TSLSILMH Ch 32

Chapter 32

As soon as the elder monk’s words fell, subtle changes passed over everyone’s expressions.

Yu Chuxi’s eyes widened slightly. Never had he expected that, by coincidence, the abbot of Qixia Monastery would be entertaining a guest today, leaving one fewer room than they had reserved.

Almost instinctively, Yu Chuxi glanced toward Xie Shu.

But when he noticed the sudden furrow of Xie Shu’s brow, the faint, secret delight that had just flickered in his own heart vanished without a trace.

Seeing Yu Chuxi fail to answer at once, the elder monk couldn’t help but overthink. Though Yu Shizhu had indeed taken a spouse three years prior, never had he appeared with his partner, nor spoken of him. If not for how well-matched the two looked together now, he might have suspected otherwise…

The very next moment, Yu Chuxi’s expression smoothed into a faint smile. His voice calm, he said, “It’s no matter; let it be so.”

Relieved by his ready agreement, the elder monk at once dismissed his earlier musings, thanking him for his understanding. Leading the way, he personally escorted the two into the temple’s main hall for blessings.

Along the path, Xie Shu longed to speak with Yu Chuxi. Yet with the Young Lord walking beside the elder monk, no chance presented itself.

Only when they reached the main hall to offer incense did Xie Shu set the thought aside.

The temple’s halls towered in solemn grandeur, its Buddha statues shining with austere majesty. Smoke curled upward from incense still burning at the altar, while robed monks sat cross-legged, softly chanting sutras. The rhythmic knock of the wooden fish echoed in steady cadence, steeping the space in reverence.

Taking three sticks of incense, Xie Shu prayed silently, following Yu Chuxi’s lead.

By then dusk had fallen. The elder departed upon some matter, and novices arrived to guide them later to their vegetarian meal.

At last, Xie Shu recalled the issue from before. “Young Lord, since there are not enough rooms, I’ll stay with Xi Mo and the others—”

Before he could finish, Yu Chuxi’s voice cut coldly across: “Do you mean to mock me?”

Xie Shu was startled—never had his Young Lord spoken such harsh words. Looking quickly at him, he saw his usual warmth gone, replaced with an aloof chill, his beautiful features sharpened by the glow of sunset into something cold and unyielding.

Xie Shu’s heart clenched. Suddenly, he understood the cause of Yu Chuxi’s anger.

Though they were married in name, few outsiders knew it. In another’s eyes, what conclusions could they draw?

Seeing the sorrow behind his lover’s eyes, Xie Shu stammered an explanation: “Young Lord, I didn’t mean it that way. I only feared to impose upon you…”

Yu Chuxi had surmised as much, yet watching him hurry to explain so anxiously, his heart tangled. Should he resent Xie Shu for still insisting upon drawing that clear dividing line between them even now? Or rage that Xie Shu clung so tightly to courtesy, so cautious in every step?

As conflict churned within him, he then heard Xie Shu’s gentle voice, quiet and tender: “If the Young Lord does not despise me…”

Yu Chuxi pressed his lips together, averting his gaze, unwilling to answer.

Behind Qixia Monastery, upon the mountain ridges, stood a long pavilion.

Though one side faced sheer cliffs and perilous drops, it was a perfect place to appreciate the scenery.

Beside the pavilion grew an ancient pine, branches shielding rain and sun, seeming to pierce the high endless skies, to brush against the sea of clouds and mist.

Within the pavilion, two men sat across a go board. To the left, robed in crimson cotton cassock, was none other than Master Xuanzhen, abbot of Qixia Monastery. Opposite him, dressed simply in cotton shoes and coarse cloth, sat a man who looked no different from common folk.

Xuanzhen smiled as he played his stone. “Brother Jiang, I never thought you would choose this moment to retire.”

His companion was Jiang Hong, once the Grand Academician and Chancellor of the Imperial Academy. Who would have imagined that this celebrated scholar, famed throughout the realm, would look so plain? Or that his first action upon returning to Jinling would be to visit here?

Jiang Hong chuckled at himself. “Isn’t that what old age is for?”

Xuanzhen showed disbelief. “Retirement is usually at seventy. Brother Jiang, you look hale yet. I heard His Majesty sought repeatedly to keep you.”

Jiang Hong only shook his head. The truth was far less than the rumors—His Majesty had simply held onto his letter of retirement for a time, as procedure dictated.

“It’s not that I don’t wish to stay,” Jiang Hong explained, “it’s that I cannot remain.”

Xuanzhen was astonished. “But why? You were Chancellor of the Imperial Academy. That’s a stable post, it should not be so.”

One could hardly blame him. After all, the Imperial Academy was the highest institution of Great Qing, situated in the capital. Its chancellor, a fourth-ranked official, was like the academy’s principal, charged with overseeing learning and examinations. It was as secure a position as one could imagine. So why must he leave?

