Chapter 137: Shizun and I Get Settled In

The tips of Mo Ran's fingers quivered slightly, and his heart felt like

it was going to beat right out of his chest.

The worst thing about men was that the brain between their legs never

listened to the brain atop their shoulders. Regardless of how much Mo Ran

really, truly, whole-heartedly wished it wouldn't, the wretched thing still

grew hot and hard, making him feel numb and prickly all over. Cursing

himself under his breath, he adjusted how he sat so no one would see before

leaning over to dish out another bowl of soup for Chu Wanning.

But his fingertips brushed against Chu Wanning's as he reached over

to hand him the bowl. The contact sent a jolt through his spine that made

his hand shudder, spilling a few drops of soup.

Chu Wanning frowned slightly, but he had more pressing concerns to

attend to. He took the soup and gulped it down to ease the spicy numbness

in his mouth. Beside him, Mo Ran stared wordlessly at those lips that were

vivid red from the spice, like a ripe fruit peeking between leaves or a

vibrant blossom upon a branch. Lips that, if kissed, would be soft, warm,

moist…

With a sharp crack, Mo Ran slapped himself, hard. Everyone stared in

surprise.

Finally coming back down to earth, Mo Ran cleared his throat

awkwardly and said in a rough voice, "There was a mosquito on my face."

"Aiyo." A clear female voice rang out and began raise a fuss.

"Autumn mosquitos are the worst, just looking to suck enough blood to get

through the winter. Did Xianjun bring any medicinal salve?"

"Huh?" Mo Ran looked toward the source of the voice, somewhat

bewildered. The speaker was a fetching young woman, her comely figure

wrapped in a blue coat and her shiny black hair brushed into a braid. She

had a pretty face and fair skin, but when she caught his eye, her sultry gaze

was anything but shy. Sadly, Mo Ran didn't quite catch on. He only thought,

Oh, the girl who was singing earlier.

Mo Ran might've been slow, but the auntie sitting next to the lass

wasn't. She'd borne seven children, and she could read these little misses

like an open book. Without missing a beat, she came in with an assist:

"They're only here for a few weeks to help with the harvest; of course they

didn't bring any salve. Ling-er, go deliver a jar to them later."

The lass called Ling-er beamed happily. "Of course. I'll come by

tonight."

Mo Ran blinked. This enthusiastic pair had already made the decision

before he could get a word in edgewise. He was left a little speechless. He

turned to Chu Wanning and found him wiping the spilled soup from his

hand with a handkerchief, a touch of distaste in his expression. Mo Ran was

no good at dealing with women. He said to Chu Wanning in a small voice,

"Some of the soup got on my hand too. Let me borrow the handkerchief

when you're done?"

Chu Wanning handed it to him, the same haitang-embroidered

handkerchief he'd carried before. Mo Ran remembered he'd had it with him

back at the Peach Blossom Springs too. Chu Wanning looked cold and

distant, but he was actually a sentimental person. This was something

Mo Ran had noticed in his past life. The clues were in the type of clothing

he wore and the way the decor in his room stayed mostly unchanged

throughout the years. But he hadn't expected it to extend to even this

handkerchief. The little square of cloth was so old that the once-colorful

embroidery had gone dull, yet this nostalgic person still hadn't discarded it.

Mo Ran cleaned his hand, then took another look at the handkerchief.

Upon closer inspection, he was surprised to find that the flower, although

carefully embroidered, was clearly the work of a beginner, with rather poor

needlework. He thought his shizun must have done it himself when he was

bored, and he imagined the way he must have looked, all serious and

straight-faced while stitching the haitang flower with a tiny needle. Mo Ran

wanted to burst into laughter.

He wanted to study the handkerchief some more, but Chu Wanning

reached over and retrieved it. "What are you taking it away for?" Mo Ran

asked. "I'll wash it."

"I can wash it myself," Chu Wanning replied, and he picked up his

bowl of spicy pork once more.

Mo Ran was not about to watch him tempt fate again. He hastily

swapped their bowls. "Here, have this bowl instead; I haven't touched it."

The village chief's wife hurried to agree. "It's all right if Xianjun

can't handle spicy food. No worries, no worries."

