Table of Contents

Color Gallery
Title Page
Copyrights and Credits
Table of Contents Page
Chapter 160: The Legend of the Soul-Summoner
Chapter 161: Lies
Chapter 162: Fiefdom of Lin’an
Chapter 163: The Chu Clan’s Past
Chapter 164: We Aren’t Alone
Chapter 165: Graveyard Meeting
Chapter 166: Cousin
Chapter 167: Murong Chuyi’s Vengeance
Chapter 168: The Head of the Yue Clan
Chapter 169: Jiang Yexue’s Scheme
Chapter 170: First Meeting in White Robes on a Snowy Night
Chapter 171: Youthful Days of Tenderness and Budding Yearning
Chapter 172: An Accident of Love Brings an End to Fate
Chapter 173: A Gentleman No Longer
Chapter 174: Imperial Promises Are Most Unfathomable
Chapter 175: If That Year Could’ve Been Eternal
Chapter 176: Murong Chuyi
Chapter 177: Murong Lian Attends the Banquet
Chapter 178: Forced Abdication
Chapter 179: Mo Xi Endangered
Chapter 180: I’ll Protect You
Chapter 181: Gu Mang’s Arrangements
Chapter 182: Insanity
Chapter 183: Recovery
Chapter 184: Your Elder Brother Gives You the Hero’s Ribbon
Chapter 185: Battle Begins
Chapter 186: Gu Mang and the Demonblood Beast
Chapter 187: The Weapon of Warrior Soul Mountain
Chapter 188: The Way of the Martyr
Chapter 189: After the Separation
The Story Continues
Appendix: Characters, Names, and Locations
Appendix: Pronunciation Guide
Glossary: Genres
Glossary: Terminology
About the Author
Other works by Rou Bao Bu Chi Rou
Footnotes
Back Cover
Newsletter
 Chapter 160:
The Legend of the Soul-Summoner

M O XI BROUGHT Gu Mang out of the treatment room.

A secret kept by one person would always be a secret. Between two,
it would be an agreement. By the time a third became involved, it was a
liability.
More than ten people had seen Mo Xi rescue Gu Mang. These were
shadow guards who had undergone strict training within the palace, but they
were just human in the end. No secret could be successfully kept by more
than ten people. The matter of Xihe-jun risking his life to rescue a traitor
rapidly spread throughout the entirety of Chonghua.
After the incident at Da’ze City, the streets were already rife with
salacious rumors about Mo Xi and Gu Mang; when this news broke, many
of those who had remained cautious or skeptical sank into suspicion, one
after another.
“Has Xihe-jun gone insane? Why would he go so far for a traitor?”
“Ah, didn’t you know? Their relationship’s never been so simple.”
“I know they used to be the very best of friends, but—”
“Brothers who’d follow each other into death? You should hear what
Murong Lie is saying. He’s a relative of the imperial family, he probably
got the inside story. Your jaw’s going to drop when you hear the truth!”
The entire city was abuzz, but Mo Xi had neither energy nor attention
to spare for such trivialities. Although he’d reached Gu Mang in time to
drag him back from the brink of becoming a demon, that mysterious
assassin had managed to tell Gu Mang about the Vow of Calamity. Gu
Mang, already hovering on the knife edge of insanity, had been dealt
another great psychological blow—his mind was destroyed at last.
Just as Jiang Fuli had warned, Gu Mang’s mind now was in worse
condition than when the Liao Kingdom had returned him. Back then, Gu
Mang had believed he was a wild wolf, but his thoughts had at least
remained human in nature. After these injuries, Gu Mang, upon waking,
seemed to have lost all his humanity.
“When the Liao Kingdom tempered him, they wanted to turn him
into a flesh-and-blood weapon. He didn’t need to think; he just needed to
follow orders.” Mengze, having finished examining Gu Mang, stood
beneath the colonnade that ran along the edge of Xihe Manor’s garden,
speaking to a visibly exhausted Mo Xi.
“It was most likely the Liao Kingdom’s first attempt at such magic.
They didn’t have a good grasp of it. At first, Gu Mang’s spiritual energy
fluctuated, and his demonic qi became stronger, but there were no other
obvious mutations. Later, he began to show signs of losing control, and
became increasingly difficult for the Liao Kingdom to handle. In order to
minimize their risk, the Liao Kingdom cut out the two souls containing his
memories and sent him back to Chonghua.
“You can see there’s very little left of his mind. He hasn’t been
devoured totally yet, but he’s more or less a mindless…”
Mengze paused, the word monster held between her scarlet lips. Mo
Xi’s expression was beyond exhausted and agonized. She had grown up
with Mo Xi; in all the years she had known him, she’d rarely seen such an
expression on his face.
Beyond the corridor, a light drizzle was falling, and the pool’s red
lotuses swayed with the wind. A golden carp swam beneath a wide lotus
leaf, leaving glimmering ripples in its wake.
“But he remembers me,” Mo Xi whispered into the silence. He
hesitated. “After I brought him out of the treatment room, he slept for
almost two days. When he woke, he didn’t react to anyone else’s voice, but
he remembered me.” Mo Xi lowered his gaze, as if, in speaking the words
to Mengze, he was also consoling himself. “When I talk to him, he always
responds.”
“He hasn’t yet been fully devoured by black magic. But in his current
condition, virtually all of his memories have been destroyed.” Mengze
sighed. “To be honest, I don’t really know how much longer he can hold
out. Mo-dage, Medicine Master Jiang’s already told you this. After
suffering a breakdown like that, the only way to recover would be finding
those two lost souls.”
 Mo Xi closed his eyes. Rain drummed on the tiles of the roof and
streamed down the Taihu stones. Mo Xi’s pitch-black brows were drawn
low, and beneath his straight nose, his thin, pale lips were tightly
compressed.
If it was just Mengze who said she couldn’t save him, he might still
have a wisp of hope. But Chonghua’s foremost healer, Jiang Fuli, had long
since warned him in the same words: Unless you find his two souls, even an
immortal from the highest of heavens couldn’t save him.
Mo Xi’s fingernails sank deep into his palms. “How many healers in
all of the Nine Provinces are capable of summoning souls?”
Mengze froze. “Mo-dage, surely you don’t mean…”
Mo Xi turned toward her. “I want to summon those souls for him.”
An expression of disbelief rippled across Mengze’s face. “That’s…
That would be like fishing for a needle in the ocean,” she murmured. “If the
souls scattered, they could be anywhere. Even if you knew how to summon
souls, the world is vast; it might take ten or twenty years to find them, and
then only after untold difficulties. It would be an impossibly arduous
undertaking.”
“I know.” Mo Xi stood with his hands clasped behind his back,
gazing into the screen of rain that fell before the eaves like a beaded veil.
“Of course it won’t be easy to find those two souls.” After a pause, he
continued, voice steadier. “But it would be much harder to abandon him. In
the past, everyone believed my family had fallen from grace, that I was
doomed to fail,” said Mo Xi. “No one would spare me a second glance.
When I first enlisted, I did everything on my own. I stood guard alone,
scouted alone, and ate my meals alone. Once, I was trapped by a pack of
demon wolves and drenched in venomous blood—I thought no one would
risk themselves to save me. I had no one I could rely on in all of
Chonghua.”
Mengze looked down, a little awkward. Mo Xi had been young back
then, and they hadn’t interacted much. She didn’t know how to console him
as he spoke of those past events, and only made a soft noise of agreement.
“He was the one who came to save me,” Mo Xi told her. “With no
consideration for whether he would be harmed, with no consideration for
whether he could dispel the demonic qi afterward, with no consideration for
my identity or my circumstances. Now that it’s my turn, Mengze, it’s the
same. No matter how hard it will be, no matter how it will end, no matter
how long it takes,” Mo Xi said, “I will not turn back. As long as he’s still
alive, as long as I’m still alive. Not until one of us departs this world.”
Jade-green bamboo swayed against the white walls of the courtyard,
rustling wetly in the wind and rain. “Or he returns to health,” Mo Xi
finished.
Mengze looked at the man before her. She’d heard plenty of the
murmurs spreading within the city over the past few days. As one of Mo
Xi’s closest confidantes, she knew the truth better than most. She knew very
well what Gu Mang meant to Mo Xi, and because of this knowledge, she
felt Mo Xi was far too strong. Clearly, what he held in his arms was a flame
about to gutter out. Clearly, what lay before him was a pitch-black road.
Clearly, every fresh piece of news he received was more devastating than
the last. Yet Mo Xi endured all of it.
In her capacity as a healer, Mengze had seen all types of people
become fearful, despairing, reluctant, or mad when faced with such a plight.
She’d seen children turn away from their ailing parents in sorrow, husbands
give up on their weakening wives in cowardice… Many of those people,
when forced into a corner, could only bow their heads in defeat. She wasn’t
in their shoes; she hadn’t experienced their lives and suffering, and so she
hesitated to rashly judge their choices as right or wrong, selfish or merely
indifferent. Still, she had seen her share of the fickleness of devotion.
How could she not be moved at the sight of Mo Xi’s stubbornness in
refusing to bow to fate? Mo Xi didn’t complain or blame others for his
situation, nor did he lash out or break down. Anyone could see the
unbearable weight of the emotions he suppressed in his face. Anyone could
see how, even now, his fingertips trembled as he stood beside her. But this
man was extraordinarily clear about everything he did, and was terribly
harsh on himself. He never wasted time doing anything he considered
unnecessary, even if venting his sorrow would bring him some momentary
ease. Throughout all this, he had been calm in a way that was almost
masochistic, battling nightmares that were more than enough to destroy his
heart countless times over.
 In the end, Mengze heaved a sigh. “The Soul-Summoning
technique…is a piece of the Rebirth technique, one of the three great
forbidden arts. For a healer to practice this school of magic, they would
need not only a sufficient level of cultivation but also to have had the
opportunity to learn the technique. In the rumors among the medicine sects,
such individuals are nearly supernatural in their abilities, and their
whereabouts are unknown—they’re practically legendary. But…”
Mengze paused, her slender fingers gripping the hems of her sleeves
as if in indecision. Looking up, she continued, “I once came across a legend
in a medicine manual I found in a bookshop. North of Lin’an, there’s a
cluster of densely wooded mountains. Within them lives a reclusive sage
who knows Rebirth.”
She saw Mo Xi’s pitch-black eyes light up.
“The Soul-Summoning technique is the first step of Rebirth. If the
legend is true, this sage could certainly summon Gu-shixiong’s two lost
souls, but…” She turned away. “This legend is no more than a few
sentences,” she explained quietly. “There’s no other evidence of such a sage
living near Lin’an. Assuming it’s true, this person has vanished into the
mountains and would be nigh impossible to find. In the legend, his
temperament is fickle and capricious; he helps people when happy and
harms them when displeased. Even if you two manage to find him, you
can’t know if it’ll bring fortune or calamity.”
She could see by Mo Xi’s expression that he’d already made up his
mind. Mengze sighed. “Mo-dage, if you really want to go, I can’t stop you.
Chonghua is at war with the Liao Kingdom, and Lian-ge is bedridden with
his injuries. At this moment, his life hangs by a thread; even I don’t know if
it’s possible to save him. If you really can help Gu-shixiong recover, it
would be a great boon to Chonghua. But the situation is delicate… I worry
Imperial Brother won’t let you travel far from the capital. How about this?
Go in and take some rest. After all, you sustained considerable injury
suppressing Gu-shixiong’s demonic qi. In the meantime, allow me to
explain to Imperial Brother and make the request on your behalf.”
She gave Mo Xi a gentle smile that couldn’t hide the faint sorrow in
her eyes. “I’m sorry—I wasn’t the first person to recognize your potential.
When your family was struggling, I wasn’t at your side… Let me help you
one more time. If you can save the person that you…that you care for…”
She looked down, wisps of dark hair curling at her pale, slender neck.
“Then I would be happy too. Rest assured: leave Imperial Brother to me.”
The rain had grown heavier. Mengze gave Mo Xi some final
instructions on Gu Mang’s medicine, then summoned Yue-niang. The two
women left under umbrellas.
Mo Xi returned to the room to sit beside Gu Mang.
Only a few servants remained in the courtyard, Housekeeper Li
among them.
“Shifu, why are you frowning? What are you thinking?” a new
apprentice asked, rousing Li Wei from his thoughts.
Li Wei looked away from the decorative screen he’d been gazing at
and cleared his throat. “Nothing.”
Of course it wasn’t nothing. He’d heard Princess Mengze’s entire
conversation with his lord. All throughout, he’d felt uneasy.
Li Wei had previously served in the palace. He’d seen enough of
concubines, consorts, and female officials. However noble these women’s
birth, they were still human; they had human emotions, and emotions were
rarely easily dispelled. It was feeling that made them sit alone in an empty
bed-canopy until daybreak, or laugh unabashedly in their own palace hall
upon hearing some other favored concubine had died of disease. Feeling
drove their schemes, hatred, and jealousy; it was why there were many
things they clung to against all reason.
But to Li Wei, Mengze seemed unlike those other women. While she
did experience hardship, sorrow, and dissatisfaction, it all appeared fake to
Li Wei, like powder on a beauty’s face. Love that could be so easily
abandoned was not love at all—and she’d waited for Mo Xi in vain more
than ten years. Or was it perhaps that, as one of Chonghua’s three
gentlemen, her behavior simply wasn’t like that of ordinary women?
As Li Wei thought, he couldn’t help but furrow his brow.
 Chapter 161:
Lies

T HE STORM WORSENED in the wake of Mengze leaving. Muffled

thunder rumbled overhead, pressing down on the capital of Chonghua.
Gu Mang was asleep, but Mo Xi knew he was afraid of thunder. He
didn’t move from the room. Evening found him at the west-facing window,
trimming the candle wick with a pair of golden shears. The hazy flame
flared, setting the whole room flickering with light.
He returned to Gu Mang’s side and sat on the edge of the bed. Gu
Mang’s pillow had shifted sideways as he slept, so Mo Xi helped him
straighten it back out.
It was at this point that he discovered the book beneath the pillow.
Mo Xi froze for a moment before pulling out the book. There was no
title inscribed on its cover, but upon flipping it open to the first page and
seeing that familiar hand, he immediately understood—this was the booklet
of notes Gu Mang had written in every day to retain his memories.
He had wanted to read it when he’d first discovered it, but Gu Mang
had stopped him. It would be far too embarrassing, he’d said; Mo Xi was
only to read it after he lost his memories again. Moments later, realizing he
had put a damper on Mo Xi’s mood, Gu Mang had cajoled him—Aiya, who
knew how much he might still remember ten or twenty years in the future?
—and told Mo Xi not to worry so much.
Mo Xi hadn’t expected those “ten or twenty years” to pass so quickly.
He spread the book over his lap, lowering his gaze to read every word
written on its pages.
Gu Mang had recorded many things in this compendium of
memories. He’d written of his life in the academy, and after, when he’d
enlisted. He wrote of Murong Lian, the emperor, and of course, of Mo Xi
himself. But Mo Xi quickly realized that no matter who was mentioned, Gu
Mang only wrote good things about them, even if they had treated him
poorly in the past.
 In all that thick stack of pages, there wasn’t a single word of
complaint. Gu Mang had experienced untold humiliation at the academy,
yet he wrote only that, The pastries at the northern side of the academy are
golden and crispy, delicious and cheap—how nice. He’d risked death the
first time he served in battle, but he only said, I made quite a few good
friends, and not a single one lost his life—what luck. He wrote of Lu
Zhanxing, saying he was valiant and heroic. He wrote of the emperor,
saying he had many far-reaching worries.
Even when writing of Murong Lian, the strokes of his brush were
graceful, inscribing the mild words: Someone dear to me once said he gave
me grace—I mustn’t be careless with him.
Everything he wrote was good. The misery that pervaded his life, the
malice that had dogged him like a shadow, the suffering of his unanswered
yearning—all of it had been excised. He’d endured endless torment for his
overly ambitious dream, yet he only wanted to remember the small measure
of sweetness he’d experienced. Anything of the ugly, the dark, and the
crazed, was no more than dust from a tumble, easily brushed off and too
unimportant to mention.
Reading this book, it seemed Gu Mang had lived a pleasant and
contented life. He’d experienced nothing but kindness.
Wax pooled silently in the lamp. This book of memories was
surpassingly gentle, but it made Mo Xi choke with emotion; it was a long
time before he recovered enough to keep reading.
Just as he flipped to the page about their first meeting at the academy,
eyes swimming with tears, he heard a soft movement at his side, like the
rustle of a cub stirring. He swiped at his eyes before turning, only to find
that Gu Mang had woken some time ago, and was silently gazing at him
with those lake-blue eyes.
“You—you’re unhappy.”
Mo Xi stared back at him.
“Why are you crying?”
Their conversation seemed to echo their first reunion at Luomei
Pavilion. His Gu-shixiong’s wit, cleverness, and brash attitude had come
and gone, leaving nothing behind. But this time, Mo Xi would never disdain
him, scorn him, or bully him.
Mo Xi reached out, mussing Gu Mang’s hair as he bent his mouth in
a faint smile. “I’m not unhappy. I’m reading the things you wrote, and I like
them very much.”
“Things I wrote…” In his astonishment, Gu Mang dragged the book
off of Mo Xi’s knees and into his own lap to flip through. He lowered his
head to look at the pages, looked up at Mo Xi, then lowered his head and
looked some more.
His mind had been ripped to shreds by the black magic curse. Only
his trust in Mo Xi stubbornly remained. Gu Mang closed the book. “Can’t
remember. But if you like it, I must’ve done well. You’re always right.”
After a pause, he piped up, curious. “What did I write about?”
“You wrote about…many things that you’ve forgotten. The past thirty
years of your life.”
“Oh.” Gu Mang puffed out his cheeks in thought. He cocked his head
and racked his brain, but he couldn’t remember anything. That didn’t seem
to bother him. He asked placidly, “How was my life, then?”
Mo Xi was silent for a long time. His throat seemed to be filled with
the saltiness of seawater, bitter wetness soaking every breath. In the face of
Gu Mang’s calm, inquisitive gaze, he hesitated. “You only ever met kind
people and had happy experiences,” he finally said with a smile. “It was a
very good life.”
Gu Mang’s clear blue eyes widened, his long lashes fluttering.
“Really?” Before Mo Xi could squeeze any words out through his pain, a
smile bloomed on Gu Mang’s face. “Then I’m lucky.” He patted his own
head. “It’s a little sad though; so many good things, but I can’t remember
any of them. I only remember you. You’ve always been good to me.”
Mo Xi’s heartache turned into sharp knives that sawed into his bones.
He almost didn’t dare look into Gu Mang’s limpid eyes. “Not always,” he
said helplessly.
I’ve also… I’ve also done things that hurt you.
I’ve also distanced myself from you.
 Gu Mang cocked his head in thought before amending his words:
“You’ve always been the best.” Despite Mo Xi’s silence, Gu Mang
stretched a hand out. He clumsily patted Mo Xi’s hair, mimicking how Mo
Xi comforted him.
Mo Xi realized with sudden clarity that not remembering might be in
fact freeing for Gu Mang. He wouldn’t have to mourn Lu Zhanxing’s death,
wouldn’t be burdened by the death of his seventy thousand comrades,
wouldn’t look down and see the blood of innocent people in the lines of his
palm every day and every night—not anymore. He could just look at his
book of memories; he could keep only the good things from his past.
But Mo Xi couldn’t do the same. The black magic demonic qi within
Gu Mang was still on the verge of spiraling out of control. Only by finding
those two lost souls and making Gu Mang whole could he keep his beloved
from falling into hell.
“Shixiong…”
“Hm?”
“No matter what happens.” Mo Xi took hold of his hands and spoke
with utmost earnestness. “I will always stay with you.”
Gu Mang nodded serenely. “That’s really good. I’ll always stay with
you, too.”
Rain sheeted down outside the window, and thunder rumbled again.
But this time, Gu Mang wasn’t afraid; he turned that blue gaze toward the
lead-gray sky, looking at it with a confused curiosity. It was instead Fandou,
asleep on the ground, who was woken by the noise. Whimpering softly, he
scurried over to the bed to hunker down between his two masters.
Night fell, and rain drummed down. But rain would always cease,
and dawn would always come. Just like in that book of memories placed
between them. In recollection, only the brightest moments were
remembered.

As expected, the emperor was not inclined to let Mo Xi take Gu

Mang to Lin’an. “The chances of finding some grandmaster cultivator out
in the wilds are minuscule. Why not wait for Jiang Fuli to return from his
travels and have him take a look? We’ve retrieved the remnant of the
Demonblood Beast’s soul. Zhou He is studying it now; he may develop a
technique to inhibit black magic energy quite soon. If you stay in the
capital, you can keep an eye on his progress at least. If he succeeds, he can
immediately use it to help Gu Mang.”
But Mo Xi was determined to try. With the aid of Mengze’s
persuasion, the emperor relented.
Nevertheless, before the day of Mo Xi’s departure, the emperor called
him once more to Zhuque Hall. “Xihe-jun, the border between Liao and
Chonghua is fraught; we fear another major battle may break out at any
time. You have always been a clear-headed man; you know Subject Gu’s
intent and understand his character. He’d never wish you to delay matters of
war because of him. Although we have agreed to grant you a month of
leave so you may search Lin’an for this Soul-Summoning technique, we
expect you’ll return on time regardless of the outcome.”
“Yes,” Mo Xi said in acquiescence.
The emperor nodded. After thinking a moment, he added a few more
words of warning: “Wangshu-jun’s life is still in jeopardy, and Yue Juntian’s
health is poor in his old age. The state of Chonghua’s internal affairs leaves
us uneasy. There have been assassins in the palace—and the identities of
those who attacked Wangshu-jun are still unknown. We worry whoever is
working behind the scenes may target you as well. You must be careful on
this journey. When you reach the prefecture of Lin’an, visit Yue Juntian if
you have the time. Urge him to work faster and refine the tool Zhou He
wants. And tell the Yue Clan to be careful as well—something tells us we
haven’t seen the last of those assassins’ attacks.”
Mo Xi agreed to it all. As he finally made to leave, the emperor
called out to him yet again. “Wait a minute. We have one more thing to
say.”
He turned his head. This time, the emperor wore a hesitant expression
and didn’t immediately voice his thoughts. He pondered for several
moments before saying, “Over the past few days, there’ve been all manner
of rumors concerning your relationship with Subject Gu…”
Mo Xi waited for him to elaborate.
 “We won’t ask too much now. But gossip and public opinion cannot
be taken lightly. Regardless of what relationship the two of you share in
truth, those who wish you harm will say unspeakable things. What matters
actually pass between the two of you are far less important than the guesses
they’ll make as to your motives. There are even some who say you’re the
same as Gu Mang—that both of you plot to re-enact history and crown
yourselves king like Hua Po’an; that your intentions are treacherous and
impure.”
Mo Xi only smiled at him. “Does Your Imperial Majesty believe it?”
“What do you think?” The emperor rolled his eyes. “No matter how
paranoid we are, would we suspect someone who’s sworn the Vow of
Calamity? We’re merely making the point that carrying on like this will
erode your authority. It would be best to distance yourself from Subject
Gu.” Pausing, he gazed probingly at Mo Xi. “Ah, but you two aren’t
actually…?”
“Did Your Imperial Majesty not say you wouldn’t ask?”
“…We were just thinking aloud.”
“More than ten years ago, when my family fell from grace, it was
Gu-shixiong who took care of me and stuck by me when I was at my
lowest. His best friend Lu Zhanxing told him not to get close to a fallen
noble, in case I encountered even more misfortune and dragged him down
with me. Does Your Imperial Majesty know how he replied?”
The emperor was silent.
“His answer in the past is my answer today.” Mo Xi drew in a breath,
his exquisite features gilded by the sunlight passing through the open
windows. He said, calm and resolute, “Nothing has more value than sincere
feeling.”
What was left unspoken was obvious. Regardless of whether the
connection was between brothers, comrades, or lovers…if there was
sincerity in it, there would be no regrets, no matter what others said or what
troubles came. He would not let go of Gu Mang, nor would he step aside for
fear that remaining at Gu Mang’s side meant he’d be stained. Back when
Mo Xi had sunk deep into the mud, it was this man who had reached out a
pristine hand and rescued him from the cold and the filth.
 Gu Mang was not his stain, but the light in his heart that had never
gone out.
At this point, there was nothing left to ask that wouldn’t make things
uncomfortable. The emperor sat down wearily in his rosewood chair,
leaning back against the Kui dragons chasing each other along its rounded
back, and waved a hand at Mo Xi. “Good grief; what else can we say? We
can’t insist without sounding downright unreasonable. All right, enough.
Get the hell out.” He huffed. “You stress us out—the both of you.”
Mo Xi pursed his thin lips, made his obeisance, and left Zhuque Hall.
He headed for his manor to pack for his and Gu Mang’s journey to Lin’an.
 Chapter 162:
Fiefdom of Lin’an

L IN’AN WAS A SHORT journey from the capital of Chonghua, less than
a day’s travel by water on a spiritual boat. Their travels were smooth and
peaceful, aside from the clamoring of monkeys echoing from the mountains
on both sides. As they passed villages and towns, the vast structures of the
capital with their sweeping eaves and sturdy brackets gradually yielded to
humbler dwellings with whitewashed walls and umber-black roof tiles,
clustered close to the water.
The boatmaiden steering their vessel was a Lin’an girl of seventeen
or eighteen who had spent much of her life on this canal. Mo Xi and Gu
Mang were dressed like commoners for the journey, and this boatmaiden’s
chief cares were things like the price per catty of fish and shrimp or the next
day’s forecast on the water; she had no interest in political affairs
whatsoever, and didn’t recognize either of them. On the journey, she
giggled and chatted with them in a sweet Wu dialect, speaking of sundry
things—the customs of Lichun in one breath and the harsh winters of
Yanbei City in the next; about how the beef noodle soup from Fan City
tasted best with chili flakes, or how crisp the pastries were at a certain stall
on the northern frontier.
Gu Mang listened mindlessly as he munched on the little dried fish
the boatmaiden had given him. “You’ve been to so many places,” he cut in.
“Me? But I haven’t been to those places at all.” The boatmaiden’s
laughter was more brilliant than the glimmering waves stirred by her thin
bamboo pole. “When I reach a port, I tell people to bring over stuff that’s
good to use and eat; I don’t get off the boat more than a few times a year.”
She giggled. “My toes never touch the soil; I’m a fairy of the water.”
Such a statement would have sounded ridiculously affected if said by
someone else. But the girl was ethereally beautiful, cheeks dimpling deeply
when she smiled. Her eyes were more expressive still, so dark they shone
purple. She stood at the prow, slender hands moving the bamboo pole
through the water. With her fluttering sleeves and hair dark as ink, she
looked like a river goddess risen from the waters. It was too bad she was a
little chatterbox. Mo Xi soon grew tired of listening to her prattle on in her
lilting tones, but when he turned to glance at Gu Mang, he found him rapt,
his blue eyes wide as he stared. When he was most engrossed in her tales,
he momentarily forgot to chew on the dried fish dangling from his mouth.
“My shifu brought me onto the boat when I was little, and I’ve lived
on it since. After my shifu passed, it’s been just me. Don’t underestimate
me because my boat’s small—I’ve weathered every sort of storm and
carried every sort of person.”
Seeing Gu Mang’s interest, Mo Xi humored the boatmaiden and
asked, “Who else have you carried?”
“Quite a few major cultivators,” the boatmaiden answered with
undisguised glee. “Their titles were too long; I can’t remember them. But
let me tell you, when my shifu was still around, even Yue Juntian, the
feudal lord of Lin’an, took a ride on our boat.”
Briefly speechless, Mo Xi grimaced. “Yue Juntian is a grandmaster
artificer. Why would he need to travel on someone else’s boat?”
The boatmaiden widened her eyes. “But it’s the truth! And why
wouldn’t he? He loved to go out in disguise when he was younger. He
really did take our boat, really! I was little then and didn’t recognize him.
Later my shifu told me the lecherous one was Yue Juntian himself. He’d
come to Lin’an City to mess around whenever the urge took him. My shifu
said it was lucky I was so little. If I’d been any older, I would’ve needed to
rub mud on my face—otherwise, with my looks, he might’ve taken a liking
to me and kidnapped me to serve as his mistress. Thank goodness he’s too
old to play these days. We boatpeople have all been saying we don’t see
him come down on private business anymore.” She pressed a hand to her
heart. “Phew, what a relief.”
Her story didn’t mean much to Gu Mang, but it left Mo Xi feeling
rather awkward. Yue Juntian was a lustful man; all of Chonghua knew it.
Ultimately, the animosity between the younger members of the Yue Clan—
between Murong Chuyi and Jiang Yexue—was the result of Yue Juntian’s
philandering. Even so, Mo Xi hadn’t expected Yue Juntian to have such a
poor reputation among commoners as well, down to the girls of his own
fiefdom. Evidently, these girls viewed him as a villain in a horror story and
spoke of him this way in private.
But the boatmaiden was right about Yue Juntian’s fickle nature: if not
for the decline of his health in recent years, he would have likely produced
a third heir after Jiang Yexue and Yue Chenqing.
The boatmaiden’s inhibitions had fallen almost completely away as
she chattered on while steering the boat. “Ah, but it’s no wonder Old Man
Yue prefers it here. Lin’an is full of beauties, and there are some girls who
really are stunningly gorgeous. I’ve seen them plenty of times washing
vegetables and silk down by the water. They were lovely, only a little less
beautiful than me.”
Mo Xi felt his head begin to ache at these words, but Gu Mang was
wholly unperturbed. He took a few more bites of the dried fish and said,
“Miss, you’re really pretty.”
The boatmaiden was elated, beaming as she returned the compliment
in a flirtatious tone. “Xiao-ge, you’re pretty dashing yourself.”
Gu Mang turned to Mo Xi. “What does dashing mean?”
“It also means you’re pretty.”
Gu Mang nodded and told Mo Xi, “Then you’re the dashingest on the
boat.”
For a while, Mo Xi couldn’t muster a response, yet he couldn’t just
leave it be. He turned away, gazing at the glimmering river split by the
reeds, and coughed lightly.
As they neared Lin’an City, the number of boats on the river
increased visibly. A canal city was, after all, different from the capital;
vessels and oars were everywhere, with elegant women washing silks,
fishermen singing at dusk, and the residents who made homes along the
river swimming in the water. Mo Xi saw a child no older than four
splashing happily in the waves like a sharpbelly fish. “Such a strong
swimmer,” he couldn’t help remarking.
“Of course. The children of families that live along the river learn to
swim before they can walk.” The boatmaiden giggled. “Remember to
gather all your things before you step off—when you see more fishermen
wading ahead there, we’ll have reached the port of Lin’an.”
After thanking her, Mo Xi asked, “Miss, you’ve encountered so many
people—have you ever heard of a reclusive cultivator in the mountains of
Lin’an who knows the Rebirth technique?”
He’d thought her innocent and naive, uninterested in immortal
techniques or cultivation, and asked as a shot in the dark, without real hope
of an answer. Yet unexpectedly, the boatmaiden cocked her head. “Is that
one of the legendary three forbidden techniques?”
Mo Xi’s heart leapt into his throat. “Exactly so.”
“Oh…some of my passengers mentioned this legend before. There’s
supposed to be an expert in the technique outside Lin’an City.”
“Do you know where exactly?”
The boatmaiden shook her head. “That I don’t know. My shifu once
said birth, aging, sickness, and death are unavoidable. Could there really be
such a technique as Rebirth? I thought it sounded too farfetched and didn’t
take it seriously. If you’re interested though, why not go into the city and
ask a cultivator? That old lordy Yue Juntian came to the fiefdom recently to
recover his health and offer sacrifices, accompanied by his family. It’d be
better to ask those Yue cultivators instead of me.”
Her eyes were clear, placid with the easygoing calm only commoners
possessed. In truth, she was right. If one lived drifting upon the world’s
waters, a slow and leisurely life, what need was there to fixate on arcane
matters of life and death? But for Mo Xi and Gu Mang, this kind of quiet
tranquility was something they were doomed never to attain from the
moment they were born.
At the port, Mo Xi paid the boatmaiden while Gu Mang looked
longingly at the burlap sacks she’d hung beside the mast. Noting the
direction of his gaze, Mo Xi bought a sack full of little dried fishes from the
girl. Only then was Gu Mang appeased, clutching the sack and chewing as
he followed Mo Xi through the streets of Lin’an.
“Steamed cake, lotus cake, osmanthus cake, our cakes take the cake
—”
 “White magnolia, white magnolia for sale!”
Such sights were not to be found in the capital and were unlike
anything in the garrison at the northern frontier. Gu Mang’s neck craned this
way and that. Though he didn’t speak, his feet would slow, and he would
stand stock-still and stare when he saw aught he liked. In no time, Mo Xi’s
qiankun pouch was filled with a baffling assortment of trinkets. From
bamboo dragonflies to little clay figurines, tiny porcelain cups and delicate
silk fans, a great heap all jangling and clanking together.
Mo Xi had originally planned to make straight for the Yue Clan’s
Lin’an residence to pay them a call, but seeing the light beginning to go, he
changed course and turned to Gu Mang. “We’ll get a room at an inn first,
and I’ll take you out for dinner. How does that sound?”
Gu Mang had a sugar-lacquered tanghulu berry dangling from his
mouth. He nodded.
The two of them found an inn by the river. They had come at the end
of the lotuses’ bloom; the inn’s windows opened to an endless sea of jade-
green lotus leaves. Dragonflies zipped over lush flowers, and seedpods
arched over the water on graceful stems. Mo Xi left the eclectic pile of
items in the room, then led Gu Mang downstairs to question the inn staff.
One of the servers was wiping down tables in the hall. Upon seeing
Mo Xi, he bowed and offered his greetings.
“Could I trouble you with a question?” asked Mo Xi. “Which
restaurant serves the best food in Lin’an?”
The server was a discerning man. Seeing that their robes, though
subtle in design, were of the finest quality, he put on a broad smile. “Aiyo,
honored guests, I’ll be frank—the tastiest might not be the most expensive.
Some of the noisy street stalls make the best fried dishes, but I worry the
two honored guests might not enjoy the experience.”
Mo Xi turned to Gu Mang. “Do you want to go somewhere with
good food, or somewhere nice to sit?”
Gu Mang was straightforward: “Can’t it be both?”
Mo Xi looked a question at the server.
 “If you want the place to be nice and the food to be good, you’ll have
to compromise,” the server answered. “Once you leave the inn, turn left and
cross three big streets—you’ll see a tailor’s shop. Jiuxiang Restaurant is in
the second alley to the left. There’re two floors, nice and roomy; the dishes
aren’t the best in the city, but they’re up there.” After a pause, he chuckled.
“The owner used to be a boat trader, so they’ve got delicacies from all
Jiangnan’s major cities. Their crystal shrimp balls and sweet-and-sour
mandarin fish are the highlight. Oh, and don’t forget about their pear-
blossom white wine—the fragrance is exceptional. They make the best wine
in Lin’an City.”
“Do you want to go there?” Mo Xi asked Gu Mang.
Gu Mang still hadn’t put down his sack of little dried fishes. He
nodded, chewing on a tail.
The two thanked the server, and found the restaurant without much
trouble. The establishment was a large one, with a more open and spacious
atmosphere than other restaurants, likely because the location was slightly
off the beaten path and the rent was lower. They asked for a table on the
second floor, ordering the recommended specialties as well as other small
dishes, plus a jug of wine and some desserts.
The food arrived quickly. The shrimp balls were pale and lustrous,
each tidy parcel of plump shrimp gleaming translucent on a white porcelain
plate spread with green lotus leaves. The sweet-and-sour mandarin fish,
velveted in starch, was bright and savory. A poke of the chopsticks revealed
tender flakes of luxuriant white fish; when dipped in the sugar-and-vinegar
sauce sprinkled with minced ginger, it was indisputably delicious. The pork
in garlic sauce was also a house special, with three layers of pork belly first
boiled then sliced thinner than a cicada’s wing. The slivers were then frozen
in an ice chest, such that they emanated wisps of cold vapor upon being set
upon the table, the unctuous fattiness of the pork completely locked away.
But when dipped into light soy sauce and peppercorn salt, the flavor was
cool and refreshing, each layer of meat and fat clearly defined.
Even the selection of stir-fries was delectable. The fried pork kidneys
were neatly curled into pretty rolls, and seemed to cling to the sparks of the
stove even as they were brought up. The tender bamboo shoots were crisp
and tasty, and the jade-green vegetable soup was palate-cleansing, serving
as an extraordinary appetizer.
Mo Xi noticed that Gu Mang especially liked the shrimp balls. In no
time at all, he’d nearly emptied the plate. Mo Xi thought to catch a waiter’s
attention to order another. But as he turned his head to flag down a server
from the restaurant’s lower level, he saw, on the first floor, a familiar figure.
He wore robes of white, his expression cold and solemn as he spoke to the
owner.
Murong Chuyi? Mo Xi froze in astonishment at the coincidence. But
now that he thought of it, Murong Chuyi had come to the fiefdom of Lin’an
with the Yue Clan. He might not be spending all his time with Yue Juntian
and the rest, but what was he doing out here alone in the city’s alleys?
 Chapter 163:
The Chu Clan’s Past

M URONG CHUYI LOOKED deeply upset. He had always been a

graceful person with the aloof bearing of an immortal; rarely did his
features reveal any sign of excessive emotion. Even when he’d argued with
Yue Chenqing on Bat Island and stormed off in a rage, his emotions hadn’t
shown on his face. Yet at this moment, Murong Chuyi was like a frozen
lake at the start of spring: things he had once sealed in ice could no longer
be hidden beneath the surface. Despite the distance between him below and
where Mo Xi and Gu Mang sat above, his agitation was plain.
“What? You’re asking about a family that lived at the dock more than
thirty years ago?” The owner had a prosperously large gut and fingers that
never stopped clacking away on his abacus. Engrossed in calculating his
income, he mumbled absently, “Aiya, I was a boat trader once, but so many
families lived near the port of Lin’an. At least eighty, if not a hundred. How
could I remember each and every one?”
“The family had the surname Chu.”
“There’re plenty surnamed Chu,” the shopkeeper grumbled. “That’s a
common surname in Lin’an.”
A family named Chu, from more than thirty years ago? Mo Xi
thought it over and recalled: Yue Chenqing had mentioned during the
Dragon Boat Festival that, in recent years, it seemed Murong Chuyi wanted
to find his birth family. But he had so few clues to work from—he knew
only that Murong Huang had found him in front of a temple with a scrap of
paper tucked in his swaddling clothes, the word “Chu” inscribed crookedly
within. Beyond this, he had nothing else.
Men of the Murong line were customarily given single-character
names, while the women had character pairs. But Murong Huang had been
frail in her youth, and the fortuneteller proclaimed she would have a better
chance of survival with a boy’s name. To this end, the emperor granted an
exception to this branch of the family, and Murong Huang was named
thusly. Murong Huang had always felt double-character names were
prettier, and after she took in this foundling, she included in his name the
Chu his family had left for him: Murong Chuyi.
Evidently, Murong Chuyi had learned more clues about his origins
and come to this restaurant to ask the owner about these old events.
Undeterred by the owner’s dismissal, he took a golden cowrie from his
qiankun pouch and pushed it forward with two fingers, just shy of the
shopkeeper’s hand. “Could you think a little harder?”
As soon as he saw that golden cowrie, the shopkeeper’s pudgy hand
stilled on the abacus. Scooping up the money, he looked up with a smile.
“Good sir, you’re far too generous. To be honest…”
His smile froze the instant he saw Murong Chuyi’s face.
“What is it?” asked Murong Chuyi.
Some sheet of bedrock seemed to shake open in the depths of the
owner’s memory. He stared at Murong Chuyi in a daze, his expression one
of wide-eyed bewilderment. He gasped, “It’s you?” Then quickly shook his
head. “No no no, is it her?” He scrubbed at his face. “No, are you her…”
The shopkeeper rambled in incoherent confusion, but Murong Chuyi
seemed to have understood nevertheless. He stepped forward and grabbed
the man’s arm, his phoenix eyes flashing. “You know something,” said
Murong Chuyi. “Something about what happened more than thirty years
ago, at the port of Lin’an.”
The restaurant owner looked as if he was dreaming; only after a long
moment did he recover his senses. Feeling the curious gazes of the
customers and workers all around him, he retrieved a handkerchief and
wiped his flabby face with trembling hands. “Xianzhang, first…first, follow
me upstairs. I’ll organize my thoughts… I’ll organize my thoughts, then I’ll
tell you when we sit down.”
The two walked toward the stairs.
Gu Mang saw that Mo Xi’s sword-like brows were knit and followed
his line of sight. “Do you know that dashing man in white?” Having just
learned the word “dashing” from the boatmaiden, he put it to immediate use
for the beautiful Murong Chuyi.
“I do,” said Mo Xi. “So did you, but you’ve forgotten.”
 “Oh, should I go say hello?”
Mo Xi grabbed his wrist to pull him back and shook his head. “He
has his own private matters to attend to. Besides, neither of us are very
close to him. Greeting him now will be awkward,” Mo Xi said softly. “You
should finish your dinner.”
The sound of footsteps came up the staircase. The shopkeeper led
Murong Chuyi into a private room; though Mo Xi and Gu Mang couldn’t
see them, the sound of their voices grew clearer and clearer as they took a
seat just on the other side of the wall. Porcelain clinked, followed by the
soft sounds of pouring tea. The owner’s weak voice drifted out from behind
the bamboo screen. “If I might be so bold as to ask, when were you born,
sir?”
Murong Chuyi told him his birth year. The owner murmured it again
and again, as if making a mental calculation, then sighed. “Might it really…
Might it really be as she said back then?”
Though his voice was smooth as rain-soaked jade, the emotion in it
seemed like flowing magma. “If you know something, why not speak?”
“I…ah, I can’t be certain, but with your looks…” As the owner
spoke, he heaved another sigh. “All right, all right, I’ll just tell you what I
know. It is indeed an old affair from more than three decades ago…”
He began slowly, his voice wandering as if lost in thought. “More
than thirty years ago, I came to the canals of Lin’an to trade. I was poor
back then; I never knew where my next meal would come from.
Sometimes, when the hunger became too much, I’d pick up pieces of pastry
or bites of steamed bun people had tossed on the ground.
“One day, as I was picking up scraps of steamed buns on the dock,
the boss of a little restaurant on the riverbank spotted me. He was a kind
man; he let me sit in his shop for a while, and cooked me a bowl of fried
rice with some seaweed and dried shrimp soup.
“That old man had two daughters and a son working in his shop,
helping him run the business. His eldest daughter fried the rice, I still
remember—she put in a spoonful of lard and a big ladle of soy sauce. It was
a big bowl filled to the brim, fragrant and steaming… When I was strapped
for cash, I’d go there often to eat, but it wasn’t like I was freeloading. After
I ate, I’d help their family with whatever they needed around the shop.”
They heard the muffled sounds of tea being sipped. The owner took a
few gulps, steadied himself, and went on. “This family was named Chu; all
of them were very kind. The youngest, the boy, was still little, but those two
sisters were the most renowned beauties in Lin’an. As soon as they reached
fifteen, no few wealthy merchant lords came knocking to propose marriage.
But their papa adored them; those merchants would never take his girls as
their first wives because of their low status, and the old man refused to
marry them off as concubines. He’d rather let them choose their husbands
than be hastily wed to a rich man.
“Unmarried maidens celebrated for their beauty naturally draw the
greed of others. The sisters’ reputations grew and grew, and their
prospective suitors became harder and harder to turn away. In the end, some
overbearing noble lords came. When playing nice didn’t work, they took
the maidens by force.”
“And then?”
“And then…” The shopkeeper let out a heavy sigh. “In truth, I didn’t
see what happened with my own eyes. I started working in shipping around
that time and had spent a month in Quanzhou doing business. By the time I
returned, the Chu family’s restaurant had been burnt to ash.”
Murong Chuyi tensed.
“I asked the neighbors what had happened, but they were evasive, too
afraid to say much. I was so young back then—so furious and overcome by
grief—I rushed over to the magistrate’s office and reported it. The governor
told me that because the Chu family couldn’t handle that crowd of suitors,
they had left Lin’an.”
Murong Chuyi’s low, cool voice contained an audible note of fury.
“Why would they burn down their house if they were moving away?”
“That’s what I thought too,” the owner agreed. “It was obvious that
the officials were lying to me. The Chu family had shown me so much
kindness; I couldn’t let it go without knowing the truth. I sought out clues in
Lin’an City and asked around… But then…then…”
“What happened then?”
 Despite the decades that had passed, when dredging up these old
memories, the shopkeeper seemed agonized; his voice shook, and he took
many more sips of tea. Finally, he lowered his voice. “Then…I went on the
search myself. Finally, on the outskirts of Lin’an City, I found… I found the
Chu patriarch’s body, decapitated in a haystack…”
At this point, the man began shivering, the rims of his eyes red. He
did not dare, nor did he want, to describe the specifics of what he’d found
that day. After a turn or more, he continued. “I was terrified and
heartbroken. As I wept, I suddenly heard—there…there were faint sounds
coming from the depths of the haystack. I crawled over to look, and found
the family’s son hiding in the hay, looking at me like a lost kitten, covered
in blood.”
Listening to the tale, Mo Xi was incensed. At the same moment, the
crash of breaking porcelain carried through the bamboo screen. The owner
cried out, “Xianzhang, you—”
In his fury, it seemed Murong Chuyi had accidentally shattered the
teacup in his hand.
“Your hand, your hand is bl-bleeding…”
“It’s nothing,” Murong Chuyi replied tonelessly.
Silk rustled. Perhaps he’d produced a handkerchief to wipe the blood.
Moments later, he instructed in a low voice, “Keep talking.”
The owner acquiesced, eyes red-rimmed. It had been many years
since he’d thought about these events; his emotions surged as he recalled
them. “The boy was too young—he couldn’t answer any of my questions
coherently. When I asked him where his sisters went, all he did was cry. I
buried the Chu patriarch. I took the child away and brought him up on my
boat. At that point, he wasn’t old enough to remember what had happened. I
wanted him to live a peaceful life, so I never mentioned his family’s fate, in
hopes he could grow up without feeling the need to seek vengeance…
“Years passed. Eventually, the child, who could barely speak at the
time, no longer remembered this event. Everyone in the city gradually
forgot the Chu family too, until one day…” He paused. “The eldest
daughter returned.”
 The owner sighed again. “But she was completely unrecognizable.
Her hair was a tangle and her face was dirty. She’d gone mad—she told
anyone who would listen that she had a child, but she’d abandoned the babe
in a moment of confusion. People would ask her, What child? Who’s the
father? But she couldn’t answer. When they asked where her sister had
gone, she only wept. ‘Don’t blame me,’ she would cry. ‘I had to.’”
The owner pulled out his handkerchief, blew his nose, and lamented,
“When the local officials heard, they took her in for questioning. But after
they confirmed she’d suffered some significant psychological blow and was
unlikely to recover her senses, they stopped bothering with her. The
townsfolk found her pitiable and gave her an abandoned little house to live
in. At first, many went to visit her, but they slowly realized she was only
capable of saying those same mad things. Once they tired of her, no one
was willing to pay her any attention.
“I did bring her little brother to see her, but he didn’t recognize or
remember her. As soon as she saw him, she began sobbing, saying she
shouldn’t have been so cruel to abandon her own baby, that no matter how
much hate she felt, she shouldn’t have blamed the child. She said she saw
the little boy become a ghost, sitting in a pool of blood, staring at her. Ah…
“Though there wasn’t any evidence, I’d put the pieces together well
enough. The Chu family hadn’t moved away at all; rather, some wealthy
noble from the capital must have taken a liking to the daughters and
snatched those two maidens away. Perhaps their father had tried to protect
them and was brutally murdered, while the little son was tossed in the pile
of straw and left for dead.”
The shopkeeper fell into a long, dazed silence. “The elder Miss Chu
kept saying she had a child, begging her sister not to blame her, crying that
she had her own difficulties. Eventually, everyone began to think she’d
done something she shouldn’t to stay alive, that she killed her own sister…
They thought this was why only the elder Miss Chu returned, while the
younger Miss Chu had vanished without a trace.”
Murong Chuyi’s expression darkened, as if he was unwilling to
accept this as the truth.
“Based on these speculations, the townsfolk ostracized her, mocked
her, and took advantage of her madness. Back then…back then, I didn’t
stop them, because I didn’t know either. It was always the younger Miss
Chu who was warm and sweet to me. Her elder sister was a quiet girl. I
thought she might really have done something terrible to her sister, only to
be driven insane by the guilt that gnawed at her. It wasn’t until the end of
her life that I learned—”
Stunned, Murong Chuyi cut in, his voice hoarse. “What? She’s…
already gone?”
“This was quite a while ago…” The shopkeeper said ruefully. “I went
to see her off when the time came. Perhaps it was a final flash of lucidity—
she had a few moments of clarity right at the end. She told me…”
The owner stopped for a moment, as if weighing whether to tell him
these final, most closely held secrets. At last, perhaps because he was
looking at Murong Chuyi, whose face was so similar to the woman he’d
once known, he finally spoke. “She told me that when she and her sister
were taken by that noble, she knew she couldn’t escape. She pretended to
be docile, undressing and serving him without complaint, coaxing him into
letting down his guard. Finally, she found an opportunity to set her sister
free. But her sister thought her mask of obedience was real—she thought
her sister had forgotten the need to avenge their father’s death and willingly
gave her body to their captor to preserve her own life. Thus, her younger
sister despised her; she said she’d rather die than accept this favor from her.
That was when I finally knew all the townsfolk had mistaken the elder Miss
Chu. She hadn’t killed her sister to live at all. When she said ‘I had to,’ she
meant…
“She had urged the younger Miss Chu to run, but her sister rejected
and misunderstood her. They were living in the imperial capital, surrounded
by terrifyingly powerful noble houses; the elder Miss Chu worried about
how far her little sister could get even if she listened to her and fled.
“The elder Miss Chu racked her brain over days and nights. In the
end, she came up with an idea. She’d met quite a few young lords when she
was serving that noble, and her final plan was to set up a scheme: she would
get one of them to take in her sister. To give the younger Miss Chu a better
life, to spare her suffering and disgrace, she watched those nobles carefully.
She considered who might warmly accept an orphaned girl. That noble had
to be kind, righteous, and notable, with a sufficiently powerful position. In
the end, she narrowed it down to two.”
“Who?” Murong Chuyi asked.
“Fuling-jun, Mo Qingchi, and the late Wangshu, Murong Xuan.”
Caught entirely off guard, Mo Xi’s phoenix eyes flew wide.
 Chapter 164:
We Aren’t Alone

M O XI HADN’T EXPECTED to hear his father mentioned in this

recounting of past events. For a moment, he couldn’t say what it was that he
felt.
“After painstakingly asking around,” the owner continued, “the elder
Miss Chu learned Mo Qingchi had a wife with a jealous temperament. Thus
she pinned all her hopes on the unattached Murong Xuan.”
“But,” Murong Chuyi said softly, “if that…younger Miss Chu was so
strong-willed, why would she go along with her elder sister’s plans for her?
If she learned all of her elder sister’s planning and suffering had been for
her sake, how could she be willing to escape into a life of ease?”
“Precisely,” the shopkeeper replied. “So the elder Miss Chu’s plan…
was to not let her sister know at all. She hoped her sister could live the rest
of her life happily and without pain. One day, when all the nobles of the city
went out to hunt on the outskirts of the capital with their entourage, she
made sure her sister was by her side. While her sister was distracted, the
elder Miss Chu put some filched memory-erasing powder into her water.
“When the youngest Miss Chu drank the memory-erasing powder,
she fell unconscious. The elder Miss Chu secretly carried her to a path she
knew Murong Xuan would cross. Murong Xuan saw a solitary woman on
the verge of death, piteous and helpless. Of course he felt compassion. He
ordered his men to save her.
“Now that she had accomplished this, however, the elder Miss Chu
knew all of her previous fawning and flattery would be seen through. She
risked everything and fled in the night. But she hadn’t gotten far before the
noble who seized her discovered what she’d done and flew into a rage. He
sent people after her. In the course of her desperate flight, Miss Chu fell
down a steep hill and landed in the Abyss of Five Poisons.”
“That fog-filled gully in the eastern outskirts of the capital?” Murong
Chuyi muttered.
 “That’s right… By the time Miss Chu climbed out, she had inhaled
too much of the poisonous miasma. Her mind was beginning to deteriorate.
But Xianzhang, you should know that the effects of that type of poison fog
aren’t all immediate; it becomes worse and worse as the days go on. While
Miss Chu still had some awareness, she hoped she might return to her papa
and little brother in Lin’an, and attempted the journey. But by the time she
reached a populated area and asked around, the news she received sank her
into despair. She grew madder by the day, and when she discovered she was
pregnant with that noble’s flesh and blood, she broke down completely.”
The room was terrifyingly quiet. By now, even Mo Xi had realized
that Murong Chuyi was the child of Miss Chu and that nobleman who had
forced himself on her. Gazing at Mo Xi, Gu Mang asked in a low voice,
“Why do you look like that?”
Mo Xi shook his head. He didn’t wish to hear any more; if he could,
he would’ve taken Gu Mang and left. But making their exit now would
likely attract Murong Chuyi’s notice, and Mo Xi hadn’t the faintest idea of
how to face him at that moment.
Within this nerve-wracking silence, Murong Chuyi asked, his voice
flat, “Why didn’t she abort the child?”
“I can’t tell you why,” the owner said. “I’m not sure she could’ve said
what she was thinking either. But…ah, love and hate are never so
straightforward. Isn’t it said there’s but a moment’s difference between a
saint and a sinner? My own guess is that she struggled a long while to
decide whether she should keep the child—so long that it was too late to
end the pregnancy. Perhaps that’s why she later left the infant at the gates of
a temple.”
Murong Chuyi closed his eyes.
“Before her death, Miss Chu told me again and again how she’d
hidden in the forest and watched as a finely dressed woman brought her
baby away. She’d felt immensely relieved, but also heartbroken. When the
pain became unbearable, she began to regret her choice. She wanted to
chase after the woman and claim her child, but the noble lady had already
left in her carriage. Miss Chu couldn’t catch up no matter how she tried, and
no one would listen no matter how she shouted. That was the last straw that
destroyed her. That night, she went completely insane.”
 At this point, the owner’s eyes went distant. It was a moment before
he was able to continue the story. “As for that youngest son of the Chu
family…that boy grew up working for me on my boat. Later, when I got on
in years and wanted to live a steadier life, I came to Lin’an and opened this
restaurant. But he’d fallen in love with the water; he’s still trading on the
river to this day, doing the same job I taught him. I never told him the
details about what happened in his youth.”
Murong Chuyi’s voice came out as a rasp, slow and deep. “How is he
doing now?”
“He has a wife and kids; he’s living a peaceful life. He says he wants
to work hard while he’s young and put some money away. In a few years,
he’ll bring his wife and kids back to Lin’an to start up a business so his kids
can focus on their studies.”
After a silence, Murong Chuyi spoke again. “That’s good to hear. Sir,
do you know which noble kidnapped the Chu sisters?”
The owner’s expression changed; his pudgy lips opened and closed
on a stammer. Though he hadn’t mentioned the man’s identity during his
retelling, he obviously knew who he was. But reminiscing over a rumor was
one thing; naming names and exposing that man for a monster was another
matter entirely.
Everyone had their own sense of right and wrong. Some people could
only go so far for justice; they hadn’t the courage for more. Still, what they
were willing to give counted as kindness; it wouldn’t do to press further.
Murong Chuyi was only too aware of this reasoning, and anyhow, he didn’t
need confirmation of his suspicions. He already had an answer in mind.
Who else could it be? Even Mo Xi, never one to involve himself in
other people’s business, could guess the identity of that beast with ease.
Murong Chuyi noted the owner’s expression and didn’t insist. “I
understand. Thank you, sir.”
“No, ah, not at all… There’s nothing to thank me for.”
There was a beat of silence. Then the two spoke almost at the same
time:
“Sir, could you please answer one more question?”
 “Xianzhang, could I be so bold as to ask one last thing?”
Murong Chuyi said, “Go ahead.”
The restaurant owner began, hesitant, “You…you wouldn’t really
be…Miss, Miss Chu’s child from back then…right?”
There was no reply.
“N-never mind,” the shopkeeper hastily amended. “Ah, pretend I
didn’t say anything, pretend I didn’t say anything. Back to your question—
what did you want to ask me?”
Murong Chuyi was quiet a moment. “My question was…in this area
of Lin’an prefecture, are there many families who tattoo newborn children
with a symbol on their shoulder?”
Hearing this, Mo Xi froze.
“Oh, the people along the river have always liked their tattoos. There
is an old custom like that, but not everyone follows it.” The shopkeeper
continued, “Actually, the practice goes way back to their ancestors. I’m not
sure of the exact details, but I heard that long ago, the ancestors of some of
these families worshipped flower deities. They chose a type of flower as
their family’s symbol for warding off evil and asked a famous cultivator to
leave a mark on their arm. For example, the ones that worshipped
herbaceous peonies got an herbaceous-peony-shaped mark, while those who
worshipped tree peonies got a tree-peony-shaped mark.”
The more Mo Xi heard, the worse his expression became. By this
point, his face was almost white.
“The famous cultivator who made these marks back then used a very
potent technique. Not only were those devoted believers marked with sigils,
the flowers were even passed down to their children, who were born with
the same birthmark. But the enchantment is ancient; each family’s marks
have slowly faded down the years. The weaker ones are no longer visible.
In a few more generations, I think all the birthmarks will be gone.”
Murong Chuyi spoke again. “Then, that family surnamed Chu…did
they also inherit and pass down a mark?”
The shopkeeper thought for a moment. “Yes.”
The atmosphere was terrifyingly strained. “What was it?”
 “A lotus flower.”
Thunder seemed to rumble through Mo Xi’s head; he felt a
vertiginous rush as his vision went dark in bursts. He looked up through the
restaurant’s flickering candlelight and gazed into Gu Mang’s totally
oblivious face.
Lotus flower… A lotus flower…
Snatches of past conversations seemed to flit through Mo Xi’s head
like a carousel lantern: the rumors about the late Wangshu and a maiden
from Lin’an, the lifelong conflict between Gu Mang and Murong Lian, the
faint resemblance between Murong Chuyi and Gu Mang… In the end, a
refined and measured voice echoed from his memories. Jiang Fuli’s words
from not so long ago, when he was treating Gu Mang’s wounds—
“Hm? This petal-shaped mark on his shoulder… Why do I feel I’ve
seen one just like this, but on a different patient?”
It had been on Murong Chuyi. He must have seen Jiang Fuli for an
illness at some point, and Jiang Fuli had noticed the birthmark on his
shoulder.
Mo Xi felt cold surging from the depths of his bones. The truth
seemed to be an ocean pouring out into the world, inundating Mo Xi until
he could scarcely breathe.
He buried his face in his palms as gooseflesh rose over his back.
Murong Lian, Murong Chuyi, the late Wangshu, the Chu sisters, Gu
Mang… And that servant woman Gu Mang had once mentioned—the one
Mo Xi hadn’t paid much notice to at the time—Auntie Lin. This one thread
wound through all the tangled relationships among all these people,
dragging the truth to the surface. Their connections gradually became clear,
but it was a terrifying clarity. Mo Xi’s entire body was as cold as if it had
been submerged in icy water.
“Mo Xi? Mo Xi!”
He didn’t know how much time had passed when Gu Mang’s worried
voice yanked him from his thoughts. Mo Xi blinked and looked toward Gu
Mang’s pretty face in the candlelight.
 Mo Xi had been preoccupied so long that Murong Chuyi had already
taken his leave of the room next door. The owner had also made his way
downstairs and was now welcoming guests once again with his portly belly
and a newly rearranged smile.
It was as if Mo Xi had dreamed it all. But he knew it wasn’t so; all of
it was real.
In the Time Mirror, he’d watched Gu Mang and Lu Zhanxing’s final
farewell. Gu Mang had yearned so deeply not to be alone, to have a brother
to keep him company.
He remembered, too, something Yue Chenqing had once said—that
Murong Chuyi had been alone since he was an infant abandoned at the
temple; he’d never known his family, or whether they were still alive.
Between the two of them, one was cold and one was warm. One had
hoped fervently, one had sought in silence. They seemed to have nothing in
common, but as it turned out… As it turned out…
Trembling, Mo Xi closed his eyes.
“Mo Xi, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing…” Mo Xi replied in a rasp; it was impossible to say
whether the emotion roughening his voice was sorrow or joy. The joy was
self-evident. As for the sorrow—in Gu Mang’s current state, how could he
endure the shock of learning about his family and come to acknowledge a
brother? Not to mention, when he looked at it from another light, Gu Mang
would be saddled with the rotten accounts of both the Yue and the Murong
Clans.
Mo Xi’s emotions were in turmoil; he was unsure of what to say. He
patted Gu Mang on the head and asked, “If…if you still had kin in the
world, would you be happy?”
“What’s kin?” Gu Mang asked.
“They’re the people closest to you.”
“Then there’s only you.”
“What if there was someone else?”
 “But there’s no one closer to me.” Gu Mang widened his eyes. “If
there was, why haven’t they come to find me?”
“He…” Mo Xi paused. “He will.”

