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Mo Dao Zu Shi: Chapter 6

Masterpost

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Once the sky darkened further, it would be impossible to navigate the forest without a torch. Wei Wuxian continued for a while into the mountain but, surprisingly, encountered barely anyone. Did so many houses really decide to stay in Fojiao Village, arguing and playing armchair general instead of hunting? And had other houses, like the people he had met earlier, really reached their wits’ end and decided to return empty-handed?

Suddenly, cries of help echoed somewhere ahead of him.

“Someone! Please!”

“Rescue us!”

Some of the voices were men, some were women, but all had the panicked, helpless tone of people lost in the wild mountains. There was an eighty to ninety percent chance that this was the work of evil spirits, attempting to lead ignorant naifs into their traps. But Wei Wuxian was very pleased.

The eviler the better! He was only afraid that they wouldn’t be evil enough.

He slapped the donkey and rode toward the sounds’ origin. He saw nothing in any of the four directions, but when he looked upward, he discovered that there were, in fact, no monsters, demons, or ghosts, only the family of small time cultivators he had met near the rice paddies, who were now hanging from the trees in brilliant golden nets.

The middle aged man had originally brought his descendants with him to scout the area, but they didn’t encounter any of the prey they had expected. Instead, they had stepped in some rich person’s net, they didn’t know whose, and were captured and dangled from the tree branches, where they could only complain bitterly and wait for rescue. Sensing someone approaching, they were suddenly overjoyed, but when they saw the person was the lunatic, they immediately lost hope. The binding nets were made of very thin ropes but high quality material; thus, they held fast and didn’t break. Once they caught you, whether you were a god or a ghost or a demon, you had to struggle for a long time in order to break free. Only other, better spiritual tools could cut you out. The lunatic said he’d help them get down, but who knew if he even knew what he was dealing with.

Just as they were about to shout at him to find help, the sound of agile feet dashing over branches and leaves approached them. Through the black mountain forest swept a youth wearing a light, pale robe.

This young master had a vermillion mark between his eyebrows. His features were delicate and pretty, yet also harsh and unkind, and he was very young, around Lan Sizhui’s age. He was still half a child, but held a longbow in his hand, wore a quiver of arrows on his back, and a long sword which shined with golden light and glittered with gemstones. The embroidery on his clothes was as exquisite as any, uniting into a white peony over his chest, the golden threads slim glimmers in the night.

Wei Wuxian sighed and muttered, “Rich people!”

The boy was surely some young master from the Lanling Jin Clan. Only that clan used the white peony as its emblem, suggesting that their own beauty was comparable to the flower’s. The white peony was also the king of flowers, and thus through it, the Lanling Jin Clan also subtly advertised that it, too, was the king of cultivators. The vermillion mark on their foreheads represented “enlightenment and ideals illuminating the world.”

The young master had originally nocked an arrow on his bow, itching to shoot, but upon seeing that the binding nets contained only people, he was sorely disappointed. He whipped around suddenly, irritation written across his face. “Every single time it’s you idiots. There are over 400 binding nets hanging around this mountain and none of them have caught anything, but already you people have ruined nearly twenty of them!”

Wei Wuxian’s thoughts continued to be, “Rich people!”

A single binding net already cost more than a humble sum, but this boy had used four hundred in a single go. The price was enough to ruin a slightly smaller house—the boy was sure worthy of the name “Jin.” But this kind of abuse of binding nets to capture prey hardly counted as night-hunting, which meant their true purpose was to keep people away and give them no opportunity to take a share of the spoils. It seemed the cultivators who had withdrawn earlier had done so not because the prey was too tough, but because offending an old, illustrious house like House Jin was more trouble than it was worth.

After journeying freely for a few days and eavesdropping on interesting conversations in Fojiao Village, Wei Wuxian had heard more than a little of how the tides of fortune had turned in the world of cultivation these past few years. The Lanling Jin Clan had emerged as the primary winner of the period of chaotic clan warfare preceding his death, and now was the leader of all the clans and houses of cultivation—even their Clan Chief was now called Chief Cultivator. Prior to this, the Jin Clan had already possessed haughty airs and an inclination towards ostentatious displays of beauty and magnificence; since they had risen higher and higher these past few years, amassing even more wealth and power, their children had developed a tendency to run amuck. Even if the brats humiliated weaker houses, those houses could only swallow their anger and hold their tongues. These small village cultivators stood even less of a chance, so though this youth’s language was cutting and their faces were flushed red, the people hanging in the nets dared not bite back.

