Chapter 16
Yi Nuo~
I’ve lost my purpose? This matter preyed on my mind lately, creeping into my thoughts unbidden no matter how often I pushed it away.
If Mother Abbess were here by my side, she’d tell me to share my gifts of which she thought I had many with everyone I meet, but here among these enlightened immortals, what can I, a mere mortal, possibly offer that means anything at all? I feel utterly useless, a heavy burden upon Ruilin and all my hosts, contributing nothing of value for their kindness. Biding my time, waiting for something—anything—to happen, feeling as though I’m imposing with no right to do so.
A harsh, rasping throat-clearing—like sandpaper on bone—jerks me from my reverie. My hands freeze mid-task from organizing the pieces on the vanity. The silver-handled brush, the tool of Lue Lue’s daily fifty-strokes: the cinnamon wood wide-toothed comb, the delicate perfume of camelia hair oil, and the mysterious array of cosmetics and toiletries on my little vanity.
“Lady Yi Nuo isn’t supposed to straighten up and clean after herself,” she says sharply. “Not that you are disorderly in any way, but since there is so little for me to do, Lady Yi Nuo should leave everything to Lue Lue. My lady seems to forget she is an honored lady, which is not much different from being a princess, and princesses don’t clean after themselves.” She says this as though stating some fundamental law of the universe, one that I continually fail to grasp but she seems to have forgotten. I’m not a lady or a princess.
Ruilin tells me when his princess returns she will find a place for me to go, but I think he’s obtuse not thinking she might get the wrong impression about me. I’m waiting for the right time to ask him to take me back to the mortal realm and leave me to live and die as I should.
“Happy Birthday, Yi Nuo.” He does this. At the same time every day, he wishes me a happy birthday. Since I’ve been in the Phoenix realm for six weeks, though I haven’t changed at all, he tells me today I am sixty years old, which is nothing compared to him who is nearly sixty thousand years old.
Although I didn’t anticipate a present, he brought one along. This day, he hands me a blossoming bouquet of begonias smiling, his wide, toothy smile. “Thank you, Ruilin.” I bring the bouquet to my nose, inhaling the sweet scent when Ruilin suddenly chokes, slaps them from my grasps and exclaims, “No! Yi Nuo, don’t sniff those! I’m so clumsy! Quick Steps and begonias look so alike. I should have paid better attention!”
I pulled back from him instinctively, my eyebrow rising in question. Yet, his towering height where the top of my head barely reached his armpits gave him the upper hand, allowing him to press the back of his hand against my forehead as if checking to see if I had a fever. His expression transformed into one of a concerned physician delivering an unfavorable prognosis. “How much of the pollen did you inhale?” he inquired.
“Am I going to die?” I touched my forehead trying to notice if anything felt off with my body.
He replied, concern and worry morphing into one dire expression, “Not death, but that flower is called the Quick Steps because it gives you loose bowels for days…”
“Loose bowels for days!” I gasped, then stood gape mouthed. What kind of flowers could do such a thing from inhaling the pollen alone? I didn’t know who or what to feel angry at as I stared at the most sinister flowers I had the unpleasant misfortune of coming across.
Ruilin shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels, shaking his head. “The timing is terrible, too. My father wants to meet you. My jiejie has been raving and told everyone how you saved little nephew Jing’er from drowning in the lake the other day and we can’t keep the emperor waiting.”
Panic seizes my stomach, and anxiety snaked up my chest. How could I possibly meet the emperor at a time like this? What was I supposed to do if my stomach acted up when I was in the presence of the Phoenix Emperor?!
Ruilin~
She’s glaring down at the treacherous, scattered begonias at her feet, and with every passing moment, her face is scrunching with more uneasiness. She’s wiping her clammy hands on her dress. She appears so flustered, in such a state of disarray, that it’s almost impossible to maintain my serious act around her, and I feel my composure slipping away like a breathe. Nothing makes me laugh more than pranking Yi Nuo.
The other day, I had a special dish prepared and presented with her lunch, one that she had most definitely never experienced before. A dish of piping mad and talkative worms was set out for her. From the shadows, I overheard the entire exchange, the most hilarious conversation that might have ever taken place in this realm or any other.
