DEEP IN Nanping Valley, in the middle of the night, fresh snow fell quietly outside a small cabin.
Mo Ran's condition had only worsened over the last few days. Even when Chu Wanning had used the Flower Spirit Sacrifice technique to treat his wound, it showed little improvement.
At some point that afternoon, Mo Ran had woken from his heavy slumber, but his awareness was hazy. When he saw Chu Wanning through half-lidded eyes, he began to cry. He said he was sorry, then begged Chu Wanning not to go, repeating the same plea over and over until he was sobbing too hard to speak.
When he slept again, he dreamed, flitting through those tumultuous years of his life. He dreamed of when Xue Zhengyong had first found him, and when he'd lost Chu Wanning for those five long years. The only memories that never appeared in his dreams were those stolen by the Flower of Eightfold Sorrows. He couldn't dream of his sacrifice, his act of protection, or his innocence—all of it was out of reach.
"Mo Ran…" Chu Wanning brought a bowl of freshly cooked congee to his bedside. He'd made it using the skills he'd recalled from the past life. Though it wasn't especially good, it was edible at the very least.
Chu Wanning sat down next to the bed and laid a hand on Mo Ran's forehead—he was burning up. Chu Wanning called his name, trying to rouse him, waiting and waiting as the congee became lukewarm, then cold.
This wouldn't do, Chu Wanning thought; he set the congee in a pot of water to keep it warm. He didn't know when Mo Ran would wake, but whenever he did, he'd be able to eat something right away.
"I made it with chicken stock, the way you like it," Chu Wanning said softly.
He'd been channeling spiritual energy into Mo Ran's heart without cease to keep it beating, but Mo Ran still wouldn't wake. If he couldn't even remain conscious like this, then if that spiritual energy was cut off, he might never open his eyes again. He'd be beyond saving.
Chu Wanning couldn't accept that—how could he possibly accept it? Mo Ran was still alive; he was still breathing, no matter how shallowly. From dawn till dusk, Chu Wanning waited by his side. As he watched his chest rising and falling, he felt there was still hope. Everything could still return to normal.
They still had time.
One night, Mo Ran had blearily stirred, waking to a darkened room. Mo Ran stared blankly at the unlit candle, his parched lips opening and closing around words Chu Wanning couldn't make out.
At this, Chu Wanning became frantic. He grabbed Mo Ran's hand and asked, "What are you trying to say?"
"Light…"
"What?"
"Light… I want a light…" Mo Ran's eyes fixed upon the candle he was powerless to set aflame as tears rolled down his cheeks. "I want there to be light…"
For a moment, time folded back on itself. Not long after he'd first become Chu Wanning's disciple, Mo Ran had fallen ill. His slight form had lain curled up in his bed, muzzy and dazed. When Chu Wanning had come to check on him, Mo Ran had whimpered for his mother. Chu Wanning had taken a seat by the bed and, unsure how to comfort him, hesitantly reached out to touch Mo Ran's burning forehead.
That scrawny boy had cried and said, "It's dark… Everything's so dark… Mom… I want to go home…"
On that night, Chu Wanning had been the one to light the candle. The bright flame threw the room into sharp relief and illuminated Chu Wanning's face. As though roused by the candle's small warmth, the feverish boy's eyes had opened, revealing a pair of dark, misty irises. "Shizun…"
Chu Wanning had nodded and tucked the blankets more securely around him. "Mo Ran, I've lit the candle." His low, measured voice had soothed his disciple. "Don't be afraid."
Years later, a lonely candle flared to life once more. The run-down cabin was saturated with its warm light, which chased away the cold and the boundless dark.
Chu Wanning smoothed a lock of hair behind Mo Ran's ear. "Mo Ran, I've lit the candle," he said hoarsely.
