Yuliang village was tiny. Many of its villagers were getting on in
years and there were very few young people, so during harvest time, they
would commonly ask the cultivators from Sisheng Peak for help.
Any other sect would have completely ignored requests like these that
had nothing to do with cultivation. But Xue Zhengyong and his older
brother had started Sisheng Peak from scratch and had endured their share
of hardships in their youth. Rumor had it that, growing up, most of their
meals had been taken at the tables of generous neighbors. Thus, Xue
Zhengyong didn't have it in him to refuse such humble requests from the
old tenant farmers and diligently attended to them, sending disciples to help
every time. The village was far enough from Sisheng Peak that walking was
inconvenient, but close enough that taking a carriage would be
unnecessarily ostentatious. Thus, Xue Zhengyong had two fine horses
prepared for Mo Ran and Chu Wanning.
It was late autumn, and the foliage had revealed its fall colors. When
Chu Wanning came down the stairs to the main gate, he was greeted by the
sight of Mo Ran standing beneath a tall maple tree, its scarlet, frost-adorned
leaves rustling in the wind like the sheen on fine brocade or the splashing of
red carp.
Mo Ran held the reins of a black horse, while a white horse nuzzled
his cheek. He was in the middle of teasing them with a tuft of alfalfa
flowers when he heard the sound of footsteps approaching. Fragments of
red fluttered down as he turned to look over his shoulder, brightly beaming
between the dancing leaves. "Shizun."
Chu Wanning's footsteps slowed, then came to a stop on the last few
steps. Sunlight filtered through the luxuriant canopy to fall on the mosscovered stone. He stared at the man standing there, not so far away. Perhaps
it was because they were setting off to do farm work, but Mo Ran wasn't
wearing Sisheng Peak's disciple uniform today, nor was he wearing those
white robes from when he'd first returned. Instead, he had on black raiment
with wrapped wrist guards, simple attire that accentuated his slim waist,
long legs, and broad shoulders. He had a good figure, especially in the
upper torso, where his open collar revealed a firm, toned chest the gold of
honey, rising and falling with each breath.
If the showiness of Xue Meng's customary getup with its sparkling
silver armor was like a peacock fanning its tail, then this look of Mo Ran's
had a quiet allure, an innocent kind of allure, an uncomplicated kind of
allure—in other words, the air it gave off said, I'm a decent, upright person,
I've never teased or provoked anyone in my life, and the only thing I know
is honest work.
Chu Wanning looked him up and down several times before opening
his mouth to say, "Mo Ran."
The strapping young man replied with a smile, "Hm? What is it,
Shizun?"
Chu Wanning's face was deadpan. "Aren't you cold with your lapels
open that wide?"
After a moment of surprise, Mo Ran came to the conclusion that his
shizun was expressing concern for him and felt suddenly giddy. He tossed
the alfalfa back into the hay basket for the horses, dusted off his hands, and
bounded up the bluestone steps to stand charmingly in front of Chu
Wanning, grabbing him by the wrist before he could react.
"Not cold at all. Actually I'm kinda warm from rushing around all
morning." He grinned guilelessly as he pressed Chu Wanning's hand to his
own chest. "See, Shizun?"
It felt scalding. The young man's chest was hot to the touch.
Combined with that strong heartbeat and those star-bright eyes, Chu
Wanning could feel his entire back going numb. He ripped his hand away as
his expression grew stormy. "Indecent."
Mo Ran misunderstood. "Ah…is it sweaty?" He thought that Chu
Wanning wasn't into men—after all, their entanglement in his past life had
been brought about by coercion on his part. So he didn't think Chu
Wanning had any interest in him, and, remembering Chu Wanning's love of
cleanliness and dislike of touching people, chalked his shizun's annoyance
up to his sweatiness. Mo Ran felt embarrassed and scratched his head as he
said, "That was thoughtless of me…"
Had he looked closely, he would've seen the blush at the base of Chu
Wanning's elegant neck, and the glimmer of affection beneath those coolly
downcast lashes. But he had missed that narrow window of opportunity, and
Chu Wanning wasn't about to give him another. Chu Wanning descended
the slippery bluestone steps in his snow-white shoes, headed directly for the
black horse, and mounted it in a single graceful motion, smooth as flowing
water. With the sunlight gilding the land and red autumn leaves as far as the
eye could see, the white-robed man sitting atop the tall black horse glanced
over his shoulder at his disciple still on the ground. His face was like cool
jade, exuding an air of loftiness, ever the sharp and handsome Yuheng
Elder. "I'm off. Keep up."
With that, those long legs tightened around the horse, spurring it into
a gallop.
Mo Ran stood rooted in place for several moments. He picked up the
bamboo basket, still half-filled with the alfalfa flowers he'd been feeding
the horses, and tied it to the white horse's saddle before leaping up himself,
caught between laughter and tears. "But Shizun, the black horse is mine,
don't just… Shizun! Wait for me!"
On the backs of their swift horses, they arrived at Yuliang Village
within the hour. A few acres of rice paddies stretched along the border of
the village, and the breeze rolled in waves through the fields of golden
grain. Some thirty-odd farmers toiled away in the paddies.
Due to the shortage of helping hands, young and old alike were
working the fields, backs bent low and trouser legs rolled up as they swung
their sickles, beads of sweat dripping from their faces with the exertion.
