Before Mo Ran became the emperor, there was always someone calling him a dog. The people from his hometown called him a damn mutt, his younger cousin called him a dumb dog, and the woman who took him in outdid them all, saying he’d been raised by a dog.

     Of course, there had also been other dog-related descriptions that weren’t too bad. For example, all of his brief  affairs would always scold him with feigned anger, saying that his hips were as powerful as a male dog’s, that his sweet words were enough to tempt the soul, and that the deadly weapon below had the power to claim the lives of countless women.

     But in the blink of an eye, they’d turn around, boasting to others about the same thing, making it so that everyone around knew that he, Mo Weiyu, was a handsome man with a powerful weapon. Those who had tried were utterly satisfied, and those who hadn’t were swayed by the prospect.

     Although it had to be said that these people were right. Mo Ran really was like a silly dog wagging its tail. It wasn’t until he became emperor of the cultivation world that such ways of referring to him abruptly disappeared.

     One day, a small, faraway cultivation sect sent him a young puppy as a gift. The puppy was gray and white, with a three-flame mark on its forehead. It looked a bit like a wolf, but it was only the size of a melon, and very melon-like in appearance and intelligence too.

     Despite being plump and round, it seemed to think it looked rather mighty, running around the great hall with abandon.

     Several times, it tried to climb up the high steps to catch a glimpse of the calm and unruffled person lounging on the emperor’s throne, but its legs were too short, and after failing countless times, it finally abandoned its efforts.

     Mo Ran stared at the energetic but brainless ball of fur for a moment before suddenly letting out a laugh. As he laughed, he cursed under his breath, “Damn mutt.”

     The puppy quickly grew into a big dog; the big dog became an old dog; and the old dog became a dead dog.

     Mo Ran’s eyes closed, then opened again. His life, filled as it had been with ups and downs, triumphs and failures, felt like it had gone by in the blink of an eye. Before he knew it, thirty-two years had passed.

     He’d grown tired of everything and now only felt bored and lonely. In recent years, the familiar faces around him had grown fewer and fewer, and even that three-flamed dog had died. He felt that soon it would be time for him as well.

     Time for it all to come to an end.

     He picked up a plump, smooth-skinned grape from his plate of fruit and slowly peeled off its purple skin with unhurried movements. His actions were calm and practiced, like those of a tribal chief in his camp peeling off the robes of his exotic concubine, languid and lazy.

     The lustrous flesh of the grape quivered faintly in his fingertips, its juice seeping out; its color was faintly purple like the vibrant sunset, like clouds carried in the beaks of cranes as they soared through the sky, like haitang blossoms slumbering in late spring.

     And like filthy blood.

     He scrutinized his fingers as he swallowed the sweetness into his mouth, then lazily lifted his gaze with detached indifference.

     It’s about time now, he thought to himself.

     About time he went to hell.

     Mo Ran, courtesy name Mo Weiyu.

     The first emperor of the cultivation world.

     It wasn’t easy to sit in this position. Not only did it require unrivaled spiritual power but also thick skin as hard as solid rock and disregard for what others thought.

     Before him, the ten great sects of the cultivation world had been locked in conflict, like dragons clashing with tigers, each ferocious yet equal in power. They all kept each other in check, and no one was able to emerge as a frontrunner to rule the world on their own.

     What’s more, the various sect leaders were all outstanding talents who were well versed in the classics. Even if they wanted to give themselves a title for fun, they feared the historian’s pen, afraid that they would bear infamy in the annals of history.

     But Mo Ran was different.

     He was a hooligan.

     What others dared not do, he’d gone ahead and done it all. He drank the finest wine in the world, married the most beautiful woman in the world, became leader of the cultivation world, “Taxian-Jun,” and then proclaimed himself emperor.

     Tens of thousands of people knelt down before him.

     All those who refused to kneel were hunted down and killed. During the years of his rule, the cultivation world was filled with bloodshed and sorrow. Countless righteous men met their demise, and one of the ten great sects, Rufeng Sect, was completely annihilated.

