But to his surprise, before he got the chance to study the essence of life, illness overcame him. That night, Shen San burned with a high fever. He’d traveled far and wide since his youth and yet hadn’t been sick for many years. Now he lay dazed with fever, sweat pouring constantly from him. Wei cared for him without resting or sleeping. He took off Shen San’s sweat-drenched clothes and wiped his body down.
It wasn’t until the latter half of the night that Shen San’s restlessness eased enough that he finally fell into a fitful sleep. Wei, afraid his fever would worsen, still didn’t dare fall asleep himself. He lit an oil lamp and kept watch.
Keeping an eye on the rise and fall of Shen San’s chest, he idly flipped through the books Shen San had brought back. His eyes flickered over the books’ text, but he registered not a word. It seemed he was only leafing through them to pass the time…until, under Shen San’s wet clothing, he found Tales of a Bitten Peach.
Wei took a casual look, turning five or six pages before he realized exactly what he was seeing. He flung it away, then glanced guiltily at Shen San, lying beside him. Shen San’s face was a bit red, and he was completely out of it. When he showed no sign of waking, Wei held his breath for a while, restlessly smoothing his hands over the sheets.
Eventually he gathered his courage and picked up the book he had tossed aside. Cautiously turning just a few pages made him look like he was about to pass out. He kept reading, cheeks and ears flushing red. His blush deepened as his gaze landed on Shen San, then deepened more as he glanced back at the book, and still more again when he looked back at Master Shen San.
It wasn’t even Lunar New Year yet, but he’d already donned auspicious red, fit for a wedding. Much like the snow falling outside the window, he was about to melt.
Shen San had fallen ill due to the cold entering his body. After a few days of careful care, he recovered, just in time for Lunar New Year’s Eve. Once he’d shaken off his weariness from being sick and was once again alive and kicking, he discovered that his treasure was missing.
Only two people lived in the hut, and some stupid work of erotica could hardly cultivate a pair of legs for itself and run off. That left only one person who could’ve hidden it.
Yao-xiong’s personality was as transparent as water. A single glance was all it took to see through him. He had only a few places to hide things, and Shen San could’ve found them all with his eyes closed. He sent Wei outside on the pretext of wanting a few pretty branches of plum blossoms. But while he was still rummaging through the chests and drawers, Yao-xiong suddenly returned, intending to ask Shen San where he should put the branches. Instead, he caught Shen San in the act of stealing the book back.
Startled, Shen San dropped the book.
In those few short days, Yao-xiong, who was pure as a blank sheet of paper, had read through it countless times, and the book’s thread binding had already come loose. When the book hit the ground, its pages went flying, dusting the floor with elegance.
The two of them stared at each other. Shen San burst into laughter; his mortified Yao-xiong fled.
8
BUT LIFE WAS LIKE A DREAM. Beautiful days were as ephemeral as bubbles.
After Lunar New Year, Master Shen San’s vitality faded like smoke. He was always sleepy and had less energy by the day.
One particular day, Wei had gone out and found some black and white stones, and now he sat in the garden, sanding them down into Go pieces. Shen San had terrible sportsmanship. When he lost, he’d want to take back his moves; when Wei refused, Shen San would throw the pieces at him. For all Shen San’s famed prowess with weapons of assassination, not a single thrown stone ever hit his Yao-xiong, thanks to Wei’s ability to appear and disappear as he pleased. The result, however, was that they’d lost many of the Go pieces. At this point, they no longer even had enough to play a full game.
No matter how much Shen San slept, he never felt rested. Now, as he lazed in a sunbeam against the plum blossom tree, he abruptly said, “Yao-xiong, you don’t have a past or a last name. Why don’t you just take mine?”
Wei didn’t say anything. He blew dust off the piece he was currently sanding, but the corner of his mouth quirked up.
“‘Mountain’ ‘ghost’ Wei. Such a carelessly chosen name, and a little spooky to boot. It’s not a good name. We should change it.”
“To what?”
“Mm…here. In this world, the mountains and seas are all connected, and lofty peaks stretch out endlessly. Why don’t we add a few more strokes and make it a proper name? What do you think of this ‘Wei’?”21
Shen…Wei.
Shen San jumped up. “I’ll go write it down for you…”
Perhaps it was only that he’d gotten up too quickly, but before he even finished speaking, he stumbled. He reached out to put a hand against the plum blossom tree, but his limbs felt numb and weak. Black spots bloomed in his vision.
Maybe he’d never truly recovered from the terrible chill he’d taken around the New Year. Shen San recovered, then fell sick; fell sick, then recovered again. He never fully got better. Half of the lush garden was dedicated to medicinal herbs, but however many of them he ate, he never showed any signs of recovering.
This cycle continued for over half a year. Spring turned to summer, then to autumn, and then a harsh winter was nearly on their doorstep. The prolonged illness had stripped too much weight from Shen San’s frame. His strength faded more and more. It was nearly Lunar New Year again before he was able to take a few steps outside.
This year, Yao-xiong adamantly refused to let him leave alone. For the first time, the two of them left the little hut deep in the mountains together, journeying to the village to purchase supplies. When they arrived, however, they found that the bustling market of past years was but a memory. All the nearby villages were deserted.
When they finally encountered someone—a fleeing refugee—they learned that war had broken out in the north. The emperor and his corrupt officials had escaped to the south in a panic, abandoning the capital itself. Battle, no matter where it occurred, endangered civilians, so people left their homes behind to seek safety elsewhere. But the Yellow River was flooded, and a drought was ravaging the south. Starvation and disease were rampant.