mdzs-english

[mdzs-english]

Chapter 3: Wild and Free 2 (Making a Scene)

Wei Wuxian wanted to wash up and see his host’s face, but there was no water in the room, neither for drinking nor for bathing. The only basin-shaped object, he surmised, was used as a toilet, and thus completely unsuitable. He pushed on the door, but it was bolted from the outside, presumably to prevent him from running amok.

Wei Wuxian had finally been reborn, and he wasn’t able to enjoy it one bit!

He might as well sit a while, adapt to his host. He wound up meditating the whole day. When he opened his eyes, sunlight was leaking into the room through the cracks in the door and shutters. Though he could stand up and walk around, he was still dizzy, his condition not much improved. It was strange. “Mo Xuanyu’s spiritual energy is negligible. Why can’t I control his body? What’s causing this?”

Then his stomach rumbled, and he realized it had nothing to do with spiritual energy. This body wasn’t used to fasting. It was hunger, nothing more. If he didn’t find food soon, he might be the first evil spirit to be brought back to life, only to starve to death immediately.

Wei Wuxian had taken a deep breath and raised his foot, prepared to kick the door down, when suddenly the sound of footsteps approached. Someone kicked at the door, impatiently yelling, “Mealtime!”

That didn’t mean the door was going to open. Wei Wuxian looked down and saw that the main door had a smaller door that opened below it. A small bowl had been placed before it.

“Quickly!” the servant outside called. “Quit dawdling, eat up and give the bowl back.”

The door was smaller than a dog flap, large enough for a bowl but too small for a person to pass through. There were two dishes and one serving of strange-looking rice. Wei Wuxian prodded at it with the chopsticks and thought sadly:

When the Yiling Patriarch returned, he was kicked down, chewed out, and given cold leftovers for his first meal. What carnage should result? Not even the chickens and the dogs left alive? The whole family extinguished? Tell anyone who would believe it. He was a tiger in Pingyang nipped at by dogs, a dragon in the shallow waters of Longyou harassed by shrimp. A plucked phoenix is less than a chicken.

This time, when the servants outside the door called, they sounded like they were grinning. “A’ding! Get over here!”

A crisp female voice replied from far away, “A’tong, are you giving the guy in there some food?”

“What else would I be doing in this wretched courtyard?” A’tong spit back.

A’ding’s voice appeared closer, like she was right in front of the door. “You only feed him once a day. When you’re goofing off no one calls you out, yet you say it’s wretched? Look at me. There’s too much to do for me to go out and have fun. ”

“I don’t just have to feed him,” A’tong complained. “Besides, would you dare go out these days? With this many walking dead, what family doesn’t have their doors sealed up tight.”

Wei Wuxian crouched by the door, tossing aside his two different-length chopsticks, and listened as he ate.

It seemed Mo Manor had had little peace of late. The walking dead, as their name implied, were corpses that walked, a relatively minor and common type of corpse transformation. They were generally dead-eyed, slow-moving, and of limited destructive power, but they alarmed the common people, and their stench alone was enough to induce vomiting.

However, to Wei Wuxian, they were the easiest to control, most obedient puppets. He felt a sense of fond familiarity at hearing them discussed.

“If you want to go out, bring me. I’ll protect you,” A’tong flirted.

“You’ll protect me? You talk a big game. You really think you can hold those things off?”

“If I can’t hold them off, no one can,” A’tong retorted.

A’ding laughed. “How do you know? I’m telling you, cultivators have already arrived at Mo Manor. I heard they’re from an illustrious clan! Mo-furen is greeting them in the hall, and everyone crowded in for the occasion. Didn’t you hear the racket? I don’t have time for you, they’ll probably send me on an errand any second.”

Wei Wuxian listened raptly. To the east, a faint clamor of voices could indeed be heard. He thought for a moment, then rose. He kicked the door and the bolt gave with a loud crack.

The two servants, who had been giggling and making eyes at one another, were startled into a screech when the doors flung open to either side of them. Wei Wuxian tossed his dishes aside and made a break for it, eyes burning in the sudden glare of the sunlight. His skin prickled, and he shaded his eyes with his hand, closing his eyes briefly.

A’tong’s screech was sharper than A’ding’s. Composing himself, he saw the headcase everyone bullied and regained his courage. Trying to save face, he jumped over and shouted, “Get back in there! What are you doing out here?” waving like Wei Wuxian was a misbehaving dog.

