ROU BAO BU CHI ROU The HUSKY and his WHITE CAT SHIZUN ERHA HE TA DE BAI MAO SHIZUN
ROU BAO BU CHI ROU The HUSKY and his WHITE CAT SHIZUN ERHA HE TA DE BAI MAO SHIZUN
Chapter two hundred seventy: Judgment Day
SEVERAL DAYS PASSED in the blink of an eye. At dawn on the third, Shi Mei came to the secret chamber.
Taxian-jun was already dressed, his tall, broad-shouldered figure clad in his ever-present black robes and combat armor. A gleaming silver compartment for hidden weapons was fastened at his slender waist. He wore black dragonskin gloves, beneath which were strapped several more concealed weapons.
He looked up at Shi Mei's entrance, his gaze cold. "You came." "Get ready-we're going to Tianyin Pavilion."
"This venerable one is ready. Let's go." Shi Mei assessed him. "What about Chu Wanning?" "I gave him the medicine. He's asleep."
Despite nodding, Shi Mei stepped further into the room to check, Taxian-jun right on his heels. After taking Chu Wanning's pulse, Shi Mei said, "He'll recover his strength over the next few days. We should be careful."
Taxian-jun was unintimidated by Chu Wanning's strength. "What about his memories?" he asked.
Shi Mei shot him a glance. "He'll recover his memories too."
Ignoring Taxian-jun's look of displeasure, Shi Mei rose to his feet. He lit some tranquilizing incense and set it to diffuse through the room, preventing Chu Wanning from waking and disrupting his plans. Finally he stepped out of the room and cast a powerful ward on the door.
Taxian-jun furrowed his brow. "Why bother? The mountain's deserted except for Nangong Liu, and he thinks he's a child. There's no one to break him out."
"A thief in the family is hardest to guard against," came Shi Mei's impassive reply.
"Who?"
"Nobody you've met." Shi Mei sighed. "But someone I know very, very well. Enough. Let's go."
The two of them departed, leaving Chu Wanning alone in the austere stone chamber. He was unconscious again, his mind sifting through the memories of two lifetimes.
Yet that wasn't all. Even Shi Mei hadn't realized the true reason Chu Wanning's recovery was so drawn out. It wasn't because his physical health was poor: It was because the memories he was recovering weren't limited to his own. For as long as half of his earth soul had inhabited Mo Ran's body, it had mingled with Mo Ran's souls, day in and day out. When this soul fragment returned at last to Chu Wanning, it brought with it many of Mo Ran's deepest memories.
At that moment, these memories were flooding Chu Wanning's mind, filling his dreams with shattered fragments of the past.
First he dreamed of a disheveled child in a mass grave. The child was wailing over a woman's decayed corpse, his face a mess of tears and snot.
"Mom ... Mom! Someone, anyone ... Help, come and bury me too! Please, bury me too ... "
He dreamed of the House of Drunken Jade in Xiangtan. Mo Ran, beaten black and blue, curled up in a cage meant for a dog. A golden beast-shaped burner filled with resin incense had been left in the warm room, suffusing the air with heavy fragrance. The child locked in the cage had nothing to eat or drink; he didn't even have enough space to turn around.
In the room was another boy of similar age. He leered at Mo Ran: "Look at you now-still want to play the hero? Well I say you're nothing but a joke! Pah! You'll never be anything but a pathetic joke!"
Spittle flew at him, and the young Mo Ran closed his eyes. Chu Wanning's lashes trembled too.
Mo Ran ...
He dreamed of dancing flames, writhing through the building like vengeful ghosts. Shouts and cries echoed through the halls as the burning rafters collapsed one after another. Someone screamed in the billowing black smoke.
The teenaged Mo Ran sat within the towering fire, looking down with a stony expression. A bloodstained machete lay across his lap, and he was slowly peeling a bunch of grapes.
"Mom, it's over." Mo Ran appeared exceedingly calm. "But I won't get to see you again ... I've killed people. My hands are covered in blood. I'll go to hell when I die, Mom. I won't see you ever again."
Mo Ran ... Mo Ran ...
The scene before him brightened. Chu Wanning saw a woman with soft features and eyes that sloped gently upward at their outer corners.
Who was she?
Her face bore some slight resemblance to his own, Chu Wanning thought. A likeness especially clear when she looked down in earnest concentration as she mended a coarsely woven garment.
"Mama ..." a child called, soft as a mosquito's buzz.
