THE STORM of masked, black-garbed cultivators charged, diving at the wounded below like gulls quarreling over a meal.
Mo Ran realized at once what was going on. To the former Emperor Taxian-jun, it could not be clearer that these people were under control of the Zhenlong Chess Formation. But the perfection and strength of these pawns were a far cry from Xu Shuanglin's pathetic attempts.
There was no way they could face off with this man. Mo Ran turned in horror and howled at the unwitting cultivators behind him. "Run!"
He clamped one hand around Chu Wanning's wrist and reached out with the other for Jiang Xi, who was kneeling on the ground. He never stopped shouting, his pupils like pinpricks. "Run! Go now! Get off of the Soul-Summoning Platform! You can't stay here! Don't try to fight, you'll lose!"
He didn't have to repeat himself. As soon as the black-garbed pawns landed and brandished their swords, everyone could sense their terrifying power. The cultivators surged like a tide toward the mouth of the tunnel.
At their head was the cowardly Master Ma. He reached the stone doors that led to the Dragonsoul Pool and froze. People behind him piled up as they skidded to a stop. "What's going on?" someone shouted. "Keep moving!"
Master Ma's reply came out as a terrified sob from the door at the pitch-black end of the tunnel. "I-it's closed…"
"What do you mean it's closed?!"
"Hua Binan closed the doors behind him…" Master Ma's legs wobbled, and he collapsed to his knees. His face was wet with tears, and his body shook like a leaf. "This is Mount Jiao. Without the blood of the Nangong clan, once it closes…it will never open again."
"Nangong Si is gone, but what about Nangong Liu?" someone anxiously cried. "Isn't that pawn father of his still on the mountain? Where is he?!"
"He's in the great hall. We thought he was useless; no one bothered to bring him…"
Despair filled the tunnel. The eerie darkness chilled them to the bone.
"What do we do?"
"Go back and try our luck out there?!"
The news hadn't yet traveled; there were still more trying to come in, and many more who couldn't fit. They could only turn back and steel themselves to fight off those mysterious pawns from the rift.
In the darkness, Huang Xiaoyue hollered, "Let me through! I can open the door!" He shoved cultivators out of his way like a massive fish on its migratory journey, pushing through until he stood before the door.
Master Ma looked up through teary eyes. "Huang-daozhang?" he asked blankly.
"Move aside, let me at it!"
"But your name is Huang; you're not a Nangong…"
Huang Xiaoyue ignored him and rushed to the door. Thank heavens he'd kept that bit of Nangong Si's blood. He'd saved it in order to open the treasure chamber, and specifically enchanted it to keep it from congealing. But the spell only lasted a short time. He waved his sleeves, suddenly grateful this disaster had happened so quickly. Hopefully the blood would still work.
Huang Xiaoyue pressed his wizened old hand to the broken stone. The distant voice of the demon dragon echoed out from the tunnel. "Who comes?"
His heart pounded. "Seventh-generation descendant of Rufeng Sect…Nangong Si, pays his respects."
There was silence. Then the dragon rumbled, "Wangli…bids Master farewell…"
As the stone doors lowered, Huang Xiaoyue ran out of the tunnel, followed by the disciples of Jiangdong Hall. Master Ma scurried up and raised his hand in panic. "Wait for me! I'm coming—I'm coming—"
He found the point of a sword held to his chest.
Master Ma froze. He slowly looked up. "Huang-daozhang, what's the meaning of this?"
Huang Xiaoyue sneered. "I threw in my lot with the sage up there. If I let you leave, who's to say you won't come to this humble one seeking revenge. I'm an old man; I can't handle such excitement."
"N-no—no!" Master Ma stuttered in terror. "What are you doing? Don't mess around! Let's talk things over properly! We're all businessmen here—Huang-daozhang, quick, let me out and the goods of Taobao Estate will always go to Jiangdong Hall at half-price—no, quarter-price!"
Malice filled the creases of Huang Xiaoyue's lined face. "Half-price? Once I hold the treasures of Rufeng Sect's Mount Jiao, what will I care for your worldly goods? What the hell is Taobao Estate to me?"
