LU ZHANXING'S CORPSE was left in the sun for three days. Over their course, Mo Xi's surroundings within the Mirror gradually lost their color, and people's voices became so indistinct, they seemed to be speaking from across an ocean. Mo Xi no longer needed the invisibility cloak to walk about freely, but he had already run out of time. It was impossible for him to talk to anyone from eight years ago or draw out any more buried truths.
He sank into passive waiting.
In these three days, Gu Mang didn't go out, nor did anyone come to visit him. Lu Zhanxing had been Gu Mang's closest friend, as well as the deputy general of the Wangba Army. Many had believed Lu Zhanxing would earn a reprieve, that the emperor might pardon him at the last minute. But the emperor took neither Gu Mang's feelings nor reputation into account, and Lu Zhanxing was beheaded. Anyone could see the writing on the wall: Gu Mang had truly fallen from grace. He'd never again recover his former standing. It was the end of the Gu army.
No one would commiserate with someone downfallen and discarded. No hoofbeats stopped outside the door of the former general. For company, he had only Mo Xi, who had come to him across eight years of time, but whom Gu Mang could not see. Gu Mang stayed in his house, lying dazed in his bed, only eating if he had to, only moving if forced to, as if time had come to a standstill. But Mo Xi knew that time flowed ruthlessly on. Mo Xi would look at his own hands from time to time. When he spread his fingers, they were almost transparent. He suspected just a few shichen remained until they'd leave the world of the Mirror. He didn't even know if it would hold until the evening.
"General Gu."
A knock, and someone calling from the doorway. Gu Mang opened his eyes and stared blankly before stumbling to his feet. He hadn't eaten or stood up in too long; he was dizzy, and tripped as soon as his feet touched the ground. Mo Xi instinctively reached out to help him, but he couldn't—
Gu Mang crumpled pathetically to the floor. He hastily clambered to his feet. The door opened; a herald from the palace stood outside.
"His Imperial Majesty commands you to present yourself in the throne room."
Gu Mang seemed exhausted. "Did something happen?"
"Um…" The herald paused. "This official isn't sure either. General Gu just needs to go."
Mo Xi understood—the emperor was about to give Gu Mang his final assignment. He prayed he could stay a little longer in the Mirror, that he wouldn't be torn away in this last moment. He wanted badly to learn of this assignment Gu Mang received before he defected.
After sending the official away, Gu Mang walked to the dull bronze mirror. He changed into a set of clean, coarse robes and splashed his face with water. Droplets streamed down his cheeks, washing away the exhaustion writ there. But they couldn't wash away the redness of his bloodshot eyes. In a bid to make himself look more alert, Gu Mang pulled his hair into a high ponytail. He moved out of habit to fasten the hair crown that represented his military rank, but his fingers closed around empty air.
He'd stopped being a general long ago.
Gu Mang stood silent for a time, then fumbled for a silk ribbon to secure his hair. The ribbon was white as a lotus root—as if he were mourning someone in secret rebellion.
He entered the palace. When the imperial guards saw him, the red feathers on their helmets rustled as they moved to perform obeisance, then quickly realized that they oughtn't and straightened their heads.
In the deep and forbidden recesses of the palace, the emperor's heavenly power lay solemn over the halls; the imperial guards couldn't openly gawk at Gu Mang. But there wasn't a soul among them who didn't watch covertly from the moment he appeared at the end of the long corridor until he vanished into the depths of the palace.
Over the years, Gu Mang had walked this corridor countless times, his rank constantly rising, his admirers constantly growing. Now he was a commoner once again, attired in blue clothes and cloth shoes, with no one by his side. For half his life he had spent all his passion, exhausted all of his sincerity. He'd weathered so many tribulations only to return to square one, not so different from the first time he entered the palace as a slave.
He approached the majestic throne on the high dais. Court wasn't in session, and three pale-yellow veils hung in front of the throne, hiding everything behind from view. The sovereign's appearance was not so easily glimpsed.
Gu Mang paused. He didn't lift his gaze; he kept his lashes lowered, his head bowed. He knelt, then kowtowed. "The commoner Gu Mang greets Your Imperial Majesty."
The throne room was still. No answer came.
Gu Mang was silent for a while, then raised his head and kowtowed once more. "The commoner Gu Mang greets Your Imperial Majesty."
