PERHAPS NO ONE was immune to change. Even two individuals who started out as indistinguishable versions of the same person would encounter the vicissitudes of fate again and again. After a decade or two, their personalities and circumstances would no longer perfectly align.
When Shi Mei had first planted the flower in Mo Ran, he had a heart cold as steel, his will unbending. In his eyes, there was room for nothing but his own revenge and ambition.
But when he saw how his other self acted, he suddenly yearned to know if Hua Binan had ever harbored a shadow of doubt in his heart—if he'd ever found himself ridiculous for even a moment.
Ultimately, he'd still followed all of Hua Binan's orders. He'd already sacrificed so much; it was pointless to give up with their goal half achieved. Getting sentimental now could ruin everything he'd worked for. Nothing was more important than protecting himself, and ensuring that Mo Ran was under his control.
He'd kept up this act for such a long time, after all—he'd worn this mask for so many years. The disgust had seeped down to his bones and turned him numb. No matter how wrong it felt, even Chu Wanning's death wouldn't change a thing.
It wasn't until he stood by Naihe Bridge, with Master Huaizui's soul-calling lantern in his hands, that he felt a stab of irrepressible envy. He had nowhere to go; he could no longer forge ahead, without hesitation, for the sake of the person he loved. How wonderful would it be if he, like Xue Meng and Mo Ran, could take charge of his own fate—or at least believe that he could.
But he was never the master of his own destiny. He was like an unwilling opera singer pushed onto the stage, resigned to putting on a show only he could bring to life.
To begin with, he needed to seduce Mo Ran. Mo Ran, who had smiled at him and said, "Shi Mei, I really like you so much."
Then he needed to exploit Xu Shuanglin. Xu Shuanglin, who had languidly tossed a tangerine into the air and cast him a sidelong glance. "I've spent my whole life drifting—I never thought I'd make a friend like you. Thanks for teaching me the Rebirth technique. Once that fool Luo Fenghua comes back to life, I'll have him make a bowl of tangyuan for you. Bet you didn't know he makes the best tangyuan. It's only 'cause I respect you that I'll let you have a taste."
And finally, he needed to spring the many traps he'd hidden.
Just as in the worst-case scenario he and Hua Binan had discussed, he would use his own injury to manipulate the emotions of his shizun and fellow disciples. Then, in that critical moment, the Space-Time Gate would open.
He was supposed to be the chess master. But after his older self arrived in his world, he had become one of his own pawns. He didn't enjoy being ordered about; at times, he found it almost too loathsome to bear. But his obsession with his goal was too strong, and his desire for it ran too deep. He didn't want to give up so easily.
But he really, truly hadn't known that when his other self spoke of "trifling sacrifices," he'd meant the lives of hundreds of thousands of people, the annihilation of an entire world. Only after he opened the Space-Time Gate had he witnessed this cruel truth.
In the end, this Shi Mingjing and the other Shi Mingjing were not the same. He hadn't lived those additional decades; he hadn't experienced that inch-by-inch descent into depravity. At this point, he could no longer understand his older self.
But it was impossible to turn back now. He amounted to little more than a sacrificial pawn, no different from any of the other black and white pieces strewn across the board. He had lost his edge; he would never again have an advantage to press.
"Shizun." The hazy lanternlight fell upon his beautiful face, as calm and gentle as ever. "There's something I've been thinking about for a long time. Even Mo Ran could become a different person when he got a second chance. I wonder—if I could do it all over again—would an errant thought crossing my mind have led to a lifetime of different choices?"
His voice was the only sound in the stillness of the room.
"No matter—it's too late," said Shi Mei. "You already hate me to the bone, and Mo Ran's no different. The young master will never see me as a friend again… No matter how many times I wavered along the way, I turned out just like him."
He placed his hand on Chu Wanning's burning cheek, passing healing spiritual energy to him. "I'm sorry, Shizun. I let you down," he said. "The only good thing is that I'm already blind—I'll never have to see the hatred in your eyes."
Shi Mei paused, then smiled a smile that filled the room with the bright warmth of spring. "The last thing I ever saw was everyone's concern for me. That's enough."
He untied the immortal-binding ropes around Chu Wanning's wrists and dispelled the barrier on the bed. Finally, he nullified the ward on the stone door. When he'd finished, Shi Mei turned. Slowly, by feel alone, he made his way out of the room. He strode into the hallway, and the darkness swallowed him up.
In Shandong, in the shadow of Tianyin Pavilion, the pedantic Teacher Ma had just returned home from school. Kneading at his sore shoulders, he headed toward the kitchen for a cup of eight treasures tea.
