Chapter 28: Kiss Part 2

Amid the throng, I feel you near,

Your true heart safe in my palm…”

The melody seeped into her heart. Jiang Zhizhou squeezed Jiang Qingmeng’s hand.

Falling for someone had a way of making every love song hit different. You’d latch onto lyrics that mirrored your feelings, spinning yourself into a web of intricate, heartfelt yearnings.

When the song ended, Jiang Zhizhou led Jiang Qingmeng onward down the street.

“Qingmeng, do you believe in ghosts and gods?” Rebirth was too outlandish; she figured her love deserved a little mental prep.

“No.”

“I didn’t used to, either. But stick around in our line of work long enough, and you start getting superstitious.”

“So?”

Before Jiang Zhizhou could reply, a little Daoist boy burst from a nearby incense shop, blocking their path.

“Ladies, care for a fortune stick? Drawn fresh, interpreted on the spot—one for ten grand.”

Jiang Zhizhou waved him off.

Ten thousand yuan? Yeah, right. She’d balked at a thousand a pop last time.

Seeing how bright-eyed and cute the boy was, Jiang Qingmeng asked, “Ten grand a stick? What makes it so pricey?”

Little Daoist Boy: “Emperor Guan’s Oracle Lots. Clears up every doubt in your heart.”

Jiang Qingmeng turned to Jiang Zhizhou. “Didn’t you just say our job makes us superstitious? Why not draw one?”

The Little Daoist Boy thrust out his phone. “Our shop’s got a custom Fortune Stick App. Just give it a shake, and out pops your lot!”

Jiang Zhizhou shook her head. “No cash.”

Poverty sharpened her skepticism. Scams were getting craftier by the day.

But his pitch rang a bell. Jiang Zhizhou peered at his face and jolted. “Wait—you’re that little monk from the temple, aren’t you?”

How’d he end up a Daoist boy?

The Little Daoist Boy recited crisply, “Buddhism and Daoism are kin; to ferry others is to ferry oneself. What divides you from me, or him?”

He was just a kid, but he rattled it off with such gravitas—almost comically worldly.

Jiang Zhizhou snorted with a laugh. “Speak in plain English.”

“I’m human, so of course I’m speaking plain English.”

Jiang Qingmeng raised a hand to halt the debate, smiling as she said, “Let’s draw one and see. I’ll cover the cost.”

The Little Daoist Boy opened the Fortune Stick App. Jiang Qingmeng reached for the phone, but Jiang Zhizhou snatched it first. “I’ll go first.”

This Little Daoist Boy was far too suspicious, all quirky and odd.

Jiang Zhizhou took the phone, gave it a couple of glances, and ran her fingers over it to check for any glue, blood, or other nasty surprises.

She shook the device, and a fortune slip duly appeared on the screen—

Twists and perils mark a path of strangeness,

A southern bird flies lone to claim its northern nest.

Today’s benefactor you have met before,

Our reunion falls where summer yields to fall.

Three of the four lines seemed perfectly ordinary, but the second—“A southern bird flies lone to claim its northern nest”—drifted lightly into her heart, sending ripples across it.

If Jiang Zhizhou were that southern bird, then Shen Xinghe’s body was the northern nest.

A southern bird returning to its northern nest… Wasn’t that a veiled reference to her own death in a car crash, followed by soul possession and rebirth in Shen Xinghe’s body?

A chill slithered into her heart. Jiang Zhizhou handed the phone back to the Little Daoist Boy, her expression somewhat rigid.

Seeing the fortune, he asked Jiang Qingmeng to step aside. “Only the person who drew the stick can hear the interpretation. No one else is allowed to be present.”

Jiang Qingmeng nodded and walked away, slipping into the Wind Chime Shop across the street.

A gentle breeze stirred, setting the wind chimes to tinkling with crisp, ethereal notes.

Jiang Qingmeng trailed her fingers over the chimes now and then, her gaze flicking toward Jiang Zhizhou on the opposite side.

Five minutes later, Jiang Zhizhou stepped out of the Incense and Candle Shop, her bright eyes a touch vacant.

Jiang Qingmeng asked, “That was quick?”

Jiang Zhizhou tugged the corner of her mouth into a smile. “Just a bunch of gibberish. Nothing worth hearing.”

Jiang Qingmeng nodded, took hold of her left hand, rolled back her sleeve, and tied a red rope around her wrist.

Two delicate pure-silver bells dangled from the red rope. Jiang Zhizhou shook her wrist, and they chimed with a soft jingle.

