NONE OF THE CULTIVATORS in Loyalty Hall knew what to say. Many had lowered their heads, incapable of speech.
"Ah…bitter fate," said Master Xuanjing. "So much bitter fate."
"Every bitterness has its source; every grievance has its cause. Much of the world is linked through action and consequence, harm and retribution," said Mu Yanli. Here, she changed her tone. "But Mo Ran, you must know that suffering does not justify venting your resentment on others."
"Of course not."
An elder of Huohuang Pavilion sighed. "Mo-xianjun, the trials you went through are certainly worthy of pity, but they were the result of your poor birth and unfortunate fate. Everyone has their own path to walk; you cannot terrorize other people simply because you yourself were terrorized. You've done good and suffered harm, but based on what we know, you also killed… All things must be accounted for."
This time, it was not Mo Ran but Jiang Xi who responded, "How so?"
"Um…"
"Who can account for it all? Whose lives are considered worthy of praise and whose should be condemned—who can be that fairest arbiter?" Jiang Xi was strong and willful; he'd never considered those of Tianyin Pavilion to be gods. "I don't intend to be partial toward Mo Ran, but I want to ask a question. We stand here today declaring we want to settle things with Mo Ran, that we want to make him pay. Then—what about what Mo Ran has suffered? What about the injustice he's been made to bear?"
No one had imagined that Jiang Xi, who had endured the heaviest losses during the slaughter at Guyueye, would be the one to speak up on Mo Weiyu's behalf. They looked at him wide-eyed.
"Jiang-zhangmen, Tianyin Pavilion has always been fair," said Mu Yanli. "My tribe has guarded the Divine Scales of Justice for generations. When the time comes, we will use the scales to measure his sins and virtues before ascertaining his punishment. You needn't worry."
"What does he have to do with me? Why would I be worried?" Jiang Xi replied. Tianyin Pavilion irritated him to no end. His sect upheld the power of medicine—they believed any mortal man could live forever as long as an elixir was refined with enough sophistication. Guyueye had never held any superstitions regarding these descendants of gods.
"But I am curious." He narrowed his almond eyes, voice cold. "Once you've finished Mo Ran's trial, shouldn't Tianyin Pavilion look for the others involved? Shouldn't you scour the earth and check whether Nangong Yan is still among the living? Shouldn't you go off to Xiangtan in search of that merchant who debased Miss Xun? If it's right for Mo Ran to pay for murder with his life, then what about the time he was locked in a cage, beaten, or forced into penniless famine, his savior disgraced and his mother starved to death—who will you be punishing for these crimes?"
"Jiang-zhangmen," mumbled Master Xuanjing, "why do you speak for a criminal?"
"I don't," said Jiang Xi. His thin lips curled in a sneer. "I simply recall how we treated Nangong Si and Ye Wangxi at Mount Huang. I do not wish to see such a scene reenacted."
"This is completely different," someone protested.
"How so?" retorted Jiang Xi. "Yes, the situation has changed—Nangong Si is dead and Ye Wangxi lies bedridden at Guyueye even now. But did we not force their hands in the same way, telling them that the sins of Rufeng Sect must be repaid with their lives?" He turned toward the speaker, brown eyes sharp as a hawk's. "Where was Tianyin Pavilion then? Where was justice?"
Those of Bitan Manor were still furious at Rufeng Sect over the matter of the sword manual. Li Wuxin's disciple Zhen Congming cut in: "Jiang-zhangmen is biased. Nangong Si was the heir to Rufeng Sect, and every grievance has its source. Unless all of Rufeng Sect is gone, those debts must be paid. No one wants to be the one getting the short end of the stick."
Jiang Xi scoffed. "That's right. You understand this perfectly, don't you? No one wants to be the victim who can't fight back."
Zhen Congming fell silent.
"You think this way, Xu Shuanglin thought this way, and Mo Ran is allowed to think the same." Jiang Xi swept his sleeves back. "When it happens to others, it's easy to say these things, but when you're the victim of injustice and violence, you see only the cruelties of the world and wonder why you're the one to suffer."
