MW CH43

Chapter 43: The Mountain Lord Won’t Blame You

The main group marched ahead; Kun Hongtu and I trailed behind. He told me this vineyard’s his aunt’s—she runs it, and he works here daily.

“My aunt, like the rest of the village, started growing grapes a few years back—government push. Seedlings are imported, grafted onto local vines.” He pointed left, shoulder-high plant. “This one’s Cabernet Sauvignon.” Then right. “This, Merlot.”

He beamed like he was showing off two valedictorian daughters.

“Focus now’s powdery mildew—30-35 grams of triadimefon per acre, sprayed thorough.” Mochuan stopped at a vine, flipped a leaf, crouched to check the trunk. “No peeling this year?”

He glanced at a middle-aged woman up front—forties, Kun Hongtu’s cheeky grin mirrored in hers.

“This year… uh, short on hands, so we only peeled the decade-plus old trunks,” she stammered, like a kid caught daydreaming in class.

Mochuan scraped off a chunk of aged bark, handed it back to the group. “Over eight years—peel it, burn it. No skimping.”

She nodded, red-faced. “Got it, got it—I’ll get it done.”

He inspected row after row, vineyard after vineyard, wrapping up past five p.m.

Then rain hit—hard. Black clouds rolled in, thunder rumbling. Lei Lang sized it up, suggested we stay put—rockfall risk on the road.

I’d been smashed by rocks once—no arguments here. Mochuan eyed the storm-stitched sky and earth, nodded silent agreement.

Rain season’s kickoff—blessing Cuoyansong’s life with harvest omens, but hauling landslides and falling stones too.

Nature’s gifts always cut both ways—fair to all.

By seven-ish, rain still pounded. Lei Lang asked Mochuan if we’d stay overnight in Zuochang.

“Solan’s place is the village best—I’ve cleared it with them. You and your Xia friend can head over anytime.”

Mochuan nodded, stepped under the eaves, took Lei Lang’s black umbrella, opened it—but didn’t move. He tilted slightly, looking back.

“Not coming?”

I blinked, heart skipping as I clocked he was waiting. Scrambling up, I darted under his umbrella.

“Coming!” I grabbed his arm, grinning. “Together!”

Solan’s was Kun Hongtu’s aunt’s house. We got there—rain trapped him too, so he’d crash with us.

Solan freed two rooms: one for Mochuan, one for me, Kun Hongtu bunking with cousins on the floor. I balked—no way.

“Floor’s rough—why not two per room? Everyone gets a bed.” I glanced at Mochuan. “Right, Pinjia?”

Solid logic—hard to argue. Whatever he thought, he went along.

“I’ll share with Bai Yin,” he said, meeting my eyes briefly, all polite.

Room was basic—Solan added a quilt, laid it out, left a pot of buckwheat tea on the table for night sipping.

May in Cuoyansong—days are fine under sun, nights cool, worse with rain. Big temp swing.

I patted the soft bedding, asked Mochuan at the table, sipping tea, “Outside or inside?”

Maybe it’s that “no grand beds” precept—Cenglu are tall, but beds are tiny, 1.2, 1.3 meters—like hotel singles.

Man and woman, maybe fine. Two guys—me and Mochuan, both decent height? Tight fit.

“Whatever.” He sipped.

Solan brought two new towels, toothbrushes for washing up, plus her son’s pajamas to change into.

“Outside then.” Facing away, I stripped—shirt, then pants. Felt a hot gaze rake my waist, sliding down—ass, legs…

Turned back—Mochuan stared out the half-open window, sizing up rain, no sign of anything off.

“This rain—remind you of last year’s? Trapped us too, stuck overnight at a farmhouse.” I sat on the bed, hands braced back, drifting to not-so-old memories.

That night, rain seemed to swallow the earth. Crammed in a rickety “Noah’s Ark,” we debated salvation in an apocalypse.

“Pretty similar,” Mochuan said, watching drops. “It’s easing—should stop by morning.”

“I don’t need Noah’s Ark anymore,” I blurted, out of nowhere.

He froze, turned, stunned.

I locked eyes, steady. “Drown, I drown. End times, whatever. No more running—won’t run.”

Old me dodged danger to stay safe. Two failed flings—started casual, sure, but mostly I sensed they’d never give real heart.

No safety, no trust. Risk? Bolt.

My life rule—rowing a solo escape skiff through the world’s mess, dodging my mom’s fate.

Then Mochuan showed up.

Knew from jump he was off-limits, still fell step by step—seven years, couldn’t shake him.

Should’ve run fastest, farthest—yet I wanted to nab him, drag him from cruel fate.

Thought I could—overrated myself.

