Chapter 10
Ruilin~
Feeling restless, I had been writing poems about Princess Changying when my attention was drawn outside by the familiar noises that seeped through the open window. It was before sunrise, a time of grey and uncertain light when the boundary between night and day is blurred, and the land is submerged in a colorless half-light. In the courtyard below, as they had so many times since my arrival here, Zhiming and Yi Nuo met for their daily ritual.
This morning, she had a bamboo basket almost as big as her full of freshly cut wood strapped snugly onto her back. She gripped an old straw broom, clearly irritated and casting sidelong glances, her lips moving in silent complaint about being tricked. The broom, worn and frayed, seemed so brittle that it was puzzling it hadn’t been reduced to tinder.
A sharp and sudden noise cut the air—a rock thrown with breathtaking precision and speed. Its high-pitched path grated on my senses and was followed in rapid succession by another and another. Yet the sound of each hitting the ground was delayed, strikingly, by the broom now firmly in Yi Nuo’s hand. A fourth stone whizzed towards her, this one hurled with more intensity, and she moved with unexpected agility, blocking it with a deft flick. She did not seem to realize that Zhiming’s throws, though seemingly random, were anything but. Each stone was aimed with purpose, an unspoken lesson in swordplay without a traditional sword. She blocked another, and another, each movement becoming more fluid. Despite the heavy load of wood on her back, she moved swiftly. The added weight was perhaps intended to build her stamina and resistance.
He hurled another rock with all his strength, launching it high into the sky with a trajectory she hadn’t anticipated. Yet, Yi Nuo leapt to meet it, matching its force and intercepting it mid-air with an agile swing of her improvised weapon. Her breathing was loud and rapid. Her hair, now loose, whipped wildly across her face as she twisted back to the ground with graceful movements. She spun once more, perfectly synchronizing her broom and body, standing defiantly before the last rock, which caused the broom to shatter in her hands. The splintered remnants of the broom dropped heavily at her feet, and she stood panting, her face flushed from the effort.
“Yi Nuo, you must learn to control your Qi condensation,” Zhiming chided, his voice calm but firm, as though the answer was ridiculously simple. “The broom is not meant to meet the stone. Your internal energy is.” He moved towards the side of the courtyard and pulled out a small chair with a lazy confidence, then chewed on a sugarcane. “Steady your breathing,” he added.
With mounting frustration, she retorted, her voice bouncing off the courtyard walls. “How can internal energy, something unseen, possibly block a rock? And why am I the one hauling your wood? I’d like to see how you’re breathing after chasing rocks like me before breakfast.” Despite her complaints, she quickly picked up another broom without pause.
The broom was brand new and untested, its straw bristles stiff and unyielding. She brushed her unruly hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ears before resuming her stance. “Master, why do I feel you’re bored and deceiving me again?” she complained, her frustration clear. Yet beneath her irritation was a look of determination as fresh as the broom she wielded, leading me to wonder how many brooms she had broken, why she didn’t realize that Zhiming was a highly skilled ninth-level master, and what a warrior of his cultivation was doing in a convent.
Yi Nuo~
“Thank you for sweetening my tonics,” he says politely, speaking with a shyness. He bows his head to me as he does so, not lifting his eyes. “And thank you for the ink and paper.”
I smiled faintly, watching him swallow the last of the tonic medicine. I waited for him to say more and noticed how even his movements had a quietness about them.
We’ve called him “the man” for over a week now, since he arrived at the temple with no memory of his name, past, or how he got there. At first, he was mostly silent, staring pensively into the distance, as if searching for lost memories or perhaps yearning for someone or something. I’m not expressive, nor am I good with words, and I’m unsure how to comfort him, so I don’t, but the others are more than willing.
The west wing, once deserted with rumors of my dead mother’s ghost, seems not to scare the girls anymore. Since our mysterious guest arrived, many of my fellow convent sisters have found any excuse to exchange a few words with him. Ling, who is known for being timid, claimed he borrowed one of her books. Ya Qi is convinced that he thinks she is prettier than the mountain flowers. This morning, another convent sister offered the excuse of opening an already open window, just to catch a glimpse of him. I hear them snickering about his appearance, which they all carry on about. I can’t tell if he’s handsome, as the others say, since I’ve only seen three men: Master Zhiming, Ya Qi’s father, and now this man, but compared to the other two, I’d say he’s not unpleasant on the eyes.
