Lin Shijin’s fingertips brushed something cold. It was a pair of sword clasps. He didn’t know much about such things, and after examining them he hesitated, then asked Jing Qiuhong, “Should I return them?”
“Do you even know what giving someone a sword clasp means?” Jing Qiuhong, who never missed a chance for drama, said gleefully, “Among cultivator disciples, gifting sword clasps usually means one’s affections are quietly set.”
“It’s already so obvious, and you still haven’t realised.”
Jing Qiuhong added, “Whether you return it is up to you, but who gives something only to take it back? And even if you do, I doubt he’ll accept it.”
“I’ve no idea,” Lin Shijin said, thoroughly muddled, turning the clasps between his fingers. He wasn’t interested in sword clasps at all; he’d have liked pastries far more.
But as he had no interest in the other party, he naturally couldn’t accept the gift.
“Then I’d best return it.”
Lin Shijin set off with the clasps. He could hardly tell the male disciples of the peak apart, though he still recognised faces. He searched along the paths but couldn’t find the disciple from earlier.
Failing to find him, he went back and told Jing Qiuhong, “I looked everywhere. He’s gone.”
“Then return it tomorrow. Perhaps he left early for fear you’d refuse him.”
“What a coward.”
Lin Shijin stowed the clasps away and continued practising his sword work. Now and then, he glanced in Sheng Rufei’s direction, only to find Sheng Rufei already watching him.
He wanted to go over but restrained himself. Best not to be in contact these few days. He still had the lock around his neck, and Sheng Rufei’s injuries hadn’t healed.
He held back. When the lesson ended, it was Sheng Rufei who came over to him.
With most people gone, Lin Shijin saw Sheng Rufei approaching and went up to him cheerfully.
“Shixiong—”
Sheng Rufei’s eyes swept over him; he asked coolly, “You received a sword clasp today?”
“A disciple I don’t know gave it to me,” Lin Shijin said, taking it out for him to see. He hadn’t looked properly and hadn’t noticed the intricate carving. Ten days to half a month wouldn’t be enough to finish something like this.
“I intend to return it to him tomorrow.”
He opened his palm, revealing the delicate pair of clasps with their ornate patterns and the character Jin engraved at the end.
Sheng Rufei asked quietly, “You don’t like it?”
Lin Shijin still hadn’t realised anything was amiss in Sheng Rufei’s mood. Happy simply to speak with him, he answered honestly, “I don’t understand these things, I’ve no use for sword clasps, and Jing Qiuhong says the implication isn’t great. I can’t just accept people’s things.”
“Shixiong, are you going to the Library Pavilion later?”
Sheng Rufei gave a soft “Mm”, then after a pause asked, “Did Shizun dress you in this today?”
“Shizun said if I wore it for a day, he’d unlock the love lock for a day,” Lin Shijin answered, feeling faintly uncomfortable. “I’ve been in Shizun’s hall these past few days.”
“He wants me to go over… but if I don’t, he gets angry. And if he’s angry, he might not let me go to Wuxiang Mountain.”
Lin Shijin’s voice grew ever quieter. Under Sheng Rufei’s gaze he felt inexplicably tense. It was like a wife caught in an affair by her husband, being interrogated. The thought made his face heat slightly. Part of him felt utterly useless, having to appease Feng Rugao in such a roundabout way.
The youth before him was silent for a long while. Sheng Rufei rested his fingertips on Lin Shijin’s head, gently ruffling his hair.
“It’s fine,” Sheng Rufei said, his lips pulling tight as he withdrew his aura, afraid of startling him.
“It’s not your fault.
“If he ever does anything to you, tell me.”
His cool voice dipped lower. Sheng Rufei was painfully aware that his cultivation was too low; he had almost no say in anything. What could he do now except let the youth be steered by Feng Rugao?
“I understand,” Lin Shijin said softly, wishing to stay with him longer. “Shixiong, I want to go to the Library Pavilion with you.”
Before the words were fully spoken, a voice behind them called, “Young Master.” Lin Shijin’s left eyelid twitched. Turning, he saw Feng Qing standing nearby, watching them.
Lin Shijin’s lips thinned. Knowing he’d likely lose his chance to accompany Sheng Rufei, he trudged over to Feng Qing, finding him faintly irritating.
Following him about every day… he had no freedom at all.
As he left, he glanced back. Sheng Rufei was still standing there, eyes darkening with coldness and an emotion he couldn’t name, watching him.
“Young Master,” Feng Qing called again, and only then did Lin Shijin tear his gaze away.
They returned to Changming Hall as usual. Lin Shijin stayed alone in the side hall. He soon realised his back no longer ached. He removed his clothes to check; the scars had all vanished.
His back was smooth beneath his touch. Nothing remained.
In another courtyard.
Sheng Rufei had gone first to the Library Pavilion, staying two hours before returning to his own courtyard.
Once back, he removed his robes. He always wore Daoist attire and had never undressed before others.
Had anyone been present, they would have seen the scars across his back. Not only there, but over his abdomen, his broad shoulders, even his arms: old wounds of many shapes and ages.
His back bore the whip marks from the previous day… seventy in all, now joined by a fresh one. Since childhood, mysterious injuries had constantly appeared on him.
He never understood why until later: every wound was one taken on another’s behalf. Their souls were bound; the youth bore no injuries. They all manifested on him.
Sheng Rufei’s pale fingertips brushed his back. His silver hair slipped over his shoulders as he stepped into the cold spring.
