EVEN IF HE HAD his conjectures, Chu Wanning refused to obsess over them in the absence of facts; he was stressed enough as it was. Still, he had his reservations about these feelings that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. As the refugees waited for the apocalyptic fire to die out and made ready to leave, Chu Wanning made his own preparations—he had no intention of traveling on Mo Ran's sword again.
Of course, this Yuheng Elder, who could barely manage to fly twenty feet in the air, wasn't planning to soar across the sea on Huaisha either. While everyone else assembled on the craggy rocks near the water's edge to be helped onto Mo Ran's enlarged sword, one after another, Chu Wanning pulled out his Rising Dragon Talisman.
Chu Wanning dabbed a drop of blood onto its scale, and that chatty little paper dragon sprang to life from the painting and darted into the sky. After turning several somersaults, it dove back down to circle its owner as it hollered: "Aiya, Chu Wanning, long time no see. What favor are you asking of this venerable one now?"
"Give me a ride to the opposite shore."
"Puh! This venerable one is the first immortal lord since Pangu2 broke through Chaos, the Dragon of the Candle—how could I debase myself to become a beast of burden? No rides, no rides!"
The paper dragon the length of a man's palm wagged its head and whipped its tail, grumbling as everyone looked on. It was small and weak, but its voice was sonorous. Upon hearing its words, a child in the crowd burst into laughter.
Chu Wanning's face was like rolling thunder. He lifted one hand and a golden flame erupted from his palm. "Then burn."
Infuriated, the little dragon threw itself on the sandy beach. Huffing and puffing, it brandished its claws and glared. "Why're you always like this? Rude and unreasonable, callous and shameless. No wonder you're alone every time I see you!"
Mo Ran turned his head as if to refute its words. But after a moment's thought, he realized there were too many eyes on them, and Chu Wanning was too prideful. In the end, he said nothing and only shook his head with a smile.
"Enough!" Chu Wanning snapped. With a wave of his hand, he sent the ball of flame hurtling straight down toward the dragon on the ground. Of course, Chu Wanning didn't actually intend to incinerate the little creature; though the fireball's blaze was fearsome, it merely landed on a stone next to the dragon's whiskers. The dragon wailed in terror, howling as it turned and patted its whiskies with chubby paws. "How's this venerable one's tail?! How's this venerable one's whiskies?! How's… how's this venerable one's noggin?! Is it still there? Is it still there?!"
"Not if you keep talking," said Chu Wanning through gritted teeth.
A hissing golden flame rose in his hand once more. "Transform."
"Waaugghhh!" The little dragon threw itself into its melodramatic wailing, but just as it was about to pitifully flick away nonexistent tears, its beady little eyes met Chu Wanning's piercing cold gaze. It shuddered, its sobs stopping short with a comical hiccup. The dragon feebly clambered up from the ground, now resembling a paper dragon in truth: weak and boneless, whiskers and horns drooping limply. It hiccupped again and mumbled, dejected, "Just this once, never again."
"As you wish." Whatever. You said the same thing last time.
The paper dragon extended its limbs as if stretching. With a sharp cry, a beam of golden light burst from its slim body, expanding to swallow the paper dragon. The paper dragon's shrill cry became a majestic roar; lightning crackled over that golden halo, and a wild wind rose. The waves crashed madly on the shore; everyone closed their eyes as they lowered their heads or covered their faces with sleeves.
Chu Wanning narrowed his eyes, his ponytail and robes whipping in the wind. When the golden light faded, the assembled villagers looked around, but the little dragon was nowhere to be found. The beach was quiet, wholly empty.
"Huh? It disappeared?" a brave child exclaimed.
At that moment, a colossal roar shook the heavens. Choppy waves cut through the water as dark clouds billowed on the biting wind.
Everyone looked up in shock. In the lull, a majestic dragon soared from between the dense clouds. Its furious eyes were wide and round, its claws strong and sharp—even its whiskers were as thick around as centuries-old trees. It coiled amidst the clouds, magnificent, then reared its head and dove toward the ground wrapped in a fierce gale.
