Chapter 51 – Red Robe Stands on the White Moon
On the boundless Cangming Sea, a small boat drifted like a single autumn reed. There was no wind nor tide, no dust nor clamor.
The moon was full, and two people embraced.
“Idiot.”
Chou Bodeng cursed in a very soft tone.
They were so close that the word had barely left his lips before it fell into the other person’s ear. Shi Wuluo grunted in response, not loosening his grip. Chou Bodeng didn’t truly want to curse him; it was just that in such a tight embrace, if he didn’t say something, he felt as if time would cease to flow, and the world would grow old and desolate.
But perhaps there was nothing wrong with the world growing old.
Chou Bodeng fell silent, gazing quietly toward the horizon where water met sky. The enormous lunar disk was revealing itself bit by bit. Today happened to be the day after the full moon, and the white moon was so perfectly round that not a single flaw could be found. Earlier, the moon in the sky and the moon on the sea had been one, but now they were slowly breaking free from the shackles of the dark clouds. At last, two full moons simultaneously leaped from the gloomy shadows, one above and one below, suspended over the sea.
A great wind blew, and the sea’s surface rippled with fine, silver patterns.
“Let go,” Chou Bodeng said.
No movement.
“Learned some bad habits?” Chou Bodeng raised an eyebrow. “Pretending you can’t hear me now?”
Still no reply.
Chou Bodeng found it somewhat amusing and nudged him with his shoulder. “Hurry up. Don’t dawdle. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”
Shi Wuluo pressed his lips together and reluctantly released his hold. With a rustle of red robes, Chou Bodeng sat up straight, but he didn’t get up. Instead, he lowered his head, searching for something. After a moment, Chou Bodeng turned back and saw that Shi Wuluo had silently risen at some point and was now standing quietly in the boat’s cabin, his eyelashes slightly lowered.
The wind stirred the dark-patterned hem of his sleeves.
So he could sulk now, huh?
He really had learned some bad habits.
Chou Bodeng couldn’t help but smile.
“What are you sulking about?” Chou Bodeng tucked one hand into his sleeve and propped himself up with the other on the wooden boat. “Come here. Sit down.”
Shi Wuluo glanced at him and came over without a word. Just as he was about to sit, Chou Bodeng reached out, tapped his shoulder, and pushed him to turn around. Shi Wuluo followed the force and sat down on the edge of the prow, his back to him. Shi Wuluo didn’t know what he was up to, only that he felt unusually uncomfortable not being able to see him.
Behind him came the rustle of clothing, as if Chou Bodeng had stood up. First, he moved away, then he drew near again.
Shi Wuluo was slightly taken aback.
His hair tie had been pulled away, and then long, slender, warm fingers pressed against his head. A touch of warmth from the pads of those fingers spread through his hair, causing a sudden flutter in his heart.
“Let me make this clear first. This is the first time this young master has deigned to tie someone’s hair.”
As Chou Bodeng spoke, he loosened Shi Wuluo’s hair and then gathered it up. A hair tie adorned with black carved stones was wrapped around his wrist, its ends hanging at different lengths. It swayed slightly with his movements, the embroidery on it reflecting a faint, dark light in the moonlight.
“If you dare to criticize, I’ll kick you off this boat.”
His voice was lazy and languid, his movements utterly clumsy.
“Alright.”
Shi Wuluo’s reply was concise.
Chou Bodeng vaguely sensed that he might have smiled, so he tugged his hair a little in retaliation. Shi Wuluo chuckled softly again, and Chou Bodeng decided to ignore him.
Perhaps because he was from the Witch Clan, Shi Wuluo wasn’t accustomed to wearing a hair crown, usually just tying his hair with a simple cord. When Chou Bodeng had been in the night market of Ru City, he’d glimpsed that hair tie with the black carved stones and inexplicably thought of him, so he had bought it. Buying the tie and tying his hair were both done on a whim. Chou Bodeng wasn’t used to combs, so he playfully mimicked their first meeting, using his hands as a comb to tie up his hair.
