Work Text:
Chu Wanning blinks heavily, his eyes fighting to stay open. But Mo Ran is so warm. And his arms are wrapped around him like a protective blanket inviting the pleasure of sleep. Chu Wanning snuggles in closer, burying himself against Mo Ran. When he draws his legs up, Mo Ran automatically adjusts so they can slip between his own thighs, interlocking the two together.
He presses a kiss to Chu Wanning’s forehead.
“Wanning,” he says in a low voice. “Are you awake?”
“Mn,” Chu Wanning hums and nuzzles in closer. He awake, but only just.
Most nights he doesn’t force himself to stay awake, but Mo Ran–Taxian-jun– had a hard day today. Over the past few months, more and more memories have been flooding back to him. Both memories of his own life from this world, memories he never experienced, and memories of his own life. Memories he forgot or suppressed, or hasn’t yet been willing to face. It's hard for him when that happens. He struggles to let them go. Taxian-Jun is, after all, the most obsessive part of Mo Ran. The part so obsessed he clung to the body and his life, and was so strong Hua Binan could not dispel it to claim the empty corpse of the emperor. While that obsession saved him, it means that when his mind is caught in a though it's hard to let them go.
Today he found Mo Ran sat outside by the stream staring down at his bare feet. Chu Wanning sat down next to him, dipping his toes in the cold water. Taxian-jun leaned against Chu Wanning and kept silent for a long time. It wasn’t until later that evening that Chu Wanning found the book of letters Mo Ran wrote to him in his five years seclusion. Immediately he was confronted with three facts as he flipped through the book.
The first is that Chu Wanning died. He knew this but refuses it wholly. He does not want to acknowledge that Chu Wanning has ever died. The first time he asked Chu Wanning about it and Chu Wanning told him about why he chose to carry him up the steps even if it meant his own death, he was so upset that his sorry bled through to Mo Ran when he wa drawn into consciousness and spent the day breaking into tears without understanding why. Chu Wanning was too thin faced to tell him he told Taxian-jun about his own death, so he merely pulled Mo Ran into his arms and held him as Mo Ran tried to laugh off how he couldn't stop the tears from flowing even if he doesn't get why. He never realized that was Taxian-jun lingering.
The second reason why the book of letters upset him is because he wrote letters too. When he woke up and Hua Binan would write him letters about Mo Ran and Chu Wanning’s life, Taxian-jun would angrily sit down and write letters back. Letters meant to be passed to Chu Wanning dictating his accomplishments. A few he remembers even said that he maybe might miss him.
But those letters were never delivered. Hua Binan said they were, promised him they were, but they weren't. Chu Wanning didn't even know he existed until he forced his way into this world. His letters aren't neatly bound into a book to be stored like an heirloom that Chu Wanning sometimes pulls down to study with a smile cresting his lips. Instead, his letters relaying his accomplishments were burned. Destroyed. Gone entirely. Whatever memories, whatever moments he wrote in them are lost forever.
And the final reason why the book of neatly bound letters hurt Taxian-jun’s feelings is because of what was in them. Mo Ran spent those five years growing. He became Mo-zongshi over the course of these letters. He became better. He saved people. Towns. Entire cities Mo-zongshi saved. He repented and reflected. His days were filled with endless joys that Taxian-jun didn't even know existed. Every day he found a reason to be happy, and that happiness was a rich soil for him to flourish in while Taxian-jun was caught in bone dry, white dirt that can only kill what lingers in it.
It doesn't matter that Chu Wanning told him that Mo Ran lied in the letters, that his countless daily joys was to hide the suffering he endured, but even that didn't help Taxian-jun. In those letters he saw Mo Ran become a better person that he could ever be.
He's bitterly jealous of Mo Ran and hurt by it.
He wants to be a better person. He always wanted to be a better person. The world just never allowed it.
Taxian-jun pulls Chu Wanning in tighter, squeezing him so hard it hurts as the night drags on and his consciousness will recede. Chu Wanning runs his hand against Mo Ran’s side, unconsciously tracing the scar over his ribs.
“Wanning,” Mo Ran murmurs quietly and Chu Wanning hums again to tell him he’s awake. Lips pressed to Chu Wanning’s skin so his words reverberated through his chest, Taxian-jun asks, “Would you be sad if I never woke up again?”
“Yes,” Chu Wanning replies. He slides his hand up Taxian-jun’s back and he embraces him fully. “Don’t say stupid things and go to sleep.”
Taxian-jun sighs deeply. His thoughts are still dragging through his mind, scraping against unhealed wounds.
“Are you sad when he’s here and not this venerable one?”
“You’re the same person,” Chu Wanning replies sleepily. “I love you the same.”
“Yeah, but he–”
“Mo Ran,” Chu Wanning replies, finally allowing a sternness to bleed through his tone. “I love you.”
Taxian-jun huffs but closes his eyes. Chu Wanning nuzzles against him with a contented hum, running his fingers up and down Mo Ran’s spine in the same way he would pet a dog.
He can feel Taxian-jun struggling against the pull in his mind to relinquish the body to his other self. He shifts uncomfortably, almost as though he’s in pain. He breaks into a sweat and whimpers. It’s like those long nights in their other life where Chu Wanning didn’t sleep and instead stayed up worrying over Mo Ran. Chu Wanning says up with Mo Ran until he calms in his arms and can actually sleep. Only then does Chu Wanning let himself fall asleep too.
Taxian-jun wakes. The sun is high, casting a warm beam of light onto the floor near the bed. Outside a bird sings, surely announcing that it is going to peck away at the seeds Taxian-jun just planted. The whole cabin is filled with a familiar scent, something that smells amazing but has a slight burnt quality to it. His baobei making him breakfast.
Taxian-jun rolls out of bed. Without bothering to get dressed he wraps his arms around his husband bent over shoving kindling into the stove. Chu Wanning makes a surprised squeak that is adorable and Taxian-jun chuckles, pulling him upright and pressing a kiss to the back of Chu Wanning’s neck, enjoying the sweet scent of flowers that hangs in the air around Chu Wanning.
“You slept in,” Chu Wanning says.
“Mn,” Taxian-jun hums and nips at Chu Wanning’s ear.
Chu Wanning twists his head around to give Taxian-jun a kiss before taking a step to the right to continue pushing around the ominous mix of vegetables in the pan that have blackened on one side, dragging Taxian-jun with him.
“You had a hard day yesterday,” Chu Wanning says, giving him warning that he might feel the lingering effects of whatever Mo-zongshi did the day before.
“I don’t care,” Taxian-jun replies. “I don’t want to hear about him.”
Chu Wanning pauses stirring the vegetables but doesn’t say a word. Instead he reaches for an egg to crack into the pan. Taxian-jun reaches around him to crack it for him lest they need to pick out half the shell. He takes the spoon from Chu Wanning too and begins to stir, pressing further into his back to reach around him for the spices that won’t burn Chu Wanning’s tender mouth. Chu Wanning grabs one too, a small bottle of crushed peppers.
“Are you sure?” Taxian-jun asks softly. He loves that Chu Wanning is trying to increase his tolerance for him, but it’s always so miserable to watch him hurting himself. Plus him red faced and choking like that always stirs something deep in Taxian-jun’s stomach that Chu Wanning rarely allows him to indulge at the breakfast table. The result is that he usually saved days that he’s trying to increase his spice tolerance for Mo-zongshi’s days because he has a little more restraint and Chu Wanning finds him more embarrassed around and therefore more likely to refused such indulgent acts.
He uncorks the jar and his expression twists into a frown. “I am. Do you remember how much I’m up to?”
Mo Ran presses against him to peer at the jar. It’s almost half gone. He asks, “Shouldn’t you be the one keeping track, baobei?”
“I was until you said that you were,” Chu Wanning scolds making Taxian-jun laugh. Taxian-jun pouts, rocking Chu Wanning back and forth saying, “I'm sorry, baobei. I can make it up to you though…hm?”
