THE NEWLY FORMED volunteer army stood at the foot of the mountain, soaking in the rain. Cultivators from every sect were present. The Space-Time Gate had only been open a few days; no one knew what was happening, and all that lay before them were boundless dangers and lurking threats. This rudimentary alliance was an uneasy one, each party weighing their own options. Few were willing to stand in the vanguard. They feared the Zhenlong pawns lying in wait at this strange Sisheng Peak, worried they'd meet those revenant grandmasters they'd faced at Mount Jiao.
They looked up at the peak, eyes wide and fearful. Inside that rain-battered Wushan Palace, was there a slumbering monster ready to awaken and tear them all to shreds?
Someone holding a torch enchanted against the rain looked up and muttered, "I really didn't expect Tianyin Pavilion to do something like this… I still feel like I'm dreaming."
"Enough." Zhen Congming of Bitan Manor laid a hand on his shoulder. "If you've got the energy to moan and groan, you might as well focus on a plan of attack. Let's get this nightmare over with."
"I'm afraid it might not be that simple," someone else replied, expression somber. "Mu Yanli is of godly descent, and Hua Binan is one of the greatest medicinal cultivators of our time. As for that Emperor Taxian-jun—I mean Mo Ran—that guy's powerful and vicious. We'd best be careful; no one can let down their guard."
Several heads in the crowd nodded in agreement.
Had Xue Meng from the past life been standing among them, he'd have surely thought all the twists and turns of life had brought him right back to the beginning. The scene was identical to that night long ago, when the ten great sects had surrounded Sisheng Peak and Taxian-jun swallowed poison.
But the one among their number was not that Xue Meng, but rather the young man who'd just lost his parents. His features were still handsome, but his face was haggard. He wore not the bright silver-blue armor of Sisheng Peak but a plain set of blue robes, his ponytail fastened with a strip of white cloth as a sign of his mourning.
"No more chatter," said Xue Meng. "If we waste time here, things will only get worse. Who cares about who's most vicious or keeping your guard up… If you're scared, stay here. You don't have to come."
Everything proceeded along the same bygone tracks. As soon as Xue Meng spoke up, those around him burst into chatter. Once again, the crowd piled on:
"Xue-gongzi, watch your tongue. What do you mean, scared?" A cultivator of Jiangdong Hall glared at him, her slender brows twisting. "That's right, look how brave you are—just a few days ago, you brainlessly ran off to Wushan Palace to kill Taxian-jun. How did that go?"
Xue Meng fell silent.
"Weren't you defeated? Didn't Mei-shixiong have to help you clean up your mess?!"
"You—!"
A slender hand blocked Xue Meng's way, silver bells tinkling on a pale wrist. Xue Meng snapped, "This isn't your business!"
But Mei Hanxue looked cheery. "Of course it's my business; you're the son of my benefactors." He turned to smile at that girl, who'd flushed red upon realizing he'd witnessed her rudeness. "And of course I have to point it out when such a pretty lady speaks so coarsely. How else is she to correct her mistakes?" He continued earnestly: "Helping Xue Meng is helping a friend, not cleaning up a mess. With the heavens as my witness, I ask the lady not to impugn my honor."
Everyone in the jianghu knew of Mei-shixiong's allure. The girl fell instantly silent, her face redder than a pig's liver. At the sight of her flustered face, the young man with her felt the horns of cuckoldry sprouting from his head. He scoffed loudly. "How interesting. Xue-gongzi, you're a lion-hearted hero, and the rest of us are mewling cowards, is that right? Why don't you go up there first and scout for us, then? You know Sisheng Peak best, and everyone's saying Emperor Taxian-jun is the previous incarnation of your cousin Mo Weiyu. He's not going to kill you, is he? You're the safest of any of us."
At the mention of Emperor Taxian-jun, many in the crowd looked abashed. When Mo-zongshi had first appealed to them, they'd called him a liar. Yet since then, everything that came to light had proven his words true. Many of them felt their consciences aching.
Still, not everyone agreed. An old cultivator twirled his mustache and cleared his throat. "That Emperor Taxian-jun's identity remains to be confirmed."
Xue Meng shot him a chilling look. "Confirmed how?"
