Chapter 47#

After all, sleeping out in the wild, Feng Bing did not rest easy. In his hazy half-sleep, it seemed some wild beast was always about to come prowling. Because he was cradling some treasured treasure in his arms, terrified that a wild beast would snatch it away, he desperately curled his body down toward the base of the cliff, shrinking until he was nearly the size of a rock.#

“…Fourth Brother.” Yet there came another voice, as though coming to steal his treasure. “Give it to me.”

What are you being so arrogant about. He refused, hugging the treasure even tighter.

“Fourth Brother.” The voice dropped a shade lower, like an air current rippling across the sky. “How am I supposed to sleep like this?”

It was a question devoid of the faintest confidence, as though there was nothing whatsoever he could do about Feng Bing.

Couldn’t care less how you sleep. Feng Bing wanted to glare back furiously, only to realize he could see nothing at all. Everything was pitch-black and terrifying, yet a thin layer of heartbeat pressed against his ear. Thump, thump, thump. Faster and faster.

This sound was maddening. He wanted to burrow somewhere quieter, somewhere warmer, but even though he could escape wind and rain and human footprints, he could not escape this heartbeat. He hugged the treasure tight with both arms while curling all his limbs inward, then heard the other person say hoarsely: “Fourth Fourth, you…” In the next instant he seemed to have fallen into a patch of sand warmed soft and yielding by the sun, his feet so comfortable they could not help rubbing against each other.

The treasure in his arms suddenly slipped free.

He was startled and reached down to scoop it up, but the treasure let out an ear-splitting shriek——

Feng Bing blinked open his eyes in a daze, and a wild rabbit’s large nose immediately jabbed right in front of his face, making him jump. The little wild rabbit had been half-plucked bald by Feng Bing over the course of the night, and seeing him wake, it slapped his face with its paw and shrieked with even more nerve-grating persistence. Finally, Pei Dan nearby could no longer hold back his stifled laughter.

Feng Bing did not have time to glare at the rabbit first — he glared at Pei Dan. Immediately, he realized his feet were nestled inside Pei Dan’s open chest. In shock, he jerked back and tried to sit up; Pei Dan hurriedly said “Ah,” and raised an arm to shield him from the wall.

Feng Bing’s face flushed crimson as he growled: “You — what are you doing, let go of me!”

Pei Dan let go.

Feng Bing turned his head and only now noticed that the place where they had slept was very narrow — a sheltered overhang at the windward side beneath the cliff at the far end of the waterside pavilion. Pei Dan had originally been lying on his side on the outer edge, and now his nearly bruised-purple eyes were open as he blocked the wind for Feng Bing. The black robes he had properly dressed in had all been kicked open by Feng Bing, exposing half a solid, muscular chest.

Feng Bing still remembered that congealed, formless dream, and he did not want to think too hard about why he had rolled into Pei Dan’s embrace. He vaguely felt Pei Dan’s gaze carried a trace of grievance, and he was even less inclined to look. He asked in a muffled voice: “Is your injury healed?”

“Mm.” Pei Dan was absent-minded.

Feng Bing pressed his lips together. He was not entirely at ease about Pei Dan’s wounds, and he had not looked clearly last night — he was a little curious. So he said: “Let me take a look.”

Pei Dan held his gaze for a long moment, then lowered his head and leaned toward him. His hair was already combed into a proper topknot, the picture of a calm and composed demeanor, yet Feng Bing reached out anyway, slipping his fingers through the black strands of hair, and quickly found the patch of scar.

It had truly scabbed over, but Feng Bing was half-believing, half-doubting: “If you take a few more falls, are you going to turn into an idiot?”

“…” Pei Dan’s scalp tingled where Feng Bing was touching it. With his head lowered, he stared silently at the hem of Feng Bing’s robe. Then suddenly he asked: “Do you want to see the sunrise?”

Feng Bing froze and withdrew his hand. Pei Dan felt a flicker of unease. “But the fog is thick this morning — I don’t know if the sun will even come out…”

The sky was not yet fully bright; dawn light was the hardest kind by which to make out shapes, and thick mist was still billowing up at the edge of the hot spring, the moist, soft air directly against their faces. The two dressed themselves back-to-back. Feng Bing carried the little wild rabbit out of the waterside pavilion first. The rabbit struggled to get free, insisting on hopping about on its own. Pei Dan said softly again: “Let’s go higher up and look around — it’ll help us get our bearings.”

Feng Bing glanced back. There was indeed a sandy path among the shrubs behind Pei Dan, leading up to higher ground on the cliff. The little wild rabbit had already bounded over in that direction. Feng Bing said: “Then let’s go take a look.”

Pei Dan took the lead, clearing the path, while Feng Bing followed silently a few paces behind. Occasionally a foot slipped on loose ground, sand and pebbles tumbling down, and Pei Dan would turn to help — but Feng Bing had already steadied himself on his own and brushed Pei Dan’s hand away. This cliff was not particularly high, but what it lacked in height it made up for with the absence of any surplus trees; the view was open and unobstructed. In a short while, the two reached the summit, where the hot spring seemed to be radiating heat from right beneath their feet.

Across the rolling hills, the treeline was lush and verdant, and a single round sun was slowly climbing up from the distant wisps of cloud and mist. Only now did Feng Bing understand what Pei Dan had meant by “watching the sunrise.”

All things in heaven and earth became clear inch by inch, degree by degree. A long wind swept between the hems of their robes.

Feng Bing had never seen the sunrise from Mount Li before, and now that he finally had, he found it impossible to look at directly. He turned to leave. In that instant, his hand was caught.