He extended a hand and gave Master Ma a sharp shove backward. Ma Yun fell to the floor, bringing down everyone around him in a haphazard pile. By the time they staggered to their feet, Huang Xiaoyue and the rest of Jiangdong Hall stood on the other side of the doorway. Greed, envy, and spiteful glee flickered across Huang Xiaoyue's face as he pulled the door's mechanism.
Behind him, the members of Jiangdong Hall wore expressions of smug conceit. Some even dared to say it out loud: "Serves you right for looking down on us!"
"Our Huang-daozhang hasn't done anything wrong, yet he's endured your criticisms this entire journey. This is blood he preserved at risk to his own life; why should he use it to help you?"
The stone door rumbled shut again, plunging the cultivators inside the tunnel into a suffocating darkness. There was a ringing silence. Finally, one female cultivator buried her face in her hands and began sobbing.
Her grief was contagious. The cultivators had lost all faith and courage; they could not go forward yet dared not turn back.
"Zizi…I don't want to die yet…"
"Shifu…"
"Dad, let's turn around and fight to the death. It's better than dying stuck in here!"
Their voices bounced off the walls. Suddenly, they heard a voice that had been silent for some time. It shook slightly, yet was iron with determination. "Let me."
The ashen-faced Master Ma turned, trembling, to see light flare in the tunnel. His eyes widened in shock. "Mo-zongshi?"
Mo Ran's unreadable features were illuminated by the flames in his palm. He waded through the crowd and came to a stop before the sealed door.
"Y-you kept some of Nangong Si's blood, too?"
Mo Ran said nothing. People were holding off the pawns at the mouth of the tunnel, but they wouldn't last long. Those black-clad warriors would break through soon enough.
As they'd climbed the mountain, over and over again, Mo Ran had almost stepped in when Nangong Si faced danger. But he'd never succeeded in following through. He thought fate had taken pity on him—that it would let him escape this one calamity, escape all these watching eyes.
But now he was trapped. There was no path of escape left.
"Mo-zongshi…?"
He didn't glance at Master Ma as he took out the short silver blade he wore at his belt. It sliced across his palm, filling his hand with blood.
By now, Xue Meng and Xue Zhengyong had both arrived. Chu Wanning had also come to a stop behind Mo Ran. Xue Zhengyong asked in confusion, "Ran-er, what are you doing? It's useless. Mount Jiao will only obey a Nangong descendant. Your blood won't work."
Mo Ran didn't turn. His bleeding hand was shaking—but he still reached out, still viciously smeared it against the stone. It was so cold against his palm. He closed his eyes.
The voice of the demon dragon Wangli echoed in the darkness once again. "Who comes?"
Mo Ran swallowed. Before the crowd's watchful eyes, within the stifling silence, Mo Ran slowly and carefully answered: "Seventh-generation descendant of Rufeng Sect."
Xue Meng paled. He took a stumbling step backward, shaking his head. "What…"
Xue Zhengyong's expression was even uglier than his son's. His round eyes were fixed on Mo Ran's tall, black-clad silhouette. "How could this be…?" he murmured.
Every syllable was like the point of a knife. Knowing he would bleed, knowing he couldn't take it back, that he could make no other choice, Mo Ran softly spoke the rest of the words. "Mo Ran, Mo Weiyu, pays his respects."
"Impossible!" Xue Meng shouted, eyes scarlet.
But the door opened. Wangli's voice, as faint as smoke, pierced their eardrums like a gleaming dagger. "Wangli…bids Master…farewell…"
"Ran-er…" Xue Zhengyong was stupefied into silence.
Chu Wanning, too, was completely at a loss. He grabbed Xue Zhengyong's arm and looked forward.
The stone door rumbled and slowly lowered into the ground, and the orange gleam of the Dragonsoul Pool poured into the darkness. Mo Ran stood in the doorway with his back to them, his dark silhouette so hazy he seemed scarcely real.
"Mo Ran! Mo Ran! How did you open it? What do you mean, seventh-generation descendant of Rufeng Sect? How?! How?!" Xue Meng was crazed with fear. "How are you related to the Nangong clan? Aren't you… Aren't you…"
Mo Ran paused in that eerie light. "Everyone, please go through."
"Mo Ran!" Xue Meng's voice climbed in a piercing wail.
Mo Ran's head turned, ever so slightly. He looked as if he wanted to speak, but he never did. Nor did he stop or hesitate. He walked forward, the light flickering around his broad silhouette until it consumed him at the end of the tunnel.
