“Haaah—”
A heavy breath exhaled in the darkness, as if something was weighing on his chest that he couldn't quite clear. Yao Wu stared at the ceiling with wide eyes. He had put out the lamp, so the ceiling was pitch-black. But he knew it was made of wood, having seen it the day he first moved in. He closed his eyes, then opened them again. Still black. Perhaps this would help him fall asleep faster.
A tearing, twitching phantom pain throbbed from his severed arm. He shifted his shoulder, but the illusory ache didn't ease. The more he moved, the worse it hurt. Phantom pain was a stubborn beast. A section of the mattress had divoted, a depression worn down by his constant tossing and turning.
A few moments of silence passed. The phantom pain subsided, and he thought he might finally fall asleep.
“What's wrong, Xiao Qing? Did the wind blow your leaves off again?”
The voice drifted up from the darkness like bubbles rising from the depths of water. He snapped his eyes open. The room was dark, the bed was empty, and the ceiling was still just the ceiling.
“There, there, it doesn't hurt. Senior Sister will refine some Rejuvenation Pills for you.” The voice came again, carrying a gentle, doting laugh, as if she had watched him toss and turn in the night countless times before.
Yao Wu sat up in bed, his back stiff as a board, tense. He didn't move. He wasn't sure if he was waiting for the voice to continue or for it to fade away.
“Just a dream,” Yao Wu muttered to himself. He lay back down and closed his eyes. The wooden slats pressed uncomfortably against his back, and his severed arm still throbbed.
He took a deep breath, once, twice, drawing out his exhalations, breathing deeper, trying to fall into a rhythm that would lull him to sleep. He thought he had succeeded.
“Once you take your medicine, Xiao Qing won't cry anymore, okay?”
For the third time, he opened his eyes. A candle had been lit at some point on the bedside table. Its flame flickered, casting the soft, swaying silhouette of his shadow onto the wall. A woman sat beside him. Her beautiful face was softened by the candlelight, looking exactly as she did in his memories.
Clutched in her hand was a crackle-glazed porcelain bottle, its mouth sealed with red clay. The sweet, faint, cool scent of elixirs seeped through the cracks of the clay seal.
It was the aroma of Rejuvenation Pills, the scent he knew best. They were his second favorite snack, and he used to eat them like candy. After all, he was a weed, so the saying “all medicines are three parts poison” didn't apply to him.
His absolute favorite was the Heart-Clearing Pill, which left him feeling cool all over. However, because Heart-Clearing Pills were much more troublesome to refine, his Senior Sister rarely made them for him.
“I'm still dreaming,” Yao Wu said, looking at her. He closed his eyes and opened them again. She was still sitting there. She looked at him, as if waiting for him to say something. I don't want to see her. Don't let me dream of her. Please.
When he closed his eyes and opened them once more, those blue-green eyes he yearned for day and night stared back at him, filled with worry. They were so close, barely a fist's width apart.
“Xiao Qing, what happened to your arm?” Her gaze fell upon his left shoulder, where there was only emptiness. “Does it hurt? Did you go out and get into another fight?” Her voice softened, laced with heartache.
Yao Wu wanted to speak, but his throat felt as if it were blocked. He swallowed hard, squeezing out a few words: “...It doesn't hurt.” His voice was raspy and choked with a sob. “It doesn't hurt at all...”
“And yet you say it doesn't hurt, when you're crying from the pain.” She reached out. Her hand was cold, icy cold. Her fingertips brushed against his face, gently wiping the corner of his eye. Only then did he realize he was crying.
He didn't know when the tears had started—perhaps just now, perhaps even earlier. He watched his Senior Sister's hand caress his tear-stained face.
Her touch was incredibly light, as if brushing away a speck of dust from fine porcelain. “Don't be afraid. Senior Sister is here.”
“I...” His voice trembled. “I just... wanted to eat the pills you refined.”
Senior Sister smiled. When she smiled, the corners of her eyes curved slightly downward. She pulled her hand back, picked up the crackle-glazed bottle, pried off the red clay seal, and poured a single Rejuvenation Pill into her palm.
She held the pill to his lips, like offering a piece of candy.
