94 铜钱龛世 | Tong Qian Kan Shi | Copper Coin Niches -- 木苏里 | Musuli -- 英语翻译 | English translation -- Chapter 94

 Chapter 94: Some sweetness (I)

    The little room on the second floor of the bamboo building in the hollow of Dustpan Mountain was a simple room with simple furnishings, so bare-bones that it barely looked habitable. The only item in the room was a bamboo bed, and it did not seem to have been used very frequently at all.         

    Indeed, it did not seem like anyone had ever really used the bedroom. Who knew what kind of life the previous owner had led here? Did they not eat, did they not sleep –– were they about to ascend into godhood? 

    But no matter how the owner had lived when he'd previously resided here, today, he looked perfectly normal lying there on the bed––

    Xuanmin's body was blanketed by a white robe. His face was pale and grey, with no hint of life. His arms were folded neatly across his chest, and were as cold as ice, unmoving and completely still.

    The first couple of days, Xue Xian had bothered him a lot. Seeing that Xuanmin's body refused to warm up, remaining as stiff as ice, Xue Xian had surrounded him with a bubble of hot air to try and steam him back to life. But at the end of it, Xuanmin's skin had still seemed cold, so Xue Xian had wanted to find something to cover him up more.

    He'd looked in every corner of the bamboo building but had not found a single blanket or blanket-like thing, so he'd had to go into the nearby county seat and spend some silver on some winter bedding and a thick cloak.

    Xue Xian had thought of taking off the outer layer of his own robe to cover Xuanmin with, but his pitch-black clothing, which he'd always thought looked pretty good on him, gave Xuanmin an aura of death, making him look even more hopeless –– it was too unpleasant.

    Xue Xian had never been superstitious, but now he suddenly wondered if black clothes were taboo.

    For the next couple of days, Xue Xian had gone back and forth, racking his brains. First he'd put the blanket on Xuanmin, then he'd feel that such a thick item didn't match Xuanmin's personality, but if he gave Xuanmin the new cloak he'd bought, the cloak's color just felt wrong too...

    After searching the house again, he'd finally found a pristine white robe, and had put that on Xuanmin instead.

    Having arranged the robe on top of Xuanmin so that it covered him well, Xue Xian began to worry about how uncanny Xuanmin looked lying there with his hands laid out by his side like that –– even seeing Xuanmin actually lying down horizontally was extremely strange. In Xue Xian's memories, Xuanmin was always either meditating cross-legged, or busying away at something with a serious expression on his face.

    Xue Xian had sat there for a while, then become restless again, getting up to help Xuanmin shift position, and had folded Xuanmin's arms so that they were now placed calmly across his chest. 

    Once he'd made sure Xuanmin was comfortable, Xue Xian took a quick trip back to the Cave of a Hundred Insects. He barrelled straight through to the stone chamber at the end and made a rubbing out of all that complicated, archaic text on the wall. 

    But he couldn't read the text, so the rubbing told him nothing new.

    He found some time to go visit Old Qu in the village again, to see if the old man could recognise the script.

    But Old Qu didn't know either. The villager only said that the script looked similar to that of his ancestor, he'd perhaps seen one or two elders write in that way a handful of times –– but no one had truly used the script for at least a few hundred years, and today, anyone who had known how to read it was probably long dead.

    So the text on the wall was temporarily of no use to Xue Xian, and, frustrated, he had to put it away.

    He found a great deal of meaningless small things for himself to do, and kept himself busy doing chores while Xuanmin slept, because he could did not dare to be idle. Every time things were calm, he would be able to sense that Xuanmin's body beside him was in fact completely emptied of its soul.

    Xue Xian's eyesight was endowed with the divine: he could not only see things in the material world, but also ghosts and spirits. He had seen Jiang Shining, had seen old mistress Liu, had seen the wounded soldier trapped in the dog tag... he had seen many, many things, living people and dead ghosts, but the one thing he could not see was what had happened to Xuanmin's soul.

    In the end, he ran out of tasks to complete. After three or four days of activity, he had no other choice but to sit down quietly.

    With the onset of quiet, Xue Xian could spend all day just sitting by the window unmoving, staring at Xuanmin's lifeless body. Sometimes he was examining Xuanmin intently, trying to see if he could detect a hint of movement or change within the monk; other times, he was simply zoning out.

     The mole left by the Spider of the Same Age on Xuanmin's neck was still faint and dark, like a long-dried brown bloodstain. Xue Xian did not know when it might turn into a vivid red color again, or perhaps it never would...

    Xue Xian had lived thousands of years alone, and had long gotten used to the peace and quiet that came with solitude. But now, as he watched Xuanmin lie there with his eyes closed, unspeaking, unbreathing, Xue Xian felt a hopeless, overwhelming sense of loneliness...

