Chapter 89 – In Love
Chou Bodeng tilted his head back slightly.
His raven-black hair fell down his butterfly bones as he let the young man’s breath fall like a feather on his elegant neck. The fine silver chains of his earrings refracted the faint candlelight, and the deep green malachite stones at the ends swayed, contrasting with his snow-white skin.
“Why are you so foolish?”
He complained softly.
Shi Wuluo knelt on the warm couch, the front-buttoned, lotus-root-silk blouse completely undone, the silk undergarment slanting down with it, falling onto his arm. Chou Bodeng wrapped his arms around his strong, lean waist, and they fell together into the rosy-cloud-like brocade quilt.
The surface of the quilt immediately wrinkled, the folds catching the hazy firelight.
A beautiful, slender hand sank into the mist-like gauze.
Chou Bodeng half-rose.
His long, black hair spilled over his shoulders like ink. He propped himself up on his left elbow and, with his right hand, clumsily tried to undo Shi Wuluo’s clothes. Shi Wuluo took his hand, stopping his movements.
Chou Bodeng raised an eyebrow slightly, broke free from his grasp, and pushed aside his dark black clothes.
In the corner of the carriage, the copper lamp’s wick sputtered, casting a small flower of light.
A sudden flash of light and dark.
The young man was slender but not thin, his muscles lean and fluid, like a lone pine on a solitary cliff, a single bamboo on a stone wall, containing a resilient strength. Scars were branded on his pale flesh, one after another, some from sharp weapons, others from heavy, blunt ones, new wounds overlapping old ones.
The carriage was so quiet they could clearly hear each other’s breathing.
Shi Wuluo reached out and covered Chou Bodeng’s eyes, not letting him see the scars.
Chou Bodeng pulled his hand down and bit his finger, his teeth pressing heavily against the bone, then suddenly released the pressure. He only held the knuckle gently, the crimson lipstick on his lips staining the back of Shi Wuluo’s hand. Shi Wuluo let him bite, using his other hand to cover his eyes.
“They’ve already healed.”
Shi Wuluo explained in a low voice.
The teeth resting on the knuckle slowly released.
Chou Bodeng leaned down, his face turned sideways, and rested against his bare chest, listening to his slower, deeper heartbeat. It was as if this body, colder than a normal person’s, had cold spring water flowing through its veins instead of warm blood, making it unable to support a normal heartbeat.
And yet, this heart still wanted to give its only brilliance to another person.
“Are you an idiot?”
Chou Bodeng pulled Shi Wuluo’s hand away and looked up.
Shi Wuluo didn’t speak.
His fingertips pressed against the corner of Chou Bodeng’s eye, rubbing gently, as if wanting to be stained by the crimson there, or as if wanting to wipe that flying red away.
Chou Bodeng brought his finger to his lips, bit it again expressionlessly, then broke free from his restraining arms, propped himself up, and traced the overlapping new and old scars, one by one.
His fingertips stopped at the left rib.
The scar there had faded, but its savage shape still hinted at the weapon that had left it—either a narrow saber with a blood groove or a long halberd with a side blade. Whatever it was, it had once pierced the chest of a silent young man, piercing through his heart.
“How did you get this?”
“I forgot.”
“You’re lying.”
Chou Bodeng said softly.
“I’m not lying to you.”
Shi Wuluo’s silver-gray eyes were so still they could reflect the light of the sky and the shadows of the clouds, the entire world. After meeting Chou Bodeng’s black pupils for a long time, Shi Wuluo took Chou Bodeng’s shoulder and pulled him back into his arms.
He really had forgotten.
In the long river of time, the person he loved had been erased from the world, leaving not a single trace.
Only in pain could he barely find evidence of his past existence… Every wound was another person’s silent cry for help. By enduring the pain he had endured, it was as if he could return to that sharpest, darkest period, as if he could atone for the sin of his powerlessness back then.
He had long forgotten how the scars were left. Day after day, month after month, year after year, all that remained was the clarity maintained by this pain.
