Chapter 70: Old age must not be met in the mortal world (VII)

When A Yin returned, the food on the table had been half-eaten; A Yin went into the kitchen and filled a small bowl with white rice, telling Li Shiyi about the matter of the old tomb on Mount Jinyun as she plucked up vegetables. Everyone listened without a word; only A Luo paused the motion of her chopsticks when the two characters of "A Ping" appeared, looking at A Yin profoundly.

Having finished eating, without explaining, Li Shiyi returned to her room, closing the door and making preparations for an entire day; the second day, she only ate a single plain mantou in the room; only when the skies had become tinged with sunset hues did she emerge with slightly swollen eyelids, hands in her pants pockets and descending the stairs in small steps, behind her following Song Shijiu, lightly packed.

In the remaining glow of the sunset, A Luo was listening to an opera, the gramophone turning in circles, the high, sharp voice carrying her tender gaze. Li Shiyi walked over, turning a half circle, and asked, "Where's A Yin?"

Wu Qian, flipping through a book on the art of war at the table, said, "She went to go eat with A Ping-xiansheng."

A Luo pressed her pale lips together, raising her gaze to look at Li Shiyi. "Are you going to go to the mountain?" She paused, then added, "She probably doesn't know you're leaving in the daytime." She didn't know why she was inexplicably explaining for her; these words, in Li Shiyi and A Yin's relationship, seemed to be somewhat superfluous, and it also contrasted with how she, herself, was a bit superfluous.

Li Shiyi furrowed her brows, blinking a couple of times, and in the end said nothing, only asking A Luo, "Are you going?"

A Luo used her hand to support her jaw, considering for a moment, and then said, "Now the Shentu command is in your hand, I'm not of any use." She dropped her gaze, falling desolately, and said, "I'll wait for her." This was the most humble, and most obstinate phrase she'd spoken; she'd waited for A Yin for long enough, so long that she didn't dare to ascertain if this was the last time.

The skin around Li Shiyi's mouth twitched, and then she closed the line of her lips tightly, letting out a "wu" without any fanfare, crossing from her and about to walk out. When the shadow flickered across A Luo's face, she heard A Luo call out in an incredibly quiet phrase, "A Heng."

Li Shiyi paused her steps; A Luo didn't say anything, withdrawing herself into the scroll-ended chair, tilting her ear to listen to the song. But Li Shiyi adeptly sensed that she wasn't at ease. She tilted her graceful jaw down, and without taking her hands out of her pockets, made a comforting gesture, only replying, "En." She didn't deny Ling Heng's identity; A Luo became much more at ease, her gaze following Li Shiyi's long strides, walking in file with Song Shijiu out the door. The ancient, small building was once more still, the opera's aria gorgeous beyond belief, the voice drawing hundreds of years' length out, rising layer after layer, stopping at the highest summit of affection.

In the light of day, the mists of Mount Jinyun curled upwards, like an overturned vessel bearing the weight of the clouds, scattered abundantly among the forest. Li Shiyi and Song Shijiu, following A Ping's guidance, avoided the place which had yesterday been spread with the yin spell, and followed a small path directly towards the southwest side. As she walked, Li Shiyi made marks on the path, making certain they hadn't taken the path back, and, in accordance with the symbols, turned a small circle, searching for a place that was outstanding in fengshui, and finally, before a bend in a stream, found the tomb that A Ping had spoken of.

He'd said it was an old tomb, but it was a cave covered up by weeds; outside the cave was a boulder as tall as a person lying across it, and at its base, a muddy puddle of water, a grass pole as tall as a person emerging from the water, like a guard defending a garrison's door. Li Shiyi pulled out a dagger from within her boot, nimbly grasping and hacking the wild grasses almost entirely, and then joined forces with Song Shijiu to push the boulder aside; they'd only pushed it aside a small crack when the two dodged inside, and with a hissing sound and the scent of sulfur lighting, lit up small, simple torches with the bamboo torches, the faint rays of light reflecting on the stone rampart.

The South really wasn't the same; in the stone seam was dry and arid, and the cave was incredibly small, and unusually simplistic and crude; there wasn't any path or passage or niches in the walls; one side seemed to have collapsed, and fragmentary stones piled up; yet within was a yellow loess mound in a rural internment fashion, towering and eyecatchingly rising from the centre of the cave. There wasn't any tombstone before the mound, not even a wooden tablet, merely rising solitarily, strange and dismal.

Lacking a given name, a family name, or a history, this sort of burial mound was commonly seen in rural, undeveloped areas; yet this one was erected in a carefully hidden mountain cave, the solid stone rampart seeming to give it a reflected spotlight like a display room, the steel-like colour and lustre seeming incredibly like an armour surrounding and protecting it, such that even the howl of the wind became the sorrowful, perfect song of the heart, the vegetation its only decoration, and its only funerary items.

