He walked along the long central walkway in the front hall of the Heavenly Palace. Every brick and stone beneath his feet shone like thin ice, reflecting his figure.

     Thud. Thud. Thud.

     Step by step, his empty footsteps echoed in the lonely hall.

     But Mo Ran was not alone. He stood in the center of the endless walkway of the front hall of Rufeng Sect’s temple. Both sides of the walkway were densely packed with men and women, old and young, faces of all kinds.

     He stood in the middle, which was like a small city. To his right were the corpses of members of Rufeng Sect, those who had wronged Xu Shuanglin. They had all been reduced to lowly people, dismembered by a thousand cuts, executed by all sorts of torture, just to be brought back to life and executed again. On the other side were lots of people singing and dancing, free and unfettered.

     He even saw Luo Xianxian. That was probably not a real soul, but an illusion of her appearance using another corpse, just like the black chess pieces at Jincheng Lake.

     Luo Xianxian’s hair was tied up in a bun. She was with her husband, Chen Bohuan, the two of them looking peaceful and at ease. He also saw the Chen’s youngest daughter sitting beside her brother and sister-in-law, talking and laughing with them.

     Luo Xianxian was leaning against Chen Bohuan, and every time she heard something funny, she would cover her mouth with her sleeve as she smiled brightly.

     The scene was a beautiful dream, but it sent a chill down Mo Ran’s spine. He paced up and down the long walkway, half heaven and half earth, where good and evil were clearly separated.

     On his left was laughter, and on his right were painful groans.

     He walked forward as if he were walking through water and fire, light and shadow. He looked to his left, and saw hundreds of butterflies fluttering through the air and clusters of flowers. A stream of water flowed from behind the beams and pillars, in which flowed clear, fresh wine. Beside the river of wine, some people were reading leisurely, others were singing poems, and children were laughing.

     He looked to his right. The cauldron was boiling hot, the hot fire burning. Writing bodies were doused in boiling oil, their tongues pulled out, their hearts pierced. People cursed and tore at each other, their eyes flashing with a cold light, like that of a wild beast.

     He also saw the former Master of Wubei Temple, the old monk who had singlehandedly plotted the conspiracy of the Spiritual Mountain Competition.

     He was surrounded by three people, each holding a small, rusty knife in their hands. They were cutting his face, legs, and chest respectively. Cut after cut, the flesh and skin quickly recovered, and the cycle repeated. The old monk kept screaming, but all that came out was an unintelligible howl. His rumor-spreading tongue had already long been torn out.

     The farther Mo Ran walked, the more he shuddered. He didn’t want to look on either side—cries and laughter, anger and joy.

     A woman on the left was chanting softly, “Life and death, a lonely and cold life. A lover cannot call out his lover’s response…”

     On the right, a woman was being torn apart by vicious dogs, screaming painfully.

     Half of his peripheral vision saw light, and the other saw darkness. The light and darkness were absolute, and like chess pieces on a chess board, black and white faced each other. Good and evil were clear.

     Mo Ran only felt a splitting headache.

     He stood in the middle, and simply stopped and closed his eyes. He didn’t want to see the scene of the nine heavens and the underworld mixing. He stood in place, waiting for the group to catch up with him.

     “Falling leaves startle the remnant dream, leisurely strolling in the fragrant dust, counting the falling red…”

     “No! Don’t do this to me anymore! I beg you! Save me… save me…”

     But the voices on both sides were endless, like arrows, piercing into the wood.

     He heard Luo Xianxian say gently to her husband, “Chen-lang, the orange flowers in the courtyard are blooming. I’ll take you to see them, okay?”

     He heard Qi Liangji, the former Sect Leader of Jiangdong Hall, laughing madly, “Adultery? Hahaha, yes, I was adulterous with Nangong Liu! I’m a slut, a whore, a poisonous woman who killed my husband! I want to be the Hall Master. Hahaha, you’ve all come to see my true face, see what an ugly bitch I am, hahahaha.”

     Everything was clouded together.

     The living, the dead.

     Reality or illusion?

     Black or white, good or evil?

     The voices around him gradually rose and fell, like a great tidal wave. He seemed to see two great dragons breaking out of the water, the moonlight shining on their cold wet scales.

     Were those two evil dragons?

     No, they were his two spirits.

     They began to fight again, roaring and spewing dragon breath, biting and colliding fiercely.

     The earth and mountains shook.

     Mo Ran couldn’t stand the madness. He covered his ears, but he couldn’t block out the two chaotic voices. Finally, he couldn’t bear it any more. He raised his hand, about to cast the curse of soundlessness.

     His eyes snapped open abruptly.

     The scene around him had disappeared.

     Mo Ran was terrified.

     He was stunned in place—what happened? How did the scene around him disappear?

     Where was he?

     Why was it dark everywhere? It was a boundless darkness…

     Was it an illusion set up by Xu Shuanglin?

     Mo Ran looked around, but there was nothing, only darkness.

     He took a few steps and tried to call out, “Shizun?”

     “Xue Meng?”

     “Is anyone coming?”

     No one answered him. It was dark; as dark as death.

     Even though he had seen countless storms, this kind of darkness was still terrifying. He walked forward, goosebumps appearing on his arms. He walked forward…

     Suddenly, he saw a faint white light in front of him, which seemed to be the exit.

     He walked towards it.

     Suddenly, there were figures around him. He couldn’t see their faces clearly, but he heard those people’s scattered voices as they knelt down in front of him like a tide.

     Those people were chanting, their low voices gathering into a rumbling river—

    “Congratulations to Emperor Taxian-Jun, may he live as long as the heavens!”

     Emperor Taxian-Jun?

     No… no!

     He shuddered, and began to tremble. He ran forward as fast as he could, but it seemed like there were thousands of hands coming from all sides to seize him.