He had to live clearly.
Only then could he atone, only then could he watch over, only then could he wait for the person he was waiting for to return.
“It doesn’t hurt.”
Shi Wuluo’s fingers threaded through Chou Bodeng’s black hair, and he gently kissed his forehead, clumsily telling his first real lie.
“Liar.”
Chou Bodeng wrapped his arms around his neck and kissed him as if to tear him apart.
Fiery lips against cool lips, scarlet fingertips against pale fingertips, a full-force embrace, a full-force kiss, wanting to share one’s own warmth with the other, to merge one’s own life with the other’s.
Shi Wuluo turned over, holding his wrist.
The priceless Mist-Gauze Quilt was crushed into wrinkles, the silk skirt hung over the edge of the warm couch, and the dark black long shirt fell with it. Pomegranate red and night black overlapped, like intertwined skeletons. The candlelight shone on the youth’s smooth, graceful back, on the man’s muscular arms.
Outside the carriage.
The bonfire gradually grew stronger again.
Dark red sparks scattered with the wind, the crimson flames like the silk skirt of a dancing woman as she turned and spun, unfurling and stretching. The flickering firelight shone on the carriage, and the window curtain swayed slightly.
Chou Bodeng’s back was pressed against the carriage’s crossbeam.
Between breaths, he could vaguely hear the soft crackling of the burning fire outside. Fine beads of sweat dotted his neck, shoulders, and collarbones, glistening like snow reflecting the daylight at sunrise. A few strands of black hair stuck to them, only to be brushed away by someone. Shi Wuluo pulled him down.
In just a short moment, the carriage’s crossbeam had left a red mark on his back.
Shi Wuluo’s fingertips pressed over the red mark, leaving new imprints.
Chou Bodeng had pulled a corner of the Mist-Gauze Quilt into his mouth, muffling the sounds in his throat, leaving only a nasal hum that was both pained and sweet.
He curled his fingers, clenching the layers of brocade quilt spread on the carriage floor.
Soon, another, longer and more powerful hand covered his, prying open his tensed fingers one by one, and intertwining with his… The hand of an adult male, with calluses on the joints and thumb from years of holding a saber, left faint and deep red marks on Chou Bodeng’s wrist, the back of his hand, and his fingers.
Their hands were clasped together, the identical dark gold Kui Dragon Bracelets on their wrists.
The metal clinked, making a crisp sound.
The bonfire burned brighter.
Every piece of firewood was burning, glowing a dark red, illuminating most of the carriage. The heat distorted the air, and the carriage’s crossbeams seemed to twist and warp along with it.
Fierce, blazing.
Warming the winter snow.
The white, cloud-like pillow was crushed, stained with lipstick made from ground crimson, and then covered by a loose cloud of hair. Chou Bodeng lifted his face from the black hair scattered across the pillow. Without the firelight, his cheeks were flushed with a rosy, rouge-like glow. The malachite earring by his ear had fallen onto his neck, a small, brilliant spot of deep green.
He wrapped his arms around Shi Wuluo’s back, wanting to get up, but suddenly fell backward again. Shi Wuluo put out a hand, holding it above his head to keep him from hitting the partition.
The Life Scale and Vermilion Tear had reappeared at some point.
A sprinkle of scarlet sand dotted the corner of his eye.
Shi Wuluo lowered his head to kiss that vermilion tear, that crimson tear he had unintentionally and personally dotted there… as if it had been fated long ago that one day, this person’s eyes would be hazy because of him, that the corners of his eyes would be stained with tears because of him.
Not of sorrow, but of pleasure.
The night deepened.
The solitary moon climbed over the mountain ridge, hanging high in the lonely sky. The star directly opposite Niuyang Mountain flickered twice before being covered by suddenly gathered dark clouds. The south wind flowed across the land, and black miasma surged and scattered among the elephant-like mountain ranges. Further and further away, in Qing Province, a group of people arrived at Fu City.