“Not now, Mo Ran. You made me promise that first thing we'd supplement your garden with spiritual energy before going and buying that coastal potting soil you wanted.”
“What!” Taxian-jun barks, his hand tightening on the spoon so tightly the wood nearly cracks under the pressure. “That bastard didn't go get it and assigned it to this venerable one! Well then I'll just have to– Wanning? What's wrong?”
Chu Wanning has gone stiff in his arms, slowly craning his neck to stare at Taxian-jun with wide eyes.
“Mo Ran,” He says in such a serious tone that Taxian-jun quivers, certain that Tianwen will come next. “Who- which you are you?”
“Me.” Taxian-jun says, confused with a deep sense of dread suddenly growing in his chest. “You know it's me. It's my day.”
Chu Wanning grips Taxian-jun’s hand and twists out of his grasp. He gently strokes his inner wrist in a reassuring manner but it only makes Taxian-jun more anxious all of a sudden.
“What's wrong?” He asks staring down at his husband.
“Taxian-jun?” Chu Wanning’s voice wobbles with fear enough that Taxian-jun steps back away from him and his shoulders curl inwards. He doesn't want Chu Wanning to be scared of him. Chu Wanning moves with him, hand still wrapped around him. With his other hand he reaches upwards to caress his cheek.
Taxian-jun doesn't like how scared he looks at all. He reaches out to Chu Wanning too, cradling his cheek in his hand.
“Do you feel sick?”
He doesn't.
“Are you hurt? Did you get struck by a pollen?
He didn't.
Chu Wanning’s lips pull tight. Finally he says, “You were here yesterday too,” and Taxian-jun understands his fear. Suddenly it makes sense why Chu Wanning looks so scared.
An overwhelming mix of emotions rushes through Taxian-jun. Worry that Chu Wanning looks so scared. Joy to steal an extra day in the body for one. Anger that Mo-zongshi would scare Chu Wanning like this. Hurt that Chu Wanning clearly doesn't want him to have another day.
And vindication. Victory. He won. He beat Mo-zongshi.
Last night, as he was struggling to stay awake and aware, he encountered him. It's not uncommon for their consciousness to pass by each other. Usually Taxian-jun ignores the other. But last night, hurt by the book of letters Chu Wanning finds so precious, Taxian-jun fought back. He told Mo-zongshi…
He told him that he'll never be able to redeem himself. That he was cruel even without the flower, that it's his very nature. That he got Chu Wanning killed. That he caused the death of their auntie and uncle in this life to the point Taxian-jun never got to meet them. That he let his cousin be turned into a chess piece when Taxian-jun would never. That he should have confessed earlier and Taxian-jun, who could not think on his own, would have been stopped sooner. That the thousands of agonized souls scream out his name. That he raped their Wanning in this lifetime too, left him bloody and dazed on the cave flood for Taxian-jun to scoop up and attend to.
That he's a dog. A mutt. An unloved bastard.
That he's vile.
That he's deficient by nature.
That he's proven beyond remedy.
That he's a burden to Chu Wanning, a blight and a rot, dirt and filth smudged on Chu Wanning’s reputation and soul.
That he got his chance to begin again and he proved himself cruel and unworthy. He had his second chance and the cultivation world tried to cut out his heart.
That he should just go. Go and never come back.
He said every cruel thing he could think of. He said every self loathing thought that has passed through his head over a lifetime of pain and screamed every piece of jealousy he could. He spit the words of his obsession at himself.
And it worked. He watched Mo-zongshi’s soul recede smaller and smaller. And even if each word felt like a slice against his own heart it didn't matter. He died under a thousand cuts and drowned in a sea of hate. Taxian-jun can endure, even if Mo-zongshi can't.
Taxian-jun can't tell Chu Wanning any of that.
The day is strange. Tense. It doesn't feel like the gift of an extra day in the body gifted by the gods. Chu Wanning is anxious even if he tries to hide it. By nightfall, Taxian-jun can't help but feel….
…
Guilty.
He feels guilty. That uncomfortable feeling that's so slimy as it slithers deeper and deeper inside. It's worse than jealousy because maybe it makes him kind of what to let Mo-zongshi back into the body.
Just a little bit. Just because Wanning is worried.
That night he feels asleep in Chu Wanning’s arms and he waits at the edge of consciousness for Mo-zongshi, but Mo-zongshi never comes. He looks towards the darkest recesses of his mind in search of him, but cannot go hunting for fear of leaving the body with no one. He can't withstand the idea of Wanning waking to an empty body, alive but no one there.
He feels awful when he wakes to Chu Wanning sitting on the bed next to him stroking his hair the following morning. The moment he opens his eyes, Chu Wanning can see it's him and a sadness Taxian-jun never expected washes over him. It's a grief that even if Chu Wanning says he loves them the same and they're the same person, he loves them both and doesn't want either to just vanish.
Taxian-jun has to swallow back the accusations of anger that Chu Wanning wants him gone and likes Mo-zongshi more.
That evening they sit at the table eating. Chu Wanning tries to keep the conversation going but he's never the one who carries it so it falls into awkward lapses. Taxian-jun keeps his head down. All day he's felt worse and worse to the point he feels mildly ill.
Again Taxian-jun waits at the edge of his consciousness like a dog waiting for anyone to come home and play with him, but Mo-zongshi never arrives.
In the morning Chu Wanning acts as though he's grieving the death of a loved one as he curls in Taxian-jun’s arms. He never says he's mad. He never says he wishes Taxian-jun weren't here. But he's upset and Taxian-jun hates it.
He hates Chu Wanning being in pain. He hates feeling guilty and he hates the feeling of almost wanting Mo-zongshi to come back. He can't stop thinking about what he said and realizing he was just talking to himself, and saying what he feels of himself. He feels like he's losing his mind.
The following day Taxian-jun breaks off from Chu Wanning when they go to dispose of a ghost haunting a well in a small village. As Chu Wanning is setting them up with the newest iteration of the holy night guardians, Taxian-jun seeks out the local healer, asking a million vague questions about his circumstance. She is utterly confused why the cultivator who came specifically to aid the village with a haunting is asking about possession, but she humors his questions with her meager knowledge. Taxian-jun doesn’t actually think there’s anything that she could have to offer the former emperor that he doesn’t already know, but if he wants Mo-zongshi back so Chu Wanning can stop his sorrow he has to start somewhere.
What Taxian-jun is not expecting is for her great-grandmother to have been a cultivator in Guyue’ye Sect, and while she left to join a minor sect in the lower cultivation world that has since disbanded. She heaves out a thick, heavy book of her great-grandmother’s knowledge and the two of them flip through the pages together until Taxian-jun slams his hand on a page so she cannot turn to the next. He leans in close studying the characters and accompanying illustration carefully.
It’s an old spell, or curse rather, for splitting and inspecting the soul. It’s not that hard looking. At least, not for Taxian-jun who mastered two of the forbidden techniques and invented his own. He can already see a few modifications that he can already see he will need to make for his own purposes. A little he explains to the woman who is eager to be near someone who can decode her great-grandmother’s words, while most of it he keeps to himself. While his ability to hold memories faded with the flower, Taxian-jun has always been good at remembering manuevers and spells. He’s just not good at relaying them in a way that is understandable for others. He is the true zongshi, unrecognized but as skilled as any other.
He thanks the woman by leaving his entire coin bag and the promise that if the village is ever in need again, Xue Ziming, sect leader of Sisheng Peak, will personally attend to it.
Taxian-jun returns to the room he and Chu Wanning were granted in gratitude for their stay. He spins what he read in his head over and over, examining every possible risk and outcome. He would say that it doesn’t matter in the slightest, that he knows what his body and soul can handle, but he can hear Chu Wanning’s voice, gary from what is actually fear, demanding he not do something so impulsive and risky. But every way he thinks about it, he doesn’t think even if it goes horribly wrong that anything truly bad will happen. And if it does…he trusts Chu Wanning to fix it. He’s far too bothered to not find Mo-zongshi. Hua Binan said he was made of obsession, and that he is. His mind cannot stop thinking about what he said and his heart hurting from it.
