Chương 76: True Self (Part II)

He looked at the ghost, like a distorted reflection showing his (thankfully non-existent) ugly side, and forced his attention back to the matter at hand.

"What do you mean it will fall on me and my disciple?" he demanded.

"Are you saying that Bai Ning must step into the role of the hero, and I have to help her?" The ghost stared at him strangely. He opened his mouth, closed it, then tried again.

"How is it that, for all your vision, you become so narrow-sighted when it comes to this? Should I even bother answering this fool?" The last words were directed at the scorpion on his shoulder, as though the creature's opinion mattered. Mo Jian (living, and thus, automatically superior), narrowed his eyes, forcing down the spike of anger the ghost's mocking tone provoked. This isn't me, he reminded himself. It's the world, feeding mild irritation into rage. He counted to five. Then to ten.

When that didn't work, he went for a hundred, but abandoned it halfway, scowling at the spectral shadow, still scratching the scorpion.

"I'll ignore that," Mo Jian said, deliberately mimicking the ghost's earlier words.

"But you'd better give me an answer. Or should I bring up your many idiocies? I have a very large and statistically significant sample, if you recall." The ghostly Mo Jian grimaced, as if momentarily cowed by the threat. But instead of fear, he rolled his eyes.

"What's there to explain? My meaning was clear from the start. You're just avoiding it. Don't you already know what to do? Follow the path Ye Chen traced in the story, and complete it. When the threat emerges, defeat it. That's all there is to it." Mo Jian gaped. That was like being told, What's so hard about becoming an Immortal? or hearing his aunt scoff, Your cousin was a doctor at nineteen, and you're still in college? As if saying it made it possible.

"Are you mad?" he demanded.

"Defeat the Immortal of Slaughter? How, exactly? Most of what Ye Chen managed… it happened because events fell perfectly into place! Do you actually think I can do even a fraction of what he did?" The ghost met his gaze evenly, devoid of anger or amusement.

"Yes." Mo Jian blinked.

"What…?"

"For all your lectures on how advancement to Nascent Soul works," the ghost said smoothly, "you still got one thing wrong when you explained it to Bai Ning. I don't blame you; even I only understood it after I died. But it's not just about knowledge. It's about who you are. A mediocre man can only integrate mediocre knowledge into his worldview. A great man can integrate anything.

"So what if this world is a story you once read? So what if you know the future? So what if you've seen how Heaven works? Make your life great enough to shoulder anything, and no matter what knowledge you possess, it will not stop you from progressing. Instead, it will propel you higher. Haven't you already seen glimpses of this? Fighting the Gu, clashing with the Old Devil? All of that gave weight to your existence. It added a brilliant, shining thread to the tapestry of your life.

"You fear you can't progress because of me, or because of what you know? That's just defeatist. Cowardly, even. So yes, I believe you can do it. Not because I have faith in you, but because not doing it is not a choice when all the advantages are already yours. If Ye Chen's path is impossible, forge your own. Impossible is not a word a cultivator should ever use casually." That- Mo Jian was taken aback. As much by the words as by the one speaking them. Was it really that simple?

Yes, the challenge ahead was impossible, but there was no other option than to face it. Failure meant death, or worse, so you just did it. Had he really been so defeatist all this time? Ever since transmigrating, the pursuit of cultivation, of power, had never truly motivated him. Better to live well, he had thought, than to chase the abstract goal of living long. And yet- While he still believed that, a shadow of him couldn't deny that fear had kept him grounded just as much as belief had.

Was this the answer, then? Become a great man, by whatever definition his ghostly counterpart meant. Do deeds that would inevitably echo across the world. It didn't feel like a lie or a guess. In fact, it fit so neatly into his understanding of cultivation that he felt foolish for not seeing it sooner. Wasn't the very purpose of cultivation to struggle against Heaven? Had he really allowed comfort to blind him to everything else? If the hero wasn't here, then he would become the hero.

Why should it be any harder than that, the ghost was saying. It resonated. As much as Mo Jian wanted to deny it, he felt the pull. Yet…

"It's-" He licked his lips, unsure whom he was arguing against.

