Chapter 47
Song Jingmo was indeed red.
A dark, reddish hue.
Literally.
And Xie Zhang confirmed that Song Jingmo, despite being a shadow, was radiating warmth.
A warmth significantly higher than human body temperature, almost hot to the touch.
Although Song Jingmo vehemently denied blushing, he was intrigued by his newfound warmth.
With Xie Zhang being the only other living being in the car, he naturally gravitated towards him.
Or rather, into his clothes.
Poking and prodding as he burrowed deeper.
“Can you feel this? How about here? And here? Wow, I’m actually getting warmer—how about here?”
Xie Zhang: “…”
His breath hitched, and he silently pulled the increasingly warm shadow out of his pants.
“Surprise! Mwah!”
Song-shadow, caught red-handed, blew him a kiss.
Xie Zhang: “…”
What could he do?
He took a deep breath to compose himself, then, clutching the noticeably warmer shadow, got out of the car and entered the wishing tree temple.
The temple, originally a shrine dedicated to a local figure, or perhaps a land god, was now known for the massive banyan tree in its courtyard, its branches adorned with red ribbons.
Xie Zhang had never quite understood the “warmth” Song Jingmo had described, but now, with the chibi shadow nestled against his chest, radiating heat through his clothes, he felt a tingling sensation on his skin.
The warm Song-shadow, still inky black, was like the sun rising after a long, dark night.
A beacon of hope.
Xie Zhang had messaged the master earlier, detailing Song Jingmo’s changes. He’d also messaged him after Song Jingmo’s… altercation… with his uncle, and the subsequent hospitalization.
He wasn’t concerned about his uncle, but about the potential repercussions for Song Jingmo.
But the master hadn’t replied.
Song Jingmo had also tried calling him, but the line was always busy.
He suspected they’d been blocked.
But Xie Zhang continued to update the master on every change in Song Jingmo’s condition, meticulously documenting every detail.
He put away his phone, protectively covering his pocket, and entered the temple.
It wasn’t crowded.
Unlike other ancient temples, this one was mostly newly constructed, its main attraction being the wishing tree.
Few people came here for romantic wishes; praying for wealth was more practical.
They walked around the temple, paying their respects, then approached the massive banyan tree.
Song Jingmo asked curiously: “What did you wish for back then?”
Xie Zhang’s expression was complex. This place, this tree adorned with red ribbons, the sunlight filtering through its branches, held a stronger significance for him than the café where they’d confessed their feelings.
“I didn’t make a wish,” he said softly.
“I was watching you.”
Song Jingmo’s eyes widened, searching his memories, but he couldn’t recall seeing Xie Zhang at the wishing tree.
Seven years ago, realizing he was in love for the first time, unsure of what to say or do, surrounded by couples, he’d closed his eyes and made a wish, with a focus and sincerity he’d never felt before.
He’d wished for the person he loved to love him back, to be watching him, silently, from afar.
His gaze, following the red ribbons fluttering in the breeze, had found Xie Zhang.
He stammered: “If you didn’t make a wish, why did you… draw a fortune?”
Just for fun?
He remembered Xie Zhang taking his fortune to a monk for interpretation.
Xie Zhang, slightly embarrassed, touched his nose.
Song Jingmo’s eyes narrowed, his voice teasing: “Hmm?”
Xie Zhang: “I heard they regularly remove the ribbons from the tree… I wanted to find the one you tied.”
That’s why Song Jingmo had had time to wander around and encounter the master selling red strings.
Song Jingmo, realizing this, burst into laughter: “You couldn’t find it, could you?! HAHAHAHAHAHA!”
“…Mm.”
Xie Zhang still felt a pang of insecurity, remembering his fruitless search.
He hadn’t been sure if Song Jingmo reciprocated his feelings.
That’s why, at the end of their trip, when they’d exchanged contact information at the café, he hadn’t been certain Song Jingmo would return, so he’d decided to go back to the café, taking fate into his own hands.
Song Jingmo, catching his breath, said, still amused: “Of course you couldn’t find it! I tied it behind the tree!”
Xie Zhang frowned: “I searched everywhere, even borrowed a ladder.”
Song Jingmo giggled: “But my ribbon wasn’t on the tree.”