Therefore, feeling a growing irritation at Mo-zongshi for making him do this so that he doesn’t feel that uncomfortable guilt for having scared Mo-zongshi away, Taxian-jun initiates the introspection spell.
He sits on the edge of his mind, just as he has every night since Mo-zongshi stopped ripping him away from consciousness. It’s a vast expanse. It’s empty. Everyone always said he was stupid, and the emptiness makes him feel it as he sits alone in his mind. He waits for the irresistible pull forcing him deeper into the darkness telling him Mo-zongshi is taking over but it does not come. Instead, when Taxian-jun steps through the dense darkness, there’s a resistance forcing him back. It feels like walking through tar as he does what he never does: examine the feelings that always give him a headache and therefore ignores.
He walks. He walks and walks and walks. And as he walks he can’t help but think. Think about what makes him and Mo-zongshi so different. Because they are different people. Mo-zongshi had a life, and he had a prolonged death. Mo-zongshi had choice, and he had a new form of control he was subjected to. Mo-zongshi had Wanning, and he had nothing.
The longer he walks, the more the introspection spell compels him on, touching the thoughts and memories he never would, or never could.
Suddenly the darkness clears and he stumbles into a tiny, dimly lit alleyway. Beyond is a well lit street with people talking and bustling, merriment filling the air. Taxian-jun looks around, trying to take stock of where he is. He can tell that he’s somewhere in Rufeng Sect between the architecture and lavish display of wealth on the main road, but he has no memory of this street. He doesn’t know what to do or how his mind conjured up such a place, all he knows is to keep moving forward in search of Mo-zongshi.
In the darkness of the alley, behind a cart stored for the night that he has to squeeze by, there’s an abrupt movement and a shhhh sound. Immediately Taxian-jun summons Jiangui to light whatever is ahead of him. His holy weapon illuminates a young woman curled next to the cart on the other side. Her head is covered, obscuring most of her from Taxian-jun as she peers through the spokes in the wheels. The moment they lock eyes she ducks her head with a murmured, “Sorry. I didn’t take anything if it’s yours. It’s all like you left it.” Her voice is soft with a warble to it, but rich and full to Taxian-jun’s ear to settle deep in his chest.
Taxian-jun continues squeezing by the cart towards her. She abruptly rises, leveraging herself on the cart in order to get onto her feet. One arm she keeps close to her chest, wrapped around a bundle that begins to cry.
A baby.
“Shhh,” she coos pressing herself against the wall and begins stepping sideways towards the streets. She glances at Taxian-jun again, fear obvious in her sharp phoenix eyes that catch red under the willow vine’s light. When Taxian-jun moves forward, she keeps backing away.
“You don’t have to leave,” Taxian-jun assures. He’s trying to wrack his mind for who this covered woman is. He knows he knows who she is, but any memories of her have long since eroded away. “It’s not my cart.”
Still so soft that it’s barely a whisper, she replies, “I should be going anyways.” She backs away from Taxian-jun as he approaches. It’s only when he’s close enough to see her dress does he recognize her. He recognizes the dress, although its beautiful pattern of cranes and flowers were ripped and faded by the time he was old enough to remember them.
“Mom…” Taxian-jun whispers in a sharp inhale looking at his mother clutching a tiny, crying infant bundled so tightly he can’t be seen. She doesn’t hear his shock as she turns the corner and hurries out of the ally.
Taxian-jun follows her through the crowded streets ignoring when people bump into him. At first she doesn’t notice him, but the longer he follows the more she does. At first she glances back at him over her shoulder and picks up her pace. She starts to trot when she turns down a side street and he’s still following her, picking up his pace to catch up. She starts to run when she breaks onto the main street again, darting amongst the people until she bumps into a cultivator in Rufeng robes.
“And who’s this?” the man asks looking down on her. “You have very nice eyes, ma’am.”
Duan Yihan moves to turn away but the man grabs the fabric wrapping baby Mo Ran. “Hold on a second. Where are you going in such a rush. We were just starting a fruitful conversation. Now,” with his other hand he reaches for the shawl wrapped over her hair and pulls it off. “You look like you could use a good wash. Why don’t you come back home with me…”
She tries to pull back but his grip is firm around the baby, clasping not only the baby but his ankle too. The man leers at her saying, “I’ve heard about the little songbird around. I heard your baby was sick but here he is. Let me see him.”
Duan Yihan tries to pull away and object but her refusals are ignored by the man who moves closer, crowding her in so she bumps into another cultivator. Taxian-jun hears the man say, “We all gave you so much money for your sick baby, the least you could do is pay some of it back with your pretty voice.”
Anger floods him seeing his mom cornered so. Jiangui lashes out and Duan Yihan cries out in shock when droplets of blood splatters over her. The man falls backwards clutching his face, screaming that he’s been blinded.
“It was only your eyes,” Taxian-jun spits at him. “Keep blabbering on and it’ll be your hands next. You tell your friends that they are never, ever, ever allowed to touch Duan Yihan again.” One by one he studies each of the other men who are a pale as corpses at the imposing cultivator with a holy weapon attacking them. His friends back away before turning and running. Around them, people push back. Jiangui still pulses in his hand in the same way Bu’gui used to when he craved violence and bloodshed. He has to hold himself back from killing the man. Only the fact his mom is here stops him.
She’s backed until she’s pressed against a building. Duan Yihan visibly shakes in terror as she clutches her baby to her chest. Even more so when Taxian-jun has lashed each of the escaping men once and turns to her. Already he forgot that he was chasing her as he approaches with a softened expression.
“Are you okay?” he asks. Jiangui vanishes from his hand and is replaced by a handkerchief for her.
“Y-yes” she stammers. She refuses to take it from him despite the blood on her face. She looks so young. Perhaps her early twenties. Nowhere old enough to be an established songstress risen and fallen already. She’s beautiful though, with a round face and sharp phoenix eyes of a beautiful dark purple that balance her sun kissed skin. Even her reproachful, terrified demeanor doesn’t halt her beauty.
“I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want anything from you,” Taxian-jun says with a smile. He has to fight back his emotion seeing his mom. He hasn’t seen her in so long. He remembers her as a grown up but she’s so young, barely even an adult. He wants to protect her like she wanted to protect him. Only with his reassurance does a shaking hand accept the handkerchief. While she wipes her face, Taxian-jun returns to where the man grabbed her and picks up her head covering. She’s already starting to walk away into the crowd again when he catches up to her again.
“Here,” he says holding out the headcarve. She takes it and with one hand drapes it over her neck. Taxian-jun quickly digs through his pockets for a pouch of money and holds it out too.
“I can’t,” she says staring at the heavy pouch. She can’t take her eyes off it, but she has no trust for a strange cultivator and is too proud to accept such help even after what those men just tried. “Thank you though, gongzi.”
“You can,” Taxian-jun assures. “I have no use for it. I- My husband gave it to me this morning knowing I would spend it on something frivolous. I think it’s better going to you two.”
Duan Yihan shakes her head no and pulls the crying baby to her chest.
“I don’t want you to have to sing for money again. You can rent a room. No one needs to know where. Or- or you could leave. It’s enough you could leave. Go West to Sichuan. I hear the cultivators are kind there.” He gives her a weak smile, begging her to leave. If she can make it to Sisheng Peak, she won’t get caught when Linyi blockades food and she won’t starve to death. She’ll be safe here in his heart. Taxian-jun blinks trying not to let tears rise in his eyes. “If you don’t want to take it for nothing, you could…If you have one piece of advice you’d want to say to your future son, like when he’s forty-five, what would you say to him?”
Duan Yihan stares at him in shock, the distrust crumbling away the longer she’s before him. Mo Ran can’t help but smile more, knowing she feels the connection between them. A weak smile returns to him on blossom pink lips and she accepts the bag of money. She thinks for a moment, uncurling the blanket wrapping her son to real little Ran to Taxian-jun. The baby is small a weak, clearly still ill, wailing as he blindly tries to break a single arm from his blankets. Duan Yihan smiles down at her son and back up to Taxian-jun.
