The Husky and His White Cat Shizun

Chapter 1: This Seat is Dead

Back when Mo Ran wasn't yet an emperor, there were always people calling him a dog.

The shopkeeper called him a dog's son, customers referred to him as a mongrel, his cousin labeled him a worthless dog, and his mother took it to the extreme, calling him a bastard born of a dog.

Of course, there were also dog-related compliments, not too terrible. Like his fleeting romances, they would scold him with feigned anger for his virility in bed, comparing him to a stud, with sweet words that captivated souls and a formidable tool that stole their hearts. They'd then proceed to boast about him, spreading throughout the taverns that Mo Weiyu was both handsome and well-endowed, leaving those who had experienced him satisfied and those who hadn't yearning.

It must be said that these people were not entirely wrong; Mo Ran indeed behaved like a foolish dog wagging its tail.

Not until he became the emperor of the cultivation world did such nicknames suddenly vanish.

One day, a distant immortal sect from the frontier sent him a puppy.

The dog was gray and white, with three flames on its forehead, resembling a wolf. But it was only as big as a melon, with a round head and plump body. Despite its tiny size, it believed itself majestic, running wildly around the grand hall, attempting several times to climb the high steps to get a clear look at the person calmly seated on the imperial throne. However, due to its short legs, all attempts ended in failure.

Mo Ran gazed at the energetic but brainless furball for a moment and suddenly laughed, muttering under his breath, "worthless dog."

The puppy soon grew into a large dog, which then aged into an old one, and eventually, the old dog became a deceased one.

Mo Ran closed his eyes, then reopened them. Thirty-two years had passed in the rollercoaster of his life, filled with both honor and disgrace.

He had grown weary of everything, feeling bored and isolated. The familiar faces around him had dwindled, even San Baohuo, his loyal companion, had passed away. It was time for an end.

He plucked a lustrous grape from a fruit tray, slowly peeling away its purple skin.

His actions were composed and practiced, akin to a Qiang king disrobing a foreign beauty in his chamber, with a hint of indifferent laziness. The translucent green flesh quivered gently between his fingertips, its juice seeping, a pale purple reminiscent of geese carrying crimson sunsets or a hibiscus dozing in spring.

It also resembled tainted blood.

As he swallowed the sweetness in his mouth, he examined his fingers and lethargically lifted his eyelids.

The moment had nearly arrived.

It was time for him to descend into hell.

Mo Ran, courtesy name Weiyu.

The first sovereign of the cultivation world.

Occupying this position is no easy feat; it requires not only exceptional magical prowess, but also an unwavering thickness of skin, as solid as a rock.

Before him, the Ten Great Sects of the Cultivation World stood as equals, each a dragon entrenched or a tiger poised, their domains mutually circumscribing one another. None possessed the might to singly reshape the heavens and earth. Moreover, each of these sect leaders was a paragon steeped in classical wisdom; even if one were whimsically inclined to bestow upon themselves a grandiose title, they would be mindful of the historian's pen, wary of incurring eternal reproach.

But Mo Ran was different.

He is a scoundrel.

What others dared not do, he ultimately did. He drank the world's fieriest fine wines, wedded its loveliest women, first ascending to become the Overlord of the Cultivation World, the Heaven-Stepping Lord, and then went on to proclaim himself an emperor.

Millions knelt in submission.

All those who refused to bow were eradicated. During his reign of terror, the cultivation world was drenched in blood, filled with wailing and misery. Countless righteous heroes met their deaths, and the Confucian Wind Sect, one of the Ten Great Sects, suffered a complete catastrophe.

Later on, even Mo Ran's mentor, who had taught him, fell victim to his former disciple's clutches. Defeated in a duel, he was taken back to the palace and imprisoned, his whereabouts unknown to all.

A once prosperous land, with rivers clear and seas tranquil, was suddenly shrouded in darkness.

Emperor Mo Ran, illiterate and unconstrained, brought about absurdities during his rule. Let us speak of the era name he chose.

In his first three years as emperor, he named the era "Turtle King," inspired by the time he sat by a pond feeding fish.

In the second three-year period, named "Gua," it derived from the sound of frogs croaking in his courtyard during the summer. He believed it to be divine inspiration and felt that he must not neglect it.

Scholars of the common folk once believed there could be no more unbearable reign titles than "Wangba" and "Gua." Little did they know about Mo Weiyu.

