“Fine, I won’t.” Hulü Guang quickly apologized.
“He’s had it tough,” Mu Qingshan said to Hulü Guang.
“Sigh, yes,” Chaosheng said. “It’s truly wonderful that Big Brother and the others can be together.”
Once they started discussing their superiors, it was hard to stop. Wu Yingzong let them be. Finally, Hulü Guang said, “Chaosheng, are you close with Song’s Prime Minister?”
Hulü Guang’s knowledge of court politics was mostly modeled on Gaochang, imagining Cai Jing much like Prime Minister Elon of Gaochang King. Little did he know Central Plains dynasties differed vastly from the Western Regions.
“We’ve only met once,” Chaosheng said.
“He kept staring at you,” Hulü Guang said. “Maybe he wants to ask you for something.”
Hulü Guang had once asked Chaosheng to treat Gaochang King and knew the pattern well.
“Besides seeking immortality,” Mu Qingshan said, “what else?”
Cai Jing was elderly; even reaching ninety would only extend his life another dozen years. For such a powerful minister in old age, with everything else attained, it was all about pursuing longevity and ascension to immortality.
“Is this how you always are?” Mu Qingshan asked Hulü Guang.
Hulü Guang: “What?”
Hulü Guang, having drunk some wine, tried to affectionately drape an arm over Mu Qingshan, but Mu Qingshan disgustedly pressed his head away. Since joining them, Hulü Guang had wanted to buddy up with friends, shoulder to shoulder. But Xiang Xian and Xiao Kun were too in sync for him to insert himself. Playing with Chaosheng? Wu Yingzong wouldn’t let them get too close.
Later, Hulü Guang tried befriending Wu Yingzong—no one got jealous with him. But Wu Yingzong clearly didn’t want to hang out much.
Now with Mu Qingshan single, Hulü Guang liked him a lot. They shared a room at night and spent much time together by day. Mu Qingshan was only gentle with Chaosheng; he treated Hulü Guang and others equally impatiently. But usually, he listened and occasionally scolded him.
“I mean,” Mu Qingshan said, “yesterday a demon person turned into a child to trick you, and you just rashly followed.”
Chaosheng and Wu Yingzong had heard this. Wu Yingzong wanted to lecture him for being too careless—trusting others lightly invited ambushes.
But Hulü Guang said, “Yeah.”
Mu Qingshan: “What if it was a bad guy?”
Hulü Guang: “What if it wasn’t?”
Mu Qingshan: “If it was, even if you’re careful, you’d get seriously hurt.”
Hulü Guang smiled and said, “I’ve encountered plenty of bad guys before; they couldn’t do anything to me. Better than missing someone in need, right?”
Chaosheng said, “So pure. No wonder the Heart Lamp chose you.”
Hulü Guang’s principles even made Chaosheng feel inferior—truly upright and open.
Wu Yingzong recalled their first meeting in the desert, thought, and said, “But now we’re facing the Demon Race. Their strength far surpasses the horse thieves and bandits in the Western Regions. You can’t trust so lightly anymore.”
“Got it!” Hulü Guang said. “I’ll be careful. Come, drink one.”
Hulü Guang smiled and toasted Mu Qingshan, drinking with his friends.
A thousand li away in the southern lands, Jiangdong at night was lit with myriad lamps. The late-spring temple fair at Kuaiji Mountain’s Incense Furnace Peak entered its final day, with colored lanterns strung from midway up the mountain to its base.
A bright moon hung high. In ancient times, this place was called Yuezhou; during the Tianbao era, the southern bank of the Qiantang River was renamed “Kuaiji.” The mountain’s name dated to Emperor Yu’s time, the oldest inhabited place in Shenzhou.
The Golden Dragon landed on one side of Incense Furnace Peak. Many monks in the temple saw the glowing long dragon streak across the night sky.
Xiang Xian returned to his familiar hometown, leaped from the dragon’s head, and felt much more spirited.
“Give me a ride!” Xiang Xian caught up to a cart returning to the city from the temple fair. He conversed briefly with the driver in the Wu dialect, then signaled for Xiao Kun to climb aboard and made some space for him. The cart was loaded with goods from the temple fair and swayed unsteadily as it headed back into the city.
Compared to the extravagant brilliance and hedonistic indulgence of Kaifeng, the Jiangnan region presented an entirely different scene. Lantern lights dotted the landscape like stars, with ponds and waterways everywhere. The villages within ten or eight li were enveloped in a serene atmosphere. Though filled with laughter and chatter, it was all in the soft, gentle tones of the Wu dialect, like a cup of intoxicating sweet wine.
Xiao Kun took in the sights around him. After entering the city, Xiang Xian chatted with passersby, looking somewhat embarrassed. He turned back and said, “It’s been many years since I last came home. I don’t recognize the roads here anymore.”
Xiao Kun said, “What language are you speaking?”
Xiang Xian replied, “Wu dialect. In Kuaiji, some speak Yue dialect, others Wu. My family is used to Wu.”
Xiang Xian had learned from Shen Kuo, so in Kaifeng, he spoke flawless official Mandarin without a trace of his hometown accent. When Xiao Kun heard him mention the Wu dialect, he found it quite amusing. The Wu dialect was soft and glutinous, gentle and melodious, with many trailing tones and a hint of coquettishness. When spoken by a young man like Xiang Xian, it carried a touch of petulance that tickled the heart.
Xiang Xian led Xiao Kun, turning from the main street in the city to a vermilion-lacquered gate by the river. The river water reflected the lantern lights on both banks. White lanterns for a funeral hung at the gate, and in the distance came the sound of pipe and string music—mournful yet not overly sorrowful. Xiao Kun knew they had arrived at Xiang Xian’s home.
