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    Chapter 270: Heavenly Sound Pavilion's Verdict of Punishment

    The three-day deadline passed in the blink of an eye. At dawn on the third day, Shi Mo arrived before the secret chamber.

    Heaven-Stepping Lord was already dressed, still clad in his black warrior armor. His slender waist was adorned with a gleaming silver weapon case, his legs were long and well-proportioned, his broad shoulders set off by dragon-scale gauntlets, and his wrists bound with the Thousand Mechanisms Case.

    He lifted his eyes, his gaze cold. "You've come."

    "Get ready, we're going to the Heavenly Sound Pavilion."

    "There's no need to prepare. Let's go."

    Shi Mo appraised him. "What about Chu Wanning?"

    "I fed him medicine, he's sleeping."

    Shi Mo nodded but, just in case, entered the secret chamber with Heaven-Stepping Lord once more. After taking Chu Wanning's pulse, Shi Mo said, "His strength should fully recover within these few days. We must be cautious."

    Unfazed by Chu Wanning's combat prowess, Heaven-Stepping Lord asked, "What about his memories?"

    Shi Mo glanced at him. "It's the same either way."

    "..."

    Disregarding the gloom on Heaven-Stepping Lord's face, Shi Mo got up and set up an enchanted incense array in the secret room to ensure that Chu Wanning wouldn't suddenly awaken and disrupt his plans. As he left, he cast a high-level restrictive spell on the door.

    Heaven-Stepping Lord frowned. "Why cast this spell? There's no one else on this mountain, and Nan Gongliu is just a naive kid. No one can enter to save him."

    Shi Mo's expression remained unchanged as he replied coolly, "Thieves from within are hard to guard against."

    "Who?"

    "You don't know them." Shi Mo sighed. "It's someone very close to me. Let's not talk about it. Let's go."

    The two of them left.

    Left alone in the cold stone room, Chu Wanning remained unconscious while his memories from both lifetimes began to intertwine and resurface.

    But even Shi Mo didn't realize that Chu Wanning's prolonged state of semi-consciousness and incomplete recovery of his consciousness wasn't solely due to his poor physical condition. There was another crucial reason—

    What he recalled was not merely his own memories!

    Perhaps because half of his Earth Soul had spent so much time within Mo Ran's body, entwining with Mo Ran's soul, when the Earth Soul returned to him, it also brought along fragments of Mo Ran's deepest recollections.

    —These memories now flooded his mind like the final images before his eyes. He was dreaming, dreaming of shattered remnants from the past.

    He first dreamed of a disheveled child weeping atop a rotting female corpse on a burial ground, tears streaming down his dirty face, his vision blurred.

    "Mother... Mama... Is anyone there? Anyone... Bury me too, bury me with Mama..."

    Then he dreamt of the Drunken Jade Tower in Xiangtan, where Mo Ran, covered in bruises and black-and-blue marks, cowered inside a dog cage. Incense smoke filled the luxurious room, and the child was trapped, denied food and water, unable even to turn around.

    A child of similar age sneered at him, baring his teeth, "Don't you know what you look like? You want to be a hero? You're just a joke! Pah! You'll always be a joke!"

    Spit flew towards him.

    Little Mo Ran closed his eyes.

    Chu Wanning's eyelashes quivered as well.

    Mo Ran...

    Then, he dreamed of flickering flames licking the walls like malevolent spirits twisting in the midst of a haunted building, dancing with a grim elegance.

    There were cries everywhere, burning beams collapsing, and people screaming amidst billowing smoke.

    Seated amidst this towering inferno, the young Mo Ran had an extremely cold expression with a calm gaze. He lowered his head, resting a blood-stained blade on his knees while holding a cluster of grapes in his hand, peeling off the purple skin one by one.

    "It's all over now, Mother."

    Mo Ran seemed at peace.

    "But I won't be able to see you anymore... I've taken lives, my hands are stained with blood. Mother, I'll be going to hell after I die, and I'll never see you again."

    Mo Ran... Mo Ran...

    Suddenly, a glow appeared before his eyes.

    It was the gentle face of a woman, her eyes slightly upturned at the corners.

    Who is it?

