Chapter 32: Red Beans Know Where Longing Dwells, Mirror Flowers Hard to Find for Lovers (Part Two)
by GideonMorning light filtered through the canopy, dappling the bedding in mottled shadows.
Wen Jin stirred groggily, his brow furrowing in his sleep from the lingering discomfort of a hangover.
Soon, a cool hand pressed against his temples, gently massaging them. Wen Jin’s eyes snapped open, and he looked at the man beside his pillow. “Big Brother.”
Lan Yulang lay on his side, the light falling diagonally from behind him, sharpening the line of his jaw. “Hmm.”
Wen Jin smiled radiantly, calling out again, “Big Brother.”
“What is it?” Lan Yulang asked.
Wen Jin said, “I thought it would be a long time before I saw you again. I never expected we’d reunite so soon.”
Lan Yulang replied, “Our fates are deeply entwined.”
Wen Jin added, “You have an uncle who is the leader of the righteous sects. Avenging yourself would be effortless for you. Why risk everything by coming to the Demonic Cult?”
Lan Yulang said, “Some grudges cannot be settled by others.”
Wen Jin froze for a moment, then lowered his gaze. “You’re right. Some debts of blood must be repaid by one’s own hand.”
Sensing the hidden meaning in his words, Lan Yulang asked, “Jinjin, did you join the Heaven-Seizing Cult only to act as a mole for the Martial Arts Alliance?”
Wen Jin shook his head. “I also came to avenge the blood feud of my parents.”
A blood feud for his parents?
They had known each other for a long time, yet Lan Yulang had never heard him mention his parents. This youth always maintained a bright, cheerful demeanor, as if he had been born to be cherished, growing up like a precious gem cradled by the stars.
Lan Yulang gently stroked the shell of his ear with his thumb, his voice soft. “Can you tell me the whole story?”
Wen Jin pulled back the quilt and sat cross-legged on the bed, letting out a soft sigh. “My master rarely spoke of my parents to me. If Uncle Murong hadn’t let it slip that day, I’m afraid I would have gone my whole life without knowing that my parents were both killed by the Heaven-Seizing Cult’s previous sect leader, Mu Fushuang.”
Master?
A strange flicker of emotion crossed Lan Yulang’s eyes. Before he could ask further, Wen Jin had already slipped off the bed and walked barefoot to the table, pouring a cup of cool boiled water to quench his thirst.
The youth’s figure was slender, lean without being frail. The golden light filtering through his sleeping robe cast a clear outline of his waist.
Lan Yulang rose and came to his side, his palm resting gently against Wen Jin’s waist. “Jinjin, your father—”
“Big Brother, I’m hungry. Let’s go get some food from Little Butterfly.” Wen Jin turned back, interrupting him.
Lan Yulang said, “There is a stove here. We can light a fire and cook rice.”
Only after his reminder did Wen Jin notice the layout of the cottage: just a table, a bed, two chairs, a wardrobe, a bathtub, and a copper mirror. A pot of orchids rested on the windowsill, the entire space quite simple.
He opened the door and saw a stream winding past the entrance. The cottage was surrounded by mountains on three sides, secluded and tranquil, like a hidden paradise.
A rough-hewn wooden plaque hung above the main door, carved with three large seal-script characters: Green Rock Residence.
Wen Jin asked, “Where is this?”
Lan Yulang replied, “This place is called Crouching Vulture Ridge. It is a one-incense-stick’s journey from the Main Hall.” After a moment’s silence, he added, “Meng Duwei asked the Sect Leader for it on your behalf.”
Wen Jin returned to the bed, put on his shoes and socks, and then went to the kitchen. Everything he needed—firewood, rice, oil, and salt—was within sight.
He took Meng Duwei’s kind intentions to heart. Just as he was about to roll up his sleeves to start the fire and cook, Lan Yulang stopped him. “I’ll do it. You drink the honey water on the table; it will help with your hangover.”
Wen Jin looked at him with suspicion. “Do you even know how?”
“A little.” Lan Yulang squatted by the stove, breaking a few dry twigs to stuff into the firebox before striking a flint to ignite them.
Seeing him look so capable, Wen Jin felt reassured. He turned back into the room, drank the honey water, and lay back down on the bed to sleep.
When he woke again, it was nearly noon. So hungry his vision blurred, he rushed to the kitchen. Lan Yulang had set two bowls of thick porridge on the stove and placed a small plate of blackened, minced-meat-and-green-bean stir-fry on the table. The room filled with the smell of scorched food, and Wen Jin’s heart swelled with a mix of emotions.
Lan Yulang said, “The fire was a bit too fierce just now, and I burned the dish. Drink the porridge first; I’ll fry another plate.”
