Thirty Strokes of Affection

Mingyue wanted to follow and see what was happening, but just as she reached the corner, a young lady stopped her. The girl, adorned in vivid makeup, flicked her silk scarf with a smile and teased, “Oh my, where is the young miss going? Aren’t you going to keep company with that handsome young man?”

“What’s inside?” Mingyue pointed to the much quieter private rooms within.

“That’s where the rooms are reserved for our regular patrons,” the girl replied, cocking her head and grinning. “If you came to our Peach Blossom Pavilion every day, in a year’s time, there’d be a place set aside for you as well. Miss, if you don’t hurry back, your young man will be snatched away by one of our beauties.”

Mingyue glanced back and, sure enough, saw two girls in thin dance costumes clinging to Qin Shi, one on each side, seemingly urging him to drink. Mingyue walked up to him, looking down and saying, “I didn’t expect you to be so popular, Qin Shi. Do you want to stay?”

Qin Shi didn’t answer, only furrowing his brow slightly. One of the girls looked up at Mingyue and asked, “Miss, what is your relationship with this young man?”

“We’re master and servant. I have to say, you girls don’t have an eye for quality—what do you see in this penniless fellow? Even if he liked you, he couldn’t afford to take you away from here. You’d best set your sights elsewhere.”

The girl laughed. “You’re mistaken, miss. Peach Blossom Pavilion is just a dance hall. My sister and I haven’t signed any so-called indenture contracts; the owner is simply our employer. If we didn’t wish to perform anymore, we could leave at any time. Tonight, we’re only here because this young man seemed interesting.”

“Is that so?” Mingyue raised an eyebrow. Seeing that Qin Shi kept his head bowed, a flicker of irritation sparked within her. She was about to turn and leave in a huff but stopped after a step. She remembered whose silhouette she’d seen earlier… The Emperor of Que—a man she’d only ever met once in Jun Xiao’s dream realm of Canglan. Normally, she wouldn’t have remembered, but with such presence and status, it was impossible to forget. Yet why was he here now, in the capital of Luoguo?

Was it the same as in Shuguo? Mingyue shook her head. That seemed unlikely. If it were a small nation, perhaps, but Luoguo was a powerful state on par with Queguo; there was no chance it could be annexed without any sign. If not hostility, then perhaps an alliance?

After pondering, Mingyue soon grew bored. What did matters of state have to do with a nobody like her? She was worrying for nothing. Mingyue brushed herself off and headed out. After walking a while, she suddenly remembered Qin Shi. Looking back, she saw him quietly following behind. Mingyue’s brow twitched; she slapped his arm and said, “Can’t you make a sound? I thought you’d stayed behind with those beauties.”

“Did you just see the Emperor of Que?” Qin Shi asked.

“You saw him too? Doesn’t matter—even if we did, it has nothing to do with us.”

Qin Shi pressed his lips together, as though wanting to say something, but in the end, he said nothing.

After settling into the largest inn in the city, the two retired early. They’d been on the road for over half a month—not as rushed as their last journey from the Hall of Gentlemen, but still uncomfortable. Yet Mingyue hadn’t expected to wake in the night to find Zhushu standing in her room—wounded.

“What’s happened?” she asked.

Zhushu shook her head with a faint smile. “It’s nothing. I was brewing medicine for Kang Sheng when a few Daoist disciples discovered me. The aura you and Qin Shi carry can suppress my demon energy, so I came here to hide for a while. Please, don’t mind me.”

“Is that so?” Mingyue was surprised. She’d thought Zhushu’s earlier words to Kang Sheng were just nonsense, but it seemed there was truth to them after all.

Zhushu nodded. “Yes. I hadn’t believed in this so-called Love’s Pull either and only wanted to try my luck. But I found that, in your presence, my aura was indistinguishable from an ordinary human’s, so I decided to entrust Kang Sheng to you. I believe you and Qin Shi are destined for your own journey.”