Without any delay, Mo Ran found the village chief, handed him the letter of
commission from Xue Zhengyong, then stepped into a pair of hemp shoes
and made for the fields.
Mo Ran had both strength and stamina aplenty and was a cultivator to
boot; harvesting crops was no trouble for him. In less than half a day, he'd
harvested two whole rows of rice. As the golden ears piled up next to the
paddy fields, soaking up the sunlight, the sweet scent of grain wafted
through the air. The sound of the farmers' sickles rustled across the
plateaus, and a maiden sat on the ridge between the paddy fields, singing a
leisurely farming song as she gathered the grains:
"The sun setting behind a mountain shines like a red flower,
Painting all four mountains red, oh, red like peonies.
A red fan to sing my love song, a hydrangea to ask my loverboy,
Tugging at his belt, when are you coming?
Today I have no time, tomorrow I must chop firewood,
The day after I can come calling."
The farmer girl blithely sang these coy lyrics in that soft little tune,
and the words drifted through the air and slipped into the hearts of the
listeners.
"Today—I have no time, tomorrow I must chop firewood, the day
after—I can come calling."
Chu Wanning did not go to work in the fields. Instead, he sat under a
tree drinking from a jar of hot water. His eyes followed that black-clad,
hard-working silhouette in the distance as he listened. His thoughts were all
over the place, and the water he swallowed seemed to flow into his chest
rather than his stomach, soaking it with heat.
"What an obscene song," he said coldly when he'd finished the water.
He rose to return the ceramic jar to the village chief, who stared hesitantly
at him. Chu Wanning asked irritably, "What is it?"
"Is…Xianjun not…going to work the fields?" The wizened village
chief was a straightforward man. He directly answered the question in his
shaky voice, white beard trembling and white brows creased. "Is Xianjun…
just here to oversee things?"
Chu Wanning didn't know how to reply. Never before had he been
put on the spot like this. Work the fields…? Hadn't Xue Zhengyong said he
could just sit on the side and watch Mo Ran? Did he actually have to work
too? He didn't know how!
But the old village chief was staring at him like he still had more to
say, and a couple of kids and old women nearby, having heard the
exchange, turned to stare at this immaculately dressed man.
Children hold nothing back. A little kid with his hair in buns asked
brightly, "Granny, Granny, this daozhang-gege is all dressed in white. How
is he going to do any work in the fields?"
"His sleeves are so wide…" Another kid murmured.
"And his shoes are so clean…"
Chu Wanning prickled all over with awkwardness. He stood there for
a moment, but he was really too thin-skinned to remain idle after what he'd
heard. He grabbed a sickle and waded into the paddy field without even
removing his shoes. The slippery mud immediately clung to his feet, and
the standing water rose past his ankles. Chu Wanning took two ginger steps,
frowning at how slick everything felt, then tried swinging the sickle a
couple of times. It was a fumbling attempt, as he knew nothing of the
technique.
"Pfft…this daozhang-gege's such a dum-dum." A pair of little kids
watching from under the mulberry tree laughed with their cheeks propped
in their hands.
Chu Wanning fumed silently, his face darkening. He couldn't stand to
be near these people a moment longer; he summoned all the poise he
possessed to keep his handsome face straight and his pace steady as he
waded through the mud in great strides toward the figure busily cutting rice
in the distance. The saying went that one could always learn from others;
well, he was going to learn it on the sly. He stealthily observed Mo Ran at
work.
When it came to farm work, Mo Ran was clearly more skilled than
Chu Wanning. He was bent over under the blazing sun, each swing of his
sickle reaping sheaves of golden rice that fell softly and obediently into his
waiting embrace. He gathered large armfuls before tossing them into the
bamboo basket behind him.
So absorbed was he in the task that he didn't even notice Chu
Wanning's approach. His gaze was focused downward as he worked
diligently, his straight nose casting a shadow across his cheek as a bead of
sweat trickled down. A feral scent emanated from his body, scorching and
wild, muted yet fervent. Under the sunlight, his skin was like red-hot steel
that had just come out of the crucible, still crackling with sparks and hissing
with steam—blindingly bright, beautifully brilliant.
Standing a short distance away, Chu Wanning enjoyed the view for a
while before abruptly realizing what he was doing. He frowned, shook his
head, and muttered something under his breath, then continued wading
forward with a straight face. He was going to learn, sneakily! He was just
going to observe how Mo Ran held the sickle and what angle he swung it at.
He would find out why the rice that was stiff as iron wires in his own hands
became pliant as boneless maidens in Mo Ran's, falling so willingly and
eagerly into his arms.
Chu Wanning was so absorbed in watching that he didn't notice the
frog by his foot until it leapt up with a loud "Ribbit!" and hopped off
toward the ridge. Caught by surprise, he jerked his leg back. But the paddy
field was too slippery, and he was too unprepared. So it was that the great
Yuheng Elder tipped forward, on track for a direct faceplant into the mud,
all because of a single brazen frog!
With his face about to meet the mire, Chu Wanning had no time to
cast anything. On reflex, he reached out to grab at the hard-working person
before him.
The village maiden's singing sounded even more coquettish.
"Tugging at his belt—when are you coming—"
As luck would have it, Chu Wanning latched onto Mo Ran's belt and
stumbled forward a few steps to fall against a broad chest that was hot to
the touch and musky with masculine scent, finding himself wrapped in a
pair of strong, solid arms.