Chapter Forty-Eight: The Brew of the Other Shore Blossom

Therefore, I ventured alone into the Forest of Guizang.

The mountain wind danced with wild grace, carrying with it a rich fragrance of blossoms that drifted incessantly through the woods. That scent was dreamy and illusory, and I could no longer distinguish whether it came from the peach trees ahead, the pear trees behind, or perhaps the apricot blossoms all around me.

Strolling through the sea of flowers, immersed in their midst, the place seemed boundless, wondrous beyond measure.

Drawing closer to the humble cottage nestled among the hills, I found, as expected, the ground blanketed in clusters of otherworldly flowers. Their blood-red petals and filaments were intoxicatingly beautiful; only flowers could be seen, no leaves, and as the wind stirred them, they danced like a surging sea of crimson.

The forest path that had guided me vanished at this point. One step further would take me into the ocean of otherworldly blooms. Grandfather had warned me never to touch these flowers, but without passing through them, how could I reach the cottage where Guizang dwelled?

I thought to detour around them, but no matter how I tried, it was impossible—the sea of flowers formed an impenetrable barrier around the cottage, leaving not a single gap.

“Weyang, are you there?”

Left with no other choice, I raised my voice and called out to her. If she heard me, she would surely come. Yet, the sea of flowers rustled with the wind, their sound like waves—one surge after another. Even if Weyang were inside the cottage, I doubted she could hear me.

As expected, there was no response to my call. I tried again, several times, but still, no one answered. Now, the various sects of the Daoist order had gathered outside the Thirteen Streams of Yunmeng, and Weyang was the guardian of those tombs. If they sought to enter, she would be their first target. I had to warn her immediately. Gritting my teeth, I prepared to step into the sea of flowers, determined to find her.

But just as I was about to cross the threshold, a woman's voice rang out from afar: “Stop!”

I turned toward the sound, and saw, amidst the sea of flowers, a woman standing and watching me. She wore a long black robe, the sleeves embroidered with blood-red otherworldly flowers.

Between her brows was a single red mark, half-bloomed and reminiscent of the same crimson flower. Her lips were dark as ink, her features sharp and cold as winter frost. Yet, her face was unmistakably familiar.

Yes—it was Weyang’s face.

I was stunned. Was she truly Weyang?

“If you wish to keep your soul, you had better leave now,” the woman in black said, her expression as icy as winter.

“Weyang, it’s me. Don’t you recognize me?” I asked at once.

She tilted her head, scrutinized me for a moment, then a faint smile appeared at her lips. “Of course I know you. You are him.”

“Yes, I am. We just got married,” I replied, feeling there was something strange about her—not superficially, but something deeply unsettling I could not explain.

“If that’s so, follow me,” she said, and with a sweep of her embroidered sleeve, a cold wind swept by. The sea of flowers before me parted, revealing a pebble-strewn path.

I stepped onto the path and followed her toward the cottage. In truth, the cottage was quite large, and above its entrance hung a plaque with the words “Guizang.”

She walked ahead, I followed, and we said nothing.

For some reason, though it had only been two or three days since we last met, a distance had grown between us. I wondered if it was merely my imagination.

Inside the cottage, she gestured for me to sit. But as soon as I did, she came over, sat on my lap, and wrapped her arms around my neck.

This caught me entirely off guard. I didn’t know what to say, but she pressed her lips close to my ear and spoke first: “You look anxious, avoiding my eye. Is it that you don’t care for me?”

“No,” I answered.

Weyang had always been dignified in her bearing. I never expected this side of her, though I was happy to think of it as the yearning of a day apart feeling like three autumns. Before I could dwell further, she leaned in and kissed me.

A chill emanated from her face.

“Bold Flower Maiden, stand down!”

Suddenly, a harsh voice rang out from the doorway, and I saw the black-robed Weyang hastily jump off me and kneel before the entrance.

Looking up, I saw Weyang herself standing there, dressed in red, her gaze fiery with anger.

I was stunned. How could there be two Weyangs?

“Out!” the red-clad Weyang commanded angrily. The black-robed woman, called Flower Maiden, immediately fled the cottage.

