Lin Shijin sat properly, a little tense beneath the man’s scrutinising gaze. He stole a glance at Feng Rugao, then quickly lowered his eyes.
“Shizun, didn’t we agree we were going down the mountain today?”
He had slept well and risen early, changing into the disciple robes Feng Qing had brought him.
These robes too were prepared by Feng Rugao. This time, they were the proper colour, though the cuffs bore gold patterns similar to those Feng Rugao often wore.
Having done something thoroughly guilty the night before, he was subdued today. He made no further demands and quietly donned the Daoist robes Feng Rugao had set out for him.
The man sat by the window. His gaze swept from Lin Shijin’s face down to the line of his neck.
Feng Rugao was silent for a while before suddenly speaking.
“Where is the Love Lock?”
Lin Shijin did not even blink. “Didn’t Shizun say I didn’t need to wear it today? I put it away. It’s in my room.”
He didn’t dare look at Feng Rugao, though he could feel that gaze fixed upon him for some time. He stood stiffly where he was.
When the silence stretched on, he caught a glimpse of red and glanced towards Feng Qing. Instead, he found Feng Qing staring at him with a look that defied description.
Lin Shijin’s eyelid twitched. Pretending nothing was amiss, he urged again, “Shizun, shall we go? If we don’t leave now, it will be late.”
Feng Rugao was taking him out today; there was no need to report to the elders, for Feng Rugao had already sent word.
Feng Rugao retracted his gaze and glanced towards Feng Qing. Feng Qing’s figure disappeared at once.
Soon, the two of them left Changming Hall together. It was the first time Lin Shijin had seen Feng Rugao step outside the hall. He wasn’t sure if it was an illusion, but Feng Rugao seemed a little pale. His form was faintly translucent.
He looked twice more. Feng Rugao had assumed the guise of an ordinary man and wore a mask, revealing only a pair of cold, deep-set eyes, and the perpetually tight line of his lips… though they had a rather fine shape.
“Shizun, do I need to wear a mask as well?”
Feng Rugao: “No.”
Feng Qing had prepared live cranes for them. It wasn’t the paper cranes disciples usually rode.
Lin Shijin only remembered that crane soup tasted delicious. He was still peering curiously at the cranes when a cool touch brushed his fingertips. The man had taken his hand.
He instinctively tried to pull away, but when he looked up and met Feng Rugao’s gaze, he wilted. Fearful of him, he no longer dared to struggle, only curling his fingers back the tiniest bit.
Feng Rugao led him onto the crane. Its wings spread as it let out a cry. He felt slightly unsteady on its back, but then an invisible barrier enveloped him.
The crane soared into the clouds. Cold wind whipped past. Lin Shijin glanced down and his scalp tingled. Not daring to stray from Feng Rugao’s side, he quietly gripped a corner of his sleeve.
Holding on meant that if he fell, he wouldn’t fall far.
Feng Rugao could clearly see the youth’s cautious little mannerisms. Docile again. He was back to his usual self.
He would quickly yield after being scolded or wronged, never remembering his lessons. Only when Feng Rugao provoked Sheng Rufei would he bristle like a hedgehog.
Lin Shijin had no idea what Feng Rugao was thinking. His own thoughts were simple; most of the time, he merely chose whatever made him feel comfortable.
Clinging to a fold of Feng Rugao’s robe, he finally understood the vast difference in their cultivation. The crane was far less stable than a paper crane; its speed was tremendous, and one could scarcely stand upright. Left on his own, he would have been flung straight towards the Forbidden Mountain.
But Feng Rugao stood firm, and the barrier made Lin Shijin feel as though he were on solid ground. Clouds drifted around them; Changgao Peak receded behind.
His hair was tousled by the wind. Even with the barrier, he was still a little afraid, clutching Feng Rugao’s robes as he stood behind him.
“Shizun, how long until we arrive?”
Something brushed his hair. The man murmured, “We’ll arrive shortly.”
He was too focused on keeping his balance to notice the man smoothing a stray lock at his temple.
Lin Shijin’s thoughts drifted. He had skipped class today; he wondered what Sheng Rufei was doing. He was probably in the Sword Pavilion. A blockhead like that couldn’t do much else; his days were mostly the same.
If Feng Rugao didn’t bring up the Love Lock tomorrow, he might just be safe.
The crane slowly descended. Lin Shijin noticed a city appearing faintly ahead. They had already travelled from Fuguang to the Three Thousand Worlds.
At the foot of Fuguang Mountain lay a small city. It wasn’t exactly prosperous, but it had the charm of a Jiangnan water town, with mountains and streams, gentle and picturesque.
Lin Shijin entered the city alongside Feng Rugao. It was his first time travelling with him, and he felt slightly awkward at first, but everything caught his interest; he wanted to look at everything, join in everything.
Later, he realised that Feng Rugao had been following him the entire time, silent and tight-lipped. Only then did he relax properly. Whenever he saw something he liked, he bought it on the spot. Only then did he belatedly remember that he was still spending the spirit stones Feng Rugao had given him earlier.
The city was called Yunzhong City, for it lay close to Fuguang; from afar, one could glimpse the faint silhouette of mist-wreathed immortal mountains. Most of the townsfolk wore long robes with flowing water-sleeves and worshipped Lord Changming.
Lin Shijin used a few pieces of broken silver to buy some steamed glutinous rice cakes. Remembering they came from Feng Rugao’s spirit stones, he instinctively glanced back. Feng Rugao was standing beside him, gaze resting on him, saying nothing.
