The Husky and His White Cat Shizun

Chapter 236: The Demise at Dragon Blood Mountain

After leaving Dragon Mountain, Mo Ran moved like a statue made of clay and wood, his gaze slightly unfocused as he walked alone in silence.

At a fork in the road, he stood in a daze.

The great battle had ended, and the sun was rising in the east, washing away the darkness with its morning glow. Only the scent of dew and green grass lingered in the forest, like a layer of greasy makeup floating in the dawn light.

He turned back, gazing at the towering peaks. Then he looked ahead at the road. Straight ahead lay Linling Island, where Xue Meng and his uncle were waiting for him, seeking an explanation and a resolution. But he couldn't go there; he needed to go to Dragon Blood Mountain.

Mo Ran intuitively understood that Master Huaiwei knew far more than he had imagined. Otherwise, he wouldn't have remained so calm when he saw the Immortal Trampler. Perhaps because of this, Mo Ran felt even more uncertain about what awaited him ahead.

His mind was already in chaos, and he didn't have the energy to ponder it further. In the end, he could only numbly acknowledge one thing:

He had to go, because his Master was there.

Dragon Blood Mountain loomed near Temple of No Sorrow. In years past, monks would occasionally ascend the mountain to meditate, practice Zen, and seek enlightenment. However, the mountain was often shrouded in illusions, and many people claimed to have encountered ghostly barriers that trapped them inside. As a result, it gradually became a deserted mountain.

Mo Ran rode his sword swiftly, traveling all day, and finally reached the foot of Dragon Blood Mountain as the sun set. He hadn't eaten or drunk anything all day and was exhausted, so when he spotted a clear stream trickling through the cypress trees, he walked over, scooped up some water, and washed his face.

First, the dirt washed away, followed by melting blood, revealing his face reflected in the rippling water.

It was not an ugly face, but as Mo Ran gazed at it, he felt an inexplicable disgust and revulsion. He violently struck the surface of the water, shattering the reflection, then promptly closed his eyes and buried his face in his palms, almost painfully rubbing his cheeks.

Was there any perfect solution in this world that could completely sever a person's past from their present? Was there some sharp instrument that could excavate putrid memories from one's mind?

Was there anyone who could save him, who could tell him, "You are not Heaven-Stepping Lord; you are Mo Ran, just Mo Weiyu."

But when he opened his eyes, the water had regained its calm, and the man in the reflection continued to glare at him with resentment and despair.

He knew there was no escape.

Rising to his feet, he started up the mountain.

Halfway up, a sudden mist descended without warning, thick enough to obscure one's vision entirely.

At first, Mo Ran suspected it was a malevolent presence, but upon sensing it, he detected no trace of evil aura.

It was growing late, and occasionally, the mournful cries of cuckoos echoed through the forest. The surroundings grew colder, and the sunlight faded bit by bit, casting the wilderness into darkness.

"Master?"

His voice was slightly hoarse as he stroked the air while moving forward.

"Venerable Huai Zui?"

No one answered him.

Oddly, despite virtually stumbling blindly along the way, he encountered no obstacles. The path was unnervingly smooth, as if someone had long since set a trap in the depths of the fog, awaiting his lone arrival, luring him into a snare.

"Is anyone there?"

The mist gradually dissipated.

The scenery before his eyes became increasingly clear. The dense fog receded, revealing the mountains, rocks, and vines before him.

He realized that without realizing it, he had arrived at an open, level area. When he turned back, the path he had come from was still obscured by fog. Only this particular spot was graced with lush vegetation and a bright moon and stars.

He stepped on the dew-soaked withered grass, continuing forward, and then he heard the figure of someone behind him.

Mo Ran was taken aback, then he rushed forward in alarm, calling out, "Shifu?!"

Chu Wanning was facing away from him, kneeling beside a cave hidden by purple wisteria. Before him, Master Huaiwei sat with his eyes lowered, his expression grave and silent.

"Shifu! You—"

He was suddenly struck dumb, for he saw Chu Wanning turn his head, his eyelashes wet, tears streaking down his cheeks.

Mo Ran was stunned. "What's wrong?"

Chu Wanning didn't reply. He had always held himself back, ever since a long time ago. He had always been high above everyone else, stern and imposing. It seemed as if he had been born an elder, a celestial lord, without any youthful or vulnerable moments.

