The Husky and His White Cat Shizun

Chapter 259: "Heavenly Sound Pavilion" and Sharing the Same Cloak

Someone asked, "How can you remember all of that so clearly? It was so long ago."

How could he forget? In Jiang Xi's memory in the Upper Realm, it was an unremarkable half-year. In Xue Zhengyong's memory in the Lower Realm, it was a year filled with much contemplation. But in Mo Ran's memory, it was 35 days of growing despair, each one feeling like a year. Every day was worse than death, every moment akin to being in hell.

Back then, when the price hike order was issued, people were gripped with fear. Duan Yihan and the child could not get enough food, so they had to rely on scavenging for wilted vegetables and moldy grains to stave off hunger. As more and more people went hungry, even the vegetable scraps became scarce. Trapped in their predicament, Mo Ran couldn't help but suggest to Duan Yihan, "Mother, why don't we go to the Confucian Wind Sect and ask him for some food?"

Duan Yihan muttered, "We can't beg from him."

Begging on the streets and performing for food were desperate measures, but asking Nan Gongyan for help carried a different meaning altogether.

Though Duan Yihan was destitute, she refused to cross that last line.

Since she wouldn't agree, Mo Ran didn't push the matter further.

The child wasn't noticeable, and he was unexpectedly agile. On the ninth day after the price hike order, he finally managed to sneakily steal a white radish from a field.

Duan Yihan carefully hid the white radish, cooking only a fist-sized portion each day for the two of them to share. By their eighth meal, the radish had already spoiled. But with no other sustenance in sight for days on end, Duan Yihan sliced the remaining rotten radish in half and eked out a few more days.

On the twenty-first day of the price hike, they finished the last bit of the radish and could find nothing else to curb their hunger.

The twenty-fifth day arrived.

Heavy rain poured down from the sky, and earthworms emerged from the soil. Mo Ran gathered them together, collected some rainwater, and cooked them for food.

The slimy texture of the worms was nauseating, but Mo Ran muttered apologies to these scrawny creatures, acknowledging that he had no other choice but to fill his belly. If he could just survive this period, these worms would be his saviors. Heaven have mercy, he didn't want to eat his saviors again. When would this nightmare end?

The twenty-eighth day.

Mo Ran fell ill with a fever.

Even a child with exceptional talent and high spiritual energy couldn't withstand such prolonged starvation and hardship.

Duan Yihan, too, had long lost her strength, her eyes hollow and lifeless.

That day, while Mo Ran slept, she finally made up her mind. She got up and left the shed they were staying in, slowly making her way towards the towering, majestic city of the Confucian Wind Sect. She had her own bottom line; she would rather die than beg for food from Nan Gongyan.

Yet an innocent child was blameless. He was still so young; how could he accompany her in leaving this world?

By now, the people in the grand hall all wore compassionate expressions. Regardless of whether Mo Weiyu was guilty or not, the events of those bygone years were indeed too tragic.

Someone softened their tone and sighed, asking, "Did you get it?"

"No," Mo Ran replied. "I had bad luck. When I arrived, Nan Gongyan was in the middle of an argument with his wife."

He paused before continuing, "The moment that city lord's wife saw my mother, she flew into a rage. She had a fiery temper and not only refused to give my mother even a morsel of food, but also had her beaten and expelled from the Confucian Wind Sect."

"What about Nan Gongyan?"

"I don't know," Mo Ran said. "My mother didn't mention him."

Perhaps he had tried to stop it, or perhaps he had just stood by helplessly.

Mo Ran didn't know exactly what had transpired that day; he only knew that when his mother returned, she was covered in scars. She curled up in the woodshed, holding him without speaking. Later, she began coughing up blood, spitting out bloody froth and stomach acid, filling the room with a putrid stench.

The thirty-fourth day.

Duan Yihan was on the verge of collapse, barely able to speak or shed tears.

That night, she stirred from her stupor, regaining some strength. Seeing Mo Ran huddled beside her, trying to warm her with his slender body, she spoke to him softly and tenderly, "Little Ran, if there's any way, return to Xiangtan."

