Chapter 175: Shizun, Do You Like Me?

Chu Wanning was starting in on the last mantou when the door

 swung open behind him. Mo Ran entered, carrying a pile of objects that he

 placed on the bed.

 "Shizun, there were some talismans and other things you didn't take

 out of your outer robe. I'll put them here for you," Mo Ran said. Without

 looking up, he turned and left again.

 Truth be told, he really didn't have the courage to ask Chu Wanning

 about the brocade pouch. No matter Chu Wanning's response, he couldn't

 imagine such a conversation would be anything but unbearably awkward.

 And this was to say nothing of Chu Wanning's thin face and Mo Ran's own

 clumsy way with words. What was he to do if he put his foot in his mouth

 and upset Chu Wanning?

 Mo Ran pursed his lips. His dark eyes glinted and flashed, but his

 thoughts were scattered and confused. Like a bolt from the blue, an

 unspeakably outrageous idea popped into his head.

 Could it be that Chu Wanning…actually liked him?

 Shocked by the sheer audacity of this fancy, Mo Ran rapidly shook

 his head. "No way, no way…" he mumbled.

 Here was a perfect illustration of the inability to see the forest for the

 trees—Mo Ran was far too deep in the woods. Had this brocade pouch

 belonged to someone Mo Ran didn't care for at all, a random female

 cultivator for example, he would've divined her feelings in an instant. Who

would keep a brocade pouch with a lock of another's hair entwined with

 their own—and for so many years—unless they liked them? In principle, it

 was a very straightforward scenario. But because Chu Wanning was

 involved, Mo Ran doubted himself at every turn.

 People were like this—the more they cared for someone, the more

 prone their imagination was to run wild. Normally intelligent people would

 become fools and have no idea what to do with themselves. A single glance

 from the object of their affection would send them into deep obsession for a

 day or more, and a moment's silence would prompt them to embark on a

 painstaking investigation into the meaning hidden within. Mo Ran would

 compulsively overthink the simplest of situations, carefully tasting each and

 every detail in search of the most elusive of flavors.

 Had he gotten it wrong? Had he misunderstood? Had Chu Wanning

 merely forgotten to throw the thing out?

 The problem was so elementary that anyone could have figured it out

 with their big toe, but Mo Ran was stuck on it for ages. Worries filled his

 wandering thoughts as he absentmindedly washed the clothes in the bucket.

 He scrubbed and scrubbed, the water growing colder and colder as his heart

 burned hotter and hotter.

 Mo Ran found himself staring up at the cottage. Rich golden

 candlelight shone through the paper of the window in its squat frame of

 aged wood. The flame flickered: dark one moment, bright the next, not

 unlike the tender shoot that had sprouted in Mo Ran's heart, shivering and

 swaying.

 If Chu Wanning really liked him…

Once, Mo Ran had been the unabashedly thick-skinned Emperor

 Taxian-jun. But now, even this fleeting thought was enough to make him

 blush. He felt hot, his throat dry. It was a thirst no water could slake—the

 only thing that could ease the parched heat within him was the man inside

 that room. Only the sweetness of his mouth could soothe Mo Ran and bring

 him a moment of respite. Only the very man Mo Ran had sworn up and

 down to cherish, protect, and respect.

 Respect. Mo Ran felt his burning chest had been splashed with water.

 He had always brandished this word to warn and rebuke himself whenever

 his ardent desire for Chu Wanning threatened to overmaster him. But things

 were different tonight. The brocade pouch was like a bundle of dry pine

 kindling thrown onto the fire in his heart, fuel for his wildest fantasies.

 Respect. You need to respect him, Mo Ran chanted to himself. But the

 words were as futile as trying to douse a burning cart of firewood with a

 single cup of water. Those words had once quelled his yearnings; now,

 those same thoughts roared up into towering flames, instantly transforming

 that cup of cold water into curls of steam that misted his vision. Mo Ran

 found, much to his surprise, that this incantation of You need to respect him

 was finally rendered completely, utterly ineffective.