He pushed open the door to find a pitch-black room.
Teacher Ma frowned. Groping toward the light stand, he yelled, "Dear? It's the middle of the night—why didn't you light a candle? You're…"
Flint sparked. With a sound like a sigh, a candle flared to life.
Teacher Ma fell silent, frozen in the middle of the room. His household servants had become hanging corpses, their strangled forms swaying from the rafters like wind chimes. His wife had been disemboweled, her innards a gory trail on the ground. Her eyes and mouth were open wide, and her face was turned toward the door.
"Ah…" Teacher Ma attempted to cry out, but only a strangled whimper escaped his throat. He had wet himself in terror by the time he at last managed a full-throated scream: "Ahhhhh!"
"Tsk. What are you yelling for?" A man walked out of the inner room holding a rolled-up copy of the Book of Documents. He raised the scroll to the nape of his neck, scratching an itch, and yawned. "Never seen a dead body before?"
"You… Y-y-you! Mo—Mo…"
The man snapped his fingers, then drawled in explanation: "Silencing spell."
"Wh-what?"
"A silencing spell—ever heard of it?" The man rolled his eyes. "This venerable one was just reading the classics you have here while I waited. This venerable one knows it's not polite to disturb the neighbors at night. So go on—yell all you want. If anyone hears you, you may direct your complaints to this venerable one."
Teacher Ma was pale as a ghost, knees knocking together in fright. He spent his days blathering on about arcane texts to his students; of course he'd never witnessed such a bloodbath. Drenched in sweat and urine, he stammered after a long silence, "Mo… You m-monster… Aren't…aren't you supposed to be at the punishment grounds in Tianyin Pavilion… You—you…"
"The punishment grounds in Tianyin Pavilion?" The man raised his eyes, so black they flashed purple, and laughed. "Ah yes, this venerable one did pay a visit to the punishment grounds. How else could I have overheard your considered opinion the other day?"
He tossed the scroll aside and straightened to his full height, approaching the teacher with unhurried steps. The candle illuminated his peerlessly handsome features—who else could it be but Taxian-jun?
The former emperor flashed a brilliant grin, dimples creasing. Unexpectedly, he bowed to the schoolteacher. "This venerable one has always admired scholars above all. How rude of me to barge in here and murder your whole family. Sir, please accept my kind regards."
Taxian-jun's bizarre manner of speaking, juxtaposed with the corpses strewn in every corner, was too much for anyone to handle, let alone the spineless Teacher Ma. The terrified man sank to the ground with a dull thud, panting harshly. "What do you want… What do you want?!"
Taxian-jun chuckled and raised a hand. A long blade materialized in his grip. He tilted his face to look at the teacher. "Take a guess."
"Don't kill me!" Teacher Ma shrieked, writhing backward on the ground. "I don't want to die, please!"
As Teacher Ma scrambled away from Taxian-jun, he collided with something behind him. Turning his head, he found himself staring into the wide, unseeing eyes of his wife. "Noooo!" he howled piteously. "No—please, don't… Spare me… Aaaaah!"
The blade had plunged unerringly into his thigh, piercing straight through and sinking into the ground beneath.
The man screamed.
Taxian-jun's eyes curved sweetly as he smiled. "If I may ask, sir…what do you think is the difference between a songstress and a prostitute?"
"Wh-what?" Teacher Ma blinked, uncomprehending. Through agonized sobs, he croaked, "What…"
"You said it yourself," Taxian-jun said patiently. "Sir, back at Tianyin Pavilion, you said"—here, he mimicked the schoolteacher's singsong, fussy way of speaking—"'Neither songstresses nor prostitutes have any dignity. I can't believe people these days will actually speak up for a prostitute. The upper cultivation realm is really going to the dogs.'" He scoffed and turned his handsome face to the teacher. "Did I memorize it well, sir?"
Beneath the terror and pain, Teacher Ma vaguely recalled that he'd insulted Mo Ran's mother with these words. "No no no—I was confused!" he blubbered. "I meant…" He swallowed, sweat running down his face. "A songstress is a songstress, and a prostitute is a prostitute… Th-they're not the same, they're not…"
"How are they not the same? This venerable one thought what you said was very reasonable." Smile plastered on his face, Taxian-jun stepped toward him and raised his blade once more. "To be honest, this venerable one doesn't have the keenest mind—I've always wished for someone to guide me. That clever tongue of yours would make a fine gift for this venerable one, hm?"