"Mother..."

"Return to Xiangtan and seek Sister Xun. Go to repay your gratitude," Duan Yihan stroked Mo Ran's hair. "Go to Xiangtan to repay your debt, not stay in Lin Yi for vengeance... Listen to your mother, behave well... When your mother came to Lin Yi, she owed your Sister Xun a great deal, a debt that can never be repaid... You go back and be by her side, help her with tasks and bring her joy. In the days to come, always remember to cherish the kindness others show you."

Mo Ran looked up at her emaciated face in the shack, tears welling in his eyes.

Duan Yihan's eyes shimmered with an inky luster, almost verging on a grape-like purple.

"And then, repay the kindness."

That was the calculation Duan Yihan made for Mo Ran before her passing.

She was afraid that after she was gone, her child might stray down the wrong path. Thus, she exhorted him time and again to leave this place of sorrow, no matter what.

If a person has a goal to strive for, they are less likely to dwell on melancholy thoughts or become trapped in the depths of hatred.

She gave him a purpose - to repay her kindness, not seek revenge.

Not vengeance.

The thirty-fifth day.

The absurd price hike was finally revoked amidst the uproar, after lasting only a month and five days.

For the wealthy, it was as if a farce had come to an end. Lin Yi was shrouded in chaos, while they lazily awoke in their warm beds, received mouthwash perfumed with eight treasures from their servants, cleaned their teeth, and upon hearing the news of the price hike's cancellation, they merely grumbled and yawned.

It was all insignificant to them.

But for Mo Ran, it was a most exhilarating turn of events.

No longer needing to worry about food, kind souls on the streets reappeared. Mo Ran managed to beg for a cake, even a meager bowl of watery meat porridge.

He couldn't bear to take a sip, holding it carefully in his hands. He wanted to rush back home and present it to his ailing mother.

Such a nourishing treat, surely Mother would recover if she drank it, wouldn't she?

Eager to save his mother's life with this bowl of porridge, he dared not rush home. The bowl was cracked with a large gash on the side; it would be such a waste if the precious contents were spilled during his haste.

He returned to the shed with a mix of excitement and anxiety.

"Mother—!"

With the broken bowl cradled in both hands, he used his dirty head to nudge open the dilapidated wooden door, his face beaming with hope for the future.

How wonderful, he thought. With this meat porridge, Mother would soon recover. Spring had arrived, and they could finally journey back to Lin Yi. There, they would find prosperity, no more hunger, and a kind sister named Xun. They would no longer have to wander and beg for survival.

How wonderful, to return home together.

With a creak, the door opened.

"In there," Mo Ran said calmly in the Danxin Hall.

Others were either surprised by his indifference or chilled by his callousness.

This person spoke of his mother's passing with an unnerving calmness, devoid of emotion or sorrow, not even a single tear shed.

Yet, no one could fathom the countless years of longing and heartache it must have taken to heal those wounds, to forge that unflappable facade.

"I called out to her, but she didn't stir," Mo Ran said. "She would never open her eyes again, nor taste that bowl of congee."

A long silence ensued.

Madame Wang's voice quivered as she asked, "So... after that, you... you returned to Lin Yi alone?"

Mo Ran shook his head. "I went to the Confucian Wind Sect."

Someone gasped, "You... You went to seek revenge?"

"My mother said, repay kindness, not seek vengeance," Mo Ran replied indifferently. "I had no intention of seeking revenge; I only wanted to give my mother a proper burial. But I had no money, and there was no time to gather funds. So, I went to his residence, begging him for some financial assistance."

"Did he give it to you?"

Mo Ran almost smiled, saying, "No."

"No? But based on what you said earlier, Nan Gongyan still had feelings for your mother in his heart. How could he not even have the money to mourn her properly?"

Mo Ran replied, "That's because his first wife also took her own life not long ago."

"What?!"

Jiang Xi narrowed his eyes. "...Nan Gongyan's wife did indeed pass away early, and it was by suicide..."