After fumbling for a long time, the more he tried to tidy it, the messier it became.
Fortunately, Shi Wuluo’s hair wasn’t too long, just past his shoulder blades. After messing around for a while, Chou Bodeng gathered the hair into a single bunch with one hand, pulled the tie off his wrist with the other, wrapped it around a few times, and managed to secure it.
Once it was done, Chou Bodeng walked around to face Shi Wuluo.
He had just threatened to kick Shi Wuluo into the water for any criticism, but now he himself collapsed in laughter at the stern of the boat. What on earth had he tied? It was a mess, sticking out in all directions. Paired with Shi Wuluo’s perpetually cold face that looked like the whole world owed him eight million, it was even more hilarious. It was like a lone warrior, hand on his sword, seeking vengeance, but walking out with a bird’s nest on his head.
He was overcome with mirth.
Shi Wuluo watched him laugh, and a faint smile also appeared in his silver-gray eyes.
“Forget it, forget it. I won’t torment you anymore.”
After laughing for a while, Chou Bodeng leaned over to pull off the hair tie.
Shi Wuluo grabbed his wrist, stopping him. Chou Bodeng slapped his hand away, pulled off the hair tie, and pressed it into his hand.
Shi Wuluo was stunned, only then realizing that Chou Bodeng had given him a new hair tie.
“Tie it yourself.” Chou Bodeng didn’t look at him, settling into the cabin and resting his elbow on the gunwale, gazing at the moon’s reflection on the distant sea. “Where’s the wine?”
In the cabin was a low table, upon which sat a white porcelain jar and two white jade cups. Shi Wuluo lifted the lid of the jar, and a light, cool fragrance slowly wafted out. He lifted the jar and slowly poured the liquid into the jade cups, filling them halfway before handing one to Chou Bodeng.
Chou Bodeng took the cup and looked down. Contrary to its cool aroma, the liquid was as red as a sunset cloud. It shimmered with the mournful moonlight in the smooth, round jade cup, reminding one of red plums blooming on a high mountain in the dead of winter—lonely, cold, and brilliant in the snow, both bewitching and elegant.
“What’s it called?”
Chou Bodeng’s slender fingers wrapped around the jade cup. He swirled it gently, watching the moonlight and the red plum shatter together.
“It has no name,” Shi Wuluo said.
Chou Bodeng slowly sipped the wine. Shi Wuluo watched him, wondering if he would like this vintage. Shi Wuluo himself rarely drank; he was a lightweight who would be drunk after one cup. The finest wine was useless if the drinker couldn’t taste anything before passing out. He didn’t actually understand wine, which was why he had been so lost when deciding what to choose for his return treat to Chou Bodeng.
There were countless fine wines under the heavens, but in the end, he had brought the most obscure one.
But Chou Bodeng didn’t say whether it was good or bad, nor whether he liked it or not. He simply drained the cup and had it refilled, then drained it again.
“Let’s call it ‘Floating Lantern’.”
He finally turned his head, his eyes coated in moonlight, clear as mirrors.
Shi Wuluo couldn’t tell if he was drunk or sober. He vaguely felt that Chou Bodeng probably liked it, so he breathed a sigh of relief and poured a cup for himself. Chou Bodeng, cup in hand, leaned against the gunwale, watching him slowly drink. Suddenly, he scooped up a handful of seawater and splashed it at him. Shi Wuluo looked up at him, bewildered, as water dripped from his hanging hair.
Chou Bodeng laughed and leaped up, standing at the stern of the boat.
“Let’s go.”
With a wave of his sleeve, he swept the entire jar of wine from the table, then took two steps with it in hand, coming to a stop at the very tip of the stern.
“We’ll go to the end of the Cang River, we’ll go to the heart of the bright moon.”
The sea breeze made Chou Bodeng’s wide sleeves billow and roll like crimson clouds. The sky was high and distant, the sea vast and deep. Shi Wuluo’s pupils reflected his black hair, his red robes, and his brilliant, radiant smile.
