Chapter 23
Yi Nuo~
When Lue Lue returned with the tonic, I bolted through the open doors with such force that I knocked her against the doorframe. The sharp sound of the tonic bowl shattering echoed in the air behind me. A pang of worry shot through me, fearing I had hurt her, but my urgency pushed me forward.
I sprinted past the coy ponds, across the courtyard, my bare feet pounding against the stone, and into the garden within the rows of lush mulberry bushes. Running, my braids whipping wildly, I knocked and stumbled over the silkworm cocoons, crushing them underfoot. Yet, my futile escape ended with a whoosh of displaced air as Ruilin materialized before me. His concerned gaze, warm and brown, met mine; a boyish gentleness softened his features.
“Yi Nuo, you don’t have to run from me. You aren’t being held against your will.” His voice quivers slightly, as if he’s on the edge of understanding, or at least trying to. Even though he couldn’t possibly know that I’m not running from him, but from the person I’ve become. How could his mind ever wrap around the transformation I’ve undergone since I left the convent and him years ago.
“I’ve found your terrible husband and returned him to that apothecary, and I promise never to trouble you again. But I ask only one thing of you. Swear to me, you won’t let him hurt or hit you again.” He pushed the wisps of hair from my face, then made the very comment I’ve heard from just about everyone I’ve come across in the past 6 years. Ruilin says, “I can’t figure it out or comprehend why you married someone so cruel.”
No one marries expecting a cruel partner, and my husband wasn’t always unkind. The first half-year of our marriage was a peaceful and pleasurable time in my life. Li Wei was gentle and attentive. I took care of his elderly and frail mother, who was as accepting of my background as she could be. However, her passing marked the beginning of the decline in our marriage.
Li Wei was brought up by his mother, as his father never returned from the last war. Losing her was to him like losing both parents, so he turned to alcohol to dull his pain in the evenings. It wasn’t long before he needed a drink in the mornings to steady the hand tremors caused by the previous night’s drinking. Soon, he was intoxicated from the moment he awoke until he went to sleep. During this intoxicated time, a horse kicked him, breaking his back, as he was improperly handling the animal while changing its shoes.
Everyone thought he would never wake up, but he did. Then they claimed he would never walk again, yet he managed to relearn step by step and I was there every step of the way. Although he appeared to have recovered on the surface, he was still far from being completely healed. He couldn’t meet his marital obligations because of his inability to have an erection, but I never considered the lack of intimacy and physical affection important as long as he was alive. He suffered from terrible pain and used opium to find relief. Our downfall began when I warned him, unsuccessfully, about the deadly combination of opium and alcohol.
It all began with an insult. Out of all the insults in the world, it was not the worst. He called me a cursed orphan who brought misfortune. Almost immediately, he offered a hasty apology, a promise tumbling from his lips, swearing never to insult me again. Yet, like a bitter cycle, he did, and it wasn’t long before he began to accuse me of being the town whore as the strain between us escalated like a storm gathering strength over time.
One evening, his frustration boiled over, and his insults were accompanied by a push. He shoved me in the kitchen because the rice was in his mind undercooked and soup cold. The gesture was not forceful enough to cause physical harm, though potent enough to shake us both to our cores. He vowed once more, with tears in his eyes, never to hurt me again and even promised to quit drinking and smoking opium.
For a brief few weeks, this promise held long enough for me to cling to the hope that he was still the man I had chosen to marry. But that initial shove soon multiplied, coming in twos, threes, fours, and then it morphed into something more—a stinging, open-handed slap across my face.
He had been provoked by the neighbors, with their whispered questions and curious glances, pestering him about our lack of children, a son to carry on his bloodline after so many years of marriage. Others like myself would have ignored the idle chitchat, but those questions deeply affected Li Wie’s already weakened sense of virility, further damaging our already weak marriage.
Just like the first shove, the slap seemed to jolt him awake from his drunken rage fueled stupor. That night, he wept like a lost child in my arms, his tears flowing freely as he swore he would never lay a hand on me again. In the days that followed, he showered me with gifts, poems, tokens of his remorse. He even kissed and embraced me again after years of not touching me. I glimpsed the man I thought had vanished, and dared to rekindle the flame of hope, but it wasn’t long before those open hands became clenched fists. This was when Ruilin found me.