"So Jiang-zhangmen believes we were unfair and cruel to Nangong Si and Ye Wangxi, and that the matter of the Bitan sword manual should be forgotten?"
"Nangong Si is dead," Jiang Xi said. "Whom are you hoping to pursue?"
Zhen Congming exploded. "Then my shizun died for nothing?! Nangong Si is dead, but doesn't Ye Wangxi still live? She was the leader of Rufeng Sect's shadow city—does she know nothing about the sword manual?"
Everyone fell silent; Jiang Xi was notorious for his irascible temper. To openly fight with Jiang Xi… Indeed, the "very smart" Zhen Congming did not live up to his name in the least.
Jiang Xi gave him a look that spoke volumes. "On Mount Jiao, Nangong Si was grievously injured when he fought Nangong Changying." He paused. "Back then, he conveyed a message to me through the barrier."
"What did he say?"
Jiang Xi closed his eyes, the scene rising before him once more. Nangong Si, near death beneath Nangong Changying's sword, mouthing each word for Jiang Xi to read from his lips through the barrier. "'I wish for all the wealth of Rufeng Sect to be spread across the lands, leaving nothing behind.'"
"This…" The crowd looked at each other in embarrassment, the monks of Wubei Temple even more so—they lowered their eyes, hands clasped as their mouths moved in silent chanting.
Zhen Congming colored. "He didn't even leave a corpse behind. All the treasures of Rufeng Sect are in their secret chamber," he gritted out. "Who can open it? Let's be honest—he didn't mean it."
"Nangong Si didn't think he would die in such a way," replied Jiang Xi. "Also, I'd prefer to believe that his dying words were sincere."
Zhen Congming's mouth wobbled; it took him a moment to retort. "This is why Jiang-zhangmen is taking Mo Weiyu's side? You want lenience so you don't have to see a second Nangong Si?"
"I merely think that true justice is difficult—perhaps impossible—to achieve. I hope that those of you passing judgment on others don't put yourself on too high a pedestal. Do not assume that you represent all that is good or righteous." He cast a glance at Tianyin Pavilion. "Even the highest court is not infallible."
At last Xue Zhengyong lifted his head. He looked exhausted, as if he didn't know how to face Mo Ran. But although he hesitated, he still spoke.
"Jiang-zhangmen is right," he rasped. "There have been many conflicts over these years of trouble in the cultivation realm; every sect has done things they're not proud of. Who can decide what's truly fair? Ah, to be honest…" He sighed, closing his eyes. "To be honest, do we limit murder to killings done by one's own hand? How many innocents were killed by Rufeng Sect's decision to raise the price of food? I've lived more than forty years and achieved little of note. But what I did wasn't in pursuit of ascending to immortality or leaving my name in history—I just hoped to lessen some of the suffering in the world." His eyes dulled. The leader of Sisheng Peak—no matter how he tried to stay composed—was still stunned by the revelation that the child he'd raised was not his kin. "I just wanted there to be less suffering," he murmured. "Even for just one person."
"Xue-zhangmen is magnanimous," Mu Yanli said, her tone once again icy. "But have you not considered how your leniency toward a criminal is an act of disrespect to the innocent civilians he harmed and an offense to those mortals who had no part in his crimes? Tianyin Pavilion does not have the power to account for every wrong under the sun, to punish everyone by law—but we can make an example of him. Sect Leader, please be aware of this: As the matter of Mo Ran was handed over to our pavilion, it will not be hastily addressed."
Xue Zhengyong fell silent.
Mu Yanli turned back to Mo Ran. "Mo-gongzi, you've finished your tale of woe and received your share of pity. Why don't we now move on to a different subject?"
"What does the pavilion master wish to discuss?" asked Mo Ran indifferently.
"You say the incident where the tofu-seller's daughter was disgraced and died was not your doing. I believe you. But there is another death you cannot be excused from."
Mo Ran closed his eyes. "The pavilion master is certainly thorough."
"Let's hear it," Mu Yanli replied coolly. "How did you kill Mo Nian—Xue-zunzhu's real nephew?"
