Fate chose me; I did not choose fate.
(I)
My name was Meng Li.
Like "in dreams" in the verse, "In dreams, spring slipped away; pomegranate blossoms glowed as though about to burn at dusk."
Great swathes of fiery red pomegranate blossoms grew in the Second Young Master's courtyard. Spring came and went, and they bloomed beautifully.
Sometimes, when work tired me out, I would secretly break off a sprig and tuck it into my hair, then run to the pond to admire my reflection happily for a while. Not to marvel at my beauty, of course. I wasn't pretty; I did it purely out of a girl's natural love of beauty.
Admiring flowers by the water-who said only beauties could want to look pretty?
Unfortunately, the pond was far too shallow. Besides reflecting my not particularly attractive face, it also gave me a fine view of all the oddly shaped pebbles on the bottom.
What pond was this shallow? Calling it a pool wouldn't have been unfair. After all, whose pond was only ankle-deep?
But there was nothing to be done about that. I served the Second Young Master, after all.
If the Second Young Master fell into the pond, there would be hell to pay. He certainly wouldn't drown, but once he was fished out, he would definitely have whoever pushed him in put to the sword.
It didn't matter whether they had done it accidentally or deliberately. They had pushed him, and in the Second Young Master's eyes, they were already a corpse.
A Chang, who served alongside me, told me the Second Young Master was a little psycho, and I had to be very careful.
"Why do you say that?" I asked, puzzled. "The Second Young Master never hits anyone."
A Chang looked at me as though I were the greatest idiot under heaven.
"He never does hit anyone." He gave a cold laugh. "When the little psycho gets angry, he kills them outright."
He had grown up with me, and we had been assigned to the Fourth Gate together. I was a little maid, and he was a little servant. A Chang prayed to every god and Buddha each day; his greatest wish was to be transferred to serve the madam.
The Ji Family had three masters, but only one madam: the Second Young Master's mother.
The madam was kind, gentle with others, and generous. Every maid and servant wanted to be transferred to serve her.
A Chang asked me, "Aren't you scared?"
I shook my head.
I was just rather curious. How had such a gentle madam given birth to a psycho?
How very strange.
Though, in my eyes, the Second Young Master didn't really seem all that psychotic.
His temper certainly wasn't very good, though.
Hmm... no, let me rephrase that.
It was much too bad.
I was a maid of the Gusu Ji Clan, the kind who had signed an irrevocable bond of servitude. Alive, I belonged to the Ji Family; dead, I was the Ji Family's corpse. Even after I died, I would be tossed into a mass grave leased by the Ji Family.
Originally, I served the Eldest Master. Although he was called the Eldest Master, he never put on a master's airs. He was the eldest son of the Gusu Ji Clan, an exceedingly gentle, refined man, and one of those rare souls who were purely good.
Life was so comfortable back then. The Eldest Master was kind, and so was his son, the Third Young Master. Every day, all I did was serve tea and pour water. Life was simply delightful.
When Young Master Xie came over to gossip with the Third Young Master, I could even seize the chance to listen in and satisfy my ever-growing curiosity.
Young Master Xie was the Eldest Master's adopted son. He was thoroughly irreverent in his dealings with others and particularly loved all manner of martial-world secrets and strange tales.
Listening was one thing, but he insisted on spreading them everywhere, too. He spread them back and forth until the subject of one story came knocking and beat him up. Only then did he behave.
He didn't dare tell the Eldest Master, so he dragged the Third Young Master over to treat his injuries. The Third Young Master had only just begun studying medicine then, and his skills could hardly be called exquisite. One needle nearly sent Master Xie off to the Western Paradise.
Fortunately, the Eldest Master saved him in time. Otherwise, the position of leader of our Gusu Ji Clan's Second Gate would have changed hands from then on.
Personally, I believed Master Xie's becoming leader of the intelligence gate had a great deal to do with his willingness to risk even his life for gossip.
But that came later.
Returning to the matter at hand, Master Xie had taken another solid beating over gossip.
The person who beat him was the Second Young Master.
I couldn't remember exactly what he had said about the Second Young Master. In any case, the Second Young Master was quite angry. He came straight over with his men and started the beating without another word.
I greatly admired the Second Young Master's principle of never wasting words when he could use his fists. Throughout history, how many regrettable stories had come about because someone talked too much before a death? See, if the Second Young Master played the part, it would be excellent: up went the hand, down came the blade, without dragging through mud or water.
He was a ruthless one.
But to return to the point, that was the first time I saw the Second Young Master.
Honestly, calling him breathtakingly beautiful would not have been an exaggeration.
Don't doubt me yet. Hear me out.
The Third Young Master resembled his father. He was truly as gentle and warm as jade, with his bearing mastered to perfection.
But the Second Young Master resembled his mother. Of course, the two of them didn't have the same mother. What I meant was that the Second Young Master's looks hardly fell short of the Third Young Master's. In my eyes, he even had a slight edge.
The Third Young Master was handsome, but the Second Young Master was adorable. His round face looked carved from jade and dusted with pink, and his eyes were round, too, like a porcelain doll's.
He sat in his wheelchair, watching Young Master Xie get beaten without much expression. Only once he had enjoyed enough of the beating did he spare me a glance.
When those perfectly round eyes looked at me, my heart gave a thump. Judging by my long experience in service, after beating the master, he would probably start on the servants.
But the Second Young Master didn't. He merely frowned, looking at me with a very... well, that sort of look.
I had never studied, so I couldn't describe it. In short, he didn't much like the sight of me. He didn't like the sight of anyone in the Eldest Master's courtyard.
The Second Young Master beckoned me over and asked, "You're a maid here?"
He had beaten someone at the Eldest Master's residence. Following the principle of territorial jurisdiction, "here" ought to have meant the Eldest Master's courtyard.
I nodded to indicate that I was.
He asked again, "Why didn't you help him?"
Everyone present was standing except him, including me, so this "him" ought to have referred to Young Master Xie, who lay sprawled on the ground.
I answered honestly, "I was afraid you'd hit me, too."
He laughed. "That's how you serve as a maid?"
I shook my head, brimming with confidence. "I'm the Eldest Master's maid, not Young Master Xie's. You beating him has nothing to do with me."
He raised his eyebrows and asked, "Then what if I were beating Eldest Uncle?"
I thought, What kind of question is that? Even with a hundred times the courage, would you dare?
But thoughts were thoughts. On the surface, I still had to look respectful, so I said quietly, "Then naturally, I would have to help."
"Help him beat me?"
I said quietly, "Help him take the beating."
It wasn't that I was disloyal. Mainly, once the fighting started, I couldn't stop it.
