Chapter 247 Inn (Part 2)

Chapter 247 Inn (Part 2)

Zhi Jie lowered his eyes.

He had cultivated the Dao since childhood, cultivating a mind as still as water, in direct communion with the mysteries of heaven and earth.

Heaven and earth are ruthless, treating all things as straw dogs.

The Great Dao is profoundly simple—desireless, one becomes unyielding.

To chase the infinite with the finite is to court exhaustion.

A thousand truths, yet before a single Le Wuya, they all evaporated into nothing.

If heaven and earth were truly a furnace, he would gladly be smelted together with him, never to part.

His left hand gripped tightly at Le Wuya's back, while his other hand clenched his own left wrist, wrestling with the part of himself that was subtly losing control, forcing himself not to squeeze too hard and hurt Le Wuya.

Even so, Le Wuya was squeezed breathless, and he uncomfortably reached out to pound his shoulder: "Can't breathe!"

The moment the words left his mouth, he sharply felt Zhi Jie's body go rigid.

He blinked slowly, but his hand and mouth moved before his mind could catch up.

"I won't say 'dead.'" He deliberately stretched his words out in a comical drawl. "I'll say 'live,' alright?"

Then he really started shaking his head and rattling off phrases with "live" in them: "Lively and vivid, vibrant and fragrant, living water from the source, hopping and skipping..."

As he spoke, he twisted his face in front of Zhi Jie, making exaggerated expressions to coax a smile out of him: "Or how about 'scared stiff'?"

"Teacher, don't tease me." Zhi Jie stroked his back. "You're going to make me feel like a kid again."

Le Wuya denied it: "When did I tease you? Besides, with a build like yours, calling yourself a kid—aren't you embarrassed?"

Zhi Jie lowered his eyes at just the right moment: "Yes. Xiaoliu never really had a childhood. Consort Zhuang never really liked kids."

Le Wuya: "..."

He sighed softly, awkwardly wrapping his arms around Zhi Jie, and began to sing a Jing tribe lullaby his older brother He Lianche used to sing to comfort him.

"Little horn bow, mulberry string, shoot a goose down by the hillside. Anda, hurry and pick those white goose feathers, send them to Auntie to trim her collar."

"Wandered far, don't be scared—the colored banner will lead you home!"

Le Wuya patted Zhi Jie gently as he sang, slow and soft.

His voice was sweet and lilting, as if singing to the child Zhi Jie used to be, and to the child he himself once was.

Wandered far, don't be afraid. One day, you'll find your way home.

Both he and Zhi Jie had left their mothers when they were young.

Being good and mature could both be faked.

Only the longing for one's mother was real, pure, and heartfelt.

When the song ended, Le Wuya searched his heart and suddenly realized Xiao Qi's accusation had been spot-on.

He confessed: "I think I really do play favorites with you."

Zhi Jie looked up, letting out a confused "Huh?"

Le Wuya frowned in distress: "Oh no, I bragged to Xiao Qi that I always keep a fair hand... What do I do now?"

As he spoke, he scratched his chest through his clothes.

Seeing him scratch, Zhi Jie snapped out of that dreamy mood, murmured "Excuse me," and parted Le Wuya's collar. The big patch of red rash had faded quite a bit, though it was still a little swollen and red.

He knew his teacher had deliberately done this to himself to permanently avoid all future drinking parties, so even though he was worried sick, he kept quiet.

Le Wuya, in turn, noticed a ring of reddish bruising around his own wrist while Zhi Jie was examining him.

But he also said nothing, lying back obediently on the bed, letting Zhi Jie rub the cooling, anti-itch ointment on his neck and chest.

While Zhi Jie was busy, Le Wuya fell into deep thought.

Xiaoliu's fixation on him ran way deeper than he'd realized.

After all, it was him and Little Phoenix who had raised his soul together back then.

That silly phoenix was always stationed at the border—where would he have connections in the capital?

If it had been someone from the Ministry of War, it would've made sense.

But no—it was Chang Yuxing, the Minister of Rites, who had zero connection to Little Phoenix, who'd pulled strings and made the introductions.

...Come to think of it, Xiaoliu had studied the Dao since childhood, so he was a fellow disciple of that reclusive Daoist son of Minister Chang's family.

He'd heard that Daoist had asked for a fake price to fool Little Phoenix.

Little Phoenix was simple and easy to trick—Le Wuya had known that since they were kids, so he wasn't surprised.

So, the question was:

Did Xiaoliu believe it? Did Xiaoliu think he'd paid with his own life span?

Remember, the two of them had raised his soul together.

As he was slowly mulling this over, Le Wuya suddenly sucked in a sharp breath, his fingertips clutching at the bedsheet: "Hiss—"

Zhi Jie looked up at him with an innocent expression: "This spot is a bit swollen too."

