OTHER THAN CHU WANNING, the one most important to Mo Ran was Shi Mei. Mo Ran had once thought what he felt for Shi Mei was love, then found it wasn't so. But his intent to care for and cherish him had never changed. Even though he couldn't shake the feeling that Shi Mei was slowly becoming a stranger—that this beautiful man seemed to be someone entirely different from the youth in his memories—and even though Shi Mei had only brought him that first bowl of wontons on Chu Wanning's orders, regardless, Shi Mingjing was still Shi Mingjing. He was the companion who had reached out with a small smile to Mo Ran when he was consumed by darkness and disappointment. The shixiong who comforted Mo Ran when he was lonely and upset.
Come to think of it, Shi Mei was also an orphan; he had no family in the world. Though Xue Meng was friendly with Shi Mei, he was proud and arrogant; in all these years, Shi Mei had never called him by name, only respectfully using the title Young master. The only one who could really claim to be a friend to Shi Mei was Mo Ran himself.
And yet he'd hurt him.
Hiding in the bamboo forest, Xue Meng watched for a long time with his arms crossed. Mo Ran stood unmoving, fiddling with the silver comb as if there was much on his mind.
After waiting the better part of an hour with nothing to show for it, Xue Meng started to wonder if he was the idiot. What the hell was he thinking? How could he suspect Shizun and Mo Ran were close in that way? Was his brain broken…? The longer he stood, the more awkward he felt and the less he could justify his actions.
At last, Xue Meng turned to leave—but these two martial siblings were cut from the same cloth. Xue Meng made the exact same mistake as Mo Ran: he relaxed and forgot to step with care.
Mo Ran leapt to his feet, voice ringing through the gauze hangings. "Who's there?"
Under the moonlight, Xue Meng reluctantly showed himself, eyes evasive. He cleared his throat.
Mo Ran stared. "What are you doing here?"
"Double standards much?" Xue Meng couldn't make himself meet Mo Ran's eyes. He spoke with such conviction, but he looked left and right, his cheeks reddening. "I just wanted to see Shizun, too."
Mo Ran abruptly realized that Xue Meng must have followed him; he froze for a moment, then adjusted his expression before Xue Meng could notice. "Since you're here, why don't you take a seat?"
Xue Meng did not refuse. He joined Mo Ran in the bamboo pavilion.
"Tea or wine?" Mo Ran asked.
"Tea," Xue Meng replied. "Wine will get me drunk."
There was both tea and wine on the table. Mo Ran set a little pot of red clay over the fire. In the darkness, its light flickered over his chiseled features. He put the eight treasures tea in the pot, then placed it on the stove. The two cousins—one sitting on the bench, one leaning against the pillar—waited for the water to boil.
"Why did you come so early?" Xue Meng asked. "Shi Mei should've stayed till midnight."
"I didn't have anything else to do, so why not." Mo Ran smiled. "Didn't you do the same?"
Thinking about it, Xue Meng had to agree. Like him, Mo Ran was probably worried about Shizun. This cousin of his had changed after the battle at the Heavenly Rift. After all these years, he was nothing like that churlish youth of the past. The disciple Chu Wanning saved at the cost of his own life had finally grown into a proper young man.
Xue Meng lowered his lashes and fell silent a moment, then smiled. "What's up?" Mo Ran asked.
"Nothing. I was just thinking about the last time Shizun was in seclusion. You were so angry at Shizun back then. During those ten days, you only took a single glance at him before saying you weren't skilled enough to care for him and running off to help Dad in the library. I held a grudge against you for that. I never thought you'd change so much in seven years."
Mo Ran was quiet. Eventually he said, "Everyone changes." "If you could do it over, would you still run off?"
"What do you think?"
Xue Meng thought seriously. "You'd probably try to stay with Shizun all ten days."
Eyes downcast, Mo Ran laughed.
"Hmph, what do you think you're laughing at?" Xue Meng shifted, placing a foot on the bench and an elbow on his knee. He let his head fall back, glancing sidelong at his cousin. "Now both of us feel the same about Shizun. Your thoughts wouldn't differ too much from mine."