“Remember to stay kind, no matter how much the world doesn’t want you to.”
It’s clear she’s saying she hopes her son is like the handsome man before her. Taxian-jun smiles tightly. He did not remember. His chance to remember was taken from him. But now he will remember. He won’t ever forget.
Taxian-jun wants to stay with his mom. He doesn’t want to leave her, but the moment she thanks him again, Taxian-jun feels that pull away from her. It’s too strong even for him to refuse, his mind demanding he seek out another part of himself. Taxian-jun remains in place as long as he can withstand, watching his mother make her way to the crowd to stop at a carriage for hire. With a knot in his throat he watches her get in and the carriage turn down a road heading West. Just before it’s out of sight, his mom leans out the window to look at him and smiles fully, deep dimples forming in her cheeks.
Knowing she and her infant will forever be alive in his heart, the compulsion to leave is too strong and Taxian-jun shoves through the crowded streets out of the city and into the heavy snow beyond its border. It’s dense snow, high enough to crest his boots. Soft pockets give way to reach his knees. Taxian-jun was not prepared for the snow. He has to wrap himself in his thin Spring robes and circulate his spiritual energy to keep warm as the snow cuts against him powdering him in white. He has to keep brushing his eyes trying not to let tears fill them at seeing his mom. He never knew he needed to see her before. He regrets not saying more her to. He can’t help but feel angry at himself for not saying more. He wishes he took her to a meal and asked her to share stories from her life. That anger and regret at wanting more time with his mom sits at the center of his tangled emotions to hurt him.
As he walks, Taxian-jun realizes that the landscape is again strangely familiar, one he knows well but is so very different. This is his home with Wanning, the same slopes on the mountain he walks every day to their home on Nanping Mountain, although the trees are much younger and his path of haitang trees unplanted. He knows exactly what he will encounter here.
Taxian-jun starts to jog up mountain looking for himself, the little boy near starving to death having just buried his mom. As he runs all the memories of losing his mom return to him. All the hurt and agony of it. How he wanted to give up that day in the hand dug grave, and how in this very snowstorm he thought he would die and was okay with it. But he didn’t die. Chu Wanning found him. He found him and fed his watery congee from his palm and gave him his cloak. He warmed Mo Ran until he was strong enough to keep going. Chu Wanning saved him.
Taxian-jun spots little Ran ahead in the snow, a small dark spot face down in the snow. He wades through the snow to him, dropping down to kneel next to him and roll him over. The little child, pale and sickly and gaunt, moans as he’s dragged onto Taxian-jun’s lap. Taxian-jun looks up the mountain. This isn’t where Chu Wanning finds him. He’s barely half up the mountain to their fateful meeting spot.
“Wake up,” Taxian-jun says quietly. He places his hand on Ran’s— his — chest and channels warming energy into it. The boy’s grubby face tightens, his eyes moving under his eyelids. “You can’t give up yet. You have a little ways to go.”
“Can’t…” the little boy murmurs and coughs, turning his head into Taxian-jun. A tear rolls down his cheek, following the tear track already cut through the grime on his face. “I can’t do it anymore.”
“No, no you can,” Taxian-jun promises the little child. He brushes back the matted hair on his head, his ring catching against it to accidentally tug on him. Taxian-jun immediately stops, hating how he always accidentally causes pain. “You’re so much stronger than you know. And it’ll be worth it. Just up there is Wanning. He’ll protect you. And you’ll protect him. You need him.”
The little boy in his arms lets out a shaking sob, his entire body convulsing with cold. Taxian-jun looks up the mountain and back down at little Ran.
There is no reason for him to struggle up the mountain. As long as he finds, Wanning, it will be okay. Taxian-jun scoops the child into his arms and begins the long, arduous climb. The boy is far too small. Taxian-jun how taken to playing with some of the kids around Wubei Temple, enjoying flinging them into the air and having as many pile onto him until he can’t stand up under their weight. He knows how much a five year old should weigh, and little Ran barely weighs enough to be considered bones wrapped in worn fabric.
As he carries him, his smaller self struggles to stay conscious, so Taxian-jun beings to tell him stories. He tells him of all the great things he will accomplish. How he will save people. How he will make friends. How he will feed people. How he will grow big and strong. How he will fight for what’s right and he will never forget those who matter most to him. When he can’t think of enough good things he himself has done, Taxian-jun realizes he has begun to tell Mo-zongshi’s stories too. They’re unfamiliar on his tongue. He doesn’t even know how he knows them, he just knows that he can tell little Ran about a friend named Xia Sini who he bought sweetened soy milk for whenever they went to town together, or giving his cousin a powerful spiritual stone because he thought it would make him happy. He spends almost two hours walking and telling stories of his, Mo Ran’s, life. Both Mo Ran’s. All Mo Ran’s.
When he reaches where Chu Wanning will find him, Taxian-jun stops. He sets little Ran in the snow and sits down next to him. He has a small piece of bread in his pocket he desperately wants to share, but he knows Wanning is coming. So he just sits with the boy answering all his questions until he sees the spot in the snow of Chu Wanning and his shizun returning up the path. Taxian-jun pets little Ran’s head. The boy has fallen asleep now, curled against his warmer, older self. He gingerly extricates himself so the boy curls around snow and moves beyond the treeline where he watches the fourteen year old Chu Wanning catch sight of the collapsed child off the path.
Like with his mother, he wants to stay and watch. He wants to talk to Chu Wanning too, but the pull to move on is too strong. He has to go.
He sits outside the mill, unable to break into it and rescue himself, with his back to the wall until he sees a crowd coming. He presses himself to his feet with Jiangui drawn ready to fight. He tries to stay to defend himself, but unlike before, his mind still cannot withstand the approaching mob and that inevitable pull forces him back.
He stumbles across a fourteen year old Mo Ran on the grounds of Sisheng Peak, crying that he doesn’t know how to read and his shizun will be so disappointed in him. Taxian-jun spends a long time with him telling him all about how he didn’t know how to read until he was around his age too, and how his shizun was kind about it once he admitted to it, and taught him how to read and write and he would write letters to his mom all the time. To show him that he’s still an impressive cultivator whom his shizun cares deeply about, Taxian-jun summons Jiiangui and lets his younger self hold it in awe of the willow vine, murmuring to himself that it’s just like Tianwen. The young Mo Ran he talks to lights up with a newfound confidence and gives Taxian-jun a deep bow of thanks before wiping his tears and running off.
Taxian-jun feels better about himself after telling his younger self that Chu Wanning will still be a proud shizun even if he can’t read or write, but it’s crushed when he stumbles upon himself studying the zhenglong chess formation, the result of his learning to read only a few years previous.
As he moves through his mind, his self loathing and disgust grows to lay witness to what he does. He is not kind and forgiving like his mother wished of him. He is not caring and great like he told the little Mo Ran dying in the snow. He is not someone Chu Wanning is proud of like he just told himself scared to admit to his illiteracy. He is cruel. Awful and cruel. He is every single thing he told Mo-zongshi he was.
He wants to retreat away too, hide and never subject his husband to himself as he watches what he does to him. He tries to stop, intervene, kill that part of himself that did that to Chu Wanning, but when he does so, he’s only killing himself. He can feel his entire being convulse as the parts of himself clash and searing pain runs through him. From which part of him he doesn’t know. It could be any part of him.
He wants to stop. He doesn’t want to see more. He doesn’t want to know what he did to Chu Wanning. He doesn’t want to admit that that’s who he is, with or without the flower, it was a desire he held.
It doesn’t stop. Under the curse he cast upon himself, he is compelled to keep going, keep studying his mind, keep uncovering corners of his soul in search of the one that has hidden away too hurt to return. He watches over and over as he breaks his own heart not for himself but for the man he loves.