The woman looked up, then flashed a smile. "What are you doing up?"
"I had a bad dream. My tummy hurts-I'm hungry ..."
The woman put down the garment and opened her arms. "Another bad dream?" She chuckled softly. "Don't be afraid, Ran-er. Mama will hold you."
Ran-er ... Mo Ran ...
Chu Wanning closed his eyes. His heart was seized by an ache he couldn't put into words-it hurt too much. The scene he saw seemed a bleak and spartan existence, one of interminable suffering.
Mama ...
It was the first time Chu Wanning had seen Mo Ran's mother. Suddenly, he understood why little Mo Ran had instinctively grabbed at his hem outside Wubei Temple, trusting him, begging him for succor. He understood why that same youth had walked up to him before the Heaven-Piercing Tower and implored him to be his teacher.
The young man then had said with a smile, "Because he looks the nicest and gentlest."
Back then, everyone had laughed at Mo Ran behind his back, calling him blind, a shameless suck-up. But that wasn't true. It wasn't true at all ...
He wasn't blind or a suck-up. But he couldn't speak the truth out loud; he couldn't make a scene or take Chu Wanning's hand and tell him, Xianjun, when you glance downward, you remind me of the person who loved me more than anyone else in this world. But she's gone, so could you please pay attention to me-could you please spare me another glance in her stead?
I miss her so much.
Mo Ran couldn't say any of this. He could only suppress the ache in his chest and blink back the tears in his eyes. He could only endure Chu Wanning's indifference and disregard. He chased after him, laughing with a feigned nonchalance that fooled everyone.
No one could know of his past; no one could share in his pain. All he could do was smile brilliantly beneath the Heaven-Piercing Tower. A smile too passionate, too hungry, hiding an inexhaustible longing in its corners; a smile that would end up scalding Chu Wanning at a touch.
Mo Ran opened his eyes.
He was no longer on Sisheng Peak. Instead he found himself in a tiny cell, gray and dim. The only light came through a narrow hatch for food near the bottom of a black iron door. The ceiling over his head was engraved with a set of scales.
A prison. This was the world's most hallowed temple of justice, the foremost court of law, which stood apart from the ten great sects-Tianyin Pavilion.
He lay in his cell, throat burning, lips dry and cracked. His surroundings were so quiet he could hear the desolate whisper of the wind, and beneath it, the uneasy chatter of his subconscious. It was a long time before he managed to gather his awareness.
In truth, he'd always been a little surprised such a day had never come in the past life. But fate had been generous to him, allowing him to drift along for two lifetimes; it was only now that it finally sought him out to answer for his crimes.
"Mo Ran, time to eat."
Time's passage was murky here; he didn't know how long he'd lain awake before he heard footsteps and saw a tray of food pushed through the hatch-fried youxuan pancake and a bowl of soup. Mo Ran didn't get up. The Tianyin Pavilion attendant said nothing more; their crisp footfalls quickly faded into the distance.
How was Chu Wanning doing now? And what of Sisheng Peak? What happened to those ruined chess pieces after the battle?
Dazed and weary, he returned again and again to the same three questions. It was a long while before he accepted that no one would give him answers. He was a prisoner now.
He sat up. His chest throbbed dully, and his entire body felt weak. The spiritual energy that had surged through him for as long as he could remember had vanished entirely. Leaning against the wall, he stared off into space. So this was how it felt to break one's spiritual core. To be unable to summon a spiritual weapon, powerless to use any techniques. Like a surf-riding kun without its great tail, or a cloud-dwelling peng stripped of its wings.
Mo Ran curled up in a corner, his dark eyes blank and unseeing. He suddenly felt awful, but not because of his own predicament-he'd remembered Chu Wanning in the past lifetime. As fate would have it, in this lifetime he'd finally come to understand Chu Wanning's helplessness and pain in those years. He wished he could apologize to that version of Chu Wanning. But it was too late-he could never go back.
The pancake and soup in his cell went from hot to lukewarm to cold. Eventually, he ate. The entire time, he was left in isolation.
He was a child locked up in a dog cage again. Though this room was much nicer than that cage had been-here he could at least comfortably stretch his limbs. He lay in the darkness, drifting between sleep and wakefulness-though there was little difference. Within these walls, it was like he was already dead.
Muzzily Mo Ran wondered: What if he had in fact died? What if this entire lifetime was no more than a beautiful dream, a brief reverie after he lay down in the coffin beneath the Heaven-Piercing Tower, in the moments before his souls scattered? Perhaps all thirty-two years of his life had flashed before his eyes, a circus of color and emotion, before everything withered to bones in a grave.