"What I mean is, Taxian-jun looks like Mo Ran, but he might not really be his previous incarnation the way Mo Ran said. With masks of human skin and Zhenlong chess pieces, nothing's impossible."
"That's right. I still think the murderer at Guyueye was Mo Ran himself—forget past or present incarnations, that's just an excuse! A pretense!"
Even now there were those who insisted Mo-zongshi had been lying, that they'd done nothing wrong in condemning him. Some of them had made eloquent or scathing speeches against him at Tianyin Pavilion. Some had thrown stones and rotten vegetables during those three days of public trial and ridiculed him from the crowd. Admitting Mo-zongshi was right was tantamount to admitting they'd been tricked, manipulated into slandering a good man's name. The thought was much too embarrassing.
Admitting fault often took more courage than committing the fault in the first place; none of them were brave enough. Better to never allow Mo Ran's name to be cleared than to abandon their veneer of righteousness. No matter how much suffering or scorn Mo Ran endured, no matter how many accusations he bore—regardless of the two lifetimes he'd spent in agony—he would stay a sinner. To these so-called gentlemen, another's innocence would always be subordinate to their own pride.
Mei Hanxue's eyes curved into smiling crescents. "Sun-daozhang, you're truly possessed of unbending courage."
The old geezer blinked in confusion for a long moment before he realized it was a jibe. Furious, he would have rushed toward Mei Hanxue if the abbot of Wubei Temple hadn't stopped him.
"That's enough," said Master Xuanjing. "Benefactors, please stop arguing and listen to this old monk. It doesn't matter who Taxian-jun is; what matters is what we should do when we go up the mountain and how we should split our forces." He turned to Xue Meng, conciliatory. "Xue-gongzi, you've dueled Taxian-jun. In your view, how strong is he as a fighter?"
Xue Meng clenched his jaw, hands tightening into fists. "Better than all the sect leaders present combined."
"Ha!" Sun-daozhang raised one bushy eyebrow. "Darling of the heavens indeed—look how readily he praises others and humbles himself!"
Master Xuanjing, on the other hand, looked shocked. "Which is to say, he's likely much stronger than Chu-zongshi. No wonder Chu-zongshi was kidnapped…"
"Kidnapped? Don't we all know the filthy things that happened between Chu Wanning and Mo Ran by now? If you ask me, he wasn't kidnapped at all. Neither is Taxian-jun some kind of 'past self.' This whole thing is Mo Ran's doing, and Chu Wanning's in on it too! If you don't believe me, let's march up there and see!"
Xue Meng went pale as a sheet. Only a few weeks ago, he would've been first to snarl and punch that bag of bones' face in—but he'd only just learned the truth about his shizun and Mo Ran's relationship himself. The idea was still too repellent; he stood unmoving, face crumpling in silence.
A tall silhouette draped in pale green robes slid coolly in front of him, saving him from that painful predicament. Jiang Xi's voice rang out. "What a bold declaration, Sun-daozhang. If things aren't as you say once we march up the mountain, perhaps that conniving tongue of yours needn't remain in your mouth."
A muscle twitched in the old Daoist's jaw. His lips moved as if to speak, but he didn't dare talk back to Jiang Xi. After some half-hearted muttering, he fell silent.
Jiang Xi shot a look at Xue Meng but said nothing. He lowered his head in thought, then turned back to the others. "There's no time. Let's decide whom each of us will target, then begin our offense." His eyes roved over the other sect leaders and elders, acknowledging each of them. "Aside from the Zhenlong pawns, who else do we know is atop Sisheng Peak?"
"We'll certainly run into Mu Yanli," someone replied immediately.
"Has anyone here fought her?"
A female cultivator raised her hand. "I matched her for a while during the chaos."
"How was she?" asked Jiang Xi.
The girl thought about it. "Three elders should be enough to pin her down."
"Good. We need three elders to keep her occupied once the battle starts. Any volunteers?"
Sisheng Peak detested Mu Yanli. Three of their elders immediately stepped forward: Xuanji, Tanlang, and Lucun. They were sect siblings and powerful in their own right, skilled in the roles of healer, attack, and support. Jiang Xi agreed without hesitation.
"Who else?" asked Jiang Xi.
"Some of her personal guard from Tianyin Pavilion. Exact numbers unknown, but there're at least six or seven hundred of them. Their strength is also difficult to estimate."
