Copper Coins

Chapter 35

Chapter 35: Stone Zhang (III)

Having had a unique lifestyle and divine status in his previous life in Huameng County, Xue Xian was an extremely dignified dragon –– or so he thought.

The term "dignified" had a fluid meaning to him –– sometimes, he allowed himself to concede to others, which was not so dignified: for instance, when he sat on Xuanmin's hand, or when he ordered Jiang Shining around, or when he spent Xuanmin's money. But in other situations, he would rather die than concede, such as when it concerned the beauty and majesty of his outer appearance.

If he had the full use of his limbs and his body was fully restored to its glory, then others could look as long as they wanted, it was no big deal. He thought he cut a nice figure. Besides, he wasn't human, so did not feel embarrassed about changing his clothes.

But now he was half-paralysed, and not nimble at all. If he had to be naked, he could not under any circumstances allow the bald donkey to see him. It would be far too painful.

Basically, even imagining the scene made him cringe. Make him get naked in this state? You might as well hang him right then and there.

With a blank expression on his face, Xue Xian glared at Stone Zhang and said, "Please, if you don't mind, could you temporarily kick the bucket?"

Stone Zhang did not know what to say. If I kick the bucket, I'll be dead. What do you mean, temporarily?

But the beast did not care. Without another word, he summoned a stormcloud from the heavens and, before anyone could react, sent down two shafts of thunder. Terrified, Stone Zhang's legs shot out from under him and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. He fainted.

This Stone Zhang had the courage of a sparrow –– so easily made to cry or to faint. But Xuanmin was not the same...

Xue Xian glared darkly at him. "Tell me. How can I get you to faint? Shall I try everything?"

Xuanmin said nothing. This beast was being absurd again.

The easiest way to make him pass out was to thunk him on the back of the head. Raising his claw, Xue Xian studied the monk's head and tried to estimate where he needed to strike, as though this were no big deal.

Xuanmin glanced at that short, stubby claw and pushed it away. Calmly, he said, "Men of noble character must conceal their swords and obscure their weapons."

Translated into words that made sense, it meant: Stop swinging that damn claw around.

Xue Xian scoffed. Mind your own.

But he did abandon that idea. Indeed, with his large size, it was hard to precisely calculate the strength required to perform tasks. If he lost control of his claw, then this day next year he would have to come visit the bald donkey's grave.

Although he was in a bad mood and became irritated every time he saw the bald donkey, that didn't mean he wanted to kill him.

Without a way to make the bald donkey pass out, Xue Xian was deeply irked. He gave up trying to engage Xuanmin and turned around. He summoned a mass of clouds, and the moist, white fog quickly clustered around the monk, wrapping him up tightly and obscuring everything in his line of sight.

With a swipe of his claw, Xue Xian tore the packaging of the bundle of clothing. Next, his immense body was encased in a flash of white light. The light was normally eye-piercing, but from Xuanmin's point of view inside his cloud cocoon, there was only a warm glow.

Within the white light, Xue Xian suddenly transformed into a human silhouette. He was a powerful dragon –– although he had not yet fully recovered his physical body, he could still perform magic. So despite being half-paralysed, putting on clothes was not a problem. As the white light slowly began to wane, he was already almost done getting dressed.

Initially, Xuanmin had planned to see if the beast needed any help with his clothes, but having seen Xue Xian's manner, he assumed not. Standing inside the rather frosty and cold mist, watching that dying white light, he did not feel any sense of pressure. He quietly stood.

But fog doesn't stay substantial for long. At first, it had formed a tight, opaque shell around Xuanmin, but now it had become a thin and translucent sheet, and was slowly dissolving away.

When the fog had dissipated enough for Xuanmin to see his surroundings again, Xue Xian happened to be wrapping that loose, cloud-like new robe around his body. His lean waist, slim belly, and –– appearing for an instant with the stretching movement of his arms –– the shapely bone of his flexed shoulder were all absorbed into the darkness of the robe.

The design of the robe was extremely basic, and looked plain, with not a hint of extra color or decoration. It stood in high contrast to Xue Xian's daily impish behavior.

But it was exactly the kind of thing he liked to wear.

His inky collar set off a slip of white neck –– an almost diseased white.* When his face was calm, unperturbed by a smile or a scowl, those black eyes were always lazily half-closed, condensing with his eyelashes into two straight lines like brushstrokes: graceful, but somehow intimidating.

Perhaps it was the unnerving pallor of Xue Xian's bare skin, or perhaps it was the cold of his expressionless face caught in profile, but he was so different from the grinning man that Xuanmin had seen sitting atop the wall in Officer Liu's compound... Xuanmin faltered.

But soon, that beast began to act up again.

