𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘏𝘶𝘴𝘬𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘞𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘊𝘢𝘵 𝘚𝘩𝘪𝘻𝘶𝘯 (𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘢𝘴 2𝘩𝘢 𝘰𝘳 𝘌𝘳𝘩𝘢) is 𝐚 𝐩𝐨𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐦𝐞𝐢 (𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐬' 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞) 𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥 𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫 𝑹𝒐𝒖 𝑩𝒂𝒐 𝑩𝒖 𝑪𝒉𝒊 𝑹𝒐𝒖.

It is an epic, highly emotional tale of tragedy, rebirth, and redemption.

《𝗣𝗿𝗲𝗺𝗶𝘀𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗣𝗹𝗼𝘁》

The story follows Mo Ran, a cruel tyrant and the first Emperor of the cultivation world, who dies by suicide after living a life filled with rage and sorrow. Instead of perishing, he awakens in his own 15-year-old body, years before his bloody conquests and tragedies. Armed with memories of his past life, he vows to protect his loved ones and seek revenge on his teacher, Chu Wanning, whom he blames for past betrayals. However, as he alters his timeline, he begins to uncover the hidden truths of his first life and uncovers deeper, complex feelings for his teacher.

《𝗠𝗮𝗶𝗻 𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘀》

▪︎𝐌𝐨 𝐑𝐚𝐧 (𝐓𝐚𝐱𝐢𝐚𝐧-𝐉𝐮𝐧): The protagonist. In his first life, he was a ruthless, destructive tyrant. In the new timeline, he plays the part of a bumbling, obedient, and "dumb husky" of a disciple while secretly wrestling with his morality, lingering trauma, and his conflicting feelings.

▪︎𝐂𝐡𝐮 𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: Mo Ran's teacher (shizun). He is immensely powerful, coldly beautiful, and initially maintains a cat-like aloofness, which earns him his nickname. Beneath his icy exterior lies a deeply compassionate and self-sacrificing heart.

《𝗖𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝗗𝗲𝘁𝗮𝗶𝗹𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗥𝗲𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗿𝗰𝗲𝘀》

▪︎𝗚𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗧𝗼𝗻𝗲: Historical fantasy, martial arts (xianxia), romance, and heavy angst.

▪︎𝗖𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: The novel deals with very dark themes, including violence, heavy angst, trauma, non-consensual elements, and years of deep misunderstanding before any positive developments.

▪︎𝗘𝗻𝗴𝗹𝗶𝘀𝗵 𝗥𝗲𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲: The English edition of the books is published by Seven Seas Entertainment.

▪︎𝗪𝗶𝗸𝗶/𝗙𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗼𝗺: If you want to dive deeper into the lore, arcs, and terminology without spoilers, check out The Husky and His White Cat Shizun Fandom Wiki.

𝗡𝗼𝘁𝗲: The series deals with mature content and is generally recommended for adult readers.

Warning: suicide

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That bit of time before Mo Ran had yet to become the emperor, there was always someone calling him a dog.

The manager called him a 'son of a bitch', the customers called him a 'bitch pup', his little cousin called him a 'shitty dog', and his mother was the best, saying he was raised by a bitch.

Of course, there were other dog related metaphors that weren't too bad. For example, his one-night stands would always grumble with some petulance that the strength of his back was like that of a male dog; honey dripped from his lips luring away the soul, but the weapon down below was robbing the sweetness of her life. But, they'd turn around and boast to others afterwards, so much so that the entire district knew that the man Mo Weiyu was both handsome in looks and aggressive in tool; those who tried were satisfied with their meal, and those who hadn't were dearly tempted.

It had to be said that those names were all very spot on. Mo Ran was indeed very much like a tail-wagging dumb dog.

It wasn't until he became the emperor of the cultivation world that these kinds of monikers disappeared in a flash.

One day, a small sect from a faraway land gifted him a puppy.

The puppy had a coat of whitish grey, three slashes of flames upon its forehead, kind of like a wolf. But, it was only as big as a melon, and looked kind of stupid, chubby and round. Nonetheless, it still thought of itself rather mightily, running all over the great hall with abandon. Several times it tried to climb the very, very high steps to see clearly that person who sat upon the throne so composedly, but because its legs were too short, it finally abandoned the endeavour.

