Unarmored | Chapter 37 | Deep into the Night | Novela.app

Outside a guest room in the backyard of Wangchen Tower, a young servant stood waiting, clutching two jars of wine. A moment later, the delicate, gold-traced door was flung open. A round face, clouded with a ghostly look of resentment, peered out. Seeing this, the servant hurriedly proferred the wine. "Manager Yao, the Yunye Fresh has arrived." Yao Yi kicked a stack of empty jars out of the room and asked in a low, heavy voice, "Which jars are these?" The servant counted on his fingers. "Um... the tenth and eleventh." Yao Yi closed his eyes tightly. That damned drunkard. She could still drink this much even after taking twenty strokes of the military rod. He took a deep breath. "If she asks for more, dilute it with water before bringing it up. One jar of wine to ten jars of water." Without waiting to see the servant’s bewildered expression, he snatched the jars, returned to the room, and slammed them onto the table with a heavy *thud*. The "drunkard" at the other end of the table paid no mind to his obvious displeasure. Her eyes were fixed solely on the wine jars. With practiced ease, she slapped away the clay seals and filled two large bowls. She shoved one toward Yao Yi and lifted the other herself. "Come, come. Don't let me drink alone." Yao Yi took the bowl with a look of utter disdain. He suddenly regretted setting out two bowls in the room; had he used two tiny thimble-sized cups, perhaps this woman would have wasted less of his stock. Xiao Nanhui had the delicate appearance of someone who couldn't hold her liquor, but in reality, she was a bottomless pit that even a sea of bowls couldn't drown. Yao Yi, naturally, would not join her in this madness. After clinking bowls, he surreptitiously poured the wine into a nearby flowerpot without a change in expression, though his heart ached at the loss of the Yunye Fresh, which cost over a dozen taels of silver per jar. "Great Manager Yao, do you know why he named me Nanhui?" Yao Yi gave a cold snort. Of course he knew. She told him every single time she drank; he could recite it backward by now. However, whether he knew was irrelevant. What mattered was that she was going to tell it again. "He named me Nanhui—'Returning South'—because back then, he lost a battle at Suyan and swore he would return south to that place to reclaim the lost lands. He picked me up there; my name is his lifelong ambition! But this time, for the expedition to Bijiang, he won't let me go! He’d rather have me guarding a city gate in the Guangyao Camp than let me follow him! I... if I stay in Quecheng and run into Xu Shu again, what then..." Xiao Nanhui wasn't truly drunk. Her mind was simply a tangled mess, and her words had become incoherent as a result. Yao Yi picked at his ear, clearly accustomed to this scene. His heart remained unmoved, and his focus was certainly not on Xiao Zhun. "The Guangyao Camp is fine. They say Prince Xuanyuan is a meticulous man, and most of the soldiers under him are of noble birth. They’re a hundred times better than those bumpkins in the Subei Camp. You should take this chance to get promoted to a Company Commander; your monthly stipend would go up by a few coins..." "That grandson of a bitch Xu Shu is also in the Guangyao Camp! Who knows how he'll slander me then? I’d rather die on the battlefield, my body wrapped in horsehide, than die from the spit of that insidious villain. What exactly did I do wrong? I wish so much he would just tell me plainly..." Yao Yi closed his eyes, feeling as though he were playing a lute to a cow. The person before him was utterly immersed in the sorrow of Xiao Zhun's rejection, circling back to the same point every few sentences. He reached out, snatched the bowl from her hand, and tossed it aside. "Xiao Nanhui." Only then did the woman manage to lift her eyes to look at him. "Xiao Nanhui, have you ever considered..." "Considered what?" Yao Yi paused. He felt it was necessary to use this moment at the wine table to voice the words that had been weighing on his mind for a long time. "Have you ever considered that perhaps Xiao Zhun... simply sees you as a replacement for the family members he lost?" As soon as the words landed, the room fell silent. The characteristic sweet aftertaste of the Yunye Fresh turned bitter in her mouth. Xiao Nanhui felt a dull ache in her chest, as if someone had struck her, yet she couldn't bring herself to blame the man across from her. She wouldn't blame Yao Yi. Only he would say such things to her. The heavy shadow of emotion lingered on her brow for only a moment before it was replaced by a grinning facade. "So what? What's wrong with being family? That only proves my status in his heart is quite high." Yao Yi rolled his eyes hard, feeling that the heartfelt advice he had spent so long brewing had been entirely wasted. When it came to this matter, her ability to play dumb only grew stronger with each passing year. Fine. He couldn't wake her up; sooner or later, someone would come along and strike her awake with a heavy blow. "Hmph. I’m putting the ugly truth upfront: if the day comes when you end up battered and broken, don't come crying to me, and don't even think about wasting my wine." Xiao Nanhui gave a light scoff. "So it really was about the money. Fine, fine. I won't come looking for you next time." Yao Yi’s voice was chilly. "Do you realize you just drank away three months of your salary?" She blinked and let out a small wine-scented hiccup, quietly pushing the high stack of empty jars to the side, trying her best to distance herself from the evidence of her