Pei Dan pulled Feng Bing back, as though out of some instinct for survival.

The sun leapt clear of the horizon. The sea of clouds heaved with rolling waves. Pei Dan, positioned slightly lower, tilted his head up to look at Feng Bing. Feng Bing’s profile was hard-edged, his jawline carrying the angular definition Pei Dan had once loved, a few loose strands of hair falling gently against it.

Pei Dan’s Adam’s apple moved. The dawn wind was cold and forlict, setting ripples trembling in his eyes. What should he say? But the sky was already bright. No matter how long the night, it must eventually end, and he ought to take Feng Bing back to the traveling palace.

Feng Bing did not pull his hand free. His captured palm was numb along the meridians. Feng Bing said quietly: “Daybreak.”

“Ah.” Pei Dan spoke as if waking from a dream, carrying an inescapable sorrow. “Daybreak.”

But the word seemed meaningless, because their hands were still clasped together. Neither recognized the other’s calluses — they felt foreign, a little rough under the fingertips — yet the sensation from another person’s touch still moved him to the very core. Pei Dan remembered the night of their wedding: a box of bath beans fell into the tub, and both of them reached out at the same time, wanting to pick up the shattered moonlight in the water, and in the end could only catch hold of each other instead.

Five years. Pei Dan had never dared to imagine that he could still hold this hand.

He must not have slept well — he could barely even tell what the fingertips were conveying. The newborn sun cast down an illusory warmth; the mountain mist seemed to seep into his very bones and marrow, making him slacken with a boneless languor. His head began to ache again — that was a good enough excuse. Could he simply stay here?

His heart — murky, dark, always sunken deep at the bottom of dark waters — suddenly ignited with a desperate, uncontrollable longing on the strength of this excuse alone. The other man had merely not refused him, yet he was already reaching greedily for more — he wanted to kiss Feng Bing’s eyes.

If those eyes held the meaning he could never obtain.

Love wishes for its beloved to live, yet also to die; ten thousand generations of eastward-flowing waters, never turning back.

Several cold crows burst out from among the forest, screaming shrilly as they flew toward the sun. The thunderous flapping of their wings cracked in both their ears and jolted their clasped hands apart in a single instant.

Feng Bing stumbled backward, wanting to shake off that breath that had been just a hair’s breadth away moments ago. He could not understand what he was doing, what he wanted. Pei Dan froze; his outstretched hand hovered for a moment, then withdrew.

To cover his retreat, Feng Bing strolled a few more steps with feigned casualness and coughed twice. He pointed toward a stretch of plain far below the mountain. “There — that’s the Sage’s great banner.”

“Mm.” Pei Dan’s voice had leveled out. “If you keep walking that way, you’ll find people. But you wandered into the imperial hunting grounds by mistake — you should head northwest, leave the grounds, and make your way back to the traveling palace.”

Feng Bing located the northwest direction. Down below the ridge, there was indeed a traveling palace built along the mountain range. He memorized it silently, though he did not know how much he could actually retain — perhaps he would get lost again as soon as he reached the foot of the mountain.

Pei Dan said: “I’ll walk you out first.”

The two walked down the mountain with their backs to the sunlight. The snow on the path was deeper, and they waded through it with uneven steps. The Sage had left one side of the hunting net open, and the reason Feng Bing had wandered in was that he had happened to slip through the one gap without golden cord strung across it. Pei Dan located it with absolute precision. After a few more paces, Feng Bing let out a soft “Ah” — he recognized this as the place where he had rested yesterday, and also the starting point where he had lost his way.

Neither of them was a man of few words, yet along this entire road they had barely spoken at all. Pei Dan, having walked him all the way here, simply smiled and said: “From here, you go back this way — can you manage?”

Feng Bing said stubbornly: “The sky is wide and bright. It’s not difficult.”

Pei Dan said: “Good. I have to head back — otherwise the Sage will grow suspicious.”

Feng Bing was quiet for a moment. “Thank you.”

“No need to be so formal.”

Feng Bing bowed slightly and took a few steps in the direction he had come from yesterday, but then noticed that Pei Dan was not moving. He said in a low voice: “Go on.”

The hurried wind carried his words to Pei Dan’s ear. Pei Dan said: “I’m afraid you’ll get lost again.”

“That’s none of your business,” Feng Bing said.

“You’re right.” Pei Dan smiled. “None of my business.”

Watching Feng Bing walk slowly away, until his figure gradually grew smaller and vanished among the snow-laden trees, the tension Pei Dan had held throughout his entire body finally drained away.

He walked back the way they had come, returning once again to the wild hot spring. After waiting only a short while, his warhorse led the servants over to find him. He let out a breath — the timing was just right.

He moved to press forward, but the little wild rabbit had clamped its teeth onto the hem of his robe.

He picked it up in bewilderment. “Little beast, why haven’t you run off?”

The little wild rabbit merely squinted its eyes and rolled about in his arms, quite clearly never intending to run. Not only did it not run — it had firmly latched onto Prime Minister Pei. A servant beside him laughed: “This is the first time I’ve seen a wild rabbit so friendly toward people! No wonder the Prime Minister saved it from that hawk’s talons!”

Pei Dan had no choice but to mount his horse. The little wild rabbit lay willfully inside his breastplate, making a strange, lopsided bulge protrude from his abdomen. He glanced back once more at the hazy, distant hot spring.

All traces of their overnight stay had been thoroughly cleared away. The place had returned to looking like a hidden paradise — one that could be glimpsed but never reached.

Since I need to sleep early today, I’m posting early~ I have meetings all day tomorrow, so I’ll take a break tomorrow too — see you Monday!