MW CH33

Chapter 33: Thankfully, It Never Started

“Isn’t this high-end jewelry?” Mochuan lowered his head to examine the necklace model around his neck, his voice tinged with confusion. “Isn’t it expensive?”

“Not expensive, just… a few thousand,” I said, afraid that if I claimed it was pricier, he’d refuse it. I didn’t even dare stretch the lie into five figures.

But it seemed even a few thousand was steep for this Cenglu Yan Guan—or perhaps he simply didn’t buy that it could cost so little.

“Too expensive. I can’t just take something from you like that.” He touched the model, gently tugging it off as he spoke, ultimately declining with a polite refusal.

I grew a little anxious. “I used to send you little skirts all the time, and didn’t you wear them happily?”

He frowned. “Happy? I wasn’t happy. Besides, the money for test outfits always gets refunded in the end…”

He stopped abruptly, as if realizing he’d misspoken.

Though we both knew who the other was in Quiz Island, me as Bai Yin and him as Mochuan, we’d never discussed it openly with these identities. Early on, it might’ve been due to awkwardness or disdain, but over time, it morphed into an unspoken understanding. For seven years, it started as a taboo neither dared touch, but now, as my relationship with Mochuan softened, it showed signs of thawing.

Still, just like a child learning to walk struggles with that first step, getting Mochuan to speak freely with me required patience—nothing else could rush it.

What lay between us wasn’t merely distance, ethnic differences, or something as simple as gender. It was a vast, treacherous river, its surface frozen with a deceptive layer of solid ice. I stood on one bank, Mochuan on the other. We groped our way forward cautiously; each step brought us closer, and each step lessened our fear of the raging current beneath.

Sensing Mochuan didn’t want to dive into the game topic now, I didn’t press further. “Jewelry is made to be worn. Who wears it doesn’t matter—it’s all the same. I wasn’t planning to sell this necklace anyway. Rather than letting it gather dust in a safe, it’s better for the right person to wear it.”

If Hang Jiafei’s fans heard that, they’d probably choke with rage, but I didn’t care. My stuff, my rules. I’d give it to whoever I pleased. Even if Huangfu Rou got so mad she wanted to end our partnership over this, I’d accept it.

“I…” Mochuan opened his mouth to protest, but my phone suddenly rang.

I glanced at it—a random number. Assuming it was a spam call, I silenced it without answering.

“So it’s settled. You wear the necklace normally, and if I ever need it for an exhibition…” Before I could finish, the phone rang again—same number. “…I’ll borrow it back from you then.” Frowning, I finally picked up. “Hang on, I’ve got a call.”

I figured even if it wasn’t spam, it’d be something mundane like a delivery. But the caller caught me off guard.

They introduced themselves as a volunteer from Jizhu Temple, calling because Jiang Xuehan had passed away.

“Who died?” I heard every word clearly, but strung together, they made no sense to me.

The caller paused, then repeated, “Master Xuantan just attained parinirvana.”

I didn’t ask more. I hung up.

Mochuan glanced at my tightly clenched phone. “What’s wrong?”

“I might’ve just gotten a scam call,” I said, convincing myself it was some new trick. If I’d kept listening, they’d have wormed their way into my account, coaxing me to transfer money willingly. Yet a voice in my head screamed at me to go to Jizhu Temple, to confirm it now.

I strode toward the door, grabbed the handle, then remembered Mochuan was still here. I’d brought him; I couldn’t just ditch him.

So I turned back. “I… I need to check something somewhere. The visit might have to end here. Should I call you a ride back, or… do you want to come with me?”

“I’ll come with you.” Without hesitation, he grabbed the contract and hurried toward me.

In the car, I punched Jizhu Temple into the GPS and floored it. On the way, I called Bai Qifeng, asking if he’d heard anything about Jiang Xuehan lately.

“Your mom? No, why would she contact me? You—”

I cut him off mid-sentence, hanging up.

It was barely 3 p.m., nowhere near rush hour, but the elevated road was still jammed, with cars cutting in shamelessly. When yet another vehicle swerved into my lane without signaling, I lost it, slamming the horn in a furious outburst.

The line of traffic stalled, my shrill honking echoing across the overpass.

“Bai Yin!” Mochuan suddenly leaned over, gripping my wrist. “Calm down. Stop it.”

His voice was like a cool spring in the Gobi Desert, dousing my burning frustration. I snapped out of my rage almost instantly, lifting my hand from the horn.

“Sorry, I’m just… in a hurry,” I said, finally explaining why I was so frantic. “I think I told you before—my parents divorced when I was little. My dad remarried, and my mom became a nun at a temple. For years, she’s focused on her practice, cutting off all family ties. She wouldn’t see anyone. A few years back, when my grandma was dying, I begged her to visit one last time, but she didn’t show…”

I’d waited outside Jizhu Temple for a day and a night, trying everything, nearly getting the temple to call the cops. She only sent a volunteer out with one line:

“Master Xuantan receives no guests. Benefactor, return home. Earthly ties are severed; let go of attachments.”

A few days later, my grandma passed away with regrets, never seeing her wayward only daughter.