The middle aged man calmly and respectfully said, “Please, Young Master, help us out and free us.”

The youth, impatient that his prey was taking so long to appear, vented his anger on the country bumpkins. Clenching his fist, he said, “How about you just hang here? That way you won’t randomly run around and get in my way! Once I’m done catching the soul-eating creature, I’ll cut you down if I still remember.”

If they were forced to hang here the whole night and whatever was prowling around Dafan Mountain happened to find them, they had no hope of getting away and their souls would be sucked dry. The round-faced girl who had given Wei Wuxian the apple became scared and started loudly crying. Wei Wuxian originally sat crossed-legged on the donkey’s back, but when the donkey heard her sobs, its long ears shook and it suddenly leapt up.

After it had leapt up, it let out a long bray, and if only the bray didn’t sound so ugly, to compare its relentless, heroic charge to that of a legendary steed would have been no exaggeration. Caught off-guard, Wei Wuxian was thrown off the donkey’s back and narrowly avoided cracking his head and bleeding all over his own face. The donkey looked forward, lowered its big head, and rushed straight at the youth, as though it firmly believed its skull could send him flying. But the youth’s arrow was still nocked, and he had just begun to pull back the bowstring. Wei Wuxian didn’t want to be forced to find a new mount so soon, so he repeatedly yanked on the donkey’s reins with all his strength. As the youth caught a glimpse of Wei Wuxian’s face, shock flew across his expression, which immediately melted into disdain. His lip curled. “Oh. It’s you.”

His voice was one fifth astonishment and four fifths revulsion. Hearing it, Wei Wuxian could only blink. The youth then said, “What, so once you were kicked back to your old home, you went insane? Look at how ghastly you’ve made yourself look. I can’t believe they had the guts to let you out and let other people see you!”

What ridiculous thing had he just heard?!

Was he really…?—Wei Wuxian slapped his thigh. Was Mo Xuanyu’s dad not some random, small-time house leader, but actually the renowned Jin Guangshan?!

Jin Guangshan had been the Lanling Jin Clan’s previous Clan Chief and had long since died. It was a long story. He had a highly celebrated and fearsome wife who was widely known to dominate his personality. But despite his fear of her, he couldn’t stay away from other women, and no matter how fearsome Lady Jin was, she couldn’t keep an eye fixed on him twenty four hours a day. Thus, on the surface, they were a fine and illustrious loving family, but behind the curtain, Jin Guangshan wandered the wilderness and the countryside, satiating his carnal lusts—as long as he could have a girl, he wouldn’t let her slip by. Moreover, because he so carelessly trampled around the grass, picking flowers and sowing his wild oats, he had acquired a herd of illegitimate children everywhere and in all directions. He was also extremely fickle, loved novelty, and hated habit. Once he became bored of a woman, he tossed all thought of her out of the window and did not feel a tingling of responsibility anywhere inside his head.

Even his death was unseemly. Confident that though he was old, he was vigorous, and wanting to challenge himself, he decided to fool around with a whole flock of women simultaneously. But unfortunately, he lost his own challenge and died amidst the throes of passion. Of course, this was far too embarrassing for House Jin to let pass through their lips, and thus the Lanling Jin Clan reported to the rest of the world that their old Chief had worked himself too hard and died of exhaustion. Hence, a tacit understanding developed—all houses would act as though they didn’t know. In short, this was the true reason for Jin Guangshan’s “renown.”

After Jiang Cheng, Jin Guangshan had made the second biggest contribution to the Siege of the Burial Mounds. Now Wei Wuxian occupied his illegitimate son’s body, and it was hard to say who had ultimately come out ahead.

Noticing that Wei Wuxian had zoned out, the youth, filled with hatred, said, “Fuck off! Why haven’t you fucked off yet? Just looking at you makes me sick. Gay piece of shit.”

In terms of lineage, Mo Xuanyu was probably this youth’s uncle or something similar, a generation above him, yet the boy still tried to humiliate him. Wei Wuxian thought that he really had to return the humiliation, if not for himself, then at least for Mo Xuanyu’s body. He said, “Your mom may have had you, but she sure didn’t raise you.”

Immediately upon hearing these words, two rage-filled flames flashed within the youth’s eyes. He pulled a longsword from the sheath on his back and said menacingly, “You—what did you say?”

