A MONTH passed.
"Come one, come all! Take a look, take a look!" In Wuchang town, a peddler's raucous shouts rang out in the sunshine. He waggled a flower-painted drum in his hand as he walked through the streets and alleys, balancing a bamboo pole on his shoulder. "Holy Night Guardians, Holy Night Guardians—thirty coppers apiece, invented by the Yuheng Elder himself! They keep evil spirits away, work like a charm for all ages. Come come, don't miss your chance!"
The peddler strode over the bluestone path in shabby straw shoes, his shadow stretching out behind him. Several giggling children ran past, hands full of tanghulu or colorful kites.
A little girl in pigtails tugged on the peddler's sleeve. "Uncle, I want to buy a Holy Night Guardian."
The peddler set down his pole and held out an automaton lacquered a peachy pink. "Here, isn't this one pretty?"
"Yes! So pretty!" the girl exclaimed, nodding. "I want this one!" As if worried someone would snatch it before she could carry it off, the girl hugged the automaton that was nearly as tall as she was to her chest with one hand and clumsily felt around in her coin pouch with the other. She painstakingly fished out one copper coin, then another, but ended up three short of the price.
"Aiya, did I lose them along the way because I was running too fast?" the girl asked nervously. She rummaged through her pouch again, even flipping it inside out to reveal the patched lining. But she could still only find twenty-seven coins. She began to panic, eyes reddening. "Da-gege, I lost the coins—this is all I have left. Is it enough?"
The peddler rubbed his grubby hands together. "Little miss," he said awkwardly, "I bought these Holy Night Guardians from a cultivator for twenty-five coppers each. If I give you a discount, I'd only make two coppers—it wouldn't even be enough for a meal after walking around all day."
"What do I do?" The girl swiped at her eyes. "Daddy's gonna yell at me when I get home…"
Just as she broke into sobs, a man walked over, blocking the sunlight from behind her. "Mister, please take this spare silver," said an elegant voice.
Startled, the girl looked up to see a wrist clad in a snow-silk bracer. Raising her gaze, she met a pair of jade-green eyes, framed by pale gold hair that looked even softer in the morning sun.
Mei Hanxue smiled gently. "How could I let such a pretty girl shed tears over three paltry coppers?"
"Ah…" The girl blinked.
Mei Hanxue crouched down so their eyes were level. He picked up the pink Holy Night Guardian the peddler had taken away and placed it back in the girl's arms. "Even a thousand gold can't buy the tears of a beauty. Nothing's worth more than a girl's tears—so don't cry over such trifles anymore, okay?"
Next to him was a man with unremarkable features wearing a straw hat. His eyes, however, were strikingly beautiful, a rich green like jade—though they were every bit as cold as that stone, holding no discernable warmth.
The man frowned. "That's enough. She can't be older than six."
Laughing, Mei Hanxue stood up. "Dage, you're so boring. Beauties are beauties, regardless of age. Whether they're eighty or eight, tall or short, fat or thin, they're all beautiful in their own way. You've gotta learn how to compliment them. Otherwise you… Hey, where are you going?"
Mei Hänxue had heard it all before. He turned on his heel and strode off.
On the orders of Taxue Palace Leader Ming Yuelou, the Mei brothers had come to Sichuan to congratulate Sisheng Peak on the sect's reinstatement. Madam Wang's protection of Sisheng Peak's members had not been in vain: Now that the calamity had passed, all the elders and disciples had survived without serious injury, their abilities intact. After the recent shake-up of the cultivation realm, Sisheng Peak had vaulted into the top three sects. No longer was it the shabby, languishing sect of years past.
"Mei-gongzi, the sect leader is waiting for you at the Dancing Sword Platform."
It was time for morning practice at Sisheng Peak. Most of the disciples were on the drill grounds, the whistling of their swords cutting through the stillness. A young man in elaborate robes stood alone before the railing of carved white jade. Hands clasped behind his back, he looked down at the lush world below the cloud-wrapped peak.
Mei Hanxue and his elder brother made straight for him, their footfalls soft on the new grass of the field. The man didn't turn at the sound. He only sighed. "You're here?"
"We are."
"You made me wait long enough."
Mei Hanxue couldn't hold back a laugh. "Ziming, what's with the tone?"
The man turned around. Xue Meng was as handsome as ever. A shade of boyishness yet lingered in his features. As he gazed at the Mei brothers, his expression relaxed minutely, revealing some of that old impatience and naivete. "Ugh. You guys have no idea how exhausted I am."
Seeing that the twins had come by themselves, the rest of the tension bled out of Xue Meng's body. He heaved a long sigh. "The Xuanji Elder's been on my ass about rules and regulations twenty times a day. When would I have learned this stuff? I can't even talk like a normal human being anymore; I have to speak in cryptic riddles all day long. Xuanji says it's called getting to the point…"
Mei Hanxue clapped a hand over his own mouth. "Pff… Ahem."
Xue Meng glared. "Just laugh if you want to. Don't pretend it's a cough."
"No, no—how could I laugh at Xue-zunzhu?" Mei Hanxue said graciously, ever the gentleman.
"You'd better not call me that ever again," Xue Meng warned, wrinkling his nose. "I've had enough of it."
The elder twin was by far the more sensible one. "You must bear with it," he advised. "You'll be hearing it for the rest of your life."
Xue Meng turned away to once again gaze at the clouds below. "I've gotta hand it to you. That's the single most depressing thing I've heard since I wound up in this position."
Mei Hänxue blinked.
"By a long shot," Xue Meng added.
The younger twin guffawed and slapped his knee, then turned to Xue Meng. "Being sect leader is a job like any other. Are there really so many rules you have to follow? Look at Guyueye's Jiang Xi—he seems to do whatever he wants."
At the mention of Jiang Xi, Xue Meng's spine stiffened. Within his broad, gold-embroidered sleeves where no one else could see, his hands balled into fists as unease flooded him.
As it happened, Xue Meng had just returned from Guyueye a few days ago. Jiang Xi had suffered grievous injuries in the great battle. It was fortunate that his sect possessed many powerful medicines and master healers. They'd managed to save him, but his health was no longer what it had been. Most concerning was the fact that he'd been infected with demonic qi, which was causing unforeseen changes to his body.
"What will happen to him?" Xue Meng had asked one of Guyueye's elders outside the door to Jiang Xi's room.
"Hard to say," replied the elder. "The gate to the demon realm hasn't been opened in millennia. We have no records of what happens to humans infected by demonic qi. The sect leader is out of danger for now, but we can't predict the long-term effects."
Xue Meng shot a worried glance toward the room's entrance, shrouded in layer upon layer of jade-green gauze. Never mind Jiang Xi's condition—Xue Meng couldn't even tell how his quarters were laid out.
"Can he be cured?"
The elder shook his head. "I'm afraid it will be challenging."
Xue Meng closed his eyes, anxiety simmering in his chest. "If you ever need anything, come to me at Sisheng Peak anytime," he said at last.
This elder had no idea what had transpired between Xue Meng and Jiang Xi, but even he could sense there was some complex new dimension to their relationship. He sank into a respectful bow. "I offer my sincere thanks to Xue-zhangmen."
Xue Meng waved a hand, peering again into the abstruse depths of those curtains. He wanted badly to see Jiang Xi in the flesh, but the sleeping quarters of the sect leader were more closely guarded than a lady's boudoir. And as the sect leader in question was unconscious, it wasn't as if anyone else could invite him in. Unsure how to respond, Xue Meng knit his brows. "I've returned Xuehuang to the elder who manages the sect's weapon arsenal. Please let Jiang-zhangmen know when he's well enough."
