Chapter 44: Those who love are mocked by those who do not (V)

After a few days, it was a bright day with clear weather; Tu Laoyao was cooking noodles, and was massaging Tu Saozi’s swollen calves, forehead covered in sweat; A Yin came in, bringing in a bowl of fresh lychees, and, thinking that Tu Saozi shouldn’t be eating cold or raw foods, placed it aside, and said, “They were just in ice water; let them dry and then eat them.”

Tu Saozi, legs bared, felt quite embarrassed, and smiled bashfully. “Thank you for your trouble, A Yin-guniang.”

A Yin leaned over to look at her, and clicked her tongue regretfully. “Look at your legs, they’re swollen as radishes; when a finger presses, it leaves a depression.”

Tu Saozi stroked her belly, and smiled with a sigh. “Women’s lives are just like this, enduring hardships.” She paused, and then added, “This time, it’s more or less experiencing misfortune; in the future, when A Yin-guniang becomes pregnant, I can tend to you somewhat.”

A Yin hurriedly waved her hand, straightening up and stretching out her slender waist, and laughed. “Don’t, I don’t have that sort of blessing.”

Tu Saozi didn’t know what it was she did for a living, and merely took her to be a young, abashed woman, and smiled affectionately. Tu Laoyao raised his head, and, without catching onto the joke in the words, only began another topic. “Where’s Shijiu? I haven’t seen her all morning.”

“I was just about to tell you,” A Yin said, crossing her arms. “When you have the time, come to the courtyard; I have something to ask you.” Once she finished speaking, she raised her hand and twirled a few lychees in her hands, gathering them in her hand like a plate of walnuts, and, beaming, called out goodbye to Tu Saozi, and only then shifted her steps to leave.

Having only waved the fan twice, Tu Laoyao went to go open the door, wiping the sweat on his forehead with his forearm; he tugged at his trouser legs, and with a creaking, sat down on the stone stool next to the grape trellis. “What is it?” The steam hit his head, assaulting his nose until it wasn’t a nose and his eyes weren’t eyes.

“Shijiu has been training her skills for the past two months, and there hasn’t been the slightest improvement; I was looking for you to ask for thoughts.” A Yin peeled a lychee, its sparkling, translucent, limpid flesh shining as she tossed it between her jade-pale fingers. This seeking him to ask for thoughts had been said without much consideration, somewhat without expectation of him being able to make a contribution.

Cicadas screeched; Tu Laoyao’s face wrinkled, like an elderly Pekingese dog. “Alright, let me think.” He wasn’t much accustomed to others asking him to use his brains, especially those with proper speech and in a good mood^[1] like Yin-da-nainai; it was as if he was being given respect, and it made him wring his mind to come up with a suggestion.

“I can’t think of one.” Having wrung his mind entirely clean, the small figure in his mind knocked against the utterly empty skull with a rattling sound.

A Yin scoffed, shoving a lychee into her mouth, unsurprised; her tongue held it in her mouth, cheeks bulging slightly, and she said vaguely, “I’m asking you, when she used her skills last time, what were the circumstances?”

“Mount Ma’er, the E Shou; we were about to die. She,” Tu Laoyao tugged at his white mandarin jacket, and continued, “changed.”

“Pig brains,” A Yin rolled her eyes, disappointed that iron hadn’t become steel. “Was it that we were about to die? It was Li Shiyi about to die.”

“It was, it was,” Tu Laoyao replied hurriedly; actually, the scorching sun had made his ears faint and his eyesight blurry, and the woman before him hadn’t given him a single chilled, refreshing lychee.

A Yin, seeing him gazing with impatience, finally gave him one, and began to guide him patiently and systematically. “That’s it exactly. As the saying goes: ‘the sea of learning has no horizon, and hard work is a boat’, what does that mean? It’s not only that it needs hard work and forging on, but stimulating potential. With her life this comfortable now, where would the urge to kill for property come from? We may as well put her into that sort of situation of imminent peril, a thousand pounds hanging by a thread, and try it out.”

Tu Laoyao was still thinking of “the sea of learning” this and “boat” that, and didn’t know whether or not this was a solution. After he comprehended it, he felt that it had some reason, and asked, “Then, who will go assassinate Li Shiyi?”

His head was spinning on his neck, and he was in terror from the tips of his hair to his heels. A Yin’s brows furrowed, and she put her hands on her hips. “What are you doing saying you want to kill Li Shiyi?”

Tu Laoyao blinked.

A Yin’s smile was furious, and, with a huff, she slapped the remaining lychees down on the table, playing the lute to an unappreciative cow. Tu Laoyao finally reacted, and grasped her handkerchief, which was fluttering free, and tugged her back; with a flash of inspiration, he said, “I have an idea, I have one.”