Mingyue invited Zhushu to sit but pursed her lips, not believing that last part. She and Qin Shi? Don’t be ridiculous. While she did need his help for Love’s Pull, hadn’t she managed just fine before he appeared? Once she’d unraveled the mystery, she and Qin Shi would have nothing more to do with each other.

Zhushu glanced at her, then lowered her eyes and began tending her wounds.

“Was it those so-called disciples of Qionghua again?” Mingyue asked.

Zhushu shook her head. “No. The Qionghua disciples are more recognizable since they often travel the mortal world, but these were from some lesser Daoist sects. These days, most cultivators in the human realm focus on hunting demons to prove their Dao, rarely considering whether the demon is good or evil. Over time, weaker demons have all but disappeared, while stronger demons and even fiends have begun hunting cultivators in turn. Most Daoist disciples don’t even possess an immortal body; they can handle lesser demons but are powerless before those above the fifth rank. This has only deepened the rift between the two sides, with cultivators clinging ever more tightly to the notion that those unlike themselves must be enemies. For those of us demons who remain near human settlements, especially towns, survival has become that much harder. That’s also one reason I want Kang Sheng to forget me.”

“If that’s the case, why not break through to the fourth rank? Then no one could bother you,” Mingyue said, pouring her a cup of tea.

Zhushu gave a bitter smile. “Kang Sheng’s illness has proven stubborn not only because it’s an old ailment, but I suspect my demon aura has been affecting him as well.”

“Why not say you’ve neglected your cultivation because you were too busy caring for him?”

“Well… that too, I suppose.” The worry in Zhushu’s eyes faded, replaced by a faint smile. “You should sleep. Once they’re gone or my wounds are healed, I’ll leave.”

Mingyue waved her hand. She was no longer sleepy and would rather hear more of their story. “No need. Continue where you left off. Last time, you said you woke to find Kang Sheng collapsed at the door of the old house. What happened next?”

A gentle smile spread across Zhushu’s face, as if recalling something sweet. “I was a recluse—I never drank, let alone dealt with blood. That day, the wine jar in his hand had fallen by his side, mixing with the blood from his wounds and soaking into the earth at my feet. Maybe it was the scent of blood, but I grew irritable and wanted him gone, didn’t want a human disturbing me. With a quiet spell, I sent him away on the wind toward the city. Yet the next day, and the day after, he returned in the same state. Since I couldn’t drive him off, I relocated my cultivation elsewhere, though I was reluctant to leave behind the best spot. Sometimes, when he was gone, I’d sneak back for a few hours.”

Zhushu laughed softly. Mingyue asked, “So what changed your mind?”

“His art. It was his paintings.”

Mingyue raised an eyebrow, not fully understanding. Zhushu explained, “He stopped drinking and, I don’t know where he got them, but he brought brushes and ink and painted the bamboo grove outside the old house. The first paintings were a mess—I wanted to scold him, to tell him he didn’t understand bamboo at all. But before I could, he corrected himself. Through his paintings, I seemed to glimpse his heart.”

“Frustration, loneliness, a sense of wasted talent?” Mingyue guessed.

Zhushu nodded, then shook her head. “All of that, and more. Though he painted bamboo, it felt as though he was painting the path of his own life and his ambitions. At first, he was confident, eager to soar, to stand atop the capital, to serve the people. But after all his efforts, the results left him dejected, isolated, even cursing the heavens for their injustice. In the end, when he accepted his circumstances, he found himself trapped in that ruined house. The wings he’d once hoped would let him fly had been broken; he no longer had the strength to break free. He realized he was powerless to change his fate, doomed to remain confined and sink deeper into despair.”

“So, he’s struggling…” Mingyue said quietly.

Zhushu nodded, a bittersweet smile curling her lips.

After a moment of silence, with the candlelight flickering, Zhushu spoke again, “In these hundreds of years, I’ve never so desperately wanted to help someone. I want to see him smile, to see him fulfill all his old ambitions. But the first step is to help him recover his health. Only then can there be talk of the future. He must first forget me, so he can move forward unburdened.”