Twelve Jade Towers

Twelve Jade Towers

Cuckoo: Could it be your desire?

Qinse: I wish to believe it is not true.

Cuckoo: Could it be your affection?

Qinse: I am willing to believe it exists.

Cuckoo, by the time you understand my heart, my temples will be streaked with gray. On such a beautiful day, why can't we be as intertwined as our breath? You hide your magnificent eyes, like a tapestry of flowers, the jewels in your crown radiating a captivating purple. I am but a bound Daji, here, your beautiful yet helpless prisoner.

Cuckoo, why do you choose to see me alone? Compared to the case files in your hands, my criminal record, your features are the source of my sorrow. By candlelight, I, unmoved, play a game of shadows with you, unmoved. The shadow's hand caresses you with ease, climbing the precipice of your nose, traversing the shores of your lips, the path of its fingers winding and graceful. Just sit still, maintaining a cold smile; only then will you resemble an official conducting a night trial, like the King of Hell sentencing me to my death.

Cuckoo, I can't help but tempt you again. Is all we're going to do just this pointless question and answer? Why don't you try getting the truth with a kiss, feel how cold this blue brick floor is with your back? Please take one more step, don't bypass me, so I can lift your long robe with my toes. A woman's downfall can be achieved with a glance or a flick of the finger; a man's downfall is achieved with sweet words. These can all be ignored, skipped. I just want to hear myself shouting, faster, faster! Please, harder!

Cuckoo, stop pretending to play your zither. No music in this world is worthy of me; they only accompanied my joy. Don't try to deceive me with your talent. All I have left is my body—do you want it? Let me teach you the stimulation of the senses. Why do you remain silent as you listen to my ambiguous breathing?

Cuckoo, perhaps I fell in love with your expression long before I met you. It's so familiar; where have I seen it before?

Just who is he?

I. Having not reached the place where the heavens were carved, how dare I claim the fleeting light?

At nine, I refused to believe there was anyone better than Fa Tan. After my mother passed away, my father sailed the canal north to the capital, selling tea, relying on his humble status and meager savings. As the seasons changed, his face grew increasingly aged amidst the aroma of roasted green leaves. He withered away, drop by drop, the soft clanging of silver ingots unreliable. Back then, Fa Tan's figure sat in the innermost corner of the silk shop in town, sheltering me. Year after year, I would squat on the bluestone slab in front of the shop, touching the moss in the cracks; after crushing it, my fingers would be a vibrant green. He forbade me to touch the fabrics.

My father was gradually forgotten by the townspeople. When they mentioned me, they would say I was the little girl from the silk shop, never the daughter of the tea seller. I imagine people would think of me with a dark yet beautiful backdrop, a narrow doorway leading to scrolls of color hanging and stacked inside—I'm glad that's how it is. Fa Tan was the most serene place amidst the dazzling array of colors, like a blank page in a book. Our inherent nature made reading a destined, futile labor. Fa Tan didn't read often, even though my father said his name came from an ancient book, which, like mine, sounded like a long, drawn-out sigh.

I firmly believe that I have too many things in common with Fatan. He is a full decade older than me, and we share the same zodiac sign. We are twins born from the same parents. And I know that he, like me, enjoys caressing rich colors and listening to them rustle through our fingers like time itself, like the warmth of skin. Fatan never holds me.

An old woman was hired to look after me. She was extremely gluttonous and easily tired after a large meal. Every night, she would settle me in early for dinner and washing, then put me to bed and fall asleep before me. I would gaze at the moonlight, which would reflect on the curtains, accompanied by her snores. I would hold the doll that Di had given me to my chest, and strangely enough, what I missed then was not my mother's singing voice, but the arms of the sandalwood cutter, which I had never felt before.

I don't know how to reminisce about things I didn't experience. But I truly miss him.

Fa Tan was next door. I gently pressed my ear against the wall; there was complete silence. A silence as flowing as the perfect lines of his face.

Di, like his name, was a man as delicate as a reed flower. His smile was warm and gentle, and the folds of his clothes fluttered with his movements, creating a gentle autumn breeze. Di was the only person I could interact with besides Fa Tan and the old woman. He often came to the silk shop, and when business was slow, he and Fa Tan would sit facing each other in the back of the shop, warming a pot of yellow wine. They didn't talk often, and hearing Fa Tan's voice would make me forget Di's language. But he was very kind to me; he once gave me a pot of henna and told me how to mix the flowers with alum and crush them to dye my nails a beautiful red.

Magpie Bridge Fairy

Reply [4]: I know that Di is Fa Tan's best friend. I always watched them silently drinking together, my hair in two ridiculous buns and my nails painted red unnoticed. Fa Tan was just warning me not to touch the fabrics, and I sadly thought that no one would see a nine-year-old child's carefully applied nail polish.