They returned to the inn, but Mo Xi wasn’t tired. He stood before the
window, gazing at the round disc of the early-rising moon and the frost on
the eaves of the houses, countless questions running through his mind.
The noble who had done those despicable things to the Chu sisters
was almost certainly Yue Juntian. Given Murong Chuyi’s temperament, Mo
Xi didn’t know what action he would take, but the result was sure to be
devastating to both the Yue Clan and Murong Chuyi.
If he wished to stop Murong Chuyi from taking the desperate risk of
revenge, the best choice would be to tell him he still had a brother of his
own blood in this world, and that this brother needed him. He didn’t know
Murong Chuyi well, but even he could see Murong Chuyi, like Gu Mang,
wanted badly to know what it was to have a home. Between the cold
satisfaction of revenge and lasting warmth, he trusted Murong Chuyi would
choose the latter.
In truth, that would be better for all of them.
“Mo Xi.”
Mo Xi turned his head at his name but found it was nothing more
than Gu Mang murmuring in his sleep. He was already curled up in the bed,
the thin blanket pulled so high a scant sliver of his face was visible. He was
dreaming, his brow furrowed.
Padding over, Mo Xi sat on the edge of the bed. He reached out and
gently brushed away the untidy wisps of hair around Gu Mang’s face.
Despite the slightness of his movements, Gu Mang sleepily opened
his eyes. Mo Xi kept his voice soft and gentle, very low. “Did I wake you?”
Gu Mang shook his head muzzily. After a moment he mumbled, his
clear blue eyes heavy-lidded, “Do I really have…a big brother too…?”
After a pause, Mo Xi hummed in assent.
“Will he really come to find me…?”
 “He will.”
“Will he like me?”
“Of course he will.”
Gu Mang hummed softly, the wrinkle in his brow slowly smoothing
away. A touch of relief and anticipation appeared on his features.
In the dimming light, Mo Xi sat next to Gu Mang, watching him as
he slept soundly, still thinking things over. The minutes dripped by. At last,
Mo Xi tucked the thin blanket more tightly around him. He rose and left the
inn in silence, walking toward the graveyard on the city’s outskirts.
 Chapter 165:
Graveyard Meeting

A T DUSK,the crows cawed in the withered trees. A man in robes

like snow stood before one of the stooped little limestone plaques in the
graveyard on the outskirts of Lin’an. Hardly anybody had bothered to clean
the gravestone, and it was covered in a thick layer of grime. The text on it
had been carved shallowly; the writing at the bottom was almost too worn
to read.
Murong Chuyi regarded it in silence. The restaurant owner had
kindly erected this stone plaque for his deceased friend. It bore no epitaphs
like Caring Mother or Beloved Wife. Only three simple words were carved
on top: Chu Lian’s Grave.
He had found it by following the owner’s instructions. After all the
twists and turns in his thirty-some years of life, he was finally meeting his
birth mother for the first time. Once, he had resented his mother’s coldness
in abandoning him at the temple. He had borne a grudge; he hadn’t
understood what she’d gone through to make her so cruel.
But he hadn’t known the truth of it.
Murong Chuyi knelt slowly before Chu Lian’s gravestone, fingertips
brushing the light dust covering the stone plaque. He thought to call her
Mother, but as his lips moved, he found he could make no sound.
In more than three decades, he’d never called anyone Mother. Now
there was suddenly a grave that he could address by this name, but he could
no longer say it easily. Such a simple word, yet it stuck in his throat like a
sharp fishbone, pricking out a cutting ache. He could not speak no matter
what.
He gathered himself for a moment, closing his eyes. Spiritual energy
flared at his fingertips; little by little, he traced over the three words. Stone
dust whispered as it fell away, and the shallow markings on the gravestone
became deep once more, as if every line and stroke was carving itself into
his heart.
 Chu Lian’s Grave.
So that was her name.
Next to Chu Lian’s gravestone was an older plaque, this one without
a name. It was the grave the owner had erected for the murdered Chu
patriarch, out of gratitude for the meal he’d once freely given. The owner,
afraid the officials would find out what he’d done, did not even dare
inscribe it, only carving a small lotus flower on the stone.
Murong Chuyi lifted a hand to touch his own upper left arm through
his pristine white clothes. He had always wished for a home. These two
gravestones in this dark cemetery were the result of his arduous search. It
was so terribly cold.
Of course, the thought of seeking out the boy who survived had
crossed his mind. But upon hearing that he was surrounded by his wife and
children, with a full and blissful life, Murong Chuyi felt it would be
incredibly awkward if he suddenly inserted himself, just as it always was
with the Yue Clan. That person’s life was already complete; there was no
need for him to mar it with an unnecessary brushstroke.
He remained kneeling before the gravestone. His emotions, usually
so clear-cut, were a chaotic roil. Hatred, resentment, dissatisfaction,
disappointment, pain—his heart was near to bursting with these feelings.
He couldn’t think clearly about anything; in the end, he merely sat in shock.
The moon was bright, and the stars were scattered and few. Crows
called out from the desolate branches. He reached up to touch his mother
again. All he felt beneath his fingers was that icy gravestone. Cold, like the
home he’d found.
The Chu family hadn’t moved away at all; rather, some wealthy noble
from the capital must have taken a liking to the daughters and snatched
those two maidens away. Perhaps their father had tried to protect them and
was brutally murdered, while the little son was tossed in the pile of straw
and left for dead.
In the course of her desperate flight, Miss Chu fell down the slope
and landed in the Abyss of Five Poisons.
In the outskirts of Lin’an City, I found… I found the Chu patriarch’s
body, decapitated—
 The words of the tale from earlier seemed to echo in his ears like a
curse. Hatred welled up in his breast, and he rose, a ball of flaming light
coalescing in his palm.
Without warning, the soft press of footsteps sounded behind him. The
newcomer stopped a few paces away and called in a low, steady voice:
“Murong-xiansheng.”
Murong Chuyi turned, eyes sharp and voice fierce. “Who goes
there?!”
Mo Xi stood between two rows of gravestones, gazing at him from a
respectful distance.
Narrowing his eyes, Murong Chuyi asked, “What are you doing
here?”
“Earlier this evening, I happened to be at Jiuxiang Restaurant as
well.”
Murong Chuyi’s expression went sharper still. His features were
fierce at the best of times; at this moment, he was intensely wary, eyes filled
with menace, so that he seemed even more unapproachable than usual.
“You overheard—”
“I overheard.”
Golden light exploded from Murong Chuyi’s palm and transformed
into a blade sharp enough to split hairs. Swordlike brows drawn low, he
wasted no time on talk before sending a flaming sword glare sweeping
toward Mo Xi with a swipe of his hand.
Mo Xi threw up a barrier and blocked the glare; golden light clashed
with the barrier’s red glow. Mo Xi gazed at Murong Chuyi through the
spray of flickering sparks. “Murong, I didn’t come to fight you, nor do I
consider myself an ally of Yue Juntian. If I did, there’d be no reason for me
to seek you out.”
Murong Chuyi’s attack had failed; sweeping his sleeves, he drew his
hand back and brought the sword up in front of him, face showing distrust.
“Then what did you come for?” He narrowed his phoenix eyes dangerously.
“To plead for mercy on Yue Juntian’s behalf?”
 “You probably know I’ve always been at odds with him.” Murong
Chuyi didn’t respond, so Mo Xi continued, “He and I have served in court
together for many years, but I have never joined his faction nor developed
any friendly relationship with him. I’ve hardly ever spoken to the man. You
must be aware of this.”
Murong Chuyi remained silent, but the hissing spiritual energy
radiating from the sword seemed to lessen. After a while, he brought the
sword behind him, but his face was still tense as he stared at Mo Xi. “Yue
Juntian is inept and without morals. He’s tyrannized his fiefdom for years,
resulting in the destruction and death of many families here. I must settle
this debt with him.”
Mo Xi nodded. “If I were you, I would do the same.”
“Then why do you stand in my way?”
“If I didn’t, would you not go after Yue Juntian tonight and kill him
with your own hands?”
“Do I not have this right?” Murong Chuyi snapped.
“What justice would your mother or grandfather get if you dealt with
your personal grudge like this? Murong, you know the right thing to do is to
report this to His Imperial Majesty; Yue Juntian harms the civilians of his
fiefdom with his own selfish desires. He’s committed great sins, hidden his
tracks, and lied to the emperor. These are severe crimes that His Imperial
Majesty will not tolerate.”
Murong Chuyi glared at him through red-rimmed eyes. “So what if
he doesn’t tolerate them. Will he execute him? Will he take his worthless
life? He won’t. He’ll give him a slap on the wrist, and then this blood debt
will be written off. Do you think I haven’t considered this? Besides,” he
said icily, “don’t speak to me of how His Imperial Majesty will deal with
him according to the law. Where was the law when Yue Juntian raped my
mother? Where was the law when he killed my family? The law didn’t stop
him from doing these things, but now that it’s my turn, I must obey it, is
that right?”
Mo Xi gazed at him for a long beat. “Very well. If you’re not willing
to listen to me and insist on exacting personal vengeance, go ahead.” With
that, he moved aside. “I won’t stop you. But, Murong, have you thought
through the consequences of what you plan to do? Yue Juntian will be dead,
and you’ll have your revenge. But you’ll certainly be given the death
penalty. Perhaps you think such a sacrifice is worth it, but what about Yue
Chenqing? Yue Juntian is still his father, no matter how despicable he is.
And you have always been the fourth uncle he reveres. You would murder
his father, then end up in prison, to be executed when the time comes. What
effect do you imagine this will have on Yue Chenqing?”
Murong Chuyi’s expression darkened slightly. “I have never
considered Yue Chenqing my nephew. What does his happiness or
unhappiness have to do with me?”
“Is that so? How merciless,” Mo Xi said. “Then why did you risk
your life to save his on Bat Island?”
“I—”
“If you settle your personal feud with Yue Juntian, the Yue Clan will
fall apart, and Yue Chenqing will suffer for it. Besides, other than…” Here,
Mo Xi paused. “Other than Yue Chenqing, there’s someone else who
wouldn’t want you to spill blood so rashly.”
“Do you mean that surviving son of the Chu family?” Murong Chuyi
looked up. “Then you’re wrong. He has a wife and children—his life is
going well, and I have no plans to disrupt it. Whether I spill blood or not,
whether I kill Yue Juntian or not—none of it has anything to do with him.”
“No,” Mo Xi said. “Someone else.”
Murong Chuyi looked at him, puzzled.
Mo Xi glanced at the gravestone. “Chu Lian’s younger sister was
rescued by the late Wangshu-jun. Though she’s no longer with us, she left a
child in this world. Your cousin.”
Murong Chuyi stood frozen for a moment, as if he couldn’t
comprehend Mo Xi’s words. By the time he processed them, his phoenix
eyes had widened.
“You ought to have heard the old rumors about how the late Wangshu
was in love with a maiden from Lin’an,” Mo Xi continued. “Yue Juntian
repeatedly admonished them before the emperor until the two were forced
to part. That maiden was none other than Chu Lian’s younger sister.”
 “She and the late Wangshu…had a child?” Murong Chuyi asked in
near-disbelief.
“Yes,” Mo Xi replied. “Once you know the whole story, it’s not hard
to imagine why Yue Juntian worked so hard to malign her and prevent her
marriage to the late Wangshu. Although Chu Lian had given her sister
memory-erasing powder, its effects may not have been permanent. Yue
Juntian feared there’d come a day when Chu Lian’s sister would regain her
memories and reveal everything to the public. With the late Wangshu at her
side supporting her, Yue Juntian wouldn’t find it so easy to scheme and lie
his way out of that scenario.”
Murong Chuyi waited for him to continue.
“Chu Lian’s sister, her child—your cousin—is just like you. He’s
been alone for more than thirty years. Murong-xiansheng, he needs you. He
wants to acknowledge you, too.”
Under the moonlight, the face of this usually indomitable man was
white as paper; even his thin, pale lips looked bloodless.
“How did you find out…?” Murong Chuyi asked.
“It’s hard to explain, but I ask you to believe that I do not lie to you.
His shoulder bears the same mark as yours, the same as the one on this
gravestone. An identical lotus-petal mark.”
Murong Chuyi’s face was ashen. “Who is it? Murong Lian?”
“No. It’s Gu Mang.”
Murong Chuyi’s silk shoes shifted as he took an involuntary step
back. “Him? How…how could he… How could he…”
“He’s not a traitor, nor is he evil. But the reasons behind what
happened to him are difficult to explain. The black magic energy in him is
growing stronger day by day. If he should receive another destructive blow,
he might lose his mind and transform completely. I can support him by
remaining by his side, but you’re his family by blood. There are some
things you can give that I never could.”
Murong Chuyi’s gaze flickered, as if he was suppressing some
emotion that was about to break him. A complex expression played over his
face. “Did he come to Lin’an with you?”
 “Yes,” said Mo Xi. “He’d be very happy if you were willing to
acknowledge him. Murong, Gu Mang is different. If you think others don’t
need you, there’s nothing I can say to that. But he needs you. It’s been thirty
years. Let him call you Ge.”
Murong Chuyi closed his phoenix eyes. After a while, he raised his
head, speaking hoarsely: “Xihe-jun, I’ve always kept my distance from
people. I know nothing about being someone’s family. And there’s my
blood feud with Yue Juntian…”
“So you’d rather lose a brother so you can personally avenge a crime
that happened more than thirty years ago?”
Murong Chuyi pressed his lips into a tight line. After a long silence,
he finally relented. “I can meet with him. But everyone in the Yue Clan is
offering sacrifices in Huntian Cave tomorrow. I can see him the day after.”
Mo Xi inwardly sighed in relief. “Okay. I’ll tell him that.” Since
Murong Chuyi hadn’t refused, Mo Xi ventured, “Then, as for Yue
Juntian…”
“Rest assured.” Murong Chuyi lowered his eyes. “Regarding Yue
Juntian… I’ll deal with him after I see Gu Mang.”
 Chapter 166:
Cousin

W HEN GU MANG heard the news that he really did have a cousin,
and that this man would come see him the day after next, he was surprised
and delighted. Such undisguised happiness had rarely appeared on his face
since his mind had been damaged; his spirits seemed to have lifted quite a
bit. For the rest of the evening, he peppered Mo Xi with questions.
“Mo Xi, what’s my cousin like?”
Mo Xi wanted to give him something to look forward to, but he
didn’t want to give away too much. “You’ll know when you see him.”
“Oh…” Sitting in their room in the inn, Gu Mang played with a
bamboo dragonfly for a while. “Then, when I see him,” he said, turning
back to Mo Xi, “what should I say?”
“You can say whatever you want; there are no rules.”
“Well, what do you talk about when you see your cousins?”
“…I don’t have any cousins.” Mo Xi set down the book he’d been
holding and gazed into Gu Mang’s wide blue eyes. “You don’t have to
worry so much,” he said. “He’s your big brother, not your enemy.”
Gu Mang seemed to be deeply relieved. But soon after, he looked
down at his clothes, ran to the copper mirror to assess himself, then ran
back over to Mo Xi and tugged on his sleeve. “Clothes.”
“Hm?”
“I want new clothes. So my cousin will be happy when he sees me.”
Mo Xi held back a laugh in spite of himself. “New clothes? Are you
getting ready to propose?”
“What does propose mean?”
“I was joking.” Mo Xi got to his feet. “Stay here in the inn and rest.
I’ve put up a defensive barrier, so it’s safe enough. I’ll go out and buy you a
new set of clothes.”
 Gu Mang nodded several times.
Mo Xi departed. He had no trouble picking out clothes for Gu Mang,
for he knew the circumference of Gu Mang’s waist as well as he knew the
back of his own hand. In no time at all, he was stepping out of the best
clothing shop in Lin’an with a tidy paper package.
Upon returning to the inn, he passed the package to Gu Mang. “Try it
on—see if you like it.”
The robes were pure white, with subtle cloud patterns picked out in
snow-silk thread. Their cut was simple and clean, with an ethereal grace. In
his army days, Gu Mang had always preferred to fight hand-to-hand, and so
preferred narrow-sleeved and close-fitting martial robes. After he became a
prisoner, he never had the chance to wear nice clothes. This was the first
time he’d worn this type of loose-fitting, wide-sleeved cultivator’s robe in
glimmering silver.
He stepped carefully out from behind the screen, afraid he’d tread on
his hems if he moved too quickly. He came to a stop in front of Mo Xi, his
blue eyes filled with unease. “It feels…a little strange.”
His hair was tied in a loose bun as usual. The soft, dark wisps
framing his face made his skin look very pale, and his eyes very clear.
Dressed thus, the similarities between him and Murong Chuyi were indeed
striking.
“It looks good on you,” Mo Xi replied gently. “You’re just not used
to it yet.”
 “Really? It looks good?” Gu Mang echoed with some astonishment.
“Mn.” Mo Xi smiled. “Keep wearing it, and you’ll adjust.”
Gu Mang nodded in delight. Yet after a moment, he ran behind the
screen again. When he walked back out, he had changed and was carrying
the snow-silk robes in both hands.
“What is it?” Mo Xi was taken aback. “You don’t like it?”
“I’ll get it dirty.” Gu Mang carefully folded the clothes and picked up
the brown oilpaper packaging on the table. His lashes fluttered as he blew a
speck of dust off attentively, packaging the robes back up and patting the
bundle solemnly. “I’ll wear it the day after tomorrow.”
Even after the demonic energy had ravaged his mind, his yearning for
familial closeness was abiding, as though carved into the marrow of his
bones. Mo Xi watched Gu Mang place the paper-wrapped robes at the head
of the bed. A few minutes later, he decided to hide them under his pillow
instead. After another few moments, he unearthed the package and
examined it again, reaching in to gingerly touch the fabric, an expression of
uncertain anticipation coming over his face.
He busied himself with this oilpaper package for the remainder of the
evening, having lost all interest in the bamboo dragonfly and other trinkets
they’d purchased earlier. Even when it came time to sleep, Gu Mang
couldn’t relax, piping up in a small voice every few minutes:
“Mo Xi, does my cousin wear clothes like this too?”
“Mn. This style is his favorite.”
“Mo Xi, is my cousin pretty?”
“Could your cousin be ugly?”
“Mo Xi, the day after tomorrow is tomorrow’s tomorrow; I still have
to wait a day. Can’t I see him before then?”
“There are some personal things he has to attend to. Once he takes
care of them, he’ll be able to come see you with his mind at ease.”
“Okay, then tell him to take his time then. No rush.”
“Mn.”
 “Mo Xi…” Gu Mang’s barrage of questions gradually trailed off. He
still wanted to talk about his big brother, but was simply too sleepy to
continue. With a yawn, he mumbled Mo Xi’s name one last time and dozed
off before he could finish the thought.

The next day, Mo Xi rose early, while Gu Mang was still curled up in
bed. A city’s busiest hours were the morning and night markets, and Mo Xi
planned to canvass for information about the legend of the Rebirth
technique. But though he encountered many citizens during this
investigation, none were interested in cultivation. They could tell him
which stall had the cheapest tofu or freshest vegetables, but they didn’t
know anything about an elusive grandmaster cultivator living near Lin’an
City.
Mo Xi was unsurprised by this result. If that hidden cultivator were
so easily found, he wouldn’t be considered hidden. He uncovered no clues
about the Rebirth technique, but an enthusiastic old lady did tell him which
stall had the best breakfast, so Mo Xi went.
By the time he arrived, a bustling crowd had already gathered. He
found a seat in a corner and called to a server with a white handkerchief
draped over his shoulder, “One each of your specialty breakfast items,
please.”
“All righty!” the server cheerfully answered.
Mo Xi’s method of ordering might’ve sounded wasteful, but it wasn’t
really. Breakfast stalls could only sell so many items, and one of each
wasn’t too much for a grown man who hadn’t yet eaten this morning.
The head chef worked quickly. Before long, each dish was brought
over in turn: The pork wontons in clear soup were plump with fine-minced
filling, the shrimp shumai were full and bouncy, the osmanthus sticky-rice
balls were soft and sweet, and the eel noodle soup was rich and brightly
flavored. The fried fish was golden-brown and fragrant, paired with rice-
vinegar dipping sauce that cut through the grease, enhancing the mild flavor
of the fish. Among the assortment of delicacies were fried dough sticks
unique to Lin’an City, consisting of a snow-white layer of dough, thin as a
cicada’s wing, wrapped around two crispy dough sticks and pressed flat on
the grill with green onion sandwiched between, the whole spread with a
thick layer of tianmian sauce. Every bite was shatteringly crisp with fried
dough and lightly sweet with sauce.
After Mo Xi had tried them all, he ordered seconds of the items Gu
Mang would like and asked the waiter to package them up. As he sipped his
soup and waited, he heard the Yue Clan’s name from the neighboring table.
“I saw them early this morning,” said an older woman. “Yue Juntian
took the entire Yue Clan to that Huntian Cave on the outskirts of the city.
Aiyo, I’d just come back from picking wild greens and bumped into their
honor guard right at the gates. It gave me quite a fright.”
“What are you afraid of?” the farmer next to her teased. “Worried Old
Man Yue’s going to snatch you up and make you his concubine? Old Yue’s
all about a pretty face. You’re middle-aged now; he wouldn’t look twice at
you. No need to worry.”
“What do you mean he wouldn’t look at me?” raged the woman. “So
what if I’m middle-aged; I’ve still got it! Eat your noodles instead of
wasting your breath being rude!”
A second man at the table chuckled. “But I heard Yue Juntian’s health
is getting worse every year. He got around plenty when he was young, but
now he has no energy for it.”
“That’s right,” the woman said. “You guys didn’t see him—his face
was waxy yellow, like someone dug him out of a coffin. But aiyo, his two
sons sure are handsome. Too bad one of them’s a cripple.”
“Do you mean Jiang Yexue? He’s here too?”
“’Course he is. This is the only time he’s allowed to travel with the
Yue Clan since he got booted out of the family. It’s the Huntian Cave
sacrifice ceremony, after all.”
There was an out-of-towner at their table who didn’t seem to know
much about Lin’an or Yue Manor. He’d remained silent as the other talked,
but at this point, his curiosity became unbearable. After taking a gulp of
soup, he asked, “Friends, what kind of place is this Huntian Cave?”
“It’s a burial ground,” the woman explained enthusiastically.
“You could say it’s a sealing place for resentful spirits,” the farmer
added.
 The out-of-towner widened his eyes incredulously. “Ah… Resentful
spirits?”
“Yep. This is an old story from Lin’an City. When Chonghua was
first founded, Lin’an wasn’t part of its territory—it was held by a barbarian
tribe. Back then, those barbarians were cultivating with dark methods and
imprisoned most of the civilians from Lin’an in the cave. They were gonna
kill them and then refine them into resentful ghost soldiers. But those
barbarian cultivators didn’t have the ability to back up their ambition. They
slaughtered ten thousand people or more; their corpses piled into mountains
and blood flowed in rivers inside the cave. Those people resented their
unjust deaths all right—too much. The barbarian cultivators couldn’t
control them. The ghosts lashed out and devoured the barbarians, then
escaped the cave, rampaging across the land.”
“What happened next?” the out-of-towner exclaimed.
“Chonghua sent a grandmaster artificer—Yue Juntian’s ancestor—to
suppress the ghost soldiers who’d gone berserk,” the farmer said. “This
Yue-qianbei1 was smart, and refined a magical tool that could repel spirits.
In the end, he sealed those vengeful ghosts in the blood pool within the cave
and formed a blood contract with them, requiring the malicious spirits to
obey the orders of all Yue Clan descendants. The cave where they were
sealed became known as Huntian Cave.”
The out-of-towner wasn’t stupid and immediately asked, “But that
cultivator must’ve paid a hefty price, no?”
“That he did,” the woman said mysteriously. “Let me tell you—they
say every three years, the head of the Yue Clan has to offer up a massive
amount of his own spiritual energy to appease these ghost soldiers. He can’t
stop until he steps down.”
The out-of-towner gasped. “Jie, you just said Yue Juntian’s sick.” He
hesitated. “Does he have enough spiritual energy to feed these ghosts?”
“No way,” the woman replied. “But I heard the head of the Yue Clan
can give an offering of blood if he has no other choice. That means he’d
pour fresh blood into the pool, while the rest of the family kneels and offers
worship alongside him. This can temporarily settle the ghost soldiers’
restlessness.”
 The out-of-towner squirmed. “How much blood would they need…”
“Too much, that’s for sure.” The woman made an exaggerated
gesture. “That’s why this type of sacrifice ceremony requires the whole
family to accompany him—after Yue Juntian offers up his blood, he’ll be
weak. He’ll need his blood relatives to gather qi for him and cast spells or
something… In any case, it’s all that mystical stuff. Otherwise, do you think
he’d allow Jiang Yexue to come with them to Huntian Cave for the
ceremony, considering how bad his relationship with his son is? He’s got it
all planned out!”
Realization dawned, and the visitor hastily nodded. “I understand, I
understand. I hadn’t expected there was a legend like this about the Yue
Clan in Lin’an. If I hadn’t met you all, I never would’ve heard about it.”
The farmer waved a hand. “Each feudal lord and fiefdom has its own
stories. They’re not secrets, exactly, but no one knows them better than the
locals. For example, here in Lin’an, we know the stories about the Yue Clan
the best, because our feudal lord is Yue Juntian.”
“Do you have other stories, then?” the out-of-towner asked with
interest. “I’ll treat you to breakfast—could I trouble you to tell me some
more?”
These people loved to gossip and couldn’t be happier to share with a
captive audience, even if nothing good would come of it. Now that they’d
found someone keen to listen to their tales—and willing to treat them to a
meal for their trouble—they were delighted. The whole table broke into
noisy discussion.
Mo Xi remained where he was, thinking through the details his
neighbors had revealed about the Huntian Cave sacrifice ceremony. Unease
gripped his heart.
The entire Yue Clan had gathered in that cave. After Yue Juntian
made the blood sacrifice, his spiritual energy would be weak. When he
considered the truths from thirty years ago Murong Chuyi had just
learned…
He pictured Murong Chuyi’s face in the graveyard, indifferent and
snow-pale, cold as ice.
 I will meet with Gu Mang after I offer sacrifices in Huntian Cave
tomorrow. Before then, I won’t touch Yue Juntian.
Mo Xi suddenly felt that Murong Chuyi may not have spoken those
words with complete sincerity.
At that moment, shocked shouts came from the gates of the bustling
market. The early shoppers gave way as a bloodied Yue Clan guard
staggered in through the eastern market gates. Half his face had been torn
away, the bloody scraps of flesh dangling below his jaw. Terrified women
and children scattered like birds at the gruesome sight.
The guard seemed to be dragging himself in the direction of Yue
Manor, but he clearly knew he hadn’t much longer to live. When he
collapsed heavily to the ground, he didn’t pick himself back up. Instead, he
writhed forward and grabbed the closest bystander. Looking up, he cried
desperately, “A…a revolt…”
The man was trembling in terror; his stammer matched the guard’s.
“Wh-wh-what?”
“Revolted… The Y-Yue Clan…Huntian Cave… He revolted!” The
guard disgorged a mouthful of scarlet blood and sank to the ground, dead.
Mo Xi shot to his feet, his expression black as pitch.
 Chapter 167:
Murong Chuyi’s Vengeance

T HE ENTRANCE TO Huntian Cave yawned out of a barren hill on the

outskirts of Lin’an City. When Mo Xi arrived on the scene, he was greeted
by the sight of dozens of corpses strewn haphazardly around the mouth of
the cave, all of them identifiable as Yue Clan servants.
Mo Xi quickly checked their breathing and found that he was too late
to help any of them. As he strode toward the cave, he heard low sobbing
behind him. He looked toward the sound and saw a little girl curled up in a
ball, covered in blood and weeping in a crevice between the stones.
“Lan-er?!”
The girl was none other than the little disciple Jiang Yexue had taken
in. She flinched in terror at the sound of Mo Xi’s voice and whipped around
as if she’d heard a ghost. Her open eyes were blank. “No, no no… Don’t
kill me… Don’t kill me…”
Mo Xi reached out a hand to her. “Don’t be scared. It’s me.”
“You…” Trembling, Lan-er stared at him through watery eyes for a
long time before she suddenly burst into tears and ran into Mo Xi’s arms.
“Xihe-gege, they killed people inside the cave… They killed people…”
Under normal circumstances, Mo Xi didn’t like others touching him,
but Lan-er was so young and had endured such a fright—he didn’t have the
heart to push her away. He reached out to pat her fine hair and murmured
soothing words while she cried. After Lan-er had calmed down, he asked,
“What are you doing here?”
“Xiansheng brought me here. He was afraid people would bully me,
so he took me with him,” little Lan-er said through sobs. “But Xiansheng
got bullied himself, so he told me to run…” She let out a quiet wail. “I
wasn’t good, I was so scared… I really did run away…”
Mo Xi felt his heartbeat quicken. He’d thought Murong Chuyi would
take his revenge on Yue Juntian only; he hadn’t imagined the situation
would escalate to this point. To Lan-er, he said, “Wait here for now. I’ll go
see what’s happening inside…”
But little Lan-er dragged on his arm. “Gege, don’t go! That white-
clothed gege… That white-clothed gege is a bad guy; he killed Uncle Yue!”
Mo Xi was instantly shocked. “Murong Chuyi’s already killed Yue
Juntian?!”
“Uh-huh…uh-huh uh-huh!” The tears in little Lan-er’s eyes quivered
as she nodded. “After Uncle Yue made his blood offering to the monsters in
the lake, he—he was so weak he couldn’t talk. Xiansheng and Chenqing-
gege were both giving him spiritual energy…but then, I saw the white-
clothed da-gege’s expression turn so mean. It didn’t look right, like he was
really thinking about something… I was about to warn Xiansheng, but then
that white-clothed gege struck… H-he killed Uncle Yue so fast, then
summoned all these soldiers made out of bamboo, they killed people left
and right… Xiansheng and Chenqing-gege tried to stop him, but he…he
didn’t listen at all!”
Lan-er shuddered. “Xiansheng didn’t know if he could beat him, so
he gave me a concealment talisman and told me to run outside and hide. I-I
was so scared… When I left, Xiansheng and Chenqing-gege were both
already hurt…” Little Lan-er’s terror grew as she recounted what she’d
seen. She blinked, tears of fear and sorrow streaming down her face. “I hid
outside the cave, but I could still hear the sounds from inside. At first they
were fighting, but later…”
Her childish voice trailed off, before bursting into a paroxysm of
grief. “I couldn’t hear anything anymore! Xiansheng didn’t come out to find
me; Chenqing-gege didn’t either! The bad guys won, the bad guys are in the
cave…”
She wrapped her arms tightly around Mo Xi’s waist, as if terrified
she’d lose the last person she could trust. When she looked up, her eyes
were swimming with tears. “Xihe-gege, don’t go inside. You’ll be killed…”
she sobbed. “You can’t end up like Xiansheng and Chenqing-gege… Don’t
go…”
By now, Mo Xi’s shock had given way to scorn. It might have been
easy for Murong Chuyi to kill Yue Juntian in his weakened state, but
dealing with the repercussions would have been difficult. The Yue Clan’s
servants and other members of the family would’ve surely stepped in. In
order to free himself, had Murong Chuyi really turned on both Jiang Yexue
and Yue Chenqing?
“I have to go,” Mo Xi said to little Lan-er. Tears filled her eyes again.
“But I’ll come back out, I promise. Hide here, I’ll—”
But little Lan-er cried out, “I won’t! I won’t hide anymore!” She
wiped her tears with shaking hands. “I’ve already run away and left
Xiansheng behind once. I don’t want to hide anymore… Xihe-gege, if
you’re going inside, take me with you!”
Mo Xi saw how determined she was—she gripped the hem of his
robes with her tiny fist, looking as if she wouldn’t let go if the sky fell. He
glanced at the piles of corpses around them and listened for the clattering of
bamboo soldiers. Lan-er’s condition was already unstable; she might lose
control over her core if her emotions became too much. Without someone to
steady her, her condition would spin out of control.
“Then stay behind me,” said Mo Xi. “But you have to listen to
everything I say. You can’t go ahead on your own, understand?”
Little Lan-er nodded again and again.
Mo Xi put her down, and she followed shakily in his footsteps as he
walked toward the mouth of Huntian Cave. Together, the two of them
opened the stone door and stepped into the chilly, drafty space.
The burial ground extended deep beneath the hill. As they walked,
they strode past severed limbs and fallen corpses of the Yue Clan’s retinue,
piled up on both sides of the path. The air was thick with the scent of blood.
“It’s the housekeeper uncle…”
“It’s Auntie Chen…”
Lan-er had previously visited Yue Manor with Yue Chenqing; she
recognized quite a few of the fallen on this bloody road. At each body they
passed, the hand fisted in Mo Xi’s robes trembled harder. Mo Xi worried
she would go berserk; he preemptively used a spirit-soothing technique on
her.
“Xihe-gege,” little Lan-er sobbed, “I’m so scared…”
 “Don’t be scared,” he said, but Mo Xi’s mood was as dark as could
be. At every turn of the path, he worried whose corpse he would see next, if
it would be Yue—
“Y-Yue…” Lan-er cried.
Mo Xi’s blood ran cold. He looked in the direction of her pointing
finger. It wasn’t Yue Chenqing. But his heart still dropped.
It was Yue Juntian and his younger brother Yue Yongcheng.
These two nobles, once untouchably powerful lords of Chonghua’s
imperial capital, lay splayed on the ground like two piles of mud, a single
strip of mangled flesh connecting each of their heads to their necks. Blood
flowed sluggishly from the gashes, no longer spurting scarlet. The
expressions of these two brothers were frozen in fear and fury, but death
had stolen the color in their faces. They looked like masks of paper paste, as
ghoulish as the surroundings of Huntian Cave.
Little Lan-er shivered, clinging to Mo Xi’s leg. “What do we do…”
she whimpered.
Mo Xi kept a watchful eye on her and comforted her quietly, but
there was nothing he could do to comfort himself. They’d passed so many
corpses as they walked—almost everyone who’d come with the Yue Clan
was dead. He didn’t know if he might see Jiang Yexue or Yue Chenqing’s
corpse next.
Murong Chuyi’s hatred had been far more vicious than he’d
imagined. Mo Xi found himself wondering if something had gone awry
during the sacrifice ceremony—had something shocked Murong Chuyi to
his core and instigated this rampage? No matter the cause, the situation was
past the point of no return. Murong Chuyi had killed too many people.
“Xihe-gege, Jiang-xiansheng is…”
Mo Xi held up a hand to silence her. They continued onward, more
tentatively than before. If Yue Juntian’s corpse was here, the sacrificial
burial ground must be very close by.
As they rounded a massive stalagmite dripping with water, a familiar
voice echoed from the depths of the cave—
 “You know the feud between us better than anyone. There’s no need
for me to lay it all out for you.”
Murong Chuyi?!
Mo Xi and Lan-er gazed out from behind the stalagmite. At the same
moment, Mo Xi reflexively put a hand over little Lan-er’s mouth to muffle
her scream.
Little Lan-er was on the verge of a breakdown. At the side of the
blood pool roiling with resentful energy, they could see the back of Murong
Chuyi’s white-robed figure, longsword in hand.
Before him were two people tied with binding spells. The first sat in a
wooden wheelchair, his face bone-pale and haggard—Jiang Yexue. He was
wounded heavily: his lotus-root-colored robes were mottled crimson with
blood, and his disabled legs were thoroughly drenched in scarlet. The
second person knelt off to the side, his face splotchy with tears and his eyes
wide and wild. In those eyes were terror and heartbreak, but they were
filled, more than anything, with disbelief.
This, of course, was Yue Chenqing. He mumbled under his breath,
repeating himself mindlessly, as if his soul had been ripped out. “Don’t kill
them… Please… Don’t kill them…”
Jiang Yexue looked up sorrowfully at the man in white. “Chuyi…”
“I’ve told you many times—you’re not worthy of calling me by my
name.” Murong Chuyi’s every word was cold as frost.
“…Xiaojiu,” Jiang Yexue amended.
With a snap of his sleeve, Murong Chuyi’s sharp brows drew together
in fury. “I am not your xiaojiu either!”
Jiang Yexue closed his eyes. “Even if the Yue Clan had our
shortcomings, even if my…father…committed many wrongs… They still
shared a life with you for so many years. No matter what you suffered, why
did you need to kill off the entire clan?”
Murong Chuyi’s lips parted as if to explain, but in the end, he turned
and replied curtly: “What more do we have to say to each other?”
Jiang Yexue was silent.
 “The killing has begun,” Murong Chuyi said. “I will spare no one
who stands with Yue Juntian today.” He turned back to stare into Jiang
Yexue’s eyes. “Including you. And Yue Chenqing.”
Jiang Yexue had no response; he lowered his head. It was apparent
he’d sustained serious injuries fighting Murong Chuyi; blood his bound
hands couldn’t wipe away stained the corner of his mouth. “Haven’t you
killed enough?” he murmured. “If you haven’t, kill me instead. Don’t hurt
Chenqing.”
Yue Chenqing seemed to have cracked under the shock. He was still
chanting mindlessly, “Stop fighting… Fourth Uncle… Don’t fight
anymore…”
“Chenqing used to sincerely admire you,” said Jiang Yexue.
Murong Chuyi was silent for a few moments. When he replied, his
voice was chilly. “I don’t need the admiration of anyone named Yue.”
Jiang Yexue closed his eyes, bloodstained lips parting. “I understand
your grievance and your hatred of my father. But if Chenqing’s mother
hadn’t brought you back from that temple and raised you, would you be
standing here today? You remember your grudge against Father, but did you
forget Aunt Huang’s grace?”
Murong Chuyi swept his sleeves back, his face a rictus of fury. “I
would rather I had never lived at all!”
“Chuyi—”
“I’ve been lost and ignorant, utterly alone, living under the thumb of
a monster who disgraced my mother and drove her to insanity. These thirty
years have been nothing but an awful joke!”
Jiang Yexue shook his head. “You’ve been blinded by hatred,” he
murmured. “Aunt Huang was always so good to you. You remember it all—
none of this has been a joke. Even if you’re unwilling to spare anyone else
of Yue blood, let Yue Chenqing go on her behalf.” Jiang Yexue, kind and
gentle as ever, looked up resolutely into Murong Chuyi’s eyes. “If you
don’t, you’ll be the one to regret it in the end.”
“What I’ve regretted most in my life was becoming part of the Yue
Clan.” With a wave of Murong Chuyi’s hand, the sword Zhaoxue flickered
with a golden glow and whistled toward Jiang Yexue—
The sword glare threw Yue Chenqing’s vacant expression into sharp
relief. In that instant, he finally returned to his senses and screamed,
“Fourth Uncle, no—!”
 Chapter 168:
The Head of the Yue Clan

B LOOD RAN ALONG the flashing blade and dripped upon the ground.
The sword glare flickered, illuminating two pairs of eyes. Both were long
and narrow phoenix eyes, but one was icy sharp, while the other was
emotionless and cold.
Murong Chuyi scowled. “You?”
Mo Xi gripped the blade of Zhaoxue. Despite the defensive barrier in
his palm, the power of the holy weapon was too great. Blood oozed from
the broken skin of his hand. “Murong, you should stop.”
Murong Chuyi scattered the blade into motes of light and leapt back a
few strides. His white robes fluttered as Zhaoxue reformed into dozens of
smaller blades; with a wave of his wide sleeves, those sharp daggers shot
toward Mo Xi.
Little Lan-er had run out with Mo Xi. She shrieked, “Xihe-gege! Be
careful!”
Mo Xi opened a massive defensive formation, shielding the others
behind it. Raising his other hand, he commanded, sharp, “Shuairan, come!”
The snake whip exploded from his palm, coruscating with scarlet
light. Catching Shuairan in one hand, he retracted his own barrier the
moment the onslaught of blades shot past and lunged toward Murong
Chuyi, the snake whip Shuairan lashing down.
As he held Murong Chuyi off, Mo Xi cried to little Lan-er, “Help
them!”
Lan-er nodded. “Okay…okay!” She staggered forward, first throwing
herself into Jiang Yexue’s arms and bursting into tears. Mumbling
“Xiansheng, Xiansheng,” she clumsily untied the immortal-binding ropes
around his arms.
“What are you doing here…” Jiang Yexue murmured. “How did you
bring Xihe-jun…?”
 But little Lan-er was too young to explain; she could only weep.
Jiang Yexue sighed and didn’t press her further. “Don’t cry; go help
Chenqing…”
“I-I’ll go right now!” Lan-er hiccupped between sobs.
She hastily loosened the ropes around Yue Chenqing, who lay on the
ground. He was still trembling, though whether out of fury, fear, or bitter
disappointment, it was impossible to tell. Little Lan-er helped him to his
feet, and Yue Chenqing turned his gaze to Murong Chuyi, locked in battle
with Mo Xi. As he watched, the incredulity faded from his face and tears
welled up once more, his features racked with torment. His chapped lips
trembled, as if he wanted to call out to Murong Chuyi, but before the first
syllables of Fourth Uncle could spill from his mouth, he dissolved into
incoherent sobs. He turned his face away with a whimper, bringing a hand
up to wipe his tears away before they could fall.
He walked over to Jiang Yexue, eyes rimmed with red. “Ge…”
Jiang Yexue was startled. In the past, Yue Chenqing had commonly
addressed him with Hey; even after their relationship improved, he’d only
called him Jiang-dage. He’d never called him Ge. Jiang Yexue looked up
from his wheelchair, at a loss.
On the other side of the cave, sparks flew as Mo Xi and Murong
Chuyi fought, spiritual energy clashing fiercely. Shuairan was now the
snake whip, now its spiritual snake form, a flickering shadow as it battled
Murong Chuyi’s Zhaoxue. Both combatants were cultivators of
consummate skill with unmatched martial techniques, their exchange of
blows so quick their forms were reduced to dazzling blurs. But where Mo
Xi’s style was unerringly direct, like a sharp blade stabbing relentlessly at
his opponent’s ribs, Murong Chuyi moved with a flitting grace, pressing
close from every direction at once to cut off his enemy’s options.
The two of them clashed like meteors. When the longsword collided
with the snake whip, the cascade of fiery sword qi rattled the cave’s stones
and shook dust from the rocks.
“Murong, you said you’d see him, that you’d acknowledge him, that
you’d consider his feelings. Why did you go back on your word?” Mo Xi
asked quietly.
 Murong Chuyi’s only answer was the press of his blade. Red and
gold light shone on his handsome face, reflecting in those icy phoenix eyes.
He said not a word, as though the battle spoke for itself.
“Murong, he’s still hoping for you to come find him.”
With a flourish of his wide sleeves, graceful as drifting clouds,
Murong Chuyi retracted his longsword. He leapt delicately back, then
lunged forward with his blade held aloft. The snow-bright glare set his
pupils aflame. “Zhaoxue, Destroy a Thousand Mountains!”
The longsword in his hand scattered again into countless motes of
light, which coalesced into a surging wave of spiritual energy at his back.
He floated before it like an immortal in his white robes. Raising his hand,
he uttered a single merciless syllable: “Go.”
The snowy wave crested and crashed.
Mo Xi’s eyes darkened. “Tuntian!” he bellowed.
With the sound of a whale’s call, the weapon’s massive spiritual form
appeared at Mo Xi’s command, its translucent body swaying as it swam
toward Murong Chuyi’s colossal wave. In an instant, the massive whale
breached the wave, white rippling outward like reams of silk, its call
seeming to echo from beyond time. It opened its gargantuan mouth and
swallowed that boundless wall of water whole.
As powerful spiritual energy collided, Mo Xi’s black robes and
Murong Chuyi’s white billowed in the wind. The onlookers closed their
eyes against the gale. Mo Xi turned to Jiang Yexue and the others. “Run!”
Little Lan-er began crying again as soon as he heard him. “Xihe-
gege…”
“Go, now!”
Jiang Yexue coughed up bloody spittle. He said, voice low, “If only I
could awaken the ghost soldiers within the blood pool…”
The Yue Clan had suppressed the ghosts in Huntian Cave for
generations. These vicious spirits had received the Yue Clan’s offerings, and
were willing to obey the head of the Yue Clan. Yue Juntian had met his end
without warning, and he’d been in poor health; he’d had no chance to
summon the ghosts from the blood pool. But with his death, the position of
the head of the Yue Clan passed to its next true-born son—Yue Chenqing,
the son of Yue Juntian’s first wife.
But Yue Chenqing’s cultivation was weak, and he’d spent years
slacking off in pursuit of fun. He’d never properly studied the methods for
controlling the ghost soldiers, and had no hope of deploying them as his
ancestors might have.
When he heard Jiang Yexue’s sigh, Yue Chenqing’s heart ached as if
pierced with needles. Guilt and sorrow tore through his chest. If he could
awaken the ghost soldiers in the blood pool, his bofu and all the Yue Clan’s
servants wouldn’t have died. His fourth uncle…his fourth uncle wouldn’t
have been able to kill so many people. If he could’ve stopped it in time,
things wouldn’t have turned out like this—the man he had always admired
now completely unrecognizable, fighting in this hellish cave filled with
blood. If he had worked a little harder… If he hadn’t lazed around and
wasted so much time…would it have come to this? Would it have come to
this?!
Little Lan-er was still weeping. “No…Xihe-gege… I don’t want to
run away and leave everyone behind again…”
Mo Xi gritted his teeth. “Do as I say. Hurry and go.”
But Lan-er was simply too young. After the shocks she’d endured,
her volatile constitution was beginning to fray despite the spirit-suppressing
technique Mo Xi had used on her. As she cried, tongues of spiritual flames
licked out from her heart.
Jiang Yexue furrowed his brow, coughing up more flecks of blood.
“Little Lan-er…” If Lan-er went berserk, she wouldn’t be able to
differentiate friend from foe; the situation would spin even further out of
control. In the worst-case scenario, they’d all die here in this cave full of
corpses.
As Jiang Yexue sat forward, ready to force his injured body to cast a
calming spell on Lan-er’s mind, someone stayed his hand with a touch.
“Chenqing?” Jiang Yexue drew in a sharp breath in astonishment.
Yue Chenqing’s cheeks were stained with tears, but his eyes were no
longer blank. He looked at Jiang Yexue and choked out, “Ge, I’m sorry.
It’s…it’s my fault. I was too lazy…too thoughtless…too stupid. I only
wanted to be a spoiled young master, I never—never worked hard… But
this time…” Yue Chenqing choked on a sob, but his gaze was resolute. He
took hold of Jiang Yexue’s hand. “This time, leave it to me. I’m the head of
the Yue Clan now.”
“Chenqing, you—”
Yue Chenqing didn’t respond as he released Jiang Yexue’s hand.
Using qinggong, he leapt onto the ghost command platform in the middle of
the blood pool.
When Jiang Yexue and Murong Chuyi saw this, both their
expressions changed. Calling upon the ghost soldiers of the blood pool was
like taking command of an army; the soldiers would only obey someone of
sufficient power. Yue Chenqing’s abilities were objectively lacking—but if
he made up his mind to offer all his cultivation and spiritual energy to take
control of them, even detonating his spiritual core, it would be a different
matter entirely.
Murong Chuyi must have recognized his determination. He snorted
coldly, and golden light flashed from his sleeves to form a talisman seal. A
tide of rustling came from outside the cave.
Little Lan-er’s sharp eyes were first to take notice. “Xiansheng!” she
shrieked. “They’re coming again!”
It was soon clear who she meant. Hundreds of bamboo warriors
wielding unbreakable blades surged in through the entrance and surrounded
Jiang Yexue and the others, while a portion threw themselves toward the
platform Yue Chenqing stood upon.
But Yue Chenqing was the heir to the Yue Clan; standing on the
command platform amounted to a summons for the ghost soldiers within
the blood pool. Hazy figures burst from the surface, howling as they beat
back the bamboo warriors seeking to knock Yue Chenqing into the pool.
But the bamboo warriors were mindless; when the first wave sank into the
pool, their successors fearlessly forged ahead to replace them with no end in
sight.
Little Lan-er’s spiritual energy was spiking out of control. Jiang
Yexue tugged her over and cast a new spirit-suppressing spell, but his
spiritual energy, especially now, was not as strong as Mo Xi’s. His efforts
had little effect.
“Xiansheng…” Lan-er cried, “Bamboo warriors… You can use them
too… You can also…”
Jiang Yexue shook his head, his expression pained. “Chuyi’s the one
who taught me the technique. My bamboo warriors are like a pile of broken
timber compared to his.”
Little Lan-er wailed in despair. “Why did this happen…”
Yue Chenqing’s face was bone-white as he watched the situation
deteriorate. Steeling himself, he summoned a thin blade and cut a bloody
line into his palm. He dipped his fingers in the fresh blood and drew a
complicated talisman on the spirit-sealing stone in the middle of the ghost
command platform. He meant to throw caution to the wind and summon the
monsters in the pool.
“Chenqing—!” Jiang Yexue cast about for a way to stop Yue
Chenqing, but the blood pool between them had begun to surge and heave;
he couldn’t get any closer.
“In Huntian, there lies a blood pool…”
“Yue Chenqing! Stop!”
But Yue Chenqing paid him no heed. He sat down and formed the
sigil with both hands as he murmured, “In the blood pool, ghost soldiers
sleep.”
“Yue Chenqing—!”
“Chenqing-gege!”
Yue Chenqing recited the summoning spell without pause. His father
had taught him this spell; even now, Yue Chenqing remembered his words:
In the Yue Clan, we are artificer cultivators. We don’t need to
cultivate methods that consume lots of spiritual energy—save for this one
technique, which harms us almost as much as it harms our enemies. As with
everything in this world, hard work begets success. Practice this whenever
you have some time. As long as you know it well and your foundation is
strong, the spell won’t do you serious injury.
 In Yue Chenqing’s recollection, he’d been a child, sprawled out
carelessly on a bench as he listened, his eyes flicking again and again to
Murong Chuyi, who stood in a faraway corridor speaking to a servant.
“Form the sigil with me,” Yue Juntian had said, “then recite the spell.
In Huntian, there lies a blood pool.”
Yue Chenqing had parroted carelessly, “In Huntian, there lies a blood
pool.”
“In the blood pool, ghost soldiers sleep.”
Yue Chenqing recited that too, his sigil a crooked approximation. “In
the blood pool, ghost soldiers sleep.”
“If the ghost soldiers wish to pass…”
“If the ghost…”
A gust of wind blew past, shaking the almond blossoms from their
branches to fall like rain in the garden. Murong Chuyi, who had finished
speaking to the servant, turned around. The sound of the wind had caught
his attention, and he’d turned to watch the greenery sway in the garden. He
hadn’t expected to find Yue Chenqing gazing at him. As he blinked in
surprise, Yue Chenqing gave him a brilliant smile.
“I’m teaching you to cultivate! Learn to focus!”
“Aiyo—”
“Stop dawdling and recite it with me!”
Yue Chenqing pouted. “What’s the point; why would I need to
summon the monsters in Huntian Cave?” He made a show of raising his
voice. “If anything happened to me,” he cried, “my fourth uncle would be
the first to protect me!”
Yue Juntian’s ire grew. “Who do you think he is? He’s an outsider!”
“No way! Fourth Uncle is the strongest, Fourth Uncle is the best!”
the child Yue Chenqing shouted, with no intention of stopping. “He’s not an
outsider; he’s my favorite xiao-jiujiu!”
No matter what happens, he’ll be the first to protect me. He’s the
strongest, he’s the best. He’s my favorite xiao-jiujiu…
 Yue Chenqing opened his eyes, tears streaming silently down his
cheeks. He was bathed in the crimson light of the pool. The marks of the
curse from the ghost soldier spell crawled up the stone of the command
platform, creeping up his feet, twining along his legs, then his waist,
spreading across his entire body. Issuing this command with all his strength
felt like ten thousand ants were gnawing at his heart, as if a hundred
thousand sharp needles were stabbing into his flesh and hooking barbs into
his bones…
His father had told him the pain of summoning from the blood pool
was the most unbearable pain of all. But that wasn’t true.
Through his tears, Yue Chenqing looked toward Murong Chuyi, still
embroiled in his battle with Mo Xi. It was just like the first time he’d
learned this technique, when he’d gazed through the shower of petals at the
white-clothed youth in the corridor.
Yue Chenqing choked on a mouthful of black blood. He rasped, “If
the ghost soldiers…wish to pass…”
The image of Murong Chuyi in the rain of almond blossoms became
hazier as his own giggling in that bygone courtyard grew more distant in his
memory.
Fourth Uncle will always protect me. He’s not an outsider.
He…
An awful pain lanced through his heart. He couldn’t keep this up for
long. His entire body had begun to burn with translucent flames of scarlet
spiritual energy. Yue Chenqing slapped his bloody right palm onto the
middle of the spirit-sealing stone.
The cave darkened, and a chill wind rose. Vivid scarlet burst from the
blood pool in a dozen surges as sharp howling tore through the ground and
screeched upward.
Yue Chenqing cried: “Kill all who block the way!”
With this last sharp command, Yue Chenqing fell to his knees on the
ghost command platform, heaving up spates of fresh blood. In a daze, he
felt a sinister force devouring all the spiritual energy he had accumulated
throughout his life; he grew weaker and weaker as his strength inexorably
drained away.
Ghost soldiers leapt from the blood pool in an endless stream. Just as
Yue Chenqing, the new master of the Yue Clan, had commanded, they
rushed toward Murong Chuyi’s bamboo warriors like the tide. Blood
splashed, blades fell, broken bamboo flew into the sky, and the clash of
combat filled the air. These ghost soldiers were vengeful souls hundreds of
years old. No matter how strong the bamboo warriors were, they couldn’t
hold out under the ghosts’ onslaught. Very quickly, the battlefield turned in
favor of Yue Chenqing. Those ghost soldiers howled madly as they tore the
bamboo warriors apart, then charged toward Murong Chuyi, still fighting
Mo Xi.
Murong Chuyi was an artificer; his combat ability wasn’t as strong as
Mo Xi’s to begin with. He was already at his limit. Attacked from both
sides, he lost ground twice as fast. One of the ghost soldiers had wrested a
blade from a bamboo warrior in the chaos. As Murong Chuyi blocked a
blow from Mo Xi, it stabbed ferociously at his back.
There was the dull sound of something tearing.
Murong Chuyi’s amber eyes flickered. With his fair face speckled
with blood, he was a terrifying sight. He lowered his head to look at the
blade coming out through his chest. He paused, swaying slightly. When he
looked up at Mo Xi again, there was confusion in his gaze.
“Mo Xi…”
Mo Xi met his eyes and felt an unexpected shiver up his spine. It was
the prick of intuition, an inkling that something wasn’t right; coldness
crawled up along his back and settled at the base of his neck. “You…”
Murong Chuyi’s countenance shifted; he knitted his swordlike brows
and mumbled, “I… I’m not…”
Before he could get the words out, the ghost soldier pulled the sword
out.
Murong Chuyi sagged and choked out a mouthful of blood. His
spiritual energy flow had been cut off; he plummeted from the air. Like a
white butterfly falling into a spider’s lair, he crumpled into the dirt.
 Chapter 169:
Jiang Yexue’s Scheme