Only then did I realize that she was not Weyang at all, but Flower Maiden. Yet, how could they look identical?

“She is beautiful, isn’t she?” Weyang asked, her tone seemingly calm, but I could sense a smoldering anger beneath.

If I said Flower Maiden wasn’t beautiful, it would mean saying Weyang herself was not beautiful, since they were identical. If I said she was, I’d risk provoking Weyang’s wrath. It was like that old riddle—wife and mother both fall into the water, whom do you save first? I didn’t hesitate: “Weyang, you are the most beautiful!”

“How could I be prettier than her? Just moments ago, someone was holding her…” Weyang trailed off, unable to hide her anger.

“I thought… she was you!” I replied.

For the first time, I sensed Weyang’s fierce jealousy. Her coldness was only ever a façade, and I felt a thrill at glimpsing her true feelings.

My words made her pause; she looked at me, knowing well that Flower Maiden was her exact likeness. It was all a misunderstanding; Flower Maiden’s carefree nature was simply her character.

“Why have you come to find me?” Weyang sat down, her voice still cold.

At her question, I felt myself relax, knowing the previous matter was settled. I answered at once: “Weyang, the major Daoist sects have assembled at Old Boundary Ridge. They are all watching the Thirteen Streams of Yunmeng.”

“So, they have finally come!” Weyang said, as if she had been waiting for this.

“Weyang, what do you plan to do?” I asked.

“The tomb guardian must do what is required,” Weyang replied.

Without waiting for further questions, she called out, “Flower Maiden, bring a jar of Otherworldly Flower Brew.”

“Yes!”

What was Weyang planning? Was she going to drink with me? And that brew—just the name was intimidating. I glanced at Weyang and asked, “What is this Otherworldly Flower Brew?”

“A fine wine. Since you are here today, as your wife, I must offer you hospitality.” Her words were tinged with sarcasm; clearly, she hadn’t let go of what happened before.

I was never able to hold my liquor since childhood, but fortunately, the Jade Talisman at my waist gave me some confidence. If anything were to happen after drinking, if I transformed, it would be disastrous—my scaly form would frighten Weyang.

Still, as I had erred first, I couldn’t object. Soon, Flower Maiden brought a small jar of wine, with a red label reading “Otherworldly Flower Brew.” The jar was tiny, just a little larger than a fist.

But Flower Maiden set out only one cup, and poured it full for me.

“Husband, please enjoy this fine wine,” Weyang said, watching me.

I picked up the cup and instinctively touched the Jade Talisman at my waist, hoping it would work as it did last time, when I shared a cup with Weyang.

Yet just as I was about to drink, Weyang suddenly said, “Wait!”

I thought she knew I couldn’t drink and would spare me, but she strode over, pulled the Jade Talisman from my waist, examined it, and asked, “Qingyi—who is this?”

Flower Maiden, eager for drama, chimed in, “Mistress, isn’t it obvious? Qingyi is surely a woman’s name. This fellow is not honest—he has keepsakes from other women!”

Before I could explain, Weyang crushed the Jade Talisman in her hand and tossed its fragments to the floor.

“Weyang, she actually is—”

“Drink! This jar of Otherworldly Flower Brew is all yours!” Weyang said coldly, giving me no room to protest.

“Weyang, it truly is a misunderstanding…”

“Flower Maiden, bring another jar,” she ordered.

I fell silent, knowing any further protest would dig my own grave. Since I was cornered, I had nothing more to say. With the talisman destroyed, I had no idea what would happen to me once I drank the wine.

Worry gnawed at me, but I had no choice—I raised the cup and drained it in one gulp.

I must admit, the wine was incredibly potent; even seasoned drinkers would struggle with a jar of Otherworldly Flower Brew. My tongue burned as if it would blister, and after swallowing, I coughed and fanned my mouth, making both women laugh behind their hands.

No sooner had I finished one cup, than Flower Maiden poured another. I asked for a moment’s respite, but Weyang’s gaze made it clear she would not allow it. As I prepared to drink again, I felt a blaze ignite within, a fire roaring in my core, consuming my insides, sweat pouring from my brow like rain.

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