The moon had risen high into the sky when Ren Yijue arrived at the little courtyard carrying a jug of wine.
Cui Jingchun was admiring the flowers. He had swept the courtyard and gathered the fallen petals and leaves into a pile beneath a tree, where a faint fragrance lingered.
Born to a distinguished family and impeccably brought up, he had neither his grandfather Cui Xuanchan’s unrestrained boldness nor his father Cui Chongyong’s stern reserve. By nature he was particularly mild and composed. Even though he had lost his temper with his family, he did not want to cause anyone more trouble and so had remained inside.
As Ren Yijue was about to sit down, a flowering branch caught his long sleeve, like the shy touch of a beautiful woman’s hand.
At first he paid it no attention. Then, as he moved, he heard a snap. Looking down, he saw fresh blossoms and tender twigs caught in his sleeve, so he simply took the branch in hand. Holding wine in one hand and flowers in the other, he sat down.
Playing with the flowering branch, Ren Yijue asked casually, “Can you drink?”
“I can,” Cui Jingchun answered, a little bashfully.
“Excellent. Then fetch two bowls and we’ll admire the moon over a drink.”
Cui Jingchun went to the kitchen for two bowls. Not entirely satisfied, he scooped up some water and washed them again before bringing them to the table.
“Is Senior Qian not coming today?” He looked around instead of sitting.
Ren Yijue broke the seal on the wine jug and shook his head. “Sit. If I wanted to invite the Jade Beauty into this sort of gathering, I couldn’t guess how much talking it would take. And he still might not agree. The idea seemed too troublesome, so I let it go.”
Only then did Cui Jingchun sit. He was uncertain whether to feel happy or sad. He respected Qian Xuelang immensely but did not feel at ease around him, and could not help relaxing when he heard the man would not be coming.
Ren Yijue filled the two bowls. The wine was clear, and under the moonlight its golden color resembled melted amber and flowing honey. It gave off such a strong, sweet fragrance that anyone unaware of its contents might have mistaken it for stewed pear water.
“How well can you hold your wine?” Ren Yijue asked.
“Only moderately well,” Cui Jingchun answered modestly.
“All the better.” Ren Yijue smiled. “This honey wine goes down sweetly, but its strength comes on later. Since you can’t drink much, you had better have only a few bowls. Then Ren can have more.”
It was, of course, a joke. Even when teasing someone, Ren Yijue retained his scholarly grace and dignified bearing, making those who looked at him feel delighted.
Cui Jingchun gazed at him in a daze, and the next thing he knew, something struck him lightly on the head. The blossoms on the branch quivered, and one petal drifted into his bowl.
“What are you looking at me for?” Ren Yijue teased. “Drink.”
Cui Jingchun blushed and quickly lowered his head. He raised his bowl and took a large gulp. Unexpectedly, the honey wine was soft and sweet, without any harshness. Its fragrance lingered on his lips. He drank again almost without thinking and soon finished the entire bowl.
“Don’t drink too quickly,” Ren Yijue told him.
Ren himself remained leisurely, lifting the bowl to his lips and sipping a little at a time. Yet, for all the elegance of his movements, the wine went down just as quickly, and soon his bowl was empty too.
This time Cui Jingchun poured. They drank another bowl apiece. A blush was already spreading across Cui Jingchun’s cheeks and around his eyes, while Ren Yijue went on to a third bowl as though nothing had happened.
The wine had plainly begun to work on Cui Jingchun. He raised his bowl less stiffly now, with something of a bold, free manner. He tipped it back and emptied it at once, then set it down with a louder thump than he intended.
His gaze was already unfocused, and the noise he himself had made startled him.
Ren Yijue set down his bowl gently. Glancing at the young man, he judged that the moment had come. “I’ve told your grandfather about your situation.”
Cui Jingchun shivered. His wandering gaze took a long time to settle on Ren Yijue’s face. “Grandfather… what did Grandfather say? Was he…?”
He could not bring himself to finish. This was not the first time in his life that he had thrown a tantrum, but ever since turning fifteen he had scarcely behaved like a child again.
Was Grandfather terribly disappointed in me? Was he angry?
Cui Jingchun had shed so many tears these past two days that the mere question brought another painful sting to his nose. His eyes brimmed, and he could ask no more.
“He said, ‘Just don’t get yourself killed over it’,” Ren Yijue replied.
Cui Jingchun sat blankly for a moment, then gave two small, tipsy chuckles. The wine had muddled his head and swept aside much of his usual attention to manners. Sprawled on the table, looking like a child again, he murmured, “That’s exactly what Grandfather would say. He’s always… always been like that…”
Tears slipped down without his noticing. He sniffled.
“But… why did it have to be like this?” Cui Jingchun asked through sobs. “Benefactor… why? I don’t want them replaced. Once they’re dead, does that mean they have to be erased? As though they’d never existed?”
Ren Yijue poured himself another bowl of wine.
“The dead are gone, and the living must keep moving forward.” His voice was unusually indifferent, giving no indication whether he agreed with those words.
For once, Cui Jingchun shouted. “Lies! … Lies!”
His voice soon fell again until it was barely audible.
