A DROP OF DEW rolled off of a cypress leaf. The wind fluttered through Mo Xi's wide sleeves as he stood beneath a copse of trees on Warrior Soul Mountain. He gazed at the small silhouette moving among the vast forest of gravestones in the distance.
It was the night of the first day. Stars blanketed the sky.
After the earlier confrontation with Murong Lian, Gu Mang had indeed started to kowtow at each tomb and gravestone. Murong Lian unmistakably meant to humiliate him, but Gu Mang had taken it as an opportunity. Spurred by a profound stubbornness, he sought to prove his newfound resolve.
"You're really going to do this?"
"I am."
"Even if nothing will change?"
"Something will change," Gu Mang said. "At the very least, I'll feel better."
In the end, Murong Lian knew that he'd gotten his way, while Mo Xi knew that Gu Mang had made his choice and wouldn't turn back.
Eventually, Murong Lian left, and Mo Xi had no choice but to leave as well. Gu Mang kowtowed alone amid the birdsong of the cemetery. In time, the weary birds returned to their forests. The setting sun sank below the horizon, and the silver sickle of the moon glinted like frost. Not a sound could be heard in the silent night but for Gu Mang's movements through the city of the dead, kneeling and bowing again and again.
As time passed, Mo Xi couldn't dispel his uneasiness and made his way back to the peak of Warrior Soul Mountain alone. Revealing his presence would only create trouble, so he stood among the trees, watching that distant, white-robed figure.
Gu Mang knelt the entire night, and Mo Xi watched until daybreak. When other mourners arrived after dawn to pay their respects, Mo Xi left silently. He was expected at morning court and couldn't stay staring at gravestones all day.
Perhaps Murong Lian had fanned the flames of rumor; this matter of Gu Mang kowtowing at Warrior Soul Mountain seemed to have grown wings. By noon, the tale had spread throughout Chonghua's capital.
"What's that guy planning now?"
"I heard he had a sudden epiphany and realized he'd done wrong, so now he wants to apologize."
"Really? It'd better not be a trick."
"Why don't we go take a look?"
Chonghua's high-ranking nobles didn't have so much free time on their hands that they could go pick a fight on Warrior Soul Mountain, but common idlers swarmed toward the heroes' graves like mosquitoes scenting blood. They claimed they wanted to pay their respects, but in reality, they wanted to personally get an eyeful of this exciting new development.
Afraid of offending Xihe-jun, these busybodies didn't make trouble for Gu Mang directly—but this didn't diminish their cutting mockery in the least. As Gu Mang knelt at each grave, the onlookers chattered to one another behind raised sleeves. "He's actually kneeling all proper. Back when he was taking clients at Wangshu-jun's Luomei Pavilion, he wasn't anywhere close to this docile. Xihe-jun's only trained him for about half a year, so how has he gotten this obedient?"
"Xihe-jun must be good at it, duh."
"If you ask me, everyone knows Xihe-jun may be coaxed but not coerced. That Gu asshole must've figured out Xihe-jun's personality, so he decided to put on this act and deceive everyone."
"Aha—that actually makes a lot of sense! Aiya, if he really felt so guilty, why not just off himself?"
"There's no question, he's a liar!"
Gu Mang turned a deaf ear to it all. As these snatches of criticism buzzed around him, he slowly walked up the steps, kowtowing and kneeling as he went. Over and over, he repeated the words Murong Lian taught him: "The traitor Gu Mang deserves to die ten thousand deaths." He chanted devoutly, as though this was a rebirth mantra that could deliver his guilty soul from the abyss of worldly suffering.
But too many people hated and disdained him. He thrashed in that sea of misery while those on the shore cast stones at him. Go away, go drown, they jeered. This is the only kind of ending your life deserves.
Against this onslaught, Gu Mang repeated the endless motions of kowtowing, striking his forehead thousands upon thousands of times against the cold, hard stone. His footsteps were leaden, his shoulders stooped, but his eyes shone with a light that pushed him onward. He bent his spine; he lowered his head. From the brightness of day through the vast darkness of night, he piously put his hands together.
"The traitor Gu Mang deserves to die ten thousand deaths…"
On the third day, a dense thicket of clouds covered the sky, blanketing Chonghua City in an interminable drizzle. Gu Mang's robes were thin, and after kneeling for so long in the frigid wind and rain of early spring, his body was on the verge of collapse. He forced himself to crawl up another stone step on his hands and knees and knelt at the first jade gravestone. His lips moved, but he couldn't make a sound. Rain streamed sluggishly down his face.
He looked up at that towering and stately hero's gravestone.
Wangshu-jun the Seventh, Murong Xuan. May his valiant soul rest in eternal peace.