The rest of the cultivators of the other great sects pushed forward with all the desperation of fish out of a broken net. In this violent tidal wave, in the escape that resembled the rush of carp in a river, Mo Ran walked alone. He didn't turn. He was too afraid.
He saw Ye Wangxi, still in the hall near the Dragonsoul Pool. He went to her and lifted her over his shoulder to bring her out of this place.
It didn't have to be Nangong Si who jumped into the pool and offered up his life to the dragon. It could have been him. Mo Ran hadn't known it was possible to wrest Mount Jiao from Xu Shuanglin's control like that, but even so, he couldn't be sure—what if he had known? Would he have chosen to die in Nangong Si's stead? He'd lived two lifetimes, eking out an existence under the weight of his guilt. Nangong Si was in his twenties. He wasn't even halfway through his life when he'd become ash, leaving nothing behind. In some rational part of his mind, Mo Ran knew Nangong Si deserved to remain in the world far more than he did.
But it was only human to cling to life.
A shriek from behind him: "The monsters—the monsters are catching up with us!"
"How could that be?!"
Mo Ran whirled around. The stone had closed again after the last wave exited the tunnel; there was no possible way for those pawns to open it. Unless…
His face went white. Unless there was someone of Nangong blood among them.
In the chaos of his mind, he saw that mysterious black rift again, and recalled the third forbidden technique: the Space-Time Gate of Life and Death. A freezing cold seemed to crawl up from his feet and coil around his body.
Could the masked man be—?
No, there was no way. Absolutely not. It would be too much. Even in the past life, no one had managed such a thing… Who could possibly have managed it?
Thankfully, Mei Hanxue had come up beside him. Mo Ran passed Ye Wangxi into his arms and rushed in the opposite direction of the crowd, eyes flashing with frantic light.
"Mo Ran!"
"Ran-er!"
Xue Meng and Xue Zhengyong shouted to him in the tide of people, but Mo Ran didn't turn. He truly didn't know how he could face these two.
No secret could stay buried forever. In that regard, both lifetimes were the same.
Someone grabbed his arm, and Mo Ran whipped around. "Shizun?!"
"You can't go that way," Chu Wanning said. "I'll hold them off. You're the only one who can activate the arrays on Mount Jiao—you need to stay with the group and make sure they get to safety."
Mo Ran stared back at him.
"Go!"
The black-garbed man was stepping out of the tunnel, those masked cultivators marching behind him.
"Hurry!" Chu Wanning snapped. "Take them and go!"
Regardless of the uncertainty and unease tearing into Mo Ran's heart, he had no choice but to retreat with everyone else. Even the struggling Xue Meng was dragged away by Xue Zhengyong. In the end, only Chu Wanning remained in the hall with the Dragonsoul Pool as those mysterious cultivators streamed in, gradually filling the room with their numbers.
The turbid liquid in the pool bubbled, throwing its orange light onto the cold stone walls.
Chu Wanning stood alone. Sparks crackled along Tianwen's length and reflected in his knifelike eyes. He watched that unknown man, who'd come to a stop inside the chamber. Through the heavy mask, that man looked back, watching him in unmoving silence.
One of the black-clad cultivators behind him, more excitable than the rest, shouted, "You think you're enough to stop us? In your dreams! Come, I'll experience your skills myself!" He sprang at Chu Wanning.
Before this impatient man could leap even a foot into the air, their black-garbed leader grabbed his neck and yanked him out of it.
"Your Majesty?!"
The man ignored him. Eyes never leaving Chu Wanning, he tightened his grip until the veins popped on his hand. He squeezed until that agitator's neck snapped with a crack, then tossed him aside.
Chu Wanning paled. This man would kill his own?
"Who are you to experience Chu-zongshi's skills?" the man drawled, stepping toward Chu Wanning. No one behind him dared move again.
Holding Tianwen out before him, Chu Wanning spoke firmly: "Who are you?"
The man stopped. He stood just a few paces from Chu Wanning, something unspeakable shining in his eyes. Finally, his laughter rang through the chamber. "After so long, this venerable one hadn't thought the first thing you'd say would be so cold."
"…Do I know you?"
