Jing Jiu's mood, like his true nature, was very difficult for others to discern.
He usually wore no expression and showed no particular preferences. Sometimes he played with the sand in the porcelain plate, and sometimes he did not. Neither meant anything.
But Zhao Layue did know that he was in a bad mood. This ability came from years spent together, yet also seemed a kind of gift.
On New Year's Eve, everyone in Jing Garden shared a hotpot meal before dispersing. Zhuo Rusui, Gu Qing, and Yuan Qu continued cultivating, as on any ordinary day.
Following her custom from previous years, Zhao Layue knelt before Jing Jiu and hugged him.
Jing Jiu gently patted her back.
"When I began reading the Daoist Canon at six, I learned that life always brings partings," Zhao Layue said. "I thought I had long since grown accustomed to them. I never expected to still be moved."
She was speaking of that middle-aged scholar and his mortal wife.
"The things we can truly grow accustomed to are all good things," Jing Jiu said. "You cannot grow accustomed to bad things. You only grow numb, then stop thinking about them."
Zhao Layue looked at him with her clear black-and-white eyes and asked earnestly, "Is that all even you can do?"
"When I was little, I had a very good friend," Jing Jiu said. "I watched him grow old, fall ill, and enter his grave, yet could do nothing."
"And then?" Zhao Layue asked.
"The story itself has no meaning, because he is already dead."
"What I mean is that this made me think every day about how to avoid parting," Jing Jiu said.
Only numbness made one stop thinking. As long as one kept thinking, one would not grow numb, though it might hurt much