Flying flower isle might have been poor, but its wealthiest
merchant had clearly enjoyed some success and lived in ostentatious luxury.
The woman was attired in a loose satin robe spangled all over with a golden
bat motif, which she wore under a coat made of top-grade snow silk from
Kunlun Taxue Palace. Her long, gray-streaked hair was pulled sleekly back
and adorned with exquisite hairpins inlaid with kingfisher feathers and
flowers made of strung-together pearls. Her eyebrows were drawn in using
opulent pigment from conch shells, her skin was powdered and oiled, and
her lips were daubed with crimson. A delicate strand of pearls encircled her
neck, and a pair of gleaming gold earrings, set with rubies the size of
pigeon's eggs, swung ponderously from her earlobes.
She was over fifty at a glance, her youth long faded—an impression
reinforced by her rather stout figure and deeply lined face. With some
tasteful styling she would have looked well enough, but she clearly thought
her beauty proportional to the number of luxurious items she wore.
Consequently, beneath this pile of jewels, she resembled nothing so much
as a miserly old turtle garnished with red chilis and green onions.
This cunning merchant owned a full half of the land on the small
Flying Flower Isle. Even the village elder didn't dare say a word against
her. As the sun climbed in the sky, she strolled into the public square. A
redwood taishi chair carved with bats and deer had already been set out for
her. She took a seat and studied the refugees from Linyi.
"What were you thinking?" She raised heavy-lidded eyes to shoot a
calculating glance at the village elder. "They haven't paid a single copper,
yet you've given them rooms? And there's the matter of the food—how
much have they eaten?"
"Not much… It was only leftovers from the villagers, things they
couldn't finish," the village elder mumbled.
The merchant snorted prissily. "You still ought to charge for it. Was
this rice and wheat not grown on my land? Seeing as the harvest was poor
this year, I provided every family with ten catties of barley flour and a jar of
oil from my own storehouse. Now, I don't mind feeding you, we're all
islanders here—but surely you'd think twice before giving away Third
Lady Sun's grain to these refugees from Linyi?"
"Third Lady is correct, of course," the village elder smiled. "But
look, don't you feel pity for these little girls and old men out here in the
cold? You're a kind soul, so why not let it go?"
The merchant opened her beady eyes wide. "Let it go? How could I?
Money makes the world go round, you know."
The village elder was rendered speechless.
"How much did each family give them to eat?" the merchant asked.
"I've asked you to tally the amount. Are you done yet?"
The village elder replied helplessly, "Yes, we've counted everything."
He held out a small booklet for the merchant, Third Lady Sun. With a
raucous jangle, Third Lady Sun raised her hand; she sported nine colorful
bracelets on her right wrist alone. Gold, silver, and jade bangles inlaid with
assorted gemstones covered nearly half her forearm. "Hmph." She leafed lazily through the booklet, then closed it. After
making a few quick calculations on her fingers, she pronounced, "Such
gluttons. All of you must have been born in the year of the pig. You've
wolfed down twenty-six of the island's mantou—our mantou are quite
large, so ninety silver's more than reasonable. You drank half a vat of fresh
water, which I brought over from Linyi myself. I bought each vat for three
gold, so with the transportation cost included, I'll sell them to you for four
gold each—that's two gold for half. So that'll be two gold, ninety silver in
total. One more thing. Zhang-jie."
The kindly-looking woman whom she had addressed jumped and
looked up. "Ah, Third Lady."
Third Lady Sun smiled. "The mantou you make are so delicious
because you add lard to the dough. That must also be accounted for."
"Um… I only used a tiny dab of lard for ten mantou. How would
I account for such a small amount?"
"What's so hard about that? Ten mantou, a dab of lard—I'll charge
one copper coin for the lot, that's very fair."
The other woman stared silently.
"So that's two gold, ninety silver, and one copper all together," said
Third Lady Sun. "Plus, you're all sleeping in rooms on my land. The rooms
might not be mine, but the land most assuredly is. You slept for an hour, so
that'll be seventy coppers per person." She turned to the attendant next to
her. "How many refugees are there here?"
"Third Lady, there are forty-nine in total."
"That's not right—weren't there fifty-one before? Where are the
other two?"
Before her words had faded, she heard a low voice answer, "Right
here."
Although Chu Wanning wore robes of silvery-blue instead of his
customary white, he looked as frostily imposing as ever. His elegant
phoenix eyes were bright and clear, his pupils haughty and cold as an
unsheathed dagger.
Third Lady Sun was a commoner, but cultivators didn't frighten her.