So he had made his way up to Murong Lian's father…
Gu Mang looked at the imposing golden characters on the tablet. The inscription was pristine and solemn; before it, he was like a mound of mud cowering before a god. His lips trembled, and his nearly useless throat strove as he mumbled, "The traitor Gu Mang…"
A crash of spring thunder boomed in the distance. The sound was dull, as if the sky had become a massive drum.
Gu Mang trembled as he raised his numb palms. He brought them together before his forehead, and then closed his eyes to bend down, pressing his head to the ground.
"Deserves…to die…ten thousand deaths…"
Rumbling thunder split the skies.
As if the sound had shattered his soul itself, Gu Mang didn't rise after this last kowtow. Three days and three nights of kneeling, without sleep or cease, had finally rendered him unconscious.
The sight of him crumpled in the rain, curled at the foot of Murong Xuan's grave, was like the rank smell of carrion to those sightseeing vultures. They scurried closer for a better look, glancing sidelong at his weak, rain-soaked body. Many were aware of Gu Mang's mad rampage from months earlier, and they hadn't dared raise their voices above a whisper when Gu Mang was conscious. But now that he had fainted from sheer exhaustion, these people gained courage.
"This damn slave said he wanted to apologize for his crimes, yet he collapsed before he even knelt to all of them. Is he really passed out or is he faking it?"
"Kick him and find out."
At that, someone walked over and kicked Gu Mang's pale face. When he didn't react, they shouted, "He's really knocked out!"
Noisy chatter spilled forth as if unleashed from a dam.
"He's here on Warrior Soul Mountain to kowtow, not to take a nap!"
"Beat him!"
Curiously, most of those gathered weren't sons of heroes or descendants of martyrs. The high-born nobles who had genuine blood debts with Gu Mang had better things to do than to spend a day hauling themselves up a mountainside to gawk at him. They wanted only to see Gu Mang executed; if that wasn't possible, they would rather not see him at all and spare themselves the displeasure. And those who possessed true ability and power—such as Princess Mengze, Jiang Fuli, Yue Juntian, or Murong Chuyi—well, nobles or powerful subjects at that level were even less likely to get mixed up in this mess.
As the saying went, birds of a feather flocked together. Those who hiked all the way to see Gu Mang humiliated were alike in their craven shamelessness, and most were incompetent idlers. None of their dead could be laid at Gu Mang's feet, yet this group was far more outraged than the actual descendants of those deceased heroes in their passionate fight for "justice."
In this world, people who fought for justice could largely be split into two types: those who acted out of righteousness and spoke up to redress wrongs, and those who acted out of boredom and stirred up naught but trouble. The group at Warrior Soul Mountain was no doubt the latter.
But these idlers who had come to pick fights were not the only ones on the mountain; there were also those who came honestly to pay their respects to the deceased and had run into this scene by chance. In the midst of the chaos, a child's soft voice was raised, teary with sobs she could no longer suppress. "Aunties and uncles, can you… Can you stop hitting him —"
A large hand covered her mouth before she could finish her plea.
The crowd turned, slightly panicked at the thought that this girl was some noble maiden who'd called out to stop them. But once they saw the speaker clearly, their panic disappeared faster than ripples in water and transformed into raw malice. "Changfeng-jun? What kind of fit is your daughter having now?"
It seemed that the child who had just spoken up was little Lan-er. She had come with her father to pay her respects at the cemetery; they hadn't expected to run into this kind of situation.
Ever since she had fallen sick, Lan-er had been scorned wherever she went. No one dared play with her, nor did they pay any heed to what she said. Other than her papa, no one so much as smiled at her. She and Gu Mang had merely exchanged a few words when they met at the medicine master's manor, but those words and the slight weight of the dragonfly on her head amounted to the first gentleness she had known in many, many years. Now, as she saw Da-gege bullied like this, she couldn't stop the tears that streamed down her face.
"My apologies, my apologies," Changfeng-jun blurted.
But the rabble wouldn't let it go. "They're right to call your daughter a mad dog," someone mocked. "She's even pleading on behalf of a creature like him."
"Control your daughter's filthy mouth. The only reason she still attends the academy is out of pity. If you don't watch yourself, sooner or later her blighted core will be torn out!"
Someone else took it a step further: "Changfeng-jun, surely your daughter's too young to be chasing after men? What's wrong, did she take a fancy to this dog?"
Such filthy talk would've infuriated any normal father, but Changfeng-jun could no longer be described as normal. He was a deer cornered at the edge of a cliff. Faced with these bloodthirsty predators, what could he do? It didn't matter if his anguish tore his heart to shreds and set his hands to shaking. He forced it all down. Even if the tendons in his neck protruded with rage, he had no choice but to laugh along and agree.
They were right. Little Lan-er couldn't afford any more missteps. Every day that went by, she risked expulsion and having her core pulled out. Changfeng-jun bowed and apologized as he hurriedly scooped up his daughter and carried her away from this dangerous place.
