Chapter 73: Old age must not be met in the mortal world (X)

The fragrance drifted; A Yin sat at the scrollend chair by the desk, her body still askew, the strands of hair in her bun meticulous and without a single strand loose, not even her brows ruffled, only her cheeks flushed a rosy pink, the amorous atmosphere brought out by the winter's day. She was twisting her handkerchief in her fingers, and she gazed at the A Luo's profile tiredly.

If one were to have the spirit of a character attached to them, A Luo ought to be the clerical script character "placid"; the flowing river of time had bestowed her with unhurried, even-tempered features, and gentle, affectionate eyes; the flutter of her nose and the inhalation and exhalation of her lips, they were all soft and dry, especially her love of wearing a black cheongsam, her slender figure becoming an upright, regular cross, her wan, pale face and wrists the empty stretches of fine xuanzhi paper.

It was just a pity that A Yin's temperment was hectic and impatient, and from childhood she'd perfected impropriety and irregularity; it was exactly this character of "placid".

A Luo finally finished flipping through a few pages, and raised her head to looka t A Luo. She'd just taken in her face when her eyelashes hurried to impatiently close, and she blinked rapidly a couple times. She thought of the Western camera she'd held in her hands in the past; with a single "ka-cha", it could capture the meandering sounds and colours. She wasn't certain whether her own actions had a similar meaning, but she was begining to feel that it had been a long time. It was as if she hadn't seen A Yin in a long, long time, and the dreamland of past intimacy, it was only her own self that wasn't willing to awake from submersion in the dream.

"What about Shiyi?" A Yin spoke first, clearing her throat before she spoke.

A Luo closed the book, yet she didn't reply to her question, and only asked quietly, "You went to meet with A Ping?"

A Yin furrowed her brows, meeting A Luo's gaze, then hurriedly turned away; she retained her thoughtless, enchanting, light and wild state, and held back a smile as she asked, "And so?"

These two characters were excessively casual, and also excessively strange, as if A Luo had questioned too extensively about her whereabouts, and ought to have first looked for a dignified pretense.

A Luo lowered her eyes, gazing at the cover of the book in her hands as she toyed with it, her chest slowly sinking, her voice still quiet as she said, "Don't see him anymore." This half commanding phrase was the type that she would often say when she was at the Taishan seat, but the target had never been A Yin.

A Yin was clearly and obviously startled; she turned her face away, looking towards the wide open window; the wooden window had been blown ajar by the wind, unable to withstand a single blow, striking against the wall; she shifted her heels, but before she made a movement, she heard a sharp "pa" sound, and the two window panes closed without any reason, confining the restless evening wind outside. The sudden sound caused A Yin to shudder out of startlement, and, without intending to, she turned her head to look at A Luo. A Luo gently and lightly pressed her lips together, lowering her head, her expression unclear; the aua of qi which had closed the window just then remained, undispersed, on her shoulders.

A Luo had said before that, in the mortal world, she had a hun spirit binding, and couldn't use magic easily; the act of just then had to be due to Yama's fury.

A Yin inhaled softly, a sound at the fore of her mind that she wasn't saying; look; even though her external appearance was no different than the usual, she was still the king of ten thousand ghosts, and had to be different from us mortals who had to reach out a hand to close a window.

A Yin's mind began to wander towards inappropriate thoughts; she began to think, if she was also a deity, an immortal, then how would she look upon this sort of weak commoner, without even the strength to truss up a chicken? As crickets and ants that could be trod on and stepped on at will, or a a toy that could be played with casually?

If A Luo were a mortal, the origin of her anger, she herself would be the most clear on; perhaps she would even tease her about having fallen into a vinegar jar; but the Yama-daren, when judged spirits and commanded ghosts, whether there was someone at a seat of honour whose dignity had been offended, she still didn't fully know.

She didn't know, and she didn't want to think any more.

So, she pilled a smile on as in the past, wanting to choose a topic, and said, "I saw your ability, and it's incredibly impressive—how long have you been in control of the Taishan seat in Ling Heng's place?"

A Luo raised her gaze, and gazed at her in silence.

