/

Ch71 - Without Remorse




Chongjue’s fainting spell last night had really frightened Su Hansheng.
As he raced to the back hill, he thought, “He’s probably still hurt—I’m just taking him some medicine. That’s all.”
Chongjue’s bone chains had been his fault, after all. As the “cause of all this,” it was only right to look after his elder.
Having rationalized this, Su Hansheng sped up.
Thankfully, the shrine’s barrier was down, and Su Hansheng entered without trouble.
Chongjue should have been chanting, so the carved wooden doors to the shrine’s side hall were all open. Outside, an old osmanthus tree by the pond cast shade, its golden flowers carpeting the ground.
A silhouette was visible behind the screen—Chongjue, seated cross-legged.
Su Hansheng tilted his head.
Normally, Chongjue chanted with the doors shut. Why were they open today?
Puzzled, Su Hansheng climbed the steps. Seeing the doorway unlatched, he coughed and called cautiously, “Uncle, I brought you some medicine.”
There was a pause before Chongjue’s voice came through the screen. “Come in.”
Su Hansheng’s chest warmed with secret pleasure. He kicked off his shoes and ran inside—then, remembering himself, he slowed to a dignified walk, circling the screen with deliberate calm.
Chongjue sat on a cushion, posture upright, eyes closed, fingers methodically rolling prayer beads—eighteen rare amber beads, new since yesterday—their click marking time.
He showed no sign of noticing Su Hansheng’s approach, his face still and impassive.
Su Hansheng knelt properly opposite him, pulling out bottles of medicine.
His companion tree, draped over his shoulder, extended a branch to help hold the bottles. Su Hansheng absently patted it in thanks.
The tree rustled happily, as a dog might wag its tail.
Suddenly, Chongjue opened his dark green eyes, watching the tree with something close to murder in his gaze.
The companion tree recoiled as if struck, shrinking back into Su Hansheng’s sleeve.
Su Hansheng didn’t understand what had happened, but he didn’t press the matter, speaking calmly. “Chongjue, are you feeling better now?”
Chongjue’s voice was faint. “Impudent.”
Su Hansheng was used to this—every time he said “Chongjue,” the man would respond with “impudent”—so he kept going smoothly. “Have the bone chains in your body really disappeared? The more I thought about it yesterday, the more it didn’t make sense—what kind of pain must it be, having those things pierce your heart and dantian? How could they just vanish like that? If you don’t give me a proper explanation today, don’t expect me to leave.”
Chongjue turned his prayer beads between his fingers, deep eyes fixed on Su Hansheng, pupils faintly churning with something unreadable.
Su Hansheng waited and waited, but no answer came. Finally, he gathered his courage and met his gaze. “Say something.”
kCOyqlDJ, NI RJt CfI tJUDJIm, oDtoDtJz, “Vo,” Nyz mCJy tJNhCJz DR, ILOELe DyANImJyfyq mCJ INIC OA CfI RLNfy ECfmJ tOgJ.
aFJte oOFJ CJ oNzJ tNzfNmJz Ny JAAOtmLJII, fyJAANgLJ qtNhJ—CfI LOyq AfyqJtI, gNmCJz fy IDyLfqCm, DyCDttfJzLe LOOIJyJz mCJ IyOE-ECfmJ INIC. nOt NLL mCNm mCJ qJImDtJ ENI fymfoNmJ, NLoOIm IJyIDNL, yO OyJ hODLz gtfyq mCJoIJLFJI mO mCfyX NyemCfyq mNEzte OA Cfo.
lwEQS…
KaJwVjkI bIhJAIH aQt JkEIb bJiI, YSQvBIH QE JrIw LQEa ELJ YQwVIbt, GwH EaIw rGbEIH aQt QwwIb VGbhIwE.
Zk sGwtaIwV LGt tJ tEkwwIH iN EaQt kwvIbIhJwQJkt kwHbIttQwV EaGE aI wIGbSN SJtE aQt LQEt, HGRIHSN EaQwBQwV, “qaGE Qt aI HJQwV?” sQt VGRI LGt GibkrESN hIE LQEa rJbvISGQw tBQw JAIb G tvkSrEIH vaItE, EaIw YkbEaIb HJLw, G SIGw, aGbH LGQtE…
Su Hansheng sat frozen, eyes widening.
Wait… wait a minute!
He was undressing, just like that, with no warning?!
Yesterday, he’d been so shy about it!
But even now, even half-naked, Chongjue’s expression was as serene and compassionate as a flower on a high peak, or the moon above the mountains—not a trace of desire.
He looked faintly amused at Su Hansheng’s crimson face and said mildly, “The bone chains are gone.”
Su Hansheng’s face burned all the way to his ears. He squeezed his eyes shut, fumbling to close Chongjue’s robes for him, stammering, “I—I’ve seen, they’re really gone. Haha, hurry up and get dressed, don’t catch a chill.”
He was so flustered he barely knew what he was saying.
In his flurry of motion, he vaguely heard Chongjue chuckle, a teasing note in his voice.
But when he cautiously cracked one eye open, Chongjue’s expression was as cool as ever, hands calmly retying his sash.
