Chapter 53#

Feng Bing, Bewildered.#

Was this question asked in full knowledge, or was it a calculated ploy to lure him in?

For five years, though weak, though lonely, he had endured it after all; he had expected that the days to come would likewise be endured, always in the same way. The old waves had barely subsided. In the endless silence of deep night, he was unwilling to discuss this kind of topic, so easy to sink into.

It was utterly meaningless.

It was only a brief silence, yet Pei Dan belatedly became afraid. He released his hand and turned his head hastily. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that…”

“You’re always saying sorry.” Feng Bing interrupted him. Pei Dan’s shadow swayed.

Feng Bing sighed and again crouched down in front of Pei Dan, looking at him, helpless. How could he have just taken him for a demon lord? Right now he looked again like a puppy not yet weaned, as if, were he to abandon him, it would be some monstrous sin.

“I think people… shouldn’t compare themselves to a scar.” Feng Bing rubbed his temples, trying to find the words. “Maybe I should apologize too. That night at Yuanhui, I was agitated… what I said was too much.”

He was calm, with a faint trace of fatigue. When he finally said this, it seemed like a kind of farewell.

On the night of Yuanhui, the wind and snow pressed hard, as if every pain urgently needed a resounding verdict. But after the verdict truly came, he found it was not the end; life still stretched on endlessly, carrying a silent, eternal weariness and bitterness.

He thought that he and Pei Dan were, after all, not irreconcilable enemies. He was even willing to admit that he had once received Pei Dan’s care and protection, and that he was grateful to him. But what could they do next?

“Pei Dan.” His voice grew softer and softer, so soft it seemed to tremble. “Let us both… move on. Rain that has fallen cannot return to the sky; water once spilled is hard to gather again. The past… let it be forgotten.”

Pei Dan understood his words, but wished he had not.

Ah. He thought. Fourth Brother truly doesn’t know what he’s saying.

Why did Fourth Brother apologize? Did he know that men, once given a little, would want more—that I was being tortured in his breath?

In Pei Dan’s heart there were many kinds of heavy love. Perhaps it had been planted when he lost his parents in childhood, tangled and deep-rooted, making his gaze upon the world murky and dark. He had always tried to suppress it; he feared that if Feng Bing knew his love was this heavy, he would flee far from him.

For these five years, he often suffered insomnia at midnight, tossing and turning, always thinking about whether Fourth Brother was doing well in Laozhou, whether he had suffered, whether he would be bullied. After Feng Bing returned to the capital intact, these anxieties and guilt did not dissipate; instead they gained new content—he wondered why the one sent to the imperial prison had not been himself, why he still had not gone to die.

It was too heavy; his heart could hardly bear it. He gasped for breath, nearly collapsing stiff. Like a camel walking in the desert, no longer able to see any sign of life, yet the shadow of a lake insisted on flaunting itself before him.

That lake was cruel. It even said to him: Rain that has fallen cannot return to the sky; water once spilled is hard to gather again…

He would not forget. He refused to forget.

He could not move on. If Fourth Brother would not walk the same path as him, he would rather wait at the fork in the road until death.

Feng Bing received no answer for a long while and lowered his head to look at him, the corners of his eyes still stained with faint red. But Pei Dan suddenly straightened up and abruptly kissed Feng Bing’s lips.

The lamplight instantly flickered. Feng Bing staggered back half a step, and Pei Dan immediately caught him.

Feng Bing struggled instinctively; kissing was already an extremely unfamiliar thing to him. But Pei Dan held the back of his neck, his palm both warm and forceful, leaving Feng Bing unable to move. He did not close his eyes, so he clearly saw how stiff Pei Dan’s expression was; even his trembling eyelashes were still—yet his lips were so soft.

Feng Bing did not even know how to react. He reached out to push Pei Dan, but Pei Dan’s other hand caught it, all five fingers sliding between his, slowly guiding his hand to press against his own chest.

Feng Bing had no choice but to curl his fingers into a small fist, resisting Pei Dan’s five fingers and heartbeat. Pei Dan held his lips between his, and in his breath lowly called: “Fourth Brother.”

He quietly extended the tip of his tongue, licking, sucking, tracing Feng Bing’s lips, bit by bit, as if pecking at the warmth on those lips.

Ah, he had not come to accuse him with an army. Feng Bing thought. He had really only come to beg for a bite.

Feng Bing was somewhat at a loss, but he sensed Pei Dan’s pleading, as if pushing him away were an outrageous crime; gradually he could only relax. Or perhaps it was because of that hand of Pei Dan’s—it slowly grazed past the vulnerable point at the back of Feng Bing’s neck, lighter than light, quietly brushing the fine down on his shoulder, so that even his collar rose defensively, as if to resist it, but it could not resist; it reached in—

Feng Bing suddenly lowered his brows in a daze and groaned, impossible to tell whether from comfort or arousal. Beneath the collar there was still an inner layer of clothing, but the fabric clung distinctly to Feng Bing’s shoulder, softly allowing the other to knead it. Pei Dan suddenly felt it was unbelievable: this body had once shared a bed with him for three years; this person had once been cherished and placed heavily in his heart. Yet at this moment he was utterly clear that his hand should absolutely not stroke any lower.

