The thought made Mo Ran scowl as the loathing he felt for this woman grew even deeper. He must have been out of his mind when he thought she was anything like Shi Mei.
The Second Pavilion Master’s pleasant voice interrupted Mo Ran’s thoughts. “The last item at this auction is a masterless holy weapon. It has been put up for auction on behalf of a third party.”
There were always rumors floating around before each auction as to what kind of precious treasures would be up for sale. Thus, in contrast to the wild reaction to the Butterfly-Boned Beauty Feast earlier, the gathered crowd of cultivators actually settled down a bit, though they were still antsy.
The white jade lotus bloomed once again, and the stone platform rose slowly. Upon it lay a satin case with silver embellishments of celestial bodies and elegant landscapes.
The satin case was slim and intricately embroidered, and anyone in the know could tell with a glance that the fine needlework came from the famed embroidery house of Gusu, Xianyun Pavilion. Holy weapon aside, this case alone was worth hundreds of gold.
“This holy weapon was found at the burial mound on Jun Mountain. Its former master had passed, and we at Xuanyuan Pavilion have verified that it has yet to take a new master.” The Second Pavilion Master paused before continuing. “As everyone knows, a holy weapon’s name is engraved on its body. However, time has worn away the inscription on this holy weapon, and only one character remains discernible: Gui, for ‘Return.’”
“Enough prattling,” someone muttered. “Open the box already.”
“Aiyo, let it be, you’ll get used to it. Xuanyuan Pavilion always does it like this. Gotta talk it up before showing us the goods.”
“I guess.”
Amused by the chatter, Mo Ran turned toward Chu Wanning to quip, only to see Chu Wanning’s face pale as frost, his sword-straight eyebrows tight and strained as slender fingers of cold jade pressed against his temple. Startled, he hurriedly asked, “Shizun, are you okay?”
“Suddenly… Suddenly I don’t feel so good.”
“Don’t feel good how? Did you catch another cold?” Mo Ran scooted over and felt his forehead. “Your temperature’s fine.”
Chu Wanning shook his head without saying anything. He looked all out of sorts.
Unsure of what else to do, Mo Ran said, “I’ll pour you some tea.” He filled a cup with steaming tea, paused, then added a bit of the recently purchased Tapir Fragrance Dew.
Sage Hanlin’s medicines were renowned the world over, and indeed Chu Wanning seemed to be better after drinking the tea mixed with the dew. Some color came back to his face as he returned his attention to the auction downstairs. Mo Ran tidied up the tea set and poured him another cup.
“Although there is no way to know this holy weapon’s full name, since the stars have aligned to bring it back to the world, and its inscription already contains the word ‘gui,’ Xuanyuan Pavilion has for the time being named it ‘Guilai,’ ‘the Returned.’”
Someone in the crowd finally lost his patience. “Pavilion Master, you’ve talked it up enough,” he yelled. “We’re already on the edge of our seats—open the box and let’s have a look at that holy weapon.”
The Second Pavilion Master smiled. “All things in due time, Xianjun. In accordance with the laws of the cultivation world, when the master of a holy weapon passes, the weapon shall be inherited by his blood heirs. Guilai was found at a burial mound, and we have no way to know its original master’s identity. However, once the case is opened, all present are welcome to reach out with their spiritual energy to test the weapon. If it resonates with someone, that will indicate that they are of the original master’s bloodline, and Guilai will naturally belong to them, free of charge.”
“Ha ha ha, as if something that coincidental could ever happen.”
The gathered cultivators burst out laughing.
“That’s right, what are the chances?”
“Might as well try it, though. Can’t hurt.”
The Second Pavilion Master beamed at the crowd. “Indeed, it can’t hurt to try your luck,” she agreed crisply. “Now then, if I may have your attention, we will be removing the lid.”
She snapped her fingers, and a pair of Guyueye disciples—both young girls of around fifteen or sixteen—approached from either side. They flew up and landed gracefully on the lotus platform, then placed their slender, jade-like hands on the satin case. Each carried an intricate crystal key that they inserted carefully into the keyholes on the case.
There were two clicks, and the case unlocked.
As Mo Ran watched the scene before him, he found himself thinking back to when he had acquired Jiangui at Jincheng Lake. It had been clearly explained to him then that only the person he loved most in all world could unlock Ever-Yearning, but for some reason, the brocade box had opened in Chu Wanning’s hands.
The audience held their breath, countless eyes staring at that narrow box from beneath hooded cloaks. The gold-embroidered lid lifted slowly as the very air strained with tension, like a bow pulled to its limit. Despite the thousands of people present, it was so quiet that one could have heard a single hair fall to the ground.
