Chapter 3: Rain Rings the Bell (Part 3)
Ni Qinglan disappeared after the winter examinations.
The news came in a letter sent to Ni Qinglan from a fellow examinee from Yanzhou Prefecture, a good friend of his. The letter revealed that Ni Qinglan had left the inn the night after the examination. His friend assumed he was disheartened by his performance and, knowing his homesickness, wrote to him at his home address, offering comfort and suggesting they meet again in the capital the following year.
Judging by the tone of the letter, Ni Qinglan hadn’t passed the exam. But why hadn’t he returned home after receiving the letter?
At first, Cen Shi consoled herself, thinking perhaps her son was delayed on the road and would return in a few days. But as one or two months passed, Ni Qinglan not only failed to return but also sent no word home.
Cen Shi’s health, already fragile, deteriorated further. She was confined to her bed, eating and sleeping little, growing thinner than before.
She forbade Ni Su from taking her pulse or inquiring about her illness. The old doctor who usually treated Cen Shi was tight-lipped, so Ni Su had no choice but to secretly examine the discarded medicinal dregs with Xing Zhu. This act, however, was witnessed.
“Get up. I won’t punish you.”
Cen Shi leaned against her pillows, scrutinizing the young woman kneeling by her bed. “But don’t think you did nothing wrong. It’s just that you’ve been shielding me from Ni Zong and his family, preventing them from disturbing my peace. Consider that as offsetting your punishment.”
“Mother…”
Ni Su looked up. Cen Shi had grown so thin that her eyes were sunken. Seeing her like this, Ni Su felt a pang of guilt.
“I asked the high monk of Da Zhong Temple to bless a safety amulet. I’ve been too ill to remember it lately. Go and retrieve it for me.”
Cen Shi’s weak voice carried an undeniable authority.
At this juncture, Ni Su had no desire to go to Da Zhong Temple. However, since Cen Shi had spoken, she had no room for refusal. She left the room and instructed the old housekeeper to manage the household affairs, especially to guard against Ni Zong and his family causing further trouble.
Da Zhong Temple was a famous temple from the previous dynasty. A large bronze bell within the temple was engraved with poems and writings by numerous renowned scholars of that era. Situated on a quiet and secluded mountain, it was embraced by wildflowers and lush greenery, timeless and serene.
Because of this, Da Zhong Temple was often visited by scholars and literati, who left behind many excellent works, contributing to the temple’s enduring prosperity.
Lately, Ni Su had been restless. Sitting in the carriage, her mind was preoccupied with her brother’s disappearance and her mother’s illness. Suddenly, the carriage jolted violently, and the horse neighed. Xing Zhu, without a second thought, cried out, “Miss!” and instinctively shielded Ni Su.
With a thud, Ni Su looked up and saw Xing Zhu’s forehead had struck the carriage wall, a reddish mark quickly swelling.
“Xing Zhu, are you alright?”
The carriage had stopped. Ni Su held Xing Zhu’s shoulders.
Xing Zhu, in pain and dizzy, shook her head, which only intensified her vertigo. “I’m fine, Miss…”
A rough hand pulled back the curtain, letting sunlight fall on Ni Su’s face. The old coachman, covered in mud, said, “Miss, the wheel is broken. It rained yesterday, and now it’s stuck in the mud. I’m afraid we can’t go any further. But don’t worry, Miss, I can fix it in an hour or so.”
“Alright,” Ni Su nodded. This wasn’t her first time visiting Da Zhong Temple. Seeing the stone steps and mountain path ahead, she turned to Xing Zhu. “You’re feeling dizzy and unwell. I’ll go up myself. Rest in the carriage for a while.”
“I’ll accompany you, Miss.”
Xing Zhu touched the swelling bump on her forehead and hissed in pain.
“I’ll apply medicine when we return home.”
Ni Su patted her shoulder and, lifting her skirt, stepped down using the mounting block the coachman had placed. Fortunately, the mud was only in the puddle where the carriage wheel had sunk. The mountain path had been dried sufficiently by the sun, so it wasn’t too muddy.
Da Zhong Temple was halfway up the mountain. By the time Ni Su reached the temple gate, climbing the stone steps, a thin layer of sweat covered her back. After knocking and exchanging a few words with a young novice, she was invited inside to retrieve the amulet.
After paying respects to the Bodhisattva in the main hall and drinking a bowl of clear tea, the temple bell rang, its sound resonant and lingering. It was time for the monks’ prayers. As they busied themselves, Ni Su decided not to linger.
Outside the temple gate, at the bottom of the hundred stone steps, lay a cypress grove. The grove was dense, its thick branches and leaves blocking the sunlight. A cluster of flames within caught her eye.
She remembered that when she arrived, the gilded lotus pagoda in the grove hadn’t been lit. From within the temple walls came the chanting of monks, while in the cypress grove, the flames burned brightly.
Ni Su saw an old monk emerge from behind the lotus pagoda, carrying a large, dark wooden box. He stumbled and slipped in the mud.
He fell hard and couldn’t get up. Ni Su hurried over, lifting her skirt to help him. “Master?”