He wanted to continue—to say, Don't be afraid. But the words caught in his throat; he couldn't speak them aloud. He blinked back his tears, yet as he leaned forward to press his forehead to Mo Ran's, the sob escaped him. "I've lit the candle, so please wake up, okay? Pay attention to me, okay…"
The flame flickered like a fretful dream, weeping its waxen tears. The candle burned, bright and clear, until it finally burned itself out.
Later, the sky began to brighten, and the horizon paled outside the window, like the white belly of a fish. Mo Ran's eyes had not opened again. Those days of his youth, when a single candle could rouse him from his slumber, were gone, never to return.
Three more nights passed this way. Chu Wanning spent each day at Mo Ran's bedside, looking after him and keeping him company. He poured spiritual energy into him, and spoke to him of the things he'd forgotten.
On this night, the snow had stopped by sunset. The sun was a red disk outside the window, its dying light spilling over the land. A squirrel leapt from the snow-covered branches, rustling the white pear tree and filling the air with sparkling iridescence. The generous light of the setting sun shone onto the man on the bed, its rosy glow imparting a semblance of life to his wan cheeks. Beneath delicate lids, his pupils shifted. In the last moments before twilight descended, he slowly opened his eyes.
After so many days unconscious in the throes of illness, Mo Ran was awake at last.
His eyes roved the room, confused and vacant—until he caught sight of Chu Wanning, slumped over at his bedside in an exhausted doze. Startled, Mo Ran mumbled hoarsely, "Shizun…"
As he lay beneath the blankets, his mind slowly cleared. A vague recollection of the things Chu Wanning had told him again and again as he'd drifted between waking and sleep slowly took shape in his mind.
A cup of wine at the Mid-Autumn Festival, a haitang-embroidered handkerchief…and the Flower of Eightfold Sorrows that he'd taken in Chu Wanning's stead in the Red Lotus Pavilion.
Was he dreaming?
Maybe he wished too fervently for salvation, so he'd dreamed of Chu Wanning telling him those tales. Maybe he wished too passionately to turn back, so he'd dreamed that Chu Wanning forgave him.
He turned his face and raised a hand, wanting to touch that man fast asleep at his side. But he pulled his hand back before his fingers made contact. If he touched him, he worried this dream might fall apart.
He was still at Tianyin Pavilion; he was still kneeling on the Platform of Repentance, a raucous sea of people below him. He knelt alone in front of those multitudes, and all their faces became blurry, became the faces of all those who'd died by his hand, shrieking and cackling and demanding his life.
No one wanted him; no one would save him. He was too shameless, too ambitious, too insane. He'd hallucinated that Chu Wanning had come. In the agony of having his heart carved out, he'd dreamed that he saw the last bright flame of his life.
This was all fake. No one had cut his chains, no one had taken him in their arms, no one had flown to him on the wind, no one had brought him home.
His lashes trembled. He stared at Chu Wanning's sleeping visage, eyes brimming with tears. He didn't dare blink, willing his eyes to stay open until his vision blurred, until his tears finally fell. Chu Wanning's silhouette shattered into a thousand motes of light. Panicked, he blinked, and looked at that wonderful dream again.
The dream was still there.
Mo Ran lay back wearily, lashes wet, throat stinging, tears trickling from the corners of his eyes. His chest hurt terribly, and he could feel blood oozing from the wound. He didn't want to wake Chu Wanning from his hard-earned slumber, so he bit his lip and wept in silence.
He had awoken, but he had no illusions about the state his body was in. This was temporary—a flash of lucidity before the end.
This was also the last bit of mercy the heavens were bestowing upon him. He, Mo Weiyu, had lived almost all of his days under a cloud of anxiety, and had lost his mind for an entire lifetime. His hands were laved in blood, and his name was synonymous with evil, though he hadn't been convicted of his crimes until the very end.
This turn of events bewildered him, made him apprehensive. Was he lucky or unlucky? He'd spent two lifetimes consumed by hardship and absurdity—that was unlucky. But what remained of his days could be peaceful—that was lucky.
