THERE WAS light.
When Mo Ran opened his eyes, he found himself lying beneath mulberry-colored clouds. He blinked a few times, turning his head experimentally, then sat up. It wasn't the sky above him after all—rather, he'd awoken in a palace made entirely of amethyst. It was so enormous, each brick the size of a carriage, that he'd mistaken the far-off ceiling for clouds.
A tall man stood a little distance away, looking out a window. He wore a robe made of some material Mo Ran didn't recognize. His feet were bare, and he idly swirled an amber liquid in a cup fashioned from luminous crystal. Beyond the window was a tree lush with scarlet blossoms, their pistils dusted with silver.
These strange robes and stranger flowers weren't of the mortal realm. Mo Ran was certain no such amethyst palace existed in the world of the living.
"Where am I?" he asked.
The man's fingers twitched, and he turned a fraction toward Mo Ran. His face was backlit by the brightness of the window, difficult to see.
"You certainly are calm, my hero."
Mo Ran blinked.
The man drained his cup, then placed it on the windowsill and walked toward Mo Ran.
Now Mo Ran got a better look at his face. This man bore some resemblance to Gouchen the Exalted—his lips were very thin, and a blood-red mark shaped like a spider crouched under one eye.
"I'm the second lord of the demon realm." The man spoke slowly, though he had an impatient air about him. He watched Mo Ran's face, scrutinizing his reaction. "You are in my palace."
Mo Ran took a moment to answer. "If you didn't say so, I would've assumed you were Lord Yanluo," he said eventually.
The man chuckled. "You were so sure you died?"
"No," said Mo Ran, meeting his gaze. "It didn't feel like I was dead. But it also didn't feel like I was still alive."
The Demon Lord's grin widened. "That's correct."
He reached out a hand gloved in black dragonskin. His fingertip passed through Mo Ran's chest without any resistance; Mo Ran felt no pain. "Indeed, you are not alive," said the Demon Lord. "You're merely a bundle of gathered souls."
Mo Ran didn't respond.
"My ancestors decreed the Butterfly-Boned Beauty Feasts would never return to the demon realm unless they defied the gods and learned Fuxi's forbidden techniques," the Demon Lord remarked languidly. "From the Zhenlong Chess Formation to the Space-Time Gate of Life and Death, you've mastered them all, my hero."
"But I never wanted to," Mo Ran said glumly. "That was Hua Binan—"
"He was nothing more than a godforsaken half-breed mutt." The Demon Lord's eyes flashed with contempt. "He promised never to harm his own kin. But he broke that promise."
"Do you mean Song Qiutong?"
"No," replied the Demon Lord. Mo Ran's reflection was crisp in his glittering ruby eyes. He reached out, fingers ghosting over Mo Ran's incorporeal cheek. "You know whom I mean."
When Mo Ran said nothing, the Demon Lord continued. "You knew it from the moment the gate to the demon realm opened." His gaze was sharp as a finely honed knife. "Otherwise you wouldn't have said all that to your little cultivator. In your heart, you already know the truth."
Mo Ran lowered his lashes in silence.
The Demon Lord slowly straightened. His tall figure cast an oddly dense shadow on the floor. "Mo Weiyu, there's a special type of Butterfly-Boned Beauty Feast. They don't cry golden tears, nor do they possess any demonic aura. If they aren't aware of their ancestry, even the spirit of Mount Huang wouldn't recognize them despite the phoenix's pact with the Butterfly-Boned clan. Many die without any knowledge of their true heritage."
"So what?"
The Demon Lord laughed. "So what? These people can command the potent spiritual power of the ancient demon race. Like the Jade-Hearted Lord, Song Xingyi, from centuries ago."
A rich purple light sparked at his fingertips. When he pointed at Mo Ran, the glow floated into Mo Ran's chest. A powerful energy surged through him.
The Demon Lord smiled. "Behold—you can absorb the energy of my race."
Mo Ran didn't respond.
"I was speaking of you," said the Demon Lord. "You are a special Butterfly-Boned Beauty Feast, just like Song Xingyi. You simply had no idea, and neither did Hua Binan."
At this, Mo Ran looked up.
Clasping his hands behind his back, the Demon Lord returned his gaze to the falling petals outside. "It's a true pity. He vowed never to harm any of his clansmen, to protect all the Butterfly-Boned Beauty Feasts he could. Yet you endured a lifetime of his abuse."
Mo Ran rose to his feet. He wasn't in the mood to listen to this drivel. So what if he'd been abused or exploited? That was all in the past. There was only one thing he cared about now. "Can I go back?"
"Back where?" The Demon Lord turned to pin him with a stare. "The mortal realm?"
