MW CH41

Chapter 41: I’m Afraid of the Dark

Maybe scared we’d come after him, Black Wind hadn’t shown his face since I got hospitalized. Sun Manman said he even blocked her—pissed her off to no end.

By day five in the hospital, May Day was over, and Liang Mu got discharged. The two girls didn’t want to leave at first, insisting they’d wait for me to head back to Haicheng together. I told them I wasn’t going back—post-discharge, I’d crash at Yan Chuwen’s to recover, maybe a month or two. Only then did they reluctantly take off.

Five more days flat on my back, rust practically growing on me. Day ten, I could finally walk—couldn’t wait to sign myself out.

“This… isn’t it pushing it?” On the road back to Pengge, every bump jabbed my ribs. Yan Chuwen slowed to a crawl, practically tortoise speed. “Your face is white.”

One hand on my ribs, the other gripping the overhead handle, I gritted through it. “It’s fine—speed up, I can take it.”

He knew my deal, shook his head. “Mochuan’s not flying off. Slow down, man.”

Off the car, Erqian pounced, slobbering all over my leg. Seeing it reminded me of that black-and-white pup that saved me on the mountain.

Once I came to, I’d asked Yan Chuwen to prep red envelopes—ten-plus—for the rescue team and guesthouse owner as thanks. Nobody took them, said it was their job. Fine—I had him make two banners instead: one for the team, one for the guesthouse, plus a case of canned treats for the dog.

“Alright, enough jumping.” Guo Shu yanked Erqian off by the collar, then checked on me. “You okay?”

I grinned. “Not that fragile.”

Word of my return spread fast. That afternoon, Niepeng and Kun Hongtu dropped by separately.

“You’ve got nine lives, little bro.” Hearing my snow mountain saga, Niepeng threw a thumbs-up. “Don’t you Xia have a saying—‘survive a big disaster, get big blessings’? You’re set now.”

Inevitably, Mochuan’s rescue came up. Niepeng, straightforward Cenglu guy, figured it was just brotherly loyalty.

“Three steps, one kowtow—let me tell you, some folks never use that prayer in a lifetime. It’s for something huge to them. When you’re better, you gotta thank Pinjia proper.”

Not long after he left, Kun Hongtu rolled in with a bag of peanuts.

I ran through the story again; he ate it up, parked there for two hours.

“That night Pinjia went for you, we didn’t know—woke up, temple’s shut, he’s gone. Everyone freaked,” Kun Hongtu said, shelling peanuts. “Village chief said he was fine, just in Waxiao—then we chilled.”

“Later, word got out he saved someone. Folks said, ‘That’s Pinjia—storm stopped the second he showed.’” Pride flickered on his face, like he shared the glory.

But it faded quick. “We were stoked, but he came back and started begging the Mountain Lord’s forgiveness—kowtowed from the temple’s base to the top, hundreds of bows, busted his head. My mom came home, eyes red from heartache. I figure if the Mountain Lord stopped the storm for him, it wasn’t mad—why’s he so hard on himself…” He cut off, slapped his own face, sheepish. “Whoops, shouldn’t say that—take it back.”

Clutching his peanuts, my heart felt like a spice rack tipped over—sweet, sour, bitter, spicy, marinating every cell with Mochuan’s name.

After Kun Hongtu left, I stared at the near-empty bag, called Yan Chuwen, and asked him to grab some fruit.

“Fruit?” He blinked. “For you?”

I smiled. “Mochuan saved me, took my punishment. He’s a few hundred meters away—gotta thank him in person.”

He got it, didn’t argue—half an hour later, back with apples and loquats.

Post-dinner, I grabbed the bags to head out. Guo Shu, worried, nudged Yan Chuwen. “Shige, he’s not healed—those stairs? Go with him?”

Yan Chuwen kept clearing the table, didn’t look up. “He’s fine—big guy, not that delicate.”

“Hiss…” I winced, setting the bags down mid-stairs, catching my breath.

Even walking was this rough—three steps, one kowtow? How long did it take Mochuan? Heart and body both suffering—all my life’s pain must’ve hit me here.

Two minutes on, one off—half an hour of hobbling got me to the temple gate.

Facing that towering, solemn hall again, my mindset had shifted. The hesitation, the fog of doubt—it’d all blown away in that near-death snow.

Deep breath—I stepped in. Mochuan, copying sutras behind a low table, glanced up, froze when he saw me.

I waved the bags. “Doorstep thank-you.”

“You’re healed already?” He dropped his eyes back to the page—no chasing me off, no inviting me in.

