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Daughter, please don't be angry with me.

So I smiled and whispered in her ear.

Upon hearing this, the madam hesitated, covered her face with a red silk handkerchief, and feigned embarrassment. She touched my hand. "My daughter," she said, "you were truly born for this."

She turned and went to prepare things for me. I was left alone in the room, staring at myself in the mirror until dusk.

The moon washes over the tall paulownia trees. Someone arrives late, carrying an easel alone, his face imposing yet dignified. He tosses the madam a bag of gold, only to be led into a winding, melancholic corridor. At the very end, he enters a room, where the young servant turns and runs away, leaving him not even a lamp. The bamboo door is locked from the inside, and the moonlight is thus imprisoned within me.

He called out several times, but no one answered. He could reach out and touch bolts of silk hanging high above. Layer upon layer of curtains, with vibrant silk flowers—sunflowers, red apricots, snow-white lotus roots, and ten strands of rosy clouds—circling at his feet. He should calm his mind and explore; the best is always at the very bottom. Young Master Yuchi, his heart brimming with the vibrant colors of brocade. His willful and unrestrained nature was ingrained in his very being, an essence he could not change—his spirited and dashing.

He is simple and profound, like pear blossoms in the moonlight, like the dream of phoenixes and cranes. He is the one who ignites the fragrance of sandalwood and mica before my heart sinks into an endless, bleak hell, awakening me from my slumber. I want to compare him to Dongting Lake, to bewitch myself in this way.

"Young Master Yuchi..." I called softly, as if summoning a lover I had longed for. Like summoning Fa Tan, tenderly and affectionately.

who?

The young master walked forward, taking ten steps, and there was a sheet of drawing paper laid out.

Why aren't the lights on? Who are you?

Take ten steps forward, and you will find light.

...

Temptation and doubt. Only then did he speak more; the coolness of the mat seeped into his body. He was still one step away from me. Shedding the burdens of a fallen kingdom and brothels, we could try to be honest with each other, like newborn children, pure and innocently naked. Young Master Yuchi, my name is Myrtle. You can think of me as exquisite silk, woven into gold brocade or embroidered with stone arrows. My skin, white as jade, is your only painting tonight. Lift the curtain beside you and come in. Here are nine luminous pearls, plus you, ten moons. How fortunate I am to be among perfection. My bones are like ice, my tender leaves like snow. Young Master Yuchi, I fully expected him to be shocked, even to stumble.

He merely conjured a smile from his calm demeanor. Unrestrained by etiquette, unbound by convention, and impractical. Facing my nakedness, he removed his own shirt and said: "If a woman can abandon even her chastity and shame, what do I have to hold back!"

He took out his painting tools from the easel: two ink sticks, tung oil, and pine soot. He carefully ground them in the She inkstone, releasing the aged fragrance of books. Several brushes danced across my body, badger hair and sheep hair, soft or strong. With swift and agile strokes, he sometimes painted, sometimes wrote; he was tormenting me, silently warning me how wrong it was to provoke him. His brushstrokes were like drifting clouds, agile as startled dragons, yet they tickled my skin unbearably. I couldn't move, I couldn't admit defeat. Young Master Yuchi, you're so cruel. You have the radiant face of Zhang Chunyun, yet what are you painting and writing on me? What's in your palette? I secretly glanced sideways.

Magpie Bridge Fairy

Reply [22]: Ochre, cinnabar, azurite, malachite, realgar, orpiment, gamboge, carmine, phthalo blue, vermilion... Why don't you use any of these colors? Is black and white enough?

He suddenly began writing and reciting: "The jade pendants of the mandarin duck tower shattered, spilling east and west. I inquire about her whereabouts; when will she reappear? Her jade hairpin remains unseen. I await the day when her brows, like clouds, will be painted on a silk scroll. Perhaps it is a new attire. Her colorful fan and red ivory ornaments are still there, but alas, there is no one to listen to the Kaiyuan era's music."

I looked up slightly at my body, and my whole body was a majestic landscape.

Use no single color, because even the most vibrant colors will eventually fade and become mundane with age.