"Yeah. The mortal realm."
"What's so appealing about the mortal realm? A lot of silly ants. You have talent and personality, and you're a member of my race," the Demon Lord said matter-of-factly. "It's precisely because you're a demon that I was able to collect your souls and summon you to this palace. Remain here and you'll live ten thousand years. The abilities you've demonstrated will serve the demon race well."
Mo Ran had to laugh. "Sorry, but I've only ever had other people serving me—I've never served anyone else."
The Demon Lord's unsmiling scarlet eyes fixed on him in silent reproof.
"Well, I suppose there's one exception," Mo Ran amended. "I'm willing to serve him."
A snort. "You'll serve a hunk of wood?"
"He is not a hunk of wood."
"I was being polite when I called him your little cultivator." The Demon Lord rolled his eyes. "He's no god—just a stupid seedling planted by Shennong." Seeing Mo Ran's expression grow thunderous, the Demon Lord tactfully left it at that. He turned to face Mo Ran, leaning his narrow waist against the windowsill. "Are you dense or something?" Without waiting for a response, he continued more seriously, "You have to understand, though—if you really intend to go back, you will not receive any of the demon race's benefits. You'll live a few decades, a century at most."
At this, the tension finally bled out of Mo Ran's shoulders. He laughed. "Really? That long?"
The Demon Lord stared.
"In the mortal realm, that's practically forever."
"Humans are no more than ants." The Demon Lord seemed both baffled and annoyed. "What can they accomplish in a few decades, or even a century? You ripped open the Space-Time Gate of Life and Death and mastered the Zhenlong Chess Formation. Old Fuxi's probably throwing a fit up in heaven right now. Yet with all your gifts, you'd rather wallow in the mud like a pig?" The longer he spoke, the angrier the Demon Lord became. "Idiot."
Mo Ran's lowered lashes were trembling. The Demon Lord first thought it was from fury, but he soon realized Mo Ran was holding back laughter. He was fully speechless.
At last, Mo Ran looked up. "How'd you know?" he asked, grinning brightly. "In the mortal realm, people are always calling me an idiot."
The Demon Lord pressed his fingers to his brow as if battling a headache. He muttered dolefully, "I can't believe such an embarrassing demon exists…"
"I've never thought of myself as a demon," said Mo Ran. "The first time the idea even occurred to me was when the gate opened."
The Demon Lord glared at him.
Mo Ran's smile faded. He looked at the Demon Lord solemnly. "At any rate, I have to thank you for protecting my souls."
"I have an eye for talent."
Mo Ran shook his head. There was nothing more to say. Those eyes that had stirred the hearts of so many now looked up at the Demon Lord, frank and sincere. "I'm sorry," he said. "But I have to go back to the mortal realm."
There was a long, uncomfortable silence. "Why?" the Demon Lord asked stiffly. "Give me a reason."
"Because I told him I would," Mo Ran replied. "I promised him I'd find my way back to his side."
The snow had ceased to fall at Kunlun Taxue Palace, and the rift in space-time had stitched itself closed. The floodwaters and destruction of the other world might as well have been an absurd nightmare. A rosy sunrise glimmered through the clouds, bathing the world in quiet majesty.
"Chu-zongshi!"
"Zongshi! Zongshi!"
Chu Wanning's awareness slowly returned. Someone seemed to be calling out to him. He opened his eyes. At first, there was only emptiness—all the dust and smoke of two lifetimes seemed to have settled. Was he back at Sisheng Peak, awakened by some noisy disciples on a winter afternoon? Or was this the cold, austere Wushan Palace, with Liu-gong heaving a sigh at his bedside, calling him back to the world of the living?
His vision slowly gained focus. He glanced at the cultivators clustered around him. The snow was fresh, and night was lifting around him, dawn's light edging the clouds in pinkish hues. Chu Wanning's eyelids drifted half closed. "Mo Ran…" he mumbled hoarsely.
Perhaps his love for that man was rooted too deeply in his heart. As if answering his longing, several beams of warm gold light shot from the thin seam where the Space-Time Gate had been. They streaked across the blushing sky and soared into the distance.
What was that?!
Chu Wanning's eyes flew open. Deaf to the calls of those around him, he stared after those beams of light. What could they be? His extinguished hopes, reignited by the strange sight, flared back to life. He struggled to his feet, ignoring everyone's attempts to help. Without a word, he stumbled in the direction of those golden lights.
Several worried voices called after him. "Chu-zongshi…"
Everyone knew now: Mo Weiyu wasn't the criminal he'd been made out to be. Yet the cost of this knowledge had been too high. Even if his name was cleared after his death, what difference would it make?
