“What—what is this, Lord Xihe…?”
The way Mo Xi ground his teeth showed clearly on his pale face. Handsome as he was, he looked terrifying. Tall and imposing, he swept his gaze over everyone from above. That knife-sharp gaze had just started to fall on Gu Mang, but for some reason, it quickly moved away.
“Lord Xihe…?”
Murong Lian glanced over as well. “Well now, Lord Xihe. What’s with this sudden temper?”
Mo Xi’s face was dark. Seeing Gu Mang surrounded and bullied filled him with fury, but that rage felt utterly inexplicable. If he had failed to hold back and shouted “Stop,” he wouldn’t even know how to explain himself now. Fortunately, he had restrained himself and said nothing. Only now could he force himself to endure and slowly grit out:
“…In the main hall, drinking and indulging. Drowning in pleasure.”
“……”
“All of you are key officials in the Military Administration Office. Yet all you know are these filthy, lowly tricks.” Each word crushed out between his teeth. “Disgraceful.”
“Lord Xihe, what kind of words are those?” In the silence, Murong Lian spoke.
He had been reclining sideways, but now sat up. “Gu Mang is a traitor. Everyone here is nobility. Nobles having some fun with a traitor—how is that disgraceful? How is that low?”
He took another sip of Floating Life Like a Dream, then continued, “Lord Xihe may be a clean freak himself, but are you going to control how your subordinates amuse themselves? Besides, this is Wangshu Manor. Gu Mang is my property, and everyone here today is my guest. No matter how great your achievements are, you should at least understand the saying—before beating a dog, look at its owner.”
Those words insulted not only Gu Mang, but practically reduced everyone present to Murong Lian’s dogs.
Yet this crowd was heavily drunk. Even if sober, with Murong Lian being the emperor’s cousin, none of them had the courage to object.
But Mo Xi did not tolerate it. Standing with arms folded, he said coldly:
“Murong Lian, the officials of the Military Administration Office serve not you, but His Majesty, Lord Chonghua. I do not want to hear you compare military officials to your dogs a second time.”
He stared directly into Murong Lian’s eyes.
“Watch yourself.”
“You—!”
Though brief, Mo Xi’s words struck with overwhelming pressure, like twin swords pressing against Murong Lian’s chest.
The first point: among Chonghua’s military forces, the most important figure bore the surname Mo. Technically, Murong Lian himself was also a military official—and his rank was lower than Mo Xi’s. Chonghua’s military law was ironclad. Even nobles could be dealt with directly if they truly enraged Mo Xi.
The second point: Murong Lian’s words had crossed a line.
That was even more dangerous. Rumor said Murong Lian’s father had participated in the succession struggle years ago. Thankfully, the late king had been magnanimous and spared his brother’s life, but Murong’s branch of the family had lived in fear ever since. The words royal authority were something they didn’t dare touch.
Murong Lian’s expression indeed changed. After a long while, he barely regained composure.
“Good. Good.”
His lips twitched into a cold smile.
“Mo Xi, you’ve got nerve.”
He stared at Mo Xi. Then suddenly he raised a hand. Streams of light hissed from his palm, and a blood-red whip materialized, cracking through the air and stirring a haze of dust.
“What I said just now counts as a slip of the tongue.” Holding the whip, Murong Lian slowly circled Mo Xi, jealousy glinting in his eyes. “Lord Xihe governs strictly and disciplines harshly. Today I’ve learned well.”
“In that case…”
He paused, his eyes reflecting the whip’s eerie glow.
“I’ll learn to teach these stupid slaves a lesson too!”
The instant the words fell, the blood-red spiritual whip lashed out like a serpent toward the trembling servants huddled in the corner.
“Ahhh—!”
“Master! Master, spare us—!”
Their cries of pain and pleading filled the room. Something shifted in Mo Xi’s eyes, growing darker and darker.
Though of noble birth, the Northern Border Army under him had once been built through Gu Mang’s painstaking effort from commoners—many of them cultivators from poor, humble origins, most of them former slaves.
Mo Xi had once been Gu Mang’s friend, and later fought alongside these people through life and death. He knew their hardships well. That was why, despite his exalted status, he had never indulged in lust or cruelty toward those of low status.
Back then, after Gu Mang stabbed him, His Majesty wanted to eliminate the nearly seventy thousand remnants of Gu Mang’s Turtle Battalion, and forever forbid slaves in Chonghua from cultivating.