    Thankfully, he quickly found himself something else to do.

    This was no longer something as meaningless and trite as changing Xuanmin's covers or position –– while rummaging through the bamboo building's library, Xue Xian had come across an old book.

    That book looked completely hand-calligraphed and hand-bound, and who knew how long ago it had been put together. The pages inside were already weak and withered, as though a single touch might cause them to tear. It had been filed away in a drawer for too long without anyone checking up on it, and the mountain air was humid, so the pages had long begun to curl, and many of the words had faded.

    But this did not dampen Xue Xian's mood at all –– in any case, half of the text in the book was completely illegible to him.

    The book contained none other than the same archaic script that had been carved onto the wall at the Cave of a Hundred Insects. And the other half of the text was an annotation that translated that strange script.

    The contents of the book were extremely thorough and detailed: clearly, the person writing it had had a a balanced and steady personality, with a great deal of patience.

    Xue Xian hurriedly flipped through the pages to the final page, and, in the bottom corner, there it was –– the only two characters he'd been taught to read –– the author's signature, Tongdeng.

    Back when he'd ru-mo on Mt. Jiangsong, the connection established by the copper coin pendant had meant that he'd seen some of the final batch of memories that had flooded back into Xuanmin's mind when the final coin's seal had been broken. When Xue Xian had regained control, he'd recalled the things he'd seen and more or less pieced together the story of the Great Priest Tongdeng's inherited identity.

    Based on all that, it seemed that the Tongdeng who'd built the Cave of a Hundred Insects and the Tongdeng who'd written this book were the same person –– the first Tongdeng.

    Xue Xian had never met that original Tongdeng, but from this book, he did not seem to be an evil person. He'd at least been a good teacher.

    Having found this book, Xue Xian did not delay further. He took out the rubbing he'd made and, studying the contents of Tongdeng's book, he matched each character in the archaic script to its modern Chinese equivalent. He did not stop nor rest –– four days later, he was able to understand every word of the message on the wall.

    And then he sat by the table in silence for an entire night...

    Someone, without saying a single word, had chosen to bear the burden of all the misfortunes and disasters in Xue Xian's infinite life so that he would no longer need to feel pain; and had not asked for anything in return.

    If Xue Xian hadn't happened to figure out what the wall text meant, perhaps he would have spent the rest of his life in the dark as to what Xuanmin had done for him...

    How could he abandon someone like that? 

    Even if Xuanmin had passed onto the next life, Xue Xian would be able to find him again. But Xuanmin hadn't even re-entered the wheel of life; couldn't. From the tallest point in heaven to the deepest sea, no matter where Xuanmin was, he was going to find him, and bring him back.

    ******

    In the remote mountains, it suddenly began to snow again. This time, it wasn't the kind that froze one's heart over, but the kind that fell sheet by sheet, crystal clear and perfect, bringing with it a sense of relief and even a flush of warmth. 

    "It's New Year's Eve," Tongdeng said, standing by the door with his hands clasped behind his back. As he looked up at the heavens and watched the eddies of snow fall onto the ground, he suddenly asked Xuanmin, "I think I've forgotten. What year is this?"

    Xuanmin was still sitting inside the hall, meditating: the pain he'd gone through had been so extreme that it would take him quite some time to fully heal again. For the time being, he could not easily stride over somewhere and pick up a material object at will, as Tongdeng could.

    Although Xuanmin looked to be sitting on the prayer mat, he was actually hovering slightly above it.

    Even the lightest, thinnest needle, if placed in his palm, he would be unable to handle. The needle would fall through his ghostly hand and drop to the floor.

    Hearing Tongdeng's question, Xuanmin kept his eyes closed and replied, "The twenty-third year of the Tianxi era. After today, it will be the twenty-fourth."

    Tongdeng's black eyes reflected the shimmer of the pure white snow, and were deep as lakes; he felt as though hundreds of years were passing each time he blinked those eyes of his. After a long silence, Tongdeng said, "Oh, Tianxi..."

    He sounded like he'd wanted to say more, but after having uttered those first words, he fell silent again. Xuanmin did not know what he was thinking –– perhaps he was simply going to sigh about how quickly the time was passing.

    "The snowfall looks to last the whole night. Good omen," Tongdeng added. He turned, ready to return into the hall and continue to debate with his disciple, but before he could move, he suddenly heard a mighty sound of thunder ring out from the heavens.

    The thunder came out of nowhere, with no warning. It was so out of the blue that it could not be a natural storm.

    As soon as he heard thunder, Xuanmin suddenly opened the eyes that he had kept closed for weeks of meditation.

    Whenever Xue Xian turned into his dragon form, it had always been accompanied by bolts of thunder, so that by now Xuanmin seemed to have acquired a habit –– hearing the sound of thunder automatically made him feel as though Xue Xian were about to appear.