It was the same old monk who had given her the safety amulet in the temple. His beard was snow-white and, for some reason, curled, giving him a rather comical appearance. Grimacing, he lacked the usual dignified demeanor of a monk. Seeing the young woman’s plum-green skirt stained with mud, he exclaimed, “Oh dear, I’ve dirtied your clothes, Benefactress!”
“It’s alright,” Ni Su shook her head, helping him up. She noticed that the box he had been carrying had sprung open due to the fall, revealing a glimpse of fur trim fluttering in the wind.
The old monk, noticing her gaze, rubbed his backside as he spoke. “Oh, it rained non-stop a few days ago and caused a small landslide behind the lotus pagoda. I was just checking how to repair it when I unearthed this box in the mud. It must be winter clothes some pilgrim intended to burn for a deceased loved one.”
The cypress grove at Da Zhong Temple was indeed a designated place for people to burn winter clothes and paper money for their deceased relatives during festivals.
Before Ni Su could reply, the old monk heard the faint chanting from the temple above. His expression turned troubled. “They’ve started the prayers.”
He turned to Ni Su, pressing his palms together. “Benefactress, I saw the inscription in the box. The deceased soul is a pitiful one, gone too soon. These winter clothes are fifteen years late. I intended to burn them myself, but today’s prayers will likely continue until after dusk. Would you be willing to burn them for me, Benefactress?”
The old monk’s words were earnest.
“I…”
Ni Su began to speak, but the old monk had already pressed something into her hand and was limping towards the stone steps outside the grove, rubbing his backside. “Benefactress, I must hurry to the temple for prayers. I entrust this matter to you!”
He was very different from the monks Ni Su had encountered before. Old and white-bearded, yet lacking composure, neither weathered nor solemn.
Ni Su looked down at the wooden carving of a beast’s head in her hand. It was grotesque, yet intricately detailed, but she couldn’t tell what kind of beast it was. A strange feeling crept into her heart.
“My beast bead is much more effective than those two safety amulets you’re carrying, Benefactress.”
The old monk’s voice drifted back. Ni Su looked up, but the cypress grove was dim and shadowy. At the edge, the branches trembled, but the monk was gone.
As the old monk had said, the wooden box contained only a fur-trimmed cloak and a water-damaged inscription. The ink on the inscription had run, but she could make out the date, which was indeed fifteen years prior.
After accepting the old monk’s wooden bead, Ni Su borrowed a flame from the oil lamp inside the lotus pagoda and lit the thick, black cloak in a nearby bronze basin.
The flames gradually consumed the embroidered crane design outlined in silver thread on the cloak. In the firelight, Ni Su made out two characters: “Zi, Ling…”
It was embroidery on the cloak’s cuff.
Almost as soon as she spoke, the bronze bells on the colored ropes tied between two cypress trees behind the lotus pagoda, meant to warn people away from the landslide area, jingled softly.
It was May, yet a gust of wind, as if from the depths of winter, struck Ni Su’s face, stinging her cheeks. Dust rose from the basin, and she raised her hand to shield herself.
The ever-burning lamps inside the gilded lotus pagoda were extinguished, and the bronze bells chimed repeatedly.
The wind howled, growing fiercer. Ni Su struggled to keep her footing, her vision blurring. A cold mist suddenly rose in the grove, and the wind subsided slightly. The sky turned a darker shade of blue-gray, and she heard a faint sound near her ear.
Something cold and wet landed on her thin summer clothes. Ni Su’s eyes stung. Slowly, she lowered her arm and looked up.
If she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes, who would believe that in the middle of May, on a mountainside in the afternoon, the sky would be ink-black and snow would be falling like silk threads.
Snowflakes landed on Ni Su’s dark hair. Her face was pale with cold, the tip of her nose slightly red. She stared in disbelief at the snow falling around her.
A chill seeped into her bones, creeping up her spine. Instinctively, Ni Su wanted to flee, but the thick fog enveloped the dark cypress grove, and even the chanting from the temple was no longer audible.
The sky darkened rapidly. In her panic, Ni Su bumped into a cypress tree, scraping her nose. Without light, she couldn’t move. She called out loudly for the monks, but no one answered.
Unease filled her heart. She groped her way forward.
Mountain wind, cold snow, and thick fog swirled around her.
The rustling sound of footsteps on grass drew near.
A warm, yellow light approached from behind, illuminating the hem of her skirt. Ni Su looked down.
The snow fell more heavily, like swirling goose feathers.
Ni Su stared at the unmoving light on the ground and turned around.
The fog had thinned considerably, snowflakes dusting the cypress branches.
The spreading warm light emanated from a lone lamp not far away. A tall figure stood beneath the branches. Almost the instant Ni Su turned, he moved.
She watched, wide-eyed, as he approached. He held the only source of light in this world, the warm glow illuminating the black cloak he wore.
A dark fur collar, embroidered patterns shimmering with a cold, silver light.
He had a pale, thin face, his hair dark and lustrous, his eyelashes thick and long. He walked barefoot, the wind not stirring his clothes, the snow not settling on his shoulders.
He drew closer, bringing with him the chilling air of snow.
Beneath the lantern light, he stopped, his gaze fixed on Ni Su’s pale, cold face.
Ni Su’s pupils constricted. Snowflakes landed on her cheeks, and the cold wind intensified the ringing in her ears. She faintly discerned his clear, calm voice:
“Who are you?”
