Chapter 50

By late afternoon and into the evening, Nian Qi had worked tirelessly. By the time it was dark, he’d used materials from the collapsed buildings to build a coop for the chickens. In a corner of the yard, he’d found a pile of blackened debris, which, after inspecting, he confirmed had been the chickens’ old coop. It must have collapsed at some point, forcing the chickens to take shelter in the ruins and continue their lives there. From inside the old house, he’d managed to find a dozen eggs, with a few still warm.

The fire in the stove had been going since the afternoon, and once it was hot, Nian Qi placed a pot of water on it and boiled all the eggs he’d gathered. He had spent the entire afternoon tossing out garbage and cleaning up. By evening, the bugs in the kitchen were gone, and every corner had been dusted with powder, so Ruan Qing felt brave enough to come in and take a look.

“What smells so good?” she asked, sniffing the air before realizing, “Is that baked potato?”

It turned out that after he’d returned with potatoes, Nian Qi had started the stove and tucked the potatoes in to roast. Using a stick, he pulled the blackened, steaming potatoes out, setting them aside to cool, and then skewered peeled corn onto a sharp stick to roast over the stove’s opening.

“Actually, I wanted to make roasted chicken,” he said, “but I searched everywhere and couldn’t find salt. Then I remembered the old monk probably didn’t go down the mountain in his later years, so he didn’t have any.”

Dinner was far more bountiful than Ruan Qing had expected. There was toasted bread, sausages, steamed buns, baked potatoes, roasted corn, and boiled eggs, along with freshly washed tomatoes and cucumbers from the spring water. Once night fell completely, the temperature plummeted. It was the height of summer down in the village, but up here, it felt like late autumn. If not for the warm stove heating up the kitchen, Ruan Qing would have been shivering.

They pulled up a couple of stools and sat by the stove to eat. Because of the cold, Ruan Qing ate more than usual, even managing two eggs—normally, she barely finished one yolk. Then she watched, astonished, as Nian Qi downed eight eggs.

“Aren’t you worried about your cholesterol?” she exclaimed.

“Cholesterol?” he asked, puzzled.

“Right, it’s this thing in eggs,” she began, “okay in normal amounts, but too much is bad for you. When it exceeds a certain level, it can lead to… cancer. Cancer, hmm… wait, let me think…”

Explaining one term led to another, but Ruan Qing never found this frustrating. On the contrary, she enjoyed it, taking real pleasure in explaining all the common knowledge that only Nian Qi, with his ancient roots, wouldn’t know. It was like lovingly nurturing him to maturity.

Eating hot food in the cold mountain air was infinitely better than cold bread and sausages. The steamed buns the village aunties had insisted she bring along were irresistibly fragrant once roasted. Nian Qi mentioned, “I scrubbed that pot really well.”

“Not enough!” Ruan Qing replied firmly. “You know me.”

After living together for nearly two weeks, Nian Qi certainly did know her. Shoes had to be changed at the door, hands thoroughly washed with soap after using the restroom, and every piece of fruit or vegetable scrubbed to remove pesticide residues. And before cooking or handling any food, hands had to be washed with soap as well. Unlike him, Zhao Hao tended to skip washing his hands after using the restroom or would just rinse them under the faucet, thinking that was enough.

A lot of men are like Zhao Hao—if you stood outside the men’s restroom in a mall, you’d see that many just rinse their hands quickly without soap. Because of this, Ruan Qing avoids shaking hands with men whenever possible. Nian Qi, however, is meticulous by nature. After she explained her preferences, he followed every single one of them perfectly. In fact, his attention to detail and self-discipline even exceeded her expectations; he was only missing a bit of modern knowledge. But anything she taught him, he remembered and followed precisely.

When they finished eating, Nian Qi told her to stay by the stove to stay warm while he got up.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“I’m getting your room ready,” he replied.

Ruan Qing, feeling a bit uneasy in the dark, offered, “I’ll go with you.”

“Don’t worry,” he assured her, “I’ve spread powder all around the back yard—any snakes, mice, or bugs have already been driven out.”

Ruan Qing was too embarrassed to admit it was actually the dark she was afraid of. In the city, even if the lights are off, the streetlights make the room bright enough. Here, though, one look out the window showed her nothing but inky blackness. Nian Qi understood in an instant.

“You just call for me, and I’ll be right there,” he promised, and somehow, her fear melted away.

“All right,” she agreed.

Nian Qi left, taking a few burning logs from the stove with him. He was quick, so by the time Ruan Qing finished a few rounds of her phone game, he was back. Without a second thought, he picked her up in a princess carry.

“It’s ready. Let’s go,” he said as he carried her over to the small room in the main courtyard.

He had found a fire brazier, though it had a few chips, it was still functional. He set some wood alight in it, filling the room with warmth that pushed away the deep chill of the mountain night.

“The brick bed couldn’t be fixed,” he explained, “It’s been unused too long, and cracks have formed. What’s left is hard as stone and stuck tight; if I forced it, it might collapse. But the brazier should be enough to keep you warm.”

He had laid down a thick layer of dried grass on the bed and thoughtfully spread their raincoats over it. “It’s not much, but I’ll try to make things comfortable,” he said softly. “It’s my fault for making you rough it like this.”

In this rough environment, he’d gone above and beyond to create a warm, comfortable space for her. Ruan Qing had never met a man more capable or considerate.

“This is perfect,” she replied with a smile, “It’s like camping. I haven’t camped since graduation—I’ve missed it!”

