BOTH THE UPPER and lower cultivation realms were abuzz with the shocking news: For the first time in history, a prisoner had been stolen from the sentencing grounds of the vaunted Tianyin Pavilion. Not only that, but the thief in question was the world's foremost zongshi, Chu Wanning. He'd killed eleven of Tianyin Pavilion's most skilled disciples and injured a hundred more before whisking the convicted criminal Mo Weiyu away to heaven knew where.
Some said Chu Wanning must've lost his mind, while others said he and Mo Weiyu were the same, both beasts in human clothing. Still others had a different take on the situation. Those who had been close to the action had witnessed several details that had them exclaiming in anger: Something about Chu Wanning and Mo Ran's relationship was fishy. There was definitely something going on between them, something too dirty to name.
Regardless of the fervor with which such gossip spread, Chu Wanning and Mo Weiyu did not show themselves in the jianghu. No one knew their whereabouts. The world's most upright zongshi had stolen the world's most sinister villain, and both had vanished without a trace.
Beyond the wooden frame of a half-open window, snow flurries drifted down. The ground beneath the window was green with moss and scattered with a few withered petals.
Four days had passed since the uproar at Tianyin Pavilion. The realm had been thrown into chaos, and everyone had made their own judgments. Only here, in this cabin nestled within the empty mountains, was there still some semblance of peace.
A man walked out of the quiet depths of the forest and into the vivid scene bracketed by the window frame. He held a large oilpaper umbrella aloft and carried an armful of firewood. Pushing open the door, he entered the cabin. The room was very cold. He piled the wood next to the hearth, then added smaller scraps of kindling to the stove. A feeble fire flickered to life.
This cabin, having been abandoned for quite some time, was in a state of disrepair. Although it was tidy enough, a musty smell hung in the air. The man retrieved a dew-laden branch of white wintersweet from his pile and placed it next to the bedframe.
Chu Wanning sat down, studying the figure on the narrow bed.
Four days had passed, but he had yet to wake.
Since escaping from Taxian-jun, Chu Wanning had drawn upon all his knowledge of techniques from the past lifetime and his still-bountiful spiritual energy from the present one to keep Mo Ran alive. Yet even after all this, Mo Ran was unconscious and frail, his spiritual core beyond repair.
"My shizun built this cabin on his travels. You can tell by the smell it's been a long time since anyone's lived here." Chu Wanning gazed intently down at Mo Ran's face. "I know you don't like incense, but at least you don't mind flowers. I picked a branch of wintersweet—it'll stay fresh for a long time."
Mo Ran lay unmoving, his lashes tight against pale cheeks. His sleeping form looked so tranquil, as if embodying the peace he'd so rarely known in life. He had spent the past few days sleeping soundly. After Chu Wanning finished attending to his requisite chores and tasks, he spent every spare moment at Mo Ran's bedside, speaking to him.
Whenever the two of them had been together in the past, Mo Ran had done most of the talking while Chu Wanning listened. How could he have known that, someday, they would switch roles like this?
"I've reinforced the barriers outside and set up wards. No one will find us here," said Chu Wanning. "I've brought back firewood and food too. We have nothing to worry about for the time being."
He paused, then heaved a sigh. "Oh you—why won't you wake up?" He reached out to brush his fingers over Mo Ran's hair.
The fire flickered gently. Chu Wanning sat by the bed as the shadows fanned across the floor with the shifting sun. No matter how long he waited, Mo Ran's eyes remained stubbornly closed.
Chu Wanning's lashes drifted shut, and he sighed softly. "You must still be tired, so go on and sleep, then… I'll pick up where I left off in the story I was telling you yesterday. Sorry—I know you like bedtime stories, but I don't know any. All I can tell you about are things from our past." Chu Wanning fell silent, looking down at his hands, before continuing softly, "Mn…where'd I stop yesterday? Let me think… That's right, I told you about how I discovered the gu flower in the past lifetime, how I wanted to pull it out of your heart. But the Flower of Eightfold Sorrows was already too deeply rooted; there was nothing I could do. In this lifetime I finally stopped the curse. I never thought things would end up like this."
He touched the back of Mo Ran's hand. It was freezing.
