AT THIS, someone from another sect leapt up in anger. "Could Sisheng Peak please shut up?! Your disciple's been learning the Zhenlong Chess Formation—he's violated the most basic precepts of the cultivation realm. Your sorry excuse for a sect should be dissolved and left to rot! Now's not the time to bicker, but can't you at least show a little self-awareness?"
"Xue Zhengyong! You're still speaking up for him? Could it be that you were in on it too?"
Angry chatter buzzed all around.
Such was the fate of families and sects alike—if any one of their number proved to be godly, all were elevated along with them. But as soon as one person committed some reprehensible act, the entire group was viewed as a breeding ground for evil.
"These scales weigh his sins. This alone does not decide his sentence." Mu Yanli's tone was matter-of-fact; she made no accusations against Sisheng Peak. "Xue-zhangmen, no need to fret. After weighing his sins, we will also consider his merits. Only after these are factored in will the final verdict be rendered."
She turned her gaze upon Mo Ran again. "Continue your confession," she said coldly.
"I've…trespassed against…my teacher…"
"Trespassed against your teacher?"
These words were baffling to others, but Mo Ran felt as though his heart was on fire. These were crimes from his past life—the Draught of Confession could force even the sins of the past life from his throat!
But he didn't want to say it… He didn't want to! Would he be made to describe, in front of all these people, how he'd humiliated Chu Wanning a lifetime ago? How he'd held him prisoner; how he'd married him and made him his consort? How he'd broken that lofty and proud man, and finally driven him to his death?
He didn't want to say it. Mo Ran was certain his own end was imminent, but Chu Wanning still had many years ahead of him. As a spirit of the sacred tree, he was possessed of fathomless talent and the purest spiritual energy. Mo Ran hoped Chu Wanning could live on peacefully after this. When the time came, surely he'd ascend to immortality. Never again would he endure the pain of reincarnation, or the suffering of love.
His shizun was so good, so pure. Mo Ran wanted to protect him. He couldn't let anyone know they were involved, that there was anything between them. No one could be allowed to form the impression that Chu Wanning was dirty, that he'd been stained with Taxian-jun's blood and filth.
He had to protect him. He had to.
That flame was blazing in his chest, an awful, consuming pain. He could vaguely hear Mu Yanli's frigid voice asking the question: "What do you mean you trespassed against your teacher?"
He wouldn't answer. He refused to say.
His fingertips had been scraped raw against the sandstone platform, and his forehead was scarlet with blood. He hunched over on the ground, panting like a fish dying upon the riverbank.
He wouldn't say a word.
Resisting the Draught of Confession was not unlike resisting Tianwen. As long as he gritted his teeth with all his might, he could endure it. Under Tianyin Pavilion's ruthless questioning, beneath the staring crowd, he squirmed and howled like a trapped beast.
The torment was unimaginable. Most people wouldn't stand a chance against Tianwen, and this pain was a thousand times worse. He felt like a pair of invisible hands was wringing out his entrails, like his innards were being torn to shreds. Like he was covered in open wounds doused with salt water. It was an agony that burned like fire, boring into his bones.
Mu Yanli's voice was distant, as though it came to him across a vast ocean. "You say you trespassed against your teacher—what do you mean by this? Speak!"
But Mo Ran refused. He bit through his tongue and his lips; his mouth filled with blood, but his tears did not fall. As he had during those seven days he'd spent locked in the dog cage, he wouldn't cry. His tears would only be one more thing for the audience to laugh at. No one would pity him, and neither did he yearn for their pity. Even if the pain gutted him, even if it killed him, he would endure it.
Mu Yanli peered down at him. "Tell me—what did you do to Chu Wanning?" she demanded.
The pain compounded until his vision shimmered with hallucinations. He saw Chu Wanning becoming an immortal, a hundred years in the future. He was as handsome and dignified as ever in robes white as snow. There was a sharpness to Chu Wanning when he wasn't smiling, but when he did, all those sharp edges melted into boundless warmth.