Xie Zhang’s expression was a mixture of confusion and surprise: “…Huh?”
“I was trying to tie it higher,” Song Jingmo explained, still amused, “but a bird snatched it from my hand.”
Xie Zhang’s mind went blank.
Song Jingmo scratched his cheek: “I’m used to it. Strange and embarrassing things always happen to me.”
“I used to think I was the protagonist of a story, with incredible luck and a hidden superpower, just waiting to be awakened!”
“I was holding one end of the ribbon, and the bird was holding the other. We stared at each other for three seconds, then I let go!”
His voice was filled with excitement: “I thought, a bird at a wishing tree temple! It must be a divine messenger! Having my wish carried away by a bird is much cooler than tying it to a tree!”
“Maybe my wish would be the chosen one!”
So, seven years ago, instead of panicking, Song Jingmo had watched as the bird flew away with his ribbon, his face filled with excitement and anticipation.
Xie Zhang, who had meticulously searched for the ribbon: “…”
He’d been too self-conscious to be too obvious, so he’d simply noted the location and, while Song Jingmo was busy tying his ribbon, had distracted him with a fortune stick.
Song Jingmo slapped Xie Zhang’s chest: “It’s so… symbolic, isn’t it?”
“The bird took my wish, and then I found the red strings, and we got together!”
His voice rising with excitement: “We need to make this offering count!”
He dragged Xie Zhang back into the temple, holding up his phone to scan the donation QR code.
A shadow tendril added a string of zeros to the amount.
…
The temple wasn’t large. They walked around, reminiscing, then, seeing it was getting late, prepared to leave.
Xie Zhang’s phone buzzed.
Just as they stepped out of the temple, he checked his phone. It was a message from the master, who hadn’t contacted them in days.
【That’s too generous a donation. I’ll offer you a reading in return. It will rain tomorrow; best to stay indoors.】
Song Jingmo also saw the message.
While Xie Zhang was still pondering this, Song Jingmo had already used his shadow tendril to extend their stay at the guesthouse and discuss breakfast options with the receptionist.
Xie Zhang: “You really don’t want to go out tomorrow?”
They’d mostly stayed in the old town during their previous visit. This time, with no time constraints, Song Jingmo had wanted to explore further afield, so Xie Zhang had only booked a few days at the guesthouse.
Song Jingmo hummed in agreement: “We don’t understand these… spiritual… things anyway.”
“Trust me! Based on my extensive reading experience, when in doubt, follow the instructions!”
…
That night, looking at the weather forecast predicting a sunny day, Song Jingmo began to doubt the master’s prediction.
The receptionist had also said that the weather in Yunnan was generally predictable, especially during this time of year.
He looked out the window, feeling slightly uneasy.
He sent Xie Zhang, who needed his sleep, to bed, drawing the curtains, while he stayed up, playing games, claiming he wanted to “wait for the rain,” with all the curtains in the living room open.
The next morning, Xie Zhang woke up early, as usual, and opened the curtains, his eyes squinting in the bright sunlight.
It was indeed a clear, sunny day.
But something felt… wrong.
He looked down at his shadow.
It lay quietly at his feet, not stretching out towards the living room, not forming any playful shapes.
His expression changed, and he rushed out of the bedroom, barefoot.
A chaise lounge sat on the balcony.
The sunrise painted the sky in hues of orange and red, the colors reflecting on the sea, the flowers in the courtyard, and finally, on the young man lying on the chaise lounge, his form slightly translucent in the morning light.
As if the sunlight could pass through him.
But he was sleeping soundly.
His eyes were closed, his lips curved into a natural smile, his brown hair, shimmering with gold in the sunlight, slightly messy.
He wore a large t-shirt with a teddy bear design and soft, comfortable pants, slightly loose around his waist, his usual attire for lounging at home.
Song Jingmo, awakened by the sound, frowned slightly, opening his eyes blearily. He saw Xie Zhang standing at the doorway.
He yawned, his voice still thick with sleep: “You’re awake? I waited all night… See? Nothing good comes for free. That master’s prediction was wrong. No rain at all.”
He glanced out the window, then quickly shielded his eyes, rubbing them.
“The sun is… bright…”
