The bright red blood sprayed amid the spectators’ cries of alarm, then, amid their sighs and murmurs, slowly seeped along the grain of the wooden execution platform.
The midday sunlight was painfully dazzling, making people’s hearts tremble with unease. Gu Mang stood perfectly straight, not a trace of emotion on his face—he simply watched, watched as the head rolled away and the headless body collapsed.
His best friend had been separated from head and body. The head rolled forward until it reached the edge of the execution platform and stopped. A pair of unclosed eyes stared at him.
As if they were saying: Mang’er, turn back.
It’s all over. Let my death be the end of this dream. Don’t go any farther. There is no road ahead, only the mirage of an illusion.
Turn around. Give up.
The executioner’s curved saber dripped scarlet, drop after drop, and hot blood flowed across the ground.
Go home…
The execution officer called out according to protocol, “Execution complete—”
Like a beast that had lain dormant through an entire winter slowly awakening from a dark cave, the crowd gradually came back to life after the initial shock and horror had passed.
Most of them felt both curious and afraid to look at Lu Zhanxing, whose body had been separated from his head on the platform. Some women mustered the courage to sneak a glance, only to immediately cry, “Oh!” and bury their faces in their palms, trembling at the sight of the mangled flesh.
“How horrible.”
“Don’t look at the platform. It’s terrifying. If you see it, you’ll have nightmares tonight.”
After the crowd milled about noisily for a while, their attention gradually shifted toward Gu Mang.
Slowly, people began noticing his expression and whispering among themselves:
“Why does Marshal Gu… have no reaction at all…?”
“That’s right. His expression hasn’t even changed… Could he still hate Lu Zhanxing? After all, Lu Zhanxing dragged him down so badly.”
“Then why did he come to see him off?”
“Probably… for the sake of appearances. People like them fight their battles behind closed doors. How could they ever let it become public?”
Gu Mang was, after all, a meritorious subject of the kingdom and had not yet committed treason at this point, so someone immediately retorted, “What nonsense are you talking about? Marshal Gu isn’t that kind of person! Although Deputy Marshal Lu was his old friend, he ultimately made a terrible mistake. Marshal Gu came to see him off out of loyalty, and he didn’t lose control because he has propriety. He’s already done this much—what more do you want from him?!”
The other side was no less dismissive.
“Brothers? Brothers who live and die together, who share hardship and joy—that’s what brothers are. If I were Gu Mang, I’d have robbed the prison long ago. Or I’d have knelt before His Majesty and begged to exchange my own life for my brother’s. How could I be like him?!”
“How do you know Marshal Gu didn’t plead for him?”
“Just look at how cold he is now. Gu Mang is nothing but a cold-blooded, heartless hypocrite pretending to be a good man!”
Gu Mang may have heard these words, or perhaps he had not. He continued gazing at the execution platform. The executioner had already left, while the execution officer was directing the others in handling the aftermath.
He stood beneath the blazing midday sun, his figure straight and elegant like pine and bamboo, without the slightest appearance of being wounded by pain.
He watched without blinking as Lu Zhanxing’s body was bound and hoisted away. He watched as Lu Zhanxing’s head was hung up high. He watched as the bloodstains on the ground were washed away.
The execution officer unfurled a scroll of imperial edict written on yellow silk and read without emotion:
“Criminal subject Lu Zhanxing, having failed in his duty before the battle, slain an envoy and brought disaster, and caused the defeat at Fengming, has gravely betrayed Heaven’s favor. He is hereby sentenced to the ultimate punishment. His corpse shall be exposed for three days, and this shall be proclaimed throughout the kingdom so that all may know.”
The voice echoed clearly beneath the blue sky and bright sun.
Everything had finally been settled.
The execution was completely over. Gu Mang did not linger. Under the sidelong gazes of the crowd, he picked up the jar of Pear Blossom White that he and Lu Zhanxing had emptied together, turned around, and walked away without looking back—
Of the hundred thousand comrades-in-arms, at last only he remained.
Gu Mang returned to his own residence. Mo Xi followed him the entire way beneath his invisibility cloak.
This once-greatest general of Chonghua was terribly poor. He did not even have a residence of his own.
It was no wonder. Recruiting soldiers and forging weapons required money. Food, pay, and equipment required money. Even cultivating connections required money.
And his military stipend was only so much. Thus, after being freed from his slave status, he merely rented a small house in a secluded part of the Eastern Market.
Apart from a woodshed, the house had only one bedroom. Inside the bedroom were a single bed, one quilt, a pair of tables and chairs, and several battered wooden chests.
So this was everything a general whose name had shaken the world possessed.
Gu Mang returned inside and placed the wine jar on the table. Then he went to the woodshed. It was time for lunch. He lit the fire, boiled water, and reheated the leftovers stored in the kitchen cabinet.
He ate.
His last brother had died. Everything that had belonged to his yesterday could never be recovered again.