“What made you think of giving me this?”

Jiang Qingmeng replied mildly, “A peace offering. Picked it up at the Wind Chime Shop. It’s pretty.”

Jiang Zhizhou arched a brow. “You know about peace offerings, so why not just apologize?”

Jiang Qingmeng said, “You’re the one who dodged me first. I didn’t do anything wrong, so why should I?”

Calling it a peace offering while insisting she’d done nothing wrong.

Who would have thought this woman had such a contradictory streak?

Jiang Zhizhou touched the red rope and the bandage on her wrist, lowering her head with a smile as she decided to forgive the flimsy excuse.

But Jiang Qingmeng reached up to stroke the hair at the back of her head, asking softly, “Does it hurt here?”

She remembered shoving her—and shoving her hard.

Jiang Zhizhou shook her head. “It’s fine. Doesn’t hurt.”

Truth be told, it stung a little, and she’d felt dizzy for a moment when she’d collided with the wall.

But she couldn’t really blame her for that. If it had been the old Jiang Zhizhou, suddenly embraced and kissed by another girl out of nowhere, she wouldn’t have stopped at shoving—she’d have slapped her too.

Those intimate touches lingered in her mind. After a moment’s hesitation, Jiang Zhizhou mustered her courage. “When I… did that to you… did it disgust you?”

Jiang Qingmeng lowered her gaze, her lips pressing together as heat bloomed across her cheeks beneath the scarf.

After a pause, she said, “No. But don’t do it again.”

Jiang Zhizhou murmured her assent and fell silent.

Jiang Qingmeng said, “I’ll go draw one too.”

Truth be told, she mainly wanted to settle the bill.

The neighborhood boasted several renowned ancient temples and Taoist shrines, which explained the abundance of incense and candle shops lining the street.

Jiang Qingmeng entered the Incense and Candle Shop named Xiandu.

Incense smoke curled through the air the moment she crossed the threshold. Golden statues gleamed everywhere, alongside flickering oil lamps and neat rows of incense and candles. The Little Daoist Boy perched primly behind the counter, a striking beauty with raven hair and crimson lips at his side.

The beauty was the shop owner, young—barely into her twenties—with porcelain-pale skin and her eyes swathed in a strip of white cloth. She turned at the sound, her red lips curving faintly. “Welcome. How can I assist you?” Her voice was lilting and soft, laced with the gentle cadence of a Jiangnan woman.

The entire shop struck Jiang Qingmeng as profoundly strange; she had no desire to linger. “I’m here to pay for the lady from earlier. I don’t have enough cash on me—can I use a card?”

“Of course.” The shop owner smiled, leaning down to whisper in the Little Daoist Boy’s ear.

He produced a card reader and the phone, offering them to Jiang Qingmeng. “Miss, would you care to draw a fortune stick?”

Jiang Qingmeng declined politely. “Thank you, but no. I don’t put stock in spirits or gods.”

The shop owner pressed, “Go on, draw one. It’s meant for you. My gift.”

Unable to rebuff such kindness, Jiang Qingmeng smiled her thanks, took the phone, gave it a casual shake to draw a stick, and handed it straight back without a glance.

The Little Daoist Boy read it aloud—

Heaven’s fortune or calamity springs from the heart,

No need to seek my words to banish doubt.

Repent your faults and walk the righteous way,

And blessings come—your every wish fulfilled.

The Beauty Boss tilted her head with a smile. “It’s a very straightforward divination verse—you should understand it. Fortune or misfortune lies in the heart; there’s no need to consult the heavens. I’ll give you just one piece of advice: knowing too much about certain things isn’t always for the best. Look—” She pointed to her eyes. “I knew too much, and now I’m blind.”

With that, she took up her brush and wrote out the interpretation on the paper, folded it neatly, beckoned the Little Daoist Boy over to take it, and had him deliver it into Jiang Qingmeng’s hands.

Jiang Qingmeng unfolded the paper. Seven simple words stared back at her: Spare others whenever you can.

Blind though she was, the woman had penned them in elegant, flowing script.

Jiang Qingmeng offered a faint smile. “Nice handwriting.”

She swiped her card to pay, then turned and walked out the door. Crumpling the paper into a ball, she tossed it into a roadside trash bin. As she lowered her head, a storm of emotions churned in the depths of her eyes.

May the child repent and turn to good deeds…

Repent?