Mo Ran lowered his eyes. "Mn."
Xue Meng squinted at him, then raised his eyes to the bells hanging from the corners of the eaves. "That's good. Back when Shizun passed, I resented so much that your life was saved at the cost of his. But now that I look at it, you're not without a conscience."
Mo Ran didn't know how to respond, so he again went "Mn." The bells tinkled in the breeze.
After some silence, Xue Meng found himself turning to Mo Ran.
His eyes sparkled and his brows drew low as he said, " Ahem, um. I actually have a question for you."
"Go ahead."
"Tell me the truth. That day, in the backwoods, were you…"
Mo Ran knew Xue Meng had been wanting to ask this question for a long time. He'd danced around it, but couldn't escape it in the end. Mo Ran waited for Xue Meng to continue. But after hemming and hawing for half an age, his face pinking and paling in turns, Xue Meng still couldn't get the words out. He watched Mo Ran carefully as he said, "Were you two…really looking for an osmanthus rice-cake spirit?"
The water in the teapot came to a boil, sending wisps of steam spiraling into the cold night air. They locked gazes. Xue Meng's pupils were blazing, spitting fire, whereas Mo Ran's black eyes were as still as an old well, deep and unfathomable.
"Tea's ready."
Xue Meng grabbed his arm, staring into his eyes. "Were you two really looking for an osmanthus rice-cake spirit?!"
Mo Ran extricated himself from Xue Meng's hold and picked up the pot on the table. He poured two cups, then looked up. "If we weren't looking for a rice-cake spirit, what could we be doing?" "You—"
"Shizun wouldn't lie to you. Even if you don't believe me, you should at least believe him."
Xue Meng was like a little snake caught by the throat; the hand resting on his knee tightened and he ducked his head. "I do believe him."
"Then have some tea." Mo Ran sighed. "Why are you always overthinking?" He lowered his eyes to blow at the piping-hot cup.
Wreathed in the steam, his face was like a mirage—handsome yet hazy, impossible to bring into focus.
The eight treasures tea was warm and rich. Xue Meng savored it, letting its comforting heat soothe the pounding of his heart. When he finished, the cup was still warm; steam rose from its center. Head down, Xue Meng murmured half to Mo Ran and half to himself, "I overthink because I care about him so much. Really. The slightest rustle and I'm…"
"I know," Mo Ran said. "I'm the same way."
Xue Meng turned to look at him. Leaning back against the pillar with his unfinished tea, Mo Ran took another sip. "Earlier, I had a misunderstanding with Shi Mei for the same reason. At least you're better off than me. Not so impulsive."
Xue Meng's curiosity was piqued. "No wonder Shi Mei didn't say much before he left. What happened?"
"It doesn't matter." Mo Ran grimaced. "I'm even more of an overthinker than you."
Xue Meng wrinkled his nose. "He hasn't had it easy. People will eat children during a famine if they get desperate enough—if Dad hadn't rescued him, he'd've probably ended up as meat in a stew… Shi Mei's always been good to you, so you'd better not bully him."
"Mn," Mo Ran said. "I know, something just set me off earlier. It won't happen again."
The two sat in the pavilion, watching over Chu Wanning as they chatted. It was a strange experience. Mo Ran gazed at Xue Meng's handsome, arrogant face in the moonlight. This was the same man who'd carved a hole in his chest in the past life, then met him with tears and blood in every subsequent encounter. He had never expected they could talk like this, so calmly.
The moonbeams streamed down on the lotus pond as they steeped tea and warmed wine. Yes, wine. They'd finished the tea, but Xue Meng wasn't ready to leave. Mo Ran heated a pot and poured out a few cups. Just a small accompaniment to their conversation. There was no harm as long as they didn't get drunk.
Yet he seemed to have overestimated Xue Meng's tolerance.
Between Chu Wanning and his three disciples, Chu Wanning could down a thousand cups, Mo Ran could acquit himself respectably, and Shi Mei was a lightweight. But Xue Meng was utterly hopeless. Two scant cups of pear-blossom white saw him dizzy and incoherent.