A Yin inclined her gaze at him, lips pulled taut and noncommittal. Tu Laoyao, appearing mysterious, with a grin and shaking legs, said, “Yin-da-nainai, please be kind, won’t you.”

The second day, Song Shijiu was just about to take a midday rest when the door was struck with a bang; she wrapped a close-fitting, rough silk dress around herself, and, with eyes sleep-laden and drowsy, she opened the door, and was hit with a strong force; Tu Laoyao and A Yin snatched her up from the doorstep and pushed her towards the dressing table; A Yin held up the red-hot hair iron, her face seeping a fine, anxious sweat. “Incredible!”

Song Shijiu was startled; Tu Laoyao squatted down, and took the new leather shoes from the tarpaulin bag and put them on her feet. “There’s been a big incident!”

Song Shijiu turned her head in a rush; A Yin pulled her face back with gentle slap, not allowing any explanation, and formed a curl in her hair, instructing Tu Laoyao, “Get out the rouge and cosmetic water and lay them out.”

With a hissing sound, the scent of scalding from smoke floating from the top of the hair; Song Shijiu’s mind became anxious, and she tugged at A Yin’s wrist, repeating, “What…what is it?”

A Yin formed a curl in a bare few moments, and at the same time, separated the hair into two parts, then picked up the black conch dye that Tu Laoyao had just opened up, leaning over to carefully draw on Song Shijiu’s eyebrows. “Li Shiyi went on a blind date.”

A blind date?! Song Shijiu’s eyes widened, and her lips parted, letting A Yin put rouge on with a couple brushstrokes. Her mouth and tongue grew dry, her chest rising and falling heavily; her heartbeat thudded in a fluster, fluttering and short, as if she’d slept too late; only after a good while did the wings of her nose flutter, and, cautious and solemn, she asked, “A blind date—why?”

A Yin, having finished making her up, pulled her behind the screen; seeing her foolish and dazed appearance, reduced beyond a shadow, she could only sigh, and immediately changed her into a Western-style skirt, giving her a satisfied once-over; then, colluding with Tu Laoyao, picked up Song Shijiu, who was seemed to have been struck by lightning, and, in a few moments, shoved her into a rickshaw.

The rickshaw surged forward along the street, as if it were aflame; Song Shijiu’s heart was like a tire being hit by cobblestones; she was agitated and on edge, her state of mind perturbed; she strove to pacify her mind a bit, and only opened and closed her mouth again. “What’s she doing going on a blind date?”

A Yin’s gaze flashed and she looked away; deceiving a woman once and then thrice more—the thunder gathering, she was afraid, was enough that it could destroy eighteen generations of her ancestors.

Tu Laoyao’s mind was chaotic, reciting, I’m not going to the underworld, who’s going to the underworld?; with a loud voice, he said, “She’s come of age, thinking of settling down, giving birth to a kid—how could it not be a blind date!”

Song Shijiu furrowed her brows, and helplessly bit her lip.

The car stopped a short while later at a fashionable, foreign-style crossroad; Tu Laoyao gently pushed up his sleeves and pushed Song Shijiu down out of the rickshaw, and along with her, raised his head and gazed at the respectable shop front on the side of the road. That was a Western-style coffee shop, with the tops of parasols rising, the glass door with a water chestnut lattice; the waitstaff at the doorway were also wearing swallow-tailed coats and small Western-style hats, with an incredibly high-fashioned appearance.

Tu Laoyao knocked off the front of his cloth shoes; seeing this attitude, the sense of not measuring up rose up in his bones once more, and he didn’t dare to proceed any further. A Yin leaned lazily against the side of the car, brushing Song Shijiu’s face, and urged her, “How about you go in on your own.” Thinking on it, she added a phrase: “If you’re not any match, call out for me.”

Song Shijiu’s ears twitched and rose like a cat’s; casting a glance over A Yin, she nodded.

The arrangement within the coffee shop was incredibly orderly; square booths, laid out like neat tofu squares, rouge-scarlet sofas contrasting with marble tabletops, and dark green table lamps casting a pearlescent glow, and there were also, unexpectedly, dim cup candles placed on the ground; aside from reflecting the overhead crystal lights’ expensiveness, it seemed like they didn’t have any use.

Li Shiyi drew her gaze back from the pathetic candle flames, her slender, fair fingers held a small matchbox, and with a clatter, she tapped it gently against the tabletop. In this moment, she had one leg crossed over the other, and her posture was fairly straight; an admirable grace emitted from the languidness, and the young gentleman across from her was in a full-body, creamy white suit, a sling hidden against the pocket of his chest; his short hair was neat, not a single strand out of place, and even his fingernails were trimmed appropriately. His smile was restrained, courteous and amiable, and he raised his coffee to draw a mouthful, his motion even more gentle than a sip, and he slowly set it down, only then saying, “Just now, Li-xiaojie mentioned she’s a Southerner.”