The dew had formed.
***
The sound of the night watchman beating a clapper to drive away wild beasts came from afar.
The bonfire outside the carriage was on the verge of dying out, the dark red embers glowing and fading with the night wind. The late night chill was about to take away the last bit of warmth. The bright candle inside the carriage was also about to burn out, a small, bean-sized flame floating on the residual wax in the bronze lamp.
The bedding had been changed.
Under the Mist-Gauze Quilt, two people huddled together. The youth’s frame fit perfectly in the adult man’s arms, enough for one person to protect the other, and enough for one person to warm the other.
Chou Bodeng closed his eyes wearily, as if he had fallen asleep.
Shi Wuluo looked down at the faint blush that lingered on his cheeks. After a moment, he gently took his wrist and, without leaving a trace, felt his pulse… In this world, only Shi Wuluo knew exactly what Chou Bodeng’s condition was like—just like the Divine Fu Tree of Fu City.
The Divine Fu Tree’s millennia of brilliance in a single moment.
He had exchanged countless millennia for a single moment of drawing his sword.
Every outburst pushed him closer to the brink of collapse.
But he had so stubbornly stopped the life-exchanging ritual.
Not only had he stopped it, but he had completely rejected it.
Shi Wuluo had always known that Chou Bodeng was hiding an illusory world in his heart. He used that illusory world to seal away his karmic obstructions and his past. But after meeting the Moon Mother, that illusory world had reached the brink of shattering… But he was too good at pretending and hiding himself. It wasn’t until that night at the lotus pond that he had shown a trace of abnormality.
It was an unconscious cry for help.
Shi Wuluo closed his eyes gently.
…He had to get to Chao City.
He had to go there and retrieve something that belonged to him.
The candlelight in the corner flickered once and then burned out completely, plunging the carriage into darkness. Shi Wuluo wanted to get up and replace the candle, but Chou Bodeng pulled him back down.
“Just let it burn out.”
Chou Bodeng said, his voice a little nasal and lazy.
“Alright.”
Chou Bodeng had only been drowsy, half-asleep, but now he suddenly remembered something and opened his eyes again.
He turned on his side and fumbled around on Shi Wuluo’s back. Soon, just to the side of his shoulder blade, he found the scar from the wound that had once pierced his heart… At some point in the past, this person who had crossed thousands of miles for him had nearly died silently, at some unknown time.
Shi Wuluo pulled Chou Bodeng’s hand down and pulled up the fallen quilt, covering his shoulder that was exposed from his movement.
“Don’t get hurt again.”
Chou Bodeng wrapped his arms around his lean waist under the quilt and looked up at him in the darkness.
Shi Wuluo didn’t speak, but lowered his head to kiss him, rubbing away the last bit of crimson lipstick from his lips. Yet even without the lipstick, his lips were already exceptionally rosy and beautiful.
“Don’t get hurt again.”
Chou Bodeng repeated, his voice carrying a decadent hoarseness.
“Alright.”
“And don’t leave me alone.”
“Alright.”
Chou Bodeng snuggled down a little, pillowing his head on Shi Wuluo’s arm. Drowsiness slowly washed over him, but he still had to listen to the breath so close to him, to confirm that the person with him was there.
When he was alone, he had to read travelogues with cheerful drumbeats, to imagine people in some part of the world being lively and bustling, to make some noise from time to time, to sing to himself, to pretend that the world wasn’t so empty, so frightening… A deep-rooted fear.
Afraid of being alone.
Afraid of drowning in dead silence and loneliness, afraid that no one would hear his cries for help.
“Don’t be afraid.”
Someone held him.
“I won’t leave.”
Chou Bodeng smiled silently.
From far away came the low voices of the night watchmen changing shifts.
They were not in a deserted lotus pond, but in a carriage, in a small family of a wilderness trekking team. By day, they were a young couple who had eloped; by night, they should be entwined and nestled together.
They had to love each other.
They had to save each other.