Chapter 56 – “I Want to Take You Away.”
Shi Wuluo turned his head.
Chou Bodeng had his back to him, the moonlight casting a mercury-like line on the tips of his hair and his shoulders. His tone was nonchalant, making it impossible to tell if he was joking or serious. He was always like this, always hiding his thoughts, speaking in half-truths, like the moon in the water, or a flower in a mirror.
It was impossible to guess, and even if you guessed right, he wouldn’t necessarily admit it.
“I do.”
Shi Wuluo didn’t try to guess. He answered in a low voice.
Chou Bodeng’s fingertip, which had been tracing the wood grain, paused.
“I want to take you to the Southern Borderlands, to the Witch Clan, to a very, very distant city.” Shi Wuluo spoke slowly behind him. The moonlight fell into his silver-gray eyes, making it hard to tell which was colder, the moonlight or his gaze. His voice was very soft and very serious. “I want to take you to the true ends of the earth.”
He had always been the one holding the saber.
A saber moves in a straight line, never circling or coiling, using its sharp edge to cleave through all illusions, whether those illusions were mist, water, or mirrors. He was so direct that it was almost clumsy, but at certain times, it could be surprisingly precise.
“I want to take you away.”
He stated it as a calm fact.
I don’t know if you’re willing to go with me, but I want to take you away.
The lone boat floated on the surface of the sea, rising and falling gently with the waves. It drifted to the center of the moon’s reflection, like a bamboo leaf that had fallen into the white moon. Chou Bodeng traced the wooden rings on the gunwale with his nail, one by one, like children counting the passage of time. Shi Wuluo said no more, quietly gazing at the full moon in the sky.
“Tell me about the Southern Borderlands.”
Chou Bodeng’s fingertip stopped at the last wooden ring.
For a moment, Shi Wuluo thought he had misheard.
After a long while, he also turned on his side, his gaze lingering on Chou Bodeng’s back, trying to guess the meaning of those five words.
But even when speaking to Chou Bodeng face to face, it was difficult to guess his thoughts, let alone now when he couldn’t even see his expression.
“What are you spacing out for?”
He couldn’t guess Chou Bodeng’s thoughts, but it seemed Chou Bodeng knew what he was thinking without even having to turn around.
“If it’s all desolate mountains and treacherous waters, who would want to go?”
“The Southern Borderlands…”
Shi Wuluo suddenly became flustered.
The Southern Borderlands… what were they like?
For the first time, Shi Wuluo realized how difficult that question was to answer.
What words could he use to sketch its outline? What rhetoric could he use to fill in its colors? What metaphors could he use to make that dense, dark green ancient forest as picturesque as a song?
“The Southern Borderlands have many isolated peaks, each a thousand fathoms high,” Shi Wuluo said, carefully choosing his words. “The highest is Witch Mountain. To the south of Witch Mountain winds the Boli River, like a bolt of autumn silk. White stones are washed down from the cliffs by hanging waterfalls, falling into the Tu Pool, where they are shattered and then polished into jade by the current. At the start of spring, mayflies about two-thirds of a meter long gather on the surface of the pool, flying up at dusk like moonlight, like white gauze…”
He tried his best to recall the descriptions of the Southern Borderlands from miscellaneous records.
Poets sang of mountains and waters because the mountains in their hearts were not just mountains, and the waters were not just waters. If Shi Wuluo were to describe it himself, the Boli River was just the Boli River, it didn’t wind or meander. Mayflies were born in the morning and died at dusk, that was all; they didn’t look like moonlight or white gauze…
He had stayed in the Southern Borderlands for a thousand years, but the Southern Borderlands were just a place.
“Your travelogue is failing,” Chou Bodeng said softly. “It lacks genuine feeling.”
Shi Wuluo paused, his fingers whitening in his sleeve, a vast sense of loss… The mountains and waters in others’ eyes were, in the end, theirs. They had nothing to do with you. You couldn’t understand the emotion in the autumn waters and white stones. No matter how carefully you expressed it, it would still be dry and lifeless.
The Southern Borderlands…
In his heart, the Southern Borderlands were just a place where he waited for water to drip.
Drip, drop, drip, drop. Monotonous and desolate.
But if he said that, it would be “desolate mountains and treacherous waters,” wouldn’t it?
Shi Wuluo was crestfallen.