     Later on, even Mo Ran’s master was unable to escape his demonic clutches. He was defeated in a duel with Mo Ran and brought back by his once-beloved disciple to be imprisoned in the palace. No one knew what had become of him.

     The once-peaceful land of clear rivers and calm seas now lay smothered under a dark veil of chaos.

     The dog-emperor Mo Ran wasn’t well-read. He hadn’t undertaken many formal studies in his life and was a person who didn’t care about things like taboos or restrictions. Therefore, during his reign, there was no shortage of absurd occurrences, such as the era names.

     During the first three years of his reign, the era name was “Wangba,” meaning tortoise. He had thought of it while sitting by the pond and feeding the fish. But didn’t this name also mean “bastard”?

     During the second three-year period, the era name was “Gua,” meaning croak. This was because he’d heard frogs croaking in the courtyard during the summer and decided that this was inspiration sent by the heavens that he couldn’t waste.

     The esteemed scholars thought there could never be any reigning era names more horrifying than “Wangba” and “Gua,” but in the end they underestimated Mo Weiyu.

     During the third three-year period, restlessness and unrest stirred throughout various regions, and the people were ready to take action. Whether they were Buddhists, Taoists, or spiritual cultivators, the righteous people of the cultivation world could no longer tolerate Mo Ran’s tyranny and began to rise up in rebellion one after another.

     So, this time, Mo Ran thought about it seriously for a long time. After countless drafts, Mo Ran finally came up with a title that shook the heavens and earth. And just like that, the most shocking era name was born—“Ji Ba.”

     It was well intentioned; the emperor had racked his brains to come up with these two words, which carried the good meaning of “cease battle.” Only, it was a bit awkward for the people to say out loud. It sounded even more awkward for anyone who was illiterate.

     The first year was called “First Year of Cease Battle,” but no matter how you listened to it, it sounded like “First Year of Cock,” which sounded wrong no matter what.

     The second year was “Second Year of Cock.”

     “Third Year of Cock.”

     People had cursed behind closed doors, “This is ridiculous! You might as well call it ‘age of cock’ to complete the circle! This way, next time you see a man, you won’t need to ask him how old he is; just ask him how old his cock is! Hundred-year-old masters can just be called, Hundred-year cock!”

     After enduring three agonizing years, it was finally time for the reigning era name “Ji Ba” to be replaced.

     Everyone in the world waited anxiously for His Majesty the Emperor’s fourth era name, but this time Mo Ran had lost all interest in such matters. It was in this year that the unrest simmering in the cultivation world finally erupted.

     The righteous martial artists and heroes of the cultivation world, who had suffered in silence for nearly a decade, finally joined forces and formed a vast army of millions to force their way into the palace of the first emperor, Mo Weiyu. 

     The cultivation world didn’t need any emperor or king.

     Especially not a tyrant like him.

     After many months of battle and bloodshed, the rebel army finally reached the foot of Sisheng Peak. This steep mountain was located in the Sichuan region, a place of steep, perilous mountain cliffs shrouded in clouds and mist year-round.

     Mo Ran’s grand palace stood majestically at its summit.

     With the arrow nocked on the string, it would only take one last strike to overthrow the palace. But this strike was the most dangerous to make. Seeing that the light of victory lay right before their eyes, the allied forces, which had been united by their hatred, were starting to have second thoughts.

     Should the old ruler be overthrown, a new order would have to be established in its place. No one wanted to exhaust any more energy at this moment, and so no one was willing to be the vanguard and lead the charge up the mountain.

     They were all afraid that this cunning, ruthless tyrant would descend from the sky, baring his beastly white fangs, and rip apart those who dared to attack his palace, tearing them to pieces.

     Someone said with a heavy expression, “Mo Weiyu’s spiritual power is strong, and he is a cunning person. We should be cautious so we don’t fall for his traps.”