Le Wuya gritted his teeth: "Then be gentler!"

"Alright."

...Which turned out to be worse than being rougher.

The fingers tracing slow circles on his chest made Le Wuya restless and agitated, as if a wildfire of itchiness were spreading from his heart, racing through his veins, impossible to contain.

He suddenly seized Zhi Jie's hand, glaring at him resentfully: "Are you doing this on purpose?"

Zhi Jie said softly: "If I said I was, would you be angry with me, Teacher?"

Le Wuya: "..."

He was pissed, and with all the drinking, his brain and tongue weren't working right.

Not knowing what to say, Le Wuya huffed and burrowed under the covers. He lay there staring at him for a bit, then, still pissed, kicked him in the knee through the blanket.

Using that kick as an excuse to get up, Zhi Jie climbed out of bed, opened the medicine box again, and pulled out a little food container: "This is the jujube and yam cake Ru Feng made. I've been wanting to give it to you, Master. Have a couple pieces to tide you over. Tomorrow morning, I'll have Hua Rong brew you a pot of Four Gentlemen tea. Once you've eaten and drunk your fill, you can sleep in late, and your stomach won't hurt."

After feeding Le Wuya, he opened a hidden compartment in the medicine box, took out a pre-mixed packet of Four Gentlemen tea, and set it on the table.

Curious as he watched him pull one thing after another out of the box, Le Wuya snatched the magical medicine box into his arms and started rummaging through his stuff like he owned the place.

Soon, he fished out a nearly finished piece of knitting from another hidden compartment.

Le Wuya squinted at it for a long moment. "...Socks?"

"Yeah, socks, almost done," Zhi Jie said softly. "Master, get some rest. I'll knit a few more stitches to finish them off, and by the time you check out tomorrow morning, you can wear them."

Le Wuya reached out and squeezed the socks. The weave was unique, the texture soft—they'd be super comfortable to wear.

He said admiringly, "With skills like this, even if you became a craftsman among the common folk, you'd never starve."

Zhi Jie took the socks and knitted a couple of stitches. "Then supporting you, Master, would take a lot of effort."

The mood shifted from ambiguous to warm.

As night fell, a light drizzle started outside, raindrops pattering softly against the window, lulling them to sleep.

The two lay on the bed, idly chatting about the past.

Le Wuya asked him, "Back at the county court in Nanting, did you recognize me right away?"

Zhi Jie nodded: "Yes."

"How could you recognize me at a glance?" Le Wuya protested. "I didn't look like this back then."

Zhi Jie thought for a moment: "The day before, Young General Pei sent word that the sandalwood urn holding your soul had shattered. I figured you couldn't stay in the mortal world much longer. But on the bright side, maybe you'd been reincarnated—so wouldn't anyone in the world potentially be you?"

Le Wuya: "..." You really dared to think that way.

"No, you didn't answer my question." Le Wuya stared at him stubbornly. "How exactly did you recognize me?"

Hearing this, Zhi Jie set his knitting needle aside, gently brushed his fingertip over Le Wuya's lower eyelid, tapped it softly, then pointed to his own eyes.

Le Wuya curiously mimicked him, touching his own lower eyelid. "What does that mean?"

"Even if we meet again and don't recognize each other," Zhi Jie said solemnly, "the light in your eyes remembers old love."

Le Wuya was shocked. "How are you so smooth-tongued? Are you really Xiang Xiaoliu? Or some impostor pretending to be Xiang Xiaoqi?"

For the first time, he doubted his own judgment of character.

But he pinched and rubbed Zhi Jie's ears until they were bright red, and still found no trace of Xiaoqi's burn scar.

Muttering to himself, he let go, lay back down, and kept chatting casually: "If I hadn't come back, would you have fought for the throne?"

"Of course," Zhi Jie smiled. "If you could come back one day, and I were emperor by then, I'd give you a huge surprise."

"If you never came back..."

He paused, as if summoning immense courage just to consider that possibility: "Like I said, if the urn holding your soul shattered, then anyone in the world could be you."

"I'd protect them all, just like I'd protect you." A fierce determination shone in Zhi Jie's eyes. "...If you'd forgotten everything and been reborn, that'd be fine too. If, under my rule, you could live happily somewhere, I'd consider myself to have done right by you."

As he spoke, Zhi Jie's eyes blazed with intensity, yet his expression and tone were remarkably gentle, as if he were stating the most ordinary thing—no different from saying, "Tomorrow morning, I'll have Hua Rong brew a pot of Four Gentlemen tea."

Le Wuya stayed silent, his fingertip absently scratching the small chess piece hanging around his neck.

After a long while, he said, "Xiaoliu, your teacher really can't figure you out."

"Take your time figuring me out," Zhi Jie resumed knitting the socks. "I'm not going anywhere; look as long as you like."

Le Wuya asked, "And what about your lifespan?"