    But then he closed his eyes as resolutely as he'd opened them. He was somewhere between living and dead now, and no one could see him, let alone figure out where he was. Why would Xue Xian come here?

    Suddenly, Tongdeng exclaimed, "This thunder..."

    Before he could finish his sentence, a bolt of lightning flashed across the sky, its stark white outline coming down from the sky like the zigzagging trail of an earthworm and landing exactly on Daze Temple.

    Tongdeng watched as the strange lightning came straight toward the roof of the building in which they stood, but just as it was about to strike them, something interfered and stopped it in its tracks.

    The lightning had arrived out of nowhere, and now had disappeared out of nowhere. As though it had come to scare them on purpose, or alternatively... 

    Tongdeng did not know if it was just his paranoia, but the thunder seemed to be full of some immensely powerful magic. It could not have been summoned by a rain spell or any ordinary magic spell; instead it seemed like the kind of thunder that might appear during a catastrophe. But what kind of human experienced catastrophes?

    So Tongdeng must have gotten it wrong.

    He turned to Xuanmin. "Could it be that dragon of yours?"

    Xuanmin was silent. 

    What do you mean, 'that dragon of yours'? Xuanmin couldn't even be bothered to open his eyes. He wasn't one to harbor impossible fantasies.

    But Tongdeng didn't need Xuanmin to reply; he already got his answer––

    Because just as he'd finished asking his question, the sound of a dragon's roar came from the faraway skies. Within the blink of an eye, a black silhouette crash-landed into the doorway, accompanied by a dozen strikes of lightning.

    The disturbance was chaotic, and all too familiar. Xuanmin could not remain indifferent; his eyelids suddenly fluttered open as he peered out of the door.

    Xue Xian looked exactly as he'd looked before, his skin still pale, his face still handsome. But Xuanmin felt as though he had not seem him in many, many years; Xue Xian stood only two zhang away, yet it seemed as though they were separated by the veil between life and death. 

    Xuanmin's gaze pressed upon Xue Xian with the weight of a mountain range, unrelenting.

    Xue Xian looked quizzical. He stood by the doorway and stared into the hall, yet did not seem able to see the two monks inside. Frowning, his gaze swept the hall as he wore a complicated, deep-set expression on his face.

    He couldn't see.

    He really couldn't see.

    Xuanmin's eyes dimmed and a rush of feeling welled into them, his anguish palpable.

    But as Xue Xian's gaze scanned past him, it suddenly stopped. Xue Xian frowned again as he stared at that spot in the hall, as though sensing something there. Finally, he tentatively asked, "Bald donkey?"

    Tongdeng clicked his tongue.

    But Xue Xian did not seem to notice Tongdeng at all. His gaze rested on Xuanmin, searching.    

    Xuanmin said, "Yes."

    Tongdeng clicked his tongue again.

    But Xue Xian could not hear Xuanmin's voice. All Xue Xian could do was stand there, staring at that spot, waiting until he could wait no longer. Then he took out a thin red string from his sleeve and wound one end of it loosely around his wrist. As he tied it into a knot, it seemed to glow with an inner light, as though suddenly alive.

    "Since you're not responding, I've got no choice," Xue Xian muttered as he fidgeted with the string. Then, he pinched the other side of the string between his fingers, squinted and aimed in Xuanmin's direction, and let it fly.

    As it soared through the air, the red string seemed to take on a life of its own, gliding straight toward Xuanmin. It hovered for a moment in front of the sitting monk, then, once sure, snaked its way toward his wrist and tied itself around him in a deadly knot.

    As the string caught Xuanmin, Xue Xian's solemn face suddenly relaxed and bloomed into a grin. "Gotcha."

93 铜钱龛世 | Tong Qian Kan Shi | Copper Coin Niches -- 木苏里 | Musuli -- 英语翻译 | English translation -- Chapter 93

 Chapter 93: Peace for a Hundred Years (IV)

    Daze Temple, on Mt. Jiangsong, was a small rural monastery that had been built some three hundred years ago. Its location was so remote that it had never truly flourished to gain that permanent cloud of melancholy incense that most temples had. No more than ten monks lived there, and they were mostly calm, simple people, so life was not too difficult. Around two hundred years ago, before the flash of lightning destroyed the temple, the monks numbered five or six. Their backs were hunched with age; they had all lived out their entire lives in that mountain. The only young person in the temple was the new initiate, a youth from Nanjiang.

    To be perfectly honest, at the time, the group of elderly monks would look on with kindness and pity at that Nanjiang youth, thinking, This boy must be extraordinarily stupid. There are so many famous and wealthy monasteries out there –– why had he chosen to come to Daze Temple?

