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It was the heavy weight on his chest that woke Taxian-jun up after what seemed like an eternity of slumber, although waking up wasn’t something he had expected. One would think that death is finite: there was no way gods were stupid enough to let him awaken once more, but there he was, laying on the ground that was too cold to be hell, conscious and suffering. Immortality was a dream of many, both cultivators and common people alike, but for Taxian-jun the only dream was the life he had lived. Perhaps it was more akin to a nightmare.
But Taxian-jun didn’t want to wake up just yet. He told himself that his eyelids were too heavy, that fatigue overcame him and made it too difficult to open his eyes and look around. And how exactly was he supposed to do that, when his body felt like it had million cracks all over it? What exactly were you even supposed to do after living through a lifetime of pain and hatred, just to awaken for the third time and realize that all your efforts were futile? What was Taxian-jun supposed to do if it turns out that even after everything he’s been through, he would open his eyes just to see the body of his beloved, cold and lifeless, laying right next to him in a coffin.
It was common for concubines and spouses to be buried alive in show of their respect for their late husband the emperor, but Taxian-jun didn’t want that anymore.
The fear was far too great, so he just laid there, like a broken porcelain cup. Perhaps if he was a scholar, he would’ve made a connection to his past life, possibly even writing a poem or two about his suffering, but alas, he was no more than a brute, raised in a whorehouse. Thankfully, one didn’t need education to know what death is.
There was no pain, surprisingly, but the feeling of his soul slipping away through the cracks, as if there was a soul left in his body to begin with, was far worse than any physical pain he had ever endured. There was also that weight on his chest - it didn’t disappear and seemed to only get heavier with every second. It felt too much like a little child curled up on his body, hugging him tightly, as if trying to get as much of his parent’s warmth to save himself from the freezing winter. Except in his almost forty years of living, Mo Ran had never gotten a chance to become a father. His empress failed to give him any children, and as much as he blamed her for that, deep down Taxian-jun knew that he did not wish for heirs from that woman.
It didn’t take too long until Taxian-jun realized just how cold the ground he was laying on was, and as soon as this thought passed through his mind his body started to shiver. There were only slight tremors running up his spine at first, but the more he focused on them - the more apparent they became, and soon enough his body was full-on convulsing. Mo Ran’s mind went back to the time when he still had a dog, a dumb pup that reminded him too much of all the people who wronged him in his life - it used to shiver just like this in the middle of a cold winter, laying down at his feet, right next to his throne. Back then he used to laugh at that dim-witted creature that was shaking uncontrollably, even though it could’ve just left and went somewhere warmer. And yet, it chose to sit next to its master, trembling, but still enduring. How stupid do you have to be to be this loyal?
Now look at him, shivering like a dumb mutt, but still refusing to wake up or crawl away to search for heat in fear of what he will see once he opens his eyes. The child in his arms didn’t feel warm either - it was frozen, way colder than the normal bodily temperature. Perhaps the weight on his chest was from someone dead, maybe someone he had killed with his own hands a long time ago. Mo Ran had a very hard time forcing himself to care after everything he has been through. How many children had he slaughtered? How many people were used as a stepping stone, just another brick of a staircase, and for what? Not even to fulfill his own dream.
To complete someone else’s life. He had no say in the matter, but he had long spent his resentment hating and ruining other people. It was time for him to be a corpse now. Taxian-jun was ready to spend the rest of eternity in a cold grave, rotting away until nothing but bones were left of him. He could only hope that they would not fall apart before he lays his eyes on him at least once more.
Fate was cruel. She laughed in his face as he fantasized of rotting in a grave, when in reality he wasn’t given the luxury of a peaceful end. Taxian-jun had forgotten that no remnants of his had lingered on that earth. He was damned to fall apart into bits over and over again each existence.
Chu Wanning doesn’t like the cold, he thought. He was never able to stand it, his body always contracted illnesses way too easily, especially after his golden core was shattered. Mo Ran felt an automatic urge to get up, find his lowly Shizun and get a warm blanket over him, or maybe circle his arms around his waist and cling to his body like a lifeline, just to make sure that no diseases would ever come even close to taking his Wanning away. Chu Wanning was his, he was his Shizun, his prisoner, his consort, his husband. His Chu Fei.
Where was he now?