Jiang Hong’s aged eyes narrowed, a cold smile touching his lips. Perhaps to no one else could he say it, save to this old friend. “You know that since the late emperor chose to continue the former dynasty’s policy of broad examinations, many men of humble birth have come into office. Yet at the Academy, old customs persisted. Apart from a handful of select provincial candidates, the majority remained princes of the royal line or sons of officials of the third rank or higher.

The wedge between aristocrats and common-born grows deeper each year. Can such a system foster integrity? But to soothe unrest, His Majesty refuses to reform the institution. Yet surely the highest academy cannot fall behind all others—that pressure, can you imagine it?”

There was yet more unspoken: that the Academy had already become enmeshed in the rivalry between two imperial princes. And that was the truest reason Jiang Hong had chosen to retreat.

Xuanzhen sighed again and again, understanding at last. No wonder his friend had left at the height of renown.

Quickly changing the subject, he asked, “Enough then. Now that you’ve returned, what will you do?”

Jiang Hong gave a half-jesting sigh. “It’s been twenty years. My old friends long gone. Perhaps I shall simply find a place to live quietly.”

Xuanzhen scoffed, smiling. “A man of your learning, choosing mere seclusion? What a pity! And I know for certain: word of your return has already stirred many in Jinling—they’re ready to offer fortunes just for a chance to study under you. If you so much as give a nod, I will send word beyond these walls at once.”

Though Jiang Hong’s face betrayed no change, a flash of disdain colored his eyes. “Gold dazzles the sight and ambition consumes the heart. If I sought such things, why bother returning to Jinling?”

Xuanzhen let the matter go with a laugh. Both had changed—one an eminent scholar, the other a venerable abbot—yet friendship endured.

Still, Xuanzhen pressed once more. “And you truly will not take another disciple?”

Jiang Hong hesitated. His mind flickered to the young man he had glimpsed on the mountain path earlier.

That one’s bearing, speech, and very spirit had impressed him greatly. Especially those words—‘through personal practice’—struck his heart.

Yet still, of all matters, he was most cautious in accepting students. One mistake could ruin everything.

At length, Jiang Hong said only: “We shall see.”

Just then, the elder returned reporting: “Abbot, I have informed Benefactor Yu, and he agreed.”

When he left again, Jiang Hong mused aloud, “Your temple prospers indeed. Do you know whose lodging I displaced today?”

Xuanzhen laughed. “A trifle to say—it was none other than Jinling’s great Yu family…”

Meanwhile, guided by novices, Xie Shu and Yu Chuxi sat to their meal.

Xie Shu had never before eaten a temple’s vegetarian fare—and was surprised by how delicious it was.

Mushrooms foraged from the wild, fresh fruits, forest greens—their preparation was every bit as intricate and refined as the finest taverns.

Clearly, Qixia Monastery’s vegetarian cuisine was one of its marvels.

After dinner, they watched the mountain sunset sink into dusk. It was time to rest.

Their Zen quarters lay in a quiet courtyard shaded by pines and bamboo, the rooms filled with sandalwood furnishings, clean and simple.

Inside, the sparse furnishings added to the sense of pure seclusion: but one bed and one chair.

Though a little uneasy, Xie Shu was comforted that Feng He and the others were also nearby.

At that moment, Feng He was helping the Young Lord wash. Taking her chance, she slipped a small box of ointment into his hand.

Yu Chuxi nearly dropped it at once.

Feng He panicked, waving for him to hide it before Xie Shu noticed. He accepted it stiffly, muttering, “What am I to do with this?”

Smug, she leaned close: “Young Lord, after all that walking, your legs must be sore. Let Master Xie rub them for you with this salve!”

Searching the packs earlier, she had thought of the bone-strengthening lotion for bruises and strains—and now she was pleased with her foresight. With it, not only would the Young Lord recover quickly, but also win a chance for closeness.

Expecting praise, she smiled brightly.

Yu Chuxi’s gaze shifted from tangled to appreciative. Truly, a clever idea…

But when night came, reality proved far less simple.

First, the bed was even larger than expected. Once he lay on one side, Xie Shu joined him on the other, careful to keep his distance, lying stiff at the edge, motionless.

How then was Yu Chuxi to find an excuse to move closer?

Second, though he wished to bring out the ointment, to thrust it upon him would seem much too blatant.

So it was that beneath a pale moon, while the world hushed into silence, Yu Chuxi still had not made a move. Instead, his overtaxed legs began to throb unbearably—aching, swelling, too painful to bear.

Breath uneven, unable to sleep, Yu Chuxi turned quietly, facing Xie Shu in the dim silence.

There he lay, unmoving, eyes closed, chest rising and falling softly. Though lying beside him, Xie Shu somehow felt out of reach.

Xie Shu dared not open his eyes—for he knew his Young Lord was watching. He could all but inhale his faint sweetness, its subtle fragrance winding through the quiet night, intangible yet intoxicating.

And then—he felt a gentle, heated pressure brush against his side. From it came a muffled, aggrieved voice:

“Xie Shu… my legs hurt.”