The worms, who had been quite silent until then, piped up and asked her why she fed one of their poor brothers to me, and if she thought it was funny to do something so cruel. She told them with utter sincerity she thought birds consumed worms and insects for meals and that it was meant to be a gift. When I heard this, I laughed so hard I nearly fell over.
They then argued like little bickering children, asking why she felt the need to bite the caterpillar in half before feeding it to me if she was so generous, and she explained that she thought it was simply too big to swallow.
Her segmented interrogators, undeterred by Yi Nuo’s excuses, called out with a raucous show of unity, “Well, if you think a little Caterpillar was too big to swallow, then being a nun is your only path.”
I had expected that she would be humiliated, that she would be confused and maybe offended. It’s what I expected from anyone else with her serious temperament. Instead, she broke out into laughter. Peals of laughter that sounded like music tinkering through the halls filling the palace with a lightheartedness it’s not had before she arrived. She’s brought a new joy to Bright Jade Palace. Even the worms aren’t afraid of her anymore.
“We mustn’t keep my father waiting,” I reminded her, turning my face away to suppress the laughter threatening to escape. Her skin had blanched to the same pale hue as the marble flooring beneath our feet. “Yi Nuo, you’ll have to hold it until after the visit. Just keep your cheeks pinched like you’re cracking a walnut. Tight.”
Uncertainty clouded her face, her expression shifting as she cast me a nervous glance that quickly turned into a steadfast, scrutinizing, hole boring stare.
Ah oh, she’s seen thrown through my prank.
Without warning, she lunged forward, her hands darting with unexpected speed. Her slender fingers clamped down on my nipples over my clothes, pinching sharply. “AHHH! Let go!” I screamed, the words echoing off the walls causing a cascade of mirth and giggles from those watching us.
She let go, but her vengeful intent remained. Her hands darted beneath my robe with unsettling speed. She grabbed the front of my pants, yanking them upward with such force on my crotch that my voice—shot up in a surprisingly high-pitched squeak. “Yi Nuo! My future children depend on those! I give up! I give up!” I cried, and finally, she released me, clapping with self-satisfied glee.
“Where did you learn to do that!?”
She replied, a smug smile playing on her lips, “I must have had brothers in my past life,” her voice a low, melodious but intimidating grumble.
Phoenix Emperor Feng Li~
“Father, she’s here.” What’s this? Lian Xu, my eldest daughter, is a careful and prudent child, characteristics she has embodied since the day her mother passed away. She is reserved, standoffish with few friends, none of whom I would describe as close. Yet, in her voice, as she speaks of this girl, there is an unexpected warmth and affection that surprises me.
“Meimei, don’t be shy,” my daughter encouraged, referring to the mortal girl as meimei. “Meimei, my father may look like a grump, but deep down, he’s a good and gentle man.”
The girl is petite, her small frame almost disappearing behind Ruilin as she trails in his shadow. My experience with mortals is limited, so I brace myself for the possibility of encountering crudeness or an utter lack of sophistication. I remind myself to be understanding, knowing that this child is unaware of the protocols for addressing royalty, being accustomed only to the life of a nun.
With graceful movements, she rounds her arms, dipping at her knees with eyes lowered in respect. “Yi Nuo greets the Phoenix Emperor,” she announces, her stacked hands rising to her forehead as she performs a proper kowtow, exhibiting more grace than many princesses I have seen. The words “refined” and “aristocratic” don’t just float to mind; they crash in with undeniable force. Perhaps Ruilin instructed her on ceremonial greetings.
“So,” I said, narrowing my gaze with scrutiny, absorbing each detail of the small girl who stood before me, “you are Yi Nuo? The mortal who saved Ruilin and my imperial grandson Jing’er at the pond the other day?”
I beckoned her to come closer, to step forward from behind Ruilin’s towering form. “Raise your head, child. Let me see your face.” She raised her head, her dark eyes meeting mine.
Her gown, a delicate blend of ivory and pastel green, whispered with every gentle movement she made. The pale yellow and white vining flowers stitched onto her belled sleeves seemed to unfurl magically as she stood still, their petals poised as if ready to capture the breeze. Around her waist, a belt burst with the same intricate yellow and white floral embroidery with silk tassels. Her glossy, dark hair was neatly pulled back off her face, held in place by a single vivid poppy. This bold splash of red stood out strikingly against the rich midnight of her hair.
