by Tangstory
“We won’t if you don’t want to.”
Although it was not outwardly evident, Ch’in Ching could sense the hufa was currently in a good mood. Not only was the man willing to restrain himself, he was smoothing out the doctor’s wet hair.
“Oh, right. I actually had something I wanted to ask…” Ch’in Ching was truly serious this time when he opened his mouth. “I might live in the middle of nowhere, but I do catch wind of rumours about incidents in the chianghu.”
“Act not so tentatively. Speak frankly.” The taller man must have truly been in a good mood, for his stern words were uttered in a warm tone.
“If it really was you who did the deed,” Ch’in Ching gazed at the man. “I want to know the reason why the Hsing Sect is committing such slaughter.”
“What has it to do with you?” Shen Liangsheng’s voice lost its warmth, and although his expression remained the same, the doctor knew very well that his question had destroyed the man’s good mood.
“It should have nothing to do with me, but I happen to share some history with Master Shan of Broken Zither Hills.” With a wry smile, Ch’in Ching retold the story behind the founding of the Hills, the master’s disappearance from the chianghu, and his visit with his shifu to find a treatment. After finishing, he shook his head. “I remember Shifu told me once that Shan Hai-hsin wanted to take his own life to pay for his sins but chose to live, not because he was afraid and clung to life, but because he wanted to suffer with the sin and guilt. He established the Hills and named it Broken Zither to build himself a prison and live every day in penance.”
He took a quick pause before finishing.
“During the time I stayed there, I listened in on one of my shifu’s conversations with him. Master Shan said that his sins were unforgivable even if he spent this lifetime repenting and that death would be release. Thus he wanted to live and suffer for his wrongdoings.”
“Are you blaming me for killing him?”
“I just think that this kind of ending is…” But not even Ch’in Ching could say what that kind of ending was.
“The affairs of our sect have naught to do with you. Not listening and not asking are your wisest options lest you come to harm.”
“Then pretend I didn’t say anything.”
“But let’s say a day comes…” After both men were silent for some time, Ch’in Ching started another line of questioning with a sigh. “…When you and I must face each other over life or death. Surely the one to die would be me while the one to live would be you, right?”
“And why would such a day come?”
“The world is full of the unknown, and the variables are constantly changing.”
“There is no need to ponder the unknown.”
“Well, what would you do if I died?”
“Why, I’d either find a husband or find a wife.”
Ch’in Ching burst out in giggles. “How hard-hearted you must be to remember that jest after all this time.”
“Well, what I really want to ask is…” Taking another pause, Ch’in Ching flashed a smile and pressed his forehead against that of Shen Liangsheng. He looked into his eyes with earnest tenderness. “Since I love you so, I wonder if you also love me, too, even just a little.”
“…”
“If I died, would you ever think of me, even for just one moment in a year?”
“…”
“Wouldn’t even lie for me, huh…” Ch’in Ching backed away, chuckling wryly. Then he whispered, “You truly are a hard-hearted man, Shen Liangsheng.”
* * * * *
[1] It is commonplace for two xia to swear loyalty to each other.
[2] It is customary for the bride to kneel before the groom’s parents and offer tea to them.
[3] It is generally favorable to refer to grownups by their relative familial status to the child himself.
[4] Radiant heating, “the dragon’s breath,” originated in northern China around the 10th century B.C.E. Home surfaces would be covered with clay tiles and the cavity beneath connected by pipes to the cooking stove. Heat from the fire would circulate, be absorbed by the clay tiles, and radiate out into the room. The amount of surface treated this way ranged from just the sleeping platform (kang), to the entire floor, to the floor and walls for those who could afford it.
[5] It was most common for ancient artists to make art that corresponded to the season since it added to the aesthetics.
[6] The most common ink colour is black and the second most is red. One often finds at a traditional writing desk a specific brush for red ink. In this case, it is likely Ch’in Ching is painting with only these two colours, which is not unusual.
[7] The three most common types of hairs that brushes are made with are “wolf” hair, goat hair and mixed hair.
