GU MANG'S EYES flew open, blue irises shining wet in the darkness.
The tent was quiet. His chest was heaving violently and his back was soaked with sweat. He could hear his own heartbeat pounding loudly in the silent night. He swallowed. What had he just dreamed? The last thing he saw was Mo Xi pushing him down and capturing his lips with his own, that searing heat as contrary to his customary coolness as night from day. Gu Mang could almost feel that overpowering emotion rushing forth from the dream to drown him in its wake.
But what was that feeling? He didn't understand. He only felt that it was shockingly warm and terrifyingly strong, so much so that it could pass from his dreams and into his waking mind, making his heart pound and his blood surge.
It was too sweet, and too dangerous.
Gu Mang unwittingly reached up to touch his mouth. He turned over. Mo Xi was sitting on a chair by the bed, his head tilted to the side, fast asleep. His face was markedly different from the one Gu Mang had glimpsed in his dream. The man before him no longer looked as young, or as impulsive...or even as sincere. Time had not taken the elegant beauty of his features, but it had stripped away his carefree youth and naive honesty. As Gu Mang gazed at him, he recalled the words Mo Xi had said to him at their first meeting: We used to know each other.
Gu Mang hadn't taken him seriously then, but now, confusion swelled in his heart. Had they truly known each other, once upon a time? It seemed that they used to be very close: they'd laughed with their arms slung around each other's shoulders and rolled about in the same bed. That Mo Xi in his dream had been just like Fandou—he didn't think Gu Mang dirty at all.
Was any of that real...?
At the very end, their lips had touched so intimately. He didn't know what it meant, but at the thought of that sensation, his heart felt so warm, though the heat was not without pain. He was genuinely curious about this feeling. After their lips met, what would happen next?
He longed to know—but the dream had ended, and he couldn't remember more.
Gu Mang blinked his blue eyes. He genuinely didn't know what to make of these subtle nuances. In the end, he leaned over the edge of the bed. He hesitated for a moment, but eventually, he reached out with great curiosity to touch a fingertip to Mo Xi's pale lips.
How strange. Why were they cool to the touch? They had been warm in the dream. Maybe the dream hadn't been real?
Before he could finish the thought, he saw that Mo Xi had woken at his touch, his lashes fluttering minutely as his eyes drifted open in the candlelight. But he was not fully awake. His eyes were still unfocused; as he turned his hazy gaze on Gu Mang, he saw that Gu Mang was touching his mouth, so he grew convinced he was still dreaming. He sighed, almost sorrowfully, and took hold of Gu Mang's hand. Pulling it to his lips, he kissed it softly. "Shixiong...I dreamed of you again... Only in dreams would you keep from angering me. Only in dreams would you be like this, behaving and staying by my side..."
Those soft, cool lips brushed against the back of Gu Mang's hand. Mo Xi bowed his head, as if choked up.
Gu Mang stared at him, dazed. Never, since they had first met, had this man been so vulnerable and gentle. Gu Mang didn't understand why the sight of him like this would fill his heart with grief. Why did it hurt so much? Just yesterday, this person had struck him, chased him off, and called him dirty. But he felt that something wasn't right, that they didn't actually feel this way. The two of them...shouldn't...shouldn't be like this...
Gu Mang hesitated. "I dreamed of you," he whispered.
Mo Xi blinked in surprise, then raised his head. The candlelight and the shadow had shrouded them in a haze that was fast dissipating. Mo Xi's startled eyes slowly focused and sharpened. Gu Mang watched the confusion and tenderness in his eyes retreat, exposing an expanse of shock and pain.
Mo Xi abruptly let go of Gu Mang's hand. He was awake.
He jumped to his feet and stared at Gu Mang for a spell. His face turned many colors, but he didn't immediately speak. Hand pressed to his forehead, he closed his eyes for a long while before gritting out, "Don't take that seriously. I wasn't fully awake, I..."
