Chapter 58: Who entrusted my longing to the wild ginger? (VII)

Have you ever obtained something you had awaited for far too long? So long that you couldn’t remember how it had started, and, more than that, didn’t know why it had come now; it didn’t allow you to be happy, and it didn’t allow you to be excited, merely causing you to dully and softly hope, fearing that the smallest expression would cause it to grow regretful, leaving you without even turning its head back.

Song Shijiu had hoped for Li Shiyi precisely this dully and softly; she could clearly sense, when the ten fingers were entwined, Li Shiyi’s distinct joints, and the fine sweat that seeped out on the hollow of her palm. For some reason, Li Shiyi’s previously indifferent eyes were faintly flushed red, causing her to see a degree of delicate appearance.

So, she had remembered this teasing question of Song Shijiu’s this clearly; she didn’t know how many hundreds of turns and thousands of returns of regards she’d gone through that only today they became the obscured love, a heavy weight lifted as if it were as light as a feather. Song Shijiu didn’t much dare to think too attentively about this course of events; the instant she thought of it, it would cause her to be so overjoyed that she was fearful and trepidatious.

Li Shiyi raised her thin eyelids, gazing at Song Shijiu, who was biting her lower lip. She heard the sound of her own heart hammering chaotically and powerlessly, like a rabbit lifted up by its ears, its four limbs raised in panic, only struggling occasionally.

In actuality, she was incredibly tense. She was someone who fully understood avoiding something she was clumsy at to save face; if she couldn’t do some matter well enough, she would practice it day and night, and only on being sure of the outcome would she put forth her hand; she truly feared that she couldn’t accomplish this matter of love with the ease of a butcher handling a cleaver; after all, Song Shijiu hadn’t given her the chance to practice. It was such that she had begun to feel, more and more, that she couldn’t grasp the person before her. She could only sincerely give herself over to her, and accept all good and bad assessments of it.

She saw Song Shijiu let loose her hand, ten fingers softly and smoothly overlapping, the air rushing in in a split second, and then being squeezed out; Song Shijiu grew even weaker, even more bashful, and even more unwilling to refuse, inlaying her hand tightly once more; at the same time, she lowered her head, saying with a red face, “Alright.”

It seemed like Li Shiyi didn’t so much as need her reply, but Song Shijiu just wanted to say an “alright”; this was her obstinate sense of ceremony, and also the conclusion to the story she’d written a hundred thousand times before going to sleep. These past few days, her mood had declined, and she had feared greatly that Li Shiyi liked another, and feared greatly as well that Li Shiyi had taken her for a burden that didn’t understand matters. But Li Shiyi said she liked her, and these three words were enough to break the frost and diminish the ice; what would cause one to feel more steady than Li Shiyi’s expression of love? At the very least, according to Song Shijiu, there wasn’t anything.

She saw Li Shiyi’s lips rise in a smile; it was as if that smile of the first time she’d asked Li Shiyi a question, an open and sincere smile, which she had glimpsed with delight.

Li Shiyi stood up, and Song Shijiu, unwilling to let her hand go, was tugged along; yet Li Shiyi gazed past her honey peach face, gazing towards the back of her head. There was a fine golden yet transparent thread, the length of a thumb, which rose from Song Shijiu’s neck like a gliding fish, twisting as it floated upwards, and at the top of her head, disappeared from view. Song Shijiu, seeing Li Shiyi was startled, raised her gaze, wanting to ask a question, yet she saw Li Shiyi lower her head, gently patting the back of her head, and say, “First, rest a bit, and think of what you want to eat tomorrow; I’ll make it for you.”

Song Shijiu’s jubilation was like bursting bubbles in her heart, and a smile finally hung on her face; she held Li Shiyi’s fingers, rubbing the body of them, and only then reluctantly let go.

In the brightly-lit first-floor dining room was the drowsy, waiting group; seeing Li Shiyi, coming down the stairs with light and unhurried steps, Tu Laoyao came out of his daze, and he was just about to open his mouth, before he was stopped by A Yin’s extended hand. “Don’t ask.” She cast a glance at Li Shiyi’s ears, a rosy red that hadn’t retreated, and raised her brows to exchange a glance with A Luo.

Li Shiyi shot her a glance, and sat at the right side of the long table, pouring herself a cup of water with tightly-pursed lips.

