Rong Chen Zi was a person of fastidious cleanliness; naturally, after the matter concluded, there was a period of bathing and tidying up. The expenditure of primordial essence would inevitably tax the body to some degree, but he had laid deep enough a foundation that he thought nothing of it. He had made up his mind — he was going to care for this river clam for the rest of his days, an act that was also a way of completely burning his own bridges behind him.
He Bang, for her part, thought nothing of it either. She sat upon the sleeping platform playing with Rong Chen Zi’s seal, pressing red impressions all over one of his snow-white Daoist robes, showing not the slightest fatigue from what had just passed. Rong Chen Zi returned to the room carrying fresh water for washing, took one look at the situation, and gave a faint shake of his head. He casually tossed the robe into the bamboo hamper, then cast some technique or other and transformed He Bang back into her true form. Without any regard for whether she was willing or not, he pressed her into a washbasin and gave her a thorough scrubbing.
He had a complete method for washing river clams: first he rinsed her through with clean water, then closed the shell tightly and carefully worked along the shell’s spiral grooves to clear the dirt from each ridge — three clockwise strokes, then three counterclockwise. Side A scrubbed, then side B; once both sides were done, he wiped the dirt and grime from the junction where the two shells met along the back.
After the scrubbing, he changed the water and rinsed once more — first filtering out all impurities from inside the shell, then closing the shell tight again and wiping it down once more.
After wiping, he used a cloth to dry her — the cloth had to be dampened first and then wrung out, to avoid wiping her too dry and making the clam uncomfortable. When that was done, he carried her up onto the sleeping platform, went back out to dispose of the water, casually drew a talisman, mixed it with sugar, and fed it to her. While she drank the talisman water, he cleared away all traces in the room, then climbed up onto the platform.
By this time He Bang had already resumed her human form, and she wriggled like a loach burrowing into his embrace. He still lay flat on his back, hands folded below his navel, motionless and silent, allowing He Bang to do as she pleased.
He Bang was hardly satisfied to simply let things lie. She climbed atop Rong Chen Zi and tried every means at her disposal, yet could not stir in him so much as a single stray thought.
He Bang pouted: “Old Daoist.”
Rong Chen Zi’s mind was still water: “Mm?”
“Aren’t you monks — I mean, you religious people — supposed to be above all worldly things?”
Rong Chen Zi drew her down and settled her beside him. He was a straightforward and upright person; once he had decided to be together with her, he had no thoughts divided elsewhere. When she was not making mischief, he was very willing to answer her questions and have exchanges with her: “That whole ‘above all worldly things’ business belongs to the Buddhist monks. The teachings of the Daoist faith are different, and the methods of cultivation are many and varied. Of the five precepts attributed to Taishang Laojun in the Accumulated Merits Returning to the Root, one forbids licentious conduct — ah, but that only means one must not engage in improper relations or stray into deviant paths. There is no such thing as being above all worldly concerns.”
“What?!” He Bang was dumbfounded. “That… that’s not your thing at all?”
She’d been taken advantage of for nothing!
Rong Chen Zi stroked her hair, then added one more line: “Of course, those who cultivate the Dao place great emphasis on stillness and calm. Should a licentious thought arise, it is still, to some degree, an impediment to cultivation.”
Only then did He Bang pull back from the edge of despair. She tilted her head and leaned against Rong Chen Zi’s broad, warm shoulder until even their ears were touching. Rong Chen Zi gave a slight start, then silently accepted her closeness.
The next morning, clouds hung low with a light drizzle. Such weather was no impediment to a Daoist’s morning practice; Rong Chen Zi still led the disciples through the morning lesson, and Ye Tian’s daily schedule aligned perfectly with that of Qingxu Temple. At this hour she was at the practice ground in the rear mountains, exchanging moves with Rong Chen Zi.
The two had come from the same lineage and their techniques were broadly similar; having known each other since childhood, their rapport was exceptional. Move after move, they complemented each other with remarkable insight. The disciples watched attentively, then went off to practice on their own, and many a fine point that had previously eluded them slowly became clear.
The disciples of Daozhang Zixin were all practitioners of both internal and external cultivation, and Ye Tian was of course no exception. Rong Chen Zi practiced swordsmanship with her while explaining the key principles of each technique. In the slanting breeze and fine rain, Ye Tian’s expression was grave, but her eyes were warm. Only when her gaze passed over a certain direction did a shadow gather in them.
The autumn slopes of Lingxia Mountain were blanketed in great sweeping expanses of cotton rose hibiscus, their bell-shaped flowers heavy with double petals and delicate stamens, brilliant and dazzling. The fine rain fell like threads; the heat of summer had finally and utterly receded. He Bang was in fine spirits, and with her right hand she formed a Cloud-Turning Seal. Within mere moments, the fine rain solidified into snowflakes, drifting one by one among the blossoms and through loose hair — forming a strange and breathtaking tableau between heaven and earth.
Rong Chen Zi had been wary of her wandering off and had kept a portion of his attention on her even while practicing swords. Now he turned back, and saw amid the flowers and wind-borne snow a figure in rainbow silks and feathered finery, her face as beautiful as the blossoms themselves.