She is a wildflower in first bloom, effortlessly drawing attention to her, making my princess daughter’s beauty seem common.
Her gaze lifted, revealing eyes that were long and narrow, curving upward like the tails of shooting stars. They were a deep, rich brown and held steady when they met mine unwaveringly. Remarkably, this child’s gaze carried a quiet wisdom, as if the universe’s most sacred secrets were nestled within them. Her high, elegantly sculpted cheekbones complemented her rosy skin, flawless and smooth like fine porcelain. Her mouth, both childlike and generous, embodied raw innocence and pure femininity. Her face was one an artist would pay dearly to capture on canvas, considering such beauty their greatest masterpiece. Yet, the most striking aspect was her uncanny resemblance to Ruilin’s mother when she was young and newly married.
It was astonishing, almost impossible to believe. How could there be a child who mirrors you so closely, my love? If someone came to me and claimed that she was Yuexi reincarnated, I would accept it without hesitation.
“Father, do you see the resemblance?” Lian Xu chirped, her tone bright and recognizing. “She reminds me so much of Royal Mother.” She would know; unlike Ruilin and An Lan, Lian Xu had been an adult when their mother passed away. ”Yi Nuo even has a little spot above her lip like mother did. I believe it was fate that brought her to us.”
Fate that brought her to us.
The words struck me with force, resonating in my ears, coursing through my veins, and stirring old feelings with such intensity that I found myself utterly speechless. The resemblance was so striking it bordered on the point of being supernatural. The likeness rendered me incapable of finding my voice, and I resorted, for the first time in centuries, to the only gesture I could manage without words.
I pointed first to her, then to myself, and finally to the chessboard. A moment of silence passed between us with those assembled staring in wide-eyed anticipation, waiting to see what would happen next, before Yi Nuo spoke. “Emperor, I don’t know how to play.” Her intelligent eyes studied my face keenly. “But it would be my fortune if the Emperor taught me.”
Her fortune brought me joy.
Teaching chess to someone like Yi Nuo was a delight that my own children, indifferent to the game, never provided. I was astonished at how quickly she grasped the game and managed to beat me three consecutive times honestly, for I was playing to win and so was she. As we enjoyed our jasmine tea, I softly inquired what reward she desired. Her hesitation was evident, and her voice quivered with reluctance. So I assumed she would ask for gold or immortality, but she softly expressed her wish to depart before Princess Changying’s return.
Yi Nuo thinks herself a burden and deeply worried that the Princess wouldn’t approve of her presence near Ruilin. The thought of Princess Changying’s high rank casting shadows over Ruilin or even the entire Phoenix Clan troubled her. This fear was rooted in the potential wrath of the Celestial Princess and the immense power she held.
Reflecting on Yi Nuo, her intelligence, beauty, wisdom, and keen insight, I couldn’t help but feel it was a true loss for someone like her to have to leave.
Ruilin~
The hush pressed in on him, heavier than any storm. Moonlight pooled on the polished floorboards, and every sigh he exhaled seemed to echo off the dark wood. Who would have thought that silence could now keep him awake?
The bed’s ancient frame groaned beneath his restless shifts; the silk sheets sighed and murmured as much as he did. His mind kept wandering back to the afternoon, attempting to untangle and understand the events that unfolded, as vivid scenes played over and over in his memory. Father, a man typically reserved and stoic, had shown an unusual amount of attention to Yi Nuo. Had his younger sister been there she would have surely had a jealousy induced tantrum.
The intensity of Father’s piercing, unwavering gaze and his behavior towards Yi Nuo, even after their quiet, contemplative chess matches had concluded, sent slabs of heat rushing to Ruilin’s cheeks. Father had turned down Consort Lie Xi’s nightly offering of fragrant tea, a tradition between them for tens of thousand of years. Instead, he had requested Yi Nuo to prepare him a cup, a remarkable departure from routine.