     The generals all expressed their agreement.

     However, at this moment, an exceptionally handsome young man with proud features came out of the crowd.

     He wore a set of silver-blue light armor and a belt embellished with a lion’s head. His hair was up in a high ponytail, with an exquisite silver headpiece secured at its base.

     The youth’s expression was exceedingly dark as he said, “We’ve already reached the foot of the mountain, but you’re all dawdling and not willing to go up. Don’t tell me you’re waiting for Mo Weiyu to crawl down here himself? What a bunch of cowardly good-for-nothings!”

     After he said this, the people around him were enraged.

     “Xue-gongzi, what are you saying? What do you mean by cowardly? For soldiers, it’s important to be cautious. If we’re all brash and reckless like you, who will take responsibility if something goes wrong?”

     Someone else immediately ridiculed, “Hehe, Xue-gongzi is the darling of the heavens, but we’re just ordinary people. Since the darling of the heavens can’t wait to fight the emperor of the mortal realm, then by all means, please go up the mountain on your own first. We’ll set up a banquet at the foot of the mountain and wait for you to bring back Mo Weiyu’s head. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

     Those words had been a bit more extreme. An old monk quickly held back the youth who was about to blow up, putting on a kind expression and persuading him gently, “Xue-gongzi, please listen to this old monk’s words. This monk knows you and Mo Weiyu share a deep personal grudge, but the siege is an important matter. Please do think of everyone; don’t let your feelings seize control.”

     This “Xue-gongzi” under public criticism was named Xue Meng. Over ten years ago, he was a young talent praised by everyone—the darling of the heavens. But the times and situation had changed; he had fallen from grace, and now he had to endure the mocking and ridicule of these people in order to go up the mountain and meet Mo Ran again.

     Xue Meng was so angry that his expression was twisted and his lips trembled. But he still tried to contain it, asking, “Then how long are you planning to wait?”

     “We should at least survey the surroundings.”

     “That’s right. What if Mo Weiyu set up an ambush?”

     The old monk who tried to smooth things over just now also tried to persuade him.

     “Xue-gongzi, don’t be hasty. We’ve already reached the foot of the mountain, so it’s better to be cautious. In any case, Mo Weiyu is already trapped in the palace and can’t come down the mountain. He’s at the end of his rope; there’s nothing else he can do. Should we act rashly just because of a moment of urgency? There are so many people down here at the foot of the mountain, with many nobles and prominent figures in our company. If they lose their lives, who will take responsibility?”

     Xue Meng was suddenly furious. “Responsibility? Then let me ask you, who is responsible for my Shizun’s life?! Mo Ran has kept my Shizun imprisoned for ten years! Ten whole years! My Shizun is just up the mountain, and you’re expecting me to wait?!”

     Hearing Xue Meng mention his master, everyone’s expressions shifted uncontrollably. Some people looked ashamed, while others looked left and right, averting their gazes without saying a word.

     “Ten years ago, Mo Ran titled himself Taxian-Jun, massacred the seventy-two cities of Rufeng Sect, and even wanted to decimate the remaining nine major sects. Later, Mo Ran proclaimed himself emperor and wanted to kill you all. After these two disasters, who stopped him in the end? If not for my Shizun putting his own life on the line to defend you, would you still be alive?! Would you still be able to stand here unscathed, spouting these empty words at me?!”

     Finally, someone coughed twice dryly before speaking gently, “Xue-gongzi, please don’t be angry. About Chu-zongshi… we all feel guilty and grateful towards him. But just as you said, he’s been imprisoned for ten years, and if something happened to him, he would have long since… Ah, you’ve already waited ten years, so waiting for another moment won’t hurt, right?”

     Xue Meng mocked, “Right? Like you’d ever be fucking right!”

     That person’s eyes widened. “How can you curse me out?!”

     Xue Meng replied, “Why wouldn’t I curse you out?! Shizun disregarded the possibility of his own death just to save people like… people like…” He couldn’t go on, his throat choking up. “It wasn’t worth it for him.”