"Enough!" A furious shout cut her off. Xue Meng stood with teeth gritted, eyes shining with tears and hatred. "Shut up!"
Mu Yanli shot him a glance. "Attempting to avoid the subject," she pronounced. "Disappointing to see from the darling of the heavens."
She was answered by Longcheng's shrill cry of warning. The scimitar flew by her face and into the column behind her, sending splinters raining down.
Mu Yanli didn't flinch or even blink. Her beautiful eyes pinned their frozen stare upon Xue Meng.
Xue Meng clenched his jaw, muscles twitching in his face. "Real nephew this, fake nephew that… Have you had enough?"
He strode forward and yanked Longcheng out of the column, his chest heaving. He didn't look at Mo Ran or anyone else. He resembled nothing as much as a trapped beast, driven insane where he stood—driven to despair. "Have you said enough?! Have you had a good time? Had your fill?"
"Meng-er…" Madam Wang sighed.
Xue Meng ignored her. He looked around with scarlet-rimmed eyes, gripping Longcheng's hilt. "Seeing a zongshi become a murderer," he said mockingly, both himself and the audience objects of his scorn. "Watching the brothers of Sisheng Peak turn on each other—watching as members of a family become enemies—you're enjoying yourself, aren't you?" His voice was so hoarse it whistled in his throat, each syllable shivering into the air. "Did you really come here for justice? For the truth?" He paused, teeth clenched. "Or was it for your own personal, petty vendettas?"
Jiang Xi narrowed his eyes. "Young Master Xue, you forget yourself."
Xue Meng whirled on him with eyes like flames. "What gives you the right to rebuke me?"
"Meng-er!" Xue Zhengyong reached out to pull Xue Meng back but froze upon touching him. Xue Meng was furious, but his entire body was trembling fit to shatter.
"I don't want to hear it." He bit the words out. "It's all fake. All wrong… You're all liars!"
Before Xue Zhengyong could try to speak to him, Xue Meng had already shoved his way through the crowd and out of Loyalty Hall.
Throughout it all, he never once turned to look at Mo Ran. In fact, Xue Meng knew perfectly well what the truth was, and who the liar was. But there were many things in the world that were easily known yet impossible to accept. Xue Meng had lived two decades in carefree ease. He'd never experienced any devastation besides Chu Wanning's death. His easy life meant he was still in many ways like a child, yet this was only to his detriment. One like a child would have a child's pure heart, but would also have a child's naïvete, recklessness, and brash temper.
Xue Zhengyong stared in the direction Xue Meng had gone for a long moment before slowly sitting back down. The time of his youth was long past. He was nearly fifty, and white had begun to feather his temples. He didn't know if he could endure what was to happen; he had to sit down. This, at least, would allow him some small measure of composure.
Mu Yanli's face seemed sheened in frost, devoid of any warmth. She cared about the matter at hand and nothing else. "Mo Weiyu, will you speak, or should I find another witness?"
Mo Ran was as calm as any prisoner on death row. "No need," he said. "If there are any witnesses still alive, I don't wish to see them." He slowly looked up. Weak sunlight streamed down upon his pallid face. "I'll tell you myself."
At a gesture from Mu Yanli, Tianyin Pavilion's servants brought a chair. She sat down with a flourish, resting her chin on one hand in preparation to attend to his tale. "Proceed."
Mo Ran closed his eyes and drew in a breath before beginning. "It started with a businessman."
"Who?"
He hesitated. "I'm sure many of you have heard of the investigator's market."
Ma Yun of Taobao Estate knew this business best. He raised a hand. "Oh yes, our sect works closely with these investigators. They roam the cities, making their living investigating old stories and events of the past."
"That's right. Back when Uncle was looking for his brother's orphan, he engaged just such an investigator."
Xue Zhengyong said nothing. Of course he remembered this; they'd found Mo Ran using the information provided by the investigator, who'd told them only one boy survived when the House of Drunken Jade went up in flames. He still remembered the look on the man's face as he exclaimed, What god-given luck! That your brother's son survived such a calamity must mean prosperity lies in his future!