"Ahhh! Daddy!" Terrified, the orphaned boy called for his father out of habit. Mo Ran hastily scooped him up to console him.
Chu Wanning hadn't expected to scare this child yet again and froze for a moment. Watching the massive creature streak downward, he quickly commanded, "Slow down."
"Rrr?" The colossal dragon let out a dumb grunt, then landed with a boom on the rocky shore. Slowly, it lowered its body for Chu Wanning to climb up. It was so large that riding it was almost like sitting on the ground. No wonder Chu Wanning disliked sword-riding but was willing to fly on dragonback.
In an attempt to ease the atmosphere, Mo Ran cajoled the boy in his arms. "Do you want to ride the Dragon of the Candle with that gege?"
The boy didn't want any such thing. Burying his head in Mo Ran's shoulder, he whispered, "To tell you a secret…I don't like him…"
"To tell you a secret, I really do," Mo Ran answered.
"Huh?" The boy stared. Innocent as he was, his only response was another whisper. "Really?"
"Shh, don't tell anyone."
The boy broke into a smile, covering his mouth and nodding. "What are you two whispering about? Are we leaving or not?"
Chu Wanning had no intention of riding with the rabble. Casting them a cool glance, he soared into the sky astride the dragon and swiftly disappeared amidst the clouds.
Loaded down with passengers, Mo Ran's sword was somewhat slower; by the time they arrived at Wuchang Town in Sichuan, it was dusk. By then, Chu Wanning had already landed and spoken with the major families of the town. This was the town that benefited most from Sisheng Peak's protection, so they scrambled to accommodate him.
The refugees from Linyi were quickly taken into the care of several prominent clans. The boy Mo Ran had been holding turned to wave at him wistfully as he left. "See you, Savior-gege."
"Mn, see you." Mo Ran smiled. He watched them walk away, standing in the last of the sun's glow.
Chu Wanning disliked such drawn-out farewells. After a beat, he turned to leave. Mo Ran hastily rushed after him so they could walk back to the sect together.
Against the backdrop of swaying trees and rosy sunset, they walked in silence up the stone stairs, one step at a time. Mo Ran recalled how Chu Wanning had once dragged him, injured and unconscious, back to the peak despite his own depleted spiritual energy. To see Chu Wanning now, walking beside him as they returned together, made Mo Ran's heart tighten.
Swept up in that tide of emotions, he reached out and carefully caught Chu Wanning's fingertips.
Chu Wanning froze.
They'd held hands before, but Chu Wanning still seemed stiff and clumsy, terribly ill at ease. He strove to maintain his calm expression, to pretend he was unaffected and unbothered. Unfortunately, the man by his side was Mo Ran, Mo Weiyu—the one who knew him to his core; who knew how sensitive the mole by his ear was, and how his toes shied from the cold.
Neither spoke. Observing that Chu Wanning didn't pull away, Mo Ran finally clasped Chu Wanning's entire hand in his own.
The path ahead was long, but he wished the journey were longer. For the chance to hold Chu Wanning's hand a while longer, just a while longer.
Their destination was far, but he wished the journey were shorter. If it were shorter, perhaps the suffering Chu Wanning had borne to bring him home years ago might have been less—just a little less.
In this manner they walked onto the peak, where the majestic mountain gates rose before their eyes. Suddenly, a slender silhouette in a white fox-fur cloak appeared from between the rustling trees. Before the two of them could get a clear look, they heard a man's voice. "Shizun?!"
Startled, Chu Wanning yanked his hand out of Mo Ran's and let his sleeve fall over it. He stopped in his tracks and raised his head.
Shi Mei came down the steps above them. In the setting sun, his face was as luminous as the fresh petals of a lotus, a splendid sight. Even the sprawling colors of the sunset paled in comparison; he was loveliness personified. Shi Mei appeared not to have noticed them holding hands; he only looked surprised and delighted to see them again. "Thank goodness, you're finally back!"
Mo Ran hadn't expected to run into him here. Embarrassed, he asked, "Shi Mei, are you heading down the mountain?"