Those people had committed countless atrocities—they deserved a miserable end. Why not just burn them all in one fire and be done with it? What had she done wrong? Why should she repent?

Good deeds?

What was good? What was evil? If she couldn’t even protect the person she loved most, what good was such gentle kindness?

Jiang Qingmeng pressed her lips into a tight line and clenched her fists so hard her nails nearly broke the skin.

The darkness buried deep in her heart—once firmly suppressed—had long since shattered its chains. Like rampant weeds, it grew wildly now, poised to devour her step by step.

“Qingmeng, look—” A soft voice murmured in her ear, snapping her from her thoughts.

Jiang Zhizhou held up a porcelain-white six-hole ocarina and dangled it playfully before her eyes. “I just bought it.”

Jiang Qingmeng blinked in mild surprise. She unclenched her fists and looked up. The gloom in her eyes vanished in an instant, replaced by a gentle, limpid smile.

She beamed at Jiang Zhizhou. “An ocarina? Do you like playing it?”

“It’s okay—I like it well enough. But there’s one ocarina tune I really love.”

“Which one?”

“Hometown’s Original Scenery.”

“Can you play it?”

“Yeah.” It was the only one she knew.

“Then play it for me.”

Jiang Zhizhou glanced around. “Too many people here. It’d draw eyes. I don’t mind, but it wouldn’t be safe for you.”

Jiang Qingmeng smiled. “Then play it for me once we find somewhere quieter.”

“Deal.” Jiang Zhizhou took her hand. “We should head back anyway.”

Her hand was ice-cold, piercing to the bone. Jiang Zhizhou clasped it tight to warm it, frowning. “I just warmed it up a minute ago, and it’s cold again already. What’s up with your constitution?”

Jiang Qingmeng gave a faint smile. “No idea. It’s been like this since I was little. Warm it up for me again?”

A hint of coquettishness slipped into her words unbidden, stirring Jiang Zhizhou’s heart. She met her gaze without thinking.

Actors were sensitive creatures by nature, attuned to every shift in mood, every facet of human emotion. Even as a brash youth, Jiang Zhizhou had hidden a delicate, perceptive heart beneath her bold exterior—one that read people like an open book.

The years had only deepened that gentleness, teaching her to mask her own feelings seamlessly while deciphering the subtle currents beneath others’ composed surfaces.

Just like now. Jiang Qingmeng gazed at her with a soft smile, but Jiang Zhizhou caught the flicker of unease and lost bewilderment in her eyes.

She seldom spoke her desires aloud, content to stare silently at what she craved. Her rare moments of directness always carried something off—a raw, urgent need for closeness, for warmth, like a drowning soul clutching desperately at driftwood.

Remembering how she’d gripped her fists in rigid restraint moments before, Jiang Zhizhou released her hand, pried open her palm, and spotted four distinct crescent marks from her nails. Her own heart twinged in sympathy.

She bent and pressed a gentle kiss to the marks, then enveloped the hand once more, looking up at her. “Did that shop owner feed you some nonsense that upset you? Whatever she said, Qingmeng—in front of me, you can be yourself. Don’t hold back. Don’t bottle up your feelings. Be willful with me. Get angry. Throw a tantrum if you want. In front of me, you can do anything.”

Jiang Qingmeng stared at her, unblinking, for a full three seconds. Then she broke free, slid her arms around Jiang Zhizhou’s waist, pulled her close, and rested her chin on her shoulder in a neck-to-neck embrace. “You’re suddenly so chatty. That’s not like you. What did that shop owner say to you?”

“Nothing.” They nestled together, faces hidden, voices all that remained. Jiang Zhizhou slid her arms around Qingmeng’s back. “Just some lofty-sounding gibberish. Like you, I don’t buy into ghosts or gods.”

Her tone was perfectly casual, utterly natural. But her eyes brimmed with sorrow and guilt too thick to dissolve.

People streamed past. Two beautiful women locked in an embrace drew too many stares. Sensing the attention, Jiang Zhizhou gently disentangled herself first and led her by the hand back to the car.

“Fasten your seatbelt,” Jiang Qingmeng reminded Jiang Zhizhou with care as she started the car. She gripped the steering wheel, quietly observing her from the corner of her eye.

They were supposed to be going shopping to lift her spirits, but Zhizhou’s mood seemed even heavier now.

Uncertain where to even begin asking, and suspecting she wouldn’t open up even if pressed, Jiang Qingmeng simply said, “It’s just the two of us now. Play the flute for me.”