Chen Zemian suddenly felt expensive.
As if his entire existence had been redefined.
He hugged the embroidered pillow, muttering without thinking, “Too expensive.”
From the rearview mirror, Lu Zhuonian glanced at him. “What?”
Chen Zemian blinked, returning to the moment. “I said this car is really expensive.”
“Over ten million,” Lu Zhuonian said casually, turning the steering wheel as the car merged onto the elevated road. “Still not as expensive as the fireworks you set off for me.”
Chen Zemian looked around, taking in the sleek lines, the refined details. “But it’s handsome. Not something you can buy with money alone.”
“If you like it, you can drive it in the future,” Lu Zhuonian said, his tone calm, almost indifferent.
Chen Zemian stared at him, surprised. “Isn’t this your dad’s car?”
Lu Zhuonian kept his eyes on the road. “It is. He also handled your overseas application. I told him we fought and you stopped talking to me because of it. So he lent me the car and told me to take you out.”
Chen Zemian turned to him, part disbelieving, part amazed. “You’ve learned to lie? Did I teach you that? It’s over. I’ve corrupted you.”
Lu Zhuonian didn’t flinch. “Without this car, we wouldn’t get into Tanshan Temple today. I’m leaving soon. I want this settled before I go.”
Chen Zemian’s eyes returned to the interior, landing on the landscape embroidered across the roof. “It’s definitely a boss’s car. Should’ve gotten it for you earlier.”
“For a college student?” Lu Zhuonian actually disagreed. “Buy me a sports car instead.”
Chen Zemian groaned. “You’re still hung up on what I said this morning? That you don’t look like a young man?”
Lu Zhuonian replied evenly, without blinking, “Not everyone’s like you—twenty-seven or twenty-eight, and still full of energy.”
Chen Zemian’s pupils shrank slightly. “Huh?”
He didn’t panic this time. He was used to being exposed. The mention of his real age no longer startled him; it almost felt natural.
This was how it should be.
Lu Zhuonian, with his frightening insight, like a protagonist from some overpowered fantasy novel, always saw through him.
Chen Zemian scratched the tip of his nose. “When did I let that slip?”
No answer.
Lu Zhuonian looked at him again through the rearview mirror. “You admitted it pretty fast. Not even going to pretend?”
“There’s no point,” Zemian muttered. “You already know everything.”
“That’s not true.”
Chen Zemian leaned forward, resting his chin on Lu Zhuonian’s shoulder, speaking close.
Lu Zhuonian’s shoulders were broad, his waist narrow. The suit fit perfectly, outlining smooth, lean muscle.
Chen Zemian gave his shoulder a curious pinch. “Haven’t seen you work out in ages. Why haven’t you lost muscle? Did you adjust your stats?”
“I’ve been working quietly,” Lu Zhuonian replied, serious as ever.
Chen Zemian lifted the hem of his shirt to glance at the slim waist beneath. Something competitive stirred in him. “Tell me next time you train. I want to be like you.”
“We’ll get a trainer for you when I return,” Lu Zhuonian said. “With your stamina, you’ll bulk up in a few months.”
Chen Zemian raised his brows. “You think I could be a muscle guy?”
“Why not?”
He considered it. “My current look fits your taste, right? If I get bulky, will you still like it?”
“So you used to be bulky?”
“Not that much. About your size.” He paused, then frowned. “Ugh, you tricked me again.”
“I want to know you well enough,” Lu Zhuonian murmured, eyes fixed on the windshield, fingers brushing the steering wheel, “that no matter how much you change, I’ll still recognize you.”
He wasn’t taking chances. Not even one in ten. He needed to be prepared.
Collecting information wasn’t just about uncovering where Chen Zemian came from.
He wanted to know—if Chen Zemian disappeared, where would he go?
Lu Zhuonian didn’t recognize skin or surface. He recognized the soul.
But the world was vast, and Chen Zemian always seemed to defy logic.
“I’ll find you,” Lu Zhuonian said quietly. “The more I know, the easier it’ll be.”
Chen Zemian fell silent, caught off guard.
They didn’t speak for the rest of the drive.
