06 Soul Summoning

As winter was approaching, Wen Yan pulled Chu Xuan down the mountain. The mountain was cold, tolerable in other seasons, but clearly unsuitable for Chu Xuan’s recovery in winter. Yet Wen Yan had not expected that so soon after descending, Chu Xuan’s illness would relapse, and even more severely than before.

“This is what happens when you refuse your medicine! Chu Xuan, you’ve been off your medication for almost three months now. Back at the villa you seemed well enough, so I said nothing, but look at you now—how can you still refuse your medicine when you’re this ill?”

Wen Yan was near tears as she spoke to Chu Xuan. He had no choice, sighing softly before swallowing the bitter medicine. Yet the more he drank, the worse his condition became. His once rosy cheeks were now utterly pale, his always cool body colder still, forcing him to wrap himself in heavy garments even in the courtyard.

Ming Yue shook her head, for who would have guessed Wen Yan herself fed Chu Xuan those poisoned medicines each day, though it was Wang Huan who had laced them. Chu Xuan’s situation seemed to have reached the imperial city as well. Ming Yue often saw a man in dark clothing, whose reputation she had heard countless times, appear behind Chu Xuan whenever Wen Yan turned away, as if whispering a report. But Chu Xuan responded only with rare severity, coldly dismissing the man.

Ming Yue crouched on the rooftop, chewing a fruit scavenged by Qin Shi, and asked, “With Wang Huan fanning the flames, how much longer can Chu Xuan hold on?”

“Until next year,” Qin Shi replied. Ming Yue recalled what Wen Yan had said at her first appearance in the Hall of Longing and sighed, “To have a daughter widowed at eighteen—what a chilling mother. And Chu Xuan, a proper prince, dying in this rural wasteland, what a loss. Come to think of it, I remember the Fourth Prince’s mother was actually from the Wen family. How interesting. If something happens to Chu Xuan, the Wen manor in Yinzhou is sure to suffer.”

“You mean the master won’t let them off?” Qin Shi asked. Ming Yue shook her head. “Not quite. The Wen manor in Yinzhou is still the Wen family; the master, however displeased, wouldn’t handle it openly, unless he intends to uproot the entire Wen clan. But it’s not time yet, especially since this prince was supposedly ‘lost young.’ Yet Chu Xuan’s mother is different—her status is formidable, she is the esteemed lady from the main Wen branch, and dealing with a useless offshoot would be effortless. But Chu Xuan is kind; as long as he lives, he won’t let his mother act.”

No sooner had Ming Yue finished than Chu Xuan began to cough again in the courtyard, each cough as if wrenching his heart and lungs. Wen Yan’s steps could be heard approaching, and Chu Xuan hurriedly wiped the blood from his lips and tucked the silk handkerchief into his sleeve. Wen Yan gently patted his back to ease his breathing; once he’d calmed, she whispered from behind, “Chu Xuan, shall we call for a physician?”

Chu Xuan’s hand paused, then he replied, “All right.”

Wen Yan smiled, wrapped her arms around his neck, and whispered in his ear. Whatever she said, it brought a faint smile to Chu Xuan’s lips, and for a moment his pallor was brightened by a touch of vitality.

Qin Shi, watching, turned away to gaze into the distance, while Ming Yue munched fruit after fruit, thoroughly engrossed, leaving a litter of pits on the roof.

From the next day, Wen Yan truly began searching for physicians in the city, but those she found were either powerless against Chu Xuan’s illness or prescribed remedies much the same as before. Winter’s bleakness deepened, and the small courtyard was shrouded in a leaden gloom due to Chu Xuan’s failing health. Where he could not see, Wen Yan’s smiles grew ever fainter.

The medicine was bitter, and Wen Yan had to devise all sorts of methods to make Chu Xuan drink it—sometimes even resorting to charms. Yet neither of them complained; their laughter remained gentle and warm.

Ming Yue was baffled by this, and asked, “Aren’t they exhausted? Chu Xuan is a prince—just send a secret letter and what problem in Luo Country couldn’t be solved? And Wen Yan, who knows Chu Xuan is frail, insists on having him. Is this truly fate’s cycle, the workings of heaven? Chu Xuan saved Wen Yan, and even if she didn’t know it, perhaps somewhere else she repaid the debt?”

“Such matters, I do not know,” Qin Shi replied, turning away, a glass cup glowing with azure light suddenly appearing in her hand.

Ming Yue saw this, brushed off her clothes, and stood up. “Seems it’s almost time.” Once the soul lamp appears in the mirage, the story’s end is near—the most crucial moment. This is usually the most painful part for the one who commissioned the tale; if the soul isn’t guided properly, it can easily lead to harm.

Ming Yue took out two copper balls from her bosom. Hearing Chu Xuan propose to return to the mountain villa, the balls suddenly transformed into two copper bells. She gave them a gentle shake, and their clear ringing filled the air. The scene before her began to shift. Ming Yue pulled Qin Shi from the rooftop, and as they landed, their feet touched the mountain’s stone path. The mountain wind blew, stirring waves of pine.

Remembering the temple she’d seen before, Ming Yue’s playful spirit rose. She skipped to the temple halfway up the mountain, and, mimicking a child, addressed the gatekeeper, “Master, your humble servant is new to these mountains and lost. Can you tell me where the villa is?”

The young acolyte stared wide-eyed, apparently confused by her question, but another priest, just approaching, frowned and raised his sword at Ming Yue. She dodged with a laugh, pulled Qin Shi along, and continued toward the summit. Her guess was correct: Chu Xuan’s mountain villa had been arranged by a noble in the imperial city, and few knew of it. She hadn’t expected it would be so easily confirmed—clearly they were becoming desperate due to Chu Xuan’s illness.

Chu Xuan’s days were indeed numbered, yet the decision to come here suggested another purpose. After accompanying Wen Yan so long, it was understandable that he would wish to see his parents one last time before death.

“Have you forgotten that the Canglan Mirage still influences the real world?” Qin Shi suddenly asked.

Ming Yue paused, then waved her hand dismissively. “Ah, the young ones needn’t worry. As for the grown ones, remembering is no harm; after all, these shadow guards die quickly.”

Dragging Qin Shi back to the rooftop, Ming Yue was about to lift a tile and peer below when a creak sounded—the door opened, and Wen Yan helped Chu Xuan into the courtyard. It was early spring now, but the mountain still retained a lingering chill, so naturally Chu Xuan was wrapped in thick fox fur. Wen Yan had him lie on a small couch she’d brought outside, and cared for him at his side.

The two leaned against each other, as if together they could reach the ends of the earth. Life in the villa was simple and tranquil; Wen Yan’s only task was to look after Chu Xuan. When he felt better, she pestered him to teach her painting. Yet whatever Chu Xuan taught, Wen Yan’s brush depicted only one figure—the handsome youth in fox fur she met when she was nine.