Chapter Eighteen: Love Lost

A wife wished to see her late husband’s ancestral tablet, to light incense and pray for him, but the concubine would not allow it. She only permitted her to play the zither alone in her sorrow. Yet, when she met Ye Sansi and his companions, they came to her aid, helping her to secretly enter Qingyang Monastery by night.

“You have come, after all…” Following the voice, one saw a young maiden, about the same age as Sansi, dressed in white, her steps light and graceful. She emerged slowly from behind a curtain, tear stains still unwashed from her face, yet she looked strikingly beautiful. If she and Xiangru were to walk down the street together, one could hardly tell which was wife and which was concubine.

Xiangru had never seen this concubine before; it was always the abbot who had appeared. Now that they met, before the concubine could speak, Xiangru recognized her. In the concubine’s eyes was a mixture of hatred and murderous intent that sent chills down Xiangru’s spine. The concubine asked, “You must be Lady Zhao. I knew you would not give up.” As she spoke, she retrieved a hempen mourning garment from beneath the bed, approached Xiangru, and tossed it down, saying, “Do you know what your husband’s last words were before he died?”

“What were they?”

“He said, ‘After I die, I forbid you to don mourning; you may only wear white.’”

Xiangru picked up the mourning garment. Just as she had composed herself, grief welled up anew. She knew that, though her beloved Yang had taken a concubine, he had not forgotten her. Tears brimmed in her eyes. The concubine spoke: “You may light incense and pray for your husband, but you must agree to one condition.”

Xiangru nodded eagerly, hastening to respond, “I agree—I agree! Whatever you ask of me, I will do.”

“First, you must leave Qingyang City and never return for all your days. Second, I want a lock of your hair.”

Lingshuang interjected, “What unreasonable demands! A lock of hair, perhaps, but to force Sister Xiangru to leave Qingyang City? This is her birthplace, her home. Her husband is buried here. Their memories linger here. To forbid her from returning is too heartless, too cruel.”

The concubine’s eyes reddened and she cried out, “So you remember this is her home? Why, then, did she leave all those years ago, abandoning my lord to loneliness? If you speak of heartlessness, she is no less so than I. She refuses even this request. These years, not once did she return to visit. Now she wishes to linger and not depart?”

“Very well, I agree,” Xiangru replied.

Liu Lingshuang was about to protest on Xiangru’s behalf, but Xiangru spoke first, “Miss Liu, thank you for speaking for me, but this is what I deserve. It was my willfulness, after all, that led to this. Perhaps it is better not to return, lest the happy memories of the past bring only fresh sorrow.”

The others remained silent. Xiangru donned the mourning garment, lit the incense, pressed her palms together before her chest, closed her eyes, and silently recited her prayers.

Though her eyes were tightly shut, tears still slipped down, tracing cheeks, neck, and sinking into her heart.

After half an hour, all resentment and regret gradually dissolved, her tears spent. Xiangru rose, removed the mourning garment as if shedding a former life’s love and longing, and bowed to the concubine. The concubine turned away, saying, “Are you finished? Then go, and may I never see you again.” Xiangru then picked up the scissors on the table, cut a lock of her long hair, gently placed it on the table, and departed.

Lingshuang stuck her tongue out at the concubine, but was pulled away by Ye Sansi. As they exited the main hall, they saw the abbot with several monks waiting for them. As the group prepared to flee, the abbot said, “There is no need to run, benefactors. I have been waiting for you all.”

Liu Lingshuang said, “Waiting for us? When did you discover we were here?”

The abbot smiled, “Our monastery has disciples who keep watch at night. How could such an intrusion go unnoticed? It was Lady Yang’s instruction that if Lady Zhao should come by night, we were not to hinder her. Allow me to escort you out the front gate. Amitabha.”

Before they could leave, an elderly monk hurried over. The abbot quickly went to support him. “Senior Brother, it is late—why have you come out?”

The old man trembled as he said, “The… the… the venerable master summons Young Hero Sansi.”

Ye Sansi scratched his head, puzzled. “Why is he calling for me?” The abbot said, “Young Hero Sansi, go along with my senior brother. The venerable master has his reasons. The rest of you may leave with me.”

A young monk helped the old man, Sansi following behind. The abbot led the others toward the main gate. Lingshuang declared, “I’m not leaving—I’ll wait for Sansi.”

The abbot spoke gently to her, “Amitabha, young lady. The venerable master has summoned Young Hero Sansi. If he intends to impart a teaching, it may be more than a few hours. You should return first; your friend is safe here in the monastery.”

Lingshuang nodded and followed the abbot. On the way, she asked, “Who is this venerable master? How does he know Sansi’s name?” The abbot frowned, “I do not know. He only ever speaks with my senior brother, never involving himself in worldly affairs, and sees no one else.” Lingshuang was perplexed: how strange, that such a master would see only Sansi. What could it mean?

Sansi entered a room; the old monk withdrew. Sansi, uncertain, stepped forward and saw a thin curtain, behind which a figure sat upright. The figure spoke, “Sansi, you have come.” Through the sheer curtain, Sansi could see only a vague outline. He asked, “Who are you? How do you know my name?”