"Of course," answered the elder. He noticed Xue Meng still hovering, as if he had more to say. "May I ask if Xue-zhangmen has any additional instructions?"
"Never mind; it's fine. I'm leaving."
"Many thanks to Xue-zhangmen for coming all this way," the elder said, nodding courteously.
Xue Meng had had his fair share of public clashes with Jiang Xi, but that had been as the young master of Sisheng Peak. Now that he was sect leader, Guyueye's people wouldn't slight him if they could avoid it. Several elders and healers accompanied Xue Meng as he descended the steps of Ascension Hall, with its graceful swooping roof ridges of jade-green tile. Guyueye was nourished by a stream of spiritual energy all year round, and its flowers bloomed regardless of the season.
Xue Meng glanced around. Although wispy snow flurries were still falling on Rainbell Isle, lush blossoms flourished in the brisk air. Catching sight of a spray of pollia flowers, especially luxuriant, Xue Meng couldn't have said what he felt.
He paced down the open-air corridor, the boards creaking softly beneath his feet. A bell shaped like the head of a beast rang beneath the eaves; Xue Meng looked up at the sound. A young man around his own age was rounding the corner, coming toward him. Behind him were two lines of attendants with daggers at their waists. The young man's face was extraordinarily handsome, his shoulders broad. In the morning light, he radiated a disarming warmth and vitality. When it came to looks, Xue Meng was difficult to impress—yet even he couldn't help sneaking a few more glances at this man.
As he neared Xue Meng, the young man stopped and bowed very properly: respectful but not obsequious. "Xue-zhangmen."
Xue Meng pulled to a halt. "And this is…"
"Ah, this is the sect leader's personal attendant." The elder smiled, sensing Xue Meng's apprehension toward this young man. "He's been helping the sect leader manage various affairs within Guyueye in recent years. He doesn't often show his face outside Rainbell Isle, but the sect leader thinks very highly of him."
Xue Meng hummed in acknowledgment.
The young man rose from his bow to find Xue Meng scrutinizing him. He broke into a smile.
Now Xue Meng could study the young man's face up close. Though he didn't usually pay much attention to the appearances of others, this man's good looks were striking indeed. His eyes, especially, were bright and soft, as though stars sparkled from within their depths. It was a face that etched itself into the viewer's memory at first sight.
Xue Meng narrowed his eyes and examined the man with renewed energy, trying to find some shortcoming over which he could feel superior. But even after looking him up and down several times, there was nothing to find fault with. This young man was surpassingly good-looking. He was young yet reserved in temperament, with gentle features and a tall, well-proportioned build. His skin was so clear and luminous it seemed to glow from within.
Such a fine young man belonged among the upper cultivation world's gallant heroes. He didn't deserve to be squirreled away in Guyueye, toiling in the dark, Xue Meng thought stiffly. To hide a jewel like this in the dust—Jiang Yechen really was a piece of work.
The fine young man was discomfited by Xue Meng's unblinking regard. Nevertheless, his voice was warm and polite as he asked, "Xue-zhangmen, is there something I can assist you with?"
Only then did Xue Meng come to his senses. "No, it's nothing." But he continued to stare openly. Even the best attendant, no matter how well-esteemed, would have no formal status. If Xue Meng didn't ask him outright, this man would never volunteer his name—it would be considered an affront to the sect leader.
The perceptive medicine elder had noted Xue Meng's curiosity. "Xue-zhangmen, he might be young, but he can handle anything that arises on Rainbell Isle," he said with an enthusiastic smile. "He puts us elders to shame."
The young man bit his lip, reddening slightly in embarrassment. "The elder is too kind."
Xue Meng was growing only more intrigued. Seeing that one of the attendants behind the young man carried a lacquered tray, he asked, "Are you going to see Jiang Xi?"
The young man hadn't expected Xue Meng would call his sect leader by his given name. He swiftly recovered from his shock and nodded, smiling again. "Mn."
What a perfect opportunity—if Xue Meng hinted that he wanted to go with him to pay his respects in person, there was no way the young man would refuse him. Here was his chance to enter Jiang Xi's room via honest means and see for himself what sort of sorry state he was in.
Xue Meng cleared his throat. Yet before he could speak, he heard the young man say amicably, "I'm bringing Yifu his medicine."
Xue Meng froze, his face falling. "What?"
"Sorry, I almost forgot," the elder said hurriedly. "He's also Jiang-zhangmen's adopted son."
Xue Meng stared, thunderstruck.
Moments later, several elders could be seen hurrying after an ashen-faced Xue Meng as he strode down the corridor outside Ascension Hall. "Xue-zhangmen?" they anxiously called after him.
"Xue-zhangmen, what's wrong?"
"Are you unwell?"
The new leader of Sisheng Peak stomped down the steps, steel-toed boots clicking against the wood. His jaw was clenched, his expression stormy. He didn't give a damn what pets Jiang Xi kept at home—that was none of his business. What rankled him was that Jiang Xi quite obviously had a highly capable adopted son in his own sect, yet still acted like he was all alone in his old age before everyone else.
Was it some kind of play for sympathy? It was more than shameless—it was nauseating.
Seeing the strange expression on Xue Meng's face as he recalled this encounter, Mei Hanxue asked, "What's going on with you?"
"Nothing," said Xue Meng. "I just thought of someone, that's all."
He didn't want to talk any more about Jiang Xi. After changing the subject, they chatted for a while longer until Xue Meng led the twins to Sisheng Peak's ancestral temple to light fresh incense for their departed heroes.
As they entered, Mei Hanxue spotted an unusual-looking tablet beside the altar. A piece of red cloth obscured the name beneath.
"That's for Mo Ran," said Xue Meng.
At Mei Hanxue's silence, Xue Meng continued, his expression coolly inscrutable. "Everyone says he's dead, but I don't think so. After we came through the rift that day, Shizun walked down Kunlun Mountain. He was clearly going somewhere; he just didn't want anyone to come along." He pressed his lips together, then lowered his lashes. "At any rate, I refuse to believe Mo Ran vanished just like that."
"Xue Meng…"
Xue Meng turned his face away, squinting into the sunlight outside. "That damn mutt Mo Ran always insisted on doing things his own way. He doesn't care what's normal." Xue Meng paused. "I'm sure that hasn't changed."
Mei Hanxue heaved a sigh but didn't contradict him. The twins knelt and bowed to their benefactors. Xue Meng stood to the side, eyes closed in silence. Once they finished paying their respects, Mei Hanxue rose and patted Xue Meng on the shoulder. "Ziming, you'll be a good sect leader."
Xue Meng opened his eyes. Ash scattered from the burning incense. Through the veil of smoke, Xue Meng looked at his father's memorial tablet, black with stark white words. "I won't be better than him," he said evenly.
No one replied.
"Let's go." Xue Meng waved a hand and strode out of the temple.
The twins exchanged a glance. They sighed, then followed Xue Meng out the door.
Within the solemn walls of the ancestral temple, a clump of ash whispered down. Though the three young visitors were no longer present, the sticks of incense they'd left behind on the dark, glossy altar remained. The small tablet of lacquered wood hadn't been inscribed with the name or title of the departed man, as one would expect. Behind those three pinpricks of light, the wooden tablet bore words Xue Meng had carved with his own hand:
Here lies a father, his kindness irreplaceable, his loyalty unsurpassed.
At the very bottom of the tablet were carved three comical words. The Mei twins and Xue Meng all knew that if Xue Zhengyong were watching from the heavens, he'd surely let out a familiar booming laugh at the sight of them. The everbright lanterns flickered, illuminating the elegant, calligraphic script—modeled after Xue Zhengyong's own writing, every stroke fluid and effortless.
