CHU WANNING THOUGHT he was lying on a bed somewhere, his head heavy. At times his awareness would clear, only to soon grow hazy again.
He had seemed to hear two people arguing. It sounded like Shi Mei and Mo Ran. Then their voices faded, and his ears were filled with the whistling of the wind.
Later, he seemed to be lying under a warm blanket as someone spoke to him. Their fragmented voice sounded like it was coming to him across a vast ocean. He made out one word here and another there—something about a past life, and a shizun. He thought this person, too, sounded like Shi Mei, but he had no energy to ponder it further. Their speech quickly dissolved into nothingness, like morning mist.
Slowly, his memories filled out and sharpened. His recollections of the past lifetime swelled like rainwater flowing into a river, ultimately rushing into the sea.
The first place he dreamed of was a long, shady veranda on Sisheng Peak, behind the Red Lotus Pavilion. Flowering wisteria vines wound over the roof of the corridor, their fragrant petals falling like snow whenever the wind rose.
He was sitting under the awning, writing letters at a stone table. They were letters he had no way of sending. Emperor Taxian-jun didn't permit him contact with anyone outside the palace, nor was he allowed to keep pigeons or any other animals. The Red Lotus Pavilion was enchanted with countless alarm sigils to ward off any possible escape. Yet Chu Wanning continued to write.
It was a lonely existence. In this corner of the world there was only him, and he'd probably live out the rest of his days the same way. To say it wasn't depressing would be a lie.
He addressed his letter to Xue Meng. There wasn't much to write: He asked about recent happenings, whether Xue Meng was well, about circumstances on the outside, how his old friends were doing.
Although, to be fair, Chu Wanning really didn't have any old friends left.
He wrote slowly over the course of an afternoon, but the content of his letter amounted to nothing much. Toward the end, his mind began to wander. He found himself reminiscing about the peaceful days when he had three little disciples by his side. How he'd once taught them to hold a brush, to write poetry, and to paint.
Xue Meng and Shi Mei were both quick studies, but Mo Ran would still make mistakes after practicing a character three or four times. Chu Wanning had needed to guide his hand with his own to teach him properly.
What did they write back then?
As Chu Wanning sat lost in thought, his hand moved, and the ink flowed from his brush onto the fine writing paper.
First he wrote, The body is the tree of enlightenment, the heart is the bright mirror's stand.2 Then, The lives of mortals have no roots, floating about like dust on the road.3 One stroke after another, not a single line out of place. Regardless of what he wrote, his characters were crisp and carefully composed. He wanted to ensure those reading would be able to understand; he didn't want to set a bad example for his disciples. His handwriting resembled his person—straight-backed and proud.
He wrote, I know not where those dear to me remain, and The seas are vast, the mountains distant.4
The wisteria vines trembled in the wind, their petals landing on the paper. He didn't have the heart to brush them away. Gazing at those lovely scraps of pale purple, his brush moved again: As late spring sheds the color of haitang, I remember the bygone warmth of gentle rain.
The words rose and fell under his brush as the meter ebbed and flowed.
If I were a star and you a moon, we could shine together every night.5
As he wrote, his gaze unconsciously softened, as if he had returned to the serenity of yesteryear.
The wind picked up again, rustling his papers. The pages he hadn't weighed down flew into the air and scattered across the ground dappled with afternoon sunlight. Chu Wanning set down his brush and sighed. He knelt to collect the papers containing his letter and verses of poetry.
The pages had landed on the grass and steps, drifting over the fallen petals and withered twigs. He was about to reach for one among the scattered flowers when a strong, slender hand reached out and grabbed it first.
"What are you writing?"
Caught off guard, Chu Wanning straightened. Before him stood a tall, handsome man. Emperor Taxian-jun—Mo Weiyu—had at some point made his way into the pavilion.
"Nothing," said Chu Wanning after a pause.
Mo Ran was dressed in luxurious robes of black and gold and wore a nine-tasseled crown. On one of his pale, elegant fingers sat a dragonscale ring. He had apparently just returned from court. Mo Ran glanced coolly at Chu Wanning, then shook out the fine writing paper in his hand and scanned it. His eyes narrowed. "'I hope you may greet these words with a smile, for writing is akin to reuniting'…" After a beat of silence, he looked up. "What does this mean?"
"Nothing really." Chu Wanning reached for the letter, but before he could take it, Mo Ran blocked him.
