Chapter 52 -46: Thus the Loved One Appears Cut Off
Tap… Tap… Tap…
The finger continued to tap on the rosewood armrest.
“Investigate him?” the man chuckled softly, “Why should we investigate him?”
“He is very strange. A Confucian scholar who can compose poetry of the Falling Flower Grade should not be unknown, yet we had never heard of this name before. The sudden appearance of such a person is bizarre.”
“Can’t he just be modest?”
The voice paused momentarily, then spoke solemnly, “We just happen to be lacking people for the Confucianism and Daoist debate, and he appeared in Zhongnan Country just like it was arranged. The Second Master met him in the middle of March in the Great Chu dynasty, and the master had trouble during the spring sacrifice at the end of February. Although it’s hard to make a round trip in half a month, there are too many ways to pass messages across the mountains; what if it was arranged by the enemy?”
...
“That makes sense.”
“The master has trained you well.”
“Xiu Mei,” the man said softly.
“This servant is here.”
“Now that I’ve given you full control of the Southern Department, have you started to become wild?”
“This servant wouldn’t dare!”
The sound of a heavy kneel came from behind.
“I remember I told you the rules when I first came back,” the man said methodically. “You are just a knife in the master’s hand, sharp enough is all that’s needed, no need to think for yourself.”
“The things I didn’t ask you to do, you are now doing on your own,” the master chuckled softly. “Do you also want to be the master?”
“This servant knows my mistake, this servant knows my mistake, master please quell your anger!” Xiu Mei sobbed, her voice terrified.
Then a series of thumping sounds echoed in the hall as she kowtowed.
“Stop crying.”
The hall suddenly quieted down, only occasional sobs could be heard slipping through the fingers, but the next moment they were swallowed back into the mouth.
The man said leisurely, “Last warning, if your heart roams wild again, I will send you away.”
He smirked. “I’ll send you to Ziyu, let him teach you the rules.”
Xiu Mei shivered, lips parted as if to speak, but still did not dare to lower her hand from her mouth.
The muffled sounds of kowtowing resumed behind the man.
“Anything else?”
“Master, the Second Master has awakened, the doctor said…”
“Next.”
“Yes, master. Yesterday morning at Ten Miles Pavilion, Lan Yuqing and his group received the old man in plain clothes wearing the Southern Brilliance scarf, who might not be from the Wangque Continent. According to informants, while returning to the mountain, Lan Yuqing said, ‘The True Man honors us with his presence, our temple is greatly honored,’ but no further words followed.”
“The secret agents of the Imperial Guard in the Southern Department inserted in the temple also do not know who he is, the only certainty is that he is a ‘distinguished guest’ who came from a faraway place. True Man Chong Xu personally came down the mountain to receive him, blocked all others, and met alone, what was specifically discussed remains unknown.”
The man stroked his chin, smiling lightly. “A True Man from the Seventh Realm’s Daoist would come to this trivial Chong Xu Temple? Just because of him, Chong Xu? She, Lan Yuqing, is deliberately bluffing me, knowing these words would reach my ears.”
“Master is wise.”
“However, this old man is a major variable, continue to keep an eye on him, send more people outside, find out exactly who he is. Besides, at any cost, find the last person besides True Man Chong Xu and that old man, who joins in our Confucian and Daoist debate.”
“This servant obeys!”
————
Zhao Rong felt bone-chilling cold.
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It was a cold that seeped deep into his bones.
Because of Qing Jun.
He had finally found Qing Jun after traveling thousands of miles.
In the Taiching Four Mansions, by a willow-fringed lakeside on a bright sunny afternoon, with shimmering lake waters and the warm summer breeze, Qing Jun was there, back turned to him, bending to pick lotuses, dressed again in a red dress like a quiet flame.
Qing Jun held her dress with one hand and reached toward a towering Qinglian with the other, still the little girl greedy for lotus seeds just like when she was young, except back then it was he who picked them and she stood by holding her dress, smiling in anticipation.
His mood was uneasy; as he walked closer to her, he grew more timid.
One step, two steps, three steps…
She finally stood before him.
The journey spanning hundreds of thousands of miles across the north to south of Wangque Continent was finally surpassed step by step by him.
He watched the woman in front of him with her black hair and red sash, her slender waist, bending down to pick lotuses with her fair wrist.
He gently reached out, wanting to grasp her ponytail again, but she turned around alertly.
She saw him.
He also saw her.
Her eyebrows furrowed tightly, then relaxed, her gaze indifferent.
He held his breath, staring, and stretched his hand forward, palm open.
A piece of sweat-soaked mutton-fat jade nestled in his palm.