But Mo Ran had never cared what others thought of him. He knew better than anyone whether he was innocent or guilty, insane or foolish. In this, Chu Wanning was the same. They only wanted to live without regrets, no more.
"Shizun!" Xue Meng started after him, but he'd only taken a few steps through the snow when he heard a commotion behind him.
"Sect Leader!" one of Guyueye's disciples was shouting frantically. "Sect Leader, what's wrong?"
Xue Meng whipped around. Shoving his way through the crowd, he saw that Jiang Xi had collapsed on the bright snow, blood pooling beneath his body.
"What's going on?" a Guyueye elder bellowed. "Wasn't he fine just a moment ago? How did this happen?"
A disciple pointed fearfully at a grisly wound on Jiang Xi's abdomen. "I think… I think the sect leader was stabbed by something in the flood. But he didn't want to distract anyone, so he never said anything…"
A coppery scent hung in the air. Dawn was breaking over a world that had been saved. In this universe where peace had been secured, Jiang Xi had finally collapsed from his injuries.
"Quick—healers!"
"What're you standing there for?! Save him!"
Stricken, Xue Meng's steps faltered. He was still holding Xuehuang—Jiang Xi's sword, which Jiang Xi had forced on him. He glanced over his shoulder, where Chu Wanning was retreating into the distance.
Before he could take a step in either direction, his legs seemed to give out. He sank to his knees, sobbing in the snow. Where in this vast world could he still take refuge from the turbulence of love and hatred, of passion and vengeance? As he once again raised his head in the mortal realm, he discovered that no one remained by his side. Those proud and carefree days of his youth had vanished like dust in the wake of a galloping horse, never to return.
On that winding, snow-covered mountain path, Chu Wanning watched those beams of red light fly toward the horizon, disappearing into the distant mountains.
Trust me, I'll do everything in my power to see you again.
I'll be waiting for you in another world.
He shuddered. Chu Wanning didn't dare let the idea settle in his mind. He refused to indulge such wild optimism without seeing the truth with his own eyes.
The sun's rays pierced the abyssal darkness, casting off yesterday's frigid night. Countless golden streamers seemed to fall upon the jagged, meandering mountain trail. Dawn bathed everyone in its warm red glow, ushering in days of peace now that the calamity had passed.
Chu Wanning gazed toward the east and brandished a talisman between his fingers. Brilliant gold flared in his hand. "Rising Dragon—come!"
With a shrill gust of wind, his Dragon of the Candle burst from the air. The beast's massive form uncoiled in the snow with a sound like a tolling bell.
"Has the crisis been averted?" it asked brightly, apparently pleased to find itself in a more peaceful world.
"Mn."
"The fighting's over?"
"Mn."
The dragon leapt into the air in delight. After completing a loop, it reluctantly settled down again, addressing Chu Wanning in its usual waggish tone. "Chu Wanning, why are you always alone?"
Chu Wanning stood calmly in the chill wind, snowflakes clinging to his long lashes. Mo Ran's last words to him were still ringing in his ears. His heart pounded like a drum. After a long moment, he looked at the curled-up dragon silhouetted by the dawn light. "I want you to take me somewhere."
"Where?"
Chu Wanning leapt onto the dragon's back, and the enormous creature took to the air. Chu Wanning looked down at the snowy expanse, lands silvered with frost spread below his feet. The rising sun climbed higher, inch by inch, growing ever brighter. At last, in the full-bodied morning light, he said to the dragon, "Nanping Mountain. I need to see him."
The dragon's whiskers twitched. For once, it suppressed the urge to tease Chu Wanning. The creature already knew where its master wanted to go and whom he wanted to see. It let out a quavering roar as they soared toward the heavens, and Chu Wanning turned to take a final glance at the majestic landscape below.
Voluminous clouds drifted through the endless sky. He was leaving snowcapped Kunlun behind to chase after those red-gold beams, flying toward the distant ends of the jianghu where that gentle rain would first fall. Mo Ran had promised he'd come back, so he believed him. He was going to the place they'd last parted ways to meet once more.
"Do you think…those gold lights were his souls returning to this world?"
Weaving through clouds, the dragon muttered, "How am I supposed to know?"
"Do you think his souls will go back into his body?"
"I guess…?" the dragon hazarded.
Very soon, they arrived at Nanping Mountain. Chu Wanning urged the dragon down just outside a bamboo grove deep in the mountain forest. He moved without doubt or hesitation, seemingly certain as to where those lights had gone.
"Is he here?" asked the dragon.
Chu Wanning didn't answer. He jumped down from the dragon's back.