“Shiyi-jie,” Tu Laoyao said, giving her a thumbs-up.

The group looked at him, and heard him chuckle cheerfully. “Too cool. I was thinking of that moment that year when I proposed marriage to my wife; I bawled until my sickly, blind mother got out of bed and chased me down three streets.”

A Yin laughed until she swayed from side to side; by her side, A Luo reached out a hand to support her back, and also smiled softly.

Li Shiyi said, “I’m not the same as you.”

Tu Laoyao asked inquisitively, “What’s not the same?”

Li Shiyi didn’t reply; Wu Qian said in deadpan, “She wasn’t likely to be rejected.”

Li Shiyi coolly raised a brow at Wu Qian. Wu Qian, as if having received a degree of commendation, unexpectedly lowered his head and sipped his tea with some degree of embarrassment.

A Yin, propping up her chin, smiled as she gazed at Li Shiyi; at this moment, she still wore a cool, calm expression, yet she could see, in the unconscious action of wiping her hands from just then, the remainder of her tension; she still wasn’t accustomed to liking extravagance—it was only in abnormal mocking of Tu Laoyao that a small amount of cheer and quick-wittedness was hidden within. Yet her state of mind, because it was always concealed, was incredibly touching.

With a brief few phrases of greeting, the true topic was brought up—Li Shiyi attentively explained what she’d seen just then to A Luo, and A Luo murmured to herself for a bit, then nodded and said, “I wasn’t wrong.”

The group didn’t understand, and heard her say captivatingly, “It’s the Xu Hao.”

“‘Lighting the stove at night illuminates the Xu Hao’,” Li Shiyi said, distractedly.

A Luo nodded. “This saying has been around for a few hundred years already; it was noted down in the Tang Yishi that Tang Xuansong once dreamed of a ghost, which stole his own and Yang Fei’s^[1] jade dizi and fragrance pouch; the ghost was called Xu Hao, and it usually liked to steal belongings, and—was an expert in stealing others’ happiness.”

The Tang Yishi said: “The Xu, gazing into emptiness and stealing things like a play; the Hao, namely consuming others’ happy occasions so they become sorrow.”

Tu Laoyao, hearing it, was dumbstruck, and speechlessly said, “No wonder! That day, when I saw that little figure, that’s what it was. So, that’s to say, little A Jiu’s happiness has, in fact, been stolen away by that scourge!”

The group was silent, and heard A Yin ask, “Then, what Shiyi saw just now was the Xu thread?”

“That slight return of joy must be due to determination.” A Luo paused, then added, “It can’t be maintained for long.”

Li Shiyi hadn’t made a sound, thinking of Song Shijiu’s sickly face from just before, yet her eyes were bright and glittering, and her heart suddenly stuttered.

Tu Laoyao sighed. “Son of a bitch. How can she be treated?”

A Luo gathered up her long hair, her five fingers stroking the top of her head. “This ghost, I actually can’t pay attention to. Tomorrow, Wu Qian is returning to the Taishan prefecture, to request…”

“I have a method, perhaps we can try it,” Li Shiyi said, raising her head to cut her off. Song Shijiu’s antecedents were unclear; she didn’t want to owe the Taishan prefecture a favour on her behalf.

A Yin met her gaze, and a slightly unpleasant premonition arose.

On returning to the rooms, it had already grown incredibly late; the hottest days of summer had just now entered autumn, and even the drone of the cicadas didn’t much care to heed the night; Li Shiyi took a shower in the still night, and was just about to turn off the lamps and rest when she heard a soft knock on the door; she rose and opened the door, seeing Song Shijiu. She was wearing a nightgown in a style not dissimilar to her own, her curly, long hair drawing the outline of her slim shoulders, her hands behind her back as she gazed at her.

“What is it?” Li Shiyi asked softly.

Song Shijiu raised her left foot, tapping it slightly, and then placed it back, and raised her head to gaze at Li Shiyi. “Now that we’re together, we can sleep together, right?”

Li Shiyi blinked slowly, her expression indistinct due to the light behind her; it seemed she was pressing her lips together to moisten them, and only after a while did she say, “Yes.”

Song Shijiu listened carefully; her “yes” had in it a tender smile, by no means having the appearance of being compelled. So, she lowered her head and stretched out her hand to her, following after her and closing the door to lay down on the bed.