Chu Wanning pressed his lips into a line, then lowered his eyes and

said, "Sorry about that," before exchanging bowls with Mo Ran.

Taking Chu Wanning's bowl and chopsticks in hand, Mo Ran was

about to dig in when it struck him that Chu Wanning had already eaten from

the bowl. His heart, suddenly soft and warm, started pounding. He picked

up a piece of marbled meat and lifted it to his mouth, the chopsticks

scraping past his teeth, sliding past his lips…

What improper, preposterous things hadn't he done with Chu

Wanning in the past life? Yet in this one, the mere touch of chopsticks Chu

Wanning had used against his own tongue, the bowl he'd eaten from held to

his own lips—just these caused the flame within him to grow to

uncontrollable proportions. Regardless of how harshly he admonished

himself, how many times he told himself not to entertain such indecent

thoughts about his pure, virtuous shizun, it was like his heart wasn't even

his—he could keep himself from touching Chu Wanning, but he couldn't

make himself stop thinking about him.

Mo Ran had long renounced his hatred of Chu Wanning. He had

imagined that peeling away the hate would leave only feelings of respect

and the desire to cherish his shizun. But he was wrong. What had been

revealed when the black veil of hatred fell away was tender affection and

searing desire. He floated in that ocean of desires, wanted to cling to the

driftwood of rationality until he could climb ashore, but just one glance

from Chu Wanning, one lightly spoken word, was enough to pull him back

down into the abyss of yearning.

He felt like he had truly gone mad.

Chu Wanning wasn't into men, so Mo Ran would sooner die than

touch or harass him. And so the desire in him burned until it was a blazing

inferno, swelled until it was a vast ocean, and he, drowning and burning,

cared for little else save the person before him, this pure person who filled

him with impure thoughts.

The autumn breeze picked up, carrying on its back the fragrance of

the harvest and a chorus of frog song, and in that moment, sitting next to

Chu Wanning, Mo Ran had the thought—the absurd, ridiculous thought—

that it wouldn't be so bad to spend the rest of their lives like this. He'd once

felt like he had nothing, and had fought for everything as if his life

depended on it. But now he felt like he had everything, and dared not ask

for more.

The busy season for these farmers lasted a little over half a month,

during which Chu Wanning and Mo Ran would be staying at Yuliang

Village. The little village could spare two rooms for them, but they were

rather barren, given how poor the village was. The village chief's wife

gritted her teeth and produced two thick cotton mattresses for them, only to

have her offer declined in unison.

Chu Wanning said, "We can sleep on the straw, it's warm enough.

Please keep the mattresses for yourselves."

Mo Ran agreed with a smile, "We're cultivators, you know. We can't

just take your bedding like that."

The village chief was guilt-ridden. "We're really sorry about this," he

said, over and over. "We had more mattresses before, but there was a fire

last year when we were beset by an evil spirit, and a lot of things…"

"It's all right," Chu Wanning said.

After a few more words of consolation, the village chief and his wife

finally excused themselves tremulously. Mo Ran set about adjusting Chu

Wanning's bed, packing more straw under the padding in hopes of making

it softer. He looked rather a lot like a dog dragging cushions and pillows to

its nest.

Chu Wanning, leaning against a table and mildly looking on, said,

"That's enough; any more and I'll be sleeping in a haystack instead of a

bed."

A little embarrassed, Mo Ran scratched his head and said, "There

wasn't time today, but tomorrow I'll go to the nearby market and buy

Shizun a proper mattress."

"And am I supposed to do all the farm work while you go skipping

off to the market?" Chu Wanning shot him a glare. "Just leave it; it's fine."

He walked over and took a sniff. "It has that nice scent of fresh straw."

Mo Ran protested, "No way, Shizun is no good with the cold; you

can't just…"

Chu Wanning frowned. "It's not winter yet. What is all this fuss? Go

back to your room already; it's been a long day. I can't even feel my feet

anymore—I'm going to bed."

Mo Ran left obediently. Chu Wanning kicked off his shoes,

haphazardly rinsed his feet with water from the large clay jar in the room,

and was about to climb into his straw bed when he heard knocking at the

door. Mo Ran had returned and was calling from the outside, "Shizun, I'm

coming in!"