A beggar or a housefly wouldn’t have been treated worse. Mo Xuanyu had never resisted, giving them free rein. Wei Wuxian kicked A’tong lightly and laughed, “Who do you think you’re talking to?”

Wei Wuxian followed the noise east to a courtyard full of people, with more crammed into the hall. As soon as he set foot in the courtyard, a woman’s voice called out over the din, “One of our clan’s youths was a cultivator...”

That must be Mo-furen, scrambling to build a bridge between herself and the cultivation world. Without waiting for her to finish, Wei Wuxian forced his way through the crowd into the hall, waving enthusiastically and shouting, “I’m coming, I’m coming! Don’t worry, I made it.”

In the hall sat a middle-aged woman, well put-together, in fine clothes: Mo-furen. Her husband was seated before her. Facing them sat a number of white-clad youths with swords strapped across their backs. At the emergence of a disheveled weirdo from the crowd, the hall fell silent. Wei Wuxian pretended not to notice the frozen scene around him and continued, unabashed: “You called? The cultivator you mentioned, that could only be me.”

The powder was too thick, and it cracked when he smiled, fluttering to the ground. One of the youths in white snorted, stifling a laugh. The one next to him, who seemed to be in charge, glared disapprovingly, and he schooled his face back into a neutral expression.

Wei Wuxian surveyed the scene, startled. He thought the visitors had been exaggerated by naive servants, but they really were young cultivators from an “illustrious clan.”

Magic seemed to float from those graceful robes and flowing belts. One only had to glance at that uniform to recognize the Lan clan of Gusu. And these disciples were blood relatives of the Lan family—thin white ribbons circled their foreheads, decorated with wisps of cloud.

The Lan clan’s motto was “Stand Upright.” The ribbons represented self-restraint, and the cloud was the symbol of the Lan family itself. When visiting disciples from other families wore the ribbon, the cloud was not present. Seeing Lans made Wei Wuxian’s teeth ache. In a past life, he had always joked that the uniform looked like funeral garb. He would recognize it anywhere.

Mo-furen hadn’t seen her nephew in some time, and it took a while for her to recover from the shock. Upon recognizing the painted man, her rage mounted. Still in control of herself, she murmured to her husband, “Whoever let him out, put him back again.”

Her husband smiled apologetically, but when the unlucky bastard got up to grab him, Wei Wuxian threw himself down, hugging the floor. He couldn’t be dragged away, and calling in more servants didn’t help, other than to prevent other people from seeing him kick. Watching the look on Mo-furen’s face turn ugly, her husband snapped, “You lunatic! If you don’t get out of here, you wait and see what I’ll do to you.”

Although everyone in Mo Manor knew one of the Mos was a dangerous madman, Mo Xuanyu had been secluded in his dingy room for years, not daring to show his face. When people saw his ghoulish makeup and behavior, whispers sprung up. They were afraid only of missing a good show.

“If you want me to go back,” Wei Wuxian said, extending a finger towards Mo Ziyuan, “tell him to return my stuff he stole.”

Mo Ziyuan, shocked that this lunatic had the nerve first to scold him and then to show up here, turned blotchy and yelled, “Bullshit! When did I steal from you? I don’t need your stuff.”

“Right, right,” Wei Wuxian said. “You didn’t steal from me, you robbed me.”

Mo-furen could see clearly now. Mo Xuanyu wasn’t crazy: he had planned this. He was trying to ruin them. Vitriolically, she said, “You came here to cause trouble, didn’t you?”

“He stole from me, and I came to get my stuff back,” Wei Wuxian said blankly. “You call that causing trouble?”

Mo-furen was silent. Mo Ziyuan was beginning to get nervous, and he wound up to deliver a kick. One of the white-clad disciples twitched a finger, and Mo Ziyuan wobbled, kicking the air, and ended up knocking himself over. Wei Wuxian rolled over as if he really had been kicked, tearing open his lapels to reveal the mark Mo Ziyuan’s shoe had left the day before.

The denizens of Mo Manor, who had been watching eagerly, became excited: it would have been impossible for Mo Xuanyu to leave the footprint himself. The Mo family must be cruel even to their own blood. Mo Xuanyu didn’t return to Mo Manor insane—he was most likely driven to madness. Any excitement was okay with the assembled crowd, and this was even more entertaining than the arrival of the cultivators!

