Chapter 55
Chapter 55
The girl who screamed was named Lingling, and the young man with her was Yuanzhi. They were betrothed. Because they were traveling to Yunling Prefecture and night had already fallen, they had decided to spend the night in the abandoned temple.
Lingling had screamed upon seeing Shen Qingyu and Qiao Ying because Yuanzhi had told her a ghost story moments before, leaving her frightened by every shadow.
Not long afterward, two cousins around ten years old entered the temple. The boy’s surname was Li. He was mild, courteous, and poised. The girl’s surname was Ding. Shy and reserved, she stayed close to her cousin’s side. They were heading to Yunling Prefecture in search of relatives.
Then, unexpectedly, a white-haired elderly couple arrived.
The old man had a kindly face and an easygoing manner.
The old woman was equally friendly and wore a constant smile.
They, too, were going to Yunling Prefecture.
Everyone had been soaked to some degree, so Yuanzhi built a fire. They gathered around it to dry their clothes.
Seated beside the flames, Qiao Ying looked from one person to another, her brows drawn tight. She was overwhelmed by a sense of déjà vu, yet could not identify what was wrong. Only Shen Qingyu’s hand around hers kept the unease at bay.
The boy surnamed Li said, “This mountain road is usually deserted. I never expected to meet all of you here.”
The old man replied, “They say this mountain was a bandits’ lair several decades ago. The bandits bullied men, violated women, and committed every evil imaginable. Then a wandering master cast aside his Buddha-nature and became a God of Slaughter, wiping out every bandit on the mountain. Burdened by the weight of his sins, the master later took his own life. People built this temple to honor his memory.”
The old woman continued, “No one knows when rumors began that the place was haunted. Fewer and fewer people came to make offerings, and the temple was gradually abandoned. Everyone is afraid. Not many dare take this road.”
At that, the little girl surnamed Ding grew even more frightened and clutched her cousin’s arm.
“Enough, enough. Those are only rumors. Let’s not talk about anything so frightening.” Warm and outgoing, Lingling kept casting curious glances at the other young couple. Finally, she could not resist asking, “Miss Qiao and Young Master Shen are going to Yunling Prefecture to marry, aren’t you? Have you chosen a wedding date?”
Qiao Ying looked up. “How did you know we were going there to marry?”
Lingling glanced at Shen Qingyu. “Your hair isn’t styled like a married woman’s, so I guessed you weren’t married yet. But you’re obviously lovers; you’re so intimate. Since you’re traveling such a long way to Yunling Prefecture, I thought you must be going to meet his elders. Once you have your parents’ blessing and a matchmaker’s word, you can marry without difficulty.”
“Please don’t misunderstand,” Yuanzhi said. “Lingling and I haven’t settled on our own wedding date, which is why she’s curious about yours.”
Lingling nodded. “Exactly. I wanted something to compare ours with.”
Before Qiao Ying could answer, Shen Qingyu remarked, “The fifteenth is an auspicious day.”
An auspicious day for every demon in existence to run wild.
Qiao Ying held her tongue.
The old woman smiled. “The fifteenth truly is a fine day. The old man and I were married on the fifteenth.”
The old man nodded. “Of all the good days we could have picked, my wife and I chose the fifteenth. It seems we truly share some fate with you two.”
The boy surnamed Li turned to the little girl tucked beside him. “Cousin, since the fifteenth is so auspicious, why don’t we marry on the fifteenth someday?”
The girl surnamed Ding blushed and nodded.
Was the fifteenth really that wonderful a date?
For some reason, Qiao Ying’s sense that something was wrong intensified.
Using a stick, the old man pulled several roasted sweet potatoes from the fire. “They’re ready. We can eat.”
He and his wife had brought the sweet potatoes as provisions. Seeing so many people gathered there, they did not begrudge sharing. They had roasted several in the fire and now passed them around so everyone could have a taste and fill their stomachs.
“We grew these sweet potatoes ourselves,” the old woman said. “They may be peasant fare, but they’re quite tasty.”
The old man handed one to everyone, ending with Qiao Ying.
Rather than accept it immediately, she looked at the person beside her.
Shen Qingyu reached out on her behalf, took the sweet potato, and offered it to her with a smile. “Try it.”
Qiao Ying hastily pulled out her handkerchief and wrapped it around the hot potato in his hand. Leaning close, she asked urgently, “That’s scalding. Don’t your hands hurt?”
She took his hand and meticulously wiped away the ash. Of course something fresh from the fire was hot; a large patch of his palm had been burned red.
As Shen Qingyu felt the gentleness of her movements, a sensation that was inexplicably becoming familiar rose through him again.
He had forgotten the very concept of pain long ago. Some things, once endured too often, became perfectly ordinary, simply another part of the body.
He had stopped caring about pain. Yet Qiao Ying was enticing him, step by step, to understand it anew.
Shen Qingyu bent his back and lowered his head. A disobedient lock of white hair slipped over his shoulder and fell across her skirt. White crossed scarlet in a startlingly vivid contrast.
He asked softly, “Their hands were burned too. Why don’t you care whether they hurt?”
Without even looking up, Qiao Ying answered casually, “Because you and I are close. Naturally, I care most about how you feel.”
Shen Qingyu still did not understand.
The room was full of people, yet she cared only about him.
But Qiao Ying had said that he was the cleverest person of all. He could not fail to grasp it. He searched through scene after scene in his memory, and suddenly smiled with dawning comprehension.
“I understand.”
“What do you understand?” Qiao Ying asked.
“There were many, many others like me in the little house, yet everyone chose me without consulting one another. All their gazes converged upon me. They touched me, desired me, and then eagerly became my friends.”
Qiao Ying’s hand froze against his fingers.
She remembered that “making friends” meant something very different to him than it did to ordinary people.
Shen Qingyu hooked his thumb around her little finger. “So Yingying is the same. In a room full of people, I’m the only one who catches your eye.”
Unable to endure another word, Qiao Ying seized the burned patch on his hand and pressed down hard.
His fingers curled as if he had flinched.
“Are you an idiot? I didn’t choose you because I wanted to make friends with you. I chose you because, out of everyone in the world, you are the one I especially adore.”
The self-satisfied cleverness faded slowly from Shen Qingyu’s smile. Without that smiling mask, his pale face looked utterly blank.
Qiao Ying did not want to debate the matter in front of so many strangers. But when she looked up, the scene before her gave her a start.
The young cousins held hands, asking whether the other had been burned.
The young betrothed couple were also showing concern for each other.
Lingling carefully wiped Yuanzhi’s hand with a handkerchief.
The elderly couple leaned close together as well.
“Old man, are you all right? Did a spark burn your hand?”
“I’m fine. What about you? Did you get burned?”
Every man and woman seated around the fire was asking after the other’s hands.
Qiao Ying looked at Shen Qingyu’s hand in hers, then at the handkerchief she held. Her sense of wrongness grew stronger still.
The rain showed no sign of stopping, and the night became colder and more desolate.
Unable to stay awake, Qiao Ying dragged Shen Qingyu back to their room.
The instant they moved, the other three pairs rose as well, all returning to their rooms to rest.