"That woman was pregnant at the time, but her husband was entangled with someone else. After giving birth, they constantly fought, and their lives were full of misery. On that day, my mother went to their residence to look for them, and when she encountered her, the woman became even more furious. It's said that she stabbed Nan Gongyan with a knife, angering him so much that he threatened to divorce her."

Mo Ran paused slightly before continuing, "She couldn't bear it and hanged herself that very night. She actually passed away a few days before my mother."

Upon hearing this, everyone was at a loss for words. A fleeting romance between a wayward young nobleman had ended tragically with the beauty's demise and the destruction of his own family. Such was the cycle of cause and effect in the world.

"When I appeared, Nan Gongyan was being scolded by the sect leader, and his wife's family was there as well. They were prominent merchants from Lin Yi," Mo Ran continued. "Nan Gongyan had already been thoroughly berated and was filled with resentment. When he suddenly saw me, how could he still have any good temper?"

Madame Wang, with the softest heart, knew that Mo Ran wasn't biologically related to her but still felt immense sorrow. Tears welled up in her eyes as she said, "Ran'er..."

Mo Ran truly didn't wish to delve into this past event.

The expression on Nan Gongyan's face at that time, and the faces of those present mourning her.

And Madam Nan's funeral hall—filled with golden and silver decorations, paper figurines, mountains of ritual implements, brocaded soul-calling banners, and a lustrous black golden nanmu coffin. There was so much.

Hundreds knelt on either side, weeping as they kept vigil for that woman who had taken her own life.

Long-lasting lamps burned with whale oil, and ninety-nine heart-shaped incense coils silently smoldered. The wind dispersed the smoke, and the scent of powdered incense fell like a gentle rain.

It was an excessively lively scene.

But what about his mother?

Xiangtan's immortal, Duan Yihan, had only a tattered garment that she might never wear again and a scrawny young son.

Not even a straw mat to wrap her body in.

"Your fate is limited, and you cannot reach beyond it."

—Those were the words Nan Gongyan spoke to Mo Ran in the depths of his fury and despair.

And before the very eyes of the Sect Leader and her in-laws, that man shoved his illegitimate son out the door with brutal force, refusing to acknowledge him.

Madam Nan Gong passed away. Her coffin was lacquered in gold and red, adorned with agate beads and filled with fragrant incense to preserve her body from decay. Silk veils covered her face, and brocades shielded her eyes as she ascended to the heavens on a crane.

Duan Yihan perished, leaving behind only a corpse, a single tear, and an irreparable divide between life and death. According to Nan Gongyan, she didn't even deserve a humble wooden coffin.

So who could claim that death treated all equally?

Fate had always been unjust.

In the end,

her skin remained as delicate as jade,

while she had turned to dust.

"I took her to the mass graves and buried her," Mo Ran said, his words sparse and matter-of-fact.

He didn't elaborate on how he begged passersby for a ride or how he dragged her decaying, stench-ridden body for fourteen days until they reached the outskirts of the city.

He didn't mention how he had manually pushed aside the rubble and loose soil to bury his mother's slender body.

Mo Ran was not accustomed to airing his grievances in front of others.

He had always been someone who kept his past buried deep within, only divulging it when absolutely necessary.

In the first dozen years of his life, he had endured humiliation, malice, contempt, and slander. His heart had become as hard as iron, and he cared little about how others perceived him. He was indifferent to sympathy from others.

"Then I left for Xiangtan."

He could no longer bear to stay in Lin Yi. One day, hiding behind a traveling monk's cart, concealed within a basket, he secretly slipped out of the city.

He began his journey towards the Xiang River, as his mother had instructed, walking for half a year through summer into early winter. When his shoes wore out, he continued on barefoot, eventually developing thick calluses on the soles of his feet.

Traveling and asking for directions, when he reached the outskirts of Wubei Temple, he finally collapsed from cold and hunger, landing with a thud in a pile of grass.

"A-nyang…" The young child lay on the ground, his disheveled black hair framing a pair of unfocused eyes. He gazed at the vast expanse of sky and land.

It was snowing—the first snow of the winter.

