Chapter 110: The Past of Milk Dogs Unknown to the Master

Mo Ran was walking alone in the street, and there were ghosts on the road, floating and ghostly. The stone steps beneath my feet are covered with lonely moss, which is wet and slippery under my feet.

The door frame was roughly made, with lots of burrs that stuck in the flesh and blood, a blur that was fortunately not noticed by the ghosts as the surroundings were dark.

He watched in silence for a moment with his eyelashes lowered, probably because his heart was so hard that such a hideous sore did not hurt.

He glanced back at the closed courtyard door, knowing full well that the man behind it would not say another word to him.

He was no stranger to such refusals. Mo Ran is a man who is so used to malice that he can tell from a glance or two or three words whether his plea is useful.

In fact, when the man changed his mind and told him he had never met him, Mo Ran instinctively knew that this man would never tell him the truth, but it was Chu Wanning's soul that was at stake, so he resisted until he was pushed out of the door, until the door closed.

It had been a long time since he had been pushed back so roughly, but there were times when the length of years did not determine anything, when the turn of events did not change the fundamentals, when some things were engraved into the bones.

Xue Meng once called him a cunt.

It's funny how Mo Ran feels that the two hardened words "pride of the sky" do not hurt his pride.

Yes, he was already the cunt that everyone was talking about, and he had heard more vicious words than that like a thunderbolt, so what was there not to get used to.

He took one last look back at the tightly closed wooden door and slowly walked away as the onlooking ghosts ate and laughed.

The jeers, the abuse, the standing alone, the shadows.

It was a rare occasion when such a scene of desperation and helplessness overlapped with the memories of his childhood that had fallen into disrepair, and as Mo Ran walked on, he could not help but recall the days when he and his mother were dependent on each other.

In those days, they were not in the theatre, but in the streets of Linyi, wandering around the Confucianism School.

In those days, he at least had his mother.

His mother loved him too much to let such a young child go out begging for food, so she always settled him in a deserted woodshed and went out on the streets to sell her own art and songs.

With a bamboo pole, she was able to do the dance on the pole and earned some coins every day to buy a cake and two bowls of porridge, which she shared with her mother and son. As a mother, she always wanted her children to eat more, but Mo Ran would always say after a few bites that the cakes were too hard and the congee tasteless, saying that her stomach was already full and she refused to eat any more.

But she didn't know that every time she sighed and ate half a pancake and half a bowl of porridge, the young child, who was curled up next to her pretending to sleep, would watch her with narrowed eyes, watching her finish her meal before he was finally relieved, even though he was hungry.

Little did she know that every day after she left to sell her art at Linyi East Market, her own children would crawl out of the woodpile and sneak off to beg for food two streets away from her.

My mother sang languidly at the end of the street, propped up on a ten-foot pole, her thin body fluttering above. The ground below was covered with broken stones and broken porcelain, all of which would have lodged in her flesh and blood if she had fallen, but those who watched found it exciting and refreshing. She used her life to do her best to win the smiles of the young men and women.

And two blocks away, her children are begging along the street, grinning at people in front of every house, their faces dirty, saying a thousand auspicious words, trying to beg for something to eat. But it doesn't happen, not often.

One day, a rich young woman, pregnant and bored, wandered down the street and saw Mo Ran's mother dancing on a pole.

She found it interesting and went over to look at it for a moment and asked her escort to tell the dancing woman, "All you have laid on the ground are broken stones and broken porcelain pieces, this is really just a show, not sincere enough. My wife has said that if you are willing to replace all the broken stones and porcelain with knives and put them on the floor, then you can dance again, my wife will reward you with ten taels of gold."

Faced with such demanding, almost life-threatening demands from the poor.

This mother's response, surprisingly, was simply to say, "But I don't have any money, I can't afford to buy a knife for the shop."

The rich lady laughed and immediately ordered someone to go to the iron shop and buy a hundred sharp knives and put them up on the ground.

"Jump."

The bejewelled woman stroked her bulging belly with gusto.

A crowd of spirits and goblins soon gathered around them, the glow of silk and pearls glowing in the daylight, and like vultures pouncing on a corpse, they smelled blood and stretched their necks, their eyes shining.