Chu Wanning spoke quietly to Mo Ran just like this, holding his hand. Both because of outside schemes and their own innate personalities, there were too many sentiments they'd never expressed openly. They'd squandered so many chances, passing by each other like strangers. Chu Wanning regretted this deeply. How would things have changed if they'd spoken more honestly? Would everything be different? Would he have discovered the flower's curse earlier?
Would they have had a chance to start over again?
"Ever since you were reborn, you've wanted to repent." Chu Wanning closed his eyes and sighed. "But do you remember how the flower came to be planted in you in the first place?" His voice caught. "Think back… Mo Ran, try to remember…"
You've never owed me anything. Since the beginning, it was me who owed a debt to you.
I'm begging you, please wake up. If only you'd wake up, if only you'd recall those lost memories, then you'd know… The true story began on that rainy night, seven years ago, when I was meditating in seclusion.
The day Mo Ran had exchanged his fate for Chu Wanning's had been an ordinary one. That day, the Red Lotus Pavilion was buffeted by wind and rain, torrents crashing over the roof tiles beneath flashing lightning and booming thunder. But Chu Wanning couldn't hear any of it.
It had happened to be the year Chu Wanning needed to cultivate in seclusion to shore up his weakened spiritual core. Wanting his disciples to be at ease while they kept watch over him, he cast a silencing spell on himself before entering seclusion. Then he calmly sat down, cross-legged in the center of the pavilion, and cast his mind into nothingness. Because of this, he had not witnessed the violent struggle that had played out right in front of him.
On that day, amidst the howling wind, Mo Ran and Shi Mei had stared each other down within the Red Lotus Pavilion. Mo Ran's face had been pale as bone, while Shi Mei's expression was dark and sinister.
The truth Chu Wanning had never known had unfolded slowly as the rain poured around them.
Mo Ran had only recently become Chu Wanning's disciple when the time for his seclusion came around. Because of the punishment he'd received for accidentally plucking Madam Wang's prized haitang blossom, Mo Ran had felt wronged and embarrassed. He'd announced he wouldn't be able to look after his shizun properly, and so didn't wish to attend to him.
Of course, words said by a youth in a moment of anger were not to be taken seriously. After two nights had passed, Mo Ran still remembered Chu Wanning's kindness more than his own grudges. He pushed down the glumness in his heart and set out for the Red Lotus Pavilion, intending to take over the rest of Shi Mei's shift.
He couldn't have known then that he would stumble upon the plot that would upend his entire life—that he would find Shi Mei with a dagger in his hand, in the process of casting a curse on Chu Wanning.
Confusion, shock, fear, anger, and despair had crashed over Mo Ran. He sprinted forward and knocked the knife out of Shi Mei's hand. "What are you doing?!" he shouted, a yelp like a wild animal's.
Shi Mei's astonishment showed for the briefest moment. His gentle, bright peach-blossom eyes quickly narrowed.
"I was wondering who it could be." Shi Mei smiled. "With all the barriers surrounding the Red Lotus Pavilion these days, the only ones with access are us three disciples and the sect leader. It would have been tricky for me if the young master or the sect leader had come. Good thing it's only you."
Mo Ran was out of breath from running. He interposed himself between Shi Mei and Chu Wanning, shielding his shizun behind his scrawny figure as the night wind ruffled his robes and tangled in the stray hair framing his face. Glaring, he demanded, "What are you trying to do while Shizun's in seclusion? You… You…" At that time, Mo Ran could scarcely believe that his soft-spoken Mingjing-shixiong possessed a second face like a fiend's. "Who are you, really?!"
Shi Mei laughed out loud. "A-Ran, you're so cute. I'm your Mingjing-shixiong of course. Who else would I be?" He assessed Mo Ran as he stood before Chu Wanning. This new disciple was so slight, so overconfident in his strength. It was almost amusing. "Didn't you say Shizun's the worst and you never want to see him ever again?"
Confident in his plan, Shi Mei was in no hurry as he teased and mocked Mo Ran. "When I brought you those wontons, you told me you hate cruel people like Shizun. So why'd you change your mind just two days later and come running over here?"
"If I didn't, who knows what you'd've done today?!" Mo Ran was overcome with fury and grief. "Shi Mingjing, why did I think you were a good person?! I should've never trusted you!"
