Chapter 92: Yet with the xiansheng's closed jade coffin (III)

Chun Ping's immature, tender nails scratched at Song Shijiu's palm, her face still lacking an expression in the slightest, not even clever obedience, only biting her lip as she gazed at her, not intending to speak one more word. In her sparse brows and the furrowed ridge of her brows, Song Shijiu felt a rather vigorous obstinance, seeping out of the thin, weak girl, as if seeing the the Li Shiyi of then, wandering about in a desperate plight and not fond of speaking.

She counted herself as incredibly fortunate; the divine bones bestowed by the heavens were wanton and unrestrained, and by the time she'd been reincarnated, she was also protected well by Li Shiyi, growing to be lovely and innocent and at ease, never having had a time where she endured hardships. Thinking on it carefully, the greatest hardship she'd endured was nothing more than previously chasing after Li Shiyi's love, yet not gaining it. However, now she had Li Shiyi, and she was satisfied to the point of not being able to fill up any further.

People were always like this; if they were too satisfied, they would simply become panicked, fearing that the full luck would call down disaster, fearing deliberately complicating the issue. Some people turned the panic into unreasonable worry about personal gains and losses, and others turned it into the mercy and pity of considering others. Song Shijiu was the latter. She wanted to build her good fortune a bit larger, and even larger, large enough that it would be indestructible, becoming an excuse to persuade herself to have a clear conscience and enjoy the fineries of the world. Love caused Mount Zhongshan's Zhu Long, whom the gods and Buddhas had a hard time obstructing, to feel fear and reverence, turning into no different than Chen Mazi's wife's burning incense and hoping for a son.

But Chun Ping was the opposite; she wanted to reduce her suddenly appearing good fortune a bit, and reduce it a bit more, small enough that she could calmly believe that she herself could match it, and when it slipped away, she wouldn't be too reluctant to part with it.

Song Shijiu sighed almost inaudibly, and, tugging at Chun Ping's hand, continued to stroll.

Chun Ping maintained her own tiny desire, and at a baozi stand, smelled the scent of meat, and at the restaurant, smelled the scent of alcohol, and finally, at the cosmetics shop, smelled the scent of rouge. The excitement in her heart didn't reveal itself on her face, her eyes vacant yet inquisitive, and the palm holding Song Shijiu's became faintly clammy. The frostbite itched again, yet it wasn't at all difficult to bear, because her heart also started to itch.

They bought a new red-bottomed pink rhododendron coat, and sat on a trolleybus where the people crowded each other, and then had some cakes for eating in the evening wrapped up, and when paying, Chun Ping's brows furrowed once more, and she gazed at the money, dazed for a good while.

The group returned to the the house to cook, lively and bustling, yet Chun Ping, in a daze, worked up a fever, the air of illness' momentum a torrential rush, her face flushed red and her eyes muddled, her calves and stomach continuously cramping. Song Shijiu turned pale with fright, and hurried to help her into bed, wrapping her up in a thick cotton quilt, and then sent Wu Qian to call for a doctor.

The doctor came and took her pulse, then pulled her eyelids up, yet couldn't find an abnormal pulse, and, after deliberating, prescribed two treatments for pneumonia.

The scent of food in the kitchen had been replaced by the medicine, and the stove bubbled and rumbled, and the group, in a flurry, squandered half a night, striving to pour a few bowls of medicine, and then took up a cloth to attentively wipe at her dry palms and the soles of her feet; only by the latter half of the night did the temperature of Chun Ping's head lessen somewhat, and, dizzily, she fell into sleep, her moistened hair gathered at her neck.

Song Shijiu, sitting by the bed, supported her, wiped away sweat for her, the faint sound of book pages turning behind her ear; she turned her head, and saw Li Shiyi sitting at the table, taking advantage of the lamplight's silhouette. She was somewhat tired, and her fingers propped up her temple, and hse lazily opened her eyes, and then fluttered her delicate nostrils.

A limitless warmth suddenly rose in Song Shijiu in the midst of her minute motions; this warmth was the dusky yellow of the oil lamp, the feathered edges of a book's pages from touch, was her support of the feverish girl, and even more, Li Shiyi, still waiting for her during her extreme tiredness. All of the unsteadiness became steadfast, and everything fluttering in the air started to take root; Jiu-daren, whom the heavens had been a father and the earth had been a mother, started to want to have a child, in an insignificant year's insignificant night.

But this thought was only a moment, staying not even as long as the sound of the oil lamp's crackling, short enough that it caused it to be unable to turn into a suggestion.

Yet the maternal sensation that came by chance in her chest grew somewhat; Song Shijiu gently patted the the soft bedding, and suddenly asked Li Shiyi, "Look at me and her; doesn't it look like you and I before?"

Li Shiyi inclined her face, raising her brows in astonishment, her faintly red eyes turning over Song Shijiu's tenderhearted hand, and, without a word, she smiled.

"What is it?" Song Shijiu asked her, tilting her head.