There was a time, perhaps, when I secretly wished for the end of my life as he threatened, because the most confusing part of this torment was believing it was all my fault. I was convinced it was because I was an orphan born from broken vows and the womb of a sexually driven woman whose sinful blood ran through my veins. This had to be true. Why else did I still crave physical touch, even if it was painful, which was better than not being touched at all?
I was also the bringer of misfortune. The guilt of being alive, surviving alone while those at the convent were brutally killed was a burden I never managed to shake off. I felt I deserved to be hated and disciplined by my husband, haunted by the lingering memory and love for Ruilin. Hadn’t I dared to think of him even on my wedding night? I had, and it wasn’t the only time I allowed myself to fantasize, pretending that my husband was Ruilin.
Ruilin~
My inclination apathetic and indifferent women are something my godfather, Zhe Yan, should delve into scientifically. How can it be that both women I’ve fallen for are so unfeeling and of few words? Yi Nuo has scarcely spoken three words to me. She slipped away without a farewell to anyone, leaving Lue Lue in a puddle of tears. She took none of her possessions and left in the very clothes she came in.
“I’ve brought you back as you wanted,” I muttered, frustration simmering beneath the surface as I crushed a rock underfoot then kicked it with the tip of my boot, while imagining it to be the head of Yi Nuo’s husband. The pebble skittered across the uneven ground like my fleeting patience. “Next time, I’ll take him for a ride,” I continued, my words tinged with a dark, threatening edge. “I’ll drop him from much higher, right into the sea. I hope he doesn’t know how to swim.” I spoke slowly, savoring the moment to gather my thoughts.
As she stood beside me, her gaze intensely fixed on some distant point, it dawns on me that this might be the last time I see her. “Yi Nuo, I want you to know your feelings were not unrequited. I was too caught up in doing what seemed right that I forgot to do what truly was right. I realize it might be too late, but if you choose me, even though I’m a bumbling idiot, I promise never to hurt you or leave you alone. I love you with all my heart. I’ll devote myself to you for all of eternity.”
She barely glanced at me, as if I’d mentioned my lunch instead of confessing my deepest feelings. Then she turned and walked away, her silhouette quickly swallowed by the growing distance between me and the front door.
I called out, my voice reaching out to her like a desperate plea. “Yi Nuo. I won’t bother you, but just in case you need me, remember the protective whistle my sister gave you. Just blow it, and I’ll come right back!”
I knew I should leave her alone, but an irresistible urge compelled me to speak again. “Yi Nuo! Remember the martial arts you know, and how you studied under a great Master! Pooling your Qi to a median is a lethal blow!” I shouted even louder, hoping her husband might catch wind of her capabilities.
She didn’t spare a single glance back before she disappeared inside the building. It’s almost as if Yi Nuo has a heart as cold and unyielding as stone, much like someone else I know all too well. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone whispered that Yi Nuo was actually Princess Changying in disguise in mortal form.
They are like two heartless peas in the same icy cold pod.
She’s made her feelings and choice clear. Yet here I stood, transfixed, staring helplessly at the closed door. “Ruilin, you’re being foolish, just standing here staring at her door. Just leave,” I told myself, trying to gather the courage to walk away, yet my inner voice said. “But you know Yi Nuo; she wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye. She’s your best friend, regardless of how she denies it. Alright, let’s give her to the count of ten and then you have to go.”
I began to count.
Ten
Nine
Eight
Could she really be this insensitive?
Seven
Six
Five
Not even a farewell.
Four…
What’s the hurry? Slow down, Ruilin…
Three and a half
Three…
Two and three-quarters…
Two and a half…
Two and a quarter…
Yi Nuo, we’re best friends!
Two…
Alright, I’m leaving.
One…
I gasped when a small, tentative hand slipped into mine. The gesture was so understated that, for a moment, I convinced myself I’d imagined it, but there it was, real. The hand belonged to Yi Nuo, and it was warm and steady. Unable to meet my gaze, she studied the ground, her disreputable little orange cat in the crate, and the far distance, in that particular order.