"Aiya, is it my fault you're so gullible?" Shi Mei asked amiably. "All it took was a bowl of wontons and a few pleasant words, and I had you wrapped around my little finger. You're hardly better than a stray dog—if anyone tosses you a bone, you'll follow them home."
Mo Ran glared mutely at him.
"Why're you staring at me like that? Tell me, were the wontons good?"
Gripped by fear, Mo Ran watched Shi Mei, his dark eyes gleaming and cold in the night. After a long moment, his throat bobbed. "Shi Mingjing… Your heart is black."
Shi Mei's smile never wavered. "A black heart is one that's been bewitched and diseased. My heart's perfectly healthy—it's red, just like yours and Shizun's, for now."
He paused. With a flourish of his fair, slender fingers, an exquisite flower appeared at his fingertips. Its black petals, edged with gleaming silver, were tightly furled. Shi Mei brought the flower to his nose and took a deep whiff. Such a lovely flower in the hands of such a beautiful youth ought to have made for a charming sight. Yet the tableau was thoroughly spine-chilling.
"What are you planning to do…" Mo Ran mumbled.
Shi Mei looked up through his long lashes, his peach-blossom eyes filled with mirth. He seemed in an excellent mood. "Honestly, there's no point in explaining it to you. A simple spell is all I'll need to make you forget about everything that happened tonight. You won't remember a thing."
He held that black flower cupped in his elegant fingers.
"But since we're disciples under the same shizun, I suppose I'll tell you," said Shi Mei. "This flower bud was created by my mother. It's a Flower of Eightfold Sorrows that I've gone to great pains to nurture. Perhaps it's good you're here—if it vanished before anyone else got the chance to admire it, I'd feel like I was missing out on something."
"A Flower…of Eightfold Sorrows?"
"Shidi, there are eight sorrows in life from which regret springs eternal, even in death. The demon tribe left a seed upon this earth that ordinary humans would find impossible to cultivate. Its name is the Flower of Eightfold Sorrows." Shi Mei's voice was soft and refined. "In the early stages of its growth, this flower drinks human blood. But after it blooms, it needs to take root in someone's heart. Within that heart, it will absorb its host's goodness and kindness while fostering malice and hatred."
He stroked the flower's black petals tenderly as he spoke. "No matter how good someone is, as long as they harbor the slightest dissatisfaction in their heart, the Flower of Eightfold Sorrows will magnify it. Bit by bit, they'll become a monster who'll kill without blinking an eye."
His irises gleamed like the iridescent scales of a snake. He turned those peach-blossom eyes on Chu Wanning, who sat cross-legged and silent, lost in his subconscious.
"You want to plant the Flower of Eightfold Sorrows in Shizun's heart?!" Mo Ran cried, aghast.
"Don't be so surprised," Shi Mei said blithely. "He's the most powerful zongshi in the world. If he turns into a cold-blooded killer, don't you think he'd be unstoppable?"
"Are you insane? How could you… How could you bear to…"
"Aren't you the one who called him cruel and unfeeling?" Shi Mei asked, unconcerned. "Once I make your words come true, Shidi, you can hate him wholeheartedly. Then wouldn't we both have cause to celebrate?"
Mo Ran felt like his head was on the verge of exploding, and he was shivering so hard his back was numb. "You're…you're crazy… I was just saying stuff because I was mad—I-I never really hated him! Put it down right now, don't do this—"
"Why not?" Shi Mei asked, intrigued.
Why not? Because Chu Wanning was so good. The table in the Red Lotus Pavilion was covered in his blueprints. His creations—whether automatons or weapons—never served his own interests. Rather, they all reflected his concern for the safety and well-being of others.
He was pure and clean, like the first snow that floated down from the early winter sky. Yes, he was exacting, and at times he could be unforgiving. But he had also taken Mo Ran's hand over and over again, teaching him how to read and write. He'd practiced martial arts with him from the light-filled day into the dark night.
He'd agreed to be his teacher. Henceforth, Mo Weiyu no longer remained a lonely, unwanted boy, who possessed only false happiness and family. He'd gained a real identity—he was Chu Wanning's disciple.
"You can't hurt him…" Distraught, Mo Ran desperately wanted to wake Chu Wanning, but he didn't know how. All he could do was stand his ground, arms spread wide to shield him. "He can't turn into a monster. He's so good. If you made him kill people…it would make him so sad."
