Life: A Black and White Film - CH 13 part2

One entire day. To have one entire ordinary day with Cheng Muyun is so special. Here is the first part of it. What do you think they are going to do?

This story was translated with the expression permission of the author for hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com. All forms of reproduction, redistribution, or reposting are not authorized, except by linking to hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com. If you are not reading this from hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com, the copy is unauthorized and has been taken without consent of the translator.

The entire room was filled with the smell of Moscow.

This soup was simply too ordinary, so ordinary that you would be able to drink it in the home of any poor family in Moscow, and it was not worth specially introducing to those unfamiliar “friends” who were with them.

But for Cheng Muyun, after ten years of being away from his homeland, being able, here in India, to drink this soup that this girl from Moscow had made with her own hands still caused his throat to tighten somewhat. Love—it gave him not only someone for his heart to constantly be thinking of and physical intimacy but also the dangers of homesickness.

“Is this a rosemary leaf?” He glanced at her from beneath his eyelashes.

Wen Han made a sound in response, feeling somewhat self-conscious as she looked at those deep green plant leaves on the surface of the soup.

In the kitchen earlier, when she was looking for spices to cook with, she had spotted these. Whenever she saw rosemary, she would always remember the feeling she had had about him in the beginning when they first met. Never had there been a man whose eyes could be so beautiful, like rosemary, the persistent, bewitching fragrance. He needed only to take one look at you and then your entire body would heat up.

And there were also the rosemary’s symbolic meanings of loyalty and endless, lonely yearning.

These all made her unable to resist using that spice.<>Please read this at hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com instead

Wordlessly, Cheng Muyun took the stainless steel bowl that she had filled with borsh.

Those four people, the men and the woman who had all stayed quiet the entire time, now over and over declined Wen Han’s kindness. Only one perfunctorily drank a small sip of soup, but after taking it into his mouth, he immediately apologetically spit it all back out, explaining in English that he really could not handle the taste of rosemary.

It was from this moment onwards that Wen Han had a strange feeling about these four people.

It was as if they did not fully trust Cheng Muyun, just like how… that day in the manor, when Cheng Muyun had placed the bag of mangoes in front of everyone, only she and Zhuang Yan had not hesitated at all and eaten some.

This was a type of trust.<>This UNAUTHORIZED copy was taken from hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com

Wen Han tidied up the kitchen, meticulously making sure every detail, big and small, was taken care of. The tableware in this place was truly very basic, all of it stainless steel, so was also very easy to clean and tidy up. Before long, she had finished drying the water off of the last stainless steel bowl and shut the cupboard door. Her next action was to glance at the clock hanging on the wall of the living room.

There were still another twenty-two hours left.<>Please read this at hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com instead

“Do you have… any plans after this?” The voice she used to ask this question was very light, as if she was being a thief.

Narrowing his eyes, Cheng Muyun moved in close to her, pressing his tall body against her back, the backside of her thighs, and also her calves, until there was no gap between them at all. “How about going upstairs with your beloved?”<>Copyright of Fanatical, hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com. Translated with the express permission of the author for hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com. If you are not reading this from hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com, the translation has been taken without consent of the translator.

Inside the living room, someone turned on the television.<>Please read this at hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com

Indian singing and dancing programs are very noisy and also very joyful.

She could even hear in the house directly next door someone playing an instrument. The song being played in real life intermingled with the song coming from the television and gave her the illusion that she had once more returned to the world of humans. She tilted her head down. The stray hairs in front of her forehead slipped down. They were very long already.

In these dozens of days, she had not really taken care of her appearance.

Luckily, she was young, and aside from her complexion being somewhat pale, there had not been any major effect to her.<>Copyright of Fanatical, hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com. Translated with the express permission of the author for hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com. If you are not reading this from hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com, the translation has been taken without consent of the translator.

It was in this stillness that someone knocked on the front door of the house.

One of the men in the living room instantly shut off the television.

All sounds were temporarily paused right there, and the atmosphere became tense and unusual. Wen Han did not even really dare to breathe as she looked nervously at Cheng Muyun. Only this man in front of her showed no abnormal reaction. Passing through that living room, where the atmosphere seemed as if it had congealed, he put his hand on the door handle and, with a click, opened the door.