Li Shiyi furrowed her slim brows, turning the matchbox in her palm in a circle with slight impatience. Tu Laoyao had, absurdly, early in the morning, talked to her about business, that it was Tu Saozi’s maternal cousin, and because the family was prosperous, usually they looked down on, and held him in contempt; he’d pleaded that she had to go pretend, dress up and be respectable, so that Tu Laoyao’s respectability wouldn’t take a fall.

Although Li Shiyi didn’t much understand what her own respectability had to do with Tu Laoyao’s, she unconsciously compromised a bit under Tu Saozi’s gaze, as gentle as water. However, the man before her, as soon as he’d walked in, had asked what she wanted to drink, and eat, and chatted about coffee and places of ancestry, wanting her age and talking about birthdays; originally, she’d assumed that rich families had a great number of taboos; only once she’d dealt with him demanding to know her thoroughly did she gradually begin to feel something wasn’t right.

She made a slightly unapproachable clicking sound, wanting to rise and grab her outer coat and leave, but she’d just turned her head when she heard a charming, lively voice say, “Li Shiyi!”

She raised her brows; shadows enveloped her as she advanced forward, the fragrant scent agitating the beautiful woman she was faced with; Song Shijiu raised her skirt and sat down next to her, maintaining a palm’s length of distance. The one that she had called was her, yet the one she looked at wasn’t her; her half-parted eyes took measure of the man across from her. The man was a bit stunned, but a fine upbringing led his face to show no fluctuations, not even a faint nod; after he restrained his astonished expression, he smiled faintly and greeted her. “Who’s this?” he asked, looking at Li Shiyi.

Li Shiyi shot a glance at Song Shijiu; the tip of her tongue scraped gently against the top of her mouth, and she said in a few colourless, meagre words: “My younger sister, Shijiu.”

Song Shijiu’s chest rose, her pearly white teeth drawing the corner of her mouth in to bite it, and she turned her head to gaze at her. In the past, she’d always said that she was her maternal cousin; at the time, she’d been extremely happy, but this time, when she said it again, she was incredibly upset.

The man raised his brows with an “oh”. “Shijiu-guniang.”

Who are you to call me guniang. Song Shijiu pressed her lips together, her sharp chin trembling, the crisscrossing ravines entwined with a feeling of grievance and anger. The aggrieved sensation seemed to be of that entirely thoughtless “younger sister” of Li Shiyi’s, while the anger was because of this lovely, superior adornment of her figure. Her hair had been combed smooth and neat, and her face was glossy and sleek as an expansive, clear spring; her shirt and pants were brand new, and she even wore a pair of low-heeled, small leather shoes. Without the disguise she dressed in, her eyes were as if soaked in aged wine; when her face was expressionless, it was engagingly cool; if she only smiled, even a tiny bit of a smile, it intoxicated the heart and spleen.

She lowered her head, her hands unconsciously wanting to touch something, and when she raised her hand she just touched the coffee cup in front of Li Shiyi, holding it up as if having met reinforcements; but then the man across from her raised a hand to press it down, saying apologetically, “This cup is Shiyi’s, let me order a cup of something else for Shijiu-guniang.” As he spoke, he passed the drinks menu to Song Shijiu, smiling as he said, “The fruit juice here is fairly good.”

One Shiyi, one Shijiu-guniang, tugging at this and stopping that—she couldn’t quite understand what she was hearing; although she knew how to read, the characters on the drinks menu crawled like earthworms, twisting and turning into something entirely beyond recognition. The more she looked, the more unhappy she became, and simply gave the menu back, still holding Li Shiyi’s coffee without letting go. “I’ll just drink this, is that alright?”

The last three words were asked to Li Shiyi; Li Shiyi leaned halfway against the booth, and raised a brow halfway. “It’s alright.”

The en-vogue coffee shop, the strange gentleman, the suddenly-appearing Song Shijiu; Li Shiyi gently strung the incidents together; it wasn’t hard to think of who was behind arranging this.

However, the man hadn’t taken offence because of Song Shijiu’s arrival, or say that the brief interlude had caused him to lose his interest in Li Shiyi; he merely put Song Shijiu indifferently off to the side, and once again began to speak to Li Shiyi.