A Yin blinked her peach blossom eyes, and said with a laugh, "Unexpectedly, you didn't think of scheming for a dynasty, usurping, and so on?"

A Luo faintly raised her jaw, the sneer at the corners of her lips incredibly hidden; with how long she'd lived, she could easily see A Yin's careful shift of the topic. So, she said, "I thought of it."

It was A Yin who was stunned, and she raised her brows for a long time, asking in reply, "O?"

A Luo gazed at her directly. "I thought of scheming for a dynasty, thought of usurping. Scheming for your person, usurping your heart." She didn't want to go in circles with her anymore; she saw A Yin's expression become rigid for a flash, her eyelashes withdrawing as if having been singed, and the hand that was holding the handkerchief tightened, grasping the arm of the scrollend chair. The cold sweat in her palms layered upong layer, the violent turbulence of her emotional state about to seep out in clear detail.

A Luo pressed her lips together, and called out to her. "Fu Wuyin." She wanted to clarify the past, speak of some matters in her innermost heart, and only because of this solemnety on the matter, called out her formal personal name.

But A Yin suddenly awakened, crying out, "I'm not Fu Wuyin!" and stood up from the chair, her knees trembling slightly, but she still stood incredibly beautifully.

—this, what was learnt from scenes of romance, was that even if her heart was incredibly unhappy, her face would still carry a smile. She compulsively straightened her own knees, yet because of this motion, became even more panicked and unwell; she gasped a few brief breaths, stubbornly shaking her head. "I'm not Fu Wuyin, I'm A Yin."

I'm not the well-bred young lady from a great family in the Qianlong era; I am the A Yin who was sold into a low-grade brothel at a young age, who rolled about in tombs for many years, and then once more rolled about in piles of men for many years.

It was precisely this phrase which caused her heart to ache such that it couldn't be increased; she widened her pretty peach blossom eyes, such that her drawn out brows had some comedy; she only hoped that she could dilute the blossoms of tears that had suddenly emerged. She finally understood; since she herself had become sober, she'd never fully recovered. She had gazed at these couple of close, cradle to grave friends, and was unwilling and aggrieved day after day, increasing steadily; they had been raised by the same parents and had the same flesh and blood, so why was it that each of them were Fujun, were Yama, were Jiu-daren, and when they approached death, there were saved by the powers above, and when getting into difficulty, they had the protection of past incarnatione?

Even closing a window, even just closing a fucking window—

Her brows were wild and askew, trembling; but why was it that she herself had to really and truly suffer a life of misfortune?

This sort of unjust inequality, the distance which separated the heavens and the earth, the Yama-daren across from her actually said she loved her.

Then what could she use to accept A Luo's love? Her body, which had been speckled with mud which couldn't be washed away, her skills she'd practiced for so many years yet couldn't withstand a single blow, her heart which didn't know how to love someone, or her body, which had no ability to even keep up with her age?

Saying it, it sounded like a joke.

So she couldn't help the sourness in her throat, and with her still-trembling expression, said, "Yama-daren, having seen the multitude of worldly affairs, you want to sing a song of love and loathing, yet you've sought the wrong person."

"Sought the wrong person?" A Luo shook her head, her eyes narrowed.

"Yes," A Yin drew a few breaths. "You and I went to Mount Wu together, seeking pleasure, yet that doesn't necessarily mean I have intentions to murmur endearments with you; the two intentions are interlinked."

A Luo's face paled a bit more, and she gazed firmly at A Yin, yet her hand involuntarily curled, turning into a seldom seen self-protective defensive stance. A Yin grasped the edge of the table, her fingernails knocking severely against the wood shavings beneath. A Luo's contracted fingers were as if grasping her heart, causing her draw pained breaths, yet she only coughed a single sound, as if the chest which had just suddenly been expanded was only because her throat was having a hard time controlling an itchiness.

"So then." A Luo's final syllable had a bit of a tremble, such that she produced the two characters in an incredibly short period of time; she truly wasn't at all suited to expressing her own weaknesses before others, especially if this "other" was A Yin. She had missed A Yin's many years of suffering, such that she always wanted incredibly to make up for the deficiency, so before A Yin, she was always patient and accomodating, and made an effort to make A Yin believe that she could protect her.