Mo Ran stared at that ball of fur who possessed no wits but plenty of energy and suddenly chuckled, laughing as he called it 'Filthy Mutt'.

The puppy soon grew up and became a big dog; the big dog became an old dog, and the old dog then became a dead dog.

Mo Ran closed his eyes, then blinked them open.

His life was filled with the ebb and flow of prestige and shame, sometimes up, sometimes down.

Before he knew it, thirty two years had gone past.

He'd played with everything and had gotten tired of it. Everything was tasteless and lonely, and in recent years, there were less and less people he knew by his side; even that three flames dog had passed to the heavens. It was time, he thought. Time to end everything.

He picked off a glistening, full grape, and languidly peeled its purple skin.

His movement was easy and practiced, like King Yu in his camp peeling off Princess Hu's robes, but there was a laziness to it like he was tired of it all.

The lustrous fruit quivered lightly in his fingertips; its juice gushed and flowed, delicately purple, like a wild goose gliding down red cliffs, like haitang blossoms entering slumber.

But more so like that of filthy blood.

He stared at his own fingers as he swallowed that overwhelming sweetness in his mouth, then lazily opened his eyes.

It's about time, he thought.

About time he went to hell.

Mo Ran, courtesy name Weiyu.

The first emperor of the cultivation world.

It really hadn't been easy to reach this position.

The requirement wasn't simply that of outstanding spiritual powers; he'd also needed a thick skin as hard and solid as that of a meteorite.

Before him, the ten greatest sects in the cultivation world had divided territories, fought and hoarded against each other over their domains. With the sects clashing against one another, there was no one who could rule the world and call all the shots. And besides, every sect leader were outstandingly learned, so even if they wanted to grant themselves a title for fun, they would be wary of what the historians would pen, afraid they would receive disgrace in the books of history.

But Mo Ran was different.

He was a scoundrel.

What others didn't dare do, he'd done it all.

Drinking the spiciest fine wine of the mortal realm, marrying the most beautiful woman in the world. First, he became the Alliance Leader of the cultivation world "Taxian-Jun", then he granted himself the title of emperor.

All knelt and yielded before him.

Those who refused to kneel, he slaughtered, one and all. In the years he asserted his dominance, blood flowed like a flood and mournful wails were everywhere. Countless vigilantes sacrificed themselves, even the Rufeng Sect of the Ten Great Sects was completely annihilated.

And later, even the honored master who'd taught Mo Ran wasn't able to escape his demonic claws. In a final battle with Mo Ran he was defeated, and taken prisoner in the palace by his once beloved disciple, his whereabouts now unknown.

The once great land of clear rivers and calm seas was suddenly smothered with smog and haze. The Dog Emperor Mo Ran didn't read a lot of books and was someone who was fearless of all, so while he was in power, the world was never short of ridiculous affairs. Such as the titles for those reigning years.

The first set of three years, the title was "Bastard"[1]. It was something he'd thought of while feeding fish by the pond.

The second set of three years, the title was "Croak", the reason being he'd heard frogs croak in the garden in the summer, and determined it as inspiration granted by the heavens and shouldn't be taken for granted.

All the scholars of the country believed there could never be any reigning titles more tragic than "Bastard" and "Croak", but, alas, they understood nothing of Mo Ran.

The third set of three years, grassroots unrest began to shake up various local regions, whether it be buddhists, taoists, or spiritual cultivators, all those righteous vigilantes in the world started to rise up in rebellion.

Thus, this time, Mo Ran contemplated deeply for a long time, and after tossing away many drafts, a title that shook the heavens and made ghosts and gods weep was born—"Cease Battle"[2].

It was meant to have a well-meaning connotation. The first emperor used up all of his brainpower to come up with those two words, taking from the fortuitous idiom "Cease Troops Rest Battles". Only, when it was spoken out loud in the common world, it was exceedingly awkward.

Especially to those who couldn't read, it was even more awkward hearing the title.

The first year was called the First Cease Battle[3] year, but why did it sound like the year of Cock Balls.

The second year was called the second year of Cock.

The third year of Cock.

Some people would curse at it behind locked doors.

Finally, three years were suffered through, and it was finally time to replace the reigning year title "Ji Ba".

