AS CHU WANNING TURNED and met his gaze, a hint of a smile curved Hua Binan's eyes. He extended a pale hand from beneath jade- green silk robes and gently gestured for Chu Wanning to take the brocade box.
Chu Wanning nodded and looked back toward the servant. "Thank you." The servant performed a last low bow and returned to his master.
"Yuheng, you know Hanlin the Sage?" Xue Zhengyong exclaimed. "I don't," Chu Wanning replied, considering the box before him. "If I did, I wouldn't have spent two million gold at Xuanyuan Pavilion for his Tapir Fragrance Dew."
"Then what's this about?"
"I don't know either," Chu Wanning said. "Let's open it and take a look."
When they lifted the lid, they found five multicolored bottles of Tapir Fragrance Dew sweetly nestled within, along with a letter. Chu Wanning opened it. Its contents were simple—Hanlin the Sage wrote that he knew Chu-zongshi paid an exorbitant price at Xuanyuan Pavilion for the dew, but because he felt it wasn't worth so much, he'd always wanted to present him with another five bottles. Unfortunately, their paths had never crossed, so now that he was so lucky as to meet Chu-zongshi at the Spiritual Mountain gathering, he hoped the zongshi would accept.
"Looks like he wants to befriend you," Xue Zhengyong observed.
Chu Wanning thought a moment. To refuse such a gift would be a slap to the giver's face. He nodded his thanks at Hua Binan from a distance, then surreptitiously passed the brocade box to Xue Zhengyong.
Delighted, Xue Zhengyong asked, "For me?"
"For Tanlang Elder," Chu Wanning said. "I've always found this Hua Binan rather peculiar. Xuanyuan Pavilion auctions off so many of his medicines every year at prices they don't merit—does he plan to reimburse every buyer?"
"I don't think it's strange at all," Xue Zhengyong mumbled. "The prices are high, but they were never as ridiculously high as the bid you made."
Chu Wanning's face showed displeasure. "It was a means to an end. What's so ridiculous about it? Anyway, give these five bottles to Tanlang. I doubt there's poison in them, but if Tanlang can figure out the recipe for Tapir Fragrance Dew, it wouldn't be wasted."
"You don't need it anymore?" "I…"
Strangely enough, those absurd, vivid dreams had subsided in recent months. Other than those few days after they'd left Rufeng Sect when he periodically dreamt of fragmented scenes, he always slept soundly.
Drinking any more Tapir Fragrance Dew would be an unconscionable waste. Chu Wanning didn't think he needed any more of such fine medicine for himself.
The Spiritual Mountain gathering lasted several days. When they returned to Sisheng Peak, Mo Ran was gone.
"He's off exorcising demons," Xue Meng said.
A faint furrow appeared between Chu Wanning's brows. "Demons again? It's the nineteenth time this month."
"They're all escapees from Rufeng Sect's Golden Drum Tower." Xue Meng sighed. "He's already shoved all the ones he's caught into our Heaven-Piercing Tower, but ours isn't as strong as Golden Drum Tower. It's small, and the spiritual stones and talismans aren't as powerful as Rufeng Sect's. If this keeps up, the tower is going to fail before the demons stop coming."
"Next time Li Wuxin's here, ask him to take some to Bitan Manor," Xue Zhengyong suggested. "He can keep them suppressed in their Sacred Spirit Tower."
Xue Meng smiled. "That's a great idea."
"Guyueye can take some too, I heard their Star-Plucking Tower is twice the size of Rufeng Sect's Golden Drum Tower…"
This idea was much less pleasing. Xue Meng's brows drew together in anger, and he snapped, "No way!"
"Why not?"
"I don't like that Jiang asshole, he's super annoying. I'd fill Heaven- Piercing Tower to bursting before I'd give him any demons we caught!"
Chu Wanning shook his head. This father-son duo squabbled with no sign of stopping, so he turned to leave.
He returned to the pavilion to sleep off his travels. As usual, he slept soundly with no disturbance from those old dreams. When he awoke, the setting sun had turned the horizon crimson. Dusk had fallen over half the dome of the sky, leaving only a hint of bloody sunset at the edge of the world. He was hungry, but Mengpo Hall wouldn't be serving anything this late. Chu Wanning straightened his clothes and pushed the door open to head to Wuchang Town for some snacks. But as he descended the long stairs of the Red Lotus Pavilion, he ran into Mo Ran returning from his exorcism mission.
Mo Ran smiled when he caught sight of Chu Wanning. "Shizun, Uncle said you were sleeping. I thought I'd stop by to wake you up."
"Is something the matter?"
"Not at all," Mo Ran said. "I just wanted to walk with you."
So it was a coincidence. This small stroke of luck somehow cheered Chu Wanning. When one was in love, the slightest quirk of shared fate was enough to brighten one's heart.
"Where to?" they asked at the same time. Both froze. "You choose."