Chu Wanning was furious. He sat speechless for a long moment

before eventually snapping, "Didn't I tell you not to say that to me

anymore!"

As Chu Wanning fumed, Mo Ran grinned and nudged the door open

with his head. He had to use his head because both his hands—with sleeves

rolled to the elbows to reveal firm, shapely, honey-brown arms—were

occupied by a steaming basin of clear water. The young man's eyes seemed

especially bright behind the steam, practically sparkling. Chu Wanning's

heart raced under his gaze, and he found himself at a sudden loss for words.

Mo Ran hauled the heavy basin over and set it down beside his bed.

Face glowing and dimples warm, he said, "Shizun, you worked too hard

today. Soak your feet first, then let me give you a foot rub before you go to

sleep."

"No—"

"I know, I know, Shizun's gonna say no need," Mo Ran said with a

smile. "But there is a need. It's your first time doing farm work, you're

going to be achy all over. If you can't get a good night's rest because of that

and can't get up tomorrow, the little kids in the village are going to make

fun of you again."

The water in the wooden basin was hot—slightly too hot, but not

unbearably so. Chu Wanning's bare feet sank into the water, toes smooth

and delicate, the lines of his ankles flowing and defined. His feet never saw

the sun, and so the skin there was pale and even. Mo Ran, taking it all in,

marveled at how nice Chu Wanning's skin was, even fairer and smoother

than that of delicate ladies. Come to think of it, even that woman Song

Qiutong whom he'd married in his past life hadn't felt as nice as Chu

Wanning did…

Bah, what was he thinking about.

While Chu Wanning soaked his feet, Mo Ran sat down at the table

across the room and started to read a book. He'd brought it along himself,

some dry tome about healing spells.

It was so quiet that both unconsciously slowed their breathing so the

other wouldn't hear. In that room lit by a single candle, the only sound was

of Chu Wanning's feet occasionally moving in the water.

"I'm done soaking; it doesn't ache anymore. You can go now."

But Mo Ran was persistent—he knew better now than to take Chu

Wanning at his word when he said things like it doesn't hurt and I'm fine.

He set down his book and came over to Chu Wanning's bed, where he knelt

and grabbed the foot Chu Wanning instinctively tried to pull back. Mo Ran,

down on one knee, looked up with eyes that were not going to take no for

an answer. "I'll go after I give Shizun a foot rub."

Chu Wanning deeply wanted to kick him. Maybe then he would get

the hell out instead of saying whatever the fuck he wanted in his presence.

But the hand gripping him was so strong and callused. The rough skin on

the pads of Mo Ran's fingers and between his thumb and forefinger rubbed

against Chu Wanning's foot, where the skin was extra ticklish from soaking

in the hot water. He was so busy trying not to laugh that he missed his last

opportunity to save his dignity and boot Mo Ran out.

Kneeling on the floor, Mo Ran brought Chu Wanning's foot up to his

knee and began to massage it, gently and carefully, eyes downcast in

concentration. "Shizun, was it cold in the paddy field?"

"It was all right."

"There were tons of dead branches and debris in there; look, you got

scratched on the side here."

Chu Wanning looked at the side of his right foot; sure enough, there

was a small cut. "It's just a scratch; I can hardly feel it."

Mo Ran said, insistent, "I packed some herbal ointment for such

things. Wait here a moment, Shizun. I'll go grab it and put it on for you.

Auntie made it so it's really good; it'll be healed up by morning." So

saying, he stepped out the door toward his room, which was opposite Chu

Wanning's across a small courtyard only a dozen steps wide. In no time, he

returned with a jar of sweet-smelling ointment.

"Isn't this an overreaction?"

"Of course not. What if it gets infected? C'mere, Shizun, gimme your

foot."

Chu Wanning found this awkward. In all his years, he'd kept his feet

a private matter. He was always meticulously dressed and never went

anywhere barefoot. This was a part of him that scarcely anyone alive had

seen, let alone touched.

Once massaged, twice shy: he'd let Mo Ran touch him earlier because

he hadn't known what it would feel like. The sore, tender sensation had

been wholly unexpected and had made him feel all tingly inside. Now, he

was a little hesitant to yield his foot again.