T HE MASSIVE TIDE from Zhaoxue and Tuntian’s spirit whale clashed

one last time before Zhaoxue vanished with its master’s defeat. Mo Xi
recalled Tuntian. One moment, the cave rang with pandemonium; in the
next, all was silent.
Mo Xi landed back on the ground and walked over to where Murong
Chuyi had collapsed, dead or unconscious. If he wasn’t dead, he’d been
severely injured; his pure-white robes were sodden with blood. He lay
motionless, like a broken puppet whose soul had been pulled out.
The bamboo warriors had lost guidance from their master. They
collapsed like grains of sand, tumbling across the ground.
The danger seemed to have passed. Little Lan-er was weeping softly
as if she’d been granted a second chance at life. Yue Chenqing had given all
his spiritual energy and endured grievous injury; he hadn’t even the strength
to use qinggong to leap back over the blood pool. Fortunately, Jiang Yexue,
too, knew how to command automatons; he summoned one of his own
bamboo warriors and instructed it to retrieve the debilitated Yue Chenqing
from the platform.
“Ge…” Yue Chenqing looked up with difficulty, coughing up bloody
spittle as he mumbled weakly. He slowly turned his eyes toward Murong
Chuyi. As he looked at his fourth uncle lying on the ground, his face
crumpled. He couldn’t speak and had no idea how he should feel. Over the
course of a scant few hours, it was as if his flesh and bone had been torn
apart, then crushed into mud.
In the end, it was little Lan-er who pushed Jiang Yexue’s wheelchair
forward. The three of them came together in an embrace.
“It’s over. It’s over now. Chenqing, you’ve done very well…” Jiang
Yexue consoled him in a quiet voice.
But no matter what Jiang Yexue said, Yue Chenqing kept trembling,
shaking without any sign of stopping. His wounds needed urgent attention,
and the disaster that had transpired here between Murong Chuyi and the
Yue Clan needed to be reported to the emperor as soon as possible.
After a few more words of consolation, they broke apart and
approached Mo Xi, who’d been staring blankly at Murong Chuyi all the
while.
“Xihe-jun…many thanks. If it weren’t for you, everyone in the Yue
Clan might’ve died in this Huntian Cave.”
Mo Xi didn’t reply to Jiang Yexue. He only shook his head.
As Yue Chenqing drew closer, he found himself looking askance at
Murong Chuyi. He didn’t know if the sight of Murong Chuyi with his life
hanging by a thread brought him more of hatred or of pain. It was as though
his spine had been splintered; he doubled over with the ache, sweat
streaming down his handsome face.
Lan-er, standing nearby, noticed his trembling growing worse and
worse. She looked at him, then at Murong Chuyi, and quietly tried to
comfort him. “Chenqing-gege, if—if you have questions for him…I-I have
some life-saving medicine here… It’s what my papa told me to keep with
me, to stay safe…” She carefully drew a small pill out of her sleeve. “I
don’t know if it’ll help…”
She had been trying to support Yue Chenqing, but his weight was too
much for her slight figure to bear. She couldn’t free a hand to give Murong
Chuyi the medicine.
“I’ll do it,” Mo Xi cut in.
He took her medicine and approached Murong Chuyi. Turning his
back to the others, he gave Murong Chuyi the pill. Then he got to his feet.
Just as everyone thought he was readying himself to bring Murong Chuyi
and the others out of Huntian Cave, Mo Xi suddenly raised a hand.
With a hiss of spiritual energy, a barrier came down, sealing the only
exit.
The other three froze in place.
“Xihe-jun…?” asked Yue Chenqing.
Little Lan-er was also confused. “Xihe-gege?”
 Jiang Yexue frowned and coughed, regarding Mo Xi with
puzzlement.
Mo Xi offered no explanations. “My apologies. I have a few more
questions for the three of you.”
No one knew why he had suddenly turned on them, and they all
looked back at him, bewildered.
Mo Xi turned first to Jiang Yexue. “Jiang-xiong, when I came back to
Chonghua, where did we first meet?”
Jiang Yexue was confused. “It was…Feiyao Terrace. Why?”
Mo Xi didn’t answer. His second question was for Yue Chenqing.
“Chenqing, what does your favorite stall at the northern frontier sell?”
Yue Chenqing didn’t understand either, but he hoarsely replied, “…
Meat pies.”
Mo Xi looked at Lan-er. The little girl stood there blankly, her bright,
clear eyes wide as she gazed up at Mo Xi. “Xihe-gege…”
“You once gave your Gu Mang-gege a present. Do you remember
what it was?”
Little Lan-er bit her lip. “I-I don’t.” She hesitated. “Do I have to
remember? I-I’ll think really hard!”
“It’s fine if you can’t remember. I’ll ask you a different question.
Where did we first meet?”
“I…”
“You can’t have forgotten about this completely, right?”
Lan-er couldn’t answer.
Mo Xi’s eyes darkened. With a flourish of black sleeves, he grabbed
the little girl by the neck.
Little Lan-er screamed, hiccupping in panic.
Mo Xi raised his other hand, a white pill held between two fingers. It
was precisely that “life-saving medicine” Lan-er had given him for Murong
Chuyi. “Did you really think I’d give Murong this medicine?”
 He’d become suspicious several moments ago and quickly swapped
out the medicine in his sleeve. The pill he’d fed to Murong Chuyi was some
wound medicine from his own qiankun pouch.
“You called this life-saving medicine…but I think we should see if
this pill is better for controlling people’s minds!”
He pinched the pill to white powder between his fingers. A slim gu
worm wriggled out.
Just as expected.
Mo Xi’s expression darkened. “Speak!” He gritted his teeth, grabbing
little Lan-er by her delicate neck and staring, sharp as a falcon, into her
eyes. “Who are you really?”
Lan-er burst into tears. “I don’t understand! Save me…save me!
Chenqing-gege, Xiansheng…”
Seeing that she refused to confess, Mo Xi gave up on his verbal
interrogation. He gathered spiritual energy in his palm to probe her directly.
Though she looked as if her spiritual energy was surging, he could see now
that it was but a thin layer of illusion magic. Mo Xi flinched. Her
unmanageable spiritual core had shriveled—she, too, was merely a puppet.
Instinct born of years of combat made Mo Xi yank his hand back, but
it was too late. Black qi spread up from his fingertips, a telltale sign of
poisoning from the Liao Kingdom’s rigor mortis herb. “You—!”
“Oh, you’re really making things difficult.” Lan-er slipped out of his
grasp and retreated a few steps, a sweet smile unfolding across her youthful
features. “Mo-xiong, look at you. Why couldn’t you pretend to be dumb?
Why did you have to get to the bottom of it?”
Her tone was obviously no longer that of a child.
Mo Xi had immediately tried to suppress the demonic poison at his
fingertips, but his efforts were futile. The poison from the rigor mortis herb
was extremely potent and spread quickly. Within moments, numbness crept
over most of his body. Breathing slightly ragged, he watched the little girl
as she stood quietly beside the blood pool, the shadows of Huntian Cave
flickering behind her.
 “I planned to make you a mere witness, but I see you’d rather be a
tragic victim.” The girl’s smile was sharp-edged, completely incongruous
with her age. “Mo-xiong…” She sighed, drifting into silence.
Another voice continued from behind Mo Xi, its tone menacing. “…
You refuse to take the paths open to you on earth and insist on charging into
dead ends in hell.”
Straining to endure the poison’s agony, Mo Xi whipped around to
look at Jiang Yexue, sitting in his wheelchair. That face was stained with
blood, but there was no hint of frailty in his features.
Jiang Yexue folded his hands before him, gazing at Mo Xi calmly. He
smiled and cocked his head. “You learned too much. Don’t blame me if you
have to die.”
Mo Xi felt a stab of pain that had nothing to do with the poison. He
looked at Jiang Yexue’s face and couldn’t make a sound. His vision blurred.
Yue Chenqing’s voice took on a hysterical edge. “Ge…?”
Jiang Yexue hummed his assent, and Yue Chenqing broke down,
shaking and clutching his head, too afraid to believe what he’d heard, let
alone think deeper. “Impossible… There’s no way! How could you!”
“Fool. Is there anything on earth that’s impossible?” Jiang Yexue
smiled gently and got to his feet with deadly calm. He rose from his
wheelchair and walked toward them, eyes on Yue Chenqing.
Yue Chenqing’s pupils shrank in his pale face. “You… You were
never…”
Standing tall and slender, with his robes of lotus-root cream aflutter,
Jiang Yexue was the perfect picture of a refined gentleman—strong as the
wind, gentle as jade. In no world would he look like an invalid.
“That’s right, I healed my legs some time ago. I never bothered to tell
you.” He raised a hand and a white-gold flame ignited over his palm—the
exact color of little Lan-er’s core. Gathering a killing curse at his fingertips,
Jiang Yexue turned away from Yue Chenqing and fixed his gaze on Mo Xi.
“Apologies, Xihe-jun. I’ll have to start with you.” With no more
warning, he struck.
 Mo Xi had expended significant amounts of spiritual energy in his
fierce battle with Murong Chuyi, and now he’d been poisoned by the rigor
mortis herb. This poison was capable of paralyzing one’s entire body within
minutes. By the end, the victim wouldn’t be able to so much as twitch. Mo
Xi had barely managed to resist its effects. As his spiritual energy countered
Jiang Yexue’s, he looked up, panting. “You…removed her spiritual core…”
 “Wow. You can tell after a single exchange of blows?” Jiang Yexue’s
smile remained gentle and refined. “Indeed. If little Lan-er’s unruly spiritual
core remained in her body, it would only be a hindrance to her. But after I
absorbed its spiritual energy via occult methods, I could put it to much
better use healing my legs.”
The golden light in his hand grew brighter and brighter as he spoke,
shining oppressively down upon Mo Xi. “Why else do you think I’d take
her in? I can’t stand little kids, especially crybabies. They’re really rather
irritating.”
The blinding glow illuminated every line of Jiang Yexue’s face with
bright light. It was as peerlessly beautiful as pear blossoms in the
moonlight, but Mo Xi had never found that face as unfamiliar as he did
today. “Jiang Yexue…you’ve gone mad!”
“Some people use the gallbladders of snakes as medicine. I just found
a similar method to fix my legs, that’s all,” said Jiang Yexue. “Besides,
when I got her from the academy, she was about to have her spiritual core
stripped away anyway. Does it matter if was me or the academy that took it
from her?”
Two beams of spiritual energy collided, but one was a trickle, while
the other was a raging river. Drawing on little Lan-er’s core, Jiang Yexue
gradually forced Mo Xi back. “Don’t be so stubborn, Mo-xiong. You’ve
wasted too much energy; you’re no match for me as you are.”
Jiang Yexue wasn’t wrong. Sweat beaded on Mo Xi’s forehead as the
black qi of the rigor mortis herb crawled upward to his arms and wrists. Mo
Xi could no longer even crook his fingers to summon Tuntian.
Suddenly he heard Yue Chenqing’s hoarse shout, full of blackest
despair. “Ghost soldiers—”
He intended to use the monsters that hadn’t yet returned to the blood
pool to stop Jiang Yexue’s slaughter.
Jiang Yexue’s expression darkened. Yue Chenqing had reached the
limits of both his physical and spiritual energy. If he continued using this
forbidden technique, the effort was likely to kill him before it had any
effect. Yet Mo Xi had been subdued by the poison; at the moment, it was
Yue Chenqing who posed the greater threat.
 While Yue Chenqing was still coughing blood—before he could say
Obey!—Jiang Yexue withdrew his spiritual energy from the battle with Mo
Xi and launched himself at Yue Chenqing, sleeves flying behind him.
He struck Yue Chenqing to the ground. Jiang Yexue’s eyes narrowed
with malice. “Yue Chenqing, why are you always making trouble for me?”
 Chapter 170:
First Meeting in White Robes on a Snowy Night

Y UE CHENQING’S FACE was stained with blood and filth; he’d cried
until his tears had run dry. He stared at Jiang Yexue, and a furious howl tore
from his throat. “You…tricked me… You tricked me!”
“That’s because you’re stupid,” Jiang Yexue replied mildly. He’d
been all smiles in front of Mo Xi, but the mirth disappeared when he faced
Yue Chenqing. His expression was as cold as crushed ice. Perhaps he
presumed Mo Xi had been sufficiently injured—the poison from the
demonic herb could not be removed without outside help—and so took Yue
Chenqing to be the more serious threat, reserving for him the greater part of
his menace and disgust.
He stalked over to Yue Chenqing, staring down at his half-brother.
Jiang Yexue was in fact very tall. Straightened to his full height in front of
Yue Chenqing, his bearing refined as jade, he emanated a bone-chilling air
of intimidation. “You were foolish and brainless, and you didn’t trust your
fourth uncle. Who can you blame but yourself?”
“That’s not true! I was just… I was…”
“Oh, it’s not true?” Jiang Yexue sneered. “You accidentally
summoned the ghost soldiers in the blood pool, then accidentally injured
your uncle so badly. Is that right?”
Yue Chenqing’s face went ashen.
“Yue Chenqing, he was much too protective of you. No—it wasn’t
just him. You were coddled like an idiot by your father, your uncle, and
everyone else in the Yue Clan. That’s how you ended up a useless brat who
can’t even swear properly.”
Jiang Yexue grabbed Yue Chenqing by the hair and hauled him up
from the ground. He turned and, without a sound, the soulless little puppet
Lan-er obediently pushed over the wheelchair. With a grip like iron, Jiang
Yexue grasped Yue Chenqing’s neck and pushed him into the chair.
 He may as well have dragged Yue Chenqing toward a hyena’s cave
with bones strewn across the ground. Yue Chenqing’s hair stood on end as
he looked at that chair. Face white, he thrashed in Jiang Yexue’s grip and
was rewarded with a more vicious shove. In a manner that brooked no
resistance, Jiang Yexue pinned him down in the wheelchair.
Jiang Yexue bent, narrowing his eyes and tilting up Yue Chenqing’s
chin with slender fingers. “Didi, if you grew up in my shoes, you wouldn’t
have turned into such a naive idiot. You’re so stupid it impresses me, did
you know that?”
Yue Chenqing was shaking all over. Had Jiang Yexue flayed his flesh
from his bones and turned him inside out, he wouldn’t feel as mutilated as
he did at the moment. The words he wanted to say crowded in his throat:
cries of despair, rage, grief, and hatred…but Jiang Yexue was right. Since
childhood, Yue Chenqing had been too sheltered, to the point that he hardly
knew a single curse word. The paltry collection he had couldn’t express
these sentiments at all. He felt he would be crushed by these emotions—like
he’d already been crushed by them. In his devastation, all he managed to
voice was a useless, stammering query. “Why…why did you do this…?”
“Why not?” Jiang Yexue stood before the wheelchair he’d sat in for
years. There was an inscrutable glint in his eyes now that it was finally
someone else’s turn. “Yue Chenqing, we are both of us sons of the Yue
Clan. But what was your life like? And what about mine?”
Yue Chenqing lifted his eyes to meet Jiang Yexue’s. “Everyone called
you a gentleman…” he rasped. “But all along…your heart was full of
filth…dirtier than anyone knew…”
All this time, Jiang Yexue had been cold; he’d been indifferent or
threatening, malicious or cunning, he’d never shown rage. But this
accusation from Yue Chenqing was like a key to the rustiest lock in his
heart. The flames of fury he’d suppressed for so long flared to life, igniting
his pupils and distorting his face. He spat every word, his venom
unmistakable. “I’m filthy, a false gentleman?” Jiang Yexue burst into
chilling laughter. “Oh, Yue Chenqing, Yue Chenqing… Of all the people in
this world, you’re the only one who has no right to say such a thing to me.
Do you know whom you’re talking to?”
 Jiang Yexue’s laughter shattered and warped as he swept his sleeves
back. When he glared down at Yue Chenqing, his eyes were spider-webbed
with hateful red veins. He grabbed Yue Chenqing by the lapels and stared
viciously into his face, biting out words laced with rancor. “If I hadn’t saved
you, Yue Chenqing, you’d already be bones in a grave and a soul beneath
the Springs! Your life came at the cost of that gentleman’s death!”
For too many years had twisted hatred accumulated in his heart with
no outlet. When it erupted at last, Jiang Yexue shook from head to toe with
loathing. He shoved Yue Chenqing back into the chair so forcefully it rolled
backward a few feet.
Jiang Yexue looked up, staring at Yue Chenqing with scarlet eyes. He
glanced around at Huntian Cave, that symbol of the Yue Clan’s darkest
power; he glanced at the ghost corpses that obeyed only the head of the
family. His gaze passed over Mo Xi, paralyzed by the rigor mortis herb,
passed over the lost and mindless little Lan-er… At last, it alighted on
Murong Chuyi, wounded and unconscious on the ground. Jiang Yexue felt
his chest had been pierced with a slim needle; the pain was bearable, but it
roughened his breathing and reddened his eyes. He turned and leveled a
resentful gaze at Yue Chenqing, his eyes narrow with distrust as he repeated
those words like a curse: “Your life came at the cost of that gentleman’s
death.”
Yue Chenqing had no idea what he meant, yet the words were enough
to turn his face ashen. “What do you mean…?”
“What do I mean?” Jiang Yexue scoffed.
The air was thick with the smell of blood, proof that they were far
past the point of no return. Only Jiang Yexue himself knew the truth. If he’d
chosen a different path more than twenty years ago, none of this slaughter
would have been. All of the Yue Clan—everything he wanted—would have
been his.

Twenty-three years ago, two paths had unfolded before him.

One day, his mother had summoned him to her room. Despite the
passage of years, he remembered his mother Lady Xie’s face, surpassingly
beautiful yet sullen. “Yexue, what are we going to do?”
 Heavy ambergris incense burned within the room, making his head
swim. Madam Xie sat wreathed in expensive fragrance and wrapped in
equally exquisite robes. Her hair glimmered with pearls and jade, and her
arms, the cream of lotus roots, were decked in gold and silver bangles. In
his memories, his mother always dressed with such flamboyant luxury.
Whether it looked good or not was secondary—she adored this kind of
extravagance, for it represented Yue Juntian’s favor. Young and beautiful
qin players were as common as grains of millet in the entertainment houses
of Chonghua, but how many of them could rise through the ranks to reach
her coveted place?
Madam Xie was proud of her past success but fretted endlessly over
her future circumstances. She knew Yue Juntian was betrothed to Murong
Huang, and her ambition did not stop at being a humble and lowly
concubine. She did all in her power to capture Yue Juntian’s heart for
herself. Not only did she spend her days currying favor with her husband,
she arranged for her son Jiang Yexue to be taught by the most virtuous man
in the residence, Song-xiansheng. This man instructed Jiang Yexue in both
the ways of artificing as well as moral principles to live and act by. As a
child, Jiang Yexue didn’t often visit his mother. Instead, he went to read
books and converse with Song-xiansheng. His old teacher was a kind and
righteous man; he taught him to cultivate refinement and modesty, tolerance
and elegance.
His mother’s efforts weren’t for naught: Yue Juntian was infatuated
with Madam Xie, and very pleased with Jiang Yexue. When he’d had a cup
too many, he’d say that a hundred years in the future, he’d have Jiang
Yexue succeed him as head of the Yue Clan and become leader of this
renowned artificer family. The mother who heard these words knew they
were drunken ramblings, but still she pulled Jiang Yexue closer to kiss him
in delight, filled with endless joy.
Despite Yue Juntian’s lustful appetites, he was a callous and pitiless
person at his core. Madam Xie understood his temperament well. Once that
momentary satisfaction had passed, she would remind Jiang Yexue in tones
of deepest worry: “Your father treats us well now, but she’s going to move
into Yue Manor sooner or later. As soon as she crosses the threshold, we’ll
be expected to wait on her. It won’t be a pleasant life.”
 On that particular day, when Madam Xie called him into her room,
she tugged him over and gave him a careful once-over. Without warning,
she drew him into a tight embrace. “I only have you now… Only you…”
“Mom…?”
The woman swallowed a sob. “Xue-er, Murong Huang… Murong
Huang will soon marry into the Yue Clan. On the first of next month.”
Madam Xie released him, but her hands remained tightly wound into
his sleeves, as if clutching a pallet of straw that could keep her afloat. She
stared at him through scarlet eyes. Those beautiful eyes were no longer
charming, filled as they were with stubbornness and hatred. “Xue-er… I
won’t accept this… How could I accept…”
“Mom…”
“We must struggle, we must fight, we must conquer. Do you
understand?”
But Jiang Yexue had no thoughts of fighting or conquering. In truth,
he cared nothing for any of it—neither the riches his mother adored nor the
status she coveted. He felt he had enough; almost too much, in fact. Were it
up to him, he’d choose the leisurely life described in his books, residing in a
bustling city yet unbothered by the clamor of carriages. 2
But when he looked into his mother’s grieving, obstinate eyes, he
couldn’t say any of this out loud. He was kind and hated seeing others hurt
—and this was his own mother, after all.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “There will be ways. There are always ways.
I won’t let her take all your things, and I won’t let you be bullied either. In
Yue Manor, you’re the only one who shares my heart. Yexue, Xue-er…my
good boy, from here on out, everything I do will be for your sake. You must
listen to your mother, do you understand? Everything will return to us.”
He blinked. He was a precocious child: although he didn’t blindly
agree with his mother’s thirst for power and wealth, he understood her
lowborn origins and knew her path hadn’t been an easy one. He was only
too aware of her terror that all her current splendor might come crashing
down around her. In his heart, he understood her. It was just that he didn’t
care to fight.
 On the day Murong Huang married into the Yue Manor, his mother
dressed herself beautifully in her finest clothes. She had once been a qin
player and was accustomed to flattering and dancing attendance; presenting
an exquisite, smiling face posed no challenge to her. She welcomed Murong
Huang politely, yielded to her humbly, and fawned over her with all the
required submissiveness.
Jiang Yexue couldn’t bear to see his mother like that. When the feast
started and the guests filled their seats, he slipped away from the bustling
party.
It was past dark, and snow had fallen with the night. He wrapped his
fur coat more tightly around himself. The plum blossoms in the garden were
in full bloom, so he thought to pick a few branches to place in his mother’s
and his teacher’s rooms.
He strolled along the path, steps crunching as he walked over snow.
There among the trees, he spied a youth in a scarlet cape over white robes
standing in the falling snow, looking up at the old plum blossom tree beside
the white-washed wall with its dark roof tiles.
That was the first time he saw Murong Chuyi.
 Chapter 171:
Youthful Days of Tenderness and Budding Yearning

B OTH HE AND MURONG CHUYI were young back then, boyish and
immature. He had no idea this child who looked even younger than him was
in fact his uncle in terms of family hierarchy. He took him for a young
master from one of the visiting families who’d snuck into the courtyard to
see the flowers.
The boy looked to be in a foul mood. He was staring intently at the
plum blossoms, and hadn’t noticed someone approaching him from behind.
It wasn’t until an umbrella—its canopy of blue-green oilpaper painted with
scenes of cranes amid clouds—came over his head to block the snow and
obscure his view of the flowers, that he started and turned around.
Jiang Yexue gave him a small smile. “Which family do you belong
to?” he asked, in the tone of an older boy coaxing a younger one. “What
brings you out here without an umbrella in such heavy snow?”
Murong Chuyi widened his eyes. He took one step back, then two,
the expression on his face turning from surprised to haughty. He answered
Jiang Yexue’s question with one of his own: “Who are you? What are you
doing here?”
He asked it in a crude and coarse manner, without any courtesy, as if
he didn’t want to waste breath on Jiang Yexue.
But Jiang Yexue had a mild temper. A gentleman, after all, was like
jade, constantly polished and refined. Despite his youth, he was big-hearted
and always looking after others, so he only smiled. “My surname is Yue—
I’m Yue Yexue. As for why I’m here…it’s because this is my home. The
plum blossom tree you’re looking at is my favorite one.”
For some reason, the other boy narrowed his eyes. “Oh? You’re Yue
Yexue, Xie Yilan’s child?”
This youngster called his mother brazenly by name, and he’d even
gotten it wrong. Jiang Yexue, despite all his self-restraint, felt a measure of
exasperation and offense at this, but he didn’t show it. Instead, he reached
out and pulled that youth further beneath his wide oilpaper umbrella.
“Listen up, my mother’s name is Xie Lanyi, not Xie Yilan,” Jiang Yexue
chided gently. “Also, the snowfall’s getting heavier. If you keep standing
here like a fool, you’ll catch cold. Come, I’ll take you back to the reception
pavilion to find your parents.”
The boy slapped his hand away rudely. “How uncivilized. Do you
know who you’re talking to?”
Jiang Yexue laughed in spite of himself. “Kid, you…”
“Kid?” Murong Chuyi let the hood of his cape fall back, tucked an
errant lock behind his ear, and leveled him with a stern gaze. His thin lips
parted around his next words. “Yue Yexue, I am your uncle.”
Jiang Yexue’s eyes widened. After a beat, he burst into laughter and
reached out to feel the youth’s forehead. “Oh, you,” he chuckled. “Did you
get a fever from the cold…?”
He didn’t remember how this farce had ended; many minor details
had slipped his mind. All he remembered was that later, Murong Chuyi left
with an unhappy sweep of his sleeves. And after the wedding feast, when he
followed his mother to the tea ceremony greeting of the mistress of the
house, he saw the youth from under the plum blossom tree standing at
Murong Huang’s side and looking at him indifferently. Only then did he
realize at last that this white-robed youth who looked about his age really
was his young uncle.
The boy’s name was Murong Chuyi.
Though they now lived in the same residence, Murong Chuyi kept to
himself; it was rare for him to show his face even three days out of ten. At
the beginning, Jiang Yexue tried to make conversation with him, but upon
receiving the cold shoulder time and time again, he gave up. Song-
xiansheng had taught him that the friendships of gentlemen flowed
naturally, as water in a stream. Jiang Yexue held himself to a certain
standard of refinement; he wouldn’t force it if Murong Chuyi wanted to
keep his distance.
But not everyone was as good-natured and kind as his Song-shifu.
After Murong Huang married Yue Juntian, Jiang Yexue could acutely feel
the attitudes toward him changing, both in and outside the manor. Those
who had used to flock to him were the first to disappear, and as time passed,
the smiles of some elders were no longer as warm as they had been.
Jiang Yexue was kind, but he wasn’t stupid. He saw all this with clear
eyes and understood why it was so. But he was gentle in his dealings; he
preferred not to bicker over favor gained or lost, and so he didn’t think
much of it.
But Madam Xie’s resentment grew to consume her, causing Jiang
Yexue no end of worry and frustration. Every day, she would harp on the
precious trinkets Yue Juntian had gifted Murong Huang and how much they
were worth, or what outfits Murong Huang had purchased that day and in
which styles… As time passed, her words grew more and more cutting,
until her comments did not bear repeating. Jiang Yexue would frown
slightly as he listened, but as she was his mother, the most he could do was
sigh to himself. It wasn’t as though he didn’t console her, but the moment
he tried to persuade her otherwise, she’d glare and curse him out,
exclaiming that he “had no ambition” and “didn’t understand suffering.”
As time passed, Jiang Yexue learned to hold his tongue. Madam Xie’s
jealous obsession with Murong Huang grew deeper by the day, and by the
time Murong Huang fell pregnant, her once-lovely features had become
twisted with hatred. Murong Huang was of royal blood and the first wife;
the whole manor was ready to fetch her the moon and the stars to keep her
happy. Not even while pregnant with Jiang Yexue had Madam Xie enjoyed
such pampering.
The servants could read the writing on the wall, and the difference in
their treatment of the two mistresses grew more and more pronounced.
Even the attendants Jiang Yexue had favored began to treat him with
disdain. Madam Xie’s hatred festered. “Look,” she said to Jiang Yexue,
“you speak of convincing others with kindness, of living well by adapting
to our circumstances, but whom have you convinced? How well are you
living?”
Jiang Yexue was hurt, yet he persisted in believing that his conduct
was correct. Riches and wealth were easily had; a clear conscience was a
far rarer thing. But even his father gradually began to distance himself from
him in consideration of Lady Murong’s feelings. Other than Song-
xiansheng, no one else in the entire residence was willing to associate with
him. How could his heart not ache?
Late in the spring of that year, Song-xiansheng took to his bed with
illness and couldn’t teach him artificing techniques. Jiang Yexue had always
revered his teacher and couldn’t bear to disturb him in his convalescence;
he attempted to puzzle through some work on his own. He took his
mechanisms to the other artificer advisors in residence, only to be turned
away under a variety of pretenses.
“Sorry, Yexue-gongzi, I still have plenty of work to do today.”
“My apologies, Yexue-gongzi, this old man is indisposed. I’ll swap
tips with you once I feel better. How does that sound?”
“This lowly one still has much to learn myself; I’m afraid I cannot
teach the gongzi.”
Not a single person he asked was willing to help him. Cradling his
wooden mechanisms in his arms, Jiang Yexue wandered through empty
corridors in a daze, his head hanging low. Suddenly, he heard someone call
his name behind him.
“Yue Yexue.”
He turned, all his disappointment and heartache written clear across
his face. Much to his surprise, the eyes he met were Murong Chuyi’s.
Murong Chuyi furrowed his brow. “What kind of expression is that?”
His uncle walked over with white robes aflutter and peered down at the
mechanisms in Jiang Yexue’s arms. “Your work?”
“Mn.”
Murong Chuyi plucked a little water clock from the top of the pile
and looked it over. “Eastern blood crystals for the sand, ebony sandalwood
for the body… Your own design?”
Jiang Yexue had heard of Murong Chuyi’s skill and spoke with some
embarrassment. “Yes.”
But Murong Chuyi didn’t laugh at him. He put the little water clock
back on the pile. “Come to my workshop. I’ll teach you.”
 Jiang Yexue had never dreamed that Murong Chuyi would volunteer.
His eyes went wide, and he remained rooted to the spot in astonishment.
Murong Chuyi had turned on his heel the moment he finished
speaking. He walked some distance before noticing Jiang Yexue hadn’t
moved. He turned his head, nonchalant. “Hurry up.”
“Oh, all—all right.”

The days that followed, before Yue Chenqing’s birth, were the richest
and happiest days of Jiang Yexue’s life. Although Murong Chuyi wasn’t
much older than him, he had a masterful grasp of artificing and taught Jiang
Yexue many techniques and secret methods he’d never before fathomed.
Murong Chuyi did whatever he liked and cared nothing for public opinion,
so Jiang Yexue’s popularity and status—or lack thereof—were meaningless
to him. Jiang Yexue, on the other hand, was deeply gratified to find a
kindred spirit, as when Ziqi met Bo Ya. 3 No matter what his mother said, he
went to Murong Chuyi’s artificing workshop every day to talk to him.
Madam Xie grew only harsher with him, and her disappointment
mounted by the day. She called him unfilial, a selfish social climber. She
surmised that Murong Huang must have sent Murong Chuyi to drive her
and her son apart, cursing her out as an awful bitch. At one point, she grew
thunderously angry after Jiang Yexue objected to her disparaging Murong
Chuyi and stopped responding to her son at all. She wouldn’t hear any of
his explanations, and even refused to let him return to her pavilion to sleep.
Jiang Yexue didn’t wish to fight with his mother, nor make a scene
and give others an excuse to mock her. Left with few options, he awkwardly
approached Murong Chuyi to ask if he could live in his courtyard for a
time.
Murong Chuyi glanced around at the items in his courtyard. On the
artificing bench was a set of tools, compasses and rulers, that belonged to
Jiang Yexue. There was a second stool that Jiang Yexue customarily
occupied, and some trinkets on the table that Murong Chuyi had no interest
in, but Jiang Yexue used often. He replied coolly, “Isn’t it a bit late to ask
permission now?”
Jiang Yexue fidgeted in silence.
 The two youths also shared times of idleness. Murong Chuyi’s
fixation on artificing wasn’t as single-minded as everyone thought. For
example, he’d buy from streetside stalls the palm-sized bamboo warriors
that children begged for, then sprawl on the bamboo couch and call Jiang
Yexue over for a match. As they fought, he’d come up with the idea for
some kind of new magical implement, then stay up the whole night drawing
diagrams. Often, he’d fall asleep on his stomach on the floor, compass and
ruler still in hand. When he woke, he’d go right back to drawing.
Whenever Murong Chuyi fell asleep like this, Jiang Yexue couldn’t
resist sneaking a few glances at him. How could this person be his uncle?
He was so young and immature; when he drifted off holding his brush, he’d
often wake with ink on his face. How silly.
On one occasion, Murong Chuyi woke blearily in the middle of the
night after some dream. Blinking sleep from his eyes, he discovered Jiang
Yexue gazing at him and asked with impatience: “What are you looking at
me for?”
Even Jiang Yexue was taken aback by how warm his own voice
sounded when he murmured with a smile, “I think Xiaojiu looks very
formidable.”
Perhaps Murong Chuyi didn’t realize he was joking, or perhaps he
didn’t hear him at all. He let out a soft snort, long lashes fluttering, and fell
back asleep.
It was in that moment, as Jiang Yexue looked at Murong Chuyi, that a
vague, terrifying impulse surged to life within him. The thought made him
shiver with fear, to the point that he almost fled. At the time, he hadn’t
dared think about it too deeply—if he had, he’d have wondered how such
heinous thoughts could occur to him.
Though they weren’t related by blood—Murong Chuyi was just an
abandoned child Murong Huang had taken in—the reality of their rank and
status was right there in front of him. A true gentleman, after all, would
never have such designs on Murong Chuyi.
Several more months of formless uncertainty passed in the same way.
And then Murong Huang’s child was born. The instant the babe’s first wail
echoed through the halls, two people in that illustrious family fell into hell.
 The first was Jiang Yexue’s mother, Madam Xie. Yue Manor had
welcomed its true heir, an infant son born of the first wife. Yue Juntian gave
him the name Chenqing—bright morning. Chenqing, Chenqing… Murong
Huang’s son was light and radiance, the dawn sun rising in a clear and
boundless sky. But what of Xie Lanyi’s child? Yexue, evening snow.
Despite having once blanketed the land in purest white, daybreak reduced it
to nothing. Of course her heart broke; of course she felt hate.
The second person was Murong Chuyi. Murong Huang had died in
childbirth; in one stroke, he’d lost the elder sister and mother who’d taken
him in and given him a second chance at life. His benefactor was gone.
 Chapter 172:
An Accident of Love Brings an End to Fate

A FTER MURONG HUANG’S DEATH, Murong Chuyi grew sullen and

silent. It became his custom to lock himself in his workshop, and the only
person in all of Yue Manor who could find him was Jiang Yexue.
During the mourning period, Murong Chuyi silently sculpted many
clay figures, filled them with spiritual energy, and tinkered with them. He
made them mimic Murong Huang’s bearing and mannerisms, then
enchanted them to walk around in his small courtyard. Jiang Yexue
understood he was grieving and spoke little. He merely picked up the
diagrams for the little clay people and followed the instructions himself.
But Jiang Yexue didn’t only make imitations of Murong Huang.
Some of his clay figures resembled Murong Chuyi, and some himself.
Some even looked like that newborn child named Yue Chenqing. Those
clamoring clay figures crowded around the little courtyard, shouting and
bustling, shattering the previously stifling atmosphere.
Murong Chuyi looked at him gloomily. “What do you want? Are you
here to pick a fight?”
Jiang Yexue stepped over to him. He had the urge to take hold of his
hands, but in the end, he only tugged on his sleeve. “Chuyi, you can’t live
in Aunt Huang’s shadow forever.”
Murong Chuyi yanked his sleeve back. “I am not,” he snapped.
He turned, as if he didn’t want to talk to Jiang Yexue anymore. He
went to the mechanism bench, where lay all the scraps of clay left over
from making the figures, and slowly closed his eyes.
A gentle voice called out beside him. A hand was plucking at his
sleeve, refusing to let go. “Chuyi, Chuyi…”
“I said I’m not! Can’t you—”
But he looked over and found that the speaker was not Jiang Yexue,
but a little clay figure that looked just like him. It was trying, in its clumsy
way, to cheer him up. “Don’t be sad, don’t be sad.”
Murong Chuyi stared.
“It’ll be okay, it’ll be okay.”
After a beat, the rims of Murong Chuyi’s eyes reddened. He turned to
see Jiang Yexue standing beneath the wide eaves of the roof, framed by the
leaden sky and petals falling like snow behind him. His robes, the creamy
white of lotus root, fluttered in the wind.
The two of them gazed at each other across the distance of the
courtyard. Murong Chuyi tried a few times to speak, but all his words died
on his lips. In the end, he managed a single quiet, bitter sentence: “Your
handiwork is hideous.”
Jiang Yexue burst into laughter, as if some invisible restraint on him
had dissolved. He came back toward Murong Chuyi. After a moment’s
hesitation, he gave him a quick hug in consolation. “You’re right,” Jiang
Yexue agreed. “Xiaojiu, can you teach me how to improve?”
Back then, their relationship had been very warm. Jiang Yexue could
still curb his desire, and Murong Chuyi didn’t push him away. Later Jiang
Yexue would often wonder—if he hadn’t intervened in what followed,
would everything have been different?
In Huntian Cave, Jiang Yexue gripped Yue Chenqing by the neck. His
touch was cool, recalling the hair-raising feeling of a snake’s constricting
coils.
He leaned down, narrowing his eyes. “Yue Chenqing, did you know
that if it weren’t for me, you would have died at my mother’s hand long
ago?”
Yue Chenqing shuddered. Jiang Yexue’s brown eyes were too close to
his face, seeming to flicker with scattered light and shadow from years past.

Not long after Murong Huang’s passing, Jiang Yexue fetched the
little wooden toys Murong Chuyi had made for Yue Chenqing and went to
play with the child. He knew the attitudes of many in the residence had
changed toward him precisely by dint of Yue Chenqing’s birth, yet he felt
neither enmity nor malice toward that infant bundled in his swaddling
clothes.
Murong Chuyi, for his part, felt pity and compassion for the boy, but
in order to keep up appearances, he never took the initiative to see him. He
merely handed over his meticulously polished toys and sent them with Jiang
Yexue. As time went on, Yue Chenqing’s cradle filled up with little wooden
people, horses, fish, pointy-eared rabbits… Murong Chuyi’s trinkets were
scattered everywhere.
Jiang Yexue looked at the wooden squirrel in his hand, sighing in
amusement and exasperation. He really should make Murong Chuyi come
take a look for himself, he thought. Little Chenqing would be left without
room to sleep if his uncle kept giving him presents like this. He mulled this
over during the length of his walk there.
Yet when he reached Yue Chenqing’s room and pushed the door
open, he heard a clunk and saw Yue Chenqing’s wet nurse startle like a bird
at the twang of a bow. She whipped around, knocking over a bowl of
medicine that shattered on the ground. The liquid made ominous hissing
noises as it splashed across the stone. “Y-Yexue-gongzi!” she stammered.
It took him but a moment to realize that within the bowl had been a
fatal poison. Shocked and enraged, he grabbed the terrified wet nurse.
“What’s going on? What are you doing?”
The wet nurse was a coward; kowtowing and kneeling on the ground,
she confessed that Madam Xie had pressured her to find an opportunity to
feed Yue Chenqing poison. If she didn’t do it, Madam Xie had threatened,
her entire family would die.
Her account chilled Jiang Yexue to the bone. He refused to believe
that his own mother would stoop to such cruelty for the sake of her own
power. Dragging the wet nurse behind him, he went straight to Madam Xie
—only for her to curse him out hysterically.
“What right do you have to criticize me? I’m clearing away obstacles
for your future, you useless thing! You’re always going on about
righteousness and benevolence… But this world operates by the strong
preying on the weak! You’re just too naive to see it, Yue Yexue! How do
you think I managed to make it this far? If you’ve never struggled down in
the mud, you have no idea what it feels like to serve someone like a slave!
Wait and see—in twenty years… No, it won’t take twenty years—in ten
years, you’ll understand that all the cruel things I did were for you! This is
Yue Manor, not some happy little family! His existence means your demise!
Do you understand?! Yue Yexue, how did I give birth to such a spineless
disgrace!”
Jiang Yexue was heartbroken and furious. “Mom, that’s still murder!
How did you turn into this—”
“That you can even ask such a question shows you have no idea how
a noble clan works. Yue Yexue, you’ll end up just like me! Wait and see! If
you let that brat live, everything that should have come to you will go to
him. By then…” The woman’s shrill laughter from that night so many years
ago seemed to echo, hair-raising, like long nails scraping the bottom of a
pot. “You’ll rue the day you stopped your mother… You’ll regret it your
whole life!”
You’ll regret it your whole life…
After this incident, this woman with eyes shot through with scarlet
grew more unhinged by the day. In the end, she offended Yue Juntian
himself, calling him a callous and heartless man in front of an audience.
The consequences were exactly as expected. Yue Juntian had favored
Madam Xie in the past because she was obsequious, gentle, and knew when
to bend. She showed the kind of subservience a noblewoman never would.
Now that her softness had hardened to jealousy, there was nothing left for
him to covet. Madam Xie fell from grace overnight. When her attendants
saw that she’d repulsed Yue Juntian and would never return to favor, they
scattered and left. Even her healer stopped treating her in earnest.
Jiang Yexue saw all of this. As her son, he couldn’t simply stand by
and watch. He went to her bedside, intending to look for healers outside the
residence to treat her. But the instant Madam Xie saw him, she began to
scream, clawing at him and gnashing her teeth; she nearly stabbed his throat
with a pair of scissors. She could no longer recognize her own son, nor heed
his words.
Madam Xie hung herself soon after. When the servants found her
dangling from the rafter, she was dressed in her most exquisite finery. Her
dark hair was spangled with her best jewels, her wrists and neck laden with
glittering bracelets, necklaces, beaded chains, and gemstones. She had even
donned the colorful pheasant robes only the lord’s first wife was permitted
to wear—stolen from what Murong Huang had left behind. Her suicide note
was filled with absurd ravings, proclaiming that she was the mistress of this
family, possessed of the highest rank and power…
This woman’s overweening ambitions painted a tragic yet utterly
ridiculous picture. Whatever last vestiges of sympathy Yue Juntian had for
her were destroyed by that note. In the end, she had been right about one
thing: Yue Juntian was a heartless and fickle man. Her funeral was hastily
and carelessly arranged, and the lord of the manor didn’t deign to appear.
The lavish costume she died in was swapped for white silk mourning robes,
and her dreams of extravagance became a cold and shameful gravestone.
In her suicide note, Madam Xie had written fanatically about her son,
“the heir to Yue Manor, Yue Yexue,” proclaiming he would “certainly
replace Yue Juntian as head of the family.” Yue Juntian knew these were the
ramblings of a madwoman, yet he became irked by Jiang Yexue’s existence,
and his attitude influenced the rest of the Yue Clan. In the blink of an eye,
what was previously a faint aloofness turned into outright scorn.
“That lunatic’s son.”
“What ambition those two had, ha ha ha.”
Jiang Yexue was in no mood to confront them as he mourned his
mother. He’d always been graceful in bearing and well-read in the classics,
and was thus a gentleman unwilling to meet his detractors at their level. He
never complained about what he endured, nor did he speak up when others
said he and Madam Xie were cast from the same mold. What could he
possibly say? Could he tell them he’d stopped his mother from poisoning
his infant brother? No matter how vicious and cruel she’d been, she’d loved
Jiang Yexue in her way. Now that she was dead, how could he bear to heap
another crime upon the lid of her coffin? He let it be, and swallowed all of
the suffering in silence.
But Madam Xie’s curse was like a white banner fluttering
unceasingly before his eyes. Sooner or later, everything that should have
come to you will go to him… You’ll regret it… You’ll end up just like me.
You have no idea how a noble clan works.
Many times, he startled awake in the dead of night, brow damp with
sweat. When he looked outside in panic, he’d always see Murong Chuyi
intent on his work, adjusting wooden mechanisms beneath the light of the
lamp. Jiang Yexue would lie back down, panting. Thankfully, Murong
Chuyi at least still believed him; he didn’t think Jiang Yexue coveted power
and hated Yue Chenqing in secret. He could still stay in Murong Chuyi’s
courtyard, and when he woke, he could still see the one he loved beside
him.
Because of this, Jiang Yexue didn’t harbor much resentment toward
Yue Chenqing. After the boy learned to speak, when he reached out and
babbled Gege, Gege as he drooled, Jiang Yexue realized he found this tiny
child truly adorable. This little brother was worthy of protection and care—
he didn’t want Yue Chenqing to experience the same suffering he had.
By and by, Yue Chenqing grew up. When it came time for him to
enter the academy, Yue Juntian gave him everything—he was the son of
Murong Huang, after all, and hence of royal blood. Seeing it as a chance to
ingratiate himself with the emperor, Yue Juntian ensured Yue Chenqing was
handed every possible opportunity in life, and even made excuses to take
back some artificing tools he’d previously given Jiang Yexue.
“Your little brother lost his mother young. His situation is so pitiable.
As the elder brother, you need to provide for him.”
“Your little brother needs these more than you do. You’re an
understanding person; don’t quarrel with him.”
“You’ve read lots of famous scholarly works. You should know what
it is to concede courteously.”
Several of the manor’s more shameless servants mocked him, despite
having no status of their own. “Yexue-gongzi, a gentleman ought to know
when to yield.”
In irritation, Song-shifu wanted to rebuke them, but Jiang Yexue
stopped him, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter. We shouldn’t sink to their
level.”
But as one thing after another was ripped from his hands, a gnawing
hole opened in his heart. That hole yawned bigger and bigger, filled with a
swirling mélange of disappointment, fear, and resentment.
One day, Yue Juntian again came to call on him. “Yexue, you’ve
studied with Chuyi so long. You’ve surely learned all there is to learn. From
now on, it’s best to have Chenqing stay with Chuyi instead.”
Jiang Yexue blinked. “What?”
“What I mean is, when a child is young, it’s of utmost importance
that he has a good teacher. You’re a sensible boy. Spend today packing up
to let your little brother move in. He, too, likes clinging to Chuyi. Ah, it’s
easy to see the two of you are brothers. You’re so alike.”
Comprehension sank in through the shock, but Jiang Yexue didn’t
move.
Yue Juntian was mildly surprised. He’d grown used to Jiang Yexue’s
unfailing acquiescence. His lack of reaction gave him pause. “What’s going
on?”
“Father,” Jiang Yexue said tightly, narrowing his eyes. “Have I not
been sensible enough?”
Met with Yue Juntian’s stunned silence, he pressed on. “What more
do I have left? Why don’t you just kick me out of the house and be done
with it—wouldn’t that be better? Chenqing would have more space to play.”
Yue Juntian had never seen him talk back like this. Enraged, he
slapped the table. “Impudent!”
“It’s not that I’m impudent, it’s that you’re crossing a line! What
exactly do you take me for?”
“Yue Yexue! How dare you speak to me this way!”
Jiang Yexue got into a huge fight with Yue Juntian that day. Jiang
Yexue was good-tempered and mannerly, but he wasn’t a coward. Now that
he was truly angry, he didn’t back down, leaving Yue Juntian humiliated
and breathless with fury. “You little beast!” he swore, jabbing a finger in
Jiang Yexue’s face. “Your mother said you would take my place, and now I
see your greed! Despicable! You wish me ill—you wish your brother ill!
You’re just like your mother!”
In the end, the entire manor got word of how father and son, who had
long nursed dissatisfaction with one another, went from arguing to trading
blows. But Jiang Yexue was young and had no one to lend him support; Yue
Juntian quickly subdued him. The flogger lashed down in a vicious torrent
of strikes, scarlet blood flying everywhere.
 When he heard the news, the young Yue Chenqing dashed over. What
he saw terrified him, and he pleaded on Jiang Yexue’s behalf. “Papa, don’t
hit him anymore, don’t hit Gege…”
“What do you know? He’s the same as his mother!” His whip cracked
toward Jiang Yexue’s stubbornly upturned face.
“Stop it.”
A beam of light flashed past, and a talisman overflowing with
spiritual energy snapped into a barrier in front of Jiang Yexue. Yue Juntian
was caught off guard; his arm twinged with pain and the whip fell from his
numb fingers. He whirled in furious astonishment to find Murong Chuyi
stepping through the door, his horsetail whisk in the crook of his elbow and
a sigil at his fingertips, glaring cold daggers at him. “Yue Juntian, haven’t
you done enough?”
“You?” Yue Juntian’s lips were trembling, “You—you’re actually
siding with this beast…”
Murong Chuyi helped Jiang Yexue to his feet, then turned and said in
a tone low with warning, “He is my nephew. If you touch so much as
another hair on his head, I won’t let you off easy.”

