Yuanxiang Pavilion was more than fifty li from Lingxia Town. Rong Chen Zi was in no hurry and had fashioned a little donkey for He Bang to ride at a leisurely pace. He Bang held a dozen or so strings of candied hawthorn, looking around in every direction as they went, overjoyed: “Daoist Master, look — they’re selling river clams over there!”
The little donkey’s gait was steady and smooth, and Rong Chen Zi had no need to manage it. He walked to the roadside and looked at the bucket full of clams blowing bubbles. For some reason, his heart softened. He stopped and bought the entire bucket, clams and all — without another word, he found a small river nearby and released them all. When he returned, the river clam was still eating her candied hawthorn, the little donkey plodding unhurriedly forward. Crystals of dried sugar clung to the corner of her mouth, her cheeks puffed out on both sides. The setting sun cast its warm evening light; the breeze stirred the willow branches. The plain and ordinary scenery took on a brightness it had no reason to possess.
A short way ahead, Rong Chen Zi encountered a person he would have been most content never to see. This person came from behind, quickly catching up, eyes fixed on the figure atop the donkey, his voice filled with stunned disbelief: “Pan Pan?”
He Bang turned around, and saw Jiang Haoran. He was dressed in a pale gold long robe, his hair bound with a jade crown, his hands smooth and luminous as jade and gold. A thousand-some years had stripped away whatever youthfulness he once possessed; in its place was the commanding presence of a sovereign over his own domain: “Pan Pan, is it really you?”
He Bang tucked another hawthorn berry into her mouth and looked at him sidelong. The little donkey, being of one spirit with Rong Chen Zi, hopped back two steps at just the right moment, putting distance between He Bang and Jiang Haoran’s reaching hand.
“Sovereign Jiang, it has been some time.” Rong Chen Zi’s expression was remote and indifferent. Jiang Haoran seemed to only notice him now. Much as he resented it, he still observed the proper courtesies first. He Bang had food and was in no hurry, still sitting on the little donkey pulling at its ears. Jiang Haoran gradually steadied his emotions. He glanced at Rong Chen Zi — and caught Rong Chen Zi looking back at him at exactly the same moment. Something passed between them, and Jiang Haoran made his calculation: “This is not a good place to talk. Daoist Master, let us step aside for a word.”
Rong Chen Zi stood like a mountain, neither servile nor overbearing: “This humble Daoist has no old ties with the Sovereign to reminisce upon, nor any words to exchange. If the Sovereign has no other business, please stand aside.”
Jiang Haoran was not so easy to deal with as the Dragon King. He knew this river clam’s nature far too well. Give her food and she would think the world of you; and although Rong Chen Zi was upright and strict, he had genuine feeling for her. If he was allowed to go on keeping her, winning her back later would only grow more difficult. A thought formed in his mind, and he blocked the little donkey’s path: “Daoist Master, there is some misunderstanding between myself and Pan Pan. You are a man of spiritual cultivation — you should follow the way of tranquility and seek the path of immortality. These worldly entanglements are not your concern, surely?”
The little donkey jumped back behind Rong Chen Zi. Rong Chen Zi lifted He Bang down from the donkey’s back and drew her close. He Bang stood in his arms eating candied hawthorn. He reached out and carefully wiped the sugar residue from around her lips, then was silent for a long while before speaking: “Even a man of spiritual cultivation can leave that path behind.”
Jiang Haoran was startled. Even He Bang looked at him with astonishment. Rong Chen Zi smiled faintly and touched her on the head: “If that is what you want — a formal name and standing — I will enter the mortal world. Anything can be resolved once one has truly made up one’s mind.”
He Bang lowered her head again and went back to eating her fruit, saying nothing.
Jiang Haoran stepped forward two paces. Rong Chen Zi blocked him with one arm. Neither would yield an inch, and they faced each other in a standoff. Jiang Haoran had practiced long years of restraint, but his nature was towards the fierce and forceful — by now his patience was well and truly exhausted: “Does the Daoist Master intend to come to blows with this sovereign?”
Rong Chen Zi’s right hand gripped the sword on his back. No anger showed on his face; his expression was perfectly composed: “Given our respective standings, we ought not squabble over personal matters. But where she is concerned, this humble Daoist will not yield a single inch. Sovereign Jiang, if you take one more step forward, I fear blood will be spilled here today.”
“Good! Very good!” Jiang Haoran was so furious he laughed. He crossed both hands together, producing a sound like metal striking metal. “This sovereign would very much like to see whose blood is spilled here today!”
Rong Chen Zi set He Bang down. The two of them were meeting in a narrow pass, but the timing was truly wrong. If He Bang had grown up and her temperament had steadied, she would naturally keep the bigger picture in mind and not let the two of them come to blows in earnest. But He Bang’s mind was currently that of a child of seven or eight — old enough to love mischief, and far too young to think ahead. She was perfectly happy to watch a spectacle. None of these considerations had even occurred to her.
