Moonlight at the Crossroads

That afternoon, when I left the Western Jin Prince’s manor, I went straight to the travelers’ post. My main reason was to escape Su Yue—and even more so her overly attached brother, Su Ruoyun, that supreme sister-obsessive.

Nanny Zhang was reluctant to see me go. She said many words to persuade me to stay, but she was not unreasonable. When I told her I had urgent business that required me to leave, she no longer pressed, though tears streamed down her face as she saw me off.

I had little luggage. I had arrived with nothing, and so I would depart with nothing. Carrying only a few sets of men’s clothing, I set out for the post.

Because posts were full of all sorts—good, bad, and dangerous—they were usually placed in the outskirts of towns. I sat in the jolting carriage for a long while before reaching this one. The place wasn’t large, but its architecture was diverse: each district reflected the styles of the different nations who passed through.

I was assigned to Room Three under the Heaven block. Kun Hong was placed in Room Two, with only a thin wall between us. After arriving, I went to check on him. The effect of the incense hadn’t yet worn off, but it was fading. My heart ached—my precious stock of “Fragrant Bloom” was dwindling, all of it wasted as sleeping incense for him. Luckily, I met a vendor from Liu Ya who sold me a packet of strong stupefying incense.

I did not hesitate. I used it all on him.

As soon as the drug entered his system, Kun Hong’s breathing deepened again. Relieved, I returned to Room Three to rest.

I always misjudge situations, always confusing safety with danger. To most people, a comfortable courtyard would be far safer than a post teeming with strangers. But because the courtyard had Su Yue, and the post did not, I packed my things and came here. What I did not expect was that though the post had no Su Yue, it had people far more dangerous than her—ten, a hundred, a thousand times more dangerous. And worst of all, I was now a woman. A woman who, in the eyes of the world, was considered fairly attractive.

On the third night of my stay, someone knocked. Hard pounding rattled the door, startling me. I rose and opened it—only to see several drunken merchants swaying in the hallway, liquor on their breath and still pouring down their throats.

I assumed they had mistaken my room, so I kindly reminded them. But one man, burly with a thick beard, reached straight for my face. “No mistake, sweetheart. Been keeping an eye out—Room Three’s got a dainty beauty inside. Finally got to see her in the flesh.”

I was being harassed.

I—me—was being harassed.

A man, being harassed by another man. Was there anything more humiliating under heaven?

Fury surged. I swung my fist, expecting the weight of a hammer to send him flying. But reality was cruel—this body was no longer that of a man. My fist was small, soft, and in their eyes, merely a playful swat.

As I blazed with anger, they only laughed louder, mistaking it for flirting. The bearded brute leered, “I’ve got coin enough to drown in. Come along, girl, and be mine tonight.” He puckered his foul lips and leaned close.

I fought back. Hard. Smashing cups, shattering bowls to raise a racket in the dead of night. I drew my knife and slashed into his thigh. His scream, like a butchered hog, finally roused the innkeeper. A few strong men rushed in, dragging the merchants out while the innkeeper bowed repeatedly in apology.

“These are traders from Xihan, in the scales-and-stone business. Forgive me, miss. But this post is a place of mixed sorts—many such men lurk here. My advice: pay a little more and stay at a guesthouse. Safer than here.”

He left.

But I could no longer sleep. It was the middle watch, and I finally understood why women lived so cautiously, always like startled birds. A lone woman on the road—without skill—could be devoured without a trace. That night, every rustle woke me. By the last half, I gave up on sleep entirely.

Lighting a lamp, I read. And there, beneath the bed, I found a bundle.

It reeked of wine. Likely dropped by those merchants.

Naturally, I didn’t return it. Inside were coins, maps, fire-starters. Nothing unusual. But at the bottom—green garments. And behind them, several portraits.

My heart leapt.

The woman in the paintings was beautiful—arched brows, vivid lips. Too familiar. Too painfully familiar.

I knew these lines. On Lingxu Mountain, my master often painted in solitude. Always this same woman. The brushstrokes, the shade of green—it could only be his.

Those merchants must be connected to him.