Without artifice or embellishment, all things, at their most exquisite and ultimate, will eventually return to simplicity.

His tears fell on me, a burning pain. We hadn't exchanged ten words, and this was the second time he'd cried to a stranger like me. So vulnerable, yet still bearing a sense of integrity. Could it be that our mutual heartache truly resonated and mingled?

Jihua. I called his name, wiping away his tears. The homeland is gone, please don't shed tears for the past, for it is gone forever. We can only close our eyes and walk towards tomorrow.

Myrtle. He kissed me, the only woman he had ever kissed in his life, not even his wife. A widow from a Yuan dynasty noble family, forced into marriage. Forced marriage, such a despicable tactic, yet she was powerless against his majestic figure, as lofty as a solitary pine. She imprisoned his elderly parents and secured for him the position of painting erotic pictures for the royal family.

Myrtle. Can you imagine that humiliation? His deep voice, suppressing all the unbearable pain, was strangely captivating.

His wife, however, was merely given a body with a constant temperature. In public, she feigned happiness, wearing wide, floor-length robes and a tall, ridiculous hat called a "gugu crown." No matter how she dressed, she remained a monster, forever hated yet powerless to resist.

His mind was destroyed, and he was constantly tormented and ravaged. He was thus molded into a two-faced person, unpredictable and cold, with more indifference than joy. The thought of retiring into seclusion was frozen and sunk to the bottom of a deep pool. He said he was going crazy, letting an old woman rub and writhe against him at night. He treated her like a piece of living flesh, which was disgusting.

He said, Myrtle, you are my only sense.

The beauty is like my homeland.

Entwined, merging, we are amidst the ink-wash landscape, where the rivers and mountains remain eternally young, and the heavens seem intoxicated. At this moment, he loves me, loves me desperately, with a love etched deep within his heart. Like lovers who die at dawn, their hair turned white in the blink of an eye. Yu Chi Ji Hua, you exchanged one kind of pain for another in my heart. Who can mend the wound in my heart with precious jade? Through the rise and fall of dynasties, who can blame us for such infatuation in this world?

Jihua. When I woke up, he wasn't beside me. The gentle spring breeze, the sturdy young master of the paulownia tree—he's gone. Nine luminous pearls dimmed, ten moons faded by the sun. I understand, this two-faced man no longer wants to feign worldly compliance with me, just as the epiphyllum, with its clear dew, refuses to wither in the presence of a lover.

In this life, I was his most perfect painting, destroyed in my prime with brilliance.

He won't come back to me.

Some people are truly never meant to stay by your side. Like Young Master Yuchi. I can't deny that I often think of him, of our first meeting at the tower, in the still autumn wind. He composed music and painted alone, destroying what he hadn't finished, weeping bitterly as if no one else was around. Such a proud and aloof man, a man who dreamt of pear blossoms and cranes. He was like the blank space in a painting, a small patch of pure white forced to endure the clamor and pressure amidst the green and gold. I had never seen such a pure man before; unknowingly, his white robes were stained with the dust of the world.

That was cruel. He was not a lustful man, yet he became the object of others' lust, and because of the favor of those who satisfied his lust, he was thrown into an even deeper quagmire of lust. The light ink of landscape painting, a delicate brushstroke, depicts erotic scenes. This free-spirited man, so poor he only had a single, white, hard, and straight bone left, was still used to stew a pot of thick soup, leisurely sipping the delicious marrow. Truly. In the boring days, autumn deepened and deepened, until it annihilated itself at its deepest point. Autumn has passed. Young Master Yuchi, Jihua, your aura is the aura of desolate autumn, in my heart, until it annihilates itself at its deepest point. I will remember a man who never exchanged ten words with me, tears falling on my naked body, a shared heartache. I will remember, in the flower kingdom where Myrtle welcomed and saw off guests, there was one night when a man splashed ink on her body, painting such heartbreaking landscapes, then destroying them in a frenzied entanglement. Beauty and homeland, both are hard to regain. I will remember that night when ten moons shone, illuminating our one and only meeting in this lifetime. Ji Hua, people are all playthings in the palm of fate, and you and I are playthings of playthings. If we meet again in this desolate world, let's smile and walk away. You and I, we were never meant to know each other. Please forget me, Ji Hua. Because you can never truly be kept by my side. Like someone else.

