Chapter 65: Old age must not be met in the mortal world (II)

When A Yin woke, the sun had already risen three measures; the window curtains had been pulled closed very securely, and the inside of the room was just as dark as the Teng serpent’s cave, but through the sliver of the curtains, the sunshine penetrated both clearly and brightly. It was as if she were weighed down in the spacious void of the deep sea, and what brought a calming scented air was the bubbling stream, and the thread of light was a fisherman’s line that lured her out of the sea.

She didn’t know what sort the angling fisherman was, or how he planned to eat her, just as she didn’t know whether the scene outside the curtains was agreeable to the gaze. She wanted to cough quietly, yet her breastbone was numb and couldn’t rise eagerly, and the painful sensation of the bones of her limbs had just emerged from sleep; it was this that caused her to dully remember the matters of the day before. She twisted her ankles; since the past, when receiving an injury, she’d always had this customary small action; this time, she thought that since her muscles and tendons had almost been torn, she would have to remain as a cleaning rag for a good while; she couldn’t have thought that in the drag of her muscles, there remained only an ache like rheumatism, and her bones were perfectly fine, letting out a creaking, clear sound.

When the Teng serpent had taken away the spirit, it seemed as if it had also taken away some old pains of lifelessness, causing her meridians to be as unobstructed as if she had been reborn. She raised her right hand, hesitantly stroking her chest, both large and soft, unable to be grasped by a single hand. She scoffed at herself; how had she actually expected that she could return to that physical state from before she’d run into the Teng serpent?

She distractedly pinched at the gentle tapered point on that softness; pain; aside from pain, there wasn’t any other reaction, and there was no longer that sensitive, passionate numbness of before.

A Yin rubbed her chest, which had been pinched to pain; her face completely lacked an expression; she didn’t know, in the end, whether she was happy or unhappy; she was just about to sit up when the back of her hand brushed against a strand of smooth hair. In the darkness, she narrowed her eyes; A Luo rested her upper body on the bed, one hand twisted in the raw edge of the corner of her pillow cloth, the other grasping a handkerchief that had been penetrated by the cold; so, when she’d fallen asleep, the warmth that cased one to cling was this warmth; she reached out a hand to pull out the icy cold cloth; her action lost its strength, and aroused A Luo.

In this life, she’d seen many people awaken; when Li Shiyi woke, she would furrow her brows and squint her eyes for a bit; when Song Shijiu woke, she would customarily raise a hand to knead her eyes; when clients woke, they would bring along the remnants of alcohol, wrinkling their faces and only after having to respond for a long while recognising whose jade arm they were laying on.

Only A Luo, there was only A Luo, who on opening her eyes, was a deep, clear, bright pool of lake water, reflecting A Yin’s figure like the graceful moon, not having even the smallest hesitation. She gazed at her, her face still heart-stoppingly pale, yet when she smiled, it surpassed ten thousand embroidered flowers, and she asked hoarsely, “You’re awake?”

“What were you laying on the bed for?” A Yin rested her head on the pillow, measuring her from the bottom up; because of her and A Luo’s cordial relationship, she’d assumed that she ought to wake in A Luo’s embrace.

A Luo placed the handkerchief back by the side of the copper basin, gently arranging it properly, not replying to her question. A Yin unhurriedly measured her deliberately slow actions, and thoroughly grasped her thoughts. So, she curled her lips, and purposefully withdrew back, making a space wide enough for one person, and patted the pillow, saying, “Curling and huddling makes the bones hurt; come up and sleep.”

A Luo startled, lowering her eyes to gaze at her.

A Yin scoffed, lifting the quilt. “What do you take yourself and this lady here for? Having had a fallout and become hostile?” She smiled widely, still having that ostentatious, light and unrestrained appearance, as if she had always lived in accordance with this trajectory, and the Teng serpent had never brought anything, nor, naturally, had it taken anything away.

A Luo’s brows shifted, and with a faint hesitance, she undid her clothes and got onto the bed.

