Work Text:
—
“I, I just woke up from a dream,” Mo Ran muttered to himself. “A very, very, very bad dream.”
Except, it wasn’t a dream, was it? And ‘waking up’ was really a mild way of putting it. That implied that it was a gradual transition to wakefulness. To be more accurate, he had gasped and shot out of bed, coughing and spluttering clawing at his own throat like he had just come back to life again.
After confirming that he was, in fact, not suffocating under pounds of dirt, he stared at his hands in disbelief. No way. There was just absolutely no way this was happening. A disbelieving laugh bubbled out of his chest. Could there really be such a thing as third chances?
His hands were scarred and calloused, a sharp contrast to how perfectly unblemished they were during his time as Taxian-Jun. His cultivation had skyrocketed by then and, alongside the meticulous care of his consorts and servants, there was simply no need for him to lift a finger to work when he could get others to do it for him.
These were also not the hands of someone who completed five years of backbreaking work, all in hopes of redeeming himself enough to be able to face his disciple. Not that it mattered in the end though. Despite all of their hopes and prayers and that damned Huazi’s work–even the thought of his name was enough to spark Mo Ran’s ire again–his poor A-Ning didn’t manage to–
A-Ning!
Mo Ran’s stomach dropped. When was this? When exactly did he come back? He jumped out of bed, not bothering with putting his shoes on before running out of the Red Lotus Pavilion. His robes fluttered behind him as he sprinted down the zigzag paths, searching for any trace of Chu Wanning’s energy within the peak.
The budding hope made his stomach churn. He couldn’t bring himself to tamp it down. If there was even the slightest chance that maybe, just maybe, he could have gone back to the time where things were still good–when he hadn’t ruined everything with his prejudice and unfounded hatred–then maybe they could start again. Maybe this time things would be good, and Chu Wanning wouldn’t have to go through anything like that ever again–that the only thing that his A-Ning would need to worry about is staying healthy and happy and picking which dessert he wanted Mo Ran to cook for him—
The memory of his frail Chu-fei almost made him stumble. Chu Wanning had always held his head high, his back straight. But, if one looked closer, they would almost be able to see the faint shadows of resignation written across those sloped shoulders. Mo Ran pushed that memory away.
How good would it be if all their past suffering were his, and solely his, to bear?
“Shizun?”
Mo Ran stopped in his tracks. He had found his way to the top of Sisheng Peak’s steps. And across from him stood Chu Wanning, golden eyes looking up at him from his place a few steps below.
A rueful smile spread across Mo Ran’s face. How fitting, he thought. Of course they would meet here.
Where you and I had to say goodbye.
But there were no goodbyes that time. Only words that were like knives and A-Ning’s irrational desperation to save a Shizun who had never shown him anything but contempt.
Mo Ran’s voice was stuck behind all the things he wanted to say, and they stood there just staring at each other. In the end, it was Chu Wanning who broke their eye contact.
“Shizun,” Chu Wanning said, bowing. “I finished repairing the rift that was found behind the training field.” He paused, before adding, “Rest assured, the damage was contained and there were no casualties.”
“And what about you?” Mo Ran asked, finally managing to get words out his mouth. “And why did you walk up these steps? Why couldn’t you have flown?”
Looking down at Chu Wanning from this angle, seeing just how far the steps stretched out behind him, how high he must have climbed in their last life, how young he looked at the moment–it all almost bowled him over. It took every fiber of his being not to collapse onto his knees at Chu Wanning’s feet. But he couldn’t. Chu Wanning didn’t trust him.
He saw the way that Chu Wanning had hesitated when he saw him approach. The guarded look in his eyes as he listened carefully to Mo Ran’s words, the way he was even more careful in his responses. Blubbering at his feet would’ve only made things worse.
He was back, but it was too late. The combination of relief and regret was almost sickening.
“There was no need,” Chu Wanning replied coldly. “And everything went as expected.”
