Chapter 56- Ravens

After returning to his room, Zhang Chengling tossed and turned in bed, unable to find sleep.

Outside, the wind rustled.

On any other day, he'd have described the mood as "moon over willow peaks; trees in the dark creek". On that night, however, it was nothing but "bared fangs, clawed freaks; ghouls and ghosts shriek"2.

He sat back up and tried distracting himself by reciting the mnemonic rhymes his Shifu taught him, swaying his head back and forth as he mumbled through the verses that got him scolded on the regular.

Indeed, Mister Wen told him countless times that his stammering recitation wouldn't count for peanuts toward actual progress. Even if he got every word right. Whereas his Shifu had been even more direct: the few lousy lines should naturally sink in once one understood and practiced them. To struggle with them as if they were harder to memorize than the Four Books and Five Classics was a new frontier in ineptitude.

Before long, Zhang Chengling's mind strayed to the fact that, with Mister Wen and his Shifu both gone, he was virtually all alone in the large inn. The thought set him on edge, as the certainty that something horrible was about to happen gripped him. He tugged the curtains of his bed shut before pulling the blanket over his head... as though he'd be safe that way (go figure).

Curled up like an anxious bunny, he waited and waited with his ear bent to any disturbance from his Shifu's room next door that'd indicate the man was back. He was, of course, overlooking the reality that, with Zhou Zishu as skilled as he was, he wouldn't hear a thing even if the man did return.

Thus, Zhang Chengling spent half the night in suspense, before the gravitational pull between his upper and lower eyelids became too hard to resist and he dozed off at last.

He didn't open his eyes again until the next morning when the commotions of the inn's other clients waking up roused him.

Zhang Chengling tumbled out of bed and dashed to Zhou Zishu's room — only to discover with disappointment that his shifu 's blanket and pillow were icy cold. The two men had pulled an all-nighter and still weren't back.

The inn's concierge popped in, so Zhang Chengling vacated the room. Left with nothing better to do, he went downstairs to have breakfast alone.

He felt in low spirits, depressed even. He ruminated on how, as a young man who was nearing sixteen and whose trousers were getting shorter daily, he still had made no headway in his training.

First, Uncle Li had saved his life. Then he had met his Shifu who escorted him to Taihu, where he had stayed with Uncle Zhao before the latter brought him to Dongting. At which point he found his Shifu again...

All this time, it was as if whenever he went, and whatever he did, he always ended up following others around in confusion. He had never acted out of his own directive.

Zhang Chengling munched on a stuffed bun absent-mindedly as he seriously considered for the first time what he should do with his life.

At that moment, a burst of hubbub echoed from the inn's entrance.

With the bun half stuffed in his mouth, Zhang Chengling turned to see what was going on. He froze on the spot along with the other patrons.

Several women wearing black from head to toe were at the inn's door; they resembled a conspiracy of ravens that flew into the inn in a tidy formation.

Their ages and appearances couldn't be distinguished because they all wore masks — the kind sold to kids at street stalls during fairs that had a crude rendition of a smiling doll's face on them. Only, the faces on those women's masks weren't merely pale. Blood dripped from the corners of the grinning mouths while the painted eyes glowered, making the wearers look like demons.

The leader of the group glanced at the dumbstruck waiter.

"Get us a bowl of noodles3 each," she huffed. "Stare again, and imma dig out your eyeballs!"

The timbre of her voice was coarse and gravelly; it carried a sense of viciousness while sounding like that of an old granny. She swept her gaze around, and every person who'd been peeking ducked their head as one — those dames didn't look like the well-disposed sort and the discerning jianghu folk present knew better than to invite trouble.

The granny gang leader seated herself like she owned the place.

"Keep a close eye on the little minx," she instructed while beckoning for her group to sit. "We're taking off as soon as we're done eating."

None of the black-clad women under her command piped up. They followed her lead and sat down in an orderly fashion.

Zhang Chengling noticed then the young and sorry-looking girl with disheveled hair behind them as she was shoved forward by the women who'd detained her.

When he glimpsed the girl's face, he almost jumped out of his chair.

That's Sir Gao Chong's cherished daughter, Gao Xiaolian, isn't it? he thought in amazement. How did she get

herself captured by that suspicious lot?

The sorry-looking girl was indeed Gao Xiaolian. She was yet to notice Zhang Chengling. At that moment, the deep cut at the corner of her mouth was flaring up. She winced with the pain of it as she struggled to get free.

In the next second, however, another twinge of agony lanced through her; it radiated from her waist while half her body went numb.

The woman restraining Gao Xiaolian by the shoulder extracted the long needle she had pushed into Gao Xiaolian's flank.

"Tell me," she said, scoffing into her ear. "Should I use my needle to turn you into one of those cripples who can't stand on their own? Or should I use it to leave a few scratches on that smooth face of yours?"

