AT THIS POINT, Master Xuanjing of Wubei Temple sighed. "Amitabha, so Mo-gongzi is indeed not Xue-zhangmen's nephew. Bitter fate."
Someone in the crowd had connected the dots. "Ah… So that was him, then?"
A nearby cultivator didn't understand. "Who?"
"The boy who came up with the idea of locking Mo Ran in the dog kennel. The boy about Mo Ran's age, Madam Mo's son." As if experiencing an epiphany, the man slapped a hand to his forehead and cried, "I see now—you killed them and took his place not out of jealousy or greed, but because you held a grudge against him!"
This logic made sense to many in the crowd, who turned looks of both scorn and pity upon Mo Ran.
"That lines up."
"Ah, of course. Even the despicable have reason to be pitied."
Mu Yanli cleared her throat, and the murmuring settled down. "Mo-gongzi, I heard you were starved and abused at the House of Drunken Jade, and that the madam beat and swore at you. Is that true?"
"Yes," Mo Ran replied.
"Then her son was that boy who locked you in a kennel, correct?"
"Yes."
The guesses of the crowd were confirmed. The murmurs swelled again as they nodded to themselves. "See, of course his motive came out of that grudge. He must've hated them both."
They were right. How could Mo Ran not hate them? Mo Nian was his own age, but much healthier and stronger. No one dared raise a hand to him because he was the madam's son. The boy had been cruel since he was little, and Mo Ran was his favorite punching bag. Whenever he got into trouble, he made sure Mo Ran took the fall. Mo Ran was framed for all sorts of nasty mischief Mo Nian had caused.
But Mo Ran was an extremely obedient child. Despite his suffering, he never dared take revenge on Young Master A-Nian. He was only given one flatbread a day as it was. If he spoke up, that single mouthful of food might be taken away from him. It didn't matter if he was beaten or wronged—he never said a word. When he truly couldn't take it anymore, he'd curl up in the woodshed where he slept to sob quietly. Even there he couldn't make too much noise; he was sure to be beaten again if he woke anyone up.
"Did you hate them very much?" asked Mu Yanli.
Mo Ran looked up, disdain in his eyes. "Who wouldn't?"
"But your surname was given to you by her. If you despised her, why didn't you change it?"
"Mo was the adoptive name used in the House of Drunken Jade. Lots of servants sold to the house had that surname. We called Madam Mo 'Mother' or 'Ma'am.' Everyone did it, so I got used to it. No point in changing my surname."
"And did she treat all of you so poorly?"
Mo Ran hesitated. "No. But she'd never liked me, and after I let Xun Fengruo go, she couldn't stand the sight of me."
"How poorly did Madam Mo treat you?"
It was an easy question. In all the years Mo Ran spent in the House of Drunken Jade, the only time he was allowed meat was on New Year's Eve, when he could gnaw on a half-eaten piece of gristle that a patron left behind. On any other day, he only ever had that single flatbread. He was always given the hardest work, and the slightest mistake earned him a whipping.
But he didn't want to say all that. "I'd rather not talk about it," he replied simply.
"That's fine. Let's talk about something else. She treated you poorly. When she asked you where Mo Nian was that day, did you lie? Had you already begun to scheme to take Mo Nian's place?"
"No," said Mo Ran.
Of course he wouldn't dare to. His shelter, food, and safety were all in the madam's hands. The young Mo Ran had reacted to her question like a dog accustomed to being hit—flinching, he whispered, "Nian-gongzi went to his lessons…"
Madam Mo had no illusions about her son; she knew this was impossible. That boy hated studying. It was vastly more likely he'd gone off on a wild lark somewhere. But the investigator was right there, so she only cleared her throat and nodded. "Oh, that child of mine is so mature. Look, sir, he's…gone to school again."
The man laughed. "Ah, a studious child is a blessing. How about this? I'll write a letter to the sect leader of Sisheng Peak and call him here. He'll meet the boy soon enough—there's no point rushing things now."
Madam Mo rose just to fall down to her knees in front of him, overwhelmed with emotion. "Thank you, sir. Even in future prosperity, I will never forget what you've done for us."
When the investigator had left, Madam Mo sat in a daze for a long time, lost in fanciful thoughts and old sorrows. Every so often, she'd burst into laughter or tears. Hours passed before she noticed Mo Ran watching her fearfully from a corner.
Perhaps it was because she saw her own shame in Duan Yihan's past, or the simple fact that Mo Ran had dared set her golden goose free. Regardless, Mo Ran's impression of her was correct. She disliked the boy, and her resentment had grown more intense over time. "What are you looking at?" she said, glaring at him.