Accompanying the sunlight that streamed in was the sound of a “Hi!” that came from an unfamiliar, Indian youngster. “I’m looking for the owners of this home.”

Cheng Muyun smiled, looking down at this young person of a foreign country. “Unfortunately, they are not here. You likely know that their father is going to be having a grand monastic induction celebration in the nearby town?”

The Indian young person suddenly remembered, a smile radiating from his dark-skinned face. “I had thought they would finish these next few days of ritual worship ceremonies on the Ganges before going there. It seems I thought wrong.”

When the Indian youngster finished saying this, he puzzledly eyed over the people inside the home.

“These are all my friends.” Cheng Muyun rested against the doorframe, letting the afternoon breeze ripple up a corner of his shirt. “You see, we are only staying here for this one day as well, and tomorrow we will be hurrying back for that ceremony.”

“Oh really?” The Indian youngster gave a laugh. “Then I will wish you a pleasant evening tonight in Varanasi.”

“Thank you.” Cheng Muyun smiled also.<>Please read this at hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com instead

When Wen Han, who was leaning against the kitchen doorway, caught sight of the expressions of those three men and one woman, where they seemed as if they were prepared at any time for battle, she felt even more affirmed about her views. These four people unquestionably were here as a means of monitoring Cheng Muyun. No wonder, beside the sunflower field during the day, they had expressed that they had had no choice, that it was the arrangements of those higher in authority.<>Copyright of Fanatical, hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com. Translated with the express permission of the author for hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com. If you are not reading this from hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com, the translation has been taken without consent of the translator.

While she was still mulling over these things, Cheng Muyun had already shut the door and, turning around, restored that detached expression on his face.

“We…” Before she could speak a complete sentence, he had swept her up into his arms.

“We what?” He chuckled lightly.<>This UNAUTHORIZED copy was taken from hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com

“… Nothing.” Wen Han rested herself against his chest, not speaking. As she listened to each sound of his black boots treading up the staircase, she stole a glimpse at those few people. Since they certainly would know what the two of them were going to do, were they still going to follow them upstairs?

Wen Han’s thoughts were chaotic as she anxiously paid attention to those people who were shadowing behind the both of them but maintaining a distance. He soon arrived at the third level. The door of the room that she had once stayed in was open. A wind came in through the window and blew straight out into the hall, billowing the hallway window’s little curtains, which were adorned with an intricate design.

While Wen Han was still secretly peeking at the people behind them, Cheng Muyun had already stridden into the room and hooked the door with the tip of his boot.

The door closed with a bang, and Wen Han was set back down.

Her eyes swept around the room. When she turned her head back to say something, she discovered he was unfastening, one at a time, the buttons of his shirt. Leaning herself gently back into the wall, Wen Han watched him.

The sun cast its light in through the glass, spilling onto half of the room.

The place where she stood was in the sunlight, while he happened to be in a shadowed spot where the sunshine could not reach.<>Copyright of Fanatical, hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com. Translated with the express permission of the author for hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com. If you are not reading this from hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com, the translation has been taken without consent of the translator.

There was a wound on his broad shoulders. An old wound.<>Please read this at hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com

Beneath his collarbones was his chest. And as her gaze travelled further down, from her angle, she could see his black, leather belt that was already undone and draped loosely over his hips.

Cheng Muyun removed those heavy and hard, black boots.<>Please read this at hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com

“I began observing the precepts when I was fifteen years old. It so happens that that same year, you were born.” His feet bare, he stepped across the wooden floors. Resting himself lightly against the wall also, he lowered his head to admire the contours of her gently rising and falling bosom as well as the little actions of her fingers, slightly curved and digging lightly into the wall. “Isn’t that interesting?”

She gave an “mm-hmm,” unconsciously rubbing the pads of her fingers together.

“Near the Red Square, there is the red Kremlin Wall, Lenin’s Tomb, Saint Basil’s Cathedral, the State Historical Museum of Russia, and also the oldest department store in Moscow, built in the late nineteenth century.” His voice low, he asked, “Did I get anything wrong?”

