Mo Lifeng — Quiet Misery

Though it was still early in the morning, the skies atop Bai Yun Mountain were covered by dark clouds carrying a mighty storm. Not a single ray of sun peeked through them.

A torrential downpour raged upon Heavenly Peak Sect. Raindrops the size of beans thundered down, hammering against the glazed tiles of the library pavilion. Apart from that noise, it was fairly quiet inside the building.

Mo Lifeng had woken up extremely early that day, as he usually did. Seeing the sky outside, he had hoped to take advantage of the bad weather to coop himself up inside the library pavilion and study the cultivation manuals his shizun had bestowed upon him. This time, he hoped to finally find a breakthrough for the bottleneck that had long since stopped him from forming his golden core.

He had hoped wrong.

"Mo-shixiong, this line, 'let the qi circulate through the heavens, let the intent sink into the dantian,' I just can't seem to grasp it. Can you explain what it means?" A female cultivator spoke in a sweet, soft voice, her body pressing against Mo Lifeng's arm as her slender finger pointed at the ancient text spread open before him.

"Mo-shixiong, don't mind her, look at me first! I can never seem to pull off "Where Sky Meets Sea", can't you give me some tips?" another female disciple chimed in, not to be outdone, grabbing Mo Lifeng's other arm and shaking it gently.

Trapped in the middle of several chattering shimei, Mo Lifeng wore a helpless, wry smile on his handsome face. He should have expected something like this to happen when he couldn't gather the courage to push anyone away.

"Sisters, please keep your voices down. The Library Pavilion is a place for quietude. It would be best if we did not make so much noise," he persuaded in a gentle tone, as he extricated his arms from their grasp. "Cultivation is a gradual process; it isn't something that can, nor should, be rushed. Let's try this again—tell me, one at a time, what aren't you understanding, and I'll try to explain it to you, alright?"

His voice wasn't loud, but it was clear and pleasant. The girls, however, didn't seem to take his words to heart. Not only did they not quiet down, they became even more enthusiastic, now asking about what kind of girls he liked, or complimenting the scent of his hair.

Mo Lifeng couldn't ask them to leave. To these girls who bore him no ill will, who only adored him, he would seem too spoiled, too precious, as brittle as porcelain, when he really wasn't like that; he wasn't someone that was no fun to tease, or that was difficult to approach.

And so, with his most patient smile, he awkwardly answered their questions one by one, even if they had nothing to do with cultivation. But the more they would press onto him, the more his body would, unconsciously, stiffen.

This should have been nothing more than ordinary closeness between fellow disciples, yet to Mo Lifeng the unsolicited touches felt like countless tiny, cold insects crawling up his meridians, churning his stomach.

"Sisters," he began softly again, trying his best to make his voice sound calm and firm. "Could you please return to your seats first? Squeezed together like this, I can’t get a good look at your sword manuals." He tried to use a reasonable excuse to create some distance. However, the girls didn’t seem to understand the deeper meaning behind his words. Instead, they laughed even more merrily.

"Aww, Shixiong is getting shy!" they giggled, and rather than backing away, they pressed in even closer.

Mo Lifeng's only answer was a hopeless sigh, yet something in him shifted. Within those peach-blossom eyes that always held a smile, an irrepressible anxiety and fear now churned.

In the instant of a single breath, for the Sect's darling, everything turned grey and silent.

His head dropped slightly, a flash of deep gloom passing over it. He stared at the characters exquisitely painted on the cultivation scroll, but it might as well have been blood he was cultivating, the way those words were nauseating and unbearable to his eyes.

His chest was completely cold. It was as though something had been sucked out, something dark, filthy, and utterly exhausting. And now, that something was creeping up his spine, pressing down on the nape of his neck. He squeezed his eyes shut in a pitiful expression, ignoring that something rather than willing it away. Because he couldn't will it away.

It was just for a second, so fleeting that no one could have noticed. When he blinked again, that vulnerability was perfectly hidden behind a flawless, cheerful mask once more.

However, just as he raised his smile and was about to speak again, the corner of his eye caught a gaze from a nearby desk that had been fixed on him the entire time.

"H-huh...?"

Mo Lifeng's heart leaped, his body went rigid as stone.

He had been seen. His most wretched, his truest self, had been witnessed. And he had no idea what to do.