"The investigator accepted Uncle's commission. After a few failed attempts, he found a lead and went to the House of Drunken Jade in search of a woman surnamed Mo."
"Who?" someone asked.
"Xue-zhangmen's brother's lover, known as Madam Mo. She was the baseborn daughter of a large family."
Realization broke over the assembly. "Madam Mo? Wasn't that the name of the brothel madam?"
"But she sounded like a vicious shrew."
"She wasn't always so," said Mo Ran peaceably. "My mom said Madam Mo had gone through an experience similar to hers, and that she too was to be pitied. She'd had a lover when she was young—a penniless wandering cultivator. He said he was going to the lower cultivation realm to establish a powerful sect, so Madam Mo gave him all her coin and jewelry so he could realize this dream."
"It was my dage…" mumbled Xue Zhengyong.
"Before this cultivator left, he swore Madam Mo an oath. Once he accomplished his goals, he said, he'd marry her with all pomp and circumstance and bring her home. He even wrote her a line of verse—Through the river mists do the pipa notes float, he listens in silence to the goddess on her boat. That was how the investigator later made certain of her identity."
Star-crossed love stories like these were by far the most popular fare. A female cultivator sighed. "Did the former sect leader of Sisheng Peak abandon his lover—just like Nangong Yan?"
Xue Zhengyong's eyes widened. "Nonsense!" he cried. "My gege was nothing like that! My gege never forgot Miss Mo…" Tears sprang to his eyes at the mention of his deceased brother.
The Xuanji Elder took up the explanation. "Miss, please mind what you say. The former sect leader lost his life in a terrible battle not long after the sect was founded; he never intended to go back on his word. Before he passed, he spoke often of Miss Mo to the sect leader. He always said he'd seek her out as soon as the sect had stabilized. He and Nangong Yan were nothing alike."
"Indeed," sighed Mo Ran. "She was much luckier than my mother. Her lover passed, but there was still someone thinking of her and wanting to bring her home. Whereas Nangong Yan was still alive, but he never had the courage to acknowledge my mom and me."
"I see now!" another voice cried. "This made you jealous, so you pulled a prince-and-pauper conceit, killing Madam Mo and burning down the House of Drunken Jade so you could pass yourself off as the real goods!"
At this uncharitable conjecture, Mo Ran shot the genius cultivator who'd spoken a glance. "I never attempted to pass myself off as anything."
Unfazed, the cultivator scoffed. "Then what was it? Did someone force you to become young master of Sisheng Peak?"
What was it? Mo Ran found himself wondering the same. So much of this world had once been something entirely different, until a butterfly flapped its wings and stirred a breeze that became a whirlwind, which changed the skies themselves. Just as he'd never intended to take Xue Zhengyong's nephew's place, Madam Mo hadn't always been that cruel mistress of the entertainment house. She too had had days of gentle youth. She too had once stood at the window hoping for her lover to return. She'd joyfully written to her distant love about the child growing in her belly and received his letters in reply, the excitement and delight of a soon-to-be father inked clear across the pages. She'd had all of that happiness, once.
It didn't matter that she was baseborn. It didn't matter that people mocked her because her man was a nameless cultivator; it didn't matter that she was pregnant out of wedlock. Someday, he would make good on his promise and come in glory to bring them home. She believed this faithfully.
But as the days wore on, the letters that had come every three days began to come once a week. They dwindled from once a week to once a month, and then there were none at all.
Eventually, Madam Mo gave up hope. She was a willful young woman; she'd hidden her relationship from her parents, and after she had the child, she'd hesitated for ages before bringing the boy home. When she finally worked up the courage, her father flew into a rage, and the mistress of the house heaped abuse upon her. Furious, Madam Mo ran away from home. The years flew by, and the young woman became the madam of the House of Drunken Jade.
Such were the ups and downs of fate. Life was like a furnace—some who entered its tempering flames would emerge entirely unrecognizable. Mo Ran had experienced this first-hand, and so too had Madam Mo.
