AT LAST, master and disciple turned upon each other. It was a battle for the ages, but in the end, Chu Wanning's fragile core was no match for Mo Ran's raw and youthful strength.
"Stop struggling." The young fiend had grown increasingly formidable as they fought. He leered behind his blade as Bugui and Huaisha met and flashed. Huaisha's golden glow flickered and dimmed, while Bugui's green flames filled the eyes of teacher and student.
Mo Ran took in the sight of Chu Wanning's bloodless face, then flicked a glance at Huaisha's fading light. Derision rose in his gaze. "You're out of spiritual energy. If you keep going, your core will shatter. You'd rather die than become a commoner. Am I right?"
Chu Wanning clenched his jaw and said nothing, his lips devoid of color.
When Huaisha went completely dark, Mo Ran knew Chu Wanning was well and truly spent. He burst into wild laughter. "What else can you use against me? Yuheng of the Night Sky…my most high and lofty shizun?"
Chu Wanning fell to one knee, bracing himself with his sword to keep from collapsing, his white robes splattered with blood. He looked up. Back then, Mo Ran had been so full of spite that all he saw was the determination in Chu Wanning's eyes, and not the sorrow buried beneath. Many years later, when Taxian-jun swallowed the poison that would end his life, his mind had drifted back to that defining battle. Chu Wanning had truly been willing to die just to stop him.
Putting the people before the self.
He'd derided Chu Wanning as a coward who spoke in empty platitudes. But Chu Wanning was indeed a man of his word.
"Choose compassion," his shizun said. "Don't hold onto hatred."
A flash of gold.
Mo Ran saw that final serenity in Chu Wanning's eyes an instant before a brilliant light rose from Chu Wanning's palms. This was how the Beidou Immortal, a man with no friends or family in the cultivation world, sacrificed his spiritual core to summon his three holy weapons once more.
Jiuge, Tianwen, Huaisha. Was there no end to Chu Wanning's prideful stubbornness? Mo Ran's massive army fell before the bright power of Chu Wanning's spiritual core. In the light of those holy weapons, those black and white chess pieces had crumbled to dust.
It was funny—Mo Ran had been standing right in front of Chu Wanning, inches away. He had seen this desperate man, nearly delirious with blood loss, and did nothing. He had only watched, mildly surprised and a little curious. He wanted to know how far this callous man would go for the sake of the people of whom he so often spoke.
He watched as Chu Wanning spent the very last of his spiritual energy. The roaring river quieted; the crows blocking the sun scattered. The living who had been made puppets regained their minds, and the dead closed their eyes and returned to their eternal sleep.
Mo Ran watched. Watched as the Beidou Immortal's core splintered, watched as the golden glow of it faded, watched as his shizun sank to his knees before him and collapsed in the dust.
Throughout it all, Mo Ran's face was impassive. He seemed to hear his mother's dying words in his ears, the sound of that kind-hearted woman stroking his cheek and telling him to repay others for their kindness instead of seeking them out for revenge. Despite the years that had gone by, here again were those same familiar exhortations. Before Chu Wanning sacrificed his core, he'd said: "Choose compassion. Don't hold onto hatred."
But Mo Ran had failed. His heart held endless loathing; only spilling blood gave him a moment's respite—
He destroyed Sisheng Peak, slaughtered Rufeng Sect, killed his aunt and uncle along with thousands of cultivators and dozens of sect leaders. He dyed the world red and built mountains of white bone until the very end, when he was surrounded at Wushan Palace and took his own life before the tower.
He'd lived through all of it himself. Those colossal crimes had been the work of his own hands. He was the perpetrator of those atrocities; Bugui had soaked in the blood of hundreds, and the Zhenlong Chess Formation had taken tens of thousands of lives.
It was all him.
Mo Ran's vision went dark. He could scarcely breathe.
A nearby groan yanked him back to his senses and out of the mire of memory. Mu Yanli had been stabbed in the shoulder, and her blood was hot on his face.
"Pavilion Master!"
"Pavilion Master, watch out!"
Members of Tianyin Pavilion rushed up to protect Mu Yanli, who panted but gritted out, "I'm fine."
The pawn in front of her flourished its blade. Before all those watching eyes, he knelt to greet Mo Ran. Bowing his masked face, he said, "This subordinate deserves to be punished for failing to rescue Master."
Gasps of shock raced through the crowd.