“Failing means you have to retake the test… Elder Jun failed his arithmetic test for three hundred years, Elder He failed for five hundred years, and Sect Master Yan failed for a thousand years…” Chou Bodeng pillowed his head on his arm. “How many years do you plan to fail for?”
Chou Bodeng’s voice gradually grew lower.
“Keep talking. Let’s see how long you can fail for.”
Fatigue and sleepiness washed over him. As Chou Bodeng listened to Shi Wuluo speak, he gradually fell asleep.
He actually didn’t like reading as much as Lu Jing thought.
He just hated the period of waiting to fall asleep, when the surroundings were so quiet it was like dying. So, every night, he would read piles and piles of random books. Either they were dull and boring records of oracle bone inscriptions, the more profound and obscure the better, as they were excellent for inducing sleep. Or they were vivid travelogues, and he could close his eyes and imagine that somewhere in the world, so many people were making so much noise, with their joys and sorrows, their drumbeats and joyful songs.
The specific content of what Shi Wuluo was saying slowly blurred, until only a faint sound remained, like snowmelt flowing from primeval times to the present, carrying him further and further away in the dead silence.
Chou Bodeng’s eyelashes lowered bit by bit, finally casting two faint shadows on his pale skin.
He was asleep.
The white moon gradually shifted, tilting the lone boat into two sides of light and shadow.
After finishing the last bit of the travelogue he vaguely remembered, Shi Wuluo quietly watched Chou Bodeng, who was fast asleep in the shadow of the gunwale.
In his sleep, he unconsciously curled up slightly, his spine showing through his red robes, the lean line of it rising and falling like a cold mountain ridge.
“You told me of icy cold and fiery heat, of graceful flying flowers, of lush ancient trees, of the joy of abundance, and the quiet solemnity of the first snow.” Shi Wuluo’s voice became almost inaudible. “You also told me that if I went to touch them myself, I would know that all things in the world have their own joys, sorrows, and angers.”
Shi Wuluo moved Chou Bodeng’s hand and let him rest his head on his own arm.
“You lied to me.”
When one was alone, a flying flower was just a flying flower, and the first snow was just the first snow. They were neither graceful nor solemn. The existence of all things was just their existence; they had no joy or anger, let alone sorrow or happiness.
He gazed at Chou Bodeng’s back for a long time, his silver-gray eyes no longer calm, as if an undercurrent was surging beneath the frozen lake.
“The Bo River is real, Witch Mountain is real. Where are the feelings and emotions you spoke of?”
I believe everything you say. You can’t lie to me like this.
So, we have to go together to see the Bo River carve jade, to see the mayflies gather, to see everything you’ve ever spoken of.
Shi Wuluo pulled him into his arms.
So many unknown desires and long-sharpened emotions were surging, roaring like a demon… To hold this person tightly, to crush this person forcefully, to knead him into his body, into his heart, so that from now on, you and I are one, from now on, like a shadow following a form.
“Don’t lie to me again.”
Shi Wuluo closed his eyes, suppressing those presumptuous thoughts. He gently brushed aside the black hair scattered on Chou Bodeng’s face, adjusted his left arm that served as a pillow to let Chou Bodeng sleep more soundly. Finally, Shi Wuluo undid his black outer robe and wrapped Chou Bodeng entirely in it, letting his back press against his own chest.
Through ribs and flesh, could one feel the beating of another heart?
Shi Wuluo closed his eyes and slowly fell asleep.
The moon was like a light gauze, covering the two of them. Their hair was scattered together, the red robes enveloped by the black, with only a few gaps showing.
***
Two figures, one tall and one short, drunkenly squatted by the sea, looking like two sea-gazing stones.
“Didn’t come home all night… he actually didn’t come home all night!” The taller one held a wine jar in one hand and a long saber in the other, slamming it on a rock, his anger shaking the heavens. “I’m going to kill that kid! Don’t stop me! I’m going to kill him!”
“Go on then.” The shorter one was sarcastic. “Who was it yesterday who said, ‘Going to find them now would be nothing but annoying’? If you want to go, go quickly. No one’s stopping you. Just don’t blame me. You’ve already drunk most of my wine…” The Old Heavenly Craftsman suddenly realized. “You were just using this as an excuse to get free drinks, weren’t you?!”
“Hic.”
Jun Changwei let out an ill-timed hiccup.
