Chapter 7
Yi Nuo~
Before dawn, far from the others in the temple’s secluded west wing courtyard, I practice martial arts. The spot’s avoided, whispered to be haunted by my mother’s ghost, but to me, it’s tranquil. A small pond that once held a twenty-five-year-old Coy fish mirrors the undisturbed sky above. Cherry trees in blossom stand guard, their delicate petals drifting down like pink snow.
Master Zhiming, the eldest son of a distinguished family of warrior generals, inherited a legacy of valor and combat. He served the emperor faithfully and was a renowned soldier among his peers. His sword, a magnificent heirloom of unparalleled magnificence, gleaming with the glory of a thousand victories, was passed down through generations. His face was so handsome that women chased him everywhere he went, and tales of his valor spread throughout the dynasty; his kill count, rumored to be immense, was so high that he claimed he could barely recall his enemies’ faces, and this was all according to him.
I hold a different belief about Master Zhiming’s storied past, one that diverges sharply from the grand narratives he shares with me. I suspect he was born into nobility, not as a conqueror, but as a servant. His battles, I contend, exist only in the fog of his imagination; he has fainted at the mere sight of blood and fears animal sounds from the forest. If he had indeed served in the army, then perhaps his valor was limited to cleaning and tending the grounds and livestock; his mighty sword was rather a humble broom or rake, tools he now wields with a comedic flair as he chuckles at my expense.
Master Zhiming’s martial arts teachings often leave me perplexed. His methods seem less about skill and more about assigning me his chores: cutting wood to strengthen my arms, sweeping the grounds to cultivate balance, or—his favorite—hurling stones at me to sweep away before they touch the ground. This is apparently a test of my agility.
Today, under a persistent wind, I’m raking fallen cherry blossoms, a task rendered absurd by the wind’s desire to make my efforts impossible. He insists this cultivates my Qi, an ethereal life force I barely understand. It feels more like servitude than training.
“Any complaints?” Master Zhiming asks, casually chewing sugarcane. He’s a man of few words, but he loves to tease, especially when he knows I can’t reply. “Yi Nuo, speak up. One word, then we switch places and I’ll do the raking.”
I glare, furiously raking as the wind whips my hair. He enjoys my speechless frustration too much. “Very well then, since you are this willing,” he chuckles, “keep at it, my dear disciple. This strengthens your Qi; focus is key.” He says and shuts his eyes as if in meditation.
The sky brightens behind me as the sun rises, signaling my time to return to the Abbess Mother’s chamber with her morning tea before she wakes. I rake faster, then a flash of color catches my eye—a bird, seemingly lifeless, but its chest flutters faintly. Cradling the delicate creature in my hands, I feel its gentle breath. Captivated by its vibrant plumage—a fiery red crest against warm golden-yellow—I carefully examine its injuries: a twisted wing, a twitching leg that looks dreadful, but I’m hopeful. “You’re not dead yet. You are a fighter,” I whisper to my new feathered friend. “I’ll help you fly again.”
Prince Ruilin~
Where am I? Why is it so dark? Where’s my brother? There’s nothing more disorienting than waking up in a place you don’t recognize.
The last thing I remember is having a frustrating day searching for my Princess. After failing to find her, my brother and I decided to drown my sorrows in drink. As the evening wore on, my memories became hazy, yet I can still recall the determination I felt, even in my drunken state, to find my Princess. I know better than to drink and fly, yet here I am, grappling with the consequences of my poor decisions.
A deep throb in my right wing and leg draws my attention. I glance down to see them wrapped tightly in bandages, with sticks holding the makeshift splints in place. The pain is sharp, taking my breath away. I carefully turn my head to take in my surroundings, but the darkness is nearly all-encompassing. I’m lying on what feels like a bed made of twigs and hay, and a sense of unease washes over me. It’s an unsettling sensation, similar to the feeling I had when my father used to punish me by confining me to my room for days.
I try to call out for my brother, but my voice comes out in weak chirps. Panic starts to bubble beneath the surface as I realize I do not know how I ended up here or what might have happened after I lost consciousness. I strain to listen for any sounds that might show my brother’s presence, but the silence is deafening.