The moment he let go of Lan-er's mouth outside the graveyard, the child burst into tears. "Papa," she sobbed into his shoulder, "what did that Da-gege do wrong…?"
Changfeng-jun stroked her hair. "He committed a crime punishable by death—the crime of treason. Lan-er, you need to watch what you say."
"There's no way to forgive him?"
"His crime is unpardonable. There's no chance he'll be forgiven."
Lan-er's tears rolled like beads coming off of a string. "But…but…"
Her father carried her down the mountain path. She watched with her head on her father's shoulder as Gu Mang and that crowd of people faded into the distance. Young and naive as she was, she didn't know that Gu Mang had long ago lost his own parents. "But…the way he's being treated…" Her voice hitched with sobs. "If his parents saw…wouldn't they be sad?"
If his mama and papa could see, wouldn't they be sad?
Little Lan-er didn't know that Gu Mang had no mother or father. He had lost his family long ago, then later his brothers, his army, his glory, and his reputation—he had nothing left but his own filth. There was no one left who would feel sorrow on his behalf; only those who would rejoice at his suffering.
No one cared for Gu Mang. The only one who would stay by his side was shackled by destiny and status; a man who had long since lost the freedom to do as he wished.
"Xihe-jun."
In the hall of the Bureau of Military Affairs, Mo Xi had just finished his work and was preparing to once again leave the capital for Warrior Soul Mountain. For each of the past few days when Gu Mang had been in the cemetery, Mo Xi had dealt with his military duties as quickly as possible before heading back to that copse of trees to keep an eye on Gu Mang from afar.
But today, the attending official stopped him.
"What is it?"
"There's been an urgent missive from the eastern frontier. His Imperial Majesty requests your presence in the throne room to discuss it this evening."
Mo Xi paused halfway through pulling open the collar of his military uniform. The clever attending official noticed immediately. "Does Xihe-jun have other important matters to attend to?"
"What's the situation at the eastern frontier?"
"Yun Country fell to the Liao Kingdom's demonic magic and has amassed great numbers of ghost troops. Three villages at the eastern frontier were massacred…"
Mo Xi refastened his collar with slender fingers. "Tell His Imperial Majesty I will be at the throne room as soon as I sort through our records on ghost soldiers."
"We'll await Xihe-jun's arrival."
Thus the one in the throne room stayed awake all night, engaged in candlelit discussion, while the one on Warrior Soul Mountain lay unconscious all night, with no one to care.
On the dawn of the fourth day, Gu Mang awoke from his stupor.
He blearily blinked his eyes open. The sky had cleared, and he was sprawled in a puddle. The azure expanse above him seemed so close, he could reach out and touch it. He stirred and sensed that new wounds had somehow appeared on his body, but he wasn't much alarmed.
"Mngh…" He rubbed at a lump on his head. Did he fall? Or was this from his kowtowing? He couldn't figure it out, so he let it go.
A dozen or so gravestones remained. He crawled upright and scooped a handful of the water pooled in front of Murong Xuan's grave. Unbothered by its cleanliness—or lack thereof—he drank it slowly, then clambered forward on all fours to continue his penance. Like the sky clearing after the rain, like the sun shining through the clouds, he felt that the weight of his crimes might finally be lessened, ever so slightly. He bowed without pause, kneeling before all of those vengeful ghosts in his dreams, kowtowing to the past and present.
Level by level, one jade step at a time. Gravestone by gravestone, one deceased soul after another.
Mo Xi arrived an hour later. He had worked through the night at the Bureau of Military Affairs, and his eyes were red after two nights without sleep. Another might've hurried home to their bed after spending all night at work, but Mo Xi seemed possessed by some waking nightmare as he took breakfast at the Bureau of Military Affairs and walked up Warrior Soul Mountain alone.
Gu Mang had already spent four days on his knees. Four days and four nights without rest might have been nothing to the General Gu of the past: he had a singularly strong spiritual core, which was more than enough to keep him burning hot and bright like a torch. But all that remained for the Gu Mang of the present was a damaged body and a shattered soul.
Still, he forced himself to endure the hardship.
Mo Xi silently watched over Gu Mang from afar. He counted each grave for Gu Mang as he knelt. Here was the nine thousandth one hundredth and sixty-first plaque…the nine thousandth one hundredth and sixty-second plaque…
He was almost there. He was almost done.
By noon, Gu Mang finally reached the gravestone of Mo Xi's father once again. He looked like a beggar who had rolled in mud, soaked in dirty water from head to toe. His face was begrimed, his forehead rubbed raw, and his knees had long become a bloody mess, but his eyes were extraordinarily bright. No one who looked into those eyes could doubt his sincerity or shatter his hope.