    Chu Wanning felt a striking resemblance between the woman's features and his own, especially when she was intently focused on her work.

    She meticulously sewed a rough garment in her hands.

    "Mother…" A child's voice called out softly, like the buzzing of a mosquito.

    The woman lifted her head at the sound, smiling warmly at him. "Why are you awake?"

    "I had a nightmare… I'm so hungry…"

    Putting down the garment, she opened her arms and said gently, "Another nightmare? It's alright, don't be scared. Come to Mother's embrace, Ran'er."

    Ran'er… Mo Ran…

    With his eyes closed, Chu Wanning tasted an indescribable bitterness in his heart.

    It was too bitter.

    Merely looking at it, one could feel that each day and night was withered and shriveled, making every moment torturously difficult to endure.

    Mother...

    It was his first time laying eyes on the visage of Mo Ran's mother, and in that moment, everything became clear to him. He suddenly understood why the young Mo Ran had instinctively clutched at his robes outside the WuBei Temple, pleading for help and trusting in him. It also elucidated why, before the Tower of Heaven, that youth had walked determinately towards him, persistently beseeching to be taken as his disciple.

    The young man beamed radiantly as he said, "Because you look the most handsome and the gentlest."

    Back then, everyone had laughed behind Mo Ran's back, mocking his blindness and his sycophancy.

    In truth, that wasn't the case.

    Not at all...

    He wasn't blind, nor was he flattering. He simply couldn't reveal the truth or throw a tantrum. He couldn't pull at Chu Wanning's sleeves and say, "Immortal Lord, when you lower your head, you resemble the person who once treated me with the utmost kindness in this world. She's no longer here. Could you perhaps show me some attention? Could you replace her and look at me just once more?"

    I miss her so much.

    Mo Ran couldn't say any of this. All he could do was endure the immense bitterness in his heart, hold back his surging tears, and tolerate Chu Wanning's cold indifference and disregard. He chased after, pretending to be composed and jesting, deceiving everyone around him.

    No one needs to know his past, and no one can share his pain.

    He could only smile so brightly, beneath the Tower of Heaven, a smile too eager, too longing, hiding boundless yearning that seared Chu Wanning.

    Mo Ran opened his eyes.

    He was no longer on the Summit of Life and Death; he was in an extremely narrow cell. The walls were dusky gray, with the only light coming from a small slot at the bottom of the black iron door through which meals were delivered.

    Carved at the top of the cell was the emblem of a weight, a reminder that he was now imprisoned.

    This was the Temple of Impartial Judgement, the first and fairest court in the cultivation world, standing independent of the Ten Great Sects.

    The Heavenly Sound Pavilion.

    Lying there, his throat burned and his lips were cracked.

    It was eerily quiet, so still that the sound of wind echoed in his ears, and whispers of spirits could be heard. It took him a long while to gather his scattered thoughts.

    He had always felt that such a day should have come in his previous life, but fate had been lenient, allowing him to cling to existence for two lifetimes before finally settling his sins in this one.

    "Mo Ran, time to eat."

    Lying there for who knew how long, time had become nebulous in this place.

    He heard someone approach, pushing his meal through the cave entrance – a flaky fried breadstick and a bowl of soup.

    He didn't rise to take it. The attendant from the Heavenly Sound Pavilion didn't engage him in further conversation. The sound of their footsteps tapped away, soon fading into the distance.

    What about Chu Wanning?

    And what about the Peak of Life and Death?

    What became of those shattered chess pieces in the end?

    In his groggy state, he pondered these three questions with exhaustion. It took a long while before he reluctantly accepted his fate, realizing that no one would provide him with answers.

    He was now a prisoner.

    He sat up.

    His chest ached relentlessly, and he felt utterly drained of strength. The once-raging spiritual current was nowhere to be found. Leaning against the wall, he fell into a daze.

    So this is how it feels after a spirit nucleus shatters.

    Unable to summon divine weapons, powerless to cast spells, it was as if a Kun that once rode on winds and waves had lost its tail, or a Peng that soared through clouds had been stripped of its wings.

    He curled up in a corner, his dark eyes gazing blankly ahead.

