Chapter 17: From a long and arduous journey comes peace (VII)

A soundless sob rang through the tomb; it wasn’t clear whether it was the sound of the wind, or those who had once been so close scattering apart.^[1] The kerosene lamp made no sound from start to finish, and the inverted image upon the glass was distinctly and extremely harsh and cruel, clearly reminding everyone gathered that the magnificence had already passed by, one thousand three hundred or more years before.

“Ai.” Tu Laoyao, that young master, crouching on the ground, let out the sound of a sigh.

A Yin, on the other hand, was leaning against the wall, like Li Shiyi, head lowered, not knowing what she was thinking, and only after a great deal of time put on a fake smile, the corners of her lips rising, both sneering and lonely.

Li Shiyi’s throat bobbed, a faint aching, sour sense of unwellness apparent, but she only silently gathered up the snuffed-out smoking pipe. When being able to meet in person wasn’t as good as not being able to meet, one should remember that it may not necessarily feel well to forget. Yue Niang’s hun spirit, like a candle’s luminance, was fixed on A Wan’s coffin, and the most lamentable thing was not only that she had deceived herself like this for so long, but that she actually didn’t remember anything; both she and A Wan had kept their affections secret, and in the end, it had taken bystanders to expose them. That foreign-outfitted, proud daughter of heaven who had clenched her teeth and choked on blood, had crawled underground, hand reaching out to leave trails of blood; losing that love forever, she hadn’t been willing to confront her remorse and shame. It would have only taken a step, and she would have been able to put that restoration incense, real or false, beneath A Wan’s nose, holding onto that hope of A Wan’s restoration, those eyes that had been closed in eternal rest.

She had also had an unstated selfishness; she had wanted A Wan to waken and hold her ice-cold, stiff corpse, and thoroughly cry for her, bitterly and entirely. Between her and A Wan, it was only when they were separated by the underworld that she had been willing to cry in front of her.

But what if she was more than one step away?

That year she had been fourteen, during the Shangyuan festival, during the early evening in Chang’an when the lanterns were first lit, she and A Wan had changed into men’s clothes and left the palace to amuse themselves, the small talented person’s profile remaining on the princess’ lamp, and the princess’ profile left behind in the talent’s heart. When they were sixteen, the emperor’s beloved Princess Taiping married a man of lower status, Chengyang’s Xue Shao, a grand, complete set of music and rites evening out and raising his rank, the county walls torn open to allow the marriage chariot to pass, the lamps burning all the way to the heavens, the arrogant and willful new bride pinching her skirts in the middle of the magnificent multitude, while A Wan’s silhouette was concealed beneath the verdant and lush willows. After thirty, she gradually forgot the story of the talent’s likeness to the princess, power engraved upon arrogant bones, and it was only in the winding corridors, playing with her young children, that she happened to spy the Zhaorong who frowned as she asked about politics and passed her days esteeming books.

Her and her sword-holding counterpart both became envious, though, in the past, they had shared a quilt, and the mountains and the moon knew the the matter at the bottom of the girl’s heart. It was just that, people were very good at forgetting about others, ceasing to think of them, and, before changing into a ghost, they would forget everything entirely. In the end, A Wan was a bit more intelligent than her, and had long since gone to the underworld, and with a bowl of Meng Po’s potion,^[2] smiled thinly and dismissed Yue Niang.

From the corner came the quiet sound of sobs, dragged out one at a time, the self-control extreme, and it was incredibly week and feeble as well; Li Shiyi raised her gaze and saw Song Shijiu biting her bottom lip, her chin twitching softly towards her collarbones, warm pearls of tears splattering onto the ground. Li Shiyi swept a glance at A Yin, and A Yin, understanding thoroughly, pressed Song Shijiu’s head against her shoulder and covered her eyes, and gently patted her head.

Li Shiyi raised a hand to press against the bridge of her nose, and shot a glance at the almost entirely diminished kerosene lamp, and stood up, brushing off the grey dust on her clothes, and said indifferently, “Let’s go.”

Tu Laoyao stood, his spirit lacking, the tendons of his legs trembling, and leaned over, picking up the lamp.

Gazing upon the loose earth on the ground, Yue Niang shook her head, and said, “Just leave me here.” The group stared at her, startled, and heard her add, “I searched for so many years; I’m very tired, and I don’t feel like leaving again.” She raised her head, and nodded towards Li Shiyi, and said, “Seal up the tomb, please.”

Li Shiyi’s lips moved slightly, but in the end, didn’t reply, her upper and lower lashes entwining for a moment, and nodded in agreement. “Alright.”

Arriving at the mouth of the tomb, Li Shiyi inclined her head towards the back, her lips slowly saying aloud, “A Chun.”

Once they exited the tomb, the moon had already faded, the sun rising; the early morning atmosphere was thin, but also the most aggressive; with only one breath, it would bore directly into the core of one’s mind, and in one instant, all of Tu Laoyao’s tears and mucus flowed out at once. He stopped for a moment to blow the mucus out, then rubbed his dry hands together; A Yin was slightly ahead of him, wrapped in a soft, sumptuous changpao, listless and drowsy.