gluttony. Just then, a soft *clack* sounded against the window, as if a small insect had flown into the frame. Yao Yi rose and propped open the window. A petite figure slipped inside in a flash. Yao Yi spoke to the figure with clear disdain: "What took you so long? You're slow as death." Bo Lao turned around, the dark circles under her eyes so heavy that her naturally bold features looked as though they were painted for a stage play. Even Yao Yi was startled. "Why do you look like a ghost?" Bo Lao cast a resentful glance at Xiao Nanhui, who was sitting on the floor reeking of alcohol. "Last night, Du Juan caught me and nagged me for the entire night. I didn't close my eyes once. I was waiting for her to come and take over today, but who knew she’d head straight for the camp? I was trapped at Du Juan’s place until just now when I found a gap to run out." Thinking of Du Juan’s mouth, Yao Yi shuddered with revulsion. "Forget it, at least you're here. If you hadn't come, she would have drunk me into poverty. Did you bring the thing I asked for?" Bo Lao’s eyes flickered. She quickly pulled a bamboo tube from her back and handed it over, while her other hand almost roughly hauled Xiao Nanhui up from the floor. Xiao Nanhui looked utterly reluctant. "It’s only just past the hour of the Pig. I won't get drunk. Even if you just let me sit here and drink plain water, that would be fine..." Bo Lao, her back to Yao Yi, winked frantically at her. Xiao Nanhui, however, only muttered with a dazed expression, "What's wrong with your eyes? They're twitching about so vigorously..." Bo Lao was speechless with rage. Behind her, Yao Yi had already opened the bamboo tube and removed its contents. She couldn't care about anything else; she grabbed Xiao Nanhui by the collar and dragged her out through the window they had come in. Yao Yi snapped back to his senses and looked at the half-open window with confusion. "What's wrong with them? They won't even use the front door." As he spoke, he unfurled the contents of the bamboo tube. It was the architectural plan of the old Zou estate in Muerhe that Xiao Nanhui had borrowed. As the map reached its end, a shocking water stain appeared, glaring enough to blind anyone looking at it. "Xiao Nanhui!" Yao Yi’s roar drifted far from Wangchen Tower, startling a flock of birds from the surrounding trees into flight. ****** ****** ****** The night was deep, and the temple gates were cold and quiet. The bustling pilgrims of the day had long since descended the mountain. The monks in the dhyana rooms had finished their evening chants and extinguished their lamps. The entire Yongye Temple was as silent as an abandoned ruin, save for the occasional stray cat darting through the grass, stirring up the thick fragrance of gardenias. A month ago, the camellias were in bloom; now, it was the season for gardenias. In the darkness, two figures walked past the main hall, one behind the other. They carried no lanterns or candles, yet their steps were light and familiar with the path. Within the main hall, thousands of candles burned perpetually. A thousand butter lamps were arranged in the shape of a pagoda, casting a mysterious glow upon the Buddha statues. In the center of the hall, a monk draped in a jade-colored kashaya was tending to freshly picked gardenias. Hearing footsteps, the monk looked up, revealing an exceptionally young face. Or rather, there was a sense of innocence on that face that made his age impossible to discern. His eyes, in particular, were remarkably clear and bright, as if they could see through everything if they so chose. The candlelight illuminated the visitor’s features, which, in that moment, bore a striking resemblance to the expression of the Buddha statue in the hall. "Master Yi Kong," Zhongli Jing greeted with a slight bow. Yi Kong returned the gesture, his tone somewhat surprised. "Did the Young Master not visit just a month ago? According to the routine, it is not yet time." Zhongli Jing replied calmly, "Something has arisen, so I have come early this time." The two seemed to have a prior arrangement, yet Yi Kong was in no hurry to invite him further into the hall. "Oh, then I must trouble the Young Master to wait. There are many affairs in the hall. Two more monks ran away yesterday, and now all sorts of chores fall upon me, the abbot. I truly cannot pull myself away." As he spoke, he produced a tattered rag from somewhere and began wiping the altar. He wiped left, then right, sighing with every stroke. Ding Weixiang watched this bizarre scene, eventually looking up at the ceiling of the hall in wordless silence, pretending not to see. Zhongli Jing understood the mind of this temple monk perfectly. He asked tonelessly, "How has the temple been lately?" As expected, Yi Kong’s brow furrowed slightly, his expression turning quite dismal. "As you know, Yongye is a place of harsh mountains and treacherous waters, remote and unlike the great temples. The pilgrims who come to offer incense are mostly poor folk. Our annual incense money probably isn't even a fraction of what Dacheng Temple receives. Lately, the capital outskirts haven't been peaceful; they say people are often attacked, so even fewer people come to the temple. The monks who remain are used to hardship and do not complain, but the roofs of the East and West Halls have been leaking for a long time. Old tiles can't be patched, and we can't afford new ones..." "One thousand taels," Zhongli Jing said, cutting short Yi Kong’s long-winded speech. Yi Kong paused, then added, "And there are several golden statues in the back hall that haven't been