Chapter 35: Spring breeze blowing for years (VI)

Jiu-daren? Song Shijiu’s eyes swung about. Unexpectedly, Li Shiyi didn’t have a notable reaction; she took the jade dizi that Wu Qian offered, and easily knocked it against the soft, velvety back of Song Shijiu’s hand, and told her to go look for a mountain god temple.

Tu Laoyao, thinking about the pig trotters stewing back home, also hastily bid farewell, and after a bit of bustling, once again, the two of them, A Yin and A Luo, remained. A Luo washed her hands and watered the flowers; A Yin sat by the table, and flipped through books, and then propped both hands on the table, her high heels unsteadily hanging off the ends of her feet, striking the legs of the table in alternating light and heavy knocks. She cast a glance askance at the person before her, gracefully grasping her waist; delicate, loose shoulders; even her lips were inhuman and indifferent, only tainted by a pathetic amount of cosmetics, as if having, just before, been marked carelessly. If it had been the past, she would have been unwilling to fix her gaze upon this sort of disspirited young woman, herself obstinate since she was a child, and arrogant later; her lips red as peonies, the corners of her eyes as splendid as gold leaf, her wiles the foremost wiles of a fastened hair ribbon; for prostitutes, she was the most magnificent prostitute in the matters of flirtation and amorousness beneath the heavens.

But, after time, heart and her body always fell before insipid people, never interesting her; minding her own business, she knocked her head with a pu-tong, the pain making her confused and disorientated, fuming with rage.

“If you have something to say, then ask,” A Luo said.

A Yin said, “Was it your first time?”

Branches concealed A Luo’s face partway; even the shadows and light, strewn about, were incredibly attractive. She lowered the pot in her hands, and tilted her head. “It was.”

A Yin’s chest let out a not-too-heavy wheezing sound, as if surprised, and also as if it were something else; she thought carefully for a moment; in this lifetime, it seemed like she hadn’t possessed any sort of unique thing; naturally, she didn’t much dare to have excessive hopes that she was the unmatched “first” within the two-thousand-three-hundred-plus years of the person by her side. She crossed her legs, raising her hand to tug at the hair by her temples.

Unexpectedly, A Luo smiled, asking her, “What is it?”

A Yin didn’t much believe it. “You’ve lived this long; you never tried this sort of taste before?”

A Luo replied sincerely, “I don’t pay attention to matters of the human world; I also didn’t know whether a mortal would be able to withstand my underworld essence.”

“What about ghosts, then? The ghosts of Mount Tai’s seat?”

“In my capacity as Yama of the Ten Halls, naturally there was a bit of prudence,” A Luo said.

The woman as splendid as the radiance of springtime was so amused she let out a laugh, turning her hands over, supporting herself on the table, and jumped down, tapered high heels treading a couple steps from back to front, and she came before the pillar beam, lowering her gaze to look at her, and said, “If it’s your first time, then I can’t treat you unfairly.” Although the one who was industrious before was A Luo, A Yin, because of this “first time”, unexpectedly felt that she couldn’t have much of a careless intention.

A Luo raised the beautiful face slightly, gazing at her enquiringly.

“What preferences do you have? Rouge? Cosmetics? Custom-made sets of clothes?” A Yin tugged her handkerchief; in fact, a prostitute had a method of a good degree of favouring a client.

“There isn’t.” A Luo shook her head. “If you think it’s good,” she paused, still bending her body to water the flowers, and only after a short while said without careful consideration, “next time—call out the name of others less, and that’s good.”

Next time? A Yin unhurriedly raised her brows, her pondering inattentively turning the train of thought back to that phrase at the start.

—If you think it’s alright. This phrase was heard often; the tailor shops in the south of city, the jewellery shops on the street past the Drum Tower, the new triangle sweets at the tea stands—when the shopkeepers would wrap up the oilpapers and pass them over, they would always say this sort of phrase.

This phrase, here and now, coming from the mouth of the person before her, was very inappropriate for the occasion; like this, it also caused one’s state of mind to ripple. Bafflingly, it brought with it a degree of not-too-familiar courteousness, words of desire having ceased to be bashful, conscientious and prudent, like when holding something out, urgently hoping to obtain a small thought of approval. It was smoothly appropriate, making one’s pores relax with ease. A Yin tugged the corners of her mouth, and, looking thoughtful, she raised her shawl to hang up.

The young swallows carried mud beneath the eaves, nesting into the ramparts in the murky drizzle; Li Shiyi held an umbrella aloft and brought along Song Shijiu, walking on the mountain path with alternating heavy and light steps; the cloisters in Beiping which could be called out weren’t few, yet the mountain god temples weren’t many; only after spending effort to make inquiries for a while, at Mount Yunquan’s Xiangji Buddhist temple, at the southwest of jade-peaked towers, were they able to find a very small one.