It was Mo Xi—dragging his still-unhealed body—who knelt day and night in the snow, only to beg His Majesty not to slaughter Gu Mang’s remaining army, not to wipe them out, and not to strip slaves of the right to cultivate.
“The slaves in the army committed no treason. Why should seventy thousand heads fall?”
His Majesty had thundered: “They haven’t rebelled now—who says they won’t later? They were all trained by Gu Mang! A pack of future traitors! Lord Xihe, have you forgotten your pain already?!”
The wound had not healed. Blood still seeped beneath the bandages around his chest.
Yet he still remembered young Gu Mang sitting atop a haystack, crunching an apple, grinning at him.
“Among the twenty-eight kingdoms of the Nine Provinces, only five led by Chonghua allow slaves like us to cultivate. It’d be nice if more did.”
“Though no slave in Chonghua has ever become an official, as long as His Majesty still lets us cultivate, there’s hope.”
“I want to rise. All of us want to rise.”
“We only hope the one on the throne is willing to look at us…”
Mo Xi closed his eyes and said:
“Please allow me to take command of the seventy thousand slave remnants.”
His Majesty sneered. “You? A pureblood noble leading Gu Mang’s thuggish soldiers? How will you control them? Will they obey you? And how can you guarantee they won’t someday turn their blades on Chonghua Palace like their former master?”
Mo Xi looked straight into his eyes.
“I am willing to swear the Heavenly Tribulation Oath.”
His Majesty was shocked. “…What did you say?!”
“I am willing to swear it.”
“……”
The Heavenly Tribulation Oath was an unbreakable vow. One could swear it only once in a lifetime. It cost ten years of lifespan to form the contract. Break it, and heavenly tribulation would descend, reducing the oath-maker to ashes.
Even if the vow was faithfully kept, those ten years would never return.
Because of such severe consequences, few dared swear it.
But Mo Xi did.
He swore it.
He sacrificed ten years of his life, vowing the slave remnants would never rebel, vowing lifelong loyalty to His Majesty and to Chonghua.
All so Gu Mang’s betrayal would not lead to more innocent bloodshed.
All so slaves in Chonghua could retain the right to cultivate.
Almost no one knew of this sacrifice. People only knew His Majesty suddenly handed Gu Mang’s Turtle Battalion to a pureblood noble. At first, the soldiers secretly called him “stepfather,” cursing him for being strict, cold, and privileged.
But none of them knew what this noble young master—who “didn’t understand common hardship”—had sacrificed behind the scenes to keep them alive, and to ensure those of Gu Mang’s origins would not be branded from birth as forever worthless.
Ten years of life.
A lifetime of vows.
This “stepfather,” whose heart had been stabbed through, lived trapped in the cracks, hated by both sides.
Truthfully, he had already done everything he could.
No one knew.
Except Murong Lian.
Because he had been beside His Majesty then.
He had seen with his own eyes how Mo Xi pleaded for the slaves. He had heard with his own ears as Mo Xi swore the oath and bowed deeply in the snow.
He knew Mo Xi pitied these slaves.
So when Mo Xi angered him, Murong Lian couldn’t vent on the empire’s commander. Instead, in utter shamelessness, he viciously lashed the powerless servants, beating them until blood splattered and screams filled the air.
Murong Lian burst into laughter. His pale, beautiful face twisted grotesquely from loathing and addiction.
As he laughed and whipped, he said pointedly to Mo Xi:
“A lowborn slave is forever a lowborn slave. Born with filthy blood. What chance could they ever have to rise?”
“……”
At the side, Yue Chenqing clicked his tongue. “Floating Life Like a Dream is terrifying. I’ve got to tell my buddies never to smoke it. This all started from one disagreement—how did Lord Wangshu go this insane?”
Even after whipping the servants, Murong Lian wasn’t satisfied. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Gu Mang standing nearby.
As Gu Mang’s former master, he had observed every interaction between Gu Mang and Mo Xi over the years. Though he had no evidence, something about their relationship felt deeply wrong.
That thought gave him a vicious idea.
Immediately, he snapped his whip toward the dazed Gu Mang.
Poor Gu Mang had no time to react before the whip coiled around his waist. With one tug, Murong Lian effortlessly dragged him over.
Murong Lian grabbed Gu Mang’s chin and forced him to turn toward Mo Xi. Malice filled his narrow phoenix eyes.
“Come now, Gu Mang. Look at the man in front of you. Do you still recognize him?”
Gu Mang blinked, animal-like wariness mixed in his expression.