This time a response came, but not from the throne. A voice floated over from behind Gu Mang, light as smoke. "You bastard Gu, so you do know you're a commoner now. Why would His Imperial Majesty want to see you?"
Mo Xi and Gu Mang both turned to see Murong Lian, wearing a malevolent smirk as he stood in the doorway with his arms crossed and his hands tucked in his sleeves.
Eight years ago, Murong Lian hadn't yet used ephemera. He was in visibly better condition, not yet so weary and weak. He wore a noble's robes, blue with gold trim. Though he looked, as ever, the picture of a rich and spoiled scion, his shoulders were straight, and he stood upright on his long legs. It was a far cry from the indolence he'd later display, looking as if he'd fall over wherever he went.
Gu Mang stood up. "Why is it you?"
"Why shouldn't it be?" Murong Lian scoffed. "General Gu is so forgetful. You spent so many years serving in my manor, giving me massages and fawning over me in every possible way—what's changed? You've forgotten your roots after a few years as a general?"
Gu Mang made no reply.
"Besides, now you're a commoner, and I'm still nobility. To receive a message from me on His Imperial Majesty's behalf is already an honor for someone like you." Murong Lian's sharp chin tilted up, mockery showing on his fair face. "Why don't you kneel to accept the edict?"
Gu Mang was silent for a time, but in the end, he lowered his gaze and knelt on the ground, the hem of his light blue robes brushing the floor.
Mo Xi, who had grown used to the armored General Gu, saw now how thin and weak his unarmored body was. The wide collar of his robe exposed a bare neck that looked so defeated, a gentle pinch might snap it entirely.
Murong Lian spread his glittering gold-trimmed sleeves with a loud snap and produced the emperor's order. "As heaven's will and the emperor commands," he said in languid tones, "the casualties at the battle of Phoenix Cry Mountain were a result of Commander Gu Mang's misjudgment. Deputy General Lu Zhanxing showed lack of discipline before the troops and beheaded the envoy from Rouli, dooming our soldiers and souring Chonghua's relations with this nation. The guilty subject has been beheaded and the corpse displayed to the public. The former General Gu is charged to take the head and personally present it to Rouli in apology. End of edict."
When this scroll had been read, Gu Mang wasn't the only one stunned—Mo Xi stared as well. The emperor meant for Gu Mang to personally take Lu Zhanxing's head, leave for Rouli, and apologize for the offense of Lu Zhanxing killing their country's envoy.
As the sound in the Time Mirror grew fainter, Mo Xi felt the ringing in his ears grow louder. The emperor wanted Gu Mang to personally go to the neighboring country and offer them Lu Zhanxing's head… He clearly didn't care at all for Gu Mang's feelings, didn't care whether Gu Mang fell apart or defected. He truly was testing Gu Mang's limits, heedless of the price of pushing this man away.
Murong Lian narrowed his sultry eyes. "Hm? Does General Gu not accept the edict?"
Mo Xi shook his head. No. Don't accept it… Don't…
But judging from Gu Mang's expression, he seemed to have long recognized the emperor's cruelty. After the first moments of shock, Gu Mang's features turned cold and indifferent; he became calm, revealing only an undisguised weariness.
Don't accept it…
"The commoner Gu Mang," those low words issued from Gu Mang's mouth. "…accepts the edict." He raised trembling hands to take the scroll from Murong Lian.
An endless fall. A foregone conclusion.
And so it was that, in the late autumn of that year, many people came into new fates—Chonghua's only slave army met a terrible end after past glory, while Lu Zhanxing was executed at the eastern market, his corpse strung up for three days. To humiliate the once unyielding Gu Mang, the emperor ordered him to personally bring Lu Zhanxing's head to Rouli as a formal apology for the disrespect of killing their envoy.
Gu Mang set off carrying his brother's head on his back.
Dusk should have come with a lustrous splendor, but in Mo Xi's eyes, it was so pale as to be transparent. The power of the Time Mirror thinned, and the world within began to overlap the world without. From time to time, Mo Xi could hear chanting: Jiang Yexue's voice, reciting the incantation.
"Cross o'er the abyss of suffering, chase no more the past,
Wake thou from these fleeting dreams, return, return…"
As Mo Xi listened in his daze, Jiang Yexue's voice faded. Only the sounds of the Mirror world remained.