“You’re all lying. If the dead are truly gone and that’s the end of it, why am I the only one who isn’t allowed to die? Why is it only me?”
Ren Yijue paused with the wine bowl in his hand.
Fortunately, Cui Jingchun did not need an answer. He struck the stone table with his fist as if venting his anger. The wine remaining in the bowls trembled, spreading in little rings.
“Their children are dead, and it was my failure to notice the danger! I was the one who took the risk! I was reckless! I wasn’t careful enough, and I didn’t react in time. So why does everyone say it wasn’t the Young City Lord’s fault? Why is everyone so relieved? Why do they all say that as long as the Young City Lord is safe, that’s enough?”
“Don’t you like that?” Ren Yijue’s eyes shone in the moonlight, their naturally light color almost translucent. “Does it make you unhappy that everyone likes you?”
Cui Jingchun answered without hesitation. “Do they like me? Do they even see me? Isn’t the person they see the Young City Lord, the heir of the Cui Clan? Is that really me?”
“They… they are only grateful to Grandfather. They are grateful to Dongxun City, and only because I’m Grandfather’s grandson!”
Cui Jingchun suddenly braced himself against the table and tried to stand. His limbs had gone soft. As he raised one side of his body, the other immediately sagged again, as though he had no bones.
His face was flushed, his nose had turned red as well, and tears still shimmered in his eyes. He stumbled two steps and nearly collapsed.
Ren Yijue sat as steadily as a mountain, seemingly blind to everything happening before him.
“If I died, Grandfather and Father would be heartbroken. They would be devastated, and they’d make someone else pay ten times more dearly.” Cui Jingchun murmured. “They would never accept it. And they would never let anyone take my place. No one would dare tell them, ‘This child is dead. Find someone else.’”
Ren Yijue sighed softly. “Their parents don’t possess City Lord Cui’s power.”
“I know… I know. I don’t hate them. I don’t blame them for thinking my life matters more.” Cui Jingchun shook his head violently. Perhaps the pain was too much, for he gripped the table with one hand and clutched at his chest with the other, swaying. “I know they mean well. They’re only grateful. They’re all very, very good people, and they wouldn’t take their anger out on anyone.”
“They are grateful to Grandfather, and grateful to me because of him…”
“But… but my heart hurts so much.” Cui Jingchun wept. “No one blames me. No one hates me. They only say that as long as the Young City Lord is all right, nothing else matters. Why is everyone else allowed to grieve? Why am I the only one who isn’t? Why am I the only one who has to replace them?”
Ren Yijue answered calmly. “Because you’re the person who founded the spirit cavalry. Do you mean to keep only this broken and incomplete unit, then lead it onward to protect Dongxun City?”
Cui Jingchun seemed suddenly stunned. He stared ahead through his tears and murmured, “I don’t know. I… I don’t know.”
“They were my friends.” All at once he grew quiet and bowed his head. His hair tumbled loose, and the moonlight stretched his shadow across the ground, making him look exceptionally alone. “But I’m the Young City Lord. Who told me to be the Young City Lord? I… am the Young City Lord.”
Ren Yijue drank very slowly this time, but still said nothing.
“If… Benefactor… if my life really is more precious, if my life truly has more value…” Cui Jingchun struggled to smile. “If that is true… and if someday even I start believing it…”
“Would I… would I stop riding out to fight demons? Stop being sad, stop grieving, until I feel absolutely nothing about anything that happened?”
“Is that the sort of Young City Lord they want?” Cui Jingchun asked in a daze. “Is that truly the kind of heir Father wants?”
“They have no right to demand any particular sort of Young City Lord. They’re delighted because you’ve conducted yourself well, certainly. But even if you were a bad man, they would be powerless to do anything but accept it.”
Ren Yijue rose and poured him another bowl of wine.
“As for your father, all he hopes is that your life will be safe and smooth. People’s hearts are small. How many can truly hold all of Heaven and Earth? Even a hero like City Lord Cui distinguishes between those close to him and those more distant, and grows weak where his feelings are concerned.”
“The one who must truly decide is you.”
Ren Yijue raised the wine bowl, took Cui Jingchun’s hand, and placed the bowl in it.
“You were born to high station and cherished by everyone. You’ve drunk your fill of life’s honeyed sweetness. Now have you tasted the bitterness that comes with your position?”
Tears fell from Cui Jingchun’s eyes into the wine, sending up tiny splashes. He raised the bowl and drained it. The honeyed sweetness was gone; all that remained was a heavy, salty bitterness.
“Truly… bitter and astringent.”
“Everyone in this world carries bitterness they cannot easily speak of,” Ren Yijue said mildly. “Choosing what kind of person you will be has nothing to do with anyone else.”
When water in a basin became visibly muddy, it was easy enough to see the problem and replace it. But if filth gathered unseen beneath the basin itself, it was often much harder to clean away.
Yet whether one possessed power or strength, a human being remained a human being. None of the countless human weaknesses vanished because of either.
“Drink,” Ren Yijue said. “Let this be a toast to drowning your sorrows.”
Cui Jingchun no longer knew how many bowls he had drunk. He remembered only the moonlight shining like silver in the spotless night and how he had poured the sorrow and suffering of the past days into the wine.
He was drunk.