"Oh, you don't recognize me? Chu Wanning, you've always been callous." The man stepped forward again and kept walking. Chu Wanning's nature was viciously stubborn; he would never retreat. The man stepped right up to him, presumptuously, dangerously close.
A chilling light flickered in Chu Wanning's palm. He raised it up to strike with the lightning speed of a lifetime of practice, but the man grabbed his wrist as easily as drawing a breath.
"You know, I've experienced this technique of yours many times." The man bent down and stared into Chu Wanning's face, absorbing every detail with naked greed. "But you seem to have forgotten."
Chu Wanning felt hair rise on the back of his neck. He'd never been one to fear a stronger opponent, but that gaze was impossibly awful and complex, as if it hid shocking truths and worse secrets. "Who…are you?!"
"Do you need this venerable one to remind you?" The man's grip on him was so tight that Chu Wanning was powerless against it. "The first time you used this technique on me, I was sixteen. You were teaching me hand-to-hand defense. You told me it was an attack that looked simple but was hard to learn, and that I should apply myself to the task and not slack off."
Chu Wanning's eyes widened as he stared in disbelief. There was mirth in the man's eyes, which were lit by a devilish gleam.
"The second time you used it was during our final battle. Your strike caught me off guard and injured me badly." With an uncompromising strength, he dragged Chu Wanning's hand to his heart.
There was no heartbeat under Chu Wanning's palm—as if this man were a corpse.
"Who…who are you?"
"Patience," the man whispered, savoring each syllable before sweetly feeding it into Chu Wanning's ears. They were even closer now, his lips almost brushing Chu Wanning's face.
"The third time you tried this was in my bed. I wanted to fuck you, but you said you'd had enough. You refused." He moved slowly but inexorably, his hand bruising Chu Wanning's wrist as he dragged Chu Wanning's hand down his chest and abdomen until it rested on something unmistakably intimate.
Chu Wanning flushed and yanked back his hand as if stung, struggling even harder. The man easily dispelled each strike, as if he knew each of Chu Wanning's attacks. He brought Chu Wanning into his arms. "What do I do, Chu Wanning?" he whispered, his tone itself a provocation. "This venerable one planned to kill and destroy you. So many years have passed—you've changed, and so have I. But now that I have you in front of me, now that I breathe in your scent, I still get hard so quickly."
"G-get your hands off of me!" Chu Wanning had never imagined a confrontation like this. His face flushed and paled in turn, as if he might faint from sheer anger.
But he couldn't wrest himself free no matter how he tried. The man was like an inescapable trap, sticky as spider silk. He ensnared Chu Wanning, arms tight around his body. In front of all those pawns, he pulled Chu Wanning into his arms with a brutal, domineering strength, into an embrace so close and clinging. "So hard it hurts."
"I'll kill you!"
Amused, the man smiled and let go. Chu Wanning attacked with murderous intent, his movements swift and vicious, aiming for the kill. Cloak flapping, the man swiftly retreated. He glided like a paper kite and landed safely on the stone a few lengths away, but his mask was not so lucky. It broke beneath Chu Wanning's strike and shattered on the ground.
The man stood in the shadows, face still hidden within the depths of his hood. He sighed. "Your terrible temper hasn't changed a bit. Still ready to kill at the drop of a hat. But Chu Wanning, Chu-zongshi…"
He crooked his fingers, and a streak of black flew toward him from behind like a gale of dark smoke; he caught it handily. Chu Wanning saw it was the blade that had appeared at the Xuanyuan Pavilion auction, one of the blood-soaked holy weapons collected by Xu Shuanglin.
The man caressed Bugui and spoke calmly, in tones of utmost malevolence. "Do you really have the heart to kill me?"
He looked up. The hood fell back.
It was as if a pail of ice water had been dumped over Chu Wanning's head. He was engulfed in freezing cold. His ears rang; he couldn't feel a thing.
In that shadowed chamber, the man's features were handsome, his face pale, and his smile curved with wicked obsession. He was a calamity, a demon. He grinned, baring white teeth.
"Emperor Taxian-jun—Mo Ran, Mo Weiyu." Bugui slid from its sheath, its glare illuminating his eyes, so dark they looked purple. Taxian-jun smiled like a vengeful ghost, a predator opening its fanged maw. "Here to experience Shizun's skills for myself."