The Husky and His White Cat Shizun

Chapter 279: Yusheng Peak - A Snowy Night Devoted to Life and Death

South Screen Valley.

In the depth of night, snow fell softly outside the thatched cottage.

These past few days, Mo Ran's injuries had worsened. Even with Chu Wanning's Soul Flower Sacrifice Technique to heal him, the effects were negligible.

In the afternoon, he had woken up in a daze once. However, his consciousness remained hazy. Squinting his eyes, he saw Chu Wanning and only cried, apologizing and begging him not to leave. His words were jumbled and incoherent, ending in sobs.

He had been dreaming, wandering through the tumultuous years of his life.

At times, he thought he had just been picked up by Xue Zhengyong. At others, he imagined himself in the five years after losing Chu Wanning.

The one thing he couldn't dream of was the memories stolen by the Eight Miseries Flower of Eternal Hate. The dreams didn't show his efforts, his protection, or his innocence.

"Mo Ran…" Chu Wanning approached his bedside with a freshly cooked bowl of porridge.

The porridge was barely edible, but it was cooked with skills from his past life.

He sat down by the bedside and reached out to touch Mo Ran's forehead.

It was burning hot.

He called out to him, but couldn't rouse him. Chu Wanning waited, until the porridge cooled from warm to cold. He felt that he couldn't let it be like this any longer, so he reheated it with hot water.

He had no idea when Mo Ran would awaken, but if he did, at least he could eat right away.

"It's made with chicken broth, your favorite," Chu Wanning whispered to him. The spiritual energy spell keeping Mo Ran's heart beating never wavered, but Mo Ran remained unresponsive.

Unresponsive meant that once the spiritual energy was severed, he might never open his eyes again.

There was no chance of saving him.

But how could he accept that? How could he be content?

Mo Ran was still alive, his breaths were faint but present. These past days, through day and night, Chu Wanning stayed by his side, watching the rise and fall of his chest, and he clung to hope that everything could still be undone.

It wasn't too late yet.

Chu Wanning recalled a night when Mo Ran had awakened in a daze. There was no lamp lit in the room, yet Mo Ran stared blankly at the candlestick, his dry lips moving slightly.

Chu Wanning was deeply moved and promptly held Mo Ran's hand, asking, "What do you want to say?"

"…Light…."

"What?"

"…Light… I want the light…." Mo Ran gazed at the candlestick he was fated never to ignite, tears trickling down his cheeks. "I want the light to shine…"

In that instant, time overlapped.

It was as if he had been transported back to the days when he first became a disciple. Mo Ran, sick and frail, curled up on the bed, drifting in and out of consciousness.

When Chu Wanning went to visit him, he was softly weeping, calling out for his mother.

Uncertain how to soothe him, Chu Wanning seated himself by the youth's bedside, hesitated for a moment, then lifted his hand to gently stroke the young man's forehead.

The diminutive child wept, saying, "Everything's so dark... Everything's black... Mama... I want to go home..."

Finally, it was Chu Wanning who lit the candlestand, casting a bright glow that illuminated the four walls and his face. As if sensing the warmth of the light, the feverish child opened his lustrous, damp eyes.

"Shifu..."

Chu Wanning acknowledged, tucking the blankets around him. His voice was soft and gentle, "Mo Ran, the light is on... don't be afraid."

After so many years, a single flame flickered once more, casting a warm yellow glow that filled their humble abode, dispelling the endless darkness and chill.

Chu Wanning stroked his hair, calling out to him in a hoarse whisper, "Mo Ran, the light is on."

He wanted to continue, saying, 'don't be afraid.'

But his throat constricted, preventing him from speaking further. Chu Wanning fought back his tears, leaning against Mo Ran's forehead, weeping softly, "The light is on, please wake up, alright?"

"Pay attention to me, alright..."

Like a pool of dreams reflected in the candle's flame, this lamp burned continuously, from its brilliant radiance to its eventual waning.

As the day broke, the sky outside began to turn a pale fish belly white, yet Mo Ran remained with closed eyes. Those days when a mere light could rouse a sleeping youth were long gone.

Never again would he turn back.

Three more nights passed.

During these days, Chu Wanning remained by his bedside each day, tending to him, accompanying him, channeling spirit energy into him, and recounting the events he had forgotten.

At dusk on this particular day, the snowfall had ceased, and a crimson sun hung low in the window, casting its fading glow across the land. A squirrel leapt from a branch laden with snow, causing the white petals of pear blossoms to flutter down like crystalline snowflakes.

The man lying on the bed was bathed in this merciful twilight, his pallid, haggard features gaining a touch of color from the sunset. Underneath his thin eyelids, his pupils shifted—then, as darkness began to descend, he slowly opened his eyes.

