Ran Mao Quotes

Mo Ran was categorically a piece-of-shit jackass, but the sixteen-year-old budding jackass of his previous lifetime simply couldn’t compare to the thirty-two-year-old veteran jackass of the present. This guy grew more shameless with each passing day.

Why wouldn’t I dare?” Chu Wanning gazed at her, unimpressed. “What ought I be afraid of?” He paused, then pulled Mo Ran closer. “Listen up: This person is mine. I’m taking him.

No, Mo Ran. Think about it. Let go of your vicious hatred and look back properly. He once trained you in cultivation and martial arts, trained you in the art of self-defense. He once taught you how to read and write, taught you poetry and painting. He once learned how to cook just for you, even though he was so clumsy and got cuts all over his hands. He once… He once waited every day for you to come home, all alone by himself, from nightfall…till the break of dawn…

Who else could it be? Who else could it be?! Depraved! Despicable! Disgusting! Obscene!” Mo Ran sighed. “That doesn’t alliterate.

MY HEART HAS STILLED, and my thoughts turned to ash / Yet unexpectedly, the light of spring shines through the cold night. / Could it be that the heavens pity the blade of grass in the secluded valley? / Yet I fear that the world is unpredictable and full only of hardship.

The sight of this face was all Xue Meng needed to confirm his suspicion—Mo Ran had poisoned himself

If I can't be wronged for you. Mo Ran and Taxian-Jun. I am willing to be scorned with you for all eternity.

Mo Ran didn’t know if he should laugh or cry.

Chu Wanning’s thick curtain of lashes swept downward. “I like it,” he repeated quietly. “No one’s ever taken care of me like this before.” He lifted his eyes to glance at Mo Ran. When he spoke again, it was earnestly: “Thank you very much, Shixiong.

Xue Meng burst out laughing, tilting his head back to look at the dim ceiling. ”Mo Ran, in all of Sisheng Peak, he was the one who thought most highly of you. And this is how you've repaid him.

Shizun visits my dreams, for he knows I think of him often.' When Mo Ran had high fever, he dreamt that Chu Wanning brought him a spark of flame in a cold dark night. Mo Ran said 'where his shizun was, there was a flame. Where Chu Wanning was, there was light.

Chu Wanning glanced knowingly at Mo Ran and mentally filed away this weak point. He figured that since he was, at present, already in a child’s body, and since Mo Ran hadn’t the slightest idea who he actually was, there was nothing to be embarrassed about. He opened his mouth again, and out came a soft, saccharine sweet: “Ge.” “…” “Gege.” “………” “Mo Ran-gege.” “Aaaaaah! Okay, okay! I’ll take you, I’ll take you! Stop saying that!” Mo Ran jumped to his feet, face bright red, and rubbed at the goosebumps on his arms. “All right, fine. Come along, then. You win, okay? You win. Oh my god.

Ever since, holding onto the resentment he felt that grew by the day, he'd kept provoking Chu Wanning in attempts to get his attention, his praise, his astonishment. During that time, if Shi Mei had praised him with "well done", he would've flown into the sky with happiness. But if Chu Wanning had been willing to give him a "not bad", he would've gladly given his life.

But Chu Wanning’s robes were gossamer-thin, as if they might fall to pieces in his hands. Mo Ran wished he could carve open his own chest and give Chu Wanning his heart, just to hear his heartbeat again. He wished he could drain his own blood to fill Chu Wanning’s veins, just to see color in his face again.

Mo Ran finally stopped running. He knew he couldn’t escape it: in this life, he was bound to owe Chu Wanning.

Was it you who carried me back?” Mo Ran muttered hollowly. His question was met with only silence. “Chu Wanning, was it you…?” Silence. No reply.

Hands full of sweet potato, Chu Wanning opened his mouth without a second thought; it wasn’t until Mo Ran had popped the warm, soft milk candy onto his tongue, the coarse pad of his thumb brushing lightly past the corner of his lips, that Chu Wanning abruptly realized that he had eaten a sweet right out of his own disciple’s hand. The tips of his ears grew bright red.

A lone Taxian-Jun, with no one to turn to, in an endless darkness he could barely breathe, holding Chu Wanning tightly in his arms as if he was holding the last embers of fire in this world.

Shizun.” After sitting for a long time, immersed in the light of the moon, immersed in Chu Wanning’s nearly transparent soul, Mo Ran spoke as though coaxing a child: “Come on, let’s go home.