A type of massive, persistent sorrow attacked from the mound, hitting against Li Shiyi's shoulders, causing her to involuntarily pause in her steps. Song Shijiu gazed at that mound, her expression empty, her right hand unconsciously stroking her left shoulder, her fingers climbing towards her back and stroking. Just then, when entering, she'd seemed to have heard a small sound like a bubble bursting; something had torn open when she'd entered, and afterwards, followed her figure, withdrawing like the tide. She saw Li Shiyi advance, crouching down by the head of the mound, following the flame to observe a small circle, then reach out to pick up some of the yellow loess, then wave to command her to come over, passing the torch to her; then she lowered her head to pull the smoking pipe out of her sleeve, stuffing it with strips of tobacco, deftly lighting it.

The smoke, which attracted the hun spirit and seized the po, seemed to have been pulled out in a thread, and was attracted to the top of the lonely mound. Li Shiyi didn't have any intent of opening the coffin, and only crooked her finger to knock against the side of the yellow loess, asking it, "From whence did you come?"

For a long time, this lonely mound hadn't conversed with people; even the smoke assembled with great difficulty; Li Shiyi waited with a great degree of patience, and as it was confused, reached out and knocked once more.

What was being struck was the mound's soil, was the hidden coffin within it, and it was also a perseverance that hadn't been willing to retreat for countless years.

Knock on the coffin and ask thrice: one from whence it came, one to where it was bound, and the third time, to ask the reason for the cave being covered and the mound being alone, the vegetation dismal and deep.

It finally replied: "The second year of Wanli,^[1] Zhongzhou."

Zhongzhou? Song Shijiu thought a moment; it was the contemporary Zhong county of Chongqing.

"Where were you bound?"

The coffin was silent.

Li Shiyi's doubts were a thicket; according to the rules, she could only ask three questions; she gazed at the stilled smoke hesitantly for a while, and then in a low voice, asked once more, "Where were you bound?"

The smoke seemed to be struck by a stick; it rapidly shook into a bend, and afterwards, it was still shockingly silent.

Seeing that the entire pipe was about to be used up, Song Shijiu only then asked a quiet question. "What does it mean?"

Li Shiyi slowly exhaled, reaching out a hand to retrieve the smoking pipe, knocking it against the ground, shaking out the excessive tobacco strips, and in a quiet voice, replied, "The hun hasn't returned."

"The hun hasn't returned?" Song Shijiu drew in another cold breath; her words had just fallen when she suddenly saw the sand and rocks flying about on the ground, the pebbles of fragmented stone piled at one side rolling about, hurriedly blocking up the entrance to the cave.

Li Shiyi's expression chilled, and she grasped Song Shijiu's wrist, rushing out; before the cave's mouth was sealed up, they managed to roll out of the boulder's seam, their cotton clothes rolling about in the muddy water, droplets of mud splashing onto her pale, porcelain-like face.

Song Shijiu gazed at the mouth of the cave, which had been sealed up by the fragmentary rocks, unable to be broken open, with some fear, and she reached out a hand to pull Li Shiyi, who had been shielding her, up, clutching her sleeve to wipe the speckles of dirt off her face.

The two hadn't had the time to pant much, when, from the thicket of trees, a rustling sound arose. Li Shiyi raised her head, and saw the heavens had been washed black, the initially multitudinous and bright stars having been covered up by inky clouds, a gloomy, ghostly aura spreading from all directions.

A familiar, white serpent's abdomen wound its way back and forth along the ground, bringing with it fluttering leaves; Li Shiyi didn't confront it directly, only hiding along with Song Shijiu behind a pair of linked, strange stones, restraining their breathing and hiding their whereabouts.

That white length explored a bit, seemingly without a direction, poking about the empty space a few times like a headless fly, and then slowed its motions.

All sound had entirely stilled; it seemed as if the midst of the forest had congealed into an inkstick, without sound nor breath; Li Shiyi inclined her figure and cast an eye about, her right hand drawing out an object from her sleeve; hidden in the thick and multitudinous meadow, it skipped outwards like a pebble.

The leaf soldier was attentively searching within the shadows of the trees; they were without eyes or noses, and only because of the nourishment of the sound of the wind's arteries did they have the ability to hear; the deathly stillness, utterly lacking any sound, of the landscape acted as an assistant, allowing them to rapidly discern the sound of intruders.

The southeast side suddenly burst with a crashing, cracking sound; after halting for a short while, there was a melodious, sharp whistling sound; that whistling sound was both brisk and fleeting, and its final sounddragged for a few beats, as if having a barely-there seduction, and also a provocation that was more disdainful than contempt.

The expertly skilled leaf soldiers threw themselves into the air, and the whistling hadn't stopped when it sounded again from closer by.