Xue Is Beautiful.
That night, Sisheng Peak held a feast to welcome the visitors from Taxue Palace. The two sects were on close terms, and this was a private event, closed to the prying eyes of outsiders. Nevertheless, stories soon began to circulate. Rumor had it that the newly instated Sect Leader Xue had downed several cups of liquor at the feast and become hopelessly inebriated.
Sect Leader Xue was a chatty drunk, and that night, he had quite a lot to say. He'd alternated between crying over his parents, ranting about his gege, whining for his shizun, and mistaking his attendants for Shi Mei. Every other coherent word out of his mouth—which were few as it was—was one of their names. But of all his old friends, Mei Hanxue was the only one who had come.
Deep in his cups, Xue Meng sprawled over a table, head pillowed on his arms beneath the glow of the lamps. He stared at Mengpo Hall over the crook of his elbow, watching a blurry crowd milling about, drinking and making merry.
In that crowd, he saw Xue Zhengyong and Madam Wang toasting each other; he saw Shi Mei and Mo Ran folding dumplings. Later, after most of the guests had left and his surroundings had quieted, he saw the Yuheng Elder in a bright red cloak, standing in the drifting snow outside. He shook the flurries off his oil-paper umbrella, then strode toward the rest of them.
"Sect Leader, you're drunk."
Xue Meng heard these words only vaguely. He didn't heed them. Eventually, there came a sigh, and the weight of a warm robe draped over his shoulders. Who had sighed? Was it the Xuanji Elder or the Tanlang Elder, or someone else entirely?
Later still, someone patted him on the head. "Young master, you're drunk."
He made a garbled noise of agreement, but somehow, tears were running down his cheeks. He buried his face in his arms.
It was late; the hall was a mess, and the party was over. Xue Meng didn't speak or grab anyone's arm to wail and make a fuss. He was trying to grow up, to grow into his father, as fast as possible. Maybe next year he wouldn't be such a lightweight. And in a few more years he wouldn't babble so foolishly even if he did get drunk. Years after that, hardly anyone would know what Xue Ziming of Sisheng Peak looked like when he cried. Gradually he would stretch his limbs to the sky as a big, strong tree, capable of holding up all of Sichuan, even the whole cultivation realm. Someday, the nights he used to bawl his eyes out and gulp his wine without a care would become light-hearted tales with which Sect Leader Xue would regale his juniors.
Such was the fate of every generation. When Xue Meng himself grew old, the youngsters would tell of their elders' adventures, but no one would have witnessed them first-hand. Perhaps the details of those glory days would fade with time, a story told in broad strokes. In the end, all that remained would be those familiar words on Xue Meng's fan: Xue Is Beautiful.
Several days after the Mei twins returned to Taxue Palace, an announcement went out to the entire cultivation realm.
"Beginning in the new year, Kunlun Taxue Palace will formally enter an alliance with Sisheng Peak. United in purpose, our sects will join forces to bring peace to the land with no distinction between the upper and lower cultivation realms. Sect Leader Ming Yuelou and Sect Leader Xue Ziming hereby announce their partnership as a testament to their loyalty and dedication to the people of this world."
The news caused quite a stir. Some voiced hearty approval, while others were bewildered. Yet others received the news in silence: They knew this new alliance would shift the balance of power across the world, perhaps within the next decade or two, perhaps even sooner. The boundaries between the upper and lower cultivation realms would slowly blur.
"Isn't this a good thing?" someone asked his friend as they chatted over tea.
The friend took a sip of his snowy fragrance tea and shook his head. "Who can say? Back in the day, Nangong Changying brought the nine great sects together to form the upper cultivation realm in hope that the lands they presided over would become a paradise on earth. Everyone clapped and cheered then, but it didn't live up to its promise. Only time will tell whether or not this is a noble choice."
"Ah, very true."
"At least we won't be living under a tyrant, though. Guyueye's no match for Taxue Palace and Sisheng Peak's combined strength."
"Eh, hard to say. Jiang Xi's not one to play nice."
"Forget it; what's the point of getting too involved? One step at a time—and anyway, we should worry about ourselves first. Mm…these snake gall melon seeds are pretty good." The man called out toward the bamboo screen: "Miss, another catty, please!"
As winter yielded to spring, the wounds across the lands had slowly begun to heal. With the aid of the great sects, the villages and towns that had been ravaged by strife were rebuilt one after another.
There had been some who'd lost all hope to the darkness, but fortunately, it was never too late for human hearts to change. Perhaps there'd come a day when cheers would fill what was now silence, and fireworks would bloom across what was now an empty sky. Those who'd followed blindly would open their eyes, and those who'd held their tongues would speak. The meek would stand firm before those who would intimidate them, and the honest would drown out lies with truth.
Everything was constantly renewed and rebuilt, like a city rising from the ruins. Yet the line between good and evil was often still difficult to discern. This was not in itself a problem—after all, it was impossible to understand anything completely. Most people didn't even understand themselves. Consider this simple question: You have a pair of eyes, but have you ever really seen your own face?
"Bravo! Another story!"
In Linyi, beneath an old scholar tree, a storyteller nodded to his audience after finishing his tale.
"Chu-xianzun is such a good person." One of the listeners dabbed at her eyes. "I wonder where he is now?"
"Mo-xianzun really got screwed over," someone else said with a sigh.
A little girl only half as tall as the grownups around her sucked on the tanghulu in her hand, her dark eyes shining and her cheeks wet with tears. Sniffling, she turned toward the boy with her. "Wah, I don't like Nangong-gege and Ye-jiejie's story."
Her friend blinked. "Why not?"
The girl swiped at her tears with the back of her hand. "They all died."
"But Ye Wangxi didn't die," the boy muttered.
The girl hiccupped. "You don't get it. Boys are dumb! She'd be less sad if she died, wahhh…"
Faced with the girl's angry tears, the boy was at something of a loss. He scratched his head, then said, "Come on, stop crying. Hey—let's play house. I'll be Nangong Si, you be Ye Wangxi. We'll make up our own story… Aiya, don't cry, don't cry."
The boy plucked a leaf the size of his hand from the tree and put it over the girl's cheek to cheer her up. "Here, take your veil. Let's bow to heaven and earth and get married!"
The girl blinked, then laughed through her tears.
In the eyes of a child, pain was something that could be rewritten; there was no burden that wouldn't eventually lighten. All their love and hatred, their bitter goodbyes, would slowly be woven into the jianghu's lore. Beneath the old scholar trees, the storytellers would speak their legends into existence. They'd trade in the vicissitudes of these heroes' lives, peddling their glory or their shame for a handful of tears and a crowd's applause.
The two childhood sweethearts solemnly took their bows with the leaf as a veil. Eyes only for each other, they called sweetly, "We bow first to heaven and earth—we bow second to our parents—"
A black-robed cultivator strolled by the scholar tree. The newcomer possessed elegant, handsome features, and wore an old quiver on a belt, its exquisite embroidery faded with age. There were no arrows in it; now that the great battle was over, the world was at peace. Instead, a little pup with golden claws was curled up inside. Whimpering softly, he peered out at the world beyond.
The cultivator stopped beneath the tree, watching the two children with the ghost of a smile. After a moment, she walked over and handed a red handkerchief to the girl.
"Huh?" The girl froze. "What's this? And who are you?"
"How can you get married with a leaf on your head?" the cultivator said in lieu of answering. "Here—this is for you."