"Mo Ran..."

But this time, he had used all his strength just to say two words, and the sobbing he had been holding back could no longer be contained, spilling from his lips.

Mo Ran murmured as he stepped forward, walking to Chu Wanning's side. He knelt down and embraced him tightly. "...Why? Why are you crying?"

As he spoke, he lowered his head and stroked Chu Wanning's hair. Chu Wanning's body was cold, but at this moment, having found him and being able to hold him close, Mo Ran felt a burning warmth in his heart.

Each moment of peace he experienced was stolen, and every word exchanged with Chu Wanning felt like an erroneous gift from the heavens. He treasured each additional moment, unwilling to take them for granted.

"Shh, it's alright," Mo Ran said, embracing Chu Wanning within his warm, broad chest despite his own vulnerability. "It's okay, I'm here. I've come for you."

As he spoke, Mo Ran kissed Chu Wanning's forehead. In that instant, he realized that the Chu Wanning sobbing and trembling in his arms, clutching at his clothes, resembled the young junior brother who would never return to the Peach Blossom Spring.

No one is born invincible; Chu Wanning must have had his youthful days too.

A chill ran down Mo Ran's spine as he vaguely grasped the truth. Gently holding the quivering Chu Wanning, he kissed him, stroked his hair, and glanced at Master Huaiwei.

The old monk sat on a cold, massive rock, his brows furrowed, and eyelashes lowered. His eyes were half-closed, devoid of life, as he held a peach blossom in his hand, leaning slightly forward as if to offer it to someone. But that person must have declined his kindness, for the flower had wilted, leaving only a few remaining petals clinging to the branch.

Master Huaiwei had passed away.

This man, who carried many myths and mysteries, didn't seem to find any solace in his final moments. His expression was one of agony.

What made it even more heart-wrenching was that after his death, his face no longer retained the appearance of a man in his thirties. He had become an aged, thorny monk, and for some unknown reason, a tiny golden insect was visibly devouring his face.

"This insect..."

"It's a Righteous Worm," Chu Wanning finally spoke, his voice hoarse and frightening. "Those who despise their appearance often form a blood pact with this kind of worm. The Righteous Worm can alter the host's appearance. In return, when the host dies, the worm will devour their entire body."

Hearing him struggle to maintain an even tone as he spoke slowly, Mo Ran held him closer. The person in his arms must have been kneeling here for a very long time, for their limbs were icy cold.

From past to present, Chu Wanning had always been his lighthouse, his flame, dispelling his darkness and offering warmth within his reach.

But now, holding onto him, Mo Ran felt as if the person in his embrace was made of ice.

So cold.

It pierced his heart with pain.

"I'm here, I'm right here."

"He asked me to come to Dragon Blood Mountain a long time ago." Chu Wanning seemed utterly exhausted, as if someone had drained all the warmth from his veins and filled them instead with endless suffering and torment.

"He knew I wouldn't want to speak to him face-to-face or listen to any of his explanations. So he left me a letter, filled with earnest words, but I was stubborn and refused to believe him... I suspected him."

Mo Ran caressed his cheek, a sight he had never before witnessed in this or any previous life.

It left him profoundly unsettled. He asked, "What on earth happened?"

But Chu Wanning's response was hollow. "I was suspicious of him..."

This man, always composed and rational, had finally cracked.

He was like a hornbow whose string had snapped after being stretched to its limit. Trembling uncontrollably in Mo Ran's embrace, he appeared so hopeless, so pitiful.

Bent and curled up, Chu Wanning—someone who had been tense for half his life—collapsed, unleashing a torrent of pent-up sorrow: "I should have come here sooner... If I had listened to him, none of this would have happened. Nangong wouldn't be dead, Shi Mo wouldn't be blind. There was still time... there was still time."

"Master."

"If I had listened to what that letter said, it wouldn't have ended like this..."

It took Mo Ran a long while to soothe him somewhat. After a long time, Chu Wanning finally stopped crying, but his gaze was unfocused. As Mo Ran held his fingertips, he found them impossible to warm, just as the subtle trembling refused to cease.

"Why wouldn't I trust him again…?"

Mo Ran listened silently. In truth, during their journey, due to the influence of the Immortal Devouring Emperor, Mo Ran had imagined countless scenarios for their reunion with Chu Wanning and prepared numerous explanations and pleas.