"Mn, I'm on my way to pick up some things for the sect leader. I didn't expect to meet Shizun and A-Ran. The sect leader received Shizun's messenger haitang a few days back, but of course he couldn't rest easy until he saw you…"
"Mo Ran and I are unharmed. How are the others from the sect?" "They're all fine," Shi Mei replied. "The young master was planted with a black chess piece, but not for long enough to do permanent damage, thankfully. Tanlang Elder has been overseeing his care, and today he was able to stand and walk around."
Chu Wanning sighed. "That's good."
Shi Mei smiled and looked at Mo Ran. His lashes lowered gently as he dipped in a bow. "I'd like to chat longer, but I'd hate to keep the Guyueye messenger with the medicinal ingredients waiting. If you'll excuse me, Shizun, A-Ran—I'll see you tonight."
"Mn, go on ahead," Chu Wanning said. "We'll talk soon."
Shi Mei left in a flutter of robes, disappearing into the distance. Chu Wanning looked back at Mo Ran. He knew Mo Ran hadn't been the one to let go—that he had pulled away first—yet he still felt the inexplicable burn of fury. He shot Mo Ran a cutting glare, then turned and left with a sweep of his sleeves.
Mo Ran could only stare in his wake.
The two arrived, one after the other, at the threshold of Loyalty Hall. When the doors opened, both were stunned speechless by the scene before them.
The main hall of Sisheng Peak was piled with precious metals and silks, gems and corals, magical implements and spiritual stones, spanning from the dais at the rear of the hall all the way to the entryway. Chu Wanning couldn't even fully open the door—a pile of sparkling spiritual stones for refining magical devices had entirely blocked the way.
The gifts were one thing, but for some reason, there were nearly three dozen beautiful women waiting anxiously inside as well. Xue Zhengyong stood in the middle of it all, desperately trying to reason with a Huohuang Pavilion disciple garbed in pink. "No thank you, absolutely not. We can accept the rest, but please take these songstresses back to the pavilion master with you. We really have no need for song or dance here, thank you very much."
Mo Ran entered the hall behind Chu Wanning. As soon as he stepped in, a wave of strong perfume hit him in the face from the three dozen songstresses hovering beside the doorway. Always sensitive to such fragrances, he burst into a flurry of sneezes.
Xue Zhengyong's head whipped around, and his face instantly lit up in joy. "A-Ran, Yuheng! You're finally back! Quick, come help me persuade this…this envoy here."
Chu Wanning arched a brow. "Envoy?"
Before Xue Zhengyong could answer, the disciple turned with a toothy grin. "This one is the eldest disciple of Huohuang Pavilion, here on our pavilion master's orders to build an alliance with Sisheng Peak."
Chu Wanning was speechless. An alliance offer was not something they could brush off so easily. The three spent ages politely turning down the envoy's generosity until they finally managed to send him away.
As Xue Zhengyong watched his retreating silhouette, he heaved a gusty sigh and mopped his brow. "Do you know? All kinds of sects from the upper cultivation realm have been sending messengers these past few days, and they all want to make connections with Sisheng Peak. I haven't had many dealings with them—in the past, the only one willing to talk to us was Kunlun Taxue Palace. Now that they're suddenly coming in swarms, and with gifts too, I really don't know what to say."
Chu Wanning frowned. "What have we missed in the upper cultivation realm?"
"The times, they sure are changing," Xue Zhengyong sighed. "How so?"
"It's a whole mess. That madman Xu Shuanglin exposed so many debts and grudges with that memory scroll. Everyone knows he did it for revenge, but what difference does that make? Jiangdong Hall has splintered, Guyueye and Taxue Palace have renounced their ties and become enemies, and of course I needn't remind you about Rufeng Sect. As for Wubei Temple…"
Recalling that Master Huaizui was Chu Wanning's shizun, Xue Zhengyong snapped his mouth shut. But Chu Wanning seemed unbothered. "Despite Wubei Temple being a place of purity, its previous leader involved himself in the power struggles of Rufeng Sect and even devised underhanded tricks to help Nangong Liu all those years ago. Of course its reputation is in shambles."