My boat’s too small—can’t hold a divine bird like Mochuan. Too cramped, it’d capsize. I didn’t want to die, got scared, shoved him off, saved myself.

Wings clipped, he couldn’t fly—rejected, flailing in bitter seas, floodwaters.

After all that, he still blessed me—kept me from bonds, gave me the peace he couldn’t have.

I clung to my skiff, thinking I’d coast safe. Then Huangfu Rou stabbed me in the back, snow mountain nearly took me out. Dodging risk? It still crashed in.

Useless? Ditch it.

Reading sutras before, I saw the eight pains—love torn, hate met. One night in the snow, it clicked—grasped the Four Noble Truths.

Pain’s the problem, clinging’s the cause, letting go’s the end, right path’s the way.

Thought Mochuan was my pain—no solution. Now I see self-made torment’s the real bitch—I’d been wrong all along.

“Bai Yin哥, it’s me.” Kun Hongtu’s hushed voice cut through outside.

Tch! Rare heart-to-heart, and this kid’s got zero timing. I glared at the door, pissed.

Mochuan flicked a look that way—annoyed too, but silent—frowned, back to the window.

I shuffled over, opened it. “What?”

“Bro, cards?” He whispered, sneaky, like Mochuan’d disapprove. “You curious about our wine? Aunt’s got some—you try it?”

Cards, whatever—but tasting their homemade wine? Hard to turn down.

“Kun Hongtu wants me to try their wine—can I?” I turned to Mochuan.

Four, five seconds—he said nothing, just stared out, fingers tracing the cup’s rim.

“Mo… Pinjia?” Thought he’d zoned out again, nudged him.

He stopped, faced me, finally spoke. “Go.”

Answer felt off—not quite right, not quite wrong. Was he cool with it, or just playing Pinjia, swallowing his real take?

“Sweet! Thanks, Pinjia!” Kun Hongtu didn’t care—yanked me out, thrilled, like me needing Mochuan’s okay was normal.

Cards and wine ran past ten—would’ve gone later if I hadn’t tapped out. Wine was killer—especially a Cabernet-Merlot dry red blend, better than foreign estates, unique. Got greedy.

At the door, I sniffed myself—don’t bring booze stink in—knocked.

Door swung open before I looked up. Mochuan, still in day clothes. I paused, peeked past—window open, chair out, unmoved. Like… he’d sat there the whole time I was gone.

“Up this late… not tired?” He stepped aside; I shuffled in, climbed onto the bed—eyes shut, I’d crash in seconds.

“Been thinking about what you said.” He locked the door, came over.

“My words? Noah’s Ark bit?” Eyes closed, head swimming—drunk for real.

“No, everything.” Bed creaked—he sat beside me. “Ran through all our talks since we met again.”

“…Verdict?”

“You’re an asshole.”

I laughed, opened my eyes—hoping for a smirk. Nothing. Stone-faced.

My grin faded. Yeah, I’m an asshole.

No denying it, no comeback.

“Sorry.” I grabbed his hand, pressed it to my cheek, nuzzled. “Sorry… sorry, my fault… I’m a jerk… don’t be mad… I was just too scared…”

“Scared?”

“Scared you’d end up like my mom…” Brain muddled—why’d Jiang Xuehan tie in? “Scared… I couldn’t win…”

His hand let me rub at first, still. Then I kissed his fingertips, licked his palm—catnip-crazed, unstoppable. He yanked it back, rough.

No “toy” to soothe me, I panicked, tried sitting—his hands shoved my shoulders, pinned me down.

“Win what?” Eyes low, calm.

“Win against the Mountain Lord… scared I’d fall in the sea…” Half-dead brain scrambled for logic. “But I’m not scared now—I’ll stay in the sea with you…”

I reached, tugged his shirt, pulled him slow toward me.

He didn’t fight—leaned in, hands braced on either side.

Breaths mixed, wine scent swirling, I craned up for those close, thin lips. Right before contact, he pulled back.

“No more friends?”

This guy, seriously…

“Nope.” I gripped tighter, yanked him closer, urgent. “Let me kiss you. I’m drunk—I’m forcing you. Mountain Lord won’t blame you.”

He didn’t dodge this time—let me kiss. Tongue swept his soft mouth; my brain, limbs, tongue—all numb. Less feeling, more mental itch scratched.

Quick taste—I pulled back. Lips parted, he lunged, bit my tongue hard—still out.

I yelped—thought it’d snap off.

Blood flooded my mouth, cut stinging hot—sobered me halfway.

No explanation—his face held a shred of hate, and he kissed me again.

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The Four Noble Truths —holy truths from the Heart Sutra: suffering, its cause, its end, the path. Four steps to ditch life’s pain, grab eternal peace.