The corners of his lips quirked up, and a smile ghosted over his face. If only that were the truth. How wonderful it would be.
He was so tired. He'd been pressing forward and struggling for so long. He didn't care if it was hell or the mortal realm that lay before him. He just wanted to rest. His heart had been reduced to a shambles, turning aged and decrepit since Chu Wanning's death in the past life. He'd spent all these years trying to do good, trying to make up for it. He'd searched for the medicine that could reverse this decay, but he'd never found it.
He'd fought and begged for so very long, ceaselessly and shamelessly. But he was tired of fighting, tired of begging. Over his lifetime he'd lost his mother and his shizun, his friends and his lover, his stolen family and his false renown. Now he'd lost his spiritual core as well. But he'd been brought to Tianyin Pavilion nonetheless. Broken as he was, he couldn't escape the cultivation realm's harshest punishment.
He'd finally lost all hope. He knew he wouldn't be forgiven.
He, Mo Weiyu, was an ugly, lopsided mountain. His wounds had been blanketed in pure-white snow, but now the snow had melted, and he had nowhere left to hide. Everything-his darkness, his monstrousness- had been laid bare.
He could never be Mo-zongshi. Since the moment his hands were stained with the blood of innocents, he was doomed only ever to be Emperor Taxian-jun. He was a vicious killer, a terrifying beast. He deserved to die. The world would rejoice at his demise.
When the cell door opened at last, he didn't know how many days he'd spent inside. Two Tianyin Pavilion disciples strode into the room. Without a word, they bound him with immortal-binding ropes, then yanked him upright and dragged him through the door.
They marched him down a long, pitch-dark hallway. "How are they doing?" Mo Ran rasped with difficulty. They were the first words he'd spoken in days.
Neither of his escorts answered him.
At the end of the hallway, daylight burst in. Mo Ran flinched under that dazzling light like a dragon that had cowered too long in the dark, eyes blinded and talons rotten. He couldn't bear its brilliance. He wanted to cover his eyes, but his hands were bound. All he could do was lower his head, tears welling under his dark lashes.
His eyes and ears were muddled; he didn't know where he was. Only his sense of smell remained sharp. He could smell the wind, the crowd, the flowers and trees on the breeze.
Someone pushed him from behind. Hesitant, he stumbled forward.
Gradually, his ears adjusted to the clamor. He could hear the din of many people talking, their conversations rushing over him like a tide. The waves could wash away mud, yes, but they could also drown a man.
Mo Ran felt like he couldn't catch his breath. He was weak, so terribly weak.
"Kneel."
His handler shoved him down. He knelt. The bright sun shone down from on high, casting its light over his haggard face. He hadn't expected it to be such a beautiful day.
"So this is Mo-zongshi ..."
"Never thought we'd see him interrogated at Tianyin Pavilion. Ah, you really can't judge a man based on appearances."
Mo Ran's ears buzzed. He could make out some hazy shapes in his field of view, but nothing was clear. He peered out at the scene before him through half-lidded eyes, shaded by his lashes.
It was the same interrogation platform he remembered from when he'd come with Xue Zhengyong and Xue Meng to watch a trial, many years ago. But now he was no longer a spectator, but the criminal on display.
The people beneath the platform bunched and jostled like a pond full of carp. They were commoners and wandering cultivators who'd come to Tianyin Pavilion to watch the proceedings. Mo Ran couldn't make out their faces or read their expressions. In his blurred vision, those heads whispering back and forth became an undulating field of wheat.
He looked up. High walls loomed on all sides, with viewing platforms perched atop. Visitors from all the great sects sat upon them: He spotted the green of Bitan Manor, the red of Huohuang Pavilion, the yellow of Wubei Temple ...
His heart clenched. How strange that he could still feel pain.
And there, an expanse of silver and blue-the largest and calmest contingent in the stands, Sisheng Peak.
He blinked. Ignoring his stinging eyes, he focused his gaze on them with all the concentration he could muster. But still he couldn't see-he couldn't see where Xue Zhengyong was, couldn't pick out Xue Meng or the Tanlang Elder or the Xuanji Elder. Couldn't find Madam Wang. On the interrogation platform, at the end of it all, he still couldn't see the people who mattered to him most.
