THE JAIL IN XIANGTAN was old and shabby; none of the doors were secure. The next morning when the guards were busy calling in a prisoner, Mo Ran seized his chance and snuck out.
The first thing he did upon regaining his freedom was return to the House of Drunken Jade. When he entered the backyard, he saw A-Nian standing smugly in its middle, freshly attired in black cultivator's robes. His mistakes had fallen upon the head of that orphan Mo Ran, just as they always had in the past. Within a day, he was sure he'd gotten away with it.
You're an orphan, after all. No one will mourn your death.
I've kept you alive for so many years—it's high time you repaid the favor.
This was their justification for sending an innocent young man to the gallows. How pompous. How self-satisfied.
Mo Ran hung back in the shadows, spying on the carefree and confident Nian-gongzi. Was this how it felt to be loved and cared for? To have a mother's protection, someone to keep you safe even if the sky fell?
Mo Ran was the only one whose death didn't matter.
That morning, Mo Ran watched Nian-gongzi for a very long time. The boy had already purchased robes and dressed himself up like a cultivator. Once his mother sold the House of Drunken Jade, they would set off for the lower cultivation realm, where he would be a rich young master. He waved a sword around in the yard, surrounded by the same boys who'd framed Mo Ran.
"Great moves, A-Nian!"
"You look so good! You'll definitely be a famous swordsman when you go to the lower cultivation realm!"
"I've heard lots about your uncle's Sisheng Peak these past few years. You're going to be living the high life! Don't forget your bros!"
"That's right," another boy added. "A-Nian, you'd better not forget us. We grew up together, and we've been there for you through thick and thin. Even the death of that little tofu-seller's bitch, even then—"
A-Nian was already putting on airs befitting his new status. He couldn't allow anyone to learn of the rape; he whipped out his sword and pointed it at the speaker's throat. "Mo Ran killed that tofu-seller's girl. We all saw it!" snapped Mo Nian. "He defiled her like a rabid beast—how many times do I have to say it before you guys remember?!"
The youth held at sword point shivered. "Y-yes… My memory's bad—I misspoke!"
Everyone else hastened to soothe A-Nian's ruffled feathers. "It was all done by Mo Ran, a brute in human skin!"
"Yes, yes—raping an innocent girl before killing her, we all saw it. I'll never forget the evil look on his face."
They spoke over each other in their haste, adding details to their story. When it came to lies, this was the nature of such people: Repeated a thousand times, they would begin to feel it was the truth. The young men grew more and more self-righteous, happily absolving themselves of all responsibility.
A-Nian burst into laughter, his sword glinting as he slashed wildly at the straw dummies on the field. Once he had struck them all down, he brandished his blade at the straw and cried, "Once I'm a master swordsman, I'll kill all monsters, punishing…punishing something…" He hated school and often skipped his lessons, so he stuttered, unable to continue.
One of his friends came to his rescue. "Punishing evil and upholding righteousness! Standing for justice! Bringing good to the land! Having the world at your feet!"
A-Nian snorted. "You sure know a lot of big words," he said disdainfully.
Having missed the mark, the toady lapsed into an embarrassed silence. A-Nian waved his sword once again. "It takes power to have everything in the palm of your hand, not a clever tongue. If I ever see a rutting beast like Mo Ran again, I'll cut off his head with my sword. What are you gonna do, read poetry at him? Ha ha ha—"
He was still laughing when the crisp sounds of applause drifted into his ears. "Nian-gongzi, you do look like a young master of Sisheng Peak… How impressive."
A-Nian started and brought the sword up before him, face paling. "Mo Ran?!" he cried.
A dark cloud rolled by overhead, obscuring the blazing sun and plunging the yard into shadow. That youth in ragged clothes, who had arrived without their notice, looked up from where he stood on the pile of firewood.
Despite the gauntness of his face, Mo Ran's features were very fine. His eyes blazed, and lash-marks from the whip were still vivid across his face. He hadn't washed since he'd escaped the prison, and blood was caked on his skin.