Yet how many days would he have? One? Maybe two? Whatever it was, they'd be happy days he'd paid for with his life—the kind of peace he'd never known.
When he heard Chu Wanning stirring, he hastily wiped his tears—he didn't want his shizun to see that he'd been crying. Mo Ran turned to gaze at the man beside the bed, watching as his lashes quivered, as his phoenix eyes fluttered open, and as his gaze fixed upon him.
Outside the window, the crimson sun slipped below the horizon, and the northern dipper rose.
Chu Wanning whispered, "Mo…Ran?"
His voice was low and mellifluous, like a seedling pushing through rich soil, or a frozen stream cracking in the spring. It was like wine on a little clay stove brought to a simmer for the third time, soft tendrils of steam curling up to warm one's heart. It was the most wonderful, unforgettable sound in the world. Mo Ran stilled for a moment, then smiled. "Shizun, I'm awake."
The evening was clear, without wind or snow. The rest of his life stretched out before him, as far as the eye could see.
Tonight, nestled in the valley of Nanping Mountain, the easiest and kindest period of Mo Ran's two lifetimes had arrived. Now that he was awake, he could see the joy and sorrow on Chu Wanning's face. Now that he was awake, he sat up and leaned back against the wall. He'd do whatever Chu Wanning told him; he'd listen to whatever Chu Wanning wanted to say about their experiences and misunderstandings. To him, nothing was important anymore. He simply wanted to hold onto this a little longer—just a little bit longer.
"Let me look at the wound again."
"No looking." Grinning, Mo Ran caught Chu Wanning's hand in his own and pressed a soft kiss to the back of it. "I'm fine."
After insisting a few more times only to be rebuffed, realization seemed to dawn on Chu Wanning. He stared at Mo Ran, the color gradually draining from his face.
Forcing himself to stay calm, Mo Ran said gently, "I'm fine, really."
Chu Wanning didn't reply. After a moment, he rose and walked over to the stove. The fire had nearly burned out. All Mo Ran could see of Chu Wanning was his back as he worked slowly at the hearth.
The fire flared back to life, flooding the cabin with light and heat. Chu Wanning didn't turn; he continued poking at the firewood with the tongs long past the point of necessity.
"The congee…" Chu Wanning rasped at last. "I kept the congee warm so you could have some when you woke up."
Mo Ran was silent for a beat, then looked down and laughed. "It's been so long since I've had Wanning's congee. After you left in the past life, I never got to taste it again."
"I didn't do a good job," said Chu Wanning. "I still don't know how to make it. It's…probably edible, but barely…" The last syllable seemed to waver, as though he might not be able to continue. After a long pause, he said slowly, "I'll get you a bowl."
"Okay."
The room was very warm. As the sky darkened, snow flurries drifted down in fits and starts. Mo Ran held the bowl of congee in both hands. After every few cautious sips, he looked up at Chu Wanning. Then he dipped his head for a few more before sneaking another glance.
"What's wrong?" Chu Wanning asked. "Is something bothering you?"
"No," Mo Ran said quietly. "I just want to…look at you some more."
Chu Wanning didn't say anything. He took the fish that had been roasting over the fire and cut into it with a silver dagger. It was a freshwater fish, meltingly tender, but it still contained bones. Chu Wanning carefully picked every one of them out and divided the meat into small pieces.
Mo Ran used to fuss over him whenever they ate together. Now it was his turn to return the favor. He passed the neatly filleted fish to Mo Ran. "Eat while it's hot."
Mo Ran ate obediently.
When this man was sitting up in bed, cocooned in blankets, he didn't look so tall and strong. In the orange glow of the firelight, his face looked very young. It suddenly occurred to Chu Wanning that Mo Ran—whether as Taxian-jun or as Mo-zongshi—was a full decade younger than him. Yet he'd experienced so much suffering.