 Inside, Chu Wanning polished off the last mantou. Thinking to wipe

 his fingers, he crossed to the bed and plucked the haitang handkerchief out

 of the pile of odds and ends. He sighed, inwardly lamenting his lousy

 memory—he couldn't even remember to take this stuff out of his robes

 before washing them. Now he'd made a fool of himself in front of Mo Ran,

 and who knew if he…

 "Hm?" Before he'd completed the thought, he spied a fine red cord

 peeking out from beneath a small mound of talismans.

His heart stuttered. He reached for the red cord to take a closer look,

 but his hand froze midway, stalled by fear. After a moment's hovering, he

 drew his hand back and slipped his fingers beneath his lapels to check the

 spot right next to his heart.

 His face instantly fell. The silk-tree flower brocade pouch was

 missing!

 Chu Wanning's expression was unsightly. He stood in shock for a

 beat as he realized what had happened. The interior pocket of the formal

 robes Xue Zhengyong had commissioned was slightly angled. Chu

 Wanning had always kept the brocade pouch from the ghost ceremony

 within his innermost robe, but he had worried it might accidentally slip out

 with the angle and how smooth the robes' texture was. Thus, he had

 removed it to the pocket of his outer robe.

 He considered the heap of oddments with mounting panic. All the

 candy and other miscellaneous little items were piled on top, with the

 talismans stacked beneath. The red cord was right at the bottom. That it was

 so obviously hidden made it all the more conspicuous—as though the

 person who tried to hide it was saying, I didn't see it, I didn't see anything

 at all, while waving his hands and blushing furiously.

 After a lengthy silence, Chu Wanning reached for the end of the cord.

 He held his breath, clinging to his last thread of hope, and tugged the

 brocade pouch free from the jumble of talismans.

 Ah… Of course.

 The red cord of the brocade pouch had been tampered with. The knot

 was not the one he always used.

Try as Chu Wanning might to stay calm, his fair skin flushed, and his

 ears turned so red they looked ready to drip blood. He loosened the cord

 and opened the pouch. The two locks of inky black hair had lain entwined

 for so many years, too like the hidden feelings that had wound round his

 heart just as long. Now, they tumbled starkly into the warm yellow

 candlelight, soft and supple in his hand.

 Mo Ran had seen his brocade pouch. And afterward, he had buried it

 under all this random junk, obviously trying to pretend he'd seen nothing at

 all.

 This knowledge set off an explosion in Chu Wanning's head. His

 heart pounded and his mind raced madly, his face burning like red-hot

 coals. What to do? Had Mo Ran realized the feelings he had tried so hard to

 hide?

 …He was done for.

 Mo Ran liked Shi Mingjing. If Mo Ran discovered what Chu

 Wanning felt for him, he would definitely be scared off. Would the newly

 gentle and warm relationship that had sprung up between them then

 crumble?

 Chu Wanning's thoughts were a mess as he clutched the brocade

 pouch. It was a long time before he was able to calm himself. He could only

 hope Mo Ran hadn't figured it out. He gambled on his established

 reputation of being clear of heart and free of desire, and hoped Mo Ran

 hadn't realized anything at all.

 When someone's years-long crush was discovered by the object of

 their affection, it would normally be cause for joy, a kind of liberation. That

 wasn't quite the case for Chu Wanning. He was thirty-two already, and long

since used to being alone. Mo Ran and Shi Mei were in the most shining

 years of their youth, but Chu Wanning had spent those years of his life in

 solitude. It never occurred to him, now that he was in his thirties, that any

 chance remained for him to find true love and companionship. After all, to

 begin a relationship, one would first inevitably have to divulge their

 feelings—yet this came with the terrible, grievous risk of rejection.

 Chu Wanning tucked the brocade pouch away. He paced back and

 forth in the room, eventually coming to a stop before the bronze mirror. He

 gazed up into it. Years of disuse had left a thick layer of dust on the mirror's

 surface, and he could only make out a blurry outline. He reached up and

 wiped his hand across the mirror. Amidst the grime appeared a face that

 was far from perfect. The corner of his eye landed exactly on a scratch in

 the mirror. Chu Wanning blinked at himself.

 "Hideous."

 He suddenly felt so annoyed, so disappointed with the person looking

 back at him. "Why do I…look like this?"