He left, leaving an empty hole in Mo Ran’s nonexistent, tainted heart for what seemed like a hundredth time. The loneliness wasn’t too bad, though, Taxian-jun was used to it by now after enduring it for so long. It was something else that ate him up from the inside - jealousy. It destroyed his brain and rotted his mind, snickering, pointing a finger at him, telling him how stupid and foolish he was. Was it fair for him to be alone? Was it fair for his Shizun to beat him up, to kill and destroy him, while he loved Mo Zhongshi so dearly? They were the same person, after all. They both died in that cold grave.
They harbored the same memories and once there was also the shared resentment, their souls were equal, but while Taxian-jun was left to rot in his world, with nothing left of his husband, not even a pile of ashes, that other version of him had a chance to live. They committed the same crimes, they were both grave sinners, irredeemable villains who slayed countless souls, who killed their wife and ruined their consort, following him into the grave to never be reborn or forgiven. Yet, while the poison had killed Taxian-jun and left him to slowly decay, caged in his cold corpse with noone to keep him company, Mo Zongshi was reborn.
Mo Zongshi’s Shizun was still alive.
He himself didn’t even have a body to mourn.
As memories began to flow back into his half-broken mind, Taxian-jun couldn’t help but remember the way his Wanning looked in their last moments together: content with dying in each other’s arms he came there to put an end to both of them.
“Hell is too cold,” he had said, voice full of determination. An echo of Taxian-jun’s own words from the past. “Mo Ran, I will follow you to the grave.”
Hell is too cold, Wanning. I’ll take you to the grave with me.
In the past Taxian-jun entertained the thought of that happening quite often, but when it actually came to Chu Wanning dying for the third time - he pushed him away. That damn Mo Zongshi pushed him away, stealing his Wanning from him, showing that even in his last moments on earth Taxian-jun was still not enough for his Shizun. What did he have to do for Wanning to turn his head and look at him? Only him? He had tried death already, hadn’t he? Taxian-jun didn’t want to share him with anyone, not even with his own self.
Was he really that bad? At least he wasn’t living a lie, telling everyone and himself that he was a good person while harboring a grave secret deep in his heart. But then, he still remembered how sad Chu Wanning was after Mo Zongshi had died.
It hurt. His chest ached so deeply, one could even think that there was something more than a rotted flower inside.
To his utmost surprise, Taxian-jun hated to remember the tears in Chu Wanning’s eyes more than he hated to know that his Shizun chose his other version over him.
Perhaps he hated the dead, lifeless eyes that stared at him after Mo Zongshi’s death. Back then Chu Wanning came back to him and Taxian-jun was too blinded by his desires to realize that he was there not to be with him, but to put an end to his pitiful life. And even as his beloved was actively killing him, Taxian-jun was in more pain from the eyes that stared at him so blankly than from a willow wine around his throat. The eyes of someone who wasn’t a corpse yet, but who’s soul and body had suffered so much he was no better than a cadaver.
No, it wasn’t Mo Zongshi who pushed Chu Wanning away. It was Taxian-jun, not being able to see his husband die once again, not when he could prevent it.
A deep panic settled inside Taxian-jun’s mind as he recalled the last words his Shizun had ever said to him. He remembered Chu Wanning screaming at the top of his lungs:
“Mo Ran…! Mo Ran! What do you mean? You bastard! What do you mean!”
But he wasn’t crying out for him. It was for that other Mo Ran, Mo Zongshi, a disgrace, no less. And people called him a dog? That Mo Zongshi was like a lost puppy following his owner to the end of the world, not a slight bit of pride left in him. He was no better than a dirty mutt. No home, no parents, clinging onto the first person he was able to find and staying put, doing everything for that person to notice him. Acknowledge him. Love him. Praise him. Wait for him.
Choose him.
Perhaps Taxian-jun and Mo Zongshi were more similar than he dared to admit.
He knew he was dead. There was no way for him to survive, no way of escape, his body falling into dust as he watched Chu Wanning get taken away by Jiangui. And Taxian-jun was okay with that, his body was nothing but a walking corpse anyway. However, there was always a “what if''. What if he remembered wrong? What if he was too late? What if he survived? What if, when he opens his eyes, he will realize that his biggest fear came to life once again?
A fear of Chu Wanning turning into dust.