The blade shined with brilliant golden light—it was a rare, first-class weapon. Many houses could toil for an entire lifetime without touching a sword its equal. Scrutinizing it, Wei Wuxian found it looked unexpectedly familiar, though on the other hand, he had seen more than his fair share of golden-tipped swords. Consequently, he didn’t consider it further and instead began turning the small cloth pouch in his hand.

This was a “spirit-locking pouch,” which he had put together out of a few scrap materials he happened to pick up the past few days. The youth hacked at him, but he pulled out a small sheet of paper cut in the shape of a man, sidestepped the swing, and slapped it onto his opponent’s back.

The youth’s movements were very quick, but Wei Wuxian had a great deal of practice with things like tripping opponents and slapping paper seals on their backs—he was even faster. The center of the youth’s back went numb, then his entire back grew heavy, and then he had no option but to fall face first onto the ground, his sword clattering down beside him. However hard he tried, he couldn’t get back up, as though he were being crushed by Mt. Tai.1 A gluttonous dark spirit lied atop him, pressing down on him until he was gasping for breath. The little ghost, though weak, was more than enough to handle this kind of brat. Wei Wuxian picked up the boy’s sword, weighed it in his hands, and sliced through the binding nets above his head.

The members of the family looked quite pathetic as they dropped down. Without a word, they bolted. The round-faced young woman looked as though she wanted to thank him, but was yanked away by one of her seniors for fear that this Young Master Jin might come to bear a more bitter grudge against them if they spoke too much. The boy on the ground said angrily, “You gay piece of shit! You failed at developing your spiritual power, so now you’ve taken the evil way instead? You better watch out! Do you know who’s here today? Today, I…”

Wei Wuxian clasped his hands over his completely insincere heart. “Ah! I’m so scared!”

Though his old practices attracted widespread castigation and, over the long term, damaged the practitioner’s body and mind, they had rapid results and weren’t limited by innate skill or spiritual strength. Thus many were extremely tempted—there was never a lack of people who secretly craved shortcuts. This youth assumed that after Mo Xuanyu had been chased out of the Lanling Jin Clan, he had decided to walk the crooked path. It was a reasonable, fair suspicion, and allowed Wei Wuxian to avoid a lot of needless trouble.

Bracing himself against the ground, the boy tried and failed to crawl back up a few more times. His face now thoroughly red, he gritted his teeth and said, “If you don’t remove this curse I’ll tell my uncle! He’ll kill you!”

Finding this odd, Wei Wuxian said, “Why your uncle and not your dad? Who’s your uncle?”

Suddenly, he heard a voice behind him, grim, cold, and bitter like a wintry forest. “I’m his uncle. Do you have any last words?”

Upon hearing this sound, all of the blood in Wei Wuxian’s body seemed to rush toward his head at once, then completely evacuate it shortly thereafter. It was fortunate that his face was already as white as death—if it got any whiter, no one would notice.

A young man sauntered towards him, clad in light, violet robes with hemmed in sleeves,2 his hand pressed against the pummel of his sword. A silver bell dangled from his waist, but when he walked, Wei Wuxian couldn’t hear any ringing.

The young man’s apricot eyes were topped with slim, sleek brows and gave the impression of sharp, penetrating beauty. His gaze was heavy; a faint aggression burned beneath the surface, and to meet his eyes was to be struck by two cold bolts of lightning. He walked until he was ten paces from Wei Wuxian, then stood in silence, his expression like an arrow on a tight bowstring. A conceited arrogance emanated from his countenance as he waited.

Frowning, he said, “Jin Ling, how much time are you going to waste? Do you need me to go over there and invite you back? Look at your sorry state—why the hell haven’t you gotten back up!?”

Once the initial shock passed, Wei Wuxian’s conscious awareness rapidly returned. He curled his fingers inside his sleeves and recalled the paper man. Jin Ling, sensing the burden on his back lightening, immediately rolled, grabbed his sword, and scrambled up. In a flash, he was by Jiang Cheng’s side, pointing angrily at Wei Wuxian. “I’m going to break your legs!”

As he saw the uncle and the nephew standing side-by-side, Wei Wuxian could indeed make out some similarities in their features—in fact, they looked like brothers. Jiang Cheng gestured and the paper man escaped from Wei Wuxian’s grasp, flying into the Clan Chief’s hand. He glanced at it, spite burst in his eyes, and he clenched the paper between his fingers. A spurt of flame engulfed it, and the spirit inside screamed as it was burned to ashes.