Thanks to Murong Chuyi’s intervention, the fight hadn’t escalated

further.
In the stillness of the night, two people sat on the steps beneath the
eaves of the courtyard. Murong Chuyi helped Jiang Yexue bandage the cuts
on his hands. The wounds there were deeper than the lashes from the whip;
they were from Yue Juntian’s holy weapon. What kind of father used a holy
weapon on his own son in an argument?
Murong Chuyi worked in silence, then asked a rare question. “Does it
still hurt?”
Jiang Yexue didn’t answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was low
and dull. “Before my mother died, she said in less than twenty years,
everything I had would become Chenqing’s.” He paused. “But if I told you
I’d never thought of fighting Chenqing for the Yue Clan, would you believe
it?”
 “I would.”
Jiang Yexue didn’t think he would answer so quickly, without the
slightest hesitation. He hadn’t wanted to cry, but upon hearing Murong
Chuyi speak with such unwavering certainty, his sorrow and indignance
overwhelmed him. He curled in on himself, forehead pressed to his knees,
and sobbed in breathless silence.
He said, I never wanted to fight for anything. I truly never wanted to
be the master of Yue Manor, I don’t have that kind of ambition. I’ve already
given up everything I can. Why did he have to take the only thing I have left,
the only thing I won’t give up?
Murong Chuyi sat with him. After a time, he sighed softly and patted
Jiang Yexue on the shoulder.
But Jiang Yexue’s head was a mess; the feelings he’d suppressed for
so many years had finally found a ready outlet. He had honestly lost
control. When he looked up to see Murong Chuyi comforting him, that
hidden desire surged out like an uncontrollable tide—even Jiang Yexue
couldn’t have said what he was thinking, or perhaps in that moment, he
wasn’t thinking at all. By the time he returned to his senses, he had already
pressed close to Murong Chuyi and leaned down to kiss him on the mouth.
It was such a light touch, like a dragonfly skimming water. But he felt
as if fireworks were going off in his head. Both of their minds seemed to
have suddenly gone blank.
Eventually, Murong Chuyi roused himself, surfacing out of his shock.
He shoved Jiang Yexue away as if he’d been stung by a scorpion and
jumped to his feet, his beautiful face drained of color. “What are you
doing?!”
At the expression on Murong Chuyi’s face, Jiang Yexue’s spinning
head cleared in a flash. He panicked, his face heating as he stammered,
“Chuyi, I…”
Before Jiang Yexue could stand up and explain, Murong Chuyi
skittered backward, staring at him in outrage and disbelief.
“Xiaojiu, I’m sorry, I was just… I…”
 Being called Xiaojiu seemed to deal Murong Chuyi an even deeper
wound. The world wobbled before his eyes. He pursed his lips a few times,
wanting to speak but overwhelmed by the absurdity of his situation. He had
grown used to treating Jiang Yexue as a junior; he could never have
imagined Jiang Yexue felt this way about him. A shiver ran down his spine
as icy sweat drenched his back.
But he’d just been kissed against his will; no matter how he rebuked
Jiang Yexue, it was a pathetic position to be in. Murong Chuyi’s face went
white and green in turn. Before Jiang Yexue could speak again, he turned
with a sweep of his sleeves and fled.
 Chapter 173:
A Gentleman No Longer

A FTERWARD, Murong Chuyi distanced himself from Jiang Yexue.

Jiang Yexue tried to apologize and explain himself again and again,
but Murong Chuyi, having received too great a shock, avoided him and
refused to be alone with him.
It was little wonder. Murong Chuyi had never had the slightest
indecent thought about him, and though they weren’t related by blood, he
had only ever seen Jiang Yexue as his nephew. Any uncle would be scared
off by this.
After a few failed attempts to reconnect, Jiang Yexue understood that
Murong Chuyi was no longer willing to see him. He lived by the principles
of virtue; even if he couldn’t control what he felt, he understood that it was
impossible for there to be anything between him and Murong Chuyi. That
act of his had been thoughtless, born entirely of his turmoil—the first time
he’d ever lost control in all those years with Murong Chuyi. He wanted
Murong Chuyi to know he had never dared to hope for more, but Murong
Chuyi gave him no chance to make amends.
After his relationship with his young uncle soured, Jiang Yexue was
left wholly alone in the Yue Clan. No matter how virtuous he was, Jiang
Yexue was still but a youth. Under those conditions, pain, dissatisfaction,
grief, and bewilderment inevitably began to proliferate in his heart.
But he had always known to restrain himself, and he did his best to
dispel his own unhappiness—until late autumn of that year, when a group
from Yue Manor traveled to the northern frontier to refine armor on the
emperor’s orders.
Yue Chenqing was still young and only wanted to play. Despite a
strict warning from his father not to stray out of sight, he often snuck away
to explore the wilderness. He didn’t care that the northern frontier was the
border between Chonghua and the Liao Kingdom, a place with many
hidden dangers.
 On one such day, Yue Chenqing didn’t return to their camp. Yue
Juntian was frantic with fear that the Liao Kingdom had captured his son,
and ordered their whole party to search for him, Jiang Yexue and Murong
Chuyi included.

“Do you remember what happened back then?” Jiang Yexue asked.
The glow of the pool in Huntian Cave cast its bloody light over both his and
Yue Chenqing’s face. “You were so headstrong and willful back then
because everyone coddled you. Blissfully ignorant, childishly conceited,
doing whatever you wanted whenever you wanted. We checked all the most
dangerous places on the northern frontier, but we couldn’t find a trace of
you.”
He tilted Yue Chenqing’s chin up and continued darkly, “In the end, I
used one of my own devices to figure out where you’d ended up.”
Yue Chenqing looked dazed. His gaze was vacant; it was unclear how
many of Jiang Yexue’s words he had heard. But Jiang Yexue didn’t seem to
care whether Yue Chenqing was listening. These secrets had been trapped
in his heart all these years, and now that he was finally giving them voice,
he likely wouldn’t have cared if Yue Chenqing were deaf or blind or dead.
“I tracked you down, only to discover you’d made it past Chonghua’s
border barrier and into Liao Kingdom territory. You were in dire straits
when I found you—much like you are right now. The King of Liao had
been conducting transmogrification experiments at the border; there were
large numbers of beasts infected with demonic qi roaming the wilderness.
You recklessly charged into their midst, got injured by one of those beasts,
and fell unconscious in the grass.”
Jiang Yexue snorted. “I was the first on the scene; everyone else was
still searching. It was like we were the only two people left in the world; if
I’d made a move then, you would’ve died. Everything you’d taken
would’ve come back to me—those tools and trinkets, Murong Chuyi, even
the Yue Clan itself. Everything could have been mine.”
He raised a hand, stroking Yue Chenqing’s throat. He pressed close.
The question he asked was addressed to Yue Chenqing, but he said it as
though he were asking himself. “Yue Chenqing,” Jiang Yexue whispered.
“Why was I so stupid? Why didn’t I kill you?”
 Huntian Cave was still and silent; the only sound was Jiang Yexue’s
voice. Everyone else was powerless before him: whether it was Mo Xi
paralyzed by the poison, Murong Chuyi rendered unconscious by his
injuries, or little Lan-er, made into a puppet long ago—each a testimony to
this man’s victory against great odds.
Jiang Yexue’s face twisted. When he stared into Yue Chenqing’s
eyes, the man in the reflection was a far cry from that perfect gentleman
he’d once been. It didn’t matter—he had long since given up on the person
he used to be.
“That silly gege of yours,” he murmured. “Truly, he was so stupid.
You’d already ruined his life, but he remembered that you were Murong
Chuyi’s nephew and his own brother by blood. He didn’t just fail to kill you
—he rushed to save you. He saw that you were in grave danger, and as soon
as he sent the signal flare, he purified the demonic qi in you without a
thought for whether he might be infected himself. He passed you spiritual
energy, keeping you alive.”
Jiang Yexue looked up with a soft chuckle. “How ridiculous he
was… How ridiculous I used to be. I kept you alive until Yue Juntian made
it to the scene, but the demonic qi infected me instead. Ah, but when that
dear papa of ours saw you in such a state, all he cared about was bringing
you back so your injuries could be treated. He didn’t even notice me.”
“Although…” He closed his eyes, his tone unreadable. “That was for
the better. To stop you from succumbing to the demonic qi, I brought it all
into my own body. It was a risky choice. If the demonic qi couldn’t be fully
dispelled, according to the laws of Chonghua, the infected person would be
executed. It’s really quite fortunate that when Yue Juntian found us, he only
had eyes for you, while I was next to nothing.” Jiang Yexue barked out a
derisive laugh. “In his eyes, I’d always been the expendable son of a
commoner. If I threatened his reputation or sullied his name, he would offer
me up to the gallows without the slightest hesitation.
“My mother was absolutely correct. Yue Juntian was callous and
heartless; he could do or give up anything to ensure his own safety. Why
would he hesitate? I couldn’t tell anyone I’d been infected with demonic
poison. After I returned to camp with the rest, I snuck back to my own
quarters while everyone else fussed over you. Oh, Yue Chenqing.” He
sighed. “You can’t imagine the pain I suffered that night.”
His tone was nonchalant, but his eyes were so dark as to be depthless.
“Burned alive, an agony worse than death…all these descriptions would be
an understatement. Oh, but—” Jiang Yexue paused then, smiling slightly.
“My apologies. I forgot you’re the young heir of the Yue Clan. You’ve been
sheltered since you were little and never known the meaning of suffering.
How could you have any understanding of the things I’m telling you?
“Later, I tried many methods to draw the poison out, but none
worked. Chonghua had never seen this type of demonic poison before; I
couldn’t control it at all, and it spread unchecked within me. I felt trapped, I
struggled—I felt my hatred and bitterness growing so vivid I barely
recognized it myself. I fought it for a very long time.”
That bloody nightmare was a thing of the past. Jiang Yexue’s struggle
between humanity and demonhood had by his own admission been terribly
painful, but now, it was tossed out in a few words as an offhand comment.
Jiang Yexue paused. “Until one day, I felt that there was no more need for
it.”
He looked down again. “Yue Chenqing, I became like this because I
chose to save you. Who could I go to when I was in unbearable pain? Since
I was a child, I yielded, I forgave, I conceded—only to end up this way. I’d
had enough; I finally realized—so what if we’re brothers? I hated you! I
didn’t want to be that idiot anymore!”
Mo Xi was paralyzed from head to toe, but he could hear everything
Jiang Yexue said. He closed his eyes; he could almost see Jiang Yexue as a
gentle and respectful youth, warm and good to everyone and everything.
That image shattered. Huntian Cave echoed with Jiang Yexue’s
sinister mockery.
“My mother was right, you did take everything I had. If it weren’t for
you, all of it would’ve been mine! Why did I yield to you? Even your life…
Yue Chenqing, the only reason you’re alive today is because I showed you
mercy twice over! As for your fourth uncle…”
At the mention of Murong Chuyi, the malice in Jiang Yexue’s eyes
was veiled by a sheen of desire. “He ignored you, kept you at arm’s length,
berated you, refused to see you—did you think it was because he disliked
you?” Jiang Yexue laughed harshly. “What a joke! I’ll tell you now: that’s
not true at all. You are the person he loves most in Chonghua, because of
your lofty, peerless mother… Because you’re the son of Murong Huang! He
would protect you even at the cost of his own life!”
Yue Chenqing flinched and looked up through teary eyes.
“The reason he shunned you…” He paused. “Is because of me, of
course.”
Eyes slitted, Jiang Yexue continued lazily. “After I decided to stop
fighting, the demonic qi no longer caused me pain. Instead, it became
something I could control. And that’s when I discovered…there were many,
many ways to make use of that demonic qi. The most compelling was to
infect someone else with it. It would then keep them from getting close to
anyone but me.”
Yue Chenqing’s tear-sodden lashes fluttered, a delirious fury surging
in his chest. His expression was still slack, but shock and anger gave his
empty eyes renewed focus. “You controlled him…” he muttered.
“No. I’ve never controlled him,” Jiang Yexue replied lightly. “The
demonic qi was impure; it wasn’t powerful enough for that. But every
month at the new moon, he would feel a burning agony. Only by drinking
blood from my neck, or by taking the highest quality heartbalm, could he
obtain relief. Unfortunately, he often decided he’d rather meditate alone
through the new moon instead of coming to find me. Only when the
heartbalm failed to relieve his pain would he be forced to seek me out in
desperation.”
He turned to glance at Mo Xi. “Xihe-jun is usually so sharp,” he said
with a smile. “You’ve probably already realized that when you came to the
academy that night, this was why my room was in disarray, with blood all
over my quilts. He came to me because the pain was more than he could
bear. That night, he lost control of himself completely and tore the room
apart. I fed him blood and heartbalm, then I drew him into my arms and lay
down in my bed…”
“Jiang Yexue!” Yue Chenqing cut him off with a furious howl. “You
dared to coerce him like this—I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you! ”
 Jiang Yexue bound Yue Chenqing in place with the mechanisms on
the wheelchair. “What are you shouting about?” he remarked
conversationally. “I would never coerce Chuyi. He was in awful pain,
calling me all sorts of names. I could have disgraced him then, but I never
did. That day, I only fed him my blood as usual, then lay with him in bed so
his weakened body could recover. I certainly have no interest in rape.
Instead of forcing him, I’d rather see him slowly lose his mind. I’d rather
watch him dragged closer and closer to the brink every time the poison took
effect. I’d rather him kneel before me of his own accord and beg me to take
him. That’s what I want to see.”
Yue Chenqing was on the verge of another breakdown. Jiang Yexue
took in his horrified expression, and his delight grew. “This wish of mine
has been the same since before the demonic qi infected me. I only desired
him to say he wants me of his own free will. I wouldn’t touch him if he
didn’t say it. But of course, I had to keep him near me; no one else could be
allowed to look or get close to him… To this end, I cast a black magic spell.
If he grew too close to anyone, the poison in him would transfer to them. I
forbade him from speaking of this—if he did, he’d lose his mind and be
reduced to a beast of lust whose sole desire was to submit to me.” Jiang
Yexue sneered. “So you see, if I couldn’t have him, at least there would be
no other annoyances around him. I was willing to wait. Ten years, twenty
years. I could let him resist forever, never bending to my will. But I would
never let other people vie for his affection. Especially not you.”
“You… You’re insane!” Yue Chenqing cried.
“So?” Jiang Yexue replied calmly. “I grew sick long ago of being a
gentleman, and there’s nothing wrong with being insane. There’s no need to
be so dramatic—there are plenty of hair-raising truths in this world. For
instance, did you know that His Imperial Majesty has known for ages that
I’ve hurt people with demonic qi, and even whole-heartedly supported me
in doing so?”
 Chapter 174:
Imperial Promises Are Most Unfathomable

H IS IMPERIAL MAJESTY?!

Jiang Yexue had made this revelation without any particular emotion,
but the words fell like a boulder into the sea, sending up thunderous waves.
“H-how could that be…?” Yue Chenqing sputtered, terrified.
Mo Xi wasn’t as naive as Yue Chenqing, but it was precisely because
of this that a penetrating cold enveloped him. The emperor’s face was too
often shadowed within the depths of his fur hood, pale as bone, mouth
habitually curved in that faint, enigmatic smile. There was at times a
semblance of kindliness within his eyes, but he seemed to be a man of
thousands of masks. His earnestness looked so real—as did his heroics, his
hatred, his devastation and sorrow. Mo Xi had seen many of his faces. The
emperor’s emotions were painted as flawlessly as any actor’s stage makeup.
Mo Xi had never known for sure which face represented the emperor’s true
self, or which emotions were his real feelings. Although the revelation that
the emperor supported Jiang Yexue’s use of demonic qi sent a shiver down
Mo Xi’s spine, he found that he wasn’t the slightest bit surprised.
Chonghua’s emperor was a madman. This he’d known for a very long
time.
Eyes on Yue Chenqing, Jiang Yexue continued. “Each day I watched
as you grew up, watched as you began to cling incessantly to Chuyi. Even
when he rebuffed you, you were undeterred. You were like a slug, I thought.
A slimy little pest. Since you were little, anything you took a fancy to was
something I would lose. I despised you more and more as time went on.”
Jiang Yexue paused, his narrow eyes flashing. “Eventually, my patience ran
out. I decided to cast a black magic spell on you.”
Yue Chenqing flinched in alarm.
“Don’t act so shocked. Honestly, I would have liked to kill you
outright, but Chuyi would inevitably be upset if you died,” Jiang Yexue
mused. “I cherished him, so I let you keep your stupid life. But I would
curse you—turn you into a mindless idiot and stop you from tagging along
after Chuyi.
“And I was so close to succeeding. The spell made it into your heart.
Another two hours and you would’ve been beyond saving.” His expression
darkened. “Unfortunately, that day…a guest stopped by the manor at
precisely the wrong time. He happened to notice the strange state you were
in, and like the busybody he was, he brought you to Shennong Terrace for
treatment.”
“Who…was it?” asked Yue Chenqing.
“Who else?” Jiang Yexue’s lip curled in disgust. “Of course it was
my dear friend, that faithful hero who still struggles to accept his fate even
after being stained to the core by black magic qi—our very own General
Gu.”
Mo Xi’s heart skipped a beat.
At this point, Jiang Yexue turned his attention to Mo Xi, who could
neither move nor speak. “Truly, I loathed him so much,” he hissed. “After
that, the more he wished to keep someone safe, the more I yearned to hurt
them. The more he cared for something, the more I wished to destroy it.
Xihe-jun, did you think I didn’t know what you would see after I repaired
those jade scrolls? Did you think I fixed them because I wanted to help
you?”
Jiang Yexue scoffed. “I merely wanted you to suffer, to push Gu
Mang deeper into the mire of black magic! Who asked him to ruin my plans
and destroy my success? He almost exposed my plot right under the late
emperor’s nose! Why shouldn’t I hate him!”
Mo Xi stared, unable to say a word.
“It was him! He meddled and sent Yue Chenqing to Shennong
Terrace. He let the healers discover the black magic energy inside Yue
Chenqing, then reported this news to the throne.” Jiang Yexue clicked his
tongue. “It was a close call. If the late emperor found out I was cultivating
black magic curses, my death would have been assured. Fortunately, the
late emperor wasn’t in the capital. He, Yue Juntian, and all the other nobles
had gone to the Soul-Calling Abyss for the memorial ceremony, so the case
landed in the hands of the crown prince at the time—that is to say, His
Imperial Majesty.”
Jiang Yexue paused. “I must say, our current emperor is a capable
man. He quickly identified me and interrogated me with the Draught of
Confession. Back then, I thought everything was over. Who could’ve
known it was only the beginning?”
His eyes gleamed. “When the crown prince found I could refine
demonic medicines, not only did he not expose me, he took me under his
wing and made me a promise.”
“What promise?” Yue Chenqing asked.
“He wanted me to use my demonic qi to conduct the experiments he
needed,” Jiang Yexue answered. “In exchange, he hid my affliction from
the court and promised me that, in due time, he would help me seize my
rightful position and install me as head of the Yue Clan.”
Met with Yue Chenqing’s stunned silence, Jiang Yexue continued,
“For years, he and I studied black magic items and forbidden techniques.”
Jiang Yexue swept his sleeves back. “I glimpsed many of the empire’s
darkest secrets—I knew Gu Mang was a spy; I’ve known it for ages. I was
the advisor behind nearly all of His Imperial Majesty’s unspeakable
schemes.”
Jiang Yexue turned to Mo Xi with an insincere smile. “That’s right—
here’s another interesting fact. Do you know, the Zhenlong chess piece in
Lu Zhanxing wasn’t planted in him by the Liao Kingdom at all.” He
grinned in satisfaction, as if savoring Mo Xi’s astonishment. “It was my
chess piece, and His Imperial Majesty’s idea.”
After a few moments of stillness, Mo Xi felt violent dread and
disgust surge in his chest. As he’d listened until now, he’d felt mostly a vast
disappointment—but as these words sank in, all the color drained from his
face. He felt as though he might vomit.
The sovereign’s grand speech atop the Golden Terrace. His grieving
words within Zhuque Hall.
General Gu, you and your army are our most precious treasures.
Do you think framing loyal subjects is something that brings us ease?
 Fireball, we don’t have a heart of stone. It’s only that sitting on high
is like being held in a cage.
When have we been able to feel at ease?
In his memories, the emperor’s mournful and dignified face distorted
and changed, becoming an evil demon’s mien.
Every word of it had been a lie.
“His Imperial Majesty had always planned to send someone to the
Liao Kingdom to collect more black magic techniques,” Jiang Yexue said
mildly. “At the same time, he felt Gu Mang’s influence should be excised as
soon as possible. The poison in Lu Zhanxing, the defeat at Phoenix Cry
Mountain, the pact on the Golden Terrace—His Imperial Majesty planned
each step with care, precisely to strip Gu Mang of his wings, to turn him
into a puppet dancing on the emperor’s strings. In the end, he succeeded.”
Jiang Yexue laughed coldly again, as if mocking Gu Mang for his
naivete, yet at the same time ridiculing himself. “Who isn’t a pawn on His
Imperial Majesty’s board? I’m no exception. I just saw through it, that’s all.
And that fiancée of mine, Qin Mujin… She’d been less than pleased at the
prospect of marrying the son of a concubine without rank or status. After
His Imperial Majesty took me under his wing, she gradually warmed to the
idea. Later, after her family committed the major crime of counterfeiting
money, she clung even more tightly to me, desperate and alone as she was.”
His features were etched with disdain. “Of course I understood what
was really going on. His Imperial Majesty didn’t know of my feelings
toward Murong Chuyi and thought I had some affection for Qin Mujin. He
planted that woman to keep an eye on me. That much was clear to me, but I
still wanted the emperor to help me take back the Yue Clan. It wouldn’t do
to offend him, so I played along. In spite of Yue Juntian’s opposition, I
persevered in marrying her.”
The faint curve of his mouth was crooked with mockery. “This was
the outcome His Imperial Majesty wanted. As long as my wife was
someone he’d put in place, the Yue Clan would remain under his thumb
after I became its master; this was his plan all along. Ah, but
unfortunately…Qin Mujin disappointed him. She died in our first battle
with the Liao Kingdom.”
 Everyone had said Jiang Yexue and his wife were deeply in love, yet
it turned out to be nothing more than a facade. Their love was an act, their
wedding a performance, and only her death brought him any joy.
“Our emperor is suspicious by nature; of course he thought she died
in battle because I’d discovered his intentions and killed her off on
purpose.” Jiang Yexue paused, his features ugly with contempt and
madness. “It was truly hilarious. Could he really blame me for that
woman’s uselessness? Even so, His Imperial Majesty lost faith in me.
Shortly after, Gu Mang successfully infiltrated the Liao Kingdom’s inner
circle, becoming his most promising lead for black magic techniques. He
began gradually to push me out of his clique, dragging his feet when it
came time to give me the power over the Yue Clan he’d promised.”
Jiang Yexue continued in a distant, forbidding tone. “After I injured
my legs in battle and became disabled, he treated me coldly. When I asked
him when he would make good on his promise, he’d impatiently brush me
off, like he had more important things to worry about.”
He sneered. “It was lucky Yue Juntian taught me the meaning of
‘callous and unfeeling’ so well. When bargaining with a tiger for its pelt,
one of course prepares for all contingencies. I knew he was liable to go
back on his word after getting what he wanted, and that he might silence me
when I was no longer useful. So one day, I told him I’d set up more than a
hundred magical implements. If I died as a victim of one of his schemes,
these implements would be triggered…” Jiang Yexue licked his lips,
ravenous as any predator. “And reveal all of his dark and dirty secrets to the
whole of Chonghua.”
Jiang Yexue chuckled, reveling in his triumph. “He panicked, then.
He put on another show for me, trying to talk me out of it by promising the
Yue Clan would be mine, I just needed to wait a little longer. He even went
personally to the cultivation academy to organize better quarters for me.”
His smile faded, leaving darkness behind. “Too little, too late,” he
sneered. “Why would I trust him again? The man on the throne was too
scared to mess with me, and I wasn’t on his side any longer. But we had
each other’s secrets in our grasp. Neither of us spoke of what we knew, but
it was only to leave each other some measure of dignity. I understand what
drives every one of his actions—including why he so badly wanted that
wisp of the Demonblood Beast’s soul.”
Mo Xi felt another wave of disgust. The wisp of the Demonblood
Beast’s soul…? His ears pounded dully. He was bitterly disappointed—Gu
Mang had risked his life to bring back that remnant soul, all to stop the Liao
Kingdom from reawakening the beast. Could it be that the emperor wanted
it for…
Jiang Yexue anticipated his question. “Of course His Imperial
Majesty didn’t lie to you. If the Liao Kingdom obtained the final wisp of
the Demonblood Beast’s soul, war would break out immediately, and
Chonghua would be done for. He didn’t seize that remnant for peace across
the Nine Provinces, though, but for his own eternal supremacy. His Imperial
Majesty isn’t content with mediocrity, and he doesn’t fear battle. You two
should’ve come up with some way to seal the soul yourselves instead of
handing it over to him.”
His laugh was cutting. “I’m afraid the war Gu Mang hoped to prevent
has in fact been expedited. You’ll see—soon, the Liao Kingdom will start a
never-ending war with Chonghua over that wisp of soul. And our
emperor…without a doubt, he’ll meet their attack with your blood and
lives, and wage the war he’s been yearning for. He’ll achieve the glory he’s
always sought.”
Jiang Yexue’s aura now was both crisply elegant and utterly
terrifying. “Once he acquired his new lackey Gu Mang, there was no one to
help me anymore, whether with healing my legs or seizing my position.”
Yue Chenqing’s face was stained with tears and blood. “Heal your
legs?” he mumbled in confusion before realization set in. “So you took in
little Lan-er not to care for her, but because you wanted her spiritual
core…”
“Of course,” Jiang Yexue readily agreed. “Within her own body, her
spiritual core only posed a risk to her. Now that I’ve taken it, her core
provides me spiritual energy and powers the supports I’ve inlaid into my
legs. What’s wrong with that?”
“You…turned her into a puppet, just so you could heal… You plotted
this whole disaster in Huntian Cave, just to take the Yue Clan… You killed
so many people…” In his rage, tears brimmed in Yue Chenqing’s bloodshot
eyes. “Jiang Yexue! After this, who would ever acknowledge you?! Who
could ever stand the sight of you?!”
Jiang Yexue chuckled. “Are you a pig? Once we leave this cave, who
will know it was I who killed all these people? I merely used my demonic
energy to activate the seed I planted in Chuyi’s heart. Even if they send a
hundred coroners, the result of their investigations will be the same—all of
them died at Murong Chuyi’s hand.”
Yue Chenqing cried out, hoarse with desperation, “You want to ruin
his reputation as well?! You want him to take the blame for you?!”
“What reputation does he have to lose?” Jiang Yexue replied blithely.
“And as for the blame…there’s no need for that. It’s easy enough to
threaten His Imperial Majesty and have Chuyi secreted out of the prison.
Murong Chuyi will disappear from the world. I’ll lock him up in the depths
of Yue Manor. He’ll belong to me, but his life will be in no danger. Don’t
worry. Even if I kill all of Yue Manor, I’ll still spare him.”
A blade of brilliant light coalesced in Jiang Yexue’s hand. He slowly
raised the tip of the summoned sword to Yue Chenqing’s throat.
“Yue Chenqing, I’ve given you twenty extra years on this earth—I’ve
done my duty as your brother.” Jiang Yexue smiled. “Don’t blame me
beneath the Nine Springs.”
He swung, the blade of his sword whistling downward.
 Chapter 175:
If That Year Could’ve Been Eternal

I N THAT INSTANT, ablue-green blur flashed across Jiang Yexue’s

vision. He withdrew his blade and leapt back, his graceful brows drawn low
in a rictus of fury. “A bamboo warrior?!”
Indeed, it was one of Murong Chuyi’s bamboo warriors that had
blocked his strike. The blue-green puppet wielded a scimitar and made
wordless bellowing noises as it shielded Yue Chenqing.
Jiang Yexue whirled in surprise, expecting Murong Chuyi had
awoken, only to find the man still lying insensate in a puddle of his own
blood. Chill realization washed over him. It was Yue Chenqing—Yue
Chenqing had been faking his terror.
When they’d fought the sword demon Li Qingqian so long ago, Yue
Chenqing had summoned the protection of a bamboo warrior with a
terrified shriek. Murong Chuyi was their master, but if he fell unconscious,
they obeyed Yue Chenqing’s orders in his stead. While listening to Jiang
Yexue talk, Yue Chenqing had stealthily summoned all of the bamboo
warriors wandering aimlessly through the cave.
Jiang Yexue swung his gaze back to Yue Chenqing. Despite his
anguish, the vacant expression Yue Chenqing had previously worn was
gone. Jiang Yexue ground his teeth. “Yue Chenqing… I underestimated
you!”
Yue Chenqing coughed up a mouthful of blood, then looked up,
panting. “I already told you. I’m the head of the Yue Clan now. How could
I…” Bloody spittle stained his teeth scarlet. “How could I…allow you to
commit such evil deeds…inside Huntian Cave!” He cried out, “All of you,
strike!”
At his order, dozens of bamboo warriors swarmed out from the large
boulder they’d gathered behind, charging toward Jiang Yexue like a great
tide. Shrill howls burst from their wooden mouths as they struck to kill.
 While these formidable automatons embroiled Jiang Yexue in battle,
Yue Chenqing struggled free of the bindings on the wheelchair. Rising
shakily to his feet, he stumbled over to Mo Xi. “Xihe-jun… I’m sorry…” he
said. “We’ve dragged you into these Yue Clan matters.”
Mo Xi, paralyzed by demonic poison, could not respond.
Yue Chenqing’s black eyes were wet. He sagged with exhaustion, but
his gaze glimmered with steely resolve. “But…I will not… I will never…let
you and Fourth Uncle be wronged and wounded in vain…”
He turned and willed his wounded body toward the blood pool, step
by painstaking step.
A shudder rippled through Mo Xi. Was Yue Chenqing planning to
make blood sacrifice to the resentful spirits in exchange for Jiang Yexue’s
life?!
Jiang Yexue had also guessed Yue Chenqing’s goal. He swore, the
saber in his hand suddenly blazing with golden light. With one violent
swing, half of the bamboo warriors surging toward him like a massive wave
were blown to smithereens.
A golden chain swept outward, flying straight at Yue Chenqing’s
legs. But though Yue Chenqing was weakened, he had fought with Mo Xi
on the frontier for two years. He wasn’t as feeble and useless as his brother
assumed. Enduring the pain of his wounds, he dove to the side, dodging the
chain.
Yue Chenqing was breathless, his eyes blurred with tears, his hatred
mixed with countless other emotions. “Jiang Yexue, I’ve never liked
arguing or fighting, and I really hate competing over things… If you wanted
me to return what I’d taken from you, why didn’t you just say so!”
“Oh, now you graciously want to step down?” Jiang Yexue scoffed.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Yue Chenqing, all the power in the world is taken by
force—even the emperor’s throne.”
“But did you have to kill so many people just for this? Can you really
live with yourself if you stand on a mountain of corpses to reach the top of
the Yue Clan?”
 “Why not?” Jiang Yexue burst into sinister laughter. “I’m done
struggling with my conscience like a fool. Never mind the people in
Huntian Cave today—even if my path were paved with the bodies of all the
cultivators in the Nine Provinces, I wouldn’t feel the slightest twinge of
discomfort.”
Yue Chenqing looked back at him through weary scarlet eyes, as
though he could hardly bear to speak to him a moment longer. “You will not
succeed,” he said weakly. “You’ll never get what you want, whether it’s the
Yue Clan or Fourth Uncle.”
With that, he leapt toward the blood pool, ready to sacrifice his soul.
In that flickering instant, a golden chain snaked tightly around Yue
Chenqing’s waist. Yue Chenqing jerked around—
Little Lan-er held the other end of the chain, looking at him with an
expression of utmost apathy. When Jiang Yexue had missed his target
seconds ago, he’d transferred the chain’s spiritual energy to his puppet Lan-
er, who was standing behind Yue Chenqing. She had struck in the moment
Yue Chenqing’s guard was down, immobilizing him.
Seizing his chance, Jiang Yexue threw off the bamboo warriors
besieging him. This elegant, refined man strolled out of the cloud of
bamboo shards and smoke, menace scrawled upon his features. He stepped
up to Yue Chenqing and grabbed him by the neck.
“Yue Chenqing, you seem to be in a rush to die, and I’d like nothing
more than to send you on your way.” As Jiang Yexue tightened his grip,
Yue Chenqing flushed crimson, unable to get a word out. “But there’s no
need for you to jump into the blood pool,” he continued. “Don’t even think
of using your soul to bargain with the monsters in there and ruining my
plans!”
The unruly spiritual core he’d seized from little Lan-er filled his body
with a scintillating flame. “And please don’t call yourself the master of the
Yue Clan—that’s all too laughable. The resentful spirits in Huntian Cave
will never listen to you. You just damaged your own spiritual core like an
idiot; you’re an invalid. You’ll never be able to become the head of the Yue
Clan as you are. And the next in line…is me.”
 He raised a hand and sent a beam of spiritual energy spearing toward
Yue Chenqing’s heart. Yue Chenqing vomited a mouthful of coppery blood.
That hissing spiritual power had shattered his already fragile spiritual core
to dust.
Jiang Yexue’s eyes glinted like those of a vulture ready to dine on a
fresh kill. He seemed bent on seeing Yue Chenqing as helpless and
desperate as possible. After ruining his spiritual core, Jiang Yexue reached
up and bellowed, “Hear and obey!”
His voice echoed through Huntian Cave, followed by innumerable
screams. The resentful spirits and demons who had been directionless
recognized their new master. They threw their heads back and opened their
mouths, emitting earth-shaking howls. The blood pool roiled with crashing
scarlet waves as the evil spirits that hadn’t yet breached the water stirred
and shrieked within.
Jiang Yexue laughed, his smile a malevolent twist. “Yue Chenqing,
do you understand now who the real master of the Yue Clan is?” he asked,
dripping scorn. “You’ll never command them, because you aren’t worthy!”
“If he’s not worthy,” said a cold voice. “Then what about me?”
Jiang Yexue jumped in surprise, his face still a mask of mad
arrogance. He whipped around in recognition. “Chuyi?!”
At some point, Murong Chuyi had regained consciousness. Pressing a
hand over his wounds, he struggled upright from that puddle of blood, a
wretched sight. Although he had lost his usual bearing of an immortal in
fluttering white, his unsettling air of calm hadn’t lessened in the slightest.
His face was bone-white from blood loss, but his expression somehow
seemed more peaceful than usual. Murong Chuyi looked at Jiang Yexue
coolly. “Yue Yexue, would I be worthy?”
Both were born of concubines: Jiang Yexue’s mother was Madam
Xie, and Murong Chuyi’s mother was Miss Chu. Yue Chenqing was the
trueborn son, birthed to the first wife Murong Huang. When Yue Chenqing
lost the ability to control the resentful spirits of the blood pool, Murong
Chuyi and Jiang Yexue had become equal.
Murong Chuyi ignited that same blinding spiritual flame, its light
setting his sharp phoenix eyes ablaze. He shouted, voice steady, “Hear and
obey!”
Those resentful spirits surged restlessly again, and the demons that
had just obeyed Jiang Yexue turned at the sound of Murong Chuyi’s new
order, pressing toward Jiang Yexue and little Lan-er.
A look of shock came over Jiang Yexue’s face, but he held onto his
composure. “Chuyi, you know you’re no match for me,” he said, narrowing
his eyes.
Murong Chuyi didn’t answer, funneling all his spiritual energy into
those blood spirits.
“What are you playing at?” Jiang Yexue scoffed. “You’re no match
for me in spiritual energy. I can take control of your mind again, you—”
“Rise!” Murong Chuyi commanded sharply.
The throng of resentful spirits threw themselves howling at Jiang
Yexue, who swept back his sleeves and unleashed a torrent of his own
spiritual energy to pull these evil spirits back under control.
He heard Murong Chuyi laugh grimly. “Yue Yexue, you’re correct.
You steal spiritual energy and destroy spiritual cores; you feed people
poison and control their minds. Indeed, I’m no match for you; I’m weaker
by far.”
Jiang Yexue watched him uncertainly.
“I grew so very tired of being your puppet, but I endured it to protect
Yue Chenqing. I persevered, no matter how loathsome I found it to be.” He
hesitated. “To tell you the truth, I’ve had enough. I don’t care about the Yue
Clan anymore.”
Hearing him capitulate, Jiang Yexue seemed to relax minutely. He
took a step forward. “Chuyi, if you don’t interfere today, then, on your
behalf, I could still…”
But Murong Chuyi merely regarded him stonily. “Jiang Yexue,
there’s no need to negotiate with me. Don’t think you’ll ever control me
again.”
Jiang Yexue froze in place.
 Murong Chuyi’s expression seemed to take on a hint of relief, like a
sigh. “It’s been more than twenty years,” he said softly. “It’s time for what’s
between us to come to an end.”
Realization dawned upon Jiang Yexue. Rushing forward, he cried out
in panic, “Chuyi—!”
But it was too late; there was only the sound of cloth rippling in the
wind. Jiang Yexue clutched empty air as the corner of Murong Chuyi’s pale
sleeves slipped through his fingertips. Those bloodstained white robes
fluttered down and away, plunging into the bubbling mass of the blood
pool.
It was deathly silent. For a moment, none of them—not Yue
Chenqing, Jiang Yexue, or even Mo Xi—felt what they’d seen was real.
Murong Chuyi had moved so decisively, as in everything he’d ever
done. The instant he committed to something, he always acted without
wasting breath on words. He would never draw out his farewells or explain
anything to anyone. Or perhaps he knew Jiang Yexue could easily take
control of his body again, so he wouldn’t allow him any such chance.
Murong Chuyi had always been merciless, even to himself.
For one moment, Mo Xi thought that he might see Murong Chuyi
soar out of the pool on Zhaoxue, landing upon the shore like an immortal
cast down to earth. As when he had attacked the sword demon Li Qingqian,
looking thoroughly unconcerned yet completely confident in his victory.
But he didn’t. The blood pool boiled, but only a massive scarlet wave
swelled on its surface, coalescing into the distorted shapes of evil spirits
screaming as they shot toward Jiang Yexue.
Yue Chenqing finally found his voice: “Fourth Uncle!” he screamed,
voice breaking. “Don’t—!”
As for Jiang Yexue, he stood rooted to the spot, his eyes wide, his
face distorted with rage. He lifted a hand. He could’ve stopped the ghosts’
attack in that moment, but the image of Murong Chuyi swallowed by the
blood pool still danced before his eyes. Murong Chuyi’s last words still
seemed to echo in his ears, as if in a dream.
In his schemes, he’d prepared for everyone’s death; he was willing to
use anyone’s life as a bargaining chip. But he’d never accounted for
Murong Chuyi’s. He stood rooted to the spot without fully knowing why.
Before he could question himself, before he could name what he was
feeling, the blood pool’s ferocious wave crashed down upon him without
mercy. All he saw was drenched in scarlet.
“Do you…” Jiang Yexue murmured senselessly, his voice quavering.
“Do you really…hate me so much?”
No one answered. The crimson filling his vision was not unlike that
old plum tree from many years ago, blooming a splendid red against the
whitewashed wall…
Back then, he had been young and righteous, unsullied and innocent.
He’d walked over, umbrella held aloft, toward that youth’s back. Smiling,
he’d asked gently, “Which family do you belong to? What brings you out
here without an umbrella in such heavy snow?”
When Murong Chuyi turned, his eyes held neither hatred nor the
disappointment and sorrow that came later. He only regarded him quietly.
But this recollection differed from their first meeting. Dazed, he saw
Murong Chuyi smile back at him. Against the backdrop of falling snow and
plum blossoms, that youth said to him: “Nice to meet you. My name is
Murong Chuyi.”
An ache pierced Jiang Yexue’s heart, the pain of two decades
stabbing through his chest. In the first half of his life, he’d lived strictly by
the principles of morality. The world hadn’t been fair to him, but Murong
Chuyi, at least, had trusted and defended him. In the second half, he’d
stained his hands with blood and come up with a thousand plots and
schemes. Just as he stood to reclaim his power, he found the same man
standing before him, blocking his way.
Murong Chuyi had once protected him. When everyone distanced
themselves from him, when all his old friends avoided him, it was Murong
Chuyi who gave him a place to stay; he gave him recognition,
encouragement, and a home. Perhaps Murong Chuyi didn’t truly hate him.
Rather, the Jiang Yexue whom Murong Chuyi respected had died by his
own hand the moment he had stumbled down that demonic path.
In his last moments, he heard Yue Chenqing’s heartrending sobs and
an agonized howl. “Fourth Uncle—!”
 He’s your fourth uncle? Jiang Yexue thought. At the beginning of this
story, he belonged to me alone… If only time had stopped for us in that
year, on that day, beneath that old plum blossom tree. How nice that would
have been.
“Fourth Uncle… F-Fourth Uncle!”
The blood tide retreated, taking the broken bamboo warriors with it,
along with the resentful spirits that had leapt out of the pool. The flood of
evil spirits had devoured Jiang Yexue.
Little Lan-er lay crumpled on the ground, unconscious. Yue
Chenqing had fallen to his knees, crawling pathetically toward the pool. His
face was a wash of tears, and he was sobbing piteously. “Fourth Uncle…
No… No, don’t go…” he cried incoherently. “I’ll never get angry with you
again…” he wailed. “Please… I’m begging…”
As if answering his plea, a beam of gentle white light glowed to life
within the abyssal pool.
Yue Chenqing’s head snapped up, his pupils contracting to pinpricks.
He trembled all over, his lips white and bloodless. He was so harrowed and
yet so hopeful, trailing blood over the ground as he dragged himself to the
edge of the pool. “Fourth Uncle…”
It was indeed Murong Chuyi, floating out of the blood pool. He had
offered up his souls, and was running out of spiritual energy and time. His
pristine white figure turned insubstantial as they watched.
Just as before, when Yue Chenqing had gotten into trouble and his
uncle had swooped in to save him, Murong Chuyi’s silk ribbons fluttered
and his sleeves billowed. He was haloed by Zhaoxue’s glow as he alighted
like an immortal coming to earth.
Murong Chuyi had always come to his rescue with an air of great
impatience. He never looked directly at Yue Chenqing, and hardly deigned
to talk with him. But now, Murong Chuyi was freed of Jiang Yexue’s black
magic curse. He no longer had to worry that showing affection might infect
someone with demonic qi. He could finally do what Yue Chenqing had
always yearned he would: look down with a soft smile, raise a softly
glowing hand, and gently place it atop Yue Chenqing’s head.
Yue Chenqing wept in silence, his tears falling like rain.
 “You’ve done very well, Yue Chenqing.” Murong Chuyi’s voice was
light as smoke, echoing through the wreckage of Huntian Cave.
“Unfortunately, your fourth uncle never properly spent time with you,
taught you, or cared for you.”
“That’s not true… That’s not true! You treated me well—so well! I’m
the one who let you down, it was me… Fourth Uncle, don’t go! Let me go
instead, let me…”
“What are you talking about?” Murong Chuyi extended two fingers
and gently touched them to Yue Chenqing’s forehead. “You’re young yet,
with a long road ahead of you. This is the last time I can come to your
rescue. In the future, you must be diligent and work hard. Remember,
you’re not only Murong Huang’s son.” After a pause, he spoke in a gentle
voice. “You’re also my nephew, Yue Chenqing.”
Murong Chuyi turned and approached Mo Xi. Placing his hand over
Mo Xi’s heart, he sent the last bit of energy from his soul to dispel that
stubborn demonic poison.
Mo Xi coughed out a mouthful of blood as his limbs regained feeling.
“Murong…” he rasped.
Murong Chuyi shook his head. “You haven’t told Gu Mang I’m his
gege yet, have you?” he asked softly.
Mo Xi couldn’t reply.
“Please don’t ever tell him,” Murong Chuyi said gently. “I’m sorry,
Xihe-jun.”
He drew his hand away from Mo Xi’s chest. His figure had paled
almost to nothingness, a quickly fading mirage.
“Everyone’s lives are ruled by fate. It seems Gu Mang and I were
never fated to be. I won’t be able to honor our agreement for tomorrow. I
ask you to tell him… Tell him to take care.”
That last glow gradually faded; only Murong Chuyi’s voice remained
in the cave, soft with a gentleness no one had ever heard.
“Please don’t wait for me…”
 Chapter 176:
Murong Chuyi

G U MANG SAT BESIDE the window in the inn.

He’d been awake some time now. When he saw Mo Xi had left a
barrier, he knew he must’ve gone out to take care of something. So he
wasn’t anxious at all. He sat obediently at the window and waited for Mo
Xi to return.
After all the torment he had endured, his senses and emotions had
become sluggish. It was rare now that he felt anything vividly; his joy, rage,
sorrow, and delight had faded, as though rinsed with water. But as he
watched the horizon pale like the white belly of a fish, he remembered that
this dawn would mark the day his gege had promised to meet him, that he
would soon have a brother and a family, and a smile stole across his face.
Propping his elbows on the windowsill, he gazed with anticipation at the
rosy clouds as the morning sun peered over the edge of the world.
After a moment of thoughtful hesitation, he stood and fetched the
white robes Mo Xi had bought him. Given his clumsiness, he worried he
might dirty these clean clothes and had been afraid to wear them, though he
liked them very much. But today, he was going to see his big brother, so
things were different.
When Mo Xi returned, the sky had not yet grown bright, caught on
the very cusp of dawn. He pushed open the door and caught a glimpse of
the man standing by the window—an upright and slender figure with a jade
clasp in his hair, robes pristine as snow brushing the ground. His heart
skipped a beat; in that dazzling instant, he wished everything that had
transpired at Huntian Cave had been a dream, that the person leaning
against the windowsill was Murong Chuyi, that Murong Chuyi had come as
he said he would.
But it wasn’t so. Slowly, his vision cleared; the man who looked back
at him from across the room was Gu Mang in his new clothes, waiting
quietly, docilely, eagerly for his brother to arrive.
 “Mo Xi?” Upon seeing that Mo Xi had come back, Gu Mang was
happy at first. But he became confused when he noticed the splotches of
blood on Mo Xi’s clothes. “What happened to you?” He walked to Mo Xi.
Mo Xi didn’t reply; he couldn’t reply.
Only three people had walked out of Huntian Cave. Little Lan-er had
been sent to a healer’s hall for emergency treatment, and both Mo Xi and
Yue Chenqing could barely speak. Yue Chenqing had alternated between
whimpers and sobs, then sat blankly by the blood pool. He was running
through a hundred interactions he’d had with Murong Chuyi in the past,
thinking about how he’d taken Jiang Yexue at his word and pushed his
lonely fourth uncle deeper into a freezing abyss.
Murong Chuyi left no personal effects behind; the closest things were
the dilapidated bamboo warriors scattered throughout Huntian Cave. All of
them obeyed Yue Chenqing’s commands now; they had lost the master who
carved them into being. But when Mo Xi accidentally touched one, it
shrank to a size small enough to fit into his palm. It lay quietly on the
ground, as if it had completed the last mission with which its master had
entrusted it, and was now waiting for Mo Xi to bring it home.
Mo Xi produced that little bamboo warrior and pressed it into Gu
Mang’s hand. Gu Mang blinked in astonishment. But he was not stupid,
only slow to react. He had always been good at understanding people, even
if the knowledge only brought him greater pain.
The room was terrifyingly silent. After a while, Gu Mang said
quietly, “He won’t be coming, will he?” A pause. “Does he…not like me?”
Mo Xi reached out and drew Gu Mang into his arms. Shoving down
his sorrow, he said, “No. He just has some personal business to take care of
and had to leave. He likes you very much, which is why he had me bring
this little bamboo figure to you. Once he sorts everything out, he’ll come
back.”
“How long will it take?”
“It might take…a very long time…”
Gu Mang was silent. At length, he asked softly, “Mo Xi, why are you
crying?”
 Why was he crying?
The upheaval in Huntian Cave had happened over the course of one
short day and night, but it had upended over a decade’s worth of events.
Jiang Yexue’s warmth and tenderness were false, his love for Qin Mujin
was false, Murong Chuyi’s heartlessness was false, everything that the
emperor had said to him was false.
It seemed Mo Xi had been living in a puzzle box of schemes. He
treated everyone with sincerity, yet he was greeted in turn with mask after
mask. He’d once thought everything he’d done for the nation was righteous,
that grace and grievance were cleanly divided; but after this final upheaval,
he understood once and for all that they’d all been no more than pawns on
the chessboard.
How ruthless had the current emperor been, that he plotted for Jiang
Yexue to lead Lu Zhanxing astray, to sacrifice the lives of seventy thousand
soldiers, all to ensure that Gu Mang had no choice but to obey him? Gu
Mang had lived for five years as a spy, enduring the weight of his bloody
crimes entirely alone. For that remnant of the Demonblood Beast’s soul,
he’d even lost his human mind and given up his opportunity to meet his
elder brother.
They had sacrificed so much in hopes that the war would cease, that
the Nine Provinces would be at peace. But in the end, which of their
accomplishments hadn’t merely served to sharpen the emperor’s blades?
Mo Xi felt an endless, bone-deep exhaustion.