"Go ahead, jump."

"You'll be paid for a good dance."

"Those who pay, those who pay."

In the land of the Confucianism School, there is no shortage of rich people, and what is missing is the excitement and excitement of such a life.

The damask, the gold, the silver and the pearls came around and surrounded the mother with the bamboo pole. Surrounding this poor, ragged woman.

The woman, whose life was like a piece of grass, just smiled, gave the scavenging vultures a hail of thanks for their support, and then, bracing herself on the pole, leapt up as lightly as a swallowbird.

On the point of the sword, with your life, make a song and dance.

With life, to please the heart.

But despite her good kung fu, when she landed, she felt a twinge of trepidation as she glanced down at the rows of open-edged knives. So the bamboo pole deflected a few inches and with the crowd shouting, she landed

He avoided the dense part of the blade, but still grazed the edge and cut his leg, splashing blood in a flash and causing a crowd to gasp.

Not caring about the pain, the woman stood up hastily, lost her smile and bowed her head in acknowledgement.

Those who were watching then laughed and said, "Niangzi's kung fu is not up to scratch, she still needs to work harder."

"That's right, to make a living, you have to have two skills.

A few people were kind-hearted and had tears in the corners of their eyes, quite unbearable: "Alas, stop it now, look at this poor girl, she is so badly injured, go to the pharmacy and grab some medicine and put it on."

The woman stammered, "I don't have no money for medicine."

Some of them sighed, some raised their hands and touched their pearls, but did not speak, while others wiped the corners of their eyes, as if they were feeling a lot of emotion.

"How sad."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Seeing that you are having such a hard time, let me give you some money." An old woman with a big belly said, feeling out her bulging purse, pulling out a handful of gold leaves from it and cupping them in her hand, then continuing to dig under the purse, pulling out three coins, weighing them in her hand, putting two back and solemnly placing one in the woman's hand.

When the old woman had given her money, she shed two tears in her name and said, without compassion, "Maiden, you deserve this, take it."

The woman then held the one coin she had traded her life for and mumbled blankly, "Many thanks"

Thanks a lot

And the broad who said she would give her ten gold pieces had long since walked away cursing angrily.

The woman with the bleeding leg hobbled over and tried to go after her to ask for money, but was pushed back by the escort she had with her, cursing and swearing that could be heard from across the street

"It's bad luck."

"How can you see a bloodbath when your wife is trying to settle down? If the master hears about this, he'll be heartbroken."

"You still have the nerve to ask for money, what is that thing you are jumping for also thanks to your blood did not splash on the wife, otherwise by you can not eat away"

"Get out."

The woman was shoved hard to the ground, and because the family was a large Linyi family, no one was willing to stand up for her for a while. She squirmed on the ground in pain, writhing like a lowly mole.

No one would help her

No one wants to help anymore

She took her life as a dance, and all she got in return was a cold, fishy copper plate.

The good woman who gave her the coin said that she deserved it.

She didn't feel sorry for herself, but she had only earned one coin today, what could she buy but an unfilled pie, she couldn't even afford a bowl of porridge, her leg was injured and she wouldn't be able to dance tomorrow, what should she do with her baby?

When she thought of this, she could no longer bear it and curled up in the sand and mud, crying out in a mocking, hoarse voice that was unbearable to listen to.

At that moment, a dirty, foul-smelling child suddenly rushed through the crowd.

Mo Ran came running, crying out like a trapped animal: "Mother Mother".

He held her.

The humble child, embracing the humble mother.

Like a mole cricket clinging to the grass, a ruminant clinging to a floating weed.

The woman's eyes flashed with fear and surprise at the sight of him. A woman is weak by nature, but a mother is strong. She immediately stopped crying bitterly; the days were already too hard, every day was like going to sleep in hell and waking up in purgatory, and she did not want to look weak and helpless in front of her child.

Her face was not yet dry from tears, but she hastily put on a smile and said, "Oh, look at you, why are you here Mother? It's okay, a little bruise you see"

She slipped him the sweaty coin she carried in her hand.

Mo Ran shook her head incessantly, her tiny face washed out in a trail of water marks.