"I'm coming to see you... I'm sorry... I can't hold on anymore..."

Delicate snowflakes descended, as gentle as a sigh, veiling his eyebrows and eyes.

Amidst the haze, footsteps approached, soft and rustling. Then, a pair of hands pushed aside the grass, and he heard a youthful voice, "Master, come quickly! Take a look at him, what's wrong with him?"

After a while, a pair of straw sandals drew near, accompanied by a man's voice, "Leave him be, return first. I'll take a look at him."

The man's voice was calm and detached, devoid of much emotion.

Mo Ran instinctively felt fear. He innately sensed a closeness to the young man and a chill from the other. From an unknown source of strength, his desire to survive urged him to lift his hand, weakly grasping at the corner of the young man's robes before him.

Words yet to be spoken, tears had already started to roll down.

"Food..."

So hungry, please, I crave a meal.

The youth being pulled was none other than Chu Wanning, who had descended the mountain with Huai Wei that day. Startled, he asked, "What?"

Mo Ran barely managed to lift his dirt-streaked face, trembling as he made the gesture of scooping rice, the bitterness choking his throat. Everything before him was blurry and dizzying, with a constant buzzing in his ears.

Tears streaming down his face, he pleaded desperately to the person before him. He knew that if this young master were like the many others he had encountered who had ignored him, then he would surely not survive, would certainly breathe his last. He truly could not endure any more.

"Eat..."

In the end, Chu Wanning fed him a flask of rice soup.

A flask of soup saved a man on the brink of starvation.

After drinking the congee, Mo Ran left Temple Indifferent. His mind was hazy at that time, and all he could recall of "Brother Benefactor" was his slightly slanted phoenix eyes with their thick, long lashes. The rest was a blur.

Nonetheless, throughout the days and nights from Wubei Temple to Xiangtan, he wore the cloak that his benefactor had kindly given him. Being small in stature back then, a garment meant for a youth hung clumsily and comically on him, especially when the hood was drawn up, its brim nearly obscuring his entire face.

Along the way, there were always well-fed children nestled beside their parents, giggling and exclaiming, "Father, Mother, look at that little beggar! What on earth is he wearing? It's so amusing!"

Mo Ran was not angered by this either.

What were the mocking remarks of others to him? He was only grateful that this ill-fitting cloak could shield him from the wind and rain, offering him a touch of warmth amidst the cold world.

Wrapped in it, snowflakes never touched his skin during snowfalls. In the depth of night, darkness couldn't penetrate his heart.

Each evening, he would light a fire and sit by the hearth with his knees drawn up, warming himself. He would cover his head with the cloak, shrinking inside, gazing at the flickering orange flames through its soft fur lining.

The cloak was warm, like Mother's embrace, or Elder Yu Heng's gentle phoenix eyes... The child would curl up and fall asleep, even dreaming of the faint scent on the cloak, as if leaning against a blossoming crabapple tree.

Looking back now, it was no wonder he always found Chu Wanning's scent pleasant. Whenever there was a trace of his presence on the pillow, he could sleep soundly.

Nor was it surprising that when he first saw Elder Yu Heng beneath the Tower of Heaven, he was struck by the tenderness in those downward-curved phoenix eyes, as if he had seen them somewhere before.

Turns out everything was interconnected.

He and Chu Wanning... They had spoken to each other so long ago, shared physical warmth, and he had even licked the palm of Chu Wanning's hand. He had smelled the floral scent on Chu Wanning's clothes from such an early age. It turned out that the brotherly benefactor he had been searching for had always been right beside him, never far away, life or death.

Mo Ran's gaze dropped, and in the chilly Heart-Purifying Palace, a hint of warmth unexpectedly stirred within him.

But this was their secret, Mo Ran thought, bittersweet yet cherished. He held this secret close to his chest, not telling anyone, nor sharing it with the world.

He took a deep breath, paused, then continued, "After arriving in Xiangtan, I followed Mother's last wish and found Xun Fengruo."