“Shizun, this has osmanthus syrup in it. It’s very sweet… would you like to try?”
Lin Shijin felt a little embarrassed. After all, he’d spent Feng Rugao’s spirit stones. It was only a token gesture. He knew perfectly well Feng Rugao wouldn’t eat such things.
He was about to withdraw his hand when the man’s pale fingers pinched up a piece of rice cake. The movement was slightly stiff, even hesitant, as he put it into his mouth.
This time Lin Shijin was genuinely taken aback. Still holding the rice cake, he stared, eyes widening a fraction. This version of Feng Rugao was… strange.
Feng Rugao, who clearly had no experience with such food, frowned very slightly. “Too sweet.”
“All pastries are sweet. If it isn’t sweet, how can it be called a pastry?” Lin Shijin hugged his rice cakes, sneaking a glance at Feng Rugao, his eyes turning with open curiosity.
After a moment, he looked away. As for why Feng Rugao was suddenly behaving oddly, he didn’t particularly care. So long as he became more normal, forced him less, and punished Sheng Rufei less.
“Shizun, are we just wandering about this city?”
Of course not.
Feng Rugao said, “We’ll be going to the Sword Manor later, and to Zhong Pavilion.”
Lin Shijin gave a small “Oh,” without asking further. “Later,” meaning for now he was free to wander?
He clutched his pastries as he walked. The streets were filled with people; he looked this way and that, nearly bumping into others more than once. Each time, Feng Rugao yanked him back by the collar.
The man’s voice was cool. “Don’t run off.”
Lin Shijin, hauled back by the collar yet again, was mildly put out. Too embarrassed to complain, he simply quickened his pace, trying to put some distance between them.
He worked his way through the crowd. With his hands occupied by the pastries, he couldn’t touch anything else. After walking for some time, he reached another street, thinking Feng Rugao likely wouldn’t find him.
He turned around. Behind him stood a familiar figure. The man was still following, cold eyes lowered slightly beneath his mask, as relentless as a shadow.
“Where do you want to go?” Feng Rugao asked.
Lin Shijin no longer dared to speak. He had been foolish again. With Feng Rugao’s level of cultivation, how could he possibly lose track of him?
“I just wanted to look around,” he answered quietly. “It’s lively here too.”
Feng Rugao said nothing for a long moment. Lin Shijin didn’t dare wander off again, and merely meandered through the streets until Feng Rugao finally took him to the Sword Manor.
The Sword Manor was where swords were forged. Feng Rugao didn’t enter; someone was already waiting at the entrance, who respectfully presented him with something.
“This is what Sword Master requested. My master spent several months crafting it. You will not be disappointed.”
Feng Rugao accepted the item without comment.
Lin Shijin stood by, glancing over with little interest. The Sword Manor was rather remote, sparsely visited, its signboard old and weathered from age.
He was still thinking about the pastries he had bought. He wondered if he should give some to Sheng Rufei, and whether Sheng Rufei would like them. Then, he suddenly remembered that he had only just said the two of them should avoid each other for the time being.
Something caught his eye. The man in front of him bent down slightly. He saw a pair of silver sword clasps, exquisitely carved. Instinctively, he stepped back.
Feng Rugao caught his wrist.
“Don’t move.”
Lin Shijin stilled. The sword clasps bore the design of twin fish, like two carp at play. They were strung on black cord. Feng Rugao fastened them at his waist.
“Shizun… why give me sword clasps?”
He lowered his head, remembering someone else had also given him a pair the day before… not to mention that these had taken months to make.
“There is a Spirit-Building stone fused inside. It will point out the direction of demons. When you go to Wuxiang Mountain, it will help you avoid danger.”
So that was the purpose?
Lin Shijin blinked, dazed for a moment before realising what it meant. His heart leapt. Feng Rugao was allowing him to go to Wuxiang Mountain?
“Shizun… you’ll let me go to Wuxiang Mountain?”
The man was silent for a while. Then he said, “Remember what I told you. If you entangle yourself with him again, I will send him into the mortal world.”
Lin Shijin wilted at once. He murmured, “Shizun, I don’t want to wear the Love Lock.”
He didn’t voice the second part: I don’t want Shizun controlling me either.
Lately he felt increasingly rebellious. The more Feng Rugao forbade something, the more he wanted to do it.
The man said nothing. The sword clasp swung from his blade, the two silver fish chiming lightly as they touched, inseparable.
Lin Shijin understood what Feng Rugao meant. He wondered silently whether Feng Rugao would make him fish the silver lock out of the koi pond tomorrow.
His thoughts drifted. Feng Rugao led him away from the Sword Manor and towards Zhong Pavilion.
Zhong Pavilion was a place for auctions, trading information, and performing operas. It was crowded, most patrons masked. From the moment they entered, Feng Rugao held Lin Shijin’s wrist, guiding him through the throng.
Lin Shijin felt a little uncomfortable. His fingers twitched. “Shizun… what are we doing here?”
“To watch a play.”
Lin Shijin still had questions, but they walked the length of a long corridor and reached a stage framed in vermilion railings at the far end. Heavy curtains covered the paper windows; only the night-pearls embedded in the walls cast a dim glow.
Looking around, nearly all the guests wore masks. Something in the corner of his eye caught his attention; he froze.
In the distance, where sparks flared like fireworks, the faint outline of a crane motif flickered into view.