[8] Huchou is one of four places renowned for quality brushes and is allegedly the birthplace of the ink brush itself (Qin Dynasty, 3rd century BC).
[9] Xiaokai (hsiaok’ai) is perhaps the script with the strictest requirements for the brush used, and has come to refer to brushes capable of producing good xiaokai calligraphy. ‘Hsiao’ means small while ‘k’ai’ refers to the regular script.
[10] The last line in the poem, guo qin lou (過秦樓) by Chen Yun Ping (陳允平; approx. 1220 – 1295).
[11] One of the smallest of brushes.
[12] The flooded peach flower (泛水桃花) refers to several patzu (bazi) that are associated with romantic strife and excessive lust.
[13] The peach flower is closely associated with the Xianchi (salt pool) star where, according to myth, the sun bathes in at the end of each day. This star in Chinese astrology is directly related to the abundance of love and loss of wealth in one’s life. In casual use, the peach flower has become synonymous with romance and affairs. Also, the dot drawn by Shen Liangsheng is in a location that Chinese face mole readers would associate with susceptibility to sex.
[14] The first half of the line comes from a reminiscent poem, yu mei ren (虞美人) by Yan Ji Dao (晏幾道).
[15] ‘Chung’ means medium and ‘k’ai’ refers to the regular script. Brushes that could produce a medium-sized k’ai script were called chungk’ai.
[16] The expression is used to describe someone who harbours literary or poetic genius within themselves.
[17] ‘Ta’ means large and ‘k’ai’ refers to the regular script. Brushes that could produce a large-sized k’ai script were called tak’ai.
[18] This is one of the biggest brushes commonly used in calligraphy.
Chapter XIII
By the time Shen Liangsheng returned to the sect, it was just past the Hour of the Rat. He bumped into Miao Jan at the gate of the side hall and bowed his head slightly. “You’re up rather late, Miao-t’angchu.”
“I was discussing something with Elder Fang.”
Shen Liangsheng nodded his head again in acknowledgment and was about to continue walking when Miao Jan halted him. “I haven’t seen you around for a few days. Did you go see that darling doctor of yours?”
“Has the deputy summoned me?”
“No, I’m just curious.” Miao Jan tilted her head. “If it were anybody else, I would warn him not to let private matters interfere with the sect’s affairs, but I have no need to say that to you.”
“You are too generous with your praise, Miao-t’angchu.”
“Who said I was praising you? Hsiao-Shen, you are getting more and more thick-skinned.” Miao Jan laughed jeeringly. “That poor Ch’in-taifu. Why did he have to fall in love with someone as difficult and obstinate as you? He’s only going to suffer for it.”
“Oh? I had no idea Miao-t’angchu had such strong opinions about me.”
“Auntie Miao watched you grow up, Hsiao-Shen.” Miao Jan usually put on the act of a young lady but now used her age to patronize the young. “Say the lad is giving you his heart. How much of that could you possibly reciprocate?”
“There’s a saying, one may know the face but not the heart. How ca
n you tell I am not just as committed?”
“Well, that’s a question only you can answer.” Miao Jan donned once again her mask of youth and giggled lightheartedly, “When you look at him, does your heart beat faster even if for just a second?”
“It is late.” Shen Liangsheng did not respond and instead began to bid her farewell. “By your leave.”
“I said I don’t need to warn you, but I do want to stress one thing, Hsiao-Shen,” Miao Jan added as he walked away. “Do not make the same mistake I made.”
Now, she had rushed to be spectator to Shen Liangsheng’s affair last time, but the truth was that the biggest spectacle of the Hsing Sect since its founding involved Miao Jan herself.
It was more than thirty years ago, and Shen Liangsheng had not yet been born. His father held the position of hufa, and Miao Jan was one of the four t’angchu in the sect. But one day she up and left the fine post, renouncing her sect, and eloped with someone.