Another person. Thinking of him brings an unconscious smile to my face, startling the young servants or madams who passed by, leaving them bewildered and unable to decipher the meaning of that mocking yet alluring expression. It was gentle yet indifferent, pitying yet contemptuous. They said my ambiguous expression was frightening. My thoughts were intricately woven with colors and gold.

I offer a libation. I was just thinking of this person. Another man who is unsuitable, shouldn't, and can't possibly stay by my side.

This man who constantly professed his love for me, yet repeatedly betrayed me. I can never blame him for using and abandoning me, simply because I foresaw it from the beginning, seeing through his true nature. Therefore, forgiving him is like forgiving myself. He didn't lie to me. He never lied to me; he only lied to himself.

Magpie Bridge Fairy

Reply [23]: I know he won't come back to Hongluanxi. He enjoys the heavy guilt and remorse, using it to prove to himself that he loves me. The more intense the pain, the more he moves himself. Yes. I believe he regrets every betrayal, but after regretting, if given another chance, he would do the same thing again. Lian Lei, he won't come back, where is Lian Ye's bold spirit? The silver earring on his ear is a shackle he put on himself, trapping a man's dignity that is supported and destroyed by women's bodies at the same time. For him, this is a deliberately arranged punishment achieved in the form of indulgence. He will squander without restraint, fine wine and women, while telling himself that he is sorry to Qinse, that he has no face to see her now and can only let himself fall into indulgence and torment... so that he can enjoy it with peace of mind. In the false pain, it is just a play so realistic that even the actor himself believes it. Six desires and seven emotions, Lian Lei, you have acted yourself too well.

I have no face to see you, Qinse. I am not human.

I could almost hear his muffled, burning whispers, just like that day when I heard the buzzing, trembling sound from his chest, mingled with the sweat-soaked clothes of a servant. So real, so crystal-clear, so full of deep affection. He could use the money he got from selling me to buy another woman, to ride her roughly all night, to close his eyes and fantasize that she was the beloved zither he had repeatedly betrayed, to force out a heart-wrenching confession to a complete stranger… Lian Lei, I know your tricks all too well. That's why you won't come back. You're too ashamed to see me. Yes. But the real reason is that the precious treasures you stole from the military tent are enough for your extravagant spending. As long as Master Lian still has gambling capital in his pocket, he won't come back to me… Lian Lei, I haven't forgotten the day you swept the general's golden tent clean.