And then he watches himself die. He approaches himself on the throne, choking on his own blood as the poison shakes his body before he uses his last spiritual energy to teleport the the Heavens Piercing Tower where he dug his own grave. Taxian-jun follows and sits under the haitang tree. Having seen what he saw, he doesn’t comfort his dying self as he has the other versions of himself. This man deserves no comfort. He deserves the years of solitude he got when he was ripped from the grave. He deserves to die in the flood he died in, and he does not deserve to return.
He sits alone in the empty silence only broken by the faint echoing scream from Xue Meng in Red Lotus Pavilion, agreeing with every word he said to Mo-zongshi but knowing they should have been directed at himself.
He’s pulled away again, into the room of the brothel, into a lifetime that is not his own.
He watches Mo-zongshi rescued by Chu Wanning from the Blood Hour Glass.
He watches Mo-zongshi play with Xue Meng.
He watches Mo-zongshi make friends with Xia Sini.
He watches Mo-zongshi laugh and enjoy his life free of the flower, something Taxian-jun has only just begun to learn to do properly.
And then he watches Chu Wanning carry Mo-zongshi up the steps. He approaches him, running as fast as he can to catch up to them. He tries to abandon himself on the stone to carry his husband up to help, but Chu Wanning weakly refuses to leave Mo Ran, going so far as to beg the stranger to take his disciple. Pink tears run down his bloody cheeks as Chu Wanning begs him, “Please, just help Mo Ran.”
Taxian-jun can’t leave Chu Wanning, but Chu Wanning would rather die than leave Mo Ran. Taxian-jun carefully scoops them each into one arm and carries them up the steps to the medical ward of Sisheng Peak, bellowing for help. He ignores himself and sits on the edge of Chu Wanning’s bed promising him over and over that it’ll be okay. Chu Wanning barely opens one eye to look at him before it flutters shut. His voice so weak that Taxian-jun has to lean in to hear him, he asks, “Mo…. Ran?”
“He’s going to be okay,” Taxian-jun promises him, clutching his bloodied, raw hand. Tears run down his face as he chokes a sob and repeats, “Mo Ran is going to be okay. I promise you, Wanning. I’m going to be okay.”
The draw to leave tugs at him but this time Taxian-jun refuses to leave until it’s excruciating. Only then does he lean forward and press a kiss to the sleeping Chu Wanning’s forehead, promising again, “I’ll be okay.”
He watches Mo-zongshi help people. He watches him adventure. He watches him send gifts home to his family and write letter after letter, stacking them into a pile and wrapping them in a ribbon. More and more he thinks that truly it should be Mo-zongshi who reclaims the body, and yet the more he watches Mo-zongshi living the life he wanted, the more he thinks he shouldn’t have it. The unfairness of it all crashes around him like the stars falling from the sky to leave the moon abandoned and lonely.
And then he walks into a room, day abruptly turning to night. Sleeping on the floor is Mo-zongshi, twisting in his blankets caught in a nightmare. Taxian-jun doesn’t wake him, he just watches him until he jolts awake. He wipes his face of sweat and tears, breathing heavily as he tries to calm down. Taxian-jun watches as he reaches for a small box up on the table, his long white sleeve of the robe he fell asleep in almost catching on the table. There he opens the box and withdraws a needle, pressing it under his fingernail as he grimaces more and more and more until finally he draws it back.
Taxian-jun backs out of the room and silently closes the door. He cannot yet leave the memory. There is no draw beckoning him away. The curse he cast upon himself demands introspection of the soul and he has not yet taken in this memory settled in the body’s mind. All he can do is sit and contemplate it. Contemplate that Mo-zongshi hurt like he did. He did that too, after he was woken up, but for him the pain was different. He was dead and pain felt different. He wanted it to hurt like Mo-zongshi just did but it didn’t.
He only did that when he was most desperate.
He cracks open the door again to find Mo-zongshi laid down just staring blankly at the wall as tears roll down his cheeks. Taxian-jun recognizes the expression. It’s the same one he bore in the memories of him coming home from battle and throwing himself on Chu Wanning’s lap to be soothed, except there is no one to sooth Mo-zongshi. He’s entirely alone.
They’re both alone. They’ve both been alone for so long.
He watches Mo-zongshi watching children play while their parents work as he writes a letter.
He watches him return to Sisheng Peak, vanishing for a few hours to spend time with Xue Meng.
He watches Mo-zongshi work harvest, performing the hard physical labor he thought beneath himself once he ascended to emperor. He watches the person is was become the person Chu Wanning will fall in love with and his heart aches that is isn’t him. He’s capable of being him, he’s not any less than Mo-zongshi. They’re basically the same. But he isn’t him. He didn’t do all this. He’s not that person.
He stands in a bookshop pursuing the books when Mo-zongshi walks in with a huge smile. Clad in white with a high ponytail, Taxian-jun almost mistakes him for Chu Wanning and his heart leaps in excitement until Mo-zongshi gets closer. Taxian-jun keeps his back to Mo-zongshi as he requests his bundle of letters be bound into a book, passing over more than double what the woman ask for as he politely inquires if there’s any way it could be completed by the next day. As she goes into the back to ask, Mo-zongshi mianders the shop. Taxian-jun turns away so he won’t see his face, drops his voice an octave lower, and asks, “Who’s that a present for?” even though he already knows the answer.
“My shizun,” Mo Ran replies smiling to himself. He picks up an herbalism book and flips it in his hands. “He’s the kindest, best cultivator ever.”
“You must care about him,” Taxian-jun replies.
“Mn,” Mo Ran answers. “I’d do anything for him.”
Taxian-jun can’t help but feel a stab of bitterness at the fact that Mo-zongshi knows what Chu Wanning means to him, that he gets to know what he means. Even if he suffers, even if he’s shaken awake with nightmares, he knows he loves Chu Wanning and what a luxury that must have been. Without thinking, Taxian-jun acts on that bitterness and says, “I heard Chu Wanning died because of his disciple. It was his fault.”
He watches with smug satisfaction as Mo-zongshi’s lips tighten and his head drops. He looks remarkably like Chu Wanning with his tight expression clad in white. Suddenly Taxian-jun feels bad for what he said seeing the glimpse of the man he loves. He tries to say something to make his jab a little less deep, but Mo Ran beats him to it.
“If I had a choice, it would be different. But Yuheng Elder will be leaving seclusion soon, and when he does I’ll prove myself worthy of him.”
Mo Ran sets the book back on the shelf and looks to the counter where the woman is returning from the back room. Before he leaves the conversation Taxian-jun grabs Mo Ran’s hand. Mo Ran tries to pull away without looking at him. Taxian-jun keeps his grip firm saying, “You will. He’ll be proud of you, and he won’t regret a moment of his life with you.”
Mo Ran pulls his hand out of Taxian-jun’s grip and wipes his hand of the stranger’s touch just as Chu Wanning does. He shoots Taxian-jun the same reproachful glare that Chu Wanning would a stranger reaching out to grab him and his mouth drops open.
“He’ll forgive you, Mo Ran,” Taxian-jun says. He remembers all the awful things he said to himself when he wanted the body all to himself. He doesn’t know what this Mo Ran needs to hear, but he has an idea: “Forgive yourself. For all of it. He does because he loves you. So you need to…” love yourself dies in his throat. He doesn’t love himself. He doesn’t love Mo-zongshi. He’s jealous and hurting and mad he has to share the body and share his husband. He wants Chu Wanning all to himself each and every day. He doesn’t want Chu Wanning living so much of his life without him.
And…no matter how much Chu Wanning tells him to he’ll never be able to forgive himself for what he’s done. What he just witnessed himself doing to him. Each sob from his husband’s lips was a thorn prick in his heart and he long ago bled out.
“You just need to be good to him.” Taxian-jun finishes lamely.
The moment the words are past his lips, that irresistible pull draws him away as the woman calls Mo Ran towards her to tell him they can get the book of letters bound by the next morning. Taxian-jun backs away from the shop, finding himself watching Mo-zongshi and Chu Wanning meeting in dark corners of Sisheng Peak to kiss and running through the rain together. It’s everything he yearned for: a whirlwind romance that is reminiscent of the plays and operas he always commissioned to perform in Wushan Palace. It’s the sort of sordid, loving affair of emotion and passion he thought would never be for him.
