Chapter 80:
Rebirth – Chen Henian Knew He Would Be Caught…
Despite being home to a sect of Daoists, the Southern Mountain wasn’t a place of asceticism and abstinence. They had disciples managing businesses in the secular world, their network of temples and shrines generating considerable wealth. The Southern sect wasn’t poor, their outward simplicity a matter of principle, their disciples dressed in plain robes, their accommodations modest, each disciple given a spacious, private room.
Chen Henian disembarked the plane at dawn, the mountain air crisp and cool, spotting his master and Grandmaster Yongjian among the few figures gathered on the tarmac, the other disciples gone, the mountain eerily quiet.
“Master,” Yongjian and Zhou Xianzhi greeted the Grand Celestial Master respectfully, then turned to Yu Lin. “King Jiang, we’ve been expecting you.”
“A distinguished guest has arrived,” the Grand Celestial Master said, his voice echoing through the silent air. “Treat him with respect.”
“Yes, Master,” Yongjian replied.
“Master, you must be tired from your journey. Why don’t you let the children rest? The rest can wait,” Zhou Xianzhi said, his eyes crinkling into a smile, not approaching Chen Henian, but bowing to the Grand Celestial Master. “I’ve prepared tea.”
“Go,” the old man nodded.
“I’ll take them to their rooms,” Zuo He said quickly.
They left the masters, their figures disappearing into the darkness.
Their footsteps echoed through the silent forest, startling birds from their nests, their wings flapping, a flurry of feathers, a momentary distraction from their weariness.
“They’re just letting us go?” Jiang Wan asked, her voice filled with suspicion.
“Perhaps,” Chen Henian replied. “It saves us the trouble. My master will handle it.”
“I’m not so sure,” she said. “It might be a trap, a honey trap, the punishment coming later.”
“Don’t worry, you’re safe here,” Zuo He reassured them, smiling. “You’re part of the Southern sect now.”
“There are three empty rooms next to mine,” he led them to a row of wooden houses, retrieving a key from beneath a windowsill, handing it to Jiang Wan, then turning to Chen Henian and Yu Lin. “One room or two?”
“One,” Chen Henian said.
“Two,” Yu Lin said at the same time.
Chen Henian, startled by the conflicting answer, realized who had spoken, and he grabbed Yu Lin’s cold hand, his voice low and sharp. “Two?”
“One,” Yu Lin corrected himself quickly.
Chen Henian snorted, pointing at the room between Zuo He’s and Jiang Wan’s. “This one.”
“Open the door.”
As Zuo He reached for the key, the lock clicked open, the door swinging inward.
A ghost, opening doors in a Daoist temple? Zuo He looked at Yu Lin, his voice filled with concern. “There are protective arrays here, carefully crafted by our elders,” he said, his gaze shifting to Chen Henian, unable to address Yu Lin directly. “Please don’t disturb them, don’t damage them.”
“He heard you,” Chen Henian said.
“Yes,” Yu Lin replied.
They entered the room, the door closing behind them, seemingly on its own.
Yu Lin released Chen Henian’s hand, the red string reappearing, a bright line in the dimly lit room. He raised his hand, and the candles on the table flickered to life, illuminating his face, his eyes regaining their depth and color, his expression still cold and distant.
The warmth of his touch faded, a lingering sensation, a hint of regret in his eyes.
Chen Henian, removing his shoes and outer clothes, turned to him. “Why did you want two rooms? You don’t want to share a room with me?”
“That wasn’t my intention,” Yu Lin shook his head. “This place is small and simple, I didn’t want to impose on you.”
“Don’t say that in front of the Southern Daoists,” Chen Henian said, then, realizing it didn’t matter, his status above theirs, he corrected himself. “No, it doesn’t matter what you say.”
He smiled, a rare and genuine smile. “There are no emperors or princes now, you have to adapt to modern life.”
He got into bed, pulling the blankets around him, then turned to see Yu Lin still standing there. “What are you waiting for?”
