Bab 110: Chapter 110: Shizun Doesn't Know About the Little Puppy's Past[1]
Mo Ran wandered the streets by himself. There were still ghosts drifting eerily about the streets as well, and the bluestone steps were covered in lonesome clumps of moss, wet and slippery beneath his feet…
Only now that he'd calmed down after the fierce struggle did he finally notice that his fingers had been scraped raw and bloody. The doorframe was crudely made and covered in splinters that had gotten embedded into his hand and made a mess of it, but luckily it was dark enough that the ghosts didn't notice.
He stared quietly at it for a while with his lashes downcast. Perhaps because the pain in his heart was far greater, but the gruesome wounds on his hand didn't really hurt.
He looked back at that firmly-shut door, and knew well that the man behind it wouldn't speak another word to him.
Mo Ran was no stranger to such rejection. He was already more than used to malevolence, to the point that he could tell whether or not his plea would have any effect from just the look in their eyes and a couple of words.
Truth be told, the moment that man had changed to saying "haven't seen him", Mo Ran already instinctively knew that he wasn't going to get another truthful word out of him. It was just that he didn't want to give up because it had to do with Chu Wanning's Earth Soul, so he had persisted until he had been shoved outside and the door had slammed in his face.
It's been a long time since he had last been refused so brutally. But sometimes, the passage of time couldn't really resolve anything, and neither could happier circumstances change that which was innate—some things were simply carved into the bones.
Xue Meng had once called him a lowlife scum.
It's funny, but these venomous words from the darling of the heavens didn't even make a dent in his dignity.
That's right, he is what everyone calls a lowlife scum. He'd been called much worse things more times than he could count, he was already used to it.
He glanced over his shoulder at that tightly-closed wooden door one last time, then slowly walked away in the low snickers of the crowd of spectating ghosts.
He stood alone amidst voices of derision and ridicule.
Such a scene of abject helplessness, once again after so many years,
overlapped with the distant, faded memories of his childhood. Mo Ran put one foot in front of the other; maybe because the circumstances were really too much alike, but he couldn't help thinking about those days when it had been just him and his mom...
In those days, they weren't at the pleasure house yet, but wandered the streets of Linyi near Rufeng Sect.
In those days, at least he still had his mom.
His mother loved him. He was still small and she didn't want him to go out begging for food, so she always had him stay in an abandoned firewood shed while she went out to sing and perform on the street.
She had a good foundation and could dance on a bamboo pole, so she usually managed to earn a couple of coins each day to buy a piece of flatbread and a bowl of congee[2] to share between mother and son. Mothers always wanted their children to eat more, but Mo Ran would only take a few bites before saying the flatbread was too hard, the congee was too bland, or that he was full,
and refused to eat any more.
Little did she know, but every time she sighed and ate the "left over" half of the flatbread and half bowl of congee, the small child curled up to the side pretending to be asleep was always secretly watching her through squinted eyes, only relaxing after making sure she had filled her stomach, feeling at ease despite the rumbling in his own.
Nor did she know that every day after she left to perform on the streets at Linyin's east market, her child would crawl out from the pile of firewood and sneak out to beg for food two streets over from where she performed.
The mother sang a beautiful song as she propped up the ten feet tall pole and danced upon it with her frail body. The ground below her was covered in shattered rocks and broken ceramics; if she were to fall, all of the sharp pieces would pierce into her body. But the spectators thought it novel and exciting, and so she staked her lowborn life and danced, just to win a smile from the moneyed onlookers.
Two streets away, her child begged on the street, going door by door,
grinning with his grubby little face and saying the same greetings for good fortune over and over, hoping for something to eat. But he didn't get anything,
not often.
One day, a young madam of a wealthy family, pregnant, bored, and in a foul mood, was strolling around the streets when she saw Mo Ran's mother dancing on the pole.
She went over and watched for a while, intrigued, and then sent an attendant to go speak to the dancer, "These broken rocks and ceramic bits you have on the ground are just for looks, where's the sincerity? Our Madam says that if you replace them with knives, blade-up, and dance over that, then she will reward you with ten taels of gold." Faced with such a cruel request, practically demanding her life.