Gao Xiaolian stilled, not daring to struggle anymore. The rims of her eyes reddened while as much terror as indignant fury coursed through her.

The female guard aimed a kick behind her knee that nearly sent her smashing into the ground face-first. "Behave yourself, then!" she snapped.

Zhang Chengling ducked his head to feign as though having seen nothing. He kept his gaze averted until the guard sat down before peeking up again to give Gao Xiaolian a good once-over.

He thought well of Sir Gao's daughter. Gao Xiaolian had always spoken kindly to him, and she was — to his mind — a big sister who was as gentle as she was pretty. Yet, that well-mannered big sis of his was sporting on her face a shiner and other assorted bruises, which were the obvious marks of a fresh beating. It convinced him without a shadow of a doubt that the black-clad women couldn't be from any good stock.

He cast a furtive glance toward the inn's door while anxiously thinking to himself, Why isn't shifu back yet?

The group of black-clad women were in a hurry to resume their journey and didn't linger to savor the food like Zhang Chengling. As soon as they had crammed their bellies full, they threw the meal's money onto the table and made for the door.

Yet, Wen Kexing and Zhou Zishu still hadn't returned. Zhang Chengling could sit back on his rear no longer.

It was no doubt odd, but Zhang Chengling would always appear extra incompetent anytime Zhou Zishu was around.

For one, his most impatient Shifu loved nothing better than to call him "useless". For another, whenever he knew he could rely on his shifu's backing, he couldn't help but revert to acting like a coddled child protected by a mother- hen — all he had to do was to wail "Shifu! Help!" at the tiniest sign of trouble and (although he'd be cranky and foul-mouthed about it) his formidable Shifu would materialize by his side to rescue him.

Zhou Zishu wasn't around this time, though. But, somehow, Zhang Chengling only felt a wave of calm wash over him as his resolution grew.

After discreetly calling the waiter over and giving him a series of instructions, he set off after the group of black-clad women.

On the other front, the two men had stayed out all night because they too had met with strange circumstances.

As the bed squeaks and human squeals grew rowdier in the room on the other side of the wall, sudden misgivings seized Wen Kexing. He reflected that, in bawdy houses, the custom was for such enlightening pursuits to take place within the boudoir of the lady of the night. So, was the present lady deaf, or blind, or perhaps wholly stupid, to not have noticed the hollowed-out chamber right under her bed that hosted a nestful of Scorpions?

Perplexed, he pulled over Zhou Zishu's hand and traced a few words in his palm with the tip of his finger: "Whose room is this?"

Zhou Zishu paused, considering for a moment, before tracing back:

"Scorpion Boss'."

Wen Kexing's confusion only grew.

Did the leader of the Scorpions let ladies of pleasure conduct tricks in his bedroom? Why? Or could it be that the leader of the Scorpion was so poor that, after a day of murders and arsons, they had to pick up a night shift as a harlot?

Horror-struck at his own speculations, Wen Kexing wrote in Zhou Zishu's palm again. "Scorpion Boss' a gal?"

Zhou Zishu shook his head, and Wen Kexing was at a loss anew.

Frowning, he cocked his ear to listen in again, even more carefully this time. Only then did he notice that there were three people in the room: the battle cries of the other two were so fierce they had masked the third person's noises.

Although that last person's breath was gossamer thin, Wen Kexing could still make out — to his growing incredulity and morbid fascination — that it was also labored.

... The Scorpion's Boss seemed to indulge in hobbies that were quite peculiar. Wen Kexing scribbled in Zhou Zishu's palm once more.

"He can't get it up?"

Zhou Zishu observed a long pause at that. Then, he staidly nodded once.

The moon had just risen. The man's profile was illuminated by its cool light and his sober expression was one of businesslike concentration. As if Sir Zhou was, at the moment, handling state matters of the highest significance, and not engaged in peeping on people boinking it off in a bordello.

As he eyed the man, Wen Kexing concluded that if Zhou Zishu could claim second place on the podium to phony gravitas, nobody was yet born to claim first.

It was another long stretch of time before the commotion within the room quieted down little by little.

Zhou Zishu reckoned that the performance was nearing its conclusion and patiently waited for the actors to leave. He didn't expect the bed to reprise its "creak creak" not a moment later, the rhythm of the squeaking even more lively this time.

Zhou Zishu scowled. Were those guys ever going to give up? Their stamina was worth commendation, but how unabashed one had to be to hustle that hard while another person was watching?

When he spotted his companion's conflicted expression, Wen Kexing almost laughed out loud.

Amused and with his ears bathed by bedroom noises mingled with the intermittent, languorous refrains that echoed from the front yard, Wen Kexing's gaze good-naturedly strayed downwards, to the part of Zhou Zishu's anatomy where waist met thighs.