     Xue Meng turned his head away, his shoulders trembling slightly as he held back his tears.

     “We didn’t say we wouldn't save Chu-zongshi…”

     “That’s right, everyone remembers Chu-zongshi’s kindness in their hearts. We didn’t forget. Xue-gongzi, when you say it like that, you’re making us look like a bunch of ungrateful people. I can’t stand for it.”

     “But when you think about it, wasn’t Mo Ran also Chu-zongshi’s disciple?” someone said softly. “If you ask me, the master should take responsibility for his disciple’s evil deeds. As they say, to raise without teaching is the father's fault, and to teach without discipline is the teacher's failing. This whole thing couldn’t be avoided, so what is there to complain about?”

     Now this was definitely going too far. Someone barked at once, “What are you saying?! Mind your tongue!” Then he turned around to appease Xue Meng with an amiable expression, “Xue-gongzi, we don’t have to be in a hurry…”

     “How can I not be in a hurry?!” Xue Meng cut him off, his gaze furious. “It’s easy for you to stand around and talk without any care in the world, but that’s my Shizun! Mine!!! I haven’t seen him for so many years! I don’t even know if he’s alive or dead, much less how he’s doing! What do you think I’m standing here for?!”

     He panted harshly, his eyes rimmed with red. “Do you think that if you wait like this, Mo Weiyu will come down the mountain on his own and kneel in front of you to beg for mercy?!”

     “Xue-gongzi…”

     “Other than Shizun, I have no family left in this world.” Xue Meng pulled the corner of his robe from the old monk’s hold and said hoarsely, “If you’re not going, then I’ll go by myself.”

     With those words, he went up the mountain on his own, a solitary figure with a sharp sword.

     The cold, damp wind carried the sound of rustling leaves. In the thick fog, it was like countless ghosts whispering and moving about in the mountains and forest.

     Xue Meng climbed to the top of the peak alone, where Mo Ran’s majestic palace was lit with a peaceful candlelight in the night.

     He suddenly saw three graves before Heaven-Piercing Tower. When he got closer, he saw that grass had grown and covered the first grave, and on the headstone, eight large words had been carved in a childish, crooked scrawl:

     “Grave of Chu Fei, the Steamed Noble Consort.”

     Opposite to this “Steamed Noble Consort,” the second grave was newly dug, the earth only just filled. Carved on the headstone were the words:

     “Grave of Lady Song, the Deep-Fried Empress.”

     “…”

     Xue Meng was speechless. If it were more than ten years ago, Xue Meng would’ve laughed out loud when he saw this outrageous scene. Back then, he and Mo Ran had been disciples together under the same master, and Mo Ran was known for being quite the prankster. Even though Xue Meng never liked Mo Ran much, he still found himself amused by the other’s antics from time to time.

     He didn’t know what the hell this “Steamed Noble Consort” and “Deep Fried Empress” meant. Perhaps this style of naming with which “Scholar Mo” buried his two wives was the same that had led to Wangba, Gua, and Ji Ba. Although, the reason why he gave his empress and consort such titles would remain unknown.

     Xue Meng looked at the third grave. 

     Under the night sky, the tomb was open. There was a coffin lying within, only there was no one inside of it, and no words were carved on the headstone.

     But in front of the grave was a pot of pear blossom white, a bowl of chili-oil wontons that had gone cold, and a few plates of spicy food, all of which were Mo Ran’s favorites.

     Xue Meng stared blankly, stupefied. Then he was suddenly shocked. Could it be that Mo Ran had no intention of resisting and had already dug his own grave? That he intended to die?

     At this thought, he felt himself break into a cold sweat.

     He didn’t believe it. Mo Ran was a person who always fought till the end, never knowing what fatigue and giving up were. With his way of doing things, he’d definitely fight the revolting armies to the death until the bitter end, so why would he…

     These past ten years, as Mo Ran stood at the height of power, what exactly had he seen? What had happened? No one knew.