In the third triennial, unrest simmered beneath the surface. Be it Buddhist cultivators, Taoist practitioners, or spirit cultivators, the righteous heroes of the land, unable to endure Mo Ran's oppressive rule, began launching successive rebellions one after another.

Thus, after much thoughtful contemplation and countless drafts, an earth-shattering and tear-inducing era name was born — "Ji Ba."

The intention was noble, a phrase that the First Emperor had painstakingly coined, carrying the profound meaning of "laying down arms and ceasing hostilities." However, it sounded a bit awkward when spoken by the common folk.

Especially for those who are illiterate, it sounds even more awkward.

The first year is called "Ji Ba Yuan Nian," which sounds like "Ji Ba Yuan Nian" in English. (Note: The translation maintains the original meaning and sound, but please be aware that the content may be considered inappropriate or offensive in some contexts.)

The second year is called the second year of chicken.

Dick three years.

There were those who had slammed their doors shut in anger and railed, "Utter nonsense! Why not call it 'Spear-Discontinuation' instead? Then, when we meet men, we won't need to ask their age; we'll just inquire about the year of their penis! A hundred-year-old man would be a 'Hundred-Year-Old Penis'!"

After enduring three long years, the era of "Spear-Discontinuation" was finally coming to an end.

The entire kingdom was on tenterhooks, awaiting the emperor's fourth reign title. But this time, Mo Ran had no interest in suggesting one, for in this year, the upheaval in the cultivation world erupted in full force. The righteous heroes and immortal knights who had endured silently for nearly a decade finally banded together, forming a vast army of millions that marched against Emperor Mo Weiyu, the First Sovereign.

The cultivation world did not need emperors.

Especially not tyrants like him.

After months of bloody battles, the rebel army finally arrived at the foot of Death and Life Peak. This towering mountain, shrouded in mist all year round and situated in Sichuan, was topped by Mo Ran's magnificent palace.

With the arrow already drawn, overthrowing the tyrant was now a matter of one final strike. Yet, this was also the most perilous moment. As victory seemed within reach, the previously united alliance began to harbor divergent intentions. With the old emperor's downfall imminent, a new order would inevitably rise, and no one wished to expend their strength unnecessarily. Thus, no one was willing to lead the charge up the mountain.

They all feared that the cunning and vicious tyrant might suddenly descend from the heavens, baring his fangs like a beast, ripping apart anyone foolish enough to besiege his palace.

One solemn-faced individual spoke, "Mo Weiyu possesses immense magical powers and is known for his malicious nature. We should proceed with caution and not fall into his traps."

The other generals agreed in unison.

At that moment, an exceptionally handsome and arrogant young man stepped forward. He was dressed in a silver-blue light armor, with a lion-head belt cinching his waist, his hair tied high in a tail secured by a delicate silver hairpin.

The young man's expression was grim as he said, "You're all at the foot of the mountain, yet you still hesitate to ascend. Do you intend to wait for Mo Weiyu to crawl down himself? You bunch of cowardly good-for-nothings!"

His words ignited a commotion among those around him.

"How dare Young Master Xue speak like that? What does he mean by 'cowardice'? In martial affairs, caution is paramount. If everyone were as reckless as you, who would take responsibility when something goes wrong?"

Someone immediately shot back with a mocking laugh, "Haha, Young Master Xue is a favored child of heaven, while we are mere mortals. Since the favored child can't wait to challenge the Human Realm's Emperor, why don't you just head up the mountain first? We'll set up a feast down here and await your return with Mo Weiyu's head. Wouldn't that be splendid?"

The words were spoken with a touch of fervor. An elderly monk from the alliance quickly intervened, stopping the enraged young man. He adopted a demeanor of a refined country gentleman and spoke soothingly.

"Master Xue, please lend me your ear for a moment. The old monk is aware of the deep-seated enmity between you and Mo Weiyu. However, the matter of forcing the palace is of utmost gravity. You must consider the greater good and refrain from acting on impulse."

The much-discussed "Young Master Xue" is named Xue Meng. A decade ago, he was once the darling of the crowd, a brilliant and favored young prodigy.

Yet, times had changed, and the tiger was now in a humble land. He endured the ridicule and mockery of these people, all for the sake of seeing Mo Ran again on the mountain.