With this many witnesses, Mo-furen could neither strike him nor leave. She was forced to hold her nose and compromise. Faintly, she said, “Theft? Robbery? This accusation is difficult to process—between friends, that’s just borrowing. A’yuan is your little brother, so what if he borrows your things? How can a big brother be so stingy? Acting like a child over such a small matter is foolish. It’s not like he won’t return them.”

Several of the white-clad youths looked at each other in dismay, and one who had just taken a sip of tea nearly choked. Children raised in the Lan clan of Gusu were pure as the fresh-driven snow, and had probably never seen such a farce, or heard such wisdom. This was a learning experience for them. Wei Wuxian, cackling on the inside, held out a hand and asked, “Then you’ll give it back?”

Mo Ziyuan, of course, did not. What was gone was gone, and what was destroyed was destroyed. Even if he could return it, he wouldn’t. Looking pale, he yelled, “A’niang!” His glare said, Are you going to let him humiliate me like this? 

Mo-furen glared back, silently ordering him not to cause an even uglier scene. Wei Wuxian interjected, “While we’re at it, not only should he not steal from me, he especially shouldn’t do it in the middle of the night. Everyone knows I like men. Even if he doesn’t have the sense to be ashamed, I know how to stay under the radar.”

Mo-furen took a shocked breath and shouted, “How dare you say this in front of the villagers and your elders? You really are shameless! A’yuan is your cousin!”

Wei Wuxian was an expert at bad behavior. Long ago, he had minded his manners here and there so that no one could accuse him of lacking good breeding. Now he was a madman, with no reputation to lose. He was expected to make a scene, so he could do what he pleased. He ducked his chin and said righteously, “He knows full well he’s my cousin, and yet he still can’t avoid suspicion! Who is shameless here? You won’t admit it, but don’t impugn my innocence! I’m still searching for a good man.”

Mo Ziyuan shouted and swung a chair. Wei Wuxian had finally gotten him to explode. In one motion, he sat up and dodged, and the chair smashed against the ground. The throngs of people milling about the East Hall had originally delighted in seeing the Mo clan lose face big time, but scattered as soon as the chair broke apart, afraid they’d be next if they weren’t careful. Wei Wuxian dodged behind the Lan disciples, who were sitting agape, and said reproachfully, “Did you see that? Did you see? He steals things and hits people, utterly heartless!”

Mo Ziyuan came after him, flailing, but his path was blocked by the head disciple. “This, uh, gongzi has something to say.”

Mo-furen saw that the disciples intended to protect this lunatic. Holding back fear, she forced out a smile. “This is my sister’s boy. Here, it’s complicated. Everyone in Mo Manor knows he’s insane. He says a lot of things you can’t take seriously. Cultivators, you must…” She trailed off, and Wei Wuxian poked his head out from behind the disciples.

“Who says you can’t take me seriously? The next time someone tries to steal from me, I’ll chop their hand off.”

Mo Ziyuan, who had been restrained by his father, broke loose upon hearing this. Wei Wuxian shrieked and leapt like a fish out the door. The disciples rushed to block his re-entrance, and, changing the topic, one earnestly declared, “Then… then tonight we will borrow the West Courtyard. Please bear in mind what I said before. After dusk, close your doors tightly and do not wander, and especially do not go near that courtyard.”

Mo-furen breathed shakily and did not object, just said, “Yes, we won’t, thank you for your help.”

Incredulously, Mo Ziyuan said, “Ma! That madman slandered me in front of everyone, and you let it go? You said, you said he was just a…”

Mo-furen cut him off. “Shut up! What do you have to say that you can’t say later?”

Mo Ziyuan had never experienced this treatment, been embarrassed this way. His mother had never scolded him like this. Full of hatred, he roared, “Tonight, this lunatic is going to die!”

The show over, Wei Wuxian slipped away from Mo Manor. He did a loop around town, taking pleasure in startling passersby and beginning to understand the joys of being a madman. The hanged-ghost makeup was a factor, and he was loathe to wash it off. He couldn’t bathe without water anyway. He fixed his hair and glanced at his wrists. The gashes there were unchanged. Clearly, bringing Mo Xuanyu’s struggles to light was far from adequate retaliation. 