"I left Mo Ran's body safeguarded here." Chu Wanning's fingers trembled uncontrollably. It felt as if a massive boulder on his chest was stopping his breath. "If it's possible for his souls to return, they'll…"
He wanted to say They'll definitely be here, but he found himself unable to finish the thought.
What if they weren't?
He wanted to leave himself room for hope. He didn't want to speak with too much certainty.
The paper dragon had never been the most tactful. "But what if he didn't come back?" it said, shaking its whiskered head. "What if those beams of light scattered before they made it here? What if—"
Chu Wanning whirled. He glared at the dragon with red-rimmed eyes. "Then I'll burn you as a burial offering to him."
"Aiya, so scary." With a final grumble, the creature's massive bulk vanished in a flash of gold as it shrank itself back to the size of a palm. Perching on Chu Wanning's shoulder, the tiny dragon nudged its master's cheek with its head. As if the dragon wasn't familiar with Chu Wanning's personality—it knew he would never really set it on fire.
The dragon exhaled wearily. "By the look on your face, it seems like you'd be more interested in being the burial offering yourself." It scratched at the back of Chu Wanning's head with its tail.
"What are you doing?"
"I was worried you'd pass out if I didn't keep you awake." The dragon sighed and bopped Chu Wanning with its tail. "You look terrible."
Chu Wanning only glared.
"That's it—you look like someone about to gamble his life's savings on one final wager."
No retort came to Chu Wanning's lips; he merely closed his eyes. The little dragon wasn't wrong. This concerned his disciple of two lifetimes, his lover across two universes. The idiot who'd twice thrown himself bodily into the abyss so Chu Wanning could remain pristine.
This concerned the rest of his life.
The snow crunched underfoot as he slowly walked the path. A small, run-down cottage rose up before him. Chu Wanning stood before the door, fingertips trembling. Only a single panel of flimsy, weathered wood separated him from the courtyard in front of him, yet somehow, it seemed heavier than the gate to the demon realm.
Chu Wanning swallowed, blood thundering in his ears. He stood rooted to the spot like a block of wood. Several times, he lifted his hand, only to drop it before his fingers touched the door.
"Aiya," the little dragon wailed. "If you're not going to open the door, I'll do it, I—"
The door swung open, though neither Chu Wanning nor the dragon had touched it. It had been ajar to begin with; perhaps the wind had nudged it wider out of pity for this grieving, lonesome man.
Chu Wanning didn't move. He took in the sight of the spare little cottage on the other side of the threshold. The trees had yet to bud, their branches still laden with snow. The wind blew, and flurries scattered like haitang blossoms through the golden morning, landing on a man's broad shoulders.
Hearing movement, the man paused, then slowly turned around.
In the shimmering light and shadow, one could almost mistake the scene for one of the flourishing heights of spring or the blazing days of summer. Before this, Chu Wanning couldn't hear the gusting of the wind, the whisper of the snow, the rustling of the leaves. Now all of it rushed into his ears at once. The mortal world's multitudinous sights and sounds seemed to strike his chest like a surging tide. He wanted to rush forward, but his limbs felt leaden. He couldn't take a single step.
In that moment, Chu Wanning seemed to hear the cicadas that chirped below the Heaven-Piercing Tower all those years ago, during the very best years of Mo Ran's life. That bright-eyed youth had walked up to the Yuheng Elder standing in the shade of a tree. He'd walked into the genesis of it all, to that first crossing of their intertwined fates.
"Chu Wanning." The little dragon poked him on the waist.
Chu Wanning crashed back to reality. But his throat was so dry he couldn't say anything. Slowly, he walked toward the man standing under the withered tree. He walked toward the culmination of it all, toward the end of two lifetimes of desolation, toward a future without uncertainty.
The wind blew, and the leaves of the forest murmured in answer. Chu Wanning seemed to pass through an eternity wreathed in smoke and beacon fires before he finally came to stand before that man.
All those years ago the teenaged Mo Weiyu had come to a stop before Chu Wanning, still young himself. He'd looked up and grinned. Xianjun, Xianjun. Chu Wanning seemed to hear that bygone voice again, two lifetimes later.
I've been watching you for ages. Why won't you pay attention to me?
The valley was serene, flooded with ruddy morning light. It was as though they were the only two people left between heaven and earth. Mo Ran wore an outer robe draped over his shoulders. He had the wan complexion of someone recovering from long illness. As he watched Chu Wanning walk to him out of the sun, his pitch-black eyes welled with unspeakable tenderness. "Shizun."
The wind stilled. A brilliant ray of light speared through the clouds, illuminating the bloodstained mortal realm.
"I met a demon—and then I had a very strange experience. I'll have to tell you about it…"
The chaos had passed. Years from now, upon the ground where blood had spilled today, plum blossoms would bloom anew.