But he ate.
On the small wooden table sat the empty red-clay wine jar from which Lu Zhanxing had drunk before his death, along with a large bowl of white rice, greens, and tofu.
Gu Mang ate like a man who had been starving for a long time, his chopsticks pressed against the bowl as he shoveled rice into his mouth. Before long, he had eaten the entire bowl clean, without leaving behind a single grain of rice.
Then he rose and served himself another bowl, still eating with the same desperate hunger.
It was as though an endless abyss had opened inside his heart, and only by continually stuffing food into it could he keep the emptiness from becoming so terrifyingly obvious.
He lowered his head and shoveled rice into his mouth. His cheeks bulged from how full they were, and eventually his swallowing could no longer keep up with the speed at which he stuffed food inside.
He slowed down, but he still choked.
He choked silently, struggling desperately to force the rice down his throat, as though he were trying to swallow words that could not be spoken, suffering that could not be voiced.
He swallowed almost miserably, raising his head and widening his eyes as he stared at the beams and rafters overhead.
Suddenly, he let out a sob.
As though it were merely a hiccup caused by overeating.
How ridiculous.
Yet his eyes had turned red.
Mo Xi stood right beside him, less than an arm’s length away, yet he could not say a word or touch even a single strand of Gu Mang’s hair.
He could only watch as Gu Mang’s eyes grew increasingly wet—
Gu Mang tilted his head upward, as though trying to force whatever was in his eyes back inside. He even raised his hand quickly to wipe his eyelashes, then sniffed.
He restrained himself.
At least, he thought he had.
So he lowered his face again and picked up his chopsticks, returning to shoveling the bland, tasteless white rice into his mouth.
The same white rice served with only greens and tofu that he and Lu Zhanxing had often eaten together at Wangshu Manor when they were children.
He desperately forced down several mouthfuls.
But the unbearable pain of death, like a delayed blade, finally pierced into his lungs and organs. At last, it began fighting for his breath, gnawing at his flesh, shattering the face he had pretended was calm.
Slowly, the hand holding his chopsticks began to tremble.
His lips, still holding rice, began to tremble.
His whole body began to shake.
He stubbornly forced himself to endure it, but his tears began to spill uncontrollably from his eyes.
One drop after another, they fell from his cheeks onto the table.
He made no sound. He continued stuffing rice into his mouth while wiping away his tears with one hand. His throat was bitter, and all his sobs were trapped inside, swallowed down forcefully along with the rice.
But when he had endured it to a certain point, his trembling hand could no longer pick up the greens and tofu.
He tried once.
They slipped off.
He tried again.
The chopsticks pierced through them…
The man who carried the souls of seventy thousand dead comrades on his back was suddenly defeated by this insignificant failure at the dining table.
Gu Mang abruptly threw down his chopsticks.
He stood and swept everything off the table in one violent motion.
The porcelain bowls shattered across the floor with a clatter.
The thing that broke most completely was the empty wine jar he had brought back with him.
He panted, his chest heaving violently, staring blankly at the wreckage before him.
The red-clay wine jar had shattered into a scattered pile of broken dreams.
Gu Mang stared at it.
Stared…
His eyes were wet and red.
Then he walked over and almost blankly crouched down, reaching out as if he wanted to gather the fragments—
But before his fingertips could touch them, his hand suddenly curled back.
His face held an expression like someone abruptly awakening from a dream.
That look of awakening made Gu Mang’s face appear utterly shattered.
It was a brokenness Mo Xi had never once seen in all the years he had known him.
If Gu Mang had dared to appear with such an expression before anyone in the army, everyone’s faith in him would have collapsed.
He was not a God of War.
He was a puddle of soft mud, a lonely and helpless ant, a scattering of broken sand.
Gu Mang collapsed down as though all his strength had been drained away.
He was still wearing his neatly pressed, spotless military uniform, but it was as if every bone and sinew had been stripped from his body. He fell onto the filthy floor.
He trembled.
He stared at the wreckage scattered across the ground.
At first, a tiny whimper leaked from his throat, like a young wolf that had been driven from its home.
Then the whimper became a sob, stumbling and broken as it struggled out from deep within his throat.
“I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”
Mo Xi watched him.
Watched him sitting on the cold floor.
Watched him slowly curl up and wrap his arms around his knees.
Watched him desperately suppress himself, yet still fail to stop the tears from flowing.
Watched him bite down hard on his lips until his teeth were stained with blood, yet still be unable to lock away that weak, trembling voice.
The god finally collapsed.
The God of War was finally utterly defeated.
Gu Mang slightly loosened his teeth. He had bitten himself with all his strength. He was almost driving himself mad.
He gasped for breath, his eyes unbearably red. His despairing gaze wandered around the room, as though hoping that someone might suddenly appear to save him, or perhaps kill him—it did not matter.
A god or a demon.
Anyone.