In the end, she returned on her own accord before even a year passed, and with much thanks to Shen Sr. she avoided capital punishment for treachery. Instead she underwent a torturous process that was literally a ‘mountain of knives and sea of fire’ and further swore a deathly oath with her soul as indemnity, and only then did she regain a spot in the sect. As she was truly talented and did not make any more mistakes, she was reinstated in her position as t’angchu when Shen Liangsheng was around seven or eight.
Naturally gifted and quick-witted even at a young age, Shen Liangsheng was expected to find great success in martial arts. The only unfortunate thing was that the boy was as stubborn as his father and even more cold-hearted. No one had ever spotted his smiles or tears after the age of three. Miao Jan used to tease him saying an icy doll like him might just melt away when the tears finally broke free.
Shen Liangsheng’s father received a critical injury in his early days from which he never fully recovered. The man knew he would live a short life and thus instructed his son from the beginning, “The position of hufa will belong to you sooner or later, but you belong neither to me nor to yourself. Your fate is to be a weapon to defend and protect the sect.”
Shen Liangsheng was a sensible boy early on and took his father’s every word to heart. It wasn’t until he was seven or so and came upon his first obstacle in his martial training that he questioned his father, “How can man be weapon? And how could one become a weapon? I fear I cannot do it.”
“You need to take your time to ponder the state of selflessness,” His father replied. “You need only remember this: in this entire world, you will find refuge only in the Hsing Sect.”
Shen Liangsheng fell quiet in thought. His father thought him too young to comprehend the idea and proceeded to give Miao Jan as an example. “Look at Auntie Miao and her extraordinary set of skills. After she sneaked away from the sect, we sent out scores of men to search for her for six whole months to no avail. And then what happened? She came back herself. You just have to remember that even if one day you become so powerful you can pierce the heavens and drill through the earth, the only place you can return to is here. The character hsing contains a blade, and in this lifetime, you are hsing and hsing is you.”
At the time, Shen Liangsheng was still fairly close with Miao Jan and even called her auntie. It was the first time he had heard about this incident, and leaving his troubles aside, he sought Miao Jan and inquired into the details.
“Why did you betray the sect?” Not knowing how to be roundabout, the child threw a frigid question in her face.
But Miao Jan only smiled, rubbing his head. “That’s because somebody was in love with me and gave me his heart, and I loved him, too. He said he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me, so I eloped with him.”
“Then why did you come back?”
“Because eventually he found out about the bad things that I had done, so he didn’t love me and didn’t want to see me anymore. I came back because I had nowhere else to go.”
Shen Liangsheng thought for a moment before asking again, this time with a trace of childishness, “Is that man still alive? I’ll kill him for you.”
“Thank you for the kind offer.” Miao Jan burst out laughing. “He is indeed alive, but that’s because I want him to be. You’re still young, so you probably don’t understand, but I finally found love. Even though our affinity ran dry and we didn’t get a good ending, I still want him to live.” After a pause, she continued with a lighthearted sigh while staring at the candlelight on the desk. “That’s right. I finally found love. Of course I’d want him to stay alive.”
Don’t make the same mistake I made.
That one utterance awakened the distant memories of the past. As Shen Liangsheng lay in bed with his eyes closed, he could still faintly make out Miao Jan’s soft sigh. So many years had passed, yet she had not changed a bit, as though she were a paper cut-out from a painting. Yet even a paper cut-out was asking him, “Do you have a heart with which to love?”
In the dark, Shen Liangsheng placed a hand on his chest. His heartbeat was steady and constant. Day after day, month after month, year after year, it had never faltered once.
Miao Jan was not wrong. Whether it was lingering kisses or coital engagements, his heartbeat never quickened when he held the man close, even at the most ecstatic of times.
But she wasn’t aware of one thing. Once upon a time, a child saw the tender expression on her face as she recalled her past lover and carefully stored it in the innermost corner in his heart.
That was the only thing Shen Liangsheng had ever learned since his childhood about this thing called “love.”
Ch’in Ching’s best feature was his eyes. It had nothing to do with their attractiveness but rather the emotions they held within – they were always so rich with affection.