gilded..." "Gold," Zhongli Jing supplemented. Yi Kong immediately tossed the rag aside and bowed, pulling back the heavy ceremonial banners. "Young Master, please, come inside." To the side, Ding Weixiang watched this scene with wide eyes, feeling for the first time that he had never truly seen through this monk. Behind the banners lay a sutra-chanting platform that was a world unto itself—the place where Yi Kong practiced his own meditation. Ding Weixiang glanced inside and saw only a single low couch, and his expression immediately soured. "Master, let me have someone bring in more tables and chairs. This seems a bit... inconvenient..." Yi Kong’s ears twitched as if he had heard. He looked at Ding Weixiang with a smile, his tone very sincere. "Guard Ding, you are mistaken. The exchange of Dharma must naturally be face-to-face and heart-to-heart. Distance only creates estrangement." Ding Weixiang looked at Zhongli Jing, who said, "It is fine. It has always been thus." "I shall wait outside the hall then. Call for me at any time, Master." After saying this, Ding Weixiang cast a cold glance at Yi Kong, bowed, and withdrew. The banners fell, partitioning a private space at the back of the hall. It was vast and silent. Though the ceiling was high and the light dim, it did not feel oppressive. In the center of the roof was a small, square skylight, through which a bright moon could be seen hanging in the night sky. Yi Kong and Zhongli Jing sat opposite each other on the couch, separated only by a small table. Tea was brewing on the table; the timing was just right, so Yi Kong lifted the pot and poured a cup for each of them. "Do not be in a hurry, Young Master. Let me have a sip of tea first. Once we begin, I won't be able to drink." Zhongli Jing followed suit, picking up his cup and taking a light sip before setting it down. "It matters not." Yi Kong’s eyes flicked to Zhongli Jing’s wrist, and he immediately spotted the issue. "Young Master, why is your prayer bracelet missing a bead?" Zhongli Jing’s fingers lightly brushed the tea cup, his lowered lashes concealing the emotions in his eyes. "If it weren't missing, why would I have come to find you early?" Yi Kong’s mind was clear; he knew there was a reason, so he didn't press further. He refilled his own empty cup with hot tea. "Do not blame me, Young Master. I thought perhaps your internal cultivation had progressed, and you had removed a bead to test yourself." The corner of Zhongli Jing’s mouth hooked slightly. "For a man of cultivation, your words are remarkably barbed." Yi Kong pressed his palms together, his eyes a picture of clear innocence. "It seems my Chizhou Mandarin is still not quite fluent, leading the Young Master to misunderstand." This was a meeting of a cunning rabbit and a fox; when it came to the art of verbal sparring, they were always evenly matched. They looked at each other for a moment before both tactfully looked away, as if nothing had happened. "The hour is late. Let us begin." Yi Kong said no more. He took a bundle of tattered sutra scrolls wrapped in white silk from a goatskin box. He moved a butter lamp onto the small table and unfurled the scrolls. Upon the palm leaves were ancient characters as small as fly heads, written in the original language of the Dharma. Wrapped within these long scrolls was another object: a pitch-black vajra pestle made of metal. It was carved with many demons and lords of the underworld, looking quite fearsome. Zhongli Jing glanced at the dark ritual implement. Though he saw it every time, it still made him feel somewhat uneasy. "Must you always place a lethal weapon beside you to intimidate me?" Yi Kong smiled, placing the vajra pestle within easy reach. "I have witnessed the Young Master’s capabilities. Although nothing has gone wrong before, it is better to be cautious." The man fell silent for a moment, and unusually, he did not say anything more. He removed the string of prayer beads from his wrist and placed it on the table before him. Yi Kong turned to the first page of the scroll and spoke slowly. "Before we begin, I wish to nag the Young Master a bit more. You have worn those twenty-one sarira beads for many years. Now that one is missing, it will have some impact." The man closed his eyes. "My heart is within me; naturally, I can manage it." Yi Kong placed his hand atop the man’s head. "I am merely offering a reminder. Whether the heart remains stable is something only the Young Master himself can know." The low sound of chanting began. The Sanskrit tones were clear and resonant, echoing, circling, and rising within the great hall, finally drifting through the small window into the pitch-black night sky. *** **Glossary** Chinese | English | Notes/Explanation --- | --- | --- 望尘楼 | Wangchen Tower | "Gazing at Dust" Tower; a high-end establishment/tavern. 云叶鲜 | Yunye Fresh | A specific brand or type of high-quality wine. 光要营 | Guangyao Camp | The Imperial Guard camp; "Guangyao" means "Radiant/Glory". 曲长 | Company Commander | A military rank (Qu Zhang). 马革裹尸 | Wrapped in horsehide | A classic idiom meaning to die on the battlefield. 伯劳 | Bo Lao | Character name; literally means "Shrike" (a bird). 杜鹃 | Du Juan | Character name; literally means "Cuckoo" (a bird). 永业寺 | Yongye Temple | "Eternal Karma" or "Eternal Industry" Temple. 一空 | Yi Kong | Character name (monk); literally "One Emptiness" or "All is Empty". 降魔杵 | Vajra Pestle | A ritual object used to symbolize the destruction of ignorance/demons. 舍利子 | Sarira | Buddhist relics; here referring to the sacred beads on the bracelet. 亥时 | Hour of the Pig | The period from 9:00 PM to 11:00 PM.