Chapter 66: Old age must not be met in the mortal world (III)

I think, you love me.

In her heart, there was a young girl clutching at her cuff, wiping the flower vase that had been impinged on by ash over and over again.

But A Yin smiled and turned over, pulling the quilt close, and said, “I think, I’m tired.”

She truly wasn’t good at this game of murmuring endearments; so, she had turned her love for Li Shiyi into a secret. Afterwards, the concealment of the secret had been destroyed, and it had been placed into the light of the sun, and had gotten washed out, and no longer counted as her.

But this moment, she felt there was another secret secretly emerging just then, relying on that person not minding to take the trouble of watering, as if buds sprouting.

The shape of the moon set in the west, and it was a brand new day; the Golden Crow of the sun dazzled and sent out rays of light, ushering the long-distance travelers onto cars and boats. Sweeping water aside and heading west, a bit more than a week later they arrived in Chongqing; the scorching sun preferred this place much more, and the air was filled with the feeling of the bustling, blazing sun. The pale flagstones of the old dock, the tiled and bricked alleys and disorderly buildings, this southwestern mountain city used its dried meat-scented, smoky voice to welcome them.

Song Shijiu, draped in a Western, woolen overcoat, led Li Shiyi by the hand, inquisitively gazing at the sedan chairs along the meandering stone streets, the paunchy, greasy-headed men and the proud young ladies wrapped in qipaos and reclining on them, held aloft by a pair of white-garbed porters, the long bamboo poles swaying, climbing upwards amidst the creaking sounds.

A Yin and A Luo walked together at the read, the two separated by half a person’s width, heads lowered and walking slowly; Chongqing’s streets were narrow, and from time to time, they were bumped into by the children on the streets, and A Luo would reach out to catch her, and then draw back and continue to hold her umbrella.

A Yin sighed, her voice also enchanting and delicate, yet she didn’t say anything else.

From that day forth, she and A Yin hadn’t had any relations, nor had they shared a bed and a pillow once again. A Luo maintained enough patience towards her, as if waiting for her to grow accustomed, yet regardless of these past few days and shichen, she had lost her way within A Luo’s not distant yet not close awaiting, and she felt a debt.

In the relationship between people, if one took a ruler to measure it, and debated about how many <i>li</i> you owed me, how many <i>qian</i> i owed you, then that could be counted as estrangement. But if you acted towards someone without expecting repayment, the steadily growing sense of a debt would be just the opposite; this was called being placed in the heart.

Each time A Luo drew back her hand, this was a single debt.

From the sides of the street, the scent of spicy oil floated; Song Shijiu advanced, and saw that there was a small stall spread out at the edge of an alley, a shoulder pole placed horizontally at the top, at one end hanging a clay stove that burnt charcoal, on top of which was piled a pot with bubbling, rumbling red soup, anise and Sichuan pepper skin boiling in the pot, from time to time bringing up pieces of thoroughly cooked meat, a few labourers sitting on small folding stools, or crouched at the side, holding greasy dishes and eating heartily.

Song Shijiu slipped out the hand that had been hooked on the crook of Li Shiyi’s arm, and touched her palm within her pocket, and scratched it.

Li Shiyi understood tacitly, and turned her hand over to grasp her chilly fingers, and shook her head. “Don’t eat it.”

Song Shijiu these past few days haad gotten seasick, and her digestive system wasn’t fully well. Seeing that her spirits were a bit dampened, Li Shiyi tugged at her hand and embraced her. “I’ll make it for you.”

Glancing at her, Song Shijiu headed towards the residence along with her without another word. Li Shiyi always understood entirely how to aptly guide her, how to cause her to become happy, and how to present the warmth hidden beneath the surface to her without batting an eyelid; even in bed, she was the same—she didn’t speak much, yet she was incredibly attentive to her experience. At first, she enjoyed and indulged in this tenderness, like laying in the water, yet as the days passed, she gradually felt that this sweetness couldn’t find any focus. Like a creeping vine, she had no home to return to, and clung to Li Shiyi, yet she also perfectly controlled and grasped her. She didn’t want to what part of her Li Shiyi liked; she knew in her heart that she liked every part; it was just that because she had grown under Li Shiyi’s guidance, every part of her was grown to Li Shiyi’s expectations.

She wanted to ask Li Shiyi what part of her she didn’t like; perhaps her recalcitrance, like A Yin’s, or her contrarianism, like A Luo’s, or her vulgarity, like Tu Laoyao’s; these were characteristics that didn’t necessarily attract one’s affection, yet they had grown to form a unique and unmatched them; if one were to forgive these characteristics, it would be entirely accepting her.

Song Shijiu didn’t have any shortcomings; she didn’t even have the dark sides of jealousy, grudges, and irritability; but, similarly, she had lost her own firm sense of security. Especially the closer and closer she came to the Shengsheng, this sense of insecurity became even clearer. She started to be unable to inhibit her thoughts about what she herself had been like before, when she didn’t have Li Shiyi’s guidance; what sort of wild, unbounded characteristics she had, and when these characteristics abruptly reappeared, whether Li Shiyi would like her just as she had in the past.

In the kitchen, the sound of vegetables being chopped into pieces; the knife’s blade hitting the chopping board, coming more steadily than any other sound. Song Shijiu took off her overcoat and leaned against the doorframe, watching her; this old-fashioned, small building’s first floor had a bright and clear kitchen; Li Shiyi stood in front of the chopping board, sleeves rolled up and washing her hands and making soup; even the faint motion of tilting her face caused one’s heart to be untroubled and spirit to be free; when she chopped vegetables, her eyes were customarily restrained, and her lips were somewhat pressed together, the movement of her hand very fast, cutting evenly and properly.