Ya Qi is the one who is most taken by him and has made it a point to tell us. She thinks him a fine man and worthy of being her husband. I didn’t know there were so many girls who have no desire to become nuns. Many were sent to learn the rules of womanly virtues in preparation for serving their future husbands, and they planned to leave when they became old enough to marry. Most have been promised in marriage arrangements from their youth. Unlike many of my convent sisters, who are highly affected by his presence, I have neither interest nor inclination in him, which is why Abbess Mother had me deliver his medicine and meals.
“I feel like a bother. My ankle is healed enough. I’d like to go,” he says, handing me the empty medicine bowl with both hands.
He has been insisting on leaving since the moment he opened his eyes. “Where will you go when you don’t know your name or where you came from?” I reply. “Master Zhiming said the nearest town was four to five days on horse, and even if Abbess Mother allowed you to leave, you’ll never make it in the forest full of tigers, boars, and bears.”
“Abbess Mother told us you would be leaving with the Marquis when he comes for one of his monthly visits,” I said, repeating the news the others had all been whispering about since the Abbess announced her plans for him. “Maybe by then, you’ll have remembered who you are, and the Marquis can help you find your home.”
As the words left my mouth, he tilted his head slightly, his wistful gaze drifting to the narrow window and cherry trees on the horizon beyond it. A deep and thoughtful frown creased his brow, and for a moment, it was as if I could see the weight of his frustration in the drawn lines of his face.
I couldn’t explain it to myself or anyone else; I had no reason to distrust him, yet a nagging feeling persisted in the back of my mind, whispering that he was hiding something. Abbess Mother always said to trust my intuitions, to never silence them, just to spare feelings or save face. However, she also cautioned me to be prudent, reminding me to choose goodness and trust until someone proved themselves truly undeserving.
I carefully proposed, “Perhaps getting some fresh air outside might be more effective than the tonics. I could ask Mother Abbess to permit you to take short walks outside the convent. This might help with your recovery and ease the feeling of being cooped up. However, you must promise to return immediately; if anything goes awry, I’ll be the one to bear the responsibility since it was my idea.”
He smiles at me, showing his perfect teeth and dimples, an expression that seems almost foreign on him since his arrival. His eyes light up as if sparked by something deep within him, and I am startled by the suddenness of it. I have never before seen or even known that such dark eyes could shine with such brilliance. They are like gems set ablaze by the sun, glittering with a surprising intensity I did not think possible. An unexpected warmth spreads through me, a reaction I’m not accustomed to.
“Thank you, Yi Nuo,” he says, his voice carrying an unmistakable gratitude. My heart jumps, racing from more than just his politeness and voice that’s pleasing to my ears. A jolt of surprise hits me. Considering all my sisters’ visits, why does he know my name, the least significant person here?
Yingpei~
“Mother, I’m going to get some snacks and meet you by the lantern seller,” I said, glancing around at the men openly gawking at her. I glared at them. “If anyone bothers you, just let Yingpei deal with them. Then we will enjoy the festivities and forget about Bai Lianhua.”
She gently touched my face. “Yingpei, just because you suspect her of being unkind towards me, you mustn’t act rashly. You’ll regret this when she dies. Your prejudice is disrespectful to your father’s wife, reflecting poorly on my parenting. We’ll have a wonderful Lantern Festival; it’s a shame Bai Lianhua can’t join us. Now, stop that grim face and get me some walnuts. I’ll be by the lanterns.”
Her words resonated deeply. These days, I can’t help but sneer at the very mention of my stepmother’s name, finding fault in everything she does and says. Mother has urged us to treat Bai Lianhua with the same respect as before her return, but it’s easier said than done. Especially when I see how distressed and exhausted Mother is after her visits to Nine Heavens. She becomes reclusive and withdraws for days afterward, but tonight I persuaded her to visit the mortal realm, and I’m glad I did. She truly enjoys it.