"Mo Ran of Sisheng Peak, illegitimate son of Nangong Yan, lord of Rufeng Sect's ninth city ... " Aided by a voice-amplifying technique, Mu Yanli's crisp words floated above the din. "We must conduct a stringent investigation, delivering neither penalty nor pardon in error ... "
Mo Ran couldn't parse any of it. Her sharp, clear voice was too piercing for someone who'd languished in seclusion as long as he had.
Mu Yanli spoke steadily. Scattered phrases drifted into Mo Ran's ears, things like "a murderer must pay with his life," "harboring sinister motives," and "cultivating forbidden techniques." Finally he heard her say, "It is the duty of Tianyin Pavilion to purge criminals from our society and uphold the principles of justice."
A Tianyin Pavilion disciple walked up to Mo Ran, a black silhouette against the blazing sun. "Open your mouth."
When Mo Ran didn't react, the disciple clicked his tongue. He wrenched open Mo Ran's jaw and poured a jug of bitter, salty medicine down his throat. Mo Ran choked and broke into violent coughing. It had been days since he'd eaten, and the caustic mixture burned like fire all the way down. He felt his stomach spasming, as if he was about to vomit. The disciple grabbed him around the neck, forcing him to remain still and swallow the rest. The ice-cold medicine felt like a snake slithering into his belly, poised to rend him open from within.
Mo Ran's face was ashen. He wanted badly to throw up, but he wasn't willing to voice any weakness or plead for mercy; he didn't even allow his tears to fall. He'd lived half his days in poverty, enduring too many miseries to name, but that didn't mean he lacked self-respect.
Once he swallowed the last drop, the disciple released him. He wheezed for air. His weariness was plain; his wings drooped, but he still had all the viciousness of a lone falcon on the verge of death.
The Tianyin Pavilion disciple turned to the assembly with an explanation: "The Draught of Confession."
Mo Ran's lips were gray, but as he looked down, he couldn't help but chuckle. The Draught of Confession ... Heh, of course he knew about the Draught of Confession. Only criminals tried by Tianyin Pavilion were forced to take this tonic; it never touched the lips of an innocent. Those who drank it would feel their awareness fade, after which they would confess all the wrongs they'd committed in life.
The Tianyin disciple approached Mo Ran and tapped him on the lips, casting a voice-amplifying spell so everyone could hear him. Mo Ran closed his eyes, knitting his brows. He tried to resist it-but the pain sent tremors through his body, making his chains clank dully. His face was bloodless, and his eyes slowly rolled up into their sockets. He fell prostrate onto the platform, twitching and convulsing.
He was conscious, but his mind was clear one moment, clouded the next. He fought the medicine with every fiber of his being, but it was impossible.
"I've ... killed people," he choked out at last, closing his eyes in agony.
His pathetically ragged voice resounded through every corner of the square. The crowd went quiet, all eyes fixed upon the man on the platform.
Mu Yanli shot him a look of utmost disdain. "How many have you killed?"
"Too many ... I can't remember ... "
Below the platform, some of the commoners began to pale.
"How old were you when you first killed?"
"Fifteen."
"Was it a cultivator or a commoner?"
"A commoner."
"Did you kill for vengeance or self-defense?"
"Both."
The two of them traded questions and answers. Many of those watching had only come for the spectacle with no knowledge of the prisoner's circumstances. Hearing that Mo Ran had murdered for revenge at fifteen, then killed so many people he couldn't remember the number, they were shocked and furious.
"Who'd've thought the famed Mo-zongshi was a monster who kills without batting an eye!"
"Terrifying ... He's a real menace!"
"I was too scared to kill a chicken when I was fifteen, but he was already murdering people? What a brute ... "
Mu Yanli commanded coldly, ignoring the clamor, "Continue recounting your crimes."
"I ... " Every muscle in Mo Ran's body was taut with strain, but he found himself powerless to resist. He said hoarsely, "I ... assumed someone else's identity. I pretended to be the nephew of Sisheng Peak's leader ... "
"For how long?"
"Eight years ... "
"Continue."
Mo Ran said slowly, "I ... cultivated ... the three forbidden techniques ... Zhenlong ... Zhenlong Chess ... Formation ... "
At this, worry passed over the faces of many of the cultivators sitting on the platforms above.
