Chapter 29 — Where Love Begins (Part 2)

　　Fangyi Jun felt his long life had been wasted: Ruoshui was a rare oddity, an impossible flower — once in a thousand years, a peculiar marvel. He felt both pain and worry. “How could this be?”

　　Ruoshui spread her hands. “I don’t know either.”

　　Fangyi Jun warned, “You mustn’t tell anyone. If someone discovers you are such an oddity, ill-intentioned people would be unrestrained.”

　　“Right, I know. That’s why I planned to stay on Gushu Peak, live quietly for decades, eat and die peacefully. That’s my ambition,” she said with a smile.

　　Fangyi Jun added gravely, “And your blood — don’t tell anyone. People are greedy, and cultivators are greedy too. If they learn about it, I don’t know how many would try to drain you.”

　　Ruoshui nodded.

　　Fangyi Jun still fretted. “Remember: don’t tell anyone. Preferably don’t even tell Brother.”

　　“Don’t even tell me?” came Qiwu Jun’s voice behind them. Fangyi Jun and Ruoshui turned, startled.

　　Fangyi Jun recovered composure quickly. “What wind blew you here today, Brother?”

　　Qiwu Jun stood without speaking, clearly wanting to know what they had to hide from him.

　　Ruoshui’s bright eyes rolled mischievously. “Oh… when you were in seclusion Brother Fang took care of me. You two are brothers, we’re nominally married, so Brother Fang worried you might misunderstand. He thought better to hide it, but he didn’t know I’d already told you.”

　　Fangyi Jun threw her a look of proud approval; Ruoshui shot him a smug glance.

　　Qiwu Jun knew she lied — since they hid something he would not press. But the tacit intimacy between the two of them, their shared secret and their mutual guarding, felt like a thorn in his heart. Standing side by side, they looked almost matched, and he felt oddly superfluous.

　　“Blooming — it’s blooming!” Ruoshui cried and stared at the cereus as the bud swelled.

　　Fangyi Jun stepped closer to admire the rare purple cereus but kept looking at Ruoshui, whose long lashes fluttered and tugged at his heart.

　　Qiwu Jun watched the pair under the moon and felt an unfamiliar prick of jealousy.

　　The purple cereus slowly opened. Petal by petal the translucent purple unfolded; pistils arose, and the bloom formed a rounded blossom in the moonlight: exquisite, pure, dreamlike — like an innocent fairy, like a passionate woman waiting for her lover. At its peak the flower closed back — the whole bloom a fragile illusion, a single instant of perfection.

　　Ruoshui watched, enthralled.

　　“Planning to stay the night at the Herb Valley?” Qiwu Jun asked, a tone of displeasure there.

　　Ruoshui realized the hour and said quickly, “No, no — let’s go back.” She and Qiwu Jun left.

　　Fangyi Jun’s eyes clouded. He knew he shouldn’t cling to her, that he should avoid giving offense, but he couldn’t help wanting to watch her laugh and play. He had assumed Qiwu Jun had no feeling for her and therefore felt free to be kind, but Qiwu Jun’s odd reaction today left him uneasy. Perhaps Qiwu Jun had feelings after all. Fangyi Jun worried he was being captured by this ordinary yet astonishing woman.

　　Back at Gushu Peak, Ruoshui felt low.

　　“Not feeling well? If you don’t want to return I can leave you at the Herb Valley,” Qiwu Jun offered.

　　Ruoshui wasn’t thinking strategically. “No; just thinking of things.”

　　“What things?” Qiwu Jun was unusually curious.

　　“Ephemeral as the bloom — the cereus for weituo.”

　　She told him the legend: the cereus was once a flower goddess who bloomed every day. She loved a youth who tended her, but the Jade Emperor punished her for loving mortals, sentencing her to bloom only once a year; the youth was sent to a monastic life and named Weituo. The goddess, remembering him, gathered a year’s worth of vitality into that one instant hoping he’d notice — but he never did.

　　Ruoshui sighed. Qiwu Jun comforted her: “It’s only a tale. Poets love to spread tragic love stories. Truth and fiction are mixed.”

　　“I feel I’ve forgotten something important, someone important…” she trailed off and fell asleep on the table.

　　Qiwu Jun reached to stroke her face but withdrew and instead carried her to bed and tucked her in. Watching her sleep, his resolve crumbled: he realized he could no longer maintain complete indifference. He didn’t want Fangyi Jun to be so close to her; he wanted her near him. But he also knew she disliked the lifelessness of Gushu Peak — she stayed only because of her nightmares and because she needed him.

　　A knot tied in Qiwu Jun’s chest. He needed to restrain himself; some seeds must be crushed before taking root.

　　Over the next days, he withdrew for seclusion. Ruoshui ate and slept and could go nowhere. Bored beyond measure — there weren’t even ants on Gushu Peak — she nearly went mad. Fangyi Jun came by.

　　“Just you? Where’s our master?” Fangyi Jun asked.

　　“In seclusion,” Ruoshui answered listlessly. “Haven’t seen him for days.”

　　“You must be dying of boredom,” Fangyi Jun said with a knowing look but puzzled at the slight jealousy he had seen in Qiwu Jun the other day.

　　Ruoshui looked up. “You here to cheer me up?”

　　“Do you know what day it is?” Fangyi Jun asked.

　　Ruoshui replied in a drawn-out voice, “I don’t know what day it is.”

　　Fangyi Jun tapped her forehead. “It’s Qixi — the day mortals pray for love.”

　　“I’m already married — what more can I pray for?” Ruoshui scowled.

　　Fangyi Jun: “We’re not asking you to pray — just watch the revels. Zhaoyao will celebrate a bit, though not as lively as the mortal world. With your master in seclusion, you’ll be bored anyway.”

　　She peeked at Qiwu Jun’s room and nodded. “You’re right.”

　　Fangyi Jun took her out, jesting and laughing. Qiwu Jun opened his eyes slowly and coughed up blood — the revelry had been grating, and his heart found the sound intolerable.