Mo Ran lowered his long lashes. "Sorry."
"You say that, but I bet you think my laughing and crying is ridiculous, don't you?"
Mo Ran said nothing. His meek obedience made Madam Mo shoot him a glance and sneer, "Forget it, I won't bother with you. What would you know, anyway? Faithless, ungrateful cur."
He was used to such epithets from her. Silent, he kept his head down.
"Don't just stand there. I'm in a good mood today; I won't beat you. Go find Nian-gongzi—don't try to fool me, I know he's not at his lessons. Bring him home. I have something important to tell him. Hurry."
At the mention of the young master, Mo Ran couldn't help flinching again. But still he nodded and mumbled, "Yes, Mother."
"Don't call me that anymore." Madam Mo wrinkled her nose. "Soon, I'll be out of the House of Drunken Jade… Forget it, I've said enough to you. Hurry and go."
That evening, Mo Ran apprehensively set out to look for Nian-gongzi. He didn't know if he'd rather find the boy sooner or later—the young master was certain to yell at him for ruining his day just as soon they crossed paths, but if he went back empty-handed, Madam Mo was sure to do the same over his incompetence.
His slight silhouette wandered helplessly through the fading light.
At that moment, Mo Ran had no idea he and Nian-gongzi would swap places. He looked hither and thither, just as he was told. He went to every one of Nian-gongzi's regular haunts—the riverside, the gambling hall, the brothel, the cockfighting rings…only to be chased from each with derision.
Finally, after asking around, he learned that Nian-gongzi and his friends had gone to an old mill on the outskirts of the city with a large sack in tow. Mo Ran thought nothing of it before rushing off.
The mill had been abandoned for years, and the only landmark nearby was a cemetery. Very rarely did anyone come here. Mo Ran jogged the whole way, but before he reached the building, he saw a group of half-clothed youths scrambling from it. Nian-gongzi was in the lead, still pulling up his pants.
"Gongzi, Mother wants you home," Mo Ran hastily cried. "She says—"
His voice died in his throat. There were expressions of terror on the boys' faces; some were in tears, shaking as they cowered at the side of the group.
Mo Ran froze. Years of abuse had honed his instinct for danger. When he saw Nian-gongzi staring fixedly at him with red-rimmed eyes, Mo Ran's hair stood on end. He whirled around and ran.
Nian-gongzi reacted quickly. "Grab him!" he shouted.
How could Mo Ran be a match for them? The other boys had him pinned in moments and dragged him before Nian-gongzi.
"What do we do?" someone whispered. "A-Nian, we're in big trouble."
"It's too late to run—this brat saw us."
"Why don't we…"
Mo Ran had no idea what they were talking about, but the youthful faces around him were all dark with malice. This was his earliest impression of the word monster.
Nian-gongzi narrowed his eyes. He was the calmest and cruelest among them, and after some thought, he said, "Don't kill him."
Mo Ran's head jerked up. Kill?
They'd beaten him, cursed him, and abused him, but he'd never imagined he would hear the word kill from the mouths of a group of teenagers. His mind went blank.
"Lock him up in the mill," Mo Nian said.
The group exchanged glances. One boy with a pinched and narrow face was the first to catch on. Eyes shining, cheeks red, with snot still streaming from his nose, he exclaimed: "Yes! What a good idea!"
One by one, the others also saw his intent. "Ah! I get it! A-Nian, you're a genius!"
Moments ago they had looked at Mo Ran as if he was their ultimate enemy. Now the eyes pinned on him were those of starving wolves eyeing a fatted lamb.
The boys shoved Mo Ran into the mill. He pounded on the door with both fists, thrashing, but it was swiftly barricaded shut. There were no windows; the only light came in through the cracks between the wooden boards of the walls.
"Let me out!" he yelled. "Let me out!"
Someone outside cried, "Report him! Report him right now!"
"Hurry up! We'll keep an eye on him, you guys go run and tell the officials!"
Mo Ran shouted and pounded on the door, but it was no use. He let his hands fall, turning around dizzily. In the thin bars of light, he saw the room's other inhabitant sprawled upon the ground.
It was a girl with familiar features. Upon further thought, he realized she was the daughter of the tofu-seller on the eastern street, whom Nian-gongzi had been pursuing for some time. Her clothes were torn away, leaving her body bare on the ground. Her limbs were askew, her skin mottled with purpling bruises, and between her legs…
She'd been raped to death by these beasts. The tears on her face had yet to dry, and her wide, sightless eyes stared blankly at the doorway where Mo Ran stood.