"Mn…"
Chu Wanning's callousness toward his own former sect bewildered both Xue Zhengyong and Mo Ran, who watched him quizzically. Chu Wanning pressed his lips together. After a beat of silence, he asked, "What about Nangong Si?"
"I don't know. We haven't heard anything from him and Ye-gong— I mean, Miss Ye, since the apocalyptic fire died down."
Mo Ran exclaimed softly in surprise, a look of worry on his face.
Would these two kind and honorable souls be refused a gentle ending even in his second lifetime?
Noting Mo Ran's cryptic expression, Xue Zhengyong turned. "What's wrong, Ran-er?"
Mo Ran couldn't possibly speak the truth, so he said, "I was just thinking, Xu Shuanglin's gone missing as well, and they have deep ties with him. I'm worried they'll be implicated."
"Don't worry too much. The sects have sent scouts out to investigate every trace of unusual magic," Xue Zhengyong said. "Unless Nangong Xu buries himself forever, they'll definitely find him. Nangong-gongzi and Miss Ye might just be trapped where they are and unable to get word to us."
"Mn, I hope so," Mo Ran said.
The three exchanged what they knew about the events of the last few days. Though Xue Zhengyong had received the messenger haitang and knew Chu Wanning and the others made it to Flying Flower Isle, he didn't know much about what happened after they'd arrived. Chu Wanning answered his questions thoroughly, except when they touched upon Mo Ran. Then, he invariably paused and swiftly changed the subject.
Xue Zhengyong, for his part, would never in his wildest dreams have guessed what had passed between Chu Wanning and Mo Ran. Aside from their equally good looks, the two of them were ill-matched in every way: age, status, and personality. Even their skin tone, taste in food, or sleeping posture—they weren't alike in the slightest.
Yuheng of the Night Sky, the Beidou Immortal, had always been the emblem of pristine purity, the symbol of cool distance. Chu-zongshi was unattached and ascetic, a man who prized his dignity above all. How could he possibly entertain a romance with his own disciple? Even the boldest and most absurd folktales wouldn't dare posit such a plot. If any storyteller had the temerity to tell such a tale, his audience would spit their melon seed shells and dump their tea on him, then beat him under his own beechwood table.
But inexplicably, this love had flourished. In a dim, inconspicuous corner, a delicate and mysterious flower slowly unfurled its petals.
Although not yet in full bloom, its fragrance was hauntingly beautiful.
Since they had returned at last to Sisheng Peak, Chu Wanning intended to go to Mengpo Hall for dinner that night. But when he pushed open the doors of the Red Lotus Pavilion, he saw a figure standing on that bamboo-lined mountain path, atop the bluestone steps. At the creak of the door's hinge, this person turned, his back shaded black as ink by the shadows of dusk, the last glow of sunset gilding his handsome face.
"Shizun." Mo Ran grinned at him.
Chu Wanning's feet in his pristine white shoes froze. Memory folded over itself; he seemed to see Mo Ran the year he had arrived on Sisheng Peak, when he stood before Chu Wanning's door every day and watched him leave, then waited for him to return.
But time never flowed backward. The Yuheng Elder from the past had long since turned into the shizun this young man had called thousands of times. His reverence now contained a tightly restrained passion and an undisguised tenderness.
"What are you doing here?" "Waiting to eat dinner with you."
Chu Wanning's gaze fell upon the food box in his hand. "It's been a while since we've been home. I want to eat at Mengpo Hall today; I wasn't planning to stay in the pavilion for dinner."
Mo Ran stared for a moment, then understood. "Shizun's mistaken," he said with a smile. "This box is empty; I just brought Xue Meng dinner. He doesn't have much of an appetite, so I borrowed a small stove and made him a bowl of noodles."
Chu Wanning looked back at him with some surprise. As long as he could remember, these two had never been close. Although they were cousins, they were at each other's throats the moment they were left alone together.
When had this changed? Perhaps he'd missed too much in his five years asleep, or perhaps Mo Ran and Xue Meng had merely grown up.