Would he really have to exterminate the Mo clan?

...Honestly, that wouldn’t be difficult.

Wei Wuxian pondered this as he wandered back to Mo Manor. When he tiptoed over to the West Courtyard, he saw Lan disciples standing atop the roof and walls, engaged in serious discussion. He retreated quietly—they would definitely notice him.

Although the Gusu Lan clan had headed the siege against him, this generation of cultivators either weren’t born then, or were toddlers. He didn’t need to worry about them. Wei Wuxian stopped and circled back to see what they were doing. As he watched, he suddenly felt strange.

The black flags, planted on the roof and walls and fluttering in the wind—why were they so familiar?

These flags were called “Yin Summoning Flags.” When stuck into the body of a living person, they would attract all manner of beings of Yin energy, like vengeful ghosts, fierce corpses, and evil spirits, which would then only attack the victim. Being stabbed with such a flag would turn a person into a target, so they were also called “Target Flags.” They could also be used on a house, in which case their range would extend to all its living occupants. Because Yin energy would linger wherever the flags were used, swirling around in the form of a black wind, they were also known as “Black Wind Flags.” The disciples had arranged the flags in the West Courtyard and warned bystanders to keep away. They must have planned to draw the walking dead here, catching them all in one net. 

As for why they were familiar… how could they not be? Yin-Summoning Flags were invented by the Yiling Patriarch!

Though the cultivation clans raged against him, fought and killed him, it was alright for them to use what he made…

A disciple on the roof spotted him, calling, “Go back, please! You shouldn’t be here.”

Although he was shooing him away, he did it kindly, his tone very different from that of the servants. Taking advantage of his unguardedness, Wei Wuxian leapt up and snatched one of the flags.

The disciple startled. He jumped down from the wall to give chase. “Don’t mess with that! You shouldn’t take this stuff!”

Wei Wuxian shouted as he ran, disheveled and flailing like a real madman, “No, I won’t! I want it! It’s mine!”

The disciple got within two steps of him and grabbed his arm, saying “Will you give it back? If you don’t, I’ll hit you!”

Wei Wuxian held the flag in a deathgrip. The head disciple, who had been arranging the flags, heard the disturbance and leapt lightly down from the roof. “Jingyi, let it go. We’ll get it back nicely. There’s no need to bicker.”

“Sizhui, I didn’t really hit him,” Lan Jingyi said. “Look, he’s made a mess of the flags!”

In this time, Wei Wuxian rapidly finished inspecting the Yin Summoning Flag in his hand. The figures were drawn correctly, the spellwork wasn’t bad, and there were no careless mistakes. It was usable. The flag’s maker was just inexperienced, and the markings would only be able to attract a handful of evil spirits and walking dead. That was good enough.

Lan Sizhui smiled at him and said, “Mo-gongzi, it’s getting dark. The corpses will be drawn here soon. It would be best if you hurried home.”

Wei Wuxian sized up the disciple. He was polite and refined, with an impressive bearing and a small smile at the corner of his mouth. He was a young sapling worthy of praise. He had arranged the flags in perfect order, and his upbringing was clearly acceptable. Wei Wuxian didn’t know who in Gusu, that dreadful, old-fashioned place, could have raised a kid like this.

Lan Sizhui said, “This flag…”

Before he could finish, Wei Wuxian threw the Yin Summoning flag to the ground, hurrumping. “Just a lousy flag! What’s so special about it? I could draw one better than you all!” Then he ran off.

The disciples still on the roof watching the scene heard him boasting, and they laughed so hard they almost fell to the ground. Lan Jingyi huffed a laugh as well, gathering the Yin Summoning Flag and shaking out the dirt. “He really is a lunatic.”

“Don’t say that. Here, come help me,” Lan Sizhui responded.

Wei Wuxian headed off to do a couple more circuits of the manor, not returning to Mo Xuanyu’s little courtyard until nightfall. The bolt was already broken, and no one had tidied up the mess inside. Ignoring this, he looked around, choosing a clear spot on the ground to sit and meditate.

Before dawn broke, a wave of noise from outside pulled him from his meditative state. He could hear footsteps, crying, and panicked yells heading his direction. People were shouting over each other, “Get in there! Drag him out!” “Report him!” “What do you mean, report him? Beat him to death!” 