But the mother's only response was: "I can't afford to buy any knives." The wealthy madam laughed and immediately had someone go to the ironware store, purchase a hundred sharp knives, and arrange them upright on the ground.
"Dance." The richly-adorned woman said gleefully as she caressed her bulging belly.
A crowd of fiends and demons, eager to watch the sport, had already began to gather, all of them decked out in silks and jades that sparkled in the sun. They were like vultures that had scented the stench of blood in the air and gathered to feed on the corpse, with their necks outstretched and their eyes glinting.
"Go on, dance." "Dance well and I'll give you money." "There's tips to be had!" The areas under Rufeng Sect's jurisdiction had no shortage of wealthy people. What it lacked was the excitement and liveliness of such life-risking wagers.
Those silks and satins, gold and pearls closed in on the mother with the bamboo pole, surrounded the penniless woman in rags.
And so the woman, her life as cheap as wild grass by the roadside, smiled and curtsied toward the crowd of carrion vultures, thanking them for their patronage, and then began a graceful dance upon the pole, light as a swallow.
Dancing upon the blades, staking her life.
Staking her life to garner their favor.
But although she was skilled, she inadvertently glanced down at the rows upon rows of sharp knives as she went in for the landing. Her bamboo pole tilted a couple of degrees in that moment of panic, and as alarmed cries rang out from the crowd, she fell—— She managed to avoid the area with the most knives, but still skirted the edge, slashing her legs open, the crowd crying out once again as blood spattered.
Ignoring the pain, she hurriedly stood up, offering a smile as she lowered her head in apology.
The spectators commented with a sneer, "Missy's skills aren't quite there yet,
better practice more." "That's right, you gotta have some skill if you wanna make a living, halfbaked foolery won't get you far." A few of the kinder people, their eyes brimming with tears, said sympathetically, "Ay, enough already, look at the poor girl's injury, hurry to the apothecary and get some medicine for it." The woman said hesitantly, "I don't… I don't have any money for medicine…" Those people faltered, some sighing, others lifting their hands to touch their jades and pearls, but none of them spoke. A couple dabbed at the corners of their eyes, as if deeply touched.
"How pitiful." "Indeed, indeed." "Seeing as how hard your life is, I'll give you some money," said an elderly woman with a big belly as she took out her bulging purse, fished out a handful of gold leaflets, held them in her hands, and kept digging until she dug out three copper coins, weighed them in her hand, returned two, then very solemnly placed one copper coin in the mother's hand.
Having given generously, the elderly woman allowed tracks of well-earned tears roll down her cheeks as she spoke in a tone of benevolence, "Miss, you deserve this, take it." The woman clutched the copper coin that she had used her life to exchange for, and murmured blankly, "Thank you…" Thank you…
And that wealthy madam that had promised her ten gold? She had already walked off, cursing.
The woman staggered after her on bleeding legs, wanting to ask her for the money, but was shoved to the ground by her attendants, who swore so loudly they could be heard a whole street over—— "What bad luck!" "Our Madam must keep her baby safe, the sight of blood is inauspicious!
Master will be so worried if he hears."
"And you still have the nerve to ask for money, you call that a dance? It's a good thing your blood didn't get on our Madam, or else——or else there'd be consequences!" "Scram!" The woman was shoved to the ground roughly, but they were from a wellknown family of affluence in Linyin, so no one was willing to stand up for her.
She twisted in pain on the ground, writhing like a lowly insect.
No one came to help her up…
No one was willing to open their purse for her...
She had danced with her life on the line, but all she got for it was a single,
cold copper coin.
The kind woman who gave it to her had said that it was what she deserved.
She didn't spare a thought for herself, but she had earned only one coin today, what could she buy with that? All that would get her was a single piece of flatbread without any filling, not even a bowl of congee to go with it, and now that her leg was hurt, she wouldn't be able to dance tomorrow, but what about her child… he was still so small, so skinny, he'll go hungry again…
She really couldn't take it anymore, thinking about that. She curled up in the mud and wept sorrowfully, her voice raw and shuddering. Unable to bear the sound of it, the onlookers sighed and began to disperse.