Xue Meng's face contorted with anger, his lips trembling. Despite this, he forcefully restrained himself and asked, "Then, when exactly are you planning to wait?"

"At the very least, we should observe the situation further."

"That's right. What if Mo Weiyu has set up an ambush?"

The old monk who had earlier tried to mediate also advised, "Young Master Xue, don't be hasty. We've already reached the foot of the mountain. It's better to be cautious. Anyway, Mo Weiyu is trapped in the palace and can't descend the mountain. He's now a spent force; he can't cause any significant trouble. Why should we rashly act just because of our impatience? There are so many people down here, including esteemed noble clans. If anyone loses their life, who will take responsibility?"

Xue Meng suddenly flew into a rage. "Responsibility? Let me ask you, who can take responsibility for my master's life? Mo Ran has imprisoned my master for ten years! A full decade! My master is right there on the mountain. How can I possibly wait?"

Upon hearing Xue Meng mention his master, the expressions of the crowd faltered.

Some looked ashamed, while others glanced around guiltily and mumbled incoherently.

"Ten years ago, Mo Ran declared himself the Heaven-Stepping Lord and slaughtered everyone in the Confucian Wind Sect's seventy-two cities. He didn't stop there but planned to wipe out the remaining nine major sects as well. Later, when Mo Ran became emperor, he wanted to exterminate all of you. Who stopped him both times? If not for my master risking his life to protect you, would you still be alive? Would you be standing here talking to me unscathed?"

Eventually, someone cleared their throat and spoke gently, "Young Master Xue, please don't be angry. We... all feel guilty and are grateful for Master Chu. But, as you said, he's been imprisoned for ten years. If anything were to happen, it would have happened long ago... So, you've waited for ten years, so what's the rush now? Don't you think so?"

"Yeah? Go to hell with your 'yeah'!"

The man's eyes widened. "How can you swear at people?"

"Why wouldn't I scold you? Master distanced himself from the situation, all for the sake of saving people like... like..."

He couldn't continue, his voice catching in his throat. "It's not fair to him."

By the end of his speech, Xue Meng abruptly turned his head, his shoulders quivering as he held back tears.

"We never said we wouldn't save Master Chu..."

"Exactly. Everyone remembers the kindness of Master Chu. We haven't forgotten. But for you, Young Master Xue, to speak like this, it's as if you're accusing us all of being ungrateful, which is too much to bear."

"But wasn't Mo Ran also Master Chu's disciple?" someone whispered. "In my opinion, if a disciple goes astray, the master should take responsibility too. As they say, if a child misbehaves, it's the father's fault; if a student doesn't learn, it's the teacher's fault. This is only natural, so what's there to complain about?"

This was rather harsh, and someone immediately called out, "What nonsense are you spouting! Watch your tongue!"

Then they turned to soothe Xue Meng with a kinder tone.

"Young Master Xue, please don't be hasty..."

Xue Meng violently interrupted, his eyes bulging with rage. "How could I not be desperate? You can afford to talk because you're not in my shoes, but that's my Master! Mine!!! I haven't seen him in so many years! I don't know if he's alive or dead, how he's been doing. Why do you think I'm standing here?"

He gasped, his eyes reddening. "Do you really think that just by waiting here, Mo Weiyu will come down the mountain and beg for mercy at your feet?"

"Master Xue..."

"I have no one left in this world except my Master," Xue Meng wriggled free from the old monk's grip on his sleeve, his voice hoarse. "If you won't go, then I'll go myself."

With that, he mounted the mountain alone, sword in hand.

A chilly, damp wind swept through the rustling leaves, as if countless vengeful spirits whispered and wandered through the misty forest.

Xue Meng reached the summit alone, where the magnificent palace where Mo Ran resided was illuminated by peaceful candlelight. He suddenly noticed three graves before the Tower of Heaven. Approaching them, he saw that the first tomb was overgrown with green grass, and the crooked epitaph read "Empress Qingzhen Chu Ji's Memorial."

Opposite this "Steamed Empress" was a freshly dug grave, its soil still fresh. The inscription read "Empress Youpao Song's Memorial."

"..."

If this absurd sight had appeared more than ten years ago, Xue Meng would undoubtedly have burst into laughter.