The couple inside was giving it another round, and he had nothing better to do, anyway. He had ample leisure to turn his mind to the gutter while fixedly trailing his eyes on a place at which it was impolite to stare.

A few moments of such dedicated attention later and ants started crawling in his pants. He extended his hand to rest it against Zhou Zishu's waist.

The furrow between Zhou Zishu's brow deepened; he swiveled his head around to glare at him.

Wen Kexing merely grinned. He raised his index finger to the side of his mouth in a shushing motion, his expression one of absolute innocence.

Zhou Zishu rolled his eyes. He mulled it over and reflected that Wen Kexing's constant teasing may be making him somewhat oversensitive. He was a man himself, anyway, so what if another groped him a bit? Whether he was the one being taken advantage of was still up for debate, after all. With that thought in mind, he magnanimously turned a blind eye.

Having successfully copped a feel, Wen Kexing continued to feign innocence while inching his hand downward. What met his hand pleased him indeed. The man's slender figure seemed designed for canoodling: though a tad thin, it still presented undeniable advantages because if — while stripped bare of clothes — he could grab that tiny waist and entrap it within his hands... wouldn't that be quite the thrill?

The guy couldn't be ignored. So, not to be undone, Zhou Zishu retaliated by giving a good squeeze to Wen Kexing's esteemed posterior while timing his move to a sharp caterwaul from the woman inside. For good measure, as he retrieved his hand, he rubbed his fingers together and lightly blew onto them. Then, he threw Wen Kexing a sidelong glance, a faint smirk floating on his lips.

Wen Kexing's pupils dilated at once, his gaze darkening. He yanked Zhou Zishu into his embrace and, before that smirk could disappear, kissed the man. Thereupon, both engaged in battle within the limited theatre of operations available, and while neither of them dared make a sound.

The first time, Zhou Zishu had been taken by surprise and couldn't react. The second time, he had been wounded and was feeling like crap. This time around, it was the first occasion on which they both met head-on as evenly matched opponents.

Between the two of them, one was a philanderer extraordinaire who knew countless flower queens, and who made it his life's goal to visit every joy house under the heavens; while the other had escaped from the capital that stretched tens of miles beside the Full-Moon River, and was by no means a stranger to libertine circumstances and opportunistic decadence. In short, both were seasoned tarts. And even when it came to the intermingling of lips and

tongues, they made it a case of, as the saying went, "the eastern hurricane prevailing over the westward cyclone"4, or vice versa.

Time elapsed, unaccounted for, and oxygen threatened to run out amidst lungs. The commotion in the room was already quieting down when Wen Kexing finally let go of the likewise gasping for air, but still zealous, Zhou Zishu.

Holding onto the other man's hand as they lay a breath apart, Wen Kexing grinned all of a sudden.

A million words rose to the tip of his tongue as he quietly gazed at the other man, but as they had to be mindful not to make a sound, they were lost to the silence.

The rumpus within the room came to a rest, and the music from the front yard sounded clear in their ears. A delicate woman's voice sang:

"Blooming plum trees remind me of our West-Bank Rendez-Vous; I snap a branch and send it to the East Shore thinking of you..."5

Wen Kexing raised Zhou Zishu's palm. Word by word, he traced onto it: " If only my Lord shares that heart as mine true; never will I regard beshrew."6

Zhou Zishu gazed back, also in silence. He gently closed his hand, trapping Wen Kexing's finger within his palm for a second, before he released his grip again. Then, he lowered his eyelids and averted his gaze while letting out an almost imperceptible sigh.

At that moment, a man's deep voice echoed from within the room. "That's enough, you may go."

A door clicked shut soon after. Zhou Zishu seized the opportunity to leap toward the roof like a sparrow taking flight. He landed without a sound onto the roof tiles, prying one loose to peek into the room beneath.

Wen Kexing stared down at his own fingers, feeling as if the warmth of the other man's palm still lingered there. But then, a gust of chill night breeze blew by, and it was gone.

In that instant, he couldn't have named the emotion that rippled through his chest. The only thing he could do was to smile a self-mocking, bitter smile.

1. The chapter is titled "black ravens/crows". Shortened for redundancy.

2. The two descriptions are written in "opposing verses" format which consists of 2 phrases of 4 or plus characters that rhyme/produce a harmonious effect.

3. She asks which is a kind of wheat-based noodle. It's a not particularly refined but nourishing dish.

4. "the east wind crushing down the west wind", meaning a situation of intense battle. Used humouristically.

5. From anonymous song(Music of Xizhou). What I have translated as West-Land is Xizhou which is a mystical land situation west of China. An alternative translation would be "the plum blossoms reminds me of our dreamland date".

6. From(I Live at the River Upper End) . Though from different poems, Wen Kexing picks up on the theme of lovers by riverside from the song he hears.