Mu Gesheng, who had been happily snacking on melon seeds as he watched from the sidelines, froze mid-chew at those words.
His wine bottle slipped, but Chai Shuxin caught it with practiced ease.
The two had been in this illusion for some time now and had roughly grasped the rules: they could interact with everything in this world except for living beings. Mu Gesheng had spent the journey cracking melon seeds and watching the drama unfold, even swiping a bottle of wine from a tavern and cheering at a storyteller’s performance. However, he could speak to no one but Chai Shuxin.
It was a remarkably powerful illusion—everything felt real, yet it was as fleeting as drifting smoke.
"I only ever heard about my Grandmaster from my own Master," Mu Gesheng said, spitting out a seed hull. "It’s been a hundred years since Master descended the mountain."
Chai Shuxin asked, "What does that imply?"
"Given the Tiansuan lineage’s habit of only telling half the truth and leaving the rest to fate, nothing good follows a statement like that," Mu Gesheng replied. "It means that a century later, the variables of fate began to shift."
Hua Bucheng clearly realized this as well, his brow furrowing slightly. "A hundred years of peace... and a century later, you met the Tiansuanzi again. What did he say this time?"
"Are you sure you want to hear it?"
"Is there anything you’re actually afraid to say?"
"Fine." Mo Qingbei swirled his wine flask. "He asked me if I wanted to join the Tiansuan lineage."
Hua Bucheng was silent for a long time. Finally, he spoke. "I knew you were gifted, but I truly didn't expect the Tiansuanzi to have such low standards."
Mo Qingbei: "…I truly didn't expect that response from you, either."
"So, what are your plans?" Hua Bucheng asked. "Did you refuse?"
"Was I supposed to agree?"
"The Tiansuanzi is the head of the Great Sages; there must be a reason for his invitation." Hua Bucheng began to methodically analyze the pros and cons. "Besides, the Tiansuan lineage has reportedly never taken a disciple. If you go, you’ll be the eldest disciple, likely destined to inherit the title of Tiansuanzi one day..."
Mu Gesheng remarked, "Honestly, I thought for sure Hua Bucheng would tell Master to turn the Grandmaster down."
Chai Shuxin added, "I didn't expect the Senior to be so unattached to Penglai, either."
When Hua Bucheng finally finished his lecture, Mo Qingbei said, "I feel like if I did what you suggested, I’d be like a disloyal son kicking out his birth mother to acknowledge a stepmother just to inherit a fortune."
"You’re already a degenerate disciple who refuses to make progress in Penglai," Hua Bucheng countered smoothly. "When you’re already drowning in debt, one more loan doesn't matter; when your skills are high enough, your courage follows."
"Good heavens, if my Master heard that, he’d die of rage."
"Don't exaggerate. Back then, my Uncle-Master argued with my Master all the time. At most, he’d just eat three extra bowls of rice out of spite."
Mo Qingbei chuckled, tilting his head back to gulp down wine. "Anyway, I didn't agree. The Tiansuanzi asked what I planned to do next, and I told him I intended to mess around in the Imperial Palace for a few days."
"What did he say to that?"
"He said the 'Rolling Donkeys' in the capital are delicious. He even gave me the address of a temple and told me to donate generously, saying he’s close friends with the abbot there."
Hua Bucheng reflected for a moment. "The Tiansuanzi is somewhat different from what I imagined."
"Believe me, it’s not 'somewhat'—it’s worlds apart." Mo Qingbei pulled out a copper coin. "He also gave me this, saying it’s a token. I can use it to find him if I ever need help."
It was a Mountain Ghost charm coin.
"Ha!" Mu Gesheng laughed with schadenfreude.
Chai Shuxin asked, "What is it?"
"I’m laughing because my Master was still too green back then," Mu Gesheng said, shaking his head. "He was already part of the Tiansuan lineage; there was no escape."
"Why?"
"According to the rules of the Tiansuan, accepting a Mountain Ghost coin personally bestowed by the Master is equivalent to a formal apprenticeship." Mu Gesheng looked at him. "Don't look at me like that. Seriously, I’m not lying. It really is that casual. Back then, I just wanted to find a sucker to scam for some money to buy candied haws, and that’s how Master tricked me into the Ginkgo Library."
Before Mo Qingbei left, he handed the Mountain Ghost coin to Hua Bucheng for safekeeping.
"I can't keep money in my pockets; I’d probably end up taking it to a pawnshop one day," he said, swinging his wine flask. "Since it belongs to the Tiansuanzi, it’s safer with you."
The sea of clouds dispersed, and the two walked into the boathouse. Beside it stood a pavilion with a willow tree planted nearby. Hua Bucheng said, "I won't break a willow branch to see you off. It’s been a cold year, and this Snow Willow nearly froze to death. If I pluck any more, it’ll go bald."