To prove my eyes, which have seen through everything and are too lazy to speak, on that day, a tall, burly Westerner barged into Hongluanxi and called out my name. He spoke in broken Chinese to the Westerner, who said that the man had told him that Myrtle was the most beautiful woman in Guangzhou, guaranteeing his trip would be worthwhile. When he asked where he could find this woman, the man... (The rest of the text is nonsensical and appears to be a random string of characters.) The madam snatched the item and apologized repeatedly, but he ignored her completely and even spread his arms to block her from pulling at me as she continued her noisy nagging. His eyes were pure blue, like expressionless glass marbles, emitting a slightly dull yet clear luster. <ab东l絜人真谜。 widtbr>="580" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding b馐撬畛Ｋ档囊嬛浠啊０谂盼椅葑永镏种炙挡怀雒坑胗猛镜奈锸拢僦圜欤枷闳玖寺滞什財ァ四蚩鲁鳎┑囊簧酒鹄础B 畚骞馐餍鹤帕恋娜淼溺甭蕹穸械钠俨肌＠酌傻旅凶叛劬Γ 闷俚剜盗艘淮欢难蠡啊ＫK ⌒囊硪砣缗跛О慵鹌鹞业囊恢恍樱茨敲苊苁凳狄簧淅缎宄隹兹缚粒紫乱匝草そ鹱鞒模赋龌曰脱奚Ｕ馐窃恋赜忻哪伤啃濉P 锷锨坛龌ㄎ疲慰樟颂罱迹讲缴＠酌傻陆哟盏奖嵌巳ノ牛纯吹搅锥伎糖司富ㄑ唤踢醭铺尽?br>= ?"⌒> 〗悖愕霓资伪任颐腔屎蟊菹碌幕挂览觥Ｋ樽∫欢ヒ颗袒ㄈ缫庠仆吠形宸锏牟揭」? 躲�过你胷>幕屎舐穑?tr的. At the military parade, the King and Queen watched our troops rehearse in the square in front of the palace. He proudly said, "My father is an admiral. I myself am already a captain." "Our country?" I called for a servant to bring in a plate of grapes. Raymond was astonished. "My God, how can you associate our country with this kind of fruit?!" His blue eyes widened in bewilderment. Foreigners have expressive faces, prone to exaggerated expressions. I smiled at Raymond. This tall, imposing Portuguese man with a golden beard was only 20 years old. Westerners mature early, like succulent plants, with their crisp uniforms, imposing faces, and robust bodies. Yet, they couldn't hide the occasional glimpses of innocence and naivety in him. He was curious about everything. In the bizarre and fantastical East, in the bizarre and fantastical Lingnan, in my bedroom, Raymond was just a child. Through the imposing door gods on the gate, a little boy peers curiously at the world. I pierce through the window paper for him, revealing a ray of light.

"Miss, you are my first woman," he said, slightly awkwardly.

He was a little embarrassed. This adorable big boy. I curled up in the brocade quilt with its golden phoenix design, laughing, and gently snuggled closer to him, to his strong, muscular body that had been so flustered just moments before. A strip of soft golden hair on his chest felt like that of a gentle lion. I stroked it with my fingertips, the warm sweat carrying my touch down to his pride and shyness. He was strong, but his movements were stiff, and he dared not be rough with me. He always asked me cautiously, "May I ask if it's alright, Miss? Will I hurt you?"... He was such a pure boy, his first woman. I covered it with my palm. I felt grateful. Raymond. I was moved to tears by your tenderness, and I treated you with all my tenderness. My heart ached. You, young officer from the West. You cherished me like that shoe, holding something trampled on by others so carefully in your palm.

Raymond. I'm just a prostitute. Not one of your Western ladies or noblewomen. To everyone else, I'm nothing more than a lowly but beautiful plaything.

A true gentleman must respect women. Miss. He took my hand from the embroidered pillow and gracefully kissed the back of it. Don't say such things. In my heart you are noble. A nobility unique to the East, like… He spoke a string of foreign words.

What?

"It's this flower." He lightly touched the myrtle blossom painted on my face with his fingertips. He said, "I don't know what you call it in China. It's a flower I really like; it smells wonderful, just like you."

Magpie Bridge Fairy

Reply [24]: I smile. It's called Myrtle, Raymond. That's my name, remember it, Myrtle. There's no such flower in China. I know it's a flower from your Western country.

No? He was surprised. "Then how did you know?" "You drew it very well. Peach... Peach... Golden... Lady looks just like this." He awkwardly pursed his lips, imitating the pronunciation.

How did I know it? ...In an instant, memories flooded back. Like a clumsy melody, it tugged at my soul. Involuntarily, I sang off-key, drifting aimlessly... Ah, Myrtle, how did I know it? It turns out that this alluring name was already destined for me without my realizing it. Long ago, the madam said it seemed like I was born to do this. I remember when I was nine, I had such weary yet alluring, withering hands. A life of worldly experience, brought with me through reincarnation. The only thing I've learned and focused on for half my life is the exquisite entanglement and seduction, with A, with B, this person, that person, faces blurred... I've gradually mastered this game of desire.

Myrtle. The first man to gently utter this exotic flower's name to me. His slender, graceful figure, adorned with crimson and purple flowers, appeared before me like a ghost from the night of resurrection. Beautifully and kindly, he bent down to point to the patterns on the foreign fabric, saying, "This flower is called myrtle."