The Western-style bed was incredibly large; Li Shiyi slept on one side, and Song Shijiu slept on the other side, and the middle was spacious enough to fit A Yin and A Luo; Song Shijiu laid on her side, reaching a hand out to scratch at the edge of the wood of the bed board, the rustling sound the clearly visible pent-up frustrations of the young mistress; her mood was gloomy once more, and her silhouette was solitary, like an young, abandoned beast.

Li Shiyi tilted her head to look at her, and saw her curves rise and fall with the rustle of her breaths, and the headful of messy, beautiful hair like a grievance; she looked for a while, and said to her, “Come over here.”

Song Shijiu’s shoulders stiffened, then slowly laid down flat, and she opened her eyes to gaze at her. Li Shiyi laid on her side in her direction, reaching out a hand to hold her chin, then cupped her right cheek, gently caressing it a couple times without saying a word. The soundless motions broadened the tender feeling; Song Shijiu smelled the fragrance of her fingertips, and her heart was gently wiped clean by a hot towel, and she couldn’t help but shoot a glance at Li Shiyi, and then roll into her embrace. Li Shiyi held her in her arms; Song Shijiu leaned her head against Li Shiyi’s bosom, one hand loosely supported underneath the shoulder of the person before her, the other placed on her waist, both cute and alluring. “This is right,” Song Shijiu said, sighing satisfactorily, and finally understood what it was she had been uneasy about.

Li Shiyi smiled, closing her eyes and just about to enter sleep, when she heard Song Shijiu add in a quiet voice, “These few days, I was always thinking of something.”

“What?” Li Shiyi didn’t open her eyes, and her voice was even softer than the moonlight.

Song Shijiu’s soft breath fell against her neck, and she said, “The requirements you mentioned that day, what are they, really?”

For a long time, she didn’t obtain Li Shiyi’s answer, and she was afraid she had fallen asleep, and was about to raise her eyes to look at her, but Li Shiyi pulled a slight distance apart between them, gaze meeting hers, and then lowered her gaze, dropping a kiss at her earlobe. Song Shijiu was startled, yet Li Shiyi didn’t stop her motions, her lips caressing her ear, travelling to her chin and neck, bringing along an extreme degree of patience and a sense of touching emotion. Some of the kisses were flames, causing one’s reasoning to loudly collapse; some kisses were water, the swaying causing emotions and desires to gradually warm.

Song Shijiu’s skin grew tense and sensitive under her kisses; Li Shiyi carefully and meticulously brushed against her breasts, and then immediately stopped, and gathered her into her embrace once more, and asked her, “How do you feel?”

“I want,” Song Shijiu said, her voice thin as the call of a bird.

“Want what?” Li Shiyi’s voice was faintly hoarse, and when she spoke, her hand slipped down, lightly touching the smooth, round undersides of her breasts.

Song Shijiu trembled softly, and said, “I want more.”

Li Shiyi placed her hand on the depression of the line of her waist, and said, “More is a requirement.”

Song Shijiu’s face slowly clouded with red, and her hand wound around her neck; Li Shiyi’s thumb separated the nightgown and smoothed over Song Shijiu’s waist, and she asked, “Do you understand?”

“I understand.” Song Shijiu understood what Li Shiyi wanted to do to her, and understood what she herself wanted to give.

Li Shiyi pressed her lips together, and asked, “Can I?”

“You can.”

Of course she could.

Li Shiyi smiled fluidly, yet didn’t take any further actions; Song Shijiu leaned her head against her shoulder, and said in a low voice, “Right now?”

“No,” Li Shiyi pulled the covers up, and caressed the back of her head. “You’re sick.” Just then, the familiar Xu thread had once more reached out from the back of Song Shijiu’s neck, emitting a faint light.

Song Shijiu had a bit of despair, but it was only a minute amount; she quickly and tenderly leaned into Li Shiyi’s gentleness, welcoming the first good sleep in many nights. Before she fell into sleep, she said in a quiet murmur, “Our future is long and there will be ample time, right?”

“Yes,” Li Shiyi said.

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Translator's notes:

[1]: Yang Guifei, Emperor Tang Xuanzong’s consort, one of the great Tang beauties. The title Guifei was the highest rank among imperial consorts at the time.