    Mo Ran suddenly felt a deep sadness, but it wasn't due to his own predicament. He thought of Chu Wanning from his past life, and the cycle of karma. He finally understood the helplessness and pain that Chu Wanning had endured back then.

    He desperately wanted to apologize to that version of Chu Wanning.

    But it was too late.

    There was no turning back now.

    Trapped within the room, the bread and soup cooled from warm to cold, then icy. Eventually, he began to eat; after finishing that meager meal, no one else entered the prison cell.

    He was once again that child locked in a dog kennel, but this room was a far cry from the cruel confines of the cage. Here, he could actually lie down comfortably.

    He lay in this darkness, alternating between wakefulness and sleep, but either state held little significance. In this room, he felt as if he were already dead.

    Mo Ran mused hazily, perhaps he had indeed passed away?

    Perhaps his entire life had been nothing more than a vivid dream, a fleeting moment while his soul lingered within the coffin beneath the Tower of Heaven. He revisited the thirty-two years of his existence like a passing circus, a kaleidoscope of emotions—joy, sorrow, anger, happiness—ultimately reduced to withered bones in a grave.

    His lips curled slightly, a hint of a smile forming.

    He found himself oddly content with the idea that this might be true.

    He was exhausted, having walked too far and struggled for too long. Whether the destination ahead was hell or the mortal world, it no longer mattered to him. All he wanted was rest.

    His heart felt ancient, having crumbled into decay since Chu Wanning's demise. For so many years, he had sought to do good, to make amends, to find a cure for this inner decline.

    But he had come up empty-handed.

    After such a protracted battle, after relentlessly pleading with unyielding persistence, he was now weary, both from fighting and begging. In this lifetime, he had lost his mother, his master, his dearest friend, his lover, his stolen kin, and his illusory reputation.

    Now, he had even lost his spirit core. Yet, he was still brought to the Heavenly Sound Pavilion, still unable to escape the harshest condemnation of the cultivation world.

    Finally, he gave up all hope, realizing he could never be forgiven.

    He, Mo Weiyu, was a deformed and desolate mountain, concealed beneath the vast blanket of winter snow that hid his scars.

    But the snow melted away.

    His darkness, his horror, had nowhere to hide.

    He could never be Grandmaster Mo. Since the moment he first stained his hands with the blood of an innocent, his fate was sealed as the Trampling Immortal Emperor — he who burned zithers for fuel, who devoured swans, who bared his fangs and drank blood, who was more beast than man — he deserved death.

    When he perished, the world rejoiced.

    Unaware of how many days he'd spent trapped in that chamber, the door creaked open.

    Pupils from the Heavenly Sound Pavilion entered, silently binding him with Immortal Binding Ropes before lifting him up, one on each side, dragging him outside.

    They led him through a long, dark tunnel.

    Mo Ran's voice was rough, dazed as he spoke his first words in these recent days: "How are they?"

    No one paid him any heed.

    He was dragged to the end of the path. As the daylight broke, Mo Ran, like a malevolent dragon that had lurked in darkness for too long, was blinded and disoriented by such blinding brightness. He couldn't adjust to the sudden light, wanting to cover his eyes, but his hands were bound behind his back. All he could do was lower his head, tears welling beneath his thick, dark lashes.

    His senses were numb, unable to discern his surroundings, save for his keen sense of smell.

    He detected the scent of the wind, the crowd, the flowers and trees. With a gentle push, he hesitantly moved forward.

    Gradually, his ears adapted to the cacophony around him.

    He heard many voices, whispers blending into a river-like tide. Tides could cleanse impurities, but they could also drown a person.

    Mo Ran felt suffocated.

    He was weak.

    Weaker than ever before.

    "Kneel."

    Those escorting him were shoving him along, and he knelt down. The sun shone brightly in the high sky, illuminating his haggard and withered face.

    He hadn't expected such a brilliant day outside.

    "That's Grandmaster Mo…."

    "Who would've thought we'd one day see him being publicly tried at the Heavenly Sound Pavilion? Ah, it's truly hard to know what someone's heart is like."

    Mo Ran's ears buzzed, but his vision gradually cleared, though still blurry. He could only lower his eyelashes slightly and peer through their shade at everything before him—

    It was the Heavenly Sound Pavilion's trial platform from his memories.