“I don’t need to sleep,” Yu Lin replied, his voice calm, but his demeanor hesitant.
“That’s a good thing, you have twice the time we do,” Chen Henian teased him. “You didn’t need to sleep before either.” He sat up, raising his chin. “And you insisted on holding me. What, you don’t want to anymore?”
Yu Lin lowered his head, his eyes hidden by his hair, his expression unreadable. “I was… disrespectful, I overstepped my boundaries,” he said, his voice low.
“Servant?” Chen Henian frowned.
“I,” Yu Lin corrected himself.
“Are you apologizing?” Chen Henian asked, his gaze intense. “Is that all you wanted to say?”
Their shadows flickered on the wall, the room silent, their stillness a charged tension.
Yu Lin avoided his gaze, his silence a response.
Chen Henian understood him better now. His outer shell was hard and unyielding, his pride a shield, his emotions transparent, his likes and dislikes evident, his anger, as a general, a fierce and righteous fire.
Now, his coldness was a mask, his emotions hidden in his eyes, a silent language no one had taught him, the intensity of his gaze, when his eyes met Chen Henian’s, a burning desire.
“To be by your side is enough,” he finally looked up, his voice filled with a quiet longing. “I want to watch over you, I’m afraid that if I close my eyes, you’ll disappear again.”
His words silenced Chen Henian, his gaze softening as he looked at Yu Lin, his ancient robes a stark contrast to their modern surroundings, a remnant of a forgotten era, his story untold in the history books, a story only Chen Henian knew, the pieces of his life, fragmented and scattered, now slowly coming together.
Not everyone wanted to be emperor, the burden of leadership heavy, the path of a benevolent ruler difficult and lonely. Jiang Henian hadn’t wanted it, neither had Yu Lin. Chen Henian remembered his wounds, his bloodstained clothes, his silent suffering, the cold wind on the veranda, his sacrifices unrewarded.
Jiang Henian had given him a choice, a way out.
And he had become Jiang Henian.
“Those five years must have been difficult,” Chen Henian said, his voice soft. “Do what you want now, you have no more obligations.”
Yu Lin smiled faintly. “The past doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Sleep well, I’ll protect you.”
“Master…” his voice was barely a whisper.
Chen Henian didn’t reply, pulling the blankets higher, turning his back to him, closing his eyes.
Yu Lin raised his hand, extinguishing the candles, his tall form blocking the light from the doorway, his eyes the only visible feature in the darkness.
Chen Henian fell asleep quickly.
Yu Lin watched him, his long hair spread across the pillow, just like before.
When his breathing evened out, he leaned closer, his lips brushing against Chen Henian’s cheek, then his mouth, a soft, lingering kiss.
Chen Henian slept until late morning, missing breakfast, joining them for lunch.
“I need an umbrella,” he said to Zuo He, who handed him a black oil-paper umbrella.
Yu Lin took the umbrella, its surface turning black, its form shifting, becoming something unique and elegant, a shield against the sun, allowing him to walk in daylight.
“Let the children play,” Zhou Xianzhi had said, but they had no such leisure. Jiang Wan had to face the judgment of the three sects, her actions in the Jiang clan’s village a violation of Daoist law, no one able to intercede.
She stood before the statue of Buddha, her smile calm and serene, her voice soft. “I’m here to confess, can I request leniency?”
Grandmaster Yongjian, her judge, known for his impartiality, his adherence to the rules, showed no mercy.
She had killed eighty-eight people, but considering the circumstances, and after the other disciples’ pleas, he sentenced her to fifty years of penance on the mountain, forbidden from leaving. It was the best outcome she could have hoped for.
But she wouldn’t waste her life here. She refused.
To regain her freedom, she had to seek forgiveness from the heavens, climbing the three thousand stone steps to the summit of Mount Jielü before nightfall.
And endure fifty-three lashes. A concession, a small mercy.
She agreed without hesitation, kneeling before the Buddha statue, not repenting, but accepting her punishment.