People all over the world were waiting anxiously to see what His Majesty the Emperor would come up with for the fourth title, but this time, Mo Ran no longer had any care to draw up a name. Since, this year, riots of the cultivation world finally, completely erupted. After having endured for almost a decade, vigilantes, heroes, and valiant men finally gathered together and formed an army of millions, charging towards the First Emperor Mo Weiyu.

The cultivation world really didn't need an emperor.

Especially not a tyrant like this.

After many months of battles bathed in blood, the rebel army finally came to the foot of Sisheng Peak.

This place was situated in the Sichuan province, upon perilous mountain bluffs, surrounded by streams of clouds and mist throughout the year.

Mo Ran's grand and majestic palace sat at its summit.

It was too late to turn back, and overthrowing tyranny was only a strike away. However, this last strike was also the most treacherous. The ray of hope for victory was before their eyes, but thoughts of estrangement began to grow internally within the allied army who'd gathered to fight the same enemy. With the annihilation of the old empire, a new regime would need to be built. No one wanted to waste their strength unnecessarily right now, and thus no one wanted to head the front lines, to charge up the mountains first.

They were all afraid that this cunningly vicious tyrant would suddenly drop from the skies, bare his shining beast-like white teeth, and rip apart all those who dared to surround and destroy his palace, shred them to pieces.

Some said, with a grim expression,

All the leaders agreed.

Right then, an exceedingly handsome, flashy young man walked forward. He was wearing a set of silver blue light armour, a belt embellished with a lion's head, his hair fastened in a high ponytail with an exquisite silver hairpin secured at the roots.

That young man's expression was exceedingly dark.

He said,

Anger exploded all around because of his words.

Another instantly taunted sarcastically,

That was a rather aggravating comment.

One of the old monks in the alliance immediately stopped the young man who was about to explode, and put on a folksy expression, coaxing him in a gentle voice.

The one everyone addressed as 'Young Master Xue' was named Xue Meng. Over a decade ago, he'd been praised by all as a young genius, the darling of the heavens.

Yet, as all things change with the flow of time, he must now endure the taunts and ridicule of those people, if only to go up the mountain to see Mo Ran's face one more time.

Xue Meng's face twisted with anger, his lips trembling, but he still arduously suppressed himself, demanding.

The old monk who'd mediated just now also urged.

Xue Meng exploded with rage.

Hearing Xue Meng mention his shizun, the mob felt a trickle of shame.

Some looked ashamed, some eyed left and right, murmuring but did not speak.

Finally, someone cleared his throat and said gently,

That man widened his eyes.

He couldn't continue anymore, a sob constricting his throat.

Towards the end, Xue Meng whipped his head around, his shoulders shaking lightly, holding back his tears.

Someone whispered.

Now that was harsh, and the old monk instantly shouted,

Then he turned to console Xue Meng with a pleasant face.

Xue Meng cut him off, his eyes bulging,

His breathing was harsh, the rims of his eyes red.

Xue Meng broke free from the old monk's hold on his sleeves and croaked,

Throwing that out there, he went up the mountain alone; one man, one sword.

Through the rustling cries of bleak and wet cold winds mixed with millions of leaves, the thick fog crept like countless angry ghosts and aggrieved spirits within the trees, muttering in hushed voices.

Xue Meng hiked to the peak all by his lonesome. The majestic palace Mo Ran was in had calm candlelight illuminating the night. He suddenly saw that before the Heaven-Piercing Tower were three graves. When he approached for a closer look, at the head of the first grave were long weeds growing, and the tombstone was engraved with crooked and dogged words: "Grave of the Steamed[4] Consort Chu".

In contrast to this "Steamed Consort", the second grave was newly dug, the earth only just sealed, and upon the tombstone engraved: "Grave of the Deep Fried Empress Song".

If this was over ten years ago, Xue Meng would've laughed out loud in spite of himself upon seeing such a ridiculous sight.

At the time, he and Mo Ran were disciples under the same shizun, and Mo Ran was the class clown. Even if Xue Meng had long since disliked him, he would still be teased to laugher by him from time to time.

Who knows what this Steamed Consort Deep Fried Empress was all about.