Back then, he and Mo Ran were both disciples under the same master. Mo Ran was the most mischievous and joke-loving disciple. Even though Xue Meng had long found him irritating, he couldn't help but chuckle at some of Mo Ran's antics.

This "Steamed Empress" and "Fried Empress" business was baffling. It must have been some sort of epitaph that Scholar Mo had composed for his two wives, with a style similar to "Turtle," "Quack," and "Spear Done." But why he would choose such titles for his empresses was anyone's guess.

Xue Meng looked at the third tomb.

Under the moonlight, the grave was open, revealing a coffin inside. However, it was empty, and there was no inscription on the tombstone.

In front of the grave, though, stood a flask of pear blossom white wine, a bowl of cold red oil wontons, and a few plates of spicy appetizers – all dishes that Mo Ran enjoyed.

Staring at it blankly for a moment, Xue Meng suddenly felt a chill in his heart. Could it be that Mo Weiyu had already given up on resistance, dug his own grave, and resolved himself to die?

Cold sweat broke out on his forehead.

He refused to believe it. Mo Ran was someone who never gave up until the very end. He never knew fatigue or surrender. With his temperament, he would surely fight the rebel army to the bitter end. So how could he...

In those ten years when Mo Ran stood at the pinnacle of power, what did he see? What had truly transpired?

No one knew.

Xue Meng turned and disappeared into the night, dashing swiftly toward the brightly lit Wushan Palace.

Within the Wu Mountain Temple, Mo Ran's eyes were tightly shut, his face deathly pale.

Xue Meng had guessed correctly. He was indeed determined to die. The grave outside was the one he had dug for himself. An hour ago, he had dismissed his servants using a teleportation spell and consumed a deadly poison. With his high cultivation, the poison spread slowly within his body, amplifying the excruciating pain of his organs being devoured.

The temple doors creaked open.

Mo Ran didn't lift his head but spoke with a hoarse voice, "Xue Meng. It's you, right? You've come?"

Standing alone on the golden tiles inside the hall, Xue Meng's ponytail hung loose, his light armor shimmering softly.

Former fellow disciples reunited, yet Mo Ran showed no emotion. Leaning on one cheek, he sat sideways, his thick, long eyelashes casting a curtain over his eyes.

Everyone said he was a monstrous devil with three heads and six arms, but in reality, he was quite handsome. His nose had a gentle curve, his lips were thin and moist, and his natural appearance exuded a mild sweetness. Anyone who looked at him would think he was an obedient and kind-hearted person.

Seeing Mo Ran's color, Xue Meng knew he had indeed taken the poison. A jumble of emotions swirled in his heart, leaving him speechless for a moment. Eventually, he clenched his fists and asked, "Where is Shifu?"

"…What?"

Xue Meng shouted fiercely, "I'm asking you, where is Shifu?! Your Shifu, my Shifu, our Shifu?!"

"Oh," Mo Ran hummed softly, finally opening his eyes, which held a hint of purple within their black depths, to rest upon Xue Meng across the expanse of time.

"It's been five years since you last saw your Shifu, counting from our parting at Treading Snow Palace in Kunlun."

As Mo Ran spoke, he gave a slight smile.

"Xue Meng, do you miss him?"

"Stop the nonsense! Give him back to me!"

Mo Ran looked at him calmly, enduring the spasms of pain in his stomach. With a mocking curl of his lips, he leaned back against the imperial throne.

Darkness swam before his eyes, and he could almost feel his organs twisting, dissolving into foul, putrid blood.

"In your dreams," Mo Ran drawled lazily. "How foolish. Do you really think, given the deep enmity between Shifu and me, that I would allow him to continue living?"

"You—" Xue Meng paled, his eyes widening as he stumbled backward. "You couldn't… You wouldn't…"

"What wouldn't I?" Mo Ran chuckled softly. "Tell me, what makes you so sure?"

Xue Meng's voice trembled as he said, "But he's your... he's still your master... How could you do this to him?!"

He looked up at Mo Ran, who sat high on the imperial throne. In Heaven, there was Fu Xi, in the Netherworld, there was Yan Luo, and in the mortal realm, there was Mo Weiyu.

But to Xue Meng, even if Mo Ran had become the mortal realm's emperor, he shouldn't have transformed into this person.

Xue Meng's entire body was trembling with hatred, tears rolling down his cheeks. "Mo Weiyu, are you still human? He once..."