Someone glowered in Sisheng Peak's direction and said scathingly, "Didn't Xue Zhengyong want to pardon this beast? I knew the Draught of Confession would bring out the truth. To think Xue Zhengyong tried to stop Tianyin Pavilion from questioning Mo Ran-the old fool's been so thoroughly hoodwinked he doesn't even want justice for his nephew's death! Now we all know Sisheng Peak has a disciple who's been learning forbidden techniques-surely the sect should be disbanded? What's the point of letting them continue? So they can nurture more evil?"
"That's what I've been saying all along-I knew he was the criminal type! When he shattered his core to save us at Sisheng Peak, it was just a ploy to win our trust! Thank goodness we didn't let him go!"
"That's right-he was trying to save his own skin. With his abilities, so what if his core's ruined? He probably knows some deviant method to heal himself. We didn't even know how much danger we were in. If it wasn't for the persistence of Tianyin Pavilion's master, we might have let this degenerate walk free!"
A massive set of scales sat atop the interrogation platform, haloed in shimmering gold-a one-of-a-kind holy implement. The scales weighed over a ton and had stood on the platform for thousands of years, since Tianyin Pavilion's founding days. It was said this device had been left behind by the gods-that it would consider all the mortal realm's sins and punishments, and render the soundest judgment.
Before Mo Ran had begun to speak, Mu Yanli had commanded one of her disciples to produce a weight made of golden spiritual energy and place it on the scales. The moment it landed in the pan, that delicate golden weight swiftly expanded. As one side of the scales sank low, the other floated upward, its position corresponding to a specific punishment.
When Mo Ran spoke of his first crime, the scales hovered at Carve out the spiritual core. But when he mentioned the Zhenlong Chess Formation, they shot to the highest position: Sunder the souls.
Up in the stands, the blood drained from Xue Meng's face. "Sunder the souls ...? " he mumbled.
That would mean that there would never again be another Mo Weiyu, another Mo Ran, neither in heaven nor on earth. Xue Meng would never again see that brother of his-whether real or false- no matter how many times the Wheel of Reincarnation rotated. His mind was blank, his hands frozen.
Xue Zhengyong rose solemnly and addressed Mu Yanli. "Since Tianyin Pavilion was founded, no one has ever received the punishment of having their souls sundered. Pavilion Master Mu, I wonder if you've lost sight of justice."
Chapter two hundred seventy-one: Final Interrogation
Chapter two hundred seventy-one: Final Interrogation
AT THIS, someone from another sect leapt up in anger. "Could Sisheng Peak please shut up? Your disciple's been learning the Zhenlong Chess Formation-he's violated the most basic precepts of the cultivation realm. Your sorry excuse for a sect should be dissolved and left to rot! Now's not the time to bicker, but can't you at least show a little self-awareness?"
"Xue Zhengyong! You're still speaking up for him? Could it be that you were in on it too?"
Angry chatter buzzed all around.
Such was the fate of families and sects alike-if any one of their number proved to be godly, all were elevated along with them. But as soon as one person committed some reprehensible act, the entire group was viewed as a breeding ground for evil.
"These scales weigh his sins. This alone does not decide his sentence." Mu Yanli's tone was matter-of-fact; she made no accusations against Sisheng Peak. "Xue-zhangmen, no need to fret. After weighing his sins, we will also consider his merits. Only after these are factored in will the final verdict be rendered."
She turned her gaze upon Mo Ran again. "Continue your confession," she said coldly.
"I've ... trespassed against ... my teacher ... "
"Trespassed against your teacher?"
These words were baffling to others, but Mo Ran felt as though his heart was on fire. These were crimes from his past life-the Draught of Confession could force even the sins of the past life from his throat!
But he didn't want to say it ... He didn't want to! Would he be made to describe, in front of all these people, how he'd humiliated Chu Wanning a lifetime ago? How he'd held him prisoner; how he'd married him and made him his consort? How he'd broken that lofty and proud man, and finally driven him to his death?
He didn't want to say it. Mo Ran was certain his own end was imminent, but Chu Wanning still had many years ahead of him. As a spirit of the sacred tree, he was possessed of fathomless talent and the purest spiritual energy. Mo Ran hoped Chu Wanning could live on peacefully after this. When the time came, surely he'd ascend to immortality. Never again would he endure the pain of reincarnation, or the suffering of love.
His shizun was so good, so pure. Mo Ran wanted to protect him. He couldn't let anyone know they were involved, that there was anything between them. No one could be allowed to form the impression that Chu Wanning was dirty, that he'd been stained with Taxian-jun's blood and filth.
He had to protect him. He had to.