He opened his eyes to see a group of servants had rushed in. The courtyard was ablaze, and someone was shouting, “Drag the crazy murderer to the Main Hall! He’ll pay with his life!”

#mdzs #cql #the untamed #grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation #translation #chapter 3 #wei wuxian #a'ding #a'tong #mo ziyuan #mo furen #lan jingyi #lan sizhui

[mdzs-english]

Chapter 2: Wild and Free 1

Wei Wuxian opened his eyes to a swift kick in the gut. A thunderous voice shouted in his ear, “Are you playing dead?”

Wei Wuxian felt like he was going to vomit blood. The back of his head hit the ground, and he gazed skyward, hazily thinking that it took some nerve to kick the Yiling Patriarch. He didn’t know how many years had passed since he last heard a living person speak, much less hassle him like that. Dizzily, he tried to focus on what sounded like a duck quacking.

“Don’t even think about it. Whose land are you living on? Whose food are you eating? Whose money are you spending? How could I steal from you, when it’s all mine to begin with!”

All around him came the sound of the room being torn apart. Gradually, Wei Wuxian’s vision cleared, and the sight of a dark ceiling emerged, alongside a sickly face sputtering with rage.

“And then you dare go and tell someone! Did you think I was afraid of being caught? Did you really think anyone here would be on your side?”

The smashing sounds stopped, and from the periphery, two well-built servants called, “Gongzi, we’re done.”

“That fast?” the duck-voiced man asked.

“There’s not much in here,” a servant answered.

Satisfied, the duck-voiced man turned to Wei Wuxian, who itched to bash his nose back into his head. “You dared to turn me in,” he said. “Now who are you playing dead for? These useless, discarded scraps of metal? Everything I gave you is destroyed. Who are you going to tell! You study cultivation for a few years and you think that makes you somebody? You still came running back with your tail between your legs.”

Still feeling half-dead, Wei Wuxian thought:

I’ve been dead for years; I don’t have to pretend.

Who is this?

Where is this?

When did I possess someone else’s body???

The duck-voiced man, having kicked Wei Wuxian and wrecked the room, had vented enough of his anger. With the two servants, he strutted out the door, slamming it and ordering, “Watch him! Don’t let him leave and make a scene.”

The guards outside assented, and the sound of footsteps faded away. Silence fell, and Wei Wuxian tried to sit up. His body wasn’t having it, so he slumped back down. He flipped over to take in the unfamiliar mess surrounding him, still feeling faint.

To one side there lay a copper mirror that had been tossed to the ground. Wei Wuxian groped for it and looked. A strange white face appeared on its surface, with a red, blotchy, asymmetrical lump on each of its cheeks. He was one distended, scarlett tongue away from looking like a hanged man’s ghost.

Disgusted, Wei Wuxian tossed the mirror aside. He wiped his face and found white powder smeared across his hand. Luckily, this body wasn’t naturally strange—the owner just had strange tastes. A big man who slathered his face in powder and rouge—he looked like a clown.

Bolstered by his fear, Wei Wuxian finally sat up, and realized he had been lying atop a sigil. It was an irregular round shape, seemingly hand-drawn in blood. It was still wet, and Wei Wuxian could smell it. In the center, incantations were scrawled. They had been smeared by his body, but the remaining fragments had a dark, sinister aura. Wei Wuxian had spent years being called the Supreme Demonic Master, the Founder of the Devil’s Path, and other such names. Dark magic was as familiar to him as breathing, and he knew at a glance the sigil was nothing good.

He hadn’t possessed someone’s body—it had been offered.

An offering like that is a curse. The offeror must mutilate themselves, cutting deep into their own flesh and using the blood to paint the sigil and incantations. Then they sit in the center, offering their physical body to a wicked spirit. For the price of their own soul, the spirit will fulfill their deepest desire. This offering is completely different from possession. Both rituals are maligned and forbidden, but the former lacks the latter’s practicality and popularity. After all, it’s rare a living person has a desire so strong, they will give everything to see it fulfilled. Thus, as the centuries passed, the ritual was nearly forgotten. Ancient texts only record a handful of instances of its use over the millenia. Without exception, the offeror desired revenge, and the wicked spirit achieved it in a merciless, bloody way.

