Chapter 12: Sharpening the Knife
The two of them were lingering in the mortal realm, deeply entangled with one another.
Shan Yin was so bored that he almost pulled all the flowers and plants in Ming Chen's Immortal Mansion bare.
"Why?" He looked at Ming Chen's true form with a puzzled expression and asked Fang Jiuhe, "It's been a year, why hasn't Mingchen's avatar died yet?"
This month, it was Shan Yin's turn to guard Ming Chen's true form, so Fang Jiuhe had brought a small stove to brew tea.
He added a ladle of water and said leisurely, "What's the rush? He’ll come back naturally when he dies."
"He is a lone star of calamity," Shan Yin emphasized. "Any living thing that falls into his hands will die."
"But the flesh-bodied spirit mushroom lived well for a year." Fang Jiuhe put down the ladle, glanced at him, and asked, "Does Immortal Lord Shan Yin have any insight into this?"
Shan Yin: "..."
"Besides, this talks about the lone star of calamity..." Fang Jiuhe picked up a slender stick, stirred it in the tea, and threw in some melon seeds and nuts. "It's just that his fate is too cursed, and most mortals can't handle it. Ming Chen's avatar is an exception. Anyway, can that bit of cursed energy compare to the cursed energy found in the Lands of Filth?"
Shan Yin remained silent.
After a moment, the tea boiled, and the melon seeds and nuts tumbled and rose, emitting a pleasant aroma.
Fang Jiuhe then took out a cup of goat milk.
Shan Yin's eyelids twitched, and without thinking, he reached out and grabbed his wrist with a "snap."
Fang Jiuhe: "Hmm?"
"This tea... is the Yunbei Baihao tea I gave you, it's very rare." No matter how many times he saw it, Shan Yin still couldn't accept his strange tea-making recipe. "Can you not add goat milk?"
"No." Fang Jiuhe was absolutely unyielding on this one thing, and he took out a packet of sugar, deliberately trying to annoy him. "This immortal wants to add sugar too."
"You—"
"Don't be angry, I'll share a cup with you later." Fang Jiuhe said, then poured in the goat milk and sugar all at once.
Shan Yin almost got into a fight with him.
-
The fence of Cuiyu Residence was moved further out, clearing out a space for raising fish.
The two of them went down the mountain together to buy some fish fry, and also brought back a few flower seedlings, which they planted by the pond.
Meng Zhifan taught Rong Zhao how to feed the fish and how to plant the flowers.
Rong Zhao's hands were covered in mud, and his forehead was dripping with sweat. Just as a hint of irritation began to rise within him, a bowl of mung bean soup with ice suddenly appeared in front of him.
"Want some?" Meng Zhifan wiped a bead of sweat from his nose. "Open your mouth if you want some."
Rong Zhao opened his mouth.
A porcelain spoon, filled with clear broth and a few soft, chewy mung beans, was fed into his mouth.
A gentle breeze brought a refreshing coolness.
"Is it good?"
"it is."
Rong Zhao almost forgot he still had to prove his Dao.
He spent his days mingling with mortals, doing things he'd never done before: fishing, drinking tea, admiring flowers and snow, holding hands, hugging, kissing, making love. He had someone to keep him company, someone who cared for him. Back in Cuiyu Residence, a lamp burned brightly, waiting for him to return home.
Spending so much time with Meng Zhifan, Rong Zhao had a vague feeling that… he had finally possessed the very things he had so envied in his youth.
Unsure, he slipped into the kitchen while Meng Zhifan was cooking, standing behind him, he furtively hooked his fingers around Meng Zhifan's.
Meng Zhifan turned around: "Hmm?"
Rong Zhao blinked, then said, "Meng Zhifan."
Rong Zhao rarely called him by name.
Meng Zhifan sensed something was wrong. He quickly transferred the food from the pot onto a plate to prevent it from burning, wiped his hands, and frowned, asking, "What's wrong?"
"If I died, and my body was sent back to Cuiyu Mountain, headless and arms severed, would you cry?"
Meng Zhifan: "???"
"I once..." Rong Zhao paused, perhaps because the mortal's expression was too grim, and lowered his voice slightly, "I saw a disciple of the Chuyun Sect die just like that, and many people gathered around him crying."
The breath that had been hanging in Meng Zhifan's heart suddenly eased, and then he laughed in exasperation.
“Venerable One,” he said, his voice gentle and seemingly smiling, yet for some reason it sent shivers down Rong Zun’s spine, “If you were to die one day, I would wear mourning clothes and weep for you for three years, then I would smash my head against your grave. How about that?”
Rong Zhao rubbed at the goosebumps rising on his arms, his eyes suddenly lighting up: “Really?”
“Really, more real than real gold.” Meng Zhifan patted his shoulder, turned him around, and gently pushed him out of the kitchen. “The pot is going to burn while you stand here asking questions. Go, wait outside for the meal.”
Having gotten the answer he wanted, Rong Zhao stopped his fuss and patiently sat in the courtyard waiting for his meal.
Days flowed by peacefully, calm and steady like a quiet stream.
The resentment that had accumulated in his heart over the years gradually faded, and the old scars that had spewed forth hostility were quietly covered up, seemingly healed and restored, like a layer of paper pasted on, then stroked with vibrant colors.
At first glance, it appeared as a riot of color, bright and passionate.
But paper was still paper, too fragile to withstand even the slightest storm.
___
The early autumn rains came early this year, soaking the mountain paths into a muddy and damp mess.
