MO RAN CAME BACK out of the kitchen in a trice. When he sat next to Chu Wanning, he brought with him not only a heaping bowl of rice for himself, but also a lidded box.
Surprised, Chu Wanning hesitantly asked, "Aren't you…going to sit over there with Shi Mei?"
Mo Ran stared. "Why would I?"
This response swiftly cheered Chu Wanning. Lashes lowered, he cleared his throat. "I thought the dishes over there would be more suited to your taste."
Spotting the pinkening tips of Chu Wanning's ears, a thought occurred to Mo Ran: Could Chu Wanning be jealous? His heart pounded, a smile spreading across his face. "My taste is to sit wherever you are," he whispered.
This time, Chu Wanning's ears went completely scarlet. His knee had been pressed to Mo Ran's, but now, suddenly skittish, he tried to inch it away. Mo Ran refused to let him—beneath the table, he put a hand on Chu Wanning's thigh.
"You—! "
One of the villagers at the table looked over. "Xianjun, what's wrong?"
Chu Wanning knew he'd misspoken. He schooled his face to calm and said, "Nothing."
Mo Ran hid his smile. Chu Wanning really was so amusing. It wasn't as if Mo Ran actually planned on doing anything scandalous; that would be a surefire way to bring calamity down on his own head. He simply didn't want any distance between Chu Wanning and himself. He grabbed Chu Wanning's leg and childishly yanked it back, so that his shizun's knee leaned against his. Chu Wanning jerked away again, so Mo Ran pulled him back once more.
In the end, Chu Wanning hit his limit and kicked him under the table, but he stopped trying to move. Mo Ran grinned from ear to ear.
"There's something wrong with you," Chu Wanning hissed.
They ate. Mo Ran glanced at Chu Wanning's bowl. As expected, there were a few vegetables and a piece of tofu, while those soup buns had long since been gobbled up by the unruly kids at the table. Mo Ran passed him the little food box of woven bamboo.
"What's this?"
"Soup dumplings," Mo Ran murmured. "I made them just for you— six with crab roe and six shrimp. Shh, eat up and don't say anything. I knew everyone would beat you to the punch."
Chu Wanning eyed him. It would make him stick out to be the only person eating them at the dinner table; Chu Wanning was almost too embarrassed to do it. But the sight of Mo Ran's dark eyes, so earnest, and the smudge of flour on his cheek, kept his refusals trapped inside his mouth. The words I made them just for you were indeed capable of melting hearts.
Chu Wanning said nothing. After a moment, he silently opened the box and propped the lid in front of him like a screen. With a deliberate furtiveness that only made his actions more obvious, he ate one piping-hot crab dumpling. Rich broth burst from the delicate skin and warmed his chest from the inside out.
"Good?" Mo Ran watched for a look of approval.
Chu Wanning bit his chopsticks. "Not bad. You try one."
"I've had plenty. These are all for you." Mo Ran smiled, his eyes overflowing with warm light. "As long as you like them. Why don't you try a shrimp one next?"
His attention was completely focused on Chu Wanning, the streak of pale flour setting off his dark and shining eyes, making him look all the more pathetically adorable. Why would Mo Ran forget Shi Mei and turn to him? This question still gnawed at Chu Wanning. But Mo Ran's eyes were so clear and certain they left no room for doubt. In that moment, his gaze had the power to soothe the worries of anyone he bent it upon.
After dinner, the village chief invited everyone outside the hall to watch a play the villagers had staged on a platform next to the river. With a clang of copper cymbals and the strum of a huqin fiddle, the actors of this humble opera took to the stage. The show was a rowdy one, full of trailing sleeves whirling and painted masks swapping. One actor grabbed
the colorful lighter, held the pine-sap pipe in his mouth, and tipped his head up with a ferocious puff of breath. Flames exploded across the sky, glinting across the actors' headpieces and winning delighted shouts from the audience.
Chu Wanning had never enjoyed such theatrics. Firstly, the mortal realm's tricks were unsophisticated; he could identify their mechanisms at a glance, and thus much of the wonder and excitement was lost on him.
Secondly, the audience crowded so closely and noisily that he was too uncomfortable to appreciate any of the remaining charms of the stage.
Neither he nor Shi Mei were interested in the show, and after a few moments, both turned to leave. Mo Ran said nothing as he followed in their wake. At the last moment, he glanced back once more at the stage.
"Let's go," Shi Mei suggested gently. "If we're late returning, the sect leader will worry."
"Mn."