That flame was blazing in his chest, an awful, consuming pain. He could vaguely hear Mu Yanli's frigid voice asking the question: "What do you mean you trespassed against your teacher?"
He wouldn't answer. He refused to say.
His fingertips had been scraped raw against the sandstone platform, and his forehead was scarlet with blood. He hunched over on the ground, panting like a fish dying upon the riverbank.
He wouldn't say a word.
Resisting the Draught of Confession was not unlike resisting Tianwen. As long as he gritted his teeth with all his might, he could endure it. Under Tianyin Pavilion's ruthless questioning, beneath the staring crowd, he squirmed and howled like a trapped beast.
The torment was unimaginable. Most people wouldn't stand a chance against Tianwen, and this pain was a thousand times worse. He felt like a pair of invisible hands was wringing out his entrails, like his innards were being torn to shreds. Like he was covered in open wounds doused with salt water. It was an agony that burned like fire, boring into his bones.
Mu Yanli's voice was distant, as though it came to him across a vast ocean. "You say you trespassed against your teacher-what do you mean by this? Speak!"
But Mo Ran refused. He bit through his tongue and his lips; his mouth filled with blood, but his tears did not fall. As he had during those seven days he'd spent locked in the dog cage, he wouldn't cry. His tears would only be one more thing for the audience to laugh at. No one would pity him, and neither did he yearn for their pity. Even if the pain gutted him, even if it killed him, he would endure it.
Mu Yanli peered down at him. "Tell me-what did you do to Chu Wanning?" she demanded.
The pain compounded until his vision shimmered with hallucinations. He saw Chu Wanning becoming an immortal, a hundred years in the future. He was as handsome and dignified as ever in robes white as snow. There was a sharpness to Chu Wanning when he wasn't smiling, but when he did, all those sharp edges melted into boundless warmth.
"I didn't ..."
Mu Yanli stared. Her red lips parted. "What?"
"I misspoke ..." Every syllable was a croak forced through his throat. "I didn't ... I never trespassed ... " He looked up, eyes bloodshot yet bright as he bit out the final words: "Against my teacher!"
Mu Yanli was silent a moment, her expression difficult to read. She looked somewhat astonished, even at a loss, but her features were so forbidding that any emotion quickly iced over. "Continue," she said at last.
Mo Ran coughed up blood. He felt like his lungs had been crushed; every breath reeked of iron. He sprawled on the ground, gasping, waiting for the truth potion's agony to subside. He was drenched in sweat, hair plastered to his forehead, one deathly pale cheek pressed to the stone.
As if unable to stop herself, Mu Yanli took half a step forward. "Continue your confession," she said, glaring.
Mo Ran closed his eyes. "I have no more ... crimes to confess," he said hoarsely.
At a gesture from Mu Yanli, a disciple came forward and collected some of Mo Ran's blood, then smeared it onto another weight. This one was carved in relief with two seal-script characters: Merits and Virtues. It was used to determine the achievements of the accused.
Mu Yanli tossed the weight onto the scales. The balance slowly shifted. Everyone but Mo Ran stared intently at the golden needle.
Sunder the souls ... Still Sunder the souls ...
Slowly, the needle tilted.
Sunder the souls.
Whatever good Mo Ran had done, it hadn't been enough to shift the needle away from Sunder the souls.
Xue Meng clutched his knees, the scimitar Longcheng laid over his lap. He stared at the scales, his expression dreadful. Trembling, he strained to keep his back as straight as possible-if he was to crumple now, it would be too hard to recover. His shaking palms were colder than Longcheng's dark blade.
Mu Yanli's lovely eyes were trained, unblinking, on the golden scales. The needle's drift was slowing. It quivered around Sunder the souls, as though about to halt. She swept back her sleeves. "Behold," she intoned, "the final decision has ... "
"It's still moving." "Xue-gongzi ... "
Xue Meng glared down at her. He'd spoken up, even though his voice was painfully unsteady, even though he didn't know if he was right or wrong to do so. "The needle's still moving."
"It's about to stop," Mu Yanli said.
"Then wait for it to stop."
Mu Yanli met Xue Meng's gaze. After a moment, her lips lifted in a cold, mocking smile. "Fine. Let's wait for it to stop."
The sun blazed down, its heat cloaking the ground in a haze of dust.
Everyone held their breath, staring at that needle, waiting for it to halt. But strangely, even now, the needle continued to vacillate. As though unsure of how to judge Mo Weiyu, it wobbled, then hesitantly veered toward more lenient punishments, inch by painstaking inch.