A clean light soaked into the shaggy bark of a eucalyptus and it was a powerful thing to see, the whole tree glowed, it showed electric and intense, the branches ran to soft fire, the tree seemed revealed.

To Mo Ran, that embrace within an illusion had been charity that Shi Mei bestowed upon him. Mo Ran would never, ever know that this embrace had instead been charity that he bestowed upon another pitiful soul.

I just want to change my clothes and feel like I still have old friends around for company.” Liu-gong sighed. “That’s just make-believe.” “Make-believe is fine,” Mo Ran replied. “Make-believe is better than nothing.

Mo Ran suddenly felt nervous. He wanted to cover the box and chase away the people salivating over his food like he’d swat away annoying flies. Then he remembered that, in this life, the crispy meat didn’t belong to him.

Chu Wanning wasn’t stupid. Even if Mo Ran didn’t say anything, it was easy to see just how much he treasured the gentle and beautiful person beside him. Why would Mo Ran ever turn his gaze toward Chu Wanning, who stood in the corner like a puppet covered in dust?

Afterward she wondered what had happened to the man. Could he have died of hunger? Despite the fact that nobody had quite enough food these days and even the government had acknowledged a food crisis after the floods of the previous summer, Mi-ran had never heard of anybody starving to death in North Korea. That happened in Africa or in China. Indeed, the older people talked of all the Chinese who died during the 1950s and 1960s because of Mao’s disastrous economic policies. “We’re so lucky to have Kim Il-sung,” they would say.

What he had felt for Mo Ran before was only love, which could be kept hidden. But right now, this man felt like nothing short of a fire to him, a fire that could too easily set him ablaze like he was mere kindling, sending flames soaring up to scorch the skies. Magma that had lain dormant all this time stirred awake and stretched its limbs in the abyss deep within himself, ready to burst in a violent eruption at any time. It threatened to burn through all the reservations, dignity, and restraint on which he had always prided himself… Threatened to burn it all to ash, until there was nothing left.

Mo Ran stared blankly, his face ghostly pale. He had always believed his shizun too cold—cold like iron, so cold it froze his heart to ice. How could he have guessed that Chu Wanning was actually so kind to him… That Chu Wanning’s lingering regret in the living world was him. That his last wish was to apologize.

After all, everyone wanted warmth. Especially a stray dog that had frozen in the bitter cold so many times that the mere sight of salted roads made him tremble in the anticipation of snow, of the coming of winter. Taxian-jun looked imposing, but only he himself knew the truth. That he was nothing but a laughable stray. A stray that had always been looking for a place that he could curl up at, a place to call 'home', but he spent fifteen years looking and he still couldn't find it. And so, his love and hate become laughably simple - If someone gave him a beating, he would hate that person. If someone gave him a bowl of soup, he would love that person. He was only so simple, after all.

He is not Ikki to dig holes, nor Mao, the Peacock, that he should fly. He is not Mang the Bat, to hang in the branches. Little bamboos that creak together, tell me where he ran?

Chu Wanning nodded. He suddenly said, “Don’t just randomly take off your clothes anymore.” Mo Ran’s face went red. “Got it.

From his dim and narrow perspective, Chu Wanning was like a plate of savory and aromatic crispy meat that had been placed into a filthy, broken box. Mo Ran was the only person in the entire world who had opened the box and been able to taste the deliciousness inside. He’d never had to worry about someone else finding out about this delicacy and drooling over it.

So Mo Ran endured it, and forced himself to pick up the pieces. He told himself, It doesn’t hurt, it doesn’t hurt. This wasn’t the first time he’d lived through Chu Wanning’s death. It doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t hurt… But how could it not hurt? Over three thousand steps Chu Wanning had crawled, carrying him on his back—how could it not hurt… He’d drained his very last reserves of spiritual energy, he’d given it all to Mo Ran, how could it not hurt… He had suffered an identical injury, but so as not to burden his disciple, he had adopted a heartless expression and left on his own. How could it not hurt… And in the past life, Chu Wanning had also suffered the same injury as Shi Mei. It was just that he hadn’t said anything about it. He hadn’t said, and Mo Ran hadn’t asked. He’d roared angrily at Chu Wanning, vented endless hatred on him, flung to the ground those wontons Chu Wanning, who had yet to recover from his own injuries, had worked so hard to make for him. Before his eyes, Chu Wanning had bent down, lowered his head, and then, one by one, had picked up each wonton and thrown them away. How could it not hurt… How could it not have hurt?! He had dug out Chu Wanning’s heart! How could it have not hurt?! How could it… Mo Ran couldn’t take a step further. He stood in place for a long spell, trying to suppress these feelings, trying to rescue his calm. His entire body trembled. It hurt. He buried his face in his hands, bit down on his lip, and swallowed his sobs with the blood.