For all that it had Mo Ran's familiar features, A-Nian felt this face belonged to a stranger. It was the boy he knew, yet there was something different about him. Mo Ran held a machete in his hand, eyes curved into smiling crescents. There seemed to be something sinister in the depths of his dimples, like the swirl of a gathering storm; his expression was mild and yet indescribably eerie.
"Bringing good to the land, having the world at your feet? Mo Nian-gongzi, future master swordsman, young master of Sisheng Peak. Since when have you had such ambitions? What a joke." His smile widened, features warping.
This kitchen boy had been meek and obedient since he was small, always obliging and rarely speaking. Although he'd been away for a single night, he seemed like a moth that had emerged from its cocoon: glittering with life, his grin brash and wild.
In the past, the boy seldom smiled; at best he bent his mouth into a timid curve. But he'd been driven to madness.
The youths shrank back in fear. A-Nian's hand shook as he clutched the hilt of his sword. He swallowed hard and hollered, "Mo Ran, what do you think you're doing?! How dare you escape prison? On behalf of the people and the law, I'll end your worthless life today!"
"Sure." Mo Ran smiled. "I don't want to live like this anymore. If you're strong enough to take this worthless life of mine, go right ahead. But if you're not—"
A metallic glint flickered in his eyes as he leapt forward. With a flash of shadow, his machete struck true. The sword in A-Nian's hand clanged to the ground—an instant later, his head dropped next to it, eyes wide and unseeing. Blood sprayed into the air. The headless corpse swayed for a terrible moment before slumping to the ground.
There was a ringing silence. Blood had splattered over Mo Ran's face; those tattered rags hung from his form, fluttering in the coppery wind as seaweed sways in water. When he raised his head, the smile on his face broadened. Eyes bloodred, he licked the blood from his lips and quietly finished his sentence: "Then I'll take your head off instead."
The other boys were frozen in fear, unable to make a sound. Mo Ran looked at them with eyes like chips of ice. "Aren't you all so powerful? Aren't you all great at passing the blame? All so good with your fists? Punishing evil, upholding righteousness… Go ahead! Come at me!"
Of course they didn't dare to. They stood shaking, scared out of their wits. This was Mo Ran? The same Mo Ran who was so timid and shy he'd bear the greatest suffering in silence?
Mo Ran looked up and sighed. Dragging the machete on the ground behind him, he approached them with slow strides, the point of the blade scrawling a line of blood across the ground. "How modest you've all become." He chuckled, blade flashing as the corners of his mouth hooked up. "Since you won't make the first move, I have no choice but to do the honors."
In the blink of an eye, that yard became a hell on earth: a scene of wanton slaughter.
The hall was closed at this early hour, and most of the House of Drunken Jade staff were asleep. After Mo Ran dispatched the boys in the yard, he went to the side rooms and took care of the others one by one. Some had their throats slit in their sleep, while others woke just to be silenced with a flash of metal.
By the time anyone realized what was going on, it was too late. Mo Ran had set the hall ablaze, reducing the House of Drunken Jade to a towering inferno. The song girls and servants screamed and sobbed, but no one dared run into the flames to save them.
By the time he reached the last few victims, Mo Ran was no longer satisfied with dispensing quick deaths. He took his machete to their legs and allowed the fire to claim them. In the sea of flames, he calmly sat down in the middle of the hall and laid the naked blade across his knees, watching those he'd immobilized with a smile. Among their number was Madam Mo, his adoptive mother. Face hidden by smoke, Mo Ran gazed at them writhing like maggots, convulsing and sobbing in the blaze.
He raised the machete again and extended his arm, but not to hack at his victims. He used the sharp tip to pick up a bunch of grapes from a table nearby. Slowly, he plucked the fruit from the stem and peeled them. Then he popped them into his mouth, one by one, savoring their sweetness with his cheeks bulging.
"Oh? These are so good." Mo Ran grinned again. "I've never tried grapes from the western territories before. All this time you were eating such tasty things." He looked down, chuckling to himself. "I'm jealous."
One of the beams overhead buckled, crashing down in a cloud of sparks. The dying on the ground screamed pitifully; only Mo Ran sat with his chin propped in his hand, legs crossed and machete in his arms. He took his time eating those grapes, as if the sky could fall without disturbing his peace.