"I dreamed of you," Gu Mang interrupted.
Mo Xi had thought he was talking about some random dream and hadn't paid much attention. But seeing him bring it up a second time, he paused. "What did you dream about?"
Gu Mang knelt on the bed, looking up at the much taller man in front of him. His gaze swept nakedly across Mo Xi's lips before it finally returned to his dark eyes.
"I dreamed that you—weren't as sad as you are now. You were warm, you were smiling."
Mo Xi said nothing.
"You called me Shige."
Mo Xi's pupils shrank. With trembling fingertips, he grabbed the back of Gu Mang's head, forcing him to look straight ahead, to look only at him, to offer up all his expressions to his eyes alone. His voice was shaking and terribly hoarse. "What. ..did you say?"
"You were young. So was I. We were together, in a tent." After a moment's thought, Gu Mang said softly, "You came of age. I kept you company."
Mo Xi's face was terrifyingly pale.
Gu Mang softly repeated the words he'd remembered: "Through youth and into adulthood."
Mo Xi suddenly felt as if he'd been shot through by lightning; a shudder coursed through his whole body. All his blood rushed to his head, the furious tide dimming his vision and turning his limbs ice-cold. His eyes were horribly bright, his expression dark and frightening. He seemed on the verge of being torn into disparate fragments by the relentless rapids.
Was Gu Mang starting to remember? Was this the first recollection he'd regained?
"I'll stay with you."
Mo Xi took a step back. He should've felt astonishment, or even relief. But he never thought he'd hear these words of endearment from the past so unexpectedly. He thought he'd never hear anything like that again... He thought he'd never hear anything like that again. He thought he'd rely on the few pitiful memories he possessed to keep the anguish at bay all his life.
How could Gu Mang just say that?
Those bygone words felt like a hammer smashing into his chest. He doubled over almost unconsciously. A sentence so simple had battered this invincible man until he could hardly stand. He sank heavily back into the chair and buried his face in his hands, unable to say a word.
He had slapped Gu Mang before, but Gu Mang saying those words was more than enough to break his heart.
Gu Mang watched him. He had originally wanted to ask, Was that only a dream? Or did I finally remember some of the past? But no matter how ignorant Gu Mang might have been, he still understood when he saw Mo Xi's reaction. It was real. The two of them had really shared moments like that when they had been young and fearless, moments which were now left behind in their past.
That night, Mo Xi fled stumbling from the tent. Over the next two days, he seemed to avoid Gu Mang deliberately. Before, Mo Xi would look at him with cool disdain; now, it seemed like he was incapable of facing him calmly. Gu Mang tried, haltingly, to ask him about what he'd remembered, but Mo Xi refused to be alone with him. The instant he saw him, he walked away.
Mo Xi genuinely didn't know how to face Gu Mang. He wasn't sure exactly how much Gu Mang had remembered—was it just the first half of that night, or all of the absurd things that followed? He wanted to ask, but he didn't dare.
Besides, what was the point in asking? Their relationship was already shattered, with no possibility of repair. What was the point in gathering those scraps of tenderness and compounding his own heartbreak? The ribbon of heroes still lay across his brow. How could he forget the debt of blood that Gu Mang owed Chonghua?
And so they journeyed on like this, in silence.
On the third day, they finally arrived at the Soul-Calling Abyss. It was a fathomless ravine, neither its beginning nor its end visible to the eye. Rushing waters flowed within its depths, surging powerfully from east to west. The troops arrived at daybreak, as the dawning sun pierced the dark night and ascended solemnly from the horizon. Golden light, brilliant but not blinding, spilled across the continent of the Nine Provinces.
The emperor sat astride a fine snow-white steed with golden wings. With his stirrups flashing gold and his long robes a piercing white, he rode at the head of the imperial army. Behind him, the entire noble entourage dismounted in succession. As the first rays of dawn illuminated the gold trim of their robes, these noble scions made for a lofty and magnificent sight.
