anyone, there's no way he'd do that to a young maiden! This is a blatant lie!"
Mo Ran stared, stunned. A strange, acrid bitterness surged in his heart as he closed his eyes, lashes trembling.
It was different this time.
Between these two lifetimes…so much was different.
The old craftsman was so startled he tumbled off his seat and began to kowtow, knocking his head against the floor. "N-no, I'm not lying—Xianjun, please calm down, I just… I really… I'm not lying…" He was but a pitiful craftsman, completely out of his depth. To be shouted down by a sect leader so alarmed him that his complexion went a muddy gray. He couldn't even stammer out a full sentence.
"Get out." Xue Zhengyong's low command held a leashed fury. When the old man didn't move at once, it was followed by a sharp "Out!"
The old tradesman finally scrambled up but was stopped by men from Tianyin Pavilion. Trapped, he dropped to the floor, shivering, and mumbled over and over, "What the hell, why is this happening…"
"Xue-zhangmen," Mu Yanli warned. "Kindly keep your temper in check. Sir, there is nothing to be afraid of. Tianyin Pavilion only seeks to right wrongdoing, we do not stoop to making false accusations or harming innocents." Helping the man up, she gestured. "Please sir, continue."
"I dunno what else there is to say…" The old man was well and truly frightened; he didn't dare continue reminiscing. "Xianjun, venerable monks, I beg you all to let me go, I really have nothing else to say, my memory's terrible, it's really really terrible."
Amidst this deadlock, Mo Ran, who had been silent all this time, suddenly turned to Xue Zhengyong and dropped into a deep kowtow. His reaction left no doubt in anyone's mind.
"Ran-er?"
Xue Zhengyong and Xue Meng were both speechless, unable to manage a single word. That soft, disbelieving murmur had come from Madam Wang.
"Back on Mount Jiao," Mo Ran said, "I said I would tell Uncle about everything once we got back. I never expected things to turn out like this." His gaze was serene—so serene it seemed almost hollow as he continued to speak into the stunned silence. "Pavilion Master Mu, I assume you've gathered evidence and witnesses over the past few days. There's nothing much left for me to say, is there? Yes, that's right. I'm not the second young master of Sisheng Peak."
His next words drifted into the hall on the back of a soft sigh, featherlight. "My father is the city lord of the ninth city of Rufeng Sect's seventy-two cities, Nangong Yan."
"What?!" Someone in crowd blurted in shock.
"You wanted to hear the full story, didn't you?" Mo Ran closed his eyes before continuing. "The fire at the House of Drunken Jade that year was indeed my doing. The people who lost their lives in that fire died because of me."
"Ran-er, why…" Madam Wang choked out through tears. "Why would you…"
"But that year in Xiangtan, the tofu-seller's daughter who was violated and died—"
He fell silent. In his previous life, nobody had been willing to hear him out. They'd rebuked him, they'd scorned him, and so he had lost any inclination to explain himself. He was such a reprehensible monster in their eyes; what was one more bloodstain on his record? But in this life, he finally had the chance to speak.
"I did not harm that girl."
Loyalty Hall was silent as a tomb, all eyes fixed on Mo Ran as they waited for him to continue recounting those bygone events whose truths had been lost to time.
Mu Yanli raised a brow. "Oh? Is there more to that case?"
"Yes."
"Do go on," Mu Yanli said. "I'm all ears."
But Mo Ran shook his head. "Before I get to the story of how the tofu-seller's daughter met her tragic end, there's someone I must introduce first."
"Who?"
"A songstress." As Mo Ran spoke, his gaze went distant, looking past the shutters of the open window off into the horizon beyond. "In those days, there was a pair of pipa players in Xiangtan. One was named Xun Fengruo, and the other… Duan Yihan."
The names were familiar to quite a few in the crowd, and their eyes widened in recognition.
"Xun Fengruo… Duan Yihan…ah! Those famous pleasure house musicians?"
"That's them! I remember—the two were musicians from Xiangtan, hailed as the twin goddesses of the riverbanks, after their hometown's geography."
"Yes, how did it go now? 'Fengruo's singing heralds the arrival of spring, Yihan's dancing fills the skies with flowers' was it?" One man stroked his beard with a sigh. "I was in my thirties then, and those two were all anyone could talk about. They were highly sought after, and their performances were very exclusive. Supposedly, wherever they performed, the pleasure houses would be filled to capacity and beyond—they were that popular."
"Didn't those two legendary musicians duel at some point?" another voice chimed in.
"They did," Mo Ran confirmed. "Xun Fengruo was two years younger than Duan Yihan, and accordingly joined the pleasure house she worked at two years later. Her youthful arrogance wouldn't allow her to tolerate Duan Yihan as a rival in fame, and she threw down a challenge, inviting Duan Yihan to a competition at the House of Drunken Jade. Three songs played, three songs danced, to see whose skills were superior."
"Who won?"
"It was a tie," Mo Ran said. "But it was the start of a fast friendship between the two. Though Xun Fengruo and Duan Yihan worked at different pleasure houses, they frequently crossed paths and became as close as sisters."
One impatient listener cut in: "What's all this got to do with anything?! Why bring these women up now?"
Mo Ran flicked a glance over at the speaker, then said, "Duan Yihan was my mother."