Just then, a dirty child with a foul, stinky smell suddenly burst through the crowd.
Mo Ran ran over, yelling like a trapped beast, "Mom! MOM!!!" He hugged her.
A lowly child hugging his lowly mother.
Like a bug clinging to grass, like a straw dog[3] clutching at duckweed.
Surprise and panic flashed across the woman's eyes when she saw him.
She may be weak, but mothers were strong. She stopped crying immediately— life was already hard enough, day after day like going to sleep in hell and waking in the same—she didn't want to look weak and helpless in front of her child.
The tears on her face weren't even dry yet, but she hurriedly arranged her features into a smile, saying, "Aiyah, look at you, what are you doing here? Mom is fine, it's just a scratch… oh, but look…" She stuffed the sweat-covered copper coin clutched in her hand into his.
Mo Ran shook his head over and over, tears washing tracks down his dirty little face.
"It's enough for a piece of flatbread, go on… go buy one, mom will wait right here for you, then we can go home." Home?
Where is home?
That run-down storage shed?
Or that sheep pen they once slept in before getting chased out two days later...
Mo Ran fought back sobs, fire burning in his eyes as he said, "Mom, just sit here and rest for a while." "What're you going to——don't do anything foolish——" Mo Ran ran to the side and picked up a knife, then shouted loud and clear in his still-young voice, drawing back the attention of the dispersing crowd.
"Lords and ladies, please wait! Please wait! We still have a special performance for your lordships and ladyships, please spare a glance——" He innately had spiritual energy since youth, and was thus much stronger than any ordinary person without aptitude, even without cultivating it.
Mo Ran held the sharp and sturdy blade in his hands, and with a low cry,
broke the knife in half and tossed the pieces onto the ground.
The crowd was startled, especially the couple of cultivators among them.
"The kid's not bad." "One more!" Mo Ran said, picking up two knives this time and snapping both together.
"Nice!!!" Someone in the crowd clapped.
"Three knives!" The small child added one knife after another, the crowd getting more and more excited as the stack grew thicker and harder to break.
"Gege jiejie, uncles and aunties, please spare some tips and I'll add more." Those people, eager for a show, tossed the cheapest copper coins they could find onto the ground in front of him.
For those coins, Mo Ran added knife after knife until his hands were covered in blood and he really couldn't break any more. The carrion vultures flapped their pitch-black wings and scattered.
Mo Ran picked up the copper coins, holding them carefully in his dirty little hands, and walked over to his teary, dazed mother.
He smiled, "Mom, we can get you medicine now." Her tears fell uncontrollably. "My child… my good boy… let mom see your hand…" "I'm okay…" His smile was bright and pure. It scorched her heart.
She pulled him into her arms, hugging him tightly as she sobbed, "It's all mom's fault for not being able to take care of you… making you suffer so much so young…" "It's alright," Mo Ran said quietly in his mom's arms. "I don't mind as long as I'm with you, mom… we'll get through this together, and when I grow up, I'll give mom a good life." She smiled and wiped the tears from her eyes. "It's alright even if it's not a good life, as long as you can grow up healthy and strong, that'll be good… that'll be enough." Mo Ran nodded vigorously, then suddenly said, quietly, "Mom, if I manage to make something of myself in the future, you'll never have to put up with any of this anymore. I'll make all those people just now come and apologize to you, and if they won't, then I'll make them dance on knives, I…" "Silly child, don't think like that," the kind, gentle woman stroked his hair as she whispered. "Absolutely don't think like that, don't hate anyone. Mom wants to watch you grow into a good kid; promise me you'll be a good, kind person, okay?"