Seeing that Mo Ran had nothing more to say to him, he bowed again once more before moving forward. Mo Ran stayed exactly where he was, turning his head just in time to catch the faint scent of Haitang blossoms as Chu Wanning walked past.
Seeing that small back get further and further away caused anxiety and panic to build up in Mo Ran’s chest, and he watched unblinking as he committed every detail to memory. He had so much to make up for, but Chu Wanning would be suspicious if he did anything out of the ordinary. It could even make things worse, if he made even the slightest of wrong moves. He didn’t want to do anything that could push A-Ning away and ruin his chances of gaining his trust.
“I don’t know what it all means,” he murmured. Mo Ran turned back to Sisheng Peak’s three thousand seven hundred and ninety-nine steps. It was so far. The steps were pristine, but all he could think about was the faint trail of blood he saw the last time he was here.
Why was he given a third chance? He did nothing but pick all the worst choices that someone could possibly make. If anything, it was Chu Wanning who deserved it. He thought of the broken A-Ning he saw in Frostky Hall, of his exhausted Chu-fei, of the young Chu Wanning he just met, baby fat still clinging to his cheeks.
It wasn’t until he lost Chu Wanning twice that he finally learned that the fault was never with his darling disciple, but with him. “Mo Weiyu, they were right about you. You’re truly nothing but a dog.”
“But, since I survived I realized—wherever you go that’s where I follow, A-Ning.”
He was such a fool. Why did it take him three lifetimes to realize the treasure he held in the palm of his hands? He didn’t even have to do anything–which was the worst part. In fact, he kept doing everything he could to throw it away, and yet it kept coming back.
He was so immersed in his thoughts that he didn’t realize he made his way to Chu Wanning’s house. He couldn’t believe how bitter he used to be at the fact that Chu Wanning got ‘special treatment’ by receiving his own quarters. It was something that he was grateful for now, since it meant that he could visit relatively undetected.
It didn’t escape his notice that he was able to walk right up to the front door without any of Chu Wanning’s barriers going off. Despite it all, his A-Ning trusted him until the very end.
He knocked. When no answer came, he knocked again. Mo Ran frowned, hesitating for only a second before pushing the door open, sighing when it swung open easily. Of course Chu Wanning would leave it unlocked. He probably thought that his barriers were enough of a deterrent. Which it would have been, if it were the past him. Things were different now, though. He would make sure of it.
“A-Ning?” Mo Ran called, expertly maneuvering through the mess of tools and…other, unidentified items on the floor. “It’s me, Shizun.”
He walked through the house, anxiety creeping in when he didn’t find his disciple in the kitchen, or the living room, or his bedroom. “A-Ning?”
A faint groan responded. Mo Ran immediately ran to the source of the sound, heart pounding in his chest. He opened the bathroom door to see Chu Wanning slumped over, leaning precariously against the wall.
“A-Ning!” Mo Ran dropped to his knees, pulling him into his arms. He immediately noticed that Chu Wanning was flushed, and could feel the heat seeping through his clothes. No, that wasn’t simply from his body heat. Mo Ran took his hand away from Chu Wanning’s back and paled at the sight of blood clinging to his fingers. When did Chu Wanning get injured?
Images of Chu Wanning laying in Frostsky Hall rose up unbidden.
Mo Ran cursed under his breath, cradling Chu Wanning in his arms as made his way back to the bedroom. He cursed again when he saw the mess of sharp objects piled up on his disciple’s bed and apologized silently as he pushed it all off. Thankfully, Chu Wanning had enough foresight to put sheets on his bed, rather than sleeping on a bare mattress, which saved Mo Ran some work.
He carefully placed his disciple on the bed, covering him with as many blankets he could find, before searching for Chu Wanning’s first aid kit. Much to Mo Ran’s surprise, the kit wasn’t as sparse as he thought it would be. Small mercies.
He hurried back into the room, heart aching at how Chu Wanning had already curled himself up into a little ball in the corner of the bed, as if he were trying to take the least amount of space up as possible.
“A-Ning,” Mo Ran murmured, trying to unravel the mess of sheets. “Let Shizun see your wound.”