The master of ceremonies cried, "Offer the sacrificial lotuses—"
An attendant from each noble family had received an ever-bright flower lantern lit with whale oil, which they now passed into their lord's hands. These lanterns represented the martyred heroes of each family. The lords cupped their lanterns in their hands and followed the emperor to the edge of the Soul-Calling Abyss.
Murong Lian, Yue Juntian, Mo Xi...these heads of Chonghua's noble clans stepped forward one after another, clad in robes woven with sapphire- blue bats, snowy-white hatchets, and pitch-black soaring snakes. Each clan's ceremonial regalia was opulent and stunning. Just one of those insignia-patterned damask robes was awe-inspiring in isolation, but now all of these supremely powerful noble families were lined up in a row, their long trains and wide sleeves fluttering in the wind. The golden trim at their hems gleamed, lavish and beautiful.
It was nothing if not majestic.
"Kneel!" shouted the master of ceremonies. The entourage fell to its knees like a great wave, becoming a tide of multicolored fabric limned in gold.
"Lower the lanterns!"
Mo Xi and the others released the flower lanterns into the abyss. These lanterns were enchanted with a spell of weightlessness, so the twinkling lights fell softly down to drift upon the abyssal waters.
The sun broke through the sky, setting the heavens and the earth alight. The family heads bent down on one knee, and the exorcising soul song resounded across the firmament. "Our sons went forth with swords held brave, their blood and bones in distant grave. Last year this self was yet intact, last night this body spoke and laughed. Your loyalty I safely keep, your valiant deeds I freely speak. For when these heroes' souls come home, throughout the land shall peace be known."
The notes of this song echoed for an age as uncountable motes of glimmering light floated up from the depths of the Soul-Calling Abyss. It was said that they were the fragments of consciousness the deceased heroes had left in the world. Responding to the offerings of their kin, they rose into endless golden light.
Gu Mang watched this scene and heard the sustained notes of the eulogy. He watched those known and named flower lanterns drift down: the Yue Clan souls, the Mo Clan souls, the Murong Clan souls... All these dead had people to remember them; they were remembered over and over again in the sounds of the soul-calling song, carved into their families' hearts.
But there seemed to be trapped in his heart some other humble names. Though he could no longer recall them, they seemed, at this moment, to pummel him like the surf. Those names were largely inelegant and simple. Some were no more than a surname paired with a number; they bespoke a sense of lowliness. There were too many of them echoing sorrowfully in his head. As if an army of fallen, nameless soldiers were calling to him from beneath the abyss, rebuking him, blaming him.
General Gu, General Gu.
You said if we called you General Gu, you would lead us out of hell. You said you'd bring us home...you'd give us a name... You lied.
Not even you can remember our names; not even you remember who we were... Our broken limbs have rotted, our spilled blood has dried... We left nothing behind. Is there a soul lantern for unnamed heroes? One to guide us back to the homeland we once protected, to see our old friends, to see the mountains and rivers of our nation?
General Gu... General Gu...
My name is... My name is...
His ears were buzzing, the rims of his eyes red. Gu Mang gasped for air but couldn't breathe; in his daze, he saw countless corpses crawl out of the abyss, their blurred faces surging toward him.
"Gu Mang?" The last thing he heard was a quiet note of alarm from the captain beside him.
He wanted to respond, but something was caught in his throat—he was choking on those forgotten names that had come to demand his life. In his confusion, he clearly heard a rousing bellow of fury. It was his own voice, splitting the sky from some battle in the past—
"Come on! If you're not dead yet, get up! You called me General Gu. If you're dead, I'll raise a gravestone for you; if you live, I'll take you home! Get up!"
That blood-soaked voice stabbed into his heart. He felt shame, he felt agony. He felt the sorrow and dissatisfaction of breaking a promise. Gu Mang clapped a hand to his brow, his ears ringing. At last, pain splitting his head, he crumpled and collapsed into the dirt.