Rong Chen Zi picked her up and seated her on the little donkey, then took some fruit out of the pack and offered it to her, his voice gentle and soothing: “Have something to tide you over. This will be over soon.”
He Bang ate her fruit and glanced at Jiang Haoran again. Golden light surged around Jiang Haoran’s hands, his eyes blazing with fury: “You need not worry. Once Rong Chen Zi is dead, I will naturally take good care of Pan Pan.”
Rong Chen Zi paid him no attention. Two men of standing — if they were going to exchange blows, they ought to choose a proper place, not stand in the middle of a road. Nearby there was a stream, quiet and secluded, a fitting venue for a lovers’ rivalry. The little donkey carried He Bang and stood beneath a cypress tree. Jiang Haoran stood on a great flat rock in the center of the stream. Rong Chen Zi stood on the bank opposite. The March spring breeze drifted across their faces. The sun was sinking slowly, and dusk was beginning to close in.
Jiang Haoran was hot-blooded by nature and was the first to strike. Rong Chen Zi gathered his concentration and stilled his breath — in just an instant, he became as calm and still as a late evening wind. There were no other people around. Jiang Haoran had killing intent in his heart. Although Rong Chen Zi was a star deity reincarnated, he had not yet returned to his divine station, and was for now nothing but a mortal body. Jiang Haoran himself, on the other hand, had at least a thousand-plus years of cultivation. Killing Rong Chen Zi — was that not as easy as turning over one’s hand?
Honestly speaking, there was no real enmity between him and Rong Chen Zi. But He Bang had been physically intimate with Rong Chen Zi, and however much he still wished to bring her back to the Jiang household, to claim he felt nothing about it would be self-deception. He had been the Jiang family’s designated heir from birth, his entire life going smoothly — certain things unavoidably lodged in one’s chest. With this perfect opportunity now presenting itself, it was difficult not to act on it.
Rong Chen Zi was a master of the Daoist school; Jiang Haoran was a paragon of the martial path. The two of them crossing blows was a spectacle one might not see in a hundred years. Beneath the fading light, the streambed periodically blazed with flashes of gold. Jiang Haoran’s hands were particularly striking in the thin, fading dusk. He Bang was gnawing on her candied hawthorn. Even the little donkey carrying her had forgotten to eat grass and just stood blankly beneath the tree. She tugged at one of its ears and was also growing quite bored: “Whoever wins takes me to eat?”
Jiang Haoran’s palm strikes carried the force of blades, churning up the entire streambed. Water droplets scattered in all directions, and broken branches pierced through the leaves. Hearing He Bang’s words, his voice turned cold and dangerous: “Rong Chen Zi, if you stand down, you may yet survive.” Rong Chen Zi’s expression remained tranquil, his responses effortless and unhurried.
Jiang Haoran’s style was pure force and ferocity; but against Rong Chen Zi, it was gradually becoming like striking at the light on the evening water, at the wind at the close of day. The last time the two had fought, he had always believed Rong Chen Zi had only won by catching him off guard through a stroke of luck. But now his heart was slowly growing cold. In terms of endurance, he had yet to show any signs of decline — but he was of demon lineage, with over a thousand years of cultivation. Rong Chen Zi was a Daoist — and had not used a single technique of the Daoist path. His treasured pouch hung at his waist, but he had never once reached for a talisman.
Jiang Haoran said nothing aloud, but inwardly he could not deny it — what was meant by the conduct of a true gentleman, was precisely this.
Competitive as he was, he was not genuinely a bad person. With this thought, the desire to kill weakened. Rong Chen Zi was no ordinary man — he naturally perceived this shift. The Eight Trigrams boxing method emphasized using the opponent’s own force against them. His breathing was even, his energy barely depleted. But he had no wish to leave both himself and this Sovereign of the Jialing River mutually devastated. The Daoist path was founded on the reverence for life and the salvation of others, on acting in accordance with Heaven’s will. To use it in a lovers’ rivalry was truly not the proper conduct of one who walked the path of cultivation. Yet his position was unequivocal: “Sovereign Jiang, this humble Daoist’s words stand as before — there is no enmity between you and I, but in the matter of Xiao He, there is absolutely no room for compromise. If the Sovereign insists on obstruction, then today, the two of us can only settle this here and now, without end until one of us falls.”
Jiang Haoran hesitated slightly. Rong Chen Zi moved swiftly and was at He Bang’s side in an instant. He Bang felt her waist seized — and she was already in Rong Chen Zi’s arms. His Daoist robe was somewhat worn, yet it fit against her with remarkable comfort. He Bang pressed her face to his chest. He inclined his head toward Jiang Haoran in a brief nod of acknowledgment, then employed the cloud-traveling technique, and in an eyeblink, they were a thousand li away.
