Extra Chapter
Never Crossing to the Other Shore
“Never Crossing to the Other Shore” (不渡彼岸): Bian'an (彼岸), literally “the other shore,” is a Buddhist expression for the far shore of enlightenment, beyond suffering and the cycle of rebirth.
“The benefactor is not quite as the rumors describe…” The old abbot studied the man before him.
The man seated cross-legged before the eminent monk wore blue robes, a hint of a smile in his phoenix eyes. Even without the monk saying it, he knew what the man had swallowed back.
Nothing more than vicious intent, murderous aura, acts of brutality, and all the rest.
“It is all true,” he said without reservation. “This prince merely knows how to conceal it.”
Shen Ce still wore the faintest smile as he gazed steadily at the abbot.
According to the rumors, he was the King of the River, the man who had once been besieged in Jingzhou by an army of a hundred thousand. On the eve of battle, he had drunk himself into a stupor, then led seventeen thousand cavalrymen in fighting his way through the encirclement, earning his fame in a single battle. By the end of that battle, barely more than five hundred men remained. He had emerged from a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood, like a ghost king who had crawled out of Yanwang's Hall.
It was said that the reason he had won that battle was that he had led three thousand death-sworn cavalrymen straight into the enemy formation, fighting their way through by sheer force and carving out a path to survival. In the end, only four men returned with him. Every one of them had bloodshot eyes, and their fingers were caked in blood.
There was also a rumor that on the day of his great victory, he had stood before the enemy ranks and drunk deeply of the enemy general's blood, offering it in sacrifice to the countless lives lost.
The abbot met his gaze. Overwhelmed by the viciousness lurking beneath his smile, he finally understood.
If two armies were locked in battle, which general would inspire greater fear? The one whose eyes bulged with fury, his face grim and murderous, or one like Shen Ce, who wore a faint smile as he drank a cup of blood? The answer was obvious. It was the latter. It was Shen Ce.
Shen Ce left the temple and arranged for an escort to take the abbot and the other monks to Luojia.
The abbot guessed that Shen Ce had specifically dispatched elite soldiers to protect him and his disciples amid the chaos of war so that they could recite sutras to dispel the misfortune surrounding Shen Ce. The eminent monk spoke honestly. Shen Ce was burdened with too much karmic sin from killing. The sins of this lifetime could not be erased. Neither reciting sutras nor building temples would do any good.
“There is no need to do it for me,” Shen Ce replied from horseback. “Do it for my younger sister.”
Only after the abbot arrived in the southern territories did he hear the truth: everyone on both banks of the Jiang River knew that Shen Ce had a full younger sister whom he treasured more than his own life.
A man who had long since put life and death behind him had only one thought left to bind him to the mortal world.
“The Shen family has a daughter named Zhaozhao, a peerless beauty whose appearance rivals the udumbara flower...”
On the day he had the storyteller executed in the teahouse, he had ordered his men to find an udumbara flower and brought it back to keep in his military tent. When the flower finally bloomed, however, he had it sent to someone else.
The flower did not live up to its name. It fell far short of Zhaozhao.
Still, it would not do to throw it away to feed the horses. After all, someone had said it resembled her.
Three months later, Zhaozhao accidentally fell and injured herself.
He knew perfectly well that she had done it to avoid an arranged marriage.
When he hurried home, he pretended he was going to have every maid and physician in the courtyard beheaded. He knew she was kind by nature and could not bear to drag others into her troubles. Even if only to protect the servants around her, she would not dare hurt herself again.
That night, he had intended to return to the military camp, but then she fell “ill.”
Beside her bed, she leaned against him and said that only the smell of incense ash could put her at ease.
Since they had grown up, this had been the closest they had been to each other. After she fell asleep, a few strands of her hair slipped onto the back of his hand. He stared at those strands, twining them around his fingers and playing with them for half an hour. As though caught in a nightmare, she reached into the front of his robe.
He did not move.