After the catastrophe in Huntian Cave, Mo Xi couldn’t stay in Lin’an

with Gu Mang to look for that reclusive grandmaster. News of the tragedy
that had befallen the Yue Clan spread like wildfire, blazing across
Chonghua. The entire nation was in shock.
Mo Xi and Gu Mang helped Yue Chenqing make the necessary
arrangements and traveled with him as he brought the bier back to the
capital. The funeral rites were an absurd pantomime. The imperial family
had to preserve their image; they wouldn’t carelessly reveal Yue Juntian’s
repulsive deeds. No walls in the world, however, were solid enough to stop
talk from spreading. Everyone soon knew the truth, and the mourning songs
seemed profoundly ridiculous.
Through the swaying white banners, beyond the dense crowd of
mourners, Mo Xi gazed up at the distant emperor solemnly pouring wine on
the memorial platform. His fingernails sank deep into his palms. What did
this person consider his subjects, his soldiers, his civilians to be?
The Yue Clan’s funeral procession was a quick affair. Yue Chenqing
had no heart for it, and more pressingly, the skirmishes between Chonghua
and the Liao Kingdom had grown frequent. As the emperor was performing
the memorial ceremony, members of the Bureau of Military Affairs were
waiting to report to him about the situation on the frontier.
The scent of smoke was strong on the wind.
Jiang Yexue was right; the conflict between Chonghua and the Liao
Kingdom hadn’t ended because they’d seized the remnant of the
Demonblood Beast’s soul. Instead, it had only become more volatile. The
funeral-goers fidgeted anxiously; even the handful of stubbornly optimistic
nobles recognized that they stood on the cusp of all-out war between
Chonghua and Liao.
“I heard the guoshi of the Liao Kingdom developed some new
techniques he used in the battles on the frontier. It’s an enchanted plague
that can infect an entire city with demonic qi in a handful of days.”
“Heavens above. What do we do now?”
“Ah, I don’t know either—I heard Sishu Terrace and Shennong
Terrace have been developing countermeasures, but I hope they can work
faster. The Liao Kingdom has been sending wave after wave of troops to
the border; I’m afraid a true battle will be next.” The speaker’s complexion
was gray with fright. “If there’s no way to defend against this demonic qi,
what soldier would dare stand against them? It’s the same as a death
sentence.”
“I’m not going to the front lines, no matter what…”
The crowd shuffled and whispered among themselves. With the Yue
Clan’s pain laid out before them, these old nobles were quietly discussing
how to save their own skins in the coming war. In the end, people would
always be more preoccupied with their own worries than the tragedies of
others.
Yue Chenqing had no interest in remaining at the burial grounds to
accept these insincere expressions of grief and instead returned to Yue
Manor. After all the deaths, it was terrifyingly empty. He wandered through
the corridors. Whenever his eye caught on something that reminded him of
the past, his heart ached fiercely, and his shoulders crumpled inward, as
though he was struggling to breathe. Each time, he had to sit down for a
spell before he could continue walking. He was a young man, but overnight
his joints seemed to have rusted over. Even striding through the halls of his
home was now a jerky and laborious endeavor.
When he reached the doors of Murong Chuyi’s artificing workshop,
he stared at it without seeing for a long time. This was one of the most
difficult places to enter in all of Chonghua, requiring both secret techniques
and mysterious incantations. But Yue Chenqing seemed to have had an
epiphany, or perhaps it was merely a wholehearted conviction. He raised a
hand and pressed it against a door. The little wooden guardian popped out
from its hidden compartment with a creak. “Who goes there?” it asked.
The voice was low and as melodic as the cracking of Kunlun jade.
Murong Chuyi’s voice.
The sound seemed to stab Yue Chenqing in the chest, the ache
stopping up any possible answer. He knew nothing of any secret techniques
or passwords; he slumped over, burying his face in his hands as he sobbed,
“Fourth Uncle.”
As his sobs turned into wails, that figurine watched him quietly. Yue
Chenqing curled into a ball outside the workshop as he cried, “Fourth
Uncle, I miss you…”
This was certainly not the correct incantation. Nevertheless, the
tightly shut workshop doors emitted a muffled rumble, and the double doors
opened outward with a groan. Yue Chenqing watched in near disbelief, then
slowly picked himself up and walked inside.
The workshop was a mess. The master of this room was a busy man,
and diagrams featuring every sort of mechanism and implement were
pinned over the walls. Many were mere ideas that Murong Chuyi hadn’t
gotten the chance to realize.
 Yue Chenqing looked through the drawings one by one. Murong
Chuyi’s reputation had been so poor that he was known as the Ignorance of
Chonghua’s three poisons. Yet the items Murong Chuyi had locked himself
into his artificing workshop to create were all things that could benefit
others. There were wooden mechanisms that could carry water, magical
implements that could ward off evil…
More sketches were piled up on his desk. Murong Chuyi had lived
under a curse that kept him at a distance from everyone; all the kindness he
felt toward the world had been poured into these heaps and stacks of
diagrams. He’d probably thought he’d live for a long time. Even if his
solitude was hard to endure, at least he’d have many years to turn these
ideas into reality.
Yue Chenqing rummaged through the items on the desk. There were
wooden bearings, a few round nails, and some delicate bamboo warrior
joints. Every time he picked up something, he looked at it carefully. When
he thought about why Murong Chuyi had made these things, his heart ached
fit to break. Greed, Wrath, Ignorance; Greed, Wrath, Ignorance; the most
heartless artificer—outside the confines of this room, people spoke only of
his infamy, while hidden within was his concern for the people.
The careful notes beneath each diagram made Yue Chenqing’s throat
close up and his eyes mist over. At times, he had to spend a long time
forcing down the pain in his heart before he could keep reading. He learned
that this wooden mechanism was to help elderly people, and that tool was to
protect children. He even found a stack of talismans mimicking the Yue
Clan’s Talismans of Indestructibility.
 Gripping that stack of papers, he suddenly realized that when the
sword demon Li Qingqian had wreaked havoc in Chonghua, and the poor
commoners couldn’t afford the Yue Clan’s protective spells, the one who
silently gave out talismans hadn’t been Jiang Yexue at all. It’d been…
Yue Chenqing held those yellowed papers, feeling as if he’d been
punched in the gut. He doubled over, dissolving into sobs of grief.
It’d been his fourth uncle.
He’d never been Greed, Wrath, or Ignorance; he was Virtue, Mind,
and Wisdom. The gentlest, most tolerant person, who endured everything
and kept his conscience clear even when forced to desperate straits… That
was his fourth uncle, Murong Chuyi.
“Fourth Uncle… Fourth Uncle…”
Yue Chenqing sobbed as if shattered, shutting himself up in this little
artificing room. The water clock dripped soundlessly away. The ink on the
inkstone hadn’t been washed clean, and a brush still lay askew next to the
white paper, as if Murong Chuyi had rushed out just a moment ago to take
care of something. The mechanisms and diagrams that filled this room—
those unfeeling inanimate objects—couldn’t know their owner was never
coming back.
 Chapter 177:
Murong Lian Attends the Banquet

T HE DAY AFTER the Yue Clan’s funeral, a massive creature with

wings dark as ink flew over the capital of Chonghua. To the frightened
citizens below, it looked like a falcon covered in the white fur of a beast
everywhere but its stormy feathered wings.
This mysterious chimera beat its enormous wings as it cut swiftly
through the clouds; even the fastest sword riders couldn’t catch it. After it
flew a circle above the capital, it dissolved into a gust of dark wind and
vanished. In its wake, a torrential rain fell over the capital for a full three
days, blurring the lines between night and day, dawn and dusk.
When it cleared, many in the city suddenly fell ill. The healers from
Shennong Terrace reached a terrifying conclusion: all those people had been
infected with demonic qi. Chonghua had never cultivated the demonic path
and had no practical experience in handling such dark diseases. Whatever
of the qi Shennong Terrace managed to cleanse away, it was nowhere near
enough. Too many people had taken ill, and many succumbed in agony
before receiving any treatment. The victims who didn’t die lost their minds.
Cultivators who’d encountered the Liao Kingdom guoshi’s nine-eyed
qin in battle conjectured the chimera was a demon released from one of the
qin’s nine eyes. Others said it must be a new demon beast the Liao
Kingdom had refined, capable of whipping up poisonous storms and
infecting everyone who touched the rainwater with demonic qi.
As these sorts of stories proliferated, fear gripped the nation of
Chonghua. The emperor’s face settled permanently in a worried frown. In
an unfortunate coincidence, neither Jiang Fuli nor Mengze were in the
capital. Jiang Fuli was still away on his travels, and Mengze had recently
been indisposed and was once again recovering in a hot spring outside the
capital. There were other healers in the city, but this unprecedented malady
had appeared with such swiftness that none were able to find a cure, despite
working themselves to the bone.
 Gu Mang, too, had been affected by the downpour, but he fought to
restrain himself and never lost control.
The tensions between Chonghua and the Liao Kingdom rose until
they reached a breaking point. Finally, the army the Liao Kingdom had
amassed at the border began to march. The route they took was treacherous,
the shortest and least orthodox path toward the imperial city.
Faced with an approaching enemy army, the court buzzed with
discussion. Some ministers argued they should rush to meet the Liao
Kingdom and make the first move, while others asserted they should take
the opportunity to strengthen the imperial city’s defenses. There were even
some who now lamented that the city had been built so close to the Liao
Kingdom, and suggested abandoning it and moving the capital. These
officials were as useless as bags of straw; that terrifying rain had soaked
through their soft insides, filling the air with the reek of spoiled silage. They
argued with great conviction:
“If that monster appears again and infects all our cultivators, how will
the battle be fought? Discretion is the better part of valor; as long as we
preserve our lives, there’s hope for the future.
“What if that chimera is the new Demonblood Beast they’ve refined?
If we engage it now, what chance is there of success? We must first develop
an antidote for this evil poison before we can meet the Liao Kingdom head-
on. Otherwise, we’ll be spending the lives of our soldiers for nothing.”
The whole assembly talked at the same time, none listening to their
fellows, as if countless heads had sprouted from one monstrous body and all
started barking at and biting each other. The racket gave the emperor a
splitting headache. But indeed he had no method at his disposal to address
the demonic qi. He could only write letter after letter to Jiang Fuli, urging
him to return from his travels posthaste.
On the eighth day after the rainfall, Medicine Master Jiang finally
received word and raced back to the capital. After three days in seclusion,
he at last created an antidote.
A report of victory came from Yonglan Pass the same day.
Chonghua’s troops had beaten back the Liao Kingdom’s vanguard, and the
Liao army had temporarily retreated north of the Huang River. The court
was much relieved. To celebrate the victory, distribute the antidote, and
discuss plans for meeting the next wave of attack, the emperor summoned
all the lords of the city to a feast in the throne room of the palace, where
they were to receive supplies of the medicine and consider the most
pressing matters of war.
Mo Xi would have vastly preferred to skip this feast, being beyond
disgusted with the emperor. Mindful of the nation’s state of unrest, beset by
internal and external threats, he hadn’t yet sought out his sovereign for a
reckoning. Furthermore, Gu Mang had been in very poor health. After the
massacre in Huntian Cave, their plans to seek the Soul-Summoning
grandmaster cultivator in Lin’an had been indefinitely delayed.
He worried over Gu Mang’s condition and didn’t feel safe entrusting
him to anyone else’s care, especially with Mengze away from the capital.
Mo Xi had heard she’d fallen ill shortly after he and Gu Mang had departed
themselves and had no choice but to recuperate in the hot springs. But as
Jiang Fuli would appear at the banquet and bring medicine that could stave
off the effects of demonic qi, Mo Xi eventually elected to attend and bring
Gu Mang along.
The mask Gu Mang donned for the occasion was stifling; he pushed
it up in the privacy of the carriage, exposing hazy blue eyes. Chin propped
in one hand, he gazed out at the flickering lights beyond the bamboo
curtain. His other hand fiddled with the little bamboo warrior Murong
Chuyi had left behind for him.
Gu Mang had two possessions that were most precious to him: this
bamboo warrior, and that brocade pouch of unknown origin. Mo Xi had
been wary of this brocade pouch since the first time he saw it at Luomei
Pavilion, but Gu Mang had never revealed where he’d gotten it, whether he
had his memories or not. When Mo Xi had pressed him, Gu Mang only
piteously said, “I can’t remember. I just know it’s very important.”
Every time Mo Xi saw Gu Mang’s chagrined expression, he found
himself unable to say anything else. As time went on, he grew less willing
to upset Gu Mang. He could only endure his own unease and avoid seeing
that brocade pouch so he would stop pointlessly sulking.
Eventually, Gu Mang noticed his moodiness and showed Mo Xi what
was inside the little pouch. It was nothing precious: just a single perfectly
white cowrie shell. Somebody had faintly inscribed the character for “fire”
on its top, a peak like a leaping flame with a stroke on either side.
“Did a fire-type cultivator give it to you?”
Gu Mang shook his head. “I really don’t remember,” he mumbled,
pouting as he slipped the cowrie shell back into the pouch, then tucked it
into his clothes. “I just like it very much. I can’t lose it.”
As for who had given it to Gu Mang to make him so fond of it, to
make him fiddle with it constantly like the bamboo warrior from Murong
Chuyi, that remained a mystery to this day.
When Mo Xi arrived, most of the noble families were already milling
about in the throne room, yet it seemed stubbornly cold and cheerless. Mo
Xi had attended many banquets in Chonghua, but rarely had he beheld a
sight as miserable as this one. There was no need to speak of Yue Manor, as
Yue Chenqing hadn’t shown himself at all. Princess Mengze’s seat was
vacant, and as for Wangshu Manor…
Mo Xi couldn’t describe what he felt as he looked at Murong Lian’s
empty seat. After what he had learned in Lin’an, he’d realized Murong
Lian, too, was Gu Mang’s elder brother, their blood relationship even closer
than that of Gu Mang and Murong Chuyi’s. But Murong Lian was a
different sort of creature from Murong Chuyi. He was like the ephemera he
smoked, dispersing into mist on the wind. No one knew precisely what he
was thinking. Murong Lian had tormented Gu Mang mercilessly since they
were little, even going so far as to toss him into Luomei Pavilion to be
abused when Gu Mang had first returned to the city. Sometimes, it seemed
the more miserably he beat Gu Mang down, the lower Gu Mang’s
circumstances were, the more comfortable Murong Lian felt. Yet he
couldn’t accept it when Gu Mang was truly in danger, and would take any
measure to save him.
Nobles were whispering all around them.
“Hey, have you heard? It sounds like Wangshu-jun’s close to kicking
the bucket.”
“Really? Didn’t His Imperial Majesty send Shennong Terrace’s best
cultivators to treat him? How is he still…”
 “He’s been hanging by a thread the whole time. His Imperial
Majesty’s done all he can.”
“Who’ll miss him apart from His Imperial Majesty? No one likes
him.”
The red-lacquered feast table, its sturdy legs engraved with
decorative clouds, was entirely empty of people. It suddenly occurred to Mo
Xi that, after Madam Zhao’s death, Murong Lian had no one close to him.
From the outside, he seemed to have many at his beck and call, but those
who lingered around him were all either servants who depended on him or
subordinates who feared him.
Still, Mo Xi couldn’t guess what Murong Lian thought of Gu Mang.
The emperor emerged from the back room with Jiang Fuli to mark
the commencement of the feast. The medicine master’s days of travel
seemed to have worn him into something more austere. Perhaps because of
the nation’s grave predicament, he appeared less arrogant and capricious
than usual as he stood quietly by the emperor. His green robes were long
and loose, his wide sleeves trailing down. With his eyes lowered, he gave
off a rare aura of steady reliability.
“We summoned all of you tonight, firstly to distribute our hard-won
antidote, and secondly because we expect you to devise some plan for
answering the enemy’s attack,” the emperor announced from his rounded
gilt-redwood chair. “As for the recommendations to retreat and avoid
battle…” The emperor looked up, his eyes flashing. “If anyone wishes to
suggest it tonight, they may save their breath.”
The faction of old subjects who had been advocating for peace all
shot silent, surreptitious looks at one other. Their discreet glances did not
escape the emperor’s notice. “If you have something to say, let’s have it,”
he sneered. “Your earlier reason for suggesting retreat was that the demonic
plague was hard to dispel. We found it reasonable then, but now that
Medicine Master Jiang has developed an antidote, you still want to turn tail
and run. Are you so craven?”
“Your Imperial Majesty,” one old noble replied falteringly, “Liao first
violated the armistice, then rashly used forbidden techniques attempting to
steal back the final wisp of their Demonblood Beast’s soul. In fact, perhaps
we should tamper with that fragment of Demonblood Beast’s soul and then
return it to them. They’d get what they wanted; they wouldn’t need to
threaten war. As for the Demonblood Beast, the Liao Kingdom would
struggle to restore it so soon if we ruin it. The conflict could be delayed
another eight or ten years—”
The emperor chuckled. “What use is eight or ten years?”
“Er, anything could happen in eight or ten years. Chonghua could
somehow disrupt Liao’s plans of reviving the Demonblood Beast, or study
the spirit beast diagrams Preceptor Chen left behind and create our own
beast to fight it. In short, this old subject believes Chonghua is currently in
a position of weakness and unsuited to this foolhardy venture of war. I beg
Your Imperial Majesty to reconsider.”
The emperor laughed loudly. “Yushu-jun, we think those eight or ten
years you covet are not about giving Chonghua time to prepare, but rather
for Your Elderliness to enjoy your retirement, right? At your age, you’ll be
gone in a decade. After you pass, why would you care what calamity awaits
this nation?”
He had jabbed Yushu-jun right in the heart. The old noble paled but
still insisted, “Your Imperial Majesty, as the heavens bear witness, this old
subject’s every word is loyal—”
The emperor was still smiling, but his eyes held no hint of mirth.
“Mn. Take him away.”
“Your Imperial Majesty—!”
The smile disappeared. The man on the throne looked terribly cold,
his entire body emanating an arctic iciness.
“We said, take him away.”
“Yes, Your Imperial Majesty!”
“Distribute the portion of Medicine Master Jiang’s antidote meant for
Yushu-jun’s manor to the others,” the emperor said indifferently. “If anyone
else would like to suggest retreat, then indeed, you may shed your armor
and go back to the fields. But we won’t be giving you any medicine in that
case; we will only safeguard the lives of those willing to fight for Chonghua
and its civilians. Those like Yushu-jun who are content to hide in a corner
and farm the land…” His eyes glinted with a sinister chill, his teeth clicking
lightly as he spoke: “Prepare to be left to your own devices.”
The medicine that could ensure one’s safety by dispelling demonic qi
was quite literally in the emperor’s hands. Those blathering nobles all shut
their mouths with a snap.
The emperor’s vulturelike eyes raked over the hall. He let out a
laugh. “If you were always like this, falling in line so obediently, there’d be
hope yet that Chonghua could conquer the Nine Provinces and bring peace
to the world.”
Mo Xi felt a surge of loathing upon hearing this. The emperor always
brought things back to the contentment of the people and the health and
safety of the commoners. And while Mo Xi had long since known that the
heart of the ruler was hardest to read—that it would be impossible for
everything His Imperial Majesty said to be true—he’d never anticipated this
level of falsehood. The emperor didn’t merely intend to understand black
magic; he lusted after it. The techniques Gu Mang had endured such
suffering to bring back were treasures the emperor had long been drooling
over. All his talk of a world at peace was a lie. It was merely a slogan, a flag
he waved to motivate heroes and loyal subjects. This man’s true intent was
to conquer the Nine Provinces.
No one else suggested retreat. The emperor instructed Jiang Fuli to
distribute the demon-dispelling medicine from its brocade box to each of
the masters of the noble residences. Gu Mang sat next to Mo Xi as they
waited, his blue eyes quietly tracking Jiang Fuli as he walked back and
forth.
“Why do you keep looking at him?”
“What’s he giving out?” asked Gu Mang. “Looks like everyone wants
it.”
“It’s medicine,” replied Mo Xi.
“Isn’t medicine bitter?” Gu Mang frowned. “Why are they all eager
to eat it… Will we have some, too?”
Mo Xi patted him on the head. “I’ll get you something sweet.”
 At Gu Mang’s happy nod, Mo Xi sighed inwardly and turned to
glance after Jiang Fuli, distributing medicine at the other side of the hall. He
planned to wait until the feast ended to catch Medicine Master Jiang alone.
Perhaps he of all people could think of some way to address Gu Mang’s
condition.
Jiang Fuli was speaking to Changfeng-jun. Little Lan-er had
remained unconscious after Huntian Cave. Jiang Yexue had taken her core
and turned her into a puppet; her tiny body had endured too much.
Changfeng-jun was weighed down with regret and exhausted from
worrying over his daughter’s health the past few days. He pulled on Jiang
Fuli’s sleeve and spoke to him intently, but Jiang Fuli remained indifferent.
His replies amounted to a small handful of words; finally, he yanked his
sleeve back and turned away.
As Changfeng-jun pleaded, he’d accidentally dropped the small
demon-dispelling pill he’d been given on the ground. Brokenhearted at
being so coldly rebuffed, he cared nothing for his own life or death and paid
no mind to where the pill had rolled. Jiang Fuli shot Changfeng-jun a
glance but wasted no more breath on him. He collected the dropped
medicine with his long fingers and set it back on the bamboo table before
turning on his heel to visit the next table.
But Mo Xi, who had watched the entire exchange, vaguely felt that
something was off. A chill was crawling up his spine. He stared at Jiang
Fuli. He couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary, yet he had a feeling that
whatever was amiss was right before his eyes—that it was a major, obvious
thing. He simply couldn’t put his finger on it.
There was something about Jiang Fuli, something extremely wrong.
What was it…?
As his brows knit in thought, he heard a chilly voice drifting into the
throne room from beyond the doors. “Everyone, put down the medicine in
your hands. Don’t take it.”
The astonished crowd of nobles turned in its direction.
Outside the door, a man in lavish sapphire robes slowly ascended the
steps. His features were vulpine, his complexion pale and sickly. Although
he looked horribly frail, he was back on his feet and his mind was clear.
 “Aiya, Wangshu-jun?!” someone exclaimed in alarm.
And so it was. The man who sauntered slowly into the hall was none
other than Murong Lian, rumored to be hanging onto life by a thread after a
grave injury.
 Chapter 178:
Forced Abdication

T HE HALL INSTANTLY fell still. Only the candles adorned with

winding dragons flickered brilliantly, illuminating everyone’s faces.
Murong Lian emerged slowly from the shadows into the hall, coming
to a stop in the middle of that sea of watching eyes. He looked up, his sultry
peach-blossom eyes gazing coldly at the man on the throne. “Your Imperial
Majesty.”
But the emperor wasn’t looking at Murong Lian. Instead, he shot a
dark look at the grand elder of Shennong Terrace before turning to meet
Murong Lian’s eyes. His expression was visibly wary, yet he managed to
feign some marginal concern as he said with a smile, “Wangshu-jun is ill.
We’re surprised your illness permits you to appear.”
“I’m doing much better, thanks to Your Imperial Majesty,” Murong
Lian replied lightly. Then he addressed the crowd. “Put down that medicine.
It’s not an antidote—it’s poison.”
Startled cries rose from the assembly. “What?!”
The emperor was silent a spell, his eyes dark. Then he jerked his chin
slightly, indicating that the Shennong Terrace elder should see to Murong
Lian. “Elder Chen, Wangshu-jun has been babbling nonsense for the past
few days. As his attending physician, shouldn’t you take proper care of
him? Why haven’t you taken him away to rest?”
“Ah…” Elder Chen stood stunned for a moment, then bustled over to
Murong Lian. “Yes—Wangshu-jun, what you’re experiencing is illness-
induced psychosis. Come with this old subject to rest in a quiet room for a
while.”
He pulled at Murong Lian’s sleeve, but Murong Lian only shot him a
chilly glance. “Sweetheart, we both know what you’ve been putting in my
medicine the past few days. I suggest you get lost before I lose my temper
for real. I’ll teach you the true meaning of pain.”
 Elder Chen was sweating all over. At Murong Lian’s castigation, he
shrank back like a turtle and looked fearfully at the emperor.
The emperor’s face had turned faintly green, but he still forced a wan
smile. “Murong Lian, we’re afraid sickness has made you confused.”
Murong Lian made no response. Of all the extended imperial family,
Murong Lian most resembled the emperor. But at that moment, as he stood
in the middle of the hall, those features that mirrored the emperor’s
contained no reverence whatsoever. He faced the throne with complete
apathy.
The emperor shivered. That prophecy from long ago foretelling strife
among siblings and disharmony between brothers shot through his mind.
But Murong Lian was a distant relative, not a member of the immediate
imperial family. How could that prophecy be about him? It couldn’t
possibly.
His grip tightened little by little on the redwood chair’s armrest,
tendons protruding. But still he gritted his teeth and smiled. “We’re to
blame—we didn’t get you properly treated. We’ve let you take leave of
your senses and run over to the throne room to make a scene.”
“What can Your Imperial Majesty mean?” Murong Lian replied
evenly. “Your Imperial Majesty has instructed Elder Chen to care
attentively for me over the past few days. To avoid rousing suspicion, you
didn’t let me die at once, but neither did you let me return to health.
Because I knew too much.”
The emperor laughed out loud, his expression stormy. “You’ve
smoked too much ephemera, drowning in debauchery and your own
intoxicated illusions. We fear you can’t differentiate between dreams and
reality anymore.”
Murong Lian had roused the crowd’s shock and disbelief a moment
ago, but as soon as the emperor mentioned ephemera, many relaxed.
Everyone knew smoking too much ephemera led to hallucinations. For the
past several years, Murong Lian’s pipe had never left his hand; it was
reasonable to imagine he’d passed the point of no return. The emperor had
insinuated that Murong Lian was addled. Given how he looked right now,
sapphire robes in disarray with a general air of dishevelment, he really did
look like he’d gone mad.
 But Mo Xi thought otherwise. He knew too well what Murong Lian
looked like when he was serious. Though he never appeared particularly
proper, his expression in those moments—as in this one—was ruthlessly
cold, like a vulture wheeling under gray skies. And now that Mo Xi
understood the emperor’s motives, coupled with that vague sense of
wrongness from Jiang Fuli… He knew Murong Lian wasn’t insane. It was
the emperor who wished to paint him as a madman. The words of a
madman, naturally, weren’t to be believed.
Feeling a tug on his sleeve, Mo Xi turned to see Gu Mang, gazing
blankly at Murong Lian. Something in his heart shifted. “What is it?” he
asked.
Gu Mang couldn’t answer. Lips pursed, he stared without focus. At
last, he said, “He looks familiar… When I was locked up and everyone said
I assassinated someone, was that him?”
Mo Xi patted his hand to comfort him. “You didn’t do that.”
Gu Mang fell silent again, his blue eyes pinned unblinkingly on
Murong Lian. He blurted, “I have to yield to him.”
“What?”
Gu Mang seemed as surprised as Mo Xi by his own reaction. “I
remember that I need to yield to him, that I can’t hate him.” Then, with
some frustration, “But I don’t remember who he is.”
As the crowd murmured, Murong Lian whipped his head around. His
gaze shot past everyone else and fixed directly upon Gu Mang’s face. In his
current state, Gu Mang couldn’t identify what expression Murong Lian
wore—it seemed to contain irritation, competitiveness, recognition, relief…
All these emotions flitted over his face before blending together.
Gu Mang’s eyes flew wide as he looked at Murong Lian in mild
bewilderment. His head pulsed with a dull ache. Murong Lian’s bloodied
face by the moonlit riverbank flashed before his eyes. He saw this man
reach out to shove him away: Run! Otherwise, you’ll never be able to
explain this…
With a muffled groan, Gu Mang raised a hand to his own throbbing
temple.
 You filthy slave! You dare touch my dad’s things? Take it off!
Once you put on this slave collar, you’ll forever be Murong Lian’s
dog.
The piercing voice he had heard throughout his youth stabbed into his
skull, filled with malice, suspicion, covered in thorns. But in the end, the
sound morphed into a woman’s gentle words:
A-Mang, you owe them your life. Your Auntie Lin can’t explain many
things, but…please don’t resent that mother and son too much, okay?
And Murong Lian’s hoarse urging when he’d been attacked—Run…
Gu Mang lowered his head and grimaced, clenching his jaw, eyes
glassy. Noting his strange behavior, Mo Xi asked, “Are you okay?”
“I…” Gu Mang mumbled. “I don’t know.” He looked up at Murong
Lian once more, this time meeting his gaze. An evasiveness flitted across
Murong Lian’s features, but he turned to face Gu Mang, staring him down
with no intent to concede. Gradually, his expression softened and grew
calm.
“I trust him,” Gu Mang murmured. “He’s not insane.”
They were too far away for Murong Lian to hear what Gu Mang said,
but after the glance they exchanged, Murong Lian seemed to have
committed to some idea in his mind.
Murong Lian looked back toward the emperor and raised his voice:
“In the past, I merely wanted to ensure lasting prosperity for Wangshu
Manor, and cared nothing for the lives of outsiders; I’ve been content to
lurk in a corner. To avoid arousing His Imperial Majesty’s suspicion, I was
arrogant and impossible. In the more than thirty years of my life, nothing
has been worthy of my satisfaction. But as it happens, I have a brother. One
who never forgot what should be done even when I trampled him into the
mud, one who persevered in his ambition to protect the lives of Chonghua’s
civilians even when smeared in the filth of accusations. While I worried he
would covet my position and usurp my inheritance, he endured untold
humiliation for the good of the nation, never scheming for his own benefit. I
feel like I’ve been fucking outdone.” Murong Lian lifted his peach-blossom
eyes, every word deliberate. “And I’m pretty damn displeased about it.”
 He continued: “When have I been content with losing? I’ve fought
Xihe-jun and Changle-jun, fought the heavens and earth and fate itself. Will
I lose to a lowborn brat?” Murong Lian burst into laughter, but there was no
mockery in it. He lifted his pipe and drew from it deeply. Exhaling a plume
of pale smoke, he said calmly, “I refuse.”
The emperor narrowed his falcon-like eyes. “Murong Lian, that’s
enough!”
“Murong Chen.”
When this name was spoken aloud, the entire hall burst into a
terrified furor, while the emperor’s face turned pale as ice. No one had
heard those three syllables in the throne room for a very long time—though
of course, everyone knew that this was the emperor’s name. Addressing the
emperor this way in court was a crime punishable by death.
“Murong Chen,” Murong Lian repeated slowly, enunciating with
perfect clarity. “You’d better listen up,” he sneered. “Everyone’s always
called me a spoiled brat, but today I’ve had a change of heart. For once, I
insist on being a hero.”
“You’re the furthest thing from a hero!” the emperor roared.
Murong Lian sketched a mocking bow. “You flatter me. You, on the
other hand, are the closest thing to shameless.”
The emperor bit back his overwhelming rage. “Murong Lian,” he
spat, “do you seek death today?”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Murong Lian laughed. “Haven’t you tried to kill
me once already?” He turned to address the entire court of civil and military
officials. “Gentlemen, take a good look—the pills you’re holding aren’t a
demon-dispelling concoction at all, but rather medicine to control your
minds!”
After a moment of shock, everyone began to exclaim in alarm.
“What did he say?!”
“Medicine to control our minds?”
The emperor wrinkled his nose. “Preposterous, complete and utter
nonsense!” he said, expression predatory. “Jiang Fuli has unsurpassed skill
in healing and is no one’s tool—everyone knows this. Murong Lian, if you
are wholeheartedly determined to slander us, at least come up with a less
ridiculous story!” He turned. “Medicine Master Jiang, Wangshu-jun claims
you are working with us to brainwash people. We’re quite curious—might
there exist such a simple method of controlling others?”
“The two most effective methods,” Jiang Fuli replied readily, “are the
Flower of Eightfold Sorrows and the Zhenlong Chess Formation. But they
are far from simple. The first cannot be grown without a soul from the
demon tribe, and coaxing the flower to bloom is extraordinarily
challenging. The latter is one of the ancient three forbidden techniques.” He
shot Murong Lian a cool and indifferent glance. “Wangshu-jun, you’ve
rather overestimated this humble one.”
“Hear that?” the emperor interjected; there was an edge to his voice
now. “Murong Lian, surely you’re not going to accuse us of employing one
of these two heinous methods? Besides, neither the Flower of Eightfold
Sorrows nor the Zhenlong Chess Formation involves medicating their
victims.” Pausing, he ran his gaze over the crowd of officials. “But if
anyone credits what Murong Lian has said and feels frightened, they are
free to return the pills to Medicine Master Jiang and seek their own methods
of fending off the demonic qi!”
Which of those cowardly old nobles would be willing to take such a
gamble? After a moment of hesitation, someone said, “Murong Lian, have
you gone insane? His Imperial Majesty already rules over everyone in our
nation—why would he waste his energy controlling people by such
methods? I think the one trying to control others’ minds is you!”
Murong Lian laughed mirthlessly. “Didn’t His Imperial Majesty say
it himself before?” He repeated the emperor’s earlier words: “‘If you were
all always like this, falling in line so obediently, there’d be hope yet that
Chonghua could conquer the Nine Provinces and bring peace to the
world.’”
“Um…” One by one, the officials fell silent. Some snuck glances at
the emperor’s darkening expression.
Eyes narrowed dangerously, Murong Lian’s voice took on a
deliberate note of pity. “Murong Chen, don’t worry, I know you too well.
Let’s consider your journey to power—you were the object of constant
criticism when you were the crown prince, and the late emperor even
thought to unseat you from the line of succession before he passed. You
managed to ascend to the throne only with much difficulty, yet all your
subjects had their own schemes and plans, be it the old conservatives or the
grasping in-law officials. You look high and mighty, but you’re a bird
trapped in a cage, unable to fly free or fight back no matter how hard you
beat your wings. How could you be satisfied? Even in your dreams you
wish for a court of obedient subjects. It would be best if they had no
personal opinions at all; if you said east, they’d go east; if you pointed west,
they’d go west. You’d rather keep a basket of bamboo warriors instead of a
crowd of chattering civil officials and generals. You said this yourself—I
hope you haven’t forgotten.”
The emperor sat in silence under the eyes of his court. After a long
moment, he began clapping expressionlessly. “Murong Lian, you’re such a
talented storyteller. We concede the crown of insanity to you.”
Murong Lian flashed a joyless smile. “I don’t dare accept it. It’s only
that, in order to stay alive within your shadow, I’ve spent all these years
trying to guess at your thoughts so that I might cater to them. I’ve come to
understand you better, I think, than most.”
The emperor nodded, a mocking twist to his mouth. “Very well. Let’s
say what you’re claiming is correct. Even if we truly intend to turn all of
these ministers of our court into fools and puppets, which method would we
be using? Would it be the Flower of Eightfold Sorrows or the Zhenlong
Chess Formation? If we had mastery of either of these techniques, why
expend so much effort distributing this demon-dispelling medicine to all of
you? Wouldn’t it be better to plant flowers or chess pieces directly in you
instead?”
“Ah, but you don’t know how,” said Murong Lian. “You don’t know
how to use the Flower of Eightfold Sorrows, nor have you any grasp of the
Zhenlong Chess Formation. For years, you ravenously accumulated black
magic curses of the Liao Kingdom to create a method derived from these
two techniques. Although the effect won’t be as strong, the cost to the
spellcaster won’t be so high either.
“Of course,” he continued, “how could anything in this world be that
easy? Throughout all your experiments and refinements, you were missing
something. You’d been trying for years, but you hadn’t managed any
exceptional results. Only after Xihe-jun brought you the remnant of the
Demonblood Beast’s soul did you finally create a pill that could compel its
victim to obey your commands. Before this development, you were never
satisfied with the level of control you could achieve.”
The emperor sat high on the throne, his hands folded before him and
his chin slightly raised. “A fascinating story. But where is your proof?”
Murong Lian paused. He lifted the pipe in his hand, took a drag, and
slowly exhaled it. “Murong Chen, do you think I didn’t know Jiang Yexue
used to be your advisor?”
“So what if he was?”
“Murong Chuyi was under the control of Jiang Yexue—only
heartbalm could lessen the effects of his curse. I’ve been secretly cutting the
ephemera I smoke with heartbalm as well.”
He continued in an indifferent tone, “Murong Chen, three years ago,
you slipped a mind-controlling medicinal powder into my wine. You
thought your formula was ineffectual, but that’s not entirely true. It wasn’t
perfect, but it did affect me. Since then, I’ve been relying on ephemera to
maintain my lucidity.” With a last exhale of curling smoke, he sneered,
“Did you really think me ignorant of the despicable things you’ve done to
me?”
 Chapter 179:
Mo Xi Endangered

M O XI SHIVERED. He remembered how he’d bumped into Murong

Chuyi at the academy and smelled a familiar scent on him. He hadn’t been
able to figure out what it was at the time, but now that Murong Lian
mentioned it, he suddenly realized that it was very reminiscent of ephemera.
“Murong Chen,” Murong Lian said lightly, “you might not like to
hear it…but these are the times you live in. You were born in this era. You
ought to square your shoulders and face whatever trouble befalls the nation
instead of scheming to make everyone obey you through underhanded
methods. Yes, Chonghua has plenty of incompetent wastrels; they deserve
their share of loathing and irritation. But if you can’t identify those who are
worthy, if you’re only capable of silencing every voice that isn’t your own
and turning all your subjects into mindless puppets, that will mark the end
of Chonghua.”
Some of the nobles took a step back, shaking their heads in disbelief.
“Y-Your Imperial Majesty? Is what he says true?”
“Is this really not demon-dispelling medicine? Is it a pill that can
control our minds, like Wangshu-jun is saying?”
The emperor was silent, his expression dark and unreadable on his
high perch atop the throne. After a moment, he said, “Even if you
gentlemen don’t trust us, you should at least have faith in Medicine Master
Jiang. The medicine master has resided in Chonghua for many years. You
know his character and reputation, and you can guess whether he cares
about our position. If everyone believes Medicine Master Jiang is working
with us to turn you all into living puppets, then fine.” The emperor extended
his hand carelessly. “Give the pills back to the medicine master. No one will
force you to take them.”
The officials looked around, exchanging glances, no longer certain
whom to trust. If what Wangshu-jun said was true, the emperor would seize
control of them as soon as they took this medicine.
 But what if it wasn’t true? What if Wangshu-jun accused the emperor
out of some ulterior motive? If they put down the medicine now, it was the
same as declaring they stood with Murong Lian. If they chose wrongly now,
it would be impossible to get the medicine back.
As they wrestled with their uncertainty, they heard the emperor say
coldly, “We are at war. The Liao Kingdom has made the demonic beast
bring rain and covered Chonghua with demonic qi. We toiled day and night
to find some way to counteract this, only for Murong Lian to cast
aspersions upon our efforts. We have no interest in defending ourselves; our
subjects are free to believe what they’d like.” He turned. “Jiang Fuli.”
“Mn?”
“Take back the pills. They won’t be needing them.”
“Yes, Your Imperial Majesty.”
Upon hearing this, some of the nobles finally panicked. Those who’d
never trusted Murong Lian took the risk of stepping out first. They swore
and pointed at him:
“What lunacy is this? Murong Lian, you’ve always been a degenerate
hedonist. You’re the one who rotted to the core and took up that filthy
ephemera habit, yet now you’re blaming it on His Imperial Majesty! For
shame!”
“That’s just the kind of snake he is! Let’s not act as if we aren’t aware
of the despicable tricks he used at the cultivation competition to defeat
Xihe-jun back then?”
Another looked over at Mo Xi. “Isn’t that so, Xihe-jun?”
But Mo Xi didn’t respond. Amid the racket, he continued to stare at
Jiang Fuli, a frown creasing his brow.
“Xihe-jun…?” the crowd murmured.
Mo Xi didn’t answer. Just as everyone concluded he wasn’t choosing
sides, he suddenly addressed Jiang Fuli. “Medicine Master Jiang, you
would know better than anyone whether or not there are large quantities of
heartbalm in Murong Lian’s pipe. Why not examine it for us?”
Murong Lian turned to glare at him. “Mo Xi, what do you mean by
this? This Jiang guy is clearly Murong Chen’s lackey! You want him to
examine me?”
But Mo Xi insisted. “Medicine Master Jiang’s operated a healing hall
in Chonghua for many years. I don’t think it’s necessarily as you say.”
“Mo Xi, you insolent—”
Even Gu Mang tried to hold him back. “Mo Xi, this isn’t right…” he
said softly.
Mo Xi gently freed himself from Gu Mang’s grip and crossed the hall
to Murong Lian, taking his pipe. Beneath its owner’s furious gaze, he
handed the pipe to Jiang Fuli. “Medicine Master Jiang, if you please.”
After a moment of silence, Jiang Fuli took the pipe and picked out
some loose ephemera from the attached pouch, placing it in his palm for
careful scrutiny. It was dim in the hall, and the lamps flickered fitfully in
the wind. Everyone watched with rapt attention as Jiang Fuli inspected the
leaves Murong Lian was smoking.
Yet it was this that allowed Mo Xi to finally confirm his suspicions.
In the moment Jiang Fuli raised his head, intending to speak, Mo Xi
summoned the holy weapon Shuairan, transforming the snake whip into a
sword with its blade pressed to Jiang Fuli’s throat.
The crowd of officials gasped at this unexpected turn of events.
“Xihe-jun?!”
“Th-this is—”
Jiang Fuli narrowed his almond eyes. “Xihe-jun, what do you mean
by this?”
“Medicine Master Jiang, aren’t you night-blind in your left eye?”
asked Mo Xi icily.
The crowd started in surprise. Indeed…wasn’t Jiang Fuli blind in one
eye after nightfall?
“Medicine Master Jiang,” Mo Xi continued darkly, “in the past, you
needed a liuli eyepiece to see when the sun went down. Are you about to
tell me you’ve suddenly recovered from the night-blindness that’s plagued
you for years? Or will you admit that”—he paused, his voice going so cold
it seemed to splinter into shards of ice—“you’re not Jiang Fuli at all?”
 The officials reeled back in terror. But it was just as Mo Xi said:
Jiang Fuli was night-blind, and his condition was very peculiar. He couldn’t
see with his left eye as soon as night fell, no matter how bright the lamps
were burning. He had to put on a liuli eyepiece to go on as usual.
Jiang Fuli’s expression shifted slightly. “This humble one has
traveled far and wide across the land; what’s so strange about having cured
my own illness? Did I need to personally notify Xihe-jun when I did so?”
But no one’s suspicion was allayed by this explanation. Jiang Fuli
had lived in Chonghua so many years, and his night-blindness had never
been cured; what were the chances he had coincidentally cured himself at
the most improbable moment?
“Oh?” Mo Xi answered. “Then I must congratulate Medicine Master
Jiang.”
Jiang Fuli swept his sleeves back, snorting.
“There’s one more thing I’d like to ask Medicine Master Jiang.
Previously, you examined Gu Mang and mentioned that you’d had a patient
before with a similar mark on their shoulder. I’m not sure if Medicine
Master Jiang remembers what that mark looked like?”
The hall was silent; only the sound of the dripping water-clock
echoed in their ears.
Mo Xi waited a long time. When Jiang Fuli didn’t respond, he
remarked coolly, “How forgetful you are.”
This suspicious conversation seemed to have opened the floodgates.
One by one, others began to ask Jiang Fuli about things only they and
Medicine Master Jiang knew. Under the onslaught of questions, Jiang Fuli’s
expression grew uglier and uglier. Mo Xi still held the Shuairan sword at
his throat. He could feel Jiang Fuli’s spiritual flow growing more and more
unstable amid this chaos, until it became nearly uncontrolled.
Mo Xi shivered. Withdrawing his sword, he leapt backward and
shouted a sharp, “Watch out!”
Some onlookers reacted too slowly to dodge, but in the instant Mo Xi
landed, he threw up layer upon layer of barriers. At almost the same time,
dazzling silver light erupted from where the faux Jiang Fuli was standing.
The storm of spiritual energy funneled up like winter wind on the frontier,
slamming against the barriers with a terrifying crash.
“What… What is this?”
“A monster… It’s a monster!”
A blood-curdling scream tore from the center of the blinding light, its
sound piercing the roof and shooting toward the heavens. The howl of the
evil beast brought with it a burst of pure and potent spiritual energy. The
elderly, the frail, and those with weak cultivation felt their chests shudder.
Some collapsed to the ground, and others spat up blood.
Murong Lian’s lips were bloodstained as well. He slowly retreated to
stand beside Mo Xi and Gu Mang. He first looked at Gu Mang, but he
found meeting Gu Mang’s azure-blue gaze too awkward, and so turned to
Mo Xi with a frown. “What the hell is that?”
Mo Xi stared at the silhouette sharpening within the white whirlwind.
“Probably the remnant of the Demonblood Beast’s soul that we brought
back for him.”
As if to confirm his theory, another violent wind rose, and the frantic
spiritual flow exploded outward. With a massive boom, it blasted a hole in
the ceiling of the throne room as the officials shouted and scrambled out of
the way. In the downpour of rustling sand and stone, that beam of white
light soared up and out of the roof. Beneath the murky night sky, it
transformed into a massive whiskered beast with eyes like golden drums.
The creature had the head of an eagle and the body of a dog, its
wingspan as great as that of the legendary bird, the peng. Where it flew,
thunderstorms followed; the skies above the capital were already beginning
to rumble. It looked downward, its massive blue pupils like two jeweled
mirrors filled with bright light. Those eyes shone down through the broken
tiles and roofbeams onto the myriad expressions of the feast attendees.
Someone screamed, “It’s—it’s that demon chimera that brought the
rain!”
“It wasn’t an evil beast from the Liao Kingdom?!”
But others began to understand. They turned toward the man on the
throne, their eyes red with shock and bewilderment, as if looking at a
madman.
The emperor of Chonghua, Murong Chen, looked as he always did:
sitting on high, the picture of unruffled apathy. The lightning from the
demon beast’s storm flickered in his black pupils as he gazed at the
assembled officials, his lips bowing in a faint, mocking curve.
“Was it really…” someone asked in a shaking voice. “Was it really
you who did it?”
“Your Imperial Majesty…”
“Murong Chen! You were the one who brought that demonic rain on
Chonghua?! It had nothing to do with the Liao Kingdom at all! It was you
who wanted to back us into a corner so we’d take your so-called demon-
dispelling medicine! You—you created this evil beast!”
The questions came like the onrushing tide. The emperor’s smile was
fixed, his pale, handsome face suffused with a restrained mania. He
interlocked his fingers and said mildly, “We gave you a chance, hoping you
would be obedient. We waited many years, but none of you took advantage
of the opportunities we presented you. It was time for decisive action.”
“Murong Chen! Have you lost your mind? Even the Liao Kingdom
has only ever used black magic curses against outsiders. But you, the ruler
of our nation, wanting to make your subjects and your people obey you,
didn’t hesitate to refine a demonic beast to harm the civilians of your own
country. You deceived your officials into taking your medicine, and lured
them deeper and deeper into your interlocked traps! How—how could you
be so evil?! You’re unfit to rule!”
The truth burst explosively to the surface. No matter how cowardly
they might have been, everyone at the scene—nobles and officials alike—
blazed with an unstoppable rage, their faces twisted with fury.
“Incompetent!”
“Worse than a beast!”
Murong Chen scoffed. “What do you plan to do about it? Will my
beloved subjects force my abdication?”
“Look at the evil you’ve done—rashly cultivating dark arts and
killing commoners for your own selfish aims. Yet you think you can still be
emperor?”
“Murong Chen, you’re not worthy of the throne!”
“Since when is it up to you to decide if we’re worthy?” Murong Chen
burst into laughter, licking his lips and looking around like a predator. “If
you plan to overthrow me, you should first worry whether any of you
useless imbeciles have the skill for it.” He flung out a hand and
commanded, “Jingchen, these subjects are disobedient. Kill all who rebel!”
This strange chimera he’d raised from the remnant of the
Demonblood Beast’s soul threw its head back with a shrill cry. In a blink,
storm clouds gathered. Within the flying sand and forking lightning, the
creature dissolved into a flurry of bright sword glares winging toward the
great hall.
They heard the sound of the hall shattering: brick and tile flew in
every direction as the countless blades of spiritual energy smashed into the
earth like a hailstorm. In their panic and fury, the cultivators beneath the
onslaught opened barriers to fend off the attack, but the Demonblood Beast
was too powerful. Even a chimera made from a wisp of its remaining soul
was an impossible adversary.
“Dad!”
“My lord!”
The scene devolved into chaos. Some of the less nimble old nobles
had neglected their cultivation; the Demonblood swords pierced them
through before they could defend themselves, sending them to their deaths
on the floor of the throne room. The great hall was filled with grieving
wails and drawn-out screams.
“Raise barriers! Hurry and raise barriers!”
“Waaah! Someone come help my dad…”
“This demon is too powerful, I can’t hold on anymore…”
Rubble and sword glares pelted down, destroying everything in their
path. A small child who had accompanied his father to the feast sat frozen
next to his father’s corpse. Just as the child was about to be impaled beneath
the second rain of swords, Gu Mang rushed out from behind the barrier.
Murong Lian jumped in shock. “Hey! Are you trying to die?!”
 Gu Mang’s spiritual energy was gone, but his martial ability
remained intact. He grabbed the child and bounded backward, ducking into
Mo Xi’s barrier formation an instant before the demon beast Jingchen’s
second wave of strikes landed.
That child might have been saved, but others weren’t so fortunate.
Jingchen’s second attack was fiercer and more ruthless than the first. Many
couldn’t sustain their defensive barriers. Blood sprayed as the barriers
shattered, and they died with their eyes still open.
Mo Xi turned to look at the emperor through the bloody storm. In the
face of this carnage, the emperor of Chonghua, Murong Chen, showed not
the slightest ripple of emotion, as though this scene was no new shock, but
had played out countless times in his mind. Or perhaps these people were
really like bamboo warriors to him, pawns to be tossed or abandoned at any
moment.
As the tempered demon beast Jingchen reared back for a third attack,
blue light gathered in Mo Xi’s palm. Staring at the emperor, he snapped:
“Tuntian—come!”
The scepter appeared from the air as the whale’s call split the skies.
The formidable holy weapon glowed as it materialized in Mo Xi’s waiting
hand.
Tuntian’s whale form gathered shape, beating its massive tail as it
transformed into a barrier that enveloped the entire throne room. Jingchen
seemed terrified of Tuntian’s spirit. It called back its countless sword glares
and returned to its original form of a winged hound. It growled
threateningly at the illusory form of the massive Tuntian, but soared higher
into the clouds, too afraid to rashly engage the great whale.
Under Tuntian’s protection, everyone in the hall caught their breath.
Some collapsed panting upon the floor, while others raced over to their
fallen kin with tears streaming down their faces. More were filled with
boiling hatred, charging recklessly toward the throne intent on killing
Murong Chen.
“Murong Chen—!”
“Dad… Waaaah! Dad!”
 The tables had turned, yet disconcertingly, Murong Chen showed no
hint of fear or surprise. He looked down with an eerie calm, his gaze
coming to rest on Mo Xi. A faint smile danced at the corners of his mouth.
Murong Lian narrowed his eyes. “Why are you smiling?”
“How could I not? Xihe-jun is truly capable; he’s been possessed of
extraordinary gifts since he was young. The power of Tuntian is marvelous
indeed,” Murong Chen said, unhurried. “As for you, Murong Lian, why
don’t you use your brain a little? Do you think you’re the first person we
used for mind-control experiments? No—I only tested some unproven black
magic poisons on you.
“Before I experimented on you, we had a pill—the only pill Chen
Tang left behind, created from a seed of the demon tribe’s Flower of
Eightfold Sorrows. We refined it into a puppet pill that could lie dormant in
its victim’s heart without being detected—the one and only dose of its kind.
Ten years ago, we selected someone sufficiently strong and hid this seed
inside him. If an unpleasant surprise like today’s ever came to pass, we
could awaken that pill, and our chosen victim would immediately lose his
sense of self and serve us unconditionally.”
A bone-chilling cold swept up from Mo Xi’s feet and rushed through
his chest.
“Murong Lian, who do you think we used it on?”
All eyes turned toward Mo Xi in shocked apprehension; even Mo Xi
himself had turned pale.
Murong Chen sat calmly on the lofty throne. “Of course, that was our
worst-case scenario,” he said mildly. “We never expected we’d have to use
it like this.”
He lifted a finger, a flame springing to life at the tip. Distant light
leapt in the depths of the emperor’s black eyes as he stared at Mo Xi, who
was protecting everyone in the hall. His teeth clicked softly as he spoke
three words: “Puppet pill, activate!”
 Chapter 180:
I’ll Protect You