Mo Ran was only met with a slight amount of resistance, which really didn’t bode well but Mo Ran tried to keep himself calm. He slowly peeled away the bloodied parts of Chu Wanning’s clothing, gasping at the site of the large gashes stretching diagonally across his back. Immediately, he sent a message calling out for the Tanlang elder to come visit, quickly.
He received a message back a few minutes later, saying that if he wanted to be healed then he should come to him. Mo Ran’s calm snapped. He was going to beat that bastard up, fuck whatever Xue-Meng thinks—but only after he healed A-Ning, of course.
He wrapped Chu Wanning up back in the blankets, making sure that only a part of his face was exposed. “Shh,” Mo Ran said, soothing him when he wiggled restlessly. “You’ll be fine soon. Shizun will get you fixed right up.”
“Sh’zun?”
Mo Ran’s heart ached. “Yes, A-Ning?”
“No healers.”
“No, you have to see one,” Mo Ran said, trying not to jostle him as much as he could. “I’m sorry, you can be mad at me later.”
Chu Wanning didn’t respond, and Mo Ran carefully watched the rise and fall of A-Ning’s chest, trying to keep his own anxiety at bay. He had just gotten another chance. How could things already go so wrong so fast?
How many times had Chu Wanning suffered through his own injuries alone? Mo Ran had never noticed. Mo Ran had never cared enough to notice.
“You better have a good excuse for waking me up,” Tanlang Elder said, meeting them at the infirmary’s door. He took one look at Chu Wanning and scoffed. “Of course it’s him. Come in.”
Mo Ran snapped, but his hands were still gentle as he lay Chu Wanning down on the bed. “What do you mean by that?”
Tanlang leveled him a look. “You should know. He’s your disciple.”
Mo Ran truly didn’t know, didn’t want to assume more than he already has, and it must have shown on his face. This time, he was met with a look of pity, which was somehow worse than the usual contempt. “Look, I know Chu Wanning isn’t your…favorite disciple, and my disciples are learning quickly thanks to him, but do try to teach him how to stay alive.”
The meaning behind his words was clear as day. As if to rub salt into the wound, Tanlang elder only rolled his eyes when he saw the gashes, quickly cleaning and dressing the wounds before shoving a few pills into Chu Wanning’s mouth, holding his jaw shut with practiced ease.
Mo Ran almost didn’t want to ask. “How often?”
“Every few days, at most, probably. My disciples will probably have a better estimate. They seem to have a running bet on how long he can stay unharmed.” Tanlang said, mixing something in a jar before handing it to Mo Ran. “Mix this with some water and feed it to him in batches. Make sure he takes the whole thing, and he should be fine in a few days.”
The whole thing took less than a quarter of a shichen. Mo Ran could do nothing but stare at the rise and fall of Chu Wanning’s chest, fists clenched at his side.
“Mo Ran,” Tanlang elder said, pausing at the door. “Don’t bother asking me to come next time. Chu Wanning’s barriers only permit certain people to walk through unimpeded.”
With that, Mo Ran was left alone once again. Chu Wanning was so still. Mo Ran shakily reached for his hand, pressing his lips to the calloused fingertips. “A-Ning,” he breathed out.
Mo Ran you stupid dog, you almost made the same mistakes again. What would have happened if he didn’t go and check on his precious disciple?
Honestly, he probably would have been fine—if Tanlang's words were of any value, then it meant this was simply a part of Chu Wanning’s normal routine. And if he were awake right now, Mo Ran had no doubt that he would glare and say that his concerns were misguided, before going off on another mission or fixing another rip in the barrier.
Nobody’s promised tomorrow. Mo Ran already had three chances. That was already more than he deserved.
“I’m gonna love you every night like it’s the last night, A-Ning,” Mo Ran murmured against Chu Wanning’s knuckles. It wouldn’t be the same love that he had shown Chu-fei, and wasn’t that just damning? It hurt to think that the only way he could show his care and affection was to cause pain and suffering, but he had to try. Things had to be different this time.