Suddenly, I am blinded by a bright light as the darkness around me lifts like a veil—or, in this case, a blanket, and now my eyes are staring back at me. I find myself trapped in a cage, stuck in my Phoenix form, and a girl is watching me. “I’m glad you’re awake,” she says. Then, through the bars, she brings a small spoonful of water to my parched beak, and it tastes sweeter than anything I have ever experienced. I drink it eagerly until there is none left.
“You were thirsty,” she exclaims. She carefully collects more water from a cup and refills the tiny spoon, which looks like something a baby would use. “There you go, good bird. Now, you must be hungry.” And I am—I am famished.
She pulls a small bag from her dress. “I was taught not to kill, but there’s a reason for the food chain. It’s part of the cycle of life.” As she speaks, she lifts a wriggling worm from the pouch and approaches me, grinning. “No, no, no! Not worms!” I chirp in protest, and the worm pleads with me, “Please, no! Don’t eat me!”
“Don’t you worry! I don’t eat worms,” I chirp to the worm and snap my beak shut while she holds the worm to my beak coaxingly. What does this mortal think I am? I’m not some common magpie? I’m a Phoenix Prince. She forces the terrified worm against my shut beak, but I won’t budge. She comes closer, her face nearly pressed to the bars, and then she strokes my head with one finger, and I squawk in protest. I’m saving myself for my Princess. As beautiful as I am, how dare this mortal handle me this intimately? I squawk louder, and when my beak is parted, she drops the worm in my mouth and then uses her finger under my chin to shut my beak, causing me to keep the worm in my mouth.
My heart sinks for a moment as I feel the squirming coolness of the creature that tastes of earth and dirt against my tongue. But before I can spit it out, she uses her finger under my chin to close my beak, forcing me to swallow the worm. The taste lingers, an unwelcome reminder of my momentary defeat. I puff up my chest and ruffle my feathers, determined to reclaim my lost dignity, but unsuccessful in my current state.
Her smile is ear to ear as she says, “See? I knew you were hungry! Tomorrow, you’ll love the juicy grubs I dig up for you. But what to call you? With plumage like that, you’re a handsome male, I’d say.”
First a worm and now grubs!
My, what a barbarian! Delicious fruit, nuts, or berries are perfectly acceptable. Surely she wouldn’t offer me chicken; it might be a distant relative! I wish she’d stop stroking my head and neck; I’m saving those areas for my wedding night. She’s incredibly forward, but I admit, she has excellent taste in recognizing my attractiveness.
“Since you’re so handsome, you’ll be my ‘Pretty Boy,” she declares. I’ve never felt so insulted in my life. Wait until I’m healed and can fly. I will surely make her pay for her insolence.
Bai Qian~
“I’m sorry for everything, Mo Yuan. Thank you for what you did for Yingpei.” After everything we have been through, it feels fitting to start with this. He replies, “I’m sorry for the times I hurt you. As for Yingpei, I thought I was saving him for you, but it turns out, I saved him for me. The children are extraordinary and here because of your sacrifice. You should come to Kunlun. Your brothers are eager to see you.” His grip tightens around my hand, interlacing our fingers as we walk toward the sacred ground that holds more significance for us than for anyone else in the world.
Yanhua Cave, with its hidden depths and ancient secrets, cradled us as we worked to piece together the shattered remnants of our souls. Now, returning here, I experience a mix of languid fear and an overwhelming urge to break down and cry. The memories wrap tightly around me, whispering of pain and loss, yet also of life.
Mo Yuan steps closer, his steady hand reaching out to anchor me. “You returned from the dead, just as I did eons ago. It’s an extraordinary gift, one that few have experienced. However, it’s also bittersweet to come back feeling the same sentiments and being the person you were at the moment you died, while the world has moved on without you.”
The weight of his words settles heavily on my shoulders and chest. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you returned to help with your transition. You must have been scared, confused, and felt so terribly alone,” he murmurs, his voice tinged with genuine regret. This echoes deep within me, and a fresh pang of pain slices through my heart, reviving the emotions I am still grappling with.
“Yes, the children are grown and ready to marry. My mother is gone and Ye Hua…” My voice falters, becoming a mere whisper as hot tears prick at my eyes. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Fifty thousand years had passed, after all, but I didn’t expect him to forget me so thoroughly. I’m sorry, Mo Yuan. I shouldn’t burden you with my troubles, shouldn’t dwell on this…” My words trail off, swallowed by a suffocating silence.