He had no way to express the anguish that welled in his breast. He could only use the simplest and most straightforward words to plead, almost incoherently, with Shi Mei. He hadn't had the time to master any spiritual techniques that could help him now. He could only hide Chu Wanning behind his frail body.
To force a good person to kill was impossibly cruel. He had come to this visceral realization on his own as the House of Drunken Jade had gone up in flames around him.
Shi Mei eyed him, finding this boy endlessly amusing. "Sad? Once his heart has transformed, he won't be sad about it. A-Ran, there's no need for you to worry about that."
"But why do this?! Why hurt him?!"
Shi Mei didn't reply right away. Lashes lowered, he hesitated for a moment before saying lightly, "Because I have certain goals I must accomplish."
Mo Ran stared at him, uncomprehending.
"I need great power at my disposal." Shi Mei pressed his lips into a thin line. "You wouldn't understand."
Mo Ran seemed to be drawing on every ounce of his paltry strength to reason with this inscrutable shixiong before him. "You know what kind of person Shizun is. Even if…even if you do this, even if you take away all his goodness and turn him into a heartless monster, he won't listen to you. He wouldn't let you use him. You…you'll never succeed."
"Who are you to say I won't succeed?" Shi Mei chuckled. "Ah, I forgot this part—I fused a fragment of my soul into this Flower of Eightfold Sorrows. Once the flower blooms in his heart, he'll fall in love with me, and his love will never waver."
"You're mad!" Mo Ran exclaimed in horror.
Unruffled, Shi Mei closed the distance between them. Lightning ripped through the curtain of night, illuminating his devastatingly beautiful face. Rumbling thunder followed in its wake.
"But it's just like you said. He's so good—so why can't I use him, why can't he be mine? So what if he becomes a monster? When the time comes, my voice will be the only one he listens to, and he'll love me unconditionally. Won't that be perfect?"
He knew Chu Wanning wouldn't wake up; he'd never hear this conversation. He thus felt wholly at ease. "Shidi, step aside, won't you?" he said. "You only just managed to cultivate a spiritual core. Do you really think you're a match for me?"
"I'm not budging," Mo Ran gritted out.
Shi Mei laughed. In the blink of an eye, he'd darted behind Mo Ran like a phantom. He raised a hand over Chu Wanning's head, holding aloft that black flower on the cusp of blooming. "A-Ran, have you any idea how much of myself I've poured into this Flower of Eightfold Sorrows? I've toiled for so long, waiting for the day of Shizun's seclusion."
He bent down, his cheek almost brushing Chu Wanning's temple. "I'm about to make him my lethal weapon, my puppet. I'm about to make him mine. What can you possibly do to stop me?"
Shi Mei lowered the flower, ready to seal Chu Wanning's fate.
"Don't touch him!" Mo Ran shouted, desperate, in one last-ditch attempt to obstruct him.
"That's enough." Shi Mei was finally losing his patience. "Do you have any idea—"
"Take me instead."
The moment the words left Mo Ran's lips, a bolt of lightning shattered the heavens, and a great thunderclap shook the pavilion.
Shi Mei narrowed his eyes. "What?"
Mo Ran was trembling from head to toe. Having joined the sect so recently, he'd learned pitifully few spiritual techniques. There was nothing he could do to stop Shi Mei, and he had no idea how to rouse Chu Wanning. He was utterly powerless, with nothing to fall back on. All he had was his own flesh and blood.
So he could only say: "Take me instead."
Shi Mei went silent, then snorted. "Do you even know what you're saying?"
"I do."
"This Flower of Eightfold Sorrows is the product of my mother's blood, sweat, and tears. I shattered my own soul to raise it." Shi Mei straightened up, staring unblinkingly at Mo Ran. "And you think you're worthy of receiving it?"
"I…" Mo Ran balled his hands into fists. After a long beat, his face jerked up. "I might not be worthy. But I'm a much better option than Shizun."
The light in Shi Mei's eyes seemed to ripple. "How so?"
"You said this flower will magnify the hatred in someone's heart. But what if that person's heart is clean and pure—what if they don't have any grudges?"
Shi Mei thought for a moment, then laughed. "Impossible. Everyone holds some resentment in their heart. Even the Beidou Immortal is no different." But the movements of his fingertips grew ever so slightly fretful as they caressed the petals of the Flower of Eightfold Sorrows.