“If you don’t remember, that’s fine. I’ll tell you. Even if you never said it back then, I could tell.”
He sneered.
“You called me Master, but in your heart, you wanted to betray the Murong family and crawl over to this Young Master Mo like a dog.”
Mo Xi’s face darkened.
“Murong Lian, what madness is this?”
“How am I mad? Today Lord Xihe and I reunite after so long. I didn’t prepare any gift. So I thought I’d test him again. If he still wants to follow you, maybe I’ll indulge him and hand him over.”
He draped himself over Gu Mang’s shoulder.
“I’ve even thought of how to test him.”
“Murong Lian!”
Murong Lian was seemingly intoxicated by Floating Life Like a Dream. He raised a finger to his lips and shushed him.
“Don’t be angry. Hear me out. It’s quite interesting.”
Then he lowered his head and asked sweetly:
“Commander Gu, I’m giving you two choices. Listen carefully.”
“To be honest, I’ve always found your face disgusting. I’ve wanted to carve it up for a long time.”
“But if you help me take this man—”
He pointed drunkenly at Mo Xi.
“—if you help me rip one of his arms off…”
He leaned close to Gu Mang’s ear, his voice low enough for everyone to hear.
“I’ll spare you.”
The room jolted awake.
“What did Lord Wangshu just say…?”
“He wants Commander Mo’s arm?”
Yue Chenqing slapped his forehead. “Shouldn’t have come at all. Lord Wangshu! Brother Murong! You’ve smoked too much Floating Life Like a Dream! Your mind’s gone! Is there any medicine to sober you up? I’ll fetch it!”
Murong Lian ignored them.
Clinging to bewildered Gu Mang, he grinned.
“Well, Gu Mang? Interested?”
With a sharp sound, the spiritual whip in his hand transformed into a gleaming dagger.
It hovered beside Gu Mang’s cheek.
“Either rip off his arm…”
“Or let me carve up your face.”
His smile widened.
“Didn’t your brain break? I really want to see what choice you’ll make.”
Mo Xi’s heart tightened.
Murong Lian wasn’t drunk at all.
It was obvious that in Gu Mang’s current state, even if he seized the dagger, he posed no threat to Murong Lian. This was purely a test—to see whether Gu Mang truly had amnesia, and to gauge how much Gu Mang mattered to Mo Xi.
“I’ll count to three.”
The dagger pressed against Gu Mang’s face. One more inch and blood would spill.
Gu Mang said nothing.
He only turned his head slightly, looking at the dagger with strange indifference.
“One.”
Mo Xi felt his blood surge uncontrollably.
He wanted to stop Murong Lian immediately.
But another part of him desperately wanted to know—
What would Gu Mang do?
Mo Xi had always harbored some suspicion. He had wondered if Gu Mang’s damaged mind was only an act.
If Gu Mang’s mind were truly broken, acting on pure beast instinct, he should not hesitate at all. If, as Li Wei had said, Gu Mang subconsciously believed himself to be a wolf, then between self-preservation and harming others, a wolf would unquestionably choose the latter.
So why hadn’t Gu Mang attacked?
The atmosphere tightened further.
Murong Lian was smiling. Yue Chenqing was shouting. Everyone else was trying to intervene. Smoke filled the room—Floating Life Like a Dream.
Before Mo Xi’s eyes flashed countless images of Gu Mang from the past.
Calm.
Laughing.
Concerned.
Cold.
They drifted past in dazzling fragments, like fish scales glimmering underwater. Every shard of light held Gu Mang’s image.
Dreamlike memories surfaced.
“Long time no see, Junior Brother Mo. Can I sit beside you?”
“Do you want to rot together with me?”
“I really will kill you…”
These memories crashed over him like roaring rapids, until Murong Lian’s voice pierced through and dragged him back to reality.
Only this moment remained.
Gu Mang’s face.
Still strangely calm.
Brow faintly furrowed.
“Two—”
Gu Mang still did not move.
Why wasn’t he saving himself?
Wasn’t he supposed to be all wolf instinct, with no memory left?
And in the past, he had been so ruthless toward him—he had even driven a blade into him.
He should have—he should have—
“Three!”
“Stop!”
Mo Xi finally snapped into motion. Spiritual light exploded from his hand. A spell shot from his palm toward Murong Lian’s raised dagger.
Too late—
The dagger slashed down across Gu Mang’s cheek.
Blood sprayed.
Mo Xi’s eyes flew wide open.