Those black eyes swivelled and saw that the fog had dissipated. With a casual sweep of his hand, Xue Xian buttoned his robe and haphazardly tied it. Then he nonchalantly procured a black ribbon from somewhere and, holding it with his teeth, he quickly combed his hair and tied it with the ribbon.

As Xue Xian's hands fell, he summoned another gust of wind to lift himself up. He flipped back, letting those black robes billow and then settle. Soon, he had brought a wooden chair over and had settled in with a sigh.

What was the point of this pretense? Did he really think others would forget that he was half-paralysed?

Xuanmin said nothing.

Xue Xian idly tapped the arms of the chair. "Can we go now?"

"Yes." Xuanmin glanced at him and took a step forward, seemingly about to reach out his hand and offer help.

Startled, Xue Xian slapped the chair again and, with an ear-splitting grinding noise as the wood of the chair grated against the stone flooring, he backed away. Staring, he said, "What are you doing?"

Xuanmin's hands fell to his side. "How else do you plan to go back? Can you walk? Can you fly?"

I can fly, actually, thank you very much! Xue Xian grumbled in his thoughts. But he did not say it, because, indeed, he could not summon winds to for him to glide around on in broad daylight –– it would scare, well, the living daylights out of the townspeople.

As he sulked, the bald donkey insisted on pouring oil into the fire and insult him further: "Or perhaps... you plan to do as you just did: stay inside the chair and hop back, step by step?"

Xue Xian fumed. Why did I stop myself earlier? I should have just killed him, and then the bald donkey wouldn't be here provoking me with every word. And he acts so haughty and serious... Fuck off!

Finally, his face set, he said, "Fine. If I may trouble you for a favor... Could you turn around and squat down, so you can carry––"

Xue Xian had wanted to say carry me on your back, but Xuanmin was already striding smoothly toward him, putting one hand behind his neck and the other beneath his knees, and delicately picking him up in his arms. As nonchalant as if he'd simply found a fallen leaf on the street, and was not carrying a full-grown man.

As Xuanmin straightened his back, he said calmly, "This monk does not squat nor kneel. When I walk, I do not bend my back."

Xue Xian wanted to spit his intestines out at him. "What the hell? You were perfectly happy to squat down when you shovelled me with a piece of scrap metal at the Jiang family compound!"

But now that his whole body was captive in the bald donkey's arms, he could not move around at all, or else he risked falling face-first on the ground –– and then he really would die of humiliation. As Xue Xian suppressed his temper, it was a miracle he didn't choke to death. He looked down at himself and cringed at how weak and frail he looked –– not majestic at all.

The beast's eyeballs swivelled, and then he had a plan.

He picked up the bundle of clothes, took out another black robe, and used it to cover himself from head to toe.

When you have no choice but to humiliate yourself, remember one thing –– hide your face.

With his already all-black outfit and now entirely covered with another layer of black, the beast sat stiff as a board in Xuanmin's arms, as though he had just eked out his last breath.

Xuanmin had to give it to him –– he hadn't thought of that.

The dragon lay there for a while, then suddenly remembered Stone Zhang. A ghastly pale hand shot out from beneath the black drapes and beckoned. A bolt of thunder loud enough to wake everyone in a ten li radius boomed by Stone Zhang's ear and yanked the man awake.

Grimacing tragically, Stone Zhang clambered up and slithered obediently to Xuanmin's side, but was so terrified upon seeing the body in the monk's arms that he began to tremble again.

Xue Xian's muffled voice came out from beneath the drape: "We're all set. Let's go."

Xuanmin shook his head, but strode out into the courtyard.

One had to admit, the dragon's idea was indeed effective. As they walked back to the Lu compound, not a single passerby dared to look in Xuanmin's general direction. As soon as they glimpsed some dead person in the monk's arms, they would turn their heads away and hurry as far away as they could, looking deeply unhappy.

By the time the two men and one corpse stepped into the Lu compound, the sky had darkened. Jiang Shining happened to be walking out of the kitchen and jumped when he saw the body that Xuanmin was carrying. He had known Xue Xian for a bit longer than Xuanmin had, and the bookworm was generally a rather attentive person, so he quickly recognised Xue Xian's white claw hanging out of the drape.

The lantern he held in his hand trembled –– he almost threw the object to the side to come running over. Thankfully, Xuanmin quickly explained, "He's alive and well. Only pretending to be dead."

Jiang Shining stared. "What drama is he having now?"

Xuanmin did not reply. Instead, he walked into the living room and put the dragon down on a chair by the table.

It was only then that Xue Xian removed the cloth from his face and took a deep breath. "So stuffy."

Jiang Shining slammed the lantern onto the table in a huff. "You did that to yourself. You deserve it."