She had been a businesswoman for most of her life, fussing over and
haggling for every coin. But all her operations were aboveboard, and she
had always steered clear of evildoers. She said evenly, "I see you're a
cultivator, so it's no wonder you don't need to sleep. You're the one who
rescued these people and brought them here, right? You've come just in
time—hurry up and hand over the money."
"Third Lady, these two aren't from Rufeng Sect," the village elder
said in a low voice. "They're cultivators from Sisheng Peak, you needn't be
so…"
"I don't care what sect they're from—I answer to coin, not people."
Chu Wanning glanced at the shivering refugees huddled together in
the cold. With a wave of his hand, he brought down a red-gold barrier to
keep out the chill. Then he turned. "How much are you asking?"
"Two gold, ninety-three silver, and four-hundred-thirty copper."
Loathsome Third Lady Sun might be, but they had nowhere else to
go. Chu Wanning understood that if he crossed her, the consequences would
fall not on him but on those he'd brought here. Face sullen, he fished his
money bag from his qiankun pouch and tossed it to her.
"There's about eighty gold in there." Most of his money was still
with Xue Zhengyong; he didn't have much on him at all. "We'll stay for
seven days or so. See if that's enough."
"It's not."
Third Lady Sun would never lift a finger herself. She summarily
passed the bag to her assistant to count the money. "Eighty gold will cover
your stay for three days at most, and I haven't even accounted for the cost
of food."
"You—!"
"If Xianjun isn't convinced, allow me to show you an itemized bill. A
businesswoman knows money—we can go through it line by line if you
like."
By then, Mo Ran had hurried over. He didn't have much money on
him either. With both their finances pooled, they barely had enough to cover
four days of food and lodging for fifty-one people.
Third Lady Sun took the coins and drew her vivid red lips up into a
smile. "You can stay for four days. After that, I don't care whether the
inferno's gone out—if you don't have the money, you need to go."
In the interest of reducing their expenses, Chu Wanning skipped
dinner that night. He cast a messenger haitang over the sea in an attempt to
contact Xue Zhengyong, then returned to the little cottage he'd been
assigned.
The dwelling was even cruder than the one he'd stayed in during the
harvest at Yuliang Village. Because there wasn't much vacant housing on
the island, the refugees were all crammed together. Chu Wanning wasn't
accustomed to sharing a room with strangers, so he'd doubled up with
Mo Ran. The humble cottage's candle had been lit, but Mo Ran wasn't
inside—where he had gone off to, Chu Wanning didn't know.
Chu Wanning shrugged off his outer robe. It was a luxurious garment
to be sure, but the material really wasn't any finer than the everyday white
he favored, and it was by now stained with blood and ash from the
apocalyptic fire. He had filled a wooden bucket with hot water and was
about to start washing when the door creaked.
Chu Wanning looked up at Mo Ran. "Where'd you go? It's late."
Mo Ran stepped into the room with a woven bamboo food box
tucked into his robe to protect against the chill wind. He met Chu
Wanning's gaze, the tip of his nose red from the cold, and grinned. "I went
to Third Lady's manor to beg for food."
Chu Wanning stared at him. "You went to beg for food?"
"Just kidding," Mo Ran said. "But I did bring some dinner."
"What is it?"
"Mantou." Mo Ran looked apologetic. "And a bowl of fish soup, and
red-braised pork—no dessert, unfortunately. That Third Lady Sun was
staring me down and all the villagers are scared of her, so no one dared give
me more. I went to her manor and traded my silver dagger for this."
Chu Wanning frowned. "That woman is heartless. I remember that
dagger—there's a spiritual stone set in the hilt. How did you get so little for
it?"
"It wasn't just this. I haggled for fifty-one meals, one for everyone.
I watched the kitchen send them out," Mo Ran said with a smile. "So don't
worry about the others, Shizun—just eat up."
Chu Wanning really was quite hungry. He sat at the table and applied
himself to the hot fish soup before nibbling on the mantou and braised pork.
Third Lady Sun was a stingy woman, so the meat was both meager and
greasy, not at all to Chu Wanning's taste. But the steamed bun dipped in
soup wasn't bad at all. After he finished one, he started on his second.
Mo Ran glanced at the steaming bucket of water. "Shizun, you're
doing laundry?" he asked.
"Mn."
"If it's just your outer robe, I can wash it for you."
"There's no need, I can do it myself."
"It's fine. I wanted to do my laundry anyway, so this is perfect," said
Mo Ran.
He stepped over to the bed to grab the clothes he'd changed out of
earlier and hauled the wooden bucket outside. As he looked up at the bright
moon in the courtyard, Mo Ran wondered how Xue Meng, his uncle, and
the rest were doing, and where Ye Wangxi and Nangong Si were now. He
gazed out to sea, toward the great inferno still surging like a bloody tide,
smoke scorching the heavens.