After several days of being deeply ill and unconscious, Mo Ran finally awoke.

His gaze was still blank and empty when he first opened his eyes, until he saw Chu Wanning slumped wearily beside him, dozing lightly.

Mo Ran's voice, rough and disoriented, murmured, "Shifu..."

He lay nestled deep within his covers, his consciousness gradually returning. Slowly, he recalled fragments of what Chu Wanning had repeatedly told him between half-waking and half-sleeping states.

A glass of wine during the Mid-Autumn Festival, a handkerchief scented with peach blossoms...and that year at the Red Lotus Water Pavilion, when he had selflessly planted the Eight Sorrows Love-Hate Flower for him.

Is it a dream?

Could it be that his yearning for redemption was so intense that he dreamed of Chu Wanning sharing these stories with him? Could it be that his longing to turn back was so great that he dreamed of Chu Wanning's forgiveness, his willingness to absolve him?

He turned his face and reached out, desiring to touch the sleeping man beside the bed. But before his fingertips could make contact, they recoiled.

He was afraid that the slightest touch would shatter the dream.

He was still in the Heavenly Sound Pavilion, still kneeling before the Confession Platform, with a sea of onlookers calling out below. Alone before thousands, their faces eventually blurred into indistinct masses, transforming into the ghosts of those he had once killed, shrieking and laughing as they demanded retribution.

No one wanted him. No one saved him.

It was his shamelessness, his wolfish ambition, his madness, his delusion that Chu Wanning would come—his hallucination of the last flicker of humanity amidst unbearable pain.

An illusion.

No one ever severed the iron chains. No one ever embraced him. No one ever came on wings of wind. No one ever took him home.

His eyelashes quivered as tears welled up, gazing at Chu Wanning's peaceful slumber. He dared not blink, until his vision grew hazy, until the tears finally fell.

Chu Wanning's reflection shattered into countless shimmering fragments. He frantically returned to his cherished dream.

The dream was still there.

Mo Ran lay on the bed, exhausted, with damp eyelashes and a constricted throat. Tears continuously trickled down his cheeks... His heart ached, blood seeping out relentlessly. Afraid of disturbing Chu Wanning, who had only just fallen into a shallow slumber, he bit his lip, weeping silently.

He was awake, but he knew his body all too well. This was merely temporary, a fleeting moment of lucidity before the end.

It was also Heaven's final act of mercy upon him.

As Mo Weiyu, he had lived in anxiety for most of his life, driven by madness until the very end. His hands were stained with blood, his infamy inescapable, until finally, he was declared unjustly accused. Thus, he felt lost, even a hint of trepidation.

He was unsure if this was fortunate or unfortunate.

Unfortunate was the absurdity of two lifetimes wasted.

Fortunate was the prospect of a tranquil existence in his remaining days.

But how many days did he have left? One? Two?

That was a life he had exchanged with his own existence—a tranquil era he had never before experienced.

Later, when he heard the stirrings of Chu Wanning's awakening, he hastily wiped away his tears. He didn't want his Master to see him weeping.

Mo Ran turned his head and watched the person by the bed; their eyelashes fluttering gently, their phoenix eyes opening wide, and their reflection in those eyes gazing back at him.

Outside, the golden crows sank low, while the Big Dipper stars spun.

He heard Chu Wanning's hoarse whisper: "Mo... Ran?"

The voice was soft and gentle, like a sprout breaking through soil, a river thawing from ice, or wine warming on a small clay stove to its third round, releasing wisps of steam that warmed the heart. It was a melody he would never forget in this lifetime. Mo Ran fell silent for a moment, then broke into a smile.

"Master, I'm awake."

On this serene, snowless night, the rest of Mo Ran's life stretched out long before him. In the depths of South Screen Mountain, he finally awaited the most relaxed and tender moments of his two lifetimes. He opened his eyes and saw the joy and sorrow in the corners of Chu Wanning's brows and eyes. Leaning against the bed, he allowed Chu Wanning to speak to him, do as they pleased, share with him their experiences and misunderstandings.

None of that mattered to him.

All he wanted was to hold on a little longer, just a bit more.

"I'll take a look at your wound again."

"No need," Mo Ran smiled, taking Chu Wanning's hand and gently planting a kiss on it. "I'm fine now."

After several refusals, Chu Wanning gazed at him as if he had suddenly understood something, his complexion fading bit by bit.

Mo Ran spoke with forced composure and tenderness. "I'm really alright."

Chu Wanning didn't respond. After a while, he got up and walked to the hearth. The firewood inside was nearly extinguished, and he left Mo Ran with his back turned as he slowly fiddled with it.