The handkerchief was well-worn, made of soft, fine fabric. In the corner was embroidered the character Si. It was a keepsake from many years ago. When she'd gotten scared in that training illusion and started to sob, Nangong Si had fished out this handkerchief for her to wipe her tears.
The girl looked the handkerchief over, then broke into a sunny smile. "Thank you, Jiejie," she said, raising her head.
The cultivator blinked in surprise. Her eyes lit up, shining like stars. For years now, it had been a scant few who could tell at a glance that she was a woman. On top of her appearance, there was also the voice-changing spell she could never remove. It seemed this little maiden had quite a sharp eye.
The cultivator shook her head, then straightened and patted Naobaijin's soft head. "Time to go—what are you staring at?"
Naobaijin whined.
The breeze picked up, rustling the leaves of the scholar tree. The storyteller was narrating the battle at Mount Jiao, in which Nangong Si had thrown himself into the blood pool to subdue the demon dragon. The crowd listened with rapt attention, a few wiping their eyes as the story reached its climax. But the cultivator no longer cried. She turned toward the distant mountains, a solitary, straight-backed figure in black. Behind her, the girl and boy's sweet voices floated over the breeze. "Now, as husband and wife, we bow to each other—"
She stepped out of the scholar tree's shade into dazzling sunlight. Though she didn't know why, a smile stole across her face, eyes curving into crescents as warmth bloomed in her chest. There was nothing better than being a kid, she thought. Even the most solemn rituals of eternal love were performed so freely and easily.
She'd walked some distance before she heard the sound of a child's hurried footsteps behind her. "Da-jiejie! Your handkerchief!"
Without turning her head, she gallantly waved a hand.
Naobaijin looked up at her with a wide-eyed, confused stare, as if to ask, That's A-Si's old handkerchief—you don't want it anymore?
She grinned, her gaze soft. "Nope."
The field before her spread out in all its springtime splendor, teeming with new life. She caught a flash out of the corner of her eye—Nangong Si was standing next to her. She wasn't surprised to see him. His face still held a touch of willfulness, prideful and self-assured.
"I know you're there," she said.
The phantom Nangong Si knit his brows in apparent disapproval.
"Don't be mad," she said softly. "They were getting married, but they didn't have a veil. So I gave them your handkerchief."
Nangong Si glowered silently.
"A handkerchief for a happy union—isn't that something to smile about?"
Beneath that brilliant sunlight, Nangong Si offered her a begrudging smile. It was uglier than if he'd made a face.
She smiled too, lowering her lashes. When she looked up again, Nangong Si was gone. But she knew he'd be back. He was neither a ghost nor an illusion. He was in her heart, so she'd be able to see him whenever she wanted, as handsome and high-spirited as he was in life.
Time passed. In the blink of an eye, New Year's Eve drew near. According to the customs of the cultivation realm, Xue Meng's period of mourning for his parents had ended. Thus, in the last month of the year, he officially took up the mantle of Sisheng Peak's leader. People flocked to Sichuan from near and far to congratulate him in the lavish celebration that followed.
In that darkless night spangled with lanterns and fireworks, Xue Meng dutifully observed all the formalities propriety demanded, as outlined by the Xuanji Elder. He wore an elaborate jade crown and the sect leader's ring. His ceremonial robes were composed of nine layers of silk and gauze, so fine even the flying dragon motifs curling around his cuffs boasted embroidered eyes of tiny fire-tempered pearls.
As he stood within the solemn expanse of Loyalty Hall, his face, handsome and mature, might have been carved from Kunlun jade. If any had known to look, they would have seen that his resemblance to Jiang Xi was most apparent in his eyes. But he'd never take the surname Jiang, and he had no wish to be likened to Jiang Xi.
"Congratulations, esteemed Sect Leader."
The Xuanji Elder led the disciples of Sisheng Peak in bowing first. They knelt in a great wave, light glancing from their armor. The rest of the celebrants followed suit, lowering their heads one after another. The rumble of movement reverberated like the roll of thunder across the misty mountain peak.
"Congratulations, esteemed Sect Leader."
Fireworks bloomed across the night sky, marking the beginning of a new golden age for Sisheng Peak. What belonged to the past—whether pain or comfort—was gone forever.
Xue Meng smiled. His eyes were dark and calm, but duller than they once were. He raised his cup and drank with the guests. The gesture was measured and dignified, a far cry from the laughable gaffes he might have made before.
In the crowd, Mei Hanxue sighed quietly. He closed his eyes. "This guy… He's really becoming Nangong Liu."
"Watch your mouth."
Mei Hanxue eyed his brother. "I'm not saying there's anything wrong with it. I just mean his new position."
"I don't care what you mean," the older twin said coldly. "Anyway, twenty-six girls have already come looking for you since the beginning of the banquet. Take off your mask. I've had enough."
Mei Hanxue's masked brow crumpled in exasperation.
After the feast concluded, Sisheng Peak arranged for its disciples to receive the visiting sect leaders, elders, and disciples according to their station. With so many guests, there was no other way to manage it. The visitors made their way back to their quarters, unsteady with wine. They had come to witness a transition of power, and each had their own preoccupations.
Xue Meng, too, returned to his room. He wasn't drunk today; the Tanlang Elder's sobering soup was extremely effective. Kneading at his brow, he sank into a chair. He wanted to shed all those heavy pendants and jade tokens, but after glancing at the mirror, he couldn't figure out where to begin.
The Xuanji Elder rapped on the door and let himself in. "Sect Leader."
"Yeah?" Xue Meng mumbled listlessly.
"Here's a list of all the gifts the other sects sent. Jielü forgot to bring it to you earlier." Xuanji handed him a thick booklet with a red and gold cover. "Look it over with care so we can return their gestures appropriately."
Xue Meng's exhaustion compounded. "Okay, got it."
"Also, Jiang-zhangmen is asking for a private audience with you."
"I don't want to see him."
Xuanji didn't insist; he'd always been the most emotionally astute of Sisheng Peak's elders. "Then I'll turn down his request in a moment," he said with a sigh.
"Is there anything else?"
"That's it."
Xue Meng had been hoping there might be. In fact, what he really wanted to hear was Two mysterious guests showed up and asked to see you. But Xuanji said no such thing. He saw himself out, closing the carved red door of the sect leader's quarters behind him.
Xue Ziming stood alone and unmoving in that spacious room for some time. Eventually, he lit a lamp and began to peruse the register of gifts.
The gifts were listed in descending order of extravagance. Guyueye, the richest of the sects, was naturally at the top. The register was full of flashy-sounding words like "flame-plumed tail feathers" and "spiritual whale pearls." Xue Meng had never even heard of some of these items. Jiang Xi didn't hesitate when it came to spending his money.
But Xue Meng wasn't in the mood to pore over lists of treasures. He riffled through the booklet, scanning for Chu Wanning and Mo Ran's names. Although many wandering cultivators hadn't attended the celebration in person, they'd still sent gifts. Today was one of the most important days of Xue Meng's life. If Mo Ran were still alive, if Chu Wanning remained in the jianghu, they had to have heard about his accession to sect leader.
Taxue Palace, Huohuang Pavilion, Wubei Temple… He flipped page after page. He turned back to the pages listing gifts from cultivators unaffiliated with any sect, reading them a dozen times over. But they weren't there.
Xue Meng sat back in his carved rosewood chair, sinking into the soft cushion. He brought a weary hand to his forehead.
They weren't there.
His shizun, his…cousin—it was like they'd vanished. There'd been no trace of them since that great battle.
From outside came the sounds of laughter and the crackle and whine of firecrackers. But the leader of Sisheng Peak remained holed up in his room. Wetness slowly gathered on his lashes.