Chu Wanning suddenly lifted his arm and covered his eyes. “Mo Ran,” he said softly. “Mo Ran, if you still have any compassion in you…any conscience…” His lashes shuddered against the back of his hand. “Please…don’t do this anymore… Mo Ran.” His voice broke on a sob. It was the first time in Mo Ran’s past life that he saw Chu Wanning cry. “Mo Ran, I can’t take it anymore… It hurts…

Mo Ran, everything that happened in this life…it’s all because I failed to teach you well, because I called you vile and beyond remedy. It was I who wronged you. I won’t blame you, in life or in death…

Behind him, Mo Ran was perched atop a black-clawed wolf; he had tailed Chu Wanning closely the whole ride. An indescribable comfort and contentment welled in Chu Wanning’s breast. He was struck by the hazy feeling that, finally, there was someone who would always follow close, footsteps echoing unceasingly—someone who would follow him no matter how far he ran, and no matter what floods he willfully forded into.

After all, nothing is more important than his good name as the Beidou Immortal,” Mo Ran sneered coldly. Perhaps it was due to the room’s dim light that he looked a little forlorn. “You’ll live if you’re lucky. Die if you’re not.

Great. Awesome. Perfect. Chu Wanning was right in everything he did. Then what about Mo Ran? Head in the dark like a know-nothing idiot, running in circles like a goddamn clown, hissing and snarling in his hatred for so long. And for what?!

I won’t believe it unless you nod,” Mo Ran said to the man in the coffin. His expression was placid, as if fully expecting the person before him to wake up. “Chu Wanning, give me a nod. Just one nod, and I’ll believe you, and I won’t hate you anymore. Just one nod, okay?” But Chu Wanning only lay there, cold and expressionless, as if it made no difference to him whether Mo Ran hated him or not. He himself had left with a clear conscience, abandoning the living to their guilt.

He couldn’t remember anymore. Not clearly. In that life, Mo Ran had been entangled with Chu Wanning for so long that many things had become blurred at the edges. Eventually, like a beast, he had known only one thing: that Chu Wanning was his. Even if he didn’t care for Chu Wanning, he was still his to sunder and to ruin. He’d have preferred to rip Chu Wanning apart with his own hands—bite through his ribcage and tear out his organs like a beast—than allow someone else to touch him.

Who do you think did this? Your perfect little disciple, Xue Meng! If he had aimed his Longcheng just a hair to the side, I’d be dead! So you tell me why the fuck I should let him go! As far as you’re concerned, his life is a life, but mine counts for nothing. Is that it?!” In his fury, Mo Ran grabbed Chu Wanning’s hand and pressed it to his bloody wound. “Didn’t you want to stop me? Here’s your chance; go on then, dig out my heart! Chu Wanning, why don’t you just dig out my fucking heart?!

MY HEART HAS STILLED, and my thoughts turned to ash / Yet unexpectedly, thelight of spring shines through the cold night. / Could it be that the heavens pity the blade of grass in the secluded valley? / Yet I fear that the world is unpredictable and full only of hardship.

A-Ran, isn’t Shizun the one you should feel bad for?” Shi Mei asked softly. “He only has a small umbrella because he’s always alone. No one wants to walk with him. That’s why even if Shizun is a little strict with me at times, or scolds me a little much at others, I don’t mind. Because I remember his drenched shoulder.

Mo Ran’s throat felt tight, and a sob escaped as he collapsed to the floor, kneeling before that soul that couldn’t see him. The soul-calling lantern sat on the ground by his feet as he let out a broken wail, screaming himself hoarse as if he might cry blood. Finally, unable to contain it any longer, he bawled, loud and miserable. He knelt before Chu Wanning. It wasn’t like that at all… He groveled in the dust, clutching at the hems of Chu Wanning’s bloodstained robes.