Li Shiyi shook her head. Had there been this sort of mother's gentleness and child's obedience's peace and harmony between her and Song Shijiu? If one sorted through her and Song Shijiu's relationship, naturally one could sense that she had never taken Song Shijiu for a young child. Besides the attention of clothing, feeding, housing, and transporting, her thoughts towards her had always been that of equal status. From the very first "Do you want me to clap?", "If you have the patience, learn to read", to Song Shijiu holding up a mantou and unhurriedly exchanging a glance with her—Tu Laoyao's misleading you.

In her heart, she was the little monster whose origins were unkown, the cub who hadn't awakened, yet had never been a child. Only as a result had she been able to, later on, utterly without obstruction, been able to care about her, becoming her evenly matched, singular companion. This identity of "singular", no one in the world could compare, and naturally no one could resemble.

Song Shijiu understood her meaning, and, curling her lips, smiled faintly. Seeing that Chun Ping was sleeping deeply, she lowered her voice. "Today when I washed her hair for her, it was covered in lice." Without waiting for Li Shiyi to speak, she added, "It's only…there weren't any living ones, each and every one dead."

Li Shiyi furrowed her brows, and Song Shijiu pondered quietly, "I heard say, if someone's dead, only then will the lice jump out; but I've never before seen the host be perfectly alright, yet the lice exterminated completely."

Li Shiyi lowered her gaze, indicating that she understood; seeing Song Shijiu rise and tuck in the quilt, only then did the two return to their room together.

Chun Ping's fever came rapidly and left rapidly as well; the next morning, her state was much better. Although her complexion was still somewhat pale, contrasted beneath the red coat, it was somewhat festive. She ate a bowl of scallion oil noodles that Wu Qian mixed for her, and unexpectedly didn't use her sleeves to wipe again, clutching the handkerchief that Song Shijiu had arranged at her collar, imitating Song Shijiu's actions and dabbing all around her lips.

Once she'd eaten, she was bored stiff, and once more sat on the sofa, picking at her hands; the sound of a few youths' chasing sounds of laughter and liveliness came from the alley, and she went over very slowly, leaning against the window to look. Those youths had the appearance of students, and the bags they carried on their backs showed a few books; Chun Ping's gaze followed the books, leaping up and down.

From the other courtyard, the pitter-patter of movement sounded, lighting up the entirely quiet courtyard; Chun Ping, hearing that someone was calling her, hurried over to open the door, the scent of sulfur filling her nose, and she squinted, looking; A Yin, wearing a fur-collared outer coat, stood in the courtyard, pulling off her sheepskin gloves, her cloud-like curls piled with a radiant smile, and she waved at her vigorously. "Chun Ping! Come!"

Seeing Chun Ping dawdling, she hurried forward and grabbed her wrist, leading her to the middle of the courtyard, and stuffed the lit incense stick into her hand, pointing at the firecracker on the ground, and said, "Since it's about to be the New Year, you set off a couple firecrackers as well, and chase away the bad luck!"

Chun Ping cast her a glance, like a cat, and then looked at the incense in her hand once more, faintly furrowing her brows and shaking her head, passing the incense stick back to A Yin, and then she turned back, heading back inside. A Yin held that incense, the scent of smoke winding and curling upwards, threading its way into her nose; she sneezed delicately, and said lowly, "Who knows where that girl came from; she's even more taciturn than Li Shiyi as a child; Shijiu likes her against reason, while I can't find the slightest bit of cuteness." She didn't know if A Luo, siting at a distance, had heard it or not.

A Yin crouched down once more, and lit one of the firecrackers, standing up and talking to herself. "Lighting firecrackers is such fun; the neighbour girls all like doing so; I went and eagerly bought them, yet she looks on them with disdain."

Her spirits were lifted by this firecracker, and she raised the corners of her lips as she watched. With a "pa", the red paper lifted into the air, bursting such that the chickens at the courtyard's gate leaped into the air, clucking; A Yin was also slightly startled, and she retreated a step, yet she didn't hear the following sound of firecrackers. Her ears were covered by a pair of hands, gentle and soft, causing her posture to trickle into that person's embrace like water. She bit her lip and met A Luo's gaze, her smiling expression trained to fade halfway without fading; the incense stick in her hand had been tossed far, far away.

So, people in the end never grew up; it could be said that irregular sounds always caused a sense of happiness to be aroused in A Yin; for example, firecrackers during childhood; for example, the heartbeat of the person behind her that she heard when her ears were covered.

At nightfall, firecrackers leaped into the air, becoming flickering, twinkling stars. Chun Ping had bathed, and, toweling her hair, she came downstairs, yet discovered that the living room was fully pitch-black, no one about; she was somewhat panicked, and, clutching the railing, she descended one step at a time.

With a loud creak, the old wooden boards were pressed into a curve, grimacing and showing their teeth as they protested. In this sound of movement, Chun Ping startled, her lustrous eyes widened. She started to tremble; the fear and darkness that had hid the sky and covered the earth from when she had originally been hidden in the water jar arrived at once, and her sunken chest carefully breathed in and out; it was this quiet at that time, the small water jar isolating everything; the cobbler's wife had seen her hair, which hadn't been hidden well, and had immediately thrown a torch, burning, and then had done her utmost to run in the opposite direction, cursing as she ran, saying—you lot of bastards, if you can keep up with this old woman then you'll count as skilled!