Jiang Cheng said darkly, “Break his legs? Haven’t I told you that if you come across someone who practices these sinister things, you should just kill him and feed him to your dog?”

Wei Wuxian didn’t even remember to hold onto the donkey’s reins as he rapidly backed away. Originally, he had thought that, however much Jiang Cheng had despised him so many years ago, by now the Clan Chief’s hatred, like fog or smoke, should have been scattered by the winds of time. How could he have known forgiveness or even forgetfulness would hardly come at such a low price? Not only did Jiang Cheng’s hatred fail to dissipate, it had aged like wine, growing stronger and stronger as the years passed. He had started to take it out on any cultivator who imitated his despised former friend!

With someone behind him to protect and support him, Jin Ling swung his sword all the more viciously. Wei Wuxian’s fingers probed the entrance of the spirit-locking pouch. But just as he was about to take action, a flash of blue sword-light swept past him like lightning, clashing with Jin Ling’s blade, shattering the weapon’s golden rays in an instant.

The outcome did not result from a difference in the quality of the swords, but rather the vast disparity in the wielders’ strength. Wei Wuxian had originally timed his trick perfectly, but, unexpectedly thrown off step by the tip of a blade sailing past, stumbled and crashed into the ground right in front of a pair of snow white boots. He froze for some time before slowly lifting his head.

The first image that shined into his eye was the edge of a blade, glittering and translucent like ice.

In the world of cultivation, this sword was very renowned. Wei Wuxian had learned of its might from countless fights, both shoulder to shoulder and face to face with its wielder. The hilt was forged out of silver with a secret technique known only to the smith. The blade was extremely thin and as clear as the purest crystal; icy air emanated from it like breath and iron parted before it as though it were no more than clay. The entire sword was graceful, agile, and awash in enchanted mist. But contrary to its light appearance, it was leadened with weight; an ordinary person was entirely unable to swing it.

—“Bichen”3 was its name.

The tip of the blade swung around, and a shing sounded above Wei Wuxian’s head as it returned to its scabbard. Meanwhile, Jiang Cheng’s voice rang from far away. “I was wondering who it was, Second Master Lan.”

The pair of white boots circled past Wei Wuxian, neither hasty nor slow, then walked forward three steps. Wei Wuxian raised himself up. As he brushed past Young Master Lan, their gazes met briefly. Wei Wuxian pretended it was unintentional.

The young man’s whole body was draped in white silk that shined like moonlight. On his back he bore a seven-stringed guqin, which was uncommonly narrow and made of a soft, raven-feather black wood. A white, cloud-patterned ribbon was tied around his forehead, and his skin was fair and unblemished. Like polished jade, he was both extremely beautiful and extremely refined.

His eyes were very light, as if made of colored glaze, making his gaze appear cold and detached. His expression was tinged with frost and snow, and was solemn but not quite stiff. Though he saw Wei Wuxian’s ridiculous appearance, not a single reaction rippled across his placid face.

Not a single speck of dust soiled his appearance, nor was a single hair or thread out of place, nor did a single point in his countenance breech etiquette. Despite all of this, two words jumped into Wei Wuxian’s head:

“Mourning clothes!”

They really did look like mourning clothes. No matter how many people extravagantly praised the beauty of the Lan Clan’s uniforms, as though they were flowers floating on the breeze, and no matter Lan Wangji’s reputation as a man of peerless, once-in-a-century beauty, his appearance still resembled that of a widower nursing a deep, bitter hate.

The year was inauspicious, and enemies traveling along a narrow road were bound to meet. Blessings always came alone, but misfortunes, never unaccompanied.

Without uttering a word or glancing away, Lan Wangji stood face-to-face with Jiang Cheng, motionless. Jiang Cheng himself was an exceedingly handsome man, but compared to the one before him, his beauty was indeed somewhat inferior. Impatiently, he raised an eyebrow and said, “Hanguang Jun, you’re undoubtedly deserving of your fine reputation for ‘appearing where the chaos is,’ so how do you have the time to visit these old forests and mountains today?”

Elite cultivators like them normally disdained to take notice of low level prey, but Lan Wangji was an exception. He was never selective about what he hunted, and would never refuse to go after a monster or demon just because it wasn’t violent or fierce enough for killing it to improve his reputation. Ever since he was young, as long as someone requested help, he would come. Thus, “appearing where the chaos is” was the phrase everyone used to describe Hanguang Jun’s night-hunting habits, and a form of praise for his character.