He wishes it were him that could sneak into Red Lotus Pavilion at night and press Chu Wanning against the door caught in a kiss knowing that Chu Wanning will wrap his arms around him and return it.
Taxian-jun abruptly stops.
He has that. If he wraps Chu Wanning in his arms, Chu Wanning wraps his around Taxian-jun’s neck in return. If he buries him in kisses, Chu Wanning will kiss him back. If he rocks against his husband, Chu Wanning will keen into him. And if he says he loves him, Chu Wanning tells him he loves him too. He has Chu Wanning’s love and devotion. He has his attention. Chu Wanning saw him at his worst. He saw him as an emperor, as a killer, as a corpse, and still loved him. He loves him.
They’re the same. It’s the same. Chu Wanning said that of his love for himself and Mo-zongshi. He loves Mo Ran. Chu Wanning loves each and every one of him, and yet he does not. His own obsessive jealousy makes him hate Mo-zongshi and in hating Mo-zongshi he hates himself. And it hurts him and it hurts Mo-zongshi. And it hurts Chu Wanning.
Hasn’t he hurt Chu Wanning enough with his own hate?
The only person he has left to hate is himself.
He stares ahead at the scene before him, a scene he already lay witness to: Mo-zongshi chained with his arms outstretched, fighting against Mu Yanli’s demand to know what he means by saying he humiliated his shizun. Taxian-jun doesn’t approach. He doesn’t need to. He stands at the back of the crowd as a welt grows in his chest. Ahead in the crowd he can see himself and Hua Binan standing together talking. An anger surges forward in him, wrapping around his hand in the red glow of Jiangui. He begins shoving through the transfixed crowd for himself and Hua Binan. He doesn’t care which one he kills. Both hurt Chu Wanning so deeply. His beautiful, icy, misunderstood Wanning.
The closer he gets, the more Mo Ran’s mind tries to pull him away. The urge to leave grows stronger and stronger until each step is the same as a blow against a god, but Taxian-jun can’t stop. He throws all his anger and pain, more than a lifetime’s worth, into running at the two. They are the two he hates. Mo Ran has to hate someone, blame someone, and the two who caused all this pain. Not himself. Not Mo-zongshi.
Taxian-jun and Hua Binan.
Taxian-jun snarls when Jianggui cuts across his back with a splash of crimson blood. Around them people scream and flee. Mo Ran screams too as a white hot pain cuts through his mind in time with the attack. It doesn’t matter. He’s endured worse pain as he heaves any remaining momentum into a successive blow against Taxian-jun who grabs the willow vine in his hand and twists it around his forearm to force Mo Ran closer. He bares his teeth in anger, his eyes flashing near pitch black as Bu’gui appears in his hand to mercilessly attack whoever dared attack him.
Mo Ran’s mind jerks him away, protecting him from punishing himself too greatly for what he saw himself do or facing a self loathing too strong for his mind to handle. He stands small and alone, huffing and still clutching the willow vine. No new memory gathers before him. Instead, he once again stands on the edge of the endless void where he waits for Mo Ran at the edge of his mind. Even when he looks around for any other iteration of himself, there is no one. He walks for a long time in search of anyone at all, but he’s alone. He walks until his feet are sore and keeps walking, and yet he never breaks free of the endless darkness lit only by his holy weapon that he never gathered from Jingchen Lake.
After what feels like an eternity, he sits down. He fiddles with the leaves on the holy weapon for a while, petting them like how he likes to pet Tianwen’s leaves.
They are actually rather nice, delicate leaves. He’s never been fond of Jiangui, always considering it Mo-zongshi’s holy weapon. They do still have Bu’gui. They managed to recover it but neither he nor Mo-zongshi ever summon it anymore. It carries too much blood with it. Chu Wanning calls Huisha the killing blade, so Taxian-jun calls Bu’gui the murdering blade in a poor mimicry of the holy object. He doesn’t like it though. It makes him feel dirty holding it. Jiangui, however, is nice. Taxian-jun just didn’t see that before.
It draws forward a new memory not into the void but into his own recollection of Chu Wanning unfurling Tianwan to scoop a worm from a pool of water on the path. He smiles to himself and will Jiangui to mimic the behavior of his memory.
He almost wishes he got to see the memory of Mo-zongshi picking up Jiangui. He thinks it would be funny to see the idiot cry out and shock and name his holy weapon something so stupid. He can't help but laugh out loud at the thought, even grinning to himself recalling Chu Wanning telling him how he didn't want to betray his own excitement at seeing Mo Ran weilding a willow vine so much like his own. Silly Chu Wanning, always thinking his own joy shameful or embarrassing. He's cute like that.
He contemplates the willow vine for a long time deciding that he actually likes it before he grows bored of petting Jiangui. In the emptiness he begins thinking about the memories the introspection curse drew forward.
He smiles thinking about how he got to see his mom again and in his own mind she is safe at Sisheng Peak. It warms his heart to know it.
His heart cries for the little boy caught in the snow waiting for Chu Wanning to find him and save him. He still identifies with that little boy sometimes, helpless and alone. But his husband always finds him.
He thinks about the boy who picked the flower and took the flower. He thinks about the boy who created countless chess pieces and killed his family one by one. He thinks about the awful man who hurt Chu Wanning.
And he finds himself thinking about Mo-zongshi. He still feels vindicated for what he said to him to make him curl away in the darkest corner of his mind. And he still feels hurt for it, his own words cutting himself deep. And he feels guilty for it, understanding what Mo-zongshi has gone through too. He slowly realizes that he and Mo-zongshi aren't as different as he would like to believe. Mo-zongshi is the baby in his mother's arms, the boy in the snow, trapped in the mill, scared and alone at Sisheng Peak when he first arrived. He's the same boy that Taxian-jun comforted in the memories. And he's the same man who was driven mad with grief to the point of ending it all when Chu Wanning uprooted the flower in his heart. While his life was better than Taxian-jun’s, it wasn't all happiness and love. He still hurt too and he had to fight to be better each and every day.
He isn't Taxian-jun’s enemy. He's just Mo Ran. Chu Wanning’s husband. Someone who is worthy of love and life. Even if both carry flaws, it does not mean they are deficient by nature. It means they are somehow, against all odds, still alive.
No matter what, no matter which version of himself, Mo Ran always did the best he could manage. Each and every one of him.
Taxian-jun startles when he hears a faint sound in the distance. Around him is still only the endless expanse of void. He's entirely alone with his thoughts. Even so, he pushes himself upright and begins to run. Something tells him he's running in the right direction as the void darkens around him.
Far away, he sees him: Mo-zongshi. Mo Ran. He sits alone clad in white robes once more with his knees drawn to his chest and his back to Taxian-jun. The closer he gets, the more he can hear muted sniffles and hitched sobs.
Taxian-jun wants to body slam into him and wrap him in the embrace he always wanted when he was young and only sometimes got from Xue Meng. He doesn't though. He forces himself to slow to a walk, silently sidling up to Mo-zongshi to sit down next to him. Mo-zongshi starts when Taxian-jun sits down next to him and wraps an arm around him to pull him into an embrace like he would his husband on those days he's stretched so thin he wears his heart on his sleeve.
“Get off,” Mo-zongshi says trying to wipe his eyes and shoulder him away.
“I'm sorry,” Taxian-jun says at the same time. Mo-zongshi goes still, distrustful of him.
They haven't really spoken despite sharing a body. They sit at opposite edges of the mind as far apart as they can be. Their only true interactions were when Taxian-jun was still a corpse and wasn't capable of understanding what he didn't know. He shouldn't get mad at Mo-zongshi for not trusting him or wanting to be near him. Especially after what he said to him.
“He misses you,” Taxian-jun says. “He wants you to come back.”