     “Your Majesty—”

     “Taxian-Jun will be blessed for all eternity.”

     “Longevity is endless, and blessings never end.”

     Mo Ran was driven to madness as he tried his best to break away from those invisible hands and run towards the light, “No, it’s not me! Go away… All of you go away!”

     “Taxian-Jun…”

     But those voices followed him like shadows, lingering, and Mo Ran began to think that Xu Shuanglin had gathered all the souls and evil spirits of the ghost realm, that they were all out to catch him, a ghost who had escaped.

     “Why does Your Majesty want to go?”

     “Your Majesty, Your Majesty—”

     Mo Ran stumbled on his feet, a wild, blazing light in his eyes. He wanted to leave, but the spirits were trapping him. He was trapped, with no way to escape. He suddenly became furious. He turned his head angrily, and suddenly pulled out his sword and slashed those shadows into shattered darkness.

     His face was like a wolf or leopard, almost ferocious.

    “Get lost!” he roared. “All of you leave This Venerable One now! Scram!”

     As soon as his voice faded, he grimaced.

     He heard the people around him murmuring and snickering, “This Venerable One?”

     “He said This Venerable One… Yes… he said This Venerable One.”

     “Your Majesty, where are we wrong? You should know in your heart who you are and where you came from. You can’t escape.”

     Mo Ran stepped back, sword in hand, and shook his head, “No, it’s not like that… It’s not true…”

     The black smoke that he had cut to pieces gathered again, and a blurry shadow fell in front of him, closing in on him step by step.

     The shadow said softly, “What’s not true?”

     “I am not Taxian-Jun!”

     “How are you not Taxian-Jun?” The voice was indistinct and soft, like thin smoke curling up from a veil in summer, “Of course you are. You have a debt, only you. You cannot escape.”

     “But it’s over!” Mo Ran stared at the shadow, “It’s over! Emperor Taxian-Jun has already died in front of Heaven-Piercing Tower. It has nothing to do with me when he entered the grave. I’m just… I’m just…”

     The shadow smiled softly, as delicate as a flower stamen, “What are you?”

     “You’re just a reincarnated soul?” It asked, “Just a physical body with memory? Are you just an innocent being living in the shadow of Emperor Taxian-Jun? Or… are you just in a dream?”

      If it could be said that he was angry and afraid before, after this sentence, Mo Ran’s emotions became as hard as ice, and the blood running through his body froze.

      He was almost a little bewildered, and didn’t respond. He wanted to speak, but he couldn’t form a complete sentence for a long time. When he opened his mouth, his voice was hoarse, and he could only dig out one broken word, “...Dream?”

     “You’ve always thought you were reborn, but who can say for sure? Do you think it’s really true? Is it you or me who’s real at this moment?” The blurred smoke surrounded him, becoming clearer and clearer, “You said you died under Heaven-Piercing Tower, but you are clearly standing here alive… Are you really dead?”

      Mo Ran stared at the cloud of black smoke.

     He no longer trembled; he only felt cold. It was as if he fell into an ice cave and stepped a foot into the abyss of ten thousand feet.

     It was so cold.

     Was he really dead?

     The chill of Wushan Palace still seemed to be in the marrow of his bones as the flames of the ten great sects rose up like a long snake winding its way from the foot of the mountain to bite off his neck.

     It seemed as if Xue Meng had just stood in front of him a moment ago, with tears in his eyes as he said fiercely—

     “Mo Ran, give me back my Shizun.”

     Was he really dead?

     He remembered taking the poison, which pierced his heart and lungs. He staggered to Heaven-Piercing Tower, and with the last of his strength, crawled into the grave and lay down in the coffin.

      The haitang flowers had been in gentle bloom, lightly fragrant, and the light of the sky and shadows of the clouds lingered.

      He closed his eyes…

     “Then, you opened your eyes, and you were back to the year you were sixteen, to the time when everything was still redeemable, right?”

     The black shadow seemed to be able to see through his heart, and murmured with a low laugh.

     “You came back. Sisheng Peak wasn’t destroyed. Although Rufeng Sect was turned into scorched earth for the second time, it was not you who did it. Ye Wangxi did not die, and neither did Shi Mingjing. You’ve seen through your own thoughts. You’ve fallen in love with Chu Wanning. You’ve become Mo-zongshi, and he’s finally accepted you. You thought you were free. You’re a master of the right path, a hero of the generation, on the mountain to hunt down the leader of evil tyrants, Xu Shuanglin—”

     There was a deathly silence.

     The blood vessels on Mo Ran’s neck were pulsating along with his intense heartbeat.

     The black shadow didn’t have a face, but it was staring at him. He knew it was staring at him.

     “You think beautifully.”

     The cold sword pierced his heart, and the poisonous fangs pierced his neck.

     Mo Ran could feel despair spreading through his body, spreading like a poison, like the deadly poison he took when he was thirty-two years old. It spread… into his liver and gallbladder… into his heart…

     “You weren’t reborn at all. Everyone is dead. Xue Meng is still alive, but he hates you so much.” The shadow said, “Now, you have woken up from your dream. Open your eyes, Emperor Taxian-Jun, you are still the Lord of Darkness.”

     “No…” Mo Ran heard someone speak. The voice was so weak and broken, as if it had been broken down countless times, then glued back together. Then, he was surprised to find that the person who had uttered it was actually himself, “No…”

     He urged the courage from every inch of his bones, every drop of his blood. He opened his eyes full of madness.

     “You’re lying! It’s impossible! Impossible!”

     He lifted his sword and swung it, panting furiously.

     The cloud of black smoke dispersed again.

     But its voice did not dissipate. It laughed in a low voice, “Lying? But Your Majesty, why don’t you look down and see what you’re holding in your hand?”