He still couldn't accept the way Chu Wanning and Mo Ran had deceived him. He'd likely never be able to see the two of them again without feeling a wedge had been driven between them. But when all was said and done, deep down, he was terribly worried about them.
When they'd set up the tablets in the ancestral temple, everyone had told him Mo Ran was dead. But Xue Meng refused to budge—he needed to see the body before he would believe it. Without the evidence of his own eyes, there was no way he would allow that red cloth to be removed from the tablet.
In truth, there was no turning back from all that had happened. Though he'd tried to put himself in their shoes, he couldn't make himself feel at ease. As soon as he remembered what they'd hidden from him, his heart seemed to seize in his chest and his stomach twisted in knots; he could barely breathe. He knew, too, that it was precisely for this reason that Chu Wanning and Mo Ran might never return to Sisheng Peak. Such a relationship between shizun and disciple was strictly forbidden; the world would never accept them.
But couldn't they at least send a letter—couldn't they at least tell him they were okay?
Xue Meng blew out a breath and laid a hand over his quivering eyelids.
Suddenly, a sound like a distant sigh drifted in from the window. He was on his feet in an instant, rushing over to push open the window panel.
The light of the fireworks flickered over his face. He looked left and then right; there was no one there. But a long, thin brocade box hung from the peach tree just outside the window.
Xue Meng reached out, every muscle tensed. He opened the box with trembling fingers.
A firework hissed as it shot into the sky, bursting into a thousand glittering stars against the dark night. By the light of those dazzling motes, Xue Meng beheld the narrow scimitar nestled within the box, pristine as if freshly forged. Its silver hilt gave way to a long, tapering blade, inlaid with a gleaming lunar crystal.
It was a newly restored Longcheng.
Shaking from head to toe, Xue Meng tucked the box into his robes and vaulted out the window. He leapt into the air above the garden and yelled, "Shizun!"
The only answer he received was the soft whistling of the breeze through the quiet back courtyard.
"Shizun!" he screamed wildly. "Mo Ran! Where are you?!"
The night wind was cool, brisk and damp on his cheeks. He scrambled through the flowers and plants, heedless of the twigs scratching his arms and snagging in his robes.
"Show yourselves!"
His voice had risen to a tearful howl. Xue Meng slowed to a stop. His spine bent as he curled in on himself. "Come back…" he whimpered.
A faint melody floated past on the wind—the reedy sound of a leaf flute. Xue Meng froze. He slowly turned in the direction of the music.
Finally, he saw them—but they were already far away, below the distant Heaven-Piercing Tower. Behind the tower's dignified ornamental eaves, those two familiar figures had paused, one sitting, one standing. The one sitting balanced the holy weapon Jiuge on his lap, sleeves flying in the wind. The one standing was clad in close-fitting black robes, playing a bamboo leaf between his fingers.
"I visit old friends with the bright moon on high, faces red beneath the lanternlight. The young phoenix crows to greet the spring dawn over leagues of mountains and rivers at peace. Save the wine you hid in our youth, for your brother will return to see you in time. We needn't remain always so close at hand—whenever I miss you, I'll send the east wind."
The distant sounds of the qin and the leaf flute flowed from those figures beneath the silvery moon and drifted into the immaculate night.
The congratulatory song came to an end. There was a flash of golden light: Chu Wanning had summoned his paper dragon. The pair leapt onto the dragon's back and soared away on the wind.
Afterward, Xue Meng found two letters written in very similar hands tucked into that brocade box. One was from Chu Wanning, and the other was from Mo Weiyu.
Mo Weiyu had written a lengthy letter containing details of various stories and events, and laying out many secrets he had kept from Xue Meng in the past. He confessed that because they were unsure how the world would receive them, they didn't want to show up without warning and risk dragging Sisheng Peak's name through the mud again. As for Longcheng, he and Chu Wanning had gathered the materials over the past few months and found a way to reforge the blade anew. He hoped Xue Meng would find it useful.
Chu Wanning's letter was much shorter, containing only a few lines in his neat, precise hand:
Sect Leader, guilt weighs on my heart; I am ashamed to face you. The road ahead is yet long; pray look after yourself. Within Longcheng's hilt is embedded a Nightglow Haitang Blossom. May it keep you company when I cannot. If ever my meager abilities may be of use, I am yours to command. Yuheng.
Xue Meng stared at the words Sect Leader for a long, long time. Even as the darkest, stillest hours of the night descended upon the abandoned drinking cups, he remained awake, lost in his thoughts. Perhaps he'd never again hear his shizun call him by name; there would only ever be that title, Sect Leader. At this thought, he felt more frustrated than ever with the rules and regulations of the world.
But—at least Chu Wanning and Mo Ran were still there. Maybe he'd be a thousand miles removed from them in the future; maybe their paths wouldn't cross for years. But at least they could look up and admire the same moon from whichever far-flung corners of the earth they settled in. This knowledge, at last, brought him some small measure of comfort.
At the foot of Sisheng Peak, in Wuchang Town, two men in hooded cloaks walked out of the darkness and strode through the bustling night market. They stopped at a food stall hung with bright lanterns.
The taller man spoke up. "Sir, a pot of clear gudong soup, with bamboo shoots, tofu, bean curd skin, spinach, sliced beef, sliced lamb, tripe, crispy pork, crystal filleted fish, lotus shrimp balls—"
"That's enough, we won't be able to finish it," his companion cut in.
"Okay—in that case, we'll add a sweet-and-sour squirrel fish and two jars of soy milk—"
His companion's lips pressed into a tight line. "Stop ordering."
These, of course, were none other than Chu Wanning and Mo Weiyu, who had come down the mountain after delivering Xue Meng's gift.
"—and some sweet osmanthus lotus root," Mo Ran concluded. He smiled. "Do you know how to make it here?"
"We didn't used to," the stallkeeper responded enthusiastically. "It's a dish from the Jiangnan and Huai River regions, you know. But Sisheng Peak's Mengpo Hall often makes it, and we're right here at the bottom of the mountain, so we learned from them. Right, we also have a special menu here, a heroes' combo—do you want a look?"
Chu Wanning furrowed his brow. "Sorry, what kind of menu?"
"A heroes' combo. You guys never heard of it?" The waiter puffed out his chest. "The two cultivators who saved the world are both from our Sisheng Peak, don't you know? Heh, these days all the spots in Wuchang Town know how to make a few of their favorite dishes!"
The waiter plucked two sets of bamboo slips from his belt and handed them to Chu Wanning and Mo Ran. "This one is Chu-xianjun's menu." As if worried they still didn't understand, the waiter continued his animated explanation. "Apparently, Chu-xianjun likes food that's kind of charred and burnt, so we have charred meatballs, super crunchy guoba, burnt tofu with cabbage—oh yeah, and the squirrel fish here is fried extra-crispy too."
Chu Wanning listened in stony-faced silence, while Mo Ran took a sip of tea to cover his laughter. But when he glanced down at "Mo-xianjun's Menu," he almost spit it out. He burst into a fit of coughing.
The waiter jumped. "Aiya, mister, are you okay? Can I get you anything?"
"I'm fine, I'm fine, ahem…" Sputtering, Mo Ran pointed at the second set of bamboo slips. "What is this? Why do you have a bunch of pastries with sweet haitang filling on here? Is that even a thing?"
"Apparently Mo-xianjun likes sweets."
Mo Ran blinked.
"And he likes haitang blossoms," the waiter nodded sagely. "So our boss invented these sweet haitang pastries. There's tons of sugar inside—they're three times sweeter than normal pastries, guaranteed to make your tongue tingle!"
"Is something like that even edible?"