...It's this kind of flower.

I saw my fingers superimposed in the shadow of those ghostly fingers. Pointing, onto that old dress. Those dark purple flowers, so delicate and fragmented, so unspoken, that I've kept hidden away at the bottom of a trunk, never to be seen again. The splendor of that dress before I was fifteen, it withered in my heart.

The weather and clothes of yesteryear. Myrtle. I gently utter this exotic flower's name from my lips, tonight, to a strange, foreign man. His clear blue eyes hold no trace of the past. They cannot see the ghosts haunting my heart. Raymond, he is a brand new page of a Western parchment book, pristine and blank, devoid of the scent of aged ink.

He was a child without wounds. How pure.

Come on, Raymond. Let's do it again.

I embraced his tall frame. Even his body hair was golden; he looked like a gilded celestial warrior. The young man's breathing quickened, but in a moment, he became erect again. I gently guided him. "This is the second time, Raymond. You should know this much better now, shouldn't you? Come, the mystery of the East, the mystery of women, I will tell you everything. Look at this crimson garden, open for you. Come, Raymond. Come to me."

His strength penetrated me completely. I felt a slight swelling pain. Completely full, with no room left, I gently lifted my hips. "You young Western officer, Raymond," I thought, "how can a delicate Eastern woman contain your immense vitality?" But he was careful. His blue eyes looked down at me gently, speaking a phrase in a foreign language that I couldn't understand but felt a warmth emanating from it.

I reached out and stroked his thick, golden beard. His square face possessed an imposing, unyielding air. A high nose and deep-set eyes. He was also a general. A broad-shouldered, thick-backed man… I thought of a lion on the plains, his innocent cruelty and domineering nature; he said, "I want it."

…Raymond also possessed the physique of a lion. So similar, like sandstorms from a foreign land. But hidden within his beastly shell lay the soul of a dove. Pure and soft.

You have a compassionate heart, Raymond.

What's the meaning?

A compassionate heart.

What is a Bodhisattva?

I pointed up. That's our God. The most merciful and kindest deity, Raymond. Your heart is very much like his.

"Oh, I'm not a god," he said, both fearful and devout. "Miss, I just want to be... uh... good... a person."

I laughed. I mimicked his cute pronunciation. Yes, Raymond, you're a... good... person. A very, very good person.

He seized every opportunity to secretly come to Hongluanxi to see me, without his father's or his companions' knowledge. Curious, he looked around, observing the patrons and prostitutes, while they looked at him with curiosity. This blue-eyed, high-nosed foreigner became an amusing sight at Hongluanxi. Girls, covering their mouths with handkerchiefs, laughed as they passed him. The bolder ones teased him, calling out, "Foreign gentleman, here to see Myrtle again?" Raymond hurriedly bowed, his spurs clinking against his heels with a soft metallic clang. "Good afternoon, miss!" he said, so innocent yet serious, a true gentleman. The girl, embarrassed, flicked her handkerchief at him, giggled, and flew away like a gust of wind.

Magpie Bridge Fairy

Reply [25]: Raymond, come here.

I leaned against the bedroom door and called to him. Raymond turned and saw me, his face breaking into an unreserved smile. His white skin, golden hair, and deep blue eyes amplified every little bit of his joy, making it overflow. Raymond, his smile was like the sun. His happiness was undisguised.

I like him. This Western man, who sometimes can't even communicate verbally. His presence brings a brief moment of peace to Hongluanxi. Raymond sometimes tells me that our time together won't last. Miss, when my father goes to Dadu, I'll have to go with him.

A layer of sorrow hung over his mature, almost adult-like face, but it didn't last. He was young after all, his heart clear and untroubled. Raymond, this boy who had always been fascinated by military heroes and adventure stories, had no past. I taught him about the ways of men and women, quickly turning him into a perfect man in bed, but he never truly understood the nightmares and pain that desire brought. Raymond was upright and honest; he viewed sex as any other pleasant pleasure, without any sordidness or ulterior motives. I imitated the Western women he had described, lifting my skirt and curtsying to him. Raymond immediately rejoiced, instantly forgetting the reason for his sorrow.