    The Nanjiang youth had a handsome, fresh face, with tall brows and shapely cheekbones. His black eyes shone with a calmness and stability unusual for his age.

    With a face like that, any monastery would want him as an initiate. Yet he had to pick the tiny one on Mt. Jiangsong.

    Naturally, the elderly monks did not mind, and were happy to have him –– but was he happy? So they'd asked. 

    The youth had responded, I'm fated to come to Daze Temple.

    But before he had had the chance to take his oath, that fated Daze Temple of his was struck by a bolt of lightning and caught fire.

    Everyone in the temple died, except for the Nanjiang youth.

    Much, much later, that youth happened to meet another young man around the same age, and the two became intimate friends. Many years after that, the youth moved into the Ministry of Ceremonies and became the Great Priest, charged with protecting the entire empire from disaster and securing good fortune. 

    Because that intimate friend of his had a special status: when they'd first met, he'd only been the crown prince; later, he became the emperor.

    Many years after that, the emperor's life was coming to an end, and the Great Priest unable to accept losing his closest friend, found a way to extend the emperor's life. But it took him too long to develop the spell: by the time it was ready, the divine son of Heaven had already ascended.

    The Great Priest was inconsolable. But he did not forget the promise that he had made with his closest friend: to protect the land for a hundred years.

    But ordinary people did not live that long, and, in trying to find a way to extend the emperor's life, the Great Priest had exhausted himself, and his own life was now flickering. 

    Thus he did some divinations, then went back to Daze Temple on Mt. Songjiang, where he found his successor.

    He wanted to honor his friend's wishes, and make sure that, no matter what happened to the imperial dynasty, there would always be a star burning with an eternal flame, lighting the way for the empire, guiding the spirit of the people. He changed his Buddhist name to Tongdeng, which meant lantern companion, and decided to hand it down by the generations.

    But when he'd first brought his successor home from Daze Temple, the successor had still been an infant with no teeth. He couldn't even speak.

    Tongdeng was too formal a name for a child, and might not be auspicious if he wanted the child to live past infancy. Besides, they still had many years to go until the mantle was passed on. So the Great Priest gave the child a more appropriate Buddhist name: Xuanmin.

    There was something special about Xuanmin. The child had been born with the Buddha's bones in his body, the sign of having been blessed with great virtue. The Buddha's bones would stay with him in all of his lives, passed on from life to life. 

    Although the Great Priest was a man of few words when it came to his daily affairs, he had in fact much to say to young Xuanmin. Soon, Xuanmin became not just a discipline, but a friend.

    Perhaps it was incidental or perhaps it was the Great Priest's intention, but as he raised and taught the child over the years, few people ever came into the secret courtyard. Few people got to see the Great Priest's true face, and even fewer people knew of Xuanmin's existence.

    Many years later, Xuanmin grew up and successfully took over as Tongdeng. And the Great Priest, who, since the emperor's death, had had little left to live for, finally passed into nirvana.

    His long life had been somewhat eventful, but if he really thought about it, all he'd had was a single intimate friend, and a single disciple... but it was enough for a full life. Yet some part of him could not let go of Mt. Jiangsong, and Daze Temple...

    Even though the strike of lightning all those years ago really had been a coincidence, and had had nothing to do with him, the rumors about the bad luck he'd brought to the elderly monks had followed him around everywhere. He could not help but feel a faint sense of guilt when he thought of Daze Temple.

    Even after he passed away, he could not let go. So... he 'stayed' there. Each year, on New Year's, and during Qingming Festival and Ghost Festival, he would light lanterns for the souls of the elderly monks who had smiled at him kindly, a century ago now.

    He was like a ghost but not a ghost; like a soul but not a soul; like a spirit but not a spirit; no one could see him, not even wizards, nor exorcists, nor fortune-tellers with yin-yang vision.

    So to humans, it looked as though, a few times a year, the temple would suddenly become bathed in light. It terrified them, and no one dared come close, calling it a haunted temple.

    Today was the seventeenth day of the twelfth month. The devastating battle on Mt. Jiangsong felt like it had only taken place yesterday, but in fact, more than half a month had passed.

    The destroyed scene at the foot of the mountain had long been cleared away, and then an enormous blizzard buried all remaining traces that anything had ever happened there. It was a scene of peace again.

    Night fell. In the darkness, the abandoned temple suddenly lit up with exactly six small flames.

    "The ghost flames! The ghost flames are back, brother!" Far from Daze Temple along the mountain range, in the small monastery, the little novice leant by of the window and stuck his head out into the night, looking toward Mt. Jiangsong and gesturing at his disciple brother to come take a look.

    The ghost flames appeared at inconsistent times, sometimes earlier, sometimes later. It was rare to actually catch a glimpse. The little novice had lived at the monastery for more than ten years now, but this was only his second time witnessing the ghost flames.