So vast was Bai Yun Mountain, that few among the elders of Heavenly Peak Sect could claim to truly know its every nook and cranny. It was as easy to get lost as it was for unexpected things to wander inside.

The mountain's very peaks, where clouds and mist curled in thick layers, were considered sacred ground, and powerful formations barred entry to any outsider of the sect; even knowing the way, a person lacking the appropriate jade token would eventually get caught in a spatial loop and find themselves back at the foot of the mountain. In contrast, the lower slopes were accessible to all: rich in timber and game, they continued to provide for the common folk as they had for many generations.

In a secluded grove somewhere at the foot of the mountain, weeds grew especially wild and thick. The terrain here was low-lying, shielded on all sides by a dense bamboo forest, making it a natural hiding spot. It was a place far removed from the pristine, magnificent halls of the sect way up above. Aside from the soft rustling of wind through bamboo leaves, there was only the gurgling sound of a clear stream striking against the rocks. And drinking at that stream, was a wild dog that hardly looked like one.

That poor thing... to say it was ugly would be an understatement. It was skinny to the bone, with several patches of fur missing from its body, and a mangled left ear. Across the exposed pink flesh ran old scars it likely got fighting the mountain beasts for scraps, making it look both pitiful and fierce. Even so, this dog clearly was just some ordinary mutt; had it been raised in comfort and health, its appearance would have remained just as unappealing.

"You sure were parched, weren't you! Lucky for you, I knew about this hidden spring."

That light and gentle voice belonged to none other than Mo Lifeng. Beside the pile of jagged rocks near the stream, this disciple who was usually as unreachable as the bright moon in the clouds, was squatting on the ground with zero regard for his image.

At the sound of his voice, the stray dog lifted its dripping muzzle and trotted over, resting its head trustingly against Mo Lifeng's knee. Though the creature left muddy tracks upon his fine robes, the youth neither recoiled nor offered a word of reprimand to the scruffy thing. The dog squinted in contentment, its tail rhythmically sweeping the fallen leaves on the ground.

Mo Lifeng reached out, his fingertips tenderly scratching the soft fur behind the dog's ears.

"Then again... perhaps you aren't so lucky after all," he whispered, his tone carrying a trace of weary helplessness that he rarely, if ever, revealed in the presence of others.

The dog, unable to understand human speech, simply gave a cheerful whine and extended its rough tongue to lick Mo Lifeng's palm. Again, Mo Lifeng didn't dodge, but merely moved his hand to scratch the dog under its chin. His heart felt warm, but his gaze gradually became somewhat vacant, as if he were looking through the animal and seeing the scene from the road back to the mountain earlier.

He had encountered this unlucky thing while he was returning to Bai Yun Mountain with Yue Yaochen. At the time, it had recklessly darted out from the bushes, blocking the path of him and his shizun. Yue Yaochen had merely lowered his gaze to glance at it—a look so indifferent it was as if he were looking at a speck of dust—and then, in that pleasant voice of his, said casually:

"Feng'er, you dispose of it. Shizun is tired, so I'll head back first."

No anger, no disgust, not even any superfluous emotion. That person, for reasons unknown, had sentenced a living being to death with a casual word. Was it really just because it was too unsightly?

As if sensing his thoughts, or perhaps simply because his hand had stopped petting it, the dog whined comfortably and nudged the boy's palm with its wet nose.

"Actually, you're quite cute, aren't you?"

Mo Lifeng chuckled. His legs were getting numb from squatting, so he simply sat down on the grass. The dog followed suit, lying down next to him; though it stayed very still, merely looking up at Mo Lifeng with the face of someone politely requesting more pats, its tail was restless, wagging on the ground in broad strokes. Mo Lifeng laughed like he hadn't done in a long while; of course, he had to oblige.

He should feel light-hearted. Instead, the more he played with this dog, the more a deep, childish confusion settled on his face.

"I don't understand... sometimes, I really don't understand that person."

The wind blew through the bamboo grove, scattering this sigh filled with confusion and exhaustion into the mist. He pressed down the folds of his robes and tried to brush away some of the grass clippings that had gotten on them.

"Maybe it's because I'm not sensible enough yet, and I can't see through Shizun's profound meaning," he muttered, trying to convince himself with his usual reasoning, even though that reason seemed so pale and weak in the face of this warm life. "As long as I try a little harder, be a little more obedient... maybe then I can understand what his kind of 'good' actually is."