"It's not that simple. There are certain events, certain items that Ye Chen had that made it possible. I don't even know where to begin hunting for the fragments of the Ruyi Lotus Scepter. In the book, Ye Chen tracked all three shards separately, offscreen. There was barely a mention of where he found them, what with the focus on the gui shard and stealing it from Olympos." The words sounded weaker than he'd imagined. They felt like excuses, and he wasn't sure he even believed them himself. The ghost didn't mock.

He didn't argue. Instead, he gave a half-smile, as if he could read not only what Mo Jian said, but what he wouldn't say.

"It's not simple, I agree. But is it impossible?" A moment of deafening silence followed, one Mo Jian could not have filled even with all the time in the world. The ghost continued, casually, almost conversationally.

"Besides, haven't you already come across a fragment? It was during the first encounter you had, right after transmigrating. Surely it should stand out in your memory?" Huh? What was this grim, gaunt, and ghastly version of himself talking about? If he had encountered a fragment of the shen, he would definitely remember it… His eyes widened. He became vaguely aware that his mouth was hanging open in shocked disbelief.

A memory surfaced: the first person he had met after transmigrating, the blood-red lotus enveloping him as he fled, after Mo Jian beat him for attacking the Greater Dharma Sect.

"No," he whispered, stunned beyond belief.

"No way…" Really? Chao Qinzi? And yet, now that he recalled it properly, with his ghostly counterpart's "helpful" prod, it was unmistakable. A translucent blood-red lotus had protected the demonic cultivator and carried him away. How-how in the name of all the bodhisattvas had he missed it? He ground the pads of his hands against his eyes, as if he could scrub the sheer idiocy from his memory. How had he overlooked something so obvious?

"Chao Qinzi has a fragment of the shen?" His voice sounded defeated, even to himself.

"He sure does," came the cheerful retort from the ghost, who, like a vampire, seemed to be leeching Mo Jian's disbelief and adding it to his own satisfaction.

"Urghhhh," Mo Jian said, and it neatly summed up all his feelings on the subject. It really was unbelievable. He had long suspected that Bai Ning might be carrying a fragment, but he'd never been certain. In the book, Ye Chen had collected all three fragments in a maddeningly vague manner, supposedly with Bai Ning's help. Of the three, only one had ever been shown in any detail: Minerva's. Most of the focus had been on infiltrating Olympos and sneaking past the Dii Consentes to claim the gui fragment. After that…

well, after that the Immortal of Slaughter had broken free, and the story had sprinted headlong into catastrophe, leaving the earlier threads unexplored. Mo Jian had always chalked it up to Ye Chen's heaven-defying luck. Plot relevance aside, those fragments weren't the only treasures that had conveniently fallen into the man's lap.

Buried troves, rare, nearly unique artifacts, peerless pills and tools: whenever the story introduced a treasure, it was practically guaranteed to end up in Ye Chen's hands sooner or later. Mo Jian wished he were that lucky. Instead, unlike the hero, he knew he'd actually have to hunt these things down. And where, exactly, was he supposed to find Chao Qinzi? The man had vanished off the face of the earth the last time Mo Jian had checked. And then there were the other two fragments.

Even assuming Bai Ning had one, and there was no guarantee of that, however plausible it felt, how, in the name of all the gods in Heaven, was he supposed to deal with Minerva? Was he meant to travel to Daqin and- Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. Mo Jian froze. It had only been mere moments since he'd learned that Ye Chen didn't exist, and already he was planning.

He'd said no, said it wasn't possible, and yet one pointed remark from his ghostly counterpart, and his mind was racing ahead toward confronting the Immortal of Slaughter. … Was this how it started? He took a deep breath. This time, the rank smell of the river bothered him less, perhaps drowned out by the weight settling in his chest. Was there any point in being angry? Or pretending otherwise? It wasn't as if he'd been tricked, or pressured into a choice he didn't want.

The instant he'd heard the truth, once the initial panic had faded, here he was: plotting. Was this who he really was? Someone who claimed to want a quiet life; travel, comfort, and simplicity, but who, deep down, had been waiting for a reason? Waiting for permission? To be a hero? The thought felt strange. Uncomfortable. And yet… wasn't this what the ghost meant by becoming great? There were those chosen by Heaven, people like Ye Chen, and like Bai Ning, who had greatness thrust upon them.

And then there were those who chose it, and fought for it. Mo Jian was neither. He was just an extra, in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or perhaps the right place, at the right time. If he didn't step forward, who would? And even if someone else did, was he truly content with that? He'd always told himself the same thing: The hero is coming. Wait. Watch. Be careful. But had that been patience… or resignation? He didn't want to fight what was coming. Not really.