Besides, the Eldest Master was an open, upright man who would never scheme against anyone behind their back. I doubted there would be much use for me. At most, I could serve as a pitiful punching bag.
Come to think of it, I felt I might have had a little talent for being a punching bag.
Otherwise, why would I have been assigned to the Fourth Gate after the Eldest Master died, to serve as the Second Young Master's full-time punching bag?
Of course, back then, I knew nothing of what lay ahead. I merely stared blankly at the Second Young Master, watching him fix those little-beast eyes on me before suddenly giving a derisive laugh.
He offered an indifferent assessment. "A reasonably loyal dog."
He turned and instructed the servant behind him to push his wheelchair, then slowly headed out.
Just before he reached the entrance, the Second Young Master stopped again. Tilting his head slightly, he asked softly, "What's your name?"
I said, "Meng Li."
And so he frowned again. I boldly met his gaze and gave him a silly smile. His frown deepened, and he looked me up and down in distaste.
"In dreams?" He mulled it over for a while, then remarked, "What a strange name."
Many years passed before I saw the Second Young Master again.
The Second Young Master disliked the people in our courtyard and normally never came over except to beat someone. Since Young Master Xie had begun behaving himself, the number of times he came to beat anyone could be counted on one hand.
As a maid, I couldn't very well keep running over to parade before a master, either. Thus, the next time I saw him was at the Eldest Master's funeral.
The Eldest Master had died. Consumption had taken him.
A nanny I knew well told me it wasn't that he couldn't be treated; he simply didn't want treatment. The eldest madam had died giving birth to the Third Young Master. All these years, he had survived on that tiny thread of longing.
Now the Third Young Master was gradually growing up, and that faint thread grew weaker and weaker, until at last, the mortal world could no longer hold him.
The nanny sighed. "The Eldest Master did try, for the Third Young Master's sake. He took medicine and underwent acupuncture, but nothing worked. The wounds in his heart had accumulated over so many years that no medicine or treatment could help."
As I listened, for some reason, I suddenly thought of that young boy in the wheelchair.
The nanny was right. The Eldest Master's wound was in his heart, so he could not be saved.
But I felt the Eldest Master had actually been willing to go to his death. All these years, he had merely clung to the last dregs of life. Even I felt living exhausted him. Now that he was dead, it could be considered a release. In my eyes, anyway, the Eldest Master was an immortal. Immortals did not die; he had merely returned to heaven.
But the Second Young Master wasn't. He didn't even have legs. He couldn't walk or jump and could only have someone push him slowly along the ground.
That year, Young Master Xie had merely gossiped about why he had been born disabled, and he had held him down and nearly had both his legs broken.
His gaze as he watched Young Master Xie brimmed with malice and mockery. The malice was for Young Master Xie; the mockery was for himself.
The madam's natal family had sent him many deathsworn and assassins, who truly showed no mercy when they acted. But in the end, he had only given Young Master Xie a sound beating, without breaking his legs.
He sat in his wheelchair, his face propped on his right hand, listening with some weariness to Young Master Xie's howls and furious curses. There was genuine desolation in his eyes. He lifted his hand to stop the assassins and said softly to Young Master Xie, "You were right about one thing. Being alive really is suffering for me."
How old had he been then? Seven? Eight?
In any case, he hadn't been much older than me. All I could do was curl up and tremble, yet he could already calmly appraise his own life.
Summed up in eight characters.
"Born disabled, a child of sin."
Yet neither the former nor the latter was his fault.
When he looked at the spring scenery outside the window, his eyes were not entirely unmoved. When he watched the Third Master treat the Third Young Master and Young Master Xie tenderly, he was not without envy.
Ultimately, that was his father, and he was only a child who had yet to grow up.
Who would willingly be born disabled?
Given the choice, who would wish to come into the world laden with sin?
Later, I often wondered: it was clearly hateful fate that had chosen him. Of all the children in this vast world, it had insisted on making him bear the sin. Why did people call fate detestable, yet each and every one of them lay the blame on him?
I thought and thought, until even in the end, when he committed monstrous crimes, I still couldn't help thinking about it.
Everyone called him a madman through and through, condemning him in speech and writing, but I always felt he was merely a boy starved of love.
Unfortunately, however, I was only a maid. I couldn't save him, and he didn't need me to save him, either.
After the Eldest Master's funeral ended, I was exiled-ah, no, assigned-to the Second Young Master's courtyard.
The Third Young Master didn't need so many people serving him. As a surplus maid, after some consideration from the madam, I appeared before the Second Young Master.
As for why I had been chosen as his personal maid, to tell you the truth, I had entertained a few innocent, romantic notions.
After hearing so many secrets, I had learned a little about romance, too. In my head, I spun a tale of a domineering young master and his pretty maid. The Second Young Master's wheelchair made things inconvenient, so I even thought through how we would proceed afterward, down to each particular step, as well as applying medicine for him at night.
But when it came to putting it into practice, I sadly discovered I could only do the last step.
A Chang consoled me. "Not every crow can fly onto a branch and become a phoenix. Don't be too disheartened."
After a pause, he lowered his voice and added, "Besides, I've always thought the Second Young Master has no interest in women."
By then, I had been hovering before the Second Young Master for several years. I had grown from a scrawny little girl into a scrawny big girl and naturally worked out a set of rules for surviving the little psycho.
Rule one for surviving the little psycho: don't run your mouth. The more you say, the more mistakes you make.
But heaven was my witness: in the years since leaving Young Master Xie, I had barely encountered any gossip. The itch inside me was unbearable. I truly couldn't help myself.
I secretly asked one more question. "Why?"
The answer was that there was no answer.
Because, as ill luck would have it, the Second Young Master passed us silently at that very moment.
Oh, with a wheelchair that loud, how had I failed to hear it?
That wasn't important. What mattered was that our furious master threw A Chang and me into the woodshed for three whole days.
No water, no food. If he hadn't mercifully let us out on the last day, judging by the green gleam in A Chang's eyes, I kept worrying he would eat me.
The moment I saw daylight again, in my heart, he was no longer the Second Young Master.
He was a genuine little psycho.
The little psycho made me kneel with my back perfectly straight. Bending down was somewhat difficult for him; this made it easier for him to hit me.
A slap landed on my head with a crisp smack. It didn't hurt, but it left me a little dizzy. I hadn't eaten for three days, after all.
"Do you know what you did wrong?"
I nodded frantically. "I know, I know, I know, I know..."
The little psycho interrupted me. "What did you do wrong?"
Looking utterly miserable, I said, "I shouldn't have discussed my master in private, I shouldn't have gossiped about my master with A Chang, I shouldn't have..."
He interrupted me again. "What else did you say about me in private?"