Li Shiyi walked for herself a bit, then stopped her footsteps, turning her head to look at Song Shijiu, half a step behind her; although she wasn’t crying, her delicate fingers were curled, and her head was bowed as she silently wiped at tears; her hands had gotten dust on them in the tomb, and there were heavy and light marks by the eyes she was wiping; Li Shiyi, afraid that her eyes were hurting, raised her wrist and brought her hand down, and asked her, “What are you crying about?”

Song Shijiu opened her large, wet, round eyes, her swollen eyelids flicking, tear stains at the corners of her eyes, her mouth bitten a brilliant red, and her exquisite nostrils flared; she raised her head and gazed at Li Shiyi, and said with a quiet voice, “My heart feels incredibly painful.”

She had restrained her sobbing incredibly cleverly, but in this precise moment, this grievance made her tone, like her expression, resemble a cub that had been abandoned, incredibly pathetic.

“What is it hurting over?” Li Shiyi cocked her head, earnestly lowering her head to look into her eyes, her voice seeming to have become a bit softer.

Song Shijiu bit her lip and thought for a moment, and then, with teary eyes, gazed indistinctly at her, and said, “You also feel pained.”

“Me?” Li Shiyi was astounded.

“I know, ah,” Song Shijiu said, lowering her head and mumbling, extending her fingers to poke at Li Shiyi’s chest, and continued, “you’re soft here, and warm; how wouldn’t you feel pained?”

Li Shiyi found this a bit ridiculous, but didn’t speak any more, just lifting a step and walking forward; Song Shijiu followed after; because of the teardrops muddling her eyes, her mind crying itself to pain, she couldn’t see the road very well, and she reached an arm out to brush against her, following the road of her palm. Having walked another two steps, Song Shijiu suddenly said, “Yue Niang and A Wan’s friendship, what was the meaning of it?”

Li Shiyi didn’t answer, and heard her say, “Is it the same as you and I are?”

Li Shiyi replied, “You and I have only known each other barely ten days; what sort of friendship?”

Song Shijiu was tonguetied; only ten days? But she felt like several years had passed. She thought on it, and then asked again, “Then, what are you and A Yin?”

Li Shiyi stamped forward, and shook her head. “That isn’t, either.”

“Then…”

“You aren’t allowed to ask about Tu Laoyao.”

Song Shijiu let out an “en”, wanting to speak but hesitating, the back of her hand wiping away the remaining tears; she’d cried a long while, as if empty, and at this moment, trembled with a shiver, and then dragged in a couple breaths. Li Shiyi shot a glance at her sobbing and sniffling appearance, and suddenly said, “Nowadays, I think eighteen or nineteen years old is also good.”

“What do you mean?” Song Shijiu’s mind was once again a bit muddled, but her ears perked up.

Li Shiyi replied, “You can spit snot bubbles.”

Song Shijiu raised a hand to her nose in a flash, covering up her face and howling.

In the first rays of dawn, Li Shiyi’s lips bent faintly into a smile; in the gaze through tears, it seemed to be enclosed in the glass, both faint and appearing clearly. Tu Laoyao gazed at the two people in front, and with a reckless laugh sighed a phrase: “The affection between the two young ladies really is good.”

Two young ladies? A Yin paused, gazing at him with a complex expression.

Xi’an City welcomed the new dawn rays, the ancient city walls illuminated with a glistening dazzle. Li Shiyi, waiting for the others, indeed wasn’t appreciating the blessing of facing the sun, and at the mouth of the street, ate a basin’s worth of mutton, and returning to the residence, made up for a whole sleep. Upon waking, the sky had been painted dark. The head of affairs of the residence, Lian Ma, asked Li Shiyi when Miss A Chun would return, saying she had made her favourite jiao tou noodles;^[3] she’d worked at the residence for seven or eight years, and Miss A Chun was always busy, and every time she returned, was always missing a bowl of her noodles. This time, being busy, she hadn’t even eaten it.

Li Shiyi said, “She said, ‘I’m not leaving anymore’.”

“Not leaving is good,” Lian Ma laughed twice, and, raising her head, saw the falling rain, and hurried to prop up an umbrella and wait outside the entrance for her.

Song Shijiu, curled by the door, watched the rain discontentedly. Li Shiyi, holding the handle of an umbrella, came before her, and said to her and the approaching A Yin and Tu Laoyao, “Let’s go stroll; this city’s antique marketplace is incredibly good, I’d like to go look around.”