I supposed I should have said something gallant. Instead, all I managed was a dumbfounded, “You came back.”
She didn’t answer. Not directly. With her free hand, she clutched the wicker cat cage to her chest like a shield. The cat inside was unimpressed by the drama; it yawned, stretched, and blinked at me as if to say, This is new, but not interesting enough to gain its interest.
We stood there, neither of us quite ready to be the first to move, until the silence acquired a texture as chewy and awkward as stale rice cake. Finally, Yi Nuo broke it, her voice so soft I barely caught it: “Did you bribe Li Wei? Did he sell me out to you?”
I scoffed at the ridiculous notion. Bought her? What a crass suggestion to make. “Of course not. I merely gave him enough,” I clarified, “so you’d never have to work again. Bought you a future, not a person. It was enough for a large manor, maybe a small palace, if you don’t mind the provincial ones outside the capital.”
In a most matter-of-fact tone, she responded, “He’s run off with the money, sold the apothecary, and left a divorce document. He took everything but my cat. I am homeless again.”
Even though it was unforeseen, I had momentarily entertained the thought of him taking off. Despite not being part of the plan, I was relying on his greed when I gave him such a sudden offer of wealth. After he saw my Phoenix fire essence in my eyes and mistook me for a demon, he didn’t seem keen on reuniting with Yi Nuo.
I suck my teeth, a sharp click echoing in the sudden silence between us. “That’s a terrible shame, but this isn’t your home. Your home is with me.” I reply, my lips pressing together, a warm, tingling pressure fighting back the grin threatening to split my face apart. But when she whispers, “Let’s go home,” the smile bursts forth.
She squeezed my hand again, this time not letting go. “Let’s go home,” she repeated.
So we did.
====
I didn’t know that holding hands could be as intimate as it truly is. I didn’t realize that the simple act of intertwining fingers with another could make one’s heart swell to twice its size, and I was unaware that a kiss could ignite a fire within me, burning with an intensity I’d never experienced before.
Mornings stretch endlessly. The sun seems to mock me as I impatiently wait for Yi Nuo to awaken so we can share breakfast, engaging in conversations that meander between the trivial and the profound, feeding each other with laughter, blushing cheeks and stolen glances. There never seems to be enough minutes in the day to express to Yi Nuo just how deeply I love her. Yet, when we bid each other goodnight in the shared corridor, under the gleam of the jade lanterns the time feels both interminably long and fleeting.
For weeks, we had been dancing around our unspoken desires, the shared corridor becoming our stage for passionate kisses and embraces, each moment more intoxicating than the last, neither of us wanting it to end.
At first, our kisses are tentative, almost chaste, a gentle brush of lips that lingers in the air long after the contact breaks. The vulnerability of the act leaves me trembling, and I imagine I can feel her pulse fluttering against my own. But soon each kiss lengthens, deepens, as if we are both famished for something we had denied ourselves too long, and I find myself pulling Yi Nuo closer, pressing her back against the unyielding wall of the dim passageway unable to get close enough.
The wood behind her is cool, but her body is hot—blazing, almost fevered, her skin glowing in the pale light that showers down on us from the lanterns above. Yi Nuo’s hair, black and lustrous, fans out behind her like ink spilled across a parchment, a wild and beautiful mess. The thin nightdress she wears is barely more than a whisper; it clings to her like a secret, outlining every contour, every subtle curve, leaving enough to the imagination as the light peers through the delicate material just so creating the most excruciating tease.
She clings to me with a desire that mirrors my own—our mutual hunger turning every caress, every pressed kiss, into a silent vow not to let go. There are moments, somewhere in the escalation, when I pause, certain she must regard me as an inexperienced lover fumbling through which I am but when I look into her eyes, wide and dark and impossibly close, I see not doubt of me but an intensity that nearly undoes me. Her gaze is a storm contained in a teacup, swirling with need, longing, and embers of desire.
“I love you,” I whisper, the words tumbling out unbidden, and I am stunned by how true they feel, how necessary. My confession is met with silence, but not an uncomfortable one. Instead, Yi Nuo just looks up at me, her swollen lips parted and damp, and then she pulls me back to her, her kiss now rougher, more certain, as though she is learning how to speak with her mouth full of mine.