From that day, I stopped going to Jizhu Temple, stopped hoping to drag someone who’d left the world back into it.

“Isn’t it strange? I haven’t seen her in years, so whether she’s dead or alive shouldn’t matter to me. But hearing someone say she’s gone—I can’t accept it…”

Mochuan listened quietly, then after a moment’s thought, said, “Love gives rise to worry. It’s human to resent her; it’s human to worry about her now. There’s no contradiction. Going to see for yourself might ease your mind.”

Maybe it was his professional knack, but those plain words somehow soothed me.

“Yeah.” I managed a weak smile, saying no more.

Jizhu Temple wasn’t in Haicheng but in Zhu County, a neighboring province famous for its bamboo sea. Plenty of movies had filmed there, and the temple sat at its deepest heart.

We left at 3 p.m. By the time we reached Zhu County, it was past 5 p.m., and night had fallen.

Rushing up the mountain, we found the temple gates long shut. I knocked for ages before a familiar middle-aged nun, Heng Hui, cracked the door open.

“Master Heng Hui, it’s Bai Yin, Master Xuantan’s son. I got a call today saying my mom… that she passed away. I’m here to find out what’s going on.”

I’d been to Jizhu Temple before, and Heng Hui had often been the one to deal with me—an old acquaintance, you could say.

“Oh, Master Xuantan… she did indeed attain parinirvana this afternoon.” A dim yellow lamp glowed under the gate, casting Heng Hui’s face in somber shadows.

Sighing, she told me Jiang Xuehan had been ill for two years. She didn’t specify the disease, just said it was serious.

“These past two months, she’d wasted away—you’re better off not seeing her like that,” Heng Hui said, her eyes full of compassion.

It was like a faint bolt of lightning struck me—not searing pain, just numbness, spreading from head to toe. Even speaking felt clumsy.

“Where is she now?”

“They took her to be cremated this afternoon. Her ashes and tablet will be kept in the temple. If you want to visit her later… you can.”

Heng Hui was blunt, no sugarcoating, and the blow hit hard. My legs gave out, and I stumbled back, only saved from falling by Mochuan’s quick support.

Heng Hui flinched, opening the gate wider and leaning out. “You okay?”

Dazed, I shook my head. “I’m fine.”

She didn’t even let me see her one last time…

Breaking free of Mochuan’s hold, I turned and staggered down the mountain, vaguely hearing him thank Heng Hui behind me.

I dimly recalled Yan Chuwen’s birthday in junior year. I’d offered to treat them, telling him to bring Mochuan. The three of us had hot pot near campus. After eating, we’d barely walked a few steps when I spotted a kitten hit by a car on the road.

Most people steered clear, but I pitied it. I went back to the restaurant for a bag and picked up its tiny body.

“Where are you taking it?” Yan Chuwen called, trailing me.

I scanned around, ducking into a patch of greenery. “To bury it!”

It was dark and messy, so Yan Chuwen stayed out, but Mochuan followed me in. He even helped dig a pit with sticks and stones to bury the kitten.

“So pitiful,” I sighed as we laid it in the hole. “Same life, different fates. Why do some get reborn as humans, others as cats?”

A house cat would’ve been one thing, but this was a starving, homeless stray.

Mochuan closed his eyes, pressed his palms together, and murmured something—a prayer, maybe, to guide its soul. I didn’t interrupt. When he finished and opened his eyes, he tossed a handful of dirt into the pit before we shoveled the rest over it.

“This life’s outcome stems from last life’s causes. Once it’s paid off this time, it’ll find a better rebirth next time.”

I stood, brushing off my hands, startled by his words. It took me a moment to realize he was answering my earlier musing.

This life’s outcome, last life’s causes—karmic retribution. Was I treated this way by Jiang Xuehan because I owed her from a past life?

Why did I get parents like this? If only they weren’t mine… If I could choose, I’d rather they weren’t my parents.

A deep “dong” rang out, the temple bell echoing through the bamboo sea.

It crashed into my mind like a divine chant, shattering the haze and jolting me awake.

Lost and found, lost and found… If we could choose, who’d pick a life of suffering?

I spun around, gazing at the ancient temple and Mochuan below it on the steps.

Dressed in black, framed by bamboo, he stood on the long stairway—pale skin, sharp features, gazing at me with a beauty so striking it felt unreal, otherworldly.

When I stopped, he stopped too.

I’d always lived for the moment—drink today’s wine today, enjoy now, who cares if the flood comes later? As long as I’m happy.

But trading a fleeting joy now for crushing pain later—was it worth it?

I’m selfish and cowardly. This river’s too hard to cross. I can’t do it… I don’t want to struggle so hard just to drown in some ice hole I stepped into.

A cold wind swept through, rustling the bamboo on both sides.

“Bai Yin?” Mochuan seemed worried by my reaction, frowning as he approached.

Some things, maybe, shouldn’t start.

Thankfully, they never did.

“Let’s go. We’ll find a place to eat down the mountain, then I’ll take you back,” I rasped, turning away without waiting, heading down first.