Snow fell thick and fast, blanketing the skies and earth, like the sharp blades of winter piercing straight into the bone.
As Mo Ran opened his eyes, a gust of icy wind hit his face, making him instinctively squint. It felt as though an ancient bell tolled in his ears—deep and distant.
“This is… Wushan Hall?” he murmured. The astonishment in his eyes gradually faded, replaced by a deep and complex expression. The hall before him was still the same familiar sight: ornate carvings and painted beams, shrouded in mist, filled with an overwhelming chill. But… why had he returned to Wushan Hall?
Looking down at himself, he saw that he was wearing a black robe—familiar yet strange. It was the very garment he used to wear most often in his past life, as the Treading Immortal Lord. Mo Ran’s heart tightened. A strange sensation surged within him. He had returned—from Mount Nanping—his soul had traveled back to his past life, back into the body of the Treading Immortal Lord.
“Treading Immortal Lord…” he murmured, his chest weighed down as if by a thousand pounds. Just then, a faint moan reached his ears.
Mo Ran’s eyes narrowed sharply. He turned toward the sound—and saw Chu Wanning kneeling in the snow outside Wushan Hall. He was clad in white Daoist robes, thin and fluttering in the cold wind. His body wavered unsteadily, clearly having knelt for too long. His lips were pale, and he looked like a solitary crane in the snow—lonely and freezing.
Mo Ran’s heart twisted painfully. He could hardly believe his eyes. Memories from his previous life surged into his mind like blades, mercilessly piercing through him—scenes of him hurting Chu Wanning, treating him with cruelty and coldness. He thought he had let go of the past, but seeing this scene made him realize the true extent of his cruelty.
Chu Wanning’s body trembled slightly. Snowflakes landed on his hair and lashes, glistening like crystals. Mo Ran could no longer suppress the stirring in his heart. Almost on instinct, he stepped forward. Without hesitation, he wanted only to save this man from the ice and snow.
“Shizun!” Mo Ran called softly, urgency and pain in his voice. He moved forward and reached out, but Chu Wanning weakly pushed him away.
“You…” Chu Wanning lifted his eyelids. His gaze was unfocused, yet still stubbornly locked onto Mo Ran. His lips quivered, as if wanting to speak, but in the end he merely exhaled a faint breath and succumbed to the cold, losing consciousness and falling backward.
Mo Ran’s heart clenched. He immediately caught Chu Wanning in his arms. His body was as cold as if it had just been pulled from an ice cave. Mo Ran felt a stabbing pain in his chest. He held him tightly, unwilling to let go, and looked up at the falling snow, eyes glistening with unshed tears.
“Why… why did it come to this?”
He lifted Chu Wanning into his arms and carried him swiftly into Wushan Hall. His footsteps echoed through the empty hall. He laid him gently on the bed, touched his forehead—it was freezing. Mo Ran panicked, hurriedly took off his own robe and draped it over Chu Wanning, then wrapped him tightly in thick quilts.
“I’m sorry, Shizun… I’m so sorry…” Mo Ran murmured, his fingers trembling as he gently brushed the snow from Chu Wanning’s face, his touch as tender as if handling a priceless treasure. Looking at Chu Wanning’s pale face, a sorrow rose in Mo Ran’s heart—an emotion that was part regret, part guilt, and part indescribable longing.
The snow still danced outside the window, the wind still howled, but Mo Ran stayed by Chu Wanning’s side, unmoving. His gaze had never been so focused, yet his heart was in turmoil. He didn’t know why he had returned to Wushan Hall, nor whether this was a dream or reality. But he knew that the man before him—Chu Wanning—was real. His coldness was real. And so were Mo Ran’s remorse and pain.
He bowed his head and gently kissed Chu Wanning’s forehead, as if trying to warm him with his own body. He whispered:
“Shizun, you’ll be fine. I’ll stay by your side and never let you suffer again.”