Chapter 21: The Two Drink Together, Intoxicated by the Spring Light…
Fortunately, Xuanyan was tall and sturdy, possessing immense strength. He shielded Fu Tangli with one arm and pushed through the crowd with the other, moving straight forward, unstoppable.
Fu Tangli’s arm ached from Xuanyan’s grip, but she gritted her teeth and said nothing. In this moment of crisis, she couldn’t afford to be shy and pressed herself tightly against him.
The street grew even more chaotic. Xuanyan was naturally fearless, but with a young lady by his side, he was worried she might get hurt. He quickly scanned their surroundings and decisively pulled Fu Tangli to the base of a high wall. It was the outer wall of a grand residence, a long, solid stretch of towering green brick.
He used his own body to block the flow of the crowd, bracing his hands against the wall, and enclosing Fu Tangli within. He said something to her.
The surroundings were too noisy, her ears were ringing. Fu Tangli couldn’t hear what he was saying, but she understood his lip movements. It was simple, two words.
“Don’t be afraid.”
They were too close. His hand was pressed behind her ear, his wide sleeve draping over her shoulder, and his chest was almost touching the tip of her nose. Unconsciously, his scent had already enveloped her.
In the quiet mountain forest, snow covered the white plum blossoms, the scent of ebony faintly bitter, almost imperceptible.
Countless people were running, screaming, and pushing past them, but under his protection, this small space was a safe harbor.
She couldn’t help but look up at him.
The lanterns hanging high above swayed and fell, the light flickering. His face was so handsome. Against the light, even his sharp features seemed to soften, as if an immortal had descended from the clouds and stepped into the mortal world, right before her eyes.
Only, there was something not quite right about the immortal’s face.
Fu Tangli let out a soft laugh. She had that mischievous look again, biting her lip, her two small dimples flashing.
She stood on her tiptoes, raised her hand, and rubbed his cheek with her sleeve.
The light was too chaotic, and Fu Tangli couldn’t really make out his expression. Suddenly, he seemed to take offense. His body tensed, and a sharp aura pressed down, trying to stop her.
Indeed, the Daoist Master is extremely fond of cleanliness, not even allowing others to touch him slightly. If I ignore him, he’ll probably get even angrier when he notices it himself later.
“Sugar,” she pointed to his cheek and told him. “Here, sugar.”
In the chaos just now, the little sugar person in Fu Tangli’s hand had accidentally touched Xuanyan. Now, the sugar person was gone, but an amber-colored sugar mark was left on his face.
She felt a little guilty and gestured with her fingers. “Let me wipe it clean for you.”
There were too many voices, too much noise. Xuanyan couldn’t hear her clearly.
She reached up again. Through the soft sleeve, he could feel her fingers brushing against his cheek, sticky and sweet. He smelled a scent, like honey, very sweet.
He had a penchant for cleanliness and had never liked outsiders getting close. He should have stopped her impertinence, but perhaps it was because of the clamor of the crowd, surging like a tide, that his own thoughts were in turmoil. For a moment, he couldn’t move and could only maintain that position, letting her be.
She smiled again. Her eyes were beautiful, filled with the moonlight and lanterns of the night, shimmering and flowing. When he looked down at her, it was as if he had caught a glimpse of the misty, gentle rain of the south.
“Sugar,” she smiled, a little cunningly. To make him hear, she raised her voice and unconsciously leaned in a little closer. “It won’t wipe clean. What should I do?”
Her breath brushed against his neck, like the little insect from before crawling from his shoulder to here and taking another bite, an unbearable, bone-deep itch. Suddenly, his heart pounded like a drum, his blood boiling, almost about to burst from his chest.
He thought vaguely, Yes, what should I do?
There was nothing he could do, nothing he could think of. He just stood there, quiet and silent, while the crowd surged behind them, their shouts filling the sky, unmoving and unspeaking.
…
After a long, long time, the Capital Prefecture dispatched troops to control the situation. A large contingent of soldiers with sabers and shields suppressed the rioting crowd, and the chaos gradually subsided. By then, many people were lying on the ground, their wails incessant, cries for their fathers and mothers everywhere.
It was said that a mishap had occurred with the fireworks in Chongye Square, setting a few lanterns on fire. It was not a major incident, but who knew how the rumor had spread, causing a stampede. The officials from the Capital Prefecture on duty were very impatient and were still shouting at the crowd.
