Chapter 84 – Moonlight Over the Lotus Pond
The shadows of the lotuses, the ripples on the water, and the fireflies intertwined on Chou Bodeng’s face, like a mottled ancient painting, exquisitely beautiful in its dimness. His eyes held a hazy, joyful delight. Shi Wuluo traced over his brow, the corner of his eye, and his face, before finally, almost reverently, pressing his warm lips to his.
“A Luo…”
Chou Bodeng slowly closed his eyes, his trembling eyelashes casting faint shadows on his face.
The scarlet ribbon tying his hair was undone, the wooden hairpin gently removed. His long, black hair cascaded down, spreading over the cool lotus petal. His red robes, like fire and blood, wrinkled and flowed along with his white undergarments. The young man’s strong, powerful arms wrapped around his slender waist, and Chou Bodeng clung tightly to his neck, like duckweed finding refuge in wood.
Moonlight spilled over his delicate collarbones.
A drop of evening dew trickled down the tilted petal and dripped into the shallow hollow of his clavicle.
“Cold.”
Chou Bodeng shivered and arched his back slightly.
Shi Wuluo responded with a low hum, both soothing and affectionate, as he licked away the cold dew pooling in the hollow of his collarbone. Chou Bodeng’s arm fell, his elbow resting on the lotus boat’s petal, the pale blue veins on the back of his hand standing out. His fingertips left red marks on Shi Wuluo’s bamboo-like spine.
“…It hurts.”
He bit down hard on the culprit’s shoulder, giving him a taste of his own medicine.
Shi Wuluo’s fingers pressed against the lotus boat, his knuckles white with restraint. The sound of the flowing lake water was slow, and somewhere, a cricket chirped. Amidst the chirping, Chou Bodeng slowly released his teeth, licking away the blood that had seeped from the muscle. The metallic taste of rust spread over his tongue, and his eyes suddenly misted over.
Shi Wuluo lowered his head and kissed him gently.
Chou Bodeng tightened his arms, stopping Shi Wuluo from pulling away. He called out a name in a very soft, low voice, “A Luo, A Luo, A Luo…” over and over, and each time, a deep voice responded to him. Gradually, his tense back relaxed, as if he had finally found peace, finally found confirmation.
He leaned on the shoulder of the one who had saved him, and after so many years, for the first time, he shed a tear.
“A Luo, it hurts.”
It hurt.
A slumber of thousands of years couldn’t make him forget; splendor and clouds couldn’t cover it up. So many blades, one by one, had cut open his flesh, drained his warm blood, and scraped his bones clean. In the end, there was nothing left but a hanging, blood-colored, lonely soul, and a voice that was both crying and laughing, over and over again.
Saying:
It hurts.
Such a deep pain.
So deep he could never forget it.
“A Luo.”
In the moonlight and lotus shadows, the corners of his eyes were wet and red, his voice hoarse.
“I can’t forget… What should I do?”
Shi Wuluo didn’t move, only kissing away his tears, one by one, and stroking his back, one stroke at a time.
Trembling, cherishing.
“So, you have to make me remember you,” Chou Bodeng said, tilting his head up and smiling faintly at him.
Since the bone-deep pain could not be erased, he would replace it with another kind of joyous pain.
Cover all the sorrow with lingering marks, and all the darkness with fond memories. From then on, the dense, lingering pain would be only of you.
The night grew deeper, and more and more fireflies appeared, rising in lines from the layers of lotus leaves. Their glow cast shadows, and the lotus leaves and flowers created layer upon layer of reflections, the water flowing gently. The cold, sparse white moonlight shattered on their backs. Flowers and lotuses spread over their fingertips, entwining and covering, in a no man’s land.
Tonight, the moonlight filled the lotus pond.
A hand, as white as snow, finally drooped from the edge of the light pink lotus boat, touching the cool water’s surface. It scooped up a small handful, which scattered into crystalline droplets midway.
Shi Wuluo took Chou Bodeng’s hand and pulled it back.
Chou Bodeng bit on a lock of his hair and looked up at him.