That thought made Taxian-jun open his eyes and look around frantically: he was all alone, and, thankfully, still dead. The room was dark, so he needed some time to adjust his vision after what felt like centuries. His surroundings felt not only cold but also somehow dump, as if it has been raining for a long time now, to the point of the roof rotting and wilting away. Taxian-jun watched the light from the only window dance on the walls, when his gaze fell on the body in his arms, a small child no older than four dressed in rugs, his little peaceful face dirty with mud. Except, the child on his chest was not someone he had killed, nor was it someone he doesn’t recognize. A chill ran down Taxian-jun’s spine as he realized that the child on his chest, hugging him tightly in an embrace of a stiffened corpse, was his younger self, from the time when he still had a mother. Or rather from the time when he had just lost her and was hugging her lifeless body, just like this little Ran-er was hugging his own, old body.
Two corpses huddled for warmth in an embrace. One that had a life ahead of him, but was brutally murdered by fate, and one that killed his future with his own bare hands.
Taxian-jun slowly pushed his younger body away from him. It took some time, since the grip of a corpse was impossibly hard to break without ruining the vessel, but he managed to do it in the end, placing the child on the ground carefully. He had no idea why he was being so gentle and tactful with it. His younger self disgusted him. A weak, stupid, naive child that thought that there was something else to this world aside from hatred and suffering. It wasn’t even alive anymore, but Taxian-jun wasn’t alive anymore either.
Then, all of the sudden, he heard a voice coming off the other end of the room. A quiet, caring voice he hasn’t heard for what seems like a lifetime, calling out for him softly, “Ran-er.”
“Ran-er, Xiao Ran-er,” the voice called. Taxian-jun didn’t even remember her voice, not until now, as she was talking to him once again. It was so sweet, but so quiet.
“Mother,” he mumbled under his breath and it was like he was a small child again, watching his mother die after promising him a happy summer. Streaks of tears fell down his cheeks as he stumbled forward, practically crawling on his knees in search of her.
Duan Yihan stood in the corner of the room, her robes dirty from mud and her face pale as if she was sick, just like the last time Mo Ran saw her, but this time she was smiling and stretching out her arms, waiting for an embrace. “Ran-er,” she called, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears.
“Mother,” Taxian-jun whispered once more. He was on his knees next to his younger body, frozen and scared that if he breathed too loud this whole illusion would disappear right in front of his eyes. He thought his mother must be looking for his child self, the little corpse lying on the cold floor, and Taxian-jun felt as if he himself had killed it, ruining what his mother worked so hard for.
“Ran-er,” she said once again, this time louder. Taxian-jun blinked and everything changed in a glimpse of an eye - he wasn’t in a dark, cold room anymore. It was a summer day instead, flowers were blooming all around him and the birds were chirping somewhere in the distance as he looked around. Long gone his younger version, - it felt like it wasn’t even there to begin with. Duan Yihan was still standing in front of him with a smile on her lips, but his ruined mind saw the sadness behind it - it was all in the eyes, the sparkles in them were not tears of joy, only deep sorrow of a grieving mother.
She looked way more clean, in the light, simple but beautiful mourning robes and there were flowers in her hair. She looked so beautiful with her face full of color and life, Taxian-jun had never seen her this way. He didn't look into her eyes, but he still crawled up a little closer, precisely enough to be just out of her reach.
“Mother,” he repeated for the third time. “Mom.” And there he went, his composure crumbling, tears falling down on the warm soil as he hiccuped like a small child, crying out for his mommy.
Somewhere in the distance he heard his mother say, “Don’t cry, Xiao Ran-er. Mom is here, don’t cry, everything will be okay.”
Duan Yihan took a step towards him, stretching out both of her arms and carefully taking her son’s face into her hands. They were gentle, soft and warm, not like the hands of a corpse that’s been lying around for days because the ground was too cold for burial. She felt alive, alive to the touch, to the smell and to his eyes. Slight shivers went down Taxian-jun’s spine as he felt soft fingers caressing his cheeks, wiping his tears from under his eyes as he looked up at her, an old man cradled in his mother’s palms.
“Aiya, my Ran-er grew up so much,” she said so quietly, it was barely a whisper, but Taxian-jun heard it like thunder in the middle of a sunlit afternoon. “So big, so strong,” she continued, “so kind.”
“No, mother,” Taxian-jun was fast to shake his head, “No, this venerable one is anything but kind.”
“This venerable one,” Duan Yihan repeated after him, ignoring the second part of the sentence. “Has my boy reached so far? He’s so grown up now, look at him.”
Taxian-jun didn’t understand why she was still smiling, staring at the devil himself, looking into his eyes without even a slight hint of hate or disgust. No matter how much he shook his head or tried to take his mother’s hands away from his face, she stood by him, caressing his hair and cheekbones with her tender fingers.