"Wubei Temple's fighting style is closest to Tianyin Pavilion's." Jiang Xi turned to Master Xuanjing. "Abbot, can your disciples target Tianyin Pavilion's people?"
"Ah…" Master Xuanjing weighed his options. The negatives were obvious. They didn't know how many Tianyin Pavilion guards were present, or how strong they were. It was one thing if they were weak, but Wubei Temple would be decimated if they were strong. The positives, however, were tempting. If they were occupied with Tianyin Pavilion, they wouldn't have to face Emperor Taxian-jun, the greatest terror on the peak. At last he nodded. "This old monk will gladly do his duty."
"Which leaves Hua Binan…" Jiang Xi sighed, closing his eyes. "That one's clear-cut. Though Guyueye cannot profess to full knowledge of his every technique, he is at least from our sect. When the battle begins, I ask the elders of my own sect to go after him. Show him no mercy."
Only the Zhenlong pawns and Taxian-jun remained. Jiang Xi's gaze swept over the assembled crowd, but other than a few familiar faces, the rest seemed afflicted with a sickness of the spine—their heads bent so low some rubbed their necks as though they ached.
"Palace Leader?"
Ming Yuelou nodded. "Taxue Palace stands ready."
Jiang Xi turned to the head of Shangqing Pavilion. The elder nodded. "As do we."
The remaining sects were either cowardly or truly unsuited for combat. As their leaders hesitated, one mumbled, "Since Taxian-jun is capable of tearing open the Space-Time Gate, the strength of these sect leaders is definitely not enough."
"Right? Wouldn't we just be throwing our lives away?"
Another lamented: "If only Rufeng Sect was still here! Cultivators from all seventy-two cities and all those city lords… A crying shame."
"Hm?" A Jiangdong Hall cultivator raised her voice. "Where'd Ye Wangxi go? Isn't she a good fighter? She's probably worth ten of Nangong Liu; she's definitely on par with a sect leader. Run off, has she?"
Jiang Xi's face went dark with rage. "Before we left," he said scathingly, "we settled refugees at Guyueye. We needed a cultivator to stand guard in case the Zhenlong chess army came to our doors. No one else volunteered. Ye Wangxi stayed behind."
Embarrassed, that cultivator said, "Oh."
"Look at you, crying for a girl to come save you," Jiang Xi continued. "Some heroes you are."
Silence fell over the group—no one was willing to take the lead.
"Perhaps we should take more time to consider," the pretty sect leader of Jiangdong Hall ventured. "After all, this isn't a game. Why not wait a little longer?"
The word wait made Xue Meng so furious his lips went white. Struggling to control his temper, he asked, "How much longer do you want to wait? Will things get safer if we stay here?"
"It's not like we can just run up there! We'll be going to our deaths!"
"Everything depends on this moment. Safety first, Young Master Xue."
Master Xuanjing spoke up as well. "Xue-gongzi, prudence is the greatest virtue right now. The world's in chaos and the Space-Time Gate has reappeared—no one can say what will happen next. The best the cultivation world has to offer are gathered here—but if the worst happens and all is lost, who will be left to take responsibility?"
"That's right! If our sect leaders all perish here, what will we do…"
Try as he might, Xue Meng could no longer hold himself back. His head snapped up, revealing bloodshot eyes. "You're already thinking about what to do if we fail. Your sect leaders aren't dead! What about Sisheng Peak?!"
Everyone abruptly recalled the unjust accusations leveled at the sect leader and his wife, and their untimely deaths. The cultivators averted their eyes or lowered their heads in shame.
"What is Sisheng Peak supposed to do now?" Xue Meng's voice was hoarse. "I've lost my cousin, my shixiong, my mom and dad, and now even my shizun is…" His lashes quivered. The jut of his throat bobbed as he tried desperately to swallow his agony back down into his stomach, but it was too much. He couldn't bear it anymore. He blinked slowly. "You fear death because you still have reasons to live. I don't, so I'm not afraid to die."
Mei Hanxue frowned and stepped toward him. "Xue Meng!"
But why should he listen? No one left on earth could stop him. "If you're all too afraid," said Xue Meng, "I'll go myself."