Save him.
Stay with him.
It hurt…
It hurt too much.
Why was the human world so vast, yet unable to keep seventy thousand heroes alive?
Why was the underworld so deep, yet unwilling to take in even one living ghost like him?
Only he remained.
At last, Gu Mang let out a heartbroken wail.
He howled in grief, clutching himself, holding himself with all his strength, as though he were desperately embracing his comrades and brothers across the boundary between life and death.
Or perhaps it was as though his dead brothers had possessed him, their heroic souls crossing the Yellow Springs to desperately embrace their Marshal Gu…
The cries that escaped those blood-stained lips ultimately became soundless grief, pain too great to bear.
Gu Mang kept saying:
“I’m sorry…”
I’m sorry…
Mo Xi watched him.
It felt as though his bones were being carved apart and his heart drilled through.
From the moment Gu Mang had struggled to eat while silently shedding tears, his heart had already been aching as though cut by a knife.
By now, Gu Mang’s pain had become his pain.
Gu Mang’s helplessness had become his helplessness.
Only now did he see with his own eyes just how much pain Gu Mang had suffered after losing Lu Zhanxing.
So much pain that it seemed as though every last drop of blood had been drained from his heart.
Looking into Gu Mang’s eyes, Mo Xi could tell that his mind had become somewhat confused.
It was as though he could see ghosts.
Or perhaps he desperately wanted to see ghosts.
Gu Mang searched the entire room in despair.
—He wanted someone to stay with him. Someone to demand his life, someone to blame him, anything at all. He just wanted to know whether there was anyone who would come and stay with him.
Mo Xi’s heart twisted like a knife.
When Gu Mang had cried out his grievances in the Golden Hall, he had not been at Gu Mang’s side.
Later, when Gu Mang’s pain had grown even deeper, he had still not been at Gu Mang’s side.
And now…
He knew perfectly well that nothing in the past within the mirror could be changed. He knew that acting recklessly might bring danger.
But just like Gu Mang, Mo Xi had endured too much pain for too long.
Before Gu Mang committed treason, everything had been his fault.
It was his fault for failing to properly stay by Gu Mang’s side.
His fault for failing to notice Gu Mang’s inner knot in time.
His fault for treating Gu Mang as an indestructible god, while forgetting that beneath that armor was nothing more than a body of mortal flesh and blood.
A body covered in wounds, yet still struggling…
A mortal body of flesh and blood.
A human heart was ultimately not a stubborn stone or cold iron.
Eight years of restraint had finally collapsed through the smallest crack.
Mo Xi could endure no longer.
He dispelled the invisibility spell on his cloak.
His sword-like brows drew together as he half-knelt beside the curled-up Gu Mang.
His voice was hoarse.
“Gu Mang, look at me. I’m still here.”
I’m still here…
But perhaps because he was too heartbroken, or because his mind had been stretched to its absolute limit and finally shattered, Gu Mang showed no reaction at all to Mo Xi’s voice or his sudden appearance.
Mo Xi was in so much pain that he could not speak.
His own hands were trembling too.
He raised them, wanting to draw this lover, still dressed in military uniform yet stripped of all his former glory, into his arms.
At this moment, he no longer wanted to consider the consequences.
He truly…
Truly had been driven mad by eight years of pain and longing, by the return through the Mirror of Time.
“Gu Mang… Gu Mang…” Mo Xi whispered, his voice hoarse and broken. “It’s all right now. I’ll stay with you… I’ll stay with you…”
He embraced him from behind, wrapping him in his arms.
But at the instant his shoulder and back were about to touch Gu Mang, a faint light flickered.
Mo Xi suddenly discovered that his arms had passed straight through Gu Mang’s body—
He stared blankly at his own hands.
His face slowly turned pale.
His gaze gradually filled with panic.
There was no time left.
Murong Chuyi and Jiang Yexue’s incantation to break the mirror had reached its final passage.
He did not know how much longer he could remain in this mirror world.
But at least from this moment onward, he had become nothingness.
He could no longer have any interaction with this world.
He could no longer appear before Gu Mang.
He could not comfort him.
He could not turn Gu Mang back from the path he was about to take.
……
That day, Gu Mang curled up in the midst of the broken porcelain scattered across the floor, hugging his knees as he endured from dawn until nightfall.
Night descended.
He leaned against the cold wall and fell asleep curled up like a solitary beast separated from its pack.
The corners of his eyes were red.
The tip of his nose was red.
Even the edges of his ears, curled timidly beneath his black hair, carried a pitiful flush.
Mo Xi sat beside him for the entire night.
Even in his dreams, Gu Mang unconsciously whimpered.
Mo Xi raised his hand, yet could not wipe away that tear from eight years ago.
Time was like this.
Nothing could change it.
Even if it had only been a dream of flowers reflected in a mirror and the moon reflected in water, in the end, they had still arrived at this point.