I was dazed and blank, crazed with hunger, tears streaming down my face as I cried and hiccupped. "This servant didn't, didn't say anything else, hic... this servant is so hungry..."
The little psycho looked perfectly at ease, yet his expression hadn't relaxed in the slightest. He asked, "Really?"
Still crying, I nodded so hard my head nearly came off.
"All right. You wouldn't dare, anyway." His delicate brows finally smoothed out. "Stop kneeling. Go eat."
Good heavens, at last, the words I had been waiting for.
Overjoyed, I dashed toward the small kitchen, terrified that if I ran too slowly, the little psycho would change his mind. But upholding the principle of friendship above all, I still turned back and mustered the courage to ask quietly, "Second Young Master, is A Chang coming with me?"
The Second Young Master frowned again. "What are you bothering about him for?"
I wanted to say something else.
He looked up and glared at me. "Keep making noise, and you'll be locked up again."
Fine. A wise person understood the times, and I was wise.
Yet the Second Young Master called me back again. I turned around in confusion, startled by the sinister look in his eyes.
He said to me, "Meng Li, you should be thankful you told the truth. Remember, there won't be a second time."
I swallowed and instinctively nodded.
Only then did he wave me away.
Trembling with fear, I pondered his words. I kept feeling there was some deeper meaning, but I couldn't figure out what it was.
Never mind. Once I had eaten, I would ask A Chang.
But strangely enough, I never saw A Chang again after that.
I asked the nanny where A Chang had gone. She merely sighed and warned me in passing never to discuss my master carelessly again.
She was the Second Young Master's wet nurse and understood him very well. She said A Chang had said many things he shouldn't have, and his end would not be good. Fortunately, I had only said one thing, and it wasn't something the Second Young Master particularly minded.
I didn't understand. When I tried to ask more, she stopped paying attention to me.
I felt glum for a very long time.
Late that night, though, I heard people carrying something heavy. Several shadows passed the entrance to our servants' courtyard. I couldn't tell whether they were carrying a pig or a sheep. It was limp and floppy-meat, anyway.
Speaking of meat, I was hungry again.
(Part two)
When I first arrived in the little psycho's courtyard, I was still a girl who hadn't even grown all her hair. About ten, I supposed. Not very old, anyway.
When we reached our new master's courtyard, the matron took us to be introduced to him. Back then, the little psycho was already showing faint signs of being abnormal. The servants all avoided him and feared him.
His face was cold, his expression frightening. By rights, he should have looked quite terrifying, but he just had to be so cute. With that expression on his face, he looked a little like he was playing at being imposing.
I hunched my shoulders and followed behind the matron, listening to her speak in a soft, delicate voice. Then the little psycho swept his gaze over us. Perhaps my timidity was too obvious, because he spotted me at once and pointed, ordering someone to haul me in front of him.
"Aren't you... that whatshername?"
As a clever little maid, I immediately understood: my master had forgotten my name.
Considerate as I was, I hurriedly replied at the top of my voice, "This servant is Meng Li!"
The little psycho frowned. "The maid who served Eldest Uncle? Meng Li-'in a dream'?"
I nodded.
He suddenly smiled. He looked so lovely when he smiled.
Tilting his head, he addressed a man in black standing behind him as straight as a pine or cypress. "Don't you think her name, 'in a dream,' is strange?"
The man remained unmoving as a mountain, like an actual pine or cypress.
The little psycho curled his lips and stroked his chin, drawling, "In that case, kill her."
I was speechless.
Silver flashed as Brother Songbai made to draw his blade.
Without thinking, I clutched my neck, drew a deep breath, and shouted, "No!"
That shout startled the matron, the little psycho, and Brother Songbai alike. The little psycho took it better, merely pausing before raising his head to look at me with an unchanged expression and the ghost of a smile. "Why?"
I took another deep breath and dropped to my knees at his feet with a thud, repeating his original assessment word for word. "Second Young Master said this servant was a loyal dog."
"And?" He looked at me with distaste. "I can kill people. Can't I kill dogs?"
That wasn't what I meant, of course. I explained, "Please don't kill me, Second Young Master. This servant will be loyal to you for the rest of her life."
He raised a brow. "Loyal how?"
I thought for a moment. "I'll take beatings for you."
It really wasn't a good answer, because he smiled again when he heard it, still with that same hair-raising smile.
"There isn't a single person in the entire Ji Family who dares hit me." His expression was somewhat contemptuous, but at least he waved a hand. Having received his order, Brother Songbai slowly withdrew.
I breathed a sigh of relief.
"You claim you'll be loyal to me now, but I've never gotten along with Eldest Uncle's people. Doesn't saying that make you a traitor to your master?"
The half breath I had let out caught fearfully in my chest again. "But he, he..."
The little psycho said, "He what?"
I answered quickly, "He's already dead."
When a person died, their lamp went out. It didn't count as betraying my master.
The little psycho looked at me with a complicated expression. "You're right. He's already dead."
I seized the chance to declare my loyalty. "Rest assured, Second Young Master. Until you die, this servant guarantees her absolute loyalty to you, without a single disloyal thought."
The little psycho's gaze grew even more complicated. Even Brother Songbai looked as if he had choked on his food.
After a long while, he finally motioned for me to rise. "Good. Whoever's dog you are, you're loyal only to them."
I didn't dare say anything else and nodded repeatedly.
The little psycho instructed me, "You'll serve me from now on. Remember what you said. As long as I'm not dead, you won't harbor a single disloyal thought. If that ever changes, it counts as betraying your master."
I hastily agreed, then asked apprehensively, "Then what happens if I betray my master?"
He gave a cold laugh.
"You die."
A psycho was a psycho.
But at least I had saved my little life. Not only that, I had become the little psycho's personal maid.
I didn't earn much, but I didn't do much either. I didn't have to push his wheelchair or cook his meals. He didn't like tea, so all I had to do each day was pour him plain water and help him apply his medicine at night.
By help him apply his medicine, I really just meant handing it to him. He had too much pride to let anyone see him change his dressings.
That was a relatively leisurely stretch of my life. The little psycho's heart hadn't turned completely black that year, and serving him was easier than serving the Eldest Master. Apart from not being allowed to talk much, it was practically an immortal's life.
Later, he officially took charge of the Fourth Gate, overseeing weapons and the weapon rankings. My monthly wages rose with the tide, and I was so delighted that I counted my money every day. Eventually, he threatened to have me dragged out and beheaded if he smelled that copper stink again.
But after hearing that sort of thing so often, Brother Songbai no longer reacted.
Only after quite some time did I learn that Brother Songbai was a servant just like me. The only difference was that I attended to our master, while he served as our master's hired muscle.
In private, I asked him why everyone was so afraid of the Second Young Master.
