Chapter 33: Spring breeze blowing for years (IV)

The sound of the watchmen’s clappers sounded ten or so times, yet Li Shiyi wasn’t drowsy in the slightest; she’d just been about to take out a jar of soothing Lu’an melon seed tea when she heard a series of three knocks on the wooden door. Li Shiyi called out an invitation to enter, and saw Song Shijiu closing the door and entering.

Visiting in the depths of night; Li Shiyi set down the jar, and asked, “Is there something the matter?”

Song Shijiu stood neatly with one foot at the front, one foot behind, and pondering with her head bowed, and only then said, “I’ve felt from the start that there’s something odd about that Mulan.”

Li Shiyi drew a pensive breath, and nodded. “Mulan was a general with brilliantly outstanding military service, and entered the hun spirit military, but when I fought hand to hand with her, it seemed like her martial skills weren’t that impressive.”

This wasn’t even impressive? It was very impressive; clearly it was that you were more impressive, then. Song Shijiu gathered a kittenish breath, and her kitten-like eyes glanced at her.

When she finished speaking, Li Shiyi saw that she didn’t have anything to say, and turned her face towards her, raising her brow in inquiry.

Song Shijiu most loved her raised-browed appearance; she didn’t know how there would be a masterpiece like this in the human world; the cut of that brow was like the bent line of a mountain range, raised upwards in an imperial nobleness, and what was held back was tenderness; if someone were to lay within the hook of that crooked brow, it would be just as embracing verdant hills and clear waters. Song Shijiu pressed her lips together, and said, “Whether or not she’s impressive, I don’t know, but I secretly listened to her sleep talk.”

Li Shiyi was astonished. “What sleep talk?”

At that moment, she was sitting facing Song Shijiu, her leg loosely raised towards her, one hand on the table, the other supported on her thigh, a completely unguarded manner of posture. Song Shijiu just felt that the water on the stove of her heart was boiling strongly, steam as thick as a thumb pouring from her ears; her face was bound to be incredibly read, and even her hair was tense enough to not dare to curl. Afraid that Li Shiyi would be able to see her change, she lowered her head, and took a few steps forward, tugging up the hand Li Shiyi had supported on her knee, and then straddled Li Shiyi’s right leg, just about sitting on her legs. Li Shiyi was suddenly filled with the mild scent of jade knocking against her, and, startled, stopped breathing, and saw Song Shijiu raising her glossy, fair arm, hooking it around her neck like a swimming fish, gently crossing it over the back of her neck.

She looked at her, biting her lips; in her gaze, the language of desire had paused and become bashful, but her straddling position, seated on her body, moved in a way that was still unbridled, brazen intimacy, and the clash created a contradicting vitality. Li Shiyi’s pupils were deep, but her lashes still lowered indifferently, as if she was suppressing the leap of her pulse, beating like Song Shijiu’s, into a faint breeze and calm clouds.

She’d never had this sort of posture to face someone before, the press of flesh separated by cotton and hemp fabric; it was as warm as a fire, but against all expectations, the arm against her neck was cool, and the sweet fragrance lingering on her hair brushed against her cheek, bringing with it an invitation that made one want to become more intimate. She turned her head, instinctively reaching out a hand to push her away, but she heard Song Shijiu say, “If you don’t push me, I’ll tell you.”

“Tell me what?” Li Shiyi fixed her gaze on her, her voice a bit hoarse.

“I’ll tell you Mulan’s secret,” replied with growing courage, her pupils gleaming.

Her heart beat like a drum hit with a mallet, as if when two armies faced off, waving flags and shouting battle cries; Song Shijiu was resisting, rebelling, carrying the determination to change her fortune and become the master, causing her to face her head on, unable to avoid it.

Song Shijiu was so tense the very bottom of her heart was about to be choked by acid, but Li Shiyi was in fact smiling; that smiling expression overflowed from within her eyes, the brief bloom of a night-flowering cactus, and she pursed her lips, still appearing careless, and lowered her hand. “Then say it.“

Even the act of her surrender was calm, but on the contrary, it made a sort of immature stage fright emerge in Song Shijiu. Song Shijiu stretched her neck, and by her ear, thought a moment, then said, “On the trip back, I sat by her side; she fell asleep, but said a few words in her slumber.”