"Young master!" The disciples of Sisheng Peak tried to pull him back, but Xue Meng's mind was set on vengeance. He strode off without looking back. The hurt and anger he'd kept bottled up slid down his cheeks as tears, soaking into the ground where no one could see.
Jiang Xi stood in the rain, staring at his retreating silhouette. "You…"
At the sound of his voice, Xue Meng walked faster to get away. His Longcheng had shattered—he didn't even have a proper sword anymore, but he turned doggedly toward the lofty spires of Sisheng Peak, leaving them all in his wake.
After some hesitation, Jiang Xi shouted hoarsely, "Xue Meng!"
He rushed to catch up to him, but before he could lay a hand on Xue Meng's shoulder, the young man whirled, his bright, birdlike eyes flashing with rage.
"Go away!" he snarled. "Don't touch me!" He flung Jiang Xi's hand aside, refusing to let him get a word in, and started up the mountain.
Moss carpeted the stone steps; bamboo swayed in the mountain forests.
Xue Meng ran, panting, through the torrential storm. The rain softened the world around him into a dreamlike blur.
Here, Madam Wang had once gardened by moonlight and watched a peony unfurl its petals. There, Xue Zhengyong had returned in glory from some mission or other, his body strong and his smile bright with victory. As Xue Meng passed a set of steps, he saw Shi Mei murmuring with his head bowed; when he ran by the hero's pillar, he saw Mo Ran staring up at the moon. Through that curtain of water, he saw the noisy bustle of disciples returning after their classes, filling the halls and bridges with lively chatter.
He ran as if fleeing for his life, like a tiger seeking refuge in a far-off forest. Out of the corner of his eye he saw an old peach tree; a younger version of himself knelt beneath it, performing the formal bows before looking up, smiling, at the white-robed Chu Wanning.
"The disciple Xue Meng greets Shizun."
He squeezed his eyes shut. Too much of his past lay on Sisheng Peak. Every memory seared his insides. All the splendid bonfires that'd burned here had become grief-choked ash.
The storm beat at Xue Meng as he ran, chased by his recollections of the past. "Don't follow me… Don't make me see these things…" he muttered, weaving between ghosts, running away from the happiest days of his youth. By the time he stood before the peak, he was soaked from head to toe—a phoenix chick with bedraggled wings, shivering in the damp.
It was cold. So cold his bones had turned into ice.
Rain dripped from his lashes as he narrowed his eyes, staring up at the solemn majesty of the palace, lit dimly with candles. So this was Sisheng Peak in the past life. He hadn't paid much attention when he'd come to kill Taxian-jun.
His eye snagged on a trio of gravestones erected before the Heaven-Piercing Tower. He'd never seen something like this in his own sect, and he couldn't help taking a closer look.
One of them said Deep-Fried Empress. One had been knocked over, the stone lying askew in the mud. The third was very old and very plain. The murky silhouette of a man stood before it, his back to Xue Meng. His robes were blood-stained, his sleeves broad enough to brush the ground as he ran his hand over the words engraved on the stone.
Xue Meng flinched. It was as though an arrow had pierced his head; all the blood in his body poured into his skull as he shouted, "Mo Ran!"
He groped for Longcheng to carve him in half, but the scabbard that usually hung from his belt was gone. It was a beat before he remembered Longcheng was broken—shattered the first time he crossed swords with Emperor Taxian-jun. But the man seemed deaf to his shouts. He knelt in front of the grave, slowly, as if, after an exhausting journey, he'd come at last to his final destination. Xue Meng watched as he pressed his forehead to the icy stone.
Flame flared to life in Xue Meng's palms, golden light sizzling. He leapt forward and slammed the spell down on Taxian-jun's back.
There was a massive boom. Yet when the light faded, his fire hadn't injured anyone. There was only the shattered moss-covered gravestone. Stunned, Xue Meng looked around. There was no Emperor Taxian-jun, no wraith dressed in black—no one at all. He was alone.
Rain poured around him. All the plants bent under its force, as if to leave him the last thing standing on earth. But in the rustling of the trees in the wind, he seemed to hear an army crouched in the forest and the shrubbery, ready to launch an attack at any minute.
"Taxian-jun! Taxian-jun!"
