Capítulo 122: Chapter 122: Shizun's Reflection
"Here, Mo-xiong, let me introduce you. This is Song Qiutong, a little shimei from my sect." In the end Mo Ran forced himself to sit down at the table and bear with Nangong Si's enthusiastic introductions. Song Qiutong, Song Qiutong, he knew well how many moles there were on her back and just where the birthmarks were on her thighs, as if he needed Nangong Si to introduce.
But he schooled his expression and nodded with much restraint. "Miss Song." "This is Chu-zongshi's disciple, Mo Weiyu of Sisheng Peak. You likely saw him back at Butterfly Town, but there were a lot of people there, so you probably don't remember." Song Qiutong smiled and stood to offer a deferential obeisance, saying,
"Qiutong is pleased to meet Mo-xianjun." "..." Mo Ran remained sitting, levelling an unfathomable gaze at her for quite a while before finally saying, briskly, "Likewise." Truth be told, Mo Ran was beyond disgusted with this wife of his from the past life. And, more than that, this disgust wasn't even something that had emerged only after his rebirth, but had in fact already permeated irreversibly into his very bones in the past life.
The last couple of times he'd seen her, it had always been from a distance,
so he'd only had to deal with a bearable amount of repulsion before. Unlike today.
She was a fragile woman, delicate and soft-spoken in all that she did. She was like an unripe fruit upon the branch in early autumn, hidden behind the luxuriant leaves, with a muted scent less fragrant than that of the surrounding blossoms and an understated color not overly loud, but was very likeable, a slim yet full figure that held endless gentleness and tender young love[5], ready to yield up its sweetly sour juice to the smallest bite.
Only after biting deep to the core would the worm be discovered, dead and rotting within, pungent and festering, the fruit spotted with mold.
But then again, compared to himself, it wasn't like the Song Qiutong of the last lifetime had really done anything too abhorrent. All she had done was betray Rufeng Sect, which had saved her life. All she had done was offer up Ye Wangxi to save herself when Mo Ran was massacring the city. All she had done was doll herself up even as Linyi was being turned into mountains of corpses and oceans of blood, overjoyed that she had garnered Mo Ran's favor and eager to serve her new master.
All she had done was vilify Ye Wangxi after the massacre was over in order to show her sincerity, weeping pitifully right in front of Ye Wangxi's dead body that could never again speak, about how cruel he had been to her, how he had tormented her every day, how miserable her life would have been if Mo Ran hadn't come.
And?
Mo Ran pondered in silence.
What else had she even done?
Nangong Si was an impatient person. A couple of the dishes were taking a while to come out, so he went to prod them along. And so the husband and wife of a previous lifetime were left alone in the room.
"Mo-gongzi, a toast, if you will." She filled his cup with a smile, a bit of forearm peeking out from her flowing sleeves in the process, revealing a vibrant dot of cinnabar on her wrist.
Mo Ran lifted his hand and grabbed her wrist for no discernible reason.
She made a surprised sound and lifted her eyes to look at him, fright apparent in those delicate, dew-laden eyes. "Mo-gongzi, what are you…" Mo Ran stared at her face for a while before dropping his gaze to her fair,
slender hands.
"You have nice hands," he said quietly after a long pause, expression cool and distant. "Does Miss Song know how to play chess?" "A, a little bit." "Hands this nice must be quite adept at chess," he continued coldly. Outside came the sound of Nangong Si's footsteps, and his wolf began barking by the door.
"Excuse me." Mo Ran let go of Song Qiutong's slender wrist, then carefully wiped his hand off with a handkerchief.
Outside, the rays of the setting sun were a brilliant splash of color upon the dusky sky. Inside, a spread of sumptuous feast for a pleasant spring eve.
Mo Ran wore his usual expression, as if nothing had happened at all. Song Qiutong had been scorned for no apparent reason, but she had always been good at enduring, even getting up during the meal to refill Mo Ran's cup once.
Not wanting to drink the wine she poured, he left the cup untouched for the remainder of the meal.
Nangong Si spoke, "Mo-xiong, the Spiritual Mountain Competition is coming up soon. You're Chu-zongshi's disciple; make sure you don't embarrass him.
You ready?"
"I'm not going." "...Surely you're joking?" "I'm serious," Mo Ran said with a laugh. "My cousin's got it covered. Every sect's gonna be there, I don't feel like crowding around with everybody." Nangong Si didn't seem to believe him still, piercing brown eyes narrowing at him like those of an eagle.
But Mo Ran's eyes were open and unreserved as he returned his gaze.
The eagle stared at the rock for a while, until it was satisfied that it really was only a rock, not hiding a cunning rabbit or a sly serpent.
He leaned back into his chair, twirling his chopsticks between his fingers, and suddenly grinned. "Interesting. So I won't be seeing you at the Spiritual Mountain Competition then?" "You will not." Nangong Si put a hand to his forehead and snorted out a laugh. "Chuzongshi's disciple must really be something, to snub such a prestigious competition." "..." Mo Ran thought to himself, bloody hell, how was he supposed to explain this? It wasn't like he could tell Nangong Si that, no no, that's not it, he was actually a thirty-something old ghost that had come back to life; here, let Taxianjun play with all these little brats that are still wet behind the ears, while a bunch of sect leaders that had either been killed or beaten up by him in the past life sat around in a circle around them on those high platforms, grading his performance with their little scorecards.