"Mo Ran's the one controlling them!"
"It called him Master!"
"No," said Mo Ran. "No—"
But who believed that? Who would believe him?!
Shaking his head, Mo Ran took a step back. He was surrounded by those suspicious and hateful faces.
No…
He turned to look for Xue Meng, but Xue Meng was too far away. He hadn't seen anything that had happened. He looked to Madam Wang and Xue Zhengyong. Those two had indeed witnessed it, and their expressions were awful to behold. Mo Ran's mouth trembled. He wanted to speak, but didn't know what he could say in his defense.
A group of pawns surged out from behind Madam Wang. "Auntie! Look out!"
At his shout, the crowd turned. Xue Zhengyong sprang toward her immediately, but he was surrounded by pawns himself—he couldn't get to Madam Wang.
"Auntie!"
"Mom!"
There was a shrill metallic clang. It was Jiang Xi who had leapt from the crowd, Xuehuang in hand, to beat back the pawns surrounding Madam Wang.
"Shidi…" she said in shock.
Jiang Xi shot her a freezing look. "Use your eyes."
Master Xuanjing was squinting at a storm cloud on the horizon, its dark mass pressing closer and closer to Sisheng Peak. When he finally made out what it was, he dared not believe his own eyes. It wasn't until others began to turn toward that roiling black cloud that he cried, mustache quivering. "How could this be?! How many pawns are there?!"
The black chess pieces surged forward like the tide, an unending mass. Some were dead, some were alive, but all bore faces burned beyond recognition, mouths gaping and tongues torn out. They would never speak again even if they got their minds back. Behind them were beasts controlled by the Zhenlong formation, from dogs to snakes.
"Mo Weiyu!"
"Mo Ran…"
As the crowd turned to him once more, fear outweighed their fury. Those who had been pressing in on him took several steps back.
"Insane… Mo Ran, are you insane…?"
"How many chess pieces did you make?!"
Mo Ran opened his mouth. He wanted to say, No, it wasn't me. But who else could it be? The Space-Time Gate of Life and Death had opened again, and Taxian-jun had led his army of thousands back into this world. What was the difference between the two of them? They had the same memories and used the same spells. Mo-zongshi was just as skilled as Taxian-jun at the Zhenlong Chess Formation, and without any special commands, the pawns made by Taxian-jun would also acknowledge Mo-zongshi as their master. The slaughter of kin and the razing of cities, the use of forbidden techniques and the creation of thousands of enthralled soldiers—destroying the world and reducing all to naught—it was all his doing. All the blame fell squarely on his shoulders.
More pawns swarmed toward them, with no end in sight. They fanned out like ink on paper, drawing inexorably closer.
"What do we do?" someone cried, panicked.
"Mo Ran!" Mu Yanli snarled. "What do you have to say for yourself?! You planned this! I only wish Tianyin Pavilion had learned of this sooner so we could have had you executed!"
Black clouds obscured the sun, blanketing the world in darkness. A bloody wind whistled through the mountain peaks. The horde of undead pawns was like a massive bell hanging high in the air, ready to come crashing down at any moment, to crush humans like ants and splinter the world itself.
Mo Ran's pupils shrank as he turned his face up to the sky.
The cultivators refused to give up. Some soared into the air on their swords to meet the enemy, while others stood their ground below. The clash this time was more intense, the air clotted with blood and screams. Heads rolled and intestines spilled into the dirt. But that black tide poured out from the horizon, on and on, striking fear into the hearts of all who stood against it.
"Dad! Mom!" Xue Meng's shout came from a distance.
Mo Ran whipped around. Xue Zhengyong and Jiang Xi were both covered in blood. There was too much of that furious crimson—it was impossible to tell whether it had come from themselves or their slain enemies. Xue Meng struggled mightily to make his way toward his parents, slashing a path through the undead with his scimitar, but he was one against so many.
"Xue Meng!"
Mo Ran started toward him, but Xue Meng looked away, conflicted. Xue Meng was trying to avoid him.
One of the Rufeng Sect revenants sprang at Xue Meng, sinking their sword into Xue Meng's shoulder. Blood streamed from the wound, dyeing his silver armor scarlet.
"Xue Meng… Xue Meng!" Mo Ran scrambled desperately toward him, but there were so many people between them, and Xue Meng was so far away. He couldn't… He couldn't get there in time…
Now that Xue Meng was injured, more chess pieces charged at him. His silhouette was swiftly swallowed up by the mindless Zhenlong puppets.