The red-flagged ceremonial car coasted effortlessly to the foot of Tanshan Temple.
Rain still fell from the mountain sky. Lu Zhuonian stepped out with an umbrella, and opened the back door for Chen Zemian.
As soon as Chen Zemian emerged, a bell rang faintly in the distance.
He paused. A single drop of rain hit the back of his neck. Cold. Sharp.
Lu Zhuonian wiped it away with his fingertips. “Sorry. First time I’ve held an umbrella for someone.”
Chen Zemian gave him a look, went to the trunk, and pulled out another umbrella for himself.
The temple loomed, solemn and ancient. The bell echoed gently through the mist.
White stone steps stretched upward like a silent challenge to mortals. Chen Zemian sidestepped the puddles as they climbed.
Pine branches held trembling drops above them. Somewhere unseen, birds sang soft notes.
The gate ahead, paint peeling and red beneath the rain, blurred at the edges.
The first hall was the Heavenly King Hall. At its center stood Maitreya Buddha, gold paint worn, expression softened by time.
The Four Heavenly Kings stood sentinel, not just to intimidate, but to welcome and protect.
Outside the gate, instead of gods, two young monks in grey robes waited. Mist clung to their hems. They had clearly been there a while.
Wind moved through the hall, brushing past banners and silk hangings.
One monk held a stick of incense between three fingers, lighting it from the eternal flame. He handed it to Lu Zhuonian.
Lu Zhuonian accepted it with both hands. He bowed—not too low, back straight, respectful but never devout.
He did not believe in gods.
Nor in fate.
Just before placing the incense into the burner, Lu Zhuonian’s hand paused. His gaze shifted. A few steps away, Chen Zemian stood with his back to him, looking up at the fluttering prayer flags, unaware of being watched.
The breeze stirred. The flame at the tip of the incense flickered, then died. A thin trail of smoke curled upward.
“Benefactor Lu, be careful. The incense ash will burn your hands,” the novice monk murmured softly.
Lu Zhuonian’s fingers relaxed slightly.
Chen Zemian turned and caught his gaze. Beneath the weathered, vividly painted statue of the Heavenly King, he smiled faintly.
The Vajra deity loomed behind him, eyes furious, one foot crushing a snarling demon.
Lu Zhuonian looked through Chen Zemian to the statue, whose blade gleamed under temple light. He didn’t know what surfaced in his thoughts, but he lifted the incense once more and bowed to the Four Heavenly Kings flanking the hall.
They passed through the gate. The monk led them around winding corridors to the backyard, finally stopping outside a meditation room.
The novice joined his palms and bowed. “Benefactor Lu, Abbot Jingchen has been waiting. Please, this way.”
Another young monk turned to Chen Zemian. “The abbot does not receive visitors lightly. Please rest in the tea room for a while.”
Chen Zemian handed Lu Zhuonian the folded prophecy. “I’ll wait next door.”
Lu Zhuonian nodded and stepped into the meditation room.
The tea had been prepared already. It was wild mountain leaf from Tanshan, steeped in snowmelt gathered from pine branches last winter. The first sip was bitter. The pine fragrance rose only after swallowing—cold, slow, and lingering in the throat.
It reminded him, inexplicably, of Lu Zhuonian’s scent.
Chen Zemian folded his hands and silently chanted Amitabha, scolding himself for thinking such things in a Buddhist sanctuary.
Rain dripped from the eaves, steady and patient.
The mountain had been closed off due to the storm. There were no other pilgrims in Tanshan Temple. The backyard was hushed, untouched by the noise of the world. Only the wind, rain, distant bells, and chanting filled the space.
By the window, Chen Zemian sat and watched the rain. For once, he felt far from the world, his thoughts calmed by the temple’s stillness.
Less than half a cup of tea later, the copper bell in the corridor rang. Lu Zhuonian opened the door and stepped in.
“You’re done already?” Chen Zemian asked, surprised.
Lu Zhuonian handed back the note. His eyes lingered on him. “Abbot Jingchen wants to see you.”