She recalled it as she spoke, her motions somewhat excessive, and her body slipped down a bit; Li Shiyi, afraid she would fall, instinctively reached out a hand to grab her waist, and pushed her upwards. “What did she say?”

“She was reciting a recipe,” Song Shijiu said, not understanding it too well.

“Reciting a recipe?” Li Shiyi’s attention was greatly aroused by Song Shijiu’s words; her lower arm, laid across her waist, hadn’t let go, and as she thought deeply, her fingers drew habitual circles. “Mulan is a general; how would she recite a recipe in her dreams?” Li Shiyi murmured.

Her waist numb, Song Shijiu drew in a small breath to scratch it, her chest rising, and for a great deal of time, she didn’t dare to move.

When Li Shiyi finished considering it, she let go of Song Shijiu, raising her knees to hint to her to get up; Song Shijiu reluctantly straightened her waist; the back of her hand was behind, the tip of her toes dangling to draw half a circle. Li Shiyi rubbed her numb thighs, and turned to open the jar of tea, and only after a bit said, “What A Yin and Tu Laoyao said, you’ll want to pick and choose what to listen to.”

The two who had been mentioned were still shelling chestnuts, talking with Auntie Zhang at the mouth of the street about the tea vendor stand’s Wu-guniang; the casual conversation had carried this way and that and was about to reach its limit when they saw Song Shijiu’s small, pale face emerge. Tu Laoyao leaned out first, wriggling his brows at her. “How was it?”

Song Shijiu swayed her hips, her waist still on fire, and said with a small voice, “She…she drew circles on my waist.”

“Yi.” Tu Laoyao, embarrassed, frowned. Our Shiyi-jie, a master at all things; her actions were the most brilliant and talented.

The second day, A Yin rose very early, and loosely combed her hair into imperial curls, and went to A Luo’s residence. The sky hadn’t been light for long, and A Luo was still sleeping, but Wu Qian was awake, practising martial arts in the courtyard. A Yin watched for a bit with crossed arms, and then raised her arms to clap, and only then went to leisurely and unhurriedly look for that Mulan.

All around the wings of the house was the formation of Mount Tai’s archive; Wu Qian spoke for A Yin, and invited her inside. A Yin pushed against the door and entered, and, seeing that her expression was clear, sitting in front of the window reading, A Yin asked her, “Did you rise early, or did you not rest?”

Mulan was quite ready to respond to her. “What brings you here?” She was genteel, and carried a bit of sarcasm of someone from an ancient time.

A Yin said with a smile, “I rose early to go get a few bits of embroidery I’d ordered, but I must have come to see you in vain.” She shook out the embroidered goods that she’d been carrying, not caring about Mulan’s reaction, and, minding her own business, gestured and exclaimed, “Take a look at this needlework; it’s by a Suzhou embroiderer, and she barely finished it within a month; this bird really is shockingly realistic; even its fine plumage’s minute details are brought out completely.”

Mulan inclined her gaze to glance at her; when her gaze fell on the embroidery work, she unexpectedly let out a soft scoff, and tossed out, “Where was this rainbow finch embroidered like that? The cloth is piled without attention to detail, two lairs of plain weave silk between a layer of ramie cloth, and then used for the base of embroidery, and the pinions and the eyes are done with a braided stitch; is this an elaborate detail, is this the appearance of a living animal.”

“Yo, then it’s I who doesn’t understand.” A Yin, with a smile, put away the embroidered pattern; she cast her a clear, considering glance, and then committed herself to a farewell.

The day was still early; the original appointment for Li Shiyi and the others hadn’t yet arrived; A Yin put the embroidery on the stone table in the courtyard, and asked Wu Qian, who was sweeping the courtyard, “Has A Luo-guniang woken?”

Wu Qian replied, “She has. Hearing you’d arrived, she invites you to go have tea.”

A Yin used the raised handkerchief to block the sun, and flippantly headed towards A Luo’s rooms.

The Junshan yizhen tea gave off the fragrance of spreading branches and leaves, and stood in for the master’s to express a completely sincere greeting; A Yin sat at the table, and raised a wrist to lift off the lid, and, minding her own business, held mouthful of the scent.