There was some merit to Mo Ran's words. Shi Mei, too, had wondered whether Chu Wanning would be a suitable host for the Flower of Eightfold Sorrows. What if there really was no hatred in his heart? He couldn't afford the time and energy required to cultivate a second flower, to say nothing of the agony of splitting his soul. He didn't want to experience that a second time.
At his hesitation, Mo Ran took a step forward. "In all the years you've known him, have you ever seen Shizun hate anyone?"
When Shi Mei still didn't answer, Mo Ran pressed on. "You said the flower will devour all the goodness and warmth in someone's heart… Any ordinary person's heart would contain other things too, but you should know better than me what Shizun's heart is like."
The rain fell harder, drumming against the leaves in the forest.
"Shi Mingjing, aren't you worried that if he loses every happy memory—if he forgets everything good in his life—someone might find out?"
Shi Mei's eyes narrowed dangerously, his pupils flickering as though a snake slithered through their depths.
Mo Ran took another tentative step toward him, then another. His heart was pounding like a drum, faster than the patter of the raindrops. "I don't know what your goal is. But if you have to sacrifice someone, take me instead."
"You…"
"There's hatred in my heart. The flower can magnify it. I don't have many happy memories—even if I gradually forget them, it'll be hard for anyone to notice."
Mo Ran used all his powers of persuasion to convince the executioner to press the blade to his own throat. "I hardly know anything yet, but Shizun and Uncle both say I'm talented, that I have lots of spiritual energy… I can do it." He was shivering, his nails biting into his palms, but he forced himself to keep speaking. "I can take his place and become the powerful weapon you want. I can become the cold-blooded killer you need."
He came to a stop right in front of Shi Mingjing. "Shi Mei." Lightning danced across the sky, and a sharp wind rose. The rain slanted down, pouring into the pavilion in freezing gusts. "Take me instead."
Perhaps Mo Ran's argument was truly compelling, or perhaps Shi Mei was still too uncertain whether the flower would have the desired effect on Chu Wanning. Or maybe it was because Mo Ran had already demonstrated astonishing reserves of spiritual power. He'd managed to form a spiritual core even faster than the darling of the heavens, Xue Meng—fast enough to make anyone green with envy. Whatever it was, after some consideration, Shi Mei planted that budding black flower into Mo Ran's heart.
When the deed was done, he took a seat by the stone table, resting his chin in his hand with a faraway look. He didn't understand why. Why would Mo Ran choose to bear such devastation in Chu Wanning's stead? He would give up his life, his souls, his future, and his dignity. The two of them shared little connection—they'd been master and disciple for less than a year.
Shi Mei couldn't comprehend it.
He watched the black pistil vanish into Mo Ran's chest. Those petals were velvety soft, yet they pierced his flesh like steel barbs, sinking into the depths of his heart. Mo Ran endured the pain in silence throughout. It wasn't until the pistil dove into his heart like the feeler of some bizarre insect that he whimpered and fell to his knees.
Shi Mei sat quietly, his jade-like hands luminous, looking impassively down from above as Mo Ran convulsed and vomited blood at his feet.
"Does it hurt?"
Hoarse coughing was his only answer.
Shi Mei appeared intrigued. He asked, eyes placid, "How much? It's my first time using this kind of curse. I'm really curious…what does it feel like to have the Flower of Eightfold Sorrows pierce your heart, my dear shidi?"
His gaze was like a springtime stream flowing over Mo Ran's earthbound form, inch by inch, to finally fix upon his bone-pale fingers. Mo Ran's fingertips, scrabbling unconsciously against the floor, had been rubbed raw, leaving streaks of blood behind.
"Does it hurt more than having your heart carved out?"
Mo Ran didn't answer. It did hurt, terribly, but…the pain was nothing compared to his anguish in that mass grave in Linyi.
It was nothing compared to seeing his mother die before his eyes.
It was nothing compared to scooping up the dirt with his own hands and scattering it over her corpse.
"Back then…I couldn't protect my mom. Now at least…I can protect my shifu," he murmured, eyes going glassy.
Already, his brightest memories were fading; the pure and carefree parts of his past were slipping away. Images from those good times, painfully few to begin with, flashed before his eyes—
A stranger giving him and his mother a bowl of hot soup.
