MW CH35

Chapter 35: Words Meant to Curse You

The corners of Mochuan’s lips slowly dropped, as if he’d been frozen in place. For a few seconds, he showed no reaction at all—and it was precisely this lack of reaction that convinced me he’d understood my meaning.

Between us, many things didn’t need words. Couldn’t be put into words.

He stared straight at me. “…Friends?”

The bitterness lingered in my mouth, unyielding. It felt like the herbal brew had a mind of its own, snaking through my esophagus, curling around my heart, corroding my flesh, scorching my nerves—exacting revenge for its master with the pain of this bastard.

“Yeah, friends. Just friends from now on, nothing more.” I almost admired myself—I didn’t just say it once, I emphasized it again.

Mochuan shut his eyes hard. When they opened, a thin red haze of anger flickered in them. He stood, putting distance between us. The gentleness on his face vanished in an instant, replaced by a layer of frost.

“I get it. You don’t need to repeat yourself so many times.”

I smiled. “My bad.”

I owned up to it freely—whether it was my words or anything else.

His chest heaved visibly, brows knitting as he seemed to wrestle his emotions into submission, unable to speak for a moment. I watched him calmly, offering no explanation.

“You Xia people are always like this…” Like what, he didn’t say, but I could guess.

He’d always had criticisms about Xia people when it came to emotions.

I nodded. “Yeah, us Xia people are pretty rotten.”

I’d backed off. I was scared. I admitted Jiang Xuehan’s death had slammed me back into reality. If loss was inevitable, better not to have it at all. If she’d never given me a mother’s love, how could I have harbored twenty years of resentment over her coldness?

Mochuan was right—I shouldn’t have gone to Cuoyansong, shouldn’t have shown up in front of him again after seven years. I’d barged in on my own terms, disrupting his life as Pinjia, stirring his heart. We’d kissed, touched—and now I was saying we should be friends? Whatever he cursed me with, I had it coming.

He opened his mouth, about to speak, but at the last second, he swallowed it back.

With a deep look, he turned wordlessly and left the bedroom. Moments later, I heard the front door slam shut with a bang.

I winced—felt sorry for that door.

Carrying the bowl to the kitchen, I saw he’d not only brewed the medicine but washed the pot too.

Real capable guy.

Setting the bowl in the sink, my fingers curled back, clenching into a fist. I told myself just one look, no need for more convincing—my body was already bolting to the study.

The study window faced north, overlooking the path from the building to the complex gate.

Standing there, I soon spotted Mochuan leaving the building. At first, he walked fast, then slowed, until he couldn’t move at all.

He stopped by the roadside, motionless for a long time.

The sky was overcast, and in his black clothes, hands in pockets, he stood there like a statue. Passersby couldn’t help glancing at him; he seemed oblivious, letting them stare. Then he suddenly tilted his head to the gray sky above.

Too far to see his face, but that silhouette inexplicably reminded me of him at Bazhai Sea.

In biting wind, he’d stood at the boat’s bow in white robes—sacred, unmatched—yet his back carried such loneliness, such desolation.

In the end, I’d escaped alone, leaving him on that icy river.

It felt like ages, but it was only a minute or two. He lowered his gaze and started walking again—not fast, not slow, steady and resolute toward the gate.

As he left, I trudged back to the bedroom and collapsed onto the bed, exhausted.

It was over. I knew it—everything was over.

The Cenglu herbs lived up to their reputation. Mochuan said I’d be better by the next day, and sure enough, my nose cleared up. Over the next few days, I improved bit by bit, fully recovered by the fourth.

Like when I’d just returned from Cuoyansong, I threw myself into work—new designs, Feather of God, confirming samples for the “Cenglu Twelve Xin Yin” with the factory. I deliberately avoided thinking about Mochuan. Home late, I’d shower and crash, waking to repeat the cycle.

I didn’t count the days, but I always knew when he’d leave. As that date crept closer, my smoking got worse—half a pack a day used to suffice; now a full pack wasn’t enough. Like I was using one addiction to smother another.

Five days before Mochuan was set to leave Haicheng, I’d just parked in the complex lot after work when Yan Chuwen called.

Past 10 p.m.—unless it was urgent, Yan usually wouldn’t disturb anyone this late. I had a hunch it was about Mochuan. Staying in the car, I picked up.

“Hey? What’s up?”

Yan Chuwen cut straight to it. “Something’s up in Cuoyansong. Mochuan has to head back early—tomorrow, 10 a.m. flight. I’m going with him. You coming to see us off?”

It wasn’t much earlier, but hearing he was leaving tomorrow still threw me.