Li Shiyi’s head was lowered, and she was still fiddling with the matchbox, calculating how to find an excuse to bid goodbye; when she raised her eyes, she was completely frozen for a few moments. She narrowed her eyes and gazed at the man before her who was entirely unaware; as before, he was in high spirits over poetry and literature, and as his speech became aroused, he waved his fingers gently. But the skin on his hands seemed as if it was being drawn on by a water pump, growing withered by degrees, wrinkles like ripples on the surface of dead skin, extending up from his hands to his wrists, covering the protrusion of his Adam’s apple on his neck, eroding the high bearing of the corners of his eyes. His hair, his jet-black, thick hair, in an instant greyed early, beautiful hair becoming grizzled, as if unable to bear the heavy load of adversities, causing his youthful vigour to be depressed and penetrated. It was as if he’d been suddenly, rudely jumped by old age, his eyes closing and his head shaking, and he cleared his throat, and a moment later faced Li Shiyi’s tightly-pressed, thin lips.

Li Shiyi blinked, seeing the old man, who had just then been past his prime, rapidly returning to the appearance she’d seen first, as if a book with its pages flipped through, even being pushed back beyond it a bit, and then a bit more, the firm stubble above his lip withdrawing, exchanged for soft down.

The change of everything was so fast, as if a carousel lantern of paper horses hurriedly turning around. Li Shiyi’s jaw tightened, alarm bells sounding loudly; she hurriedly cast a glance at Song Shijiu; she lowered her head slightly without joy or anger, her left hand still holding the coffee, still warm, her right hand propped on her knee, her palm facing upwards; her five fingers were curled together around emptiness, making a motion a bit like clutching a ball. The veins on the hollow of her palm seemed as if filled to bursting with blue light, winding like coiling lines, crowding in her palm and gathering into a small ball of faint, light blue light; Li Shiyi looked at her motions, and then cast a glance at the ignorant man; Song Shijiu turned her fingers neatly in a full motion, and he rapidly aged, and when she turned her fingers to the left, he unexpectedly began to grow youthful. With this fluctuation of folding and unfolding, the man’s state of mind had already become a bit dazed, and his speech had also grown confused and clumsy.

The strange usage of time on his body made a chill run up her spine; luckily, at this moment, there wasn’t anyone inside the coffee shop, and the back of the booth was also high; if they were to be seen by someone, it was very likely that they would scream themselves mute.

Song Shijiu tilted her head, and glanced at Li Shiyi, her long, curly hair covering up her finely engraved, delicately cut features; it wasn’t clear if the bright red corners of her eyes had been painted by A Yin, or formed by her in this moment, a ghostly beauty and flirtatiousness, like a phoenix on the verge of taking flight, a haughtiness seeping out.

This wasn’t Song Shijiu.

With a soft bang, the phoenix’s wings at the outer corners of her eyes rapidly folded up, and returned to nesting dociley; Song Shijiu opened her sharply contrasting black and white pupils, and bowed her head to gaze at her own hand.

Li Shiyi had, just then, calmly and collectedly covered up her hand, the hollows of their palms pressed closely together, cutting off her powers like cutting off electricity. Yet she didn’t look at Song Shijiu, only furrowing her brows and gazed at the once more normal man, her fingers exerting themselves to hold Song Shijiu’s, and after that, with slight apology, rose, and said, “Excuse me.”

As soon as her words fell, her hand tugged at Song Shijiu’s wrist, her expression indifferent as she took her into the restroom. With a "ka-da," the narrow compartment was locked; Li Shiyi relaxed her spine and leaned against the wall; across from her was Song Shijiu, a frost-bitten eggplant lacking energy; one hand was stuck in her sleeve, the other still turning the matchbox, and the rustling sound of the two people’s breaths rose and fell in the small, dim space, as if mindful of missing something important.

She hadn’t asked anything, not even having planned to speak, only waiting very patiently for Song Shijiu’s mood to calm. Usually, Song Shijiu would always cling to her, but at this moment, she consciously drew back half a step, pressing against the wall herself as well, and gazed at the slightly bent right knee of Li Shiyi across from her, her right hand clutching her skirt, the back of her hand trembling slightly.

She opened her hand, wiping it on the skirt vigorously, then clutched it again. Her mood was absurdly complicated; excitement at having learned it, and a sense of sadness that hadn’t dispelled, and even anxiety that Li Shiyi would be angry, and even a bit of bashfulness at the two of them sharing a room.

The various states of emotion leapt up and down in her mind like the Eight Immortals crossing the sea,^[2] warring with each other; in the end, seeing Li Shiyi’s blind date’s suffering prevailed, and it made her press the corners of her mouth together and desolately stand up.

After a good while, she heard the person whose head was inclined above her sigh slightly, and say in a gentle voice, “I didn’t know any of it in advance.”

Song Shijiu suddenly raised her gaze; Li Shiyi looked at her, and then repeated again, “I didn’t know.”

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Translator's notes:

[1]: 好声好气 (haosheng haoqi) means doing something gently or kindly but with A Yin’s characterisation, the more literal translation has been used here.

[2]: The Eight Immortals from Daoist mythology, who lived on an island in the Bohai Sea, whose water is said to be “weak” and floats, unable to support boats crossing it.