Legend of Fu Yao

Feng Mo looked at her, perplexed, but maintained a smile. His light scarlet robe brushed past the black wooden table as he poured a cup of rage ant chrysanthemum tea for her. “I’m waiting for someone.”

Meng Fuyao raised a doubtful glance at his words.

“Many years ago she said she would wait here for me. I traveled for too long, and when I came back, she was gone. Her former house had been torn down and rebuilt into this. The place has changed tremendously but certain things, like the lavender flowers in the garden, remained, which is why I can’t bear to leave.”

He smiled faintly, with a romantic charm that older men usually carried. The fine lines extending from the corner of his eyes were angled perfectly.

“What has that got to do with this?”

Meng Fuyao kept her eyes on the faint yellow petals that blossomed on the jade green cup. She felt as though something was soothing out deep within her heart, along with a past that couldn’t be touched. Someone was also waiting for her in the other world. Everyone had someone they were waiting for, but ever-changing circumstances often forced them to move on. What kind of determination must one have in order to stay put?

Drops of dew formed deep within her heart, and it was a harmonious resonance that surfaced. Feng Mo’s perseverance made her feel understood.

A person like Feng Mo would indeed be a good buddy. He wasn’t one to invade privacy and played good chess and zither. Plus, he never once expressed frustration or ridicule at playing against a rookie like her. No matter how dumb her move was he just smiled and guided her patiently. They played a game from morning till mid-afternoon, and while Meng Fuyao thought hard over her next move, he simply waited with a kind smile, his soft gaze occasionally shifting toward the layer of fallen lavender petals that had covered the corridor.

In this place, Meng Fuyao finally found the mental peace that she had been seeking for the past 18 years of her life. The torment and burdensome responsibilities that had been following her all this while were being placated by those clear, gentle eyes of his. She craved for this rare tranquility and enjoyed the compassionate smile he maintained. Meng Fuyao appreciated the gentle manner he extended his hand out to catch the falling petals as if reaching for the scattered pieces of a pearl-like dream, and she also appreciated the nostalgic expression that surfaced after.

. . . . .

Feng Mo’s birthday was approaching, but he kept it from her. Nevertheless, she remembered conversations in which he casually brought up times his parents had celebrated for him. That noon, they drank tea and recited poetry till evening time, where he then sat down and readied himself for a game of chess. What greeted the table wasn’t a chessboard but a scrumptious meal.

Meng Fuyao stood by the door with crossed arms and raised brows. “Happy birthday.”

Feng Mo looked at her in silence, and she started checking herself to make sure that there weren’t grains or minced meat stuck on her face. Upon inspection, she returned the look and laughed. “Is that you feeling touched?”

He smiled and waved for her to join him. When she had settled down, she blinked. “So easily touched? I have one more gift, though. Are you going to start crying in my arms?”

“You can take it out, and we’ll see.” His eyes lit up increasingly under the red lamplight, the ripples within showing through.

Meng Fuyao acted mysteriously, handing him a box, to which he accepted with a smile. “Open it, open it,” she urged.

A faint fragrance spread as he opened the lid, and the expression in Feng Mo’s dazzling eyes gradually changed.

It was an exquisite crystal house with flower walls and a small well in the courtyard. There were three steps before the main door, leading to a fingertip-sized carriage, and the back garden was filled with lavender.

It wasn’t the brothel but the place in which the woman had waited for him. It was a story, which he had unintentionally brought to her notice, being crystallized into something to be commemorated.

Past events that had been frozen in time were grinding at his heart every day, but the result was an item so beautifully created that one wouldn’t bear touch it in fear of dimming its splendor.

Feng Mo studied the house silently as Meng Fuyao waited in unease. He hasn’t shared the ending of his story. It could be a tragedy, and her gift could possibly have sparked yet another bout of heartache.

But he smiled. His length almond eyes narrowed as he kept the box carefully. “I can’t bear to…” he started.

“Can’t bear to?” she repeated while lazily resting her arms on the table.

“To accept this gift, ” he finished with a tinge of regret. “It’s been so long since someone has gotten close to and given such a gift to me.”

“It’s not worth much, please don’t mind it,” she waved before pouring a cup of wine for him. “Come. A toast for a special occasion.”

Their cups clanked in midair, the crisp sound of porcelains waking up the nocturnal birds and their gentle twittering.

Getting-drunker-at-every-cup Meng Fuyao lost herself very quickly and blurted out, tongue-tied, “Will she return?”