"Oh no you don't," Mo Ran said. "What're you getting all anxious for?" He looked down and read a few more lines, then said drily, "Oh, you're writing to Xue Meng?"
"I was only writing out of idleness." Chu Wanning didn't wish to implicate anyone else. "I wasn't planning to send it."
Mo Ran snorted derisively. "You couldn't even if you wanted to."
There was nothing for Chu Wanning to say. He turned to tidy away the ink and paper on the table. To his surprise, Taxian-jun followed him. With a snap of his black and gold sleeve, he slapped a hand over the page Chu Wanning was about to pick up.
Chu Wanning looked up, his phoenix eyes fixing on Taxian-jun's frowning face. He hesitated, then thought, Forget it. Let him have it if he wants. Chu Wanning reached for another piece of paper, only for Mo Ran to pin that one in place too.
Mo Ran continued confiscating all the pages Chu Wanning tried to take until Chu Wanning ran out of patience. Unable to guess what lay behind Mo Ran's bizarre antics, he lifted his lashes and said through gritted teeth, "What do you want?"
"'I hope you may greet these words with a smile, for writing is akin to reuniting.' What does it mean?" Mo Ran stared at him, eyes dark, thin lips parted slightly in expectation. "Explain."
Beneath the scattered light and shadow, as the blossoms and leaves swayed gently on the vines, Chu Wanning couldn't help but recall Mo Ran as he had been years ago, when he'd just become his disciple. Mo Ran had smiled and spoken so softly back then, asking him deferentially, Shizun, what does "the body is the tree of enlightenment, the heart is the bright mirror's stand" mean? Shizun, could you teach me? In comparison, the present Taxian-jun's brusque manner sent a twinge of pain through Chu Wanning's chest. He let his head fall and closed his eyes without answering.
Chu Wanning's silence served to further dampen Taxian-jun's mood. He lifted page after page from the table, his eyes narrowing dangerously as he read on. This man, who had come up with a reigning title that sounded like "Year of Cock," muttered to himself, exhausting all his wits as he peered at the words on the paper. At last, glum, he swept all the letters off the table onto the ground and looked up coldly. "Chu Wanning, you miss him."
"I do not." Chu Wanning had no interest in bickering with Taxian-jun and turned on his heel to leave. Before he could take a single step, he felt a hand yank his sleeve and another snap viciously around his chin. The world spun before his eyes.
When it righted itself, his back was flat against the stone table. Mo Ran's grip was so strong and unrelenting that bruises were already purpling across Chu Wanning's cheeks. Sunlight glimmered through the vines and into Chu Wanning's eyes, which reflected Taxian-jun's distorted face. His features were handsome, bone-pale, and sparking with heat.
Emperor Taxian-jun knew not the meaning of shame; he began to paw at Chu Wanning's robes right out in the open. For him to pin Chu Wanning against the table could mean any number of things, but this forceful disrobing narrowed the possibilities to one. Chu Wanning's humiliation made him furious. "Mo Weiyu!" he yelled.
The rage and despair in his voice did nothing to quell the fire in Mo Ran's loins. On the contrary, they were like a ladleful of hot oil that sent the flames roaring higher. When Mo Ran entered him, Chu Wanning only felt a searing pain. He refused to cling to Mo Ran's back. He could only grip the edge of the table with spasming fingers, gasping roughly for breath. "You beast…"
Mo Ran's eyes seemed shrouded in bloody mist. He was unfazed at being called a beast, only leering down at Chu Wanning. "Fine, don't explain those words," he said. "This venerable one shouldn't have asked you anyway. You're no longer this venerable one's shizun these days—not by any measure."
His movements were quick and harsh. He chased his own pleasure with single-minded focus, sparing no thought for Chu Wanning's comfort.
"What does Wanning amount to these days?" he gritted out. "You're just a consort, another piece of my personal property… Spread your legs a little wider for this venerable one."
After a time, Mo Ran flipped him onto his stomach. Papers and ink tumbled from the table, and brushes clattered to the ground. Pinned against the tabletop, Chu Wanning's body throbbed with agony, and his eyes were filled with boundless chaos. He looked at those verses before him.
The heart is the bright mirror's stand…
I know not where those dear to me remain.
The seas are vast…the mountains distant.
The words were like a condemnation.