"Of course it is," answered the waiter. "They're super popular. Do you two want one combo each from Mo-xianjun and Chu-xianjun's menus? These are all their favorites—you won't be disappointed!"
Chu Wanning's head was starting to ache. "No thank you. I don't like burnt stuff."
Mo Ran laughed. "And I don't really like sweets."
"Ah, too bad, too bad." The waiter scratched his head ruefully. He seemed to hold these new menus in high regard: Even after he turned away, they could hear him grumbling, "But these are our saviors' favorite dishes… Aren't they at least worth a try…"
Chu Wanning sat in mute shock, while Mo Ran let out a snort.
"What are you laughing at?" Chu Wanning eyed him. "Is it that funny?"
"Not really," said Mo Ran, his eyes dark and gleaming. "I'm just happy. As long as I'm happy, anything can make me laugh."
He glanced at the bustling streets. The chaos had passed, and the warmth of the mortal world had been rekindled. Women picked out cosmetics and bought red paper goods ahead of the new year. Men gathered around the food stalls, drinking and chatting. In the brilliant glow of the lanterns, their faces were relaxed and cheerful; even their greasy cheeks seemed like a sign of good health.
A pack of children roamed the street, shouting and laughing. They were playing some sort of game—one child wore a mask, while the others scurried away from him like rabbits. "Don't let him catch you!" they called out between fits of giggling.
Mo Ran propped his chin in his hand. There was something endearingly earnest about the gesture, adding to his handsomeness. He heaved a contented sigh. "How wonderful." He looked up toward the lights twinkling from Sisheng Peak. "How wonderful," he said again.
"Not everything's so wonderful," Chu Wanning pointed out. "You heard Xue Meng calling for us just now."
Mo Ran fell silent, then mustered a smile. "But if we'd really stayed, it would only make things harder for him."
"I know."
The first of their dishes arrived. As he ate, Mo Ran muttered, "Xue Meng is still too much of a kid. This is the best arrangement we could hope for. If we went back to Sisheng Peak, only trouble would come of it. Plus, he could probably put up with me for a couple days, but a couple months? No way." He crunched a peanut between his teeth, looking affronted. "He'd throw me out."
Suppressing a laugh, Chu Wanning tapped him on the head with the blunt end of his chopsticks. "You're the one who's acting like a kid."
"I'm serious," replied Mo Ran. "If he throws me out, it's not like I can refuse the sect leader's orders. Perish the thought."
This won a soft chuckle from Chu Wanning. "Don't joke. He'd never throw you out. We're the ones who don't want to stay. Don't shift the blame onto him."
"Okay." Mo Ran scratched his head and grinned, two dimples tucking themselves into his cheeks. "Whatever Savior-gege says."
"Eat," said Chu Wanning. "We'll go home when we're done."
They were presently living deep in the forest of Nanping Mountain. Ever since Mo Ran's souls had returned to his body, they'd rarely left that cottage. They hadn't intended to enter seclusion, but the circumstances happened to be just right. Thus they'd made a home in that idyllic corner of the world.
Everything was as perfect as it could be.
Selecting a piece of crispy pork, Mo Ran smiled more broadly, black eyes curving into crescents. "Actually, you're right. I am the one to blame."
"Hm?"
"I don't want to stay."
"Are you worried he'll be mad at you?"
"Nah." Mo Ran rubbed his nose and chuckled. "I'm afraid he'd call me Shiniang."
Chu Wanning glared.
Mo Ran's eyes were dark as ink, almost purple in the shifting light. These days, that sharp purple gleam had softened to a gentle shimmer. He heaved a sigh. "I jumped ahead an entire generation, just like that."
"Eat!"
Mo Ran lowered his head and obediently ate. One could almost see a pair of canine ears sprouting from his head, tamely flopping downward.
He wasn't truly unwilling to return to Sisheng Peak, and Chu Wanning knew it. In truth, all of them—Mo Ran, Xue Meng, and himself—wanted to be together again. But time's passage wore everyone down. Those days of blissful ignorance had run their course, and no one could wish them back into existence.
All three of them understood this. But Mo Ran didn't want Chu Wanning to be sad. He'd rather shoulder the blame himself and tease him until he laughed.
"Speaking of which, I never actually asked you," said Chu Wanning. "After the battle… How did you know you'd be able to come back?"
Mo Ran shoveled rice into his mouth, considering the question. "Will you be angry if I tell you the truth?"
Chu Wanning fixed him with a clear-eyed stare. "Go ahead."
Mo Ran rubbed the back of his neck and ducked his head, smiling. "When the gate to the demon realm opened, I could feel spiritual energy circulating in me… But Taxian-jun was in charge back then. My mind wasn't clear, so I didn't realize the implications."
"Mn."
"It was at the very end, when I was almost gone, that the idea occurred to me." He paused. "I was betting I was like Song Xingyi—one of those special Butterfly-Boned Beauty Feasts. The ancient scrolls say the demon race can be reborn as long as their bodies are preserved and their souls are complete, right? So I thought…if I was right, I should be able to return to my body, as long as I wanted it badly enough."
A tiny furrow appeared between Chu Wanning's brows. "I always thought the stories about the souls of demons being able to return to their bodies were no more than legends." He hesitated, then asked, "But in that case, why was Song Qiutong unable to resurrect herself?"
"Even if a demon can come back to life, it's only possible if their desire to live is extremely strong," Mo Ran said with a helpless shrug. "That feeling was like… How do I explain it? It was like someone put a rope in my hands before pushing me off a cliff. But the rope was covered in oil—if my attention slipped even a little, I would've fallen into the abyss. I had to hold on with everything I had and pull myself up. I couldn't let myself relax for a moment until I came back to my body."
Mo Ran looked up and met his eyes. "Wanning, all I could think about was how I needed to find you. That's what brought me back."
The lanterns above them swayed in the wind. As Chu Wanning gazed into Mo Ran's eyes, so deep and dark, he felt something melt inside his chest. It was a vulnerable feeling, disconcertingly unfamiliar, and he quickly turned his face away.
Mo Ran grinned. "There's another reason."
"Hm?"
"Butterfly-Boned Beauty Feasts are only half-demon. Before the gate to the demon realm opened, we wouldn't have been able to achieve rebirth that way," Mo Ran explained. "But when we absorbed the demonic qi, it made us stronger. Otherwise, we're like ordinary mortals. After I absorbed that demonic energy, I realized it was even more powerful than my spiritual core. Even though my heart in this body was badly damaged, I thought I might be able to reverse it."
"So when you told me to go back, you actually weren't sure whether or not you'd be reborn…" Chu Wanning trailed off.
It wasn't until Mo Ran saw Chu Wanning's eyes narrow slightly that he realized his mistake. He cleared his throat. "Hey, this fish is pretty good."
But Chu Wanning was not so easily put off. "If you hadn't come back, there would've only been your ice-cold corpse waiting for me once I got to Nanping Mountain," he said, his stare drilling into Mo Ran.
Mo Ran could hardly stand to hear him sound so grim. He ducked his head, biting his lip in silence before looking up again. "That's right."
Chu Wanning blinked, taken aback.
"I couldn't bear to let you die. Whether or not I was able to live."
The ends of Chu Wanning's eyes had reddened—perhaps in pain, or because he was about to lose his temper. Mo Ran covered Chu Wanning's hand on the table with his own and gently rubbed his fingers. Haloed by the rich lamplight, he said hoarsely, "I knew it might be a lie—but even if you hated me and resented me for the rest of your life, I couldn't watch you die in front of me."
He closed his eyes, lashes quivering. "I'd already experienced that in two lifetimes."