“That’s no longer important, I think,” Feng Mo replied with a strange yet charming soft gaze. He reached out to stroke her long black hair while looking vacantly into the garden filled with fluttering lavender petals.

“Miss Meng,” he called out gently after some time.

“Hmm?” she uttered muddleheadedly, still grabbing onto her wine cup.

A curl appeared on his thin lips as a graceful and pure smile broke out.

“Do you… like me?”

“Eh?” Meng Fuyao raised her head, eyes narrowed and vision unsteady, as a scarlet robe swayed before her eyes. She seemed to be especially drunk today, and facing the extraordinary beauty that was before her, she was convinced that Feng Mo’s eyes were thrice as soul-catching as Zhangsun Wuji’s.

“Yeah…” While her face was on the table, drooling, Meng Fuyao mumbled before shutting her eyes.

Feng Mo smiled, his light scarlet sleeves brushing across the table like a falling cherry blossom branch. He chuckled, causing his body to tremble slightly and his hair to drape over his shoulders and her own hair, as he inched closer to comb her hair aside. He carried her up and whispered, “Women, women, you’re all the same…”

He stopped suddenly.

The night was quiet except for the soft twittering of birds and the flowing of the stream from far away.

Feng Mo placed Meng Fuyao down. Turning around, calmness restored, he spoke, “Please show yourself, strong one.”

His voice was the same but not his tone. He sounded nothing like the humble and respectful server from the brothel, as there was only mightiness and coldness in his statement.

A light purple figure emerged from the darkness.

“You indeed,” Feng Mo recovered his smile and pointed at Meng Fuyao. “Did you hear it? The woman you fancy just said that she likes me.”

“Senior,” Zhangsun Wuji called out, as if not hearing his provocation. “Aren’t you sick of playing the same old game? It’s been so many years.”

“Sick? I will not be sick until I meet a lady who can resist me,” he smirked. “Look at them. They’re all the same. Eyes everywhere, fluid as water… leave their side, and they run elsewhere. No exception.”

He moved slowly, looking at Meng Fuyao and sighing in disappointment. “I had thought that she would be different…”

“Why would you expect ladies to resist you when you’re using your soul-seduction technique on them?” Zhangsun Wuji smiled. “With your identity, you can kill whoever you want. Why use this as an excuse to kill innocent women?”

“So this is the psychotic playboy who vents his anger on ladies because he’s been betrayed by one!”

A flowery figure leaped from a tree outside the corridor. “Eh, heartless playboy, wanna have a taste of Legendary Birds, one of the three legendary techniques of Fufeng?” Ya Lanzhu called out, crisp and speedily, her style of speaking evidently inspired by Meng Fuyao.

Feng Mo cast a side glance and smirked. “If your father was standing before me, perhaps I would look him in the eyes, but you?”

Instead of explaining he raised a finger toward the darkness. “Two more, show yourselves. Help save this old man’s time.”

It was strange to hear this young-looking lad with an aura as bright as pearls and gems address himself as an old man. However, no one laughed, and even Zhangsun Wuji retreated in caution before this man, whose reputation swept across the Five Region Continent for over 30 years.

Because that was Starlight Sage, Fang Yimo.

Zhan Beiye jumped from the garden wall as Zong Yue entered from the main entrance, and Ya Lanzhu let out, “Go!”

Birds of all colors flew into view and where they past dark fog rose. The sinister sound of their flapping wings messed with one’s mental state, and the leader of the pack, whose feathers were multicolored and eyes deep red, drew a bright arc across the sky while charging toward Fang Yimo.

Fang Yimo let out a long laugh and waved his sleeve, causing the flower vine rack to topple and trap the majority of the birds within. The birds flapped their wings effortfully but struggled nevertheless. Only the leader had a blade-like beak that ripped a big hole, allowing it to dive for him like an eagle.

The moves executed by the three men had also reached Fang Yimo simultaneously.

A steady purple ray, a black gust-like shadow and a vague white figure scattered like fog in the sky, and the narrow garden was instantly invaded by four different colors that spun about while rising and falling. They combined to form an appearance like that of a fluctuating rainbow.

Fang Yimo swerved between the capable youths with his light body, and while his speed seemed relatively slow, each attack possessed astonishing precision and power, and each attack produced thousands of silver rays that pierced through the complicated rainbow-colored ones, finishing into a brilliant, phoenix-like tail. The garden that had yet to be lit was now splattered in glorious lights, as though a silver river had fallen from the sky.