Mo Ran finished all the congee, but he left the most tender piece of fish untouched. As he was about to offer it to Chu Wanning, he froze. "Shizun, are you all right?"
Chu Wanning ducked his head, his eyes burning. He took a moment to master himself before replying flatly, "It's nothing. Just caught a bit of a chill."
Afraid he would lose his composure entirely if he sat any longer, he surged to his feet. "I'm going to check on things outside. You should rest when you're done eating. Once your wounds heal, I'll take you back to Sisheng Peak."
Both of them knew his apparent improvement was a temporary respite—that all this warmth would soon fade. But still they spoke of tomorrow; they spoke of the future. As though they wished to take all the decades to come and cram them into one evening, to live through every great turn of the stars across the sky in one single snowy night.
After Chu Wanning left, Mo Ran rose and took a seat in front of the fire. Eventually, he loosened his collar and looked down at the fearsome hole in his chest. Then he stared off into space, feeling empty.
The cottony snow fell faster as night settled over Nanping Mountain. Mo Ran didn't know when his condition would deteriorate, and his life would reach its appointed end. He leaned against the mattress, watching the snow drift down, his ears filled with the whistling of the wind. His life seemed just like that wind, sweeping the past away in its wake.
In both his previous and present lifetimes, some clever mind had always been plotting in the background, planning their next move. Though one had wished to protect him while the other had wished to destroy him, both his shizun and Shi Mei had pursued their own agendas. Though neither ultimately succeeded for reasons beyond their control, both had acted with intention.
Mo Ran wasn't like them. He was just a dog—and a dead stupid one at that. He had no mind for strategy and no clue how to play a beautiful game of chess. He only knew how to faithfully guard his beloved. Even if his skin was flayed open and stripped down to bone, he would stubbornly stand his ground in front of this man, refusing to leave.
Kindly, one could say he was brave.
Bluntly, he was dumb.
This dumb dog of a man propped his elbows on the windowsill, lashes trembling. His eyes snagged on a familiar figure beneath a flowering plum tree in the distance. Chu Wanning hadn't been checking the surroundings at all. It had only been an excuse.
The tree was far away and the snow was heavy; Mo Ran couldn't see his face. He could only make out a hazy outline, alone and unmoving within the vast snowstorm.
What was he thinking about? Was he cold? He…
"Shizun."
Lost in his thoughts amidst the snow, Chu Wanning turned around. Against the backdrop of black sky and swirling white snow, he saw a young man in dark robes with a blanket over his head. At some point unbeknownst to Chu Wanning, he must've walked up behind him.
"Why are you out here like this?" Chu Wanning blurted in alarm. "What are you doing? Go back in—"
Before he could finish, Chu Wanning found himself engulfed in heat. Mo Ran had lifted the blanket over both their heads, pulling Chu Wanning into the shelter of its darkness and warmth.
They stood under the old plum tree beneath the heavy blanket, musty from years of disuse. No matter how fast the snow fell or how hard the wind blew, it had nothing to do with them. In the soft darkness, Mo Ran folded Chu Wanning into his arms. "Don't worry. Even though I can't remember all the things Shizun told me about, if…" He hesitated. He kissed Chu Wanning's brow, then said quietly, "If I had to do it all over again, I'd choose the exact same thing."
Faced with Chu Wanning's silence, Mo Ran felt around for his ice-cold hand. "Besides, Shizun, you shouldn't feel bad. What Shi Mei said makes a lot of sense. The Flower of Eightfold Sorrows only took impulses I already had—the thoughts I could never say out loud—and encouraged me to act on them. That's all."
Mo Ran interlaced their fingers and pressed their foreheads together. "My heart was always full of resentment; it's just that I couldn't do anything about it when I was little. Slaughtering all of Rufeng Sect… I'd thought about it before. Same with ruling the world. It sounds silly, but when I was five or six, hiding in that grubby little shed, I used to imagine that someday, I'd hold the world in the palm of my hand, with armies at my beck and call. These were all my own ideas; no one forced them on me."
