THE SITUATION WAS too urgent for Mo Xi to personally inform the emperor. He sent a messenger butterfly winging to the palace and took the initiative to rush to the foot of Warrior Soul Mountain.
At the entrance, he found that the two cultivators guarding the mountain were already dead. Their eyeballs had been gouged out, and their hearts taken as well.
They had died in the same way as Elder Yu.
The ring on Mo Xi's hand grew hotter and hotter, and it pointed straight at that blood-splattered mountain path. Mo Xi stared at the ring for a moment, gritting his teeth. "Gu Mang…is it really you?"
He swept straight up the mountain, blood running cold.
The terrain of Warrior Soul Mountain was difficult to traverse. Its cloud-encircled peak was the resting place for generations and dynasties of Chonghua's heroes. It was said that, in the dead of night, the whinnying of warhorses and the clanging of copper bells still sounded from the mountain, as if to lend credence to the legend that so long as the fires of war burned across the Nine Provinces, the souls of Chonghua's heroes would know no peace.
Many magical navigation devices were befuddled by the mountain's flow of spiritual energy and would fail to point in the correct direction. Even Mo Xi's silver ring was affected, recalibrating many times before it spun once more.
Mo Xi arrived at the foothills of Warrior Soul Mountain and stopped, staring at the faint mist that suffused the dense forest. "Dream of Longing…" he murmured.
Indeed, this was no ordinary mountain mist, but rather the Dream of Longing technique, which only elite Liao Kingdom cultivators could use.
This illusion could transform one's true surroundings into an entirely new world. If the technique detected your desires and you sunk within them, your mind would be left vulnerable to destruction. Mo Xi, however, had fought many Liao Kingdom spellcasters who used Dream of Longing on the battlefields; resisting it wasn't particularly arduous for him.
The needle tip of the ring was pointing right into the thick of it, which could only mean that Gu Mang was currently within that illusory mist from Dream of Longing.
Mo Xi had to enter. He pondered this for a spell before lifting his head and gravely intoning, "Illusion Butterfly."
A messenger butterfly materialized in response to his summons.
"Report the location and situation to His Imperial Majesty," Mo Xi said. "I will go forth to investigate. Have him send assistance."
The butterfly fluttered its wings, and in a blink, it disappeared into the depths of the mountain forest. Mo Xi stepped into the dense, unrelenting fog.
He was surrounded by a white haze so thick it was difficult to see his own fingers.
"Gu Mang!" he shouted. "Gu Mang, come out!"
Mo Xi's voice echoed in the mist.
After a moment, soft laughter floated out from the damp, chilly murk. "Xihe-jun?" The speaker was not Gu Mang. He sighed. "Ah, how interesting. I did sense a foreign spiritual flow in my captive Beast of the Altar. It seems you've put a tracking talisman on him."
"Who are you, good sir?" Mo Xi asked carefully.
"Xihe-jun's been investigating the brothel case for so long. Doesn't he have an inkling as to who I am?" That shadowy figure was vague in the mist, appearing for a flash, then disappearing immediately thereafter.
But in that brief flash, Mo Xi had struck. A barrage of blazing fireballs hurtled forward with a resounding boom.
"Aiyo." A hum came from the thick mist. After another few moments, the voice sighed. "Xihe-jun, the ruthless god of war…truly lives up to his name." He let out an eerie, ominous laugh. "You really do have a terrible temper."
A muscle in Mo Xi's jaw jumped. "Where's Gu Mang? What is your relationship with him?!"
"I don't have any relationship with him. As for who I am, aren't all those tales being spread in Chonghua City?" The person spoke with relish, as if describing something he found incomparably interesting. "They say I rape brothel girls, or that I'm a runaway cook from Luomei Pavilion…" He laughed loudly, the sound reverberating in mist that grew thicker and thicker. "They're really so fascinating. I heard a great many—and I even told one myself."
He'd told one himself?!
"That's right," the man continued with an indolent lilt, as if he could see Mo Xi's slightly widened eyes. "I was bored of lazing around, so I dressed up as a storyteller and slipped into a teahouse to tell tales. I said I'd mounted seventy victims in one night, but that friend of yours, young Yuegongzi, didn't enjoy my performance at all. He wanted to gossip about a two-pump chump. What a naughty child."