...What a joke.
Clearing his throat, he said, "It's not that I think it's beneath me or anything,
more like I'm no good with orthodox cultivation techniques, and don't wanna risk embarrassing Shizun with my shallow learnings if I were to go. Someone skilled like Nangong-gongzi is much more suited to the competition, so please spare me your teasing." If a guileless little birdy like Xue Meng had heard that, he probably would've been overjoyed, like Mo Ran had petted the right spot. But Nangong Si hailed from Rufeng Sect and its complicated internal politics, and had lost his mother since young to boot. His life had been far less simple, and so he only smiled a little at Mo Ran's praise, and did not let it get to his head.
He took several big gulps of wine, the jut of his throat bobbing, before wiping his mouth with his sleeve and saying, "Since Mo-gongzi won't be participating,
who do you think is going to win this round, from a bystander's clear perspective?" "..." You sure did ask the right fucking person, Mo Ran thought.
Who would know better than him just who was going to win? Other than that fake Gouchen, who was in all likelihood also a reborn person, he was the only one in the world who knew just how the Spiritual Mountain Competition was going to play out.
The winner was…
"Nangong Si." The pearl curtain of the private room was abruptly swept to the side; a face could be seen in the swaying light that followed, half hidden in the shadows.
Before either of the men in the room could even react, Song Qiutong had already leapt to her feet as if stung, a pitiful-looking panic on her face as she lowered her head and said in an apologetic tone, "Ye, Ye-gongzi." The newcomer stood tall and straight, dressed in black robes trimmed with muted gold and with bracers fastened around the wrists, making for a lean, lithe figure. Three-parts elegant and seven-parts handsome, who else could it be but Ye Wangxi?
"I wasn't calling you." Ye Wangxi pushed aside the pearl curtain and stepped into the room without so much as sparing her a glance, his eyes remaining fixed on one person the whole time, seemingly cold, but with a subtle flicker of something else. "Nangong Si, I was calling you. Look up if you can hear me." Nangong Si did not look up, instead speaking to Song Qiutong, "What are you doing standing? Sit down." "That's alright, Nangong-gongzi, my status is low, I should stand." Nangong Si flew abruptly into a rage, yelling, "SIT DOWN!" Song Qiutong flinched, holding onto the edge of the table and hesitating.
Ye Wangxi didn't want to stall on this, and so said in a cold voice, "Listen to him." "Thank you, Ye-gongzi…" Ignoring Song Qiutong, Ye Wangxi said, "Nangong Si, just how long do you plan to drag out this farce for? The Sect Leader is so incensed he's about to go mad. Get up and go back with me." "That suits me just fine. I'll just take him for a madman, and he can take me for dead! There's nothing to talk about even if I do go back; I will not set half a foot into Rufeng Sect so long as he doesn't withdraw the order." Nangong Si spoke, clearly and with a pause between each letter, "Ye, gong, zi, kindly see yourself out." "You——" Ye Wangxi's hands tightened into fists, his entire body trembling minutely. Watching from the side, Mo Ran felt like he might kick the table over,
grab Nangong Si and bodily drag him off at any moment, but Ye Wangxi was a gentleman after all, and managed to forcibly suppress the raging flames of his anger.
"Nangong Si." When he spoke after a long moment of silence, it was in a hoarse, exhausted voice that was at odds with his tall and straight appearance.
"Do you really have to go this far?" "So what if I do?" Ye Wangxi closed his eyes and let out an imperceptible sigh before slowly opening them again. Standing in front of the table, he finally turned to shoot a glance toward Mo Ran.
In the same way that a family's dirty laundry is not to be aired out in public, a sect's internal matters are likewise kept from outsiders. Tactfully, Mo Ran got up and bowed toward Ye Wangxi, saying, "Actually, I just remembered that I have an appointment to go pick up some clothes at the clothing store, I really shouldn't keep the shopkeeper waiting, so I'll head off first." Ye Wangxi nodded toward him. "Many thanks, Mo-gongzi." "Not at all, take your time chatting." Mo Ran happened to glance at Ye Wangxi as he walked past. Ye Wangxi stood tall and straight like a sturdy pine tree, holding himself with poise as he always did. But up close, Mo Ran could see a faint redness at the corners of his eyes, like he had been crying just before coming here.
Mo Ran suddenly felt like Ye Wangxi's silent forbearance was a bit like Chu Wanning's.
Moved by a sudden impulse, he couldn't help turning to address Nangong Si,
"Nangong-gongzi, I may not know what's happening between you and Yegongzi, but I do know that he's always been genuinely good to you. So if you're willing, please do have an open chat with him, don't hold back the things you should say." But Nangong Si had little appreciation for his advice, and in the heat of the moment, even disregarded the finer points of politeness to say in a cold voice,
"Mind your own business." "..." This short-lived punk!
