Chapter 3: Rain Rings (Part 3)
Ni Qinglan disappeared after the winter examinations.
The letter was sent to Ni Qinglan by a scholar from Yanzhou who was a close friend. The friend wrote that Ni Qinglan had left the inn the night after the examination. Assuming Ni Qinglan was despondent over a poor performance, the friend wrote to him at his home address, offering comfort and suggesting they meet in Yun Jing the following year.
Judging by the Yanzhou scholar’s tone, Ni Qinglan indeed hadn’t passed the exam. But if the letter had arrived, why hadn’t Ni Qinglan returned home?
At first, Cen Shi consoled herself that perhaps her son was delayed on the road and might return in a few days. But as one or two months passed, Ni Qinglan not only failed to return but also sent no word.
Cen Shi’s health, already fragile, deteriorated further. She was confined to bed, eating and sleeping little, and becoming thinner than before.
She forbade Ni Su from taking her pulse or inquiring about her illness. The old physician who regularly attended to Cen Shi was also tight-lipped. Ni Su had no choice but to secretly examine the medicinal dregs with Xing Zhu. This act, however, was witnessed.
“Get up. I won’t punish you.” Cen Shi leaned against the soft pillows, scrutinizing the young woman kneeling by her bed. “But don’t think you did nothing wrong. However, since you’ve recently been shielding me from Ni Zong and his family, preventing them from disturbing me, that will offset your punishment.”
“Mother…” Ni Su looked up. Cen Shi had grown so thin that her eyes were sunken. Seeing her like this, Ni Su felt a pang of guilt.
“I asked the high monk from Da Zhong Temple to consecrate a safety amulet. I’ve been ill and forgot about it. Go and retrieve it for me.” Cen Shi’s weak voice carried an undeniable authority.
At this juncture, Ni Su didn’t want to go to Da Zhong Temple, but since Cen Shi had spoken, she had no room to refuse. She left the room and called for the old steward, instructing him on household matters, especially guarding against Ni Zong and his family causing further trouble.
Da Zhong Temple was a famous temple from the previous dynasty. A large bronze bell within the temple was engraved with poems and writings by numerous renowned scholars of that era. Situated on a quiet and secluded mountain, it was embraced by mountain flowers and vegetation, seemingly untouched by time.
Because of this, Da Zhong Temple was frequently visited by scholars and literati, who left behind many excellent works, contributing to the temple’s enduring prosperity.
Ni Su, her mind restless, sat in the carriage, preoccupied with thoughts of her brother’s disappearance and her mother’s illness. Suddenly, the carriage jolted violently, and the horse outside neighed. Without a second thought, Xing Zhu cried out, “Miss!” and instinctively shielded Ni Su.
With a thud, Ni Su looked up and saw Xing Zhu’s forehead hit the carriage wall, a reddish mark quickly swelling into a bump.
“Xing Zhu, are you alright?” The carriage had stopped. Ni Su held Xing Zhu’s shoulders.
Xing Zhu, in pain and dizzy, shook her head, which only intensified her vertigo. “I’m fine, Miss…”
Rough hands pulled back the curtain, and sunlight fell on Ni Su’s face. The old coachman, covered in mud, said, “Miss, our wheel is broken. It rained yesterday, and now it’s stuck in the mud. I’m afraid we can’t go any further. But don’t worry, Miss, I can fix it in an hour or so.”
“Alright,” Ni Su nodded. This wasn’t her first time visiting Da Zhong Temple. Seeing the stone steps and mountain path ahead, she turned to Xing Zhu. “You’re dizzy and uncomfortable. I’ll go up myself. You rest in the carriage for a while.”
“I’ll accompany you, Miss,” Xing Zhu said, touching the swelling bump on her forehead and hissing in pain.
“I’ll apply medicine when we return to the mansion.” Ni Su patted her shoulder, lifted her skirt, and stepped down using the coachman’s footstool. Fortunately, the mud was only in the puddle where the carriage’s right wheel was stuck. The mountain path had been dried sufficiently by the sun, so it wasn’t too muddy.
Da Zhong Temple was halfway up the mountain. By the time Ni Su reached the temple gate, climbing the stone steps, a thin layer of sweat covered her back. After knocking and exchanging a few words with a young novice, she was invited inside to retrieve the amulet.
After praying to the Buddha in the main hall and drinking a bowl of clear tea, the temple bell rang, its sound echoing far and wide. It was time for the monks’ daily chanting. As they became busy, Ni Su decided not to linger.
Outside the temple gate, at the bottom of the hundred stone steps, lay a cypress grove. The grove was dense, its thick branches and leaves blocking the sunlight. A cluster of flames within caught her eye.
She remembered that when she arrived, the gold-lacquered lotus pagoda in the grove hadn’t been lit. From within the high walls, the monks’ chanting resonated, but the flames in the cypress grove burned brightly.
Ni Su saw an old monk emerge from behind the lotus pagoda, carrying a large, dark wooden box. He stumbled and slipped in the mud.
He fell hard and couldn’t get up immediately. Ni Su hurried over, lifting her skirt to help him. “Master?”
