Chapter Text
He wonders what year and what time it is. When he wakes up he's always disoriented, the weight of many lives bearing down onto his soul. He's surprised he can still withstand it, that his soul hasn't been crushed, even his core is stronger than ever. He wonders at what point will this endless cycle of death and re-starting will end, if he will be able to enter the other-realm properly, to get judged properly, to get reborn properly. He keeps dying, keeps getting thrown back to random times, seemingly without rhyme or reason. He remembers that one time he wakes up right in the middle of a freak earthquake on one of those sect missions, and proceeds to die immediately from a boulder falling off a cliff, without having even the time to yell, cry, retaliate. His greatest regret is never seeing his Shizun at all.
Elder! Elder!
Someone is banging on the door and no amount of trying to bury his head under his pillows can drown out the absolute ruckus, all the while wondering why people are calling for Yuheng at his place. It's not like...
Mo Ran springs upright suddenly at the thought. Shizun! His own mind supplies. Why would... unless...
He looks around, ignoring the increasingly frantic knock on his door. He has a sinking feeling that the person outside won't stop until the door falls off its hinges. He looks around, finally taking in the completely unfamiliar room he's in. Neither a room in the town brothel, nor the disciple's dormitories. He doesn't think this is Chu Wanning's junkyard lotus pavilion, either, despite them calling out for Yuheng. It's too clean for one, he ponders as he reluctantly leave the bed, picking up a robe from the back of a chair. Too sparse, too sterile, he notes as he goes from room to room, not that there is much room to begin with. It is small, but everything has a place, and everything manages to stay in place it seems.
A young-looking disciple falls into the threshold when Mo Ran yanks the door open.
"AH!" For some reason disciples here are trained to conceal their inelegant fall into a perfect prostration prose, Mo Ran muses offhandedly. "Elder Weiyu! Come quick, the Sect Leader's been looking for you."
Who and What? Elder what now? He follows the disciple, dumbfounded, the shock at the novelty of hearing the title unusually attached to his courtesy name chases away all conscious thought.
"There you are!" Xue Zhengyong beams, gesturing for Mo Ran to come stand next to him.
It seems that everyone who is anyone in the Sect has congregated at the top of the stairs leading to Sisheng Peak. A supplicant then, someone asking to be admitted and accepted into the Sect?
Someone has taken over to explain something about a child, a letter, a plea from some distant temple, monastery, whatever. But he's only busy looking around for a glimpse of his Shizun. If Mo Ran is an Elder now, then what about Shizun? A Grandmaster? Where is he? Is he away? In seclusion? Repairing a barrier? Sick?
His mind runs through a million scenarios, yet he tries not to think that his Shizun might not even be in this world. What's the point in waking up in this reality, then? Outside of sect uniforms, he favors darker colors for clothes, but maybe he should start wearing white perpetually and be known as Elder Little Widow. A sharp pain stabs his heart at the thought. He's already mourning so many Chu Wanning from his previous life, all the Chu Wanning whom he can't save, he doesn't think he's ready to mourn another one.
Mo Ran truthfully won't know what to do if he doesn't hear anything about his Shizun within the next five minutes.
"...your disciple, Mo Ran," concludes Xue Zhengyong.
"Excuse me, what?" he turns around to look at more than a dozen pairs of expectant gazes—half of them tinged with mirth (none of which belongs to Chu Wanning)—knowing that he hasn't listened to anything since his arrival.
"I would've taken him in myself, but the Master Huaizui mentions you by name in his letter," Elder Xuanji says, an indulgent smile on his face. "Although if you really don't want to, I'm sure we can... find an excuse, I suppose. Just, make up your mind and don't let the child kneel too long on the steps."
Child!? What in the world? He looks around and the sky is perfectly blue with a smattering of white cotton candy clouds lazily floating with a cooling breeze. He looks down at his feet, trying to gauge what time of day it is by the angle and length of his shadow. Must be way past midday, nearer to sundown even.
Now that he's looking down, he finally catches a glimpse of the child in question. A male child, by the looks of it. Too small by half, especially compared to all the adults and the vastness of space around him. Head bowed as though afraid to look at the people deciding his fate, and yet, his small back is ramrod straight, small fists balled to the sides of his body. His clothes are tidy but dirty, a small ratty bundle on a carrying stick almost as big as him laying on the ground next to him. He looks as though he's been traveling a long ways away.
Mo Ran looks up again, faces the other elders waiting expectantly for his answer. "Where is his guardian? Huaizui, is it?" He feigns ignorance, acts as if he's never heard of that name before.
"Not here," Elder Xuanji speaks up again, frowning, but offering no judgment. Mo Ran pushes down the impulse to roll his eyes at the obvious answer. He remembers the Huaizuis of the distant past, the ones who avoided going where Chu Wanning might be. But to abandon a mere child because of some perceived guilt? Shizun wouldn't have chased the man away, Mo Ran is sure. Kind, compassionate Shizun who is... not here, either
"The boy climbed the stairs alone, he's proved his strong will to join us, Mo Ran. Let's put him out of his misery," Xue Zhengyong says kindly. To the side of him, slightly behind him, Madam Wang looks ready to pounce on the boy to sweep him off his knees, her entire body screams care-and-feed, silently threatening Mo Ran to make up his mind unless he wants something unpleasant in his food tomorrow.
He's learned a lot of patience over the many reawakenings he's been, and even without those emotional cultivations, Mo Ran hates to see children suffering. He bristles internally. The adults seem to have made up their minds anyway, that they will take in the child, so why do they have to go through all this trouble to make him look like the bad guy here?
Disciples choose their shizuns, sure, but isn't he allowed to say no too?
Looking back down at the pitiful boy who kneels unmoving in front of them, so still like a statue, waiting for Mo Ran to deliver his fate.
He fidgets, hemming and hawing. Maybe the adults are going to get tired of his antics and give up, taking the kid under their wing. Elder Pojun seems interested, Elder Tanlang too. Elder Xuanji has a few disciples closest to this kid's age, so he might take the boy in too. Madam Wang is also looking at the boy like he's the answer to her empty nest problem now that Mengmeng is fully immersed in Heir training whatever that is.
"What is your name?" is the only sentence that comes to mind.
It takes a few short breaths before the boy registers he's the one being addressed. Said child lifts up his small face and opens his mouth though no sound comes out. How long has they left the boy out here waiting quietly on his knees? One can't help but wonder, although Mo Ran doesn't think he'll like the answer. Distracting himself from a growing sense of irritation, he leans forward so he can finally get a better look.
If Mo Ran was any younger, he would have fallen face first from shock. That defiant lift of his chin, those eyes and his steady gaze, pale-faced from stress and fatigue under a thick layer of dirt... "Shizun?"
"Yes, Mo Ran?" but it is Xue Zhengyang who replies.
"Xia Sini greets Elder Weiyu," the boy speaks a moment after, voice as clear as mountain spring, bright as temple bells at half light.