This development seemed to have caught Mu Yanli off guard. She stood silently, her goldenrod-yellow robes brushing the ground as she waited for the divine scales to reach their decision.
Xue Meng's knuckles were white as he stared at the needle, as if it was arbitrating not merely the life of Mo Weiyu, but all the years he and Mo Ran had known one another. Their relationship had transformed from indifference to resentment, to acceptance, to understanding. Was it Xue Meng's initial aloofness that had been wrong? Or was it the Ge he'd uttered later that was unacceptable?
He didn't know. He stared at the needle, his heart shuddering; only when he saw how it moved did he allow himself to hope.
Don't stop. Please. Keep going, just a little more-see, it's almost there ...
Regardless of Mo Ran's past transgressions, he'd shattered his spiritual core. No power remained to him. How could they still inflict the harshest possible punishment? How could they obliterate his souls ...
One inch. Then another. Then finally-
"Carve out the spiritual core," Mu Yanli announced expressionlessly. Her aura was perfectly impassive. Despite her billowing robes of warm gold, every inch of her emanated a frosty chill.
The needle had stopped. Its tip pointed tremulously at Carve out the spiritual core-its final judgment of Mo-zongshi.
Mu Yanli turned to face the masses below and the members of the ten great sects in the stands above.
They were indeed the full ten, for Tianyin Pavilion had left untouched the old seats belonging to Rufeng Sect. Now only one person sat there alone: Ye Wangxi, clad in black from head-to-toe. Nangong Si's embroidered cloth quiver was slung over her shoulder, and Naobaijin,
who'd lost his master forever, lay across her lap. Her complexion was wan, but her eyes were clear and sharp as she gazed down at the interrogation platform.
"The heavens are all-knowing and impartial," said Mu Yanli. "Tianyin Pavilion has considered merits and errors alike, free from self-interest, bias, or animosity. We sentence Mo Ran, Mo Weiyu, to have his spiritual core carved out. We will allow three days to notify the public. If there are no objections, after three days ... "
Xue Meng had been sitting in silence, eyes closed, but at this, he found himself unable to hold his tongue. He leapt to his feet in a flash of silver armor. "I have an objection."
Silence followed.
"I don't need to wait three days," Xue Meng said. "I have an objection right now."
Commotion broke out below. "Sisheng Peak needs to close its fucking gates! What does he mean he has an objection?"
"Might as well try Xue Zhengyong and Xue Meng next and be done with it! They're probably all working together. Why else would he vouch for this monster?"
"When the Zhenlong chess pieces attacked, why did they leave Sisheng Peak's people mostly unharmed? How could anyone believe they're innocent?"
Xue Meng's face was white with fury, but he had no choice but to rein in his anger.
Although Mu Yanli had heard the other cultivators' cries, she appeared to ignore them. "If young Xue-gongzi wishes to speak, I will listen," she said coolly.
Xue Meng's mouth opened, but he couldn't find the words. Overcome with worry, Madam Wang gently tugged at his sleeve. "Meng-er, we have three days. Let's put our heads together and think about what we should say ..."
But Xue Meng acted like he hadn't heard his mother. He stared at Mu Yanli, then at the scales. Finally, he shifted his gaze to that tiny, distant speck of black on the platform-Mo Ran. His eyes seemed to waver, like a curtain rippling in the breeze. They didn't darken, but neither did they brighten. He blurted out, "He doesn't have a spiritual core."
"What do you mean by this?" asked Mu Yanli.
Xue Meng looked at her with new urgency. "What do I mean? Don't you see? He's the one who saved you at Sisheng Peak, who forced those chess pieces to retreat! Pavilion Master Mu, how do you plan to carry out this sentence? His core has been shattered! What are you going to do- carve out his heart? Carve out the spiritual core ... He doesn't have a spiritual core! So does that mean you'll take his life?"
Mu Yanli narrowed her eyes. "Naturally, Tianyin Pavilion has its ways."
A new voice sounded from the platforms. "According to law, the punishment will be carried out three days after the sentencing."
The crowd looked around for the speaker-it was Ye Wangxi. "Pavilion Master, please describe how you plan to proceed."
A Bitan Manor disciple shouted, "Now you're demanding answers? Who do you think you are?"
More people began to whisper beneath the stands. "She really thinks she's something. What, just because Jiang Xi supports her? Because Nangong Si cleared Rufeng Sect's name with his death? This no-name bitch dares to question the master of Tianyin Pavilion-what gives her the right?"