He wondered about Song Qiutong…and also about that other person.
The one for whom he harbored such bone-deep hatred that he'd slaughtered
every soul in Rufeng Sect in the past life. Both had probably lost their lives
to the sea of flames.
Mo Ran heaved a sigh and set the thought aside. He put down the
wooden bucket, added some cold water from the cistern, and rolled up his
sleeves to wash the clothes.
When it came to assembling automatons or writing scrolls, Chu
Wanning was thorough and methodical to a fault. But it all went to
shambles as soon as he attempted such domestic tasks as laundry or
cooking. For instance, Mo Ran always checked his own pockets and
qiankun pouch before soaking his clothes to ensure nothing important got
wet. But Chu Wanning often forgot this mundane step. Mo Ran mutely
fished item after random item out of Chu Wanning's robes.
What was all this? A haitang handkerchief. Okay, fairly normal. An
assortment of medicines. Also reasonable. A handful of candy…
Mo Ran was at a loss. Upon closer inspection, he realized they were
the milk candies he'd given Chu Wanning back in Yuliang Village. How
hadn't he finished them yet?
He continued rummaging. A second later, Mo Ran flinched. An
Exploding Talisman? His face went ashen with terror as he lifted the damp
paper talisman out of the water. How careless could Chu Wanning be? He'd
just stuck this Exploding Talisman in his pocket without any safeguard?
Even if the chances of it catching fire and self-detonating were slim, it was
still appallingly risky. Was this his idea of a joke?
Mo Ran frowned and hurriedly sifted through Chu Wanning's clothes
again. After extracting all the Exploding Talismans, Freezing Talismans,
and Soul-Soothing Talismans, he discovered that Chu Wanning had even
left behind the Rising Dragon Talisman, with that tiny dragon drawing. If he
hadn't checked, these paper talismans would've had a nice long soak, and
most of them would've been ruined. Seriously, what was he to do with this
man… Mo Ran shook his head in exasperation and resolved never again to
allow his shizun to do his own laundry.
Just then, a small object, the soft white of lotus root, slipped from an
inner pocket. Distracted, Mo Ran assumed it was yet another spiritual
talisman. He picked it up and glanced at it briefly.
That glance was enough to stop him in his tracks. What he held was
an old brocade pouch embroidered with flowers of the silk tree, their once
brilliant petals dimmed with age. Mo Ran felt at once incredulous and
bemused; this object seemed vaguely familiar. He must have seen it
somewhere before, long enough ago that he couldn't immediately recall
where or when.
As Mo Ran rubbed the little brocade pouch, dark eyebrows knitting
together, light and shadow chased each other through his eyes. Memories
flitted past as he sought those blooming flowers amidst the rushing tides of
time. The fine fabric, slightly cool against his fingers, had faded over the
course of the years. He peered at it closely as he turned it over in his hand,
but the memory eluded him.
Fearing something dangerous lurked inside—another Exploding
Talisman, perhaps—he opened the pouch to take a look.
He was struck dumb by what he saw.
It was a lock of hair. No—upon closer examination, it was two locks
of hair, tied and coiled together, inextricably linked. Despite the passage of
time, they had managed to remain intertwined, keeping each other
company. What looked like a singular piece was actually two black locks,
long loath to part.
"Hair?" Mo Ran's heart fluttered as realization dawned. "A brocade
pouch…" he muttered. "A brocade pouch, with silk-tree flowers…"
Suddenly he remembered. The memory burst to life like fire in his
heart, setting his whole chest aflame. His eyes flew wide in astonishment.
The ghost mistress.
He remembered.
The golden boys and jade maidens from Butterfly Town, sharing a
cup of wine, the mass ceremony, cutting their hair in oath, entwining their
hair in union—he remembered…
Henceforth two souls shall be united, through heaven or hell never to
part.
He…remembered.
He remembered!
Before Butterfly Town's ghost mistress, he and Chu Wanning were
married in the ghost ceremony. The golden boys and jade maidens had cut
from each a lock of hair and placed them together in a silk-tree flower
brocade pouch, which Chu Wanning had accepted. This right here was that
very brocade pouch.
"But…how?" Mo Ran's ears rang, his heart pounded. He was
mystified. "How could this be…"
He clutched the brocade pouch, his hand trembling minutely. An
unsettled light leapt within his eyes, flashing between amazement, shock,
disbelief, confusion, ecstasy—even sorrow.
Shizun… Chu Wanning… Why—why would he… Why would he
have kept this?