But there was a spark of exhilaration in charting his own course, in saying: screw the plot, screw destiny, I'll decide for myself. He huffed, a sound halfway to a laugh, steeped in gallows humor. Why was he still circling the point? He'd already made his choice. He did want to advance. He did want more. And if Ye Chen wasn't here, then he would rather step forward than keep waiting. It had nothing to do with Bai Ning, or duty, or obligation. There was a door in front of him.

And he knew, with quiet certainty, that if he didn't walk through it, he would regret it for the rest of his life. He looked up at the specter opposite him, who had remained silent, granting him the space to think. So, it really was that simple, huh? Just do it. Mo Jian exhaled, once more tasting the foul, rancid air. The Sanzu River truly needed a thorough cleaning. The absurdity of the thought almost made him smile.

"That's a better look on your face than the one you had earlier," the ghost remarked lightly. Mo Jian considered that, and considered whether he should say what he was truly thinking and express his gratitude. But that wasn't the kind of conversation they'd been having. Besides, he had the distinct feeling that the original Mo Jian already knew. So instead, he puffed himself up and said haughtily, "Any look on my face is better than yours. Does that even need to be said?"

The ghost flared at once, flushing silver again.

"You bastard. I don't even know why I bother." He sniffed in faux irritation, then sagged.

"Anyway, our time is running out, so we'll have to cut this short. I've said everything I wanted to say. Now all that's left is to answer your first questions: what this place is, and how to get out of it." Mo Jian straightened immediately, setting everything else aside. The ghost was right; whatever else was going on, knowing how to leave this place mattered most. Whatever the scorpion had done to bring him here seemed to have resolved the I'm-dying-after-using-a-secret-technique problem, at least for now.

The rest he could deal with later. The ghost – still nowhere near his living brilliance, but not so bad, after all – frowned thoughtfully.

"I suppose I should start at the beginning. As I mentioned, this is the place between life and death. A border, if you will, where the souls of the recently deceased pass before moving on to Hell or… elsewhere." He glanced at Mo Jian, checking that he was paying attention. He was, and he had to bite his tongue to keep from speaking up. When had the ghost ever said any of that before? This was the first time he was hearing it. Did his – once more, undoubtedly inferior – counterpart also suffer from Alzheimer's?

Senility was a known occupational hazard of ghosthood after all. Thankfully, the ghost didn't notice the direction of his thoughts, and continued.

"The Netherworld Scorpion works by intercepting its dying master in this place, then crossing the river in their stead. That allows the master to return to the other shore – to life, basically. In short, the scorpion dies in your place. Pretty simple, right?" Considering the ghostly scorpion perched on his counterpart's shoulder like a macabre pet, and the fact that he was still stuck here, simple was not the word that came to mind. Once again oblivious to his unflattering thoughts, the ghost pressed on.

"The problem is that in your case, or rather, our case, I'm already stuck here because of you. The moment you touched the scorpion, we both got dragged into this little heart-to-heart. Now someone still needs to cross over to Hell so the other person can live again. And no, the scorpion can't do it anymore. I intercepted it, so the natural process is broken. Simply put, one of us has to die properly for the other to return."

He finished in a grim, resonant tone, standing rigid, as though expecting Mo Jian to lash out, or shove him away with a sudden attack at the revelation. Mo Jian, for his part, just sighed. He considered rolling his eyes, or staring up at the sky, or ceiling, or whatever passed for one here, in sheer exasperation.

"What is it with cultivators and grandstanding?" he muttered.

"I swear it's a pathogen that comes bundled with cultivation." The ghost pouted. On that face, it was uniquely horrifying.

"You could at least pretend to be worried." Mo Jian did roll his eyes this time.

"After that long and painful talk we just had? After everything you said, and how you said it? Please. What kind of fool do you take me for?" He paused, then added more grudgingly, "Still… I should ask. Are you all right with it? You'll be dying properly, after all." The ghost, still looking faintly miffed at how his grand revelation had been received, scoffed.

"Of course I'm not all right with it. But better me than you. You have people out there waiting for you." The thought seemed to dim him slightly, as though he were weighing his own life against the new Mo Jian's. Then he straightened, false bravado blazing through the cracks.

