Chapter 11

Chapter 11: The Clouds and Rain of Mount Wu

Yet Ah Wu had not expected that after Nie San left, the sky would unleash rain, leaking into the cave and making everything damp. Her original Taoist robe had long since been discarded; Nie San had somehow procured for her a simple dress—a white-threaded blouse and a green silk skirt, plain but thin, especially on such a gloomy, rainy day. She shivered from the cold, her teeth chattering, her feet numb and devoid of sensation.

The cave was dark, the chill seeped into her bones. She clutched her bundle tightly, but inside were only cold, hard gold ingots.

For the first time, she felt that gold was cold and unyielding, and not good at all.

It could neither warm her nor fill her belly.

She gazed around in distress. Rainwater trickled down moss-covered stone walls, while half-withered vines tangled densely nearby. In her daze, she thought she saw spiderwebs or perhaps other insects.

Jagged rocks poked up from the corner, looking especially menacing at night.

She stared at them wide-eyed; the longer she looked, the more they resembled man-eating monsters, poised to leap out and devour her in an instant.

At that moment, mountain wind seemed to sweep through, cool and damp, rustling the vines, making a faint sound like someone weeping.

Ah Wu felt her scalp tingling; she sat rigidly, clutching her bundle, watchful of everything around her.

Suddenly, something darted out from the darkness—Ah Wu screamed at the top of her lungs and jumped up in terror.

When her panic subsided, she realized it was only a rat.

A rat—again a rat!

The mountain rats were truly bullying her!

Ah Wu slumped to the ground and wept bitterly.

She wanted to leave this place; she’d had enough. Even if she were to die, she wanted to die among people, not in such a gloomy, eerie place.

She wiped her tears and stumbled out of the cave, looking around in confusion.

The autumn rain had lessened, leaving only a fine mist drifting down. With her bundle on her back, her eyes wet and bright, Ah Wu scanned the area furtively, finally settling her gaze on the pine grove not far away.

There stood an ancient pine tree, its years evident. Because of the rain and fallen leaves, the soil beneath was soft.

She hurried over and found a sharp stone to dig the earth.

Her beauty was rare in the world, already a curse; now with so much silver, even if she managed to escape down the mountain, others would covet it. The bundle was heavy, and she was weak; the mountain path treacherous and slick. Gold could offer her no benefit now, only burden.

She had no choice but to abandon the gold, burying it here. Maybe, after the nobleman left, she’d have a chance to retrieve it.

All depended on fate.

But the pit was hard to dig; the soil was mixed with leaves, stones, and weeds, some of which seemed to have sharp thorns.

The stone she’d found was not well suited, and she had to use her hands. Her hands, always carefully maintained, had never done such work—her fingers stung sharply, nearly bleeding.

The mountain night was bitterly cold; wind laced with rain slapped her face, stinging.

The more she thought about it, the more wronged she felt, and tears streamed down her face.

But she knew she could rely on no one—she had to suppress her sobs and hide her gold.

No man in this world was dependable: Lu Yunjian was not a good man, Nie San was unreliable, the Crown Prince even more so—none of them were.

She could only depend on herself, hide her gold, and plot for her future.

When at last the gold was buried, Ah Wu covered it with stones and dead leaves, then scratched a mark on the pine tree with the pointed end of the stone, so that one day she could return and dig up her treasure.

This was her trove.

Afterward, she tightened her dress with her sash, wiped away her tears, and set off down the mountain.

With guards posted nearby, she had little hope. She could only pretend to be a city girl lost in the mountains, hoping to slip through unnoticed.

If she couldn’t fool them, she would have to submit to whatever fate awaited her.

Luckily, she was young and attractive; perhaps she would have to sacrifice her beauty, but at least her life would be spared?

She cared little for chastity; in her village, men who went to sea would be gone half a year or more. Women lived on their own, enduring day by day, until there was no hope left and, thinking their men wouldn’t return, took up with another.

When the men returned, they parted from their new lovers.

Her mother, before dying, had told her to live well, and even warned her if she met evildoers, she must never bear a bastard child, take care of her body.

So if she had to trade her flesh for survival, she would not object.

Having resolved herself, she was no longer so afraid. She walked carefully, the path steep and muddy, considering each step, wondering where next to place her foot, feeling her eyes and limbs were not enough.

Suddenly, her foot slipped, and she tumbled down.

Terrified, she closed her eyes, her mind blank.

But there was no sharp pain; she fell into water. With a splash, her body was enveloped by warm, gentle currents.

She could swim—girls by the sea, no matter how delicate, always knew how. Even in panic, her body instinctively floated.

She stared up in bewilderment, looking around, and discovered she was in an open-air hot spring.

Under the moonlight, spring water gurgled from a nearby source. Around the pool stood various objects: incense burners, gold vases, shoes, hats, and clothing.

From these items, she guessed the bather was no ordinary person, and probably a man.

As her thoughts raced, she felt a gaze upon her.