Wei Wuxian was not convinced. Why should he be labeled a spirit wicked beyond all redemption? His reputation wasn’t great, and his death had been ugly, but 1) he never haunted anyone and 2) he never took revenge. You couldn’t find a more peaceful and dutiful ghost than he in all of heaven and earth.

The problem was, the wishes of the offeror were paramount. Even if Wei Wuxian objected, occupying the body alone was a tacit agreement. He must achieve the offeror’s goals, or else the curse would rebound and he, the summoned spirit, would be extinguished, never to be reborn.

Wei Wuxian tore open his robes and raised his hands to look. Sure enough, both wrists were crisscrossed with ugly gashes, as if they had been slashed at by a sharp object. The wounds had stopped bleeding, but Wei Wuxian could tell they weren’t ordinary injuries. If he didn’t do what the offeror wanted, they would never heal. The longer he delayed, the worse they would get, and if he waited too long, his body and soul would be torn apart.

Wei Wuxian thought it over again and again, wondering how this could have possibly happened. Finally, he was able to push himself up using the wall.

The room was large, but squalid and bare. He couldn’t begin to guess how long it had been since the moldy-smelling bedding had been washed. In the corner, a bamboo wastebasket had been kicked over, and scraps of paper and other filth littered the floor. One balled-up page seemed to carry ink marks. Wei Wuxian picked it up and smoothed it out. Sure enough, it was covered in densely-written words. He hurriedly gathered all the papers from the ground.

The words on the paper must have been written when the body’s original occupant was at a low point and needed to vent. Some passages were confusing or incoherent. The author’s anxiety was evident in his twisted handwriting, leaping off the page at the reader. Wei Wuxian patiently scanned each page. The more he read, the more he began to feel something wasn’t right.

With some guesswork, Wei Wuxian was able to clear up a few things. First, his host was Mo Xuanyu, and this place was called Mo Manor. Mo Xuanyu’s grandfather was a local lord from a clan with few children. He had no sons—years of diligent plowing had only resulted in two daughters. Their names went unmentioned, but the elder, legitimate daughter’s husband lived with the family. The younger daughter, though beautiful, was born to a servant, and the Mo family originally planned to marry her off at random. Unexpectedly, when she was sixteen a young lord had passed through and fell in love with her instantly. The two used Mo Manor to carry out their tryst, and a year later, she gave birth to a son: Mo Xuanyu.

The people of Mo Manor generally despised this sort of thing, but everyone loved cultivators. In their eyes, members of cultivation families were heaven-blessed, mysterious and noble. From time to time, the young lord would aid local families, so popular opinion changed completely. The affair became a point of pride for the Mo family, and the envy of all the rest.

But nothing lasts forever, and the young lord was hungry for something new. Before two years had passed he was sick of Mo Manor, and came around less and less often. By the time Mo Xuanyu was four, he had disappeared entirely.

In these years, the winds shifted again. Contempt and ridicule returned, now with added pity and disdain. The younger daughter never gave up, believing the young lord wouldn’t abandon the son she’d born him. Sure enough, when Mo Xuanyu was fourteen, the lord dispatched a contingent of men to invite him to return to his father.

The younger daughter held her head high once more. Although she could not accompany her son, she swept aside the sullen sighs and raised eyebrows of her past, proudly proclaiming to everyone she met that her son was going to become a great cultivator and bring honor to his family. The people of Mo Manor were all atwitter, their attitudes once again changed.

However, before Mo Xuanyu could become a successful cultivator and his father’s heir, he was sent back home.

The business that drove him back was ugly. Because Mo Xuanyu was gay, and recklessly harassed his fellow disciples, he became embroiled in a public scandal. As he was of mediocre talent and unlikely to contribute to the field of cultivation, there was no reason for the clan to allow him to stay.

When it rains, it pours. Mo Xuanyu couldn’t take it. After returning, he became deranged, scared of his own shadow.

Wei Wuxian read all this with eyebrows raised. A homosexual, okay, and a madman. No wonder he was slathered in so much makeup he looked like a hanged man. No wonder no one had blinked at the sight of the huge sigil on the floor, dripping with blood. Even if Mo Xuanyu had painted the whole room with blood, from floor to walls to ceiling, they wouldn’t have been surprised. Everyone knew he was sick in the head.

