Untouchable Lovers

Chapter 110: Chapter 103: Can Purify the Heart

The indigo tiles and the clear white walls, the verdant bamboo branches and the young man in white, so handsome—all before me seemed insulated from the clatter of the bustling world, so serene that only the sound of boiling water could be heard.

Gurgle gurgle, the sound was ceaseless.

Atop the small red clay stove, although there was no green plum wine, the water inside the purple clay teapot was churning, constantly emitting white steam which quickly dispersed into the greenery around.

The young monk tending to the stove wore old, white clothes, as if draped in the ancient hue of moonlight, his motions leisurely as he lightly fanned with his feather fan, his drooping eyebrows softening the handsome lines of his face, a dot of cinnabar at the center of his brow, tiny as a grain of rice, brilliant, tranquil, and exquisite.

This monk was kneeling on the stone slabs under the bamboo forest, just outside the embroidered cushions at the small tables, calmly and leisurely boiling water. His expression was one of intense focus, as if the water in the pot would continue to roll like this, unceasingly, forever. Amidst the sound of tumbling water, extreme quietude and stillness prevailed. The arrival of the people had nothing to do with him, nor did he have any concern for them.

In this scene, even the flames flickering in the stove seemed untainted by worldly dust, crystal clear as if made of glaze.

Everything before me seemed as if it could only be seen in dreams. Everyone involuntarily slowed their steps; some even subconsciously held their breath, fearing the slightest exhalation might disperse the vision before them.

Huan Yuan cleared his throat softly, breaking the silence, and smiled in his gentle and refined manner, “Ladies and gentlemen, we have arrived at our destination, please take your seats.”

Awakened from the dreamlike state, everyone began to find their places. Their seats were shielded by the shade of bamboo, protecting them from the sunlight. Wang Yizhi lagged two steps behind; although he too had been stunned earlier, his astonishment differed greatly from the others’, solely because the white-robed monk was someone he was all too familiar with—Jiran.

Yet what he did not know was when Chu Yu had become so familiar with Jiran. Jiran was easygoing, but not too fond of leaving the monastery. Even he could seldom convince Jiran to leave, but the situation at hand made it obvious that Jiran was boiling water here at the arrangement of Chu Yu.

Although Yizhi did not know the purpose of the boiling water, he was not too concerned about it. He was curious, however, how exactly Chu Yu had managed to persuade Jiran. Jiran was amiable, but if he was unwilling, not even power or force could likely succeed, right?

Right now, Jiran seemed calm and at ease, not as if he had been brought by force.

A cloud of questions hovered in Wang Yizhi’s mind: How had Chu Yu moved Jiran?

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Despite the mysteries in his heart, Yizhi’s demeanor remained unchanged, even poised and interested. He had thought that beyond the bamboo forest, there would be no more surprises, yet behind it lay astonishments that took him aback. He was eager to see what else Chu Yu had planned beyond this.

Wang Xiang was seated beside Yizhi, behind the small table. Once they had all settled, young servants in white, directed by Si Ming, appeared like flowing water, bringing forth woven rattan bowls. The bowls contained fruits, thoroughly washed and chilled in cool spring water overnight, their glossy exteriors bright and attractive. Picking one up, a sweet scent of spring water arose, refreshingly cold on a hot day, crunchy with each bite.

Coming from a wealthy family himself, Yizhi knew well how such cold fruits came to be—during winter, wealthy families stored ice, excavated or made, in cellars for summer enjoyment. But using large blocks of ice to chill fruits rather than consuming the ice directly was still relatively luxurious.

The number of guests filled in quickly. Although some had left earlier, impatient and in a huff, others who had not been invited filled the gaps, so the tables remained occupied. Just as everyone was almost seated, a remote sound of a zither began to rise, a faint melody originating from the bamboo forest they had passed earlier.

As the zither sounded on one side of the bamboo, a gentle voice ascended in song from the other side, soft and misty, elegant and breezy like the forest wind.

Both the zither and the singing were unclear, one to the east and one to the west, seeming to echo each other distantly. When the zither rose, the singing dropped, and when the singing soared, the zither became nearly inaudible.

The ethereal quality of both zither and song was mesmerizing, as if transporting one back into the boundless bamboo forest, suggesting there could be no finer view anywhere else in the world.