"So you were actually… Then the real storyteller…"
"I killed him, of course," the man said carelessly. "I think I threw him into a dry well afterward? Or maybe a burial mound? Sorry, I've killed so many people. It's a bit of a blur."
He laughed again. "Speaking of, you're certainly more reliable than that Wangshu-jun. All he knows is how to let his imagination run wild. Once he came up with his own conclusion, he tripped over himself rushing to pry proof of it from the prisoner's mouth. You knew better—you properly analyzed those few sword marks I left on the bodies."
The man paused, then asked, nigh delighted, "So, did you figure it out?"
"Are you really Li Qingqian?" Mo Xi's voice was low and fiery.
The man was still for a few moments, the thick fog roiling, before he unexpectedly burst into giggles. His laughter grew louder and eerier, resounding endlessly around them, its source impossible to pin down.
"Li Qingqian…Li Qingqian, ha ha, ha ha ha ha…" This name seemed to have pricked a sore spot in his heart. The laughter wrenched from his throat was like wheeling vultures, circling without cease.
"I'm not!" His voice suddenly tightened, sharp amid the lingering echoes. "The first chapter of the Water-Parting Sword Manual says, 'The benevolent blade parts water, the righteous blade cuts sorrow; compassion despite lowliness, resilience against a thousand hardships…' How ridiculous, how wretched, how pathetic! 'Li-zongshi' who? He's nothing more than a penniless miser, a useless good-for-nothing, a pathetic pedant!"
He continued to curse and rage for a long while until he gradually calmed down. In the freezing, silent mist, he snapped, "I'm so sick of you hypocrites. You're unquestionably tainted by all three poisons—greed, wrath, and ignorance, but you remain trapped by cowardly indecision, all for the sake of your precious reputation."
Danger had filled his voice.
Mo Xi could not have been more sensitive to killing intent, and his eyes were instantly wary. "Shuairan! Come!"
A beam of red light flashed, and the holy snake whip hissed into his hand.
"Oh, Shuairan." The man snorted. "So strong. Its power is earthshattering. Unfortunately, I think you won't need it here."
Mo Xi said nothing.
"I can't defeat you in a fight, so I won't bother trying. However, I've had the luck to overhear some of your secrets. I've no shortage of ways to trap you. For example…" The man paused, then asked in a tone filled with curiosity, "Back when Gu Mang was locked up at Luomei Pavilion, did you or did you not tell him…that the lotus tattoo on his neck…was your doing?"
Mo Xi's blood ran cold. He ground his teeth. "What exactly are you?!"
"Don't be in such a rush to ask that. Why don't I ask you first?" The voice still spoke with interest. "Let me ask you a question—the finest general of Chonghua, the pristine Xihe-jun, distant from all others, self-restrained and self-possessed for thirty years. A man so callous even Princess Mengze's attentive care can't thaw him."
The man's voice rose and fell, moving suddenly close and suddenly far. This time, it seemed to press right up next to Mo Xi's ear, breath humid.
"You and that General Gu—what relationship do you share?"
With a whistle, Shuairan struck, fiery rage making sparks burst from the whip.
The phantom seemed to have expected this. He wasn't hit and dispersed to who knew where.
"You're so mean, Officer. Looks like my guess wasn't far off the mark?"
Mo Xi didn't answer. "Hand over Gu Mang!" he snapped.
"Hand him over? I'm not stupid. He used to be the fiercest general of the Liao Kingdom. Even though his core's been broken, I still have methods by which to control him and revive his battle strength." That phantom was smiling. "Why would I hand over such a strong soldier?"
He paused, and his smile grew broader. "In all of Chonghua, you're the only person who can face him one-on-one, Xihe-jun. As long as I have him to guard me, no one else who comes here could hope to be a match for him. As for you, Xihe-jun…"
The suggestive lilt in that voice grew more pronounced.
"I have other plans."
As the man spoke, the lingering sound drifted into the distance, as if it were about to fade away entirely.
