Make Love

By this point, the story already had its basic outline.
A poor girl was sold into a brothel by her father, endured countless humiliations, and at last, through her own efforts, rose to become a courtesan of the highest rank. She found herself a rich and handsome suitor and was about to be married—only for a street ruffian to appear midway and forcibly trade her away with nothing but a blade.

Such twists of fate—too cruel, far too cruel. How could any ordinary soul bear such a blow?

As I kept murmuring to myself, Gongsun Bai also let out a long sigh. “Who would have thought that behind those events lay such deep entanglements?”

“Yu Hanjun’s willingness to wed Qin Yan at least had the foundation of a month’s companionship, a bond of affection. It showed he was no shallow man. But then, what about Zhao Jin?” I asked. “From what we’ve seen in this illusion, he merely happened to pass by, then suddenly decided to ‘seize love with the blade.’”

Gongsun Bai did not answer my question. Instead, after looking me over from head to toe, he asked, “Brother Su, I have long wondered. Judging from your bearing and manners, were you perhaps born into an official’s household?”

“What?” My heart skipped a beat. Had this fellow seen through me? No, absolutely not—I could never let him know. I hurriedly replied, “Not at all. My family was poor, so they sent me to a wandering cultivator as an apprentice…”

Gongsun Bai was plainly unconvinced. “Zhao Jin’s behavior is not so hard to understand,” he said calmly. “He was simply acting on a whim.”

“What?” I was baffled.

“Do you know,” Gongsun Bai went on, “that by Zhao Jin’s generation, Forging-Sword Manor had only him as heir? Most great houses have multiple successors—Yuluo Pavilion, for example, has seven. But Forging-Sword Manor had few descendants. Zhao Jin was the only child. Thus, the entire manor revolved around him, granting his every desire. For the young Zhao Jin, there was never anything he wanted that he could not obtain—including people.”

“So when he happened upon this place and heard of the famed ‘First Beauty,’ his curiosity was piqued. To possess Qin Yan, he was willing to pay any price. That is why he acted so.”

Hearing this explanation, the corner of my mouth twitched. So it was for such a reason? Truly a spoiled child…

Late autumn, with a hint of chill. A stray wind swept past, making us shiver.
The illusion was woven from Qin Yan’s memories. We merely followed her perspective, stepping deeper into the story.

Qin Yan walked beside Zhao Jin as they left the bustling street and headed south. The further they went, the thinner the crowd became. Though she had returned the phoenix coronet to Yu Hanjun, she still wore that heavy ceremonial robe—lavish, but cumbersome. It made it difficult to keep pace.

Zhao Jin seemed not to care in the least. He strode quickly, and when he came to a patch of mud, he simply leapt across with lightfoot skill, without sparing a glance for the woman behind.

All along the way, Qin Yan’s makeup had run. Her hair was in disarray, sweat had melted the powder on her cheeks. Though no longer dazzling as when fully adorned, there was now a different kind of charm about her.

Arms crossed, Zhao Jin regarded her coldly, as one might examine a newly purchased porcelain vase. Then, without warning, he said indifferently, “You need not follow me. You are free. Go.”

Qin Yan froze, then smiled faintly. “But you have already exchanged me. I am yours now.”

The smile was unsettling. Before the bridal sedan, her smile had been radiant, genuine, captivating. Now it was tinged with flattery, with obsequiousness.
A woman who smiles thus at one man will smile thus at any man.

Sure enough, Zhao Jin seemed angered by it. He snapped coldly, “As you wish,” and turned away.

Qin Yan glanced at the mud beneath her feet. Then, gritting her teeth, she shrugged off the robe, spread it across the ground, stepped upon it, and hurried to catch up with him.

From a distance, I was dumbfounded. “What is going on? If I recall, Qin Yan always longed for freedom. Now Zhao Jin has granted it—so why does she not leave?”

Gongsun Bai gave no answer. He only looked up at the birds flying overhead, while in the forest nearby leaves rustled down.

“Because of Yu Hanjun.”

“What? Did he not already trade Qin Yan to Zhao Jin? Would he dare break his word?”