Slowly, the tension bled out of Chu Wanning's spine, and his clenched fingers relaxed. But the tails of his eyes remained red and slightly damp.
Steam spiraled from the gudong pot, tiny bubbles swirling to the surface of the clear broth. Against this lively backdrop of hard-won mundanity, Mo Ran interlaced his fingers with Chu Wanning's. "I thought back then, if I lost my bet, I'd wait for you…however many decades it took. If you ascended to immortality, I'd wait hundreds, even thousands of years."
Chu Wanning found he couldn't speak.
"The mortal realm is so beautiful. Wanning, I didn't need you to come to the grave with me."
A big bubble burst in the pot. Hot liquid splattered onto Chu Wanning's wrist. A few drops of broth weren't enough to cause injury, but he instinctively jerked his hand back and lowered his head. Then he thought he ought to be more composed than that, so he steeled his heart and forced himself to look up. He glared across the table at that foolhardy disciple who didn't know what was good for him.
Mo Ran had to laugh. "What's wrong? First you glare at me, then you glare at the table."
Whatever retort Chu Wanning would have made was cut off by the toll of a bell from the Heaven-Piercing Tower, high upon the mountain. The sound echoed over the bustling night market in Wuchang Town. Chu Wanning paled as he realized the hour. "Oh no."
It was time for them to switch…
Chu Wanning studied the man sitting across from him. His expression had just been cheerful, but now his eyes snapped shut. A wave of anxiety washed over Chu Wanning.
Ever since Mo Ran had come back to life, after every third day at midnight, Taxian-jun's consciousness would take hold of his body until the night of the following day. The cognizance soul that had remained in Taxian-jun had been separated from Mo Ran's other souls too long; its consciousness hadn't merged easily with his other self. Although his souls were finally all together, his personality underwent a marked shift every few days.
When Mo Ran opened his eyes again, the quality of the light within them had changed. Slowly, Emperor Taxian-jun raised his handsome face. He was the same person in the same body, yet somehow, his bearing was instantly less wholesome and more dangerous, suffused with latent threat.
Taxian-jun bared his teeth in a devilish smile. "Hmm… It's been three days. Wanning, have you missed this venerable one?"
Chu Wanning stared at him, heart thudding in his chest.
Taxian-jun glanced down at the bowls and chopsticks, at the half-eaten pot of gudong soup. The discerning eye of the erstwhile emperor of the mortal realm fell upon the shabby wooden chairs crowded at the edge of the street and the narrow, greasy table. For Mo-zongshi, these things encapsulated the precious warmth of the human realm. But for Taxian-jun…
"Waiter! Get your ass over to this venerable one!"
"Mo Ran, sit down!"
These two sharp shouts startled the diners around them. Everyone turned. "Ah! Wait!" someone called out. "Isn't that Chu-zongshi?"
"Wha? I-is that Mo-xianjun too? Isn't he supposed to be dead? Someone come rub the cobwebs out of my eyes! I don't think I've gone blind quite yet!"
"You're not blind—I see him too!"
"Ah!" a girl shrieked. "It really is Mo-xianjun!"
The commotion caught the attention of passersby, drawing more and more eyes. A few recognized them with certainty. Grim-faced, Chu Wanning grabbed Emperor Taxian-jun—who was still shouting "How's it even possible to eat at such a pathetic little table? Is this some kind of sick joke?"—and summoned his sword. Before any more curious onlookers could gather, he leapt onto Huaisha and fled the chaos.
Not until they were high in the air did Chu Wanning let out a breath of relief. The moonlight was crisp and lovely, and the calamity had passed. All was well—save for Taxian-jun grumbling irascibly behind him. "What's so great about Mo-xianjun? Insolent brats! Why do they only remember Mo-xianjun?"
Chu Wanning didn't bother to reply.
"It was this venerable one who repaired the Xuanwu barrier!" Taxian-jun raged. "And it was this venerable one who stopped the flood! It was this venerable one who saved all their sorry asses!"
Finally, Chu Wanning glanced over his shoulder at the seething man behind him. Was he really so petty as to be jealous of himself?
Noticing Chu Wanning's amused gaze, Taxian-jun was at first taken aback, then narrowed his eyes. "What do you think you're looking at?" Feigning indifference, he huffed out, "Even you—you belong to this venerable one too!"
He grabbed Chu Wanning around the waist. Caught off guard, Chu Wanning snapped, "Watch it!" The sword wobbled beneath their feet.
Taxian-jun flicked a finger, stabilizing it with demonic energy. He wrapped his arms tighter around Chu Wanning, tucking his gold-embroidered black cloak around them. "What're you scared of?" He scoffed in deep displeasure. "With this venerable one here, how could you possibly fall?"
He urged the sword upward and onward. High in the moonlit sky, the sword streaked toward Nanping Mountain like a black whirlwind. Wrapped in the dark night, they were just like any other pair of lovers. They went home.
In time to come, people would occasionally catch glimpses of Mo-zongshi and Chu-zongshi throughout the jianghu. But they always came and went without a trace, like a pair of graceful shadows.
Later still, another legend began to circulate throughout the cultivation realm, of a blind doctor who traveled the land. He appeared always in a bamboo hat and veil, obscuring his face from view. All anyone knew for certain was that his healing abilities were unsurpassed. He traveled to the most barren and destitute regions, treating anyone who sought him out without taking a single copper of payment.
One story about this doctor was particularly well-known. A group of youths in Wuchang Town had been kidnapped by cultivators as children. Their skin had been burned off, and they were made to resemble pixiu. It was practically impossible to reverse the damage done. When this traveling doctor came to Wuchang Town and heard their plight, he cut the flesh from his own arm to make medicine and used it to nurse those youths back to health. The grateful residents of the town had begged to learn his name, but the doctor replied, I'm merely a sinner, nothing more.
Many more years passed. That great battle fought in another world faded into an old tale recorded in yellowing scrolls. The children from those days had grown tall as weeds, the youths were rearing families of their own, and the heroes were growing silvered at the temples.
Once again, winter gave way to spring.
Xue Ziming, the leader of Sisheng Peak, had taken a young disciple under his wing, whom he'd raised as if he were his own son. The little boy felt at home from the start, fearless even before the distinguished Sect Leader Xue. He trailed behind Xue Meng day in and day out, asking any question that popped into his head.
One day, Xue Meng's disciple ran over to him. "Shizun, I heard a lot of things about what Shizu and Shishu1 did in the past. Does Shizun…still talk to them these days?"
Xue Ziming, the foremost leader of the cultivation realm, stood next to the window, gazing at the peach blossoms outside. "Once in a while," he responded.
His little disciple was practically vibrating with interest. "Then why don't you invite them back here?" Without waiting for Xue Meng's answer, the disciple chattered on, "The Red Lotus Pavilion and Shishu's disciple quarters are still empty. No one else has ever lived there." He tugged on Xue Ziming's broad sleeve. "Shizun, Shizun, why don't you invite them back? I've listened to lots of storytellers talking about them—they all say Shizu and Shishu are great heroes…"
Xue Meng fastened a pair of light brown eyes on his disciple. In the spring sunshine, he seemed to be hiding a smile beneath his stern expression. "Do you want to be a hero someday too?"
"Of course!" The little disciple puffed out his cheeks, full of determination. "How could Shizun's disciple be anything less than outstanding? I'm gonna do a bunch of really important things!"
"Being outstanding doesn't only mean doing important things," Xue Meng pointed out. "If you can live a righteous life, without taking advantage of the weak or bowing to the strong, without growing arrogant in good times or losing hope when times are hard; if you can carefully and thoughtfully consider the people and events you encounter, choosing mercy whenever you can; if you can stay true to yourself and your principles—then, by the time you're an old man, you'd be a great hero."