Mo Ran left. He hadn't even gotten down the stairs when he heard Nangong Si's furious bellowing from the room as the wolf-like young man tore into Ye Wangxi's soul with sharp fangs, demanding—— "Ye Wangxi! What sorcery did you use on my father to make him think more highly of you than he does me?!! Go back with you? What the fuck for?! All my life, when have I ever been given a choice in anything? Huh? Tell me, Ye Wangxi, just what… just what exactly do you all take me for!!!!" There came the crash of tables and chairs toppling over, and the smashing sounds of plates and cups falling to the floor.
The maidservants in the corridor were each and all startled by the noise, and a couple of the other guests peeked out from their own rooms.
"What's going on?" "Aiyo, what a temper, hope they don't smash the place." Mo Ran pressed his lips together, turning to look over his shoulder toward the end of the corridor again.
He heard Ye Wangxi's voice, dry and lifeless like a withered leaf in autumn.
"Nangong, if it's my presence back home that's upsetting you, then I'll leave,
and you'll never have to see me again." "..." "So go back," Ye Wangxi said. "I'm begging you." If he hadn't heard it with his own ears, Mo Ran never would have believed that such an upright person as Ye Wangxi would ever say something so weak as "begging".
His impression of Ye Wangxi was that of an immovable person of integrity, an invincible force on the battlefield; it was far easier for Mo Ran to picture him bleeding than crying, to envision him dying than kneeling.
But on this very day, in this very restaurant, with Song Qiutong there to watch, he said to someone, I'm begging you.
Mo Ran closed his eyes.
In the span of a person's life, just how many things does he never find out?
No one stood naked in front of others. Everyone hid their bodies under clothes, their feelings behind words and expressions. Everyone wrapped themselves up in layers upon layers, with only their heads and necks visible like a flowering branch peeking out, offering the world only a painted face with an unambiguous expression, each playing their own role—for life was but a play,
the roles definite and clear-cut: sheng, dan, jing, and chou.[6] If someone had always played the sheng role, how could they simply accept a change of costume and a repaint of makeup to play the dan role instead?
But in the dead of night when the cymbals ceased and the lute faded, when everyone washed off the thick layer of makeup, and as the colorful wash water carried away the distinctly painted faces they'd worn during the day, revealing the unfamiliar features beneath.
It would turn out that the huadan was actually a gallant young man, and the wusheng had a pair of tender, infatuated eyes.[7] Mo Ran returned to the small room he was staying in for the time being,
deep in thought—he had lived two lifetimes, but just how much did he really understand people? And what of himself?
Just one Chu Wanning was already enough to make his heart grow and then die, only to revive again. Chu Wanning...
His thoughts drifted to the way Nangong Si had mistaken him for Chu Wanning earlier today. He thought it funny—how did such a mix-up even happen?
But as he washed up in front of the copper mirror, he suddenly found that the person reflected therein had his hair done up in a high ponytail and wore a simple white cultivator robe.
He had put his hair up in the ponytail on an offhanded whim this morning; as for the robe, it was because his old clothes had felt a little tight a couple days ago, so he'd gone to the store to pick out a new set, and the white robe had caught his eye while walking through the store, so he bought it and put it on without really thinking about it, without considering why the robe had been pleasing to his eyes.
Only now, looking into the mirror, did he suddenly realize the reason why.
It was because this white robe was so similar to the one that Chu Wanning had once worn.
The mirror was a dull yellow, the past life was like a dream; looking at the person in the mirror, Mo Ran felt like he was looking at a fragment of Chu Wanning, a delirium of him, through this muddy color, muted as if in a dream.
The water that he had washed his face with and not yet wiped dry streamed along the gradually maturing lines of his jaw and dripped down his chin.
Standing there in front of the mirror, he vaguely realized that, just like how his Holy Night Guardian was clumsily trying to imitate Chu Wanning's Holy Night Guardian, he himself was also clumsily trying to imitate his shizun.
Unconsciously, Mo Ran had been looking for Chu Wanning's shadow in the world; unable to find him, he had instead slowly become him. —— Time marched on. And I, due to remorse, or perhaps something else— I couldn't see you, but always I thought about what you would do if you were here; what would make you smile, what would make you mad.
I thought about you before doing anything, tried to make you proud in everything that I did.
I thought, "If you were here, and I did this, would you nod? Would you be willing to praise me a little, say I did okay?" Day after day I thought about this, until it had permeated into my very bones,
become second nature. That's why, later on, I didn't even realize—
—That as the days passed by, I had grown into the you in my heart.
[5] 青涩 is used here to describe Song Qiutong both metaphorically as a fruit, where it means green/underripe, and as a person, where it means young, inexperienced, like a bashful new love
[6] 生旦净末丑 roles in Peking opera: 生 sheng (main male role), 旦 dan (female role), 净 jing (painted face male role), and 丑 chou (male clown role); click here for an overview.
[7] 花旦 huadan, role of the vivacious young female, a subset of the dan role; 武生wusheng, role of the martial male, a subset of the sheng role
Status de energia semanal
-- Ranking de
Poder 
-- Pedra de
Poder