Back then, little Mo Ran, only five years old, was bundled up in a thick cloak that belonged to the young Chu Wanning.

The cloak's hem dragged on the ground, already soiled. Peering out from its furry depths was a grubby bird's nest of a head belonging to the child, who lifted his skinny, pale face and asked softly, "Excuse me... is Miss Xun Fengruo here?"

"Xun Fengruo?" The singer he'd grabbed laughed, studying him curiously from head to toe. "The courtesan from the music hall? Although we don't sell our bodies here, most who come for Miss Xun do so because they're more enamored with her looks than her voice. How old are you, little brother, to know to look for her?"

Mo Ran's eyes were wide open, his features clear-cut, but he didn't understand a word she said.

But the girl's mocking gaze was plain to see, and Mo Ran felt embarrassed. He clutched the collar of his cloak tightly, his cheeks turning red. "Please, I want to meet Miss Xun. My, my mother sent me to find her..."

"Ah? Who's your mother?"

"My mother's surname is Duan, her name is Duan Yihan..."

"Ahh!" The singer's expression changed, taking a step back and covering her mouth with a handkerchief. Her once-lazy peach blossom eyes suddenly widened. "You're Du Lianxian's child?"

When Duan Yihan had been famous throughout the land, she never acted haughtily and would often share her extra jewelry and coins with her fellow singers whose beauty and voices had faded over time. So when this performer heard he was the daughter of Miss Duan, her attitude immediately shifted. She hurriedly took him to the warm chamber of the flower hall, where Xun Fengruo lay resting.

Closing the door, Mo Ran knelt before Xun Fengruo and told her the entire story. Xun Fengruo was deeply moved, tears staining her silk robe.

Immediately, she sought out the matron and requested that Mo Ran stay by her side. The matron originally refused, but after repeated pleading from the courtesan and a closer inspection of Mo Ran, who seemed capable of doing some work for the establishment, she reluctantly agreed. Beggars entering the brothel were believed to bring bad luck, so according to custom, all their old belongings had to be burned, and they would be thoroughly cleansed.

Bathing was no issue, but when it came time to burn his clothes, Mo Ran began to cry.

"Why are you crying? I'll buy you new clothes later!" the matron impatiently tapped Mo Ran's head with her water pipe. "Be grateful. Others would be envious that I'm providing food and shelter for you. Look at how poor and wretched you are!"

Mo Ran was afraid he would burden Sister Xun, who had already spoken up for him so much.

So he bit his lip and tried his best to hold back his tears, rubbing his reddened eyes as he stood silently before the fire, sniffing.

He truly couldn't understand at that moment why this was happening. Why did he just want to keep one old garment, yet because he was weak, lowly, and a filthy beggar, he had to let others strip it from him to avoid bringing them bad luck or trouble? He couldn't resist, couldn't say "no," and not even his right to shed tears was spared.

It had given him so much warmth, comfort, and support. It had grown so dirty that its original color was unrecognizable, all for the sake of protecting him from wind and rain.

Now that he had a place to stay, he might never need it again. He only wanted to clean it carefully, fold it neatly, and store it away in a small box, even if he never wore it again. It was his friend, more than just an old cloak.

But everything was beyond his control.

With a loud boom, the cloak, covered in grime, was thrown into the flames. To the person discarding it, it was merely trash, and they even washed their hands afterwards as if they were dirty. But to Mo Ran, it was a cremation, a funeral.

He watched it all unfold before his eyes.

Flames surged upward, engulfing the magnificent earthly scene in a blur.

---

"Sip slowly... there's more if you need it..."

"Where are you from, exactly...?"

His ears still echoed with the gentle voice of that youth. It was one of the few acts of kindness he had received in his humble life.

All reduced to ashes now.

Thus, Mo Ran came to be adopted by the matron of the Drunken Jade Tower, taking her surname and becoming known as Mo Ran. From then on, he became a lowly errand boy within the establishment, finally experiencing some semblance of peace.

But such tranquil times didn't last long. Xun Fengruo was already quite aged by then, and according to the tower's rules, although the music hall was not a brothel, once a girl reached a certain age, if she had not earned a substantial "self-pity fee," her maiden night would be sold by the matron to wealthy gentlemen and merchants.