     Xue Meng turned around, his figure becoming one with the night, and strode towards the brightly lit Wushan Palace.

     Inside the palace, Mo Ran’s eyes were closed tightly, and his face was pale. Xue Meng had guessed correctly; he was set on dying. Mo Ran had dug the grave outside with his own hands for himself.

     Two hours ago, Mo Ran had dismissed his servants with a transportation spell and took a deadly poison. His cultivation level was incredibly high, so the poison spread particularly slowly throughout his body, causing the agonizing pain of his organs being eaten away and dissolved to become deeper and sharper.

     With a creak, the palace doors opened.

     Mo Ran didn’t raise his head, only saying hoarsely, “Xue Meng. It’s you, right? Have you come?”

     Xue Meng stood alone upon the golden brick floor of the hall, his ponytail swaying and his light armor gleaming.

     Former disciples met again. But Mo Ran’s face was devoid of emotion as he sat with his chin propped against his hand, his curtain of thin lashes hanging low in front his eyes.

     Everyone made him out to be some hideous demon with three heads and six arms, but in truth, he was actually very good-looking. The bridge of his nose had a gentle curve, and his lips were pale yet full. His natural features were gentle and sweet. By appearance alone, anyone would think he was a good and kind person.

     Upon seeing his face, Xue Meng knew he had indeed taken poison. He didn’t know what he was feeling. He looked like he wanted to say something, opening his mouth to speak, but no words came out. In the end, he only clenched his fists, simply asking, “Where is Shizun?”

     “…What?”

     Xue Meng demanded sternly, “I asked you, where’s Shizun?! Yours, mine, our Shizun?!”

     “Oh.” Mo Ran hummed softly and finally slowly opened his eyes. His pupils were black but appeared to have hints of purple as his gaze seemingly passed through years upon years of time before landing on Xue Meng. “Thinking about it, you and Shizun haven’t seen each other for two years since we parted at Kunlun Taxue Palace.”

     Mo Ran smiled faintly. “Xue Meng, do you miss him?”

     “Enough nonsense! Give him back to me!”

     Mo Ran watched him calmly. Enduring the pain twisting in his stomach, the corners of his mouth twitched into a mocking sneer as he leaned back against his throne. His vision kept going black. He could almost feel how clearly his organs were contorting and dissolving, turning into foul, bloody liquid.

     Mo Ran said lazily, “Give him back to you? How foolish. Think about it. I have such a deep hatred for Shizun. How could I allow him to live in this world?”

     “You—!” Xue Meng’s face drained of all color. His eyes widened as he stepped back. “You couldn’t have… You’d never…”

     “I’d never what?” Mo Ran laughed softly. “Why don’t you tell me why I wouldn’t?”

     Xue Meng’s voice trembled, “But he was your… He was your Shizun after all… How could you have done it?!”

     He raised his head, looking up at Mo Ran, who sat high above on the dragon throne. There was Fuxi in the heavens, Yanluo in the underworld, and Mo Weiyu in the mortal realm. But as far as Xue Meng was concerned, even if Mo Ran became the emperor of the mortal realm, he still shouldn’t have become like this.

     Xue Meng’s entire body shook, tears of hatred rolling down his face. “Mo Weiyu, are you still human? He used to…”

     Mo Ran looked up indifferently, “He used to what?”

     “You should know very well how he once treated you…” Xue Meng said, his voice shaking.

     Mo Ran suddenly smiled. “Are you trying to remind me how he once beat me until I was covered in wounds and made me kneel to admit my guilt in front of everyone? Or are you trying to remind me how he once stood in my way for your sake and for the sake of all of those insignificant nobodies, preventing me from accomplishing what I wanted again and again?”

     “...” Xue Meng shook his head in pain.

     “No, Mo Ran.”

     “Think about it carefully. Let go of that twisted hatred of yours. Look back.”