"No… No no no! Zongshi, have mercy! Good cultivator, please have mercy!" Teacher Ma babbled, sweat running down his back. "Please, be the bigger man, take the high road…"
"Who're you calling zongshi, good cultivator?" Taxian-jun asked, his smile never wavering. "Do you live under a rock? Call me Your Majesty."
"Your…Your Majesty?" Teacher Ma blinked in confusion, but didn't argue—as long as he survived this, he'd call this man Daddy if asked. He immediately began chanting: "Your Majesty! Your Majesty, please spare me! Your Majesty, please have mercy!"
Taxian-jun dropped to one knee and grasped the schoolteacher's chin. "Huh. A question for you, Mister Paragon of Virtue. Is it this venerable one who lacks dignity, or is it you?"
"Me, me me me! It's me! Me… It's…"
But what use was it to plead for his life? Taxian-jun's grin didn't falter amidst the teacher's sobbing. With a firm squeeze of his hand, he crushed the teacher's windpipe. The black-robed man looked around the room with a self-satisfied air, confirming that he'd left no survivors. Then he stood, wiped the blood from his hands, and walked into the courtyard.
Hua Binan waited for him outside. "Are you happy now?"
"Happy enough."
"Then can we return to Tianyin Pavilion and make our preparations?"
Taxian-jun eyed him. "Sure, I guess."
Hua Binan shook his head. "You really are impossible. The man only said a few words about your mother, yet you couldn't let such a little thing slide. You just had to—"
"And how would you feel if this venerable one said a few words about your mother?"
Hua Binan's face darkened ever so slightly. He turned aside without answering.
"Let's go," said Taxian-jun. "Didn't you say once you get Mo-zongshi's heart tomorrow, you'll put it into this venerable one's body? What are you waiting for? This venerable one is running out of patience."
With a flare of his robes, Taxian-jun strode off toward Tianyin Pavilion.
The sky was bathed in gold, clouds edged in hues of rose. Dawn came swiftly.
A horrified shriek shattered the quiet morning as an early-rising neighbor discovered the bodies of Teacher Ma's entire household. On any other day, such grisly slaughter in Tianyin Pavilion's own territory would have stirred up a great commotion. Yet unfortunately for the victims, their deaths went almost unnoticed—a far more attention-grabbing event was occurring at that moment.
On the sentencing platform, the torches burned bright. Two of Tianyin Pavilion's servant girls lit rows of lamps on either side of the platform, the light catching on the shimmering gold thread of their robes. As they lifted their fair and lovely arms to each candle, the wax melted, and the clean scent of pine wafted into the air.
Strangely, all of Tianyin Pavilion's guards were very comely, men and women alike. Whether it was because of their cultivation techniques, or because Mu Yanli was picky about her disciples' looks, no one could say.
"Heaven and earth both possess their own wisdom; good and evil each repaid in due time."
The bronze, beast-shaped lanterns flared to life in turn, their dancing flames like billowing red silks. The surroundings teemed with people, both on and below the platform. Xue Meng sat with the Sisheng Peak contingent in the crowded stands, trembling faintly.
Over the past three days, Xue Zhengyong had pleaded his case to countless people, to no avail. The other cultivators trusted blindly in the fairness of the Divine Scales of Justice and feared Mo Weiyu, a man who had mastered the Zhenlong Chess Formation.
Those from Sisheng Peak tirelessly tried to explain to anyone who might listen: "He saved us. He shattered his own spiritual core to save us that day. If he was plotting against us, why would he have sacrificed so much?"
But there was simply too much that was suspicious about Mo Ran. None of the other sects were willing to stand with Sisheng Peak. Even Guyueye and Taxue Palace kept silent.
A practitioner of the first forbidden technique, suddenly recovered after being lost for millennia, against the most righteous arbiter of justice, which had presided over the realm for just as long—only an idiot would place their trust in the former. Xue Zhengyong's harried entreaties seemed foolish, and Sisheng Peak's explanations sounded feeble.
At some point, a hazy thought crossed Xue Meng's mind: Maybe we should steal him away. But he knew it was impossible. Tianyin Pavilion's guards were everywhere, to say nothing of the leaders and disciples of the other sects and the sea of commoners below the stands. They could never manage an escape under the scrutiny of so many eyes.
In the end, Mo Ran's spiritual core was still to be carved out.
"Tianyin Pavilion has given three days' public notice. The punishment has been decided." Mu Yanli, solemn and graceful, surveyed the vast crowd below. She struck a bronze ritual bell in her hand. "Bring out the criminal, Mo Ran."