The bedding, like pilled clouds, drew back; the woman by her side, bringing along a cold fragrance, rested on the other pillow; the night before, she’d endured the entire night, yet she wasn’t drowsy in the slightest, only opening her features which were as if drawn by a brush in the <i>gongbi</i> style, thinking of worries. Just then, she’d purposefully maintained a distance with A Yin, fearing that she would be ill at ease, yet A Yin was this magnanimous, causing her to feel her hands and feet were tied, incredibly unimpressive. When had she become this sort of person?

It was still A Yin who spoke first. Like A Luo, she laid on her back, her hands folded over her belly, and she asked her, “Shiyi, she’s Taishan Fujun?”

A Luo was silent for a short while, and then shook her head. “Shiyi isn’t; Ling Heng is.” She struggled to relate the differences between the two, yet she still felt there ought to be a distinction.

“Was Ling Heng like Shiyi?” A Yin turned her hand over and stroked her pillow, wanting to listen to A Luo speak for a bit. Her words could always sparsely elucidate many things; what was called chatting more or less was chatting a bit, and matters as great as the heavens could pass.

“Seven parts the same; her lips and chin were a bit like mine.”

“Yours?” A Yin raised one of her brows.

A Luo smiled. “I didn’t tell you, that I was brought out by Ling Heng?”

A Yin shook her head, her eyes, full of smiles, half inquisitive, half baffled.

“Through self-cultivation, I gained the five senses, yet wasn’t able to obtain a physical form; it was Ling Heng who molded me into this appearance.” It wasn’t clear what A Luo was thinking of; the corners of her lips rose gently.

A Yin, hearing this, was incredibly interested, and extended her index finger to tap her delicate jaw, and then curled it higher, following the extent of her nose, drawing an elegant arc. When her finger stroked to the peak of her lips, she laughed softly. “So, saying this, Ling Heng’s craftsmanship could compare to a skilled workman.”

Not only that, but she showed great creativity, skillful enough to compete with the craft of the heavens. For a brief moment, she couldn’t think of many chengyu, but she was certain that placing the most exquisite chengyu onto A Luo’s features wouldn’t be an exaggeration.

Her finger pressed against A Luo’s lower lip, and then immediately withdrew; suddenly, she humbly lowered her lashes, and gazed at A Luo, calmly tilting her head, and let out a baffling sentence: “In the past, I…didn’t I meet you?”

This question didn’t require an answer. Regardless of this life, or the fate of a past incarnation, naturally they’d met before. But it seemed as if what A Yin was saying wasn’t this.

A Luo’s lips parted faintly, her heart as if having been covered by a glass cover, and after, having been struck lightly on the outside by someone with a steel pipe. The vibration of the glass cover caused her mind to ripple, yet there was also a faint anxiousness, fearing that if that person used a bit more strength, they could accidentally break the glass.

She tilted her face, and gently met A Yin’s gaze, and said, “Yes. You even said, you wanted to get married to me.”

A Yin’s nostrils flared a couple times, and she gazed at her, then bit her lip and smiled, as if having heard a joke that hadn’t been fully completed. “Ah, such a great story, marrying Yama.” She smiled and shook her head, then rearranged her head. A Luo smiled as well, gazing at the shadows on the ceiling that the sunshine caused to jump about, not making a sound.

After idling for a while, they heard Wu Qian knocking on the door, saying that lunch was ready, and inviting them downstairs to eat. A Luo replied, and after making herself presentable along with A Yin, she loosely supported her waist and went downstairs.

The group, seeing A Yin was unhampered, were naturally happy, and the meal was eaten in even more liveliness than a New Year’s dinner. Only when the bottoms of the bowls and plates were visible did Li Shiyi wipe the corner of her mouth and say to those at the table that she had decided to go look for the Shengsheng.

“The Shengsheng, where is it?” Tu Laoyao asked.

Song Shijiu said, “Shiyi sent a paper figure to the mountain god temple early in the morning; the green snake said it’s in Chongqing.”

“Goodness, that far away!” Tu Laoyao and Tu-saozi stood up to clear the tableware. “When are we leaving?”

“You and Saozi and Sishun are staying at the residence,” Li Shiyi said.