Xue Meng's howls were shattered by the thunder and ground to dust. Had he been mistaken? How could he have been?! That figure had been real and vivid; he'd been standing just there, reaching out to touch the gravestone. The gravestone had said—
Xue Meng froze.
He bent down, crouching in the mud to piece the stone he'd shattered back together. Halfway through, his blood ran cold. The inscription said:
Grave of My Teacher, Chu Wanning
Whose grave was this?! Whose grave?!
Xue Meng reeled backward. Lightning flashed, its light stark on his horrified face. He shook his head, mumbling. "No…no… Impossible. How could it be?"
He swallowed, forcing his panic down. Still crouched on the ground, Xue Meng took a breath and shook his head to clear it. He squinted down at the gravestone. Its surface was mottled—it looked at least ten years old, not new. The front was unevenly gouged, as if some original engraving had been scraped off and replaced with those six words.
Grave of My Teacher, Chu Wanning.
Did his shizun from the past life lay buried here?
Xue Meng's lips were bloodless; his whole body was shaking. His heart churned with something—heartbreak, rage, or fear, he couldn't say. He buried his face in his hands, scrubbing the rainwater away. His head was a mess. What kind of tangled threads of love and hate were knotted through that lifetime he didn't know about? He couldn't guess. Just as he couldn't guess what had once been inscribed into this gravestone, or why it was later changed.
He didn't know any of it.
Xue Meng pressed his hands over his eyes. When he opened them, that black and gold silhouette had reappeared. This close, Xue Meng could see the gold embroidery of landscapes and howling dragons chasing tigers on his clothes. The wraith wasn't quite a soul, but it wasn't a living person, neither flesh and blood nor a disembodied spirit.
The apparition gazed up at the Heaven-Piercing Tower, and Xue Meng seemed to hear him murmur, "Shizun, please…pay attention to me." That voice was so faint it hardly sounded real. "I want to come home, I'm coming home." Confusion and bewilderment colored his voice. "Coming home… Shizun…"
Lightning forked across the sky with an almighty boom, like a hammer struck deep into the earth. The mountains around them seemed to quake, a vibration that left his bones buzzing.
"But I don't have a home…" The black-robed silhouette spun around. Even through the deluge, Xue Meng could see his face—Mo Ran's face—with perfect clarity, but Mo Ran couldn't seem to see him.
"I don't have a home…" he mumbled. "I want to go back…I want to go back!" he cried, fretful and despairing. "Let me go back, let me go back! I want to see him… I want to see him!"
In the flashing lightning and pealing thunder, that black apparition rose into the air, catching Xue Meng off guard. An arctic gust of wind tore through his clothes, the bone-chilling cold even more intense than the rain. Stricken, Xue Meng collapsed to the ground, eyes squeezed shut against the gale.
"I can't die… I need to see him!"
Mo Ran's howl echoed in his ears as the wraith swept toward the back mountains of Sisheng Peak. By the time Xue Meng came to his senses, there was no trace of that ghostly apparition—but a blinding red light had lit up the faraway mountains.
What had happened? What was that shadow—a ghostly soul?
Face bone-white, Xue Meng stood unmoving until he felt a hand on his shoulder.
Xue Meng jolted. Mad and helpless, he cried, "Who's there? Who's there?!"
Mei Hanxue pressed down firmly. "Don't worry! It's just me."
From the forest behind him came a hideous-looking member of Taxue Palace with pale green eyes Xue Meng knew well. It was Mei Hanxue's glacier-cold elder brother, wearing a mask of human skin. Mei Hänxue stepped out of the trees holding two swords. One was his own holy weapon Shuofeng, while the other—
"Xuehuang." Mei Hänxue pressed Jiang Xi's sword into Xue Meng's shaking hands. "Jiang-zhangmen asked me to bring this to you. He said that you could use it—that you shouldn't reject it for petty reasons."
The younger brother looked at Xue Meng curiously. "Can I ask you a question? Who is Jiang Xi to you, really?"
"It's time." His elder brother flatly cut him off. He shot a glance at Xue Meng. "Let's go to Wushan Palace and see how Chu-zongshi is faring."
He prodded Xue Meng's shoulder with the hilt of Shuofeng, then dove into the curtain of rain. His twin sighed. He patted Xue Meng on the head, then followed his brother toward the storm-swept Wushan Palace.