He Bang felt his gaze. She lifted her face, cupped her hands around her mouth like a trumpet, and called out loudly: “Zhiguan! These flowers are so beautiful — may I pick some?”
All the young Daoists practicing nearby turned to look. Her voice was clear as ice crystal and jade bone; the corners of her eyes and brows curved like a new moon. Something in Rong Chen Zi’s heart went unexpectedly soft. But with his junior sister and his disciples present, he could not let down his composure — so his expression remained stern and his tone measured: “You may pick only one.”
He Bang looked slightly displeased. She pouted and deliberated from left to right, torn between a white bloom and a pink one. After a moment she picked the largest, most beautiful, most splendidly vivid pink hibiscus and casually tucked it into the right side of her hair. In the pale glow of that breaking morning light, amid slanting rain and scattered snow, her hair loose and a flower at her ear, her figure graceful and swaying — in one glance and one look, she was a vision rivaling the immortals of Mount Guyi.
Rong Chen Zi’s attention slipped for a brief moment. A moment later, He Bang — believing he hadn’t noticed — swiftly plucked two more white hibiscus blooms, hid them behind her back, and went bouncing and skipping back toward the temple.
Ye Tian had also been watching He Bang. She bit her silver teeth into the corner of her lip, gripping the purple-gold sword tightly. So this is the kind of woman Elder Brother likes. She could not understand it. Rong Chen Zi had been profoundly shaped by his master Daozhang Zixin since youth, keeping himself rigidly pure from childhood onward — how could he have fallen for a demoness like this?
“Elder Brother,” she still practiced swords with Rong Chen Zi, though her mind had clearly wandered elsewhere, “what on earth is this demoness’s background? Her manner of conduct is so flirtatious and affected — how could you have fallen under her spell…”
Rong Chen Zi stopped: “Little Ye!” His voice was like an ancient well, undisturbed: “Do not speak of her that way.”
Ye Tian moved to say more; Rong Chen Zi raised his hand to stop her: “Your heart is not on your sword today. Let us stop here.”
Rong Chen Zi resheathed his sword. Ye Tian gazed at him quietly: “Elder Brother, you have changed.”
Rong Chen Zi sighed softly: “Little Ye — between her and me… regardless of anything else, the fault was first and foremost mine. This whole affair is truly absurd, and Elder Brother finds it hard to put into words. But a man’s responsibilities — Elder Brother still understands them. Say no more.”
He turned to leave. Ye Tian instinctively extended her hand, yet in the end she couldn’t bring herself to catch his sleeve. She was a disciple raised by Daozhang Zixin — from childhood she had kept herself pure and strictly maintained the propriety between men and women.
She had known Rong Chen Zi for many long years, yet had never once crossed a single line.
She observed propriety. He Bang did not.
She came bounding out from the temple, one hop at a time; the two white hibiscus blossoms were nowhere to be seen — hidden somewhere or other. From far away she caught sight of Rong Chen Zi and called out: “Zhiguan!”
Rong Chen Zi gave a faint shake of his head. She ran up close and clasped his arm. She pressed in too near; even through the fabric of his robe, Rong Chen Zi caught a breath of the cool, fresh floral scent from her hair. His complexion went faintly red. He untangled her from his arm, his voice carrying a thread of mild reproach: “Speak properly.”
He Bang leaned against Rong Chen Zi in a posture that Ye Tian found utterly shameless: “Qingsu said you’re going down the mountain today!!”
Rong Chen Zi let out another sigh — he had noticed that ever since meeting this river clam, he sighed with remarkable frequency: “If I am to bring you along, it is possible. But once we are off the mountain, you must follow my instructions in all things — no running off on your own, no causing trouble. Furthermore, your comportment must be dignified. When walking, walk properly. When speaking, speak properly…” He continued his admonishments as he walked, and He Bang trailed after him clutching his sleeve, too delighted at the news that she could come along to pay any attention to what he was saying — she simply agreed to everything, over and over.
Rong Chen Zi had not yet finished speaking: “And this outfit of yours won’t do either. This poor Daoist is going down the mountain to perform a ritual ceremony. Dressed like this, you will invite all manner of gossip…”
He Bang finally lost her patience: “For heaven’s sake, are you ever going to stop?! Say one more word about leaving me behind and I’ll burn this whole temple down!!”
Rong Chen Zi: “…”
The morning lesson concluded, as it naturally must, with breakfast. Ye Tian did not share a table with He Bang, which suited He Bang perfectly well. The two each occupied a separate low table, with Ye Tian’s eyes fixed on Rong Chen Zi, her gaze full of undisguised longing.
To be honest, it had been several months since she and Rong Chen Zi had last met, and Rong Chen Zi felt it was only right to catch up with his junior sister. So he walked over to Ye Tian’s table, gathered his robes, and sat down, asking about her experiences and daily life at the palace.
Ye Tian’s eyes were full of smiles. In the eyes of others she had always been proud and imperious; it was only in front of Rong Chen Zi and Zhuang Shaoqin that she ever had these moments of easy, laughing warmth.
Rong Chen Zi listened attentively, offering a few words here and there; the two conversed pleasantly throughout.
The young disciples, however, were stealing glances at somewhere else entirely — Master, there are times when you truly are… remarkably… oblivious…