Jiang Cheng’s tone was therefore remarkably rude. The flock of juniors who followed behind Lan Wangji, upon hearing the Clan Chief’s words, grew quite uncomfortable. Lan Jingyi, habitually blunt, said, “But isn’t Chief Jiang here too?”

Jiang Cheng replied coldly, “Tsk, when your seniors are talking, is it your place to interject? The Gusu Lan Clan boasts of having the utmost concern for etiquette, yet it teaches its disciples like this.”

Appearing uninterested in arguing with him, Lan Wangji glanced at Lan Sizhui, indicating that the juniors should settle this among themselves. Stepping forward, the boy said to Jin Ling, “Young Master Jin, night-hunts have always been fair competitions between clans and houses, but you’ve hung up these nets everywhere around Dafan Mountain. It makes it difficult for other cultivators to navigate the forest for fear they’ll fall into a trap. Doesn’t this violate the rules?“

Jin Ling’s frosty expression was the exact same as his uncle’s. “They’re the ones who stepped into the net,” he said immediately. “It’s not my fault they were stupid. If you have a problem, wait until I finish catching my prey first. Then we can talk.”

Lan Wangji wrinkled his brow. Jin Ling was about to continue speaking, but suddenly found he could no longer open his mouth, nor could his throat produce any sound. Startled, he turned pale. Jiang Cheng looked at his nephew and saw that his lips were stuck together, inseparable by ordinary methods. His face began to grow red out of anger, and his words lost any veneer of politeness they had previously had. “You with the surname Lan! What do you mean by this? Jin Ling isn’t yours to discipline! Undo it!”

This silencing spell was used by the Lan Clan to punish disciples for making mistakes. Wei Wuxian himself had fallen victim to the trick on several occasions. Though it wasn’t a complicated, high-level spell, no one but members of House Lan could undo it. If someone forced their mouth open, either their lips would be shredded and start to bleed, or their throat would be mute for several days. Thus, the victim was forced to stay quiet, keep their mouth shut, and reflect on their shortcomings, until the entire period of punishment passed. Lan Sizhui said, “Chief Jiang, there’s no need to be angry. As long as he doesn’t try to break the spell by force, it will undo itself in twenty to thirty minutes.”4

Jiang Cheng was just about to open his mouth when a man in a violet Jiang Clan uniform bounded out of the forest, shouting, “Chief!” When he saw Lan Wangji, his face turned hesitant. Mockingly, Jiang Cheng said, “What’s the bad news you’re bringing to me this time? You may as well spit it out.”

The messenger said quietly, “Not long ago, a blue sword flew around and ruined the binding nets you set up, sir.”

Jiang Cheng glowered at Lan Wangji, the fury in his heart rapidly leaking into his expression. “How many?”

The messenger very carefully said, “…all of them…”

Over four hundred!

Jiang Cheng seethed.

He very much hadn’t expected this outing to be so wretched. Originally, he had come to help Jin Ling, who would turn fifteen this year and should be embarking on his career and competing with other juniors for experience and reputation. Jiang Cheng had carefully sifted through the options before choosing Dafan Mountain as their hunting grounds, and then covered the area with nets to scare off cultivators from other houses. Because the nets would make navigation very difficult, they would have no option but to leave, thus eliminating the competition and leaving the prey to Jin Ling. Though four hundred binding nets cost an exorbitant price, it wasn’t much to the Yunmeng Jiang Clan. The actual destruction of the nets was a small issue—the big issue was the loss of face. The fact that Lan Wangji had done such a thing made bitter resentment bleed from his heart and circulate up towards his head—the higher it got, the more resentful he became. He narrowed his eyes, and unconsciously or not, began stroking the ring around his right index finger with his left hand.

This was a dangerous motion.

Everyone knew that ring was a fierce, deadly weapon. Once the Chief of Clan Jiang began to touch it, he intended to kill.

__________________

Translation notes:

1 A mountain in northeast China, one of its “Five Great Mountains,” and an important religious and ceremonial site.

2 Literally “arrow sleeved,” a style of sleeve with a narrow wrist opening, unlike traditional hanfu sleeves.

3 Literally “to avoid dust.”

4 Literally “in the time it takes an incense stick to burn,” which is twenty to thirty minutes.

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#mo dao zu shi #MDZS #wei wuxian #lan wangji #jiang cheng #jin ling #wwx #lwj

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