Her heart leapt as she looked instinctively toward it. It came from the swirling steam—a gaze too sharp, surveying her from above, like a god scrutinizing the mortal world.

Ah Wu clutched her dress, unmoving, helplessly staring at the source of the gaze.

Exhausted and cold, she stood in the inviting warmth of the spring yet felt no comfort.

She didn’t know where she was, nor who she had encountered. What awaited her next?

Thinking thus, she faltered, unable to stand, her frail body swaying.

Her mother was gone, buried by her own hand. Her father and brother had sailed away, never to return. At her young age, she drifted from one man to another—what meaning was there? When she died, would she even have a thin wooden board for a coffin?

So, what was the point?

Tears welled slowly from her eyes, and she even wished for death.

Just then, the man raised a leg and stepped forward.

With the sound of water, the mist thinned, and Ah Wu saw the man’s strong upper body.

His chest was muscled, the contours as if carved.

To Ah Wu in this moment, it was a forceful oppression.

A man—again a man. A strong, robust man, possessed of power, able to seize and hold her, capable of bending her to his will, to enjoy her body as he pleased.

Ah Wu’s legs gave way; she clutched her scant clothing, her body trembling like a leaf in the wind.

She wanted to flee, but knew she couldn’t.

Then the man finally spoke: “Where did you come from?”

His voice was deep and mellow, almost pleasing.

Ah Wu felt it strangely familiar, though she couldn’t say where she’d heard it.

She bit her shaking lip, shivering, unable to speak, only gazing at him with pleading eyes.

He spoke again: “Are you cold?”

At the word “cold,” Ah Wu’s tears flowed harder. She shivered and nodded timidly.

The man bathing in the spring was Emperor Jingxi.

He had come to Nanqiongzi to pray for blessings and, in the evening, bathed in the mountain spring, seeking half a day’s peace and solitude, with no concubines or attendants.

He had not expected, while bathing, for a young girl to fall from the sky into his hot spring.

At the instant the water splashed, his personal guards hid in the shadows, alert and ready to act.

But seeing this girl, her misty eyes filled with terror and helplessness, Jingxi felt pity.

She reminded him of a fledgling fallen from its nest—fragile and lost, yet unfamiliar with the world, suddenly cast into a strange place.

Years of rule had hardened Jingxi’s heart, but seeing such a timid little bird, he felt a surge of protectiveness.

He raised his hand, making a subtle gesture; his guards hesitated briefly, then withdrew with his attendants.

Now the fine rain had stopped. Steam drifted over the hot spring; the horn lamp on the lacquered table cast a dim glow, fireflies flickered in the half-lit woods.

Everything was quiet, moist, and hazy.

Ah Wu stared at the man in a daze.

He wore nothing, standing in the spring, yet possessed a natural nobility—a bearing born only of great pedigree, the calm assurance of one long accustomed to power.

She guessed wildly—who was he?

Then he reached out his hand and commanded softly, “Come here.”

Ah Wu clutched her clothes, cautiously looking up. The man’s shoulders were broad, his waist solid, his arm extended in smooth lines, his fingers elegant—on his knuckle, a ring gleamed.

Ah Wu recognized it as a thumb ring.

Having accompanied Lu Yunjian and the Crown Prince, she had seen fine things; she sensed the ring was made of excellent jade, intricately carved.

A man who wore a thumb ring even while bathing must have considerable status, especially here, under the emperor’s feet.

Hope flickered in Ah Wu’s heart.

Adrift in water, desperate, she saw a piece of driftwood.

Should she reach out and cling to it?

She felt his intense gaze, scrutinizing her.

Her lashes trembled; she lifted her eyes and fell into his gaze.

His eyes were a pale tea color, rational and calm, looking down at her without a trace of emotion.

Ah Wu panicked, her feet slipping, nearly falling into the water.

She sensed she had no control over this man; he was not the young Crown Prince, nor the easily manipulated Nie San.

The man’s thin lips parted, speaking again: “Come here.”

Only two words, but they were concise and forceful, cutting through ice, with an authority impossible to resist.

Ah Wu dared not disobey, trembling as she stepped forward, approaching him.

The closer she got, the more frightened she felt.

He had a commanding presence, and as she neared him, her body shook involuntarily.

Suddenly, her footing gave way, and she stumbled.

Emperor Jingxi stepped forward, his long arm catching Ah Wu in his embrace.

She was so light, he needed barely any strength.

He looked down at the delicate form in his arms—misty rain, white steam swirling, the silent woods—a body as white as porcelain, smooth and warm as jade. Her soaked white-threaded blouse clung like a veil to her slender porcelain frame; her wet green skirt floated in the spring like scattered orchids.

It was all dreamlike; Jingxi felt as though he’d entered the enchanted realm of Mount Wu.

His strong fingers gently lifted her exquisite chin, looking again into her limpid eyes.

She gazed at him with tearful innocence, helpless and pleading.

He looked into her eyes, his voice low and mellow: “Did you fall from the moon, or rise from the heavenly river?”