Gu Mang, prepared for a long journey, adjusted the cloth sack on his back. He arrived at the entrance to Chonghua's eastern market and lookedfor a stall selling meat pies. "Boss Lady, could you get me five?"
The pastry-seller was a pretty married woman. When Gu Mang had visited her stall in the past, she would shout and laugh, her voice carrying, eager to ensure everyone knew General Gu ate their meat pies. But today, when she lifted her cheerful face from the stove, her smile froze.
Gu Mang thought he hadn't been clear and repeated, "Five pastries, the same kind as always."
The woman instantly flushed. On one hand, she was eager to break off all connection with this man—it might prove troublesome even to take him as a customer. On the other hand, she found herself ashamed, her conscience at odds with her self-interest. Torn, she stood frozen until her husband came over. "Nope, nope, we're closing up shop!"
Gu Mang was startled, eyes widening. "But the night market has just opened…"
"Nope!" the man snapped brusquely.
Gu Mang understood. He looked at the woman for a moment; her face was scarlet with shame. Her conscience seemed to have suffered a shattering blow, the blood from the breakage rushing to her face and dyeing it red. He remembered the first time he came here to buy pastries. She had been single, a delicate maiden who grew so flustered at the sight of him that she'd stammered with it. Her cheeks had been rosy as a sunset then, as they were now.
Unfortunately, as time passed, many things changed—the maiden was now a madam, and the reason for her blush was likewise different.
Gu Mang sighed. "Never mind. I just wanted to buy some for the road. Your stall's pastries are really similar to ones I've had on the northern frontier; they're both delicious. Thank you for letting me taste them all these years."
He turned to leave. The lady thought she might die of embarrassment. As she watched his retreating silhouette, she couldn't help shouting, "General Gu—!"
Her husband turned pale with fright and immediately clapped a hand over her mouth. "What are you doing? Do you want to get yourself killed!"
The lady trembled; after one shout, she had lost all her righteous courage. She looked down, too afraid to make another sound. Gu Mang's steps paused for a moment before continuing into the bustling crowd. When she raised her head again, eyes teary, he'd already disappeared.
Mo Xi followed at Gu Mang's side, watching as he walked. Gu Mang seemed to have wanted to take some snacks from the capital with him. He hovered longingly in front of a little stall that sold Chonghua paper cutouts, but he was too conspicuous; the longer he stayed in the eastern market, the more people stared. The stallkeepers who were eagerly trying to attract customers lowered their heads and averted their eyes in silence when he walked by, wishing they could disappear together with their stall.
Gu Mang was an understanding person. He didn't blame them. These simple stallkeepers were guarding their livelihoods; if they served him today, they'd have it hard in the future. He had once lived in the lowest stratum of society, so he understood how it hurt to be disdained, to be left starving. When he looked at these little shops all avoiding him, his eyes held no blame. He just hadn't expected it would be so difficult to buy some mementos from his homeland on the eve of his departure.
In the end, Gu Mang left the bustling eastern market empty-handed. As he walked, he sighed. "Sorry, Zhanxing. I won't be able to buy that pearblossom white you like for a while. I can't drink it for you."
Of course, the head in his knapsack couldn't respond. Gu Mang adjusted his burden again and walked on.
He quickly passed the guards and left the city gates behind. He made his way to an old bridge carved of white jade stone known as Chonghua Bridge, which spanned the wide river that protected the city. One end connected to the road he had taken out of the city, the other to a path winding through wild grassland to the roadside departure pavilion and the capital outskirts.
At the end of the bridge was a disheveled old man, about seventy years of age. His legs were ruined, and a swarm of flies and mosquitoes picked at him. Gu Mang knew this person; he always sat here, leaning crookedly against the bridge, begging for money or food from the people flowing in and out of the city.
The beggar was old, and he never moved from his spot. The city guards had driven him away countless times, but he would always roll his rheumy eyes, propping his arms on the ground and cursing them as he crawled away. After a couple days, he would crawl right back like a stubborn, bone-deep infection, lurking about here to beg.