Wary of causing a disaster, Mo Ran hastily removed the wine from the table. Xue Meng was a little tipsy, but he wasn't that far gone. "Good, put it away," he chuckled, cheeks ruddy. "I… I've had enough."
"Mn," Mo Ran agreed. "You should hurry back to rest. Can you walk? If not, I'll send a voice message to tell Uncle to come pick you up."
"Ohh, he doesn't have to, he doesn't have to." Xue Meng waved him off with a grin. "I can walk back by myself; I haven't forgotten the way."
Skeptical, Mo Ran extended a finger in front of Xue Meng's eyes. "What number is this?"
"One."
He pointed at Chu Wanning. "Who's this?" Xue Meng smiled. "Immortal-gege." "…Be serious."
"Ha ha, it's Shizun! I can tell." Clutching the pillar, Xue Meng laughed.
Mo Ran frowned. This rascal's alcohol tolerance was getting worse every year. Still unconvinced, he pointed at himself. "What about me?
Take a good look, don't try to be funny. Who am I?"
As Xue Meng stared at him, the years seemed to fold over themselves; Mo Ran saw that New Year's Eve at Mengpo Hall. Xue Meng had been drunk then, too. He had recognized Shi Mei, called Chu Wanning Immortal-gege, then burst into laughter when he looked at Mo Ran and called him a dog.
Mo Ran stared placidly back at him. If Xue Meng called him a dog again, he was prepared to pin him down and beat him up before calling Xue Zhengyong to drag the little drunkard home.
But Xue Meng only considered him for a long time, expression unreadable. In the end, his lips parted almost in a pout, as if shaping the syllable for "dog" once again.
Mo Ran raised a hand, ready to slap it over his mouth. "Ge…"
He froze. Xue Meng gazed at him through misty eyes. Quietly, slowly, he said again: "Ge."
Mo Ran was stunned. The word was like the sting of a wasp: a stabbing pain morphing into agony, soon numb from its venom. Something was caught in his throat—he couldn't say anything as he stared at Xue Meng's face, at those young, prideful, headstrong features. Mo Ran had seen hatred, fury, and disdain on this face, but never an emotion like this.
Xue Meng touched Longcheng at his waist, inlaid with the lunar crystal Mo Ran had sent him after risking his life taking down a great spirit beast. Without this blade, he mightn't have taken first place at the Spiritual Mountain Competition. Without this blade, he might've ended up a nameless cultivator lost to the annals of time, the bearer of an eternal regret.
He had never properly thanked Mo Ran for the gift, for various reasons—because of his pride and because of his sense of dignity. Yet it always ate at him. Whenever he cleaned Longcheng, it weighed on his heart and mind.
After they had returned from Rufeng Sect and Xue Meng learned it was Mo Ran who saved him from Xu Shuanglin, he felt only more tormented. When he woke and heard Mo Ran and Chu Wanning were missing, he'd sobbed himself hoarse. Everyone had thought he was crying for his shizun. Only Xue Meng knew that when he lay in his sickbed that night, clutching Longcheng and gazing into the darkness, he'd rasped: "Ge, I'm sorry."
Where are you… Are you and Shizun…okay?
Mo Ran couldn't say a thing or move a muscle. He seemed to have been rooted to the spot, stock-still. Scenes from the past rushed through his mind.
Sisheng Peak in the past life, Xue Meng storming up the mountain alone to stand in the chill air of Wushan Hall. Asking, eyes red-rimmed, what he'd done with Chu Wanning.
"Mo Weiyu," Xue Meng had said. "Look back properly."
When he became Emperor Taxian-jun and Xue Meng joined hands with Mei Hanxue to attack him. In broad daylight, Mei Hanxue cut off his escape while Xue Meng roared, features twisting, driving that scimitar into his chest. Blood spraying.
"Mo Weiyu," Xue Meng had said. "You're beyond salvation; this world has had its fill of you!"
Those hateful grudges, blazing furiously as they swirled around him.
The day Chu Wanning died in this lifetime, and Xue Meng leaping up with a roar and pinning him to the wall. Pulse beating in his neck as he shouted like a trapped beast: "How could you say he didn't save you? How could you say he didn't save you?! "
Another flash of memory, appearing as a faint glow before him. Perhaps Mo Ran had stood stiffly for too long, long enough for those oldest, blurriest memories to creep up on him.