Mo Xuanyu returned home to taunts and jeers. This time, there was no recourse. His mother couldn’t take the shock. She buried her resentment deep inside herself, and it smothered her.

Mo Xuanyu’s grandfather had already died, and his aunt led the family. Mo-furen had never been able to stand her younger sister, and was even more dismissive of her sister’s bastard. She only had one child, Mo Ziyuan, the same man who had just ransacked the room. When Mo Xuanyu was whisked away, Mo-furen couldn’t sever her slight ties to the cultivation world, hoping an emissary would some day arrive to send Mo Ziyuan off to study cultivation as well. Naturally, he was refused, which is to say he was ignored.

No kidding! Cultivation wasn’t like haggling over cabbage in the marketplace—there was no buy one, get one. Wei Wuxian didn’t know where this family’s arrogance came from. They all had strange notions—that Mo Ziyuan was a cultivator in his bones, that he was gifted, that if he had been the one sent to train, they would have become a renowned cultivation family. That he wouldn’t have been a disappointment like his cousin. Mo Ziyuan, though he was still young when Mo Xuanyu went away, had had this nonsense drilled into his skull since childhood and believed it absolutely. He tormented Mo Xuanyu two days out of every three, ranting that he had robbed him of his own future as a cultivator. He coveted the talismans, drugs, and devices that Mo Xuanyu had brought back from the cultivation world and considered them his own, taking or destroying them as he pleased. Though Mo Xuanyu was often sick, he knew he was being demeaned. He bore the humiliation, but Mo Ziyuan just increased it, almost emptying the room. Eventually, Mo Xuanyu couldn’t take it anymore. He stood before his aunt and uncle and, stammering, gave his testimony. Then, today, Mo Ziyuan burst into the room.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes burned as he stared at the small, dense writing. What kind of fucking half-life was this? No wonder Mo Xuanyu would rather offer up his body and ask a spirit to avenge him.

The ache in his eyes migrated to his head. Normally, the offeror whispered his desire inside his own mind. As the evil spirit he had summoned, Wei Wuxian should have been able to hear his detailed request, but he was afraid that whatever fragment Mo Xuanyu had exfiltrated this forbidden ritual from was incomplete. That step was missing. Wei Wuxian could guess he wanted some kind of reprisal against the Mo family, but what? How extreme? Should he steal things back? Beat them? Or… wipe them out?

Probably wipe them out. Anyone mixed up in cultivation knew the words most often associated with Wei Wuxian: Heartless. Sick in the head. Bites the hand that feeds him. Who better to dance with these particular devils? Mo Xuanyu had dared call him by name. One thing was for sure, his wish wasn’t for them to be let off lightly.

Wei Wuxian said helplessly, “You chose the wrong man…”

#mdzs #cql #the untamed #grandmaster of demonic cultivation #translation #chapter 2 #wei wuxian #mo ziyuan #mo xuanyu

[mdzs-english]

yooo good luck! you got this and I'm sure lots of people will appreciate it :)

aw, thank you so much! i’m doing this in large part to sharpen up my vocabulary, as well, so it should be fun AND a hell of a learning experience :)

#ask me anything #Anonymous

[mdzs-english]

Chapter 1: Rebirth

“Wei Wuxian is dead. Rejoice!”

The great siege of the Burial Mounds had ended. Before the sun rose on the second day, the news grew wings and flew through the entire world of cultivation, faster than even the fires of war were spreading. For a while, every cultivator, regardless of family name or lack thereof, was talking about the alliance of four great clans that led hundreds of others in the chaotic siege.

“Hooray, glorious news! Which great hero killed the Yiling Patriarch?”

“Who but his fellow disciple, his brother, the young leader of the Jiang clan, Jiang Cheng? The Jiangs of Yunmeng, the Jins of Lanling, the Lans of Gusu, and the Nies of Qinghe—these four great clans led the assault. Jiang Cheng placed duty before family and cleared out Wei Wuxian’s nest in the Burial Mounds.”

“I have to be honest: his death is a blessing.”

