Chapter 1288: Petals of the same flower (1)

“So that’s the story behind them,” Yang Qing wistfully said as he looked up at the lanterns that filled the skies above. They had already been captivating before, and the story behind them enriched it even further, giving a deeper allure. They seemed even more eye-catching than before.

“Thank you for indulging me, fellow daoist,” Yang Qing added as he smiled before turning his gaze from the floating lanterns to his drinking companion seated across from him.

“Well, you offered great wine,” said Cheng Yun with a chuckle as he shook the jar of wine. “The least I can do is offer you good gossip to go along with it,” he cheekily added as he refilled both their cups.

“To more gossip,” Yang Qing replied with a sheepish smile, raising his cup.

“And more wine,” Cheng Yun answered, with his trademark toothy grin on him.

Both burst into laughter, draining their cups, quickly refilling them again. Their animated conversation carried on for hours and before they knew it, the sun was already rearing its frame over the horizon while the floating lanterns above slowly faded back into slumber.

“Old Chen,” Yang Qing said to the old man before him, raising his cup in a toast. “It’s been a pleasure. Thank you for guiding me to the wonderful charm of Hebei.”

“You’re not thinking of giving me a moonlit orchid now, are you? I don’t mind, but I’m not sure I’d be able to hold on to it for long. As you can see, I have plenty of suitors out there. I may accidentally gift them a flower, being the chivalrous person that I am,” Cheng Yun said cheekily, winking at a young lady playing the guqin across from them. She smiled at his antics, shaking her head.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, smelly old man,” Yang Qing laughed.

“Thank you for keeping this old man company,” Cheng Yun said, raising his cup in a toast.

“The pleasure was mine,” Yang Qing replied, and both men downed their cups.

“Do you think he was afraid?” Yang Qing suddenly asked, just as he was preparing to leave.

“Who?” Cheng Yun lazily asked. “Our founder?”

Yang Qing nodded. “Do you think he was afraid, venturing out into the unknown like that?”

“I’m sure he was and likely regretted it more than once. He probably even cried as he cursed that proctor and himself for being goaded into it.” Cheng Yun chuckled, tipping his cup to drain the last drops clinging to the sides. After ensuring it was completely empty, he smiled smugly, pleased at having scrounged those final drops, before saying, “Everybody, whether they admit it or not, is afraid of something, especially when trying something new.”

Having already upended the cup over his mouth, Cheng Yun still felt suspicious that some wine remained. With almost childlike persistence, he ran a finger along the inside to make absolutely sure nothing had escaped him.

Only after confirming there was truly nothing left did he reluctantly set the cup aside with a sigh. But his eyes suddenly lit up with excitement when they fell on the two unopened wine jars beside him that Yang Qing had gifted him.

“Are you looking to try something new, or something old?” Cheng Yun asked with a toothy grin. The way he looked and sounded at that moment made him seem like a sage—an odd, half-crazy sort of sage, but a sage all the same.

“A little of both,” Yang Qing admitted. “I’ve been doing something out of character lately, and it’s left me worried about a few things.”

“That thing…” Cheng Yun drawled. “Do you enjoy it?”

“Surprisingly I do, which is part of what worries me,” Yang Qing sighed.

“Well,” Cheng Yun said, “just like how new parents sometimes worry about being new parents, and then worry even more when they’re about to have a second or third child—yet still go through with it—if what you’re doing matters to you, and you enjoy it, then do it worried. And if it becomes too much, there’s nothing wrong with taking a little break to prepare yourself better.”

“Or just find other things that are not as worrisome but still enjoyable. The world is big, there is no need to restrict yourself,” said Cheng Yun with a grin. “Life is for the living, Yang Qing, so live. Whichever way that looks like, as long as you’re living, then that is enough,” he added with an endearing smile.

“Thank you, Old Chen,” Yang Qing replied with a grateful smile, cupping his fist. “Till next time,” he added as he rose to his feet.

“Till next time, wanderer Yang Qing.” Cheng Yun smiled and nodded.

As Yang Qing turned to leave, he paused his actions and looked back. “What about you? Are you afraid?” he tentatively asked.

“Yes and no,” Cheng Yun replied casually, brushing the dust from the heel of his foot. He paused, looking up at Yang Qing. “The part of me that is afraid is afraid because I still have so much left to see and experience. And the part of me that is unafraid is unafraid because I have already seen and experienced so much. I have lived the best I could live.”His words ended with a peaceful smile

“Mmh,” Yang Qing hummed thoughtfully before breaking into a smile that suggested Cheng Yun’s answer had helped him find a truth of his own. “Thank you,” he said softly, before turning to leave.

“Make sure to train your singing skills, old man. I won’t carry us next time,” Yang Qing cheekily said when he was a few steps away.