To the Chu-fei long gone, “I’ll make sure that you’re warm. I know how much you hate the cold.”
To the A-Ning of the last life, “You never have to be alone anymore. I won’t let you suffer needlessly to save such an—” his breath hitched, “such an irredeemable Shizun.”
He thought of the Heavenly Rift. Of that young, lonely back walking away from him. He thought of a world on the brink of an end, and the sacrifice of a boy that had a heart way too big for his chest. How could he have ever thought of Chu Wanning to be like cold and unfeeling stone?
If the world was ending, I’d wanna be next to you, Mo Ran thought. He should have never let his A-Ning walk away. He should have never chosen anyone else over him. He should have stayed. He should have been a good Shizun, if only even once. Then maybe things would have been different.
He tucked a few strands of Chu Wanning’s hair behind his ear. A-Ning’s hair was as silky and smooth as always, despite never having cared much for it. He remembered that Taxian-Jun had taken an odd liking to Chu-fei’s hair, insisting that he brush and detangle it from the elaborate hairstyles that he forced Chu Wanning to wear during the lavish parties he held.
He always wanted Chu Wanning to stand out, and yet was mad enough to force him to wear a veil to hide his face. He thought it would humiliate his prudish disciple to adorn such lavish accessories and wear such elaborate clothing. It did, because it was Chu Wanning, but to the outside point of view—what shame was there in being the one that the ruthless emperor personally dressed?
Mo Ran didn’t think he could ever make up for all the atrocities that he had committed in the past. Not only towards Chu Wanning, but for Xue Meng, for his uncle, his aunt, for everyone who ever treated him with kindness—all they got in return was a mad dog who bit the hand that fed him.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen,” Mo Ran said. He had no doubt that if Chu Wanning were the one to go back and to live life again that he would immediately have a plan. He would set out to fix mistakes that weren’t his to fix, and he would do it right the first time. “Your Shizun is stupid, you see. A-Ning, he’s incredibly stupid.”
Mo Ran sniffled. He swiped a hand across his face, angry at himself. He had no right to be feeling this way. And yet, here he was, unloading all of his worries onto his unconscious disciple. He scrubbed his face again, pressing the base of his hands into his eyes. A soft touch against his forearm stopped him from gouging his own eyes out.
“Shizun?” Chu Wanning croaked out.
“A-Ning!” Mo Ran all but yelled, startling Chu Wanning into retracting his hand away. Mo Ran caught it and pulled him closer. “You’re awake. How are you feeling.”
“I’m fine,” Chu Wanning said, looking at Mo Ran with furrowed brows. “Is Shizun…” Chu Wanning trailed off, looking away. His lips were pressed together in a line. “You didn’t have to bring me here. I could have handled it on my own.”
Now that Mo Ran was actually looking, he noticed the way that Chu Wanning seemed to flinch at his own words, the lines on his forehead deepening. His A-Ning never held him in contempt. He just didn’t know how to act around a shizun who clearly hated him. And yet, he always tried. Even after everything, he always tried.
Mo Ran couldn’t help himself. He wrapped his arms around Chu Wanning, pressing his face into his hair and breathing in the faint scent of Haitang blossoms. He missed it.
“...Shizun?”
Mo Ran could feel the anxiety and tension radiating from his disciple. This was out of character for him, he knew. “A-Ning,” he whispered, hoping that the lump in his throat wasn’t too obvious. “Just…please, I want to hold you for a while.”
Chu Wanning’s only response was a very belated jerky nod. They stayed in that position, with Chu Wanning sitting as still as a statue, every muscle in his body tensed, and Mo Ran, leaning awkwardly in a half standing position to lightly wrap his arms around his precious disciple.
Slowly, ever so slowly, Chu Wanning relaxed in his arms. The lump in Mo Ran’s throat grew. He had to squeeze his eyes shut when his A-Ning lightly patted his back. Maybe things weren’t as irredeemable as he thought.
If the world was ending, I’d wanna be next to you.
—