    As a youth, he had once watched a trial here alongside Xue Zhengyong and Xue Meng.

    But now, he had gone from spectator to the one on trial, under everyone's gaze.

    The crowd below the platform surged like a school of fish, a rapid current of ordinary citizens and wandering cultivators who had come to watch. He couldn't make out any individual faces, nor discern the expressions on those faces. All he saw was a sea of heads nodding together, like waves of rippling wheat.

    Then, he looked up again.

    Elevated platforms rose on all four sides, seating guests from various sects.

    The green ones belonged to the Jade Lake Manor, the red to the Phoenix Pavilion, and the yellow to the Temple of Unfading Sorrow… His heart suddenly clenched, strangely pained.

    He saw that familiar silver-blue, the quietest and most crowded sect on the entire grandstand.

    The Summit of Life and Death.

    He blinked, ignoring the stinging in his eyes, straining to look in that direction — but he couldn't see. He couldn't locate Xue Zhengyong, couldn't distinguish Xue Meng from Elder Greedy Wolf or Xuan Ji. He couldn't find Madame Wang.

    In the end, on the judgment platform, he still couldn't see those he cared about the most.

    "Mo Ran of the Summit of Life and Death, City Lord of the Ninth City of the Confucian Wind Sect, illegitimate son of Nan Gongyan…" Mu Yanli's clear voice rang out across the platform, halting the flow of clouds, "…therefore, he must be rigorously interrogated, not to be released by mistake or wrongly judged…"

    Mo Ran didn't register her words.

    Such a sharp voice was too piercing for someone who had been confined for so long.

    For the duration of a cup of tea, Mu Yanli spoke at a measured pace, but the fragmented phrases that reached Mo Ran's ears were "killing deserves death," "malevolent intentions," "practicing forbidden arts," and other such incomplete expressions.

    In the end, she said, "Eradicating major criminals and restoring justice is the very mission of the Heavenly Sound Pavilion."

    As Mu Yanli finished speaking, a disciple from the Heavenly Sound Pavilion approached them. The disciple stood before Mo Ran, casting a dark shadow like ink against the dazzling sunlight.

    "Open your mouth."

    "..."

    Seeing no response from Mo Ran, the disciple clicked his tongue and roughly pinched Mo Ran's chin, pouring a bitter and salty herbal decoction into his mouth.

    "Cough, cough, cough—"

    Mo Ran couldn't stop coughing. He hadn't eaten in days, and his stomach, suddenly encountering such a potent liquid, spasmed violently as if he was about to vomit.

    The man held Mo Ran's throat, preventing him from moving, forcing him to swallow the entire flask of medicine. The icy cold liquid slithered down his intestines like a snake, churning his insides and threatening to tear apart his organs.

    Mo Ran's face turned deathly pale; he wanted to vomit, really wanted to.

    But he refused to yield or beg for mercy. He wouldn't even allow tears to roll down the corners of his eyes. He had spent half his life in turmoil, living a lowly existence, but that didn't mean he lacked dignity.

    The potion was poured down his throat, and the man released him, leaving him gasping heavily.

    His wings drooped, revealing his exhaustion.

    Yet, there remained a fierce tenacity reminiscent of a lone eagle on its deathbed.

    The Heavenly Sound Pavilion members were explaining to the spectators from all corners of the world, as they always did:

    "This is the Water of Confession."

    Mo Ran's lips and teeth were pale. He lowered his gaze and smiled wryly.

    Water of Confession... Huh, how could he not know about it?

    This potion was never meant for the innocent. Only those convicted by the Heavenly Sound Pavilion would be forced to drink it, causing them to fall into a daze and confess their greatest sins and mistakes.

    After finishing his explanation, the Heavenly Sound Pavilion disciple approached Mo Ran and gently tapped his lips, using a voice amplification technique so that everyone could hear his words.

    Mo Ran closed his eyes, furrowing his brows as his stomach seemed to be twisted in agony.

    He was enduring, trembling violently from the intensity of it, the shackles clanking with each convulsion. His face was deathly pale, his eyes rolling back slowly as he writhed on the execution platform... twitching uncontrollably...