On the side facing up was the engraving “Beautiful Jade Hanging by the Silk Cord.”
She casually picked it up.
Gently, she threw it into the Lotus Pond.
The man smiled airily.
Gesturing, he turned and walked away.
The husband returned the jade token from a thousand miles away, yet he was no longer a youth.
Her face was still like peach blossoms, but she was no longer young.
The summer sun was warm, and the breeze was just right.
But he walked slower and slower, as if stepping into a sea of clouds brewing with snow and ice, with resistance all around, his body covered in icy cold, yet he did not want to turn back, walking straight into the snowstorm…
Zhao Rong felt a bone-chilling cold.
It was a deep, marrow-deep ice.
His heart suddenly contracted.
He abruptly opened his eyes.
Zhao Rong was panting heavily, realizing that he was currently soaking in a cold medicinal bath, looking around, it was the room where he rested in the Lin family’s estate in Lanxi.
It turned out that everything just now was a dream.
He vaguely remembered that after returning from the studio, he had eaten dinner served by the servants, then started his daily cultivation, and later with his body tired, immersed himself in the medicinal bath. He intended to soak a bit longer before going to bed to rest, but he leaned against the tub and slipped into a drowsy sleep.
Zhao Rong felt lost for a moment, sighed, and wiped his face hard with both hands, getting up from the now cold medicinal bath.
He glanced casually outside the window, and it seemed to be the middle of the night already, and the rain had stopped.
After a bustle, Zhao Rong casually draped on a robe, only tying a broad belt around his waist.
This style of robe and broad belt was very popular in Zhongnan Country’s circles of scholars, not only elegant and unrestrained, but also comfortable to wear.
Zhao Rong walked slowly to the mirror in the room, staring at the mirror at his originally tender face that had been haggard from the past months of hardship.
He once looked up outside Longquan Mountain, imagining the increasingly closer starting point of his journey.
He once idly stared at the vast sea of clouds outside the window while on the ferry at Qingfeng Pavilion.
He once quietly admired the green waters and Qingshan, the twilight ancient paths, and smoke rising from farmhouses from horseback.
Or on some nights when everything was asleep, he held the pair of Jade Tokens, waiting for the dawn.
He had imagined countless possibilities, countless times of meeting.
When he held that jade token and approached her.
She might suddenly crash into his arms, her tears wetting his clothes.
She might snatch the jade token and smash it to the ground, grinding her teeth in anger.
She might say nothing, turn around, and leave, never to return.
Zhao Rong thought that no matter what the outcome, he could accept it calmly, face it with composure, and not be burdened by emotions.
But.
What was that sudden heart pain in the dream just now?
His heart, like that jade token, was fiercely thrown by her into the Lotus Pond, water splashing, sinking to the bottom, to be slowly covered by the icy mud for the rest of his life, bearing an unbearable weight until it could no longer beat, finally finding release.
Zhao Rong roughly rubbed his face.
He began to realize that along the way, as he became more familiar with this world, as more memories awakened, the closer he got to her, the deeper the bonds.
Those memories, which he thought were mere glimpses, were now deeply engraved in his mind.
Just like strong liquor to the throat, spring rain to soil, rivers to the sea.
Not just the memories about Qing Jun, her memories served as a fuse, hastening and making him aware of this change.
The inherited memories now felt as if he had experienced them himself… or perhaps… they were his own memories!
He thought he was a reborn person, this body’s appearance and name the same as his own, initially taking it as a coincidence, but how to explain that sudden heartache, how could an inherited memory be so profound, as if personally experienced.
How could there be so many coincidences?
There’s only one most likely possibility.
He is the original person, the original person is him.
It’s just that the memories of the previous life have awakened and taken the lead.
And personality is shaped by memories.
The personality of the previous life directly overlaid that of this life, leading to different characters before and after, but now with the digestion of memories, they have merged and unified.
The character from the previous life, which is me now, facing Qing Jun’s memories, feels different than this life, hence the heartache.
So to say, I am me.
I am the one who… wronged Qing Jun.
————
Suddenly, a melodious sound of a qin wafted through the window.
It was dreamlike, unceasing like a thread.
It not only did not disrupt the night’s quietude but made the moonlight feel even more lonesome.
Zhao Rong slowly came back to his senses, no longer in the mood to sleep, went to the desk, spread out paper and started to study ink.
But just as he lifted the brush, he was already at a loss for words.
Instead, he practiced writing, but he frowned and stopped after only four characters.
The heart unsettled, the brush unsteady.
Zhao Rong was moved.
He put down the brush, picked up a jug of wine, swinging his long sleeves, in his robe and broad belt, barefoot, pushed the door open, and went to seek the source of the qin music.