"Miss, you're so beautiful. I love holding you. Being with you in bed is like eating my mother's cherry jam, so sweet." He embraced my waist and exclaimed loudly, oblivious to the eavesdropping walls and the inappropriate nature of the metaphor. I laughed again. "Raymond, my foreign sir. You always make me laugh, it's so nice." I ruffled his blond hair and kissed his eyelashes. Pale yellow, almost invisible. The fluttering stopped on his pale face.

Raymond told me about the book written by the Italian, describing the Mongol Empire. He said that book sparked a China craze in Europe. The wealthy, nobles, royalty, merchants, artists, and even desperate fugitives—all sorts of people—were madly drawn to China, this distant, mysterious land built of gold. In their minds, China was paradise, magnificent and splendid like silk and porcelain, so rich that gold and silver were everywhere. He said he felt it was indeed a highly developed civilization. Many capitals of major Western powers remained dilapidated and filthy, far inferior to this peripheral city in Lingnan, China. The houses here were so exquisite, the goods so abundant, and the daily lives of the citizens, as far as he could see, were so affluent and leisurely.

A young naval officer. Even after their intimate moments in bed, he remained enthusiastic and excited when discussing politics. Raymond sincerely admired the power and prosperity of the Mongol Empire. I nestled under his arm, resting my head against his chest, remaining quietly demure. Raymond, my gentle lion, I don't want to tell you about history and the truth now. Let the Mongol Empire, as seen through the eyes of a foreigner, maintain its perfect paradise. Golden and radiant. Why should I shatter this idyllic illusion?

I will not speak to him of the carnage and suffering inflicted by the Mongol hordes upon the Song Dynasty. I will not speak to him of the four classes of people, the layers of isolation and contempt that followed. Those shattered lands, the blood and tears of those surviving people, the shame and pain—I will not mention them to him. Raymond, you pure white dove hiding within the shell of a beast. To you, I can only offer gentle silence. Those bygone years of lost homeland, the tears of heroes—I, a mere courtesan clinging to life, am unworthy to speak of them.

What have I done for this land? No, Raymond. I am numb and selfish; being trapped in the sea of desire is my only destiny. I am just Myrtle. A whore with the highest price tag.

He praised the empire's strength but expressed dissatisfaction with the Mongol court's military exploits. "I don't like this cruelty," he said, even though he himself was a soldier in uniform.

Raymond told me that even today, European countries still harbor lingering fears about the astonishingly warmongering nature of Genghis Khan and Kublai Khan. The Mongol cavalry ravaged Russia, advancing all the way to the heart of Europe. These ferocious soldiers were tireless and merciless. Whenever they breached a city, they would slaughter almost every inhabitant, leaving no one alive, not even women and children. Raymond, his face flushed, stammered as he recounted his anger and revulsion.

"That's wrong," he said. "Westerners and Easterners are all God's children. We shouldn't kill each other."

He even shed tears for this old story. He wasn't even born when that tragedy occurred. But his kind heart couldn't bear the bloody, chilling recollections of his teachers and elders. Warm tears welled in Raymond's clear blue eyes and landed on my lips. I gently licked them. It turns out Western tears can taste salty too.

Raymond. He said he joined the army only to protect his country and people from such suffering. "I would never, like your Khan, kill other people's parents and children," he solemnly declared. "I swear to God, I swear to your Buddha, miss."

I kissed the corners of his childlike mouth, those resolute, proud, yet innocently upturned lines. Raymond's thick beard amplified the weight of his vow. He looked like such a respectable man. I really liked him. An indescribable liking, he was so adorable. But he always reminded me of a bloodthirsty Asura from long ago… the kind of person he raged against, born to kill.

"Leave no captured traitors alive! Execute them all before my very eyes!" he said.

"You Han dog, get lost. I'll kill you if I see you again," he said.

"...Myrtle, you are my woman, I love you, you can't not love me!" he said.