My hands find her hair sifting through it, marveling at its silkiness; my fingers tangle, and I feel her shiver, whether in pleasure or anticipation I cannot tell. Maybe both. My free hand traces the tense line of her spine, feeling each delicate bone beneath my palm, then fans out across her lower back, where the nightdress ends and the impossible smoothness of her skin begins.
The press of her body against mine is a revelation—soft where I am hard, yielding but unbreakable, and I am acutely aware of the rigid peaks of her hardened nipples pressed against my chest, even through the thin layers of fabric. It is exquisite, maddening torment, and I am left gasping, my lungs greedy for the air between us and my eager sex pressing into her thigh until it becomes uncomfortable from unreleased need.
Time becomes viscous, syrupy, every second stretching out and folding back on itself. I don’t know how long we stand like this—bodies pressed together, lips locked, the silence between us broken only by the sound of our breathing, our hearts beating out a syncopated rhythm.
Yi Nuo is the first to break away, drawing back with a gasp. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips swollen, and she is more beautiful than I had ever dared to imagine. For a moment, she hides her face in my shoulder, gathering herself, and I think perhaps she regrets it all. But then she peeks at me, her dark eyes lit with a mischievous glimmer I have never seen in her before. “You’re terrible,” she says softly, but she is smiling, and I know she doesn’t mean it.
I grin, feeling lightheaded, love drunk. “Terrible for you,” I agree. I can’t help but kiss her again, quick and soft, like a period at the end of a sentence.
Yi Nuo~
Ruilin is eager to reveal every hidden part of his future realm to me—which will also be mine when I become his Princess Consort. Ever since I returned and stirred excitement in the palace, he has taken on the roles of guide, companion, and playful teaser. Today, he announces a special surprise and swiftly leads me past courtyards, gardens, and gatehouses, beyond the red-lacquered walls and moonstone palaces with mother-of-pearl roofs, leaving behind the gossiping courtiers, and into an ancient wilderness that predates the realm itself.
Flying would be quicker, but riding him, even invisibly, feels unsettling—and invisibility unnerves me. So we rode at dawn, as the world glowed in the soft light of sunrise. My fingers gripped the smooth saddle horn; morning dewdrops clung to the silk of my skirt as tall grass brushed my legs. Ruilin rode ahead, a breathtaking figure bathed in sunlight, his laughter echoing softly, his immortal beauty softened by the gentle breeze that played with his hair. His deep crimson robe mirrored my hooded cloak—a matching not by chance. He called it a “bird thing,” this color coordination, but I suspected it was another way to bind us closer.
We cantered for an hour beneath the open sky, arriving at a vast clearing dominated by an enormous tree. Its roots, thick as warriors’ spears, sprawled across twenty meters of mossy earth, resembling slumbering, red dragons. The trunk, a burnished rust the color of dried blood, rose smooth and gnarled. High above, its leaves blazed crimson and gold, shimmering like wildfire in the morning sun. Strangely, no birds perched on its branches, no insects buzzed around its bark—a hushed silence, as if the tree itself held its breath.
Ruilin slid from his steed that wasn’t quite a horse, for it had a horn, and offered me his hand. He helped me down with a gentleman’s grace, though his fingers lingered at my waist a heartbeat too long. “This,” he whispered, his voice soft as silk petals, “is the Tree of Origins. The beginning and the end, then the beginning again. They say it sprang into being with the first cry of the Phoenix, shaped by the hand of the Heavenly Father himself. For countless generations, the Phoenix Clan have come here to ascend.”
We walked in reverent silence until the crunch of twigs beneath our boots was the only sound. A distant hum thrummed through the clearing—a note so low it was more a sensation in my bones than a sound in my ears. Ruilin gestured to the moss-carpeted ground beneath the tree’s lowest branch, where shafts of sun filtered through the fiery foliage above, painting intricate patterns of molten gold across the carpet of emerald. We seated ourselves side by side, as though two worshippers before a sacred altar.
“In our immortal lives,” he commented after a moment, gesturing toward the glowing entrance in the tree, “we encounter calamities on our path to becoming High Immortals and High Gods. While Celestials command lightning, we Phoenix undergo a trial by fire.” He laid his hand over mine. “Nonetheless, this tree offers more than just a test. It acts as a fountain of renewal—a portal where souls rediscover their true names and origins before returning to the world.”