"Enough to buy you a pie, go and buy it, Mother will wait for you here and we will go home."

home

Where home is

The ramshackle woodshed

Or a sheepfold that was kicked out after two days of sleep

Mo Ran choked back a sob, his eyes glowing with heat, and he said, " Mother, you sit and you wait."

"What are you going to do you don't want to mess around"

Mo Ran rushed to the side, picked up a knife and shouted loudly and clearly in a childish voice, drawing the eyes of the crowd that was about to disperse.

"Aunts and uncles, ladies and gentlemen, please don't go away, please don't go away. There is another skill that I would like to invite you all to have a look at."

He has had aura in his body since he was a child, and although he has never cultivated, he is still much better than ordinary people with no qualifications.

Mo Ran took the sturdy, sharp blade in his hands and, with a low bellow, he snapped it in half and threw it to the ground with the force of both hands.

The people around were astonished, and some of the cultivators among the onlookers were even more astonished.

"This kid can do it."

"One more."

Mo Ran said, taking two this time, and also breaking both blades together as he had done.

"Good," someone applauded.

"Three Handles"

As the children stacked them one on top of the other, the blades became thicker and harder to break, and the crowd resumed its bustle.

"I beg all my uncles and brothers and aunts and sisters to give some reward, and I will add to it."

Those who wanted to see the fun threw the most worthless coins on the ground in front of him.

Mo Ran added knife after knife for these coins, and by the end his hands were so full of blood that he could no longer fold them. The scavenging vultures then fluttered their blackened feathered wings and scattered.

Mo Ran picked up all the money and held it carefully in his dirty little hands as he walked over to his mother, who was dazed and in tears.

He laughed, " Mother, enough to buy you medicine."

The woman's tears could no longer be contained and rolled down her face: "Good boy, good boy, let Mother see your hands."

"I'm fine," he said with a smile so bright and pure that it burned her heart.

She held him tightly in her arms and choked back a sob, "It's Mother's fault for not being able to take care of you, for making you suffer at such a young age."

"It's okay." Mo Ran said quietly in his mother's arms, "Mother, I don't feel bitter with you. I will stay with Mother well and when I grow up, I will let her have a good life."

The woman smiled and wiped the tear tracks from the corner of her eyes, "It doesn't matter if you don't have a good life, as long as you grow up in peace and well-being, then it's good enough."

Mo Ran nodded vigorously and suddenly said softly, " Mother, if I am successful in the future, you will never have to suffer again, no one can bully you, those people just now, I will make them come and apologize to Mother one by one, if they refuse, I will make them dance on the knife too, I "

"Silly boy, don't think like that." This kind and gentle woman stroked his hair and murmured, "Don't ever think that, don't hate anyone, Mother wants to see you become a good boy, promise Mother, be a good person, okay"

At that time, Mo Ran was too young, like a young, green seedling, and he would lean in that direction with just a little external force. His mother, who had little knowledge of literature but a simple heart, was his first beacon of light, and so little Mo Ran, who had been thinking for a while, finally said seriously, "Yes."

He said, " Mother, I promise you."

"Then, if in the future, I can make something of myself, I will build many, many houses for the homeless and grow much, much food for those who do not have enough to eat," he said to his mother, "Mother, there will never be anyone like us today. "

The woman was out of breath for a moment, and finally she sighed and said, "That's good."

The little child nodded along and said, "That's good."

Little did they know then that the man who spoke such words would end up with his hands full of blood and bones, walking on the foul wind amidst the black ravens circling in the sky, becoming the Fairy Tramper emperor who would wreak havoc on the world.

And the Fairy Tramper, the emperor who wreaked havoc on the world, will rarely, if ever, look back on this time, never again to honour the promise he made in his mother's arms, with a childish voice and clear eyes.

At that time, Mo Ran, because of her mother's advice, never hated, even though she lived a difficult life, but was, more or less, always a bit resentful.

The day goes on like this, the jugglers are hilarious once, boring twice, and the third time, they are bored. Gradually, they could not even get a single coin and had to beg for a living.