To the end of the water, to the edge of the sky.
To the boundary of the mortal realm, where only they existed.
The lone boat was like a bowstring, leaving a long white scar on the vast sea. The crests of the waves were broken, the still water parted. A youth stood at the prow, drinking wine in the wind, while a man sat in the boat, tapping a rhythm and singing softly.
A crossing on the Cangming Sea.
A giant white moon appeared on the ink-black sea. The small boat drew closer and closer to the moon’s reflection. Standing at the stern, Chou Bodeng tossed the empty wine jar aside and leaped into the air. Shi Wuluo shot to his feet, then froze.
The boat stopped, its edge touching the outline of the moon’s reflection.
Chou Bodeng landed on the surface of the water.
“In the most ancient of ancient times, how did it begin?
“Above the highest of highs, what is revered?”
Chou Bodeng spun like a crane, his slender shoulder bones brushing against the water. His waist was supple, his large sleeves whirling, like a blade brandishing a perfect circle of fresh blood. The sea beneath his feet was as still as a silver mirror. He circled and turned, his body like a spider lily in full bloom, his hair like a banner of thick ink unfurling.
“Before the primordial chaos was parted, how was there light?
“Before the four poles were established, how was there distinction?”
He flung an arm, his magnificent sleeve soaring toward the white moon in the sky. His robes exploded mid-air into a shower of brilliant color, then fell like a suddenly fading sunset cloud. He rose amidst the myriad moonbeams, now like a darting swallow, now like a hovering sparrow. He used the entire giant white moon as his stage, singing and dancing at this end of the Cangming Sea.
“How many continents and islands are there? How many corners and crannies?”
“How much bright splendor is there? How much deep gloom?”
He sang with indignation, with passion and fervor, and so the Song of Questioning Heaven became like the beat of a drum.
“How high are the heavens? How long is the road?”
“How thick is the earth? How vast is the land?”
He sang with sorrow, with confusion and hesitation, and so the Song of Questioning Heaven became like that of a hopeless traveler.
There was no dancer in the world more audacious than this, nor any dance more brilliant.
Looking up and down, back and forth, he was graceful as a silent moonflower blooming, and scornful as a blazing fire surging. Rising and falling, unfolding and curling, he was as slow as silk robes sinking in a pool, and as swift as a magnificent cloud swallowed by the sun.
One question was ten thousand years; one glance was ten thousand words.
There was only one spectator.
Shi Wuluo stood on the boat, so much sorrow and so much anger surging in his chest, like thousands of crimson flames, like thousands of sharp blades. He was on the verge of tears, unable to speak, afraid that if he opened his mouth, words that should not be said would pour out. He couldn’t move, afraid that if he raised a hand, he would bind the person in his arms and never let go, no matter what.
To hell with how many Miasma Moons there were, to hell with how many stars there were in the sky.
He just wanted him to be well.
“Where does one return when drunk?”
Chou Bodeng’s song grew softer and fainter. His wide sleeves rustled as they fell. He stood quietly in the center of the moon’s reflection, his gaze so lost, his pupils so empty. His voice was now as low as a murmur.
A red robe stood on the white moon.
“Where…”
…to bury my bones?
He didn’t finish the question.
Chou Bodeng leaned back, falling onto the ice-like, mirror-like surface of the sea. His fingers were tightly clasped by another’s. The person holding his hand wore a Kui Dragon Bracelet on their right wrist, identical to the one on his own left wrist. The two dark gold bracelets collided, making a crisp sound. Cool, slightly cold lips pressed down on his.
The cool and the scorching.
The black and the vermilion.
Flustered and clumsy, frenzied and innocent, red robes and black sleeves melted together, their breaths mingling. Beneath them was the bright moon, and above them was the bright moon still. It was as if they were on the surface of the sea, on the waterline, at the edge of the sky, within the moon itself.
“A Luo.”
Chou Bodeng murmured.
He was truly drunk, and only when drunk was he truly himself.
“You have to catch me.”
I’m always falling. Can you catch me?