I thought they were discriminating against him simply because he had a bad temper.
Brother Songbai was wiping his saber, its blade gleaming sinisterly in the sunlight. Perhaps my eyes were playing tricks on me, but I kept thinking I could see a few faint streaks of blood-red on it.
Blood-red... my eyes were probably playing tricks on me.
Brother Songbai raised his head and silently glanced at the pomegranate blossom tucked into my hair. He said, "Don't pity the Second Young Master."
"Huh?"
I didn't know how he had developed such a serious misconception, but I patiently explained it to him anyway.
I told him I didn't. He put away his blade and said, "You can like him, but don't pity him."
"..."
Brother Songbai stood and hung his saber at his waist. Facing me with his dark face, he said softly, "There's still hope if you like him. If you pity him, you're finished."
Enveloped in his shadow, I was genuinely bewildered.
Expressionless, Brother Songbai gripped his saber's hilt and told me, "He's sick. Do you know that?"
I glanced at him. His pitch-black eyes were still and unruffled. All these years, I had thought he was merely hired muscle, a "loyal dog" like me. Yet just now, when he said, "He's sick," a trace of disdain had unmistakably flashed through his eyes.
You're a servant too. How can a servant look down on his master?
But this wasn't actually the first time I had heard those words. Many people in the Gusu Ji Clan had discussed it: the Second Young Master was sick, both in body and in mind, and seriously so.
Everything they said implied that if the Ji Family fell into his hands, it would be finished.
The little psycho knew about it too. At first, he had been furious and taught several people harsh lessons. But as more people said it, he grew numb, and eventually he treated it all as though he couldn't hear it.
I had thought only outsiders would say such things. I hadn't expected Brother Songbai to think that way too.
I wanted to refute him and said loudly, "He isn't!"
But before I could finish, he left.
Sunlight fell on him, on his strong, agile legs. He was so tall that even standing, I probably only reached his chest.
The little psycho would probably only reach his waist.
If the little psycho had a pair of whole legs too, would he be taller than Brother Songbai when he stood?
The days drifted slowly by. On the anniversary of the Eldest Master's death, I requested leave and sneaked back to the Third Gate's courtyard.
I forgot to mention that after the Eldest Master passed away, the Third Master became the family head. He was no longer the Third Master now, but the clan leader.
The young masters had all grown up and been assigned duties. The Third Young Master's domain was the Third Gate, which oversaw medicine, quite fitting for his immortal bearing and Daoist air.
Young Master Xie had become Branch Master Xie. He was quite happy to see me and kept beckoning me over, then shoved an entire basket of incense and offerings into my arms.
...It was so heavy.
The Third Young Master asked, "Meng Li, what brings you here?"
Struggling to hold the basket, I said, "I came to pay my respects to the Eldest Master."
The Eldest Master had treated me very well when he was alive. I had never attended his death anniversary before, but this year, I had finally swallowed my pride and come to cadge a spot among those visiting his grave.
The Third Young Master nodded and took the basket from me. "Let's go together."
I was moved to tears.
Afterward, through burning the paper money, kneeling and kowtowing, and retracing our steps, that basket stayed hooked over the Third Young Master's arm. He didn't let me carry it, nor did he let any of the other servants. He carried it himself the whole way.
I was even more moved.
Had it been the little psycho, he would never have been kind enough to carry my basket. I would have been lucky if he didn't hang it around my neck.
But he was my master, so I didn't dare complain. At most, a tiny thought of changing employers sprouted in my heart.
I didn't dare voice even that tiny thought, for fear the little psycho would beat me to death. As he grew older, he became ever more twisted. He had started hitting people now.
So all I could do was let my aggrieved tears and snot stream down my face at the Eldest Master's grave, earning Branch Master Xie's utter disgust.
That evening, the Third Young Master even asked me to stay for dinner. Thinking of the little psycho's peculiar temper, I still didn't dare accept and hurried back to the Fourth Gate.
Only to be caught red-handed by the little psycho again.
He sat in his wheelchair, his gaze sinister. There wasn't another soul around; he sat there alone.
But I knew the area was full of people, the finest fighters under his command. I simply couldn't detect them. If they wanted my life, I would have to die.
The little psycho smoothed the blanket draped loosely over his legs and glanced at me. "Where did you go?"
I dawdled and hesitated, but eventually told the truth. "This servant went to the Third Young Master's."
The little psycho asked, "What for?"
Like an idiot, I said, "To pay respects to the Eldest Master."
His expression immediately soured. He studied me for a long while. "You cried?"
I nodded.
Then his already unpleasant expression became even uglier.
I waited anxiously. After quite a while, the little psycho turned his face aside and said quietly, "Come here."
I went over clutching my neck, only for him to shove my head again with his palm.
"What are you covering it for?" he snapped. "If I wanted to kill you, would covering it do any good?"
I was speechless.
Young Master, how old are you? Could you stop talking about killing all the time? It's very uncouth.
The little psycho raised a hand and said impatiently, "Go get that."
I looked where he was pointing and saw a basket sitting in the corner, identical to the one from earlier that day, filled with incense and offerings, only all brand-new.
I lifted it with difficulty. He turned his head and said, "Come to the memorial garden with me."
Panting heavily, I stumbled over my words. "Y-Young Master, do I have to carry this over there?"
The little psycho turned his wheelchair to face me, pointed at his crippled legs, and smiled an icy, sinister smile.
"Or would you like to put it here?"
My hands were already trembling badly. At his words, my legs began trembling too.
"N-no need. Th-this servant wouldn't dare."
He glanced at me wordlessly. I lowered my head, gritted my teeth, and held the basket in one arm while pushing his wheelchair with the other hand, carefully wheeling him to the memorial garden.
Both the little psycho's parents were alive. There was only one person he needed to pay respects to.
Everyone in the Ji Family knew that Madam had suffered a terrible fright during childbirth and nearly miscarried. She had been carrying twins, but sadly, only one had entered the world alive. The other had been stillborn.
That was the little psycho's own elder brother, the eldest young master of this generation of the Gusu Ji Clan.
There was hardly anyone in the memorial garden so late at night. Amid the drifting ashes, he sat in his wheelchair, silently gazing at his brother's gravestone, his eyes obscure and unreadable.
For some reason, seeing him like that made my heart ache a little.
A stack of paper money landed in the fire. The firelight wavered and dwindled to a little flame.
Alarmed, I hurriedly crouched and used my bare hands to separate the paper. "You can't throw in so much. You'll put the fire out."
Flames danced at my fingertips. I picked out the paper money, then clutched my ears and hissed in pain.
Turning my head, I met the little psycho's heavy gaze. He looked a little bewildered. After a long while, he suddenly laughed, low and slow.