Mo Ran remembers a rich and powerful family whose child was about his age and had a large black mole at the corner of his mouth. The child was sitting at the entrance to the compound, holding a bowl in his hand and, probably because his chopsticks were not yet good enough, poking a bamboo skewer into the golden and crispy fried dumplings inside. The child was very fussy, gnawing off the filling and then spitting out the outer skin and throwing it on the ground to play with the dog.

He then cautiously walked over and stood watching.

The boy, blinded by his stench and filth, shrieked, "What man?"

Mo Ran then gently asked him, "Young master, can I have this dumpling skin?"

"Here you go why should I give it to you"

"You you don't eat either, so I thought I'd ask"

"I won't eat it, but our Wangcai wants to eat it too." The child pointed to the two dogs on the ground, with smooth fur and fat, and exclaimed in exasperation, "The dogs can't even feed themselves, how can they give it to you"

Mo Ran did her best to put on a smile and said, "Well, if the dog can't eat it."

"How can you not eat them daily feeding red meat is not enough, dumpling skin is just, two bites and it's gone, no part of you, go go go."

When Mo Ran heard about the roast pork, her eyes fell on the two dogs and suddenly she thought that if she cooked them for dinner, they would be so fat.

He couldn't help but swallow at the two dogs.

The boy was stunned and then shocked, "What are you up to?"

"I didn't I just"

"Would you like to have a wangcai and a wangfu"

Mo Ran said with trepidation, "No, no, I was just so hungry I couldn't help thinking about it, I'm sorry."

When he heard "I can't help thinking about it", his face turned pale with horror.

How could a rich boy like him understand that someone could think of food for the cute little dog that was watching the door? He was so shocked that he just felt that the person in front of him was sick and horrible, and he shouted.

"Somebody get rid of him now!"

The servants came around and punched and kicked Mo Ran, who managed to grab a few more dumpling skins from the ground in the midst of the ungentlemanly punches and kicks, and held them tightly in his hands, not letting go of them even though they were being kicked and chased.

The young male looked like he was scared silly and didn't want the rest of the dumplings in his hands, throwing them on the ground with the bamboo skewers and running away.

Mo Ran then struggled to crawl that way, his skinny body bruised and battered, and one eye kicked so hard he couldn't open it in pain, but he smiled happily as he reached out to grab the rest of the dumpling.

There are still two left.

It's stuffed

One for yourself and one for your mother

Or just give both to your mother and eat the dumpling skins yourself

But he didn't even have time to carry the dumplings away before a houseboy's foot came down in the confusion and crushed the dumplings on his bamboo skewer, breaking the pastry skin and turning the meat filling into mud.

He just held the dirty, broken stick in a dumbfounded way as punches and kicks rained down on him; he felt no pain, but as he watched the dumplings become inedible again, tears streamed down his eyes in a daze, trickling from the slits of his swollen eyelids onto the small, dirty, unreadable face.

He just wants to eat a little bit of what the other kids have left over and don't want.

Why waste it, break it, become clay, and it cannot belong to him.

Later on, Mo Ran became the son of the top of death and life, and many people in the sect greeted him and courted him, and even on his birthday, he would be presented with gifts and congratulations by people who could not even talk to him.

The children who once had to get down on their knees to grab a dumpling skin were finally showered with praise and compliments. He stood in front of a pile of carefully selected congratulatory gifts, but with a vague sense of trepidation.

He was afraid that the gifts would soon be gone, that they would be smashed, that a disaster would fly from nowhere, and that everything in front of him would be trampled on just like the dumplings he had held in his hands at the beginning, before they reached his mouth. So he quickly used all the things in that pile that he could use, ate all that he could eat, and for those that he really couldn't use or eat, he dug out a small dark room in the disciples' room and hid all those exquisite gifts carefully, counting them again and again every day.

At that time, Xue Meng pointed at him and laughed at him, saying, "Hahaha, it's just a box of pastries from Lin'an Qingfeng Pavilion, so if it's wasted, it's wasted.

At that time he had just come to the top of death and life, and in fact, deep down, there was still a great deal of unease.

So in the face of his cousin's taunts, he simply grinned, with the crumbs of confectionery dabbing at the corners of his mouth, before burying his head and continuing to unwrap another box of pastries to eat.