Mo-zongshi’s lips tighten. Taxian-jun is merely rubbing salt in an open wound. Taxian-jun tightens the arm around Mo-zongshi’s shoulder and leans his entire body weight against him.
“I never thought I'd want a dumb fuck like you hanging about,” Taxian-jun says in with the grand air of the emperor making a pronouncement. “But maybe you're not the worst person for him.”
“You don't get it,” Mo-zongshi says.
Taxian-jun pokes Mo-zongshi on the forehead just like Chu Wanning does when he calls him a dummy. “If I don't get it, who the hell will? You? You're the same stupid as me.”
Mo-zongshi huffs as he bats Taxian-jun’s hand away. It's almost a laugh. Almost.
“Stupider,” Taxian-jun decides. “Listen to Ge and–”
“Ge?” Mo-zongshi finally looks at him properly, an incredulous expression over his face cutting through his misery. “How are you older?”
“I was here first.”
“We literally were born at the same time.”
“I've lived longer,” Taxian-jun confidently replies.
“We should do the math if you're going around calling yourself older.”
Taxian-jun realizes that Mo-zongshi’s math skills are probably better than his own miserable ability and if the two are maybe possibly thinking of coexisting he sure as hell is not going to let that idiot Mo-zongshi consider himself the older one, so he pinches Mo Ran’s cheek with a pesty grin.
“Just shut up and listen to Ge.”
Taxian-jun tells him about Chu Wanning all but grieving his sudden absence. He tells him how he is loved by his husband, and how it's not in spite of what he's done but because of who he is. He recants the memories he saw until emotions catches in his throat and he stops talking. Mo Ran studies him, still leaned up against each other close enough they're one. A small, understanding smile is returned to Taxian-jun, although Mo-zongshi’s eyes are still red from crying.
Taxian-jun shoots him an ugly glare and says, “I'm not you.”
“No,” Mo-zongshi says even if he disagrees with Taxian-jun because they’re both Mo Ran.
“And I still don’t like you,” Taxian-jun says, although now he’s not sure how true that is. Maybe they both were always just trying their hardest even when the world was most cruel. His chest is starting to feel itchy and uncomfortable having been forced to explore so many memories both his and not his. He’s never been good with his emotions and now they’re a lot of them making his head hurt.
He gets up in defiance of those emotions beckoning him to examine them. He doesn’t like the itchy feeling. He’s done enough introspection for a lifetime. More than a lifetime. More than he did when he was actually alive in his own body. Or dead in his own body. More than he ever wanted and he’s not ready to process it all yet.
“I’m going back.” He doesn’t invite Mo-zongshi to come back with him. “Wanning is probably worried about me.” He glances over his shoulder at Mo-zongshi still sat on the ground in surprise. He quickly starts walking at a brisk pace away from him. If Mo-zongshi still hates himself he can stay locked away in this dark, oppressive corner of the mind that feels like a prison cell. Taxian-jun did what he could to find him and convince him to come back. It’s more than he has done of his own free will for literally anyone else. Except Wanning, but he will always do the most for Chu Wanning.
He doesn’t actually know the way back. He doesn’t know if the way back to the forefront of the mind is through where he came from or continuing forward. It doesn’t really matter though. He just keeps walking.
“Mo Ran!” Mo-zongshi calls to him. Taxian-jun ignores him and keeps walking.
“Mo Weiyu!” Mo-zongshi calls again.
“Taxian-jun! Slow down you big oaf!”
Heavy footsteps pursue him until suddenly there’s a hard impact slamming into his back and arms wrapping around him. Taxian-jun stumbles at Mo-zongshi slamming into his back, but the strong arms wrapped around his waist keep him from falling. Face pressed again Taxian-jun’s shoulders, Mo-zongshi says, “You actually came for me.”
Taxian-jun replies, “What was I supposed to do? You were upsetting Wanning.” He remains where he is without forcing Mo-zongshi off him despite how defensive his words are. He’s always been tacktile, always one for touch. When he was little he would wrap his arms around himself and pretend it was someone else hugging him. Then he paid coin to make someone else embrace him, and then he forced Chu Wanning’s arms around him. This is different from how it was when he was a kid though. This isn’t his own arms holding himself tightly. It’s the same but different. He’s not alone in this embrace. Taxian-jun would even dare to call the embrace nice, even if the air was knocked from his lungs in the bodyslam.
Mo-zongshi squeezes him tighter, remembering the same lonely way he used to hold himself and call it a hug. “I’m sorry,” he says. Taxian-jun can feel the apology through his entire being. Mo-zongshi is sorry he left and hurt Chu Wanning. He’s sorry he scared Taxian-jun. He’s sorry Taxian-jun never got those happy moments he recounted of Mo-zongshi’s life. And he’s sorry that he gets more time in the body than Taxian-jun. By all means, this is where Taxian-jun should apologize too for those cruel words he spit at Mo-zongshi about himself and them both. But he bites his tongue and refuses to say he’s sorry. Apologies are reserved for Chu Wanning and only Chu Wanning.
…And maybe sometimes Xue Meng when he really deserves one.
Mo-zongshi releases him and the pressure of the hug is lost. Taxian-jun wants to hold onto his hands around his waist and keep him there, but he lets Mo-zongshi slip away and move around him to stand in front of him.
His eyes are bright, glinting from where tears reflected only a few moments before. And he grins at Taxian-jun, a huge, dimpled grin set against rosy cheeks and sun kissed skin.
…Down on Taxian-jun.
Even in their mind, that fucker is taller than him. Taxian-jun can’t help but straighten as much as he can to be closer to the same height.
Mo-zongshi feels the thought and laughs, grabbing Taxian-jun, cupping his cheeks and pulling him into a kiss squarely placed on his lips. Taxian-jun is so shocked that he can’t even think to rip himself backwards from Mo-zongshi. He can only stand there dumbfounded with eyes wide open staring at Mo-zongshi who prolongs the kiss, breaks away, and lands one more peck on his lips for good measure.
Taxian-jun tries to say something but his tongue tangles into a knot and for the first time he has nothing to say. Mo-zongshi laughs and presses their foreheads together with a smile.
“You really came back to find me. Even though you didn’t have to.”
“I– It was for Wanning. I told you that. It had nothing to do with you.”
Mo-zongshi’s hand lands on his chest over his heart that beats fast. “Somehow I don’t think so, stupid. You missed that part of you.”
“Shut up,” Taxian-jun withdraws but Mo Ran catches him around the back of the head and kisses his cheek in a big, sloppy kiss that mushes his entire face as he tries to twist away.
“Absolutely not,” Mo Ran says in the same teasing singsong he jabs at Xue Meng. One more sloppy cheek kiss that bumps against the corner of Taxian-jun’s mouth and he wraps his arm around Taxian-jun’s shoulder to start walking with him. “When am I ever going to see you again? This is my one chance to say whatever I want to you.”
Taxian-jun feigns disinterest but his chest tightens ready for something cruel despite the fact that Mo-zongshi’s tears have dried seeing Taxian-jun braved the depths of their soul to find where he hide buried by two lifetimes worth of memories. He grumbles, “Which is what exactly?”
Mo-zongshi rests his head against Taxian-jun’s head as they walk like he sometimes does Chu Wanning’s when he’s feeling extra touchy. “That I’m proud of you.”
That makes no sense and Taxian-jun has no qualms in telling Mo-zongshi that.
“Being better is hard,” Mo-zongshi says. “And it took me way too long to realize that. It really took Wanning dying for me to realize who I actually could be. But you– you basically immediately became a better person.”
“You just didn’t see me when I woke up,” Taxian-jun argues back. He doesn’t understand why he doesn’t want to accept Mo-zongshi’s pride in him. It’s as if he has no real right to be proud of him.
“I heard about the flood,” Mo-zongshi says. “I have a few of your memories and have dreamed of that one. And you were right that after– after the incense in the cave you took care of him and didn’t hurt him.”