This shichen had long since past the ghost city’s early awakening; luckily, the Drum Tower’s main street’s north courtyard door’s marketplace was still open. The fine drizzle of snow enveloped the grey walls and the black tiles, the shop sign flags on either side soaking wet, completely lacking spirit, wrapped up as they were, and the people walking around this antique market weren’t numerous, and because of this rainy, overcast weather, half the shops on the street had doors that were half open, half covered up, the shopkeepeers wrapped up in coats nestled behind the sales counters and dozing off. Suddenly, the sound of two voices in sharp debate were heard, seeming to be arguing over whether that antique’s origin was in the middle Tang or the late Tang.

The pale flagstones had been scrubbed entirely clean by the raindrops, and the soles of the feet stepping upon it would be cold; Li Shiyi freely wandered through various shops, and unexpectedly found a few good things, asking in detail where they had come from; usually, the origins wouldn’t be revealed at once, but after a few sentences, she was always able to come to the bottom of it.

She was only looking, not having the intent of spending money, and some shopkeepers, looking at her dress, suspiciously of her only asking and not buying, hustled her out with a few phrases; she didn’t get angry, only smiling faintly and holding up her umbrella and continuing forward. Song Shijiu, hiding beneath her umbrella, asked her, “You don’t fight, and you don’t spend any money, right?”

She replied, “Yes.”

“But I saw you don’t look the same as when you enter tombs, doing work a bit like Heibai Wuchang.”^[4] From Song Shijiu’s not too refined mouth came the four literary characters of “Heibai Wuchang”, feeling that what they described was incredibly exquisite.

Li Shiyi said, “Your mouth is muddled with food.”

Song Shijiu, not particularly believing, said, “Where are you like someone who lacks a mouthful of food?”

“Lacking.” Li Shiyi cast a slanting glance at her, then turned her head entirely, continuing, “One isn’t enough.”

Song Shijiu turned her head a few times, and only then understood that she had eaten a good few of the meat steamed buns that she herself disdained, and for a bit felt somewhat resentful, narrowing the long lashes of her two glistening eyes, clearing her throat and lowering her head to look at the point of her shoes.

A rickshaw was stopped at the side of the road, the driver clutching at a moist towel and wiping at the rain on his face; the person within reached out a hand, giving a few copper coins, and the driver hurriedly bent his waist and said his thanks, and then used his legs to press against the tension bar, letting the young lady within get out. The young lady was about twenty years old or so, of medium height, thin and frail, the black cloak protecting her face from the rain making it hard to see; within the cloak was an old-fashioned, long coat with a lush green border, in the style of a Han woman’s outfit of the final years of the Qing dynasty, very much out of place; luckily, there weren’t many people in the heavy rain who took note, and she grasped an umbrella and made her way forward.

Li Shiyi and Song Shijiu, exchanging words, brushed past her, the outside of her shoulder struck faintly by a chill, making Li Shiyi’s brows knit. That young lady walked a few steps, heart suddenly jumping, and, holding the umbrella up, paused her steps, gazing pensively back, and said, “A Heng?”

The alley road was meandering, the rain pouring down in sheets, the quiet making it seem like an illusion. After another half shichen, the heavens cleared, and the lantern sellers at the mouth of the street finally spread out their stands, impatiently lighting a few lamps, raising bamboo poles to hang them around the alley, the evening wind making them rock side to side, the swaying lamps’ shadows scattering about; Song Shijiu raised her head, expression spreading out as she watched, and A Yin, too, was entirely happy, playing with a few rabbit lamps, unwilling to let them go, Tu Laoyao coming close as well to look, expression turning and flying along with the bamboo basket strips of the shop owners, thinking about taking one back home for his wife to make her happy.

Across from the lanterns was a tea merchant, the wet scent of tea drifting over. Li Shiyi pressed her lips together, and, seeing that there wasn’t a soul in sight in the shop, only a seven or eight year old girl standing on a low stool, holding a scale longer than her arm, not daring to let out a breath as she studied the weight.

The girl had long and narrow eyes, arched brows, both upright and reserved. Li Shiyi approached, and asked, “What sort of tea does your shop have?”

“The teas in my shop are numerous; what sort do you normally prefer? Black tea? Green tea?” the girl asked, lowering the scale.

Li Shiyi said, “What sort do you usually like?”

“Taiping houkui,” the girl said without taking the time to think about it.

Li Shiyi glanced at her, blinking, and then suddenly asked, “Is it Taiping, or is it houkui?”

The girl didn’t understand, and so was just about to open her monuth, when she heard the mistress inside raising her voice to call her: “A Wan!”

She leaped off of the low stool, hurriedly heading inside. “Ai.”

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Translator's notes:

[1]: 云散 (yun san) literally means “clouds scattering”, but can be used to metaphorically describe those who had been close scattering apart.

[2]: 孟婆汤 (meng po tang) is a potion given to souls before reincarnating which makes them forget their previous life.

[3]: Jiao tou noodles (浇头面, jiao tou mian) is a type of noodle dish where meat or vegetables are poured over top of the noodles

[4]: 黑白无常 (heibai wuchang), two dieties in Chinese folk religion who escort souls of the dead to the underworld.