Perhaps the style in which the Scholar Mo had graced his two wives were the same as "Bastard", "Croak" and "Cease Battle". However, as to why he would give those monikers to his own empresses, there was no way of knowing.

Xue Meng turned his gaze to the third grave.

Under the night sky, the earth of that grave mound was still dug open. There was a coffin resting within, but there was no body in that coffin, and the tombstone was also yet to be marked.

Before the grave was a small pot of Pear Blossom White Wine, a bowl of now cold spicy wontons, a few plates of spicy side dishes—they were all Mo Ran's favourites.

Xue Meng stared at the grave stunned, and suddenly his mind snapped to—

Cold sweat rolled.

He would not believe it. Mo Ran had always been someone who never knew fatigue even at the brink of death. He knew not of surrender, and based on the way he acted, he would've for sure fought with the rebel army to the bitter end, so why would...

These past ten years, Mo Ran had stood at the summit of power. What exactly did he see? And what exactly had happened?

No one knew.

Xue Meng turned around and reentered the darkness, stalking in large strides towards the brightly lit Wushan Palace.

Inside Wushan Palace, Mo Ran's eyes were screwed shut, his face deathly pale.

Xue Meng had guessed right. Mo Ran was determined to die. That grave mound was dug by himself. Two hours ago, he had used the communication spell to dismiss his servants, while he swallowed deadly poison. His cultivation was great, and so the effects of that poison were particularly slow in dissolving and circulating within his body. Thus, the agony of having his inner organs chewed away was also acutely vivid.

Creak—the doors to the hall opened.

Mo Ran didn't look up and only gasped hoarsely,

Upon the golden pavement within the hall, Xue Meng stood tall and proud, his ponytail falling straight, his light armour shimmering.

It was a reunion of companions from the same sect once upon a time. Mo Ran sat leaning, propping up his chin, his expression empty, thick curtains of fine lashes lowered before his eyes.

Everyone knew he was a monster and a savage devil, but in truth, he was good looking. The curve of his nose gentle and soft, his lips thin and dewy, his appearance naturally radiating notes of kindness and sweetness. Just by looking at his face, anyone would think he was a lovable, good person.

When Xue Meng saw his face, he knew Mo Ran had taken poison just as he had suspected. It was hard to dissect what he was feeling, and he opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

In the end, he clenched his fists and only demanded,

Xue Meng demanded again sharply,

Mo Ran humphed softly, and finally, slowly, blinked open his eyes, his pupils black with hints of purple, dropping them onto Xue Meng's person through layers upon layers of time past.

Mo Ran smiled faintly as he spoke.

Mo Ran glanced at him calmly, enduring the twisting pain in his stomach, and his lips contorted into a sneer as he laid heavily back against the emperor's throne.

Waves of blackness invaded his sight, he could almost feel his innards wrenching, melting, dissolving into stinking, bloody swill.

Mo Ran replied lazily,

Blood completely drained from Xue Meng's face, his eyes bulging as he backed up.

Mo Ran snickered.

Xue Meng's voice trembled.

He looked up to Mo Ran who was sitting high above in the seat of the emperor. There was Fuxi in Heaven, Yanluo in Hell, and in the mortal realm, there was Mo Weiyu.

But to Xue Meng, even if Mo Ran had become the eminent emperor of the mortal realm, he still shouldn't have become like this.

Xue Meng's entire body was shaking, his tears rolling from outrage.

Mo Ran raised his eyes quietly.

Xue Meng's voice trembled.

Mo Ran suddenly laughed.

Xue Meng shook his head in pain.

So many words stuck in his throat, but in the end, Xue Meng could only sob.

Xue Meng raised his head, but having held back so many tears, his throat was even more constricted, and he couldn't say anymore.

It was a long pause before Mo Ran's silent sigh floated from the throne.

Mo Ran's voice was clearly exhausted.

It was silent like the dead for a long time.

The pain in his stomach was like a blazing fire, his blood and flesh torn and ripped into broken shreds.

Mo Ran caught his breath and forced himself to calm down. When he said this, his expression was blank, but his fingers were digging into the long rosewood desk, his joints pale to the point of bruising.

A lump of astringent sweetness swarmed up into his throat; Mo Ran coughed a couple times, and when he opened his mouth again, there was nothing but blood between his lips and teeth. Yet his eyes were still at ease.