I wanted to confront them at once, but it was the middle of the night and they were surely still drunk. I forced myself to wait. At dawn, I rushed out—only to learn they had already left.

“They brought wives,” the innkeeper said. “After what they pulled last night, their wives beat them senseless and dragged them home before dawn. Likely back to Xihan.”

Xihan. I longed to go at once. But I looked down at myself—a woman’s body still. Inconvenient. I would wait two more days until I changed back.

On the second night, I dozed by the door. A sound behind me. Sharp and sudden. Another drunk? I whipped out my knife and struck.

The blade cut only air. My wrist twisted, numbed—my knife fell.

And then, a voice I knew: “Must you stab before you greet me?”

“Gongsun Bai?!”

The lamp flared, casting shadows. His face appeared on the wall, weary and streaked with dirt. For once, he looked haggard. Relief swept through me; my knees buckled, but he caught me.

“What are you doing here, awake with a knife at your door?”

I told him about the night before. Naturally, I left out parts—describing myself as single-handedly fending off drunks without losing ground.

When I finished, he wore a rare solemn look. “Next time, come to me.”

“Why? They were drunks. They left the next day. Nothing serious.”

In the wavering lamplight, his voice grew distant. “Did you forget? I am your guard. My duty… is to protect you.”

I smiled faintly. “I forgot.”

For a moment, the air grew awkward. I quickly changed the subject. “And you? Why look like you’ve been grave-robbing?”

He brushed dust from his face. “Guess whose grave I robbed?”

No need to guess. The word slipped from my lips: “Wan Ling.”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“I never asked—where did Gongsun Yanshu bury her?”

“In a paupers’ pit.”

“…Not a place for her.”

“At the time, Yanshu gave the order in rash anger. His servants tossed her there. Now he regrets it. He ran back at night to search. Do you know what kind of place that is? Paupers, beggars, deserters, wild dogs, vultures—thousands of bones piled together. Wan Ling was wrapped only in a straw mat. Nearly impossible to find. I begged him to wait, to search with help at dawn. He refused. He clawed the earth with his bare hands until they bled.”

I closed my eyes. I could see it: Yanshu kneeling in the pits, madly scraping at the dirt.

“And then?”

“He found her. Tossed aside under a heap of straw. He pulled her out and wept. Afterward—”

“Afterward, he brought her home for a wedding ceremony?” I cut in.

“….” Gongsun Bai rolled his eyes at me. “It was autumn. The body hadn’t rotted yet. But it would not last. I knew Yanshu was wealthy, but I didn’t know he was so wealthy—he had a cold-jade coffin. He placed her inside, bore it on his back, and vanished into the night. I lost his trail. So I came to you.”

“Me?” I frowned. “I don’t know where he is.”

“You will know. He seeks someone to revive her. And in this world, only your master, Tu Xin, could do that.”

I sighed. “I don’t know where my master is. I’m searching myself. But people die, and death is final. Wan Ling’s soul may have already entered the wheel of rebirth. Guarding her body is pointless. Only tormenting himself.”

Gongsun Bai scowled. “Then erase his memory of her. End his madness.”

“I cannot.” The candle trembled. Shadows danced. “People never truly forget. Don’t believe those tales of amnesia—they’re lies.” I dipped a finger into tea, drew a line on the table. “This line is memory. Clear, visible.” I swiped my hand across it; the mark blurred. “It fades, but remains.” I sprinkled ashes over it. They clung thickest where the line had been. “So it is with memory. ‘Forgetting’ is only failing to see. The trace remains, waiting.”

Outside, moonlight shimmered. “We live through too much. Our minds cannot hold it all. Time buries things. Tonight, too, I will forget. But one mention of this post, or of tonight’s moon, and it will all return. So it is with Kun Hong, with Yanshu. They will remember Wan Ling, sooner or later.”

Gongsun Bai’s voice broke the silence. “I will not forget.”

“What?” I blinked.

“I said, I will not forget tonight.” His eyes rippled like autumn waters. “Nor will I forget you.”

“Oh? Impressive memory you have. Not like me. I’m old. Forgetful.” I forced a laugh—then froze. From the next room came a faint sound.

I whispered, “Kun Hong lives next door.”