A Luo wore a crow-black, loose gown, and stood behind the writing table, writing; the wide sleeves of her gown made her more gentle, and her ink-like black hair and clothes came together, and pressed against her pale face and her jade-like white wrists. She greeted A Yin, and with a soft laugh, said, “A Yin-guniang unexpectedly doesn’t maintain the formal courtesy of a guest.”

A Yin laughed as well. “Since we met in the last life, and cried as well, what sort of courtesy do I need?”

A Luo lowered her head, looking at the meandering tip of her brush, and with a gentle voice, said, “It’s as you say.”

A Yin set the tea down, and came to her side, and appreciated her handwriting with her, and asked, “This job of yours, to say it simply, you’ve done it for seven or eigh hundred years, right?”

A Luo thought for a moment. “Unfortunately, without end.”

A Yin stooped down, propping her elbow up on the desktop, and inclined her head, raising it to look at her. “Then this aspect of affinity between us, you remember it clearly, it’s not that that Fu Wuyin was peerlessly alluring, was it?”

A Luo set the brush down, and shook her head. “I don’t pay much attention to beauty or ugliness, but I heard that Fu Wuyin hadn’t married for a long time because she wasn’t born beautiful.”

A Yin, frustrated, rose discontentedly; just as she was about to leave, she had just stopped before the blue and white porcelain, wide flower vase, and heard A Luo say, “Within your body, it’s the Teng serpent?”

There was the sound of a string of an instrument snapping, rending open the peace of the air; A Yin turned her head, the inquiry fiercely and swiftly repressed within her eyes. A Luo sighed, and set her brush down, coming before her with steps like mist, and gazed at her as she said, “The lust of the Teng serpent, that’s the reason you entered the alleys?”

A Yin’s frame softened, and she leaned against the carved wooden beam, neck swaying, and she crossed her arms, asking her with a smile, “What?”

The guardedness within her motions and speech couldn’t be concealed; A Luo’s brows furrowed, her voice light as warm water, perfectly smooth and appropriate. She thought a moment, then said, “The Teng serpent craves the primal essence of the opposite sex; usually, mortals can’t stand many demands of the mythological beast; therefore, you can’t fix on a specific person, or his life would be endangered, no?”

A Yin scoffed softly, and, with footsteps like treading on flowers, walked to the bedside, lifting the tassel fringe at its top, rasing a pair of slender legs; the seductive appearance, lascivious and soaked in cosmetics, showed through the slit of her qipao. She asked her, “What? You have a solution?”

Originally, it was only a mocking retort, but she hadn’t thought A Luo would come over, and say, earnestly, “I do.” A Luo stood before her, faintly hooking her head to look at her, and said, “I’m formed from underworld essence, and don’t distinguish between male and female; the primal essence the Teng serpent requires, I have as well.”

A Yin’s eyes widened; she didn’t know if she should first be astonished at someone for the first time being this bluntly magnanimous in inviting her to make love, or flabbergasted that the delicate young lady before her indeed didn’t distinguish between male and female. She nipped at her handkerchief, and her doubtful glance pressed against A Luo’s bosom.

A Luo awkwardly turned her face away. “The body I’ve put on is female.”

“Then the primal essence?” A Yin’s glistening gaze fixed on her.

A Luo also gazed fixedly into her eyes, and raised a hand to touch her own lips. “A kiss.”

A Yin bit her lip and laughed lowly, and turned her face, the tassel fringe moving about between her fingers. A Luo lowered her eyelashes, just about to draw away, but overlooked a pair of hands with coloured nails tugging at her collar, drawing her before the skew-faced gaze of a beautiful woman, and then bumping full-on against the rouge-covered lips. She had abruptly kissed her, her kiss without rhyme or reason, yet kissed her like with the passion of heavenly thunder and earthly fire.

If this kiss evoked a beauty that had nowhere to go, then it was a dream of an opportunity seized to the heart’s content. For her, she would present mountain peaks, offer up rivers, rouse the dusk, and hasten the dawn.

I trust you’ve been well since we last met, Fu Wuyin.

-

< LAST | HOME | NEXT >

-