He asked, "Meng Li, if I die one day, will you come pay your respects to me like this too?"
I froze, unable to tell for a moment whether it was a trap, and didn't dare answer.
But the little psycho rarely needed an answer when he spoke anyway. He turned away on his own and gazed at the Eldest Young Master's gravestone, half in light and half in darkness, his whole person growing a little dazed.
Come to think of it, the little psycho was twenty this year, yet an air of decline often hung about him, always making me feel as if he were already old and withered.
He stroked the gravestone, tracing the three characters carved into it. Whether intentionally or not, he lingered on the last character for a long time.
He tossed me the paper money and said softly, "This is the first time I've come to see him on my own."
I knew that "him" must mean the owner of the gravestone, our Eldest Young Master.
The little psycho said, "In past years, my mother asked my father to come with her, but he never wanted to. Actually, everything they say is true. My father doesn't like my mother, and by extension, he doesn't like me either. But my mother loves my father dearly, so by extension, she doesn't much like me either. When I was little, she would still hold me and hum songs to me. Now she devotes almost all her attention to my father and doesn't much care to see me."
He spoke those words as if they neither hurt nor itched, yet somehow, his sorrow almost struck me in the face.
He smiled indifferently, asking me as he smiled, "Meng Li, what do you think I'm even living in this world for? It seems there isn't a single person under heaven who wants me alive. I'm the utterly, completely superfluous one. If I died, there might not even be anyone to cry for me."
I glanced at him. That single glance steeped me in bitterness.
The pain reached the bottom of my heart, because I knew he was telling the truth. He used to sit listlessly at the courtyard entrance for an entire day at a time. He claimed he liked looking at the pomegranate blossoms in the courtyard, but in truth, he waited every day for someone to visit him.
If Madam came, he would be very happy.
Better still, if it was the clan leader, he could stay happy all day.
The little psycho said, "You said that as long as I'm alive, you'll be loyal to me."
I nodded.
He added, "If I die, you have to come pay your respects to me like this too."
I felt a little lost, not daring to speak lightly or even breathe too loudly.
He raised a hand and pressed it gently against his severed legs, saying quietly, "No one will cry for me..."
I stammered, "Second Young Master, you..."
He suddenly raised his head, a beastlike ferocity in his eyes.
"When I die, you must cry for me too. Do you understand?" He pointed at the gravestone, his eyes fixed on me. "You have to cry even louder than you did today. Got it?"
Did I agree?
I didn't dare agree.
What kind of promise was that? Every other word was about death. It sounded terribly unlucky.
I wouldn't say I understood the little psycho's temper completely, but I understood a good eighty percent of it. At times like these, he was usually just venting. I only needed to listen quietly.
Sure enough, after he finished, he remained dazed for a long while before leaning back wearily, as if all the air had gone out of him, and telling me, "Let's go back."
I hurried back again, pushing the wheelchair and carrying the incense and offerings.
Why wasn't Brother Songbai pushing the wheelchair?
I didn't know. I hadn't seen him in ages.
I heard his arm was injured and he was recuperating. After all, he was a hired fighter who made his living with his hands. I understood completely.
I was the one who suffered, though. The little psycho's wheelchair was so hard to push.
After we went back that day, the little psycho didn't pick on me. He seemed to have forgotten that I had secretly gone to pay my respects.
I put away all the leftover spirit money. I didn't have to return it to the Fifth Gate, which managed the finances, so I kept it under my pillow and treasured it dearly.
After the little psycho became master of the Fourth Gate, everything he used was the best, including the spirit money. The paper was so fine that I collected charcoal dust and carefully dipped a fingertip into it every day to write on the paper.
I had never been to school, so I couldn't even write my own name. But I wanted to learn, starting with the simplest characters for one, two, and three. Whenever I had time, I would secretly practice a little.
Somehow, the little psycho found out. He looked at that stack of spirit money covered in chicken scratches as though he had seen a ghost.
He asked me, "What are you trying to do?"
Terrified that he would think I was drawing little figures on the spirit money to curse him, I hurriedly said, "I'm learning to write."
The little psycho raised an eyebrow and flipped through the papers rapidly. A moment later, he looked up with a dark expression. "What the hell have you written?"
I knew it. He was looking down on me again.
But he didn't follow up with more mockery. Perhaps it was because Madam had made a rare visit, bringing her elder sister, Yin Fangchuan, First Madam Yin, along with her. He was very happy that day, so he didn't make things difficult for me.
First Madam Yin was genuinely good to the little psycho and doted on him as though he were her own son. I found it strange. Why did Madam dote on Miss Qingyan, while First Madam Yin doted on the little psycho? Couldn't they each dote on their own children? I really couldn't understand how rich people did things.
But that didn't stop the little psycho from being in a good mood. And in his good mood, for the first time ever, he actually offered to teach me to write.
He sat at the table, ordered someone to bring brush and ink, spread out the paper, and asked with the brush in his hand, "What do you want to learn?"
All my attention was on his long, slender fingers. They were a man's hands, with distinct joints, slender yet strong.
At some point, my master had ceased to be a boy. He had grown into a man through and through. Although he still seemed a little boyish now, like the delicate sapling outside the window, I knew that sapling was already strong enough to weather wind and rain. One day, it would grow into a towering tree.
I was silent for a moment before saying, "I want to learn my own name."
He murmured assent, lifted the brush, and wrote three characters with sweeping strokes. Then he tossed the brush aside and looked at me lazily, his expression waiting for praise.
I lowered my head to look. The handwriting really was beautiful, only...
I pointed at the characters and said earnestly, "Young Master, isn't this wrong?"
He asked, "What's wrong?"
I counted on my fingers. "My name is Meng Li. Two characters. You wrote three, Young Master. That isn't my name."
He looked at me as though I were an idiot. "When did I say I was writing your name?"
I said, "..."
He pointed at the spirit money and enunciated each word. "Ji. Zhi. Yuan."
I was dumbfounded. "Who's that?"
His gaze instantly shifted from looking at an idiot to looking at a fool. "Me," he snapped.
"..."
My apologies, Young Master. I've served you for years, and only today did I learn that this was your full name.
It sounds rather nice.
The little psycho said with perfect self-righteousness, "You can't even write your master's name, and you want to learn your own? In your dreams."
I let out an "Oh" and carefully put the paper away.
In a grand display of mercy, the little psycho gave me the whole stack of paper and told me to study hard.
I waved the papers and asked, "Second Young Master, what does Zhiyuan mean?"
The little psycho remained still in his wheelchair, tapping a finger against the armrest, and smiled faintly.
"At birth, human nature is good. Our natures are close; our habits take us far apart. My father chose it for me."
I said, "Then is Eldest Young Master called Ji Zhijin?"
