Chapter 135: Shizun Studies on the Sly

Yuliang village was tiny. Many of its villagers were getting on in

years and there were very few young people, so during harvest time, they

would commonly ask the cultivators from Sisheng Peak for help.

Any other sect would have completely ignored requests like these that

had nothing to do with cultivation. But Xue Zhengyong and his older

brother had started Sisheng Peak from scratch and had endured their share

of hardships in their youth. Rumor had it that, growing up, most of their

meals had been taken at the tables of generous neighbors. Thus, Xue

Zhengyong didn't have it in him to refuse such humble requests from the

old tenant farmers and diligently attended to them, sending disciples to help

every time. The village was far enough from Sisheng Peak that walking was

inconvenient, but close enough that taking a carriage would be

unnecessarily ostentatious. Thus, Xue Zhengyong had two fine horses

prepared for Mo Ran and Chu Wanning.

It was late autumn, and the foliage had revealed its fall colors. When

Chu Wanning came down the stairs to the main gate, he was greeted by the

sight of Mo Ran standing beneath a tall maple tree, its scarlet, frost-adorned

leaves rustling in the wind like the sheen on fine brocade or the splashing of

red carp.

Mo Ran held the reins of a black horse, while a white horse nuzzled

his cheek. He was in the middle of teasing them with a tuft of alfalfa

flowers when he heard the sound of footsteps approaching. Fragments of

red fluttered down as he turned to look over his shoulder, brightly beaming

between the dancing leaves. "Shizun."

Chu Wanning's footsteps slowed, then came to a stop on the last few

steps. Sunlight filtered through the luxuriant canopy to fall on the mosscovered stone. He stared at the man standing there, not so far away. Perhaps

it was because they were setting off to do farm work, but Mo Ran wasn't

wearing Sisheng Peak's disciple uniform today, nor was he wearing those

white robes from when he'd first returned. Instead, he had on black raiment

with wrapped wrist guards, simple attire that accentuated his slim waist,

long legs, and broad shoulders. He had a good figure, especially in the

upper torso, where his open collar revealed a firm, toned chest the gold of

honey, rising and falling with each breath.

If the showiness of Xue Meng's customary getup with its sparkling

silver armor was like a peacock fanning its tail, then this look of Mo Ran's

had a quiet allure, an innocent kind of allure, an uncomplicated kind of

allure—in other words, the air it gave off said, I'm a decent, upright person,

I've never teased or provoked anyone in my life, and the only thing I know

is honest work.

Chu Wanning looked him up and down several times before opening

his mouth to say, "Mo Ran."

The strapping young man replied with a smile, "Hm? What is it,

Shizun?"

Chu Wanning's face was deadpan. "Aren't you cold with your lapels

open that wide?"

After a moment of surprise, Mo Ran came to the conclusion that his

shizun was expressing concern for him and felt suddenly giddy. He tossed

the alfalfa back into the hay basket for the horses, dusted off his hands, and

bounded up the bluestone steps to stand charmingly in front of Chu

Wanning, grabbing him by the wrist before he could react.

"Not cold at all. Actually I'm kinda warm from rushing around all

morning." He grinned guilelessly as he pressed Chu Wanning's hand to his

own chest. "See, Shizun?"

It felt scalding. The young man's chest was hot to the touch.

Combined with that strong heartbeat and those star-bright eyes, Chu

Wanning could feel his entire back going numb. He ripped his hand away as

his expression grew stormy. "Indecent."

Mo Ran misunderstood. "Ah…is it sweaty?" He thought that Chu

Wanning wasn't into men—after all, their entanglement in his past life had

been brought about by coercion on his part. So he didn't think Chu

Wanning had any interest in him, and, remembering Chu Wanning's love of

cleanliness and dislike of touching people, chalked his shizun's annoyance

up to his sweatiness. Mo Ran felt embarrassed and scratched his head as he

said, "That was thoughtless of me…"

Had he looked closely, he would've seen the blush at the base of Chu

Wanning's elegant neck, and the glimmer of affection beneath those coolly

downcast lashes. But he had missed that narrow window of opportunity, and

Chu Wanning wasn't about to give him another. Chu Wanning descended

the slippery bluestone steps in his snow-white shoes, headed directly for the

black horse, and mounted it in a single graceful motion, smooth as flowing

water. With the sunlight gilding the land and red autumn leaves as far as the

eye could see, the white-robed man sitting atop the tall black horse glanced

over his shoulder at his disciple still on the ground. His face was like cool

jade, exuding an air of loftiness, ever the sharp and handsome Yuheng

Elder. "I'm off. Keep up."

With that, those long legs tightened around the horse, spurring it into

a gallop.

Mo Ran stood rooted in place for several moments. He picked up the

bamboo basket, still half-filled with the alfalfa flowers he'd been feeding

the horses, and tied it to the white horse's saddle before leaping up himself,

caught between laughter and tears. "But Shizun, the black horse is mine,

don't just… Shizun! Wait for me!"

On the backs of their swift horses, they arrived at Yuliang Village

within the hour. A few acres of rice paddies stretched along the border of

the village, and the breeze rolled in waves through the fields of golden

grain. Some thirty-odd farmers toiled away in the paddies.

Due to the shortage of helping hands, young and old alike were

working the fields, backs bent low and trouser legs rolled up as they swung

their sickles, beads of sweat dripping from their faces with the exertion.