Carefully, attentively, Gu Mang kowtowed thrice.
It was over.
He let out a breath and tried to stagger to his feet. Exhausted by his long trial, he collapsed almost instantly, crumpling back toward the ground. But the pain of impact never came.
He felt a cool breeze. Someone was holding him; someone had taken his filthy body into their arms. They had a faint scent about them—one that Gu Mang recognized. Honey and jasmine. And though they tried valiantly to hide it, their hands were shaking.
Gu Mang turned and caught sight of Mo Xi's face.
Mo Xi had stood in the shadows all this time, enduring the torment of waiting with Gu Mang until he had finished his apology. He'd been waiting for so long to help him up at the very end.
Gu Mang looked at Mo Xi, and then looked at the hand bracing his arm. Slowly, a smile that was nearly lighthearted spread across his dirty face. But as his eyes crinkled, hot tears sprang forth. Embarrassed, he wiped wildly at his face. He wanted to speak, but after repeating the traitor Gu Mang deserves to die ten thousand deaths so many times, it was all he could do to swallow. He couldn't say anything else. He looked at Mo Xi, smiling and crying at the same time.
He felt so stupid. His broken brain was uselessly stuck, but he still urgently wanted to express himself. He tapped his own chest. "Do you understand…my heart now? I didn't lie to you."
Every word came out clumsy. He tried his hardest to smile, but he couldn't stop the tears that fell freely. "I didn't…lie."
Mo Xi said nothing.
"It was true…" he said haltingly. "This time…all of it is true…"
Caught between the desires of his heart and the vengeance of his nation, Mo Xi's soul was tearing itself asunder. He couldn't find a word to say. In the end, he helped Gu Mang to a stone bench in silence.
Gu Mang looked at the gravestones covering the slope below. "How nice," he mumbled. "I've knelt before all of them…"
The cool breeze blew softly over the mountaintop.
"I can start over again…"
Each word Gu Mang said was a knife digging into Mo Xi's heart. Lowering his head, Mo Xi took out a bamboo box, which he placed on the bench. This box was from the dining hall in the Bureau of Military Affairs and had been imbued with spiritual energy to preserve the temperature and flavor of its contents for hours on end. Mo Xi unpacked it without looking at Gu Mang. "Eat something," he murmured.
Within was straw mushroom and pork congee, rice cakes, meltingly tender braised dongpo pork belly dripping with savory juices, thinly sliced cucumber with sweet tianmian bean sauce, and some fluffy, white steamed buns.
Mo Xi held out a pair of chopsticks for Gu Mang, but Gu Mang didn't take them. He looked at his dusty hands in distress and made a great effort to wipe them on his clothes. No matter how hard he wiped, they were still filthy. Helpless, Gu Mang sat and stared vacantly into the distance.
Mo Xi sighed and produced a spotless silk handkerchief. He wet it with a water-channeling talisman and turned to Gu Mang. "Give me your hands."
"They're dirty…"
Instead of repeating himself, Mo Xi tugged Gu Mang's hands toward himself. When they touched, he could feel Gu Mang's fingers trembling in his own.
Mo Xi looked down. Slowly and carefully, he wiped Gu Mang's hands with his damp handkerchief. When he finished, those hands were clean, and his once-spotless handkerchief was thoroughly dirtied.
"Go ahead," Mo Xi said.
Gu Mang looked at the food, genuinely ravenous. He gulped. "Can I eat the steamed bun and meat without using chopsticks?" He raised his newly pristine hands to show Mo Xi. "Look, they're clean."
Mo Xi swept a silent glance over him. Those thin scars on Gu Mang's hands were only more painful to see on his spotless skin. He looked away. "Just for today."
Gu Mang nodded at once and took a hungry bite of the steamed bun. Mo Xi, who had also toiled all night without stopping for a meal, looked at Gu Mang and tried to affect a careless tone. "No one's going to take it from you."
In response, Gu Mang dug in with even more haste, unintelligible sounds issuing from his steamed-bun-stuffed mouth. After a beat, Mo Xi's voice softened even further. "Slow down a little," he said gently. This was met with more incomprehensible noises, muffled by steamed bun and braised meat.
It had been a long time since the two of them had sat together so amicably. For a moment, Mo Xi had a powerful urge to pat Gu Mang on the head, just as he had in the past. But in the end, he raised a hand only to let it fall back to his side.
The movement was subtle, but Gu Mang noticed. However, he mistook Mo Xi's intentions. After a moment's pause, with his mouth still full of steamed bun, he falteringly tore the remaining bun in two.
Tendrils of steam rose into the air. Gu Mang kept the smaller piece for himself and passed the larger one to Mo Xi. Above his bulging cheeks, his blue eyes were so clear they seemed to have been rinsed by the rain.
"Are you hungry too?"