Gongsun Bai sighed, and with one hand pulled me aside. I saw then several figures in black darting swiftly along the lakeside, their steps light as ripples upon the water—masterful lightness skill, leaving no trace.

“They are Yu Hanjun’s men.”

“Assassins?”

“No, more like spies. From the moment Zhao Jin took Qin Yan away, they have shadowed him.”

“For what purpose?”

“As a safeguard.”

For Zhao Jin was fickle, lawless, never bound by propriety. On a whim he had traded the divine blade for Qin Yan; on another whim, he might abandon her—or even return her freedom. Yu Hanjun feared just such a chance. Thus he had ordered his men: if Qin Yan ever left Zhao Jin, they were to retrieve her immediately. To what end? To restore her as his concubine? To bring her into Yuluo Pavilion as wife?
All were possible.

Women—so cruel, yet so tender. They may forgive men all sins in the name of love. But that was ordinary women, not Qin Yan. She was fierce, leaving no retreat. Since Yu Hanjun had cast her aside, gifting her to another, he no longer had the right to reclaim her. Better to follow an unfeeling Zhao Jin than to return to the arms of a man who had abandoned her.
That was Qin Yan’s creed.

I counted roughly four shadows trailing behind. Their skill was extraordinary. Had it not been for Gongsun Bai’s keen perception, I might not have noticed at all. He himself could not guarantee to defeat them all at once—let alone Qin Yan, a woman with no martial strength. Thus, staying by Zhao Jin’s side was indeed her wisest choice.

Zhao Jin pressed on through the day. As dusk fell, he chose to rest in a ruined temple. Truly ruined—only a lone Buddha statue and a few shattered tiles. Hard to imagine: was Zhao Jin not the very image of a pampered heir, who drank only rare wines, ate only delicacies, and slept upon silken beds? Why, then, did he choose this temple, when a few more li would have brought them to an inn?

Gongsun Bai wore a look of “as expected.” “They are children of the jianghu. To sleep in a ruined temple now and then cultivates the spirit. Besides, here, heaven is the blanket and earth the bed—no barriers, no walls. They share one space. In an inn, the question would arise—one room or two? Such awkwardness is avoided here. Brother Su, you are too simple. This decision was shrewd indeed.”

“……”

Thus the two stayed in the temple.

Cold night, bitter wind. By day one could endure—there was the sun, and walking kept the blood warm. But at night it was far harsher. Along the way, to match Zhao Jin’s pace, Qin Yan had cast off her shoes and discarded the ten-jin bridal robe. Now she had only a thin undergarment—enough to cover her body, not enough to ward off the chill.

She lay behind the Buddha statue, seeking shelter.

At midnight, warmth suddenly enveloped her. It was as though she lay upon a bed of cotton, wrapped in a brocade quilt. Too warm, impossibly warm. She burrowed deeper, longing to sink wholly into it.

Then a cold voice sounded by her ear. “Have you clung long enough?”

Like a thunderbolt, she awoke. She found herself in Zhao Jin’s arms. The warmth was no quilt, but his chest.

Qin Yan felt a flicker of embarrassment. Not much—just a trace. She tried to slip away, but found herself locked fast, unable to move.

She met Zhao Jin’s eyes, burning with desire.

She knew well what would follow.

Sure enough, Zhao Jin kissed her fiercely. She tilted her head back, neither resisting nor yielding.

After the kiss, his voice was husky. His hand moved to the clasps of her garment. “Will you undress yourself, or shall I?”

Qin Yan knew this moment was inevitable. She had foreseen it. No matter the man—a merchant, an official, even a beggar—he was but a client. She had no right to choose.

Steeling herself, she asked, “Here?”

With a mocking smile, Zhao Jin retorted, “And where else?”

Her body stiffened. “You are right. For one such as me, it makes no difference where.”

She began to unfasten the buttons one by one, revealing skin pale and tender. In the temple there was no light, only the moon spilling through the doorway.

That night, Qin Yan gave herself away.

She did not cry. She did not scream. She simply lay with eyes wide open, gazing past Zhao Jin’s back toward the serene Buddha. And in that moment, it seemed the statue’s eyes opened slightly, and a single tear fell—pa—upon the ground.