Someone reached out with a comforting hand, responding brightly: “You’re right, it is a blessing. If the Jiang clan of Yunmeng hadn’t taken him in and trained him, Wei Ying would have spent his life as a beggar in the market, or wandering the countryside… What else is there to say. The old Jiang clan leader raised him like he was his own son, and Wei Ying tossed it all aside, openly betraying him. He made enemies of hundreds of clans, embarrassed the Jiang clan, and caused the deaths of almost the entire Jiang family. He’s a stray dog that bit the hand that fed him, nothing more!”

“I can’t believe Jiang Cheng let a servant run rampant for so long. If it were me, I would have struck Wei Whoever down the moment he defected, then cleaned up the clan immediately. Otherwise one of the others might turn rabid. What should a man like that care about a childhood friendship?”

“I heard something different. Didn’t Wei Ying’s own dark magic backfire, and the Ghost General under his control devoured him? I heard he was torn to pieces so small, he was basically powder.”

“Ha, that’s karma in this life. I was going to say, those ghosts he raised are like a pack of wild dogs without leashes. They’ll maul anyone, so eventually they mauled him to death. Rightly so!”

“Be that as it may, if the younger Jiang hadn’t come up with a plan to exploit the Yiling Patriarch’s weaknesses, it’s hard to say whether the siege of the Burial Mounds would have succeeded. Don’t forget what Wei Wuxian had in his hands—he wiped out an army of over three thousand renowned cultivators in a single night.”

“Wasn’t it five thousand?”

“Three thousand, five thousand, whatever. I think five thousand is more like it.”

“Heartless, sick in the head…”

“He destroyed the Yin Tiger Amulet before he died, so he still had some heart. Otherwise he would have left the ghosts to wreak havoc on the earth—an even greater crime.”

At the words “Yin Tiger Amulet,” an apprehensive silence fell. After a moment, someone sighed regretfully.

“Wei Wuixan had the world at his feet. He was from a wealthy, prestigious family, he had good qualities. Famous from a young age, well-regarded, free-thinking… How did he end up on this path?”

The topic changed, the babble of conversation began again.

“It just goes to show that in the end, cultivators must conform to the traditional way! On the crooked path, the possibilities seem endless at first glance—no restrictions, amazing! But hey, where do you end up?”

A voice rang out: “Dead, without a corpse to bury!”

“But cultivation wasn’t the only problem. Ultimately, Wei Wuxian lacked character, bringing down heaven’s wrath. When it comes to good and evil, nature wins out in the end…”

……

Don’t judge a dead man until the coffin is nailed shut. The conversation won’t change, but otherwise, a faint sound may be drowned out. 

There was a hazy thought lingered in everyone’s mind. Though the body of Wei Wuxian, the Yiling Patriarch, died at the Burial Mounds, his soul could not be summoned.

Perhaps it was split among ten thousand ghosts and swallowed up. Then again—perhaps it escaped.

In the former case, there would naturally be universal celebration. However, the Yiling Patriarch shook the heavens and drowned the earth. He could move mountains and drain seas—at least, he was rumored to. Resisting a summoning would not be difficult. If his spirit were to be reborn, hundreds of clans, or even all of humanity, would meet with further heartless, mindless vengeance, sinking into darkness among foul winds and bloody rain.

Thus, after placing ten dozen stone beasts atop the Burial Mounds, every major clan began to conduct frequent rituals in an attempt to summon his soul. They also began to investigate cases of possession, and placed sentinels across the land to watch for any strange apparitions. 

The first year, all was quiet.

The second year, all was quiet.

The third year, all was quiet.

……

The thirteenth year, all was still quiet.

By then, more and more people were convinced that perhaps Wei Wuxian hadn’t been that extraordinary. Perhaps he had been extinguished entirely. If once he could dispel clouds and rain with a wave of his hand, perhaps now he too had been dispelled. No one remains enshrined on the altar forever. Legends are only legends. Nothing more.

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #grandmaster of demonic cultivation #cql #the untamed #translation #chapter 1 #wei wuxian #jiang cheng

[mdzs-english]

Welcome to MDZS in English!

This is a blog dedicated to the creation of a new English translation of Mo Xiang Tong Xiu’s novel Mo Dao Zu Shi. This blog will aim to update Mondays, with new chapters each week. The goal is to create a natural-sounding English translation that remains faithful to the original text. The Chinese text being referenced comes from luoxia.com. Enjoy!

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #grandmaster of demonic cultivation #translation #the untamed #cql #chen qing ling #welcome post