“There’s a legend,” he continued, voice barely loud enough to carry, “that if one ascends with a heart untainted, a pure heart, they’re granted a single wish, even the wish to reunite with anyone they’ve loved and lost.”
My thoughts turned to Mother Abbess, to the sisters at the temple—Ya Qi, her bratty smirky smile—and to all the others whose names now drifted in my memory like fragrant incense smoke. “If I could wish,” I said finally, “I would bring back Mother Abbess. My sisters. Even Ya Qi—just to see her roll her eyes at me one more time.” My words emerged steady, yet my throat constricted with longing. “But I’m not pure of heart, Ruilin. I never have been.”
He surprised me then by shaking his head. He reached out, clasping both my hands in his: warm, solid, and surprisingly strong. His fingers wove with mine, pressing so firmly it hurt in the best possible way. He looked at me with eyes flooded in morning light—copper and gold swirling like molten metal. “You have the purest heart of anyone I have ever known. It’s why I… It’s why I found you.”
Time stills.
Sunlight danced on his irises as I felt the steady press of his thumbs stroking the backs of my hands. Our knees brushed beneath the silent canopy of flaming leaves. In that sacred hush before the Tree of Origins, even a chaste touch felt like a daring promise.
Then he leaned in so close I could see the curve of my world inverted in his gaze. “I have waited for this moment,” he murmured, voice trembling with years of longing. “Not just this morning—my whole life.”
Before I could answer, he kissed me. There was no frantic urgency—only a soft, shattering tenderness that stopped my breath mid-inhale. Every nerve ending ignited; I felt the pulse of his lips against mine as though the universe had narrowed to that single, infinite heartbeat. He lingered there, memorizing the taste and warmth of me, and something deep inside me melted.
Our evening kisses that became forbidden had become a nightly ritual, each one proof of mounting desire while we awaited Princess Changying’s return from seclusion. He insisted on waiting until our wedding night, a night we had believed lay just weeks away. Yet the weeks stretched on, and our goodnight kisses turned into guerrilla skirmishes of yearning—pinning me to gilded wooden walls, breathless and panting in dim corridors. I found solace in private moments of self-pleasure, certain he found none, and I knew by the fragile wince that crossed his features last night that even he was nearing his breaking point.
“Perhaps we shouldn’t wait,” I said as I peeled mandarins for him from the basket, the bright citrus slices floating in my palm like little suns. He plucked one and fed it to me before I realized what I’d offered. The sweetness burst across my tongue. ”What if Princess Changying doesn’t return for years?”
“What?!” he echoed, eyes widening in astonishment. “Years? That’s too long! But Yi Nuo—” His gaze fell, uncertainty flickering in the irises that still glowed like dawn. My heart sank, bracing for disappointment and rejection. “I’m embarrassed,” he admitted in a whisper. “I lack experience. I hoped to wait for my brother-in-law’s return for… advice on how to… please you.”
“I’m sorry for my inexperience,” he murmured, voice filled with regret, and I couldn’t help replying, “And I’m sorry I’m not a virgin.”
His breath caught. Then he drew me into a fierce embrace, burying his face in my hair as though to drink in every strand.
“I’m not upset,” he said into the nape of my neck, voice muffled by my tresses. “It’s actually reassuring that at least one of us knows… what to do. I would never want to hurt you.”
In moments like those, he broke my heart and remade it over and over, forging new facets of love each time. “I love you, Ruilin,” I whispered into his warmth.
He pulled back, his eyes solemn and bright, and asked, “If you love me, will you grant me a wish before the Tree of Origins?” When I nodded, he released my hands just long enough to sweep his cloak aside, then clasped them again. “Let’s not wait,” he said, voice firm with resolve, “let us do it now.”
“Now?” I blinked, surprised. “Here? Out in the open?”
He gestured upward, where the summit known as Eagles’ Peak broke the skyline with its ivory towers. “At Eagles Peak,” he declared, “we shall bow to Heaven and Earth, then my father’s palace, and finally to each other.” He stood up, extended his hand to me, and helped me rise, bringing us face to face. “Everyone knows we’re going to marry, so why not get swept up in this romantic moment. We’re both wearing red. Will you marry me today, Lady Yi Nuo, and become my Princess Consort?”