“Tomorrow…”

“You two fought again, didn’t you?” Yan sighed, finally spilling his thoughts. “You know I’m kind of slow, always late to catch on. I’ve known you nearly thirty years, Mochuan for ten. Until you randomly went to Cuoyansong last year, I never thought there was anything between you.”

“That day at the temple, eating with them, I overheard you and Mochuan arguing after washing dishes. The more I thought about it that night, the weirder it felt. No wonder you, who couldn’t care less about folklore, kept asking about Mochuan once I started staying in Pengge.”

Caught red-handed, even by an old friend, I squirmed. “It wasn’t… ‘kept asking,’ was it?”

How’s Mochuan doing? His nephew’s living with him now? His son’s called Li Yang? They’re finally fixing the roads… Just casual questions while checking on Yan Chuwen.

Yan Chuwen: “Looking back, I was your third wheel way too often. You kept saying he’s homophobic and hates you—I was naive enough to buy it, not seeing it was a smokescreen between you two.”

I cut in as he spiraled. “What smokescreen? Nothing like that! We’re not what you think… Anyway, we’ve never been together, and we probably never will.”

He let out a surprised “huh,” clearly caught off guard.

But just like before—when he’d sensed the undercurrents between me and Mochuan yet played dumb—he held back from pressing me now.

Yan Chuwen might be slow, but he’s no fool.

He shifted tone quickly. “Then… up to you if you come tomorrow. As your friend, I just want you both to be okay, even if it’s separately.”

If I’d been mostly embarrassed before, now I was genuinely touched.

“Got it,” I said.

I wrestled with it all night—should I go see him off?

Tossing and turning until 8 a.m., I got up, washed, and texted Yan Chuwen I’d be at the airport. Told them to wait, not to pass security yet.

To save parking time, I didn’t drive—booked a ride on the app instead.

My place isn’t far from the airport, but morning rush hour doesn’t care about distance. I urged the driver to hurry while texting Yan Chuwen to stall.

[OK, told him I want a neck pillow. Been browsing the shop for half an hour.]

Rushing, I hit the airport at 9 a.m.—Yan Chuwen had been stalling in the boutique nearly an hour.

I sprinted into the terminal, scanning for domestic departures. Far off, someone waved.

“Bai Yin!” Yan Chuwen flailed, a new neck pillow around his neck.

Mochuan, about to enter security, froze at my name and turned back.

Panting, I slowed once I had them in sight, walking step by step.

“I’ll head in,” Yan Chuwen said with a knowing glance, slipping through security first.

Mochuan stayed put before the checkpoint—didn’t come toward me, didn’t move.

When I reached him, his face was still impassive. “Here to see a friend off?”

I’d been mulling how to start, but that made me laugh. “Yeah, seeing a friend off. You sent me off last time; now it’s my turn.”

Meeting, parting—like an endless, unbreakable loop.

He nodded. “I’m leaving this time, and I probably won’t come back.”

My smile froze. Even braced for it, I thought… damn, he’s brutal, throwing my own words back at me.

“So the charity Xin Yin stuff—we’ll handle it over the phone?”

“I’ll give you someone else’s contact. Reach out to them if you need anything.”

I sighed inwardly. This wasn’t friendship—it was skipping straight to cutting ties.

“Alright.” I stepped back. “Safe travels, then.”

The moment I retreated, Mochuan stepped forward, pulling me into his arms.

I froze, blinking, my nose flooded with an intoxicating, subtle woody scent.

“*#&%…” He leaned close, whispering in Cenglu, then switched to Xia. “Didn’t you want to know what I said back then?” He let go, stepping back. “It was me cursing you.”

A faint smile flickered in his eyes. Without a goodbye, he turned and walked into security, leaving me stunned.

Liar.

He said it was a curse, thinking I wouldn’t understand. But it was…

“May you be free of afflictions and find unobstructed liberation; may you forever cast off evil karma and gain boundless merit.”

Seven years ago, furious that he’d abandon everything to return to Cuoyansong, I’d spat venom, wishing him eternal union with the Mountain Lord, never to part. And he… wished me freedom from suffering, boundless blessings.

——————————————————————————
Gai : Something that obscures purity.

Gai Chan : The Five Hindrances and Ten Fetters. If you’re curious, look it up yourself—basically, they’re all bad stuff.

Wu Ai : Freedom from obstruction—freedom from desire, bodily limits, and the cycle of life and death.

Jie Tuo : The ultimate state in Buddhism, liberation from the suffering of reincarnation.

Wu Lou Fu De : From the Diamond Sutra, meaning true, boundless merit. “Wu Lou” (without leaks) contrasts with “You Lou” (with leaks). There’s a Buddhist saying, “All that has leaks is suffering,” roughly meaning that negative emotions can cancel out even the greatest merits. “Leaks” refer to afflictions, your negative emotions.