“No need, no need!” Wen Jin scooped a mouthful of the minced-meat-and-green-bean stir-fry into his porridge and began to eat heartily. “It’s delicious!”
Lan Yulang tasted it skeptically and immediately frowned at the saltiness. Seeing Wen Jin devouring the food, he urged, “Stop eating. I’ll make another portion.”
Wen Jin swallowed the entire bowl of porridge, then scooped another and finished it completely. He set the empty bowl on the table. “Big Brother, I’m full.”
Lan Yulang said, “I know it tastes terrible. You don’t need to force yourself.”
“I wasn’t forcing myself. I have a heavy palate, so this is just right,” Wen Jin said. “If you can’t get used to it, Big Brother, I’ll go make you some noodles.”
He knew his sworn brother was a picky eater, yet he didn’t want to point out how truly terrible the porridge and side dishes were. Instead, he slipped into the kitchen, kneaded some dough, boiled water, and cooked a bowl of wide noodles to fill his stomach.
By the time they had finished breakfast, it was already noon. Wen Jin carried a bamboo basket to the stream, preparing to catch fish. Lan Yulang sat beneath a maple tree, quietly watching him splash back and forth in the stream.
After catching enough fish and shrimp, Wen Jin climbed ashore, satisfied. “Big Brother, do you eat shrimp?”
Lan Yulang nodded. “I do.”
“Then I’ll make you a shrimp ball dish tonight.” Wen Jin sighed regretfully. “It’s a pity alcohol is forbidden within the sect. Otherwise, I’d definitely let you try my marinated ‘Drunken Green Shrimp.’ Even my master couldn’t stop praising it.”
Lan Yulang gazed at him in silence, offering no reply.
After a short while, Wen Jin tossed the caught fish and shrimp into a water vat, then went up the hillside to pick a few sprigs of mint to use as seasoning.
Having finished these tasks, he strolled over to Lan Yulang’s side, sat down, and frowned. “I don’t think we can just sit around doing nothing and wait for death like this.”
Lan Yulang asked, “What do you mean?”
Wen Jin said, “A few days ago, when Mo Changling and his men besieged the Heaven-Seizing Cult, I vaguely heard a rumor. They say that the Devil Lan Yulang’s cultivation method has a flaw—on a fixed day each month, he is unable to circulate his inner energy, rendering him as helpless as an ordinary mortal.”
The Great Devil replied calmly, “And what do you plan to do about it?”
Wen Jin rested his chin in his hands, his face a mask of despair. “I have no good plan yet.”
Lan Yulang raised an eyebrow. “You once mentioned that this Devil has a fondness for men, and that you would sacrifice your own beauty to seduce him. With your looks, you might actually succeed. Why have you not acted on this, even after being in the Cult for so long?”
“Little Butterfly said their Cult Leader is hideously ugly—a square face, a bulbous nose, and eyes like copper bells,” Wen Jin declared solemnly. “How could I bring myself to do it? Besides, this Cult Leader is cautious. Aside from the High Priests, ordinary disciples rarely get the chance to meet him. I am merely a low-ranking disciple; getting close to him is harder than ascending to heaven.”
And besides… he had only said that on a whim back then. Seduction, what seduction? That is hardly the conduct of a proper gentleman.
Hearing this, Lan Yulang chuckled. “So, if the Cult Leader were a handsome man, you would have made your move by now?”
Wen Jin mumbled, “That’s not true…” He leaned against the tree trunk, cradling his head in his hands as he closed his eyes for a short nap.
Just then, Xie Congen arrived at Green Rock Residence, carrying a wooden tray. From beneath the eaves, he called out, “Wen Jin, the Cult Leader has a command!”
Wen Jin shot to his feet, hurried back, and cupped his hands in a respectful salute. “Guard Xie, what are the Cult Leader’s orders?”
Lan Yulang also returned to the eaves.
Xie Congen glanced at him, then turned to Wen Jin. “You are now a disciple of the Holy Cult. According to our rules, you must have a tattoo inked onto your body.”
The tray held two small dishes of ink, a needle carved from animal bone, a small wooden mallet, and a small bottle of yellow wine.
Once the tattoo was inked, one would forever bear the mark of the Demonic Cult.
Seeing Wen Jin hesitate, Xie Congen asked, “Are you unwilling?”
Wen Jin shook his head. “I am willing. Of course I am willing.”
Xie Congen said, “Then come inside.”
Suddenly, Lan Yulang spoke. “I’ll do it.”
Xie Congen blinked in surprise. “You… Can you?”
Wen Jin was equally puzzled. “Brother, you know how to tattoo?”
Lan Yulang replied, “Yes.”
Xie Congen said, “Fine, you do it then. It saves me the trouble.” With that, he handed the tray to Lan Yulang and swept away from Green Rock Residence, his feet barely touching the ground.