Mo Ran had been escorted from the Platform of Repentance to the sentencing platform. His spiritual core was broken, but several dozen of Tianyin Pavilion's most skilled disciples were watching his every move. These disciples were vultures awaiting Mo Ran's impending death: Very few survived having their spiritual cores carved out. Scenting blood on the air, the vultures' eyes flashed keenly.
"Mo Ran, who has committed serious crimes, will be stripped of his spiritual core in punishment at noon today," said Mu Yanli, voice crisp and cool. "He is convicted of ten crimes, which I will announce before these witnesses."
Although the rain had stopped, the ground was still wet. Mo Ran stood in a puddle, bright sky and opaque clouds floating past his feet. He cast his gaze upward until he found Ye Wangxi among the crowd. His ink-dark eyes fixed upon her like a question—had she passed on his warning to the members of Sisheng Peak? Had she understood those final wishes he couldn't abandon?
Ye Wangxi nodded once. The corners of Mo Ran's mouth lifted, his eyes lighting up as a radiant smile unfolded across his face.
What a lovely day. The rain had passed.
"The first crime: slaughtering commoners with no regard for human life." Mu Yanli's voice floated through Tianyin Pavilion, dignified and composed. "The second: committing arson for personal vengeance."
Incense smoke ribboned up before the Buddha, a plea to the god among the clouds—sitting cross-legged, his hands cupped in his lap as he surveyed the endless masses, whether in anger or benevolence. For years, Mo Ran hadn't liked looking up at the sky. If there were indeed deities up above in the heavens, he feared they would discover the sins hidden in his eyes, the malice buried in his heart. But today he allowed himself to relax at last. He raised his eyes to the horizon, and the sunlight flooded in, washing out the purple-blackness of his irises until they glimmered a pure, limpid brown.
He watched the sky, that halcyon expanse; even the clouds were pale and light. Mu Yanli's voice was distant. He closed his eyes. He did not look again at Sisheng Peak, nor at any of those faces dear to him.
"The sixth: cultivating forbidden techniques in secret, in violation of the law."
A thought occurred to him, and his brow furrowed with mixed regret and tenderness. He'd wanted to treat Chu Wanning well in this lifetime, but he hadn't succeeded. Even their first time making love, for which he had waited so earnestly, had been absurd in its violence. His quest had ended in failure.
He wasn't a good person at all. He was a scourge, a blight, a pathetic joke.
Over two lifetimes he'd wanted to protect his mother, but he hadn't been able to. He'd wanted to repay the kindness he'd received, but he never managed to follow through. As a child, he'd wanted to be a hero. Later, he'd merely hoped to masquerade as the nephew of Sect Leader Xue for the rest of his life. And when he reached the end of that road, he'd forsaken his heart entirely and become the ruthless and cold-blooded Emperor Taxian-jun.
He'd accomplished nothing in the end.
"Taxian-jun, Mo Weiyu, Mo-zongshi…" Lashes quivering, throat bobbing, he sighed out words only he could hear, self-mocking and rueful. "You are truly the most laughable man on earth."
He tilted his head back to look skyward once more. The wind ruffled his bangs. He squinted, wondering, Where is Chu Wanning now?
Perhaps the blessings he'd received were already too bountiful—the two of them had exhausted all the time fate allotted them. It would be asking too much to see Chu Wanning one last time in the twilight hours of this life.
But this was for the best. His eyes curved into crescents, and he chuckled on the sentencing platform. At least Chu Wanning wouldn't see him in such a wretched state.
"The time is nigh! Prepare to carry out the punishment!"
A somber shout rose from the guards in answer, and a bugle sounded.
As though that final bugle call reached his ears from thousands of miles away, like the long shadow of a nightmare, Chu Wanning's eyes snapped open within the secret chamber on Mount Jiao. Startled awake, he sat bolt upright.
"Mo Ran!"
In the wavering candlelight, he drew great, gasping breaths, his thick robes soaked with sweat. He was trembling. Without thinking, the first words he had blurted were the name of the man with whom he'd entangled for two lifetimes. He swallowed thickly, his dazed eyes roving over the room.
Just now, he seemed to have seen a phantom blade. Goosebumps rose on his skin, and his heart pounded like a drum. For some reason, he was gripped by horror. He sat on the bed and scrubbed vigorously at his face; by the time he came to his senses, his sweat had cooled.
Memories clear as day flashed before his eyes, memories that didn't belong to him. The half of his earth soul that had been housed in Mo Ran's body had brought many of Mo Ran's memories back with it when it returned to Chu Wanning—memories the Flower of Eightfold Sorrows had devoured and erased. Mo Ran himself could no longer recall these pivotal events.
But Chu Wanning had seen them all.