The flames flickered to life, illuminating the entire room and casting a warm glow. But Chu Wanning didn't turn around; he continued to poke at the logs that no longer needed attention with the fire tongs.

"Porridge..."

Finally, he croaked out hoarsely.

"The porridge has been kept warm, waiting for you to wake up and have it."

Mo Ran fell silent for a moment before lowering his eyes with a smile. "…It's been so long since I last tasted Wanning's porridge. After you left in my previous life, I never had it again."

"Far from perfect," Chu Wanning said. "I still haven't mastered it. It's probably… just barely edible…" His voice trembled slightly, as if he couldn't continue.

After a long pause, Chu Wanning continued slowly, "Let me serve you a bowl."

Mo Ran replied, "…Okay."

The room was warm, and as the night deepened, snow began to fall intermittently outside.

Mo Ran held the porridge bowl carefully, sipping gently. After a few sips, he would glance at Chu Wanning, then lower his head to drink more, stealing another look at him.

Chu Wanning asked, "Is something wrong? Are you feeling unwell?"

"No," Mo Ran whispered. "I just want to… look at you some more."

"…" Chu Wanning didn't respond, instead using a silver dagger to remove the fish flesh from the fire pit. It was a melt-in-your-mouth stream-caught fish, but there were still bones. He picked out the bones, dividing the snowy-white fish meat meticulously.

In the past, Mo Ran would always take care of him when they ate together.

Now, it was the other way around.

He passed the sliced fish to Mo Ran and said, "Eat while it's still warm."

Mo Ran obediently ate.

This man, lying on the couch wrapped in a cotton blanket, didn't seem as towering. The orange glow from the fire illuminated his face, making him appear very young.

It was only then that Chu Wanning suddenly realized that, whether it was Heaven-Stepping Lord or Grandmaster Mo, both were actually ten years younger than he was.

Yet, they had gone through so much suffering.

After finishing his porridge, Mo Ran picked out the most succulent piece of fish with his chopsticks, intending to feed it to Chu Wanning. But he froze, asking, "Shifu, what's wrong?"

Chu Wanning lowered his head, his eyes slightly reddened. He composed himself before replying calmly, "Nothing, just caught a cold."

Afraid that he might lose control if he sat any longer, he quickly got up. "I'll go investigate the surroundings. Rest early after you finish eating. When your injuries heal, I'll take you back to the Summit of Life and Death."

Both of them were aware that this supposed improvement was merely a fleeting moment of vitality before the end. Their remaining time together was dwindling rapidly.

Yet, they spoke of tomorrow, of the future, as if they were cramming decades of life into this one night, experiencing all the shifting stars and turning constellations in this single snowy evening.

After Chu Wanning left, Mo Ran sat by the fireplace for a while longer. Then, he unbuttoned his clothes and gazed at the hideous scar on his chest.

He fell into a daze, feeling emptiness within him.

South Screen Night Snow.

The snowflakes outside grew larger, and Mo Ran didn't know when his condition would worsen or when his life would come to an end. He leaned against the bed, watching the snowfall, listening only to the howling wind. Suddenly, he felt that his life was like the swirling wind at that moment, with all his past experiences swept away.

In both his previous and current lives, there had always been clever individuals scheming and maneuvering.

Whether it was his Master or Shi Mo, one wanted to protect him, while the other sought to harm him. But both had their own plans, even if they didn't ultimately succeed due to unforeseen circumstances. They possessed long-term strategies.

Mo Ran was different; he was a foolish creature, lacking any intricate thoughts or plans for the future. He didn't know how to play a game of chess, making each move meticulously. All he knew was to faithfully guard the person he loved, standing resolutely in front of them, even if beaten to the point of exposing his bones, refusing to leave.

One could call such a person brave.

Harshly put, he was foolish.

This foolish person leaned by the window lattice, his eyelashes fluttering, when he suddenly noticed a familiar figure standing beneath the plum blossom tree in the distance.

Chu Wanning had not gone to patrol; it was merely an excuse.

Standing beneath the flower tree, too far away and amidst a fierce snowstorm, Mo Ran could not discern any expression on his face. All he could see was a vague silhouette, standing alone amidst the snow that blotted out the sky. Motionless.

What was he thinking?

Was he cold?

He...

"Shifu."

Lost in thought in the snowy field, Chu Wanning turned his head and saw the black-clad youth, covered in bedding, who had somehow arrived behind him without notice in the darkness and frost.

Chu Wanning was startled and immediately said, "How did you come out like this? What are you doing out here? Hurry back—"

Before he could finish the word "go," warmth enveloped him.