Ever since he first looked out upon that private world of summer rain and blooming reeds, they had been gazing at him with earnest attentiveness.
Then a hint of gentle sentiment found its way in, and with sincerity and tenderness they confessed their love for him.
All Shen Liangsheng knew and understood about this thing called “love” was a certain earnest and tender expression.
It was something that he had seen once in someone with whom he was close in childhood and then once again in Ch’in Ching’s eyes.
Although he did not know what it meant to be moved or how to reciprocate that feeling, he wanted to stare into those affectionate eyes – that much he knew.
He wanted to stare into those earnest, gentle eyes while they looked back at him.
And if he could, he wanted to look at them forever.
“Ch’in Ching, this is a gift from Miao-t’angchu to make up for your first meeting.”[1]
They did not exactly end on a sour note last time, but Shen Liangsheng nevertheless had difficulty finding a greeting when he made time to visit the doctor again. What he ended up doing to break the ice was to take out from his sleeve the case from Miao Jan and place it on the table.
On account of the intricate designs on the wooden case, Ch’in Ching could easily tell it belonged to a woman. He opened it to see it full of a balm-like substance tinged with scarlet, but when he put it to his nose, he detected no particular scent.
“Wow, this has got to be…” Ch’in Ching chuckled, shaking his head. “You can tell its purpose with just a glance.”
“I asked her. It’s only an enhancer, does no harm to the body.”
“I admire your ability to say that with a straight face.” Ch’in Ching replaced it on the table. “She said no harm, and only you’d believe that. I won’t use it.”
Shen Liangsheng didn’t respond. He was recalling Miao Jan’s friendly dare when she passed the case to him. “Take this, Hsiao-Shen, if you want to feel your heart beating like a drum.”
Daylight did not last long in winter. After Ch’in Ching lit the candle, he turned around to find Shen Liangsheng looking steadily at him. Their eyes remained locked until Ch’in Ch
ing finally averted his gaze. The doctor blamed the hufa’s attractiveness for the defeat – even though the man’s eyes held no affection, he was still stirred to restlessness.
“I wonder if you are of the same opinion as me, Shen-hufa.” Ch’in Ching approached with a coy smile. “A night of passion is impossibly short, thus it is best to enjoy the pleasures in a timely manner.”
Shen Liangsheng nodded at the statement. “Right you are, Ch’in-taifu.” But he instead sat down at the table and poured himself a cup of tea to sip on leisurely.
Left aside by the taller man, Ch’in Ching spat inwardly – I see through your tricks – but he could not help stepping toward the man to stand behind him and slowly remove the pin from his topknot. Seeing the sleek cascade flowing over his shoulders and down his back, Ch’in Ching found the usually emotionless face now framed with a hint of dark sensuality and bent down to plant a feathery kiss on the crown of his head. He teased quietly, “What a beauty.”
Shen Liangsheng looked up at Ch’in Ching and saw that his face had lost its previous fleshiness and was now gaunt. Somewhat displeased, the hufa pinched his cheek and commented as though he were evaluating his own livestock. “Winter’s the time to grow fat, but you’re getting thinner and thinner.”
“‘I shall never regret the loosening of my belt.’ ”[2] Ch’in Ching took the man’s hand and kissed it. “It’s worth becoming skinny pining of you.”
“I do not need you to loosen your belt.” Shen Liangsheng put down his cup. “Only your robes.”
“Shen-hufa, when will you ever fix this hypocrisy of yours, always appearing to be so proper when you’re not?” Ch’in Ching kissed the man again, this time on the palm, before letting go. He untied his belt, threw it aside, and began working on unfastening the knot buttons on his outer robe. One after another, the buttons came loose and exposed the clean, white undergarments. His fingers lingered for a moment and then resumed unbuttoning the rest until he had rid himself of all the fabric shields and stood bare right before Shen Liangsheng’s eyes. Caressing the man’s hair, the doctor asked quietly, “What now?”