When the investigator found her at last, it had been fourteen years since those days of her girlish youth. The man Xue Zhengyong had hired helped himself to a seat in the entertainment house. Snapping open his fan, he smiled. "Where's the madam? Call her over."
She arrived wearing a jacket patterned with peach blossoms and a shawl of yellow silk. Peeking through the doorway with pipe in hand, she lifted the tinkling bead veil and tittered. "Hello Gongzi, here for music so early in the morning? Do you prefer the pipa or the yangqin? My girls are skilled in all manner of instruments—as the first customer of the day, I'll be sure to give you a good price."
This was the nature of life. When her lover had left fourteen years ago, she'd sat by the bead veil with tears on her lovely cheeks, watching him leave. Fourteen years later, when her lover's brother finally found her, the veil of time was brushed aside once more. She pushed away the dangling jewels to reveal a face marked by time. That maiden bashful as a doe was dead and gone, and the one in the position of command in the House of Drunken Jade was a sly-eyed matron with a long-stemmed pipe in her hand.
The investigator didn't care much for sorrow, only money. Fanning himself, he smiled. "No thank you. I've come to ask the madam about a certain person."
The woman's smile stiffened. "A certain person?" she asked, tone cool. "Who?"
The man clearly enunciated each syllable of the words he had memorized: "Through the river mists do the pipa notes float, he listens in silence to the goddess on her boat."
Before he'd gotten halfway through, Madam Mo had paled. By the time he finished his recitation, she was white as paper. Her lips quivered, her sharp brows twitching as she clutched a handkerchief to her chest. "Who… Who are you?!"
The investigator smiled. "If I'm not mistaken, I've finally found Xue-xianzhang the right person. Madam Mo, how have you been?"
Madam Mo swayed and sat heavily on the round stool before the table. She gasped for breath, face flushing then going bloodless once more. When she recovered, she sent everyone away, leaving only the investigator in the hall. She stared into the man's face, eyes shining with joy, grief, and everything in between.
The investigator was unbothered. He lifted the pot of tea and poured her a lukewarm cup, then passed it over. "Have a sip."
She picked it up with a trembling hand, taking one sip, then two. Even after finishing the cup, she sipped on nothing before looking up. "Did…did Xue-lang send you here?"
The man sighed. "Unfortunately, the Xue-xianjun you speak of has long since passed."
"What?!"
"It was his younger brother who sent me on a search for his lost lover. More than a decade ago, the Xue brothers went to the lower cultivation realm to found a sect. Their fortunes rose, and they were no longer those helpless wandering cultivators anymore. But because Xue-xianzhang was crucial in building up the sect, he couldn't step away—and when he was on an exorcism mission, he unfortunately…"
He didn't need to finish. Madam Mo buried her face in her hands and burst into tears. The investigator consoled her for a long time before she managed to master herself.
"Before Xue-xianjun passed, he spoke often to his brother about you. All these years his brother has been looking for you, in hopes of finding you and bringing you home."
Madam Mo grasped the investigator's hand, mumbling in disbelief. "Say—say those words again! I refuse… I won't believe he's dead…"
Those words were the key to this whole enterprise; the investigator spoke them easily. "Through the river mists do the pipa notes float, he listens in silence to the goddess on her boat."
Tears swam in Madam Mo's eyes. "H-he didn't come back for me, because—because…and I thought… I blamed him…"
The investigator sighed. "It's been so many years. Madam, please rest easy. By the way, do you happen to have a son?"
"Y-yes, I do!" Madam Mo wept harder, mopping at her face as she called up the stairs. "A-Nian, A-Nian… Mo Nian! Hurry! Come downstairs!"
The door opened, but the boy who emerged was not Mo Nian. It was a scrawny child holding a pile of dirty laundry, poking his gaunt face out from behind the clothes. Cuts and bruises marred his cheek, and his eyes were smudged with exhaustion.
The investigator hesitated. "Is this…your son?"
"Ah—no, no." Wiping her face, Madam Mo answered, "This is just one of our kitchen boys."
Relieved, the man smiled. "I see."
Madam Mo turned. "Mo Ran, where is the young master?"