     “He used to train you in cultivation and martial arts, and always protected you.”

     “He once taught you how to read and write, how to compose poetry and paint.”

     “He learned how to cook for your sake. He was so clumsy that he hurt his hands all over.”

     “He used to… He used to wait for you to come back, day and night—alone, from night… till daybreak…”

     He had so much to say, but his words were choked up in his throat. In the end, Xue Meng could only sob, “He… he has a bad temper, and his words sound harsh, but even I know that he treated you so well. Why… How could you have the heart to…”

     Xue Meng raised his head, holding back an ocean of tears. His throat was choked up, and he couldn’t say any more.

     After a long pause, Mo Ran’s soft sigh lingered in the hall. He said, “Yes.”

     “But Xue Meng. Did you know?” Mo Ran’s voice sounded so tired. “He once caused the death of the only person I ever loved. The only one.”

     The silence stretched on for a long time.

     The pain in Mo Ran’s stomach was like a raging fire as his flesh and blood were ripped to thousands of bits and pieces.

     “Still, we at least used to be master and disciple. His body is in the Red Lotus Pavilion on the southern peak. He’s lying in the lotus flowers, very well preserved, like he’s asleep.”

     Mo Ran exhaled, forcing a calm appearance. When he said this, his expression remained blank, but his fingers dug into the rosewood of his throne’s armrest, his knuckles white and blue.

     “His corpse is maintained by my spiritual energy; that’s why it hasn’t decayed. If you miss him, don’t waste your breath with me here. Go quickly, while I’m still alive.”

     A foul taste surged up in his throat. Mo Ran coughed a few times, and when he opened his mouth again, his lips and teeth were covered in blood, but his gaze was at ease.

     He said hoarsely, “Go. Go and see him. If you get there too late, I’ll die, and once my spiritual energy is cut off, he’ll turn to ash.”

     After these words, he shut his eyes dispiritedly. The poison had reached his heart, bringing with it a torment like a raging inferno. The pain was so consuming that even Xue Meng’s anguished cries seemed so distant, as if they were separated by the waters of a vast ocean.

     Blood poured from the corners of Mo Ran’s lips uncontrollably. Mo Ran clutched his sleeves, his muscles spasming.

     When he opened his bleary eyes, Xue Meng had long since left. His qinggong wasn’t too bad, so it wouldn’t take him much time to reach the southern peak.

     He should be able to see his Shizun one last time.

     Mo Ran propped himself up, bracing himself as he staggered to his feet. He formed a hand seal with his bloody fingers and transported himself to the area before Heaven-Piercing Tower of Sisheng Peak.

     It was late autumn, and the haitang flowers were blooming beautifully.

     He didn’t know why he chose to end his life of sin here. But, since the flowers were blooming so splendidly, it would be a fine burial.

     He lay down in the open coffin and looked up at the flowers in the night as they fell soundlessly.

     They danced and fluttered into the coffin and onto his cheeks one after another, drifting and fading away like the events of the past.

     In this life, he’d experienced countless things, starting out as an illegitimate child with nothing and becoming the only emperor of the mortal world. He was the very height of evil, his hands stained with blood. He loved and hated, desired and detested, and in the end, there was nothing left.

     When the time came, he didn’t write anything on his own grave with those unrestrained words of his. Be it an extremely shameless “Emperor of the Ages” or something as ludicrous as “Deep-Fried” or “Steamed,” he didn’t write a thing. In the end, not a word had been left behind on the grave of the first emperor of the cultivation world.

     The farce that had lasted ten years finally came to an end.

     Many, many hours later, the rebel army raised their lit torches and invaded the palace like a large, fiery snake. But all that awaited them was an empty Wushan Palace, a deserted Sisheng Peak, a Xue Meng who lay on the ash-covered ground beside the Red Lotus Pavilion, having cried so much that he was numb—

     And, in front of Heaven-Piercing Tower, Mo Weiyu, whose corpse was already stone cold.