With the blanket over his head, Mo Ran lifted it up, revealing an overwhelming darkness and warmth. He drew Chu Wanning into the cocoon of blankets with him.

The two stood beneath the old plum tree, enclosed in the thick, slightly musty blankets that hadn't seen use in a long time. No matter how fiercely the snow fell or the wind howled, it was all irrelevant to them.

In this warmth and darkness, Mo Ran embraced him, saying, "Don't think about it. Although I don't remember what Shifu said, but..."

Pausing, he kissed Chu Wanning's forehead before continuing softly, "If I had to go back and experience it all again, I would still do the same."

"..."

"And," he said, holding Chu Wanning's freezing hands against the blanket, "Shifu, there's no need for you to feel sad. Actually, I think Shi Mo was right. The Eight Pains Long Hate Flower only brought to life the thoughts and dark ideas that were already within me."

Their interlocked fingers pressed together.

Mo Ran leaned their foreheads together. "I've always had a lot of hatred inside me, but when I was young, I didn't know how to express it. Slaughtering the Confucian Wind Sect... I've thought about it. Ruling the world... I've thought about that too. It's kind of funny, but when I was five or six, hiding in a dilapidated house, I used to fantasize about commanding the elements and turning beans into soldiers. These were my own thoughts; nobody forced them upon me."

He caressed Chu Wanning's face. "So, if you were the one who fell under the spell at first, you might not have become the same heinous tyrant as I did. You wouldn't have been manipulated, nor would you have faced the execution by the Heavenly Sound Pavilion." He chuckled, his voice muffled by the blanket as he rubbed their foreheads together for comfort. "You're not me, so don't dwell on it. Let's go back inside and sleep."

The bed was narrow, and Mo Ran held him in his arms.

That moment, when it comes, will inevitably draw closer and can never be evaded.

Mo Ran's consciousness grew hazy and fragmented once more, the searing pain in his heart surpassing any previous experience. The fleeting brilliance of a dying flame wouldn't last long; it was the same when his mother passed away. He knew his time was running out.

His thick lashes cast a shadow over his cheeks, and the fire in the hearth had begun to dim, casting a soft, yellow glow upon his youthful and handsome features, endowing him with an extraordinary tenderness.

This simple-minded man, having likely perceived the pain in Chu Wanning's eyes, endured his own discomfort and asked with a smile, "Is it to your liking?"

Chu Wanning indeed froze for a moment. "What?"

"Scars," Mo Ran said. "A true man should have a few scars to add character."

Chu Wanning fell silent. He raised his hand and slapped Mo Ran lightly, so gently that it almost felt like a caress.

After a while, he seemed unable to bear it any longer. Nestling in the warmth of Mo Ran's chest, he didn't make a sound, but his shoulders trembled slightly.

He was all too aware.

Chu Wanning knew all too well.

Mo Ran was momentarily stunned before he embraced him, kissing his forehead and hair.

"So ugly," he said, gentler than ever after surviving the calamity. He let out a soft sigh. "Did I make Wanning cry with my ugliness?"

If he had called him 'Shifu,' it would have been fine.

But one utterance of 'Wanning' bridged two lifetimes.

Deep in the bedding, Chu Wanning held the warm and vibrant body of this man—whom he had always despised and been ashamed to express any intense emotions towards. But at that moment, he found his own tension and shame absurd, ridiculous.

Amidst their entangled embrace, nestled in their narrow bed wrapped in blankets, within the empty hut with bare walls, during the long, snowy night...

Chu Wanning whispered, "How could you be ugly? It doesn't matter if you have scars or not. You're always handsome."

Mo Ran was taken aback.

He had never heard Chu Wanning express himself so candidly before.

Not even on the day he declared his love through sword flight.

The room was illuminated by the last embers of the fire, a tranquil and gentle haven.

A late-arriving serenity and tenderness.

"I liked you, and I still do, in both my past and present life. I'm willing to be with you, always."

Mo Ran heard these words whispered into his embrace. He couldn't see Wanning's face clearly, but he could envision Chu Wanning's expression at that moment.

His eyes must have been reddened, with his ears tinged the same shade.

"Back then, when I knew you were bewitched but couldn't reveal it, all I could do was hate you... Now, I can finally make up for it all." Chu Wanning's cheeks burned hot, his eyes damp at the corners. "I like you, and I'm willing to bind our hair together, to split my soul for you, to submit to you."

At the mention of submitting, Mo Ran's heart was seared as if by a blazing flame, his entire body quivering.

He was overwhelmed with emotion, a mix of sorrow, pain, and longing. Almost shuddering, he murmured, "Shifu..."