Even when my nail polish is faded, my fingers still bear the green traces of moss. When bored, I often sit under the eaves, facing the sunlight, watching my ten fingers intertwine, shift, gracefully entangle and hook together. At the age of nine, I already had a pair of such weary yet alluring, withering hands. In the gray, gloomy air of the town during the rainy season, they were the only flowers.

Fa Tan asked me to take his measurements. I stood in his room and let him measure the distance around me with a soft ruler. His calm, slender fingers. The distance between us, I watched it sink inch by inch. Distance is that closest yet furthest inch in our blood. The silver bottle was about to be placed, but the silk rope snapped. I greedily looked around at every item in his room. Three days later, the old woman brought me a brand-new crimson dress. I stroked the delicate, sieve-like vine patterns, recognizing it as the most expensive new foreign fabric in the shop. From the distant West, woven with exotic flowers and herbs I had never seen before. I counted the stitches under the lamp, inch by inch. The next day, I saw Di appear before me wearing the same dress, his hair loosely tied in a bun, his slender figure and the flowing crimson flowers and herbs made me look up with envy. I deliberately stomped hard on his new shoes, but Di bent down and smiled, telling me that the plant on the fabric was called myrtle.

Myrtle. I hate that intense name. Just like I hate the man, Di's, eyes, so calm as an autumn breeze yet suddenly so intense. His alluring fragrance can kill. I hate him, and I'm vaguely afraid of him. Until one rainy afternoon I secretly saw him with Fa Tan. From then on, I think I understood why I was afraid of him.

When I saw the two of them enter the dimly lit shop, naked and entwined behind a silk curtain, their glossy bodies looked like my two fingers, intertwining in my gaze.

I remember that was the first time I witnessed Fa Tan's body. I held the doll Di gave me and watched the scene with it. Outside, the rain was pouring down. Even years later, that rain still pounded in my heart, making my heart no longer smooth as jade from the age of nine; and even years later, I dared to recall that shameful scene in detail…

The crimson satin flowed turbulently beneath their two exquisite bodies. Fa Tan, my brother, the tenderness in his eyes was a warmth I had never experienced before. His lips roamed over Di's body, moist and red, lingering on her chest. Di's head tilted back, her expression pitiful and helpless. Like a jade sculpture, she beautifully endured this tender moment I could never attain again. Her loose hair, flowing with moans, ah, she was like a rustling moment of time passing through Fa Tan's fingers, so gently caressed… the warmth of her skin. Forever and ever. I carried the doll, silently walking back to my little room. I collapsed onto the bed, clutching my icy body. My coldness, forever and ever.

From that day on, my secret was an unspoken understanding between them. Ultimately, it was the same thing. Sometimes I still squat under the eaves, blankly picking at the moss in the cracks of the stone slabs, occasionally glancing back at Di and Fa Tan, this pair of unspeakable lovers, gently and silently drinking together, polite as figures in a painting, forever separated, never touching, locked in a long-lasting, stale relationship on the yellowed paper. False, the distance between them. I speak to myself. False, their unfathomable pretense. That distance isn't there; it's within me. Without testing, there is no rejection, only the passage of time. Fa Tan gives me a longing that never began, an inch of growth, an inch of ashes… False, false, all false. In the dim light, I see a glimmer of light in the wine in my cup. The amber color in Fa Tan's hand—it betrays your shame, mocks my disgrace.

I have heard those trembling groans. I have seen those caressing fingers. I have tasted the hot, cold, sour, and sweet flavors of desire. Coming and going. O sandalwood cutter, I will not forget.

Then let me play the role of an innocent and naive younger sister. Since you're determined to maintain this distance between truth and falsehood to the very end, let me coldly watch you two play the roles of ordinary friends in a small town, a gentleman's friendship, as light as water. But who has noticed that only the beauty between him and you in the entire town can rival it? These two men, not very talkative, are alone and unmarried.

Let's remain silent and see who can endure the longest. Fa Tan, I'm not in a hurry. I'll say nothing, do nothing. During this time, I can only be an observer. In the ambiguous atmosphere you and he create, I smell the rich fragrance, feel the warmth, and then feel the chill creep away. I will grow up, won't I? One day I will grow up until you can no longer see me… Time flies, Fa Tan, before you grow old, I still have time to grow up.

Magpie Bridge Fairy

Reply [5]: I am considered a somewhat eccentric but worry-free child. I never cause trouble, but grow up quietly day after day, unnoticed. Like a cocoon that has forgotten its thousands of knots. The old woman had less and less work to do, and finally one day she was dismissed. I saw my fingers were long and slender, with thin and elegant bones on the back of my hands. Ten dots of nail polish drifted, and a peach blossom melody floated on the water. When I was bored, I would face the sunlight and watch them gracefully intertwine with each other. I kept this little habit. It always reminded me of a dream in the sound of rain. The luster was deep and subdued.

