Under the light of the moon, a sincere, welcoming smile bloomed on Shen Qiao’s face, his lantern still in hand. “Of course I am. Hurry up and come in. Have you eaten?”
Yan Wushi didn’t mean to answer such an inane question, but as he opened his mouth, he somehow found himself saying: “Not yet.”
Shen Qiao laughed. “Then you’re just in time. Hurry inside, the priests have boiled some noodles!”
He could still make things out in the daytime, but when night fell, his eyesight grew worse. Even with the lantern, he couldn’t see well. That, combined with the monastery’s unfamiliar layout, made him stumble a little as he brought Yan Wushi inside. He nearly fell face-down right there.
This was the martial artist who’d killed Huo Xijing, who’d forced Duan Wenyang to withdraw, yet he’d tripped over a couple of stone steps. If word got out, people would split their sides laughing.
Luckily, an arm stretched over just in time to wrap around Shen Qiao’s waist and stop his fall.
“You’re in a bit of a rush today. That’s unusual,” said Yan Wushi.
Shen Qiao stifled a laugh and smiled but didn’t follow up. “The noodles are getting cold,” he said instead. “You haven’t eaten yet—let’s hurry.”
But by the time he brought Yan Wushi into the kitchen, the abbot was already slurping up the last noodle. “Shen-langjun, you returned too late,” he said, rubbing his bulging belly. “The noodles are already gone.”
Shen Qiao introduced Yan Wushi to them. “This is my friend, surname Yan.”
The junior disciple stood. “Shen-langjun, I left a bowl for your esteemed self. You can share it with Yan-langjun.”
The abbot rolled his eyes at him. “You busybody!”
He’d been about to complain about getting a second visitor, that they’d only saved one bowl, but when he saw Yan Wushi standing behind Shen Qiao, he found himself swallowing down his words. His stern abbot face almost slipped entirely in front of Yan Wushi, and he even began to feel anxious. In the end, he could only stand, dropping a “Take your time eating,” before leaving in a hurry.
The junior disciple, who had brought over the bowl of noodles for Shen Qiao some time ago, looked awkwardly at Yan Wushi. “There’s only one bowl,” he said.
The noodles had already begun to clump together. It was unlikely Yan Wushi would eat such a thing, even if someone begged him to.
But to the members of Bailong Monastery, it was a precious bit of food that they’d been saving for several months—it had even been set aside for the New Year. And yet they’d brought it out early for Shen Qiao’s arrival.
Shen Qiao thanked the boy, then said to Yan Wushi, “Shall I share with you?”
“No need.”
Shen Qiao laughed. “Although the noodles are a bit cold, their pickled radish is quite spectacular. You should try some.”
Yan Wushi was particular about cleanliness, so Shen Qiao washed the chopsticks first before turning to the pickled radish and chopped vegetables in the bowl, selecting those that hadn’t touched the noodles. He fished them out and placed them in the bowl in front of Yan Wushi, then poured some sauce over the remaining dry, clumpy noodles and began to eat.
Yan Wushi furrowed his brow, staring at the half-full bowl of vegetables and pickled radish before him. It was a long time before he picked up his chopsticks and gave them a taste.
The flavor wasn’t as awful as he’d imagined.
“Has Sect Leader Yan concluded his business?” asked Shen Qiao.
“Not yet,” was all Yan Wushi replied. He spoke nothing about whether he’d even met the person, or why he wasn’t finished, and Shen Qiao didn’t ask.
But then Yan Wushi changed the topic entirely. “Were you happy to see me just now?”
Shen Qiao started, then nodded and smiled. “Yes. I’d thought that once we’d parted, it would be a long time before we’d meet again. I didn’t expect it to happen so soon. Is that not something to be happy about?”
“Just now, when you introduced me, you called me your friend.” Yan Wushi ran his finger along the edge of his bowl, his expression amused.
The bowl was of very poor craftsmanship, and because it’d been in use for a while, it was covered in a thick layer of grime, the type that could no longer be washed off.
“Yes. Calling you my friend makes things simpler when we’re out and about. People won’t question it.”
Yan Wushi stared straight at him. “Oh, and what do you think? Do you see my venerable self as your friend, deep down inside?”
“Having the same master, harboring the same ambitions, such are enough to make people friends. Sect Leader Yan and I share neither master nor ambition, but you saved my life, and that connection is by no means a shallow one. What’s more, we’ve spent quite a bit of time traveling together. Surely all that is enough to make us friends.”
“Do you not fear people saying that you’re beholden to the Demon Lord, that you’ve abandoned yourself to degeneracy?”
Shen Qiao laughed. “I know what I’m doing—that’s good enough. Why should I care what others think? The things I’ve seen and heard since leaving the mountain have moved me deeply. Even more, they made me understand that the path I’d insisted on, the Dao I practiced in the remote mountains, was but a trivial one. Sect Leader Yan assists the Lord of Zhou so he can one day unite the lands and bring peace to the world, so the common folk need not be refugees and exchange their children for food, so that as long they have hands and feet, they can work and reap the rewards. What Sect Leader Yan practices—that’s probably the true, great Dao.”
Yan Wushi sneered. “No need to flatter this venerable one so. Yuwen Yong and I are both in it for ourselves. Everything I’ve done, I did because I wanted to do it—never out of consideration for other people.”
“Even if something was done with wicked intentions, as long as it leads to good results, that would still count as attaining the Dao, would it not?”
Yan Wushi stared at him unswervingly for a moment. After a long time, he said, “And so, we’re friends?”
Shen Qiao nodded and smiled. “If Sect Leader Yan doesn’t disdain me for trying for someone out of my league.”
A strange expression flitted across Yan Wushi’s face, but only for an instant. Before Shen Qiao could get a clear grasp on what it was, Yan Wushi had resumed his languid, nonchalant manner. “This monastery is truly rather crude. Does it even have a place to sleep?”
Shen Qiao laughed. “I can only ask you to suffer through sharing a room with me for now.”