On a snowy night, an old farmer allowing them to shelter inside and rest by the fire.
Another beggar child offering him half the meat pie he'd foraged.
Duan Yihan holding his hand as they walked along a canal in the autumn, dragonflies zipping past…
Those memories held no hatred, no suffering, no unhappiness, anxiety, or resentment. Everything was peaceful; they were wholly pure and good.
He saw himself embroidering a haitang handkerchief by the small glow of a candle. He saw himself sitting at a stone table, chin in hand, grinning as he watched his shizun eat a mooncake. He saw himself taking a sip of wine with Chu Wanning beneath the moon after gifting him that first jug of pear-blossom white.
Now he'd forget all of these memories. Never again would he be able to recall them.
Now his hatred would multiply. Those bygone moments of gentleness would be distorted beyond recognition.
Now the earnest passion in his heart would be extinguished, never again to burn with that clean flame. The spring waters in his eyes would freeze over, solidifying into ice.
Now he would defy his mother's dying wish. Duan Yihan had said, Repay kindness. Do not seek revenge. But he'd never manage it.
Though he didn't know where he got the strength, he gritted his teeth against the gut-wrenching agony and tried to clamber to his feet. But he swayed and stumbled, unable to stay upright; he collapsed back down to his knees and crawled. By the end, the pain was soul-crushing, yet he dragged himself forward until he reached Chu Wanning.
"Shizun…"
He put up a mighty struggle, squirming bizarrely on the ground. At first, Shi Mei thought Mo Ran would try to interfere somehow. But the youth only summoned all his remaining determination, using up the last of his sincerity and gratitude, to prostrate himself in a long bow, forehead pressed to the ground.
Eyes welling with tears, Mo Ran said, "Shizun, very soon…I'll disappoint you…"
Outside, rain sluiced down in the dark night.
"Very soon, I won't remember your goodness anymore. I won't…won't be able to properly learn techniques from you anymore… You'll get annoyed with me, you'll be disgusted by me…"
He was crying as made his confession in these last moments before his rationality faded. But Chu Wanning couldn't hear him, though Mo Ran was right there in front of him. He couldn't hear a thing.
"I'm sorry. I picked that haitang flower because I wanted to give it to you. Shizun, I came here today because…I wanted to tell you sorry when you woke up. I wanted to tell you…what I really think."
His voice was mangled, every word bloodily gouged from his throat.
"Shizun, thank you for not looking down on me, for being willing to take me as your disciple… I really, really…"
His heart throbbed, and his field of vision filled with scarlet. The Flower of Eightfold Sorrows was beginning to put out roots, and its affection spell was starting to take hold. Mo Ran kowtowed, grinding his forehead into the ground, weeping uncontrollably. "I really like you so much."
Shi Mei let out a soft sigh, eyes shining with interest, yet also with pity. But these emotions, whether cruel or kind, were all perfunctory, unable to touch his heart.
At last, he walked over to Mo Ran and knelt, lifting the young man's cheek from the ground. Gazing unblinkingly into Mo Ran's increasingly hazy eyes, he asked softly, "Tell me, Shidi, what do you want now?"
"I want…"
What did he want?
The autumn colors in Linyi, the scenery before the Heaven-
Piercing Tower.
Duan Yihan smiling, Chu Wanning casting his gaze downward.
In the entertainment house, Xun Fengruo's sharp canines peeked out as she grinned. Eyes shining with candid anticipation, she said, "A-Ran, I've nearly saved enough to buy my freedom. I'll take you with me—we'll leave this place behind. Jiejie will bring you to live the good life."
Even in his confusion, Mo Ran was doing his utmost to cling to these memories that were floating away like duckweed.
"I want to…repay kindness…not seek revenge."
Shi Mei shook his head. It was some time before he asked again, "What do you want?"
Mo Ran rasped out, surprisingly resolute: "I want…someday…to die by Shizun's hand."
Shi Mei froze, then started to laugh. "To die by Shizun's hand?"
"I don't want to become a monster… I don't want to go to hell…" Mo Ran's mumbling was disjointed. "I don't want to only remember hatred, Shizun…"
He threw off Shi Mei's hand and prostrated himself in front of Chu Wanning once more. His eyes were scarlet, his awareness fading fast. "Kill me," he said, voice climbing to a wail.