"I didn't…"
Mu Yanli stared. Her red lips parted. "What?"
"I misspoke…" Every syllable was a croak forced through his throat. "I didn't… I never trespassed…" He looked up, eyes bloodshot yet bright as he bit out the final words: "Against my teacher!"
Mu Yanli was silent a moment, her expression difficult to read. She looked somewhat astonished, even at a loss, but her features were so forbidding that any emotion quickly iced over. "Continue," she said at last.
Mo Ran coughed up blood. He felt like his lungs had been crushed; every breath reeked of iron. He sprawled on the ground, gasping, waiting for the truth potion's agony to subside. He was drenched in sweat, hair plastered to his forehead, one deathly pale cheek pressed to the stone.
As if unable to stop herself, Mu Yanli took half a step forward. "Continue your confession," she said, glaring.
Mo Ran closed his eyes. "I have no more…crimes to confess," he said hoarsely.
At a gesture from Mu Yanli, a disciple came forward and collected some of Mo Ran's blood, then smeared it onto another weight. This one was carved in relief with two seal-script characters: Merits and Virtues. It was used to determine the achievements of the accused.
Mu Yanli tossed the weight onto the scales. The balance slowly shifted. Everyone but Mo Ran stared intently at the golden needle.
Sunder the souls… Still Sunder the souls…
Slowly, the needle tilted.
Sunder the souls.
Whatever good Mo Ran had done, it hadn't been enough to shift the needle away from Sunder the souls.
Xue Meng clutched his knees, the scimitar Longcheng laid over his lap. He stared at the scales, his expression dreadful. Trembling, he strained to keep his back as straight as possible—if he was to crumple now, it would be too hard to recover. His shaking palms were colder than Longcheng's dark blade.
Mu Yanli's lovely eyes were trained, unblinking, on the golden scales. The needle's drift was slowing. It quivered around Sunder the souls, as though about to halt. She swept back her sleeves. "Behold," she intoned, "the final decision has…"
"It's still moving."
"Xue-gongzi…"
Xue Meng glared down at her. He'd spoken up, even though his voice was painfully unsteady, even though he didn't know if he was right or wrong to do so. "The needle's still moving."
"It's about to stop," Mu Yanli said.
"Then wait for it to stop."
Mu Yanli met Xue Meng's gaze. After a moment, her lips lifted in a cold, mocking smile. "Fine. Let's wait for it to stop."
The sun blazed down, its heat cloaking the ground in a haze of dust.
Everyone held their breath, staring at that needle, waiting for it to halt. But strangely, even now, the needle continued to vacillate. As though unsure of how to judge Mo Weiyu, it wobbled, then hesitantly veered toward more lenient punishments, inch by painstaking inch.
This development seemed to have caught Mu Yanli off guard. She stood silently, her goldenrod-yellow robes brushing the ground as she waited for the divine scales to reach their decision.
Xue Meng's knuckles were white as he stared at the needle, as if it was arbitrating not merely the life of Mo Weiyu, but all the years he and Mo Ran had known one another. Their relationship had transformed from indifference to resentment, to acceptance, to understanding. Was it Xue Meng's initial aloofness that had been wrong? Or was it the Ge he'd uttered later that was unacceptable?
He didn't know. He stared at the needle, his heart shuddering; only when he saw how it moved did he allow himself to hope.
Don't stop. Please. Keep going, just a little more—see, it's almost there…
Regardless of Mo Ran's past transgressions, he'd shattered his spiritual core. No power remained to him. How could they still inflict the harshest possible punishment? How could they obliterate his souls…
One inch. Then another. Then finally—
"Carve out the spiritual core," Mu Yanli announced expressionlessly. Her aura was perfectly impassive. Despite her billowing robes of warm gold, every inch of her emanated a frosty chill.
