Saintess Changying~
I don’t hear his voice. I can’t read his thoughts either. Our unique relationship, undiscovered by the others, isn’t that defined. It’s more like when Chang Chang and I were little and we used to send each other hidden messages bundled up in clouds. We would make them invisible using the same dragon spell only we could see because we were twins.
His communication with me is similar.
There are fleeting glimpses, punctuated by terse messages, scattered arbitrary thoughts, and a sense of emotions as I catch a feeling from him. His messages are inconsistent and sporadic like his consciousness, but one thing is certain, he loves his wife, and she loves him equally.
He spends most of his time heavily sedated and sleeping. He wants me to stop his pain medication completely, but as a healer, I can’t do that. I have adjusted the opioid dosage to what I deem as reasonable, but the prescription itself stays the same. The severity of his injuries leaves no hope for survival, requiring the use a powerful remedy to make his remaining time bearable. The pain medication he’s taking would sedate even a horse, but when he’s awake, he’s thoroughly alert and wants only to be with his wife.
That’s how I know he’s come around and cognizant, because he calls for her, a testimony to their closeness, and she seems to sense when he is conscious, because she always appears as if summoned by a voice others can’t hear. When she is with him, her presence has a stronger impact on her husband’s suffering than any narcotic.
His love for her gives him respite from his pain, and her love for him has blinded her. It allows her to still recognize the man she fell in love with, while others only see a charred body and face ravaged by fire. She sits by his bedside, her slender hand hovering just above his bald and scarred scalp. She gingerly caresses the spot that was once covered with what I imagine was long, silky black hair with gentle strokes. With tenderness, she lightly kisses the burnt flesh that used to be his lips, showing unconditional love to the father of their unborn child.
He can’t speak anymore from the fire damage, but she converses with him. She never brings up the future since they don’t have one. As she reminisces about their past, she speaks cheerfully, but the circumstances make it feel forced, rendering it difficult to watch. Even facing impending loss, she draws upon her inner resilience, smiling and reminiscing about their wonderful history, her voice steady and dry-eyed. She makes him happy, and he radiates peace of mind when she’s near, cherishing each moment because he is acutely aware that it could be their last.
“Husband,” she begins, her voice brimming with warmth and nostalgia, “do you remember that time you challenged me to a drinking contest? You insisted it wasn’t a competition that would foster a friendly atmosphere and you would not take it easy on me because I was a woman. I recall hearing about how you ended up vomiting on your assistant’s back as he carried you home. But you have always been full of bluff, and I was not immune to your charm. How could I not help but go easy on you that day?”
She reminds me of a storyteller. Her words paint a vivid picture, like a skilled narrator sharing their memories. She plays hers and his role, too. The corners of her mouth turn upwards as she playfully mimics him, deepening her voice and assuming his mannerisms by broadening her shoulders and puffing out her chest.
“She’s my woman! I’ve already claimed and taken her as mine!” She snickers at the remembrance. “You were so dashing it was worth getting my ribs cracked. For a taciturn man of few words, you certainly knew how to make a scene. But you made my heart flutter, and how could I not fall in love with you? How could I not run away with you? I think it was inevitable we would marry.”
She leans close and whispers to him softly. It’s a bittersweet moment. Most people wish for this when their loved ones pass away, to say things never shared before. She confesses to him about matters she hadn’t contemplated or had the chance to utter.
“I wanted to share something with you, but the opportunity never arose. My intention was to accept Lady Min as your second wife when we returned home. However, I would not have addressed her “Jiejie” regardless of her age, and I would not have allowed her to address me as “meimei” considering my position. She could have maintained her current lifestyle and privileges, except for birthing any of your children. That is solely my role. Surprising, isn’t it? You’re truly fortunate to have a wife as benevolent as me, but in all honesty. I’m the one that’s lucky to have a husband like you.”
Their times together are poignant and fleeting. Though he’s just waking up, it’s time for him to get some more sleep. As she catches sight of me approaching with a tray of his tonics, she instinctively reaches out to touch his cheek, her touch as light as a feather brimming with tenderness. “Jinghua, my love, rest now and take your medicine. Don’t fight the Saintess and swallow every drop. I understand your fear of not waking up, but you will, and I’ll be right here with you, until the end.”
Her gaze remains fixed upon him, her stare never wavering as I pour the tonics into his mouth. She acknowledges how well he did when not a drop leaks from the seams of his lips. She thanks him, knowing he struggles to swallow and wipes the corners of his mouth with the handkerchief. She patiently waits, humming what sounds like a lullaby faintly, until he descends into a deep slumber, usually an hour after taking his medicines.
In this quiet period, she secretly snips her hair and hides it in the remaining scraps of his clothes while repeating the same single word. Forever. She then takes a blade to her own body, carving into the same spot on her left breast, just above her beating heart, until enough blood flows to fill the bottom of a teacup. With a determined devotion, she then feeds him spoonfuls of her own blood and slivers of her own flesh, nourishing him with her essence. Once this ritual is complete, she humbly kowtows to me and thanks me.
I’m afraid she’s on the verge of collapsing. Like a shark, she is always in motion and never giving herself a break. She has to keep herself busy. I suspect being alone with her thoughts could be the end of her, and staying constantly restless gives her the will to go on. When she’s not sweeping, she’s doing laundry or meticulously cleaning every corner of the cottage. Her health is weakened from her pregnancy and daily bleedings but she is unstoppable. Today, she grabs the ax by the doorway and heads outside to gather more firewood.