Gu Mang had once asked around as to why this old fellow insisted on staying at the city gates and never left Chonghua Bridge. An aging cultivator had told him that this old fellow was once a soldier; when his entire troop was wiped out on the battlefield, he'd fled in cowardice and survived. But the geezer's conscience wore him down; after a time, he could bear it no longer and went to confess his crime to the late emperor. The emperor had been taken by benevolent governance at the time and refused to have him executed; instead he stripped him of his rank, shattered his spiritual core, and left him as a commoner.
The man tried drowning his sorrows in wine and tried becoming a monk, but nothing could absolve him of his guilt. It gnawed at him with each passing day, until his mind slowly broke. The young cultivator became an old cultivator, and the old cultivator became a madman. Every day he'd recall the moment he left his comrades behind and fled. The memory drove him insane. In his madness, he hacked away at his own legs, thinking this could change the past and prevent his former self from running. But it was useless. The old lunatic's state only worsened.
He was almost eighty, and for so many years, he did nothing but wait by Chonghua Bridge, day in and day out. He waited on the road that the army would take to return, his rheumy eyes forever gazing at the distant horizon.
No one knew what he was waiting for.
Until the day Gu Mang returned victorious as a commander for the first time, armor shining beneath his scarlet cape as he rode astride a pegasus with golden wings, weaving through myriad troops and trampling the billowing dust. That dirty old man at Chonghua Bridge suddenly seemed livelier than Gu Mang had ever seen him. He dragged his broken limbs to sit upright, straining to wave to them as his eyes overflowed with hot tears. "You're back! You finally came back!"
"Who's that old guy talking about?" one of the soldiers asked, baffled.
Gu Mang looked to his left and his right, but it was just him, and his comrades and brothers in the dust behind him. He thought it over briefly and realized with a jolt whom the old man had been waiting for.
He had been waiting for those brothers he once abandoned to pass through the decades and return to the city in blazing colors astride their prancing horses. All these years, he had been waiting.
Gu Mang had dismounted and walked over to him. The old man looked up at the young general, the sun blinding his dulled eyes. Then he burst out sobbing, crying as he kowtowed to Gu Mang and crawling forward to try to hug him.
Lu Zhanxing had clicked his tongue. "Mang-er, that's dirty!"
"It doesn't matter," Gu Mang replied, stroking that old man's head. Everyone had their moments of weakness; everyone made mistakes. This deserter had spent most of his life suffering for his split-second decision. It was enough, Gu Mang thought.
The old man wept hysterically, missing teeth showing in his open mouth. First he called Gu Mang "Xiao-Zhao," then "Xiao-Chen" and "Xiao-Donggua." Gu Mang answered to all of them.
After that, the old man seemed to have found peace. He was still mad, but he stopped staring so fixedly at the horizon. He acted more like a proper beggar; he would smile at passersby, offering his dirty, broken bowl and singing his folk songs.
Gu Mang tightened his hold on the bag holding Lu Zhanxing's head and walked to the end of the bridge. Today might be the last time he passed by this old beggar.
"Uncle."
The beggar's catch was good today. In his broken bowl lay a great big steamed bun, and a pastry was tucked into his lapels.
Though Gu Mang himself had been the one to lift the weight on the old man's heart with his victorious return all those years ago, the man had forgotten Gu Mang completely. He was elderly, after all, and had been tormented by his obsession for so long; he didn't remember which general it had been who had dismounted to forgive him back then, to act as his XiaoZhao, his Xiao-Chen, his Xiao-Donggua. He looked up, chuckling mindlessly and watching Gu Mang with languid eyes. "Sir, spare some change?"
Gu Mang lowered his head to look at this stinking beggar. After a time, he smiled, too. "Now you're the only one who'll talk to me."
So saying, he emptied all his valuables and cowries from his qiankun pouch and handed them to the old man. "I'm off," said Gu Mang. He stood to leave, but the old man grabbed his wrist. "What is it?"
The beggar seemed to have come to some realization…or perhaps he hadn't realized anything at all. He reached up to take that dirty pastry from his robes and held it out as if presenting a treasure, the wrinkles on his face overflowing with his smile. "Here, here."
"For me?"