Mo Ran was so young back then, like a small tender seedling—just a tiny touch of outside influence and he would lean easily into that direction—and his mother, uneducated but pure, was his first lighthouse. And so little Mo Ran thought it over for a bit, rather puzzled, and in the end said with an air of seriousness, "Okay." He said, "Mom, I promise you." "Then, then in the future, if… if I can make something of myself, I'll build lots and lots of houses for people without homes, and plant lots and lots of food for people who don't have enough to eat…" he said to his mother, "mom, that way,
no one will ever have to live like us again." The woman stared blankly for a while, then said with a sigh, "That would be wonderful." The little kid nodded in agreement, saying, "That would be wonderful." At that time, neither of them could have anticipated that someone who would say something like that would end up treading through fields of bones with his hands covered in blood, bringing the stench of misery and ruin as vultures and crows hovered overhead, that he would become Emperor Taxian-Jun, scourge of the common people.
And scourge of the common people Emperor Taxian-Jun rarely, if ever,
looked back on this chapter of his past. He didn't honor that promise made in his mother's arms back then, that promise spoken solemnly with clear eyes and a tender voice.
Back then, with his mother's guidance, no matter how hard things got, Mo Ran never hated anyone, though he did feel somewhat unresigned.
Day after day passed by just like this. But streetside performances were lively to the passersby the first time around, boring the second time, and irritating by the third. Eventually, they weren't able to earn even a single copper coin anymore, and could only resort to begging.
Mo Ran remembered a kid from a wealthy merchant family who was around his age and had a big mole by the corner of his lips. He remembered that kid sitting at the gate of his family's big courtyard, holding a bowl in his hand. The kid probably couldn't use chopsticks well yet, so he ate the golden-crispy fried dumplings in the bowl by jabbing them with the bamboo sticks. He was a picky eater, and would only eat the filling, spitting the wrappers out and tossing them to the ground to play with the dogs.
So he walked over cautiously, and stood carefully to the side.
The kid jolted at how dirty and stinky he was, screeching, "Who are you?!" Mo Ran asked quietly, "Young master, the dumpling wrappers… could…
could you give them to me?" "Give them to you? Why would I give them to you?" "You… you're not eating them anyway, so I just wanted to ask…" "So what if I don't eat them, our Wangcai will." The kid pointed at the pair of fat dogs with sleek coats and said in a huff, "It's already hard enough feeding our dogs, how could I give them to you?!" Mo Ran forced a smile, saying, "Then, if the dogs can't finish…" "As if that would ever happen! They get braised meat every day and even that's not enough, this is just dumpling wrappers, two bites and it's all gone.
Either way, none for you, shoo, shoo!"
Hearing the words 'braised meat', Mo Ran couldn't help looking at those dogs, all of a sudden thinking, with how fat they were, if cooked, they must be…
He couldn't help swallowing as he stared at the dogs.
The kid noticed him swallowing. He froze for a second, then yelled in shock,
"What are you up to?!" "I, nothing… I just…" "You want to eat Wangcai and Wangfu[4]?" Mo Ran said in a panic, "N-no, I was just really hungry and couldn't help thinking about it, sorry…" But the little young master couldn't care less what he had to say; the words "couldn't help thinking about it" already scared the blood out of his face.
How could a wealthy family's kid possibly understand that someone could think of his adorable little watchdogs as food? Frightened by the freak in front of him, he started screaming.
"Somebody come! Hurry and chase him away!!" The household servants crowded in on Mo Ran and started kicking and punching him before he could say anything. In that rain of blows, he tried to grab as many of the fried dumpling wrappers on the ground as he could, holding them tightly in his hands and not letting go however hard they kicked.
The little young master was terrified, tossing the remaining dumplings alongside the chopsticks to the ground and running away.
Mo Ran crawled arduously over, dragging his small, skinny body that's been beat blue and purple. One of his eyes hurt too much to open—a kick had landed there—but he smiled happily as he reached out and grabbed those leftover dumplings.
There were two dumplings left.
With the filling still in them...
One for himself, one for mother…
Or both for mother, just the wrappers is fine for him...
But before he could leave with the dumplings, one of the servants' feet came down in the chaos and crushed those dumplings skewered on the bamboo chopstick. The crispy wrappers cracked, and the mincemeat filling turned into paste.