"Then don't bother," Mo Qingbei said. "I expect I’ll be in the capital all next year. Is there anything you want?"
Every year during the Great Cold, when Mo Qingbei returned to the mountain, he brought a mountain of miscellaneous trifles—from seasonal winter tea to Jiangnan pastries, wine from the northern borders, and spices from the Western Regions. Every year, he traversed the length and breadth of the land, bringing back the entirety of the mortal world.
Hua Bucheng rarely asked for anything, occasionally requesting lost ancient texts or sword manuals. This time, however, he thought for a moment and said, "Then I’ll trouble you to bring back some food."
Mo Qingbei was surprised. "What kind of food?"
"The thing the Tiansuanzi mentioned—those delicious 'Rolling Donkeys' from the capital." Hua Bucheng paused, then added, "Bring plenty."
Mu Gesheng tsked. "That fan-filter is ten thousand meters thick."
Chai Shuxin said, "Hua Bucheng might not necessarily be a fan of the Tiansuanzi."
Mu Gesheng countered, "Doesn't this look exactly like a fan buying merch to support their idol? One recommendation and he’s hooked."
Chai Shuxin: "...Fine, I won't deny it."
This time, Mo Qingbei did not descend the mountain alone; he rode away on a white crane.
With the crane carrying letters, he began to send frequent news to Hua Bucheng that year.
*The imperial examinations are getting harder to write, but I managed to snag the title of Top Scholar anyway. By pretending to be my own grandson, I successfully landed a lucrative post. Unfortunately, the 'fat' position isn't in the capital but out in Guangdong. However, the Rolling Donkeys will still be provided; I’ve had someone buy a pastry shop in the capital—a century-old brand—specifically to make them.*
Hua Bucheng replied: *Good. Remember to donate to the Tiansuanzi’s temple.*
*The white crane is getting fatter and fatter. My colleagues know I love raising cranes, so they keep sending high-quality feed to curry favor. If this keeps up, I’m worried this glutton won't be able to fly to the top of the Sword Pavilion. Please find a way to help it lose weight.*
Hua Bucheng replied: *I kept it confined on the mountain for a few days. It was so hungry it pecked all my cultivated Snow Lotuses clean. An insolent beast; it seems the lower beams are indeed crooked when the upper beam is not straight.*
*A few days ago, the crane didn't return. My colleagues thought it had died and sent me a new one. New love and old flame met on a narrow path; the two white-feathered beasts fight every day. Penglai cranes are pampered and have low combat stats; I expect they’ll both end up bald.*
Hua Bucheng replied: *No matter. The Snow Willow is bald this year too. They can keep each other company.*
*The lucrative post has plenty of perks. After subtracting the funds for disaster relief and public welfare, there’s still quite a bit left. I’m considering whether to turn the pastry shop into a chain.*
Hua Bucheng replied: *Unnecessary. Just donate it all to the Tiansuanzi.*
*The money has been donated. I even commissioned a golden statue for the temple; I specifically had the face modeled after the Tiansuanzi’s expression.*
Hua Bucheng replied: *What is the meaning of this?*
Beneath the mottled shadows of the trees by his window, Mo Qingbei bit his brush and wrote with a flourish—
*I wish him a speedy ascension to heaven.*
Time flew by. Mo Qingbei entered officialdom once more; having done it before, he rose through the ranks like a fish in water.
His love for cranes was a well-known hobby. The two white-feathered beasts that used to fight every day turned out to be male and female; by the following spring, their bickering had turned into a nest of chicks. Because of this, he had to wall off a pond in his manor to raise the two troublemakers and their descendants.
Another year, as the Great Cold approached, Master Mo strolled to the yamen to clock in, then returned home to look at the white cranes sunning themselves by the pond, feeling a bit troubled.
He squatted by the water, the surface reflecting the image of a man and a crane. "I say, brother, you were raised in Penglai, so you’ll live a long time. But your wife and kids might not make it in a few years. What then? Should I find you a new wife later?"
Master Mo was then chased around the courtyard by the crane for the rest of the day.
That evening, after finally climbing down from the roof, he sat with a head full of white feathers to write to Hua Bucheng. He explained the situation and concluded by saying he could no longer control these beasts; they were staging a rebellion.
Hua Bucheng wrote back, laughing at him for being a fool. White cranes mate for life; he deserved to be pecked.
As for their lifespan, there was a solution: simply send them all to Penglai. The mountains and waters there nurtured life; they would naturally live long.
Receiving the letter, Mo Qingbei felt a headache coming on.
In previous years, he had been a lone man with a lone crane, free and easy. This time, he had to bring the whole family. Penglai was ten thousand miles away—how to bring a whole flock of white cranes across mountains and rivers without drawing attention was a problem.