"The fire's so big. None of us are getting out of here." Done with the grapes, Mo Ran picked out a peach. "Why don't we sit here and have a nice long chat?"
"Who wants to chat with you? You brute! You beast! You're no better than an animal!" shrieked Madam Mo.
"No?" Mo Ran spat out some grape seeds, grinning. "Then let's talk business. Mother said so herself last night; I owe all of you for your companionship and Mother's thoughtful care. Of course I have to do my filial duty and send you on your way."
He stood and walked around them, making a polite bow. "Don't walk too quickly on the road to the underworld," he said with a smile. "Wait for me."
As the others sobbed, Madam Mo yelled, "Mo Ran! You cur! I never should've let that Xun girl talk me into taking you in! You're a scourge, a curse! You—you're a depraved beast!"
"And you are not worthy of speaking Xun-jiejie's name," said Mo Ran flatly. "I rushed here from Wubei Temple to fulfill my mom's dying wish and repay Xun-jiejie's kindness. She knew I'd lost my mother, so she gave you a whole year's earnings to allow me to stay. She was my savior. But you? What are you to me?"
"I never should've said yes! I never—who cares about a year's worth of earnings? You went behind my back and set her free! She was the star of the House of Drunken Jade! Do you have any idea how much money she made us with a single song?! But you…you dared…"
"She was my mom's savior, and mine. She sold her skills and not her body, yet you took that merchant's bribe and sold her—you forced her to take a client. Tell me, why shouldn't I have let her go?! All these years, you've hated and tormented me, but I never spoke up or fought back. My mom told me anyone willing to give me food couldn't be truly evil." Mo Ran closed his eyes. "So I endured it… I endured everything…"
"Pah! How dare you?! Ungrateful brat—I'm the one who housed you, I took a beggar like you off the streets! You beast, you bastard son of a dog-bitch mother!"
"Hm, what a coincidence. A bastard son of a dog-bitch mother?" Mo Ran smiled, his face bathed in the amber glow of the firelight. "Don't you think your poor dead son will think you're calling for him?"
Mo Ran stepped forward and grabbed the madam's powdered face. "But Mother, you did remind me. Thank you very much for giving me food to eat and a place to sleep. I'll send you on your way first."
"You—!"
"To lighten the mood, why don't we play a game? What do you think of guessing pictures?" Mo Ran asked eagerly. He picked up a bit of wood still smoldering at the end and traced the shape of a sun around the madam's eye. Her flesh burned in the wake of his movements, but her hysterical screams only made Mo Ran smile. "Mother, do you know what I'm drawing? If you can't guess it, you lose, and I'll draw something else."
That night, he slowly tortured everyone in the building to death. In one blow, he retaliated for a decade of accumulated malice and helplessness, reducing the House of Drunken Jade and its inhabitants to corpses and scorched earth.
He lay down in the flames among those twisted bodies, watching as the exquisite building began to crumble. He shoved fruit and sweets into his mouth, smiling all the while.
"Delicious." He grimaced as tears began to stream down his grinning face. He reached up to cover his eyes, laughing as he cried. "Too bad I'll never get to have it again…"
The ebony tablet inscribed with the House of Drunken Jade's name came crashing down, splintering upon the ground. Smoke billowed into the sky, and the building and all its carved pillars collapsed with a thunderous boom.
That hall had seen all there was of song and dance, gauzy skirts and spilled wine. Once, it had prospered, its glory endless. Now that majesty was dead and gone, its opulence turned to ash. Those bygone love affairs of men and women went up in smoke with the burning wooden beams. Amidst the blazing inferno, the sound of two goddesses in duet seemed to drift from the cracks in the wood and the seams in the roof tiles.
"Beautiful as a flower in bloom—" sang Duan Yihan.
"All given over to these wretched wastes—" cried Xun Fengruo.
Thus the curtain fell on the tale of a famous Xiangtan pleasure house. Within a sea of roaring flames and the fading strains of song, its storied history of tragedies and triumphs culminated in one last majestic finale.