He gripped the dirty, broken chopstick in a daze as kicks and punches rained down on him. He couldn't feel the pain, but his tears began to fall because the dumplings couldn't be eaten anymore, squeezing out from between swollen-shut eyelids to stream down a small face so dirty it was hard to see his features.
He only wanted another child's leftover, unwanted food.
Why would they rather waste it, crush it, turn it into paste, than to let him have it?
Later, Mo Ran became a young master of Sisheng Peak, and many within the sect tried to suck up to him, to ingratiate themselves to him. His birthday was filled with gifts and well wishes from people he hardly even spoke to.
The child that once had to crawl on the ground and scramble for discarded dumpling wrappers finally received an abundance of praise and fawning. But standing before that pile of carefully-selected presents, he found himself gripped by a vague sense of dread.
He was afraid that those presents would disappear, that they would get smashed, that something would happen out of the blue and everything in front of him would suddenly become crushed underfoot like those dumplings he once held in his hands but never got to eat. And so, out of that pile of things, he quickly used the useables, and quickly ate the edibles. As for the things that couldn't be used or eaten, he dug a secret little compartment in his room and carefully hid those intricate gifts inside, counting them every day, and then counting again just to be sure.
Xue Meng had made fun of him, pointing and laughing, "Hahaha, it's just a box of pastries from Lin'an's Breeze Bakery, it's no big deal if they go bad or go to waste, but look at you, shoving them all down your throat in one go. Did you starve to death in the last life or something? No one's gonna fight you for them." He had only just arrived at Sisheng Peak back then, and truthfully still felt extremely uneasy and insecure deep down.
So he only grinned at his cousin's mocking, crumbs still at the corner of his mouth, before lowering his head back down and opening another box of pastries.
Xue Meng was amazed. "What an appetite, aren't you stuffed?" He only kept eating.
"...Don't force yourself if you're full, I get tons of pastries every year for my birthday too, but who can eat that many pastries…" Mo Ran's cheeks were stuffed full and bulging; he was actually choking a little from eating too fast. He glanced at Xue Meng, sitting across from him, with teary black eyes.
In that moment, he suddenly thought of that little young master he had met when he was younger, the one who could be picky about his food as much as he wanted, who ate the filling from his fried dumplings and tossed the wrappers to his dogs.
Xue Meng probably grew up like that too. That's why he could so easily say things like "just toss it if you can't finish it," "no one's gonna fight you for them." He really, really, really envied them.
Now that he was a young master of a famed sect leading a life of luxury, he should by all rights be able to feel comfortable and secure, to waste and squander as he felt like.
But he didn't dare.
In the end, what he did was pick up the cup at the side and chug several mouthfuls of water to wash down the pastries that were stuck in his throat, then continue to force himself to eat more.
Even later, he became Emperor Taxian-Jun.
Everything under the skies belonged to him.
The most gorgeous beauties, the finest of wines, the most exquisite delicacies, golds silvers pearls and jades, and treasured artifacts alike were gifted to him in a never-ending stream from all over the world.
One day, a wealthy ore merchant came from Lin'an with a rare, ten thousand year old black fire jade that had been discovered during mining, saying he wanted to gift it to Emperor Taxian-Jun.
People like him who come bearing gifts of treasures hoping for a title of nobility or official post, or else trying to ingratiate themselves and garner favor were really far too many to count. Mo Ran usually just ignored them.
But Chu Wanning just so happened to have come down with the chills that day. Mo Ran frowned a little; black fire jade was excellent for expelling the cold,
and he'd prefer that invalid to get better quick, certainly beats him lying in bed all day being a damn eyesore… and so he agreed to see that wealthy merchant.
The merchant was around his age, a bit chubby, and had a big mole by the corner of his lips with a hair growing from it.
Upon the throne inside Wushan Palace sat Mo Ran, with his slender hands folded and the tips of his fingers resting against his chin, staring silently at him until the greasy merchant's legs went weak and sweat soaked his back.
A long moment passed before the merchant, shaking all over and lips quivering, suddenly fell to his knees and began to kowtow over and over again,
stammering, "Your Majesty, this lowly one… this lowly one…" He stammered for quite a while without managing to say anything, his fat body trembling incessantly under gold-embroidered clothing the whole time.