    The rumors made the ghost flames sound horrifying, but when he actually looked at them, he did not feel any fear at all. The flames glowed with a honey warmth, and not only did they not disturb the viewer, they actually instilled a sense of serenity.

    And in reality, Daze Temple did not contain any negative or demonic energy at all.

    Those six peace lanterns, with those 'flames that appeared on their own', were in fact being lit by a monk dressed in white robes. He carefully tended to the cores of the flames, but no one could see him do it, except for another person who was in the same situation as he.

    The lantern-lighting monk was none other than the Nanjiang youth who, centuries ago, had climbed the mountain and entered this temple as an initiate, who went on to become the Great Priest: the real Tongdeng.

    And the person who was in the same situation as he, the only person who could see him, was also present in the temple at that moment. This person also wore white monk's robes, and looked like a ghost without being a ghost; like a soul without being a soul. He sat cross-legged on a prayer mat in the corner of the hall, pale-faced, eyes closed, as though meditating.

    Although he looked like a ghost, the haunted air could not mask the pleasant attractiveness of his face, nor that frost-like aloofness.

    He was Xuanmin.

    Tongdeng finished lighting the lanterns and stood calmly in front of them, clasping his hands together in a Buddhist greeting. Then, with a sweep of his sleeve, he turned around and walked toward Xuanmin. In the dim light of the six lanterns, he glanced over at Xuanmin left hand, resting lightly on his own knee. 

    Between two of the fingers on that hand, Tongdeng could see a mole, so small that it looked like the prick of a needle, though it was slightly globulous in form and jutted out from the skin. This mole matched that on Xue Xian's collarbone.

    "Your mole has appeared," Tongdeng said, glaring at Xuanmin. "I still can't believe you thought of doing something like that in such a moment. Getting the spider, having it bite you, then having it bite him, all in the time it would take to say a single sentence. You might as well have used that last bit of energy to struggle a bit more, maybe given him some final words, a final request."

   Xuanmin's eyelids remained shut, and his lips made no movement. It was unclear whether he had heard Tongdeng at all, or if he was simply ignoring his forebear.

    "This spider may not be as poisonous as the Spider of the Same Age, but it's still not exactly comfortable. Do you let these things bite you for fun these days?" Tongdeng added coolly. 

    Xuanmin was silent for a time, then finally, still without opening his eyes, spoke. "You created these spiders."

    Which really meant: So don't go around warning others about getting bitten.

    After Xuanmin had taken his final breath, he'd fallen unconscious, and when he'd woken up, it had been right here in the abandoned Daze Temple. Around two days ago, he'd succeeded in crafting a bodily form, and it had taken another day for that form to stabilise. In those two days, he had not opened his eyes, nor was it easy for him to speak, but could listen as someone near him spoke.

    As he listened to that voice weave in and out, he discovered that this was the first Great Priest Tongdeng, and his own shifu in his previous life. And the two kinds of spiders that lived in the Cave of a Hundred Insects had been bred by this very monk.

    Xuanmin had only ever previously experienced the bite of the Spider of the Same Age. Many, many years ago, before he'd retreated from the secret courtyard to his small bamboo building, he had realised that something about Zuhong's fate had changed –– the number of years Zuhong had left in life had increased. Although, when inside the secret courtyard, Zuhong had stopped removing his mask, Xuanmin could still tell by the disappearing wrinkles on his predecessor's neck that Zuhong was getting physically younger. 

    At the time, Xuanmin hadn't known what to think, but he'd wondered if Zuhong's transformation had had something to do with himself. In that period, whenever Zuhong spoke to him, it was in a profound tone, as though Zuhong felt like he owed Xuanmin something –– there was even a slight tinge of gratitude.

    But, at the time, he still greatly respected his master, so even though he had noticed something was amiss, he had not minded it.

    Much later, when Xuanmin came to know the truth about the Spider of the Same Age, Zuhong then went further and greedily extracted those dragon bones –– and after that, Xuanmin had lost his memories. So the whole 'confronting Zuhong about ensnaring him with a Spider of the Same Age' thing had gotten delayed, and had only been resolved at the very end of Zuhong's life.

    But now he had time to think it all through. Xuanmin had always been an extremely reserved person, and there were very few opportunities for anyone to get close enough to him to plant a spider. The only time was...

    The autumn before he left the secret courtyard for good and allowed Zuhong to replace him as Great Priest. He'd been meditating, and he had accidentally wandered into a meditation trap spell and fallen unconscious for three days and three nights. Back then, he'd trusted Zuhong completely, so if Zuhong had wanted to plant the spider on him, he could very well have done it then.

    But no matter. His physical body was dead. This was all history now, things from his past life.