Abbot Jingchen wasn’t what Chen Zemian expected. No silver-haired elder with a long beard. He looked about forty—mild expression, kind brows, wire-rimmed glasses. More like a university professor than the head of a monastery.
He wore a red cassock, Buddhist beads in hand. Like a monk from television, but real.
Chen Zemian had rarely paid respects to Buddha in either of his lives.
His father had been a Party man, staunchly Marxist. Superstition was forbidden, mocked.
So when the abbot joined his palms in greeting, Chen Zemian hesitated. Following custom felt strange. He settled for a handshake.
“Hello, Master Abbot. Did Lu Shao tell you about Mr. Lu’s situation?”
Jingchen gave a mild smile and motioned for him to sit. “One who climbs high will fall hard. I warned him years ago.”
Chen Zemian lowered himself onto the cushion. “You warned him?”
The abbot nodded. “All things are rooted in cause and effect. I’ve only read these four words, while Mr. Chen sees cause and consequence as clearly as a reflection in water. The prophecy you wrote is sharp and unclouded.”
He dipped a finger into his tea and traced four characters on the table: Climb high, fall hard.
“Back then, we understood the phrase’s meaning, but not its depth. The fortune was its own explanation. Amitabha. I was blinded by appearances.”
He fell silent, eyes closed, thumb slowly turning the red sandalwood beads.
Chen Zemian stared. Seriously?
Was he meditating?
Why now? He hadn’t even finished speaking.
Outside, the rain thickened. The road down the mountain would be washed out soon.
Chen Zemian hadn’t climbed the mountain to explore Zen. Watching the abbot slip into wordless contemplation, as if drifting toward enlightenment, he reached out and poked him.
“Master? You still with me?”
Abbot Jingchen opened his eyes. He looked at Chen Zemian for a long moment. “Mr. Chen is very wise.”
Chen Zemian quickly shook his head, pulling out the note again. “No, no. Just luck. I only happened to sense that Mr. Lu would face misfortune soon. I didn’t know how to warn him, so I hoped you might speak to him for me.”
Abbot Jingchen glanced again at the words he’d written on the table. “A destined one has guided me. I understand now. I must repay the kindness.”
Chen Zemian rose and bowed. “Thank you, Master. I won’t disturb your meditation further.”
As he reached the door, Abbot Jingchen spoke again. “Donor Chen has overcome adversity with one’s own efforts. You are very compassionate.”
Chen Zemian turned, puzzled, but the abbot offered no more.
What does that even mean? he wondered. Overcome adversity with one’s own strength?
“He didn’t dwell on it—he never did. As he left the room, the words slipped from his mind entirely.”
The rain hadn’t stopped.
The pressure shift in the air drained the oxygen. Tension thickened, subtle and sharp.
Rainy days always triggered something in Lu Zhuonian.
The relentless storm made one thing clear—last night’s sudden outburst wasn’t just about Chen Zemian.
That night, the symptoms returned.
Lu Zhuonian carried him into the basement.
Thunder, wind, and rain clashed above them. The iron chains rattled, swallowed by the storm.
Chen Zemian gripped the railing, knuckles white, breath ragged.
Lu Zhuonian had done what he asked. There was a real bed now—broad, soft, and low.
He had entered the fantasy Lu Zhuonian built for him.
In that violent storm, Lu Zhuonian dug toward redemption, chasing release through warmth and surrender.
Not just of the body, but the soul.
That night, he didn’t bark orders or take control.
He leaned in close and asked the same question over and over:
“Who are you?”
Chen Zemian gave every answer he could think of.
“Chen Zemian.”
“Mianmian.”
“I’m your boyfriend.”
“Your husband.”
“I’m a puppy.”
Each one more desperate, degrading. But none satisfied him.
None were the answer Lu Zhuonian needed.
Without it, there would be no salvation. No release.
In the end, Chen Zemian broke, trembling on the edge, breathless.
He choked out the words: “Who am I?”
And Lu Zhuonian answered.
His voice burned like fire in the dark.
“Chen Zemian,” he said. “You’re the one who saved me.”
*****
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Author: LazyHermitGal
A Lazy Hermit Gal wondering in the void and falling into the translation abyss.