This mountain god temple was a bit antiquated; to the glance, it didn’t even have any incense burning at the front, its mottled walls showing its age and state of disrepair and decline; yet, the pale tiles had been rinsed to a shine by the rainwater, as if there was some attentiveness to the respectful welcoming of guests. The two of them, Li Shiyi and Song Shijiu, couldn’t bear to go inside and look around the residence of the mountain god, and only directly went around to the back court; Li Shiyi gave the umbrella over to Song Shijiu’s grasp, and fished out the jade dizi and, with her thumb, wiped at the mouth; yet just as she was about to place it at her lips, in the sound of the rain drumming against the banana leaves, her expression became blank.

Song Shijiu stared helplessly at the omnipotent Li Shiyi putting down the jade dizi that had been laying against her lips, asking her hesitantly, “A Luo-guniang, did she say what to play?”

Song Shijiu stammered a couple times, only feeling that the question had been incredibly beautiful.

Seeing that she was dazed, Li Shiyi’s heart knew that she couldn’t be counted on, and softly sighed a couple times, tapping the jade dizi against the palm of her hand, then raised it against her neck, and cast a glance at the tiles, suddenly saying, “You play.”

Since A Luo had had her bring along “Jiu-daren”, then there was definitely a reason.

Song Shijiu was startled; she traded the paper umbrella to her, easily taking the jade dizi, and, under Li Shiyi’s light gaze, brought it to her lower lip, her hands rising, unknowing of the sort of attractive but insubstantial appearance she gave off. Her gaze moved away, suddenly feeling herself thoroughly unfortunate; obviously she didn’t know, either, what to play, but every cun of her body believed firmly and doubtlessly in Li Shiyi’s demands, as if from the tips of her hair to the extremities of her toes all bowed before the person in front of her. She earnestly watched her play a few hoarse, broken notes, like whimpers; beneath the rustling sound of the banana leaves being drummed on, it pricked the ears incredibly, and she agitated the rainwater, agitated the paper umbrella, agitated the green-treed, pale-tiled mountain god; yet the umbrella-carrying Li Shiyi’s gaze agitated her.

Song Shijiu lowered her rain-moistened eyelashes, and before long, they opened like the spreading wings of a new butterfly, her pupils, bright as if the morning sun, looking Li Shiyi face to face; Li Shiyi tightened the hand which held the umbrella, her thumb gently brushing against the bamboo shaft.

The ten fingers, strewn about as tapered bamboo shoots; an enchanting, melodious tune flowing out of the small hole, the sound rising directly to the skies; Song Shijiu’s frank eyes slightly narrowed, the corners of her eyes faintly expressing a paleness; Li Shiyi’s pitch-black pupils dilated, and then, astonished, hid away in her tightly-pursed lips. A strange, long-gone interest was rising in her; within this continuously overcast and rainly mountain forest, she gazed at the pale, tender young lady before her, having the urge to explore and reach the bottom of the matter. What was the tune called? Where had she learnt it? When playing it, what sort of memories did she have? And who had had the good fortune to listen to it before?

She suddenly came to consciousness; she had carried her out, raised her, watching her one year per day appearance, but she had never possessed her before. For the concept of “possession” for herself, she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, and the corners of her mouth twitched briefly, and she lowered her head.

The sleeping frogs had been suddenly awoken by the noise; beneath the eaves, a square of unremarkable tile had been propped up, as if a very small tent; from within the crack, a spiritual snake, as thick as a pinkie finger, wove out; its body was emerald green, young and tender as if having been plucked off of the pointed tree leaves; that green snake raised its body, and in the curtain of rain, it gazed like a child, letting out a soft “ya”, reverently saying, “Jiu-daren.” This snake in fact spoke like a learned person; Song Shijiu found it very strange.

Song Shijiu lowered the dizi, waiting for that small snake to follow the beams of the room and climb down; it hurriedly snaked before her, rising up, its body pulled out very long, as if striving to reach up to her; unable to reach her eyes, it finally said, “What commands does Jiu-daren’s summons have?”

Its voice was both soft and hoarse, as if a child choked by smoke. Song Shijiu’s countenance wavered as she squatted down, the jade dizi tapping its head, and with a small voice, she asked it, “Do you listen to me?”

The small snake doubtfully said, “Naturally.”

That accent and pitch, rising and falling, was as if that of someone from an ancient period.

Song Shijiu laughed gently, raising her head to gaze at Li Shiyi with a smile. “You have a paper figure treasure; I have a small green snake; you suppose, we…”

“What?” Li Shiyi stood erect, one hand holding the umbrella upright.