Ye Wangxi gave these responses no acknowledgment. Someone who held a grudge against the Nangong clan yelled, "Ye Wangxi, Rufeng Sect is dead! Do you think you're the Rufeng Sect leader just because you're sitting over there by yourself?"
Naobaijin, his spiritual energy still unrecovered, whimpered as Ye Wangxi held his small form to her chest. Her solitary figure stood calmly until those mocking, angry shouts gradually quieted. "The commander of
Rufeng Sect's shadow city is still here," said Ye Wangxi. "None of you have the right to decide whether or not it has died."
"You-"
Ye Wangxi didn't wish to waste her breath on these people. She turned her gaze to Mu Yanli. "Pavilion Master, please explain."
"There are ways to restore a spiritual core," said Mu Yanli. "Yes, his core has been shattered, but the fragments remain in his chest. The core doesn't need to be whole for it to be carved out."
Xue Meng was white as paper. "Then what do you plan to do?"
"We will use a spell to excise all the fragments of his core," Mu Yanli answered. "Tianyin Pavilion will not take his li-"
Before Mu Yanli could finish the word life, Xue Zhengyong was on his feet. He cut her off, his face like rolling thunder. "You'll carve out every fragment of his core?"
"Correct."
"How many times will you have to open him up for this?" The streaks of white at Xue Zhengyong's temples made the fury in his panther-like gaze all the more stark. "Five times? Ten? Carving out the spiritual core damages the heart. It's unimaginably painful when done even once. There was a prisoner several years ago who had her core carved out by Tianyin Pavilion-she died as soon as she returned to her cell that day."
"That only means her body was too weak to withstand it," Mu Yanli replied, unmoved. "It is not the fault of Tianyin Pavilion."
"Then you might as well take his life outright!" Xue Zhengyong bellowed. "Mu Yanli, his core is broken! You've made yourself clear-if his core is in two pieces, you'll cut him open twice, if it's in three pieces, three times ... But what if it's in a hundred pieces, a thousand pieces? Do you intend to give him death by a thousand cuts? It'll be torture!"
"If it is indeed so broken, then such is his fate."
Xue Zhengyong fell silent. Fate? But wasn't everything fate?
He suddenly felt the grand absurdity of it all. What was fate, after all? Because of fate, he'd mistakenly raised this boy as his own nephew. He'd given him a family and a teacher, a place to live and a home to call his own.
But what was this child's fate as written? He was an abandoned bastard son who had never had enough to eat. He and his mother had eked out a living begging and panhandling. After his mother died, that frail wisp of a child had dragged his mother's festering corpse to a mass grave. With his own hands, he'd buried the only warmth he'd ever known. He'd been beaten and abused, locked in a cage, and imprisoned for a crime he didn't commit.
Everyone wished to believe the ways of the world were just, but in truth, fate was unfair from the moment of birth. Why was it that rich young masters lived in ostentatious wealth, their gold winning the smiles of many a beautiful woman, while destitute commoners languished just a few streets away, subsisting on ants, with no roof above their heads save for the sky? Why was it that some people were doted on by their mothers and wanted for nothing, while others had to bring their mother's body before the gates of a great sect, only to hear the words beggars can't be choosers? Why was it that some people were born in the dirt, while others were born into glory?
It wasn't fair.
When fate dumped its unfairness onto the most vulnerable, when a single price adjustment could steal away the people most dear to them- where, then, was justice? They too were living people. How could their hearts be free of resentment? How could they not hold a grudge?
Although this child had committed many wrongs, although he wasn't Xue Zhengyong's nephew by blood, although fate had played a cruel trick on them ... When he thought of all Mo Ran had endured, his heart ached.
Xue Zhengyong closed his eyes. "This is far too inhumane," he muttered. "Perhaps the divine scales didn't consider the fact that his core's been shattered ... Hundreds of times, Mu Yanli." He looked up, his voice shaking. "You'll be taking the awl and driving it into his heart hundreds of times."
It was a beautiful day. The entirety of Tianyin Pavilion was solemn and upright, everything in perfect order. Xue Zhengyong lifted his face to look at the clouds drifting past overhead. "All right, then. After this, he will have paid for his crimes. He will have given back everything he owes the world."
The wind picked up.
"But as for what the world owes him ... " Xue Zhengyong's voice caught. "Will there be anyone to give it back-will there be anyone to give it back to him?"