He restrained his movements, but used more force in the kiss, as if to snatch himself back from between Feng Bing’s teeth. But Feng Bing felt he had nothing to give Pei Dan; everything he had once possessed had clearly already been offered.

Yes, he had even said so plainly: “There will never be anyone who loves you more than the me of the past.”

To love someone is nothing less than the creation of heaven and earth. To love someone anew is nothing less than proclaiming the Dharma at the end of the world.

“What are you thinking?” Pei Dan said in a rather vexed low voice, and bit Feng Bing’s soft lips with a bite neither light nor heavy—

Suddenly a fierce wind swept in and with a crash blew out the small lamp at the door; the flower hall instantly fell into darkness. Feng Bing was greatly startled and, as courtesy demanded reciprocity, bit him back. But hearing Pei Dan give a muffled grunt, Feng Bing himself jumped half a chi away first, stood up unsteadily, then groped in the dark to kick him, cursing in a low voice: “Why are you biting people!”

Pei Dan did not argue; he silently endured it.

It was only a matter of an instant.

Blood began to flow again; his pale face turned completely red, but luckily the room was pitch dark, and no one could see anyone. Pei Dan went to look for a new tallow candle, while Feng Bing, hugging his arms, hurried to the corridor by the door, wishing the cold wind would freeze his whole body.

All the intimate memories of the past instantly surged in like a tide. He remembered that he had once very much liked kissing Pei Dan.

The kiss just now had seemed exactly like those in the past: so quiet it made him impatient, so lingering it made him feel wronged. It seemed that the words of reconciliation he had resolved and exhausted himself to say were to Pei Dan no more than wind past a horse’s ear, utterly ineffective. Was it not good to move on? Each of their lives still had so very long, so very long to go.

Pei Dan lit the candle again and gazed at Feng Bing’s back.

“You…” He paused slightly, his voice dry. “If you do not like it, I will not do so again.”

Feng Bing turned back to look at him, a somewhat sulky air in his eyes. The lamplight was sparse; on the front of Pei Dan’s robe near his knees, Feng Bing’s shoe print still remained. His questioning expression made him look again like that lonely dog that had fallen into the water. Feng Bing’s heart softened again. He wondered, could this man be playing some trick? He walked back with his head lowered and was just about to speak when he heard Chunshi’s voice: “Master? Why did the lamp go out just now?”

So Chunshi had been in the back room and was about to come toward this flower hall. Feng Bing’s expression changed; he forgot everything he had meant to say. Even his movements stiffened for a moment. In the end he reached out and hurriedly brushed the shoe print off Pei Dan, whispering reproachfully: “Don’t let anyone see you like this.” At the same time he raised his voice: “Chunshi, bring an umbrella.”

Chunshi brought the umbrella and saw Feng Bing and Pei Dan standing half a chi apart, each stiffly reserved. Feng Bing took the umbrella and escorted Pei Dan out. They walked along the covered winding corridor to its end, then passed through a moon gate, and there was the back garden of the small residence. The plum blossoms on both sides of the garden path, after several nights of wind and rain, had all fallen and turned to mud; the branches were bare and dripping with rainwater.

The two stopped in their tracks as if by tacit agreement.

“This umbrella,” Pei Dan said in a low voice, “I will shamelessly borrow it for now.”

“Mm.” Feng Bing pressed his lips.

Pei Dan gave a faint smile, said thank you, then said goodbye, bowed with complete courtesy, and raised his head to glance at him again.

Feng Bing looked away, unwilling to meet his eyes.

Even after Pei Dan left through the back door and his figure disappeared, Feng Bing still stood in place, staring blankly at the plum tree in the wind and rain.

Suddenly he turned around and said hurriedly: “Let’s go back.”

“Ah—oh.” Chunshi hurried to follow.

The cold wind and rain blew; Feng Bing’s shoulder looked a few shades paler, but Chunshi noticed that his hair bun had come loose. Beneath the tung-wood hair crown, it seemed to have been disturbed; a few stray strands hung down, curling gracefully around that pale neck.

Chunshi could not help but also touch the back of his own head.

These past few days have been especially rough for the author in real life, and I’ve run into troubles with writing too. Today I revised for another morning and evening, and I don’t know whether it’s actually any good. The author is actually very, very lacking in confidence, but the author also values this piece very, very much… wu, there’s no use saying more. I hope everyone enjoys reading!