Mo Ran suddenly smiled.
He could never forget this person, though he had only ever seen him once.
That year, the little kid with the mole by the corner of his lips who had sat in front of the wealthy family's extravagant residence, with the kind of lavish mannerism that Mo Ran had never thought he himself would ever possess. He'd sat there, jabbing into his bowl of golden dumplings with his bamboo chopsticks,
a greasy sheen on his lips to match the greasy sheen on the crispy dumplings.
He said with a smile, "Did you know? The fried dumplings at your place are delicious." He never actually got to taste them, but he had obsessed over them for half his life.
Sitting on his throne, Mo Ran watched the person below him go from terrified to astounded to bewildered to sycophantic, muttering obsequiously about having his chef come over to Sisheng Peak right away as a gift to Emperor Taxian-Jun.
In that moment, Mo Ran knew clearer than ever that so many in this world would rather kneel and lick the boots of the strong than look down and show the weak even the tiniest bit of sympathy or kindness.
Mo Ran shook his head, trying to shake off these memories of bygone days.
He rarely ever reminisced about his past; it was his weak spot, he didn't want it.
But the scene of asking door by door and being rejected door by door was so much like the past that the fetters deep within his mind came undone against his will, and for a time, he was caught up in the darkness of his past.
He stared off in a daze for a while.
He thought, so he had once promised his mother, when he was young, that he "wouldn't hold grudges," promised her that he would "build countless houses to shelter all the cold people in this world who didn't have homes, so that everyone could smile"...
But he didn't keep his word.
And in the end, he had even caused the death of the last person who treated him well. He'd caused Chu Wanning's death, caused his own Shizun's death.
Chu Wanning...
Mo Ran's heart ached at the very thought of him. He absently took out that thin piece of paper bearing Chu Wanning's likeness from his robes. The paper had become a bit wrinkled; he pressed his lips together and wordlessly raised his hand, wanting to smooth it out, but blood smeared onto the paper as soon as he touched it.
He jerked his hand back in a panic, afraid to dirty the portrait, and did not dare to touch it any more.
He walked from the fifth street to the third street, still asking door by door,
unresigned. But all the ghosts only say they've "never seen the man in the portrait." He walked alone through the endless night. It was so dark, so long, that it seemed like he'll never reach the dawn no matter how hard he tried and how long he walked. Mo Ran finally felt a little worn out; he hadn't had anything to eat or drink at all, and really was nearing his limits. Luckily, he spotted a stall selling wontons[5] by the side of the street, so he went over and bought a bowl, and sneakily ate when no one was looking.
All the food in the Underworld was cold; there was no steam rising off the wontons.
Mo Ran took out the Soul-Calling Lantern, scooped up a spoonful of wonton,
and held it out toward the lantern, "Does Shizun want some?" Of course Shizun wouldn't answer.
So Mo Ran ate it himself, talking between mouthfuls, "Then again, you never did care for wontons. You only like sweets. Once I find you and we get back home, I'll make you pastries every day." In the quiet of night, one person and one lantern sat by the lonely wonton stall as a breeze rustled past, occasionally bringing with it a few withered leaves.
In this moment, even the Underworld seemed serene.
"Peach blossom cake, osmanthus sweets, walnut crisp, cloud cake[6]…" he listed to the lantern while counting off on his fingers, as if that would make Chu Wanning respond. He counted for a while, then forced a smile, saying, "Shizun,
just where is your other Earth Soul?" The young man reached out with his slender hand and gently caressed the silk surface of the lantern, just like he had that year when he was thirty, when Chu Wanning died, when he had held the other man's body in his arms and stared off blankly in a daze and muttered, "Chu Wanning, I really hate you so much," but then lowered his head and pressed his lips to his cheek.