Once, he endured it only because his parents commanded it. Now he bore it willingly.
The red thread around his wrist lay quietly in place. With Feng Rugao in Changming Hall, nothing could be sensed through it.
*
After checking his own back, Lin Shijin quickly changed out of the robes, returning to his plain Daoist clothes. He undid the hair ribbon as well. Whoever fancied it could wear it; he now found it bothersome even to look at.
He set the sword clasps on the table and faintly heard voices. Feng Qing and Feng Rugao seemed not to be avoiding him. Curious, he crept towards the door.
“I heard the young master received a sword clasp at the Sword Pavilion today… from a male disciple.”
“He seems rather popular among the male disciples.”
Feng Qing’s voice faltered; he had noticed something. The main and side halls were separated only by a door, and with the side hall lit, shadows were cast onto the frame.
A shadow lay there. It was youth clutching a plate of pastries, creeping towards the doorway to eavesdrop.
Feng Qing: “…”
Feng Rugao naturally saw it too. His gaze paused a beat. The youth, thinking they had gone silent because of him, edged even closer.
“Ahem,” Feng Qing said awkwardly, realising his tattling had been overheard, and hastily added, “The young master’s sword work is quite good. He’s improved. His cultivation seems to have advanced too; he broke through my barrier last time.”
Lin Shijin listened intently. Feng Qing’s praise surprised him, but remembering Feng Qing had been reporting on him earlier, he wanted to hear what Feng Rugao would say.
After a long silence, there was still no answer. Feng Rugao’s cold temperament offered no clues.
Eventually, Lin Shijin retreated with his pastries. The lock still pressed uncomfortably against his neck. Remembering Feng Rugao’s earlier promise, he waited until the hall was quiet before opening the door.
Feng Rugao stood by the window. Lin Shijin approached and whispered, “Shizun, you said you would unlock the love lock today.”
A candlestick sat on the table, unlit. After a moment Feng Rugao said, “I said it would be unlocked when you go down the mountain tomorrow. Not today.”
“I’m not going out today either. I’ll stay in the hall. The lock is uncomfortable.”
Lin Shijin bargained in a small voice. He glanced at Feng Rugao, then lowered his head nervously, unsure whether he would agree.
“Shizun… could you unlock it a little earlier?”
“Rules are rules.” The man’s voice was cold; he clearly wouldn’t make exceptions.
“Rules are made by people,” Lin Shijin muttered back. He didn’t dare say much more. More words only made Feng Rugao angry.
He turned to leave, but the man spoke again.
“Stop.”
Lin Shijin turned. Feng Rugao took his wrist once more, pulling him down to sit. He tapped Lin Shijin’s neck; with a soft clatter, the love lock fell open.
“Do not let this happen again,” Feng Rugao said. His cool gaze reflected the youth’s figure. Once Lin Shijin realised the lock had been undone, the change in him was visible.
He froze for a heartbeat, then his aura brightened; in a soft, sweet voice he said, “Thank you, Shizun.”
As though afraid Feng Rugao might change his mind, he grabbed the lock and scampered off at once.
Changming Hall had always been quiet, but the youth’s arrival shattered that calm. He was forever clumsy, incapable of doing anything properly; even entering a room meant knocking into a stool and making a racket. Feng Rugao heard the sound of the love lock hitting the floor.
He had probably dropped something again. After picking it up and wiping it, the youth continued making noise in the side hall. He was fidgeting about, doing this and that; even when curled up on the bed, he could never stay still.
It was rather noisy.
Feng Rugao slowly closed his eyes. He disliked matters slipping from his control, and he loathed the youth talking back and disobeying his commands.
But that would frighten him.
For now, he would endure a little; he mustn’t frighten him any further.
Lin Shijin was practically ecstatic. He had managed to undo the Love Lock so easily! He wanted to destroy it on the spot, to prevent Feng Rugao from ever locking him up again.
With that thought, he crept over to latch the door, took a candlestick, and set the Love Lock over the flame. The lock didn’t so much as twitch; the candle-flame danced instead, nearly burning his fingers.
Fire didn’t work. He soaked the lock in water, hacked at it with his sword a few times, even hurled it to the ground repeatedly. Nothing made the slightest difference. Lin Shijin was on the verge of biting it. He had no idea what the lock was made of; it was absurdly sturdy. But then again, it was Feng Rugao’s belonging. Naturally it wouldn’t be easy to break.
It was better to get rid of it entirely. If it couldn’t be found, Feng Rugao wouldn’t be able to lock him up.
Surely he couldn’t produce another identical lock.
Lin Shijin peered out of the window. Beyond lay the koi pond. It was deep, with several koi flickering in and out of sight.
The side hall window sat at an angle to the main hall. From the main hall, one could see the side hall, but not the other way round.
Feng Rugao was seated by the window. Out of the corner of his eye, something glinted. He looked properly. A flash of silver streaked past.
A familiar silver lock arced out of the side hall, tracing a bright curve through the air before landing with a soft “plop” into the pond.
Having rid himself of his greatest worry, Lin Shijin belatedly felt the effects of the Snow Lotus Sacred Heart creeping up on him. He planned to return to his room for a nap, but midway there, he paused, thought for a moment, and doubled back.
The silver lock had sunk into the koi pond, and as though trying far too hard to cover it up, someone had placed an extra box of fish food on the side hall window.
Feng Rugao by the window: “…”
Feng Qing on the roof: “…”