Grandmaster Yongjian, the whip in his hand, a tool of discipline, not torture, began.
Chen Henian stood beside her, counting the lashes.
Each strike tore at her flesh, her back a bloody mess, her clothes ripped and tangled in the wounds, but she didn’t cry out, her teeth clenched, her body trembling, her face pale, her lips bloodless, sweat dripping from her forehead, the cold wind a torment.
Chen Henian watched, his brow furrowed, until the last lash fell.
Her body, weaker than in her past life, her legs numb from kneeling, she struggled to stand, each movement a searing pain, then looked up at the long flight of stairs, her body inching forward, her ascent slow and agonizing.
“I’ll carry her,” Chen Henian said.
“No,” Yongjian refused.
Chen Henian’s eyes flashed, his voice cold. “Why not? I’m her family, her brother. If she wants to be reborn, I’ll help her. Only I have the right.”
His voice was calm, but his anger simmered beneath the surface. “A deity that shows no compassion is not worthy of worship.”
Yongjian, silenced by his words, stepped aside.
Chen Henian lifted Jiang Wan onto his back, Yu Lin holding an umbrella over them, Zuo He, having sent disciples ahead with medicine, waiting for them at the summit.
Her weight on his back, a heavy burden, he remembered carrying her when she was a child, before the age of six, before propriety and decorum had separated them.
How sad.
He climbed the steps, his pace quick, each step a victory against her pain.
Her head resting on his shoulder, she asked, “Why… why are you helping me?”
“Because you’re my sister,” he replied, hearing the tremor in her voice.
“I’m not the Jiang Wan who cried in your arms,” she said, her voice choked with emotion.
“I know,” he said. “I’m not that Jiang Henian either. But we share the same blood, our father was King Wu, our mother Queen Chen.”
She bit her lip, tears falling onto his shoulder, her first tears in this life, the memories of her past life, of the battlefield, of her brother’s death, flooding back, her ambitions realized, but her heart broken.
Brother!
Her silent cry, unanswered.
Her ashes scattered, her soul trapped in a sword, fueled by rage and resentment.
Her tears, bitter and salty, brought forth the word she had longed to speak. “Brother.”
“I’m here,” he replied.
“I was too late, I failed,” she sobbed.
“I was too late,” he said, his breath catching in his throat. “Then, and now.”
Even Crown Prince Jiang Henian hadn’t foreseen everything. He had thought sending her to the border, having Yu Lin seize the throne, would ensure her safety. But he hadn’t anticipated her return, a lamb walking into a wolf’s den.
He had watched her die, the girl he had raised, her life ending by her own hand, her first words, her first steps, her laughter and tears, all shared with him, the wet nurse saying they shared the same blood, the most precious children in the palace.
He had braided her hair, watched her sleep at his feet as he studied.
The East Palace, a quiet and lonely place, her cries echoing through the halls at night, drawing him from his chambers, unable to distinguish between human and ghost, her voice, clear as a bell, her bright eyes, a constant reminder of his mother’s love.
Within him, two souls lived, their memories intertwined.
He had been wrong, he had underestimated their love for him, and in the end, none of them had gotten what they wanted.
Jiang Wan looked up at the white stone steps, so similar to the jade steps of the East Palace.
She had died, the pain of the blade still fresh in her memory.
But now, carried on Chen Henian’s back, she saw the setting sun.
She was reborn.
A smile touched her lips, a bittersweet triumph.
She closed her eyes, and as darkness fell, they reached the summit.
“We’re here,” Chen Henian’s voice was soft, his chest heaving. “You’re free.”
Zuo He and the others rushed forward, helping her down, tending to her wounds.
Sweat dripped into Chen Henian’s eyes, his strength fading, his legs giving way, his body falling, not onto the hard stone, but into Yu Lin’s arms.
He knew he would be caught.
“I found you,” Yu Lin’s eyes, dark and intense, his gaze filled with a mixture of love and pain, his arms tightening around him, holding him close, unwilling to let go.