—He hadn’t laughed at all.
Su Hansheng knew sometimes his mind played tricks on him, so he assumed he’d imagined it, muttering quietly, “As long as they’re really gone. Uncle, don’t ever scare me like that again.”
Chongjue assented indifferently and swept a low table closer. “Didn’t you say you were coming to copy sutras? Did you bring ink and brush?”
Su Hansheng, of course, had never intended to copy anything—he’d just wanted to see Chongjue was alright. Now that he’d seen with his own eyes, he shook his head. “I didn’t.”
“Mm.” From his storage ring, Chongjue produced a fresh set of writing materials. “Uncle just happens to have some.”
Su Hansheng: “……”
He forced a dry laugh. “Uncle, you’re so thoughtful. Thank you.”
Chongjue handed him the brush. “Start copying.”
Trapped, Su Hansheng could only blink back tears and pick up the brush to copy those blasted scriptures.
While the boy scribbled away, Chongjue made tea beside him.
Incense curled up from a small burner atop the table, and the World-Honored One’s white robes pooled on the floor. The faint pattern of lotuses in the fabric seemed, in the sunlight, to bloom like ink-dark flowers nourished by spilled blood.
Su Hansheng, head bent over his work, didn’t notice that in his blind spot, the normally ascetic World-Honored One was watching him through lowered lashes, dark eyes glimmering with a strange, predatory amusement.
—Nothing of Mount Sumeru’s compassion or monastic detachment here.
He burned to snare the unruly bird back into his gilded cage, but the last failure had made him wary. Now, he scattered millet, coaxing his prey closer.
Only with patience could he hope to capture the loveliest bird.
Su Hansheng, bored with copying, finally mustered the courage to glance up. “Uncle, I don’t understand this passage.”
Instantly, that wolfish gaze vanished.
Chongjue lowered his eyes and began, voice gentle, to explain the sutra.
Su Hansheng let it go in one ear and out the other, nodding as if suddenly enlightened, praising his uncle’s mastery of the Buddhist teachings.
Chongjue, knowing he wasn’t really listening, kept it brief and told him to go back to copying.
When the tea was ready, Chongjue served it in a manner that, ineffably noble, had to be instinctive.
Su Hansheng gulped it down like a thirsty mule.
Chongjue, unfazed, poured him another cup.
Before, being punished with copying had made Su Hansheng want to curse the heavens. This time, he felt inexplicably lighthearted, stealing glances at Chongjue every time he turned a page.
After happily copying through one scroll, his knees ached. Under the table, he tried to stretch his legs, but they’d gone numb, and his foot accidentally bumped Chongjue’s calf.
Su Hansheng: “……”
He shuddered, darting a look at Chongjue, terrified of being scolded.
Chongjue glanced down at the slender ankle exposed outside Su Hansheng’s robes, eyes darkening with something fierce and unspeakable.
But, practiced, he suppressed it and said nothing, returning to his tea.
“If your legs are sore, you can stand up and move around a bit.”
Su Hansheng sighed in relief.
It seemed Chongjue really had meant it yesterday—being a little unruly was fine, and it really wouldn’t get him punished.
He stretched his legs a few more times before drawing them back.
He didn’t see that under the table, Chongjue’s fingers gripping the prayer beads had gone white with tension, as though crushing them in place of something—or someone—else.
Slivers of shattered amber already dusted his lap.
Su Hansheng, oblivious, carefreely returned to his copying.
Calmly, Chongjue asked, “Your companion tree… was it always withered like this from the start?”
Su Hansheng’s brush paused hesitantly.
Companion trees are luxuriant by nature; only after decades of torment in his previous life had it withered to this state, not a single green leaf in sight.
“I don’t know,” Su Hansheng lied. “Maybe it’s just getting older and starting to go bald.”
Chongjue: “……”
What a careless answer.
Chongjue poured him another cup of tea.
Tea is supposed to make one more alert, but Su Hansheng, for some reason, grew drowsy after three cups, the scripture on the page blurring into shimmering fireflies that seemed to flutter up from the paper.
He reached out to catch them, but the world lurched—after a dazed moment, he realized he’d tipped over backward onto the floor.
“I… I’m not asleep,” he mumbled, blindly clutching the brush and waving it in the air. “I can still copy, Uncle… don’t punish me… mm.”
He never finished the sentence, already fast asleep.
Chongjue sipped his tea, gaze lingering on the sprawled-out Su Hansheng, and laughed under his breath.
A surge of invisible spiritual energy lifted Su Hansheng’s slender frame, placing him gently, like a feather, into the broad shelter of Chongjue’s arms.
“Su Xiaoxiao.”
Chongjue trailed his long fingers idly over Su Hansheng’s sleeping face, eyes flickering to a strange, ghostly white, a crimson streak suddenly visible between his brows—as if he’d stepped out of the Yellow Springs of the underworld.
Su Hansheng, sensing a familiar presence, unconsciously nestled into his palm, murmuring indistinctly—“Uncle… don’t go.”
Chongjue’s hand stilled, then he laughed softly, as gentle as if soothing a child.
“I won’t go. I’m not going anywhere.”
The one who left without a second thought…
Was always you.
**