Ruilin had bitten back his words as Father took a casual walk through the lantern-lit gardens with Yi Nuo by his side. Father wasn’t typically one to flatter, yet he seemed to be doing just that with Yi Nuo. She should have felt uneasy being with someone my father’s age, yet outwardly, she appeared perfectly at ease, as if she was used to the company of older men. This should have been pleased him to see Yi Nuo in Father’s good graces, yet a part of him couldn’t shake the unease it stirred within him.
Ruilin thought he was the only one who noticed the tiny mark above Yi Nuo’s lip.
A belated emotion he didn’t understand drifted into him, settling into his chest. It wasn’t merely the silent intensity of Father’s scrutiny or his conspicuous interest in Yi Nuo that gnawed at him. It was the unexpected steadfastness in Yi Nuo’s decision to leave him; her request carrying a metallic tang, like the taste of copper bitten into lingering on his tongue.
He ought to have delayed for dawn. He would have waited, if he could. But impatience bloomed within him and, clad in darkness, he slipped from his bed to the adjoining wall. Three soft taps—his signal.
Silence.
He pressed harder. Three firm raps. Then at last—a tentative single knock in return. Heart hammering, he stepped into the narrow corridor that lay between their rooms.
Yi Nuo stood under a jade lantern’s pale glow, rubbing her eyes as if to chase away sleep’s last haze. Her black hair, usually bound in loops and buns, fell free, a glossy cascade framing her face.
“Yi Nuo,” he demanded, tension tightening his voice, “why must you leave? Do you despise it here so much you’d choose to vanish into some place where no one knows you? You’ll be alone.”
She folded her arms, silk whispering against silk. “Ruilin, your future bride, Princess Changying, returns soon. I can’t bear being a third wheel—an awkward shadow. My place…is with my own kind.”
He swallowed, heart sinking. “But won’t you miss me? We’re best friends.” His words quivered, more plea than statement.
She hesitated, then brushed his cheek with a fingertip—light as a moth’s wing, but scorching him nonetheless. “Your best friend should be, and will be, your princess.” Her hand jerked away as if burned, leaving him trembling in the wake of her warmth.
He squeezed his eyes shut to the ache. He loved Princess Changying, but his feelings for Yi Nuo were a conflicting, tangled, unsettling mess. His mouth curved but stopped short of a full smile. Just like that, a smile touched his lips, then faltered. “Promise you’ll stay until Princess Changying arrives. After that, I’ll find you somewhere safe—a place where you’ll never have to worry again. Not everyone has a phoenix for a best friend who favors them.” His throat tightened. He offered his pinky, fingers trembling. “Promise me, Yi Nuo.”
She stared at his outstretched finger, hesitation rippling through her gaze like a stone dropped in still water. “Why are you so insistent that I stay, Ruilin?” Her voice, cool and calm, betrayed nothing. He felt a prickling jealousy of her control; was this her carefully constructed composure, or did she truly not feel for him as deeply as he did for her?
He looked down, voice barely above a whisper: “Because…I need you.” Yet he held back from saying “Because I like you.”
Bai Qian~
Two weeks and the bite mark is not fading.
The bruise, a stark and accusatory blot, has proven itself a formidable opponent, defying my efforts to conceal it. Nestled high on my neck, it mocks my attempts at concealment with a collar, and its off-center placement leaves it bare to the world, untouched by the sweep of my hair. It has been implacable, resistant to every magical attempt to banish it from my skin. It endures, a constant reminder of my failure to comprehend him, a relentless echo of my voice repeating, like a despairing litany, “I really don’t know you, Mo Yuan anymore.”
It would have been fitting for impetuous Ye Hua to act so rashly, to indulge his whims without a moment’s hesitation, but not Mo Yuan. Never Mo Yuan. Not the man I remembered. Yet, there he was, his iron self-control shattered, bare and exasperating in his ardor, leaving me stunned and breathless with incredulity. There was no pause, no restraint. He brought me to the heights of ecstasy with his fingers buried deep, leaving me a shivering mess of tremors and electric chaos, then told me to go home and be good as if he had the right, as I were a child, as if I would listen and bloody hell, I had.