The little psycho's smile widened. "His name is Ji Zhichu."
That smile left me staring.
He rarely smiled so sincerely. Even his voice held a little gentleness and calm. I felt I really must have grown used to his abuse. If this had been the Third Young Master, I wouldn't have thought anything of it.
But who was the little psycho? Usually, three parts of what he said were true and seven parts false. Even his smiles were fake as could be.
When he smiled at me so genuinely, my heart actually skipped a couple of beats, then began beating faster and faster, faster and faster...
I'm done for.
I'm done for, I thought.
Nearly another half year passed after that writing lesson. I finally got those three characters straight, and I finally noticed something was wrong.
Brother Songbai had returned, but he was missing an arm. His left sleeve hung empty; only his right hand remained.
Yet that right hand was still just as ruthless when wielding a blade as it had always been.
He didn't seem to have changed much. If I had to name something, he spoke even less than before.
But neither of us talked much normally, so hardly anyone noticed this one-sided refusal to speak, and I didn't pay it any mind.
Yet, miraculously, the little psycho noticed.
He had been well cared for these past few years. Although he couldn't do without his wheelchair, he still insisted on exercising every day, so his body wasn't frail. His back had broadened, he had grown taller, and his face was fair and plump. He really looked more and more like a little white steamed bun.
That day, I was pouring him plain water as usual. He had been sitting at the table copying out weapon designs, but at some point, he raised his head and asked, seemingly casually, "Why haven't you been talking to Min Yu these past few days?"
I looked up blankly. "Who's Min Yu?"
He said, "The one I told to kill you before."
So Brother Songbai's real name was Min Yu.
I lowered my head and thought for a moment. I still felt some affection for him, after all, so I fudged my way through. "He said something wrong and upset me, so I don't want to talk to him."
"Oh?" The little psycho put down his brush, looking as though he was smiling yet not smiling. He looked at me and said, "You think he was wrong, so you think there's nothing wrong with me?"
My hand shook, and water splashed all over the table.
The little psycho wheeled himself over, still holding the design he had just copied. At the table, he gently laid it over the large spill.
The water quickly soaked through the paper. It was expensive paper, and my heart ached so much that my reluctance immediately showed on my face.
"Can't bear it?" He tilted his head to look at me and laughed, touching the wet paper with a fingertip. "The drawing was wrong, so this is wastepaper. Since it's wastepaper, it's useless. There's no shame in using something useless to wipe a table."
Still smiling, he casually turned his wheelchair to face me and tipped his head up slightly, his expression turning cold. "So whether it's paper or a person, neither should lightly do the wrong thing or say the wrong words. Otherwise, once they become useless, their fate won't be as simple as wiping a table."
An inexplicable chill ran through me, but he continued to face me, his smile never reaching his eyes.
He had such a sweet baby face and such a nonchalant expression, yet he still couldn't conceal the viciousness in his words.
"Meng Li, it's time you answered me." He was all smiles. "Do you think I'm sick?"
(III)
My complexion must have looked awful, turning from white to green, green to red, and red back to white. To tell you the truth, goose bumps rose all over me.
The little psycho, however, was very pleased with my reaction. He burst out laughing and wheeled himself gleefully around the room, his eyes full of a crazed light.
It was already nighttime. As he laughed, he looked like a malevolent ghost bursting into the world.
"He's crippled. He can't be the family head." Through gritted teeth, he gave an utterly venomous sneer, then turned back and told me, "That's what my father said."
The night wind blew through the window, chilling me to the bone. I blinked, struggling to blink, and suddenly my eyes were wet.
I was frightened, trembling, and choking up. Through my tears, I told him, "No, that's not true..."
"What isn't true?" Veins bulged on the arm he braced against the wheelchair. He reached up, seized my collar, and dragged me in front of him, staring straight at my tear-blurred face.
"You think so too, don't you! Why are you pretending? You all think so! Every one of you!" he roared, growing more indignant with every word, his smile twisting further. "Who are you crying for now? Let me tell you, the Gusu Ji Clan is filthy! Not a single person in the Ji Family is clean! Filthy enough that soaking them in water couldn't wash them clean! A centuries-old noble clan, loving elder brothers and respectful younger brothers-it's all fake! Every last one of them is rotten to the bone! Rotten through and through!"
I trembled uncontrollably, staring wide-eyed at his pale face, so full of self-mockery.
It hurt.
It hurt so much.
But looking at him, I only felt that the little psycho must have been hurting even more.
Disappointment or anger-he had tasted those feelings far, far too many times. I thought he must have grown used to them long ago.
Yet now, with his defiant eyes, his ragged breathing, his crazed smile, and the hand he slowly raised to cover his eyes, I suddenly understood-there were things in this world harder to endure than pain.
Being cast aside like a worn-out shoe by the person you loved and respected most.
"Meng Li."
I looked up into his deep, cold eyes.
"Why doesn't he just kill me and be done with it?"
I shook even harder. Countless little thorns seemed to sprout around my heart, wrapping around its softest part and piercing into it.
The little psycho had always been moody. He talked about beating and killing, but he rarely truly lost his temper. This was the first time I had seen him like this.
He was only twenty, an age when a fine young man should have been in his prime, yet those eyes, which should have held the wind and moon, were filled instead with the ravages of life.
His heart was dead.
"I asked you a question."
The little psycho came closer and stroked my pale cheek with his slightly cool fingers.
He seemed resigned, yet also seemed to hate to the marrow of his bones. "Do you think I'm sick?"
I shook my head hard.
"What exactly am I in your eyes?"
I wanted to tell him, In my eyes, you are the young master, my master, the Second Young Master, the sole master of the Fourth Gate.
And you are my heaven and earth.
But I knew that none of those answers was actually right. None was what he wanted.
As always, the little psycho never needed an answer when he asked me questions. He sighed softly and closed his eyes.
He said nothing more.
At the time, I still didn't understand the saying, "No sorrow is greater than a dead heart; no grief is greater than silence." I merely stared blankly at him and at the drawing soaked in water, not knowing what to do.
The drawing depicted his newly designed weapon, an extremely lethal crossbow. He had enthusiastically named it the Eagle Crossbow and planned to give it to the clan leader as a birthday present.
He had only wanted to prove to his father that he could do a good job with the Fourth Gate his father had entrusted to him.
Even with his crippled body, he would still be a son his father could be proud of, not the slightest bit inferior to the Third Young Master.
But now, I gazed sadly at the paper disintegrating in the water.
This gift would probably never be given in this lifetime.
To be honest, because of the little psycho's loss of control that night, I had felt a tiny bit of resentment toward the clan leader.
Only a tiny bit, really. I wouldn't have dared feel any more.