By the end, this was the only wish he repeated over and over.
"On the first day I commit evil…please, I want you…to kill me."
Within the vast night, the pelting rain swallowed up the youth's feral cries. As the thunderstorm raged and the bamboo forest whispered, all of the blooming lotuses within the Red Lotus Pavilion shed their petals, their colors sinking beneath the water.
In life there were eight sorrows, and in death there was everlasting regret.
Before Mo Ran lost consciousness, he grasped the hem of Chu Wanning's robes with a tremoring hand. Gazing upward, he muttered, "Shizun…please, pay attention to me… Could you…pay attention to me…"
Pay attention to me.
How much suffering and remorse in this world was drowned out by such fierce storms?
After Chu Wanning had learned of the truth two lifetimes later, he'd thought back on those days. He could still vaguely remember the next morning, when he'd awoken from his meditation cycle.
Golden light had streamed into the bamboo pavilion. The haitang blossoms in the trees and red lotuses in the pond had all lost their petals. The splendid blossoms that had flourished just days before would soon return to dust.
The rain had stopped overnight. Chu Wanning blinked, then turned to see Shi Mei brewing tea by the stone table. Behind the soft spirals of steam, Shi Mei's lovely face was endlessly gentle. Seeing Chu Wanning awake, Shi Mei smiled. "Shizun."
"Why aren't you resting? You've been here for three days—fetch Mo Ran to relieve you."
The amber tea streamed into the cup like preoccupations filling a heart to the brim. Shi Mei held out the tea to Chu Wanning. "I'll keep watch over Shizun today too," he said with a smile. "A-Ran is still a child at heart. He hasn't gotten over Shizun's punishment."
Chu Wanning paused, taken aback. "He's not coming?"
Shi Mei lowered his gaze, his eyes veiled by two pairs of dense, dark lashes, like tender flower pistils in early spring. "Mn," he affirmed. "He's not coming. He went to the library to help the sect leader organize some books."
Chu Wanning was thrown for a moment, distracted and crestfallen. He had been planning to use this time to talk with Mo Ran one-on-one about the flower-plucking incident. Honestly, he'd been too harsh with Mo Ran that day. It had been his first time dealing with a disciple breaking the rules. When he thought about it in retrospect, he felt his punishment had been much too severe. Now Mo Ran wasn't even willing to see him, much less stay by his side during his seclusion.
He closed his eyes.
"Shizun, have some tea."
After a long moment, he accepted the fragrant cup from Shi Mei's pale and slender hands. Steam curled up from the surface as he blew on it, then took a sip. The cup was so full that a drop splashed out and landed on his robes.
Shi Mei, sharp-eyed and attentive, smiled when he noticed. "I have a handkerchief."
"No need, I have my own." Chu Wanning fished out a white handkerchief embroidered with a haitang blossom, glancing down to dab at the tea.
"What a beautiful handkerchief. They look like the best ones you can get in town," Shi Mei said warmly. "Shizun, did you buy it yourself?"
For an instant, Chu Wanning wished to say: No, Mo Ran gave it to me. He embroidered it as a gift for his new teacher. But his gloomy mood quashed the urge before the words were out. Besides, saying it aloud seemed somehow embarrassing. After a beat of silence, Chu Wanning merely made a low grunt of assent as he folded up the handkerchief and tucked it back into his robes. Once the handkerchief was out of sight, he sighed quietly.
The morning sun was brilliant. The only remnants of the bitter wind and rain from the night before were the fallen red petals on the railings and the fresh droplets on the lotus leaves.
"Did it rain a lot last night?"
Shi Mei's fingers stilled for a moment where he was tidying the tea ware. His eyes darkened minutely. "Hm?"
Chu Wanning gazed out at the sparkling pond. "All the flowers have lost their petals."
Breaking into a smile, Shi Mei carefully finished arranging the cups, then said easily, "There was a thunderstorm last night. It was frightfully loud for a while, then it passed. Today looks to be a fine day. Once the ground dries, I'll sweep up the petals in the yard."
Chu Wanning said no more.
The blue of morning sky was as vivid and deep as the richest brocade. The edges of the horizon looked like they'd been rinsed clean. As the sun climbed higher, it seemed to be rising on wings of gold.
Truly, it was an uncommonly beautiful day.