Mo Ran stared at that pair of feet peeking hesitantly from under the

robes, pale and white with a bloom of rosiness from their hot soak. Chu

Wanning's toes were fine and delicate, with nails as translucent as the

frozen surface of a lake in winter, and a tender pink blush at the tips. Like

budding haitang blossoms frozen beneath the ice.

Mo Ran knelt back down, his expression gentle and reverent as he

took this warm haitang flower in hand. He could feel it trembling minutely,

petals quivering, and was struck by the sudden urge to dip his head and

press a kiss to it, so that it wouldn't hesitate or be afraid, so that it might

blossom and unfold.

"Shizun…"

"What is it?" There seemed to be a rawness to Chu Wanning's voice,

like the branches of a flowering tree laden with the weight of desire,

blossoms on the verge of giving way, droplets of dew poised to fall on

parched soil.

Mo Ran's head snapped up. The candle flame chose that precise

moment to crackle, setting free a burst of sparks as a small stream of wax

dripped slowly down. His gaze collided with Chu Wanning's, and in the

glow of the candle, both their eyes were bright with desire. With hunger.

"Do you…"

Chu Wanning looked away and said, mildly, "Get on with it. My feet

are ticklish."

Mo Ran's entire face went red, but fortunately, the splash of color was

concealed by his tan. He mumbled an acknowledgement and lowered his

head to apply the ointment, the blush burning all the way to his ears. He

couldn't help but hear Get on with it echo over and over in his head.

He swallowed, eyes fixed on the soft skin before him. Images from

the past surfaced in his mind, becoming clear, coming into focus. He

remembered the disheveled bedding in Wushan Palace, the way Chu

Wanning had looked all the fairer against those scarlet sheets, the way they

had entangled like caged beasts, neck against neck, heavy pants and low

groans filling the hall with a ferocious, savage tension.

He thought of Chu Wanning's muted moans, that icy voice melted

into flowing water by the flames of desire, then heated into a boil. He could

almost hear Chu Wanning's voice by his ear: "Stop messing around…ah…"

Mo Ran squeezed his eyes shut, his brow furrowed deep. In this

moment, he finally realized something: it wasn't going to be easy for him to

treat Chu Wanning well. If he were to keep his distance, he wouldn't be

able to take good care of him or keep him warm. But if he were to stay

close, he might not be able to control this flame of desire. He was afraid his

rationality might catch fire in a moment of carelessness, that he might do

something outrageous.

He wanted him, wanted to bed him. Even at this very second, he

suddenly thought that he didn't really want to be kneeling in front of Chu

Wanning, giving him foot rubs and applying ointment to his cuts. This

person was sitting there in front of him, on the bed, and Mo Ran was just as

strong as he had been in the past. Chu Wanning wouldn't be able to push

him off.

He wanted to take him, wanted to press him down onto that bed. He

wanted it so bad his throat felt parched, wanted it so bad it burned and

ached. He wanted to kiss the breath out of Chu Wanning, he wanted…

"All done, Shizun!" he said in a near-yell, startling Chu Wanning.

Only Mo Ran knew of the cold sweat drenching his own back. All at once,

he felt so miserable—why couldn't he just care for his shizun in a clean,

genuine way? Why couldn't he just be rid of this burning desire?

Chu Wanning, Chu Wanning…

His shizun was the loftiest person in the world. If he were to find out

how his own disciple felt toward him, how disdainful would he be, how

scornful? It had been two lifetimes. Mo Ran no longer wanted to be

regarded with scorn by this man.

Chu Wanning pulled his boots back on. The whole time, Mo Ran sat

to the side with his head lowered wordlessly, looking like a docile, obedient

dog. Only he knew of the insatiable wolf he had locked up inside.

A long moment passed before Mo Ran managed to suppress the

burning in his chest. He said, "Shizun, rest well. If you feel unwell at all

tomorrow, then please just stay in; I can do both our shares of work."

Before Chu Wanning could reply, a delicate voice drifted in from the

outside. "Mo-xianjun? Mo-xianjun, are you there?"