Mo Ran raised his eyes indifferently. "What did he do?"

Xue Meng stammered, "You should know how he treated you back then..."

Mo Ran suddenly smiled. "Are you reminding me that he once beat me until I was covered in wounds, forcing me to kneel and confess my crimes in front of everyone? Or are you reminding me that he once stood in front of me for you, for unrelated people, repeatedly obstructing my plans and spoiling my great endeavors?"

Xue Meng shook his head in agony. "..."

No, Mo Ran.

Think carefully. Put aside your monstrous hatred. Look back.

He once taught you to cultivate and train, ensuring your safety.

He once instructed you in calligraphy and reading, composing poetry and painting.

He once learned to cook for you, clumsily injuring his hands in the process.

He once... he once waited for you day and night, alone, from dusk till dawn...

With so much to say, Xue Meng could only choke out in the end:

"He... His temper was awful, and his words were harsh, but even I knew how well he treated you. Why... How could you be so heartless?"

Xue Meng lifted his head, holding back an ocean of tears. His throat constricted, preventing him from speaking further.

After a long pause, Mo Ran's soft sigh echoed through the hall. He said, "Yes, that's true."

"But do you know, Xue Meng?" Mo Ran's voice carried a profound weariness. "He also once caused the death of the only person I have ever deeply loved. The one and only."

A long, deathly silence followed.

His stomach ached as if seared by blazing flames, his flesh torn into countless fragments of debris.

"But still, we were master and disciple. His remains are in the Red Lotus Water Pavilion on the Southern Peak. He's lain within a lotus, preserved well, just like he's sleeping," Mo Ran said, catching his breath and trying to appear composed. As he spoke, his face was expressionless, his fingers resting on a purple sandalwood table, their knuckles pale and blue.

"His body relies solely on my spiritual energy to keep it from decaying. If you miss him, don't waste your breath here with me. Hurry and go while I'm still alive."

A metallic sweetness rose in his throat, and Mo Ran coughed, blood staining his lips as he spoke again, but his gaze remained relaxed.

He rasped, "Go. Go see him. If you're too late, when I die and my spiritual energy is severed, he'll turn to ashes."

With that, he closed his eyes wearily, the poison invading his heart, the flames tormenting him.

The pain was so excruciating that even Xue Meng's anguished cries sounded distant, as if transmitted through a vast ocean from underwater.

Blood continuously trickled from the corners of his mouth, and Mo Ran clutched at his sleeves, his muscles convulsing.

Through blurred vision, he saw Xue Meng had already run away. The boy's lightness of foot wasn't bad; it wouldn't take him long to reach the Southern Peak from here.

He should be able to see their master one last time.

Mo Ran struggled to his feet, swaying unsteadily. With bloodstained fingers, he formed a sealsign, teleporting himself before the Tower of Heaven at the summit of Life and Death Peak.

It was deep autumn, a season when the flowering crabapples blossomed luxuriantly.

He didn't know why he had chosen this place to end his sinful life. Yet, as the flowers bloomed so vibrantly, it seemed a fitting final resting place.

He reclined within the open coffin, gazing up at the nocturnal blossoms as they silently withered and fell.

They drifted into the coffin, brushed against his cheeks. Fluttering down like memories fading away.

In this life, he began as an impoverished bastard and, after countless trials, became the sole Imperial Sovereign of the Mortal Realm.

He was wicked to the core, his hands stained with blood. His loves, hates, desires, and despairs ultimately left nothing behind.

In the end, he didn't inscribe a single word on his own grave marker. Neither the shameless "Sovereign of the Ages" nor the absurd "Deep-Fried" or "Steamed" would do. He wrote nothing at all. The tomb of the founding emperor of the cultivation world remained untouched by a single phrase.

The farce that had dragged on for a decade finally drew to a close.

Many hours later, when the crowd brandished their torches like a fiery serpent, invading the Imperial Palace, they found only an empty Wu Mountain Hall, a barren Peak of Life and Death, and Xue Meng, prostrate amidst the ashes beside the Red Lotus Water Pavilion, his sobs having long since turned numb.

Moreover, there was Mo Weiyu, whose lifeless body had long since grown cold before the Tower of Heaven.

Author's Note: Apologies for the wait, though I doubt anyone is still waiting. Hahahaha.

Update Schedule: Daily at 10 PM.