Xue Meng was amazed: "You have a big appetite, don't you hold it up?"

All he does is eat.

"If you can't eat it, don't eat it. I get so many pastries every year for my birthday, there's no point in eating them all"

Mo Ran's cheeks were stuffed and bulging, and he ate so quickly that he actually choked a little, his moist, dark eyes glancing at the teenager across the room.

In that moment, he suddenly thought of the little male he had met as a young boy, who could pick and choose with impunity, eating the filling of the fried dumplings and feeding the skins to the dogs.

Xue Meng grew up in the same way, so she can say things like "if you can't eat it, throw it away" and "no one will take it from you" with aplomb.

He was really, really, really envious of them.

Now that he was finally a famous son who could be clothed and fed, he should have been able to spend his money freely and comfortably.

But he didn't dare.

All he ended up doing was grabbing the glass of water next to him, gulping down several sips, swallowing the choked snack into his stomach and continuing on with his hard work.

Later, he became the Emperor of Fairy Tramper.

The four fields of the divine state are in his pocket.

At that time, beauty, wine, food, gold, silver, pearls and precious objects would be sent to him from the four corners of the world in an endless stream.

One day, a huge copper merchant came to Linyi, saying that he had found a rare piece of fire jade and wanted to present it to the Emperor Fairy Tramper.

There are too many ordinary people who come with treasures to seek an official position or shade, and Mo Ran is not really interested.

But that day, Chu Wanning fell ill with a cold spell. Mo Ran frowned, thinking that the fire jade could drive away the cold, so he could save the sick boy from lying in bed all day, which was an eyesore, and so he met the rich merchant who came to deliver the treasure.

The merchant was about his age, slightly chubby and with a large black mole with hair at the lower corner of his mouth.

Mo Ran sits on his throne in the Wushan Palace, his long hands folded, fingertips tapping his chin as he watches him in silence, making the fat businessman's legs weak and his vest wet with sweat.

It was only after a long time that he shivered, his lips twitching, and suddenly fell to his knees with a poof, kowtowing repeatedly and mumbling, "Your Majesty the Emperor, little people, little people"

His fat body shivered beneath his gold threaded shirt.

Mo Ran suddenly smiled.

Even if he had only met this person once, he would never forget it.

In front of the gloriously rich mansion that year, the little child with the black mole at the corner of his mouth ate the bowl of golden dumplings poked up with bamboo sticks in a lavish manner that Mo Ran thought he would never have in his life. The corners of his mouth were oily, the pastry oily.

He smiled and said, "You know, your family's fried dumplings are especially good."

Although he never tasted it at all, it has been on his mind for half his life.

Mo Ran sat on his throne and watched the man below him go from terrified to stunned, from stunned to bewildered, and from bewildered to pandering, chanting and ingratiating himself, saying that he would soon bring the cook of his house to the top of the dead and alive to present to the Emperor Fairy Tramper.

At that moment, Mo Ran realised more than ever that there are many people in this world who would rather kneel down and lick the boots of the strong than bow their heads and show a little compassion and kindness to the weak.

Mo Ran shook her head, trying to shake these past events out of her mind.

He actually rarely goes back to remember these things from his past; it was his weakness and he didn't want it anymore.

But asking door to door and being rejected door to door was so much like the past that it inevitably unlocked the depths of his mind, allowing him to sink into the darkness of the past for a while.

He glowered for a moment in some bewilderment.

He thought that when he was young, he had promised his mother that he would "not hold a grudge" and that he would "secure a house with ten million rooms and shelter all the poor people of the world with a happy face".

And he didn't do it.

In the end, he killed the last person in the world who treated him well, killed Chu Wanning, and killed his own master.

Chu Wanning

Mo Ran's heart ached at the thought of him, and he subconsciously fished the thin piece of paper with Chu Wanning's thoughts on it out of his pocket. The paper was already crumpled, and he pursed his lips and silently raised his hand to smooth it out, but as soon as he touched it, blood stuck to it.

He withdrew his hand almost immediately in fear of soiling the portrait and dared not touch it again.

As he walked from Fifth Street to Third Street, he continued to ask one by one, reluctantly, but the ghosts all said they had "never seen a man like the one in the portrait".