 Mo Ran, he knew, liked men who were young, gentle, and pretty.

 Chu Wanning managed to be precisely none of these things. His face was

 unlined, but he couldn't hide the weight time's passage had wrought upon

 his features. He had always been mature beyond his years, and now he had

 not a hint of youthful passion remaining. How could he have the nerve to be

 with a young person—his own disciple, no less? If word got out, never

 mind his own reputation; it would be deeply embarrassing for Mo Ran and

 Sisheng Peak.

 And there was Shi Mingjing, whose incomparable loveliness had

 only grown during the five years Chu Wanning had spent in slumber. Even

when he wasn't smiling, his gently curved eyes were like luminous peach

 blossoms. Chu Wanning looked again at his reflection. The face looking

 back was surly and arrogant. Between the two of them, only an idiot would

 pick Chu Wanning.

 Chu Wanning inspected the hazy yellow mirror. If he could reverse

 the passage of time and induce this ugly face in the mirror to fall in love

 while in his twenties, he might have harnessed the vitality of his youth to

 rashly confess his feelings. Even if he came out worse for wear, he would

 have survived. But he was now over thirty. His youth had fled, leaving

 behind only his wretched, wary, unkind self—along with a ferocious face

 that frightened children to tears.

 Mo Ran was in the best years of his life, and Shi Mei was a beauty

 who could topple nations. As for Chu Wanning? He was just some

 unpleasant man who would never be young again.

 He didn't dare ask for anything. He only wanted to hide. He only

 wanted to continue like this, slow and steady. He wouldn't dare entertain

 thoughts of reciprocation. If he could be allowed to quietly harbor these

 unrequited feelings, to like someone in secret, to treat that person well in his

 role as his shizun—then that would be enough, he thought. He would be

 quite satisfied.

 A creak sounded behind him. Chu Wanning didn't turn. Within the

 bronze mirror, he saw Mo Ran enter the cottage, carrying a wooden bucket.

 Neither spoke. The mirror was hazy, so Chu Wanning could only

 make out a tall figure standing in the entryway. He couldn't tell what

 expression Mo Ran wore or make out the shades of emotion within his

 gaze.

Despite admonishing himself repeatedly to remain calm, Chu

 Wanning couldn't stop his heartbeat from quickening. He didn't want

 Mo Ran to see his look of embarrassment, so he untied his ponytail and

 held the ribbon between his teeth. Dipping his head, he made a show of

 putting his hair back up before the mirror.

 Chu Wanning thought himself very clever. With the ribbon in his

 mouth, he had the perfect excuse to avoid greeting Mo Ran. So—

 Fingers brushed the back of Chu Wanning's ear. He froze instantly in

 place. Though he tried to suppress it, a small shudder rippled through him.

 Chu Wanning was unaccustomed to physical contact to begin with.

 And here was Mo Ran touching his ear, Mo Ran's large, rough palm,

 skimming the tender skin of his earlobe. Though it lasted but an instant, the

 contact made Chu Wanning's back tingle all the way up his spine.

 He looked studiously at the ground. If he raised his head now, he

 feared Mo Ran would see that his face was unusually flushed, even through

 the dimness of the room and the haziness of the bronze mirror.

 He bit down on the hair ribbon and mastered himself with great

 effort. "You're done with the laundry?"

 "Mn." Mo Ran's voice was low and very slightly husky. Chu

 Wanning felt him lean in. The chill air lingered on Mo Ran, but it couldn't

 mask the sharply masculine scent radiating from him. It was enough to

 make Chu Wanning's head spin. His thoughts blurred and slowed to a stop.

 Mo Ran brushed back the stray wisps of hair at Chu Wanning's

 temple. "Shizun, just now, I…" His words faltered.

 Chu Wanning waited. What was Mo Ran trying to say? As he held

 the ribbon between his teeth, eyes downcast, his heartbeat seemed to stall.

Whatever Mo Ran wanted to say seemed too difficult to speak aloud.

 After a pause, he changed the subject. "Forget it, it's nothing. Are you

 putting your hair back up? It's late."

 Chu Wanning didn't reply. His singular thought was that Mo Ran was

 standing entirely too close to him.