Fu Tangli was unharmed. She let out a long sigh of relief. “If it weren’t for the Daoist Master, who knows where I would be now.”
Xuanyan lowered his head slightly, and their eyes met.
The candlelight in the lanterns was still swaying. In the distance, soldiers were galloping on horseback, the sound of their hooves urgent, making one’s heart beat faster.
He immediately turned his face away, resuming his cool and proud demeanor. Fu Tangli didn’t even have time to see the look in his eyes.
Fu Tangli didn’t dare to speculate further. The situation just now had been too delicate. Fortunately, no one else had seen. She could only pretend to be calm and composed, looking around and making some small talk.
“Today is clearly a festival, yet such a strange incident has occurred. I wonder how it will end.”
Xuanyan discreetly took two steps back, hiding his figure in the shadow of the high wall. He looked at the group of men from the Capital Prefecture in the distance, his gaze ice-cold. “How incompetent Zhao Yuanjia is. Such a trivial matter, and it has come to this. How can he bear the responsibility of the state?”
These words were clearly presumptuous. A mountain Daoist, daring to criticize the current Crown Prince, was a grave offense. Fu Tangli could only pretend not to have heard.
She coughed uncomfortably and said in a soft, gentle voice, “Daoist Master, there’s sugar on your face…”
Xuanyan’s expression did not change. He took out a handkerchief and leisurely wiped his face. “Have you had enough fun?”
“In this situation, there’s no more fun to be had,” Fu Tangli said, shaking her head with regret.
“Let’s go back.” He tossed the handkerchief aside, turned, and gestured for her to follow.
As far as the eye could see, the pedestrians were in disarray, the treetops disheveled. The fine moonlit night had been ruined. Fu Tangli sighed softly. “What a pity. I’ve been looking forward to it for so long, but I couldn’t see the fireworks.”
Hearing this, Xuanyan glanced back at her.
The lanterns were gradually being extinguished, making it impossible to discern his expression. His gaze was soaked in the night, as deep as dark ink, making one’s heart palpitate.
“What is it?” Fu Tangli looked back at him innocently.
“It’s just a fireworks display. What’s so difficult about that? I’ll have you see one in a few days.” Xuanyan seemed to smile, but the smile was fleeting and not quite real. He didn’t look at her again, his gaze fixed forward as he walked with his hands behind his back.
What did that mean? Fu Tangli didn’t dare to ask.
The moonlight was cool and clear. His scent of bitter ebony was gradually fading.
Fu Tangli followed behind him, lowered her head, and touched her sleeve. The sugar stain was sticky on it, and her fingertips felt tacky. She walked slowly, crumpling the sleeve into a ball and holding it in her palm.
***
After the Lantern Festival, the New Year was considered over.
Zhao Yuanjia’s incompetence was severely reprimanded by Emperor Yuanyan.
Fu Zhihe heard about this in court and mentioned it to Fu Tangli when he returned home. “The Crown Prince is young, after all, and has not weathered many storms. It is normal for him to have occasional setbacks. You should find some time to visit him and offer your comfort.”
Fu Tangli meekly agreed, then turned and reported to her grandfather that she was going to Mount Qinghua to continue her prayers. She immediately packed her things and, with a retinue of servants, left again.
The snow on the mountain was beginning to melt, which seemed to make it even colder. The mist was light, the distant trees a hazy green. The mountain was oblivious to the passage of time, still as it was in winter.
Fu Tangli dug up the plum blossom wine she had buried under a tree. She calculated the time and realized it had been too long; she had almost forgotten about it. She washed the snow and mud from the jar, and, holding the wine, went to Yunlu Temple to seek an audience with Daoist Master Xuanyan.
Xuan’an led her to the same elegant cottage where they had had tea that day.
Xuanyan was playing the zither. When Fu Tangli entered, he sat upright, his fingers lightly plucking and stroking the strings, the music continuing without a pause.
There was nothing else in the room—two mats, a low table, everything as it was before.
Xuan’an withdrew without a sound.
Fu Tangli nodded in greeting and knelt properly to one side.
Xuanyan’s melodies were always simple, the notes of the strings distinct, like water flowing through a deep valley, archaic and distant, with a clear, ringing echo. The wind outside the curtain brushed past, and the iron horse-shaped wind chimes under the eaves tinkled softly, as if from a vast, open field.