Silence.
"Is something wrong?"
When Xue Meng turned to check on his little disciple, he saw him stifling a yawn. He was still very young, after all.
Noticing his teacher's eyes on him, the disciple snapped his mouth shut. Tears of weariness gathered in the corners of his eyes, but he straightened up and nodded contemplatively. This sort of overcompetitive behavior was so reminiscent of a certain son of the phoenix in his youth, Xue Meng held back a laugh. Putting on a serious expression, he asked, "Will you remember that?"
"I will," his disciple said quickly.
"Did you understand it?" asked Xue Meng.
"I…" His disciple sounded a little downcast. "I didn't…" A pause. "Shizun," he said plaintively, "what you said is too complicated."
Xue Meng didn't blame him. After thinking for a moment, he patted the boy on the head. "Forget it. It was too much."
The disciple giggled.
"If you want to be a hero, you have to remember one thing."
The boy stood at attention, as though Xue Meng was about to teach him some unbeatable move or reveal a deep secret. His bright eyes opened wide.
The sunshine slanted across Xue Meng's face. Beneath the dappled shadows of the flowers, he smiled. "The greatest dignity you can give yourself is to refrain from judging others rashly."
He bent down, scooping the uncomprehending boy up in his arms. Xue Meng walked like this all the way to the end of the garden. From here, they could see the steep summit of the Aaaaah Cliff. The Red Lotus Pavilion was shrouded in mist. From here, they could look down through the floating clouds at the distant towns below, the river winding through them like a ribbon of jade.
The wind blew, taking with it all the little disciple's tiredness. He was no longer yawning, but he was still so young every flower and bird diverted his attention. Xue Meng stood with him by the carved railing, gazing out at the landscape of Sichuan. "What do you see?"
The boy wasn't sure what answer he was looking for. "Mountains…buildings…water…and fog…"
Xue Meng listened with a smile. His temperament had steadied over the years. It had been a long time since the days when he lost his temper at the drop of a hat. They looked out at the world below. Where the boy saw buildings, Xue Meng saw the burgeoning prosperity of Wuchang Town at the foot of the mountain. Long ago, it had been a shabby little village, but now, it was a hive of activity, even livelier than the grand cities of the upper cultivation realm had once been.
Where the boy saw water, Xue Meng saw the river of forgetfulness flowing eastward. Sometimes, he could almost see an old monk standing on its banks, a soul-calling lantern in his hand, saying to him solemnly, Xue-shizhu, on this journey to the underworld…
Where the boy saw fog, Xue Meng saw the wisps of those departed souls, lingering around Sisheng Peak year-round. His father and mother were among them. He caught glimpses of them everywhere—on the Dancing Sword Platform, in the rear garden, in Mengpo Hall, on Naihe Bridge. He saw them even when he closed his eyes. Perhaps mortals possessed yet another kind of soul in addition to the three ethereal souls and seven corporeal spirits, one that resided in the hearts of those who loved them. Whenever you were missing someone, they would appear at your side.
Xue Meng held his little disciple in his arms and gazed at Frostsky Hall in the distance. Within it, many of his relatives and friends now rested in coffins of black snow. The Jielü Elder had passed from old age during the great snowstorm in early spring of last year. The Xuanji Elder, too, had departed a few years ago. Everyone always said he'd done so many good deeds Yanluo would come for him sooner rather than later, lest he cheat the Lord of Hell by ascending.
Xue Meng had watched his elders leave the world one after another. At first he'd been hysterically distraught, but by now, he was calm—or maybe he'd merely accepted his powerlessness. When he found he was able to arrange the Xuanji Elder's funeral proceedings with ease, Xue Meng couldn't help but reflect on the youth he'd been.
But these were passing thoughts and no more. No longer would he allow himself to become trapped in the mire of the past. He was the sect leader, as well as the Yuheng Elder's disciple. He had to keep his eyes on the road ahead.
"Shizun?" A small hand waved before his face, summoning Xue Meng back from his reverie. "Shizun, what are you thinking about?"
"The past," said Xue Meng, smiling.
The boy's earlier enthusiasm was instantly rekindled. "About Shizu and Shishu?" he asked eagerly.
"Actually, they return every New Year's Eve," said Xue Meng. "You can meet them this year."
His disciple pouted, looking unsatisfied. "But why do they only come on New Year's Eve? Why don't they stay? I heard Shishu is super powerful—with one stroke of his sword—"
Xue Meng poked him in the forehead. "Your head would be gone."
The boy stuck out his tongue, not scared in the least.
"Really," Xue Meng said very seriously. "Your shishu can be a little… What's the word… Unpredictable."
"Huh? Unpredictable?"
Xue Meng nodded. "I'll introduce you to him this year. But you can only stay until midnight."
"Why?" the boy asked, eyes growing wide.
"After that, you have to leave…unless you want to call him 'Your Majesty,'" said Xue Meng.
"Um…" the boy blinked. This answer hadn't cleared anything up at all. But before he could ask another question, Xue Meng seemed to recall something he'd rather have forgotten. He put the boy down and kneaded at his brow, as though afflicted with an awful headache.
It was the first time the boy had ever seen his shizun look so distressed. He grew even more interested in this "unpredictable" shishu who was the subject of so many stories. "Shizun, Shizun," he wheedled, "is Shishu—"
"That's enough questions."
"Then is Shizu…"
"No more."
"So Shizu and Shishu…"
"Go back to your room and copy your books!"
"Wah, Shizun, you're so scary…"
It was a crisp, clear day in Sichuan. The pristine sunlight scattered through the branches onto this master and disciple. The breeze picked up, ruffling Xue Meng's robes and caressing the little boy's rounded cheeks. It blew past the majestic buildings of Sisheng Peak, past the jade-green grass growing up before the gravestones of heroes.
The wind swept over the vast lands, swirling across the world in an instant. It brushed past a charitable blind doctor, past twins admiring plum blossoms in a field of snow. It brushed past a woman who raised a cup to Dragonsoul Pool on Mount Jiao, past lovers nestled within the quiet of Nanping Valley. These places remained unchanged by its passage, serene and calm.
People's paths would cross and diverge again; they might walk alongside each other for miles, or part and meet again by pure happenstance. Thus did the fates of countless people collide and intertwine. It was impossible to stop time on a night of drunken merriment or linger forever within a beautiful dream. But everyone carried the shadows their family, friends, and lovers had left upon their heart. It mattered not if they were dead or alive, or if they'd ever meet again. Those shadows would follow them like their own, wherever they chose to go.
The wind whispered past the haitang tree in front of the Heaven-Piercing Tower. Its branches were laden with flowers, just like in years past. The long night was over, and everywhere in this sprawling world were places one could call home. All was at peace.
Xue Meng looked up at the lofty mountain peak, at the stately tower. Some memory seemed to stir in him, and he broke into a smile. Taking his little disciple's hand, he set out across the grounds of the world's foremost sect toward Loyalty Hall. He seemed to hear the song another shizun and his disciple had once played beneath the Heaven-Piercing Tower, back when he'd first taken up the sect leader's mantle. That melody drifted through the long river of time, dispersing like snow behind the Sect Leader Xue of this year, this day—
I visit old friends with the bright moon on high, faces red beneath the lanternlight. The young phoenix crows to greet the spring dawn over leagues of mountains and rivers at peace. Save the wine you hid in our youth, for your brother will return to see you in time.
We needn't remain always so close at hand—whenever I miss you, I'll send the east wind.
— The End —