Mother’s almond-shaped eyes dart back and forth, taking in the vibrant colors and lively crowd of the festival. Her fan taps against her palm with each flick of her wrist. Her apricot gown sways with her movements, its silky fabric highlighting her graceful figure. The rose, yellow, and white floral embroideries on her cloak’s collars and shoulders stand out against the white fabric. The gentle click of her fan and the rustling of her gown blend in with the sounds of chatter.
She is the loveliest woman here. Both men and women are captivated by her, their gazes lingering inappropriately long on her delicate features and confident posture, a fact she refuses to believe.
My mother feels old, undesirable, and past her prime, but that’s just not accurate. She thinks she doesn’t need romance and will be content living as a mother, while pretending to and ignoring her own needs as a woman; however, this too is not correct. She believes her failed marriage with father is proof enough not to forge new relationships that are doomed to fail, as her marriage did. However, this is also not true. If she doesn’t take the brave first step, how will she know?
My mother is beautiful, but that isn’t quite right. Calling her beautiful is the mother of all understatements, akin to describing the surface of the sun as merely warm. Her appearance hasn’t changed since she was a student at Kunlun. Many of my Kunlun uncles tease her for having such a youthful face still after all these years. And men will never stop desiring her. Regardless of age, she is the goddess of their fantasies — a woman one could dare to only dream of, and make their wife.
She wants nothing more than to be the perfect mother she couldn’t be before for my siblings and me. She is. Whatever she feels she owes us, she repays us daily, hourly, minute by minute, and down to the second. She gives all of herself, and we bask in her love, but she must also receive love, as it is impossible to give from an empty vessel and claim as she may; she most definitely needs both romantic and physical love, which she denies herself.
I’ve never shared this with my siblings, but I knew about Mother’s body being hidden in Qingqui long before she was resurrected. Call it intuition or a biological connection, but I smelled her, sensed her presence, and felt it growing stronger, just as the others did. Uncle Zhe Yan and Uncle Bai Zhen realized that Bai Lianhua held a fragment of Mother’s soul, much like how Uncle Die Feng’s older brother once hosted a piece of Father Shifu’s. The family couldn’t figure out how to bring this to light and reclaim the missing fragment without revealing that they were preserving Mother. While they struggled to find a solution, Mother miraculously returned, and I believed this was proof of her deep desire to be with us again, which she ultimately was, and I was there to witness it.
It was utter confusion. As she unsteadily set her feet on the paved grey stone floor, she genuinely thought she had survived her battle with Xuan Nu and had been in a coma for a few days or years at the most, but when she discovered it had been over 50,000 years. She was bewildered and believed she was experiencing one of Xuan Nu’s tricks, as she had before her death. After realization dawned on her, I saw the confusion and how lost she looked, then she asked for father. It was I who told her about Bai Lianhua and his new children. Then I saw her sorrow. It was fleeting, and as she held back the deluge of tears, she did not weep. I felt as if I were drowning in them.
My sisters desire it, but Dege and I feel reconciliation with Father is an impossibility. Something sudden, I don’t expect anything immediate, but I know someone who is patient. She may not think she is brave enough to take the first step, but someone knows exactly how brave she is and has been since her youth.
When Father got rid of her peach trees, thinking they no longer held meaning, someone had a different opinion. This person replanted most in Qingqui, but one way up in the clouds, where they now flourish. This Someone has perfect timing because he stands behind Mother, wearing a rabbit mask, and lifts her up to get a better view of a Fox lantern. Mother’s surprised look is priceless, though not as priceless as the annoyed vendor who loudly complains and glares at his wife for swooning, “What a big show-off! Your husband is clearly showing off his strength. You could have simply asked for the lantern if you wanted a closer look.”
My mother blushes and laughs, warning the vendor, “I wouldn’t mess with this man. He’s the God of War.”
The vendor, with a sour expression, retorts, “Ha, Lady! If he’s the God of War, then I’m Hou Yi, and my wife is Chang’e! Do you want the lantern or not!? And no discount!”