“Wh…what?” Tu Laoyao piled the bowls up at the end of the table, becoming anxious, fearing that it was that she’d decided he was unfit for anything, and in the future, wouldn’t take him anywhere.

Li Shiyi smiled. “This trip is related to Shijiu’s past; not knowing whether it’ll be good or bad, if a lot of people go along, she would be rather embarrassed.” She paused, then added, “We’ll return in a few days.”

“Hai!” Tu Laoyao exclaimed with a smile, casting a teasing glance at Song Shijiu, “so, it’s like this; your Tu-ge won’t go; with a Boddhisattva’s protection, there won’t be any setbacks.” He waved broadly and took the bowls away, and, on rinsing his greasy hands, began to efficiently wash the bowls.

Tu-saozi bundled the chopsticks together, tapping the bottoms against the table, awkwardly pressing her lips together and smiling at Li Shiyi, nodding her head. Li Shiy breathed faintly, tacitly and faintly smiling.

Once the dishes were washed, the group played mahjong in the courtyard, enjoying the cool air; Tu Laoyao lost such that one’s heart was squeezed and their liver was scratched; he simply crouched on the stool to raise his luck; Tu-saozi had just cleaned the house, and was just about to sweep the leaves under the swing, lifting up the broom to start, when along the way, she hit his buttocks. Tu Laoyao let out an “ai” at her, turning and throwing the tiles out, his line of sight following Tu-saozi’s bowed, sweeping figure, and then hissed and turned his head back to face the mahjong table.

Unexpectedly, he thought of something worth worry. “You’re leaving, and I’ll be left her; there’s a matter that I have to ask clearly.” Tu Laoyao extended his hand, stacking the tiled, and said, “This place is this magnificent; how much the rent is, and when it’s due, you all tell me the truth; I’ll prepare some, and then later, I’ll tell them how to catch you.”

For a short while, the wind blew and the clouds were calm; the two respectable women and Wu Qian unexpectedly didn’t reply in the slightest. Tu Laoyao raised his eyes, and saw A Luo stroke a tile, and say softly, “When did I say that this residence was rented?”

“Ai?” Tu Laoyao was startled.

On the stone steps not far away was set down a plate of fresh melon seeds and jujubes; the two beauties were sitting one to the left, one to the right, and the elegant qipao were laid on the flight of steps, the slit revealing snow white thighs in a flash; A Yin pinched a fat jujube, placing it in her mouth and chewing, eyes narrowed, contented as a fox emerging from its hole.

“Tell me, what luck is it of this jiejie’s that there’s a table of four matched pairs, a Yama, a Fujun, and even you have some interest?” A Yin, with the jujube in her mouth, lazily gossiped with Song Shijiu by her side. “I think, in this world, things can’t be this coincidental; more likely than not, I’m also an immortal.”

With one hand, Song Shijiu embraced her knee, the other hand supporting her jaw, her eyes following Li Shiyi’s actions playing mahjong, rising and falling.

A Yin stretched her neck back and turned her hand over, propping it behind her body, half laying down recalcitrantly, and followed Song Shijiu’s line of sight for a moment, the pit of the jujube pressing against the inside of her mouth, and sighed with feeling. “It’s truly unimaginable that Li Shiyi, this enigmatic closed gourd, is actually from the Taishan registry.”

Song Shijiu laughed delicately.

A Yin narrowed her eyes; it was unclear where her line of sight had fluttered; she lowered her voice, and sneered, “And I don’t know what sort of realm this Taishan registry is, that it unexpectedly creates everyone to be this alluring.”

Song Shijiu raised a brow, gently biting the nail of her ring finger, and caught ono the unusual wording. “Everyone?” Her magnificent, nascent almond eyes passed over Li Shiyi’s figure, and then passed over A Luo’s.

A Yin shot her a glance; Song Shijiu’s raised brow was entirely and utterly modeled after Li Shiyi, such that being seen by her, it was penetrated clearly. She swung her handkerchief, no longer willing to pay attention to her, and naturally also didn’t catch sight of, sitting with her back to her, A Luo’s ear shifting slightly, her hand, drawing a tile, drawing back pausing in the air.