Sensing Song Shijiu’s line of sight, her eyes still remained on the vegetables, but her thin lips parted, and she softly murmured, “What is it?”

The single phrase, without reason, caused Song Shijiu’s heart to ache. This sensation was truly bizarre; it was as if she were a child who had acted wrongly, and not yet been discovered by the person before her, yet she had an uncountable degree of guiltiness on her conscience, emerging within the trance of her gentle murmur.

Without waiting for her to respond, Li Shiyi halted her movements, and furrowed her brows slightly, tilting her face to look at her, and, caught off guard, stilled. Song Shijiu’s pretty figure reclined against the red-lacquered doorframe, her hand unconsciously stroking her smooth, jade arm, her line of sight falling to a faintly lower level, her lips parted, and then unconsciously closing, only raising her head after a moment, and smiling broadly at her.

She had a worry on her mind, and she’d learned the art of concealment.

Li Shiyi’s fingers, propped up on the edge of the table, tapped gently; she gazed at the curve of Song Shijiu’s tilted face, not having the inquiry that Song Shijiu had thought, only softly calling her: “Shijiu.”

Song Shijiu’s eyelashes swept up and down like a wave, and she used her expression to reply to her. “What is it?”

Li Shiyi, with an utterly unclear smiling expression, melted halfway in the sunshine, her hands still restrainedly turned over on the tabletop, and she blinked and tilted her head. “Nothing.” It was just that she had suddenly somewhat wanted to kiss her.

Song Shijiu lowered her head, scuffing the heel of her shoe, and left the kitchen.

After eating dinner, the group spoke for a bite, agreeing that after the next day became night, they would go look for the Shengsheng. Day after day rushing about, they didn’t have any inclination to play mahjong, and thoroughly making themselves presentable, were about to rest. The bedroom on the second floor was entirely silent; suddenly the sound of a neighbouring woman disciplining her children could be heard in the air; the first floor kitchen’s door was ajar, and revealed a slender, moon-pale calf.

Song Shijiu had bated, and was originally going to go upstairs, yet when she grasped the railing, she paused her steps, strolling into the kitchen; initially, she’d only wanted to have a drink of water, yet her eyesight had fallen onto the bottle of baijiu that originally, the landlord had left there. She took it and took a sip; her throat burned like fire, and the pent-up frustrations from the day eased a good deal; she raised her hand and took another pull; the trickle of before entered her stomach, and her five <i>zhang</i> and six </i>fu</i> warmed comfortably.

With trembling eyelids, she set the bottle of wine down, and raised her hand to press against her throat; the sense of tipsiness had grown incredibly heavy, welling up hotly in her sinuses, hanging an unbearable burden on her eyelashes, swaying into her feather-light head, causing the movement of her hands and feet to be as sluggish as if being tugged along by time. She used the back of her hand to cover her mouth, just about to lift her feet and return to the room, when she felt her wrist be constricted, running into a soft yet cool embrace.

Li Shiyi held her, a hand encircling her lower back, the other stroking her forehead, and she grasped her ear, lowering her head and pinching her brows. “What are you doing?”

There was no one at either side, yet the young woman was drinking in excess in the kitchen, dizzily intoxicated, her head, unable to hold itself up, pressing against her chest. She let out a sigh, and carried Song Shijiu upstairs.

With slow movements, she placed her on the bed, and was just about to draw back and pull the covers up, when her neck was stopped as easily as a lightweight chariot driven down a familiar road, and the person beneath her bit her lip and, like pulling curtains apart, the meaningful glance in her gaze burst slowly forth, gazing at her with restrained bashfulness and timidity yet invasiveness. Li Shiyi’s heart was twisted by the tender, honeyed sentiment; her hand fell on the bedside, her fingertips tracing like teasing.

Not waiting for the fight between humanity and heaven to have a result, she felt her shoulders constrict, and she was flipped over by Song Shijiu and pressed against the bed; deeply intoxicated, she rubbed against the hollow of Li Shiyi’s neck, opening her mouth to bite gently, and then extended her tongue to soothingly lick, and then finally began to recklessly kiss her.

She kissed Li Shiyi’s lips, which liked to say “you can’t”, kissed her frequently drooping eyelids, kissed her always shaking jaw, devoured all of her unreasonableness in a mouthful. “Is this alright?” she said, beginning with the question that Li Shiyi had asked her, hands stopping at her alluring breasts.

Li Shiyi’s eyelashes remained lowered, an indifferent, yet docile arc emerging. She pressed her lips together, and asked her, “Can you?”

“I can.” Song Shijiu’s ability to learn was astonishing, not to mention that Li Shiyi had spread clouds and made rain on her body for an entire day. She carried tender sentiments, carried love, and carried fragments of unresignedness and peevishness, and returned Li Shiyi’s offering of everything in kind. There wasn’t anything that caused one’s state of mind to undulate in the way that a woman making industrious and diligent efforts on your body, only trying to please you, and that that woman was pure and fresh and brimming with desire and longing, was the person in your heart.

Of course you would say, I’ll give everything to you.

Li Shiyi gasped very quietly; perhaps it was that her body was alluring enough that it no longer needed other adornments. Luckily, Song Shijiu didn’t need her to speak; she enquired of her temperature, and listened to her trembling response. She could use her lips and teeth to clandestinely knock on the door with a murmur, and then be replied with the passionate and bashful sweet nectar; one palm falling against the ripe honey peach, one exploring the nourishing fruit’s wet, heated ravine. Within the ravine was too rugged, and too narrow, and she was only a blind, exploring traveler, advancing and retreating, walking cautiously and solemnly.

No; she she wasn’t a traveler met by chance; she was an old friend, meeting after returning from afar.

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