He let Zhaozhao's hand touch his chest, slide down to his waist, and then move around to his lower back.
The night was utterly quiet, just like when they were young. After finishing his sword practice, he would pick up the little girl who had fallen asleep leaning against the wooden door and carry her back inside to sleep. It was cold, with no charcoal fire burning. She would burrow into his arms, open his robe, and warm her hands against him…
Her fingers were soft. They were a woman's hands.
What would he do if she went any further?
Shen Ce had long imagined what would happen if he openly told the soldiers who had followed him through life and death that he wanted to be with his own younger sister.
The imperial palace and the court had long coveted his military power. Even within the army, powerful clans maintained their own factions. It was only his personal prestige that kept them in check. To be accused of carrying on an illicit relationship with his own sister would be a sufficient crime in itself. The accusation would not even need to reach the palace. It would be enough to get him killed amid tens of thousands of soldiers and horses.
The death-sworn men who had survived alongside him back then would certainly protect him. But what would happen after that? Hundreds of thousands of soldiers would turn against one another, leaving countless dead and wounded, until at last they drove him into a dead end. Would he have to kill the beauty who had brought calamity upon him, or take his own life to atone for his sins?
Especially when that beauty was one he had no right to love, a woman whose very existence beside him would violate the laws of human relationships.
…
He was not afraid to die. He was afraid she would be forced to die.
He could not stop tens of thousands of soldiers and horses. Even the best possible outcome would be for him to die first and her to follow.
It was a dead end from which there was no escape.
Shen Ce tried to draw Zhaozhao's arm away.
The warm pad of her finger slid across his waist, striking a spark within him. It reminded him of the jokes the men in the army traded among themselves. Soldiers who spent their lives drenched in blood naturally had few scruples about crude humor, and they often teased him even when he was right there before them, their prince.
Zhaozhao furrowed her brows slightly, voicing her displeasure in her sleep.
“Ge, don't move…”
A flash of fire passed through his eyes. He saw through her pretense of sleep, and the corner of his mouth lifted.
I've held you all night and only dared to play with a few strands of your black hair. And here you are, treating Shen Ce as though he weren't even a man.
He said nothing. Instead, he simply pretended that he, too, had grown drowsy and lost his wits.
He would let her do as she pleased.
She could keep pretending, but she would never outlast him.
He had once lain in wait in the water to ambush enemy troops, fighting for three days and nights without rest. He had also spent two days and three nights attacking a city. Tonight, he had a warm bed and soft quilts, with Zhaozhao in his arms. Staying awake for one night was nothing.
When her fingers slowly curled inward and the strength drained from their tips, Shen Ce knew she had fallen asleep. Her knee rested on his leg, her face nestled in the hollow of his neck, her breath falling against the collar of his robe.
“Zhaozhao?”
He wanted to carry her down and lay her on the bed. He bent forward, his body blocking the candlelight.
Zhaozhao slept in his shadow, completely unaware that he remained in that position, watching her for a long, long time.
So long that even Shen Ce began to believe that, for this one night, the two of them had truly shared a bed as husband and wife. That he was merely a man who had to leave Zhaozhao in the middle of the night to attend to military affairs, yet could not quite bear to part from her.
At daybreak, he summoned servants to bathe and dress her, washing away the murderous aura she had absorbed from him throughout the night. Ever since he had been made a prince, he had rarely returned to the Shen residence, afraid that his bloodlust and viciousness might affect her.
Behind a wooden door, the sound of water was faintly audible.
He listened for a while, remembering the fingers that had touched his waist and chest the night before. He truly should not have stayed any longer.
“Ge?”
He did not answer. He simply left.
Before long, military provisions ran short, making it difficult to get through the winter. Enemy forces also launched an attack, and the emperor had no desire to prolong the war.
“Shen Zhaozhao” had already made a name for herself. She could now be used to secure a marriage alliance and negotiate peace.