He said with a hoarse voice,

Then, he closed his eyes dispiritedly, the poison striking his heart, blazing fires bringing torment.

The agony was so heart wrenching that even Xue Meng's twisted, despairing wails became faraway, like there was an ocean spanning thousands of miles between them, and his voice was coming through the waters.

Blood continued to pour out from the corners of his lips, and Mo Ran squeezed his sleeves tight, his muscles spasming.

When he opened his bleary eyes, Xue Meng was long gone.

Mo Ran pushed himself up, and wobbled as he rose to his feet. Using hands spotted with blood, he formed a hand seal, sending himself to the front of Sisheng Peak's Heaven-Piercing Tower.

It was deep autumn. The haitang blossoms were beautifully thick and flowing in the wind.

He didn't know why in the end he chose this place to end his sinful life, but he felt since the flowers were blooming so vibrantly, it wouldn't be such a bad tomb.

He laid down in that open coffin, and looked up to watch the blossoms of the night, soundlessly drifting as they wilted.

Drifting into the coffin, drifting onto his cheeks. Dancing and fluttering, like the past wilting away.

In this life, from the bastard son who possessed nothing, after innumerable encounters, he became the only eminent Lord Emperor of the mortal realm.

He had blasphemed, and his hands were covered with blood. All that he loved, all that he hated, all that he prayed for, all that he resented, in the end, there was nothing left.

In the end, he had also never penned an epitaph for himself using that confident and wild writing of his. Whether it be a shameless "Emperor of the Era" or something ridiculous like "Deep Fried" or "Steamed", he didn't write anything. The grave of the first emperor of the cultivation world, in the end, left no words behind.

A spectacle that lasted for a decade finally dropped its curtains.

It was many, many hours later when the mob, with torches held high, invaded the resident palace of the emperor like a fire snake. However, what awaited them was an empty Wushan Palace, a Sisheng Peak without a soul, and Xue Meng, who had cried himself numb, prostrating over a ground spilled with ashes at the Red Lotus Pavilion.

And, before the Heaven-Piercing Tower, Mo Weiyu, whose corpse was already cold.

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《𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞》

▪︎[1] The original text is a pun on the slang for bastard, 'Wang Ba', which means turtle. The character for 'Wang' is the same as the word for 'King', which is probably why Mo Ran thought it was clever.

▪︎[2] The original text is a pun on the slang for cock, penis, dick, 'Ji Ba'. Both 'Cease Battle' and 'Cock' have the same pronunciation.

▪︎[3] The original text adds another pun 'Yuan' to the cock pun. 'Yuan', different characters, same pronunciation, means "The First of" and "Ball" respectively.

▪︎[4] The original text is a pun on the pronunciation for 'Nobly Chaste', which sounds exactly like 'Steamed'.

▪︎[5] The art of manipulating qi so that one is weightless and light on one's feet.

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Warning: 15 year old Mo Ran fucks a prostitute.

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A woman's crisp voice passed by his ear, poetic verses rolling like pearls and jade, but all they did was make Mo Ran's head throb, the vein by his brow twitching madly.

Only after bellowing so did Mo Ran realize with a start that something wasn't right.

Hatred and coldness, pain and loneliness stabbed at his chest. Mo Ran's eyes flew open.

Everything that had happened right before his death scattered like snow in the wind. He found himself lying on a bed; not the bed at Sisheng Peak, but a bed carved with a dragon and phoenix, the wood smelling heavily of powder.

The old quilt was colored pink and purple, embroidered with mandarin ducks—the kind of bed one would only find in a whorehouse.

Mo Ran froze.

He knew where this was.

This was the entertainment district near Sisheng Peak.

So-called entertainment district just meant brothel, easy come easy go.

Mo Ran had had a period of debauchery in his youth, and had spent the greater portion of half a month at this establishment. But this place had been sold and converted into a wine shop when he was twenty-something.

Mo Ran turned over as his imagination ran wild.

And unexpectedly came face to face with a slumbering person.

He was lovely and pleasing to the eye, and quite androgynous.

Mo Ran showed no expression, but his heart was full of turmoil. He stared at that pretty boy's face for a while and suddenly remembered.