“I was the one carrying you, twerp! And make sure to bring a thousand catties of honey with you next time. Though given how hopelessly awful you sound, I’m not too sure even honey from the heavens itself would help,” Cheng Yun yelled after him, laughing.

Yang Qing only shook his head as he made his way toward the forest where he had left Haishi and the rest, his steps and heart lighter than when he first arrived in Orchid City.

“Living, huh,” he murmured wistfully, thinking of the quirky old man he had just parted with.

His whimsical escapades around Orchid City had led him to cross paths with many individuals, but none stood out more than that old man, mostly because of how well they had hit it off.

He had stumbled upon him during a moment of poor judgment and naivety when he let himself be coaxed into singing by a few of his “new friends.” They convinced him by promising to sing alongside him, all while downplaying their true skills. They claimed to be just as average as he was, and if not for the festive mood and the beautiful music that was too good to pass up, they said they would never have dared to sing. Yang Qing believed them—or rather, he had a poor understanding of what “average” meant in a place like Hebei.

Thus Yang Qing obliged. In the spirit of being adventurous, he sang—only to discover that the friends who had called themselves “average” were anything but. In fact, he wouldn’t have been surprised if it turned out those so-called new friends were celestial court singers who regularly performed for some banished immortal—or even the heavenly dao itself—given how soul-stirring their voices were.

Their singing was so beautiful that Yang Qing found himself torn between weeping in admiration and weeping in bitterness for being tricked into joining them. He felt like a toad croaking among heavenly swans.

His only escape from that humiliation was to drag in another “toad” to share the shame, and that was where old man Cheng Yun came in. He had been part of the audience and, true to his temperament, was the only one openly laughing and mocking Yang Qing. Vindictive and petty as he was, Yang Qing mocked him back and goaded him onto the stage, daring him to sing if he was truly that good.

He may have been lacking in many areas, but if there was one thing Yang Qing excelled at—other than thinking up ways to slack off—it was riling people up. And rile up Cheng Yun he did. It didn’t take long before the old man stormed onto the stage, and much to Yang Qing’s relief, Cheng Yun was just as terrible as he was, if not worse. He had found another toad. Truth be told, even if Cheng Yun hadn’t mocked him, Yang Qing would have targeted him anyway.

He wasn’t usually one to judge people by appearances (well, perhaps on occasion), but if there was anyone who looked like they couldn’t sing, it was the shabby old man with sparse hair, a scraggly beard, travel-worn clothes, and half his teeth missing—yet still audacious enough to flash a smug, toothy grin.

Luckily, his prejudiced gamble paid off. The old man stank just as badly at singing as he did, and was every bit as shameless and petty. The two of them tried to outdo each other on stage, croaking and bellowing until they scared off his so-called “celestial singer friends”… and eventually even the poor soul playing the instrument fell victim as she gave up entirely in despair.

Eventually, they, too, relented, turning instead to drinking and snacking, and hit it off swimmingly. Beyond being a treasure trove of information and having personalities that meshed well, there was another reason Yang Qing chose to keep the old man’s company: Cheng Yun had the stench of death on him.

Cheng Yun was a fourth-stage palace realm expert nearing the end of his lifespan. Yang Qing, whose Dao was tied to life, was extremely sensitive to such things. As long as the difference between their realms wasn’t too vast, he could often sense cultivators approaching the end of their years—and even roughly gauge how much time they had left. By his estimate, Cheng Yun had perhaps ten to twenty years remaining.

So Yang Qing stayed with him. When he asked Cheng Yun if he was afraid, what he truly meant was whether he feared his looming death. Cheng Yun’s answer helped untangle some of Yang Qing’s own inner knots and gave him clarity on how to move forward regarding that painting from the Velvet Orchid.

As for the topic of the moonlit orchid, while roaming from teahouse to teahouse, restaurant to restaurant, and side stall to side stall in search of adventure, with Old Cheng Yun leading the way, Yang Qing occasionally noticed something curious. In a few of those establishments, he saw moonlit orchids being handed to the staff by certain patrons—and none of those patrons seemed to have any connection with one another. The sight compelled Yang Qing to ask about it.

“Well played,” murmured Yang Qing with a wry smile as he walked into the forest. Earlier, he had thought the moonlit orchid might be a unique clue worth following, yet it turned out to be something commonplace in Hebei.

Did you hand it out as a mere gesture, or was it your way of saying you’d keep your end of the bargain so long as he kept his? Yang Qing wondered, thinking of the kidnapper. A promise made. A promise fulfilled.

A moonlit orchid appeared in his palm, and in his other hand he held an unlit lantern—yet another item he had managed to acquire, courtesy of Old Man Cheng Yun.