CH 101

Chapter 101: Some sweetness (VIII)

On Dustpan Mountain's mountain hollow, behind the bamboo building, there was a hot spring. It was not very large –– only about two zhang in diameter –– and fresh bamboo and wild flowers grew all along its banks. There was even a small bamboo pagoda beside it –– it was a pleasant and luxurious secret spot.

In the past hundred years or so, because of the poisonous fog all around the mountain hollow and the ominous rumors, no one had ever dared come close to this hot spring; the only ones who ever used it were those who lived in the bamboo building nearby. Before, it had only been one person; now, it was two.

Xue Xian was very drunk, yet insisted that he was completely sober. As he soared through the sky with Xuanmin on his back, he insisted on going higher into the clouds than ever before.

Xuanmin almost always indulged him, so simply held on as the dragon took them home. But Xue Xian kept taking the wrong turns, and almost took Xuanmin across the borderlands. Thankfully, Xuanmin had enough of a sense of direction for the both of them, and noticed in time to steer them back to Dustpan Mountain, cajoling and placating Xue Xian all the way.

The easy, straightforward trip ultimately became a long journey fraught with all sorts of weird obstacles. Finally, as the sun rose high in the sky, they caught sight of Dustpan Mountain's unique shape on the horizon.

The effects of the dragon spit had been brewing within both of them all night long, and was impossible to bear much longer. Xue Xian did not bother to find the bamboo building, instead following the curve of the mountain until he came across the hot spring, and flying straight into the water. As he dove in, he semi-consciously transformed so that he wouldn't be bringing his enormous dragon body into the spring.

Xuanmin emerged from the water with his white robe fanning out around him. He gripped a rock on the banks of the spring and caught sight of a tiny, thin black shadow slithering past him in the water.

He automatically went to scoop it up...

A small dragon draped itself all across his fingers, as limp and damp as a piece of rope. Its tail swung back and forth as it burrowed into his palm impatiently.

Xuanmin sighed.

He was having trouble holding back the tide of the dragon spit's effects –– especially because a certain someone loved to make it worse on purpose by adding dose after dose. By now, his eyelashes were brimming with moisture as he gazed down at Xue Xian from half-closed eyes, his gaze profound and filled with uninhibited desire.

He poked the dragon's head with his thumb, but it only made Xue Xian wiggle lazily once or twice. In a low voice, Xuanmin said, "Wrong form."

Xue Xian was too drunk to do anything more than rub up against Xuanmin's hand, but as he heard this, he had to play it over in his head several times before realising what it meant –– that he was supposed to have turned into a human, and had instead gone for the tiny dragon form. He snorted unhappily, and transformed once more.

Usually, when he transformed, he would quickly put on his clothes while the mist was still dissipating. This time, he was halfway through putting his robe on when he realised it would all get taken off soon anyway, so what was the point? So with half the robe dangling off his chest, he brought Xuanmin into his embrace.

His black robes only looked darker when soaked through, and bloomed in the rippling water like a black flower, the fabric becoming entangled with the white hemp of Xuanmin's robes as their bodies intertwined.

Xue Xian came up for air and nipped at Xuanmin's chin, mumbling, "Maybe this time I could..."

But then he quickly shook his head and burrowed his face into the crook of Xuanmin's neck. "Never mind. It took me so long to get you back, so I'll spare you your life."

At the time, Xuanmin only blinked, and said nothing.

But much later, as Xue Xian laid flat against the stone bank, his long, slender legs splayed out beneath his floating black robe and his arms wrapped around Xuanmin's body, the waves of pleasure welling up within him and close to release –– Xuanmin suddenly and stared at Xue Xian's glazed-over eyes and parted lips, and calmly asked, "What you were saying before. You're sure you don't want to try?"

Xue Xian was far too distracted to know what Xuanmin was referring to. He hooked his arms around Xuanmin's neck and brought him in for a kiss. With his lips pressed against Xuanmin's and his short, quick breath coming in and out with the rhythm of their movement, all he could say was, "No, why are you asking that now? Just go faster."

......

At first, hearing the roar of the dragon, Xuanmin's crow had come flapping by to greet his masters. But as it flew out of the forest and caught sight of the two bodies writhing together in the water, it shrieked and ran away, finding a tree branch from which to hang itself. But as it stood perched on a branch and measured the twines of ivy drooping down from the tree, it just could not find a good hanging spot.

So it simply keeled over and fainted right then and there.

Meanwhile, in Hugua Alley, Wolong County, the half-awake Stone Zhang leant sleepily against the doorway and sobbed as he bade farewell to Twenty-Seven.

Fate among mortals is always strange and ineffable. Originally, they'd had nothing to do with one another and would never even have greeted each other on the street, but suddenly a turn of events had thrown them into the same lot. Although all they'd done on their journey together was bicker and quarrel, they'd still gone through a near-death experience together, and suddenly it seemed as though they were much closer than they'd ever been before. And now that all those years had passed, somehow, they'd become special old friends.

Stone Zhang didn't know why he was crying –– their journey had been a chaotic and terrifying one, and they'd all almost died more than once. But maybe it was because it had been so dangerous, because it had been the experience of a lifetime, and whenever he thought about it, it made him feel emotional and even nostalgic. He'd reunited with his old friends last night, yes, but that meant that they'd be seeing less and less of each other, until one day, they'd never meet again.

Lu Twenty-Seven had never said a kind word to him. But now, as he left the Zhang compound, he patted Stone Zhang on the shoulder and said, "What are you crying for? You still have so many years left to your life. And after this life, there's the next one. Old friends will always remain –– at least, those two will always be around. Maybe someday in the next life, you'll run into them again."

