Chu Wanning gazed down at it with murder in his eyes. “Shut up and draw the next one.”
“Hmph! You’ll regret this!”
“Are you going to draw or not?”
However, the little dragon stopped drawing, sitting down with a plop and scratching its belly with its tiny claw.
“What, out of ink?” Chu Wanning said coldly.
“Idiot. Out of spells.” The little dragon rolled its eyes. “I’ve drawn so many already, and it’s still not enough for you? There’s no more, that’s all there is—aside from these, this inn is perfectly clean.”
Chu Wanning and Mo Ran’s expressions shifted slightly.
“That’s it?” asked Mo Ran.
“That’s it.”
“There isn’t one for assessing spiritual roots?” Chu Wanning asked.
“Nope.”
Master and disciple exchanged a glance, disbelief written on their faces. If this mysterious person had been using the auction to find another elemental spiritual essence, then he had to have put some kind of assessment spell on the holy weapon. Only now it appeared that no spell had been cast on the weapon at all. Were they mistaken? Did the long blade’s appearance have nothing to do with the man they were hunting?
The little dragon noted their silence and soared into the air, flying around back and forth as it whined. “Oi, pay attention to this venerable one. Drawing is exhausting, you know! Where’s this venerable one’s round of applause?”
Chu Wanning was already irritated to begin with. When it hollered, he simply lifted a hand with a sweep of his sleeve and summoned a yellow talisman in the air. The little dragon shrieked miserably at the sight of it. “I don’t wanna, I don’t wanna, I don’t wanna, I don’t wanna!”
Nevertheless, it was sucked into the talisman and turned back into a drawing. A tap of Chu Wanning’s fingertip, and the drawing itself slowly faded away. Even as the dragon disappeared, it kept narrowing its eyes in affront at Chu Wanning.
“I’ll call you when you’re needed,” said Chu Wanning.
Tears streamed down the little dragon’s face. “You only ever remember me when you need me! You’re so heartless, Chu Wanning…”
“Get lost already!” Chu Wanning had at first retained civility, but at these words, his brows dipped in anger, and he folded the talisman flat in half with an unceremonious slap before tucking it back into his sleeve.
Nightfall. Chu Wanning slept on the bed and Mo Ran took the floor, both troubled with their worries.
They hadn’t expected the holy weapon to be free of any spells whatsoever. Did the mysterious man have some way of gauging spiritual roots that they didn’t know? Or was he not in a hurry to find a replacement with strong spiritual energy?
“Mo Ran,” Chu Wanning called in the darkness.
“Hm?” Mo Ran responded reflexively.
“Let’s go back to Sisheng Peak tomorrow.”
Mo Ran’s eyes opened. “Huh?”
“If that man would let an opportunity like the Xuanyuan auction slip past, then he probably has some other means of searching out his quarry. I’m afraid we won’t find out much carrying on like this. So let’s go back to Sisheng Peak. I’ll have the sect leader secretly tell the other nine great sects to check for any spiritual essences within their own sects, and to safeguard any they find. It’ll be better than sitting on our hands hoping he happens to show up.”
“Will that be okay? What if the guy we’re after is one of the sect leaders?”
“That’s very unlikely, but even if he is, it won’t matter. He already knows we’re after him.”
“How will Shizun make all those sect leaders listen to Uncle?” Mo Ran asked, puzzled. “Tell them everything?”
“That won’t be necessary. They might not believe it anyway,” Chu Wanning replied mildly. “But I have my ways.”
“Such as?”
“I’ll take disciples.”
Mo Ran jerked his head up, alarmed.
“I’ll have the sect leader tell the other sects that the frequent breaches in the ghost realm barrier pose a great danger to us all,” Chu Wanning said quietly. “As such, Yuheng of Sisheng Peak intends to accept up to five additional disciples to train in the use of techniques such as the Shangqing Barrier and the Shisha Barrier. The other sects have tried time and again to invite me to teach, specifically because of these barrier techniques. If I put out the word that I’m willing to impart them, they’ll come. And, since I accept only those with outstanding spiritual foundation, they’ll have to test all of their disciples to select the candidates, thereby fulfilling our goal.”
Mo Ran didn’t reply, his face going pale in the darkness. “Y-you’re going to take more disciples?”
“If fate decrees it.” Chu Wanning rolled over, his voice quieting as if he was getting tired. “I’ll take the names of the candidates and have them practice standard barrier techniques by themselves first. If any among them manage to persevere for three years or so, then why not?”
In the darkness, Mo Ran listened to the voice from the bed slowly drifting off. He felt like a jar of vinegar had been spilled in his chest, so sour it made his heart ache. Take on more disciples?
You only ever took three in your last life, picky as you are. How come you’re not being picky now? How could you take on more disciples just like that?!
Mo Ran kept wanting to say something, but every time the words reached his lips, they never made it past.
Chu Wanning fell asleep, blissfully unaware of the sea of jealousy raging within Mo Ran.
It was cold at night. Mo Ran pulled on an outer garment and got up. He called to Chu Wanning in a low voice a couple times to ensure he was really asleep, then quietly opened the door and snuck out of the room.
The halls of the inn were still and silent. A few red silk lanterns glowed peacefully with a low light, gentle circles of orange reflecting on the wooden floor like so many ripples.
Chu Wanning might already have tested the holy weapon, but Mo Ran had yet to test Bugui.
A holy weapon within a hundred feet of its master could be summoned to their side with a simple spell. At Xuanyuan Pavilion, Mo Ran hadn’t had a chance to check if this blade really was his weapon from his past life. How could he possibly miss this chance now?
Mo Ran’s fingertip glowed with a crimson light. Lowering his eyelashes, he said in a quiet voice, “Bugui, come!”
For a few moments, there was nothing but silence. Suddenly, the muffled sound of a blade rang out from somewhere in the distance. The sound was barely audible, but it reverberated in his ears, and his heart hammered.
Mo Ran’s eyes shot open. “Bugui!”
It was Bugui. The long blade was struggling, crying blood, its deep roar racing to him across sanguine oceans, across lifetimes. It was as if he could hear Bugui weeping and wailing for him. However, it was trapped, confined by something Mo Ran knew naught of.
It could feel its master’s call but could not answer. There was something missing—something that had severed their connection.
They’d once had a pact, had once seen the beautiful sights from the tallest mountains together, had once waited for death side by side in the last remaining bit of warmth in Wushan Palace. Something was forcing them apart, but still their bond remained, like a tendon linking torn flesh.
Mo Ran’s eyes were red and welling with tears as he whispered, “Bugui…”
It’s you. Why can’t you return to my side? Who’s stopping you? Who…
Creak.
The quiet sound of a door opening. In this suffocating darkness, it was as loud as crashing thunder.