“I did not-” he started, forgetting who he was for a second. That he wasn’t a child anymore, but a tyrannical emperor, cursed by the whole world and his own hatred. Taxian-jun didn’t get to finish his sentence, though, as Duan Yihan shushed him before he had enough time to.
“Shh, It’s okay. You’re okay, Ran-er. Mom loves you a lot, no matter what you are or what you’ve done in your lifetime.”
They stayed like that for some time, his mother’s hands going through his long hair, soothing all of his thoughts and worries away. She hugged his head closer to her, bringing it to her chest. Nothing beat in her ribcage - there was no heart inside.
“Tell me, Ran-er,” she whispered. The warmth of Duan Yihan’s body so close was distracting Taxian-jun, he didn’t even notice the sadness and emptiness behind her eyes as she stared into the distance. “Were there any happy moments in your life?” she asked, voice shaky and uncertain.
Taxian-jun thought about it far too many times in his life, and every time his conclusion was the same - Shi Mei was the only happy memory in his mind, but even that one was soaked in blood, as for the longest time he thought that the only person aside from his mother who cared for him had tragically died in his youth. In this moment, though, there was only one person he could think of.
“Wanning,” he murmured, not even realizing he was talking out loud.
Duan Yihan smiled warmly and kept stroking her son’s hair in a soothing manner. “That’s a beautiful name,” she said, her voice soft and full of relief. “Did my Ran-er find the fairy he was searching for? The heavenly immortal to marry?”
A memory of a cold body laying in a pond full of lotuses came up in Taxian-jun’s mind, an ethereal, pristine Shizun of his that had left him once again, alone in this bitter and ruthless world. He remembered himself, begging a lifeless body to pay attention to him, the kisses he had stolen and the memories that were not his - of Mo Zongshi kissing Chu Wanning’s lips and those lips kissing him back willingly and enthusiastically. His mind was in a disarray as the pieces of his consciousness that were hidden away came back. Remembered begging Chu Wanning to kill him if he ever becomes a monster, remembered promising to protect his Shizun for the rest of his life. The bitter taste of poison on his tongue as he layed in a grave, awaiting death, just to try and flee the sorrow of the sole absence of him.
“...yes,” Taxian-jun answered quietly. “I did, mother.”
“Is he as beautiful and kind as my Ran-er imagined him to be?” Duan Yihan asked, and she knew. Of course she did. She had probably watched him from afar all this time. The thought of his mother knowing of Chu Wanning’s existence made Taxian-jun tremble like a frail flower in her arms.
“He is.”
“My Ran-er did so well, mother is happy” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “Go to him. He is waiting for you.”
He’s been waiting for you for a while.
His mother’s embrace was warm, the only constant that stayed the same as the surroundings changed, turning a hot summer day into a chilly evening right before the harvest and soon enough it was cold again, snowflakes melting as they touched Taxian-jun’s cheeks. He knew Duan Yihan would disappear as soon as he let go of her, but it was winter again and Chu Wanning was so prone to illnesses, he would always get sick when it’s cold; Taxian-jun had to find him, even if it took him centuries to do so.
But saying that Mo Ran didn’t have a choice but to let his mother go would be disrespectful to both of them. He was in a clear state of mind when he chose to look at her, before slowly backing away, her fingertips leaving his cheeks just as her soul was leaving him for the last time.
And there he was, alone once more in the middle of a snowy mountain. Taxian-jun wasn’t sure which memory of his it was, but something in how hard the ground felt under his shoes told him that it was just after his mother died, although the thought of reliving that day didn’t scare him as much anymore. Seeing her once again put his mind at peace, or at least as peaceful as his broken consciousness could be. He couldn’t stay, the need to walk forward to find him was too strong to halt and look around. Even having all the time in the world, he hurried down the mountain in search of something he had lost a lifetime ago.
When he finally saw a familiar silhouette somewhere far away in the distance it felt like decades have passed, maybe even centuries. Perhaps it didn’t take a single day, or even a minute, but how could a corpse have a sense of time? Taxian-jun felt a stabbing pain in his chest as he came closer to the man, scared that what he did wasn’t enough. Scared that even after everything he and that scum Mo Zongshi had gone through Chu Wanning still died, once more, just like he did in his past lifetime. In his arms, or carrying Mo Zongshi’s body up the mountain - it didn’t matter.