I stayed in the little psycho's courtyard for a while longer, and in the blink of an eye, high summer arrived. I no longer went out to pick pomegranate blossoms. Instead, I spent all day figuring out how to make a bigger, lighter fan that could produce a stronger breeze.
There was no other reason: the little psycho couldn't stand the heat. And with summer here, his wounds sometimes inexplicably oozed pus. If he wasn't kept fresh and clean, the smell grew rather unpleasant.
I said it was for him, but it was really for myself too.
Yet just as I was counting out which kinds of feathers would work best, something happened to the little psycho.
More precisely, something happened to the little psycho's maternal grandfather's family, the Yin Clan.
The cause was actually very simple. That day, Second Master Yin had taken advantage of Clan Leader Yin's absence to sneak off to Zuili in search of women and pleasure. I didn't know whether he had found a woman, but he really had come close to losing half his life.
The Yin Family of Jiangnan's second master had always indulged in beautiful women. But for lusting after them so much that he nearly died in a woman's bed, from Jiangnan to Shangjing, from Yingchuan to Luoyang, he was probably the only one under heaven or earth.
Second Master Yin became famous, Clan Leader Yin's face turned as black as the bottom of a pot, and the little psycho grew visibly haggard.
After those days, I saw him working ever more intently on the Eagle Crossbow designs, often staying up until dawn, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.
I discussed with Nanny what we could make to nourish him.
As I lifted the pot lid, Min Yu suddenly appeared without a sound. He had only one arm left, his empty left sleeve tied in a knot. He looked rather pitiful.
The moment he arrived, he said to me expressionlessly, "Are you sick in the head?"
I nearly laughed.
The little psycho asks me whether he's sick, and you ask me whether I'm sick.
I think you're all sick.
Min Yu looked very grim. He glanced at the pot and said, "Don't get any ideas. He won't be the Ji Family's head in the future. No matter how well you treat him, you'll never get anywhere."
I froze, feeling deeply unsettled. Min Yu had always had a nasty mouth, but this time his words grated on me especially badly.
I told him, "You're a servant too. How dare you discuss your master behind his back?"
Min Yu's face remained cold, but the corners of his mouth suddenly pulled into an extremely strange smile.
"He won't be for much longer."
Holding the large ladle, I asked him, "What do you mean?"
His answer had nothing to do with my question. "Second Master Yin is dead."
I froze again.
Second Master Yin was dead.
Second Master Yin was the little psycho's maternal grandfather. Apart from First Madam Yin, he doted on the little psycho the most.
Oh no. The little psycho must be heartbroken.
Min Yu said, "He previously asked Gate Master Ji to kill the murderer. The Third Young Master stood in the way. Gate Master Ji didn't want to hurt him, so he let the matter drop."
I asked him, "Who was the murderer?"
Min Yu actually gave it serious thought. "A woman."
After a long pause, he added, "A beautiful woman."
Just how beautiful did she have to be for a block of wood like Min Yu to call her "beautiful"?
Oh no, oh no, oh no.
After all those twists and turns, Second Master Yin had still died because of a woman.
But what did that have to do with the little psycho no longer being a master?
Min Yu must have noticed my confusion, because he very considerately cleared it up for me. "That woman also killed First Madam Yin."
"..."
I stood in a daze for nearly an incense stick's worth of time before I could barely persuade myself to accept that fact.
The two people in the world who doted on the little psycho most were both gone.
I had probably only spent a little over half a month away from the little psycho. He had been making the Eagle Crossbow and wouldn't allow anyone near him. Even his meals and medicine were left at the door. Apart from those black-clad fighters, no one could get inside.
In just over half a month, his world had turned upside down.
But an even greater upheaval was still to come.
Min Yu said, "The second young master already avenged them. He killed the murderer with the Eagle Crossbow. The murderer fell down a ten-thousand-foot cliff. There's no doubt they're dead."
I stared at him without blinking, feeling all along that he wasn't finished.
Sure enough, his thin lips parted, and he said slowly, "The third young master nearly followed her to the grave."
I was horrified. "Why?"
Min Yu said, "The third young master and that beautiful woman were a couple."
Oh my...
"That beautiful woman might be the sect master's daughter."
...heavens above!
I truly admired Min Yu's storytelling ability. He had such a precise grasp of the key points. He seemed to have said everything, yet left endless room for imagination-a master at viewing flowers through the fog.
But I didn't remember Madam and the sect master having a daughter.
Min Yu was considerate beyond imagining just then. He said, "She was probably the sect master's illegitimate daughter with another woman."
"..."
"The sect master flew into a rage and locked the second young master in the dungeon. Madam suffered a terrible shock and was just sent back to the Yin Clan."
I dropped the soup spoon and strode outside, but Min Yu caught me as I passed him.
"What are you going to do?"
I opened my mouth. "I'm going to..."
But everything else stuck in my throat.
Yes, what was I going to do? What could I do? I was only a little maid. There was nothing I could do.
Min Yu turned his head away. He stood before me, his figure so tall, half his face obscured behind curling white steam, impossible to make out clearly.
He said, "Don't go, Meng Li. The Fourth Gate is gone, and so is the second young master."
My lips moved, but I truly didn't know what to say.
Min Yu's expression was so cold and somber. The old nurse had long since gone somewhere, too. He looked at me and slowly finished what he had to say. "Meng Li, I'm leaving. I won't be coming back."
I nodded blankly. Perhaps the shock had been too great; even the parting didn't strike me very deeply.
Min Yu lifted his eyes, looking unwell. There was little color in his face, and even with boundless warm sunlight behind him, he only seemed more desolate and lonely.
He said, "I used to envy him so much, having you treat him so well. No one ever treated me like that, so back then, I really wanted you to treat me that well, too. But later..."
He stopped and let out a long sigh.
Sunlight streamed in. With the light behind him, I couldn't make out his face. I only heard his hoarse voice, so hoarse it had lost its tone.
What happened later?
I didn't ask, nor did I particularly want to.
All that could never be put into words turned to gold. I hadn't read many books, but there was one saying I deeply agreed with: never probe too deeply, because there were many things that couldn't bear such scrutiny.
Min Yu gave me one last look. That face, so sparing with smiles, was so familiar. There seemed to be longing in his eyes, along with a dazed helplessness.
He pointed to his severed arm and told me, "He was the one who cut off this arm. He killed A Chang, too. He's killed so many people, Meng Li. He isn't as good as you think. Give up on him sooner rather than later. No one can save someone like him."
"I..."
My head swam. I faltered, unable to answer.
Min Yu smiled at me and finally turned to leave. His figure soon vanished into the sunlight. He never once looked back.
I was the only one left in the vast kitchen.