Afterwards, she couldn't hear anything at all, a droning in her ear, only able to hear the sound of her own bones shaking due to fear. She didn't like fireworks, nor firecrackers, didn't like any of the loudly exploding things which brought along the scent of sulfur. They always caused her to want to vomit.

She gripped the railing tightly, just about to turn around, when a star-like brightness appeared before her. She turned her head; a series of lights and shadows floated across the screen window, winding about the empty hall. The youthful general, straddling a white horse, and the goddess who lit lanterns by the moonlight; the misty mountains and rivers, the vigorous, fierce tiger, all of them cut out into images by the warm light, turning and expanding within the desolate room.

She took two steps, looking downwards; in the middle of the hall was a paper horse carousel lantern, the sound of the turning candles causing the images on the lantern to come to life, painting her eyes a variety of rich colours.

This was an enchanting, yet illusory scene, like that which only occurred in the children's tales in her mother's mouth, able to bizarrely pacify the child terrified in the dark night, and enter a sound, beautiful dream. In the midst of the flickering light and passing shadows, she saw that, by the paper horse carousel stood a tall, slender shadow; that person's outline was even more delicate than any of the images, eyelashes lowered in indifference, hand holding the match that had lit the turning candles just then. The match turned in her hand, and then turned once more, unexpectedly more fascinating than that paper horse carousel. Only at this did Li Shiyi turn around, smiling in the shadows of the lantern, and say, "If you want to have fun, then come over."

If you don't want to eat, that's fine; if you want to have fun, then come over—when she spoke, it was always like these two sorts of phrases, not even the order having changed. But Chun Ping always felt that this young lady, who didn't speak much, could, in the end, aptly strike the longing at the bottom of her own heart, as if there was a hand on her back, lightly pushing.

So, she walked over, crouching by the paper horse carouse, sticking out her head to look at those candle flames, and then raising her head to gaze at the refracted images.

For the first time, she took the initiative to speak; she asked, "The old cobbler's wife, will she become light, or a star?"

Usually, when people asked for comfort, the reply they got was usually an assurance, but Li Shiyi said quietly, "I don't know." She didn't even know who the old cobbler was.

Chun Ping tilted her face upwards, looking at her, her thin lashes blinking; when they blinked the fifth time, she tugged at her pursed lips, revealing an unfamiliar smiling expression. Li Shiyi lowered her head to look at her, her breath fluttering, also wearing a comforting, faint smile. Chun Ping didn't say any more, only calmly watching the fluctuating coloured lantern; Li Shiyi left the lantern for her, and quietly walked away.

She'd walked a few steps on the stairs, and, just coming to the corner where the moon was fading, she suddenly scented a faint, cool fragrance, lightly chilly fingers tugging at Li Shiyi's wrist, pulling her to the shadow in the corner. The arrival didn't allow any explanation, pressing Li Shiyi against the wall, curvaceous figure pressed against her, her chest pressed against Li Shiyi's, covering her wrist, and then directly biting the red birthmark on her neck.

Body, scent, even the scent of the parted lips' rouge were incredibly familiar; Li Shiyi wasn't even surprised, her body judging the situation even quicker than her thoughts, and she raised her other hand to press against the back of Song Shijiu's head.

Song Shijiu's breaths were heavy and fast, and the force of her bite wasn't gentle either, the sharp scent of vinegar coming from between her teeth, like an angered beast cub. The cub summoned horn-like furrowed brows, teeth worrying Li Shiyi's skin wildly, and finally, she extended the tip of her tongue placatingly, only then letting go of Li Shiyi's flushed neck.

Li Shiyi hadn't raised an eyelid, and the space between her brows was pressed against by Song Shijiu's forehead; she didn't want to let Li Shiyi see her expression, only dropping her gaze, pressing her lips together. "What is it?" Li Shiyi asked, her words even softer than their intermingled breaths.

Song Shijiu bit the inside of her lip, stroking Li Shiyi's forehead, and only after a while let go of the wrist she was grasping, and said quietly, "That lantern, you never made it for me." Her aggrievement was very childhish, entirely contrary to the dignity she'd cultivated; originally, she'd hestiated for a long time, and only then had remembered that she was a spiritual beast, and what culturation did a spiritual beast need? She only wanted Li Shiyi.

Her curled eyelashes trembled, and, combined with her tender, alluring lips, caused the tempers of those with hearts of stone to ease, to say nothing of the fact that Li Shiyi had long since surrendered to her. So, Li Shiyi said warmly, "Who said the paper horse carousel was only for her?" Her hand curled around Song Shijiu's waist, and she drew her neck back; once a small distance was between them, she warmed Song Shijiu with her gaze, and then pressed her lips to the full rouge before her. "But this, this is only for you."

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