Once again, they had spoken simultaneously. Chu Wanning's hands clenched with embarrassment within his sleeves, clammy between his fingers, and his eyes were dark and warm. Yet his gaze was calm as he watched Mo Ran.
Mo Ran grinned. "Anywhere's fine."
Chu Wanning was privately delighted. He maintained his aloof demeanor out of habit, but his joy was rich and deep, like a branch of xifu haitang blossoms with their pale faces hiding vivid petal-backs. "Let's head to town then and get something to eat."
He didn't ask how Mo Ran's mission went, or if there were any troubles. Now that everything had fallen into place, he didn't have to. The moment he stood outside those bamboo doors and saw Mo Ran's black clothes billowing in the wind, scrollwork curling in dark gold at his hems and glimmering in the darkness, he understood that everything had gone well. There was no need for words.
They went to Wuchang Town together. In the past few years Wuchang Town had flourished, expanding from six streets to eleven, essentially doubling in size.
"When I first came to Sisheng Peak, the doors here would be tightly shut before nightfall. There'd be incense ash sprinkled in the courtyards, trigram mirrors hanging from the doors, and soul-suppressing bells hanging from the eaves." Chu Wanning watched the townspeople striding ahead of them in the glow of early-evening lanterns. "Aside from the name, this town is nearly unrecognizable."
Mo Ran smiled. "With Sisheng Peak here, it's only going to get better."
They walked along the re-paved cobblestone street, taking in the dizzying array of stalls: the sugar blowers, the shadow puppeteers, the barbecue and gudong soup joints all abustle. Row after row of lanterns swagged across the streets, shining down on the night market's noisy domesticity.
Catching sight of the gudong soup stall, Mo Ran thought of how he, Xue Meng, and Xia Sini once ate there. He smiled and tugged Chu Wanning to a halt. "Shizun, why don't we eat here? They have your favorite soymilk."
They sat on creaky bamboo chairs. The night was cold, but the cook's face ran with sweat. Mopping at his brow with a bare arm, he sidled up and asked, "Xianjun, what would you like?"
"Twin pot," Chu Wanning said.
"One pot of clear mushroom broth," Mo Ran said.
Chu Wanning eyed him. "Don't you want something spicy?"
Mo Ran grinned and lowered his lashes, voice warm and low. "I want to quit."
Chu Wanning blinked for a moment as it came to him why Mo Ran would suddenly choose to stop eating spicy food. It was as if a fish swam through the waters of his heart, bubbles rising to the surface and stirring up rippling waves. "You don't need to…"
"No, I'd just like to."
Chu Wanning said nothing.
"I'd like to quit—I want to quit." He watched Chu Wanning, thick lashes fluttering as his gaze fell on the man's reddening ears. Beaming, he left the rest unsaid—I want to be just like you. When we eat hotpot, I want both our chopsticks to dip into the same bubbling pot; no longer one red and one white, sharply divided.
Mo Ran ordered a few other dishes. This stall had no fancy desserts, so he asked for three stout jars of soymilk and sat to wait for the food.
They were surrounded by diners from all walks of life, young and old, male and female. The steam from the pots curled in the air as the flames from the wok flared; shouts and drinking games echoed alongside jokes and whispers; amidst the bubbling steam and delicious aromas, the sounds of the night merged into an endless wash of tenderness.
How peaceful this mortal life; how colorful this world. Before Mo Ran turned fifteen, he'd spent his days starving. He'd never dreamed of such sumptuous food. And even after he'd become Emperor Taxian-jun and stood at the peak of the world, such serenity had never been his.
Now, he had both.
The cook tossed the wok, and the fire roared from beneath to cast a coppery gleam over the bare-armed man's torso. Another sprinkle of seasoning, and those burly arms shook the wok and poured out a plate of stir-fry. It arrived at their table steaming.
"Fried double crisp!" shouted the server.
Taxian-jun of the previous life had remained unfazed by the finest delicacies, but for some reason, this shout won a laugh from him. He folded his fine-boned hands under his strong jaw. As his thick lashes fluttered, countless bright dots seemed to merge beneath those two inky veils as if scattered from the waters of every sea, dyeing the darkness with light.
"Why are you laughing?" Chu Wanning asked. "I don't know. I'm just really happy."
Chu Wanning didn't say any more. But for some reason, when faced with this man's mesmerizing smile, he felt the same brightness in his heart.
After dinner, they looked to the overcast sky, dark with the portent of rain. Those beneath it didn't appear to care; they strolled calmly through the brilliant night.
As they passed a lantern stall, Mo Ran stopped to look at its wares.
Following the line of his gaze, Chu Wanning found the old craftsman carefully papering a pagoda lantern. A similar lantern, already complete, was sitting on its stand. They were river lanterns, meant to float on the water.
"Uncle, could I please have that pagoda lantern?" Chu Wanning didn't ask the price, or if Mo Ran wanted it. He stepped up and handed gold leaves to the elderly man engrossed in his craft, then passed the lantern to the disciple waiting behind him. "Here."
