Chapter 10 The New Mattress
After dinner, he cleared the bowls and went to wash them himself.
Water rushed loudly from the tap. He rolled up his sleeves, revealing those firm forearms. His side profile looked hazy in the twilight.
I sat on the stone bench, watching his back, and spoke up.
"Fa Hai."
The water kept running. He gave a low hum to show he was listening.
"Tomorrow..." I paused. "Stop chopping wood. Buy a mattress instead."
"This bed is too hard. I can't sleep. If I don't sleep well, I have no energy... no energy to..." I swallowed the rest of the words and finished vaguely, "...cook for you?"
The water stopped.
He stood with his back to me for a long moment.
His wet hand gripped the basin edge tightly.
Finally, a very quiet reply drifted through the thickening dusk.
"...Alright."
After that single word, the air seemed to freeze solid.
He kept his back to me and continued washing. The splashing water could not cover the silent thing spreading between us.
I sat on the stone bench, fingers unconsciously picking at the rough surface. An aching numbness lingered in my chest.
Night fell completely. The courtyard had no lights, only a faint yellow glow leaking from the meditation room.
He finished, shook the water from his hands, and walked inside.
His tall figure blocked the doorway. He glanced at me once.
"Come in."
I followed him. The small oil lamp cast a weak halo, stretching his shadow long across the mottled wall. It swayed gently with the flame.
The atmosphere grew cramped again.
He went to the cabinet and took out a brand-new, clearly soft mattress along with a matching set of bedding.
I froze.
He had gone out that afternoon and bought this too?
He still refused to look at me. He rolled up the thin old blanket on the meditation bed, then laid the new mattress down with clumsy, almost rough movements. He smoothed it carefully and arranged the fresh bedding.
When he finished, he straightened. His gaze swept over the neat bed before darting away. His throat bobbed like he had completed some impossible task.
"Try it," he said, voice dry.
I walked over and pressed my hand down.
It was just right. Eight hundred times better than that hard plank.
"It's fine," I answered, keeping my tone calm. "Thanks."
He did not reply. He turned to the table, picked up the unfinished Buddhist scripture, sat down, and started reading under the oil lamp like a perfect picture of undisturbed cultivation.
I looked at the new bed, then at his tense side profile.
Fine.
I took off my shoes and climbed on.
The mattress was indeed much more comfortable. The bedding smelled of clean sunlight.
I lay on my side, facing him.
The lamp cast soft shadows across his face. His long lashes were lowered, hiding those sharp eyes.
If he were not Fa Hai, if he had not hunted me for eight hundred years, this face would truly be the best.
He turned a page quietly.
After a while he seemed genuinely absorbed. The restlessness between his brows had eased.
I stared at the fingers holding the page.
It was these hands...
Heat rose to my face again.
I forced my eyes shut.
Sleep refused to come.
Everything from the day, the dinner, and the mattress beneath me spun chaotically in my mind.
"Fa Hai." I called his name again, as if possessed.
The sound of turning pages stopped.
He did not answer, but I knew he was listening.
"That news about Leifeng Pagoda... is everything alright?" I regretted asking the moment the words left my mouth.
He stayed silent for a few seconds, then answered in a low voice, "No one noticed. It has been handled."
"Oh." I paused, then asked anyway, "How did you handle it?"
"Erased the traces and confused the witnesses," he replied curtly, with a proficiency a monk should not possess.
"Quite the wide range of skills, Master," I muttered.
He stopped responding.
Silence fell again.
I counted his breaths, expecting another sleepless night. Yet the new mattress was too comfortable, and the day had exhausted me. My consciousness slowly blurred.
In a half-dream state, I heard light footsteps.
The oil lamp was blown out.
The bed dipped beside me.
Warm body heat drew close.
This time I did not stiffen. I even shifted unconsciously toward that warmth.
An arm came over with its usual unyielding strength and pulled me in.
My back pressed against his broad, warm chest. I could feel his steady heartbeat.
He seemed to sigh, very softly. The breath brushed over my hair.
Then a dry, sandalwood-scented kiss landed on the skin of my nape.
It touched lightly and left at once.
Like an illusion.
My eyes flew open. Sleepiness vanished.
The person behind me breathed evenly, as if asleep.
But the small patch of skin on my nape burned, sending tingles through my whole body.
Damn monk...
My heart pounded. I buried my face into the sun-scented quilt and stayed completely still.
That night, I slept surprisingly deep.