The needle had stopped. Its tip pointed tremulously at Carve out the spiritual core—its final judgment of Mo-zongshi.
Mu Yanli turned to face the masses below and the members of the ten great sects in the stands above.
They were indeed the full ten, for Tianyin Pavilion had left untouched the old seats belonging to Rufeng Sect. Now only one person sat there alone: Ye Wangxi, clad in black from head-to-toe. Nangong Si's embroidered cloth quiver was slung over her shoulder, and Naobaijin, who'd lost his master forever, lay across her lap. Her complexion was wan, but her eyes were clear and sharp as she gazed down at the interrogation platform.
"The heavens are all-knowing and impartial," said Mu Yanli. "Tianyin Pavilion has considered merits and errors alike, free from self-interest, bias, or animosity. We sentence Mo Ran, Mo Weiyu, to have his spiritual core carved out. We will allow three days to notify the public. If there are no objections, after three days…"
Xue Meng had been sitting in silence, eyes closed, but at this, he found himself unable to hold his tongue. He leapt to his feet in a flash of silver armor. "I have an objection."
Silence followed.
"I don't need to wait three days," Xue Meng said. "I have an objection right now."
Commotion broke out below. "Sisheng Peak needs to close its fucking gates! What does he mean he has an objection?!"
"Might as well try Xue Zhengyong and Xue Meng next and be done with it! They're probably all working together. Why else would he vouch for this monster?"
"When the Zhenlong chess pieces attacked, why did they leave Sisheng Peak's people mostly unharmed? How could anyone believe they're innocent?"
Xue Meng's face was white with fury, but he had no choice but to rein in his anger.
Although Mu Yanli had heard the other cultivators' cries, she appeared to ignore them. "If young Xue-gongzi wishes to speak, I will listen," she said coolly.
Xue Meng's mouth opened, but he couldn't find the words. Overcome with worry, Madam Wang gently tugged at his sleeve. "Meng-er, we have three days. Let's put our heads together and think about what we should say…"
But Xue Meng acted like he hadn't heard his mother. He stared at Mu Yanli, then at the scales. Finally, he shifted his gaze to that tiny, distant speck of black on the platform—Mo Ran. His eyes seemed to waver, like a curtain rippling in the breeze. They didn't darken, but neither did they brighten. He blurted out, "He doesn't have a spiritual core."
"What do you mean by this?" asked Mu Yanli.
Xue Meng looked at her with new urgency. "What do I mean? Don't you see? He's the one who saved you at Sisheng Peak, who forced those chess pieces to retreat! Pavilion Master Mu, how do you plan to carry out this sentence? His core has been shattered! What are you going to do—carve out his heart?" His eyes were stinging, his nails digging into his palms. "Carve out the spiritual core… He doesn't have a spiritual core! So does that mean you'll take his life?"
Mu Yanli narrowed her eyes. "Naturally, Tianyin Pavilion has its ways."
A new voice sounded from the platforms. "According to law, the punishment will be carried out three days after the sentencing."
The crowd looked around for the speaker—it was Ye Wangxi. "Pavilion Master, please describe how you plan to proceed."
A Bitan Manor disciple shouted, "Now you're demanding answers? Who do you think you are?"
More people began to whisper beneath the stands. "She really thinks she's something. What, just because Jiang Xi supports her? Because Nangong Si cleared Rufeng Sect's name with his death? This no-name bitch dares to question the master of Tianyin Pavilion—what gives her the right?"
Ye Wangxi gave these responses no acknowledgment. Someone who held a grudge against the Nangong clan yelled, "Ye Wangxi, Rufeng Sect is dead! Do you think you're the Rufeng Sect leader just because you're sitting over there by yourself?"
Naobaijin, his spiritual energy still unrecovered, whimpered as Ye Wangxi held his small form to her chest. Her solitary figure stood calmly until those mocking, angry shouts gradually quieted. "The commander of Rufeng Sect's shadow city is still here," said Ye Wangxi. "None of you have the right to decide whether or not it has died."