“Nope, not healed.” I set the fruit aside, dragged a cushion over, and plopped cross-legged in front of him. “Few steps nearly killed me.”

His pen wobbled, leaving an off-kilter ink blot. He frowned, skipped it, kept writing.

“If it hurts, go rest.”

“Took me forever to get here—sitting a few minutes and you’re kicking me out?” I scanned his face—smooth forehead, no scars. Relieved a bit. A face that pretty, scarred, would’ve been a crime.

“Do what you want.” He went back to his sutras, ignoring me.

Propping my chin, I watched him—eyes, nose, lips, jaw, that bony hand gripping the pen. Minutes passed, not a hint of boredom.

Could watch him forever.

Out of nowhere, a book popped into my head.

[My light of life, fire of desire, my sin, my soul.] Back when I read it, I just thought the old creep was gross. Now, I had to hand it to the author—light strokes nailing that hopeless, deep obsession.

If loving Lolita was Humbert’s sin, lusting after a holy man in this sacred hall was mine.

Time ticked by—only the pen’s faint scratch and pages flipping broke the silence.

Finishing a sheet, he reached to turn the book. I beat him to it, flipping it for him. His fingers brushed mine—jerked back like I’d burned him. Finally, he glared up. “I can do it myself.”

I grinned, nodded at the fruit. “Want a loquat? I’ll wash it.”

“No—”

“Apple then. Ever hear—‘an apple a day keeps the doctor away’?” Ignoring him, I grabbed the apples and headed to the kitchen.

Humming, I washed the biggest one, found a fruit knife, and sliced it into chunks—carved them into rabbits, arranged in a circle on a plate.

Admiring the red-eared bunnies, I smirked. Cooking’s not my thing, but my knife skills? Solid.

I rummaged every drawer—no toothpicks or forks. Gave up, carried the plate back bare-handed.

“No toothpicks here…” Stepping in, Mochuan wasn’t at the table. Puzzled, I set the plate down—then heard voices from his room.

“Xia folks can be good or bad—don’t judge them so hard… Yeah, I know… They don’t play by rules…”

Guessing he was on a call, I didn’t barge in. Picked up a bunny, crunched its head off.

Crisp, sweet—Yan Chuwen picked good apples.

Glancing at his sutra, he’d finished a full Heart Sutra, but two extra lines sat at the end.

“May what I recite stay far from obstacles and bonds…” I stopped, knowing the rest.

May what I recite stay far from obstacles and bonds, gain boundless liberation; may what I wish for banish evil karma forever, earn flawless merit.

Heart thudding, I unrolled a finished scroll nearby—every sutra ended with that same dedication verse.

I’d thought Mochuan, as Pinjia, copied all this for the masses, the clan, ultimate enlightenment. Turns out, it was for his own thoughts and prayers.

Sure, those could be world peace, folks thriving—but what if, just maybe, some of that merit was for me?

Fingers tracing the verse, I pressed my lips to it, soft.

Even if it’s not all for me, I’m in there somewhere—close enough.

A gust blew in, knocking a sutra page off the table.

I braced the table, crouched to grab it, holding my breath. As I stood, Mochuan came out.

“Wind blew it—I picked it up,” I said, holding the sheet.

“Don’t touch my stuff.” He snatched it back, looking annoyed.

I’d have let it go, but that attitude? Made me want to push harder—the more he resisted, the more I’d poke.

Tapping the paper, I asked, “This dedication verse—pretty unique. You write it?”

His grip tightened, dodging me with the sheet, circling back to the table. “I’m resting. Go.”

Right then, the lights died—only the butter lamps on the altar stayed lit.

Pengge’s power cut again.

No hesitation—I lunged, hugged him from behind, arms around his waist.

“Ah! So dark, so scary…” I whined, face mashed into his shoulder.

He flinched, trying to break free. “What are you doing?”

I squeezed tighter. “I’m afraid of the dark.”

“You’re afraid of the dark?” Like I’d told him the moon was square.

“Really—started after the mountain. I was out there all night—pitch black, freezing.” Lips at his ear, breath hot, I wasn’t fully lying. “If you hadn’t found me, I’d be dead…”

He shuddered hard, turned his face away, grabbed my wrists—ready to throw me off.

Strength-wise, my half-healed ass couldn’t win. Had to play dirty.

“Ow! You hit my wound!” I yelped loud.

He froze, grip loosening fast—like I’d spooked him.

Bump-and-bluff worked. I tightened my hold.

“So dark, Mochuan—I’m scared,” I cooed, voice so fake it gave me goosebumps.

My light of life, fire of desire, my sin, my soul. — Lolita