    Though he remained conscious, his awareness fluctuated between clarity and confusion. He had exhausted all his willpower to resist the effects of the drug, but still could not escape its grasp.

    "I... have killed before." In the end, he closed his eyes in agony and spoke hoarsely.

    His ravaged voice staggered through every corner of the venue.

    Silence fell upon the crowd, their eyes fixated on the man on the platform.

    Mu Yanli gazed down from the high dais with a disdainful expression.

    "How many people have you killed?"

    "... Too many... I can't remember..."

    The faces of the common folk below had already paled.

    "At what age did you commit your first murder?"

    "Fifteen."

    "Did you kill cultivators or mortals?"

    "Mortals."

    "Was it for revenge or self-defense?"

    "Both."

    As the two continued their exchange, many of the onlookers had initially gathered out of curiosity and were previously unaware of the details. Upon hearing that Mo Ran had killed someone at the age of fifteen for revenge, and then proceeded to kill more to the point of losing count, they were both shocked and outraged.

    "Who would have thought that this renowned Grandmaster Mo is actually a merciless monster!"

    "How terrifying... This person is truly sinister."

    "At fifteen, I didn't even dare to kill a chicken, but he was already taking lives! He's truly twisted..."

    Mu Yanli seemed oblivious to the commotion, coldly saying, "Continue with the charges, Chen Zui."

    "I…" Struggling to contain himself until his bones protruded, Mo Ran croaked, "I... impersonated the nephew of the Master of Life and Death Peak..."

    "How long?"

    "Eight years..."

    "Continue confessing your crimes."

    Mo Ran spoke slowly, "I... cultivated... the three forbidden arts... Chess of Jinchuan... Chess of Jinchuan..."

    Many in the audience fell silent at that moment.

    Some sneered at Life and Death Peak with sarcasm, "Didn't Xue Zhengyong want to defend this beast? I said that once he drank the Water of Repentance, he'd surely tell the truth. Xue Zhengyong actually didn't let the Heavenly Sound Pavilion interrogate Mo Ran according to the law. That old fool must have lost his mind, not wanting revenge for his nephew's death. If a disciple of Life and Death Peak cultivates forbidden arts, shouldn't they disband the sect? What's the point of keeping it around? To groom more demons?"

    "I said it was him all along! On Life and Death Peak, he destroyed his own spirit nucleus to save us. It was just a ploy, and good thing we didn't let him go then!"

    "Exactly, as the saying goes, if you keep the mountain, you'll never run out of firewood. He must have thought that way back then. With his abilities, even if his spirit nucleus was destroyed, who knows what twisted methods he could come up with to recover. We were really lucky that the Master of the Heavenly Sound Pavilion insisted on pursuing this. Otherwise, we might have let this wicked creature slip away!"

    On the platform stood an enormous scale, shimmering with golden light—it was an extremely special divine weapon, weighing over a hundred tons. Since the establishment of the Heavenly Sound Pavilion thousands of years ago, it had always stood there, passed down through generations.

    It was rumored that this balance was left behind by a divine being, capable of distinguishing all sins and punishments in the mortal world, delivering the most impartial judgment.

    Without acknowledging a single fault, Mu Yanli instructed her disciples to cast golden spirit energy into the balance's pan. The exquisite weights swelled rapidly upon landing, heavily weighing down one end, pushing the counterweight to correspond with the appropriate punishment.

    When Mo Ran confessed his first crime, the balance pointed at "Excavating the Spirit Core alive."

    Upon finishing his account of the Precious Chess Game, the balance indicated the ultimate penalty—

    "Soul Shattering."

    On the viewing platform, Xue Meng's face drained of all color.

    He muttered, "Soul Shattering…?"

    From that day on, there would be no more Mo Weiyu, no more Mo Ran in heaven or earth.

    Whether his brother was real or an illusion, it made no difference.

    He would never see him again, even in reincarnation.

    His mind was a blank, his hands numb and unresponsive.

    Xue Zhengyong rose to his feet, addressing Mu Yanli with solemnity, "Since the establishment of the Heavenly Sound Pavilion, the punishment of soul shattering has never been inflicted upon anyone. Chief Mu, it seems your judgment might have lacked impartiality."

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