    Today, the mole on his body was no longer that of the Spider of the Same Age, but a bite from the second type of spider found at the Cave of a Hundred Insects.

    Tongdeng's original goal had been to develop the Spider of the Same Age; the second type had been an accidental byproduct. This spider represented the depressed and troubled state of mind that Tongdeng had been in when he'd made it, and he hadn't known what to call the breed, so had settled on Wuming, anonymous.

    In the Cave, Xue Xian had asked offhand what the Wuming Spider did, if it really could link three lives together like in the rumors.

    Xuanmin had said no.

    He hadn't been lying; the spider really did not have anything to do with three lives.

    The Spider of the Same Age consisted of a mother spider and a son spider; the Wuming Spider was a pair of fortune and misfortune spiders. The red spider signified fortune, and the black spider signified misfortune. The tiny mole on Xuanmin's hand came from the black spider, and the mole on Xue Xian's collarbone had come from the red spider.

    Once the moles appeared, this meant that the spell had succeeded: the person bit by the black spider, once dead, would never truly fade away nor lose consciousness, and remain something between a ghost and a soul. The misfortunes destined for the red-spider person would all be transferred to the black-spider person's life, and all the good karma that the black-spider person had earned in their life would be repaid to the red-spider person...

    The cost was that the dead person could never enter the wheel of life again; this was the end of the road.

    It wasn't three lives; it was eternity.

    "The mole's appeared. From now on, it'll just be you –– walking the ends of the earth, alone, forever," Tongdeng said. He stood by the door now, looking out at the moonlit sky. Then he turned back to Xuanmin and added, "Of course, there are good things too. You'll never lose your memory again. You'll remember everything you're supposed to remember. In fact, they'll become clearer and clearer as the years go by, as though your life had only ended yesterday. The bad part... no matter how well you remember things, you're invisible to all eyes. Even dragons'. So, do you regret it?"

    For a long time, Xuanmin was silent, as though still unwilling to engage Tongdeng. Now this reminded Tongdeng of his original disciple from centuries ago. 

    Finally, Xuanmin calmly responded, "You had the Wuming Spider bite you too. Do you regret it?"

    Tongdeng grunted, then said nothing.

    Regrets?

    The fortunes and misfortunes of one's fate are no small matter. He'd given it all away, and of course that had been no small decision. He would never regret it, not even if the world turned upside-down.

92 铜钱龛世 | Tong Qian Kan Shi | Copper Coin Niches -- 木苏里 | Musuli -- 英语翻译 | English translation -- Chapter 92

 Chapter 92: Peace for a Hundred Years (III)

    His eyes were wide open now, and if he opened them more, that layer of moisture brimming in his eyes would roll down his cheeks.

    His nose was full of the fishy stench of fresh blood, brought by the wind and across Xuanmin's hand and fed into his nostrils. It would not go away. His black eyes reflected the shadows of those sky-high red waves and the still-trembling mountains, but his mind remained completely blank.

    His senses were slowly coming back to him, yet he was still not convinced that he could see or hear again.

    Or else why would Xuanmin's head be bowed this low? Xuanmin, who was always so cold and stiff, who barely ever nodded; his head was bowed so low that he looked like he would never raise his head again; or else why would the two of them be kneeling in front of each other like this, covered in blood, Xuanmin's hand leaning gently against his face, yet not a word coming out of his mouth...

    The Buddha's bones finally began to take effect within the spell. Those churning, restless waves began to recede, and the trembling mountains began to ease.

    And the golden threads that had thrown a net against the skies began to fade, too. As the wind continued to whip against their bodies, the copper coins in Xuanmin's hands quivered, then clattered lifelessly onto the ground, where Xuanmin had drawn a circle of blood. 

    It was a small spell that he'd prepared in his last moments. Those copper coins, charged full of his magical power, in combination with the Buddha's bones, really would help Zuhong's spell to ensure a hundred years of peace on earth.

    As the copper coin pendant fell to the ground, the patch of earth within the blood circle shifted and created a hole, into which those five gleaming coins slotted before being buried again. A faint golden glow began to seep out of that patch of earth where the coins were buried, and emanated outwards, like serene ripples in a pond, reaching out layer by layer, a hundred li, a thousand li, ten thousand li...

    A light breeze tugged at a corner of Xuanmin's robe, revealing a small ceramic bottle that he'd been keeping in his sleeve. But the ceramic bottle had long been uncorked, and was empty.

    And as the warm golden glow seeped past Xue Xian's body, some small red marble not even the size of a grain of rice suddenly fell away from his collarbone. It looked as though it had completed its mission –– it eight legs stuck out, stiff and unmoving. 

    And where the red spider had been on Xue Xian's neck, a minuscule red mole smaller than a pinprick was perched. It looked different from the Spider of the Same Age's bite, and if he touched it with his finger, he would be able to feel that it was slightly raised from his skin.