That evening, after dining on Buddha Jumps Over the Wall at Yuanxiang Pavilion, Rong Chen Zi reserved an upper-floor room. The innkeeper, seeing a man of spiritual cultivation with a delicate and charming little girl, could not help but look twice. Rong Chen Zi felt some awkwardness, but allowing He Bang to sleep alone was entirely out of the question, and so he simply hardened his face and pretended not to notice.
He Bang’s constitution had always been weak, and after an entire day of excitement, she was already thoroughly exhausted. She flopped face-down onto the bed and went utterly still. In this recent period, with plentiful food, she had grown quickly. By now she appeared to be a girl on the cusp of thirteen or fourteen, blossoming with youth, and her true body had grown to about four feet in length. A little more growth and she would reach full maturity. She lay curled up on the bed. Rong Chen Zi bent down and helped her remove her shoes and silk socks.
Those little feet, white and soft as snow-carved jade — Rong Chen Zi’s fingertips could not help but linger. He turned them over in his hands again and again. Between the ice-carved, gem-polished perfection of those little feet, a single red mark was strikingly vivid. He rubbed it back and forth, and ripples stirred in his heart — in the world of ordinary folk, a girl of thirteen or fourteen could already be given in marriage. By now she ought to be…
The thought had barely risen before he felt a rush of shame — she was not yet an immortal in her full power; she was still an innocent child. How could he contemplate such a contemptible thing?
He changed his garments and lay down beside He Bang. He Bang smacked her lips, turned over, and nestled into his arms, murmuring in a drowsy voice: “Daoist Master.”
Rong Chen Zi answered in a low, soft tone. The first stirring of desire dissolved into a tenderness that coiled around his fingers.
Early the next morning, before dawn, Rong Chen Zi took He Bang back to Qingxu Monastery. He Bang was still asleep. Rong Chen Zi carefully placed her on the bed in his room, then went to lead the disciples in morning prayers. He Bang was sleeping soundly when someone suddenly lifted her up. Half-awake, she assumed it was Rong Chen Zi returning after prayers and muttered a few sounds before going back to sleep. The person carrying her continued walking. Just then, the rising sun broke over the horizon. He Bang opened her shell slightly and was immediately blinded by the golden light.
Her voice was still heavy with unfinished sleep: “Daoist Master, where are we going?”
The person carrying her said nothing, and simply pressed a piece of lotus-leaf wrapped pork into her shell. The meat was fragrant and tender, melting on the tongue, with the clean, fresh scent of lotus leaf lingering in the aftertaste. He Bang was even less inclined to open her eyes after that. She ate, and when she opened her shell, the other person fed her more. With food to eat, she paid no mind to the ceaseless movement of those feet — swift as the wind itself.
After about a quarter of an hour, an angry shout rang out from somewhere behind them. The person carrying her suddenly stopped. He Bang opened her shell — and the other person fed her another piece of meat. She had not yet swallowed it when she heard Rong Chen Zi’s voice, blazing with fury: “Sovereign Jiang, to stoop to sneaking and stealing — is that not beneath your dignity?”
He Bang finally opened her shell and looked. The man holding her was tall and broad-shouldered, with a fine, handsome beard, exactly as she remembered — who else but Jiang Haoran? She shifted, wanting to crawl out of his arms. Jiang Haoran immediately fed her another piece of meat. She chewed it slowly, secretly calculating in her mind how much meat Jiang Haoran had brought. It was truly delicious!
With that thought, she decided she was in no hurry to leave — Rong Chen Zi would come to rescue her anyway. Staying a little longer might mean a few more pieces of meat!
Before she could finish the thought, Rong Chen Zi had already drawn his sword. After weighing the situation several times over, Jiang Haoran concluded that Lingxia Mountain was Rong Chen Zi’s territory, and Qingxu Monastery’s mountain-protection formation had been reinforced by successive generations — the force of it was formidable. To press forward now would likely end in his own defeat. But He Bang… he looked down at the river clam still busily chewing her meat, and in his heart let out a quiet sigh. In the end, he set her down on the ground.
Seeing that Jiang Haoran was already showing signs of departing, Rong Chen Zi withdrew his killing intent — though with this man refusing to give up for even a single day, he feared he would have to remain on guard and vigilant with no peace of mind. He glared fiercely at Jiang Haoran. Jiang Haoran gave a cold snort and turned to leave — when he felt his foot grow heavy. He looked down. The river clam had clamped onto his trouser leg. Utterly shameless, she demanded without hesitation: “What about the rest of the meat — where exactly have you hidden it…”
All the young Daoist disciples of the monastery pressed their hands over their eyes, unable to look. Rong Chen Zi grabbed her up, and ordered his disciples in a frigid voice: “Qingxuan, see the guest out.”