Mo Lifeng looked back at the dog—this stupid dog, completely unaware of how much trouble it was in, that trusted him wholeheartedly. His fingers unconsciously started combing through its matted fur again, and he let out a long sigh.

"What am I supposed to do now?"

He poked the dog's wet nose, looking worried.

"I definitely can't keep you here. If he finds out I still have you, my punishment would be a small matter, but your life certainly couldn't be saved."

The dog sneezed from the poke and looked at him innocently.

"Send you down the mountain?" Mo Lifeng shook his head, answering his own question. "I don't know... if I send you back to Qing Shui City, who would want a stray dog covered in scars? But if I just dump you on the side of the road, in less than two days you'll either starve to death, or be beaten to death by someone."

It seemed to be an insoluble problem.

With just one sentence from that person, all living things in this world seemed required to make way. And Mo Lifeng, as an insignificant disciple, at this moment couldn't even decide the fate of a dog.

He looked at this ugly creature, looked into its cloudy eyes filled with trust, and an indescribable sourness welled up in his heart. This sense of powerlessness was not appearing for the first time, yet every time it did, it made him feel suffocated.

"Truly a big hassle..."

Although he complained with his words, Mo Lifeng's eyes stung; he raised his arm and rubbed them forcefully with his sleeve, as if trying to press the sudden moisture back into his skin. In this uninhabited corner, the favored son of Heavenly Peak Sect turned back into the street urchin who had just lost his mother: terrified and alone, and so helplessly lost.

What does freedom smell like? Truth be told, Mo Lifeng had never pondered that question. Now that he lay awake looking at unfamiliar bed curtains, it might as well be the time.

He knew what freedom didn't smell like: not ambergris, nor sandalwood, nor anything remotely fresh and cold. Then, freedom, he supposed, must have a thicker, earthier scent, ordinary like the smell of cheap spices and frying oil. The memory of Qing Shui City's meatbuns rose in his mind, and his stomach gave a soft, longing growl.

He patted his belly sympathetically; on this night, there was no embrace confining his waist, so he could.

The space beside him was empty, occupied only by the surface of the silk quilt. He had tossed and turned for an hour before closing his eyes, and only managed to sleep for the time it takes an incense stick to burn before snapping them open again. The problem wasn't that the guestroom's wooden bed was uncomfortable, but that his heart was beating too fast, too joyfully within his chest.

This afternoon, Yue Yaochen had left in a great hurry. His ever elegant and composed shizun had actually shown a rare moment of gravity! He only had time to stroke Mo Lifeng's hair and instruct him to be good and watch the house before rising on his sword and disappearing instantly into the thick clouds.

Be good? Watch the house? A soft huff escaped Mo Lifeng's nose. It was a mischievous smile born from three years of suppressed rebellion surfacing at this very moment.

Mo Lifeng sat up with a sudden flip, staring at the bamboo shadows swaying on the window paper. It was the third watch of the night, and the entirety of Tianding Peak was silent, shrouded in a heavy layer of moonlight. He couldn't help but think about his old home again, of how bustling Qing Shui City would be in contrast.

His mind was made up. He hopped off the bed with agile movements and threw on his disciple robes. He quickly fastened his belt, tied his hair into a high ponytail, and threw on a pair of cloth boots. Like a nimble white crane, he silently pushed open the vermilion doors that had kept him trapped for so long.

The mountain wind at night was biting cold, but against his face, it only made him feel refreshed.

The curfew tonight did not lack its usual strictness, but Mo Lifeng was still Mo Lifeng: he wouldn't be worthy of his reputation as Heavenly Peak Sect's most talented if he couldn't use his qinggong to slip past those disciples on night patrol. His pace was so fast that it almost left afterimages in the air. He navigated the flat plateau of Tianding Peak with ease, bypassing the solemn and serious halls, heading straight for the inner disciples' dormitory area.

Finally, he stopped in front of {{user}}'s familiar window. Taking a deep breath to calm his frantic heart, he raised his hand and rhythmically tapped on the window paper.

"{{user}}? {{user}}?" Mo Lifeng leaned his mouth close to the window crack and rapped his knuckles against the window lattice again. "Are you sleeping? Then wake up, quick."

As he spoke, he kept a wary eye on his surroundings, leaning forward as if he were ready to hop right through the window.

"Shizun left in a hurry. He probably won't be back for two or three days."

"...Hey. Do you want to go to Qing Shui City with me?"