Wen Jin’s gaze fixed on the bottle of yellow wine, a grin spreading across his face. “Look, we have wine after all! Let’s have the Drunken Shrimp tonight.”
Lan Yulang replied, “This wine is for cleansing your wound. It is not to be used for anything else.”
Wen Jin pleaded, “Just half a bottle.”
Lan Yulang refused him flatly. “No.”
Wen Jin’s smile vanished. He retreated into the kitchen, crestfallen, and began preparing the fish and shrimp.
By the time they finished dinner, dusk had fallen. After bathing, Wen Jin followed Lan Yulang’s instructions, shed his inner robes, and lay obediently face-down on the bed.
Lan Yulang lit two oil lamps and placed them at the head of the bed, then brought over the tattooing tools.
Wen Jin watched him, his heart pounding with anxiety. “Big Brother… Are you sure you can do this? Perhaps we should let Guard Xie do it after all?”
Lan Yulang’s voice was calm. “Lie still.”
Wen Jin did as he was told, then asked, “Wait—where are you going to tattoo it?”
Lan Yulang pressed his palm against Wen Jin’s lower back, gently sliding it downward. “Here.”
His fingertips pressed into the small of Wen Jin’s back, tracing a slow, deliberate path lower.
Wen Jin shivered at the icy touch of those fingertips. “Then… let’s begin.”
A jade dish held two colors of ink—green and red. Lan Yulang gently wiped Wen Jin’s skin with yellow rice wine, then took up a bone needle dipped in cinnabar.
“Jinjin, this will hurt a little,” he said. “Endure it.”
How much will it hurt? Wen Jin thought. More than you’ve stabbed me?
Lan Yulang, unaware of his thoughts, saw that he didn’t respond and gently pressed the bone needle into his skin. The cinnabar immediately seeped in.
The pain was no worse than an ant bite, nothing to fear. Wen Jin gradually relaxed. “Big Brother, why didn’t Guard Xie tattoo one for you?”
“I got mine yesterday,” Lan Yulang replied.
Wen Jin turned his head. “What did you get? Where is it?”
Lan Yulang paused his movements and rolled up his left sleeve. Sure enough, a black scorpion tattoo adorned his arm. The skin around the tattoo was slightly red and still swollen, clearly a fresh ink job.
Wen Jin frowned. “Then why did you tattoo mine on my waist instead of my arm?”
“No one can see it here,” Lan Yulang said.
Wen Jin: “…”
A tattoo was a symbol of identity, not something meant for public display.
What kind of excuse was that?
Fine, it’s already done.
Wen Jin buried half his face in the pillow, his eyes filled with resignation.
The sunset clouds vanished from the horizon, and ink-black darkness spilled across the sky.
Outside the window, the cicadas’ incessant drone rose and fell, adding a touch of liveliness to the night.
Wen Jin lay still, feeling the slight sting of the bone needle piercing his skin. Only when his arm grew numb from the pressure did he finally speak. “Big Brother, how much longer?”
“Just a moment more.” Lan Yulang’s wrist remained steady, his focus as intense as if he were painting a masterpiece.
He dipped the bone needle into a dish of cinnabar ink, dotting it into Wen Jin’s skin. A brilliant peony gradually bloomed upon the fair, smooth flesh.
A moment later, he reached for another dish of green pigment and continued his intricate work.
Whenever a bead of blood welled up, Lan Yulang gently wiped it away with yellow wine. The sweet, rich aroma of the liquor wafted through the room, intoxicating without a single sip.
Wen Jin breathed in the fragrant air greedily. Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through his waist. He instinctively gripped the soft pillow, a muffled groan escaping his lips.
The tattooist’s hand froze. Lan Yulang lifted his eyelids slightly, his gaze falling upon the youth whose earlobes had flushed crimson.
A green snake coiled around a peony in full bloom. Only the tail remained to be inked before the masterpiece would be complete.
He dipped the needle again into the green pigment, continuing to dot the skin at the base of the youth’s spine.
The flesh here was thin; the needle’s point pierced the skin, striking the sacrum directly. Unable to bear the pain, the youth’s body trembled faintly.
The snake’s tail dangled bewitchingly as it drew closer and closer to the most private of places.
Lan Yulang gently tugged at the youth’s undergarments, allowing the bone needle to smoothly ink the tail.
Wen Jin bit down on his fist. When the pain became unbearable, he asked in a trembling voice, “Big Brother, are you not finished yet? It hurts…”
“It is done,” Lan Yulang replied.
With the final stroke, Wen Jin’s fate was sealed.
The green snake coiled around the peony, its slender tail winding down the cleft of his buttocks.
It descended directly into the crevice.
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