As he pulled these up from his memory, he was able, as well, to imagine Wen Han as an adolescent girl, walking within that white structure, and the expression of longing and anticipation on her face while she gazed at the shopwindows. That was the life of an ordinary woman in Moscow.

The department store in Moscow that Cheng Muyun mentions, the one that is next to the Red Square and whose building dates back to the nineteenth century, should be the GUM. Left: The GUM building facing the Red Square. Right: Interior view of the white structure of the GUM.

“No. Your memory is very good.” Even after being away for ten years.

“Tell me about your life in Moscow in the past.” He was at last no longer satisfied with this form of flirting where they were staring into one another’s eyes. Slowly, he took hold of her blouse, using that thin layer of cloth to pull her toward himself.

“My past…” Wen Han bumped up against his body, and her fingers contacted his chest. “I was in an orphanage when I was a child, but I don’t really remember it clearly. Later, because of my one-quarter Chinese blood, my parents, who came from China, adopted me. They run a small inn on an unremarkable street in Moscow. My grades in school were neither great, nor bad.”

Mundane and without lustre—these were the first twenty years of her life.

And these several dozen days spent with him were enough to make up for a countless number of twenty years.

Cheng Muyun’s hand trailed from her delicate shoulder, down her arm, and to her wrist, and then he grasped her hand. “Aside from that shameless, cowardly friend of yours, have there been people who wanted to court you?”

“Yes, but… not many.”<>Please support the original translation at hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com instead

Only a few Chinese who had stayed in her family’s little inn had ever praised her for being very beautiful. In Moscow, her appearance would not be considered outstanding, and to those young Moscow men, she was no different from any other ethnic Chinese girl, having simply an Oriental-looking face.

“There has been no person whom you held in your heart?”  There was already a sexiness in Cheng Muyun’s eyes that could not be repressed.

Fiery, intense love has always been deadly.<>Please read this at hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com instead

Let alone, this was his love<>This is an UNAUTHORIZED copy, taken from hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com

“There has…” In a voice barely audible, Wen Han answered softly, “You.”

“Is that so?” Those deep black eyes that contained no light held only her in them. “It is my honour.”

Their voices were very light. It was not known whether the people outside the door could hear their words.

She knew there were people on the other side of the door, and so her every word choice was very careful. Even now, her ears were pricked, trying to listen for any movement outside.<>Copyright of Fanatical, hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com. Translated with the express permission of the author for hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com. If you are not reading this from hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com, the translation has been taken without consent of the translator.

Cheng Muyun suddenly shoved his hips forward, thrusting her heavily against the ash-coloured wall. She could not contain the moan that slipped from her in the same moment that he seized her lips in his.

This man in front of her was completely obstructing her view, blocking out all the light in her life. Only a little remnant of light passed between their two bodies, illuminating the dust that floated in the air all around.

She could not remember how long the two of them spent in that space. There was nothing in the room that displayed the time.

She remembered only some fragments of scenes. There were many scratches on that wooden floor that rubbed her knees raw. And also, that searing sensation as his body pressed against her back, which was slick with perspiration. Much, much later, she still clearly remembered all of these.

……<>Copyright of Fanatical, hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com. Translated with the express permission of the author for hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com. If you are not reading this from hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com, the translation has been taken without consent of the translator.

When the two went back downstairs, everyone noticed Wen Han was wearing Cheng Muyun’s shirt.

It was tucked inside the waist of her skirt, though just barely, and although a little baggy, it was still passable to look at. Cheng Muyun, on the other hand, was much simpler, with a hiking jacket with the zipper pulled all the way to the top and nothing worn inside of that.

One of the four people shadowing them finally opened his mouth, grinning as he remarked, “We were just saying, if you guys stayed up there the whole night, would someone need to bring dinner up to you? But who would bring it was truly a question that caused a bit of a headache. You see, when compared with sitting on this little rug in the living room and watching boring Indian dances and songs, delivering dinner would be such a pleasant and enjoyable task.”

This was the veiled teasing banter that occurs between men.<>Please read this at hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com

The flush that flooded Wen Han’s face was so scarlet it looked as if the colour would drip down.