He opened his mouth and took it. It was cool and sweet, with a faint hint of mint, like a summer evening breeze blowing across a lake. He kept it in his mouth for a long time, reluctant to swallow it.
“So many years have passed, and you're still such a glutton.” She placed her hand on his head, gently rumpling his hair. “What do you want to eat? Senior Sister will refine it for you.”
“...Rejuvenation Pills,” he said.
“Alright.”
“Without the mint,” he added.
She looked down at him. “Why? Don't you like the mint flavor best?”
“Because...” He couldn't say it. Because what I really liked was the Heart-Clearing Pill, but you never refined those for me. You only ever added mint to the Rejuvenation Pills.
Yet right now, he craved those mint-flavored Rejuvenation Pills so desperately. But he would never be able to eat them again.
If she left, he would never taste that flavor again. He didn't want to remember a taste he could never have again.
These unspoken thoughts were buried deep in his heart once more. He shook his head and pressed his face into her palm.
Senior Sister didn't press further. She stood up and walked away. Yao Wu watched her back recede into the distance. Her sleeves were blue-green, the exact same color she wore during the day.
She walked at an easy pace, as if she were merely going to the next room to fetch something and would return shortly. At some point, the wall of his bedroom had vanished, opening up into an elixir-refining room. She stepped inside, squatted down, and added fuel to the furnace. The light from the hearth licked her profile, casting a warm red glow over her face.
Yao Wu wanted to call her back. He wanted to shout, “Don't go!”—he didn't want any pills, he didn't want anything at all, he just wanted her to stay. But for some reason, he was losing control of his body.
The fire grew brighter and redder, swallowing her silhouette. Red flooded his vision, consuming everything.
“...Come back!” he finally cried out. But he was already awake. He sat up in bed, the fabric of his shirt soaked with cold sweat. The candle was unlit; the moment he had seen it burning, it had all been a dream.
He steadied his breathing, took a couple of deep breaths, and lay back down to sleep. He didn't close his eyes, staring into the empty darkness instead.
“Senior Sister,” he spoke to the darkness. “Is there anything you want down there? Come visit me in a dream. It doesn't have to be much, just let me see you.” He paused, his voice dropping as if afraid of being overheard. “Otherwise, I'll want to go down and find you too much.”
The phantom pain in his severed arm persisted, like a saw blade dragging back and forth through his bones. He sat up, groped for a white porcelain bottle on the headboard, pulled the stopper, and poured out Rejuvenation Pills. One, two... he didn't count, just dumped a whole handful into his mouth. He chewed them. Bitter. His entire mouth filled with bitterness.
Rejuvenation Pills shouldn't be this bitter. He remembered clearly that the ones Senior Sister made were sweet and cool, like sucking on a mint. No one else would ever put mint in a Rejuvenation Pill, and the person who did was gone.
He stood up, pushed open the door, and walked to the end of the hallway. Nannan's door was shut. He stood outside, listening for a moment—her breathing was steady, neither too heavy nor too shallow, indicating she was fast asleep.
He didn't open the door. Instead, he slid down the wall and sat on the floor. He fished out a cigarette and lit it. After taking two drags, he choked, coughed twice, and set it down. Resting the cigarette on his knee, he let it burn on its own. He watched the tobacco slowly turn to ash under the dull red glow. When a draft blew by, the ash flaked off and fell onto the hem of his robe.
“Senior Sister,” he said to the cigarette, “once she grows up and doesn't need me anymore, I'll go find you, okay?” He picked the cigarette up from his knee, holding it between his fingers, watching it burn.
“Please have a little more patience. Wait for me a bit longer, alright?” He paused, as if waiting for her to answer. Another segment of ash fell. “Don't leave me behind all by myself like before, throwing such a massive mess in my lap.”
The cigarette burned down, leaving only the filter. He didn't stub it out, letting it die on its own. He sat in the dark for a while, then stood up, brushed the ash off his robe, and pushed open the door to look at Nannan's sleeping face. She was sleeping peacefully, her lips still, her eyelashes motionless. He watched her for a few moments, closed the door, and returned to his room. Dawn was breaking. There was no need to sleep anymore.
Those who are dying always need something to hold onto, an anchor to support their withered, decaying bodies as they drift through the mortal world.
Rate on N.U.