Although the matter was settled, Rong Chen Zi’s mind remained unsettled. Ye Tian naturally understood what he was thinking. The Jiang family was a great and powerful clan — their influence was vast, and their roster of capable subordinates was like an endless tide. Today Jiang Haoran had been caught in the act; what about tomorrow, and the day after? She deliberated for a long while, then finally could not help but urge Rong Chen Zi: “Now that she… has recovered, Senior Brother, perhaps you ought to go ahead and… settle things with her — so that Jiang Haoran will give up any hope.”
She was a young woman after all, and saying such things had already left her face red to the ears. Rong Chen Zi could not very well discuss such matters with her, but he still had his own reservations. His original intention had been to let He Bang enjoy her childhood a little longer — yet now it seemed her nature was still not steady, allowing herself to simply be carried away by Jiang Haoran without complaint.
Back in the room, He Bang was on the bed clamping at a rope-woven grasshopper. Rong Chen Zi formed a hand seal, and she transformed into her human form. Her hair was loosely twisted into a flower-bud bun at the back of her head, delicate and rosy, like a crystal doll. Those big, bright eyes gazed directly at Rong Chen Zi now, deep and glistening. Rong Chen Zi pressed his lips together and, after a long moment, seemed to make up his mind. He slowly undid his robe. He Bang did not understand — in the past, Rong Chen Zi would only lie down with her for a while after morning prayers, and he had never removed his outer robe.
Rong Chen Zi climbed onto the bed dressed only in his inner robe and pressed her down beneath him without preamble. She stared up at him with wide, round, guileless eyes. Rong Chen Zi kissed her on the forehead and reached out to undo the butterfly clasp at her waist. That body had only just begun to take shape — like a tender, ripening cherry at the tip of a branch in May. Rong Chen Zi’s throat tightened. He was, by nature, a proper and upright man, and even after suppressing himself for so long, even holding her tenderly in his hands, he still could not bring himself to look too closely.
He pulled aside her garments and pressed forward. He Bang let out a pained sound and reached out to stop him: “Daoist Master, it hurts.”
She was still too small, and too tight. The back of Rong Chen Zi’s neck flushed red. Even now he could not pull back, and could only murmur: “Bear with it a moment.”
Though they had not been close in a long time, it still took a considerable while. He Bang cried out in pain at first, then went silent — pressing her teeth together, eyes full of water that threatened to spill. Rong Chen Zi deliberately prolonged the time, but she did not respond with pleasure; the expression between her brows and eyes remained one of pain throughout. After about half an hour, Rong Chen Zi finally ended it. He was still a mortal body at this point, and fearing his mortal essence might defile her immortal body, he did not release inside her.
When he rose, he dressed quickly and efficiently, then drew water to clean her. He Bang said nothing, and in a short while curled up on the bed and went back to sleep.
At midday, Rong Chen Zi received pilgrims. When he returned to the room, He Bang was not on the bed. His heart lurched — and after searching for a long while, he finally found her on the soft bed in the inner chamber. Seeing her lying still with her eyes closed as if asleep, he did not disturb her, and quietly went back to his own bed to meditate and regulate his energy. At dinner, He Bang refused to go to the dining hall. Qingxuan and Qingsu were perceptive enough to bring the food directly into Master’s room. But He Bang barely ate anything. Rong Chen Zi stared at the barely touched dishes and frowned deeply — she was genuinely almost never without appetite.
That night, he checked her pulse. He found nothing wrong. When he asked her, she would not speak. Rong Chen Zi had a vague sense that perhaps he had been too rash that morning and had hurt her. He soothed and comforted her for a long time, and finally, at a loss, went back down the mountain and bought glutinous rice chicken. With something savory to eat, her appetite improved somewhat — yet she remained low and subdued.
In the middle of the night, Rong Chen Zi woke and reached out to feel the bed beside him — empty. Only then did he remember she was still sleeping in the inner chamber. Since the two of them had been together, she rarely put distance between them; ordinarily she was the one who clung to him most closely. Uneasy, he finally wrapped his robe around himself and rose.
On the small bed in the inner chamber, He Bang slept fitfully, traces of dried tears on her small face. Rong Chen Zi got on the bed and drew her into his arms: “What is wrong, exactly? Tell me.”
She did not answer when he asked.
The following morning, in the Ancestral Master’s Hall. Rong Chen Zi led the disciples in morning prayers as he always did.
“That which is natural speaks seldom. Thus the whirlwind does not last the morning; the downpour does not last the day. Who brings these things to pass? Heaven and Earth.”
Partway through the lecture, he suddenly let out a quiet sigh. It has always been so — of all things in the world, threads of feeling are the hardest to sever. And what truly governs all things — is it only Heaven and Earth? If she would not brighten — then his own heart would be nothing but the whirlwind that does not last the morning, the downpour that does not last the day.