His grin broadened, and his cheeks turned as red as his robe. “After we marry—our wedding night. I can’t wait a moment longer. I hope you can go without sleep for a few days…or weeks?”
A strange thought popped into my head. I can’t remember where I heard it, but I vaguely recall a man saying, “It’s always the quiet, shy ones who are the most lustful.”
====
One Month before Changying’s trial~
“Are you absolutely certain you want to marry that boy?” Father’s frown could have been carved on Mount Kunlun. He sat slumped in his lacquered armchair, shoulders hunched as if he were personally offended by the very idea of the wedding and he was. I bit back a laugh—amidst the storm of chatter about me, I had no desire to intervene—and simply folded my hands in my lap.
Without waiting for me to answer, he grumbled, “With your looks and your—” he waved one slender finger at my face, then thrust it at my brow, “—your mind, you could do better than Ruilin.”
He peered into the teacup at his feet, as if expecting a prophetic swirl to rise. Though being an understated man, with theatrical flourish, he blew his nose into a monogrammed handkerchief, sniffed, and muttered, “But there’s something about that boy’s face…something deceitful.”
Uncle Mo Yuan leaned forward, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, as though divulging secret battle plans. “Ruilin’s handsomeness is so bland it practically rings alarm bells,” he declared, eyelids drooping in mock scholarly deliberation. “That guileless look….” he sat back stiff postured “and that smile of his—too innocent, too perfect. It’s unsettling.”
From the low stool by the snack table, Yingpei reclined like a wayward cat, flicking melon-seed husks across the floor. His aim was terrible, and each clatter into the wooden floor. A messy habit that drove everyone insane as we are all excessively orderly, unlike he and mother who are in their words..”relaxed.”
He crammed a honey cake into his mouth, cheeks ballooning, then propped himself on one elbow and shot me a mischievous grin. “But isn’t naïveté charming? He looks like a first-timer at everything—like a virgin in…court.”
A-li snorted and barked. “You’d know about virgins for how much time you spent in the mirror when not inhaling pastries or drinking wine or passing out hairpin like candy.” He straightened abruptly, adopting an unaccustomed earnestness. “I’m less worried about Ruilin’s looks than his habits. Did you hear the Phoenix Clan gilds its horseshoes? Gilded horseshoes, for pity’s sake.”
Yingpei’s nose wrinkled in disdain as if he had eaten a rotten egg. “What a frivolous extravagance! They’ll bleed themselves dry and turn up begging for loans in Qingqui.”
Father slammed his fist on the armrest. “Sons, enough.” He turned to Mo Yuan with a sharpened look. “I recognize his type.”
Uncle Mo Yuan nodded solemnly, as if confirming the secret handshake of a clandestine society. “Indeed. Boys like Ruilin…”
“Shy and quiet,” Father interrupted, eyes narrowing until they were mere slits beneath his thick brows. “I was shy and quiet once, too.”
Mo Yuan’s lips pressed together in a tight line. “Exactly. It’s always the reserved ones who harbor the deepest appetites. This match was made too hastily and must be reconsidered—our Yinger shouldn’t wed some sex fiend.”
Father managed a wry smile before it curdled into a scowl. Uncle Mo Yuan let his next words trail off, heavy with ominous promise: “It would be your karma if—”
A-li leapt to my defense, big-brother armor gleaming. “Father and Uncle are overthinking. Regardless of Ruilin, our Ying’er is level-headed—just like Mother when she sized up suitors.” He shot me a wink. “Like mother, like daughter.”
At those four words, Father and Uncle Mo Yuan instantaneously exchanged a look of shared dread. Father’s voice dropped to a commanding roar: “Then Yinger shall remain confined in Kunlun until she’s at least 120,000 years old.”
“I agree, Ye Hua,” Uncle Mo Yuan intoned, every ounce of humor drained from his tone. “It’s far too soon for marriage, and Ruilin isn’t the one. Remember: it’s always the shy and quiet ones who are the most lustful.”