He saw Mo Ran as a youth, smiling at him, his dark lashes fluttering like butterfly pea blossoms stained black with ink. But all he heard were Taxian-jun's low pants as he defiled him, rasping: "Chu Wanning… Heh, does this venerable one's Consort Chu have someone else in his heart? What is this about 'If I were a star and you a moon, we could shine together every night'?" Mo Ran's voice was filled with lethal menace. "Did you think I wouldn't understand this?"
Chu Wanning gritted his teeth, splayed on the stone of the table. His flesh was bitten and pinched, red marks blooming across his skin, but his phoenix eyes were stubborn. "You don't understand."
He knew voicing any contradiction would worsen his predicament, but he still stubbornly insisted, You don't understand.
You don't understand what it means to have people dear to you. You don't understand why the seas are vast, why the mountains are distant.
You don't understand who's the star and who's the moon.
You…wouldn't be able to understand.
Eventually, that absurd entanglement came to its end, and Mo Ran released him. Chu Wanning's robes were in disarray. He lay sprawled amidst the wisteria petals, surrounded by ink and poetry. The ends of his eyes were stained red, like the lovely color of a rouge flower pinched from its stem. He had bitten his lips bloody.
He sat up slowly and straightened his robes. He'd been a prisoner for such a long time. In the beginning, the pain of captivity had been nigh unbearable. Now, his heart was largely numb. With his core broken, what could he possibly do? All that remained of his so-called dignity was his insistence on dressing himself after the deed was done. He refused to let anyone help.
Meanwhile, Mo Ran sat beside the stone table, poring over those pages of his writing. When he read As late spring sheds the color of haitang, I remember the bygone warmth of gentle rain, his hand paused for a moment on the words gentle rain—Weiyu, his courtesy name. He quickly flipped the page over. Voice mocking, he said, "You've rotted to the bone, yet your handwriting's still so neat."
He tucked that sheaf of papers into his robes and stood. The breeze whispered over his hems, the gold-embroidered imperial motifs glimmering against the dark fabric. "I'm off."
Chu Wanning said nothing.
Mo Ran looked at him askance. His black eyes, framed by the purple blooms on the vines, seemed even darker than usual. "You won't see this venerable one off?"
Within the shifting shadows, Chu Wanning's voice was hoarse. "I taught you this before," he said slowly.
Mo Ran blinked. "What?"
"'I hope you may greet these words with a smile, for writing is akin to reuniting.'" Chu Wanning finally lifted his lashes to look at that man who stood at the apex of the world. "I taught you how to write it. You're the one who forgot."
"You taught me how to write it?" Mo Ran knitted his brows. He no longer seemed to be toying with Chu Wanning; he looked as if he genuinely had no recollection of such a thing. He had meant to leave, but Chu Wanning's words had stopped him in his tracks. "When?"
Watching him, Chu Wanning said, "A very long time ago." With that, he turned and walked back to the Red Lotus Pavilion.
Mo Ran stood rooted to the spot, neither leaving nor following Chu Wanning inside. When Chu Wanning glanced out the window, he saw that Mo Ran had walked back over to the table and was reading the pages left under the paperweights.
Chu Wanning closed the window.
After the torment he'd endured, coupled with him not knowing how to clean himself properly afterward, he soon caught a chill. His illness wasn't serious, and he didn't think Mo Ran would have cause to find out. When Liu-gong came by, he mentioned Song Qiutong had made a bowl of wontons earlier in the day and somehow managed to send Taxian-jun into a towering rage. Not only did he refuse to stay in the empress's quarters, he had stormed out without touching his dinner.
Deep in the night, a heavy rain began to fall, and a servant came to the Red Lotus Pavilion.
"His Majesty has requested that Chu-zongshi rest in the palace tonight."
All these retainers were more than aware of the relationship between Mo Ran and Chu Wanning, yet they still addressed him as Chu-zongshi on Mo Ran's orders. If it wasn't out of some vestigial kindness, then it was out of cruelty.
Chu Wanning felt dreadful. His complexion was wan, and his mood was low. "I won't," he said.
"His Majesty has—"
"I don't care what he has. I'm not going."
The servant had little choice but to leave in silence.
It was no fun going to bed with someone who was unwell. In the past, Mo Ran had never forced himself on Chu Wanning when his health was especially poor. But before long, the same servant returned. While Chu Wanning was beset by a fit of coughing, the servant bowed and said flatly, "His Majesty has requested that Chu-zongshi wait upon him tonight in Wushan Palace, in sickness or in health."