Fu Tangli listened quietly until the piece was finished.
“What is it?” Xuanyan pushed the zither aside and asked casually.
It seemed they were beginning to grow familiar with each other.
The wine jar was on the table. Fu Tangli tapped it lightly. “Spring has arrived, the wine is brewed. I have come to keep our old appointment and invite the Daoist Master for a drink.”
The various tea utensils were still in the room—the charcoal box, the tea kettle, the sifter, the water bowl, the tall cups, and the red clay stove.
Xuanyan did not speak. He reached out, took the wine jar, broke the clay seal, and poured the wine into the black pottery tea kettle, placing it on the stove to warm.
Before long, green froth appeared in the kettle, and the aroma of wine filled the air, mixed with the scent of white plum blossoms, both decadent and cool.
Xuanyan poured two cups of wine into the mud-gold cups used for tea, one for each of them.
He took a sip and said coolly, “Your skill is lacking. This wine is too weak, of no interest.”
“Hm?” Fu Tangli was a little unconvinced. She had always been clever and had never failed at anything. The words “lacking skill” were absolutely unbearable. She raised her teacup, covered her mouth with her sleeve, and drained it in one go. Then she said with reserve, “The Daoist Master is accustomed to drinking plain water and does not know the flavor of such things. This wine is very clear and crisp. How could it be not good?”
The corners of Xuanyan’s mouth curled up in a slight smile. He said nothing and slowly drank his wine.
This plum blossom wine, Fu Tangli had made it according to the method for osmanthus rice wine. Perhaps it was not quite right. Xuanyan said it was weak, but she found it sweet, with a floral fragrance, a very wonderful taste.
She filled the mud-gold cup again, took a sip, and said leisurely, “I just passed by the plum grove, and it seems the flowers are beginning to wither. Winter is over, and there will be no more plum blossom wine this season. The Daoist Master should drink and cherish it.”
“There are flowers and trees in the mountains in all four seasons. Anything can be brewed into wine. Why be so particular?” Xuanyan replied casually.
Fu Tangli drank another cup, raised a finger, and shook it. “However, the Daoist Master is an immortal. The plants and trees of this world are all mundane, unworthy, unworthy. Only the plum blossom is barely acceptable, just enough to be presented before you.”
Her words were graceful, her smile radiant. She was ostensibly urging him to drink, but she herself was drinking quite happily.
Perhaps because the weather was warming up, there were more mountain sparrows in the temple. They hopped about under the veranda, occasionally letting out a chirp or two, lively and mischievous.
The plum blossom wine was indeed very light. Xuanyan couldn’t taste much alcohol. Seeing that she liked it, he didn’t mind and poured her a few more cups.
Unconsciously, Fu Tangli’s cheeks flushed a rosy red. Spring was not yet in full bloom, but her face already reflected the peach blossoms.
The stove was too hot, the wine too warm. Xuanyan began to feel hot. Something seemed to be wrong with him lately. For no reason, his thoughts would drift, which was perplexing.
He didn’t want her to notice.
He lowered his eyelids, silent, playing with the mud-gold cup in his hand, waiting for the wine to cool slowly.
But Fu Tangli would not have it. She drained her cup, put it down, and even let out a small hiccup. “Why isn’t the Daoist Master drinking?” The corners of her eyes were red, and a hazy layer of moisture floated in them. She suddenly felt wronged and pouted slightly. “Don’t you like the wine I brewed?”
Is she drunk? Xuanyan looked at her with a serious expression.
Fu Tangli was the picture of innocence, her eyes wide. “How can you not like it?”
It seems she really is drunk. What a lightweight. Xuanyan calmly took the wine away and placated her, “Mm, it’s acceptable.”
“Just acceptable? No!” Fu Tangli’s voice was soft and mushy, completely lacking her usual proper and serious tone, even more delicate than the little mountain sparrows outside the curtain. She even slapped the table. “I want you to like it.”
She paused, then smiled innocently and added, “I want you to like me very, very much. That would be good.”
The silver charcoal in the small stove crackled. The wine had been warming in the kettle for too long and was bubbling, gurgle, gurgle. Everything was so quiet, yet a heart was pounding like a drum.
Did he hear wrong?
For a moment, Xuanyan held his breath, motionless.