Xinlan brushes away her tears, her nose slightly congested from sniffles. Her emotions are heightened. As she has wistfully watched the mortal couple’s interactions, she has become attached, despite my warnings. The sight of their heart-rendering moments fills her heart with both joy and sorrow. “Saintess,” she whispers, knowing to keep her tone faint always, her voice trembles from her sympathies, “can you imagine the despair if A-li were to take her own life before Jinghua’s child is born? The fading fragrance of their sweet love, lost forever in the abyss, is heartbreaking. Maybe, just maybe, we could offer a gentle intervention,” Xinlan suggests, tiptoeing on fragile ground.
Xinlan now calls the mortals by their names, which is uncommon for us. She has kept her distance from our patients until now. I interrupt her sad speech, hoping she understands. Immortals feel more deeply and our compassion is extreme because of our elevated cultivation. However, we know it’s best not to get attached to temporary things. If immortals brought back their families from human trials and demanded immortality for everyone, chaos would ensue.
Staying impartial is how we maintain balance. That’s how things work. However, there is something impossible to ignore—just between him and me. The unique connection we share is remarkable. Despite his mortality, his soul calls to me and resonates with mine.
‘You’re not a human being, are you?’
He should be fast asleep, but he’s alert and intently peering at me. His voice directed at me. It’s not like previously when his remarks were just a passing noise or thought; he’s speaking to me directly. Our connection has changed and advanced deeper so abruptly it’s unsettling. He startles me but he fascinates me also, making me scoff and I reply to him out loud as Xinlan glances at me confused, wondering to whom I am speaking.
“Are you scared? Are you afraid I’m an evil monster that will eat you and your pretty wife?” I raise my veil above eye level, revealing my dragon’s stare. There is a risk; he could die from the shock of meeting an immortal. However, he answers me through telepathy most comically.
‘If you plan to eat us, start with me. I’m already cooked.’
‘I’ve never seen a monster.’
‘You don’t seem like one, though.’
‘You can’t be evil.’
‘Your eyes hold a beauty that speaks of kindness.’
Then he asks, “Are you here to take me into the afterlife?’
And I pose, “Why? Are you so eager to die? Would you like to leave this instant?” Again Xinlan confusedly glancing at me and around wondering to whom I’m speaking.
‘No. I don’t want to die.’ He replies and his powerful spirit earns my respect.
I have followed the virtuous path that was laid out by my adopted father, Uncle Mo Yuan. His wisdom taught me showing benevolence at the wrong times could cause a catastrophe. He pointed out that my life, like everyone else’s, would have its challenges and trials, but the true lessons lied in how I would handle those challenges. He stressed sometimes it took more strength and courage to yield than carrying on, even if my driving force was motivated by what I considered being righteous. Embracing the natural flow of life, rather than fighting it, was the key to understanding the profound meaning of becoming a cultivated immortal.
He has taught me well, but my sister is blinded by her bitterness towards him. She thinks he brainwashed me, like our disciple uncles, and filled my head with boring rigid Kunlun teachings. Had she sat in on a single lesson and truly paid attention instead of daydreaming, she would have learned that Uncle Mo Yuan, the wise and revered Shifu of Kunlun Mountain, also emphasized the significance of heeding the voice of one’s heart.
He said sometimes you need to ignore logic and break rules. Not to fear the heavens, but make it tremble by raising hell and follow your inner voice to avoid regrets.
He believed that both Changchang and I were inherently good, and that our pure hearts would always guide us to make the right choices. Now, it is that very heart prompting me to pause and contemplate momentarily, even if that modicum of time is as brief as the blink of my eye. I question the limits of my powers. I delve into the inner workings of my mind, contemplating the uniqueness of this human before me, the ethical implications of using my magic to alter his impending demise, and the profound consequences of defying the law of nature.
Against my better judgment, I tell my assistant, Xinlan, to go to the North Sea and meet my great uncle. I ask her to get two pearly mermaid scales, which are good for a skin soothing salve. The balm won’t make him live longer, but it will prevent his skin from cracking and bleeding more. I also ask Xinlan to retrieve the snake skin from Shao Xin’s last peeling. She owes me a favor for helping with her last childbirth that was complicated from the infant being breech.
Knowing I’m treading on the fine line of celestial laws, I will use the magical snake skin as a bandage that will help heal the mortal’s face. It won’t make him look completely normal again, but it will help his wife and others identify him more easily. This will give them a more pleasant last memory of him, rather than the image of his current condition. I never thought I would regret throwing away Heavenly Lord’s opiates, but luckily, I left a ten thousand-year-old snowflake from Kunlun Mountain in Zhe Yan’s orchard. Melting and giving him a drop or two of it on his tongue will ease most of his pain without making him sleepy, unlike poppy extract.
With a firm tone, I give advice to both myself and her. “We will NOT go against nature’s laws and save this man from his fate. He is destined to die shortly. His body is already starting to shut down, as his vital organs are failing, but we can, as dedicated physicians, do our best to provide him with care and keep him as comfortable as possible during his remaining time. We aren’t breaking the rules per se, but acting out of humanity because we are cultivated, immortals.”
“This is crucial. Although we aren’t going against celestial laws. It’s best to not bring attention to our efforts. Nobody can know we are using immortal elements on a human. Can you swear to follow this rule, Xinlan?” She wipes her runny nose, eagerly tilting her head, nodding happily at me like little Yingpei when I feed him snacks.
She stares at me with respect and declares, “Saintess Princess is the wisest and most magnanimous healer in Nine Heavens.” She speaks in the same tone as when she talks about high goddess mother. “This will be our secret. If I ever say a word, may Xinlan be punished by lightning and never reincarnate. I won’t tell anyone about us helping Jinghua and A-li.”
There she goes again, calling the human by their names.