Rong Zhao sat under a tree, through the ground was a mire, he remained spotless, a faint glow of spiritual energy shimmering around him.
He lowered his head, intently working on the "Rao Zhi Rou" carefully untangling each strand wrapped around his fingertips, like sharpening a knife before killing someone.
In the distance, Meng Zhifan, holding a green umbrella, trudged towards him, his steps uneven.
"Rong Zhao—"
Venerable Rong was startled, swiftly withdrawing the spiritual barrier that had shielded him from rain. When Meng Zhifan approached, he stood up and asked, "What brings you here?"
"It's raining, I was worried about you." Meng Zhifan held the umbrella over his head, glancing down at the fine threads in his hand. "Going out to kill someone?"
"Mm." Rong Zhao picked up a corner of his still-wet robe, awkwardly changing the subject. "My clothes got dirty, I'll go back and change."
Meng Zhifan saw through his act, chuckled, and didn't expose him: "Alright "
Back at Cuiyu Residence, Meng Zhifan found him a clean set of clothes.
"Who are you going to kill?"
"An enemy."
In Rong Zhao's words, those he wanted to kill were all enemies.
Meng Zhifan frowned almost imperceptibly, but remained silent.
Venerable Rong had never been good at deciphering the meaning behind silence, nor did he ever try. But today, for some reason, he suddenly became sensitive.
He asked perceptively, "You don't like it?"
Meng Zhifan carefully considered his words, then shook his head, saying, "It's not a matter of liking or disliking."
Over the past year, he had heard bits and pieces about Rong Zhao's past, and he didn't think the lone star of calamity was as terrible as rumored; he only felt pity for him.
He also knew why Rong Zhao kept killing.
Everywhere he looked was filled with disgust; the world's kindness was incredibly stingy towards Rong Zhao, casting him out of the realm of humanity with its endless malice.
Rong Zhao, harboring such deep-seated hatred, therefore he felt that everyone in the world was repulsive.
Just thinking about it was heartbreaking.
But it wasn't his fault, Meng Zhifan thought.
At least it wasn't just his fault alone.
Rong Zhao, however, misunderstood the situation.
He became inexplicably irritable, flicked his sleeve, bound Meng Zhifan with Rai Chi Rou and then, with a hook of his finger, yanked him sharply towards him.
"You think I've committed too many murders?" With a muffled thud, he slammed Meng Zhifan against the door, his cold voice tinged with an urgent need to clarify things. "Why do you think no one dared to come to Cuiyu Mountain to rob you? I've killed many people, mountains of bones piled up, only then did this peaceful place exist. You live here, you don't need to rob or kill, you have everything you want, yet you come to me with this hypocrisy, just like those people..."
Rong Zhao paused.
He felt Meng Zhifan was different from those people, he shouldn't speak to him that way.
There was no better mortal than Meng Zhifan.
Thinking this, Venerable Rong became even more agitated, his eyes gradually darkening.
"I know, I know everything," the mortal lowered his head and kissed his hair, "that's why I don't view the blood on your hands as a heavy sin. Rong Zhao, let me go first."
Rong Zhao's brows remained furrowed, his whole body radiating a fierce, murderous aura.
Yet, the fine threads binding Meng Zifan's body obediently withdrew.
Meng Zhifan rubbed his wrists then lowered his head to kiss him.
Rong Zhao tried to pull away, but was pulled back by his chin.
As rough fingertips gently caressed his Adam's apple, Rong Zhao instinctively opened his mouth, letting out a soft, breathy "mmm," before tasting Meng Zhifan's flavor.
Sweet, as if he had just eaten some pastry.
"Rong Zhao," Meng Zhifan kissed him, pulling him to the bed and pressing him down, whispering in his ear, "I never thought there was anything wrong with you. Never.
He didn't say much. Because anything too complicated would have been beyond Rong Zhao's grasp.
That much, at least, Rong Zhao understood.
He reached out and hooked his arm around Meng Zhifan's neck, tilting his head back to kiss him, his teeth nibbling until he tasted the satisfying sweetness.
But it still felt unsatisfying, and he didn't know what he wanted to hear from Meng Zhifan. As he pondered, suddenly his waist felt light; his sash had been ripped open.
The bed curtains had fallen at some point, plugging the space into sudden dimness, Meng Zhifan kissed his trembling eyelashes, then moved to his lips, lingering and deepening.
They had been together for two years, and neither had ever explicitly expressed their love.
The breathless murmurs shared cheek-to-cheek, the passionate kisses exchanged at the height of desire, the days and nights spent together… all of it seemed to have transcended the need for words to express their love.
But it seemed they still needed to. Meng Zhifan thought. Otherwise, someone would grow deeply insecure, so irritable that they would bite without even realizing it.
He wrapped his arm around Rong Zhao's waist, kneading his lower back a couple of times, and whispered, "Rong Zhao, I..."
Rong Zhao was a little dazed from the kiss, and the sudden pinch on her waist snapped his back to reality. He pulled his clothes together, pushed him away, and said seriously, "Not today. I am in a rush to go kill someone."
Meng Zhifan, interrupted , was speechless.
"I have to leave now and will probably be back in about ten days."
Venerable Rong didn't realize how absurd this reason was, nor did he think carefully about what he had interrupted. He fastened his sash again and hurriedly added, "I'll do it with you when I get back."
Then, with a "whoosh," he transformed into a streak of light and disappeared into the horizon.
Meng Zhifan,”....”