Shen Ce suppressed the secret imperial decree ordering Zhaozhao to marry, appointed his generals, and sent out his troops. In just half a month, he captured three cities in succession. He personally led a night raid, took the enemy general's head, and seized enough military provisions to last three years. The victory bolstered the morale of his troops, and before the year was out, he had won a great triumph.
Shen Ce returned wounded, but he concealed the matter for fear that Zhaozhao would worry.
Yet he was also afraid that her sharp mind would see through him. So he took the initiative and told her that, with nothing pressing to occupy him this year, he would stay with her to keep watch through the New Year's Eve.
Afraid that an early snowfall might delay his journey back to the Shen residence, he set out for home ahead of time on New Year's Eve, despite his injuries. He had brought all sorts of food and amusements with him, filling several large chests. By the time he reached the Shen residence, the sky was still bright. Afraid she might see his wounds, the dignified prince rented a pastry shop in a small alley directly opposite the Shen residence, bringing along his military physician and deputy general. Before long, the entire shop was packed with people.
With nothing else to do, he opened the chests and sorted through their contents one by one. In the end, he tucked a packet of fruit presented by the foreign tribes into his robe and headed toward the back gate, only to turn around and retrace his steps after walking a short distance. It was not yet completely dark. He could not enter the residence.
Only after nightfall did he finally enter the house. He changed his clothes and unwound his bandages. He even took a handful of incense ash and rubbed it between his hands for a while. Only after washing them clean did he go to see her.
Zhaozhao in the candlelight.
It was his heart that was startled, and his soul that was stirred.
In her pair of fawn-like eyes, he saw his own reflection alongside the candle flames. He was clearly there, yet she remained dissatisfied, constantly trying to find where he stood.
“Ever since I was little, I could never see clearly while staying up on New Year's Eve,” she said softly.
There were advantages to not seeing clearly. It spared him plenty of trouble, and she did not have to know that he had always been watching her.
With candles illuminating the entire room, he leaned back in rare comfort, peeling fruit while watching her. She propped her chin on her hand, then obediently held it out toward him.
He wanted to ask, What is it? Not going to hold me while pretending to be asleep this time?
But he merely smiled and said casually, “A tribute from the Yi people.”
Zhaozhao took it from him and nibbled at the fruit, stirring his thoughts.
“Turn your face this way. Let me see the injury,” he said.
She pushed the low table aside, her face bright with smiles as she moved closer to him.
The hem of her skirt brushed the back of his hand, which rested on the couch. His hand moved upward and closed around her shoulder as he looked at the inner demon that had tormented him for years.
She had rouge on her lips, but she had swallowed most of it away while eating the fruit. In the candlelight, her lips glistened with a moist sheen. Every so often, her eyelashes fluttered once, then again a little later.
She had been like this since childhood. Whenever she felt uneasy, she liked to blink.
A small patch of red, as though someone had lightly brushed her lips with rouge.
He wanted to touch it and see how it felt, but he did not move.
After leaving the Shen residence, Shen Ce went to Luojia Mountain.
As he did every time, he did not cross the sea. He waited for the abbot to come and see him.
The abbot had once asked why he refused to cross the sea, assuming that he was afraid of water. But how could a man who guarded both banks of a great river afraid of water? The abbot could not make sense of it, no matter how he pondered.
“There is a saying here, ‘Only by crossing the lotus waves can one reach the other shore.’” Shen Ce told the abbot, gazing at the waves before him. “I have no wish to reach the other shore, so why should I cross the sea?”
In Buddhist teachings, to escape the cycle of reincarnation is to reach the other shore.
But only within that cycle would he have the chance to wait for a destined lifetime in which he and she could remain together.
The abbot asked with a smile, “Benefactor, are you not afraid of the suffering of the mortal world?”
He smiled as he replied, “Even if the mortal world is full of suffering, Shen Ce would still gladly embrace it.”
Shen Lang of Chaisang. Shen Zhaozhao.
One day, they would surely reach a lifetime in which fate brought them together. Even if they forgot everything that had come before, he would still keep his long-held wish bound to eternity.
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