He walked alone through the long, endless night, so thick and so long that it seemed that no amount of hard walking would ever bring him to the break of dawn. Mo Ran was finally tired of walking, he hadn't eaten a drop of water or a grain of rice and he couldn't take it anymore. When he saw a wonton stall at the entrance to the tooth, someone was selling snacks, so he went to buy a bowl and ate it quietly when no one was looking.

The food in the ghost world is cold, and even the wonton doesn't even bubble over with heat.

Mo Ran took out the spirit guide lamp, pocketed a spoonful and passed it in front of the spirit guide lamp: "Will the Master eat it?"

The Master certainly did not react.

Mo Ran ate it herself, saying as she ate, "But you've never liked wonton, you just like sweet things. When I find you later and we go back, I will make you pastries to eat every day."

In the silence of the night, one sits with a lamp in front of a lonely midnight snack stall, the evening breeze rustling, a few dead leaves occasionally chasing after each other in a curl, the hell seems peaceful at this time.

"Peach cake, cinnamon candy, walnut pastry, cloud cake" he counted them one by one with the soul lamp, as if Chu Wanning would be willing to pay attention to him if he heard them. "

The young man's slender hand reached out and gently touched the silk side of the spirit guide lamp, just as he had done when he was thirty years old and Chu Wanning had died, he held the corpse in his arms, out of breath and in a daze, he said " Chu Wanning, I hate you so much", but lowered his head and kissed his face.

"Wee one, just got here, did you?"

Suddenly, a voice like a broken gong rang out. The old man who sells ravioli is dizzy and fumbles to sit beside him, supposedly dying of old age, his dark face as dry and crumpled as poplar in the desert. He fishes a cigarette out of his birthday suit, bites it in his mouth, and then, with the kindness and affection of an old man, moves over to talk to Mo Ran.

Mo Ran sniffled and smiled back, "Well, the first day."

"Yes, it looks like you're new to me. A question, how did you leave at such a young age"

"Going off the deep end."

"Oh," the old man sipped at the smoke that wasn't on fire, "it's a bit of Your Mightiness nah."

"Hmm." Mo Ran nodded and looked at him, not very hopeful, but pulled out the scroll in his arms and said, "Old man, I'm looking for someone, and this is my master, who also came down not long ago. I don't know if you have seen him."

The old man took the painting and hunched over to the lamp, squinting his shadowy knitted eyes as he slowly surveyed it for a long time.

Mo Ran sighed and tried to take the painting back: "It's okay, I asked a lot of people, it's okay if you don't know, that's how everyone is anyway"

"I've seen him before."

"" Mo Ran was shocked and almost instantly his blood ran cold as he pulled him back, "Old man, you've seen him, you're not mistaken"

"There's no mistaking it." The old man sat cross-legged on a bar stool and picked at his feet, "You don't see many people who look like this all year round, so you can't escape, it's your master."

Mo Ran was already on his feet and felt abrupt, so he bowed towards the old man again and looked up and said earnestly, "Old man, enlighten me."

"Aiya, there is no need to be so polite, little doll. When we all become ghosts, we will have to go to reincarnation again in the blink of an eye, and the memories we can have from our last lives will only be left for ten or eight years. The old man's son went early, and it hurts to see you dolls." He wiped his tears and twisted his snotty nose with his sleeve before saying, "You've seen that particularly grand palace on First Street, haven't you?"

"See, there's the Master."

"Yes, that's where it is."

"What is that place?"

"It's the Fourth Ghost King's other palace." The old man sighed, "The Fourth Ghost King doesn't live here, but he had his men build a palace in Nanke Town for no other reason than to collect the beauties of the underworld and keep them under house arrest. Every once in a while, he would come to the palace to choose his concubines, regardless of gender. Those who were chosen were taken directly to the fourth level of hell, but if they were not chosen, they were said to be given to his men to play with.

No sooner had he finished speaking than he saw the little Your Mightiness beside him pick up a nearby lantern and bolt into the night like a wolfdog.

The old man froze for a moment, and then with some envy, he murmured slowly, "It's good to be young, you can run really fast"