But he found that none of them were applicable now.

He hadn't anticipated that their meeting would unfold in such a manner.

"He… left behind a Scroll of Remembrance…" Finally, Chu Wanning gradually calmed down. As Mo Ran stroked his cheek, which was cold to the touch, he continued, "… Before he left, he kept hoping you would come and receive it from him personally."

Upon hearing that it concerned himself, Mo Ran's fingertips froze.

A Scroll of Remembrance?

What could it contain? What did Master Huaiui know?

Mo Ran felt his hand growing cold, his hairs standing on end as an icy chill ran through his bones.

Chu Wanning's voice was hoarse as he said, "But he couldn't wait any longer. His lifespan had reached its end." Upon finishing, it seemed as though a sore spot had been touched, causing his brows to furrow as he fell silent.

Perhaps he was afraid that saying another word would cause him to break down once more.

With his arm shielding his eyes, Chu Wanning composed himself, slowly piecing together the fragments of his shattered composure, serenity, aloofness, and dependability. He picked up those shards and dressed them back onto himself with deliberation.

He was ultimately unaccustomed to being weak.

Finally, Chu Wanning lifted his damp phoenix-like eyes and drew the scroll from his bosom, handing it to Mo Ran.

"All the secrets he knew are within this."

There was an almost imperceptible quiver in Mo Ran's voice as he asked, "Did he show this to you too?"

"Yes," Chu Wanning replied.

Mo Ran felt a chill run down his spine.

Staring into Chu Wanning's eyes, he had a terrifying thought in that moment.

It seemed to him that Chu Wanning already knew everything.

Taking up the scroll, its axis crafted from verdant jade.

Yet, he suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of unease, causing him to grasp Chu Wanning's fingers tightly and caress them gently.

"Wanning..."

"..."

"If everything that person... told you about Dragon Mountain is true, would you hate me?"

Chu Wanning's complexion was already pale, but now it had turned utterly lifeless, his lips tinged with an eerie blue.

"Will you hate me?"

Mo Ran held his hand with an immense strength, stubborn and almost primal. Yet, in stark contrast to that force, there was the pleading in his soft, fluttering eyelashes.

"Will you?"

Chu Wanning shook his head without responding. He closed his eyes, "Read the scroll."

The scroll left behind by Venerable Huaizui was imbued with a heavy Yin energy, quite different from ordinary mortal spells and closer to the illusory realm created by the Feathered people of Peach Blossom Spring.

Mo Ran gazed deeply at Chu Wanning once more before unfolding the scroll, pressing the luminous painting against his brow.

The scene of Dragon Blood Mountain vanished, replaced by an endless abyss of darkness. In the gloom, Huaizui's voice echoed, tinged with regret, resonating in Mo Ran's ears.

"Grandmaster Chu, Patron Mo, this old monk is aware that my time is running out. But seeing how the world is changing and great calamity looms, if I do not impart what little knowledge I possess to aid both of you, I would be overwhelmed with guilt even in the depths of hell."

There was a pause, then the voice continued slowly.

"The events recorded in this scroll are beyond belief, including my own past misdeeds that cannot be concealed. I am well aware of my wasted life, weighed down by sins of the past, compounded by my foolishness and narrow-mindedness. In these two hundred years of borrowed time, there were scarce moments of clarity, and the good deeds I've done are pitifully few. My life has been plagued by guilt, and there is no redemption for me; after death, I will descend into the realm of unending suffering, never to attain reincarnation. Yet, I still harbor a wish that upon reading this, neither of you will despise me or consider me...less than a beast."

A faint light began to illuminate Mo Ran's vision. Blinking, he saw ruins and withered trees, crows picking at eyes and guts.

Startled, he felt a strange sense of familiarity, but couldn't immediately place it.

It wasn't until a group of people rode up to the city gates, their foreheads adorned with rings, carrying feathered arrows on their backs, and riding skinny horses, that a young man suddenly pulled on his reins, tumbling off his mount to rush towards a corpse at the entrance, shouting, "Father! Papa!"

Mo Ran was startled, feeling a chill run down his spine.

This is...

the Feathered Immortals' Peach Blossom Paradise Illusion?

Is this Ancient Linan amidst the flames of war?!!