He touched Chu Wanning's face. "Even if Shizun had received the flower instead, you wouldn't have become an evil tyrant like me. You wouldn't have been exploited, and you would've never been punished by Tianyin Pavilion." Mo Ran laughed, soft and husky. Soothingly, he rubbed his forehead against Chu Wanning's. "I didn't take your place. There's no point thinking about these what-ifs—let's go inside and sleep."
They returned to the cabin, and Mo Ran held him on the narrow bed. That inevitable moment loomed closer, impossible to avoid. Mo Ran's awareness had begun to fray, and the ache in his heart grew increasingly unbearable. These final moments of lucidity wouldn't last long. It had been like this, too, when his mother had died—he knew he didn't have much time.
He lowered his dense lashes. The fire in the stove no longer blazed as intensely as before. In its faded yellow light, his youthful, handsome face looked surpassingly gentle. This stupid man had glimpsed the grief in Chu Wanning's eyes. He pushed down his own discomfort and grinned. "Does it look good?"
Chu Wanning blinked, caught off guard. "What?"
"The scar," said Mo Ran. "A man doesn't have any personality without some scars."
Chu Wanning was silent for a beat. Then he lifted his hand and slapped Mo Ran across the face—but the slap had no power behind it, softening almost instantly into a caress. The last of Chu Wanning's composure seemed to crumble. He buried his face in Mo Ran's warm chest. Though he didn't make a sound, his shoulders shook.
Chu Wanning knew the truth all too well.
Mo Ran first froze, then put an arm around him. He kissed his temple and his hair. "Must be ugly." After all he'd been through, Mo Ran was more tender than ever. He sighed softly. "Ugly enough to make Wanning cry?"
It would be one thing if he called him Shizun. But when he said Wanning, those two lifetimes wove together. Within the blankets, Chu Wanning embraced Mo Ran, embraced this body that was blazing with life. He'd always disliked voicing strong emotions; he found it too embarrassing. But now, he felt how ridiculous his stiff bashfulness had been, how absurd. As their limbs entwined beneath the blankets on their tiny bed, within this spare, empty cabin in the whirling snowstorm, Chu Wanning said softly, "How could it be ugly? It doesn't matter whether you have any scars. You'll always be very handsome."
Mo Ran blinked. He'd never heard Chu Wanning express himself so directly, not even when they'd confessed their feelings atop his sword.
The room was lit only by the fire's dying embers. Their light was mellow—a gentleness and peace arriving in the twilight hours of his life.
"In the past lifetime—in this lifetime—I've always loved you. I've always wanted to be with you. And in the future too."
Mo Ran listened as Chu Wanning spoke in his arms. He couldn't see his face, but he could imagine how he must look. The rims of his eyes were most likely red, and the tips of his ears too.
"In the past, I knew you'd been cursed, but I couldn't show it; I had to hate you… Now, I can finally make it up to you." Chu Wanning's cheeks were burning, and his eyes were wet. "I love you. I'd tie my hair with yours; I'd split my souls for you; I'd surrender myself to you."
At hearing Chu Wanning express his willingness to surrender, Mo Ran's heart burned like it had been singed with fire. A shudder ran through him. He was both stricken and sorrowful, pained and deeply moved. "Shizun…" he murmured, voice faltering.
Chu Wanning raised a hand. "Let me finish."
A long moment passed. Chu Wanning was still terrible at expressing his love in words. He thought of many things, but nothing seemed right; nothing seemed enough. He really wanted to say, I'm sorry for letting you suffer. Your burdens were too heavy. He wanted to say, In the past life, I was never able to tell you the truth. I'm the one who let you down. And also, Thank you for protecting me at the Red Lotus Pavilion all those years ago. He had half a mind to cast all his dignity aside to sob at Mo Ran, to embrace his still-warm body and say, Please don't go, please don't leave me.