Whatever it was, without their teacher realizing, the two had warmed to each other. They were still far from embodying perfect brotherhood, but Xue Meng would still make an ugly little clay figurine of Mo Ran when he was sculpting; and when Xue Meng was ill, Mo Ran would still make a bowl of noodles and bring it to his bedside.
Chu Wanning sighed. "How is he? When I went to look in on him earlier, he was still asleep."
"He's awake now. After he ate, he wanted to take a walk outside—I barely managed to get him to lie down again. The Zhenlong Chess Formation is unique. Anyone made into a black chess piece needs to rest no matter how little time they were controlled."
"Mn." Even as Chu Wanning agreed, he felt a small bubble of doubt rise to the surface. Mo Ran had spoken carelessly, but Chu Wanning had been listening. He sensed something faintly off about that straightforward statement—Mo Ran seemed to know a bit too much, and speak a bit too lightly, about the Zhenlong Chess Formation's strengths, weaknesses, and effects.
"Shizun?" Chu Wanning blinked, coming back to his senses. Mo Ran was smiling. "What were you thinking about?"
"Nothing much," Chu Wanning replied after a moment's hesitation.
He was worrying unnecessarily. Mo Ran was a zongshi now. It wasn't strange that he should have some understanding of forbidden techniques. Changing the subject, he asked, "Where are we going? I don't want to go out."
"I don't either," Mo Ran said, rubbing his nose. He chuckled warmly. "As long as it's with you, anywhere's good."
Chu Wanning would never admit that his heartbeat quickened at those words, but he did gaze a fraction too long into those dark and shining eyes. They were bright and earnest, filled with the reflection of the setting sun and his own silhouette. Simple and clean.
He couldn't think of any excuse to refuse those eyes, so in the end, he went with Mo Ran to that bustling dinner hall. Mo Ran used to put food into Chu Wanning's bowl without hesitation and had even been known to reach out with a smile to wipe sauce from the corner of Chu Wanning's mouth. But now, after crossing the bridge of that final confession, they could no longer be so carefree. Under the watchful gazes of so many, even making eye contact was awkward.
At the end of a very courteous and respectful meal, Chu Wanning rose to clear their table. Mo Ran called him back. "Shizun, hold on."
"What is it?"
Mo Ran reached out, but his hand paused a hairsbreadth from Chu Wanning's cheek. He retracted it and pointed at the corner of his own grinning mouth. "You have some rice."
Chu Wanning froze in place. He set down his tray and wiped the rice away with every appearance of calm. Pursing his lips, he asked quietly, "Is it still there?"
Smiling, Mo Ran said, "Not anymore; very clean."
Chu Wanning picked his tray back up to leave. Annoyed and embarrassed, he also felt a faint sense of disappointment, one he wasn't ready to admit to. In the past, Mo Ran had always just reached out. This sudden imposition of cordial distance unnerved him.
The next few days passed in much the same way.
This man who had once been so uninhibited now acted like a blushing youth. He expended every effort to treat Chu Wanning as well as possible, but never put a toe over the line. It was as though Mo Ran feared startling him; every move he made was careful. At times, Chu Wanning thought he could clearly see the blazing lust in the depths of his eyes—but that man would somehow let his lashes fall in silence as he engulfed Chu Wanning's hands in his own broad palms. When Mo Ran looked up once more, the hunger in Mo Ran's eyes was always hidden beneath tenderness. Such gentle handling gave Chu Wanning the vague impression of being treated like a ceramic figurine that had been shattered and slowly pieced back together, as though Mo Ran was terrified a sudden move would crush Chu Wanning to pieces and grind him to dust.
Chu Wanning thought this state of affairs was fine, unhurried and calm. The sizzling inferno of his dreams was exciting, certainly, but he was satisfied with it remaining a dream. If it were real, he doubted he could handle it.
Yet regardless of how carefully and closely they trod the steps of love, this path must eventually come to an end. One day, Chu Wanning ate his dinner as usual and took a peach as he left. Before he could take more than a few bites, someone caught his hand. Stunned, Chu Wanning looked up to see Mo Ran. In a low voice laced with reproach, Chu Wanning asked, "What are you doing?"