When I was fifteen, the stone path in front of the door was bare of moss. Even the most tenacious plant dies when its roots are severed. The remaining crisscrossing hollows resembled someone's heart. I no longer squatted by the door, clutching my doll, lost in thought. That year, I learned to wear my hair in the style of a grown woman, tall and proud. A horn hairpin adorned my hair, a sign of my coming-of-age ceremony. I applied some rouge to my eyelids, held my head high, and walked past Di, feeling the intense shock in his gaze.

Di. I finally don't have to look up at your graceful figure anymore, do I? I smiled and glanced at him halfway before leaving. I know my waist is more slender than his, and my gaze can be more intense.

I think I'm no longer afraid to wear the same clothes as him. I don't know if physical appearance is the only key to victory or defeat. I can't understand the origins and development of a desire, how it stirs within my blood. But I want this appearance, more beautiful, more beautiful, for Fa Tan and Di to see. Just like how many times over the years I've secretly watched their lovemaking in silk and darkness, that scene is etched in my memory. The deeper the pain, the clearer it becomes. It was they who opened a secret garden, allowing me to glimpse heaven amidst sin.

I appeared before Fa Tan and asked him for extra pocket money. I said I was fifteen years old, I was all grown up. I should have some money for cosmetics to dress myself up. I just wanted to see what he would say.

Fa Tan gazed at my towering hair and lips simply painted with red paper. I said, "Brother, I've grown up." I raised my hand to gently stroke my cheek, drawing his gaze to my features, which had shed their childlike roundness and were gradually becoming more graceful and defined. A beautiful woman, with every smile and frown.

He looked at my face, then at my still-childlike floral blouse. I tightened the belt, trying to make it fit better. "Fantan," I thought, "can I prove my waist is more graceful than Di's?" He stared at me for a long time, then turned away and said casually, "It was my oversight. You're fifteen this year. I'd forgotten."

Yes, Qinse. You're definitely a young woman now. You should start dressing up more. I can't hold you back any longer. All these years I've treated you like a child and never thought about your marriage.

"I will arrange a marriage for you right now," said Fa Tan calmly.

"Cutting sandalwood." I called his name, tears welling up as I finished speaking. Actually, you never... never cared about me...

"What nonsense are you spouting!" He scorned my sorrow, loathed my baseless accusations, and was furious at my disrespect. He stared directly into my eyes, unblinking, his condescending gaze returning to that of someone looking at an ignorant child. The colder the sandalwood, the more it seemed like a magnetic pole, enticing me to sway like a willow branch, to wrap my arms around him like a parasitic vine. In a sudden, forceful embrace, I succeeded, pressing my lips against his chest. Warm, slightly salty, but nothing more. My clumsy kiss was merely a physical contact. He remained motionless, like an iceberg, forcing me to retreat from the lifeless embrace. My heart was still, and when I glimpsed his eyes, they remained filled with icy hatred. Before he could tell me to get lost, I ran away, wondering if even my tears had frozen into a thin line in mid-air.

I covered my face with my hands, contorted with pain. Light seeped through my fingers, blurring my vision with my tears. Someone reached out from the shadows and embraced me. I wanted to scream, but my voice died in my grief. He held me tightly, his breath gentle against my temple. The fabric and pattern of his clothes... I slowly calmed down, and then I knew who he was. I raised my hand, leaving five bright red finger marks on his fair face. Di, I hate you. But the man with his head down called my name softly, his face half-turned, calmly pale. His fingers moved lightly to my lips, a fleeting, trembling touch that I couldn't escape. "Qin Se, girl with a heart like a pomegranate, calm down and try to guess a riddle! What does it mean to 'break the reed before cutting down the sandalwood'? Can you guess?" He smiled, his fingertips gliding across my face, and walked away, his graceful demeanor, like a melody of "Tian Jing Sha," fading away with the fleeting beauty of flowers.

To cut down the sandalwood, one must first break the reeds. When the moonlight grows cool, I grope my way to his bedside, sobbing uncontrollably. Reeds, please tell me, what must I do? How can I make the woodcutter treat me as he treated you? Please, tell me…

The defeated man wept bitterly, no longer caring about maintaining his composure. His beloved, however, smiled without answering, half-leaning, half-reclining, holding a scroll of poetry in his hand, and leisurely reciting: "Jade-like silk, sandalwood fans, embroidered bracelets still faintly scented with rouge… A midday dream of a thousand mountains, an arrow's shadow through the window, the newly faded scar on the red silk wrist…" His beloved poured himself a cup of w

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