"Since you had the courage to come alone and enter this dreamscape for his sake, I must of course be a good host and let him serve you properly." He laughed softly. "Xihe-jun, pleasant times with your lover are ever brief, so enjoy them while you can."
"You—!"
As if in answer to his wishes, a burst of red lit up in front of him, accompanied by a high, wavering voice. Someone was singing.
"Rain falls soft over Yuchi Pavilion; sun shines down on Jinni Hall. Let wine and music flow for all; mean although their lives may seem, matters of ants are not so small…"
Mo Xi knew that as soon as one entered the Dream of Longing's vision, it could not be broken from within. He would have to wait for the emperor's reinforcements to arrive. Until then, he would be unable to avoid whatever illusory scenes unfolded before him. However, so long as he could maintain clarity of mind, it would be no trial to withstand.
But at that very moment, the phantom's voice slithered once more from the depths of the dreamscape: "Xihe-jun, I know what you're thinking. You mean to endure by means of sheer willpower, don't you?" He snickered. "Too bad. Even if you can endure, Gu Mang might not manage."
Mo Xi tensed. "What do you mean?"
"Everyone says Xihe-jun possesses astonishing self-restraint, that his focus never wavers. Naturally, I wouldn't be so stupid as to rely on brute force. But now that Gu Mang's lost his souls, he's nothing more than a pitiful, mentally fragile creature—of course it's easier for me to make use of him." His words were faint, slow. "When that ring of yours pointed the way for you, did it tell you that he'd been drugged?"
Cold shot through Mo Xi's blood. "You're—!" he snarled.
"I'm what? I'm despicable?" The phantom smiled. "I only gave him some medicine to awaken his strength so he could better guard me. Good gentleman Xihe-jun, what were you thinking?" The phantom's voice was once more filled with delight. "But you're not off the mark—I truly am shameless. Because the next drug I give him…will be something else."
Mo Xi said nothing.
"You're not the only one I've tossed into this illusion. He's here too." The phantom's voice was unctuous. "You can endure with your noble selfcontrol, but can you bear to see him… Heh heh, that's enough, that's enough."
Mo Xi was so furious he wanted to let out a stream of curses. Who was this rapist in truth? Li Qingqian? The Liao Kingdom cook? Or some deranged vengeful ghost?
"Humans are no more than desires given flesh. Some people indulge in sensual delights, others pursue the heights of reputation. But aren't the desires of passion and the desires of reputation both desire?" The phantom laughed softly. "What difference is there?"
Mo Xi made no reply.
"Go on. Your Gu Mang-gege…awaits."
The phantom's voice disappeared, while the sounds of music grew louder and louder. The opera singer's trilling voice was about to reach the clouds, winding like a venomous snake.
"In that shade will a kingdom rise, a lifetime's work etched in his eyes. Qi Xuan's teachings only partly gleaned; when will the east wind wake me from this dream—!"
With that final syllable, the fog surrounding Mo Xi dispersed. He discovered that he was standing amid an expanse of brilliant lanterns. It was evening, and people came and went, passing back and forth like a weaving shuttle through the dazzling nightless dark.
Two guards stood before the extravagant whitewashed, black-tiled doors in front of him, wearing blue spellcasters' robes with storm patterns and golden trim. Eight brilliant lanterns illuminated the path into the manor, the blue bat totem above the doorway glimmering brightly with spiritual energy.
The insignia of Murong Lian's clan.
Why was he at…Wangshu Manor?
The illusory world created by Dream of Longing was usually linked to memories with which one didn't wish to part.
Gu Mang was also in the dreamscape with Mo Xi. It was probable that this scene was born not of Mo Xi's inner demons, but rather those of the other man in the dream—the one who'd been fed hallucinatory drugs… Gu Mang.
Even though Gu Mang's memories weren't whole, the illusion could draw from any fixation in his heart. But why would they manifest Wangshu Manor?
Wangshu Manor. Drugs. Desire. Past. These words floated through Mo Xi's mind. When he thought about it again, he remembered something, and his elegant face instantly paled.
Was it possible that the dreamscape had absorbed that particular part of Gu Mang's past?
Mo Xi cursed inwardly. His shadow swept over the arcing eaves, toward a certain corner of Wangshu Manor.