"You—"
Ye Wangxi didn't wish to waste her breath on these people. She turned her gaze to Mu Yanli. "Pavilion Master, please explain."
"There are ways to restore a spiritual core," said Mu Yanli. "Yes, his core has been shattered, but the fragments remain in his chest. The core doesn't need to be whole for it to be carved out."
Xue Meng was white as paper. "Then what do you plan to do?"
"We will use a spell to excise all the fragments of his core," Mu Yanli answered. "Tianyin Pavilion will not take his li—"
Before Mu Yanli could finish the word life, Xue Zhengyong was on his feet. He cut her off, his face like rolling thunder. "You'll carve out every fragment of his core?"
"Correct."
"How many times will you have to open him up for this?" The streaks of white at Xue Zhengyong's temples made the fury in his panther-like gaze all the more stark. "Five times? Ten? Carving out the spiritual core damages the heart. It's unimaginably painful when done even once. There was a prisoner several years ago who had her core carved out by Tianyin Pavilion—she died as soon as she returned to her cell that day."
"That only means her body was too weak to withstand it," Mu Yanli replied, unmoved. "It is not the fault of Tianyin Pavilion."
"Then you might as well take his life outright!" Xue Zhengyong bellowed. "Mu Yanli, his core is broken! You've made yourself clear—if his core is in two pieces, you'll cut him open twice, if it's in three pieces, three times… But what if it's in a hundred pieces, a thousand pieces? Do you intend to give him death by a thousand cuts? It'll be torture!"
"If it is indeed so broken, then such is his fate."
Xue Zhengyong fell silent. Fate? But wasn't everything fate?
He suddenly felt the grand absurdity of it all. What was fate, after all? Because of fate, he'd mistakenly raised this boy as his own nephew. He'd given him a family and a teacher, a place to live and a home to call his own.
But what was this child's fate as written? He was an abandoned bastard son who had never had enough to eat. He and his mother had eked out a living begging and panhandling. After his mother died, that frail wisp of a child had dragged his mother's festering corpse to a mass grave. With his own hands, he'd buried the only warmth he'd ever known. He'd been beaten and abused, locked in a cage, and imprisoned for a crime he didn't commit.
Everyone wished to believe the ways of the world were just, but in truth, fate was unfair from the moment of birth. Why was it that rich young masters lived in ostentatious wealth, their gold winning the smiles of many a beautiful woman, while destitute commoners languished just a few streets away, subsisting on ants, with no roof above their heads save for the sky? Why was it that some people were doted on by their mothers and wanted for nothing, while others had to bring their mother's body before the gates of a great sect, only to hear the words beggars can't be choosers? Why was it that some people were born in the dirt, while others were born into glory?
It wasn't fair.
When fate dumped its unfairness onto the most vulnerable, when a single price adjustment could steal away the people most dear to them—where, then, was justice? They too were living people. How could their hearts be free of resentment? How could they not hold a grudge?
Although this child had committed many wrongs, although he wasn't Xue Zhengyong's nephew by blood, although fate had played a cruel trick on them… When he thought of all Mo Ran had endured, his heart ached.
Xue Zhengyong closed his eyes. "This is far too inhumane," he muttered. "Perhaps the divine scales didn't consider the fact that his core's been shattered… Hundreds of times, Mu Yanli." He looked up, his voice shaking. "You'll be taking the awl and driving it into his heart hundreds of times."
It was a beautiful day. The entirety of Tianyin Pavilion was solemn and upright, everything in perfect order. Xue Zhengyong lifted his face to look at the clouds drifting past overhead. "All right, then. After this, he will have paid for his crimes. He will have given back everything he owes the world."
The wind picked up.
"But as for what the world owes him…" Xue Zhengyong's voice caught. "Will there be anyone to give it back—will there be anyone to give it back to him?"