Mo Ran pulled a long face, lifted the quilt, and peeked downwards.

This Rong someone, don't know if he's Jiu or San, let's just call him Rong Jiu. Rong Jiu's pretty little body was covered in rope burns, and his pale, tender thighs were still tied intricately with red rope.

Mo Ran stroked his chin.

As a cultivator, he had read about the concept of rebirth. He began to suspect that he had somehow gone back in time.

To confirm his suspicions, Mo Ran found a copper mirror. The mirror was worn, but good enough to vaguely make out his appearance.

Mo Ran had been thirty two when he died, but the face in the mirror was quite young; it was a charming face exuding a youthful arrogance, looking no more than fifteen or sixteen.

There was no one else in the room. Thus, the once cruel ruler of the cultivation world, Evil Tyrant of Bashu, Emperor of the Mortal Realm, Lord of Sisheng Peak, Taxian-Jun Mo Ran himself, after much consideration, expressed his thoughts honestly.

The sleeping Rong Jiu got "fuck"-ed awake.

The pretty thing sat up languidly, the thin quilt sliding off of his shoulder to reveal an expanse of pale skin. He gathered his long, soft hair and, lifting his peach blossom eyes smudged with red ink, he yawned.

Mo Ran did not respond. Back then, he had indeed liked Rong Jiu's type: delicate and androgynous. But now, the thirty two year old Taxian-Jun couldn't figure out what the hell he had been thinking to find this kind of man attractive.

Rong Jiu thought his continued silence was because he was in a bad mood, so he slipped off the bed to stand before the carved window, wrapping his arms around Mo Ran from behind.

Mo Ran's face turned blue at this embrace. He wanted nothing more than to rip this hussy off of himself and grant that fragile-looking face some seventeen, eighteen slaps, but managed to suppress the urge.

He still felt a bit dizzy and uncertain of the situation.

After all, if he really had been reborn, then he couldn't just beat Rong Jiu up out of the blue after spending the previous day all lovey-dovey with him. It would make it seem like he'd lost his marbles. Definitely couldn't have that.

Mo Ran arranged his expression, putting on a pretense of forgetfulness.

Rong Jiu stared for a second, then smiled.

The gears in Mo Ran's head turned rapidly.

Rong Jiu smiled.

Mo Ran had just been reborn, and wasn't sure how to deal with all of this yet. But, it should be fine if he just followed the same approach as before. So he thought back to his charismatic style back then and, suppressing his disgust, playfully pinched Rong Jiu's thigh.

Rong Jiu pulled on some clothes and left, soon returning with a tray carrying a bowl of pumpkin congee, two youxuan pastries, and a plate of side dish.

Mo Ran happened to be a bit hungry and was about to dig into the pastries when Rong Jiu brushed his hand away.

Rong Jiu picked up a pancake and sat on Mo Ran's lap. He wore nothing but a thin robe, legs spread wide open and flush against Mo Ran, even rubbing against him now and again without subtlety.

Mo Ran stared at his face.

Rong Jiu thought he was getting horny again.

Mo Ran was silent for a moment. Remembering the "good deed" Rong Jiu had done behind his back in his previous lifetime, the corners of his lips curved into a sweet smile.

He, the great Taxian-Jun, was no stranger to disgusting acts. As long as he felt like it, there was nothing too disgusting for him to do. This right now was merely putting on a show; mere child's play.

Mo Ran casually leaned back against the chair, smiling.

Rong Jiu blushed.

Before he could even finish, Mo Ran pulled him forward and pressed him back down. Rong Jiu's hand shook and knocked over the bowl of congee.

He managed between gasps:

Mo Ran held onto his waist, the sight of Rong Jiu's extended neck and lovely visage reflected in his pitch black pupils.

In his previous lifetime, he'd liked to kiss those captivating red lips during intimacy. After all, Rong Jiu was pretty and knew just the right words to say. It would be a lie to say that Mo Ran had never felt anything for him.

But now that Mo Ran knew what these lips had done behind his back, he found them unbearably foul, and definitely had no interest in kissing them.

The thirty two year old Mo Ran was different from the sixteen year old Mo Ran in many aspects.

For example, the sixteen year old him still knew gentleness in love and intimacy. However, the thirty two year old him had only violence left.