Nian Qi smiled, too. “Wait a bit,” he said, and left the room briefly, returning with a wooden bucket of steaming water. “Soak your feet; it’ll help you sleep.”

The water was warm, fresh from the pot he’d used to boil the eggs. Ruan Qing had refused to drink water boiled in that pot, but for a foot soak, it would do. The mountain nights were indeed freezing, and as soon as she dipped her feet into the bucket, warmth spread from her toes to her core, prompting a soft sigh of relief.

She glanced over at Nian Qi. In the firelight, he wasn’t entirely sure what her look meant, but he felt there was a gentleness in her gaze, like shimmering water. It made him almost too nervous to look back.

He avoided looking at her too long, fearing his heart would race uncontrollably or that he’d do something impulsive. Shifting his gaze, he said, “I’ll use the light here to finish working on the letter.” His day’s work wasn’t done yet—he got right back to it.

While cleaning earlier, he’d found brushes, ink, paper, and several large chests filled with scriptures. Zaojiao had packed these up carefully, wrapping them in waterproof oil cloth, sprinkling powder to prevent pests, and storing them on shelves. Nian Qi discovered the chests and, upon opening the oil cloth, found the books in good condition, though the inkstone was cracked. Without regular care, inkstones dry out and crack over time.

Ruan Qing sat by the bed, soaking her feet, watching Nian Qi at work by the table. He ground the ink, prepared the brush, and mixed in some odd powders he’d found earlier. After testing it a few times on spare paper, he finally applied it to Zaojiao’s letter. His wrist held steady as he lifted the brush; the tip, dipped in a “solution” he’d prepared, moved with meticulous precision across the paper. Ruan Qing held her breath, tense as she watched him.

He laid each treated sheet on the table to dry. When she finished soaking her feet, she lifted them out of the bucket and shook off the water. Nian Qi quickly handed her a piece of xuan paper, explaining, “Use this—it’s highly absorbent and very sturdy; it won’t tear when wet.”

“Wear socks to bed,” he added, “The mountain nights are damp, and it’s easy for your feet to catch a chill.”

Ruan Qing glanced up at him, and with each of her glances, Nian Qi’s heart couldn’t help but skip a beat, his throat going inexplicably dry. What was happening? It must be because they were alone in this remote place! Back at Ruan Qing’s place, he’d never felt this way—he prided himself on his self-control. It seemed that the setting and the atmosphere could really influence a person.

He quickly handed her the now-dry letter. “Take a look.”

Ruan Qing dried her hands before carefully taking the paper. She’d been worried that his alterations might ruin the will, but seeing it herself, she finally felt reassured. Nian Qi hadn’t altered the letter’s main content; he had simply obscured any mention that implied Zaojiao was alone. For instance, where Zaojiao had written, “I alone prepared the coffin,” Nian Qi covered “alone,” so it now read, “I XXXX prepared the coffin.” The main message was intact, but Zaojiao’s solitary status was concealed. Other similar changes were made only in the footnotes, leaving the main body unaltered.

The powders he’d added to the ink were to control its shade, giving it a slightly aged look and making it spread naturally across the paper.

“This letter’s quite old, and the ink has set over time. It’s hard to spread with water alone, which might damage the surrounding text,” he explained, “so I had to mix the ink carefully.”

Ruan Qing nodded, reviewing the letter once more. Satisfied that the key points remained untouched, she was relieved, but a hint of melancholy crossed her face.

“What’s wrong?” Nian Qi asked, concerned. “Did I miss something?”

“No, it’s very convincing. I think it’s fine,” Ruan Qing quickly said. Nian Qi studied her expression. She sighed lightly, explaining, “It just makes me a little sad. Master Zaojiao spent his whole life alone, guarding this temple in solitude. Now, because of us, no one will know about his quiet, steadfast life…”

Relieved, Nian Qi smiled gently. “So that’s it. Don’t feel bad about this. He spent his life outside the world by choice—why would he care whether others knew him as a solitary figure or surrounded by people?”

Ruan Qing thought about it. Taoists seek freedom and detachment; after all, why else would the temple be called the Wild Hermits’ Temple? She finally let go of her worry. “Alright.”

“And besides,” he added, “if it weren’t for us, this temple would still be hidden deep in the mountains, forgotten by all. No one would know what his master, his ancestors, or his fellow monks sacrificed for. All their noble acts would be buried and lost.”

He continued, “And since he chose to remain reclusive, with no disciples to pass on his teachings, he made himself the last head of the temple. So when he crosses over… he may just face a scolding from his old master for letting the line end.”

Ruan Qing burst into laughter, feeling comforted. Some people, when you’re with them, know exactly how to make you feel comfortable, safe—and even happy. In the small room, the firelight flickered, casting a warm glow on her smiling face, her lively eyes.

Seeing her like this made Nian Qi’s heart race once more. He composed himself, carefully tucking away the letter and calmly said, “Alright, you should sleep. I’ll…”

Just as he moved to leave, Ruan Qing tugged his sleeve. “Where are you going?”

“I’ll sleep next door,” he replied.

Her eyes widened, innocent and questioning. “You’re really going to leave me here all alone?”

Wait…alone? Was she suggesting they share the same room? But this was a single large bed, not separate like in a hotel, and here, there were no walls to buffer sounds, no other guests. Here, in the stillness of the mountain, it felt as if they were the only two people in the world.

Nian Qi swallowed hard.