Perhaps, in his advanced age, the old man had some sensibility others lacked. He determinedly shoved the pastry into Gu Mang's hands. "Take it, you and your brother, eat it on the road… Eat it on the road…"
Gu Mang was stunned. Perhaps the eyes of elders and children really could see ghosts, as well as the future. He looked into that wrinkled face, so deeply creased it resembled a walnut. After a moment, Gu Mang slowly arranged his face into a smile and accepted that meat pie of his homeland from the old beggar's hand. "Thank you. I can take a memento of home with me after all."
The old man nodded vaguely at him, his lips quivering. "You two must come back, must come back…"
Gu Mang's smile froze, but it didn't fall. Lashes fluttering, he rose to leave. "Goodbye."
Adjusting the cloth parcel on his back, he turned to take one final look at the city gate with its towering eaves. The word Chonghua was emblazoned there in solemn seal script. In the setting sun, it gleamed splendidly. Gu Mang looked for a long time and mumbled—as if to himself, or as if to someone else. He said once more, "Goodbye."
Goodbye.
The last soldiers of the Wangba Army were imprisoned by the emperor, and what remained of Lu Zhanxing's corpse was in Gu Mang's knapsack. No one had come to see him off. He turned, a lonesome figure stepping onto Chonghua Bridge. The river flowed beneath it like yesterday's glory, vanishing into dust.
The old man beside the bridge suddenly called out, his voice clangorous. He craned his neck to watch Gu Mang disappear into the twilit horizon. Hoarsely, while smacking that beaten bowl of his, he began to sing a verse of the folk song he knew best—
"Time as swift as the shuttle does fly
Yet before it I think two paths lie:
In bygone days was I envy of all,
Careless years passed in careless thrall.
Alas, today is my purse light;
Each hour, minute a yearlong blight.
I, too, once rode a splendid horse,
My flag bid thousands on their course;
One cry dispersed the demon crowd;
Godlike, before my feet all bowed.
Today none mark my glories past,
Men once called friends all turn their backs;
By day I starve, my nights lack sleep,
Streetside I sing here for my keep.
Too high a flight, too far a fall;
I blame not heaven nor kin for't all.
But knowing now my bitter end,
I rue th'demons I once called friends.
And now that naught can change my state
I beg you all to avoid my fate."
I, too, once rode a splendid horse, my flag bid thousands upon their course.
I, too, once wore dark armor and bore a jade token amid arrows that shot to the sky.
And now…
Mo Xi gazed at Gu Mang's retreating silhouette without blinking. Even a blink would mean one less glimpse of him, so he watched Gu Mang leave with his eyes wide open, tears streaming down his cheeks. He had always known it caused Gu Mang pain to defect, but knowing it in his heart and seeing it with his eyes were not the same. The sight of it burrowed through his heart and his bones, seeking to shatter his soul.
Why did he end up like this… Why did he have to end up like this?
This man, who had once been a youth in blazing colors astride a spirited horse, was now like a delirious beggar, a wild and wandering ghost, as he walked down that ancient road into the distance. Mo Xi knew this departure marked a five-year-long farewell to Chonghua. When he returned, it would be with two souls missing, a mind broken, and a body covered in bloody filth—a chasm that could no longer be bridged.
When he returned, regardless of what known or unknown webs had been spun eight years ago, all the mistakes would be set in stone—neither Mo Xi nor Gu Mang could change anything that had happened.
"Gu Mang…"
Mo Xi felt his heart impaled by sharp awls. He wanted to follow, but Jiang Yexue's singing grew ever clearer, and the colors within the Time Mirror became ever more indistinct.
Gu Mang's silhouette seemed so insubstantial it might disappear at any moment. Mo Xi yearned to cross the seas and cliffs of time to take that lonely figure into his arms. To wade through oceans of blood and redeem that man who would never again turn back. But as the release incantation neared its end, Mo Xi lost the ability to move. He would leave this world behind at any second; he could only look on as that tiny, lonely figure, with no one to accompany him, set off alone—
Mo Xi's organs felt like they were being ripped apart. He wanted to tell Jiang Yexue to wait a little longer…to stop chanting…
Wait a little longer, give him one last moment. Let him accompany Gu Mang to the end of this path, or at least let him stay a few more seconds.
"Cross o'er the abyss of suffering, chase no more the past…"
Let him keep him company just a bit longer, bearing neither hatred nor grudges. Even if for only one moment.