"Sonny, you new here?" Suddenly, a voice like a broken gong spoke up. The old man selling the wontons was terribly nearsighted in his old age, and felt his way over to sit down next to Mo Ran. He had probably died of old age in his own bed, his darkly suntanned face wizened and lined like a poplar tree in the desert. He took out a smoking pipe from his burial clothes and put it in his mouth, then started chatting with Mo Ran with a kindliness and nosiness unique to the elderly.
Mo Ran sniffled and turned to grin at him, "Mn, first day." "No wonder I don't recognize you at all. Don't mind me asking, but how did you die so young?" "Qi deviation." "Oh…" the old man inhaled smoke from his pipe, though it remained dark and unlit, "a cultivator huh." "Mn," Mo Ran nodded and glanced at him. He didn't really expect anything to come out of it, but still took out the portrait scroll from his robes, asking,
"Grandpa[7], I'm looking for someone. This is my Shizun, he also only came down here not long ago. Would you happen to have seen him?"
The grandpa took the drawing and hunched over closer to the light, squinting at it for a long, long while through cataract-grown eyes.
Mo Ran let out a sigh and reached over to take the drawing back. "It's alright,
I've already asked lots of people, it's ok if you don't know either, everyone else also…" "I've seen him." "!!" Mo Ran jolted, and even the blood in his veins coursed faster as he clutched hastily at the old man. "Grandpa, you've seen him?!? Y-you're sure?" "I'm sure." The old man crossed his legs on the bench and reached over to pick at his foot. "Don't see people with looks like these every day, it's definitely your Shizun." Mo Ran had already shot up to his feet, but then felt like he was being too curt and lowered his head in a respectful bow to the old man before looking up to ask earnestly, "Grandpa, please point the way." "Aiyah, no need to be so polite, sonny. We're all just ghosts down here about to head on to the next life, with only eight, ten years before these memories of the last life are gone for good. This old man's son passed on early, so I've got a soft spot for all you young'uns." He wiped the tears from his eyes and blew his nose on his sleeve before finally saying, "Have you seen that grand-looking palace on the first street up there?" "I have. That's where Shizun is?" "Yup, right there." "What kind of place is it?" "It's the Fourth Ghost King's away palace," the old man sighed. "The Fourth Ghost King doesn't actually live there; it was built specifically to lock up all the beauties he has his underlings snatch from the Underworld. That Fourth Ghost King is a real lecher, comes down here at intervals to pick concubines from the away palace, men and women alike. The ones that get selected are brought with him back to the Fourth Level of Hell, the ones that don't supposedly get given to his underlings to play with. Sigh, the world these days——" He wasn't even done talking yet when the little cultivator next to him tucked the lantern sitting to the side into his arms in an anxious rush and charged off into the night like a wolfdog.
The old man paused for a second, then muttered slowly with a dash of envy,
"Must be nice to be young, to be able to run so fast…"
[1] A more accurately nuanced translation of the title would be "the little puppy's past that Shizun doesn't know about" (emphasis on the past rather than the not knowing) but alas it has to start with Shizun
[2] Original text actually said two bowls of congee but that seems to be a typo in view of the next paragraph
[3] In ancient times, dogs made of straw were used as sacrificial offerings then thrown away after, and so also signifies something lowly and worthless
[4] Wangcai and Wangfu are the names of his dogs; wang = prosper, but also the word for a dog's bark in Chinese (i.e., wangwang is the Chinese version of barkbark); cai = wealth, money; fu = fortune, happiness, luck [5] Different from Shizun's wontons; there are three main varieties of wontons depending on the region--馄饨 [huntun] in the northern regions e.g. Beijing, 云吞 [yuntun] in the southeast regions e.g. Guangdong/Canton (this is the one being sold here); and 抄手 [chaoshou] in the southwest regions e.g. Sichuan (this is the spicy variety that Shizun makes for Mo Ran; Sisheng Peak is in Bashu, which is modern-day Sichuan) → see pic-huntun on top, yuntun lower left, chaoshou lower right [6] Peach blossom cake, osmanthus sweets, walnut crisp, cloud cake
[7] Not literally his grandpa, of course; calling those older than you uncle/aunt/grandpa/grandma even without blood relation is a polite form of address
Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
Power 
-- Power
stone