Without any delay, Mo Ran found the village chief, handed him the letter of

commission from Xue Zhengyong, then stepped into a pair of hemp shoes

and made for the fields.

Mo Ran had both strength and stamina aplenty and was a cultivator to

boot; harvesting crops was no trouble for him. In less than half a day, he'd

harvested two whole rows of rice. As the golden ears piled up next to the

paddy fields, soaking up the sunlight, the sweet scent of grain wafted

through the air. The sound of the farmers' sickles rustled across the

plateaus, and a maiden sat on the ridge between the paddy fields, singing a

leisurely farming song as she gathered the grains:

"The sun setting behind a mountain shines like a red flower,

Painting all four mountains red, oh, red like peonies.

A red fan to sing my love song, a hydrangea to ask my loverboy,

Tugging at his belt, when are you coming?

Today I have no time, tomorrow I must chop firewood,

The day after I can come calling."

The farmer girl blithely sang these coy lyrics in that soft little tune,

and the words drifted through the air and slipped into the hearts of the

listeners.

"Today—I have no time, tomorrow I must chop firewood, the day

after—I can come calling."

Chu Wanning did not go to work in the fields. Instead, he sat under a

tree drinking from a jar of hot water. His eyes followed that black-clad,

hard-working silhouette in the distance as he listened. His thoughts were all

over the place, and the water he swallowed seemed to flow into his chest

rather than his stomach, soaking it with heat.

"What an obscene song," he said coldly when he'd finished the water.

He rose to return the ceramic jar to the village chief, who stared hesitantly

at him. Chu Wanning asked irritably, "What is it?"

"Is…Xianjun not…going to work the fields?" The wizened village

chief was a straightforward man. He directly answered the question in his

shaky voice, white beard trembling and white brows creased. "Is Xianjun…

just here to oversee things?"

Chu Wanning didn't know how to reply. Never before had he been

put on the spot like this. Work the fields…? Hadn't Xue Zhengyong said he

could just sit on the side and watch Mo Ran? Did he actually have to work

too? He didn't know how!

But the old village chief was staring at him like he still had more to

say, and a couple of kids and old women nearby, having heard the

exchange, turned to stare at this immaculately dressed man.

Children hold nothing back. A little kid with his hair in buns asked

brightly, "Granny, Granny, this daozhang-gege is all dressed in white. How

is he going to do any work in the fields?"

"His sleeves are so wide…" Another kid murmured.

"And his shoes are so clean…"

Chu Wanning prickled all over with awkwardness. He stood there for

a moment, but he was really too thin-skinned to remain idle after what he'd

heard. He grabbed a sickle and waded into the paddy field without even

removing his shoes. The slippery mud immediately clung to his feet, and

the standing water rose past his ankles. Chu Wanning took two ginger steps,

frowning at how slick everything felt, then tried swinging the sickle a

couple of times. It was a fumbling attempt, as he knew nothing of the

technique.

"Pfft…this daozhang-gege's such a dum-dum." A pair of little kids

watching from under the mulberry tree laughed with their cheeks propped

in their hands.

Chu Wanning fumed silently, his face darkening. He couldn't stand to

be near these people a moment longer; he summoned all the poise he

possessed to keep his handsome face straight and his pace steady as he

waded through the mud in great strides toward the figure busily cutting rice

in the distance. The saying went that one could always learn from others;

well, he was going to learn it on the sly. He stealthily observed Mo Ran at

work.

When it came to farm work, Mo Ran was clearly more skilled than

Chu Wanning. He was bent over under the blazing sun, each swing of his

sickle reaping sheaves of golden rice that fell softly and obediently into his

waiting embrace. He gathered large armfuls before tossing them into the

bamboo basket behind him.

So absorbed was he in the task that he didn't even notice Chu

Wanning's approach. His gaze was focused downward as he worked

diligently, his straight nose casting a shadow across his cheek as a bead of

sweat trickled down. A feral scent emanated from his body, scorching and

wild, muted yet fervent. Under the sunlight, his skin was like red-hot steel

that had just come out of the crucible, still crackling with sparks and hissing

with steam—blindingly bright, beautifully brilliant.

Standing a short distance away, Chu Wanning enjoyed the view for a

while before abruptly realizing what he was doing. He frowned, shook his

head, and muttered something under his breath, then continued wading

forward with a straight face. He was going to learn, sneakily! He was just

going to observe how Mo Ran held the sickle and what angle he swung it at.

He would find out why the rice that was stiff as iron wires in his own hands

became pliant as boneless maidens in Mo Ran's, falling so willingly and

eagerly into his arms.

Chu Wanning was so absorbed in watching that he didn't notice the

frog by his foot until it leapt up with a loud "Ribbit!" and hopped off

toward the ridge. Caught by surprise, he jerked his leg back. But the paddy

field was too slippery, and he was too unprepared. So it was that the great

Yuheng Elder tipped forward, on track for a direct faceplant into the mud,

all because of a single brazen frog!

With his face about to meet the mire, Chu Wanning had no time to

cast anything. On reflex, he reached out to grab at the hard-working person

before him.

The village maiden's singing sounded even more coquettish.

"Tugging at his belt—when are you coming—"

As luck would have it, Chu Wanning latched onto Mo Ran's belt and

stumbled forward a few steps to fall against a broad chest that was hot to

the touch and musky with masculine scent, finding himself wrapped in a

pair of strong, solid arms.