T HE EMPEROR’S COMMAND struck fear into the hearts of all who

heard it.
Gu Mang’s mind was damaged; he didn’t understand what exactly
was going on, but judging from everyone’s reactions, it had something to do
with Mo Xi. He was afraid Mo Xi would be hurt, but he didn’t know what
to do. He stepped instinctively in front of Mo Xi, protecting him from a
danger Gu Mang couldn’t comprehend.
Everyone other than Gu Mang had scattered to the edges of the hall,
trying desperately to save themselves. It was no surprise—they all knew the
terrifying extent of Mo Xi’s power. If the emperor took control of him, the
consequences did not bear thinking about. None of these nobles had a
meaningful relationship with Mo Xi; they had no reason to attempt
something as futile as rushing over to protect him.
Mo Xi had never imagined the emperor implanted this puppet pill in
him long ago. Head ringing, he pushed Gu Mang away. Gu Mang merely
stared at him through his clear blue eyes, refusing to budge. “Murong
Lian!” Mo Xi shouted sharply. “Take him away!”
“I won’t go.” Gu Mang struggled free of Murong Lian’s grasp. “I’ll
protect you.”
Hot tears welled in Mo Xi’s eyes. He turned away from Gu Mang and
repeated to Murong Lian, “Take him away.”
At this, the emperor sneered. The controlling demonic flame at his
fingertips had swelled to a violent blaze. He mouthed the final words of the
incantation and brought his fingers together—
Mo Xi pushed Gu Mang away. “Go!”
The flame flashed white-hot, throwing its light over the emperor’s
expression of long-cherished anticipation. “Enter the heart,” he intoned.
 That brilliance burst into countless motes that shot through the air
toward Mo Xi’s chest. Gu Mang was frantic with worry, clumsily trying to
shoo them away like so many gnats. It was useless. The motes of light
passed through Gu Mang’s palms, gathering around Mo Xi with no sign of
stopping.
Gu Mang was about to cry from distress. “Mo Xi…”
Murong Lian watched the situation grow worse. Fearing the puppet
pill planted in Mo Xi would quickly take effect, he gripped tight to Gu
Mang’s sleeve and dragged him away. “There’s nothing you can do!” he
said harshly. “The puppet pill is a medicine made from the demonic Flower
of Eightfold Sorrows. The only way to reverse its effect would be offering
up your core’s spiritual energy; it would take hours! Hurry and come
away!”
Murong Chen’s expression was twisted with derision. “If you wanted
to leave, it’s too late,” he said nonchalantly.
Those glowing, scattered lights gathered within Mo Xi’s body. Mo Xi
gritted his teeth and took one last glance at Gu Mang. Then he closed his
eyes, pausing before giving Tuntian a low-voiced command: “Kill your
master.”
Murong Lian started in alarm. He looked up at Mo Xi as he realized
Mo Xi was ordering Tuntian to eliminate its wielder as soon as he lost his
mind. “Fireball…”
Mo Xi glanced up at him. “Take Gu Mang away.”
At the same time, Murong Chen tapped his fingertip in midair and
said, “Obey!”
The white light blazed whiter still. Tuntian swam through the night
sky, flipping its tail in agitation, as if ready to swoop down at any moment.
The roiling spiritual energy flow forced the observers’ eyes closed as the
light grew brighter and brighter, stronger and stronger.
Gu Mang looked at Mo Xi surrounded by these beams of light, at the
expression on Mo Xi’s pale face. “Mo Xi!” he cried without thinking.
“Don’t go over there!” Murong Lian cried, dragging him back.
 Yet as Gu Mang struggled, that ball of white light suddenly flickered
erratically. With a boom, it scattered into motes of brightness once more,
drifting through the air.
Murong Chen’s eyes flew wide.
The rest of the hall was similarly stunned. “Wh-what happened…”
The white lights that had been moments away from engulfing Mo
Xi’s mind fluttered down like fireflies, winking out one by one until they all
fell dark.
The throne room was silent again; under the flickering light, Mo Xi
looked up in confusion, bringing a hand to his chest. He hadn’t lost his
mind and become Murong Chen’s puppet as he thought he would. Was it
because the pill Murong Chen had refined so long ago had lost its effect?
Or…
Murong Chen jumped to his feet, flipping the table and sending the
surviving cups crashing to pieces. His expression had changed. He was no
longer calm; his eyes showed shock, fury, and disbelief. He gnashed his
teeth, speaking as though his voice was crushed between them, the words
coming out as dust. “How can this be? Back then, we—we saw you take it
with our own eyes—it’s impossible… Impossible!”
As he thundered on the dais, he heard a soft sigh.
That gentle sound hadn’t come from anyone in the hall. As everyone
cast about for its source, they discovered that, at some point, a figure had
appeared at the threshold of the splintered vermilion doors. She wore a thin
black cloak trimmed in gold draped over her shoulders, her ink-dark hair
coiled into a low bun. She was bare of adornment save for a golden clasp in
her hair.
Murong Chen narrowed his eyes in disbelief. “You?!”
The newcomer was none other than she of the three gentlemen of
Chonghua whom the people called Virtue, the nation’s princess—Murong
Mengze.
As he grasped the truth, Murong Chen seethed with rage. He was so
incensed his entire body was trembling, his face a rictus of fury, the whites
of his eyes spiderwebbed with red. “You dare—you dare to betray us!” he
roared.
Mengze’s expression was placid, touched with a coolness that might
have been pity, or sorrow. She shook her head. “Imperial Brother, it’s you
who have overstepped.” She strode into the hall, frowning up at Murong
Chen. “I urged you to stop this long ago. It was you who refused to listen—
instead, you stooped to this base ruthlessness. Murong Chen, Chonghua
doesn’t belong to you alone. Why haven’t you realized this yet?”
She came to a stop at Murong Lian’s side, a clear signal that she had
chosen to stand with Murong Lian in this battle, and not with her other elder
brother Murong Chen.
Murong Chen stared fixedly at the two of them. That prophecy of
strife among brothers the fortuneteller once spoke of rumbled and echoed in
his ears. Murong Lian… Murong Lian… For years, he’d pretended to be an
ostentatious and spoiled brat. Later, he feigned dissipation and depravity.
Murong Chen had truly underestimated this distant brother of his!
 Murong Lian glanced at Mengze. “Didn’t you go to the hot springs? I
didn’t think you’d make it back in time.”
Mengze smiled faintly but said no more. Murong Lian’s casual tone
as he addressed her made Murong Chen’s hair stand on end, his fury rising.
Something clicked into place, and he narrowed his eyes in threat. “Murong
Mengze…how long have you been helping him?”
Murong Lian’s lazy reply came before Mengze could answer: “Not
that long—she wasn’t inclined to listen to me at first. If nothing else, you’re
Chonghua’s emperor, and she’s an obedient and sensible child. At first, she
heeded your orders and kept a watchful eye on me. But you must have
gotten anxious when she told you I planned to speak to Gu Mang, and you
sent assassins after me by the river in Da’ze. Murong Chen, it was this
move that lost you the whole game.
“Do you imagine Mengze would like to see me dead? She’d only feel
guilt for making the report. After the cultivators on patrol rescued me, you
instructed the elder of Shennong Terrace to use medicine to keep me on the
verge of death, refusing to treat me properly. Mengze prepared antidotes for
me in secret and saved my life.” Murong Lian smiled lightly. “Otherwise, I
would have long since died under such treatment, just as you wished. I
wouldn’t be standing here to tell you this today.”
“Very well… Very well!” Murong Chen raged, his gaze flitting
between the two of them. At length, he said through his teeth, “Murong
Mengze, we have misplaced our trust in you! We favored you for nothing!
In the end, you went and helped him instead?!”
“I don’t think of it as helping you or him,” Murong Mengze said. “I
only do what’s worthy of me, and worthy of Chonghua.”
Murong Chen looked up and burst into laughter. “Worthy of you?
Worthy of Chonghua?” His expression turned as vicious as a vulture’s.
“Murong Mengze, you choose to aid a distant relative over your own elder
brother by blood. Is this worthy of you? You accept the emperor’s favor and
regard, yet you work with an outsider to force him to abdicate. Is this
worthy of Chonghua?” He snapped his sleeves, and those black and gold
robes billowed around him. “What a colossal joke!”
 “Chen-ge,” Mengze replied, “if you hadn’t been so ruthless, I would
not have gone so far. Ever since you took the throne, you’ve been obsessed
with the notion of eliminating dissidents and exterminating every coward
and villain in your court. Such a thing is impossible. Every living creature,
even beasts, possess selfish motives and desires of their own, myriad ideas
of their own…”
“But they are wrong!” Murong Chen raged.
“I didn’t say they were right.” Mengze gazed at him. “Weakness,
belligerence, greed, jealousy—none of these are righteous qualities. But it is
not within our capabilities to change the desires of others, nor can we alter
human nature. Instead of pouring your efforts into making these officials
obey your every word, why not persuade them by becoming a worthy ruler
and virtuous monarch? Guide your people by example toward a brighter
future, rather than wishing for everyone to become your puppet or clay
figurine and then force-feeding black magic to all who disobey you. Chen-
ge, what Lian-ge once said to me was correct—when there is only one
voice left in Chonghua, that will be the nation’s end.”
“Once said to you?” Murong Chen sneered. “So you are a two-faced
backstabber—you pretended loyalty to me while scheming with Murong
Lian… Murong Mengze, as one of Chonghua’s three gentlemen, do you
truly feel no guilt?”
Mengze was quiet a moment; she seemed to have tired of arguing,
and was unwilling to get into particulars with Murong Chen. But beneath
his repeated admonishment, she looked up and said, “As a citizen of
Chonghua, I cannot stand by and watch you commit mistake after mistake.
Nor can I bear to let you exploit and maim your soldiers, your loyal subjects
and your commanders, one after another. Many years ago, you put the
puppet pill in Mo-dage’s cup, so that he might transform into your lethal
weapon at any moment. Later, you schemed to force Gu Mang onto the path
of treason and made him your spy. You found a grandiose incentive he
couldn’t refuse, so that he had no choice but to gather intelligence for you
and pave your way.”
Murong Mengze’s voice wasn’t loud, but everyone in the great hall
was listening with rapt attention. Someone couldn’t help exclaiming, “Gu
Mang was a spy? Was he—was he not a traitor…”
 “He wasn’t,” she affirmed.
“But this…”
“The battle of Phoenix Cry Mountain was engineered to enable His
Imperial Majesty to pick out a spy who could endure a dangerous mission.
To obtain him, His Imperial Majesty used Jiang Yexue’s secret techniques
to take temporary control of Lu Zhanxing, compelling him to commit the
crime of executing another nation’s envoy in front of the troops.”
“Lu Zhanxing was controlled?!”
“Correct,” Murong Mengze answered. “He was controlled by an
incomplete Zhenlong chess piece. After Lu Zhanxing was falsely accused
and imprisoned, Gu Mang was backed into a desperate corner. At this time,
His Imperial Majesty secretly ordered him to flee to the Liao Kingdom and
feign surrender. He thus became a spy hidden in the heart of the Liao
Kingdom who sent a constant stream of intelligence reports and secret black
magic techniques back to Chonghua.”
This information was deeply shocking. Had anyone spoken these
words before the court nobles at some other time, they would’ve been
mocked as a madman. But the evidence of the current calamity was all
around them, the dead and injured strewn over the floor of the throne room,
while the demon beast Jingchen still circled and howled in the sky.
Tuntian’s protection alone kept the beast at bay. So even though Mengze’s
words were unimaginable, they were taken seriously.
Murong Chen still stood before the throne; his martial ability was far
from the best in the room, and Jingchen had been blocked by the great
whale. For the time being, he couldn’t stop Mengze from talking. He stared
at her distantly, perhaps contemplating how to refute what she said, or
perhaps pondering ways to tear her open and rip her to shreds. He had once
trusted her above all others—she was the only person with whom he let
down his guard, his own little sister. He’d never imagined that the one to
expose his crimes and put an end to them would be she!
He couldn’t suppress a shrill laugh.
“But if that’s true,” someone called from the crowd, “Gu Mang was
helping the enemy! He helped His Im…helped Murong Chen gather
forbidden black magic techniques, and for what benefit? Was he promised
wealth and rank when he returned, or endless gold and treasure?”
Enraged, Mo Xi snapped, “He did it for seventy thousand gravestones
and a world of equality—what wealth and rank, what gold and treasure? Gu
Mang returned so long ago; do you really not know what kind of life he’s
lived?!”
Seeing Mo Xi grow furious, Mengze stopped him with a raised hand.
Shaking her head minutely, she said, “When His Imperial Majesty
convinced Gu Mang to go to Liao, he didn’t tell Gu Mang his true goal. At
the time Gu Mang accepted his orders, he thought His Imperial Majesty
whole-heartedly wished to thwart the Liao Kingdom, and that he sought to
know his enemy in order to defeat it. That’s why he sent report after report
to Chonghua. Of course he knew he was being used, but at the time, he
hadn’t thought His Imperial Majesty’s selfish motives went so far.”
“So…” the same voice asked, “Gu Mang had no idea Murong Chen
wanted to use black magic curses for his own ends—that he even wanted to
use black magic curses to control his subjects?”
“Correct. He did not know.”
“No, Mengze.” It was Murong Lian who had spoken up. “You’re
wrong about this. Regarding His Imperial Majesty’s desire to use black
magic against his own subjects… Gu Mang may not have known it at the
beginning, but he became aware of it later.”
Hearing this, a furrow appeared between Mo Xi’s slender brows.
“How can that be? If he knew, he would have exposed it to Chonghua.”
But Murong Lian shook his head. “He had no way of sending word to
Chonghua. Reporting it would’ve been pointless; he would’ve thrown away
His Imperial Majesty’s trust for nothing. But he did indeed discover it early
on.”
After a pause, he said under everyone’s shocked gazes, “Fireball, Gu
Mang discovered our emperor’s true ambition long ago, before the battle of
Dongting Lake, before he stabbed you. The empire’s Beast of the Altar isn’t
some idiot who let himself be continually exploited.”
 Chapter 181:
Gu Mang’s Arrangements

“H E KNEW OF THIS at the battle of Dongting Lake?” Mengze

exclaimed.
“Yes.”
“Then—then he… He purposefully stabbed Mo-dage and didn’t stop
me from taking him away, so I would discover Mo-dage’s spiritual core had
been implanted with the puppet pill.”
Murong Lian nodded. “Very likely.”
“Precisely because I had to heal the injury to Mo-dage’s core, I
discovered the puppet pill and did everything in my power to cut it out,”
Mengze murmured. “But I never reported it to His Imperial Majesty—I
found it suspicious at the time, and only after investigation did I discover it
was His Imperial Majesty’s own secret scheme…” She turned to Gu Mang,
completely oblivious as to the events of his own past, and her face paled.
“You…you did it on purpose…”
Gu Mang looked back at her in confusion. “What? Did what on
purpose?”
“Impossible.” Mo Xi shook his head. “I read the letters Gu Mang
wrote to His Imperial Majesty; he sent intelligence reports throughout all
five years. If he’d known about this, why would he willingly continue
offering black magic incantations to His Imperial Majesty?”
“But Fireball, did you not feel that Gu Mang’s earlier letters
contained large amounts of critical information pertaining to the use of
black magic spells from the Liao Kingdom, while later ones only included
reports regarding the war or political situation, and rarely discussed black
magic techniques?”
Mo Xi thought back on the letters he’d read and realized it was
indeed as Murong Lian described.
 “Gu Mang knew if he were exposed, Murong Chen would silence
him without the slightest hesitation,” said Murong Lian. “Or perhaps he’d
forsake this first pawn and find another to gather secret techniques from the
Liao Kingdom. Even once he’d seen through Murong Chen’s aims, he never
showed it, and sent letters to His Imperial Majesty as usual. But he became
cautious; his letters rarely detailed any black magic techniques. If they were
mentioned, he only wrote down a few points that seemed specific but had
no practical value.”
“…How do you know all this?” asked Mo Xi.
Murong Lian filled his pipe with more ephemera, lit it, and took a
drag. Haloed by a cloud of pale gray smoke, he said gravely, “Because Gu
Mang told me.”
Mo Xi’s expression changed. “When?”
“The day before he was sent back to the city as a gift for peace talks.”
As everyone stared in shock, Murong Lian went on, “Don’t be so
surprised—His Imperial Majesty put me in charge of Gu Mang’s
punishment. The day before he returned to the city, I met with him in
secret.”
“On his way back from the Liao Kingdom?”
“On his way back, right on the banks of the Fushui River.”
Faced with Mo Xi’s silence, Murong Lian continued, “Everyone
believes the Liao Kingdom excised Gu Mang’s memories and shattered his
spiritual core, then removed two of his souls, leaving him in this bizarre
state.” A pause. “But that’s not true. The Liao Kingdom did ruin Gu Mang’s
mind to prevent him from exposing their secrets, but they didn’t touch any
memories that weren’t relevant to Liao. So, firstly: the Liao Kingdom
wasn’t responsible for destroying all of Gu Mang’s memories.”
The gathered officials clamored fearfully at Murong Lian:
“What?!”
“It wasn’t the Liao Kingdom?!”
“Correct. Secondly, everyone says Gu Mang’s two souls were taken
by the Liao Kingdom, but this is false as well. No one removed Gu Mang’s
souls—he gave them up himself for a different reason. He sacrificed them
willingly; it had nothing to do with the Liao Kingdom.”
This was Murong Lian’s most astonishing statement yet, setting off a
massive wave of surprise that dwarfed the earlier ripples.
Mo Xi took a step back, his already pale lips devoid of color.
“How…could that be? Why did he…”
“As for why he did this, His Imperial Majesty will know best.”
Murong Lian shot a glance at Murong Chen. “Let’s not speak of that yet.
We still have the last item to discuss: that is, thirdly, Gu Mang lost his
memories on the banks of the Fushui. The man responsible was none other
than our ruler of Chonghua!”
Murong Chen’s gaze was as sharp as a raptor’s. “Murong Lian, is
there no end to your lies?!”
“I figured you would say that,” Murong Lian replied mildly. “You
previously wanted to assassinate me over this very knowledge. There’s no
getting around it—unfortunately, the person you sent to administer Gu
Mang’s memory-erasing powder…” He raised his peach-blossom eyes.
“Was me.”
Murong Chen glared at him in silence.
“I’ve always seen Gu Mang as a thorn in my side,” said Murong
Lian. “When I learned of his treason, I felt wholly disgraced. He had
brought shame to Wangshu Manor, and I wished him dead. His Imperial
Majesty noticed my mood and summoned me in secret to the palace. That’s
when he revealed to me that Gu Mang wasn’t actually a traitor, but a spy.”
“If you knew he was a spy, why did you continue to hate him so?”
Mengze asked softly.
“As if it was so simple,” Murong Lian scoffed. “His Imperial Majesty
told me Gu Mang had gone to Liao as a spy, but had demanded, halfway
through his mission, that His Imperial Majesty make him the master of
Wangshu Manor should he successfully return.”
“Gu Mang would never ask for such a thing,” said Mo Xi.
“How was I supposed to know that?” Murong Lian rolled his eyes.
“His Imperial Majesty knew of my resentment toward Gu Mang and told
me he hadn’t agreed to Gu Mang’s conditions. He said that when he refused
Gu Mang’s demands to usurp my position, Gu Mang grew resentful and his
false treason became real. His Imperial Majesty claimed that after this, Gu
Mang worked whole-heartedly for the Liao Kingdom in retaliation against
Chonghua.”
Everyone in Chonghua knew how horribly Murong Lian had once
abused Gu Mang. Gu Mang had ample motive to leverage his success as a
spy to bring down his former master—the emperor’s lies were all too
believable. As the head of Wangshu Manor, how would Murong Lian have
felt upon hearing of this?
“Of course, I was furious,” said Murong Lian. “But I also found it
strange—if Gu Mang had truly turned traitor, why would the Liao Kingdom
send him back as a gift for negotiations of peace?”
Mo Xi shot a glance at the emperor. “What did he say?” he asked
Murong Lian.
“His story was watertight. He said he couldn’t tolerate Gu Mang’s
treachery and wrote a secret missive to the King of Liao, revealing that Gu
Mang was a spy when he defected to the Liao Kingdom and that he’d
shared Liao secrets with Chonghua. The Liao Kingdom therefore decided
he was two-faced and deceitful; they could no longer trust him, so they sent
him back.”
Murong Lian took another drag of ephemera before continuing.
“Murong Chen told me Gu Mang was a coward afraid of death. He had
sensed the motives of the Liao Kingdom before they moved to capture him.
To parlay for his safety, Gu Mang wrote to His Imperial Majesty, claiming
he’d found the secret chamber where the Liao Kingdom was gestating the
Demonblood Beast, and that he’d seen the juvenile form of the creature
within. He was willing to use his soul to seal the beast and secretly bring it
back to His Imperial Majesty in exchange for keeping his life.
“I completely trusted His Imperial Majesty and utterly hated Gu
Mang. In my rage, I asked him if we seriously planned to accept this
traitor’s demands. That’s when His Imperial Majesty told me Gu Mang had
undergone black magic tempering. No one knew what kind of demon he
might become if we rashly killed him, so our hands were tied. He’d
therefore agreed to Gu Mang’s proposal, but he requested that I do two
things. The first was to secretly meet with Gu Mang before the squadron
transporting him entered the city and force him to hand over the soul-box in
which the Demonblood Beast was sealed.”
“And the second?” asked Mo Xi.
“The second was the pill. For Gu Mang to have risen to such heights
from his lowly birth was evidence of his ruthlessness and cunning, he said.
We couldn’t kill him due to the risk of black magic mutation, but if we
allowed him to remain lucid, his lies would continue to influence those
around him…the jailer, the overseer, so on and so forth. Who knew what
story he would spin with his skills? We had to destroy his mind and take his
memories—this was the purpose of the pill. He ordered me to make Gu
Mang take it after he handed over the Demonblood Beast soul-box.”
Mo Xi’s fingernails sank deep into his palms as these truths from the
past floated up to the surface. The spider-silk web of deception the emperor
had spun was at last revealed, an inescapable net trapping them all within.
He asked, voice low, “But when you met with Gu Mang, did he not tell you
the truth…”
“He did say some things, such as imploring me not to trust His
Imperial Majesty overmuch. But whom do you think I believed? Besides,
by the time I saw Gu Mang, the guards transporting him seemed to have
already tortured him—he was barely coherent, and there was a wound on
his chest still seeping blood. He passed out before he could say much.”
Murong Lian paused. “But one thing did rouse my suspicions: in
addition to the soul-box sealing the Demonblood Beast, he gave me
something else. He told me to safeguard it, then find a chance to destroy it
if I could; he said His Imperial Majesty mustn’t learn of it no matter what.”
“What did he give you?” asked Murong Mengze.
He didn’t immediately respond. Instead, he looked up at Murong
Chen on his lofty throne. “Your Imperial Majesty, you went to such trouble
sending Mo Xi to bring you another wisp of the Demonblood Beast’s soul
from Da’ze City before you could refine this chimeric monster of yours. It’s
because you still can’t open the original soul-box Gu Mang presented to
you, right?” He burst into laughter. “Why do you think you can’t open it?”
 At this point, it was futile to keep pretending. Murong Chen
glowered. “Why?”
Murong Lian exhaled misty smoke and replied carelessly, “Because
Gu Mang forged that box with one of his souls, and he made some unique
adjustments to it. You can’t open it without the key.”
“The key—that’s what Gu Mang asked you to keep safe?” Mengze
exclaimed.
“Correct,” Murong Lian said. “Back then, I decided to keep this
matter to myself.” He looked dispassionately at Murong Chen. “Your
Imperial Majesty couldn’t open the soul-box you took such pains to
procure; you must have studied it for a long time without any success. It’s a
good thing I’m a suspicious person. I knew you were crafty, and I didn’t
fully trust you. Otherwise, you might’ve turned everyone in Chonghua into
carved wooden puppets shortly after Gu Mang returned to the capital.”
Murong Chen stared at Murong Lian and ground his teeth. He burst
into peals of ruthless laughter. “Murong Lian… Murong Lian, you—you
trusted neither Gu Mang nor I since the start…”
“That’s right,” Murong Lian replied carelessly.
“Have you ever trusted anyone?”
“In this, you and I are the same, Murong Chen,” Murong Lian said
indifferently. “We’re both the type who trusts no one but ourselves.” With
this, his expression went distant. “This farce has gone on long enough. It’s
time to kiss your dream of conquering the Nine Provinces goodbye—I
destroyed Gu Mang’s key long ago.”
Murong Chen laughed for a long time. When the sound finally
stopped echoing, he stared at Murong Lian through scarlet eyes. His gaze
swept over the assembled crowd—Mo Xi, Gu Mang, Murong Mengze…
along with the rest of the subjects. At last, with an expression as foreboding
as a resentful spirit’s, he asked, “Murong Lian, after so many years of study,
do you really presume we never found an alternative method to open the
soul-box Gu Mang sealed?”
 Chapter 182:
Insanity

M URONG LIAN LAUGHED derisively. “If Your Imperial Majesty could

open that box, why would you have bothered to snatch the remnant of the
Demonblood Beast’s soul from Da’ze? Besides, the Liao Kingdom has
already reared a new Demonblood Beast. All it needs is a piece of soul and
a source of power. If Your Imperial Majesty were to open the soul-box now,
you’d gain nothing. Instead, you’d only make the Liao Kingdom’s beast
more powerful and hasten its revival.” Murong Lian paused. “You wouldn’t
be so stupid as to toil for someone else’s gain.”
“That depends on whom we are toiling for.” Murong Chen’s eyes
were like two pools of venom, cruel and sharp. “Murong Lian, you know
me. We’ve always despised traitors more than we feared outside threats.”
Murong Lian’s expression flickered. Their emperor had lived in the
shadow of that oracle’s curse since he was young and was constantly wary
of those around him. Most of the blood that stained his fangs belonged to
his brothers and comrades; he was even insane enough to attempt black
magic curses for controlling his subjects and making everyone subservient
to his command. Even so, Murong Lian had never thought Murong Chen
would disregard the safety of all of Chonghua. What was there for a ruler to
govern if the nation was gone? But he looked at Murong Chen’s face and
saw that hatred had overcome rationality; he had the air of someone ready
to fight with no holds barred. Murong Lian couldn’t suppress a sudden
shiver of fear, though he didn’t let it show. He replied coolly, “What do you
plan to do?”
“We should be asking you this question,” Murong Chen shot back,
hateful. “You hid your ambition for so many years. Wasn’t it all so you
could profit from the struggles on both sides and overthrow us today?” He
pointed toward the throne with a wave of his sleeves. “So that you could
take our position and become the ruler of Chonghua?”
“It really wasn’t,” said Murong Lian blandly. “I think your position is
pretty stupid. What are you but a dusty old shrine? I have no interest in
becoming an idol sculpted from clay.”
“Who’d believe you?” scoffed Murong Chen. He raised a hand and
formed a fist, crying sharply, “Unseal!”
With that explosive shout, thunderous rumbling sounded from outside
the hall. The crowd looked over in fear. Through the broken wall and open
windows, they could see the highest building in Chonghua’s imperial palace
—the Golden Terrace—aglow with a blinding light. A colossal seal array in
the shape of a pentacle floated above it, spinning ceaselessly as spiritual
flames roared skyward.
A violent wind rose, whipping withered branches and rotten wood
into the air as all the foliage around the Golden Terrace bent and buckled in
the gale. That terrace on high, the emblem of fathomless glory for the
subjects of Chonghua, that holy ground visible to the entire capital, was
engulfed in flying shards of stone and dust.
As the golden light steadily intensified, the pentacle seal opened. A
box small enough to fit in one’s palm, emitting dazzling radiance that belied
its small size, flew out from a crack in the mountain to hover high in midair.
“This is…the soul-box General Gu forged with one of his souls…”
Mengze murmured.
She heard a muffled groan behind her, followed by the thump of
someone falling to their knees. Turning, she saw Gu Mang had crumpled to
the floor and was coughing up a mouthful of blood.
Mo Xi was at his side immediately, anxious. “Are you all right?”
“I…” Gu Mang seemed to want to speak, but the second he looked
toward the distant soul-box, he choked out another mouthful of dark blood
and passed out in Mo Xi’s arms.
“Gu Mang!”
Mengze, being a healer, saw at once what had happened. “He’s
affected by the soul-box being unsealed. This box is one of the souls he’s
missing. General Gu can’t stand its soul-force right now, but there shouldn’t
be lasting harm.” Her eyes widened. “Ah! If we can take the soul-box and
merge it with him again, his souls should recover a little—”
The emperor cut in darkly, “Don’t even dream of it.”
 “Murong Chen, I have no interest in your position!” Murong Lian
snapped. “Come to your senses before you do something truly insane!”
Murong Chen snorted coldly. “Indeed, there’s no need for you to take
our position,” he said, gnashing his teeth. “We would be an idiot if we
thought we could still sit securely on the throne after today—who doesn’t
know what happens to emperors who step down? We would rather tear this
nation down with our own hands than watch you step on our shoulders to
attain its peak.”
“Murong Chen!” Murong Lian raged. “Chonghua is your
motherland! Because of your own selfish paranoia, you’d go as far as
letting the treacherous Liao Kingdom obtain the power of the Demonblood
Beast? You’re perfectly fucking aware of what would happen if this
creature were to reappear! Will you take all of Chonghua and the rest of the
Nine Provinces to the grave with you?!”
Against all expectations, Murong Chen laughed maliciously. “And
whyever not?”
Rage surged through the crowd like a tidal wave. Even those who
were useless and muddled along in ignorance found themselves heated at
the emperor’s indifference. Cries of condemnation quickly filled the hall.
“Murong Chen! You’re a monster!”
“You dared call other people selfish? The most selfish and cold-
blooded madman on earth is you!”
“Callous and heartless! You wish harm on your loyal subjects!”
“If you can’t be emperor, you’d let the wolf into the fold and destroy
the entirety of the Nine Provinces?!”
Murong Chen’s laughter grew louder. “Isn’t this how it should be? If
I’m not ruling—if I’m not the emperor—what does the Nine Provinces or
any of Chonghua have to do with me?!”
“You—!”
“When I lived in the harem, when my prospects were dim, when my
father wanted to cast me aside, when my position was uncertain—in those
years before I ascended the throne, and even after I became emperor, was
there anyone who genuinely stood by me? Was there anyone who helped
me think and plan, sharing in my triumphs and shouldering my concerns?
All of you only ever saw me as a contender for the throne, as the crown
prince, as the emperor—who’s ever seen me as Murong Chen? Who’s ever
cared about what I think? Even my own father tried to set me aside once he
heard I was sick. Did he think what would happen to a discarded crown
prince after he passed away?!”
“Why do you think he never thought of it?” Murong Lian cut in.
“When he secretly called me to his sickbed, he told me that if he declared
me his heir, I had to treat you well. He knew your freezing illness was his
fault. He felt remorse!”
Murong Chen froze, his bloodshot eyes alarmingly wide. “He was
faking it!” he snarled. “He told you about my freezing illness, so what
regret could he have felt? How could he have been remorseful?!” He swept
his sleeves in fury. “Throughout our life, all we’ve ever had is the throne.
The realm of the Nine Provinces and the common people of Chonghua are
relevant only to the emperor; they have nothing to do with Murong Chen! If
I were the emperor, then of course I’d worry about and care for Chonghua.
But since you’re forcing me to abdicate, reducing me to a slave, I will be
merely Murong Chen. And Murong Chen owes no care to anyone!” He
narrowed his eyes, each word ground to dust between his teeth. “You’re
correct—I do this for my own satisfaction. I’ll hurt myself if it means
harming others; I’d rather guide the wolf into the fold and give the Liao
Kingdom an advantage. I’d rather do this than let you do as you wish!”
“Murong Chen, you’re mad!”
He snorted. “You’d better get this straight: even in death, we will
always be sovereign, never a slave!”
He brought both hands together before his chest. Instantly, his robes
billowed fiercely in a fey wind. Interlocking his fingers, he roared,
“Feihuang, unseal!”
A shriek like a phoenix’s cry tore from the bowels of the earth as
Murong Chen’s figure burst into towering flames. He leapt into the sky
through the broken ruins of the roof, the massive conflagration surrounding
him entirely, just as when Gu Mang had unleashed his demonic qi and
unsealed his faewolf blood. Murong Chen’s body glowed with phoenix
light, the spiritual energy raging toward the heavens.
 “How… How does he have demonic beast qi inside him?” Mengze
exclaimed.
Mo Xi shook his head. “It’s spirit beast qi.”
“What’s that?”
“The old emperor once attempted to rear a spirit beast, but the flow of
spiritual energy went out of control. The qi invaded Murong Chen through
the old emperor; that’s how he has this sort of ability.” Mo Xi formed a sigil
and gave a sharp command: “Tuntian, stop him!”
The spiritual form of the massive whale emitted a shrill call above
them, beating its tail as it swam toward Murong Chen.
But Murong Chen was a force to be reckoned with; drunk on hatred,
he thought of nothing but destroying everything in his sight, refusing to be
reduced to anyone’s servant. He shouted at the remnant soul of Jingchen
hovering in the sky beside him, “Attack!”
At his command, Jingchen flapped its wings and charged toward
Tuntian.
The two colossal figures clashed in midair, their howls and cries
rattling everyone’s insides. The sky full of stars faded amid the explosive
flow of spiritual energy more dazzling than day, the collision spraying
sparks like fireworks, shattering into countless fragments beneath the dome
of the sky.
This time, no one sought to hide. Whether out of rage or desperation,
or because they simply had no other choice, the cultivators in the hall all
summoned their own techniques to fight. They leapt out of the throne room,
regardless of how bountiful their spiritual energy was, or how much of a
shameless toady they’d been in the past. Some helped Tuntian beat back
Jingchen, while others chased Murong Chen toward the Golden Terrace
with furious shouts. Some raced off to notify Chonghua’s soldiers,
awakening the city from its slumber.
Changfeng-jun, trembling with fury, sent out a barrage of messenger
spells, circulating the news to every nook and cranny of Chonghua’s capital.
A little gongzi from the Bureau of Military Affairs, one who had
always been a hypocrite, had lost his father in the earlier battle. Face stained
with tears, he made arrangements to summon the imperial guards: “Deploy
all cultivators available! Protect and defend the nation!”
The elder of Shennong Terrace who had been the emperor’s lackey
saw the situation going south. Yet as he tried to slip away, he felt a dagger
pressed against his hip. He turned to meet Zhou He’s dark, cold gaze.
“Zhou-xiong, i-it’s me,” he sputtered. “You know the emperor forced
both of our hands—I assisted him with Wangshu-jun, and y-you helped him
create the Demonblood Beast.”
Zhou He grabbed the elder by the neck and leaned in to speak low
into his ear. “I didn’t put full effort into creating Jingchen. Do you think
something derived from one of the Demonblood Beast’s souls would be this
weak? I was never one of His Imperial Majesty’s stooges, unlike you.”
“Zhou-xiong…”
But it was too late to say anything more; Zhou He had shoved the
dagger through the elder’s chest with a spurt of fresh blood. Scarlet dyed his
fingers. Zhou He licked his lips, eyes narrowing in satisfaction at the smell
of copper, and yanked out the blade. The elder swayed briefly, staring
blankly ahead, before collapsing to the ground. Zhou He raised the dagger
Lieying and licked the tip of the blade.
Conflict raged on all sides. Magical flames burst into the sky like
volcanic eruptions, spreading from the palace throughout all of Chonghua.
In the chaos, Mo Xi found Murong Lian and shoved the unconscious Gu
Mang into his arms. “Look after him—I’ll go stop Murong Chen.”
Murong Lian shot Gu Mang a disdainful glance, clicking his tongue.
“I don’t give a damn whether he lives or dies. He’s born of the Murong
Clan, yet look at the state of him.”
Despite his words, he took Gu Mang from Mo Xi.
Mengze glanced at Murong Chen, in combat with multiple old nobles
over the palace roofs. With his power now unsealed, Murong Chen was a
formidable opponent. Those nobles’ combined attacks only managed to
slow him down. One strike from Murong Chen’s blazing phoenix apparition
and the cultivators closest to him vomited blood and toppled, falling from
the sky.
 “I’m afraid you won’t be able to catch up,” Mengze said anxiously.
“If he reaches the Golden Terrace, he’ll sacrifice his own life to open the
soul-box…”
Mo Xi knew there was no time to lose. Without another word, he
summoned Shuairan and leapt onto the roof to swiftly chase after Murong
Chen.
 Chapter 183:
Recovery

U P IN THE SKY, Murong Chen was battling dozens of cultivators;

many had already sustained heavy injuries and were incapable of
continuing the fight. Murong Chen summoned his own holy weapon, that
bamboo xiao, its bleak sound ringing out over the city. Another group
chasing him was unable to endure this burst of spiritual energy and fell
behind. He sneered, phoenix feathers fluttering as he streaked toward the
Golden Terrace.
Yet as he reached for the soul-box, a scarlet flame barrier fell before
him. A circle of fire blazed in the air and surrounded the entirety of the
Golden Terrace.
Murong Chen turned, wings beating and rage in his eyes. “Xihe-jun.
You too have come to stop us?”
Through the flickering gold and red sparks, Mo Xi studied the
emperor’s face. This man had once worn a thousand masks, some kind and
some evil, some furious and some compassionate. He had spent his life like
this—living behind innumerable facades, his original face long since lost.
Even now, as he stared at Mo Xi with a palpable anger, his emotions
seemed insincere. Murong Chen had always been His Imperial Majesty.
There was no way for him to return to being simply himself.
This person’s manifold lies and layered schemes flashed through Mo
Xi’s mind like a revolving carousel lantern. Mo Xi’s fury may have been
silent, but it was deep. He couldn’t bear to waste another syllable on the
emperor. He shot forward, the Shuairan snake whip ripping through the air
like lightning, straight for Murong Chen’s heart.
Murong Chen had no time to dodge; he enclosed himself in
Feihuang’s wings to block Mo Xi’s blow, gritting his teeth. “What brilliant
work, Mengze—you actually removed the puppet pill!”
Shuairan flashed out again like a swift beam of light, striking at
Murong Chen’s abdomen. “I have nothing more to say to you,” Mo Xi said
icily. He leapt up from a barrier array in midair. Soaring into the sky, he
slammed down the snake whip, which burst with scarlet light.
This time, Murong Chen didn’t dare let himself become distracted.
He snapped open those phoenix wings as he dodged, evading the attacks
that fell upon him like torrential rain. He was under no illusions about his
decision to fight like this—what he’d done was akin to the unsealing move
Gu Mang had used to pit his Lone Wolf technique against the Liao guoshi.
When cultivators unleashed the spiritual form of the demon or spirit beast
inside them, their power in battle would increase immeasurably for a short
period of time, but it was a move that risked everything. He’d have use of
the spirit beast’s power for an incense time at most. After that brief period,
his meridians would explode, and he’d lose whatever remained of his
spiritual energy. If he wanted to release the destructive power of the
Demonblood Beast, he had to get the soul-box while he could, and use his
own soul and life-force to shatter it.
But Mo Xi was far too formidable an opponent; as Murong Chen met
attack after attack, he was beaten back into retreat. Fiery light blazed up
across Chonghua City, and soldiers and cultivators rushed toward them
from all corners of the capital, silver light flashing from their weapons as
they streaked over on mounted swords. The steady stream of reinforcements
was like a winding dragon brandishing its malevolent claws as it soared
toward the emperor, ready to swallow him up in this rebellion.
“Everything ends here,” said Mo Xi, transforming Shuairan into a
sword. With a flare of cold light, the blade hurtled toward Murong Chen.
Storm clouds suddenly roiled in the sky. A beam of white light
pierced the depths of the clouds like a sharp sword unsheathing. Before
anyone could react, a bolt of lightning crashed down from on high.
The blinding light struck the Golden Terrace, extinguishing the
protective barrier of flames Mo Xi had set around the platform. The
encircling inferno that had bloodied half the sky was snuffed into an
expanse of scorched earth, hissing with gray smoke. Mo Xi’s face went
white, and he fell heavily to one knee on his barrier in the clouds.
Murong Chen was stunned; he swiftly realized what had happened.
Squinting through the smoke, he mumbled, “The Vow of Calamity…”
 In the chaos of the fight, everyone had forgotten that Mo Xi had
sworn the Vow of Calamity, pledging eternal loyalty to Chonghua and its
emperor. Mo Xi hadn’t violated the first part, but the second triggered the
vow the instant Mo Xi moved to take the emperor’s life. A calamity had
descended from the highest heavens to smash Mo Xi’s barrier and strike its
caster. Mo Xi remained on his knees, head bowed, and choked out a
mouthful of blood.
“Hah…” Murong Chen stared at Mo Xi. The corner of his mouth
twitched, and he burst into sinister laughter. “Ha ha… Ha ha ha ha…!”
Now unimpeded, he landed atop the Golden Terrace and came to
stand before the gleaming soul-box. The reinforcement troops converging
from all directions had yet to arrive. The emperor’s face was ghoulish,
distorted by hatred and madness.
“Fireball, it’s all thanks to you being so fixated on protecting your Gu
Mang-gege’s subordinates that you took the Vow of Calamity.” He reached
out, hand hovering over the soul-box, his face ghastly pale in the little box’s
halo of light. “Remember this well—you had the power to stop us, but it
was your past obsession that helped us push this disobedient nation into the
depths of hell!”
Mo Xi struggled to his feet. Even if he was reduced to ashes by the
heavenly calamity, he would stop Murong Chen from obtaining that box.
But it was already too late. To maintain consciousness under the
torment of an ancient vow was a near-impossible task, to defy the will of
heaven even more so. The clouds above seemed to seethe with anger; bolts
of lightning hissed as they cracked across the sky, ready to touch down and
reduce this hapless mortal to dust.
Murong Chen brought his hands together, securely clasping the box
from top and bottom.
A beam of dazzling golden light shot up to the heavens, colliding
with the storm raging in the sky. A furious clamor sounded, and the world
flashed strangely, as if infinite vengeful ghosts were about to break through
the shuddering earth.
Choking, Mo Xi pushed past the restraints of the Vow of Calamity.
Facing that brilliance that threatened to turn into countless sharp swords and
pierce him through, he shot toward Murong Chen.
“You…can’t…”
But Murong Chen had already flown into the skies. Holding the box
sealing the power of the Demonblood Beast, he poured his soul and life-
force into it. The little liuli box that Gu Mang had condensed from his own
soul wailed in his palms as cracks crawled over its surface.
Murong Chen threw his head back, his laughter like an owl’s chilling
cries. He had perhaps never laughed so freely in his life—without the
slightest concealment or affectation, without the slightest forethought or
worry. He laughed long and loud in the whistling wind, looking down at
this capital city that had imprisoned him all his life. And then, with a final
howl, he crushed the soul-box between his palms.
Its fragments instantly scattered into the air. Black magic spiritual
energy poured from the shattered soul-box like a dark wave, surging out
into the vast world, screaming in rage as it spread over the entirety of the
realm. In a blink, the stars vanished, and the moon was blotted out. The
burst of energy devoured Murong Chen in an instant; he was already no
more than a translucent apparition. Yet his eyes still glinted with reproach
as he gazed down at the scene of desolation beneath his feet, his voice weak
yet unmistakably deranged. “Look! This is the choice you made—all of
you! You refused to bend to our will and made our life impossible, so we
will deprive you…of all peace!”
As his final words rang out, the spiritual energy of the Demonblood
Beast tore his fading specter to pieces. Only that hair-raising laughter still
swirled like an echo amid the maelstrom of demonic energy: “The power of
the Demonblood Beast has been unsealed!”
Shocked cries and miserable screams rose up from the imperial city;
the flames of every candle throughout the capital shuddered with fear. The
energy rushing from the soul-box grew ever stronger as the gap in the air
where Murong Chen had been devoured emitted a blinding white light.
Mo Xi, closest to the array, felt an impossible weight pressing down
on his spine—a sense of overwhelming insignificance before an impending
catastrophe that was nearly enough to break him.
 He lost consciousness almost at once. In the moment his eyes
fluttered shut, he seemed to see a wisp of golden light floating from the
shattered soul-box, nothing like the overbearing black magic energy around
him. That golden light formed an indistinct silhouette. It was a much
younger Gu Mang, in his armor and helmet, his face bright and relaxed.
Leaping up from the shards of the soul-box, he flew toward the boiling sky.
Mo Xi reached out with Gu Mang’s name on his lips, but his throat
was filled with acrid blood. Those two syllables were stoppered in his
throat.
Gu…Mang…
He fell. Down, down, down from the fierce battle raging in midair,
until at last, he crashed into heavy darkness.

When Mo Xi awoke, he found himself lying in bed, surrounded by

blurred figures moving past him in white and green. His long lashes
quivered as his view of his surroundings gradually cleared.
He was in one of Shennong Terrace’s healing pavilions; those
flickering figures were healers from the ministry. They moved between the
sickbeds, treating injured cultivators. As Mo Xi came more awake, human
speech poured into his ringing ears—the sounds of crying from a nearby
bed, words of comfort exchanged among family members, the incantations
of healers as they cast their spells.
He gradually gathered his awareness amid these sounds, and the
events from before he fell unconscious flashed back into his mind. The
rebellion in the throne room, the appearance of Jingchen, the soul-box, the
brilliant light…
“Gu Mang!”
He sat bolt upright, agony tearing across his injuries. His long lashes
fluttered down as he frowned, eyes closed tightly beneath his pitch-black
brows.
His movement had attracted notice; someone hastily approached his
sickbed. “Mo-dage.”
 Mo Xi pressed a hand to his forehead, kneading his aching temples.
A pair of scarlet eyes met Murong Mengze’s gaze.
Mengze looked as if she hadn’t taken proper care of herself in days.
Her hair was pulled into the simplest of buns, and she wore her customary
black robes with golden trim. At some point, she’d acquired a smudge of
soot on her cheek.
Mo Xi opened his mouth; his throat was painfully dry, and he
swallowed with difficulty. Only then could he speak with something
approaching his normal tone. “What’s…going on? Where’s Gu Mang?
What happened with the Demonblood Beast, the Liao Kingdom—”
Eyes moist, Mengze glanced around. She hardly needed to say it;
from this look, Mo Xi could guess Chonghua’s current circumstances. The
largest healing pavilion in Shennong Terrace was filled with injured
cultivators; some bore spell injuries or blade wounds, while others had been
infected with black magic and were bound with spirit-locking chains to icy
stone beds. In one glance, he saw many faces he knew.
In the distance, Yue Chenqing was speaking to a healer. A mere two
weeks had passed since Mo Xi had last seen him, but Yue Chenqing no
longer had the look of a youth. He frowned deeply, with no hint of mirth in
his speech. He was teaching the healers how to control his bamboo
warriors, which could help in the chaos of these casualties.
“The power of the Demonblood Beast is free. After Jingchen
absorbed the spiritual energy, it flew toward the Liao Kingdom and fulfilled
Murong Chen’s dying wish.” Mengze’s expression was unsightly on her
lovely face. “Since obtaining the Demonblood Beast’s power, the Liao
Kingdom has become unstoppable. They’ve advanced to the walls of the
capital city. Lian-ge took command and has barely held them off for the last
seven days, but I’m afraid it won’t last. We hear the guoshi of the Liao
Kingdom is about to leave seclusion—he was finishing Jingchen’s new
refinement. Tomorrow, the Demonblood Beast will likely walk the earth
again.”
“…I’ve been asleep for seven days?” asked Mo Xi.
Mengze nodded, then hastily added upon seeing his expression,
“Don’t worry—though the situation is dire, our defeat isn’t certain. Didn’t
Preceptor Chen put a stop to the Demonblood Beast’s destruction back
then? Lian-ge is restructuring the military forces in the capital. He’s
preparing three major armies and planning to meet Liao in battle
tomorrow.”
Mo Xi closed his eyes. “It doesn’t matter how capable Murong Lian
is; he can’t command three major armies at once. No general can hold down
three separate formations.”
“But you’re awake now, aren’t you?” Mengze hesitated. “You can
command the Scarlet-Plumed Battalion, Lian-ge will lead his usual troop of
cultivators, and as for the Northern Frontier Army…”
She pursed her lips, eyes flashing with inscrutable emotion.
Mo Xi blinked in confusion; then, as if his heart already knew the
answer, it began to race in his chest. He stared into Mengze’s eyes. “What
about the Northern Frontier Army?”
“I—I have some good news.” Mengze seemed afraid of dealing him
any further shock and lowered her voice. It was no use—her message was
like a drop of water landing in roiling oil, inevitably causing a violent
splatter. “Gu Mang, he…”
Lips parted slightly, Mo Xi stared fixedly at her, his voice almost
inaudible. “He what?”
“He’s completely recovered. His reputation has been cleared after this
calamity. He returned to his position as commander of the Northern Frontier
Army three days ago, and right now, he’s training with his soldiers on the
drill ground in preparation for tomorrow’s battle.”
Mo Xi froze.
 Chapter 184:
Your Elder Brother Gives You the Hero’s Ribbon

H EEDLESS OF HIS WOUNDS,Mo Xi rushed to the drill ground. His

conversation with Mengze echoed ceaselessly in his ears along the way—
“After Murong Chen shattered the soul-box with his life, the
Demonblood Beast’s power scattered, and the soul Gu Mang had used to
create the box also dispersed. According to all we know, a soul dispersed
should fly into the vast world of the Nine Provinces; it should be practically
impossible to track down. But when we found you in the rubble of the
Golden Terrace, it was hovering by your side. As if it retained some wisp of
awareness, and was guarding you within the debris.”
For a long time, Mo Xi was unable to speak. When he finally opened
his mouth, his voice was unrecognizably hoarse. “Then…what about the
other soul? The soul he forged into the key for the soul-box—hadn’t
Murong Lian destroyed it?”
“Lian-ge didn’t destroy it; he was lying. Think about it—if Gu Mang
created this key with the intention to have it destroyed, why bother with it
in the first place? He could’ve just made the soul-box impossible to open.
At that time, Murong Chen was already mad, and the situation was volatile.
He didn’t notice the gaps in Lian-ge’s story, and neither did you nor I.
Afterward, Lian-ge told me that when Gu Mang gave him the key, he had in
fact not asked him to destroy it, but to find some way to annihilate the
power of the Demonblood Beast. He hoped that if Lian-ge succeeded, he
would open the box with the key and end the Demonblood Beast once and
for all.
“General Gu has always been cautious in his dealings. He knew
sealing the Demonblood Beast’s power was different from destroying it…
Ah, it’s unfortunate Lian-ge was so suspicious of General Gu’s intentions
and wasn’t earnest in his investigation. When he did believe General Gu
later, he had no chance to continue researching. After everything General
Gu sacrificed, the power of the Demonblood Beast was still released.”
Murong Mengze closed her eyes and sighed. “Lian-ge hasn’t said so, but I
can tell. He blames himself.”
Mo Xi’s head was ringing; he was still in poor condition. Though he
hadn’t been the one to end Murong Chen, his actions had still violated the
Vow of Calamity. The backlash from the oath hadn’t killed him, but his
injuries were severe enough to render him unconscious for a full seven days
after the battle at the Golden Terrace. Yet it seemed his mind would always
be clear when Gu Mang was concerned, no matter how exhausted or
debilitated he was—just as Gu Mang’s soul had hovered around Mo Xi to
protect him even when it was scattered. Their enduring bond was an
instinctive habit for both of them. Mo Xi was only silent for a moment
before he picked out the relevant details from his memories. “It was the
thumb ring,” he said.
“What?”
“The key was the thumb ring Murong Lian wore,” Mo Xi muttered.
“That’s why Murong Lian gave him the ring when Zhou He wanted to
destroy his mind—he knew it contained one of Gu Mang’s souls, so it
would help Gu Mang hold out longer. That’s why every time Gu Mang’s
dog saw Murong Lian, he acted like he was seeing Gu Mang himself; he
always liked to sniff the hand with the thumb ring…”
Mo Xi’s lips trembled slightly; he found he couldn’t go on.
So this was the truth. He had always felt the path he and Gu Mang
had taken was paved with too much suffering. When he had heard Murong
Lian say in the throne room that one of Gu Mang’s mortal souls had already
been destroyed at his hands, Mo Xi had felt he might break down then and
there. But although he understood Gu Mang would never recover, he had
still given everything to stop Murong Chen from shattering the soul-box.
Beyond wanting to protect Chonghua, he had selfishly hoped there might be
some method of retaining at least that one mortal soul within the box. Even
if Gu Mang would never be whole, it was better than nothing.
He had struggled until he bled and bled again. Everything he’d
experienced over the past three decades had taught him that asking for
wholeness was too much. He would be content with shattered fragments.
He was willing to spend the rest of his life piecing those shards back
together, and would be satisfied with completion of this sort. But this time
—for the first time—it was as if the heavens had witnessed his suffering
and returned him something whole: two mortal souls; Gu Mang’s two
mortal souls were still here. He had them back, and he was fully recovered.
Mo Xi walked faster and faster on the road to the drill ground. By the
time he reached the field and saw that figure standing amid thousands, his
vision was blurred with tears.
Very rarely did Mo Xi cry from sadness, but right now, he was happy.
The general of the Northern Frontier Army had finally returned. His Gu
Mang-gege, that unbroken, brilliantly smiling, invincible General Gu who
brought hope to countless men, had finally returned.
Mo Xi had never dared ask for anything extravagant. Yet fate had
finally taken pity on him, and bestowed upon him the most beautiful dream
of his life. No—it wasn’t a dream. It was real. Those remnants of filth had
been washed away. Gu Mang was no longer a traitor, a villain, or a spy. He
was a general who could stand tall in the daylight, beneath the scarlet army
flags whipping above him in the wind, and gaze down from the command
platform with his hands behind his back, watching the drill ground full of
armor, bright in the sun.
His Gu-shixiong had been through so many trials and tribulations, his
hands and feet scraped raw. He’d endured no end of suffering and
humiliation, experienced untold sorrow and separation, and finally returned
to the place he most belonged—standing before his troops as the finest
general of Chonghua.
Some low-level cultivators saw Mo Xi standing at the edge of the
drill ground and called out. “Ah, it’s General Mo!”
“General Mo is here…”
“Xihe-jun is here!”
That movement was like wind over a lake’s surface, spreading all the
way to the command platform. Gu Mang’s head was turned, speaking to
Murong Lian; upon noticing this ripple, he squinted toward its source, the
noon sun and strong wind at his back.
Across the sea of dark helms and glinting weapons, he saw Mo Xi.
 Gu Mang looked startled for a moment, and then a smile bloomed
across his face. Those black irises were gone forever, but his blue eyes were
every bit as bright as when he’d served in the cavalry with Mo Xi in their
youth. He raised a hand and waved energetically at Mo Xi beneath the
billowing flags of the Northern Frontier Army.
“General Mo!” he shouted, with the playfulness of a child and the
gentleness of an elder brother. “Get up here! You’ve slept so long—you’re
the last to arrive!”
The Northern Frontier Army that Mo Xi had disciplined for so many
years, those soldiers who seemed to have solemnity carved upon their
bones, couldn’t help bursting into laughter. Mo Xi suddenly realized that
the troops hadn’t changed at all. Under his command they had long been
obedient, but none of this solemnity was rightly theirs. The boldness and
mirth given to them by their General Gu was the true soul of the Northern
Frontier Army.
Mo Xi blinked back the tears of happiness that threatened to slip out.
He looked up; it wouldn’t do to let the soldiers see him make a fool of
himself. But as he walked to Gu Mang on the command platform, through
the tide of soldiers that had parted to let him pass, he knew his tears were
falling.
He could never be solemn or cold anymore. He would feel hurt,
sadness, and happiness; he would have all of the emotions belonging to a
person of flesh and blood. On this day, the ice and snow melted away. All
his happiness and sorrow remained hidden no longer; all of it was on
display before his soldiers. Yet to his surprise, not a single person laughed
at him. Those exuberant smiles were gradually brought in check; the men
gazed intently at him, as if the barrier that had stood between them for years
had shattered.
A man with no fear of death shouted, “Xihe-jun, welcome home!”
The crowd was silent. Mo Xi made no sound.
Then Gu Mang smiled and spoke from the high terrace: “General Mo,
welcome home.”
 Yes, this was home. It didn’t need to be some building or tower, some
pavilion or courtyard; rather, it was being together with these people they
protected, and who protected them in turn. It turned out they’d had a home
from the day they first enlisted. General Gu, General Mo, Murong Lian—
who wore an expression of complete impatience but had absolutely no plans
to leave—
They had all come home.