As if that weren’t shocking enough, he marked me like a possession with this bite, a primal claim that left me reeling as if the very earth had tilted beneath my feet. But it wasn’t just the bite, was it? It was that word—a word so unbearable, I can barely think of it, let alone utter it aloud. I didn’t hear it; I felt the Alpha’s declaration resonate through me like the thunderous beat of a drum in a vast, echoing canyon. It was a silent claim, embedded in a single breath—his breath—that my soul absorbed, like parched earth welcoming the rain. It detonated within me a triple fusion of shock, apprehension, and a primal need to merge.
His brash behavior, an alpha’s assertion, and physical marking caused me to ovulate on the spot.
My legs quaked, barely supporting my weight as an overwhelming need coursed through me, compelling me to sink to my knees. The thought, though momentary, I entertained, pleading to take his thick, jutting length into my mouth and down my throat until I choked, tears streaming down my face. The salty tang of his masculinity on my tongue, I recall was intoxicatingly delicious and stimulating, like an aphrodisiac.
“Bai Qian! Enough of these lustful thoughts! You are ONLY a mother now, no longer a woman driven by desire! The only flesh you’ll be tasting is that of a roasted cockerel!”
“Curse you, Mo Yuan!” I bellow, the words ricocheting off the den walls like a rogue thunderclap. “Has another demon possessed you?!”
Silence—until a familiar drawl drifts from the shadows. I lurch back, clutching my chest as if he sprang from the depths of hell. My pulse drums a frantic dance; every creak threatens his sudden appearance. And yet—some lunatic part of me hungers for it: for his hands to grip me, to claim me as his plaything, to resurrect the phantom thrills he’s left behind.
How did he worm under my skin? I might hate him. Or madly need him.
“It’s only me, you melodramatic maniac, and they call me theatrical. My, you’re jumpy. Are you feeling alright?” Zhe Yan chides, and I whirl toward him, casually sweeping my fingers over the bruise on my neck—part concealment, part nervous tic. “I’m fine, but I was wondering. So… did Shifu—er, Mo Yuan—take any lovers over the years while I was gone?” I ask, voice laced with faux nonchalance. If he’d been entertaining companions, it might explain the mysterious new… aura about him.
Zhe Yan’s eyebrow rockets skyward in perfect comic timing. “None that I’ve known of. He stayed on Kunlun as usual, but have you discovered a spicy scandal I’ve missed?” he purrs, grin twitching. He leans in, lowering his voice to a dramatic whisper. “Has Mo Yuan taken lovers on a mountain full of only men, you ask?” His breath hitches, a hand flying to his mouth, fingers trembling. He shouts, the sound raw and riled up, “Wait! Has Mo Yuan expanded his horizons to include Kunlun males?”
My lips twitch between scandal and amusement at his gleeful scandal-mongering.
“Oh!” He claps his hands as though unveiling the world’s greatest spectacle. “An interesting picture but too fantastic for Mo Yuan, still it’s marvelous! We’ll interrogate him tonight at the celebration. I can’t wait to see how he flounders like a fish out of water when we share our provocative hypothesis with him.”
I cross my arms, feet planted like stubborn oaks. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ve taken my bra off for the night. I’ll be damned if I step out of this den—”
“Xiao Wu…” His tone drops into a sultry sing-song, utterly ignoring my protest. He glides closer, eyes glittering at the sight of my bruise. “You, my dear, must doll yourself up for the festivities, since little Seventeen is everyone’s favorite party favor and eye candy.”
“Our Die Feng is getting married and your nemesis like Kunlun brother Zi Lan is having another child, a son!” he announces with the glee of a child who just discovered fireworks. “We’re throwing a proper celebration—wine, lanterns, wine, laughter, you name it…more wine! Did I mention wine?”
“And,” he adds with a devilish flourish, “Changchang expects you. Your sweet first green eyed daughter is even more green-eyed over how much time you lavish on Yingpei. She demands a mother-daughter sleepover but bring your sexist nightgown with a low neckline so Mo Yuan can have at the other side.” Zhe Yan teases without a hint of blush beaming ear to ear.
I sag inwardly, as if the entire universe were ganging up on me. Tonight, I might just loathe all—Zhe Yan, Mo Yuan, my scheming offspring, and this insidious cosmos that refuses to respect my hermit lifestyle and plans to keep clear of Mo Yuan.