Every single person was staring unblinkingly at the ancient blade that had been revealed inside the box, aged by time. Some greedily, some curiously, some appreciatively…
Only Mo Ran’s eyes flew wide the instant he saw the weapon lying there. The color drained rapidly from his face.
He had lived two lifetimes, owned two holy weapons, and crossed blades with over a dozen other wielders thereof. He had thought that he wouldn’t care a whit about whatever holy weapon Xuanyuan Pavilion was selling.
He had been wrong.
“The holy weapon Guilai.” The Second Pavilion Master’s crisp voice shattered the silence. “A long blade, four feet in length, three inches in width. Scabbardless, with a body of pure black that does not reflect light.”
Mo Ran’s fingertips shook minutely as a word slipped past his lips. “Bugui…”
No Return…
Our past lies on a vermilion bridge in emerald fields
Another year gone, yet still I wait, for you do not return.22
“Mo Ran, now that you have your own holy weapon, why have you asked me to seal its spiritual consciousness rather than give it a name?”
“To answer you, Shizun: this disciple is uncultured and has only one chance to name it. I worry that I’ll pick a bad one and be stuck with it.”
“A-Ran, have you still not decided on a name for your long blade? Surely you can’t keep calling it, ‘blade,’ this and, ‘blade,’ that.”
“It’s fine, it’s fine. I’m just taking my time to think about it. It’s a holy weapon, after all. It deserves a super awesome name, ha ha ha.”
Then Shi Mei died.
Mo Ran asked Chu Wanning to release the seal so that he could name his holy weapon “Mingjing.”
However, at that time, Chu Wanning said that his spiritual energy was still corrupted from the fight with the ghost realm, and that he did not have the strength to release the sealing spell. So, he could only leave it as it was.
Later, Mo Ran and Chu Wanning finally severed ties, and Mo Ran was loath to ask him about unsealing it again. And so the bloodstained long blade remained nameless through all those years and innumerable battles. It no longer mattered. Not a soul in the world was unaware of Mo Weiyu and the hellish blade in his hand, which fed on blood and hatred.
In the end, Chu Wanning died as well.
The name-sealing spell that had laid on Mo Ran’s blade for more than a decade disappeared with him.
That night, Mo Ran downed copious amounts of pear-blossom wine. A bit tipsy, he ran his hand along the ice-cold body of the blade, no longer able to tell if what he felt was ecstasy or sorrow.
He flicked it and listened to its reverberations, like the sound of drums and horns on the battlefield, like a haitang chilled to the root. He lay on the roof of Wushan Palace, laughing uncontrollably, waxing from delighted to deranged.
Mo Ran didn’t remember if he had shed any tears that night, only that when he woke in the morning, the long blade that had gone nameless for over a decade had been engraved with two clear-cut characters: Bugui.
For you do not return.
Never again.
But why had the weapon that had accompanied him through endless battles in his last life appeared in this world reborn? And how had it ended up at a Xuanyuan Pavilion auction?!
Before Mo Ran could think on it further, all the thousands of cultivators at the auction house released streams of spiritual energy, each rushing to commune with Bugui.
Mo Ran watched mutely.
It would be no use. Since it was Bugui, and since Mo Ran was here, under no circumstances would any other person in the world be able to command that long blade.
Did its appearance have something to do with that little bastard hiding behind the scenes? If so, then his decision to release Bugui into the world at this time meant that he knew Mo Ran and Chu Wanning were trying to track him down, and that his goal wasn’t in fact to test other people’s spiritual essences.
Then what was he trying to do?
Furthermore, was this Bugui real? Or was it merely bait, like those fakes at Jincheng Lake?
Mind filled with questions, Mo Ran reached out with a tendril of his own spiritual energy. If Bugui wasn’t a fake, then it would surely resonate with him. If he wanted to avoid notice, he couldn’t let the resonance be too obvious, so if he only used a little bit…
He had just released the tiniest thread of energy when a faint groan came from behind him.
“Shizun?!”
Mo Ran whipped his head around to find Chu Wanning collapsed at the table, brows locked and lips blue. His snow-white robes spread out like smoke, and his handsome face was paler than frost. He had passed out, his eyes screwed shut like some chronic illness had flared up within him.
Mo Ran had never expected something like this to happen so suddenly. He panicked, pulling back his spiritual energy and running to Chu Wanning’s side to cradle him in his arms. “Shizun, what’s wrong?!”