Mo Ran was surprised, pleased, and slightly bemused. "For me?"
Chu Wanning didn't respond. With half a jug of wine from dinner still in his hand, he looked around, his gaze falling on the babbling river in the distance, and walked toward the water.
The lantern flickered, then burned brighter. The embellishments glittered, festive accents to the solemn little pagoda. Holding the river lantern, Mo Ran mumbled, "Every year I've wanted to set one in the water, but I never had the money."
"True." Chu Wanning glanced at him. "You're always broke." Mo Ran laughed.
The river flowed tranquilly at their feet. Chu Wanning didn't feel like making his way down the stone steps, so he crossed his arms and leaned back against the railing of the covered bridge. This white-clad daozhang stood with his back to the black bridge pillar, holding a jug of wine complete with scarlet tassel. He leaned back and took a sip, then turned. The red lanterns swinging from the eaves cast their warm light over a face delicate as jade. His features were serene, but his eyes were full of an unconcealed affection as he watched the man holding his lantern, slightly clumsy in his delight.
You little dummy, what's so fun about this?
Still he watched, unblinking, as Mo Ran walked down to the river and babbled under his breath to the pagoda lantern before lowering it into the water. Gold-red light glimmered on the rippling waves. Mo Ran dipped his hand in the water and pushed, sending the pagoda on its journey.
Mo Ran stood on the dark riverbank for a long time. There was no festival happening that day. Other than him, no one had put lanterns on the river. There was only that single small pagoda lantern, casting its weak, stubborn glow as it drifted in the cold waters of that endless night. Onward it went, dwindling to a dot of flickering ember until it disappeared, swallowed by the dark.
Mo Ran stood in silence, his thoughts his own. He watched the lantern until it was gone, until the wide river's surface was lightless once more.
The clouds suddenly opened. Rain beat down on the duckweed, and on the dark roofs and white walls of the town. The crowd dispersed, shouting, faces creased with laughter. Such rainstorms were rare in winter. The stall workers rushed to cover the tools of their livelihoods with brown oilpaper, pushing their carts as they fled in every direction from the driving rain.
Chu Wanning stared woodenly into the downpour. Spring wasn't far off, but it was still winter. This storm had descended with surprising speed. Under the shelter of the bridge, the rain only soaked the edges of Chu Wanning's hem. When Mo Ran hastily ran up from the riverside, however, he was thoroughly drenched. His clothes were wet and his face was dripping, and even his eyes were gleaming, dark as the night. He gazed at Chu Wanning, smiling warmly and with some embarrassment.
"Dry yourself with a spell," Chu Wanning said. "Mn."
A deluge like this was no obstacle to cultivators, especially two zongshi like Mo Ran and Chu Wanning. A simple barrier would see them clean and dry to Sisheng Peak. But neither moved to put up such a barrier. They stood under the bridge's awning, side by side, waiting for the rain to stop.
But the storm showed no sign of weakening. The world entire was shrouded in mist and falling water, and the warmth and bustle of the night market had disappeared as if the freezing rain had diluted its colors and smeared its ink.
"It doesn't look like it'll stop," Mo Ran said.
"It's really raining cats and dogs," Chu Wanning coolly replied. Mo Ran burst into laughter. He turned to Chu Wanning and said,
"What do we do? We can't go back."
Chu Wanning knew he should answer with, Aren't you a cultivator?
Don't you know how to make a barrier? What do you mean we can't go back?
But for some reason, he didn't argue, nor did he agree. He just looked, face upturned, into the vast night rain. His palms were hot, his curled fingers clammy. Just as he was thinking how to respond, Mo Ran reached over. Chu Wanning's trembling hands, with their warm palms and their slight sheen of sweat, fell undisguised into Mo Ran's own.
Mo Ran looked at him. After a beat, the jut of his throat bobbing, he said, "Shizun, I—I want to…"
The words came to the tip of his tongue; he couldn't quite voice them. But his heart pounded, prickling in his chest, so couldn't he swallow them either. In the end, eyes wet and warm, he spoke a few words, their fervency veiled in a suggestive ambiguity. "I mean…it's raining too hard," he said quietly. "Let's not go back tonight. It's so far, you'll catch a cold."
Chu Wanning didn't yet understand. Blinking, he said, "I'm not cold."
"Then are you hot?" "I'm not hot either—"
Breath scalding, chest rising and falling, Mo Ran didn't let Chu Wanning finish his sentence. He took his hand and brought it to his own pounding heart. "I am," he whispered.
The rain beat down on the duckweed, but Chu Wanning saw flames in Mo Ran's eyes. He saw molten rock, and the blazing heat of summer.
This young man was so frustrated he was almost pitiable, painfully adorable.
His voice was hoarse. "Let's go to the nearest inn, okay? Right now."