Then he turned and looked anxiously at Stone Zhang. "And this is..."

Startled by those lifeless eyes, Stone Zhang stammered, "I'm just a stonemason. You can call me Old Zhang or Stone Zhang."

Xue Xian pointed at the stone lock that they had leant against the wall. "You made this, right?"

Stone Zhang recognised it immediately. He nodded. "Yes, yes, yes. Indeed that came from my hand. I can tell with one look."

"So... it's like this." Xue Xian gestured at Jiang Shining and said, "He's met the person responsible for the tomb at Gravestone Island, and he even has an item that that person touched, or at least someone who works for that person. When Twenty-Seven wakes up, we'll ask him to take a look, see if any clues come up."

"Twenty-Seven?" Jiang Shining paused, then realised what Xue Xian meant. "Are you sure he has that ability too?"

Xue Xian nodded. "Most likely."

Sitting back in his chair, he idly teased the lantern flame with his hand. Suddenly, he slapped the table. "Right! I almost forgot."

Both Jiang Shining and Stone Zhang jumped at the sound, then turned to him, waiting for him to explain. But all the dragon did was glare at Xuanmin and say, "Where's the food you owe me?"

What the hell? Jiang Shining thought.

Oh mama, scared me to death, Stone Zhang thought.

Xuanmin stared back at him, then walked out of the room.**

In no time, he stepped back inside carrying a box of food –– he glided as light as a cloud, as though what he were holding was not food but Buddha's own lotus.

Jiang Shining took a look at the box, then glanced back at Xue Xian, languishing in his chair. Then, he turned his face away.

There were four levels to the box, filled with six different dishes and a stack of crispy cakes.

Xue Xian took a look. The china plates were still flush with warmth, and the dishes gleamed colorfully. Laid out on the table, the meal looked beautiful and emitted a delicious smell –– indeed extremely appetising. And yet...

And... yet...

Not a single chunk of meat could be found on the whole table. It was all vegetarian!

It! was! all! vegetarian!

When have you ever heard of a dragon munching grass?!

Xue Xian rolled his eyes and knocked his head against the table in anger. Then he looked up at Xuanmin hatefully.

Although Xuanmin did not have all of his memories, his habits were still the same. It seemed that in the past, he did not eat meat, or perhaps he did not eat anything at all, which would explain why he seemed so healthy and well despite not having been seen eating anything for days now. Basically, if you asked him to buy the food, you would not be getting meat. In the end, Jiang Shining had to go out again and bring back a few more dishes, in order to satisfy the dragon's idea of a meal.

Apart from that day eight years ago, Lu Twenty-Seven had never been through such a traumatic experience.

He slept for seven days straight as his fever attacked and receded over and over. Sometimes, in his confusion, he would let out fragments of words in the middle of the night, saying "Dad," or "Nineteen," as if in refusing to open his eyes, he could make all the tragic events disappear, and those that had left him would stay quietly by his bed, waiting for him to wake up...

On the seventh night, as the nightwatchman called the time outside, Twenty-Seven's finger twitched and he awoke.

His eyes were still bloodshot with fever, and under the light of the lantern, there seemed to be a layer of glowing film across his eyes, as though he were brimming with tears.

"You're awake?" Jiang Shining happened to be replacing the oil in his lantern, and saw that the boy had woken up. "Are you thirsty?"

He called out to the living room, then came to the bed and removed the hot, medicine-soaked towel from Twenty-Seven's forehead.

The ghost's body was unnervingly cold, and as his hand touched Twenty-Seven's face, Jiang Shining saw that the boy trembled, shaking loose those puddles of moisture in his eyes, which ran down his face and onto the pillow. "Is today... touqi***..." Twenty-Seven mumbled

Jiang Shining faltered, then nodded. "Yes. The last night."

Mute, Twenty-Seven rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. Then he pushed his blanket aside and sat up. "Is he still here? I want to be with him for the last night."

Jiang Shining wasn't sure if it was just him, but he felt as though, after this seven-day slumber, even Tewnty-Seven's manner of speaking was closer to that of his brother Nineteen. And as the boy climbed out of bed, Jiang Shining saw that his feeling had been correct: Twenty-Seven's slight frame had grown by multiple inches in the past week, so that instead of looking to be about seven or eight years old, he now looked twelve.

Twenty-Seven staggered out of his bedroom and weakly nodded in greeting at the group gathered in the living room. Jiang Shining guided him to the second bedroom, and he shut the door, refusing to come out for the rest of the night.

That night, not a single sound came out from the room: no crying, nor any talking.

When Twenty-Seven had said be with him, he really had meant be with him. Silently, he kept Nineteen company: he was neither kind nor clingy toward his brother, just as he had been when Nineteen had been alive.