Chu Wanning raised his hand to silence him, "Let me finish."

But after waiting for quite some time, Chu Wanning was, in the end, not skilled in expressing affectionate words. He pondered much but found nothing suitable, everything seemed insufficient.

For a moment, Chu Wanning genuinely wanted to say, "I'm sorry for the hardships you've endured and the burdens you've carried."

He also wished to say, "In my past life, I couldn't tell you the truth until the very end, it was my fault that I misled you."

He even thought of discarding his pride at this very moment, to weep to Mo Ran, to embrace this still-warm body, and plead, "Please don't go, please don't leave me."

Yet, his throat tightened with emotion, his heart aching bitterly.

Finally, Chu Wanning bowed his head, kissing the scar on Mo Ran's chest. His eyelashes fluttered as he spoke in a hoarse voice,

"Mo Ran, no matter what has happened in the past or what will happen in the future, I will always be by your side."

Embarrassment burned through every inch of his being.

Yet the words carried an air of solemnity.

"I belong to Heaven-Stepping Lord for life, and to Grandmaster Mo as well."

It was scorching hot.

Mo Ran felt that handful of fire from another world ignite once more in his embrace. Before his eyes, fireworks burst into brilliant colors, casting aside all pain and sorrow.

"This lifetime and the last, I am yours."

"I have no regrets."

Mo Ran's eyes abruptly closed, brimming with tears.

He gave Chu Wanning one last kiss on the lips, sighing, "…Master… Thank you."

The snowfall outside grew heavier, and the night grew deeper.

They slept in each other's arms, both thinking: So this is what the rest of our lives will be like.

Mo Ran was aware that his clothes were soaked with tears, but he didn't mention it. Since childhood, he had yearned for a life filled with joy, and in moments like these, happiness should prevail.

Hugging Chu Wanning, he whispered, "Sleep, Wanning. Sleep, I'll hold you. You're afraid of the cold, so I'll keep you warm."

"When I recover, we'll return to the Summit of Life and Death together. I want to apologize to Uncle and Aunt, and bicker with Xue Meng again... We still have so much to do..."

Mo Ran stroked Chu Wanning's hair, his voice soft.

The metallic sweetness of blood filled his throat, and his breathing grew labored.

Yet, he still smiled, his expression serene. "Shifu, I'll be your umbrella for a lifetime."

In Mo Ran's arms, Chu Wanning could only sob silently.

"Junior Brother Xia..." He teased him again, even though he could barely speak. "Senior Brother... I'll tell you stories... Every night from now on... Please don't complain about Senior Brother's clumsiness, I can only tell you stories about cows eating grass..."

In the end, Mo Ran lifted his gaze to the layer of glistening snow covering the window lattice.

The world was an expanse of pure, pristine white.

"Wanning," he whispered into Chu Wanning's ear, holding him close, their hearts beating in harmony. "I've always loved you."

He lowered his lids gently, revealing a hint of a dimple on each cheek, like two pools of white pear blossoms.

His heartbeat slowed down, faltering bit by bit.

Suddenly, a branch of a plum blossom outside the window was overwhelmed by the weight of snow, and it snapped with a loud crack. The cluster of snow and the branch tumbled down together, making a sharp sound.

After that commotion, Chu Wanning could no longer hear the heartbeat beside him.

He waited for an instant, a moment, a while, a long time.

But there was nothing.

Silence... absolute silence...

It was a terrifying stillness that chilled the bones, a horrifying quietness that brought eternal despair.

End.

Cease.

Rest.

The room was deathly silent, eerily still.

After an eternity, Chu Wanning did not stir. He remained nestled in Mo Ran's embrace, lying on the bed. He didn't rise, lift his head, or speak another word.

His little disciple, his Senior Brother Mo, his Heaven-Stepping Lord, bid him sleep peacefully.

Promising to hold an umbrella for him for a lifetime, to tell stories all his days, and to love him for the rest of his existence.

Mo Ran said that it was cold outside, that the snow was heavy.

I'll warm you, he said.

And so Chu Wanning curled up within the crook of his arm, nestled against the lingering warmth of his chest, utterly motionless.

They were departing for home the following day.

He intended to rest well alongside Mo Ran.

Chu Wanning extended his arm, encircling Mo Ran's waist.

In the darkness, he said, "Alright, I'll listen to you. I'll sleep... But tomorrow, when I call you, remember to wake up."

Pressing against that chest that no longer rose and fell, his tears soaked and warmed Mo Ran's robe.

"Don't oversleep."

Goodnight, Mo Ran.

This night was long, but I'll be by your side. May you have sweet dreams, with warmth like fire, light to guide you.

And a home.