"Wake thou from these fleeting dreams, return, return…"
Stop chanting…
Racked by the agonizing pain of farewell, Mo Xi watched as Gu Mang was swallowed by the horizon's light. An endless darkness fell. His heart convulsed and struggled; it twitched, beating so relentlessly, so fast. The pain came for his mind and sought to destroy it. He almost didn't want to return to the present—to return would hurt more. He would have to face the shattered remains of the man Gu Mang had been; he would have to contend with a world in disorder. How could he face Gu Mang? How could he look upon the emperor? How could he ignore the sins Gu Mang had committed, or suppress the heartbreak he felt for him?
The Time Mirror was naught but a fleeting dream, drowning so many within its depths. The descriptions the past academy elders had left were not wrong…
In the throes of this stabbing pain, Mo Xi struggled to breathe as a ruthless force yanked him viciously forward. Countless colorful and twisted reflections flashed before him—the smile at the corners of Gu Mang's eyes, the anger in Gu Mang's gaze, that too-radiant youth from their time at the academy, that traitorous general who vowed never to turn back aboard a ship at the battle of Dongting Lake; the happiness, the anger, the sorrow, and the joy they had shared over half their lives all rushed into his head, only to splinter in the setting sun over Chonghua Bridge…
"Xihe-jun!"
He heard Jiang Yexue's voice.
Mo Xi tumbled onto the icy floor of Bat Tower, his wide eyes unfocused, his chest heaving. He couldn't catch his breath… He was like a fish dragged ashore; the pain of waking up to find himself thrust again into a position of helpless passivity strove to tear him asunder. As he lay panting on the ground, he saw Jiang Yexue come over amid the chaos to kneel by his side…
"Gu Mang…" Mo Xi was almost sobbing. "Gu Mang… Don't go… Don't go any farther…"
Jiang Yexue grabbed his wrist and checked his pulse: Mo Xi was on the verge of death. The agony was such that his heart had all but stopped—a heartrending pain, a bone-breaking pain, stripping flesh from his bones… His heart seemed to be wailing in despair, as if crying out that it really didn't know how to face love and sin. Might as well just kill him… Might as well just let itself stop beating.
It hurt too much.
To look on helplessly as his most important person walked into hell… No, no…was forced into hell…tempted into hell… And this time, just as before, he could neither redeem him nor accompany him. Just as before, he never discovered the true reason Gu Mang turned traitor…
"Xihe-jun!" Jiang Yexue called to him anxiously. "Mo Xi! Mo Xi!"
Don't go… It's a dead end…
At this moment, a beam of golden light spilled from the Time Mirror. Gu Mang had also been freed—he was thrown out, skidding to a stop on the floor of the demon tower.
Mo Xi dragged himself forward. The Time Mirror had nearly worn his body to the breaking point. "Gu Mang…" He crawled, stumbling and falling toward that figure who had crumpled to the ground. He reached for Gu Mang's hand, the hand he hadn't taken eight years ago, neither in reality nor in the Mirror. "Gu Mang…"
His fingertips were shaking badly. Just as they were about to touch Gu Mang, the man on the ground twitched. Mo Xi's fingers curled back as he unconsciously withdrew.
Gu Mang slowly, slowly sat up.
Silence reigned. Gu Mang closed his eyes, his brows knitting and lashes fluttering, then slowly opened them once more. His face was pale, his lips bloodless.
He turned to look at Mo Xi, and for a long while, remained silent. His gaze went from confused to clear, from broken to focused. All the color and emotions he had lost returned to his face like ink spreading on paper. Little by little, they traced out his countenance and character.
A familiar face emerged as Mo Xi watched. As confusion gave way to awareness, it was as if he saw a long-dormant queen of the night flower bud finally stretch its petals in bloom. Gu Mang was no longer that vacant and ignorant shell, no longer a shackled slave who couldn't distinguish past from present. His eyes remained that tempered blue, but the blank expression on his face gradually shifted to one that was calm, strong, and untamed, clear and unyielding.
There was no need for any explanation, no need for a single word; all it took was a glance for Mo Xi to recognize that this was certainly not the Gu Mang whose mind had been shattered. Rather…the man who had returned from the Time Mirror was Gu Mang with all his past memories.
Chonghua's Beast of the Altar, the former General Gu. Gu-shixiong.