It was the same old monk who had given her the amulet earlier. His white beard, oddly curled, looked rather comical. Grimacing in pain, he lacked the usual composure of an elder monk. Seeing the young woman’s plum-green skirt stained with mud, he exclaimed, “Oh dear, I’ve soiled your clothes, Benefactress!”
“It’s alright,” Ni Su shook her head, helping him up. She noticed that the box he had been carrying had sprung open from the fall, revealing fur trim fluttering in the wind.
The old monk, noticing her gaze, rubbed his backside and said, “Oh, it rained non-stop a few days ago and caused a small landslide behind the lotus pagoda. I was just checking how to repair it when I found this box in the mud. It must be winter clothes that a pilgrim intended to burn for a deceased loved one.”
The cypress grove at Da Zhong Temple was indeed a designated place for people to burn winter clothes and paper money for their deceased relatives during festivals.
Before Ni Su could respond, the old monk heard the faint chanting from the temple above. His expression turned troubled. “The chanting has begun in the temple.”
He turned to Ni Su, his hands clasped together. “Benefactress, I saw the inscription on the box. The deceased soul is a poor man who died young. These winter clothes are fifteen years late. I intended to burn them on his behalf, but today’s chanting will likely continue until after dusk. Would you be willing to burn them for me, Benefactress?”
The old monk spoke earnestly.
“I…” Ni Su began, but the old monk had already pressed something into her hand and was limping towards the stone steps outside the grove, rubbing his backside. “Benefactress, I must hurry to the chanting. I entrust this matter to you!”
He was very different from the monks Ni Su had encountered before. Old and white-bearded, yet lacking steadiness, neither weathered nor solemn.
Ni Su looked down at the wooden carved bead in her hand, a fierce beast’s head rendered in exquisite detail. She couldn’t identify the creature, and a sense of unease settled upon her.
“My beast bead is much more effective than those two safety amulets you’re carrying, Benefactress.”
The old monk’s voice trailed off. Ni Su looked back, but the cypress grove was dim and shadowy. At the far end, the branches trembled, but the monk was gone.
As the old monk had said, the wooden box contained only a fur-trimmed cloak and a water-damaged inscription. The ink on the inscription had run, but she could vaguely make out the date, indeed fifteen years prior.
After putting away the old monk’s carved bead, Ni Su used the flame from an oil lamp in the lotus pagoda to light the thick, dark cloak in a nearby bronze basin.
Flames gradually consumed the silver-threaded crane embroidery on the cloak. In the firelight, Ni Su discerned two embroidered characters on the cuff: “Zi, Ling…”
Almost as soon as she spoke, a copper bell tied to a colored rope behind the lotus pagoda, meant to warn people away from the landslide area, chimed softly.
Although it was May, a gust of wind, as if from the depths of winter, struck Ni Su’s face, stinging her cheeks. Dust rose from the basin, and she raised her hand to shield her eyes.
The ever-burning lamps inside the gold-lacquered lotus pagoda were all extinguished. The copper bell chimed again and again.
The wind howled, growing fiercer. Ni Su struggled to keep her footing, her vision blurring. A cold mist suddenly arose in the grove. The wind lessened slightly, and the sky darkened. A faint sound reached her ears.
Something cold and wet landed on her thin summer clothes. Ni Su’s eyes stung. Lowering her arm, she looked up.
If she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes, who would believe that in the middle of May, on a mountainside afternoon, the sky was ink-black and snow was falling.
Snowflakes landed on Ni Su’s dark hair. Her face was pale with cold, the tip of her nose slightly red. She stared in disbelief at the snow.
A chill crept up her spine. Instinctively, she wanted to flee, but the thick fog enveloped the dark cypress grove, muffling even the chanting from the temple.
Darkness fell swiftly. In her panic, Ni Su bumped into a cypress tree, scraping her nose. Without light, she couldn’t see where she was going. She called out for the monks, but no one answered.
Unease filled her heart. She groped her way forward.
Mountain wind, cold snow, and thick fog swirled around her.
The rustling sound of footsteps on grass approached.
A warm, yellow light spread across her skirt from behind. Ni Su looked down.
The snow fell heavier, like goose feathers.
Ni Su stared at the stationary light on the ground and turned around.
The fog had thinned considerably, snowflakes dusting the cypress branches.
The spreading warm light emanated from a single lantern in the distance. A tall figure stood beneath the branches. Almost the moment Ni Su turned, he moved.
She watched as he approached, the only source of light in this world the lantern he held. The warm glow illuminated his dark cloak.
A dark fur collar, sleeves shimmering with silver embroidery.
He had a pale, thin face, his hair dark and lustrous, his eyelashes thick and long. He walked barefoot, his clothes undisturbed by the wind, his shoulders untouched by the snow.
He drew closer, bringing with him the chilling air of snow.
Beneath the lantern light, he stopped, his gaze fixed on Ni Su’s pale, cold face.
Ni Su’s pupils contracted. Snowflakes landed on her cheeks. The cold wind brought on a roaring in her ears. She faintly discerned his clear, calm voice:
“Who are you?”
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