But there was a lump in his throat, and an acrid bitterness in his heart.
At last, Chu Wanning lowered his head and kissed the wound on Mo Ran's chest. Lashes quivering, voice hoarse, he said, "Mo Ran, it doesn't matter what happened in the past, or what will happen in the future. No matter what, I'll always be with you." All the blood in his body seemed to boil with embarrassment, but his words were ever so somber. "All this time, I've belonged to Taxian-jun, and I've belonged to Mo-zongshi."
It was too hot. Mo Ran felt like a flame from another world had ignited in his chest. Fireworks seemed to explode before his eyes, and all his pain and grief to instantly recede.
"For two lifetimes, I've been yours. No regrets."
Mo Ran closed his eyes, his tears spilling over his lashes. At last, he kissed Chu Wanning on the lips. "Shizun…" He sighed. "Thank you."
The snow came down faster, and the night grew darker. They held each other, ready to sleep, both thinking—so this is the rest of our lives. Mo Ran could feel that the front of his robes was soaked with tears, but he didn't mention it. Since he was little, he'd always hoped the last chapter of his life would be full of happiness. It was supposed to be a time of cheer, he'd thought.
Settling Chu Wanning in his arms, he said, "Go to sleep, Wanning. Go ahead—I'll hold you. You don't like the cold, so I'll keep you warm. Once I'm better, we'll go back to Sisheng Peak. I want to apologize properly to Auntie and Uncle. I want to squabble with Xue Meng again… There are so many things we still have to do…"
Mo Ran stroked Chu Wanning's hair, his voice very soft. He tasted iron at the back of his throat, and his breaths were becoming slow and labored. But he was still smiling, his expression still tranquil. "Shizun, I'll hold an umbrella over you for a lifetime."
Chu Wanning was too choked up to speak.
"Xia-shidi…" Even though he could barely get the words out, Mo Ran was still teasing him. "Shige…has a story for you… Every night from now on, I'll tell you a story… Don't get mad at me for being bad with words. 'Ox Eats Grass' is still the only one I know…"
Mo Ran looked up, gazing at the crystalline mantle of snow on the window. The whole world was an expanse of pristine white.
"Wanning." Mo Ran's heartbeat echoed in Chu Wanning's ears as he lay in his embrace. "I love you, always and forever," he murmured.
Gradually, his eyes drifted shut, his dimples like two shallow pools of pear-blossom white. His heart slowed, bit by bit, its beat unsteady.
Outside the window, a bough from the plum tree snapped, weighed down by too much snow. The branch fell in a flurry of white, emitting a crisp crack.
When the noise settled, Chu Wanning could no longer hear Mo Ran's heartbeat. He waited, the moment stretching on and on. But there was nothing.
No sound. Nothing at all. It was bone-chillingly quiet, a dreadful silence.
It was done—finished—over. The room was terrifyingly still.
A long time passed, but Chu Wanning did not move. He was still lying in the bed, still in Mo Ran's embrace. He didn't get up, raise his head, or say anything more.
His little disciple, his Mo-shixiong, his Taxian-jun wanted him to sleep well. He said he was going to hold an umbrella over him for a lifetime, tell him a bedtime story every night, love him for the rest of his life. Mo Ran had said, It's cold outside; it's snowing hard. I'll keep you warm.
So Chu Wanning curled up in his arms, against that chest where warmth still lingered. He didn't move a muscle. Tomorrow, they would set out for home. He and Mo Ran needed to get a proper night's rest.
He wrapped an arm around Mo Ran's waist. "Okay, I'll listen to you—I'll sleep," he said into the darkness. "But…tomorrow, when I call your name, you'd better wake up."
He pressed his cheek to the chest that would never again rise or fall, his hot tears soaking into Mo Ran's robes. "Don't laze around in bed."
Goodnight, Mo Ran. The night is long, but I'll stay with you. May you have sweet dreams, with fire and light—and a home.