He saw two youths. One was skin and bones, trembling like an abandoned dog awaiting his next beating. He hunched anxiously at one of the tables in the disciples' quarters, sitting on a little stool with his hands tightly fisted over his knees, unmoving. He recognized himself.
The other youth had a complexion pure as jade or snow, precious and proud as a peachick coming into his dazzling plumage. He stood, a finely wrought scimitar at his waist and a foot propped on a nearby chair. Clear black eyes stared unblinkingly down at Mo Ran. "Mom told me to come visit you," the young Xue Meng muttered. "You're my new cousin?" He paused. "Kind of pathetic, aren't you?"
Mo Ran said nothing. He kept his head down, unaccustomed to such intense scrutiny.
"Hey, what's your name?" Xue Meng asked. "Mo…um… Mo something? Tell me, I forgot."
Mo Ran didn't answer.
"I'm asking you a question; aren't you going to say something?" Still no answer.
"Are you mute?!"
After three attempts, the young Xue Meng burst into exasperated laughter. "They say you're my cousin, but look how timid you are. You're so frail the wind could blow you over. There's no way I have such an embarrassing gege—what a joke."
Mo Ran hung his head lower still, silent. A blur of crimson appeared before him. It took Mo Ran a moment to realize it was a stick of tanghulu. The hand that offered the sugar-coated hawthorn did it so roughly the stick nearly poked him in the nose.
"Here," Xue Meng said. "I can't eat it anyway." He had brought a box of sweets with him as well, and now tossed it carelessly on the table like a coin to a beggar.
Mo Ran could only watch in dazed shock. He thought Xue Meng too generous, impossibly generous—no one had ever offered him so much to eat at once, even if he begged on his knees. "I… This…"
"What?" Xue Meng frowned. "What do you mean—what are you trying to say?"
"Can I have the whole stick?" "Huh?"
"Just one berry is enough…or if you can't finish it, maybe I could…"
"What's wrong with you? Are you a dog? You want to eat leftovers?" Xue Meng's eyes widened, his tone one of disbelief. "Of course it's all yours! This entire stick and that entire box are yours!"
The lacquered box was beautifully crafted, golden linework depicting a scene of cranes amidst clouds. Mo Ran had never seen an item of such luxury before. He didn't dare reach out, but his eyes fixed on the box with a look so intent Xue Meng's skin prickled with goosebumps. He thought he might as well open it for Mo Ran.
The rich scents of cream and fruit and bean paste wafted out with the lift of the lid, mingling under his nose. The sweets were arrayed in a neat grid of three by three, for a total of nine. Some were golden-brown and crisp, some were soft and delicate, while others were gleaming and fragile, wrapped in a beautiful translucent skin that offered a faint glimpse of the soft red bean paste within.
Xue Meng spared them scarcely a glance. He pushed the box in front of Mo Ran and said, impatient, "Go on and eat. If that's not enough, I have more. I can't finish all this, so giving it to you is perfect." The little gongzi had a bad attitude and unkind tone, constantly rolling his clear eyes in pompous disdain. But the desserts he offered were sweet and soft.
Through the bitterness and blood of another lifetime, that distant sweetness seemed to return to Mo Ran's tongue. Mo Ran gazed at Xue Meng's wine-flushed face beneath the moonlight, and Xue Meng squinted back.
After a moment, Xue Meng laughed, so tipsy even he didn't know what he was laughing at. He let go of the pillar as if to clap Mo Ran amiably on the shoulder, but his legs were unsteady. Stumbling, he fell into Mo Ran's arms. "Mmph… Ge…"
Still staring, Mo Ran slowly lowered his lashes and patted Xue Meng gingerly on the back. The evening breeze tousled his bangs, obscuring his handsome face. What expression Mo Ran wore, only heaven knew.
A long time later, when the pathetic lightweight Xue Meng had fallen asleep snoring in his arms, Mo Ran finally spoke, voice rough: "Xue Meng, I'm sorry. I'm not worthy to be your gege…"