He gently pulls back, his hands cradling my face with a tenderness that both comforts and shatters me. “You could never be a burden to me, Bai Qian. You know that, but it might help to let it all out,” he urges softly.
I draw my lip against my teeth, gripping tightly to my wavering poise and emotions, but when he, the only one who understands and knows exactly how I feel, says, “Bai Qian, stop holding it all in and let yourself cry,” I lose the battle.
I stumble forward, collapsing into his chest as if the very ground beneath me has fallen away. My tears, hot and unrelenting, soak through his clothes. My ragged sobs echo off the cave walls, each wail tearing free from the depths of my soul. I cry until my breaths come in gasps, until it doesn’t matter whether I breathe at all. It’s a catharsis I’ve long denied myself.
He holds me tightly, resting his cheek upon my head, stroking my hair with a gentle rhythm as if trying to weave together the pieces of my heart. He wipes away my tears with his thumb, and when I finally find the courage to meet his gaze, I find a tenderness there so profound that it aches. He leans down, placing a soft kiss on my forehead, then brushes his lips lightly over the spot on my cheek where my last tear fell. In that instant, I become acutely aware of how starved I am for touch. It’s not the comforting embrace of my children or the familial warmth I crave, but the electric connection between a man and a woman.
Our eyes meet, searching deeply into one another, and something unexpected ignites within me, pulling me closer despite my better judgment. I lean in, tilting my face upward, my heart racing as warmth floods my cheeks. Our lips gently brush against each other in a kiss that feels both painfully sweet and inevitably bitter—a paradox that reflects the turmoil within me.
Mo Yuan stiffens for a beat, caught off-guard, before responding with a fervor that sends shockwaves through me. His mouth moves against mine, igniting a hunger I’ve not experienced for lifetimes. His hands slide down to my waist, pulling me flush against him, our kiss deepening with an urgency that feels both elating and dangerously forbidden.
In that moment, my mind stills for the first time since returning to this world. I cling to him, my hands grasping the collar of his tunic as if it’s a lifeline. A soft moan escapes my lips and mingles with the warmth of his breath. The taste of him, the feel of his body pressed against mine, sends my heart racing and blurs the lines of right and wrong. But then the realization of the gravity of our actions crashes over us like a tidal wave, instantly breaking the spell.
We break apart, pulling away both of us breathing heavily, the air crackling with tension. My heart pounds in my chest, each beat echoing the conflict within. “We can’t do this. It’s not right,” I gasp, unable to look at him, fearing that if I do, the resolve I’ve just summoned will shatter like glass.
The weight of our actions looms over me, heavy and suffocating. Mo Yuan’s presence is a force of nature, and I can feel the desperation radiating off him. His response is raw, layered with a depth of emotion that sends chills down my spine. “No, that can’t happen again, and it won’t.” His words hang between us, thickening the charged atmosphere, a reminder of the boundaries we once knew so well and must maintain.
I want to believe in myself and him, to trust that we can hold to this promise. But the warmth of his body still lingers on my skin, his scent intoxicating and familiar, and I find it hard to reconcile the intensity of what we’ve just shared with the impending consequences of our actions.
“Mo Yuan,” I whisper, my voice trembling, betraying me at every turn. We’ve crossed a line we must not cross again.” I can see the conflict etching itself across his face, a battlefield of desire and unease. He steps back, creating more room, the distance between us feeling both vital and cruel. “A first offense,” he states, his breath catching slightly. “We briefly lost our composure, but we’re fine now.”
Trying to lighten the mood, I force a nervous chuckle and tap his chest lightly. Even though it hurts to repeat this, I do. “Did you know Ye Hua thinks I’m cruel, dangerous, and complicated?” He replies seriously, a small smile softening his words. “You are,” he says, “and that’s precisely what makes you so alluring. It’s your charm, and I hope you never change, Shíqī.”
Why does Ye Hua’s harsh judgment, coming from Mo Yuan, sound like praise and leave me strangely pleased? Why does it feel this good to be called Shíqī again?