I stood there in a daze. The sunlight outside was so lovely, so lovely that it seemed nothing had changed. But I knew Min Yu wouldn't lie to me.
Suddenly, I felt a little sad-in that instant, I thought of the little psycho, and actually found him pitiful and tragic.
The nourishing soup was still bubbling away in the pot, but the person meant to eat it had already been thrown into the dungeon, his fate unknown.
I turned to glance into the pot, and in that instant, wetness spilled from my eyes.
I remembered that moonlit night so long ago, in front of the eldest young master's gravestone. He had traced the words on it, stopping at the final character, and told me, "I feel like I'm the most superfluous person in the whole world... If I die, you have to cry for me."
Back then, I hadn't known what he meant. Now I understood.
He had touched the final character on the gravestone because his name differed from the eldest young master's by only one character.
Perhaps what he had been thinking about then was what his own gravestone would look like.
The dungeon...
Was he still alive?
I didn't know.
All I knew was that, back then, I had knelt at his feet and sworn an oath. For every day he lived, I would remain loyal to him. Until I saw his corpse, that oath would hold forever.
I would always be loyal to him, until death came.
It was probably a year and a half later when I next had any real contact with the little psycho.
In fact, before that, I had learned that he had been released from the dungeon. That had been after nearly a year of imprisonment. The moment he came in in his wheelchair, I honestly thought I was dreaming.
But he had changed. He had changed so very much.
The most obvious change was that he was no longer close to me. Before, he would even teach me to write when he was in a good mood, but now he was unwilling even to lift his head and glance at me.
Only on that first day, when Branch Master Qi of the Fifth Gate pushed him inside, had he sat in his wheelchair, swept his gaze over the empty courtyard, and let it pass over the pomegranate blossoms before saying with the ghost of a smile, "What, don't you recognize me anymore?"
His right hand hung limply, and only his left made little movements from time to time. After a year apart, he had grown much thinner again. His face was almost unrecognizable.
But he was alive. He was still very much alive. Even if he had become gloomier and more unpredictable.
I nearly fell to my knees to thank the heavens.
The little psycho no longer paid me any attention. He was plotting something greater and more important. Naturally, I had no idea what he intended to do. Each day, I was only responsible for continuing my duties as his maid, bringing him tea and water.
Only after some more time had passed did I learn what he meant to do.
That day, I was picking pomegranate blossoms outside the house when I heard a clamor beyond the courtyard, a tumult of shouting accompanied by the clash of weapons, piercing and irritating.
I was wondering what was happening, still debating whether to go out and look, when the sounds outside stopped.
After a while, all I could hear was the wind.
I didn't know what had happened. After hesitating a moment, I went back inside and brought out the door bar. Hugging it tightly to my chest, I ventured hesitantly out the gate.
The sight outside truly stunned me.
"Second young master?!"
He lay in a pool of blood, his wheelchair pinning him heavily beneath it. His eyes were open, but he stared ahead vacantly, utterly motionless.
His hair was disheveled, too. His body was covered in blood, his clothes had been slashed open in several places, and his face was bloody as well.
Not far from him lay Madam's stone-cold corpse.
A little farther away, the sect master lay curled up and convulsing, clutching his chest.
Dozens, perhaps a hundred black-clad fighters lay scattered all around, as though they had been drugged. At first glance, the scene was horrifying.
I dropped the door bar and rushed to the little psycho without a second thought. Using every ounce of strength I had, I righted the wheelchair, then huffed and strained to get him into it. By the time I finished, I could barely catch my breath.
His face was very pale, his eyes fixed on Madam's corpse. Thinking she might still be saved, I hurried over and checked beneath her nose for breath-she was stone cold.
I returned to his side. His eyes looked empty and bewildered now. I drew a little closer, and at last he noticed me. Almost unfocused, he called softly, "Meng Li..."
I hurried forward and crouched halfway down. "Young master, it's me."
He smiled. He actually smiled.
He raised his bloodstained hand and gently touched my forehead.
"Why are you still here?"
I was speechless. Something inside my chest suddenly hurt terribly, as though something had split open and was spilling out.
"All dead..." He turned his head and looked stiffly around him, trembling faintly, his left hand resting on my shoulder. "Why are you still here?"
Golden light spilled over the earth. It was as though his soul had been utterly drained away. Gripping the armrest with his left hand, he gritted his teeth and tried to stand-but of course he couldn't get his wish. For someone with only a functioning left hand, it was simply impossible.
He faltered and fell back. I hurried forward to help him, but he knocked my hand away with a trembling swipe.
He smiled, and as he smiled, he began to cry, struggling and writhing in his wheelchair.
Each sob sounded as though someone had gouged his heart out of his flesh.
Golden light swallowed the dark clouds. He wailed like a trapped beast. He had actually done it-my master, my young master. He had accomplished what he wanted most: destroying the Ji Family.
But the price was so great that even I felt it was more than he could bear.
There was so much suffering in this world, the sins and grievances of two lifetimes. Everyone had someone to exact retribution upon. Only he did not.
So all he could do was cry, returning to life's most primal state, wailing aloud.
There had also been a lonely night when he took up a brush and wrote the two characters of "Meng Li," broke off a fiery-red pomegranate blossom and tucked it into my hair, and taught me to recite poetry: "In dreams, spring slips away; late pomegranate blossoms yearn to blaze." Back then, we had both still been well. The suffering of this mortal world had yet to occur. He owed no one anything, openhearted and untainted.
That pomegranate blossom held the feelings I dared not speak.
In truth, I knew about all those things. He couldn't hide them, nor did he want to.
He had killed so many people, harmed so many people. Whether it was A Chang, Min Yu, or Branch Master Xie, he had never shown any mercy.
Sometimes I wondered why, and sometimes I didn't. After wondering so many times, it all became a single sentence, something he had said while sitting in the courtyard, gazing at the fiery red filling it, his eyes full of sorrow.
He said, "Fate chose me. I didn't choose fate."
Why? Because he had been born bearing sin, because no one liked him, because he had been born disabled, without legs. The family member who loved him most had died an unnatural death, so he would rob others of their familial love, their warmth, too.
His sins were heinous. Even death would be too good for him.
I knew all of that. But so what?
In the beginning, he hadn't wanted to become this way, either.
That was how fate worked. It could always change people beyond recognition.
I leaned against his wheelchair and looked at what had become of the once-glorious Ji Family. He had repaid, all at once, the hatred that had built up in his heart for more than ten years, so twisted and so satisfying.
The golden light stretched faintly into the distance. An old, worn-out play was finally about to end. A breeze blew past, and I seemed to hear a soft song, singing of sin, of redemption, of the past, of new life.
The wind blew past, and the pomegranate blossoms yearned to burn.