After all, he couldn't let people see the undignified sight of him sword-riding while brawling with a flock of cranes.
When he finally arrived back at Penglai, covered in the dust of travel, Mo Qingbei collapsed onto the boat. "I’m exhausted. Bringing the whole family back is no easy feat."
Tea was already prepared on the boat. Hua Bucheng handed over a plate of pastries. "You’ve worked hard."
The pastries were Rolling Donkeys from Mo Qingbei’s own shop. He took a bite. "What flavor is this? I haven't tried this one."
"A new one from October. They added dried osmanthus. You sent a very large box."
"I’ve been too busy lately to look after the business." Mo Qingbei remembered. "I think the manager mentioned it, but I didn't pay attention and just sent it straight to you."
"Why so busy? A promotion?"
"I’m being transferred to the capital next year to tutor the princes." Mo Qingbei sighed. "Too much to worry about. I have to make myself look several years older again; it’s painful to look in the mirror every day."
In the world of officials, one is not their own master. Mo Qingbei had to orchestrate his own aging, illness, and eventual death to match a normal human lifespan. He had to adjust his illusion spells every year to look a bit older; currently, his face in the mortal world was that of a middle-aged man with a long beard.
A while ago, because he was too thin, his political rivals attacked him, saying he looked like he was on the verge of sudden death. He had been forced to endure the humiliation of magically giving himself a potbelly.
"The waters in the capital are deep; it’s not as comfortable as being a provincial official." Mo Qingbei uncorked his wine flask and took a heavy gulp. "In these times, finding a lucrative post to play around in is fine, but I really don't want to get involved in the mess at the capital."
He sighed again. "Teaching the princes... it won't even be convenient for me to fake a sudden death."
Hua Bucheng thought for a moment. "If it’s truly too exhausting, why not just change your identity and start over?"
Mo Qingbei waved him off. "Not worth it. I have no descendants; after working hard for so many years, there’s no one to inherit my pension."
"You could pretend to be your own grandson, or even your grandson’s son. At worst, just grab the pension and leave," Hua Bucheng said. "Besides, didn't you say lucrative posts have plenty of perks? How are you still short on money?"
"Good heavens, who is it that mentions the Tiansuanzi every single day? I’ve donated so much to that broken temple it’s practically become a golden palace." Mo Qingbei set down his flask. "I need to be able to keep some money first."
It was the Great Cold, and it was snowing. The two were fishing from the prow of the boat, the white cranes hidden in the clouds.
Mo Qingbei held his fishing rod in one hand and opened his travel bag with the other. Rummaging through a pile of trifles, he pulled out a folding fan. "Do me a favor? Paint a scene on this fan for me."
"Is this the fashion in the capital again?"
"Don't the nobles and officials all love this sort of thing? Pretending to be refined. The lords of the court are obsessed with curios—a single fan has a mountain of requirements, from red sandalwood ribs to cloud-brocade silk. I can't exactly just carry a large palm-leaf fan around."
Besides the folding fan, there was also an umbrella in the bundle—twenty-four ribs, with tung oil brushed over cotton paper.
Hua Bucheng watched as he opened the umbrella. "What made you think to bring an umbrella?"
"A while ago, I went to Ruoshuitang with a friend and saw a worker in the backyard assembling this." Mo Qingbei said, "The ribs are made of Purple Arhat Bamboo; I thought it would look good against the snow."
He rested the handle on his shoulder and gave the umbrella a spin. "It’s lonely at the top; I’m giving this to you to shield you from the wind and snow."
"I appreciate the sentiment." Hua Bucheng cast his line. "Wind and frost temper the sword. I have lived here a long time; I do not avoid the rain or snow."
"For the sake of my long journey and these heavy bags, just give me some face." Mo Qingbei shrugged. "Even if you’re too lazy to hold it, you can always throw it in the fire as kindling to keep warm."
"Even for those with mortal bodies, there are times when one does not hold a sword."
The next day, Mo Qingbei descended the mountain. Not long after, a white crane arrived with a letter.
In addition to the letter, a bundle was tied to the crane’s neck.
Inside was the umbrella he had given Hua Bucheng. A painting had been added to the surface—ink strokes depicting the Sword Pavilion atop the mountain peak, the high tower amidst the white snow.
In the letter, Hua Bucheng wrote: *The court is treacherous. More than I, you are the one who needs a source of reliance to shield you from the wind and snow.*
At the end, a line of poetry was inscribed:
*A gentleman tilts his cup where autumn calls,*
*An immortal casts his line where white clouds stall.*
Mo Qingbei smiled at the words. He ground his ink, took up his brush, and added a concluding line:
*For you, I pen a melody of peace,*
*Though colors fade, the painting shall not cease.*
***
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Of Weddings and Wakes | Chapter 56 | Shelter from the Snow | Novela.app | Novela.app