He gently pushed aside that lock of black hair and kissed Chou Bodeng’s bright red lips. The clear lake water was drawn by an invisible force, flowing into the lotus boat at a comfortable temperature and gentle speed.
Chou Bodeng curled up in his arms, letting the warm, slow current wash over him.
When he curled up, the line of his spine was particularly prominent, slender and thin. Usually, he wore a flamboyant red robe, the overly dazzling color concealing his thinness. But in fact, the Taiyi Sect had tried their best but failed to pamper him into better health.
The water in the lotus boat eventually turned to mist and dissipated.
The red robe and black shirt were draped over them as they huddled together, their breaths close.
“A Luo, I used to think that a name was fate,” Chou Bodeng said, his head pillowed on Shi Wuluo’s arm, his eyelashes lowered, his voice hoarse. “My fate is thin, just a floating lantern. I don’t know when it will go out.”
“It won’t.”
Shi Wuluo said.
Chou Bodeng looked up and stared at him.
Vaguely, the soul-summoning song of Ru City overlapped with an older, more distant one. Vaguely, someone was calling out to him by the thousands, lighting a single lonely lamp in the boundless darkness, in the endless dead silence, guarding that lamp for thousands of years.
So that he would not be lost, so that his soul would be settled and at peace, so that he would be moved to tears.
“It won’t go out.”
Shi Wuluo looked into his eyes and repeated.
Chou Bodeng turned on his side and buried his head in Shi Wuluo’s neck.
Shi Wuluo felt a hot liquid drip onto his neck. He was at a loss for a moment, then tightened his arms, holding the person in his embrace.
“Give me a courtesy name, A Luo.” Chou Bodeng’s fingers rested on his shoulder. “Not something long-lasting or resolute. Not something of high ambition or elegant taste.”
Not any word that carried the burden of wild hopes and weary missions.
And not any word that was fleeting and fragile like a feather in the light.
Moonlight filtered through the lotus leaves, blanketing them both. Hearing his words, Shi Wuluo blurted out a word, a word that seemed to have crossed his mind a thousand times.
“Jiao.”
Jiao.
Shi Wuluo remembered this word from Fu City.
At that time, Zuo Yuesheng and Lu Jing had said in private that Young Master Chou was even more delicate than a young lady from a wealthy family. It was just a coincidence, but it suddenly made Shi Wuluo understand what he had been waiting for all these thousands of years… He was waiting for someone to come back, so he could offer the best and most beautiful things in the world to that person.
That person, he should be the most precious existence in this world, no longer needing to care about grievances and rights and wrongs, only needing to be happy and free from illness and disaster.
After subconsciously uttering the word, Shi Wuluo paused, hesitating, feeling he had been too rash. He was about to apologize when he heard the person in his arms say softly, “Alright.”
“It’s settled then.”
Chou Bodeng hid himself completely in his embrace, his voice gradually fading as he fell asleep.
“From now on, my courtesy name is Jiao.”
Courtesy name: Jiao.
The ‘jiao’ from ‘jiao zong’—spoiled and willful.
The ‘jiao’ from ‘qian jiao wan chong’—doted on and pampered.
The night wind blew, and the lotus leaves rose and fell in layers. The lotus flowers danced gracefully, and another petal fell onto the nearby lake surface. The water ripples and the night wind gently pushed the lotus boat. The boat drifted deeper, with one person asleep and one awake. The sleeping person finally had a beautiful dream, while the awake one quietly watched his profile.
The moon was hidden by the lotus leaves, but the nearby fireflies cast light and shadow on the youth’s face, mottled like a painting, like time itself.
Shi Wuluo touched the corner of Chou Bodeng’s eye, as carefully as if he were afraid of startling this magnificent, wandering dream. The Life Scale and Vermilion Tear were faintly visible.
A touch of stunning scarlet.
“Jiao Jiao.”
Shi Wuluo whispered.
The person in the dream responded vaguely.
It seemed to be an answer, yet it also seemed to be telling him not to bother him.
Shi Wuluo fell silent and, for a rare moment, smiled.
No longer the exiled Divine Lord, no longer the ill-fated floating lantern.
He was Jiao Jiao.
His Jiao Jiao.