Preparations for the battle proceeded smoothly. How could they go

otherwise, Mo Xi thought as he looked at Gu Mang standing beside him.
Where there was Gu Mang, there was heat and light; General Gu could re-
kindle a bonfire that had gone out.
Everyone knew they were about to face a terrible catastrophe. Their
opponents were the evil Demonblood Beast Preceptor Chen had sealed with
his own life centuries ago, and that terrifying, devilish guoshi, whose true
identity no one knew. But Gu Mang seemed unaffected by this. Before his
comrades, he appeared to have complete confidence in their victory. He
possessed an extraordinary natural charisma that inspired those around him.
His soldiers felt they could conquer any challenge and win any battle, so
long as he was present.
When the war council ended and the crowd dispersed, Gu Mang
blinked at Mo Xi. Under the dimming sky, his eyes looked almost black.
“Sorry I couldn’t be by your side when you woke up.”
“No,” Mo Xi replied. “You were always with me.” Pausing, he
added, “Do you remember what happened at the Golden Terrace? That soul
of yours.”
Gu Mang smiled. It had been too long since Mo Xi had seen this
smile—lively and bright, with a sharp little canine peeking out between his
rosy lips.
“…Hello?” A hand appeared between them and waved. “Excuse me,
do you two think I’m dead?”
Turning, Gu Mang was met with Murong Lian’s infuriating visage.
 This man was suspicious, ruthless, underhanded, and egotistical by
nature. Even now, when he realized how many mistakes he’d made, he
couldn’t give up his brash and arrogant attitude, much like how he couldn’t
quit the ephemera he’d learned to smoke out of necessity.
Gu Mang grinned. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to tell you something.” Murong Lian’s lordly attitude was the
same as ever, but his shifting peach-blossom eyes exposed his unease.
“What is it?”
Murong Lian cleared his throat. “This is for you.”
He passed Gu Mang a blue and gold merit ribbon with exquisite
embroidery. It was the one Murong Xuan had left behind. Murong Lian
spoke, his expression stiff: “Wangshu Manor will always be mine, and I’ll
always be the head of the family. But regarding this…after giving it some
thought, maybe—maybe, mind you—you might be better suited to wearing
it than me.”
Gu Mang gazed down at the ribbon. In the tawny gold of the late
afternoon sun, it was impossible to clearly make out his expression. When
he looked up again, Murong Lian had no chance to glimpse his face before
Gu Mang suddenly reached out and pulled him into a hug.
“What…the hell.” Murong Lian’s arms were frozen awkwardly in the
air, his pipe raised and disdain written all over his face. He looked like a
wooden puppet with broken joints forced into a ridiculous pose. After a
moment, he said gracelessly, “Don’t expect me to personally tie it around
your head.”
He was answered by Gu Mang’s loud laughter. “Life’s too short to
hold a grudge—if you tie it for me, I won’t make a fuss about all the ways
you screwed me over in the past.”
Murong Lian shoved him. “That’s because you’ve been crafty and
cunning since you were little—I couldn’t trust you at all!” he fumed. “I
should be the one making demands—how’s this, if you keep calling me
your lord, I’ll deign to look out for you.”
Gu Mang rubbed the back of his neck. His slave collar had been
removed; both the one from Wangshu Manor years ago and the one from
Xihe Manor, which came later, were gone.
Batting his eyelashes, Gu Mang grinned at Murong Lian. “Lian-di.”
In a fit of pique, Murong Lian flung the blue and gold merit ribbon at
Gu Mang’s face. With a sweep of his sleeves, he turned on his heel and
stalked off, muttering under his breath.
 Chapter 185:
Battle Begins

A FTER NIGHTFALL, Gu Mang and Mo Xi walked side by side

through the ruined interior of the imperial palace of Chonghua. The great
sum of Murong Chen’s nefarious deeds over the past few years had been
revealed to the people, like a lavish robe flipped over to expose the
crawling lice beneath, too loathsome to bear close examination. His
madness had driven the capital into darkness and chaos. The halls they
walked through were cluttered with shards of stone and brick, broken wood
and shattered tile. As the two of them picked their way down the main
walkway, Mo Xi asked, “After the soul-box shattered, who merged your
two mortal souls? Murong Lian?”
Gu Mang shook his head. “Su Yurou. Jiang Fuli’s wife.”
“So it was her…”
“Mn. But she’s had a lot on her mind the past few days. Medicine
Master Jiang’s whereabouts are still unknown.”
“One would have thought he’d have rushed back to Chonghua no
matter how far he had traveled, given how severe this upheaval has been.”
“Yes, but unfortunately he hasn’t.” Gu Mang sighed. “Otherwise,
we’d have the demonic qi in the city a bit more under control. Right now,
Su Yurou’s handling it alone, but her healing skills are no match for Jiang
Fuli’s.”
After a moment’s thought, Mo Xi said, “Mengze did say there was
that reclusive healer in Lin’an who knows Rebirth. Maybe he could—”
“There’s no time for that now.” Gu Mang spoke lightly, as if he
wasn’t interested in the reclusive healer Mengze had mentioned in the
slightest. Mo Xi sensed his indifference was about more than the imminent
appearance of the Demonblood Beast. Rather, he had no faith in the legend
Mengze described at all. Mo Xi was certain that, even if there was time,
nothing could induce Gu Mang to seek out Mengze’s reclusive cultivator.
“Is it because you feel what Mengze said might not be reliable?”
 Gu Mang paused, then smiled. “That’s not what I said.” Upon seeing
Mo Xi about to ask another question, he pointed to a pile of wreckage in the
throne room. “Ah, look over there.”
He grabbed Mo Xi’s arm and dragged him over. It was those golden
incense-burner beasts Murong Lian had custom-made to curry favor with
Murong Chen. The little golden braziers lay in the ruins, still doing their
best to shout, “Your Imperial Majesty’s fortune floods the heavens,” and
“Your Imperial Majesty’s glory fills the realm.”
Listening to them, Gu Mang let out a long, mournful sigh. “In the
end, Murong Chen wanted too much.”
“I’m not sure who could be Chonghua’s emperor when we defeat the
Liao Kingdom,” said Mo Xi.
“Lian-di is out of the running for sure—he said himself that his health
is poor, and the ephemera’s reduced him to an invalid. After everything’s
over, he plans to go to the fiefdom of Linyi to convalesce. But you can’t
rush things like this—everyone has their own fate, and every nation has its
own fortune. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it; there’s no need to
worry.” He smiled. “But you just said when we defeat the Liao Kingdom—
you’re so certain we can win?”
Mo Xi looked up, his gaze calm and gentle. “With you, of course we
can win.”
Gu Mang’s eyes flashed with light, and he knocked on Mo Xi’s chest.
“Ha ha, thanks for believing in me. Well, I think I can win too. No one
knows the Demonblood Beast better than me, so you all have to listen to my
orders in the battle tomorrow. This time, I’m the commander.”
He looked so smug Mo Xi couldn’t resist poking him in the forehead.
“You’ll always be my commander.”
Gu Mang smiled in that bold way of his, yet seemed a little bashful.
After a moment, he said, “On that note, I feel like Su Yurou… She’s a bit
odd.”
“How so?”
“Back when the sword demon Li Qingqian was making trouble, he
said the guoshi of the Liao Kingdom went insane when he heard the
peerless beauty Su Yurou had married a man in Chonghua. He found more
than a hundred women who resembled Su Yurou and sacrificed them all to
that mountain. He said something like…what’s so special about Su Yurou;
he could have as many beauties like her as he wanted.”
Mo Xi nodded. “Exactly so. Li Qingqian’s companion Miss Hong
Shao met her end because of their resemblance.”
“Mn.” Gu Mang stroked his chin. “But Mo Xi, don’t you think
there’s a problem with this story?”
“What?”
“Think about it—how would any normal woman react if her former
lover stormed his way to the gates of her country?”
Mo Xi considered. “She might find a way to send word and beg for
leniency.”
“What else?”
“She’d become nervous, and worry about how to face him.”
“You’re right,” Gu Mang said. “But Madam Su hasn’t shown any
sign of unease. It’s like she cares not one whit what the Liao guoshi is
doing. She only sends more people to look for Medicine Master Jiang.”
“Perhaps she and the Liao guoshi are a thing of the past. Now that
she’s Jiang Fuli’s wife, it’s reasonable for her to care more for Jiang Fuli’s
safety.”
Gu Mang waggled a finger at him. “Incorrect.” He pinched Mo Xi’s
cheek with a grin. “Look at you—your moral standards are too high. You
always assess people’s feelings according to social ethics. Yes, Su Yurou is
Jiang Fuli’s wife, and I don’t think she would betray Jiang Fuli; that’s social
ethics. But if Su Yurou’s involvement with the guoshi was as deep as Li
Qingqian claimed, regardless of whether she’s someone else’s wife or
mother, how could she ignore him when they met again as enemies? But Su
Yurou doesn’t care,” Gu Mang continued. “I’ve watched her over the last
few days. It seems she only feels two things toward the guoshi: fear and
disgust.” Gu Mang shook his head. “That’s not the attitude anyone would
have toward a past lover.”
 Looking at him, so serious, Mo Xi felt a touch of exasperation. “And
how would you know how the lady feels?”
“Honestly, it’s nothing to do with men or women; it’s pure human
nature.” Gu Mang paused. “Ah, think of it like this. When you thought I
defected, before the battle at Dongting Lake, when you knew you were
about to see me after I committed treason—how did you feel?”
Mo Xi blinked.
“It was definitely more than fear or disgust, right?”
Of course. Even now, Mo Xi could recall it with searing clarity:
profound pain and profound hope, Gu Mang’s shadow dogging his days and
haunting his nights. As if he was drowning in past tenderness, blinded by
the unknown that lay before him. Mo Xi lowered his lashes and sighed. “I
see what you mean.”
“So there’s something off about Madam Su.”
“Mn.”
“I have three guesses,” said Gu Mang. “The first: Madam Su knows
some secrets about the Liao guoshi that outsiders don’t. The second:
Madam Su never reciprocated his affections at all, and the guoshi drove
himself crazy all on his own.”
“And the third?”
“The third…” Gu Mang said. “Perhaps Li Qingqian misunderstood
the guoshi’s motives. His ideas about the guoshi and Madam Su were
wrong from the beginning.”
Mo Xi widened his eyes.
Gu Mang tapped his chin. “To be honest, I’m leaning toward the third
possibility. When we dealt with Li Qingqian, the sword demon dispersed
after he saw Su Yurou’s face and she whispered something to him. I think
the third is most likely. Su Yurou probably dispelled the assumption behind
Li Qingqian’s obsession with her, which was what turned him into a sword
demon in the first place. That’s why he thought it was all too ridiculous and
dispersed into ashes the instant his willpower dissolved. How else could she
break his mind with just her face and a few words?”
Mo Xi thought it over and nodded. “It makes sense.”
 Any further elaboration was cut off by a distant rumble of thunder.
They both turned on reflex.
A massive vortex of storm clouds had gathered overhead, its dark
center shot through with forking lightning. A hole seemed to have been torn
open in the sky; pale light spilled down like heaven’s blood onto the Liao
army’s stationed troops. In that white light bright enough to illuminate the
deepest abyss, countless dark specks floated up from the Liao army’s
encampment and rose toward the rift in the heavens.
Performing a quick sight-enhancing spell, Gu Mang took a closer
look. When he saw what those dark specks were, his face turned an
unpleasant shade of green.
“Fuck. That’s the Demonblood Beast’s rebirth ceremony.” Gu Mang’s
lips moved, but his eyes never left those black dots. Voice low, he said,
“Those are living sacrifices floating up—they’re Butterfly-Boned Beauty
Feasts the Liao Kingdom captured!”
“What?!” Mo Xi exclaimed in disbelief.
The so-called Butterfly-Boned Beauty Feasts were a tribe bearing
ancient demon blood. In the wake of the long-ago battle between gods and
demons, however, the gates to the demon realm had been forever closed to
the mortal world. This demon tribe abandoned in the human realm could no
longer reach the source of the demonic qi that nourished them; slowly, their
spiritual cores withered, and their magic was lost. They became identical to
—or even weaker than—regular humans. The only trait they retained from
the demon tribe was their suitability for use as cultivation vessels.
“The Demonblood Beast is an evil creature refined using a method
found in the fragmented records of the ancient demon tribe. It requires large
amounts of demonic blood,” Gu Mang explained. “When I was in the Liao
Kingdom, I read the scrolls on the Demonblood Beast very carefully.
According to the stories, the demonic tribe must funnel their own spiritual
qi into the beast. If mortals want to refine it themselves, they’d have to use
sacrifices that carry the blood of the demon tribe—the most effective of
these are Butterfly-Boned Beauty Feasts.”
“Which is to say…the Demonblood Beast is raised on living people
of this bloodline?” asked Mo Xi.
 “Pretty much,” Gu Mang said. “More than a hundred thousand
Butterfly-Boned Beauty Feasts are needed to refine one Demonblood Beast.
Wasn’t Li Qingqian’s village destroyed because Liao soldiers were
capturing Butterfly-Boned Beauty Feasts? I’d say they’ve been planning
this for a long time.”
Those shadowy blue irises were filled with the light of the storm.
“Looks like the Liao Kingdom wants a reckoning with us before daybreak.
It won’t wait till tomorrow.” As he spoke, he tied the blue and gold silk
ribbon Murong Lian had given to him over his forehead. A few wisps of
hair came loose, falling over the merit ribbon. “We’re off to lead the
troops!”
A faint smile hooked the corners of his mouth. Perhaps it was Mo
Xi’s imagination that, in the glow of the Demonblood Beast’s light, Gu
Mang’s blue eyes seemed a bit wet. A shadow of foreboding crept into Mo
Xi’s heart. He found himself murmuring, “Gu Mang…”
He thought Gu Mang wouldn’t hear this low call—or that even if he
did, Gu Mang might not respond. There, he was wrong.
Gu Mang turned, his blue eyes shining with the fires of the battlefield
in the distance. He gazed at Mo Xi in silence. Then he reached out to loop
his arms around Mo Xi’s shoulders, gathering him into a bruising embrace
—
Contained within the circle of those arms were too many things to
name: love, intimacy, comfort, encouragement…all the brilliant faith Gu
Mang had afforded Mo Xi in the past. The press of their bodies felt so
natural, as if those miserable and hopeless years of spying and treachery
had never come between them.
When Gu Mang drew back, his handsome face was flashing with a
sharp, fiery light. “After this battle, you need to take your Gu Mang-gege
out for a drink. I require the best pear-blossom white, or I’ll be mightily
displeased.”
Before Mo Xi could get a clear look at his face, he had turned away.
Pulling Mo Xi along, he moved toward the command platform with a
swiftness that brooked no argument.
 Chapter 186:
Gu Mang and the Demonblood Beast

T HOUGH THEIR GENERALS had estimated the final battle would come
the next day, everyone knew it was a guess; the war between Chonghua and
Liao was like a firecracker whose fuse had been lit, ready to detonate at any
moment. No one was thus surprised when Gu Mang called an urgent
assembly. Many soldiers had run to the drill ground unbidden the instant
that ghoulish light had appeared. They knew they’d have no sleep tonight;
they’d meet Liao in their first major battle before dawn. If they could kill
the Demonblood Beast as it emerged, the Liao army would retreat on its
own. But if they couldn’t…
“Of course we can.”
So Gu Mang, their commander, had said. He hadn’t said it like an
order, but a promise. Gu Mang wasn’t particularly tall or broad, and the
suffering he’d endured had left him alarmingly thin. But the figure he cut,
with the scarlet plume of his helmet billowing in the wind, was every bit as
galvanizing as it had been in days of yore. When he spoke to the soldiers,
his voice rang.
“Once, I stood right here and put my life on the line with my brothers
through thirty-nine battles, big and small. This is the fortieth one. Before
every battle, I made you the same promise. I said, I will take you home. I
kept this promise thirty-eight times. At Phoenix Cry Mountain, I broke my
word. I failed to keep my promise; I did not succeed. I left seventy thousand
men behind at that battle, and getting gravestones for them took me fucking
ages haggling with His Imperial Majesty.”
Gu Mang spoke with his hands behind his back, his voice steady. He
was doing his best to don his old ease and charisma before the troops. But
as Mo Xi and Murong Lian stood beside him, both could see that his eyes
glimmered with tears.
“I made good on my promise thirty-eight times.” Gu Mang’s eyes
were too bright as he said, “And I broke it once. This is the fortieth time
I’m making it. If you trust me, heed my call and follow me—let’s go defeat
that newborn whelp once and for all. And then—I’ll take you home!”
I’ll take you home. Along with those seventy thousand dead souls.
Along with a peace that will last through the ages. As long as you’re willing
to believe in me again, I, Gu Mang, will deliver on my promise, whether in
life or in death. I will make myself worthy of being named your General Gu.
I’ll take you home.
The soldiers spread out beneath the platform didn’t speak. Their faces
were upturned, gazing solemnly at their master of the northern frontier, their
warrior of the empire, their scarred and wounded commander.
Yet in the next moment, their armor flashed with light and their
weapons thudded into the ground. A fierce roar seemed to shake loose from
the bowels of the earth itself, rushing into the world from thousands of
chests—
“Together in life or death!”
It echoed like a vast wave, spreading across the Nine Provinces.
“Together in life or death…”
In Mo Xi’s younger days, he’d always thought a nation had to have a
ruler—that was what he’d been taught since he was little. Yet Chonghua
had lost Murong Chen, and it was united like never before. Their recent
calamity was like a dagger cutting away the nation’s rotten flesh—there was
pain, yes, but it had also awakened those who had been stubbornly asleep,
allowing them to take a good look at the hearts of those around them who
didn’t know the difference between good and evil.
The great army set out as one, their armor glittering like dense scales.
Swords and spiritual horses bore their masters away, one after another. The
cultivators were like stars streaming together to form the Milky Way: a
great, gleaming river that grew broader as their numbers swelled, charging
into the sky.
Murong Lian hummed inquisitively. “What’s happening down
there?”
High in the air, Gu Mang looked downward and saw the gates of
Chonghua City wide open. Beneath their army aloft on their swords,
countless bamboo warriors and strange beasts were streaming over the
ground, trailing the main forces as they stormed toward the final battlefield
—at their head was none other than Yue Chenqing.
He was followed by more cultivators, nobles, and even civilian
residents of the city… They poured from the capital gates under their own
command, charging toward the Liao Kingdom’s encampment.
Shocked, Gu Mang gazed at this strange, unprecedented sight. This
stream of people flowed forth without cease, with no distinction between
rich or poor, noble or common. The people came together, rushing toward
the enemy.
“I was wrong,” Gu Mang murmured.
“What?” said Murong Lian.
“This time, they don’t need me to bring them home,” Gu Mang said,
the rims of his eyes slightly red. “This is our home.”
He looked toward the banks of the Fushui River in the middle
distance. There stood the largest barrier protecting Chonghua’s capital—the
imperial barrier. Behind that translucent wall, tens of thousands of the Liao
Kingdom’s demonic cultivators waited, as well as the evil Demonblood
Beast on the verge of being reborn.
Gu Mang brought his fingertips together and urged his sword on
faster, rushing toward the lake where they would make their final stand.
In the dark, the Liao Kingdom’s resurrection array shone more and
more clearly. It was absorbing the sacrificed lives on the other side of the
great Fushui River, emitting a light that grew brighter as they watched. A
massive ghostly silhouette had risen in the middle of the formation, as lofty
as any mountain peak: the form of the Demonblood Beast as it was
resurrected.
Gu Mang hovered at the edge of the imperial barrier, his robes
fluttering as he gazed at the fledgling form of this massive beast. His
temples throbbed. That vision of Chen Tang from centuries ago flashed
before his eyes once more. Hundreds of years ago, Chen Tang had fought a
life-or-death battle, just like today. Then, as now, they had met in battle near
the water, on a riverbank.
 Chen Tang’s sharp brows were drawn low as he stared coldly at Hua
Po’an. “Your evil cannot be borne. Why should I spare you?”
The agony ripping through Gu Mang’s head forced him to close his
eyes. This vision differed from the ones he’d had before. Now that he had
his memories and his mind, he understood why he saw visions of Chen
Tang from centuries in the past.
Eight years ago, he had entered the Liao Kingdom under orders from
his emperor and uncovered its black magic secrets, in particular those
related to the Demonblood Beast. He had spent a frightfully long time
gaining the trust of the Demonblood Beast’s highest-ranked overseer and
built a close friendship with him.
During that time, Gu Mang had gone often to look at what remained
of the Demonblood Beast’s vital spirit. Although back then the
Demonblood Beast was only a cloud of damaged silvery fog without its
souls, power, or memories, Gu Mang had felt its potent malevolent energy.
“Heh, Gu-xiong, take a look. We’ve spent years thinking up ways to
wake the beast up again. Once it recovers, all of the Nine Provinces will fall
before our Great Liao!”
Gu Mang had stared at that silvery fog and smiled without batting an
eye. “Oh, yes.”
The overseer hadn’t been exaggerating. The Demonblood Beast
returned to life would be a catastrophe. Even if the twenty-seven nations of
the cultivation realm banded together to resist it, the casualties would be
unimaginable.
At the time, Gu Mang hadn’t yet discovered his own emperor’s true
intent. But he knew that a terrifying killing weapon like the Demonblood
Beast would be a terrible danger no matter which country or person
possessed it. Although he might help his emperor strategize means of
seizing the Demonblood Beast, he wouldn’t hand over that kind of power to
Murong Chen so easily no matter how much he trusted him.
The first time Gu Mang saw the Demonblood Beast’s silvery mist
rise in the Liao Kingdom’s secret chamber, he’d already wondered if there
was a method to guarantee the outcome he wanted. If there came a day
when the Demonblood Beast was reborn—whether resurrected by the Liao
Kingdom and loyal to Liao, or recovered by Chonghua and allegiant to
Chonghua—he wished to be able to destroy it with the least possible
sacrifice. That would be the safest way, for everyone.
In the days and nights that followed, Gu Mang thought through many
possible hypotheticals, but in the end, he could see only one path forward:
the Heart-Resonance technique.
It wasn’t a particularly complex or extraordinary magic. In fact, his
goal when he’d first developed this technique was childishly naive. He’d
once had an excessively beautiful dream. Despite knowing how vast and
uncertain his future was, he’d still hoped to share a life with his little shidi.
It would be just as they used to talk about, half in jest: they’d have a home
together, with a couple cats or dogs, and plant a peach tree in the courtyard.
They’d shed their armor and return to the fields together, grow old together,
die together. And even though he knew it was impossible, Gu Mang
couldn’t stop himself from secretly creating this Heart-Resonance
technique. Using this magic, he could share his mind with Mo Xi. As long
as they both were willing, they could see all sorts of the things that had
happened in each other’s past. They could share each other’s memories,
feelings, wishes…their whole lives.
It was a spell that required limitless trust and intimacy, absurdly
idealistic. Gu Mang had never thought he’d actually make use of it. He had
only been playing, bleeding off some of his own beautiful reveries.
But back then, as he stood before the Demonblood Beast’s inchoate
form, he understood. His destiny had already been written. The first and last
use of the Heart-Resonance technique wouldn’t be one of companionship,
but of farewell. While the Demonblood Beast was weak, he took the chance
to stealthily cast this spell onto its spiritual form.
The instant he’d activated the technique, he’d felt darkness rush into
his bloodstream like the tide. The black magic spells carved upon his bones
were roused by the Demonblood Beast, and demonic qi surged into his
body. This was the Demonblood Beast’s filthy life. The evil creature’s soul,
forged from the lives of countless sacrifices—Butterfly-Boned Beauty
Feasts and commoners alike—lived within him.
At that moment, he’d seemed to become one with it. He saw how
Hua Po’an refined the beast hundreds of years ago, using a ravine as the
crucible, heavenly lightning as the flame, and tens of thousands of living
people as the raw matter. At last, he succeeded in creating this fiendish and
wicked creature.
Its howls rent the sky. He was it, and it was he.
Through the Demonblood Beast’s eyes, Gu Mang saw the past. He
saw Hua Po’an standing before the Demon-Refining Peak, saw that
ghoulish face from hundreds of years ago.
“The ruler of Chonghua reduced me to a slave while elevating his
Murong Clan as nobles—how ridiculous!” Hua Po’an had once whispered
to the fledgling form of the Demonblood Beast, pouring all of his hatred
into it. “For as long as I can remember, I’ve always wondered this. Why
was I a lowborn servant, while others were born into wealth? Those nasty
old men told me that this was my destiny, that my life was fated to be like
this. But is that true? I worked harder than those nobles; I have more innate
talent than any of them—what kind of destiny is this? Is this not strange?”
Hua Po’an’s features twisted and warped. Such an evil beast could
only have been born from such virulent hate. “Jingchen, did you know…
when I was a slave, I read many books in Chonghua’s cultivation academy.
I dug deep down to the roots of this nation, little by little. I wanted to know
why those named Murong were nobles while we, beneath them, were
servants… Yet when I found my answer, I couldn’t bear it.
“Shall I tell you? Long, long ago, Chonghua was founded by two
brothers, both generals. Side by side, they led their soldiers and conquered a
vast territory to create this nation. They reduced the rebellious denizens of
the countries they conquered to slaves and stripped them of their right to
cultivate so that they could never take up arms and overthrow the new
nation they’d built.
“But the killing never came to an end; one mountain wasn’t enough
for two tigers. Those brothers had faced death together—yet after the
temporary peace bought by their conquest, they reached a stalemate. Who
would rule? After turning their blades on each other, tricking each other,
deceiving each other, the elder brother lost. His younger brother beheaded
every single one of the defeated general’s female family members and
decreed that any descendants of his line would be the lowest of slaves.
Their spiritual cores were destroyed, and they were branded so they could
never free themselves. I am a descendant of that branch of the founding
family—how dissatisfying, no?”
He burst into laughter. “The Murong Clan’s blood also runs through
my veins. But because of one man’s failure, one man’s selfishness, and two
men’s conflict, I was born in this state, into a lowly life where I don’t even
know my own surname,” Hua Po’an said bitterly. “Tell me, were you in my
place, could you make peace with this?”
The Demonblood Beast Jingchen shot up a beam of fiery light from
the crucible, as if in answer to his question. Hua Po’an’s eyes shone
brighter. The world entire seemed to burn to ashes in those mad eyes.
“I’ve never been content with this kind of life. Even losing control of
my spiritual core in the beginning was part of my plan. I was sure that
ridiculous man Chen Tang was soft-hearted; I knew he couldn’t bring
himself to kill me. He begged the emperor for leniency on my behalf and
made an exception for me to practice cultivation, all because I was sweet
and pitiable.”
The firelight from the Demon-Refining Peak licked up like the
tongues of resentful ghosts, dancing madly as they shot out of hell. It lit
Hua Po’an’s face, revealing greed, hatred, ambition… Gu Mang saw the
Demonblood Beast’s first glimpse of the human world, the image Hua
Po’an immersed the creature in.
“Jingchen, I created you to help me reclaim Chonghua. I too can be
king of this nation!”
The Demonblood Beast was an evil creature forged from hatred and
greed. The flesh of dead men had become its flesh, and Hua Po’an’s mad
ambition had become its ambition. When its evil heart resonated with Gu
Mang’s, that terrifying bloodthirstiness was nearly enough to drag Gu Mang
with it into hell.
Gu Mang had felt deep disgust, but he didn’t sever the connection.
All so he could…
The bugle sounded and the drums of war thundered. Gu Mang turned
to see the vast and majestic troops of Chonghua, his brothers and comrades,
those men with whom he’d traversed life and death, those souls he’d
promised to bring home, those soldiers who called him General Gu.
 Sparks swirled up from the battlefield about to go up in the flames of
war. His heart pounded, holding a secret known to no one else. Of course he
could win; of course he’d succeed. Who in the world knew the Demonblood
Beast better than he did? Even Hua Po’an himself was merely its master. He
hadn’t shared his soul with it, merged his life with it.
“Defense cultivators, reinforce the imperial barrier on both sides.
Healers’ squadrons should be the eye of the formation. Winged Cavalry,
disrupt the Liao troop formations on the north side. Northern Frontier
Army, with me.”
“Yes, sir!”
Gu Mang narrowed his eyes, looking down at the Liao encampment,
their blades shining in the moonlight. Across the great surging river, across
a barrier that stretched from the heavens down to the earth, the armies of
Chonghua and Liao stood opposed. The Liao Kingdom had been given
plenty of time to prepare for Chonghua’s attack, and assembled swiftly. Gu
Mang looked out over the armor that shimmered like fish scales behind the
barrier and knew the slaughter would begin as soon as he led his soldiers
through this screen.
He took a deep breath. Bathed in the pristine light of the moon, he
commanded sharply, “We advance through the barrier!”
“Yes, sir!”
On his command, the cultivators of Chonghua swooped down like a
great falcon. The moment they crossed the barrier, black magic spells from
the enemy cultivators shot toward them like a sky full of bristling arrows.
Countless black magic beasts were released from their keepers’ hands:
black-winged corpse hounds and demonic falcons with venomous beaks,
barreling madly toward the cultivators of Chonghua like a chaotic swarm of
poison darts.
On the ground below, the bamboo warrior army led by Yue Chenqing
rolled forward like a herd of hardy grassland horses. They forded the
surging Fushui River that protected the city and streamed toward the Liao
encampment on the opposite shore.
Chonghua’s vanguard was like a sharp knife hurled toward the Liao
army’s gleaming shield, the collision sending sparks flying as the dagger’s
point stabbed at the army’s core. A pike struck from behind this shield—the
counterstrike from the Liao Kingdom’s offensive cultivators. Roars from a
thousand throats shook the skies, and fire and blood streaked the air.
“Attack!”
The sky lit up with fireworks like countless shooting stars falling to
earth. The battle was monstrous, but beneath the velvet curtain of night, it
created a majestic, dazzling spectacle. The blood of dead soldiers dyed the
banks of the Fushui River a blushing pink. Gu Mang felled a demonic bird
soaring toward him with a strike of his dagger, then cried, “Don’t get
bogged down at the front! Follow me to the Demonblood Beast’s forging
grounds!”
Beside the site where the Demonblood Beast had been created was an
immense cage for holding sacrifices, filled to bursting with the Butterfly-
Boned Beauty Feasts the Liao Kingdom had seized and bred over decades.
Liao soldiers pushed them into the center of the demon-refining furnace,
one after another. These humans were treated like ore for smelting swords,
like pieces of marble or any raw material. They were made to jump into the
furnace, the source of energy for the Demonblood Beast’s resurrection.
“Mom…” one prisoner whimpered.
“I don’t want to die… I don’t want to die…”
These human sacrifices wailed in grief as they went to their deaths,
but the people of Liao felt not the slightest twinge of conscience at their
piteous begging. They had seen the Demonblood Beast’s fledgling
silhouette and could already sense the all-powerful evil beast it would
become. Yelling, pushing, and prodding, they sent those living humans with
a few drops of ancient demon blood into the churning furnace.
A woman with exquisite features saw that it was soon to be her turn,
and fat tears rolled down her lovely cheeks. Her tear tracks glimmered
golden—the tell-tale sign of a Butterfly-Boned Beauty Feast. “Spare me!”
She grabbed a Liao cultivator in despair. “I’m with child, I want my babe to
live… Please… I’m begging you…”
But the only answer she received was the Liao cultivator’s raucous
laughter. “Even better! Pregnant ones have stronger demonic qi!”
 The woman’s eyes brimmed with tears. As her desperation reached
its peak, a beam of blue light shot down from the sky. A magnificent barrier
sprang up from the ground, enclosing the Butterfly-Boned Beauty Feasts
behind it. Astonished and overjoyed, the woman looked up to see a group of
Chonghua’s cultivators swoop in on their swords. The commander at their
head wore silver armor and black boots, his eyes a gleaming blue, the red
plumes on his helmet fluttering in the wind. That blue and gold ribbon that
represented the blood of heroes was tied neatly beneath his whipping bangs.
It was Gu Mang, son of the Wangshu line and general of the Northern
Frontier Army. At his side was Xihe-jun, Mo Xi, in gold-trimmed black
robes that billowed in the wind, as well as Wangshu-jun, Murong Lian,
wearing sapphire trimmed in gold and an expression of careless disdain.
Murong Lian clucked his tongue. “Using living people to make a
demon beast—disgusting. They’re even more despicable than me; I’ll admit
I’m impressed.”
While he spoke, Mo Xi summoned Shuairan. The soaring snake whip
cracked through the air, winding itself securely around the black magic cage
trapping these living sacrifices and shattering it. Lowering his black eyes,
he said to those shocked and suspicious sacrifices: “Run.”
The sacrifices froze for several moments before they realized what
had happened. Like a scattered school of fish, they began to rush about in
all directions. Some brought their hands together and kowtowed to the
heavens, bawling. Mo Xi commanded a defense squadron to protect others
as they fled toward safety. For a time, all they heard were the sobs of the
freed prisoners as they cried, “Thank you… Thank you, esteemed
cultivators…”
The pregnant woman bowed to them again and again. Only when a
defense cultivator of Chonghua urged her to run did she take one last tearful
glance back before turning to leave. Yet just as Gu Mang raised a hand to
put an end to this Liao squadron in one swift strike, a shrill, keening melody
split the air.
Gu Mang was the quickest to react. His head snapped up. “Fengbo?!”
A transparent figure came soaring toward them out of the distance.
He was mounted on a sword, high in midair. As he drew closer, they could
see he wore white robes, his lapels hanging carelessly open, holding a
polished copper holy weapon with a fluttering white ribbon. He looked up;
his face was achingly handsome, with glistening black eyes and a rakish
smile.
Even Mo Xi and Murong Lian were stunned speechless. “Gu Mang?”
The ghostly figure standing on the sword was indeed Gu Mang. A Gu
Mang who was young and bold and formidable, before he had offered
himself up for black magic tempering.
“Wh-what’s happening here?” exclaimed Murong Lian.
After the shock had passed, Mo Xi realized what they were seeing.
His eyes reddened as he stared fixedly at this specter from the past. “The
nine-eyed qin…” he rasped.
“What?”
“The Liao guoshi’s nine-eyed qin,” Mo Xi said. “There are nine eyes
set within it, and each contains a cultivator’s power.” His fingertips
trembled, pressing deep into his palms. His voice was heavy with the
weight of his hatred, so low it was nearly inaudible. “This eye was made
from the techniques of Chonghua that he stripped out of Gu Mang.”
Murong Lian flinched. He slanted a glance at Gu Mang, who seemed
unaffected. The words stripped out tasted of blood and suffering, filled with
the suggestion of being flayed open in a prison cell, of the agony of having
his spiritual energy torn from his bones. Yet it was as though the words had
little to do with him. Gu Mang stared at that phantom of himself that could
still use the techniques of Chonghua and summon the holy weapon Fengbo,
and spoke with perfect calm. “The guoshi’s handling the Demonblood
Beast’s resurrection ceremony at a distance, yet it seems he can’t sit still
anymore. He sent me to deal with me.”
No one said anything.
“I look pretty handsome.”
“Just average,” replied Murong Lian. “Not quite as handsome as me.”
Gu Mang chuckled. Before he could say more, he saw his phantom
raise the suona, his fingertips poised over its holes. Gu Mang knew that
pose too well. “Activate the sound-proofing barriers!” he shouted in worry.
 The cultivators behind him did as he commanded, but not everyone
was fast enough; only half of them had activated their barriers before the
phantom Gu Mang began to play.
“Ah—!”
Though the sound of the suona was thin and reedy, it cut through the
skies, descending upon the entirety of the assembled forces. Those who
hadn’t managed to create their barrier formations screamed piteously,
tumbling off their swords and plummeting to the ground. Some merely bled
from every orifice, while others fell unconscious immediately.
Gu Mang swore softly; even if he’d recovered his mind, his spiritual
energy was gone for good. All he could summon was the demonic dagger—
deadly enough in one-on-one fights, but unable to hold a candle to the
sound of Fengbo in battle.
The scene swiftly devolved into chaos. The demonic Liao Kingdom
cultivators Chonghua’s forces had held at bay exploded forward in
retaliation, and the tides of the battle turned. A few Liao cultivators
overtook the human sacrifices that had fallen behind and recaptured the
screaming Butterfly-Boned Beauty Feasts, throwing them one by one into
the spiritual energy furnace. The molten pool inside was already too
dazzling to look at directly, and within the nearby resurrection array, the
figure of the Demonblood Beast grew more and more distinct.
“More! Grab more!” A high-ranking Liao cultivator shouted
frantically. “It’s about to be reborn! It’s about to be reborn! There’s just a bit
left!”
Mo Xi reached for Tuntian, but its power was far too much. He
usually only summoned the weapon a handful of times per year, and he had
already used that capacity to its limit. He and Tuntian had both been
depleted when he fought with Murong Chen; it wouldn’t answer his call.
It was then that Mo Xi heard another string of notes from behind him,
a sound as capable of disrupting armies as Fengbo. He and Gu Mang looked
back in shock.
The one playing this disruption music was Murong Lian.
 Chapter 187:
The Weapon of Warrior Soul Mountain

M URONG LIAN WAS a son of the Murong Clan; of course he had his
own holy weapon instrument. He’d never liked it, and almost never called
on it. But in their most desperate hour, a holy weapon huqin, its sound box
covered in dragonskin, was propped against his hip.
Murong Lian met Gu Mang’s gaze with a glare. “What are you
looking at?! Don’t you dare laugh!”
But Gu Mang wasn’t laughing. He hadn’t expected Murong Lian
would also have a holy weapon capable of single-handedly routing three
armies.
With a flourish, Murong Lian drew the bow across the fiddle’s double
strings. The huqin’s brilliant notes met the suona’s call from across the
battlefield. The two sounds were like unseen dragons breaking through the
water’s surface, colliding in a roar of wind and thunder. This was a duel
between two sons of music cultivators; neither could afford to hold
anything back. Murong Lian’s peach-blossom eyes were narrowed as he
stared at that familiar, false Gu Mang, his pale fingers drawing the bow over
silk strings. The sound grew sharper and sharper, more and more
murderous, as the two forces tangled over the battlefield. Everyone’s ears
rang as spiritual energy roiled between the instruments.
The pair of melodies intertwined like two jiao dragons soaring
through the sky; at times, Murong Lian’s huqin gained the upper hand, at
others, the illusory Gu Mang’s Fengbo surged ahead. This sort of battle
wasn’t as bloody as that of blades clashing, but it was no less treacherous.
Murong Lian flicked his wrist and the sound of the qin careened higher.
After a few moments of falling behind, the illusory Gu Mang narrowed his
eyes, his lips lifting slightly from the suona’s reed.
The real Gu Mang caught the tell and shouted a warning: “Watch
out!”
 Murong Lian was instantly on guard, drawing the bow across both
strings. Just as his melody reached a climactic high, the phantom Gu Mang
closed his eyes and lifted his fingers from the instrument’s holes, leaning
back to play the sharpest note.
At that explosive sound, Murong Lian bent his head and choked out a
mouthful of blood. Gu Mang cried out, “Murong Lian, are you all right?!”
Murong Lian licked a spot of crimson from his lips and looked up,
his expression dark. “I’m fine… It won’t kill me,” he muttered. He leveled
a sinister gaze at the phantom Gu Mang across the field. But that illusion
was already beginning to fade; as they faced off, it scattered from the
impact of those lingering notes, becoming a hazy fog that slowly dispersed
on the wind.
A silence fell over the battlefield. Seconds after the illusory Gu Mang
vanished completely, a burst of joyful shouting came from the army of
Chonghua.
“It’s gone! It’s gone!”
“Oh my god, Wangshu-jun knew how to do that? Why hasn’t he done
it before?!”
Gu Mang approached Murong Lian to confirm he was really
uninjured and let out a breath. “…Why haven’t you ever shown this off?”
Murong Lian snorted, dismissing his holy weapon huqin with an
impatient flick of his hand. Countenance dark, he answered, “What’s there
to show off? I detest music cultivation; all that singing and plucking and
whining. So damn boring.”
But seeing the low-level cultivators rejoice and throw themselves
back into battle with Liao to take control of the demon-refining furnace, a
hint of satisfaction emerged on his features.
He had no time to savor it. A soul-shaking boom sounded from the
distance, followed by a rumbling like Mount Tai collapsing or the Yellow
River flooding, as if the world itself was about to end. Everyone stilled in
shock, smiles of expectant victory frozen on some low-level cultivators’
faces as they craned stiff necks to look up. The red light of magma
illuminated their faces and washed away their hope, replacing it with masks
of terror.
 “D-Demon… Demon…” The low-level cultivators stuttered. “It’s the
Demonblood Beast… The Demonblood Beast!”
As the light of the demon-refining furnace brightened to a dazzling
gold, roiling lava surged up from the cracks in the ground. It shattered the
earth and mountains like the god Pangu breaking through the primordial
chaos and burst from the ground with terrifying power. The bright energy
became a shrieking whirlwind as it soared upward, pouring into that empty
silhouette of the Demonblood Beast that hovered between the heavens and
the earth.
Gu Mang’s skull rang with pain. He gasped.
He was it, and it was he.
He had wanted to stop it from reappearing, but at this moment, he
could sense it was already too late—that a surge of wild demonic energy,
bountiful enough to destroy worlds, had filled the creature’s entire body.
Within its flaming shell, it was about to rise from the ashes.
“Run! Use water barriers! Mo Xi, Tuntian!”
Gu Mang’s sharp shout roused the frozen cultivators into action.
Realizing a catastrophe was coming, they opened water-type barriers one by
one to block it. Beneath their feet, the earth shook, fragments of rock and
soil surging like resentful ghosts into the world with the gushing flames.
One by one, they crashed down on the defense barriers they’d set up.
How could any one person be a match for this Demonblood Beast
forged from innumerable resentful souls? Raging flames licked into the sky
with the demonic creature’s rebirth, intent on sweeping the entire realm.
Slowly, the cultivators lost ground against it; some with weaker spiritual
energy watched as their water barriers were overpowered by the flames.
Within moments, they were swallowed up and swept into the maelstrom of
spiritual energy for the Demonblood Beast’s resurrection.
Mo Xi gritted his teeth and summoned all of his remaining power to
shout furiously once more, “Tuntian! Come! ”
Amid fire and blood, the massive whale soared into being. Its blue
halo shone cool on the fiery sea, touching the cultivators of Chonghua and
the living sacrifices with nowhere to go. Faces all across the field turned up
toward Tuntian’s expansive blue light, burn marks, terror, bitterness, and
despair written over their features. They looked through the flames as the
Demonblood Beast shook out its silvery-white fur, grew clawed feet the
size of a palace hall, and blinked open a pair of clear blue eyes.
Its howl shook the skies.
Within this catastrophic destruction, that legendary beast of evil leapt
out from the flames. It was tall enough to obscure the sky; even craning
their necks, those on the ground couldn’t see where its body ended; all they
could hear were its ringing howls. Atop the beast’s head stood the figure of
a man in robes of gold-trimmed white. He cradled a qin in his arms, robes
billowing around him, and stared coldly down at the realm that was soon to
bend to his will. The man floated downward, coming to a stable stop on the
tips of his toes.
This was the guoshi of Liao, who had been overseeing the demon
beast’s rebirth behind the scenes.
“Jingchen, go.”
The Demonblood Beast Jingchen shrieked as it rose into the skies,
bringing the seething flames with it as it flew toward the imperial barrier of
Chonghua.
“It’s coming!”
“Form the array! Hurry and form the array!”
The defense cultivators stationed on the Chonghua side of the Fushui
River shot countless beams of spell light to buttress the imperial barrier as
Jingchen slammed against the translucent wall with the force of a mountain
falling into the sea.
With a boom, a thin crack appeared on the barrier’s surface.
This ancient evil beast was too powerful. Even if the defense
cultivators poured all their magic into mending the barrier, it might not hold
past three strikes.
Murong Lian and Mo Xi turned to assist them, but the guoshi took
this moment to raise his hands over his qin strings. He strummed once:
seven eyes of the nine-eyed qin blinked open. Other than the false Gu Mang
who had been scattered and the final eye at the tail of the qin, the phantoms
of the eyes’ masters soared out from all the others.
 Besides the Xuanwu Armor and the qinggong grandmaster of Lichun,
who had long been revealed, the guoshi had curated other demons and
monsters, cultivators and evil spirits who resided within the qin. Those
seven beams of illusory light represented seven domains of unsurpassed
power obstructing Mo Xi and Murong Lian’s path to providing
reinforcement.
“What the hell are you?!” Murong Lian raged. “Shameless toady,
letting others fight your battles. And what’s with the mask—are you so ugly
you’re ashamed of being seen?!”
The guoshi paid him no mind. His robes fluttered behind those seven
illusions, smiling faintly. “The mask? I’ve grown used to wearing it is all;
I’ve nothing to hide. I won’t keep it on forever. Once I capture Chonghua
City, I’ll naturally take it off.” He paused, his smile now syrupy sweet.
“Wangshu-jun ought to pray he lives that long.”
He waved a hand, and those seven beams of light shot toward Mo Xi
and Murong Lian like bright swords.
Across the field, Gu Mang reached the imperial barrier as the
Demonblood Beast slammed against it with fangs bared for the third time.
Cries of alarm rose as the barrier exploded into countless shards of light,
crashing to the ground like hail. The Demonblood Beast shook itself and
broke through the last faltering screen of spells. It sprang into the air as if
ready to swallow the skies and flew toward the capital.
The cultivators on the banks of the Fushui hadn’t expected the barrier
to fall so quickly. For a moment, no one moved; they didn’t know what to
do.
Yue Chenqing, who had led the bamboo warrior army and the herd of
spiritual beasts, was the first to react. “What are you staring at! Are you
waiting for it to destroy the entire capital? Go stop it!”
The cultivators shuddered as they came back to their senses. But as
they moved to give chase, they saw Gu Mang flying over on his sword,
shouting loudly, “None of you pursue that thing!”
“General Gu!”
“You won’t be able to catch it!”
 “But it’s flying toward the city! Look how fast it destroyed the
imperial barrier, the city—”
“It won’t destroy the city.”
Everyone paused, taken aback by his confidence.
“The Demonblood Beast just returned to life,” Gu Mang explained.
“It looks powerful, but only in comparison to mortals. It’s still weak right
now. After what happened with Murong Chen a few days ago, demonic qi
has spread everywhere. This demonic qi will bring us certain death, but it’s
rare ambrosia for the Demonblood Beast. It will not destroy the city before
it absorbs all of the demonic qi in it.”
As he spoke, they saw the Demonblood Beast come to a stop above
the capital of Chonghua, hovering in the air. But it was as Gu Mang said: it
didn’t immediately attack, instead flying in several circles. Finally it landed
on a mountainside on the outskirts of the city, opening its ferocious maw to
begin absorbing demonic qi into its body.
Everyone stood terrified at the sight, but Gu Mang scoffed. “Why
not? The pup can help us with the civilians who’ve been afflicted with
demonic poison.” He turned to the soldiers. “It’s at its weakest when
absorbing demonic qi. Watch carefully—that beast’s fatal weakness is seven
feet below its heart.” He then addressed Yue Chenqing: “Yue Chenqing,
come here.”
He came forward in confusion. Gu Mang straightened the young
man’s slightly crooked armor and looked up at him with azure eyes. “I’m
asking you to lead half of the defense troops to Warrior Soul Mountain right
away.”
Yue Chenqing blinked. “Why Warrior Soul Mountain?”
Gu Mang hesitated. “There are records in the Liao Kingdom’s
military histories stating that those statues of Chonghua’s rulers are actually
a barrier formation. The monuments of the venerated seven stand guard
over the weapon used by one of the founding generals of Chonghua.”
“What?!” Yue Chenqing exclaimed. “If that’s true, why didn’t we in
Chonghua know…”
 “Because that general was none other than the brother of the first
emperor, reduced to a slave after losing the struggle for power—Hua
Po’an’s ancestor.”
Gu Mang gazed at the distant Demonblood Beast on the
mountainside. “After the general fell from grace, the first emperor erased
every trace of him and his achievements. The extraordinary half-holy half-
demonic weapon he wielded was sealed within the peak of Warrior Soul
Mountain, guarded by the statues. But the sealing barrier needed to be
reinforced once every hundred years. Instead of revealing this secret, the
first emperor made a rule—whenever an emperor died or stepped down,
whether or not they were worthy of the honor, the nation must erect a statue
of spirit-suppressing jade on the peak of Warrior Soul Mountain.”
“Even if an emperor lived to a ripe old age, it wouldn’t be an interval
of more than a hundred years,” Yue Chenqing murmured. “The statues were
just an excuse to reinforce the barrier…”
“Exactly. Even so, the weapon buried there is so powerful its killing
aura hasn’t dissipated even after all these centuries. Despite its protections
being renewed with each generation, every night when the yin energy is at
its strongest, one can hear the drums of war, sounds of slaughter, and the
thunder of marching armies on Warrior Soul Mountain. They all come from
the weapon vessel.”
“What kind of weapon is it?” asked Yue Chenqing.
“It’s rumored to be a longbow, created by a weapons master using
both holy and demonic power. Now, remember what I say next. If the
rumors from the Liao Kingdom are to be credited, you’ll only need half of
the defense troops. Break the statues on the mountain peak and make a
blood offering from the palms of a hundred people. The holy-demonic bow
should break its own seal. You’ll need to combine everyone’s power to
create an arrow of spiritual energy. When the Demonblood Beast has
absorbed all of the demonic qi from the city, loose the arrow and kill it.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll lead the other half of the defense troops to cast spells from
behind the Demonblood Beast to pin it down. The creature will be at its
weakest after it’s glutted itself on demonic qi. If we miss this opportunity, it
will become invincible.”
 Gu Mang held Yue Chenqing’s gaze. “Remember this,” he said. “Its
vital point is seven feet below its heart. You only have one chance.”
 Chapter 188:
The Way of the Martyr

I T TOOK ROUGHLY an hour for the Demonblood Beast to absorb all

the demonic qi in the city. As it sated itself, it enveloped its vast body in a
barrier of demonic qi so no one could get close to it. Yue Chenqing led half
of the defense troops toward Warrior Soul Mountain, while Gu Mang led
the remaining half to stand guard on the banks of the rushing Fushui.
Dawn had come. War smoke choked the air over the battlefield, the
sky whitening at its edges like the pale belly of a fish. Gu Mang turned back
to look toward where the Liao guoshi was fighting Murong Lian and Mo
Xi. Perhaps there was something he wished to say, or perhaps he simply
wanted to take one last, longing glance.
Everything he needed to say had been said; the grudges were settled,
the misunderstandings resolved. The only thing he couldn’t have was the
rest of his life—but how could such perfect completeness exist? There was
very little Gu Mang was unwilling to part with. He had already rehearsed
this ending many times in his mind while he made his plans.
The others rightly thought he was going to stop the Demonblood
Beast. Only he alone knew how he was going to do it.
He summoned a golden-winged snow pegasus and straightened his
merit ribbon astride its back. The tassel on his helm was crimson, the ribbon
a flowing blue and gold. From atop the pegasus, he led his comrades
charging toward the rear of the Demonblood Beast.
The distant sounds of soldiers marching came from the direction of
Warrior Soul Mountain. Looking closer, he could see the figures of
Chonghua’s squadrons approaching the burial grounds on the mountain’s
peak. Yue Chenqing was completing the mission he’d given him, the
countdown for Gu Mang’s own life…
Dawn was arriving; day was about to break. When the first ray of
golden splendor shot through the darkness, tearing aside night’s veil, the
Demonblood Beast inhaled the last wisp of demonic qi in the capital city of
Chonghua.
In the same instant, a massive boom sounded from the top of Warrior
Soul Mountain as the seven lofty statues of previous emperors collapsed
with a rumble. Gleaming red and gold light exploded from between the
trees in the mountain forest as the bow of gods and demons broke through
the earth. Gu Mang knew Yue Chenqing had completed the task he’d given
him.
It was time for the final reckoning.
Gu Mang could taste the bloodiness of the looming battle; the
Demonblood Beast scented it as well. It roared, swallowing the last of the
demonic energy and absorbing the thick demonic qi into itself, pawing the
ground. It reared back and sprang into the sky, baring its fangs as it soared
majestically toward Warrior Soul Mountain.
At the summit, the arrow forged by ten thousand soldiers glowed as it
was nocked to the bow, aimed at the Demonblood Beast’s fatal point on Yue
Chenqing’s orders. But the Demonblood Beast moved too quickly; it was
entirely impossible to aim with any precision. Yue Chenqing’s expression
shifted; as he watched the creature draw closer and closer, he swallowed
nervously, unsure of whether to fire.
It was then that Gu Mang unsheathed his blade. Bathed in the dawn
light, he cried, “Form the spell!”
He was astride a golden-winged snow pegasus, soaring hundreds of
feet above the surging river Fushui. A voice-amplifying spell carried this
sharp command to the hundreds of thousands of brave soldiers behind him,
his voice echoing across the abandoned plains through the smoke of battle.
“Bind its body!”
“Yes, sir!”
The cultivators shouted their deafening response. Golden chains of
spiritual energy shot from each of their palms, crisscrossing into an
inescapable net both blindingly bright and enormously powerful. This net
flew out from behind the Demonblood Beast and restrained it, binding its
strong limbs and sturdy neck.
 The Demonblood Beast howled in its rage. It bared its fangs,
struggling in uncontrollable fury; thousands of chains snapped with each of
its movements.
“Bind it again!”
Once more, countless chains of golden light shot forth, flinging
themselves toward the Demonblood Beast.
Gu Mang hovered in the skies on his warhorse. The sun was cresting
the horizon in the east, breaking through the darkness of the abyss. The
scarlet of daybreak was more vast and vivid than the blood on the ground;
Gu Mang’s handsome profile was caught in the light of the rising sun,
limned in resplendent gold.
As the cultivators launched their second wave of spell-bindings, Gu
Mang formed his hands into a sigil and closed his eyes. In the instant his
lids shut, he saw through the Demonblood Beast Jingchen’s eyes.
He saw Yue Chenqing at the head of a neat troop formation; he saw
the battered imperial capital; he saw crying children, helpless elderly, and
the cultivators who never retreated. During the five years he’d spent in the
Liao Kingdom, he had no choice but to harm these people. Now, as he
looked at them again through the Demonblood Beast’s eyes, he saw the
despair that once kept him from sound sleep, saw the hatred that gnawed at
him as a never-ending guilt. But this time, he no longer needed to grieve on
their behalf.
He could finally protect them.
He would protect the living, the kind, the young, the new. Covered in
wounds and drenched in bloody filth, he was willing to become mud, so
long as they could grow beautiful flowers from the blood he shed into the
soil.
Come, Gu Mang thought.
He seemed to see another soul before him, the soul that belonged to
the Demonblood Beast Jingchen. It looked so evil and so massive, its head
towering into the sky. But Gu Mang felt not the slightest fear or
hopelessness. He walked toward it.
Come. You are me, and I am you.
 He reached toward the Demonblood Beast in his mindscape, the same
way Chen Tang had done in those visions.
It’s over now.
The Demonblood Beast couldn’t bear Gu Mang disrupting its mind; it
was thoroughly bound, howling and in pain but incapable of freeing itself.
On Warrior Soul Mountain, Yue Chenqing saw his chance. Entirely
ignorant of the consequences of the Demonblood Beast’s death for Gu
Mang, he raised a hand, following the order Gu Mang himself had given
him. “Fire!”
The string twanged, and the arrow flew.
The arrow containing ten thousand soldiers’ spiritual energy nailed
itself into the Demonblood Beast’s vital point in the moment the rising sun
fully broke through the clouds. Its warm golden light spilled over the earth
from behind the black peaks of the mountains, filling the world with
brilliance. Daybreak, even in the direst circumstances, was always tranquil
and pure. Even the pained howling of the evil beast seemed to fade as the
morning sun solemnly climbed into the sky, the sound no longer so
terrifying as it had been in the black of night.
Under the watching eyes of the soldiers on the peak of Warrior Soul
Mountain, of the troops on the banks of the Fushui River, and of the
civilians inside Chonghua City, the massive beast’s movements grew
sluggish, as if stuck in glue. In the majestic light of that new day, the beast
raised its head; seven feet below its heart, the arrowhead had sunk deep.
Fresh blood dyed the creature’s fur. It threw its head back and howled
hysterically, tearing free of the golden binding chains forged by the
cultivators on the riverside.
“No!”
“It didn’t help! It’s going to go berserk!”
Gu Mang made no sound. He sat on horseback, hovering above the
Fushui River with eyes unblinking, watching as the earth-shaking demon
beast was enveloped in the brilliant light that grew more splendid by the
minute.
 The beast bayed furiously, straightening its legs. Gu Mang watched it
quietly. He was wracked with agony, a pain no less than when he had
surrendered himself to the Liao Kingdom and had his spiritual energy
ripped away and replaced with black magic. It was the pain of death. But
this time, he didn’t feel it, perhaps because he knew this suffering only
belonged to the demon beast. Instead, he felt relief, reassurance, calm…
Yet there was also reluctance and remorse. Many years ago, he’d
stepped onto a thorny path and never thought of turning back. Because of
this, he hadn’t dared make rash promises to Mo Xi about the future; he’d
always felt it would be too unfair to Mo Xi. No one should give their whole
heart to someone who was ready to sacrifice themselves at any moment.
In Gu Mang’s heart, the flowers of the world and his little shidi were
equally important. After having gone through so much, he still couldn’t
have both in the end.
Gu Mang turned, looking toward Murong Lian and Mo Xi fighting
the guoshi in the distance. He tried to recall the last thing he’d said to Mo
Xi, but he couldn’t remember. He had wanted to leave the most tender
words as a goodbye, but the sight of Mo Xi’s face had driven him to blather
about trivial things of no importance.
In truth, was there anyone who wanted to be a hero or a spy?
Everyone wished to settle down somewhere with a few good friends and
their own beloved, laughing together over the silly things in books or
fretting over the weather ruining their plans to dry the laundry in the sun.
All their worries would amount to no more than the rising prices of
vegetables in the eastern market, or how this new type of rice wasn’t as
good as their usual pick.
But when fate came knocking, someone always had to go. No one
wanted to leave, but someone had to act. Because he’d tasted the suffering
of unanswered yearning and understood the pain of lovers separated, Gu
Mang tenderly refused to let others experience it too. But he had fallen in
love and gotten attached—and, with one wrong move, forsaken the love of
his life.
“Mo Xi,” Gu Mang mouthed silently toward the man in the distance.
His lips moved, but he didn’t know what else he should say. He’d known
Mo Xi for so many years; they’d experienced so many things and
exchanged so many words. What was there left that they both didn’t already
understand?
In the end, Gu Mang only murmured Mo Xi’s name a few more
times, like a prayer, until he heard the cultivators beside him shout in wild
joy.
“Look!”
“Look! The Demonblood Beast, i-it’s dying!”
Gu Mang turned. He started smiling, too.
I’ll take you home, I’ll bring you ashore, not because this piece of
land is great, but because I’ve always believed that good will replace the
bad and the new will replace the old, just as the black of night will always
retreat before the light of dawn. After all, there are too many seeds of hope
in the world. I wish for all of them to blossom into flowers. Even if they’re
no more than tiny insignificant blooms.
The Demonblood Beast was faltering; after a final weak struggle, it
fell to the earth with a great boom. Its life was fading. It was transforming
into motes of light, flying into that sky that seemed to have been rinsed
clean by dawn.
The soldiers were dead silent. Then jubilant cries rose from Warrior
Soul Mountain, exploding from where the youngest troops were. Gu Mang
wanted to laugh out loud at the sound. Young lives always held more vigor
and hope. They could find victory and find happiness far faster than
decrepit old soldiers like him.
Once, he too had been young. He’d ridden his horse over rolling
grasslands with Lu Zhanxing, with Mo Xi, with his brothers. The crisp wind
of the past swept over his face like it could scour clean the dirt of a lifetime.
In time, he had left his brothers behind at Phoenix Cry Mountain.
He’d watched Lu Zhanxing’s head fall with his own eyes, and stabbed Mo
Xi through the heart with his own two hands. He’d aged the instant he took
his first innocent life. Chonghua’s General Gu grew old back then, he died
back then. All this while, he had been so tired. He had shattered to dust long
ago; it was faith alone that allowed him, just barely, to glue himself back
together.
 Today, this dead man could finally make good on the unfulfilled
promise he’d made on the eve of his thirty-ninth battle: I’ll take you home.
Gu Mang whispered these words beneath the thunderous shouting
that had broken out and smiled just as he had when he was young. He
watched the Demonblood Beast collapse into dust and light; he watched the
people filling the mountains and the city outskirts, watched the city shout
and rejoice. In those crowds, he saw Lu Zhanxing, the young Mo Xi, his
own youthful self, and everyone that had died at Phoenix Cry Mountain,
those unremarkable names that no one would remember, but he’d never
dared to forget.
Ten thousand leagues of the nation bought with the blood of ten
thousand souls. Today…I’ve finally brought you home. I can finally…return
to your midst.
Gu Mang closed his eyes and fell from the back of the golden-winged
pegasus, the blue and gold ribbon fluttering in his hair. He let his limbs go
slack, tumbling into the great Fushui River amid the jubilant shouting that
had yet to stop.
How nice. It was as if he’d never known defeat in this lifetime, as if
he was taking off his armor and returning in triumph. All his suffering had
faded away…
No one heard the splash as the surging river swallowed him up. He
sank, his ears filled with nothing but rumbling water. He opened those clear
blue eyes beneath the surface, taking one last glance at the sunlight growing
farther and farther away, glimmering overhead like the stars they’d watched
when they were young on the frontier. Beneath the starry sky, Lu Zhanxing
was laughing loudly, his brothers were drinking wine, and the north wind
was warm with the scent of pear-blossom white. Mo Xi sat quietly by the
bonfire, listening to Gu Mang talk about worldly ideals, watching him glory
in his carefree youth.
They were the best days of his life.
“Gu Mang—!”
Wild with joy over the Demonblood Beast’s defeat, no one noticed
Gu Mang fall until they heard the sound of someone shouting his name with
a throat torn raw.
 The Fushui was raging; the cultivators first looked in alarm toward
Mo Xi. Only then did they discover that, while they were celebrating their
victory, Gu Mang had slipped from the back of his golden-winged pegasus.
More cries went up. “General Gu!”
“What happened?”
“Where’s General Gu?!”
“Hurry and rescue him! Go down and rescue him!”
The guoshi took advantage of this chaos—with a vicious strum of his
qin, he managed to wound the stricken Mo Xi. Only the quick intervention
of Murong Lian stopped him from dealing the killing blow. Continuing to
fight the guoshi now would be unwise.
But just as Murong Lian made to follow Mo Xi to the great Fushui
River to bring Gu Mang ashore, he heard the guoshi’s menacing snort. “You
two? As if you two can bring him back?”
Murong Lian’s face went pale. “What do you mean?”
But Mo Xi made no sound; he was trembling all over, deaf to
anyone’s words. He charged red-eyed toward the churning water where Gu
Mang had disappeared. Murong Lian couldn’t stop him, and not even the
guoshi tried to block his way, letting him hurtle toward the banks of the
Fushui.
Murong Lian turned toward the guoshi. “What the hell do you
mean?!”
“Ah, what Gu Mang used was a technique similar to the one Chen
Tang used back then to defeat and seal the Demonblood Beast,” the guoshi
replied slowly, the eyes behind his mask flashing with inconstant light.
“Chen Tang killed the Demonblood Beast, and then he died. Today Gu
Mang did the same.”
“Bullshit!” Murong Lian cried, furious.
The guoshi burst into laughter. “If you don’t believe me, feel free to
go look for him with Xihe-jun. Oh, and by the way—”
He stepped back toward the edge of the cliff behind him with the qin
in his arms, speaking coolly. “Back then, my attack on the city failed
because of Chen Tang’s desperate action. After hundreds of years, there’s
no way I would let the same trick stop me. This time, I refined a new spell
before I re-tempered the Demonblood Beast Jingchen…”
After a moment of shock, realization hit Murong Lian. “What did you
say?” The remaining color in his face disappeared. “Your attack on the city
back then?!”
The guoshi smiled thinly. “Mn.”
Murong Lian’s face was as white as paper. “So y-you are…”
The man before him removed his mask, exposing a face that was
chiseled and handsome, but filled with malevolence. Murong Lian reacted
as if he’d been struck by lightning, taking a few stumbling steps back. “You
—you’re!”
The guoshi looked up, baring his eerie white teeth in a grin. “Since
it’s come to this, I can’t be bothered to keep up the act. You’re correct. The
previous king of Liao, Hua Po’an…” He smiled. “That would be me.”
 Murong Lian’s throat had gone dry. He couldn’t say a thing in that
moment. He heard shocked shouts from the cultivators in the distance, on
the banks of the Fushui.
“What’s happening?!”
“What is this?!”
He turned. A surging blood pool had appeared where the
Demonblood Beast Jingchen had vanished on the banks of the river. That
dark pool seemed to have a life of its own, expanding outward as he
watched…
Hua Po’an shot a careless glance over, cocking his head and
laughing. “How does it look? I learned my lesson when Chen Tang gave his
life for the country and added a new spell—if the Demonblood Beast is
killed, its blood will become an endlessly expanding pool. Unless I give the
order, it will continue growing without cease, swallowing the mountains
and creeks, the city walls, the living and the dead… If you refuse to
surrender, I don’t mind reducing Chonghua to an ocean of blood.” He
licked his lips, his voice sinking into an eerie timbre. “In any case, hundreds
of years have passed, and much has changed. There’s nothing in Chonghua
I can’t bear to part with.”
He threw the mask carelessly to the ground. “For now, I’ll spare your
life. Go back and tell the people of Chonghua what I’ve said. The blood
pool will swallow Chonghua City within ten days. I’ll give you ten days to
decide: surrender or die. It’s up to you.”
With that, he swept his sleeves and leapt up with qinggong. Fluttering
like a paper kite, he disappeared into the depths of the Liao encampment’s
fire beacons.
 Chapter 189:
After the Separation

I T WAS JUST AS Hua Po’an had said. The blood pool the Demonblood
Beast had become grew bigger and bigger, swallowing the plants by the
riverside and polluting the river moat’s water. Slowly, the walls of the city
began to collapse, brick and tile tumbling into the bloody water and melting
into thick crimson sludge.
This sort of invasion didn’t feature the thunderous clashes of a
confrontation between two armies, where victory and defeat were decided
in moments. Instead, it was like a venomous snake winding through thick
grass, unhinging its jaw inch by inch, ready to swallow the prey in front of
it…
During these days, Chonghua and Liao did not fight. That roiling
river the color of blood divided the two forces; Chonghua stayed in dead
silence, while the Liao Kingdom began to wildly rejoice.