Yet she had never before thought, what if A Yin's heart had not had her in it from start to end?

"So then," she repeated, her voice incredibly hoarse, "who is it? Is it A Ping?" Her brows were furrowed with extreme restraint, her graceful lips pressed together with extreme restraint; since it had come to this point, she could only restrainedly think about asking for a clarification.

A Yin's throat choked up, and it was only after a long while that she replied, "I don't know."

Li Shiyi didn't know, Song Shijiu didn't know, and even more, A Luo didn't know that she had thought countless times of running away from them, to run away from these aloof and remote friends who knew of her past, especially A Luo; she had witnessed her own lowest appearance already, and she had never known how she ought to face her.

She had thought on many occasions that A Ping also didn't know anything; if she escaped to faraway places with him, she could bury the past well. But she couldn't bear to part with; what was it that she couldn't bear to part with? What was it that she was unreconciled to, what was that, then?

That thing she couldn't bear to part with, wasn't reconciled with, rased its head, and caused the bone at the back of her head to suddenly protrude, and she did her best to press it down. It was as if she were trying to persuade A Luo, and also as if she were tyring to persuade herself, using an absent-minded and downcast intonation to say, "No matter who it is, it isn't you."

She recalled a multitude of things in A Luo's wounded expression; thought of Wu Qian stupifiedly saying that he himself had been stripped of his face, thought of that time she had laid in her embrace and said, "I'll be born, grow old, get sick, and die, yet you're eighteen years old, isn't that right?"

Then, it had been telling a joke; now, it had turned out to be tragically prophetic.

She twitched her lips, and said, "What appearance of mine do you like? Twenty, thirty, forty? If I gradually decline with age, doddering and senile, lacking teeth and bald, how would you tell me to face the you who is youthful and in good health, then?"

"I don't care," A Luo said.

"I care!" A Yin choked on her emotions, raising her jaw proudly. "I want to be beautiful and pretty, I want to always be younger than my lover, better looking; only then will my mind be at peace, only then will I…"

Only then will I believe, that she will be able to like me forever.

So, her low self-esteem was rooted this deeply, such that small amount of ego was entirely placed on a bright and neat and beautiful physical appearance.

"So, regardless of who it is, it won't be me," A Luo laughed softly, her chest withdrawing for a short moment, her countenance lonely enough to cause one to feel apprehensive. One moment, two moments, three moments—she left a full thirty seconds for A Yin, not waiting for a phrase of denial. So, she lowered her head, and picked up the book beside her hand, softly flipping to the most familiar page, and pulled out four letters from within. She opened them unhurriedly, in the same way she'd opened them each time before. Her fingers opened the papers, yet she didn't place her gaze on them, only gazed intently at A Yin, and then parted her lips, using her voice, as pleasant to listen to as clear water, to speak to her.

"The heavens won't age, making love hard to extinguish; my hearth is like a double silk net, with thousands of knots."

"If fate didn't bring us together in a past life, I hope we will be brought together in the next."

"May I be like the stars, and the gentleman be like the moon, shining bright and clear each night."

The fourth letter, she hadn't opened, only tapping her fingers on it, treating it with silence.

She shook her head, smiling, and folded up the four letters, gripping them with both hands, pinching them in her palms, and then immediately tore them to shreds with a sharp sound without a single expression.

Gooseflesh suddenly covered A Yin from head to toe at that sound of tearing letters; it was a great, inexplicable sense of loss, and following at its heels was a degree of heavy premonition; she felt that if, after today, she understood what it was that A Luo had torn apart today, she would cry bitterly from head to toe.

She felt once more hard to bear it, and so she bit her bottom lip, and, supporting herself on the doorframe, stepped out of the door.

It was once more a scene of silence, once more the familiar and endless quiet; A Luo's silhouette was cast against on the surface of the desk, on top of which was a book spread open. With a small "pa-da," a drop of never before seen liquid dripped from the stone eye's rim, falling on top of the page, smudging into a feathered circular shape.

A Luo looked expressionlessly for a while, and then raised her hand and wiped it away.

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