At nightfall, the residence welcomed the last night of fully assembled tranquility. A Yin had washed up early on, and packing the luggage, coiled her hair, and sat by the window, pulling at her collar and fanning herself. The door was knocked on gently, and it was the weak, willowy A Luo. Her hair was loose, and she’d also made her appearance presentable; she looked around A Yin’s room, and her low voice submerged in the moonlight. “Close the window tightly, and cover up the quilt firmly; you’ve been injured, don’t catch a cold as well.”

A Yin replied, and saw her expression fall onto her own humbly revealed chest; she paused, then drew back, the corners of her lips gently raised, about to take her leave. A Yin got down from the windowsill, and shuffled over in her slippers. “If you can’t relax, sleep together with me.” She extended a hand, closing the door, and pulled A Luo to the bed.

It was the crook of the arm she’d laid down in many times, and it was the fragrance she’d fallen into sleep with many times; A Luo’s embrace caused A Yin to have an unprecedented sense of security, discarding the urgency of intercourse from the past; what was left was steadfast as an infant’s swaddling. She drowned in this sort of steadfastness, not wanting to go anywhere at all.

Her throat had a bit of a tickle; she coughed longwindedly; A Luo sat up, leaning out to tuck the corner of her quilt in properly, and then, when she returned, her cheek was cradled by A Yin’s right hand; her peach blossom eyes were faintly restrained, her mist-like gaze falling on her own fingers where they had come in contact with A Luo’s skin, and then she hesitantly placed them closer to A Luo’s eye.

A Luo was unreasonably seduced by this expression of hers. Perhaps it was absolutely imprecise; her cheeks, bringing the scent of cosmetics, were seducing her; her laughing, scolding lips were seducing her; her proud yet delicate, charming jaw was seducing her; her brows, whether furrowed or not, her waist, bent or not, without exception, were entirely seducing her.

A Luo lowered her head, the tip of her nose gently rubbing, and tilted her head to touch her jaw, her eyes catching the corners of A Yin’s mouth before her lips did.

Lips and teeth met in an instant, yet she suddenly felt the person in her embrace stiffen; the soft down behind A Yin’s ear rose in a defensive posture, and she pushed A Luo away, turning away to grasp the frame of the bed, retching herself hoarse.

The sound of her retching in the middle of the night was sudden and piercing, the tears in her eyes wetting the corners, bile rising to her sinuses, and then emerging from her throat, striving to be the first, bitter enough to cause her tears and mucus to flow profusely, wishing she could pull her heart and intestines out.

A few strands of A Luo’s hair were bent crookedly by her face; her eyes lowered dimly, and then she extended a hand and moved forward, stroking along her back.

A Yin turned her head, her expression bleak and bright; her reddened eyes looked at her, her lips stammering as she spoke a few characters. She hadn’t thrown anything up; it seemed as if all she had needed was this action of retching. A Luo pressed her mouth closed, and waited for her to calm down, then held her hands and laid down once more, from index to little finger, and from little finger to index, kneading her fingers and joints back and forth.

In the midst of the ticking of the clock, A Yin heard her voice, as if submerged in warm water, say, “A Yin, I have a longing for you.” She brought A Yin’s hands to her chest, covering her quivering breasts, her hands using a slight exertion to guide her to slowly tease.

A Yin was startled, feeling an arousal that she was utterly unfamiliar with. A Lou gazed at her, her restrained expression aloof and embarrassed, and said to her, “This longing is very pretty, very good; I like it a lot. It doesn’t have any relation to anything else, and it wasn’t aroused because of the Teng serpent, do you understand? If you aren’t willing to engage, you can ask.”

Within her palms, a subtle transformation arose, causing A Yin’s heart, riddled with gaping wounds, to beat slowly, then rapidly. She heard A Luo tell her that everyone had desires, that they weren’t disgusting. Once more, she felt that the person before her was curing her; before, her body, and now, her emotions. She earnestly and tenderly gazed at A Luo, looking over the faint pinkness on her wan face, and finally she swallowed, and asked her lowly, “How do you…treat me this well?”

A Luo, beneath her, gazed back at her, and her light lips only released three characters: “What do you think?”

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