Zhi Jie asked back, "What lifespan?"

Le Wuya squinted, sizing up Zhi Jie.

Zhi Jie, seemingly clueless about what he meant, smiled and said, "Imperial Consort Zhuang calculated it for me—she said I'd live to eighty."

Le Wuya realized he truly was a natural at hiding his emotions.

Right now, for instance, he couldn't tell at all whether Zhi Jie genuinely knew nothing or was deliberately playing dumb.

"Little Phoenix said..." Le Wuya put it more bluntly, "For each day you nurture a remnant soul, the karmic debt falls on you, and you have to repay it with three days of your own life."

Zhi Jie said flatly, "Young General Pei told you that too."

With that, he looked at Le Wuya, a smile in his eyes. "Rest assured, Master, I'm not stupid. Why would I make such a losing deal? I made the introduction, Young General Pei offered his lifespan—we each did our part..."

"No."

Le Wuya cut him off, rolled over, and climbed on top of him, staring straight into his eyes. "Our Xiaoliu is the best kid in the world. He wouldn't do something like that."

Zhi Jie pulled his knitting needle back a bit, smiling helplessly. "Master, didn't you just say you couldn't figure me out? ...Careful, you'll poke your eye out."

Despite his words, his heart was pounding wildly.

What Pei Mingqi knew was that three days were deducted for one day of lifespan—that was correct.

But that was only what he knew.

The first to meet Taoist Master Lu wasn't Pei Mingqi—it was Zhi Jie himself.

Naturally, if he hadn't personally tested the Taoist master's abilities, how could Zhi Jie have dared to introduce him to Pei Mingqi?

Back then, he'd fallen gravely ill, vomiting blood, burning with fever, yet he'd gritted his teeth and dragged his ailing body to visit Minister Chang, then disguised himself and slipped out of the capital, galloping on horseback using the riding skills his teacher had taught him, racing to Qingliang Valley.

He'd exhausted every ounce of his strength, finally arriving at the desolate, ruined Qingliang Valley on the seventh day after his teacher's death.

The baby-faced Taoist Master Lu had already received a letter from Taoist Master Chang and was waiting for him there.

Taoist Master Lu told Zhi Jie that one day of lifespan required seven days of one's own to exchange.

Zhi Jie, being eminently practical, thought for a moment and said, "Seven days for one is too much. Could I find someone to share the burden? I'll take four, he takes three."

"..." Taoist Master Lu was stunned for a moment, then murmured softly, "It's rare enough to find one fool like you—how could there be a second?"

At that time, Zhi Jie, having rushed all the way, was burning with fever, his vision blurry and ears ringing like muffled bells, so he didn't catch what Taoist Master Lu said.

His face betrayed nothing as he said calmly, "I'll find someone else... Please tell him... to exchange for my teacher's life, three days for one—that's enough. If he doesn't agree, I'll think of another way."

Taoist Master Lu escorted him out with a complicated look on his face.

As he was leaving, he couldn't help but ask, "This Le Wuya, what is he to you?"

"He is my..."

Zhi Jie's expression turned blank.

After a long while, his wandering gaze finally focused on one point.

He finally arrived at the answer: "My late wife."

Taoist Master Lu stared at him, pursed his lips, as if he truly felt for him, and didn't press further: "I can only keep his soul. If the jar that holds his soul breaks, then you'll have no bond with him. You mustn't..."

"No bond? What do you mean by 'no bond'?"

Zhi Jie opened his eyes, staring into the boundless emptiness, and smiled from deep within: "For my master to come back to life, to have a healthy body, a complete life—that's already an immense stroke of fate."

Zhi Jie had long studied the Tao and understood the truths of life and death, of being beyond form and self.

So even if his share was heavier, it didn't matter.

Besides, Imperial Consort Zhuang had said he would live to eighty.

He diligently nurtured his health—sleeping early, rising early, practicing tai chi, and the Five Animals exercises—surely he could make up for the years he'd lost.

As for meeting again, how could he dare to dream?

Ten years of life and death, both vast and dim.

Even if they met, they wouldn't know each other.

...Even so, the ripples would still remember that old love.

While he was lost in thought, Le Wuya suddenly leaned down and pressed his ear against Zhi Jie's chest.

Zhi Jie froze.

For a moment, he felt as if he had returned to that rainy Nan Ting County.

Back then, Le Wuya, teasing him, had suddenly drawn close, listened to his heartbeat, and announced triumphantly: "No mistake. The heart is indeed beating very fast."

This moment merged with that one from the past.

The east wind tapped at the window, spring rain washed the eaves.

The room fell silent, leaving only the sound of rain, breathing, and...

"...Your heart is beating very fast."

Le Wuya straightened up, staring at him, the sorrow in his eyes growing heavier: "Why is your heart beating so fast?"