She glanced at the clock on the wall. Another twenty hours left.<>Copyright of Fanatical, hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com. Translated with the express permission of the author for hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com. If you are not reading this from hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com, the translation has been taken without consent of the translator.

The afternoon was so wonderfully warm that they could not simply squander their time in the room.

They left that house.<>Please support the original translation at hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com instead

Walking down the alley, Wen Han, while avoiding puddles filled with mud, gazed at that man who was two steps in front of her. To her surprise, Cheng Muyun truly was interested in that little souvenir shop. He strode up the concrete steps, then extended a hand to her. The instant Wen Han wrapped her hand around his fingers, she was pulled up onto the step.

The white-garbed Indian man inside the shop was somewhat bored and was drinking milk tea. In a corner of this souvenir shop, a woman, with hair swirled atop her head and held in place by a wooden hairpin, was selecting postcards, her back toward them.

“Is this Sarnath here on this one?” The woman turned around to ask that uncle-like Indian man.

It was her?<>This is an UNAUTHORIZED copy, taken from hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com

It was the female innkeeper of that little inn in Kathmandu.

An expression of surprise flitted across Wen Han’s face, but she evidently was very astute and bowed her head, concealing away this moment of astonishment. Right behind her followed one of the men monitoring them, his hands also behind his back as he looked at this and that inside the shop, pretending he was an ordinary tourist.

The uncle-like Indian man chuckled. Rambling smilingly, he asked the woman in English, “Just how devout are you that you would stay here for half a month? You have nearly gone through and bought a round of everything in this shop of mine.”

The female innkeeper gave a laugh. “I will be leaving here soon, very soon. It might be tonight.”

The uncle-like Indian man was puzzled. “You are going back to Nepal?”

“No, no.” The female innkeeper looked down and smiled. In that instant when she lifted her head again, her eyes flicked toward Cheng Muyun, who was examining a wooden carving. “I am sick of living there already and plan on switching to live in a different country. After all… there is nothing drawing me to Nepal anymore.”

The uncle-like Indian man began to suggestively and enthusiastically shower her with flattery, hoping to retain this female tourist from Nepal who had been buying something from his shop every day. The female innkeeper smiled as she sidestepped the provocative tone of the other party’s words. In the end, she selected a stack of postcards that were all printed with famous holy sites of Buddhism in India, and then, pushing open the door, she left. The wind chimes in the doorway swayed as the door banged shut again, producing a pleasant sound.<>Copyright of Fanatical, hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com. Translated with the express permission of the author for hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com. If you are not reading this from hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com, the translation has been taken without consent of the translator.

Wen Han also picked up a stack of postcards that were the same as the one the innkeeper had bought, flipping through them—nothing special at all.

She began making aimless speculations.<>Please read this at hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com instead

She wondered whether that woman bought these postcards because she was a believer of Buddhism herself or because she was following in Cheng Muyun’s beliefs. Wen Han still remembered, that night, in the smoke-filled liveliness that had evoked a suggestive feeling, this female innkeeper had said, Cheng Muyun abandoned monkhood because the women of the earthly world could not bear to let him go.

So, that woman had stayed here in waiting for so many days simply because she wanted to say her goodbyes to Cheng Muyun.

As her thoughts turned to this, Wen Han could not help casting a glance at Cheng Muyun.

Cheng Muyun, right then, was casually shaking a string of brass bells between his fingers. He had been waiting for Wen Han to choose some souvenirs but noticed that Wen Han was looking at him, so walking over, he flipped through the stack of items in her hand. Soon, he had pulled out a bill of money and was handing it to the uncle-like Indian man. “I will buy these postcards. My wife is very fond of them, although I do not think there is anything special about them.”<>Copyright of Fanatical, hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com. Translated with the express permission of the author for hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com. If you are not reading this from hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com, the translation has been taken without consent of the translator.

This story was translated with the expression permission of the author for hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com. All forms of reproduction, redistribution, or reposting are not authorized, except by linking to hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com. If you are not reading this from hui3r[dot]wordpress[dot]com, the copy is unauthorized and has been taken without consent of the translator.

Completed: 1 of 1 Prologue 39 of 50 Chapter segments 0 of 1 Epilogue