This venerable one’s dear shizun really ought to take a look in the mirror.” Mo Ran’s finger slid along Chu Wanning’s cheek to rest by his ear, his eyes dark and threatening. A moment passed in silence, then he let out a cold hmph and abruptly leaned over. This lean was accompanied by a soft, searing-hot sensation as he captured Chu Wanning’s lips with his own. Caught completely off guard, Chu Wanning’s head hummed with white noise. Something in his mind seemed to…snap…

Mo Ran only let the bestial savagery in his eyes slip for a moment, but Chu Wanning caught a glimpse of it. He glanced at Mo Ran’s face, his own graceful, scholarly mien completely devoid of expression. “What are you thinking about?” Shit! Tianwen hadn’t yet been withdrawn! Mo Ran once again felt the vine binding him squeeze and twist, making his organs feel like they were going to wrench into mush. He screamed in agony, letting loose the thoughts in his mind. “Chu Wanning! You think you’re so tough?! Watch me fuck you to death !” Silence fell. Chu Wanning was speechless. Even Xue Meng was dumbfounded. Tianwen abruptly returned to Chu Wanning’s palm, transforming into specks of golden light before eventually disappearing out of sight. Tianwen manifested from Chu Wanning’s essence, and it could appear when summoned and disappear at will. Xue Meng’s face was pale as he stammered, “Sh-Sh-Shizun…” Chu Wanning didn’t speak. His long, inky, delicate lashes were lowered as he looked at his own palm for a long moment. Then he raised his eyes, face unmoved other than for how it had become slightly icier than before. For a long moment, he pinned Mo Ran with a glare that said, “This beastly disciple deserves death.” Then he spoke, voice low: “Tianwen is broken. I’m going to fix it.” After dropping this statement, Chu Wanning turned and left. Xue Meng wasn’t a bright child. “H-how can a holy weapon like Tianwen be broken?” Chu Wanning heard him. He turned and once again used that “this beastly disciple deserves death” gaze to glance at him. Xue Meng felt a chill run down his spine.

It was I who wronged you…” He spoke the words with an uncharacteristic gentleness, the way he had in their past life. Something inside Mo Ran collapsed with a resonant boom. Blood boiling and head feverish, all the sense and rationality he had worked so hard to retrieve fell apart in an instant. Without thinking about any of it, he gave in to that familiar desire. He leaned down and ravenously captured those slightly parted lips with his own.

In this life, there was someone who loved and protected him. Later, that person had given up his life, and brought Mo Ran back to the world of the living

It was I…who wronged…you…” Mo Ran felt suddenly disoriented. He didn’t know if the dim light of the candle was making him see things, but he thought he perceived a glimmer of wetness amidst Chu Wanning’s thick eyelashes. It was I who wronged you. The words left Chu Wanning’s lips as light as mist, but they hit Mo Ran with all the force of crashing thunder.

Mo Ran let out a sigh. His weapon was Jiangui. A large number of people had already seen it during training, and a bunch more had seen it at the site of Eighteen’s murder. If he were to take it out now, it would be compared with the willow vines around the necks of the murdered guards, and doubtless it would be used to implicate him. But if he refused, it would look like he had a guilty conscience. A scarlet blaze appeared with a whoosh in his palm as Jiangui took form, coursing with a fiery, crackling flare. “Feel free to look, Elder Immortal.

Are you injured?” Mo Ran was too stunned to react. His eyes were wide, and his mouth opened in shock as he gaped wordlessly. Chu Wanning looked him up and down and detected no obvious injuries, so he turned back to the Elder Immortal. “Weren’t you asking who his master was a moment ago?” He released his terrifyingly potent spiritual energy and slowly descended to the ground, where he said, simply and sharply, with not a single superfluous word, “Chu Wanning of Sisheng Peak. Show me your best move.

Living or dead, this person had always been more maddening than he was pitiable. Mo Ran sneered. “Then again,” he said, “when have you ever listened to me?

Mo Ran’s eyes remained closed. The tears clinging to his lashes soaked into the flimsy pillow. He’d once believed the heavens were unkind to him. Now, that seemed like an absurd joke. That wasn’t the case at all. It turned out that the heavens had been very kind to him indeed; it was his own heart that was unkind, that rendered everything dark and gloomy. It was his own fault.

Forgive myself?” Mo Ran muttered, his eyes bloodshot. “Your last wish is for me to forgive myself?” He burst into laughter, and the sound pierced the skies like a raging inferno, burning away all reason and rationality. “Ha ha ha—ha ha ha ha ha—forgive myself? Chu Wanning, you’re even crazier than me! How naïve—ha ha ha ha—” The slopes of Kunlun Mountain echoed with his deranged, miserable laughter. Twisted, unrecognizable, terrifying.