As Stone Zhang wiped away his tears, he felt himself finally sober up. He awkwardly blew his nose and said goodbye to Twenty-Seven.

Mornings in Wolong County were never still nor quiet: people were already gathering by the river, with fishermen and ferries making their way back and forth across the water, and in the city, the market stalls were already set up, with cooks warming up their stoves and sending billowing steam and smoke into the fresh morning sky.

Twenty-Seven could more or less hide the fact that he was half-blind as he did not stumble nor trip, but his gait was still markedly different from that of ordinary people. He walked extremely slowly, with no hurry in his step at all, giving the impression that he was savoring each and every step he took.

He slowly ambled out of Hugua Alley. Most people would turn right here and go onto the vibrant and crowded main street deeper into the city, and Twenty-Seven did this too.

On this street was the unparalleled Tianxiang Hall restaurant, which, in the early mornings, often laid out a stall to sell breakfast and famous snacks. Following the sound of the salesman promoting his wares, Twenty-Seven slowly turned out of Hugua Alley and walked to Tianxiang Hall to buy some steamed buns and cakes for the three adopted children waiting for him at home.

Normally, he would continue down this street –– after all, this was the shortest route back home. But as the salesman handed him the buns and cakes, Twenty-Seven suddenly felt the urge to take a different way this time.

The urge came out of nowhere, and there was nothing to explain it. This would normally be called a 'gut feeling'.

Twenty-Seven was attuned to magic, so he always took his gut feelings seriously. He did not hesitate at all: he turned on his heels and headed down a narrow alley behind Tianxiang Hall, toward a small path by the river.

This was a very dilapidated, neglected path. Some rich households would even dump their dry hay or rotten textiles back here, which only made the path look uglier –– but it also meant that beggars and migrants liked to visit, in case they found something worth taking home. 

Eventually, this area became known as a hub for local beggars –– but in recent years, there were less and less beggars, and hardly any migrant laborers. And on a bright morning like this, the few beggars that remained would not gather here, for the wind from the river was too harsh. Instead, they would venture into the city, looking for money or a bowl of soup.

Twenty-Seven didn't care who liked to live here nor what was strewn on the ground. He was only following his gut feeling, which had led him here.

As approached the foot of a small hill, he suddenly stopped –– he could hear the faint, broken sound of someone weeping.

"Who's there?" Twenty-Seven asked, peeking his head around the side of the hill.

Maybe it was because the way he rested his gaze was different than that of ordinary passersby, or maybe it was his thin frame and studious-looking demeanor that made him seem unthreatening, but soon after he'd asked his question, a skinny little silhouette reluctantly stuck its head out from behind the hill.

It was a child of three or four years old, with ash and dust all over his face, and mud-tattered rags. He also had some cuts and bruises on his arms –– he looked like he'd been abandoned here.

"Where are your parents?" Twenty-Seven asked.

The child looked back at him with its large, damp eyes for some time, then stared at the mole on his forehead. Finally, the child said, "I don't have parents."

"Then why are you here?" Twenty-Seven asked.

The child thought for some time, then shook his head.

......

Twenty-Seven patiently asked question after question, but none of the answers were satisfactory. It was as though the child had simply appeared here one day, materialising from thin air. Twenty-Seven had already adopted a few children from the streets, and this one was so young that he couldn't very well leave him here. So he took the child's hand and brought him to the riverbank, where he helped him clean away some of the dirt on his face.

Twenty-Seven was about to speak when he noticed that the child was staring at him nervously.

This child had extremely pale skin, which had previously been obscured by the layers of muck. Those brows and eyes suddenly reminded Twenty-Seven of another child that he knew, many years ago. But what really made Twenty-Seven speechless was the red mole in the center of the child's forehead.

It was a tiny mole, and stuck out a bit, and laden with moisture from the river mist. It was right on the Taiyang pressure point –– just like the one on Twenty-Seven's forehead.

Shocked, Twenty-Seven knelt in front of the child and took his face in his hands, staring at him without remembering to blink.

"Why are you... crying?" asked the child. He spoke with a trembling, timid voice, with a slight lisp, which only made Twenty-Seven feel a rush of pity.

Twenty-Seven suddenly blinked hard and let a fat tear drop onto the ground. He took a deep breath and said, "Nothing. I'm just... too happy. I've lost control."

The child stared back at him with those big round eyes and raised a finger to gingerly swipe at the tears in the corner of Twenty-Seven's eyes, but almost poked him in the eyeball instead.

Twenty-Seven didn't mind at all. He blinked several more times and forced himself to push back his tears, then, in a warm and friendly voice, said, "Do you want to come home with me?"

The child asked, "Will I go hungry?"

"No. Never again in your life."

With a serious expression on his face, the chid 'examined' him for some time, as though trying to figure out if Twenty-Seven was trustworthy. But he was far too young to really be able to come to any conclusion; in the end, he took a long look at the wrapped food in Twenty-Seven's hands and sniffed the delicious scent coming from it.

He nodded vigorously, his head bobbing up and down like a chicken eating breakfast. "Okay."

There's someone I miss; they're far away from me.*

For twelve years, they were separated by the border between life and death, but now the faraway old friend had finally come home.

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* The first lines of a Bai Juyi poem entitled 'Night Rain' -- I couldn't find an English translation that worked so made my own but the Chinese is here: https://baike.google.com/item/%E5%A4%9C%E9%9B%A8/15808327