Song Shijiu stilled, hand pushing against the stone as she looked to the right, and she saw the paper figure that Li Shiyi usually used lying on a leaf, its hands pillowed behind its head, its legs crossed and swaying, leisurely humming a tune. Before long, it turned over and got up, leaping up to dodge the sneak attack of the bent hook, jumping up onto an even higher branch, using it as a pretty swing, and then met Song Shijiu's astonished gaze, and courteously said hello.

"Wa," Song Shijiu said, opening her mouth soundlessly, winking her right eye at the agile paper figure, giving it heartfelt praise.

The back of her head was swatted lightly, and Song Shijiu drew back, and met Li Shiyi's calmly raised brow; shifting her neck, she crossed her arms, and quietly asked her, "When did you make it?"

The whistling sound rose and fell, the clamour coming from all sides, causing the leaf soldiers to become agitated.

"When you were sleeping," Li Shiyi replied.

This diligent, ah. Song Shijiu was a bit embarrassed, and leaned her head against the rock, her crescent moon-like cheeks a bit lower than Li Shiyi, her expression also as if pools of the moon, having a great degree of adoration as they swept across Li Shiyi's face.

In the face of this frank praise, Li Shiyi had a bit of difficulty accepting it; she pressed her lips together, and hid her not too small amount of delight in her eyes. Song Shijiu stuck her head out to look once more, and asked her, "When did you think of it?"

Li Shiyi replied, "Yesterday, the ancient text the shifu who recruited me had left behind had it; the art of puppetry, Making Soldiers of Vegetation."

Since the leaf soldiers could hear commands, but didn't have any means to distinguish them, using a puppet to counteract it, a diversion of threatening the east and striking the west could cause it to have a hard time defending against.

"Then, what of this trick of yours?"

"The Sighing Wind and Calling Crane."

Even its name was this elegant; the small person in Song Shijiu's heart couldn't help but clap its hands. But she'd grown up, and so her expression didn't show anything, and she cleared her throat, about to reply, when suddenly here was a strong burst of wind; Li Shiyi furrowed her brows, just about to turn and meet the attack, when her wrist was suddenly grasped tightly, and, caught off guard, she was brought into a sweetly scented sleeve's embrace, two slightly cool hands gently pressing against the back of her head, holding her firmly against the other's shoulder.

Li Shiyi was somewhat startled; immediately after, the familiar breath relaxed. She cooperatively buried her head, out of the corner of her eye casting a glance at Song Shijiu's hand taking her into her arms, her other hand extending a palm, her five fingers curled in against the leaf soldiers who had advanced, her face faintly stiff; the attack suddenly came to an end, as if a symphony's movement suddenly cut off. The wind stopped and the sands stilled; Song Shijiu opened her half-squinted eyes, not paying attention to the halted leaf soldiers, only letting Li Shiyi go, suppressing the rapid beat of her heart as she looked at her. She drew her hand back and pressed it against the chilly stone wall, casting a glance at Li Shiyi's expression, as light as warm water, and quietly said, "This trick, I also practised a lot."

Behind her, Song Shijiu's strands of hair shifted without a breeze, rising in a radian as if with thought, and in the plating of cool, concentrated moonlight, it caused her whole body to emit the remainder of her allure; yet her doe-like expression had a clear to see worry, as if having been presented an examination paper and apprehensively waiting for the master to read and appraise it. In her heart, she knew that she herself didn't necessarily have skills that were shoulder to shoulder with Li Shiyi, but since she was determined to be her fellow traveller, she had to strive to make her lagging strides larger.3

Li Shiyi had inferred out the doe's thoughts entirely, and she blinked, smiling, and warmly asked, "This trick, what's it called?"

Song Shijiu startled, and said earnestly, "I haven't thought of it."

Li Shiyi curled the corners of her lips, and hadn't yet spoken, when she heard an aged, heavy voice sound from the forest. "Ignorant youngsters, playing tricks on the old!"

Li Shiyi's smile froze on her face, and she exchanged a glance with Song Shijiu, then restrained her expression and rose, looking deep into the thicket.

Under the moonlight that had remained the same for countless hundreds of years stood a silhouette like a venerable pine tree; waist and back straight, yet the neck curved by age, struggling to support and crooked. Despite the hale and hearty vitality, the face was covered in wrinkles and the entire head of hair of silver strands like flooded light were like age rings, displaying the marks of age; the old person wore armour, clutching the shaft of a qiang no different from the leaf soldiers', a keen expression scoping out Li Shiyi's face.

Li Shiyi gazed at her one foot in the grave appearance, yet it was as if gazing at a powerful army, ten thousand arrows rising at once. She approached, and sighed quietly, "Qin-jiangjun."^[2]

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Translator's notes:

[1]: 1574 CE, during the Ming dynasty.

[2]: 将军 is a military title, equivalent to a commander or other high rank.