 It was too hot.

 "Are you going out?" Mo Ran asked.

 "No, I was just going to wash the dishes," replied Chu Wanning.

 "I'll help."

 "My hands work fine," Chu Wanning shot back.

 Mo Ran laughed awkwardly behind him, as if he didn't know what

 else to say. "Shizun's hands work fine, but they're clumsy sometimes. I'm

 worried you'll break a dish."

 Chu Wanning couldn't muster a response. Noticing his silence,

 Mo Ran thought he was annoyed. He reined in his smile and said earnestly,

 "The water's cold outside. Remember to bring out some warm water and

 mix it in."

 The hum of Chu Wanning's reply sounded like both "mn" and

 "hmph," unclear yet undeniably pleasant to the ear. The sound roused that

 tender sprout in Mo Ran's chest, urging it to grow faster. His throat bobbed

 slightly, and his shadowy gaze landed on the sliver of pale neck that showed

 over Chu Wanning's collar when he lowered his head. He felt that same

 vexatious thirst and swallowed on reflex—though he did so as quietly as

 possible, not wanting Chu Wanning to hear.

Mo Ran took a deep breath and forced a smile. "This mirror is so

 blurry."

 "It hasn't been used for a long time."

 "How can Shizun even see himself? Give me the ribbon—I'll comb

 your hair for you."

 With the length of lilac silk still held between his teeth, Chu Wanning

 had no chance to demur before Mo Ran grabbed the ribbon. It would be too

 strange to keep biting down on it, so he resentfully let go and allowed

 Mo Ran to help him tie his ponytail. Feigning indignance, he snorted. "Do

 you even know how? If you don't tie it right, I'll have to redo it anyway."

 "Shizun, have you forgotten? At Peach Blossom Springs, I always

 tied your hair for you."

 Chu Wanning fell silent at once. His stint as Xia Sini was a

 humiliating piece of his past that he had no desire to revisit. He closed his

 eyes and scowled, letting Mo Ran comb out his hair. But with every stroke,

 Mo Ran's palm lightly brushed against his ear. He felt horribly

 uncomfortable, his scalp numb and his throat dry, and his scowl grew

 deeper. "Are you just about finished?"

 Mo Ran's chest rumbled with a deep laugh. "Ah, you're always so

 impatient. Don't worry, I'm almost done."

 His voice seemed even closer than before, like it was coming from

 just behind Chu Wanning's ear. Chu Wanning found himself clenching his

 fists within his sleeves. Perhaps it was his delusion—he felt that Mo Ran's

 breathing was a little heavy, like a wild beast readying itself before it

 pounced on its prey. Chu Wanning had the prickling sensation of being

 watched, as if a ravenous tiger crouched behind him, preparing at any

moment to pin him against the bronze mirror, tear open his throat, and lap

 up the blood that spilled from his veins.

 Such perceptions could at times be startlingly accurate—it was just

 that Chu Wanning's self-esteem was too low for him to credit his senses.

 How was he to know that if only he looked up, he would see Mo Ran's eyes

 in the mirror, bright yet shadowed, desire and reason clashing within, full of

 sparks and smoke?

 As Mo Ran grasped the sleek silk ribbon, the clearheaded part of him

 commanded his body to diligently tie up Chu Wanning's hair. But the

 darker half of his soul was gripped by fretful thoughts. What am I doing—

 tying a ribbon? But this ribbon is being tied in the wrong place! He felt that

 he should be shoving Chu Wanning against the dilapidated dressing table,

 using the ribbon to blindfold him with one hand while gripping his chin

 with the other. He should be kissing him voraciously, pressing him down to

 taste the sweetness of his mouth and sucking on the soft tip of his tongue.

 Clearly, he should be nuzzling at Chu Wanning's ear and licking the tiny

 mole behind it; he should be breathing heavily against the shell of his ear

 and asking softly, "Chu Wanning, my dear shizun. Why did you keep that

 brocade pouch? Wanning… Wanning… Do you…like me?"

 So painful was his yearning that he felt his heart would split open.

 His blood coursed scaldingly hot through his veins as his eyes burned red.