Mo Ran lowered his head and walked after them. But they had gone only a few more steps when he heard Chu Wanning ask mildly, "Do you want to watch?"
"They're doing the battle of the bankrollers between Wang Kai and Shi Chong. 3 It's pretty interesting."
He didn't say he wanted to watch it, but neither did he say he didn't.
Chu Wanning listened quietly and said, "Then let's watch the end before we go."
Shi Mei paused, slightly taken aback. "Shizun, we've already delayed our return to stay for dinner. If we stay even longer for the show…"
"Just this act, we'll go when it's over."
"Okay," Shi Mei agreed with an easygoing smile. "We'll do as Shizun says."
The three returned to the audience, squeezing back through the thronging crowd. Few of the Linyi refugees had ever traveled to Sichuan, and this style of opera was completely new to them—those swirling sleeves and flashing faces left them clicking their tongues in admiration. Some of the smaller children couldn't see the stage and were either hoisted onto the shoulders of adults, or, left to their own devices, crawled over to the edge of the stage, craning their necks to look up.
"This coral-jade tree gifted by the emperor, magnificent in its beauty—"
The Wang Kai and Shi Chong up above were showing off their
wealth with all their might, huffing and puffing in their determination to one-up each other.
"Fifteen miles of purple brocade to line the roads for my return— who can match that?"
"Great! Ha ha ha, do another!"
The eyes of the audience shone. Village children, having stuffed their sweets into their mouths, clapped delightedly along with the adults. This wasn't the upper cultivation realm, obsessed with outward appearances. Here, no one was dumb enough to watch shows from their seats, sipping a cup of jasmine tea as servants massaged their shoulders and handmaidens waved broad fans. The cool response from beneath those stages would dull even the actors' spark atop their platform, their voices so dry they made The Tyrant Bidding Farewell to His Concubine sound like a toad leaving his cricket. The people here were inelegant in their excitement, standing as they clapped. They stamped their feet and raised their voices, crude and noisy.
As Chu Wanning stood in the packed sea of people, he was left at something of a loss. Boring people like him would probably rather listen to The Toad Leaves His Cricket in the upper cultivation realm than stand in the throng watching Wang Kai versus Shi Chong.
He wasn't the only one who didn't enjoy this kind of overstimulating environment. Shi Mei stood for a spell, good-naturedly opting to stay despite the suona and cymbals making his head ache. But at the scene with the breaking of the coral tree, a broad-shouldered man nearby got so excited he leapt to his feet and started clapping, sending his neighbor's cup of hot tea splashing all over Shi Mei.
"Aiya! Sorry, sorry! Xianjun, my apologies, look at my clumsiness." "Not to worry, it's fine," Shi Mei hastily replied. But his clothes
were indeed soaked. He sighed and turned somewhat helplessly to Chu Wanning. "Shizun, why don't I head back first? I'll get changed and update the sect leader on our assignment."
"Very well," Chu Wanning said. "Take care on the road." Smiling, Shi Mei bid farewell to Mo Ran and left on his own.
Chu Wanning thought his method of escape quite effective— perhaps he should bump into someone too and find an excuse to flee this exuberant crowd. He was deep in thought when he heard another burst of excited cheering. Onstage, the Wang Kai actor was in an apoplectic rage, mustache huffing with each breath. With the firebag in his mouth, he spat a long tongue of flame toward the river.
Boom! The water's surface roiled, its ripples dyed a blazing orange. "Whoa!"
"Again! Do it again!"
Chu Wanning was silent. He didn't understand what everyone found so thrilling about this… If Xue Meng were here, he wouldn't need any firebag to throw hundreds or even thousands of flames.
As Chu Wanning's interest waned, he caught Mo Ran's smile out of the corner of his eye. Mo Ran was so tall he had no need to strain on tiptoe; he stood calmly where he was, and no one could block his view.
His handsome face was illuminated by the light of the fire, his dimples deep and his gaze gentle yet shadowed, as if inscrutable thoughts moved in their depths.
Sensing Chu Wanning's eyes on him, he turned, beaming more brightly. His dark eyes seemed almost to glimmer—but perhaps Chu Wanning was mistaken.
"When I was little, I always tried to eavesdrop on this opera outside the theater. Every single time, the manager would chase me off before I got to the end." Mo Ran's voice was slow and measured. "This is the first time I've ever heard the whole thing… Shizun, do you like it?"
Chu Wanning couldn't answer. Gazing into Mo Ran's eyes, all he said was, "Mn, it's not bad."