Taxian-jun stilled in his steps as he got close enough to recognize the face of the man in front of him. His heavy gaze followed the sharp lines of his lover’s cheekbones, then fell on the slight, barely noticeable wrinkles that only a middle-aged person would have. When his eyes looked upwards, Taxian-jun saw deep sorrow in those phoenix eyes and an earring that he gave his consort a long time ago - this Chu Wanning was not the same as the one he had saved.
It was the person he had murdered with his own hands.
“Chu Fei,” a hushed whisper came out of Taxian-jun’s mouth. The one before him was his consort, the person he had humiliated and dirtied in his futile attempts of getting an apology. He wanted his cold, heartless Shizun to show some kind of emotion, maybe shame or regret, anything but a blank stare of dead eyes.
In front of him was the one who taught him how to write and the one who died in his arms, asking Taxian-jun to forgive himself.
Chu Wanning smiled. It didn’t look genuine. His eyes were full of pain and sadness as he looked down on Taxian-jun, as if he was higher, cleaner and better even after everything that’s been done to him. At least that’s what the warped, poisoned mind thought was happening, but deep down Taxian-jun knew. He knew that Chu Wanning didn’t think that way. He was smiling at him with all the love and care a dead person could give.
“Hello, Mo Ran,” he said, his voice raw and deep, like he hasn’t spoken for decades now and his vocal chords began to rust without use.
Taxian-jun had so much hate and resentment in him, but for the most part he just felt hurt. Hurt by everything that has been done to him, hurt by everyone always leaving, by his own actions, hate. He hated every single moment of his pathetically short life, but he couldn’t bring himself to hate Chu Wanning, not anymore at least. Not when the flower in his chest had wilted and the death took away his last breath just as it took away his Wanning. It didn’t matter anymore. Nothing mattered, aside from the cold fingers reaching out for his hand and a warm, but sad smile on his lover’s lips.
“You left me,” he said. “This venerable one was very lonely without anyone to keep him company.”
Chu Wanning raised an eyebrow, his hand freezing. “Was the empress not enough for you?” he asked.
“You are the only company I need.”
“Is that so?” Chu Wanning’s voice sounded flat and cynical, but his eyes were full of warmth as he watched Taxian-jun come closer to him, each step heavier than the previous one.
When they were close enough to hear each other’s breaths, Taxian-jun extended his hand to carefully cup Chu Wanning’s face in his palms. The sensation of skin beneath his fingers felt like a reversed deja-vu: he knew he'd done this before, but he couldn’t remember.
“Shizun,” he said. “Have you waited all this time for this venerable one to show up?”
“I prayed this day wouldn’t come so soon,” Chu Wanning whispered honestly, phoenix eyes falling on Taxian-jun’s lips for a split second. He lifted his hands and began to gently stroke the long, silky hair with his fingertips. “Couldn’t escape you even in death.”
“You waited for nothing,” said Taxian-jun, his voice bitter. “There is no future ahead of me. I cannot reincarnate, the only road that awaits me is paved with bones.”
A long, twisted road leading into the depths of hell.
He thought he would hear regret in Chu Wanning’s voice, expecting him to pull away and leave once again at any moment, but nothing happened. There was no resentment or disappointment in those phoenix eyes, as he simply said, “That’s fine.”
Taxian-Jun chuckled, “Don’t make a fool out of me. I’m not that stupid to believe that you’re willing to follow.”
“I am here, am I not?”
And that was the truth, wasn’t it? Perhaps he was a fool after all. Chu Wanning chose him in the end, no matter how dark and pathetic his life was. Even on his deathbed he chose to blame himself for the sorrow and pain that Taxian-jun had caused, and even after his golden core was shattered, even after hundreds nights of torture and hate, he was still here.
Overwhelmed by emotions, Taxian-jun leaned forward and locked Chu Wanning in a tight embrace. He tried to pour all of his emotions and thoughts through his body. To give the fire in his heart, the warmth going through his corpse to Chu Wanning. It felt like it was enough to melt a whole mountain of ice. Maybe even enough to make his heart beat once more and blood rush through his rotted veins, but he didn’t need any of that. He only hoped it would be enough to protect Wanning from the bitter cold of death.
“If the road ahead of you leads to hell, then mine will follow your steps,” he heard Chu Wanning whisper as he circled his arms around Taxian-jun’s waist.
If Mo Zongshi had promised Chu Wanning to hold an umbrella over his head for the rest of his life, then Taxian-jun would battle the heavens to disperse the storm itself.
After all, Mo Ran was just a foolish dog, devoted and loyal beyond remedy.