At nightfall, Mo Xi walked up the city tower alone, peering over the

vermilion railing of a turret sporting a dragon’s head gargoyle. The blood
pool lay beneath him. Across the wide, crimson river, the lanterns of the
Liao Kingdom encampment were lit. Cultivators sat around their stoves,
bonfires burning, behaving with the ease of an army whose victory was
within their grasp.
Li Wei, the housekeeper of Xihe Manor, had accompanied Mo Xi. He
waited quietly beneath the turret with his hands crossed in his sleeves and
his head bowed.
“Housekeeper Li,” a low-level cultivator asked him in concern, “is
Xihe-jun okay…?”
Li Wei was silent. Despite his silver tongue, there was nothing he
could say. Was Mo Xi okay? He wasn’t sure. No one could answer this
question.
 After Gu Mang lost his life, the soldiers of Chonghua thought Mo Xi
would go mad. They thought he’d collapse, that he’d self-destruct, that he’d
want to die from heartbreak.
But he hadn’t.
Chonghua’s cultivators threw spell after spell into the blood pool the
Demonblood Beast had become, but they couldn’t dredge up Gu Mang no
matter which methods they used. They couldn’t even recover his corpse. In
the end, it was Mo Xi who told them: Stop looking, go back and rest. The
war is not yet won.
He and Gu Mang had both lived lives of military glory paid for with
ten thousand sacrifices. They’d seen too many separated by the chasm
between life and death amid the fires of war. The brother you drank with
one day might become a lifeless corpse the next. They had no time to
grieve, no time to internalize the tragedy, no time to digest this person’s
death. Everything was done in haste. Duty forced a general back to clarity
of mind, because the war was not yet won.
If a soldier lost control from grief, they might pay with their life. If a
commander lost control from grief, they would drag all their men to their
deaths. Mo Xi knew he didn’t have that right. The only thing he could do
was stand a little while longer, gazing at the blood pool and the Liao Army,
leaning over the railing above the sea of blood where his beloved had lost
his life.
But only for a little while longer.
The low-level cultivator couldn’t help asking: “Is Xihe-jun not sad?”
This time, Li Wei replied quickly. “He doesn’t have a heart of stone;
of course he’s sad.” Li Wei sighed inwardly, gazing at Mo Xi’s solitary
figure beneath the starry sky.
On the night Gu Mang fell into the blood pool, it was Mo Xi himself
who ordered the cultivators back to the city to rest, forestalling them from
any meaningless attempts at rescue. Many had been shocked at Mo Xi’s
cold-blooded composure. Only Li Wei knew what Mo Xi had been like that
night after he returned, in that room of Xihe Manor where Gu Mang had
once lived, where he shed all his status and duty.
 Li Wei had thought to tidy this room whose owner was gone, but
before he pushed open the door, he glimpsed the silhouette of Mo Xi’s back
where he sat at the little table. The letters and notes Gu Mang had written
were spread out over its surface. Mo Xi was reading them, page after page
by the light of that dying lamp. The events and observations Gu Mang had
recorded were all happy things. Very rarely did he complain about anything.
Mo Xi sat and buried himself in the beautiful past that Gu Mang had left
behind.
Fandou whined as he lay by his feet, as if asking where Gu Mang had
gone, as if asking him, Why hasn’t Gu Mang come back?
After a few moments, Mo Xi lowered his head. Low sobs finally
came from within that room; they were suppressed, just as he suppressed
the shaking of his shoulders. But how could it all be contained? He had
bitterly endured for so long; all that was left to him was grief, suffering, and
duty… Beyond that, he truly had nothing else.
In the past few years, he’d experienced false betrayal, genuine
mistakes, and the aching pain of separation. Each time, he would tell
himself to bear it for a little while longer, endure it for a little while longer,
and this too would pass.
When he saw Gu Mang a few days ago, standing beneath those
banners snapping in the wind and glowing with vitality, he’d thought all
their suffering had come to an end; he thought that after this battle, he
would have finally held on long enough to attain his lasting companionship.
But in the end, the only thing left for him was this empty little room.
The owner of the room had left, as if he’d merely been staying as a guest.
Few signs of his occupancy remained. It seemed that, after experiencing so
much suffering, the reward for Mo Xi’s endurance wasn’t lasting
companionship but an eternal separation.
Mo Xi picked up that stack of soft paper and pressed it to his chest,
close to where his heart beat. As if the writer of those words had left some
warmth on the pages. He couldn’t hold back anymore. Hoarsely, weakly,
softly, he cried, “Gu Mang…”
Gu Mang.
 He couldn’t say anything else after that. He wasn’t the pillar of the
empire, he wasn’t General Mo. At that moment, he was just a defenseless
man who had been forever separated from the one he loved; he was just the
little shidi Gu-shixiong left behind in a sea of blood.
All his comrades were gone: those seventy thousand dead souls,
those brothers who had marched with them when they were young. And
now Gu Mang was gone too. Mo Xi was the only one left behind. It was
just him alone in the time before dawn. Whether in love or in hatred, his Gu
Mang-gege would never turn back to look at him, smile brashly at him, or
get upset with him in his confusion.
A sob like a dying beast wailing in agony tore through the last of his
self-control. Mo Xi hunched over, sobbing, grieving… In the end, like a
trapped beast that had lost its lifetime mate, like a lion alone at the end of its
life, he cried himself breathless in this silent night, exhausted and
despairing.
A life was so long, and the world was so vast. Only this moment, this
space, was his alone.
With a last look at his back, Li Wei sighed and gently closed the door
for him.
Mo Xi had never been heartless. Li Wei knew as perhaps no one else
in all of Chonghua did what Gu Mang had truly meant to Mo Xi. He wasn’t
light or fire; he wasn’t hope, a lover, or a brother… To Mo Xi, Gu Mang
might have meant more than all of those things together. It wasn’t
abandonment when Mo Xi ordered the cultivators to stop wasting energy
searching for Gu Mang. Mo Xi knew better than anyone what choice Gu
Mang had made, what Gu Mang wanted—and whether he would come
back.
Li Wei left the little courtyard. He respected and revered his lord very
much. In truth, even before the emperor had bestowed him upon Mo Xi,
he’d felt that Xihe-jun was the backbone of Chonghua.
Now, that backbone had broken where no one else could see. He hurt
terribly; it was nearly impossible for him to keep going. But everyone else
in the nation only saw Mo Xi’s strength, and forgot that he was a living man
of flesh and blood. He had just lost the person most dear to him, but the
only place Mo Xi was allowed to catch his breath as a human being, to
mourn, to yearn, to embrace that lost person’s scent, was this small and
lonely room. This was his home with his Gu Mang-gege.
Li Wei couldn’t bear to disturb him, nor bear to look again. This was
Mo Xi’s goodbye to Gu Mang. It had nothing to do with Xihe-jun, with
General Gu, with rank or hierarchy, life or death, or anyone else. He was the
housekeeper of Xihe Manor. He would keep this secret for his lord till the
end.

By the fourth day, a good chunk of Chonghua City had been

swallowed by the blood pool. The residents were evacuated to other
quarters of the city and watched as their homes became a sea of blood.
Thankfully, Yue Chenqing was familiar with mechanism techniques;
within the records Murong Chuyi had left behind, there was a scroll
concerning how to quickly build homes for refugees. He followed the
diagrams and temporarily resolved the issue of these people’s shelter.
That was Murong Chuyi’s work. Yue Chenqing thought that if his
fourth uncle were alive, he would have done a much better job than he had.
But his xiao-jiujiu was no longer here. Only Yue Chenqing could continue
to carry Murong Chuyi’s gentleness into this turbulent world.
“Fourth Uncle, I might not have done it as well as you, but…” He
looked up at the starry night sky. His fingers, blistered from overwork, were
trembling, but he didn’t put down the bamboo warrior he was working on.
“But I will do everything you wanted to do, according to your wishes. I am
Yue Chenqing, your nephew, head of the Yue Clan, and your successor.”
The brilliant stars flickered, lending their light to this world of smoke
and flame, and shone down on Yue Chenqing’s eyes, glistening with tears.
Quietly, he choked out, “Do you see it…from up there in the sky…?”
In the past, you were always silently protecting me. Now it’s my turn,
Uncle. I’ll protect our home.

Yue Chenqing had spoken for more than himself: everyone in

Chonghua was currently fighting to protect their home and country. In the
past, this nation had been no more than a field of scattered sand, but
because people like Gu Mang and Murong Chuyi had made their sacrifices
in fresh blood, and because they would have nowhere to go if they lost this
battle, everyone understood the situation they were in. That scattered sand
had finally gathered into a strong and solid wall.
The blood pool expanded without end, but in the face of despair, the
people’s tenacity grew instead of disappearing. They all looked for a way to
reverse their situation.
On the fifth day, while all of the nobles and top commanders were
within the Bureau of Military Affairs in the palace, studying methods to
stop the blood pool from growing, a guard came to report.
“Xihe-jun! Wangshu-jun! Princess Mengze.” The guard made his
obeisance toward the three most powerful and reliable people before him.
“Medicine Master Jiang is back! He’s waiting outside the hall!”
When Jiang Fuli came in, everyone was shocked stiff. Though his
wife Su Yurou wore a white veil that hid her face, the cup she held slipped
from her hand and smashed into fragments on the ground. “Fuli, you—”
Jiang Fuli wore a set of green and silver robes, but the luxury of their
weave couldn’t disguise the exhaustion that hung about him from his
travels. The most shocking detail was his eye. That night-blind left eye of
his was wrapped in snowy-white bandages mottled with crimson
bloodstains, entirely sightless.
At the crash of the teacup, Jiang Fuli looked calmly over at Su Yurou
with his clear almond-shaped right eye. In the moment their gazes met, they
seemed to exchange some secret knowledge, and Su Yurou sagged
pathetically. Mo Xi heard her say in an almost inaudible whisper:
“Preceptor.”
Jiang Fuli’s clothes were bedraggled, but his countenance was
resolute. That face undoubtedly belonged to the cunning salesman Medicine
Master Jiang, yet somehow, his bearing had changed completely; the
expression he wore was foreign on his face, as if it belonged to a different
man. The person before them looked gentle, calm, and determined, unlike
the Medicine Master Jiang they had known.
The old Medicine Master Jiang had given off the impression that he
didn’t know what he wanted or cared about other than money. That
Medicine Master Jiang of the past had been heartless and merciless, a
hollow man. But the version of him who had arrived today seemed to have
finally summoned his missing soul.
He swept a glance around the room with his beautiful remaining eye.
His gaze ran across Murong Lian and Murong Mengze, then paused
momentarily before eventually landing on Mo Xi. He studied Mo Xi in
silence for a few moments before he spoke, voice low. “Xihe-jun, I have
something important to tell you. I ask you to step aside so we may confer.”
Jiang Fuli spoke with a good deal of courtesy, but his words carried
an inexplicable air of command. Everyone in the room felt the sudden
change in Jiang Fuli’s temperament. When Mo Xi looked in his direction,
he couldn’t help a twinge of anxiety.
Murong Lian took a sharp pull of ephemera and raised a hand,
grabbing Mo Xi before he could leave with Jiang Fuli. “Hold it.” He
narrowed those sultry peach-blossom eyes to slits, staring at Jiang Fuli.
“Are you the real Medicine Master Jiang, or another fake?”
“When you were seven, you put a thick layer of silk paper in your
shoes because you didn’t like that Gu Mang was taller than you. As a result,
you accidentally tripped and cut your head; the stitches numbered—”
“Stop stop stop!” Murong Lian looked mortified, then instantly tried
to bury it beneath composure. “Enough! I know you’re the real one now,
okay?”
He released Mo Xi in embarrassment, rolling his eyes as he cursed
under his breath.
Jiang Fuli led Mo Xi to a side room in the palace hall. Once the
attendants had withdrawn, Jiang Fuli waved a hand, and a glimmering
protective barrier came down on all sides of the room.
At the sight of that barrier, Mo Xi’s breath caught in his throat. “The
Holy Spirit Barrier was lost a hundred years ago…” He looked sidelong at
Jiang Fuli’s lean face; the medicine master’s expression was resolute, but
his cheeks were sunken. Su Yurou’s murmured Preceptor echoed in his
ears. An outrageous thought exploded across Mo Xi’s mind, and the
question was out of his mouth before he could stop it: “Who are you?”
 Silent, Jiang Fuli sat down before the table. The room was very quiet,
lit by the shimmering light of that Holy Spirit Barrier. Mo Xi could hear the
sound of his own heart pounding. After a span, he quietly tried, “Preceptor
Chen?”
Jiang Fuli looked up. His remaining almond eye was bright brown
and calm. “I’m not him. Chen Tang died hundreds of years ago. I’m Jiang
Fuli, that’s all.” He paused for a moment, then changed the subject. “I heard
about General Gu.”
Gu Mang’s name was like a sharp needle driven into Mo Xi’s
shattered heart. Mo Xi lowered his long lashes; they fluttered slightly as
they obscured his eyes.
“He was still so young,” Jiang Fuli said. “He hadn’t received the
reverence he deserved or the peace he should have had. He and Chen Tang
are not the same… They both sacrificed their lives to end the demon beast,
but General Gu still had things he yearned for and inseparable attachments
to this world.”
At the words inseparable attachments, he looked straight at Mo Xi.
“But Chen Tang didn’t. When Chen Tang chose to die with the demon
beast, he had lost all faith; he had nothing left to yearn for and no
attachment to life. Chen Tang wished to die, while Gu Mang wished to
live.” Jiang Fuli shook his head. “I’m sorry. It shouldn’t have come to this.”
Mo Xi frowned. “But if you’re not Chen Tang, how can you know
what Chen Tang felt when he died?”
As Mo Xi had expected, Jiang Fuli went silent. “That is a very
complicated story to tell.”
“I’m willing to listen.”
Jiang Fuli paused, as if considering how best to begin. “Back when I
was treating Gu Mang, I shared a portion of his memories. I saw you two at
Bat Island, meeting a maiden named Wuyan.”
“That demoness who loved Chen Tang…”
“Correct,” Jiang Fuli affirmed. “When I saw his memories, I felt I’d
seen her somewhere before.”
 Jiang Fuli poured two cups of strong tea and pushed one over to Mo
Xi, claiming the other one for himself. Only then did Mo Xi notice that the
white gauze crossing Jiang Fuli’s face appeared sunken; it did not betray the
curve of an eye. Jiang Fuli’s eye was completely gone. Yet he seemed not to
care at all, as if his health and body were completely meaningless to him.
“In the many years I’ve been in Chonghua, there have been no
shortage of people who’ve asked which country I hailed from, or inquired
about my past. I never replied to any of them. You might find me indifferent
and aloof, unwilling to speak, but that’s not the truth.” He shook his head
with a grimace. “I really don’t know who I am.”
He continued, “Almost all the memories I have begin from when
Yurou and I were fleeing across the lands. She said I was ill, that I forgot
my past, and I, lost and confused, believed her completely. My identity, my
origins, my family… Everything I said was what Yurou told me. Trying to
recall my past made me feel ill; I was instinctively repulsed, and so I never
thought deeply on this matter.
“But in the past few years…I began to dream. I saw the same faces
and events, again and again. They were fragments, without any semblance
of order, and Yurou would say nothing about them. Whenever I asked her,
she said she didn’t know, and I didn’t investigate… Until recently, when I
examined Gu Mang and saw his memories of Bat Island. The Wuyan he
saw was identical to the girl in my dreams.”
Jiang Fuli closed his eyes. “I thought that if I went to see Wuyan, I
might learn what kind of person I used to be.”
Mo Xi remembered how distracted Jiang Fuli had seemed after he
treated Gu Mang. For this to be the reason…
“So these travels of yours,” said Mo Xi, “were to visit Bat Island?”
“That was just one of my stops. I went to other places as well… Do
you remember that paradise of eternal spring where Wuyan first met Chen
Tang?”
Mo Xi nodded.
“I found that, too. It’s actually an islet on the back of a Xuanwu. This
Xuanwu made an oath with Chen Tang’s ancestors to guard a lost piece of
the Flame Emperor’s sacred tree.”
 Mo Xi’s eyes went wide. “The Flame Emperor’s sacred tree… The
first tree in the human world, the king of all trees?”
“Yes,” Jiang Fuli said. “The Flame Emperor’s sacred tree, king of all
trees, ten thousand flowers of the human world blooming from one trunk. A
piece of haitang wood from this tree was lost in the mortal world; by
coincidence, a thousand years ago, it landed in the hands of Chen Tang’s
ancestor.
“Chen Tang’s clan knew this sacred tree was a formidable weapon,
that its power was nothing to be trifled with. If the news of it spread, there’d
be countless challengers trying to take it for themselves. The Chen Clan had
always abhorred conflict, and thus they sealed this piece of sacred haitang
wood within Xuanwu Island and spoke no word of it to outsiders.
“Within the sacred tree, however, dwelled a sentient spirit. In order
for this spirit to remain peaceful and honorable, uncorrupted by malevolent
energies, the head of the family was obligated to live on the island for a
month each year to play the qin and teach it.”
Mo Xi understood. When Wuyan encountered the strong immortal
energy, the ever-blooming flowers, and the springlike mildness of all
seasons on the island, she’d incorrectly assumed Chen Tang was its source.
In truth, she’d been completely off the mark. The immortal energy came not
from Chen Tang, but from the branch of the ancient tree Chen Tang was
guarding.
“It’s been centuries since Chen Tang passed,” said Mo Xi. “His clan
was wiped out in that last brutal battle with Hua Po’an. It should have been
hundreds of years since anyone visited that immortal island. What did you
see when you went to look? Was the sacred tree still there?”
“It was,” replied Jiang Fuli. “When I found that Xuanwu Island, I
saw that the plants were flourishing and the flowers were thriving. Over
hundreds of years, the haitang branch had turned that island into a place
brimming with the sacred tree’s energy—but I also saw that haitang tree had
begun to attain consciousness. When I played a piece Chen Tang played
before, the flowers on the tree bloomed, as if it liked it. Perhaps in a few
hundred more years, the Xuanwu seal won’t have the power to hold it
anymore. It may fall into the vast ocean of its own volition and go take a
look at the human world.”
 As Jiang Fuli finished his tale, he smiled. “I’m curious about its
future. But the final destination of this piece of sacred wood, hundreds of
years down the line, isn’t something a mortal like me can control.”
“Medicine Master Jiang, why do you know Chen Tang’s family
background so well?” Mo Xi paused. “Are you really not Preceptor Chen?”
Jiang Fuli set down his cup and sighed. “Before I went to the islet, I
went to Bat Island and sought out Wuyan; it was she who helped me
recover the rest of my memories. When I did, I was able to give her closure.
Indeed, I am not Chen Tang, but for the past few centuries, there’s been
someone who’s wished more than anything for me to become him.”
Mo Xi started. “Who?”
Jiang Fuli looked up, three syllables falling from his thin lips. “Hua
Po’an.”
At Mo Xi’s expression, Jiang Fuli seemed to grimace. “You think this
is absurd. I thought so as well. I have all of Chen Tang’s memories and
feelings, but I know I’m not him.”
“Then you are…”
“I’m merely one of his cousins. As for my own name…” Jiang Fuli’s
tone was mild. “Over the past centuries, Hua Po’an named me Chen Tang,
and Su Yurou named me Jiang Fuli. I’ve been lost and confused for so
many years, and have long since forgotten my real name. All I know is that
I’m a simulacrum constructed against my own will, created because Hua
Po’an couldn’t reconcile himself to the fact of Chen Tang’s death. My body
contains Chen Tang’s memories, the remnants of his soul, his techniques,
and his past.”
His voice was low, measured and gentle, without any sign of strong
emotion, but listening, Mo Xi felt an extraordinary sorrow.
“I’m a puppet, no better than Murong Chuyi’s bamboo warriors or
Jiang Yexue’s clay figurines.”
Even in his shock, Mo Xi couldn’t help protesting, “Medicine Master
Jiang…” But he didn’t know what to say to console him.
“You don’t need to comfort me,” Jiang Fuli said. “You’re heartbroken
enough yourself. Perhaps others can’t tell, but I can. The reason I rushed
back today wasn’t to find someone to spill my secrets to. I came to offer a
plan for victory. Since Hua Po’an thinks of me as Chen Tang, it wouldn’t do
for me to miss this second battle hundreds of years later.”
Mo Xi tensed. “You know how to keep the blood pool from
expanding?”
“I know of a method no one has tried, though I can’t guarantee its
success. We can only make the attempt,” Jiang Fuli said. “But on Xuanwu
Island, I performed a divination. The sacred hexagram said that as long as
you, Xihe-jun, complete a certain task, everything could change. Even
death.”
Realization dawned. “Even death…”
“Correct.”
Mo Xi’s eyes flickered to life. What…did that mean? Although he
found the idea absurd, his blood rushed faster, the fingers he’d balled into
fists quivering slightly. “I ask the Medicine Master for instruction.”
Jiang Fuli rose, shooting a glance outside as he moved to lean against
the window. By now, the Demonblood Beast’s blood pool had expanded
into the city; it was slowly devouring the entire imperial capital. He turned
back to Mo Xi, producing a dark, obsidian-like crystal, which he placed on
the table.
“Chen Tang’s clan guarded two hidden treasures. The first was the
branch of the sacred tree that I spoke of earlier. The other was this crystal.
This is the most secret and most important treasure of Chen Tang’s clan,
and Chonghua’s only hope for resolving this calamity.” Jiang Fuli paused.
“There’s still time. Before you use it, I’ll tell you in detail about the past
events I know—a section of the past related to Chonghua’s greatest enemy,
Hua Po’an.”
 Appendix:
Characters, Names, and Locations

Characters

Mo Xi
墨熄 Surname Mo; Given Name Xi, “extinguish”
Titles: Xihe-jun (羲和君 / “sun,” literary), General Mo
Weapons:
Shuairan (率然 / a mythical snake): A whip that can transform into a
sword as needed. Named after a snake from Chinese mythology, said to
respond so quickly an attack to any part of its body would be met
immediately with its fangs or tail (or both). First mentioned in Sun Tzu’s
The Art of War as an ideal for commanders to follow when training their
armies.
Tuntian (吞天 / “Skyswallower”): A scepter cast with the essence of
a whale spirit.
The commander of the Northern Frontier Army, Mo Xi is the only
living descendant of the illustrious Mo Clan. Granted the title Xihe-jun by
the late emperor, he possesses extraordinary innate spiritual abilities and has
a reputation for being coldly ruthless.

Gu Mang
顾茫 Surname Gu, “to look”; Given Name Mang, “bewilderment”
Titles: Beast of the Altar, General Gu
Weapons:
Yongye (永夜 / “Evernight”): A demonic dagger from the Liao
Kingdom.
Fengbo (风波 / “Wind and waves”): A suona used by General Gu.
 Once the dazzling shixiong of the cultivation academy, Murong
Lian’s slave, and war general to the empire of Chonghua, Gu Mang fell
from grace and turned traitor, defecting to the enemy Liao Kingdom. Years
later, he was sent back to Chonghua as a prisoner of war. His name comes
from the line “I unsheathe my sword and look around bewildered” in the
first of three poems in the collection “Arduous Journey” by Li Bai,
lamenting the sense of loss and obstruction the poet faced upon being sent
away from the capital by Emperor Xuanzong.

Murong Lian
慕容怜 Surname Murong; Given Name Lian, “mercy”
Title: Wangshu-jun (望舒君 / “moon,” literary)
Weapon:
Water Demon Talisman (水鬼符): A talisman that becomes a horde
of water demons to attack its target.
Gu Mang’s former master and cousin to the current emperor, Murong
Lian is the current lord of Wangshu Manor and the owner of Luomei
Pavilion. He is known as the “Greed” of Chonghua’s three poisons.

Jiang Yexue
江夜雪 Surname Jiang; Given Name Yexue, “evening snow”
Title: Qingxu Elder (清旭长老 / “clear dawn”)
Disowned son of the Yue Clan, Yue Chenqing’s older brother, and
Mo Xi’s old friend, Jiang Yexue is a gentleman to the core.

Yue Chenqing
岳辰晴 Surname Yue; Given Name Chenqing, “morning sun”
Title: Deputy General Yue
Young master of the Yue Clan and Murong Chuyi’s nephew, Yue
Chenqing is a happy-go-lucky child with a penchant for getting into trouble.
 Murong Chuyi
慕容楚衣 Surname Murong; Given Name Chuyi, surname Chu,
“clothes”
Yue Chenqing’s Fourth Uncle, Chonghua’s “Ignorance,” and all-
around enigma, Murong Chuyi is a master artificer whose true motivations
remain unknown.

S U P P O RT I N G C H A R A C T E R S
(IN ALPHABETICAL ORDER)

Auntie Lin
林姨
A servant in Wangshu Manor with a disfigured face.

Changfeng-jun
长丰君 “long, abundance”
An older noble worrying himself sick over his daughter Lan-er.

Chen Tang
沉棠 Surname Chen, Given Name Tang, “flowering apple”
Chonghua’s legendary Wise Gentleman, who was once the
headmaster of the cultivation academy as well as guoshi of the nation. He
perished in battle with Hua Po’an, a slave cultivator-turned-traitor whom he
had personally taught.

The Emperor
君上
 Title: His Imperial Majesty, “junshang”
Eccentric ruler of the empire of Chonghua. Due to the cultural taboo
against using the emperor’s given name in any context, he is only ever
addressed and referred to as “His Imperial Majesty.”

Fandou
饭兜 “bib”
A loyal black dog and Gu Mang’s best friend.

Guoshi of the Liao Kingdom

国师 “imperial preceptor”
A mercurial and immensely powerful Liao Kingdom official who
conceals his true identity behind a golden mask.

Hua Po’an
花破暗 “flower breaking the darkness”
Chonghua’s infamous first slave general. After learning cultivation
under the beneficence of Chen Tang, Hua Po’an turned on Chonghua and
became the founding monarch of the Liao Kingdom.

Jiang Fuli
姜拂黎 Surname Jiang; Given Name Fuli, “to brush away,
multitudes”
Also known by his title of Medicine Master, Jiang Fuli is the finest
healer in Chonghua, dubbed the “Wrath” of Chonghua’s three poisons.

Jingchen
净尘 “Purify filth”
 The weakened form of the Demonblood Beast and the Liao Kingdom
guoshi’s pet obsession.

Lan-er
兰儿 “orchid”
A sweet little girl with a dangerously volatile spiritual core.

Li Wei
李微 Surname Li; Given Name Wei, “slight”
The competent, if harried, head housekeeper of Xihe Manor.

Lu Zhanxing
陆展星 Surname Lu; Given Name Zhanxing, “to exhibit stars”
Gu Mang’s oldest friend, who grew up with him as a slave in
Wangshu Manor. Later his deputy general of the Wangba Army.

Murong Mengze
慕容梦泽 Surname Murong; Given Name Mengze, “Yunmeng Lake”
A master healer and the “Virtue” of Chonghua’s three gentlemen,
Princess Mengze’s frail constitution and graceful, refined manner are
known to all.

Murong Xuan
慕容玄 Surname Murong, given name Xuan, “dark”
The late Wangshu-jun, Murong Lian’s father.

Su Yurou
苏玉柔 Surname Su; Given Name Yurou, “jade, soft”
 Known as the most peerless beauty in Chonghua. Jiang Fuli’s
reclusive wife.

Yue Juntian
岳钧天 Surname Yue, given name Juntian, “great sky”
The patriarch of the Yue Clan and a master artificer.

Zhao Susu (Madam Zhao)

赵素素 Surname Zhao, given name Susu, “pure”
Murong Xuan’s wife and Murong Lian’s mother, a beautiful woman
of aristocratic birth.

Zhou He
周鹤 Surname Zhou, given name He, “crane”
Weapon:
Lieying (猎鹰): A pitch-black dagger.
The leader of Sishu Terrace. Obsessed with discovering new magical
techniques using any means necessary.

Locations

Dongting Lake
洞庭湖
A real lake in northeastern Hunan, named “Grotto Court Lake” for
the dragon court that was said to reside in its depths.

Luomei Pavilion
 落梅别苑 “Gardens of Fallen Plum Blossoms”
A house of pleasure where the nobility of Chonghua could have their
pick of captives from enemy nations.

Shennong Terrace
神农台
The healers’ ministry of Chonghua. Shennong is the deity and
mythological ruler said to have taught agriculture and herbal medicine to
the ancient Chinese people.

Warrior Soul Mountain

战魂山
Where the heroes of Chonghua are laid to rest.

Cixin Artificing Forge

慈心冶炼铺 “Kind Heart”
A shabby forge in Chonghua’s capital where uncommonly humane
spiritual weapons are refined.

Dream Butterfly Islands

梦碟岛
An archipelago of demonic islands not far from Chonghua. The
archipelago is composed of around twenty islands, and different types of
demons live on each one.

Da’ze City
大泽城 “Large Pond”
One of Chonghua’s major border cities, located near a lake, where
Chen Tang once sealed the Demonblood Beast.
 Bat Island
蝙蝠岛
One of the Dream Butterfly Islands, Bat Island is inhabited by fire
bats, demons descended from the feathered tribe of Mount Jiuhua. The bats
on their island are led by their queen, Wuyan.

Sishu Terrace
司术台 “Overseeing Magic”
An organization in Chonghua specializing in magical techniques and
healing.

Golden Terrace
黄金台
The most secretive and secluded hall at the back of the imperial
palace, reserved for the emperor’s most trusted subjects.

Name Guide

Diminutives, nicknames, and name tags

A-: Friendly diminutive. Always a prefix. Usually for monosyllabic
names, or one syllable out of a two-syllable name.
Doubling: Doubling a syllable of a person’s name can be a
nickname, e.g., “Mangmang”; it has childish or cutesy connotations.
Xiao-: A diminutive meaning “little.” Always a prefix.
Lao-: A familiar prefix meaning “old.” Usually used for older men.
-er: An affectionate diminutive added to names, literally “son” or
“child.” Always a suffix.
Family
 Di/Didi: Younger brother or a younger male friend.
Ge/Gege/Dage: Older brother or an older male friend.
Jie/Jiejie/Zizi: Older sister or an older female friend.
-jiu/Jiujiu: Maternal uncle.
Cultivation
Qianbei: A respectful title or suffix for someone older, more
experienced, or more skilled in a particular discipline. Not to be used for
blood relatives.
Shifu: Teacher or master.
Shixiong: Older martial brother, used for older disciples or
classmates.
Shidi: Younger martial brother, used for younger disciples or
classmates.
Daozhang/Xianjun/Xianzhang/Shenjun: Polite terms of address for
cultivators. Can be used alone as a title or attached to someone’s family
name.
Zongshi: A title or suffix for a person of particularly outstanding
skill; largely only applied to cultivators.

Other
Gongzi: Young man from an affluent household.
Guozhu: The ruler of a nation.
-jun: A term of respect, often used as a suffix after a title.
Laoban: A term of address for a shopkeeper or the proprietor of a
business that means “boss.”
-niang: Suffix for a young lady, similar to “Miss.”
Shaozhu: Young master and direct heir of a household.
-xiansheng: A polite suffix for a man, similar to “Mister.”
Xiongzhang: Respectful term of address meaning “older brother.”
 Pronunciation Guide

Mandarin Chinese is the official state language of mainland China,

and pinyin is the official system of romanization in which it is written. As
Mandarin is a tonal language, pinyin uses diacritical marks (e.g., ā, á, ǎ, à)
to indicate these tonal inflections. Most words use one of four tones, though
some (as in “de” in the title below) are a neutral tone. Furthermore,
regional variance can change the way native Chinese speakers pronounce
the same word. For those reasons and more, please consider the guide
below a simplified introduction to pronunciation of select character names
and sounds from the world of Remnants of Filth.
More resources are available at [Link]

NAMES

NAMES
Yú Wū
Yú: Y as in you, ú as in “u” in the French “tu”
Wū as in woo

Mò Xī
Mò as in mourning
Xī as in chic

Gù Máng
Gù as in goop
Máng as in mongrel

Mùróng Lián
Mù as in moon
Róng as in wrong / crone
Lián as in battalion

Yuè Chénqíng
Yuè: Y as in yammer, uè as in whelp
Chén as in kitchen
Qíng as in matching

Jiāng Yèxuě
Jiāng as in mahjong
Yè as in yes
Xuě: X as in shoot, uě as in wet

Mùróng Chǔyī
Mù as in moon
Róng as in wrong / crone
Chǔ as in choose
Yī as in ease

Mùróng Mèngzé
Mù as in moon
Róng as in wrong / crone
Mèng as in among
Zé as in piazza

GENERAL CONSONANTS
 Some Mandarin Chinese consonants sound very similar, such as z/c/s
and zh/ch/sh. Audio samples will provide the best opportunity to learn the
difference between them.

X : somewhere between the sh in sheep and s in silk

Q: a very aspirated ch as in charm
C : ts as in pants
Z : z as in zoom
S: s as in silk
C H : ch as in charm
Z H : dg as in dodge
S H : sh as in shave
G : hard g as in graphic

G E N E R A L VO W E L S

The pronunciation of a vowel may depend on its preceding

consonant. For example, the “i” in “shi” is distinct from the “i” in “di.”
Vowel pronunciation may also change depending on where the vowel
appears in a word, for example the “i” in “shi” versus the “i” in “ting.”
Finally, compound vowels are often—though not always—pronounced as
conjoined but separate vowels. You’ll find a few of the trickier compounds
below.

I U : as in ewe
I E : ye as in yes
U O : war as in warm
 Appendix:
Glossary

While not required reading, this glossary is intended to offer further

context for the many concepts and terms utilized throughout this novel as
well as provide a starting point for learning more about the rich culture
from which these stories were written.

GENRES
Danmei
Danmei (耽美 / “indulgence in beauty”) is a Chinese fiction genre
focused on romanticized tales of love and attraction between men. It is
analogous to the BL (boys’ love) genre in Japanese media and is better
understood as a genre of plot than a genre of setting. For example, though
many danmei novels feature wuxia or xianxia settings, others are better
understood as tales of sci-fi, fantasy, or horror.
Wuxia
Wuxia (武侠 / “martial heroes”) is one of the oldest Chinese literary
genres. Most wuxia stories are set in ancient China and feature protagonists
who practice martial arts and seek to redress wrongs. Although characters
may possess seemingly superhuman abilities, they are typically mastered
through practice instead of supernatural or magical means. Plots tend to
focus on human relationships and power struggles between various sects
and alliances. To Western moviegoers, a well-known example of the genre
is Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon.
Xianxia
Xianxia (仙侠 / “immortal heroes”) is a genre related to wuxia that
places more emphasis on the supernatural. Some xianxia works focus on
immortal beings such as gods or demons, whereas others (such as Remnants
of Filth) are concerned with the conflicts of mortals who practice
cultivation. In the latter case, characters strive to become stronger by
harnessing their spiritual powers, with some aiming to extend their lifespan
or achieve immortality.
 TERMINOLOGY

Cowrie shells: Cowrie shells were the earliest form of currency used
in central China.

Cultivation/cultivators: Cultivation is the means by which mortals

with spiritual aptitude develop and harness supernatural abilities. The
practitioners of these methods are called cultivators. The path of one’s
cultivation is a concept that draws heavily from Daoist traditions.
Generally, it comprises innate spiritual development (i.e., formation of a
spiritual core) as well as spells, talismans, tools, and weapons with specific
functions.

Di and shu hierarchy: Upper-class men in ancient China often took

multiple wives, though only one would be the official or “di” wife, and her
sons would take precedence over the sons of the “shu” wives. “Di” sons
were prioritized in matters of inheritance.

Dual Cultivation: A cultivation technique involving sex between

participants that is meant to improve cultivation prowess. Can also be used
as a simple euphemism for sex.

Ephemera: In the world of Remnants of Filth, a drug from the Liao

Kingdom. Its name is likely a reference to the line, “Life is like a dream
ephemeral, how short our joys can be,” from “A Party Amidst Brothers in
the Peach Blossom Garden” by Tang dynasty poet Li Bai.

Eyes: Descriptions like “phoenix eyes” or “peach-blossom eyes”

refer to eye shape. Phoenix eyes have an upturned sweep at their far
corners, whereas peach-blossom eyes have a rounded upper lid and are
often considered particularly alluring. Almond eyes have a balanced shape,
like their namesake.
 Face: Mianzi (面子), generally translated as “face,” is an important
concept in Chinese society. It is a metaphor for a person’s reputation and
can be extended to further descriptive metaphors. “Thin face” refers to
someone easily embarrassed or prone to offense at perceived slights.
Conversely, “thick face” refers to someone who acts brazenly and without
shame.

Foxglove Tree: The foxglove tree, Paulownia tomentosa (泡桐花 /

paotonghua), also known as empress tree or princess tree, is native to
China. In flower language, the foxglove tree symbolizes “eternal waiting,”
specifically that of a secret admirer.

Foxtail Grass: In flower language, green foxtail grass, Setaria viridis

(狗尾巴草 / gouweibacao), symbolizes “secret, difficult yearning,” often in
reference to star-crossed love.

Gentleman: The term junzi (君子) is used to refer to someone of

noble character. Historically, it was typically reserved for men.

Gu Poison: A legendary poison created by sealing many types of

venomous creatures in one vessel until only one survivor remains, which
would then possess the strongest and most complex poison. The term may
be used as a stand-in for dark poisons of all types.

Guoshi: A powerful imperial official who served as an advisor to the

emperor. Sometimes translated as “state preceptor,” this was a post with
considerable authority in some historical regimes.

Horsetail Whisk: Consisting of a long wooden handle with

horsehair bound to one end, the horsetail whisk (拂尘 / fuchen, “brushing
off dust”) symbolizes cleanliness and the sweeping away of mortal concerns
in Buddhist and Daoist traditions. It is usually carried in the crook of one’s
arm.

Immortal-Binding Ropes or Cables: A staple of xianxia, immortal-

binding cables are ropes, nets, and other restraints enchanted to withstand
the power of an immortal or god. They can only be cut by high-powered
spiritual items or weapons and often limit the abilities of those trapped by
them.

Incense Time: A measure of time in ancient China, referring to how

long it takes for a single incense stick to burn. Inexact by nature, an incense
time is commonly assumed to be about thirty minutes, though it can be
anywhere from five minutes to an hour.

Jade: Jade is a semi-precious mineral with a long history of

ornamental and functional usage in China. The word “jade” can refer to two
distinct minerals, nephrite and jadeite, which both range in color from white
to gray to a wide spectrum of greens.

Jianghu: A staple of wuxia and xianxia, the jianghu (江湖 / “rivers

and lakes”) describes an underground society of martial artists, monks,
rogues, artisans, and merchants who settle disputes between themselves per
their own moral codes.

Kowtow: The kowtow (叩头 / “knock head”) is an act of prostration

where one kneels and bows low enough that their forehead touches the
ground. A show of deep respect and reverence that can also be used to beg,
plead, or show sincerity; in severe circumstances, it’s common for the
supplicant’s forehead to end up bloody and bruised.

Lotus: This flower symbolizes purity of the heart and mind, as

lotuses rise untainted from muddy waters. It also signifies the holy seat of
the Buddha.

Liuli: Colorful glazed glass. When used as a descriptor for eye color,
it refers to a bright brown.

Meridians: The means by which qi travels through the body, like a

magical bloodstream. Medical and combat techniques that focus on
redirecting, manipulating, or halting qi circulation focus on targeting the
meridians at specific points on the body, known as acupoints. Techniques
that can manipulate or block qi prevent a cultivator from using magical
techniques until the qi block is lifted.

Mythical Creatures: Several entities from Chinese mythology make

an appearance in the world of Remnants of Filth, including:

Azure Dragon: The Azure Dragon (苍龙 / canglong, or 青龙 /

qinglong) is one of four major creatures in Chinese astronomy, representing
the cardinal direction East, the element of wood, and the season of spring.

Bixi: A legendary figure who was the sixth son of the Dragon King,
usually depicted as a dragon with the shell of a tortoise and traditionally
used as the base of commemorative tablets.

Flame Emperor: A mythological figure said to have ruled over

China in ancient times. His name is attributed to his invention of slash-and-
burn agriculture. There is some debate over whether the Flame Emperor is
the same being as Shennong, the inventor of agriculture, or a descendant.

Guhuo niao: A mythical bird created by the grief of women who

died in childbirth; their song mimics the sound of babies crying as the bird
seeks to steal chicks and human infants for itself.
 Shangao: A small piglike animal said to live in the mountains, vivid
scarlet in color, with a decidedly foul manner of speech.

Taotie: A mythical beast that represents greed, as it is composed of

only a head and a mouth and eats everything in sight until its death. Taotie
designs are symmetrical down their zoomorphic faces and most commonly
seen on bronzeware from the Shang dynasty.

Tengshe, or Soaring snake: A mythical serpent that can fly.

Xingtian: A mythical deity who was decapitated in his battle with

the Yellow Emperor but nevertheless continued to fight; a symbol of
perseverance.

Xuannü: Also known as the Dark Lady, the goddess of sex,

longevity, and war.

Zhen niao: Also known as the poison-feather bird, this mythical

creature is said to be so poisonous its feathers were used in assassinations,
as dipping one in wine would make it a lethal and undetectable poison.

Nine Provinces: A symbolic term for China as a whole.

Paper Money: Imitation money made from decorated sheets of paper

burned as a traditional offering to the dead.

Qi: Qi (气) is the energy in all living things. Cultivators strive to

manipulate qi through various techniques and tools, such as weapons,
talismans, and magical objects. Different paths of cultivation provide
control over specific types of qi. For example, in Remnants of Filth, the
Liao Kingdom’s techniques allow cultivators to harness demonic qi, in
contrast to Chonghua’s righteous methods, which cultivate the immortal
path. In naturally occurring contexts, immortal qi may have nourishing or
purifying properties, whereas malevolent qi (often refined via evil means
such as murder) can poison an individual’s mind or body.

Qiankun Pouch: A common item in wuxia and xianxia settings, a

qiankun pouch contains an extradimensional space within it, to which its
name (乾坤 / “universe”) alludes. It is capable of holding far more than its
physical exterior dimensions would suggest.

Qin: Traditional plucked stringed instrument in the zither family,

usually played with the body placed flat on a low table. This was the
favored instrument of scholars and the aristocracy.

Qinggong: Literally “lightness technique,” qinggong (轻功) refers to

the martial arts skill of moving swiftly and lightly through the air. In wuxia
and xianxia settings, characters use qinggong to leap great distances and
heights.

Seal Script: Ancient style of Chinese writing developed during the

Qin dynasty, named for its usage in seals, engravings, and other
inscriptions.

Shichen: Days were split into twelve intervals of two hours apiece
called shichen (时辰 / “time”). Each of these shichen has an associated
term. Prior to the Han dynasty, semi-descriptive terms were used. Post-Han
dynasty, the shichen were renamed to correspond to the twelve zodiac
animals.

Hour of Zi, midnight: 11 p.m.–1 a.m.

Hour of Chou: 1–3 a.m.
 Hour of Yin: 3–5 a.m.
Hour of Mao, sunrise: 5–7 a.m.
Hour of Chen: 7–9 a.m.
Hour of Si: 9–11 a.m.
Hour of Wu, noon: 11 a.m.–1 p.m.
Hour of Wei: 1–3 p.m.
Hour of Shen: 3–5 p.m.
Hour of You, sunset: 5–7 p.m.
Hour of Xu, dusk: 7–9 p.m.
Hour of Hai: 9–11 p.m.

Souls: According to Chinese philosophy and religion, every human

had three ethereal souls (hun / 魂) which would leave the body after death,
and seven corporeal souls (po / 魄) that remained with the corpse. Each soul
governed different aspects of a person’s being, ranging from consciousness
and memory, to physical function and sensation.

Spiritual Core: A spiritual core (灵核 / linghe) is the foundation of a

cultivator’s power. It is typically formed only after ten years of hard work
and study. If broken or damaged, the cultivator’s abilities are compromised
or even destroyed.

Suona: A traditional Chinese double-reeded wind instrument with a

distinct and high-pitched sound, most often used for celebrations of the
living and the dead (such as weddings and funerals). Said to herald either
great joy or devastating grief.

Sword glare: Jianguang (剑光 / “sword light”), an energy attack

released from a sword’s edge, often seen in xianxia stories.
 A Tale of Nanke: An opera by Tang Xianzu that details a dream had
by disillusioned official Chunyu Fen, highlighting the ephemerality of the
mortal world and the illusory nature of wealth and grandeur.

Talismans: Strips of paper with written incantations, often in

cinnabar ink or blood. They can serve as seals or be used as one-time spells.

Three Disciplines and Three Poisons: Also known as the threefold

training in Buddhist traditions, the three disciplines are virtue, mind, and
wisdom. Conversely, the three poisons (also known as the three
defilements) refer to the three Buddhist roots of suffering: greed, wrath,
ignorance.

Wangshu: In Chinese mythology, Wangshu (望舒) is a lunar goddess

often used in literary reference to the moon.

Xihe: In Chinese mythology, Xihe (羲和) is a solar goddess often

used in literary reference to the sun.

Xun: A traditional Chinese vessel flute similar to the ocarina, often

made of clay.

Yin Energy and Yang Energy: Yin and yang is a concept in Chinese
philosophy which describes the complementary interdependence of
opposite/contrary forces. It can be applied to all forms of change and
differences. Yang represents the sun, masculinity, and the living, while yin
represents the shadows, femininity, and the dead, including spirits and
ghosts. In fiction, imbalances between yin and yang energy may do serious
harm to the body or act as the driving force for malevolent spirits seeking to
replenish themselves of whichever energy they lack.
 Ziwei Star: A star known to Western astronomers as the North Star
or Polaris. As the other stars seemed to revolve around it, the Ziwei Star is
considered the celestial equivalent of the emperor. Its stationary position in
the sky makes it key to Zi Wei Dou Shu, the form of astrology that the
ancient Chinese used to divine mortal destinies.

Zi Wei Dou Shu Divination: Zi Wei Dou Shu (紫微斗数/ “purple

star astrology”) is a common system of astrology in Chinese culture, which
predicts one’s fortune by plotting the position of certain stars at the time of
one’s birth. The presence of stars in certain “palaces,” or sections of the sky,
indicates either an auspicious or inauspicious destiny with regard to
different aspects of one’s life. Zi Wei, also known as Polaris, the North Star,
is a primary star that represents the emperor or leadership.
 ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Rou Bao Bu Chi Rou (“Meatbun Doesn’t Eat Meat”) was a low-
level soldier who served in Gu Mang’s army as a cook. Meatbun’s cooking
was so good that, after Gu Mang turned traitor, the spirit beast Cai Bao
(“Veggiebun”) swooped in to rescue Meatbun as it passed by. Thus,
Meatbun escaped interrogation in Chonghua and became a lucky survivor.
In order to repay the big orange cat Veggiebun, Meatbun not only cooked
three square meals a day but also told the tale of Mo Xi and Gu Mang as a
nightly bedtime story to coax the spirit beast Veggiebun to sleep. Once the
saga came to an end, it was compiled into Remnants of Filth.
 Footnotes

Chapter 166: Cousin

[1] Respectful term of address for someone of an older generation.

Chapter 170: First Meeting in White Robes on a Snowy Night

[2] Referencing imagery in the fifth verse of “Twenty Verses on
Drinking Wine” by Jin dynasty poet Tao Yuanming.

Chapter 171: Youthful Days of Tenderness and Budding

Yearning
[3] Bo Ya and Zhong Ziqi, two scholars from the Warring States
period, exemplify a friendship of deep understanding. Bo Ya was a qin
player, while Zhong Ziqi loved listening to music.
 Thank you for reading!
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