Afterwards, looking at Rong Jiu who had passed out from getting fucked to within an inch of his life, his tumultuous eyes curved faintly, even carrying a hint of a sweet smile. He was very good-looking when he smiled, eyes a deep, rich black with a sheen of arrogant purple from certain angles. Right now, he dragged Rong Jiu onto the bed by his hair, and casually picked up a shard of the broken bowl from the ground, holding it by Rong Jiu's face.

He had always avenged every grievance; right now was no different.

Thinking about how much he had taken care of Rong Jiu and his business in the last lifetime, how he'd even thought about buying his freedom, and how Rong Jiu had paid him back by scheming against him with others, his eyes couldn't help but curve into a smile as he pressed the shard against Rong Jiu's cheek.

This person's body was his business; without this face, he would have nothing.

He would be forced to wander the streets like a dog, to crawl on the ground, get kicked, and suffer all kinds of spurn and abuse... he was so delighted by the mere thought that even the disgust he felt from fucking this person just now vanished like smoke.

Mo Ran's smile became even more lovely.

Just a tad of pressure, and a thread of blood, captivatingly red, seeped out.

The unconscious person seemed to have felt the pain and groaned softly in a hoarse voice, looking quite pitiful, with tears still clinging to his eyelashes.

Mo Ran's hand suddenly stopped.

He remembered a dear friend.

Then, he suddenly realized what he was in the middle of doing. It took a few seconds of him being in a daze before he finally, slowly, lowered his hand.

He had done so much evil that it had become habitual. He even forgot that he had been reborn.

Right now, everything had yet to happen, the irrevocable mistakes had not yet been committed, and that person... still lived. There was no need to walk the same cruel path; he could do it over.

He sat down and propped his foot on the bed, absentmindedly toying with the piece of broken porcelain in his hand. Suddenly noticing the oily pancake that still sat on the table, he grabbed it, peeled off the wax paper, and tore into it with his teeth, eating until crumbs flew everywhere and his lips got shiny with grease.

The pancake was this brothel's specialty. It was nothing special, especially compared to the delicacies he tasted later on. But ever since this place had gone bankrupt, Mo Ran never got to eat it again. Now, the familiar taste of the pancake, through the turbulent events of the past, once again returned to the tip of his tongue.

The unreal feeling of rebirth lessened with every swallow.

By the time he finished the pancake, he finally woke up from the stupor he had been in this whole time.

He really had been reborn.

Everything hateful in his life, everything that he couldn't take back, all of it had not yet come to pass.

He had not yet killed his uncle and aunt, not yet razed seventy two cities to the ground, not yet betrayed his teacher and ancestors, not yet gotten married, not yet...

No one had died yet.

He savored the taste in his mouth, licking along his teeth and feeling the thread of joy in his chest ballooning rapidly into a feverish excitement. He'd rebuked Heaven and Earth in his last life, dipping into all three of the forbidden techniques of the human realm. He had mastered each of the other two; only the last one, "rebirth", had eluded him regardless of his talent.

Unexpectedly, that which he had failed to obtain in life fell effortlessly into his lap in death.

All the distaste, the repugnance, the desolation, the loneliness, all of his complicated feelings from his previous life were locked in his chest. The sight of the army marching on Sisheng Peak, fire lit for ten thousand fathoms, still remained in his mind.

That time, he really had not wanted to live anymore. The people all said that his very existence cursed all who came close to him, that he was fated to die alone. Everyone had turned their backs on him. Toward the end, even he himself had felt like the walking dead: senseless, lonesome.

He didn't know what had gone wrong and where, for an irredeemably wicked person like himself to get the chance to redo everything after ending his own life.

Why destroy Rong Jiu's face over such a measly grudge from so long ago?

Rong Jiu loves money. He would just not pay this time, and take some silver on top, to teach him a lesson. As for his life, he didn't want that burden just yet.

Mo Ran said with a smile, tossing the porcelain shard out the window.

Then he emptied out Rong Jiu's jewels and valuables, tucking all of it into his pouch. He took his time dressing and arranging himself before leisurely strolling out of the place.

Mo Ran's eyes softened at the thought of that person.

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《𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞》

▪︎[6] Older martial brother

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