The next morning, a pale-faced Twenty-Seven walked out of the room, holding the bundle of sticks that Nineteen had left him. His black eyes fell upon Stone Zhang and he gazed at the man for a long time, then slowly said, "Please, sir, could I ask you to make me two wooden carvings?"

Although Stone Zhang was a stonemason by profession, he also knew his way around wood, but was nowhere near as talented with it.

Stone Zhang paused, surprised, then nodded.

"Don't just nod," Xue Xian piped up. "He can't see."

Shocked, Stone Zhang studied the boy's eyes. Afraid to say anything else, he replied, "Of course."

In all the years Stone Zhang had spent in Wolong County, he was of course not close to the Lu family, but had met them a few times, and could say he knew them. As he heard Twenty-Seven's words, he knew what the boy was requesting. Stone Zhang was an expert, and wood was easier to carve than stone. In no time, he was able to whittle two grave tiles and decorate them with motifs on both sides.

"What should I write?" Stone Zhang asked.

"On one of them, write Here lies my late father, Lu Yuan."

Stone Zhang did so. He first outlined the text, then carefully carved them in. Then, he blew the sawdust away from the tile and said, "And the other?"

Twenty-Seven fell silent.

What to write on the other tile? His full name? Nineteen had been too young, and had not had the chance to take on a proper full name. There was nothing to carve. And Nineteen was only a casual nickname: there were tens of thousands of Nineteens in the world. If they all just gave that name in the afterlife, Yama, the King of Hell, would likely not be able to tell them apart. Besides, Twenty-Seven did not want to write Nineteen's name down –– he felt as though, with the stroke of that brush, his aloof and distant brother, his brother who had given his life in exchange for his would truly be gone.

"Never mind. Leave the other one blank. Don't write anything," Twenty-Seven said suddenly. He took the tiles from Stone Zhang and found a piece of cloth from the closet. Refusing any help, he collected some clothing and wrapped them up in the cloth, together with the tiles, tying a tight knot.

Next, clutching the bundle, he sat down by the table. He gestured at Xue Xian with the bundle of sticks. "I know what you're planning. I've known since I opened my eyes. I'll tell your fortune on Nineteen's behalf, but I fear I may not be as skilled as he was. I only have one request for you. Please bury Nineteen."

Although he hated to depend on others, a burial was not something a half-blind boy could do by himself.

"Consider it done," Xue Xian replied.

The black cloth that Stone Zhang had coughed up had been kept in Xuanmin's pouch the whole time. Now, it was taken out and laid out across the table for Twenty-Seven to divine.

With his glazed-over eyes, Twenty-Seven inspected the cloth. He sprayed a fine layer of dust onto the surface of the table and began to sweep his sticks across it. From his movements down to his very manner, he was exactly like Nineteen had been, as though both souls resided in that same single body.

When the sticks stopped moving, he hovered a hand over the dust and frowned in concentration. Then he said, "I'm not as good at this as Nineteen. I can see that this person is currently by the river. I can sort of see what it looks like, but I don't know where it is. But I think I'd recognise the place if I went there."

He cleared the dust and tried again, but the result was the same.

But he did not seem surprised by this result. He patted his cloth bundle and said, "If you don't mind being burdened with me, I'd like to come with you."

Indeed, there was no longer any living person left for him in Wolong County. Without family, his roots were gone, and there was nothing keeping him there anymore.

And naturally, the group was happy to have such a useful soothsayer accompany them. They had already stayed in Wolong County for a very long time and had no reason to linger, so as the sun rose in the sky, they went to bury Nineteen next to his father Lu Yuan.

Twenty-Seven knelt down and kowtowed three times in front of each grave. Then, he calmly dusted himself off and, with the grave tiles in his bundle, departed with Xuanmin and the others.

By the time the group got onto a ferry to cross the river, the sky had darkened again and it began to snow.

The blur of soft, light snow fell half on the fresh grave on the mountain and half on the awning of their boat, half in the afterlife and half in the red dust of the living realm, bidding a quiet farewell to that nameless ghost and the travellers both.

How to tell someone you miss them, that you can't let them go? Perhaps the most tender way is to say, You're gone, but it's okay, I will become you, I will take you with me.

Time was no longer a concern. Regardless of the season or the age, they would remain together, to walk every path, to cross every river.

---

* literally everyone has the blackest eyes and hair and the whitest, sickest-looking pale skin pls.... what is wrong w them are they literally starving to death.... what's in the song dynasty water...

** Also thinking about the Portrait of a lady on fire levels of eye contact and Looking in this book.... the gaze... the Gays... coincidence??? i think not.

*** Touqi, literally "first seven" -- the first seven days after someone's death.