It took Mo Ran a moment to understand. When he did, he screamed. His back hit the door with a thud, his pupils contracting as he finally grasped what they had done and what they were going to do.
After being rebuffed, Nian-gongzi had come up with a terrible plan for the girl. She was a soft target—weak-willed and from an unimportant family. He and his friends had tricked her and dragged her to the mill, where they had taken turns defiling her. The girl was frail to begin with, and the brutes were so rough with her that she died partway through their fun.
"No…no!" Mo Ran cried. He turned, crazed, slamming against the doors. "Open the door! Open the door! It wasn't me! Open the door!"
As if in answer to his prayers, the mill doors opened.
Mo Ran tried to run, but the boys grabbed his wrists and pinned them. Once again, Nian-gongzi led the group. "Nearly forgot," he said mercilessly. "You have to look the part."
He directed the boys to rip off Mo Ran's clothes, then smeared blood and fluids from the girl's corpse over his skin. Mo Ran wept the whole time, thrashing with all his might, but they were too strong. Desperation to save their own skins took precedence over all else; they ignored Mo Ran's begging and sobbing, their eyes flashing like the eyes of beasts. One of the boys backhanded Mo Ran across the face after Mo Ran bit him. "Shut the fuck up," he spat. "You're a murderer! Rapist! With so many witnesses, how could you possibly defend yourself?!"
"It…it wasn't me! It wasn't…"
But what could he do? They roughed him up and threw him in the mill, locking him in with that dead girl's naked body before running off to falsely report the crime to the officials. There was nothing Mo Ran could say for himself. The court punished him with thirty strikes of the rod, leaving him bruised and bloodied, then locked him up to await sentencing. The other prisoners mocked and swore at him, and those with daughters held nothing back as they beat him. One of them was ready to defile him in retribution, and was only stopped because the head jailer wanted to minimize fuss.
Madam Mo came to the prison that very night. Of course she knew what had really happened, and resented her son's base nature. But what use was resentment? A mother would always protect her child first and foremost. Her greatest fear was that the truth would come out during the hearing. If it came to light that Mo Nian was the real culprit, how would the two of them move up in the world? The investigator's letter had already gone out, and Sisheng Peak was sending people to bring them home. She'd waited for this so long her hair had gone gray at the temples. She and her son deserved that glory and status. Nothing would stand in their way.
So it was that she rushed through the night and bribed both jailer and the county officials. Don't look too closely, she'd pleaded—just make it all Mo Ran's fault. But perhaps her conscience wouldn't let her rest, for she went to the prison afterward to see Mo Ran. She even brought him a bowl of braised pork.
"It's not poisoned. I wouldn't poison you."
Mo Ran watched her from the corner where he was curled, his eyes—so dark they looked purple—glimmering with helplessness and hurt. He looked like an animal lined up for slaughter: upset and fearful, yet docile with despair.
Something quavered in Madam Mo. Terrified by her own reaction, she rose quickly to her feet. Hardening her heart and her voice, she said, "You're an orphan, after all. It's sad, but no one will mourn your death. I've kept you alive for so many years—it's high time you repaid the favor."
Mo Ran looked silently back at her.
Madam Mo gritted her teeth. "Consider this bowl of pork your compensation. Once you eat it, don't blame me in the underworld… I didn't have a choice either."
With a flare of her skirts, she was gone.
Mo Ran had never eaten braised pork. Now that a whole bowl sat before him, he stared at it but did not touch any of its contents. He knocked it over, watching as the red sauce spilled into the dirt of the cell. The sight reminded him of the blood that had pooled beneath the girl's body, filling him with a revulsion so sharp he turned and heaved, clutching the wall for support. There was nothing for him to throw up. Mo Ran was fed a flatbread a day, and his last meal had long since been digested. He brought up only bile.
That night, he couldn't sleep. The blood smeared over his skin had hardened into a shell that flaked into rusty powder at the slightest touch, sloughing off onto the ground. He sat in silence. No one knew what he was thinking; no one knew if he was even alive.
Huddled in on himself, he slowly came to realize many truths.
In that dark and filthy prison, in that cell reeking of bile and braised pork, the obedient Mo Ran died. Born in his place was Emperor Taxian-jun, feared throughout the realm by commoners and cultivators alike—Emperor Taxian-jun, at his inception.
This was the root of the all-consuming hatred brought to life by the Flower of Eightfold Sorrows.