    But in that moment, Xue Xian did not notice all of that. He sat there frozen, looking in horror at Xuanmin, unable to believe his own eyes.

    But Xuanmin's face was still on Xue Xian's face, colder than the snow in the north, so cold that it sent a chill down his spine. The skin on Xuanmin's wrist betrayed no sign of movement, no heartbeat, not even a tiniest bit –– it was terrifyingly still.

    With that enormous dragon bone pushed back into his body, Xue Xian was heating up all over again, and that bloated, scorching feeling was pushing its way down his spine. He should have begun to sweat, but the sweat against his skin felt colder than ice.

    The feeling of his bones being restored was deeply uncomfortable, and not that different from the pain he'd felt when they'd been extracted in the first place. But in that moment, Xue Xian felt none of it, nor could he even feel the gradual return of his life force. He did not think he even had the strength to raise his own hands.

    ......

    Much, much later, he suddenly, finally, felt himself able to move again. A hand shot up to grip Xuanmin's wrist just as the monk's hand was about to slip away from Xue Xian's face. Xue Xian wrapped his fingers tightly around Xuanmin.

    The hotter his own skin felt, the colder and more freezing Xuanmin's was in comparison.

    "You..." Xue Xian began hoarsely. He'd wanted to call Xuanmin's name, but could only manage a single syllable before he lost his voice and his words were choked at the bottom of his throat. He'd put too much strength into his grip, so he had not just held Xuanmin's wrist, but had pulled lightly.

    Now Xuanmin was tipping forward, and Xue Xian had to hold him up stiffly. 

    Xuanmin's chin butted against Xue Xian's shoulder. One of his hands was grasped by Xue Xian, and the other hung lifeless against his side. From afar, they looked to be embracing, except one of them was dead.

    As Xuanmin's weight leant into him, Xue Xian felt the tears brimming in his eyes tremble. Expressionless, he shut his eyes tightly, forcing them back.*

    After some time, Xue Xian suddenly remembered something, and his eyes opened again. As he continued to hold Xuanmin against him, he freed up a hand and felt around his chest pocket for something –– and found it: the small white ceramic bottle, the one that looked exactly the same as the one that had previously fallen out of Xuanmin's sleeve, the bottle from the Cave of a Hundred Insects.

    Xue Xian's fingers worked almost hysterically to uncork the bottle and shake the mother and son spiders out of it, and it took him several tries to pinch out the correct spider between the pair.

    Without delay, he shoved the mother spider onto Xuanmin's neck and squeezed its shell tightly so as not to let it struggle or escape. As he watched, the mother spider twitched at first, but finally had no choice but to take a bite out of Xuanmin's flesh.

    Xue Xian refused to blink –– he stared intently at the spot where the spider had bitten Xuanmin, stared until his eyes began to feel sore, but found no change, no wound, nothing.

    His entire body was so tense, he had never in his life been so anxious about something. His thoughts raced but he knew he could not keep thinking... he thought he might begin to feel fear. 

    The two of them knelt there on the devastated shore, facing one another, a silhouette of black and a silhouette of white. Eventually, the blood stains on the stone sculpture in Zuhong's spell evaporated completely, and those trails of blood on the ground were receding, too, so that the two hundred bodies laid out around the sculpture no longer looked so utterly grey, and began to flush healthily again.

    They had only been wounded on their hands, and it would never have been fatal had there not been magic drawing out the blood from their bodies. Now that the spell had been broken, everything was going back to the way it had been before. Apart from those small cuts, and the drops of blood on their foreheads, they were safe and sound.

    After a long, long time, Xue Xian began to feel cold, his body brought to a freezing chill by Xuanmin's lifeless temperature. Finally, Xue Xian saw a blood mole appear weakly and slowly on Xuanmin's skin. 

    But the mole was impossibly faint, so faint that Xue Xian could not guess whether the bite had succeeded or failed.

    In that moment, something with wings suddenly appeared in the sky above them and came hurtling over.

    Xue Xian was still in shock, and did not notice until the black creature thudded onto the ground before him and hopped over to his hand. It opened its beak and let something dirty-looking fall away, then began to peck at Xue Xian's fingers, desperately trying to draw his attention.

    Finally, Xue Xian stirred from his daze and looked down at the creature –– it was Xuanmin's black crow.

    That magical, almost intelligent bird had somehow made its way all the way here, yet did not appear concerned about its unconscious master. It began to hop up and down and nuzzled its head into Xuanmin's palm endearingly. Then it looked back at Xue Xian with its head tilted: it seemed that this was not the first time it had experienced such a tragic and hopeless scene.