Song Shijiu flushed a bit, biting her lip as she gazed at the snake; picking a leaf to act as an umbrella for it, with an extremely gentle voice, she asked it, “Isn’t it very fitting?”

The sound of the “ya” was hidden in the sound of the rain.

“It is.” The little snake understood, instinctually nodding its head.

Song Shijiu’s joy seeped, making her curved lower eyelids shed tears; Li Shiyi, above, softly coughed, saying lowly, “Speak properly.”

Song Shijiu nodded, stroking the head of the little snake, restraining a smile and asking it, “Carry a message to Yushiqie; I want to borrow her nose to use; is that alright?”

The little green snake, receiving its command, put down the umbrella and showed courtesy, and then, as if entering a meditative state, went rigid on the spot, its body stiff as if it were dead; for a long time, it didn’t move. The two waited for a while, until the mist of rain halted, the skies faintly clearing; only then did they see the small snake deliver the message, eyes opening to say, “Jiu-daren, please close your eyes.”

Song Shijiu, complying with the words, dropped her eyelids, only smelling a burst of abrupt fragrance, rapidly entering her nostrils, following the bridge of her nose, beseiging the entirety, and finally reaching the crown of her head; as if her eyes had been assaulted by ten or more heads of great, pungent garlic, the crackle of small sparks loudly bursting within her mind, making Song Shiju cover the space between her brows, tears and mucus flowing in an instant.

Seeing that her expression had changed, Li Shiyi hurried to set the umbrella down and crouch down next to her, asking her, “Is it hard to bear?”

Song Shijiu sneezed loudly, tearful, even her speech indistinct. “Wait, wait wait.” She wiped at her tears, the base of her palm still pressed against the centre of her forehead, her five senses slipping to the wrong places; only with great difficulty did she return to her former appearance; Li Shiyi’s palms were clammy, placed on her knees as she looked at her; she saw that she had gradually calmed down, her small and delicate nostrils gently fanning; her pupils, fixed on her, had also changed colour, and she hesitated for a moment, and said, “You smell very fragrant.”

Li Shiyi cast her a sideways glance, and stood up, picking up the umbrella to walk back.

Song Shijiu bid her farewells to the little snake, and lifted up her skirts, arranging them, and in a few steps, leaped up and followed after her.

People said that the fiver senses were interlinked; having a keen nose, even eyesight would improve greatly; all things, in Song Shijiu’s eyes, were as if having been dredged out of the water, uncomprably clear; she pressed close to Li Shiyi, looking all around; so the leaves of the trees that had been flattened by the rain were this sweetly scented; so the scent of the soil was this rich and fertile; so the cobblestones had a scent as sharp, cold, and raw as gun barrel; so, Li Shiyi’s scent was countless times more fascinating than she had thought.

Her fingers were upright as holding a brush, the clear, pureness of a scroll; the fresh scent of rice, the disspassion of a talisman; even an unmatched, unique scent of tobacco; the sweet basil-like fresh rhinoceros horn stirring seductively in her flesh and blood, even more loathe to part with than a cup of baijiu, wormwood pulling her to the secular world, making her have various coveted emotions and desires. Her lips, her nose, her brows, her eyes, penetrated by layers and layers of scents, coming thick and fast, chaos in Song Shijiu’s mind. She raised a hand to cover the end of her nose, just about unable to control it. Song Shijiu still didn’t much know that, in the capacity of Lady of the Snakes, Yushiqie, outside of a keen nose, brought along a degree of puzzled sensations of an idolent snake, causing the regard she had for the person within her heart to increase a degree.

She couldn’t help but go over, tugging at Li Shiyi’s arm, her face cautious and solemnly pressed against her shoulder; Li Shiyi inclined her eyes and swept a gaze at her, and she said softly, “I’m a bit dizzy.”

Fearing that because of this newly-obtained nose, her body was having a counterreaction, Li Shiyi didn’t decline her much, only holding out her hand to allow her to pull at. Song Shijiu, by her side, walked slowly, and then suddenly expressed a sigh of sorrow, recalling the days when she’d been carried and held; unexpectedly, it was like something of a lifetime ago, and she pursed her lips, sighing, “You haven’t embraced me in a long time.”

Only because this time it was only her and her did she dare to this openly let loose a pamperedness. Originally, she’d assumed that Li Shiyi wouldn’t pay heed to her nonsense, but in fact, Li Shiyi shifted her thin lips and opened her mouth, her voice mild as a shady day’s weather, and said, “Weren’t you held yesterday?”

Song Shijiu’s ears perked; her face rubbed against her nicely-scented shoulder, washed in a layer of faint pink. She didn’t say any more, only faintly drawing her lips inwards.

So, in Li Shiyi’s understanding, that wasn’t being seized at the waist without care, but a type of genuine embrace.

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