“I don’t want to talk about any of that,” Taxian-jun quickly says. He winces at the scenes he just witnessed walking through his memories. Mo-zongshi squeezes his shoulder.
“And you came for me even though you could have just kept the body all for yourself.”
“For Wanning.”
“Right. For Wanning.”
They keep walking through the vast expanse of nothing. Taxian-jun tries several times to convince himself to say that he’s proud of Mo-zongshi too after all he saw, but the words are hard to form on his lips. Instead, he manages, “We’re good for Wanning now. He’s happy with us.”
It’s as close to saying he loves himself, loves Mo Ran, all of Mo Ran, as he’s ready for. Perhaps later he’ll be able to say it fully, but for now it’s so much more than he could before.
Mo Ran is worthy of forgiveness. He’s worthy of kindness. He’s worthy of his husband. And he’s worthy of not constantly hating himself whenever he sees a reflection of his old self in his heart.
Mo-zongshi agrees.
As they keep walking, they begin to pass through memories. More recent ones of their lives on Nanping Mountain with Chu Wanning. They watch Chu Wanning helping Mo Ran pick the cabbages they planted, crouched in the mud with the dirt between his toes while Mo Ran simple kneels in it absolutely beaming. They watch when they get Gotou and Chu Wanning hiding his smile until Mo Ran thrusts the puppy into his arms to play with. They watch them visiting the Xues graves where both Mo-zongshi and Taxian-jun’s heart aches. They watch moment after moment of love in which, while they know who is who, the two’s lives blend together into a single Mo Ran who Chu Wanning absolutely adores, regardless of who’s day it is in the body.
And then their lives separate again as they walk further back in their memories. They walk through Mo-zongshi’s life. Mo-zongshi tells Taxian-jun about it, filling him in on the stories he yearned to know. This time he gets to watch Mo-zongshi open the box of ever yearning and hold Jiangui in his hand, shouting in shock at the willow vine turning red, and Taxian-jun laughs so hard he loses his breath. Chu Wanning of the memory notices them and chases the two strangers out of the lake. The two run, laughing, and Taxian-jun recounts Chu Wanning’s story of how he felt seeing the holy weapon. Mo Ran listens utterly enraptured at the story Chu Wanning never told him but was willing to tell Taxian-jun.
They move backwards through their memories into the life before. This time though, they walk quickly through the memories. Together they’re strong enough to endure the worst of them and assure each other that this is not who they are. As they move, Mo-zongshi asks Taxian-jun what it was like when he woke up from the dead. It startles Taxian-jun to be asked such a question, having never told anyone about it. Suddenly, with something as little as that, he feels so much less alone and he opens his heart to Mo-zongshi to share that pain.
They walk through the first city of Rufeng on fire when Mo-zongshi looks over at Taxian-jun and asks, “So what exactly happens when we reach the end of this?”
“...”
“Mo Ran?”
“I don’t know. I kind of just took what I got from the lady’s book and improvised.”
Mo-zongshi stares at him incredulously. “You improvised an introspection curse. On yourself. Without Chu Wanning knowing?”
Taxian-jun cringes realizing how badly it could go but quickly says, “It’ll be fine. It was your fault anyways.”
Dubious, Mo-zongshi says, “I guess I trust you but still. What if Wanning finds us unconscious? He doesn’t even like it when we sleep in past when he’s expecting.”
Taxian-jun grabs Mo-zongshi’s hand and starts walking faster, ignoring the flames entirely. He doesn’t care if they get burned as long as they get back to Chu Wanning.
“And what about after? Are we still splitting days? Or is this going to split us into multiple bodies? Or are we just both always going to be there?”
“I don’t know. Okay?” Taxian-jun snaps, pulling Mo-zongshi into a full run in his anxiety to get back to Chu Wanning before he finds him passed on the floor of his room. Mo-zongshi follows suit, breaking into a sprint. Together they run through the flames of their memory, one clad in black, one clad in white.
The only time they stop is when they watch Chu Wanning hurrying away from Mo Ran with tears in his eyes after Mo Ran plants his first two chess pieces. They stop and watch Chu Wanning from the shadows.
“We could…” Mo-zongshi says and Taxian-jun agrees. They follow Chu Wanning, so young and full hearted, over the bridge casting a heat barrier around him with perfect haitang flowers drifting around him. Chu Wanning doesn’t notice at first as he hurries along. Only when he stumbles and glances around to see if anyone saw does he notice the barrier. Immediately tianwen is in his hand breaking it apart as he looks around like a hissing cat trying to hide an open wound.
Both Mo Ran’s approach him.
“Wanning,” Mo-zongshi calls to him. “It’ll be okay.”
Chu Wanning looks as though he’s seen a ghost with the two Mo Ran’s approaching him with soft smiles and arms out for him. He wipes his eyes with his fist and readies himself to strike. In a solid, booming voice that doesn’t betray his tears, he demands, “What the hell is this?”
Taxian-jun steps forward. He has no fear of Tianwen, even as the vine cuts through his chest making Mo-zongshi gasp in pain.
Taxian-jun kneels down in the dirt before Chu Wanning, reaching out a hand to his shaking one hidden in his sleeve. “Wanning, you just need to let us explain. We can explain it all.”
Even if it’s just in their heads and their heart, Mo-zongshi and Taxian-jun explain to Chu Wanning about the flower. They explain how it was broken. And they apologize. They both, one after another, apologize for saying, “Dong Shi imitates Xi Shi’s frown.”
They’re forced to leave the young man in Red Lotus Pavilion even though they could stay with him forever reassuring him of every doubt they know he holds in his heart. They wrap him in their arms, tangled in an embrace sandwiched between the two of them, as they tell him they love him no matter what.
The move through more memories, picking up their speed to get back to their own Wanning even if they want to protect everyone whom they remember.
They only stop once more when they spot a young Mo Ran, probably only fifteen, shortly after he took the flower in Chu Wanning’s place. He stops up and down the steps to Sisheng Peak, his face red and clutching a small bag of coins. The two look to each other. They recognize this as the moment Mo Ran goes to his first brothel.
“What if…” Taxian-jun says slowly, his heart aching for this younger self who has so much pain ahead of him. “What if we brought him with us. Just to see what the future holds. He’s just a memory.”
Mo-zongshi considers and hesitantly agrees.
Somehow, they manage to convince the hurt, angry Mo Ran that his loneliness isn’t forever. They pull him through their memories too, showing him all the happy moments of his life that are already fading away. The fifteen year old rejects the truth just as Mo-zongshi and Taxian-jun did. The two look fondly down on him like they would a stupid younger brother.
As the three move faster and faster backwards in their memories, that itchy, uncomfortable tangle of emotions in his chest untangles and he accepts the realization he came to before when he was seeking Mo-zongshi: he’s worthy. He’s kind. And he does his best.
Just as Taxian-jun and Mo-zongshi are quietly debating sending the young Mo Ran back to prevent him from somehow ever even getting an hour of control over the body, the introspection curse drops and all three plummet through their mind.
Taxian-jun thuds hard on the ground, reflectively curling into a protective ball with a gasp. His head hurts. His chest hurts. His whole body aches. Clearly he did something wrong and there was some sort of backlash. He mentally takes an account of his body in search of injury, wiggling his fingers and toes to make sure he has full control. Before opening his eyes he mentally seeks out Mo-zongshi, almost hoping he’ll still be around at the forefront of his mind, but no one is there. It’s only him.
There’s a loud groaning in the room and a quiet “Oh fuck.”
Taxian-jun’s eyes wip open and he sits up, Jiangui in his hand ready to fight.
From a pool of white robes on the floor, Mo-zongshi stares back at him.
On the ground between them is a third, fifteen year old Mo Ran still passed out but shifting as he slowly comes to conciousness.
“This is all your fault!” Taxian-jun quickly says pointing at Mo-zongshi before the other can say a single thing.
Simultaneously, the door opens and Chu Wanning enters holding two bowls of lunch that immediately shatter onto the ground seeing three Mo Rans on the ground of their cramped room.