    Xue Xian stared at the bird for some time, then looked down at the thing that it had dropped from its beak. It was a filthy cloth pouch, and it seemed to have something in it –– when the bird had dropped it earlier, it had made a faint knocking noise.

    Seeing that Xue Xian did not intend to move, the crow sighed and hopped to the pouch, nudging and pulling at it with its beak until the item inside could be dragged out.

    Xue Xian was stunned –– five copper coins.

    The coins' design looked the same as the ones Xue Xian had seen Xuanmin use, and even the magic aura tied to them was basically identical to Xuanmin's coins. Xue Xian did not need to touch them to know this –– he just knew. The strange thing was that the magical energy that gave the coins their aura... was also Xuanmin's.

    The only difference was that the string along which these coins were strung looked bright and vivid, almost like new; but Xue Xian could tell that this was only a trick of the magic, and that these coins were at least a few hundred years old.

    As the copper coins fell out of the pouch and clattered by Xuanmin's hand, they emitted a low clanging noise, as though, from somewhere across the vastness of time, they had found their master again.

    Suddenly, Xue Xian felt a bit of feeling return to his body. The arrival of the crow and the reaction of these coins had made him come back to his senses, and it occurred to him that... Xuanmin might really never open his eyes again.

    He turned to study the faint mole on Xuanmin's neck again, and maybe he was lying to himself, but the mark no longer looked as invisible as it had before.

    Maybe it really had worked...

    Xue Xian let go of Xuanmin's hand and flexed his fingers, realising that he had been gripping the monk's hand so tightly that, with this sudden release, a sour pain was shooting up his joints and knuckles.

    Instead, he wrapped his arms around Xuanmin, ready to pick him up and take him out of here.

    But as soon as Xue Xian moved, some tiny thing fell lightly out of the folds of his robe, rolled down his arm and hand, and landed on the ground.

    Xue Xuan paused and peered down curiously, scanning the blood-splattered ground around his feet until he finally spotted a red, spherical insect as small as a grain of rice. He frowned...

    Having had the Spider of the Same Age on his mind, he was shocked to see yet another spider. As soon as he noticed its round body, he automatically thought back to the Cave of a Hundred Insects.

    And then he realised that he'd really made a connection, that it wasn't a coincidence. As he bent down to retrieve the insect and flipped it over in his palm, he saw that its black belly had a streak of blood running across it.

    It couldn't not have something to do with the Cave of a Hundred Insects.

    But the Spider of the Same Age could camouflage: the color of its shell changed depending on its surroundings. If this was a Spider of the Same Age, then as soon as he'd picked it up in its hand, it should have slowly turned into the same color. But this spider did not change at all, even though it was still alive.

    And... what would a spider from the Cave of a a Hundred Insects be doing all the way here? And why would it fall out of his sleeve, as though it had previously been on his body? 

    Xue Xian froze, suddenly remembering what they'd encountered at the Cave––

    When they'd captured the Spiders of the Same Age, Xuanmin had had his back to him. Xue Xian had helped the monk retrieve two empty bottles from his pocket, and the whole time, Xuanmin's hands had been clasped together. Xue Xian hadn't actually seen the spider.

    Then, Xue Xian had taken one of the bottles and Xuanmin had given him the mother spider that he'd been holding, for Xue Xian to put into the bottle. At the same time, Xuanmin had taken the second bottle.

    What happened next, Xue Xian had no idea –– he'd been focused on putting the mother spider into the bottle. And when he'd looked up again, Xuanmin was screwing that second bottle shut.

    Xue Xian had had a moment of confusion: why did the second bottle need to be shut? There was nothing inside it, and it hadn't been open when Xue Xian had taken it out.

    Now that he was thinking about it again, Xue Xian guessed that Xuanmin had caught more than just that one mother spider. Obviously, this little red spider had been captured in that moment –– and not just the one, but it had to have been a pair.

    Back at the Cave, Xuanmin had said that there were two types of spiders being bred. Since this dark red spider was not the Spider of the Same Age, then it had to be the second type.

    He remembered that, at the time, he'd casually asked Xuanmin what the second type was. Xuanmin's response had been short and simple: he'd explained, but also not explained.

    Xue Xian put the spider away, still unsure what it was. As he held at Xuanmin's unbreathing body in his embrace, he suddenly wondered if this second spider was Xuanmin's backup plan, something that would help him...

    But how...

    Xue Xian gazed at Xuanmin; his fingers tightened their grip against Xuanmin's bloodsoaked robes. He withdrew his chin from Xuanmin's shoulder where it had been resting, and his lips grazed by Xuanmin's cold neck, and then the tip of his nose, and finally he buried his face into the crook of Xuanmin's neck.**

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* Omg let him cry lol it's not gay to cry but also they're literally gay so LET HIM CRY

** The position was very hard to decipher here I hope this makes sense??