"But don't think this is the end of it. I'll go to Hell, but I won't stay there forever. I'll reincarnate. And when I do, I swear I'll make my name resound across the world. No, farther than that. All the way to Heaven. The name Mo Jian will be nothing next to mine. Even if it's Cheong Ma." He was panting by the end, defiant and afraid and challenging the universe all at once. Mo Jian smiled.

"All right," he said, with complete sincerity.

"I'll look forward to it. By the time you reincarnate, the name Mo Jian will have no peers. That's how we'll recognize each other; two demonic-sounding cultivators, peerless under the Heaven." The ghost stared at him, stunned into silence. Then he swallowed, straightened his back, and stood tall.

"It's a promise," he said firmly.

"Just you wait." Mo Jian nodded, surprised to find himself completely unsurprised by how much he believed it.

"So what now?" he asked.

"How do I return? Will it happen once you go deeper, farther from the river?" The ghost smiled, something knowing and almost amused flickering in his eyes.

"Not quite. Once I leave this place, you can return to the world of the living at any time. But do take the Netherworld Scorpion with you." Mo Jian tilted his head, puzzled.

"For all your complaints about luck," the ghost continued, "you are absurdly fortunate right now. In all of history, there has never been a single case of anyone returning to life with a Netherworld Scorpion still bound to them." He paused, clearly savoring the moment.

"It won't be able to resurrect you again," the ghost said.

"That privilege is gone. But I can hazard a guess as to what it will allow you to do instead." His smile sharpened.

"I would give my entire fortune in spirit stones to see Old Devil Fu's face when he realizes it too." Mo Jian raised an eyebrow, genuinely taken aback. He hadn't expected that. The scorpion would return with him, changed, and whatever remained of its power would not simply vanish. And-"A new ability," he murmured. It made sense. He hadn't yet refined the scorpion into an artifact spirit, as he'd originally planned. Now that it would return with him, the refinement would surely yield something different.

Even if it could no longer grant him another life, whatever it became would have to stand on equal footing to that loss. At the very least.

"And you won't be the same either," the ghost continued, his tone still measured, though satisfaction crept in around the edges.

"You took half a step into the Nascent Soul realm. That won't disappear. The Heaven Enshrouding Ding is stronger after being tempered in nascent flames. Your qi won't increase, but your control will be leagues beyond what's normal." He looked at Mo Jian steadily.

"There shouldn't be a single Core Formation cultivator who can match you anymore. You might even be able to trade a few blows with a Nascent Soul senior before losing." Then, more quietly, "And it will make the path forward easier. You already know where you stand. No one at Core Formation has ever gone this far. Nascent Soul is only half a step away. Take it."

And then, as if forcing the words out before his resolve failed him, he said suddenly, unprompted: "The osmanthus wine at the Drunken Moon Pavilion on Mengxia Street." He spoke the way someone says something they've been carrying for a long time without quite realizing it.

"Third table from the left. The one facing the canal. That was the best thing." A pause.

"In my entire life," he finished.

"That was the best thing." Mo Jian looked at him.

"I thought you should know," the ghost said, without any particular inflection.

"Since you're living in my life." Mo Jian made a note of it. He didn't say so aloud. The ghost didn't wait for a response. He lifted the illusory scorpion from his shoulder and hurled it across the river. Mo Jian reacted on instinct, catching it as it reached him. The scorpion weighed almost nothing; there was no heft or resistance to it, like grasping at a drifting thought. It immediately scuttled up his hand and settled on his shoulder, calm and unperturbed.

"You-" Mo Jian started, his pulse spiking.

"What was that? Be careful." The ghost was already walking away. Red spider lilies rippled as though a wind had passed through them, though the air itself remained still. Mo Jian's words reached the ghost's back, but he didn't slow. He only raised one hand in a brief, careless wave. Then the fog closed in. In a breath, he was gone, not a trace left behind. Only the river remained, flowing on in silence, the shore burning red with flowers. Mo Jian stood there for a long moment. Finally, he exhaled.

"Trying to look cool to the very end," he muttered. He reached up and tentatively patted the scorpion on the head. His finger passed through it like mist.

"The fight's not over yet," he murmured. He had spent a long time running. He was, he decided, tired of it. Now, it was time for round two.