"Meng-er!"
"Meng-er!"
Hysterical screams tore from Madam Wang and Xue Zhengyong's throats. Mo Ran had never heard them shriek so miserably. His scalp prickled with foreboding. Xue Meng…
No. It wasn't supposed to be like this. There had to be a way—there had to be a way! Hua Binan wouldn't have sent Mo Ran to Sisheng Peak, setting up such a complicated scenario, merely to force him to watch as the sect was destroyed. What did Hua Binan wish him to do? What was it? What did Hua Binan want? What was this surprise meant to accomplish? What would bring an end to it, what would it take for him to be spared?
Realization broke over him. Mo Ran froze, heart pounding.
He finally understood. Hua Binan's ruthlessness, his insistence on ruining Mo Ran's reputation and pushing him into a corner—Mo Ran knew why he'd done it. Nangong Si had made the choice at Mount Jiao, and Chu Wanning had made it in that decisive battle in the past life.
He had no spiritual energy left…but he did have his core. He could feel that light glowing in his chest, pulsing alongside his heart.
Taxian-jun's crazed smile surfaced in his mind. You're out of spiritual energy. If you keep going, your core will shatter. We both know how much you value your pride, Shizun. I think you'd rather die than become a commoner. Am I right?
Mo Ran knew what he had to do.
Tears sprang to his eyes. Wrapped in the chaos of battle, Mo Ran felt suddenly calm.
In the past life, Chu Wanning had sacrificed himself, proving that putting the people before the self was not an empty phrase. Mo Ran seemed to once again glimpse Chu Wanning's pallid face in the instant before he'd shattered his own core. When his shizun thought he would die, his final words to Mo Ran were: "Choose compassion, don't hold onto hatred."
There was a rumbling boom, shaking the earth under the cultivators' feet.
"What happened?"
"What's going on?"
Everyone was stunned, dodging pawns as they looked for the source of the sound.
They didn't have to look for long. Where Mo Ran had been standing, a blazing light shone: not real flames, but the roaring conflagration of spiritual energy that appeared when a fire-type core burned itself out. Mo Ran was enveloped in their light.
Mo Weiyu. Emperor Taxian-jun of the past, the once-in-a-generation zongshi of the present. To bring an end to the calamity unfolding before his eyes, he'd detonated his own spiritual core.
Just as it had with Nangong Si and Chu Wanning, the shattering gave Mo Ran the greatest spiritual energy he'd ever wielded. His eyes were dyed scarlet by the flames, but there was no pain on his handsome face.
Who was he, in this moment? Could he cease to be the reviled Taxian-jun?
If he could, then he, too, wanted to be Chu Wanning.
Within his chest, his core splintered and melted away. The flames burned brighter, blazing past the clouds and illuminating the heavens themselves. In that moment, he sensed that clean and bright dream of his youth fluttering back into his heart. He saw Duan Yihan and Chu Wanning. He saw his mother stroking his cheek in the woodshed, saying, Only repay kindness. Don't seek revenge. He saw that youth outside Wubei Temple, carefully feeding him porridge from his cupped hand. Slow down, there's more if you want it…
In both of his lives, he'd wanted to be good. He'd failed to do so in the past life, and in this one, he'd grieved the events of that life for close to ten years.
How could he make up for it? He was tortured with yearning, day and night, but he didn't know how. If he were to say he'd once dreamed of saving the common people, who would believe him? He'd be mocked, berated, and derided.
He was Mo Weiyu, he was Emperor Taxian-jun. He'd made mistakes and he'd killed. Anything he did in recompense was useless and wrong. No one would forgive him.
Perhaps it was only in this fire, as his core shattered, as he sacrificed himself for that dream—as he took the same step Chu Wanning had taken in the past life—that he might gain the slightest reprieve. Only then might he have the right to cautiously say: "If I could, I too would want to be Chu Wanning."
Please, don't laugh at this wish of mine. Don't make fun of me. I know I'm dumb. For a long time, I had no one by my side. That's how I lived for two lifetimes, walking the wrong path for twenty years.
I'm so dumb. I don't know how I ended up in this hopeless darkness. I don't know how it came to this. When I think back on it, everything was a mistake.
I can no longer find Mom. Or Shizun.
Please. Hell is too cold. Let me go back, won't you…?
I want to go home.