Outside the flowing golden barrier, that person continued to stand with his back to him. Mo Ran opened his mouth, but his throat was filled with the taste of iron. “Chu Wanning, are you made of wood? Do you even know what it’s like to feel sad, to be selfish? Do you… Chu Wanning… Chu Wanning…

Mo Ran stood before the Heaven-Piercing Tower, alone. No one would pay attention to him anymore. No one would ever meet him here again.

Mo Ran didn’t remember if he had shed any tears that night, only that when he woke in the morning, the long blade that had gone nameless for over a decade had been engraved with two clear-cut characters: Bugui. For you do not return. Never again.

Do me a favor—look into my eyes?” “Your eyes?” Chu Wanning asked, confused. Mo Ran’s gaze was warm and mild. In his irises was reflected the image of a man in white robes. “Do you see him?” he said. “The most beautiful person in the whole world.

Chu Wanning was headstrong. Mo Ran was lovestruck.

Mo Ran, it hurts…” It hurt too much, holding someone in his heart like this, hidden carefully in the very depths of his thoughts. It was fine if that person didn’t like him, as long as he could think about that person quietly and protect them silently. It was fine if he couldn’t have that person. All of it was fine.

Chu Wanning wanted to look away, as if burned by the intensity of Mo Ran’s predatory gaze, but Mo Ran saw through his intentions and gripped his face before he could. “Look at me.” Mo Ran’s voice was rough and heated, shaking faintly from arousal—or perhaps something else—and filled with the craving of a beast about to devour its prey. “I said, look at me!” Chu Wanning shakily closed his eyes. This dream was far too absurd…

For some reason, the Mo Ran in this dream was wholly different from the one Chu Wanning knew. That deferential ingratiation had vanished, replaced by a domineering presence. He could distinctly feel Mo Ran’s heated breaths as he exhaled, low and rapid, animalistic desire searing like lava and threatening to melt him down, flesh and bone alike.

He trembled in Mo Ran’s embrace; Mo Ran’s chest was furiously hot, so hot that it was like Chu Wanning would be burned and drowned even through the layers of fabric. He wanted desperately to struggle, but he couldn’t summon the strength.

Mo Ran backed him into a wall, then abruptly raised a hand to strike the hard surface. The other hand closed tightly around Chu Wanning’s shackled wrist. Not without malicious spite, but also not without timid desire, he bent down to capture the lobe of an ear between his lips. Chu Wanning shuddered violently, a frightening numbness shooting up his spine and spreading over his scalp. Mo Ran’s voice was husky, his breaths heavy and oppressive. “Let me screw you, and I’ll let you have what you demand.

But Mo Ran also thought about the way the man looked when he was curled up asleep, lonely and unassuming, like a haitang blossom that nobody cared for because it had bloomed too high on the branch. The hatred he felt aside, Mo Ran’s past life entanglements with Chu Wanning had in fact been more intimate than any he had shared with anyone else in the world. He had taken many of Chu Wanning’s firsts, regardless of whether the man had been willing. His first kiss, his first time cooking, his first time crying. And his first time. Dammit, just thinking about it made Mo Ran’s body feel hot and his blood rush downward.

After the initial surprise, Chu Wanning convinced himself that he had misheard. After all, Mo Ran had always called him “Shizun.” And it was one thing for Mo Ran to call him “Chu Wanning,” but to call him “Wanning”— His mind tracked back to that night at the Red Lotus Pavilion, when they had slept holding one another and Mo Ran, fast asleep, had clearly called out “Wanning,” then pressed a kiss to his lips, light as the touch of a dragonfly on water. Was it possible that, in Mo Ran’s heart, there actually was a little bit of…

In the end, this fifteen-year-old boy was as yet very young. Mo Ran tried to hold it in for a while, but ultimately couldn’t. He buried his face in his arms, curled into himself, and bawled miserably. His voice was rough and broken, hysterical and lost, pained and grief-stricken. Body wracked with sobs, he repeated the same thing over and over. “I only wanted to have a home… These past fifteen years, I really… I really only wanted a home… Why do you all look down on me? Why do you all look at me like that? Why, why do you all look down on me…?

In exchange, Mo Ran had given Chu Wanning some of his own firsts as well, regardless of whether his shizun had wanted them. His first apprenticeship, his first attempt to coax someone, his first gift of flowers. His first thorough disappointment. And the first stirrings of his heart. Yes, the first stirrings of his heart. When he’d come to Sisheng Peak, the person he’d fallen for hadn’t been Shi Mei, but Chu Wanning.

Mo Ran was no man of culture and didn’t recognize this something else as the feeling of being evenly matched with a worthy opponent. He only knew that from then on, he had no true nemesis in the world.