The figure did not answer, but continued, “It has been four days since you descended the Nameless Peak of Mount Buyun. On your journey, you have met demons and immortals alike, and overcome each. In the future, you must take care; you will not always be so fortunate. Today, I give you eight words: ‘Act within your means; think thrice before you act.’”

“You are an immortal?” Ye Sansi exclaimed. “You know everything! Can you teach me immortal arts?”

The figure chuckled. “Are you truly so eager to learn? Remove ‘Heaven’s Wrath’ from your waist.” Sansi did so, and the figure waved a hand. The weapon, once dulled, now glowed brightly again. The figure said, “Rather than calling it ‘Heaven’s Wrath,’ I believe ‘The Sansi Sword’ would be more fitting—a name I bestow on you. Draw your sword with careful thought, wield it with consideration, and let it fall in reflection; achieve these three and you will not be far from becoming a Sword Immortal. ‘Heaven’s Wrath’ is a weapon of ominous power—never use it recklessly or with wicked intent, or the consequences will be dire.”

“Very well. Immortal, when will you teach me your arts?”

The figure laughed. “When the time is ripe, someone will teach you. Do not be impatient. Go now, and remember the eight words and the threefold reflection I have told you.”

With a wave of his hand, Sansi found himself outside the door in an instant. Startled, he realized the door had closed behind him. He snorted, thinking, "If you don't want to teach me, so be it. Stingy old man. I don't care anyway."

Inside, the figure laughed quietly, “What a spirited child. Just like his father. I wonder if he heeded my words.”

Lin Nian’er said, “So it was an immortal! Too bad he pays no heed to worldly affairs—otherwise, we could have enlisted his help to rid Qingyang of its bandits. It’s late; let us return to the manor. Lady Zhao, will you come with us?”

Xiangru bowed. “Thank you for your kindness, but I made a promise—I cannot stay in Qingyang City. Besides, I entrusted Ziyan to another and am uneasy. I must return tonight.”

Lingshuang embraced Xiangru. “It’s already late. The city gates are closed—how do you expect to leave? And with bandits rampant beyond the walls, it’s too dangerous to go alone. Why not stay with us and depart at dawn? It will not delay your journey.”

“Thank you, all.” Thus the five entered the Lin residence together. Lin Youzhi had not yet slept. Seeing Nian’er return, he hurried to greet her, asked after her well-being, and soon arranged a guest room for Xiangru. The five retired for the night.

…

Within Qingyang Monastery, in the east hall, the concubine knelt before her husband’s ancestral tablet, lit three sticks of incense, and placed them in the burner. She picked up the lock of hair on the table and tied it to her wrist, weeping as she said, “Husband, I have now seen the Xiangru you longed for. Her looks and bearing do not surpass mine—how could you have yearned yourself sick for her? I should thank her, I suppose. Had she not left you, leading to your illness, mother-in-law would never have allowed me to marry into the Yang family.”

Through her tears she choked, “You know, I have loved you since I was a child, though I always knew our stations were worlds apart. You were the son of a great household, I but a farmer’s daughter. Yet I could not stop myself from watching you. From my village to Qingyang City was a day’s journey, but each time I came and saw you, I felt content.”

“Whenever I saw you in the pavilion with her, laughing and playing, I was jealous, yes, but when I saw you happy, I was happy too. Yet she was unworthy of you—she left, causing you to pine yourself into illness. I was grieved, but I saw hope. I pleaded with your mother, who finally allowed me to marry into the Yang family to cheer you in your illness. You cannot imagine how happy I was then—I could not sleep at night.”

Her voice turned bitter, “She left you. She is nothing but a faithless, heartless wretch, yet you always shielded her. I should have been your wife, yet you asked your mother to let you marry me as a concubine instead. She refused, so you threatened your own life. Was I so unworthy, to earn your scorn? I never asked for much—only for you to look at me, call my name, and I would be content.”

“Husband, tonight I allowed her to come see you. I did not wish to, but I know your heart. If she did not come, even in the afterlife you would not rest in peace.” She picked up the scissors on the table. “Look, husband, this lock of hair on my wrist is hers. Now her presence lingers upon me—now, perhaps, you will look at me, just once. Just once is enough.”

“Husband, you must be so lonely below. For me to remain chaste in this world is a betrayal of you, a disloyalty to mother-in-law. Let me join you now.” With those words, she plunged the scissors deep into her chest, twisting them with her last strength. As the incense burned out, her breath ceased, her body collapsing in a pool of blood.

In this world, not every lover is destined to be together. For some to find happiness, others must suffer heartbreak. Such is the way of love—one loves another, who loves a third, and so on, each heart yearning for another who cannot be theirs.

On the orders of the senior monk, the abbot led several monks to the east hall and ascended to the second floor. At the sight before them, they pressed their palms together and softly intoned, “Amitabha.” The abbot sat and the monks followed suit.

“Let us recite the sutras to guide Lady Yang’s soul and see her laid to rest,” the abbot said.

They chanted all night. The concubine was buried as she wished, in a grave beside her beloved husband’s. Perhaps this brought her more happiness than life ever did. Moved by her devotion, the abbot carved a tablet for her, placing it on the second floor and assigning monks to burn incense and recite scriptures night and day.

May all lovers under heaven find their destined happiness at last.