“…” The Old Heavenly Craftsman pulled out an abacus. “Eight jars of Second Return Dragon, twelve jars of Xun Wine, six jars of Cloud Dream… Second Return Dragon is sixty-seven taels a jar, Xun Wine is…”
Jun Changwei’s hand trembled.
He immediately dropped the wine jar, hastily wrapped up the Taiyi Sword, and patted the Old Heavenly Craftsman on the shoulder. “The matter of your Heavenly Works Mansion’s traitor becoming a Wilderness Emissary is of great importance, so I won’t delay here any longer. I’ll go back to Zhunan City to investigate first. I’ll notify you as soon as I have news. Farewell!”
Before his words had faded, he was already stepping on the morning tide and had disappeared without a trace.
“…Jun Changwei, you old sly dog, may you be hacked a thousand times.”
The Old Heavenly Craftsman cursed as he put down his abacus.
He stood up shakily, and not watching his step, he trod on the wine jar Jun Changwei had carelessly tossed aside. With a clatter, clatter—thump! he rolled off the reef.
When the Old Heavenly Craftsman emerged from the sea, a line of golden light appeared on the eastern horizon. He wiped his face, shielded his eyes with his hand, and squinted into the distance. The golden line stretched left and right, then rapidly spread from afar, plating the Cangming Sea in a layer of gilded crimson clouds. The surface of the sea shimmered with light, a splendor of ten thousand acres.
Dong—
Dong—dong—
The morning drum sounded from the direction of Zhunan City, waking both immortals and mortals from their nightly dreams.
“The sun is rising.”
Chou Bodeng, draped in a black cloak and barefoot, sat at the prow of the boat, kicking up seawater that sparkled like crushed gold.
Shi Wuluo sat in the middle of the boat, watching the tips of his hair dance in the golden dust of the morning light. The lone boat, along with the dawn, skimmed across the shimmering, brilliant surface of the sea, leaving a radiant wake.
Chou Bodeng suddenly turned sideways and reached out to poke Shi Wuluo’s cheek. “Not happy?”
Shi Wuluo grabbed his finger, not speaking.
“Whose fault is it that your travelogue was a failure?” Chou Bodeng’s eyebrows raised. “It’s not like this young master didn’t give you a chance. If you fail, you retake the test. Pretending not to hear won’t work, don’t even think about skipping class… Speaking of which, when you threw that guy yesterday, you didn’t throw him to his death, did you?”
Shi Wuluo pushed his hand down and, without any expression, leaned over and pulled the half-open lapels of his black cloak together, covering the small exposed section of his collarbone completely. Then, he crisply pulled the cloak’s neckline up to its highest point and tied the strings securely.
He might as well have tied it in a dead knot.
“He’s not dead.”
It sounded more like “he’ll be dead today.”
“There’s something wrong with Qin Tower. On the surface, they’re all ordinary people with no cultivation, but their eyes are very strange,” Chou Bodeng turned back. “In Qin Tower, there was someone whose gaze was everywhere… I don’t know why…”
He gazed out at the sea.
The morning drum of Zhunan had already sounded twice. The sun rose higher with each beat, and the sea’s surface glowed with a cinnabar brilliance. The city boundary slowly opened with each beat.
“I want to kill that person.”
Chou Bodeng’s pupils were icy cold.
Shi Wuluo stood up, sat down next to him, placed the scarlet saber across his lap, and said, “Alright.”
“You say ‘alright’ without asking anything?” Chou Bodeng glanced at him sideways. “I kill, you set the fire?”
“Mm,” Shi Wuluo paused. “I’ll do both the killing and the arson.”
That was a bit of a foul.
Chou Bodeng slowly kicked up a small splash of water, watching the droplets arc and fall in the sunlight.
A silver fish leaped from the sea, chasing the droplets.
“The Annals of Qingzhou says that Zhunan is by the sea, and its people live by fishing, treating the sea as their fields and the drum as their signal. During the morning voyage, as soon as the sea boundary opens, all the fishing boats weigh anchor and set out. Large horns and small horns, lantern tunes and drum tunes, fast melodies and slow melodies, a thousand boats with a thousand songs, ten thousand ships with ten thousand fires.” Chou Bodeng’s face lit up with a smile. “Let’s go! Let’s go see the fishing boats set sail.”