Xun Fengruo was not worried; she had long since amassed great wealth for the Drunken Jade Tower.

"Still 150,000 gold coins short," Xun Fengruo had smiled at Mo Ran back then, "Little Ran, once your big sister has earned enough, I'll be able to buy my freedom. Sister will take you to live a good life."

Mo Ran, assigned to the kitchen, seldom saw her; the nanny made sure to prevent any cliques from forming within the Drunken Jade Tower, so Xun Fengruo's meetings with Mo Ran were always secretive.

She reached out and pinched his cheek before slipping him a handful of sweets. "Shh, take these. It's a shame I can't give you money, or we'd be found out. Old Mother's eyes are sharp, hehe."

Mo Ran grinned, revealing his missing baby teeth. "Mm, thank you, Sister Xun."

But could the nanny really not know that Xun Fengruo was only 150,000 gold coins away from freedom?

Though she maintained an outward calm, she was inwardly in a panic.

Without Xun Fengruo, the Drunken Jade Tower would lose most of its income. So the nanny schemed to make one last, huge profit before Xun Fengruo left.

There were many wealthy patrons who lusted after Xun Fengruo's beauty and were willing to pay exorbitant sums – enough for the nanny to live comfortably for the rest of her days. Tempted by greed, the nanny secretly struck a deal with a fabulously rich merchant. They planned to take advantage of the Lantern Festival, when Xun Fengruo would be performing on the balcony, to slip her a drugged cup of tea and then lead her to a room...

That day, Mo Ran had cooked dumplings and carefully carried them to the heated chamber for his Sister Xun to enjoy.

Before he entered, he heard heavy breathing from inside. Startled, Mo Ran pushed open the door, only to be greeted by a pungent scent of incense that almost made him retch.

In the dim light, he saw a greasy, plump merchant resembling a piece of braised pork, drooling at the corners of his mouth with his robe wide open. The man was wriggling on top of the weak and aching Xun Fengruo, who was unable to resist.

"Clang!"

The soup dumpling bowl shattered on the ground as Mo Ran rushed into the room. Summoning an incredible strength that seemed to come from nowhere – he had always been a prodigy since childhood – he fiercely beat up the merchant before firmly pinning the fat man down. He then yelled at Xun Fengruo, who was weeping uncontrollably and utterly bewildered:

"Sister, hurry up and leave!"

"But you..."

"Quick, depart! I cannot leave, I must hold him back! If you don't leave now, when Mother comes, we'll both meet our end here. Hurry, go! Go! Once you're gone, I'll escape immediately!"

Xun Fengruo was his savior.

Mo Ran urged her to leave far behind and escape from Yuezhou, never to return again.

That day, he finally became a hero in the truest sense.

Xun Fengruo choked back sobs as he bowed to Mo Ran before fleeing the building. However, Mo Ran didn't have time to escape. The matron, having heard the commotion, quickly brought her people upstairs. Upon seeing that Mo Ran had struck a distinguished guest and released the courtesan, she was enraged to the point of nearly spitting out blood in fury.

Nanny had a son around the same age as Mo Ran. This son was wicked and devious; upon seeing his mother's intense anger, he hatched a malicious plan – sometimes, a child's malice could be both innocent and horrifying. The boy decided to punish Mo Ran, who had angered his mother, in a manner used for reprimanding livestock.

He fetched a dog cage and had Mo Ran locked inside. The cage was cramped, leaving Mo Ran no choice but to crouch, unable to lie down or stand. They fed him scraps and cold food like they would a dog, and this went on for an entire week.

Seven days trapped within Xun Fengruo's old residence, where the scent of incense intermingled with the stench of a man's bodily fluids.

He crouched, hunched over.

Breathing in the heavy, cloyingly sweet aroma.

It made him want to vomit.

Seven long days.

From that point on, the mere smell of incense would nauseate him, instilling a deep-seated fear and dread that seeped from his bones.