Mo Ran's smile unfolded, and the very night seemed to brighten.
Another song rang out from the stage as one act ended and the next began. Brows dark as smoke, the riotous headpiece quivering; My king has met his end; How could this humble concubine think of life—
"Oh, it's Tyrant Bids Farewell." Mo Ran glanced over at the stage, then smiled. "Let's go. The battle of the bankrollers is over; I've had my fill. We can head back."
"Let's stay a little longer." "Hm?"
"It's not boring. There's no harm in watching a little more." Mo Ran's brows rose slightly in surprise. "Okay." he grinned.
Scenes from Tyrant Bids Farewell, White Snake, The Nail Murders, and Water Margin played before them one after another. Not a single person left the audience. Their excitement grew with each performance, every upturned face bright with interest. An old man recited the words along with Grandma Yan's actor onstage. "Kind words are warm for three winters long, cruel talk brings six months of cold—" And at the act's climax, when Song Jiang lashed out to kill, the entire hall whooped and hollered, the applause nearly drowning the voices of the singers onstage.
A drunken villager jostled Chu Wanning with a grin, clapping him enthusiastically on the back. Chu Wanning had nowhere to retreat to, and he couldn't berate a villager. As he fretted over this dilemma, warm hands clasped his shoulders. Chu Wanning turned to meet Mo Ran's eyes.
Somehow, Mo Ran had come to stand behind him. He pulled Chu Wanning closer with a grin, shielding him from the press of the crowd.
For a moment, the din of the crowd and the crash of the cymbals seemed far away. Chu Wanning's ears burned. He held Mo Ran's gaze for a flash before averting his eyes, unwilling to look at him. But the body behind him was like a blazing flame, and the man's breaths were searing. That sturdy chest pressed against his back, those fine-boned hands encircling his shoulders. As the drumbeats quickened and the fire breathers did their work, the crowd's attention went to the stage. Cheering and whistling, the audience's applause was a sharp staccato.
In an effort to hide his embarrassment, Chu Wanning moved to half- heartedly clap along with the rest. Before he could raise his hands, Mo Ran had drawn him into a full-body embrace. Perhaps he thought no one would notice in the crush of the crowd, or perhaps the boisterous atmosphere intensified his desire to be close to his beloved—close enough to meld into one, flesh and blood mingling. Whatever the reason, Mo Ran lowered his lashes and held him close, wrapping sturdy arms around him. Chu Wanning thus caged in his embrace, he turned his head and—in the instant the flames from the stage lit up the night—kissed Chu Wanning's earlobe.
The fire licked up into the sky, illuminating the faces of the actors and igniting its watchers' hearts.
"Thank you for keeping me company," Mo Ran whispered into his ear. His voice was a low rasp, surpassingly gentle. "I know you don't actually like it."
"You're overthinking. I like it fine."
Mo Ran chuckled and fell silent. But he held Chu Wanning tighter, his chin coming to rest on his shoulder.
As the flames danced, the question rose again in Chu Wanning's heart. "Mo Ran, why did you…"
"Ha ha ha, amazing!" someone shouted from the crowd. Chu Wanning's voice had been soft, and his words were completely swallowed up by the cheering throng.
"What?" Mo Ran asked.
"Nothing." Chu Wanning covered his flush with a scowl of displeasure. He didn't want to ask a second time; asking once had already exhausted his resolve. He was too embarrassed, and refused to speak again.
Mo Ran was still for a moment. He really hadn't heard what Chu Wanning asked. But he suddenly said, "The one I like has always been you."
Chu Wanning's heart pounded.
"It's always been you. I was just too stupid to figure it out."
Badum, badum, badum. His heart beat a relentless rhythm, loud enough in his ears to drown the cymbals clanging onstage.
"I'm sorry."
Chu Wanning was silent.
"I made you wait for so long."
Chu Wanning's eyes were dazzled by flame and smoke; his ears rang with clashing echoes. He couldn't hear a thing. The world was spinning; he didn't know whether his feet were planted on the ground or drifting on a cloud. All he knew was that the person behind him was real and tangible. The breeze never used to have a color or a presence, but now it had become Mo Ran's scent, drifting past the tip of his nose.
He had never wanted any lengthy explanation. All he wanted was this simple acknowledgment from the one he loved. To so abruptly receive it turned everything around him into a whirling kaleidoscope of color, the oil-paint intensity leaving him unable to think or move, dazed beyond hope of recovery.