Rising Phoenix

She had fallen to the level of this person’s “servant.” They had met under strange circumstances. When she had just started staying at Lan Xiang Yard, she had gone out to shop and had accidentally offended a rich Gong Zi and was beaten by his servant. When she had escaped into this alley, she had run hurriedly without looking carefully and had accidentally knocked over a stove and spilled all the herbs inside. She was beaten by the owner of the house, and after that person chased away all of the rich Gong Zips servants, they had demanded that Feng Zhiwei pay for his “Nine Continents Ten Lands Da Luo Gold Immortal Rebirth Pill.”

Nine Continents Ten Lands Da Luo Gold Immortal Rebirth Pill was a scary name, but completely fake. Even an idiot could tell that there was no way this Rebirth Pill would be cooked in this poor alley, in this broken house and dilapidated stove. Moreover, there was no way that anyone could concoct a “Rebirth Pill” from licorice and Acanthopanax Root Bark.

But Feng Zhiwei could do nothing but accept her fate. She wasn’t afraid of strong power, but she was afraid of strong fists.

So she had “sold” herself and came here everyday, hoping that she could pay off this “huge debt” as soon as possible. In just a few days she realized how incredibly abnormal this house owner was, and how demanding. She was asked to wipe down a table, but the table’s four corners could shoot out weapons. When she washed clothes, her whole body started growing spots that only disappeared three days later. She had had no choice but to cover up all of her body during those days. When she was asked to eat together, the dishes in front of the figure were delicious but the ones in front of her were completely inedible. Even more infuriating was how every time she opened the door a hidden attack was waiting for her. Sometimes it was a soundless finger, sometimes a fist with a loud swoosh, and sometimes it was a long sword with a cold gleam or any manner of hidden weaponry. The type of attack never repeated.

How could someone know so many ways to attack? Feng Zhiwei didn’t understand, but after these days of dodging attacks she could feel her body growing stronger and more nimble, and that ever present burning in her body was seemingly tamed a little.

When she felt this, Feng Zhiwei came over more willingly, and after her shopping for the yard was done she would always come check in.

She carried the water over and poured it into the stove. The herbs in the stove were exuding strange smells. Even though Feng Zhiwei had been taught by Madam Feng since she was young and she had learned much medical knowledge and was familiar with the human body’s meridians and many different medicines, she couldn’t decipher what was in the stove. In fact, other than the licorice and the Acanthopanax Root Bark she recognized on the first day, she was completely unfamiliar with any of the other herbs she had seen here every day.

Feng Zhiwei patiently controlled the flame and lifted the lid of the stove to check the boiling and breath in the unpleasant medicinal smell – this was also one of the person’s strange requirements.

A slightly red mist came out of the opening of the stove and floated towards her face. It had a surprisingly refreshing feel to it tinged with some bitterness; Feng Zhiwei breathed in unconsciously and felt her spirit lift; the heat throughout her body seemed to circle and dance cheerfully, and gentled to a calm warmness.

She luxuriated in the strange feeling, but the person in the robe suddenly raised his hand and threw something at her. Feng Zhiwei dodged, and when she turned back to look at the shadow she noticed a pair of glittering eyes examining her with a strange look.

She paused, and then lowered her head to look at the object in her hands (1). She examined the coverless and tattered notebook and opened it up and read through the notes. The author had terrible handwriting, but his characters were free and confident, and the words they used were fun and novel, very different from the commonplace words used nowadays. Inside were his thoughts and experiences about martial arts, travel, politics, history, and literature. The order was informal and chaotic, but every phrase was a treasure. The more Feng Zhiwei read, the more surprised she became. Suddenly, her eyes focused on one page.

At the top of the page in a different handwriting were vigorous and fine strokes showing the writer’s pure and clear spirit. “Qing Qing, let me peak.”

In the ordinal author’s hand, now dangerously explosive and fierce: “Shameless peeper!”

The next line, in the beautiful handwriting. “Peeking after giving notice, not shameful.”

The original author became even more fierce. “Peeping after reproach, even more shame!”

Feng Zhiwei couldn’t help but laugh, and felt that the two people were truly wonderful. She couldn’t say why, but she knew immediately that the people who left the writing were a man and woman pair, and they were definitely a harmonious couple.

But when she read the next line, she dropped the notebook in shock.

That line, written by the man with the beautiful hand writing.

“Laughing at us is also shameless.”

Feng Zhiwei was startled and more than a little frightened – was the book talking to her? The one laughing quietly to herself?

But immediately she brushed that thought away, thinking that she was just scaring herself. How could that be possible? This notebook was old and tattered; the people who wrote in it were probably long dead. How could the authors have predicted the future and written for her?

She picked up the notebook, and shivered.

“Your honor, don’t be scared. Be careful that you don’t break the notebook.”

Feng Zhiwei was shocked beyond her limits, and paradoxically, her panic faded. She was certain now that the words on the notebook were written for her.

A playful idea entered her head, and she didn’t continue reading, instead pretending to throw the notebook into the stove fire.

The robed figure started up as if in terror, and just as they moved to stop her, Feng Zhiwei had already taken back her hand.

She read the next line that the man had written: “This notebook is made of Golden Thread Monkey skin. It can’t be burned.” The next line had a subtle change of tone, and he was talking to the main author again, “The kid is as naughty as you.”

And then the woman replied, her words containing some helpless frustration, “Matters occurring hundreds of years later. Why are you even minding it with your primordial spirit? Stop scaring people.”

There were no more words, and Feng Zhiwei smiled to herself, rubbing the pages of the book. Maybe they had put down their pens and hidden away somewhere she couldn’t see for some lover talk.

She imagined to herself the scene: the saintly couple together, the beautiful woman accompanying her man, feeding the incense as he reads, speaking with him through writing, and then the two putting down their pens, gazing into each other’s eyes and smiling. Beautiful.

The robed figure was silent; the person hid their face and head in their big robe as if unwilling to show their face. It was only when Feng Zhiwei had pretended to throw the notebook that they had moved from their spot.

The smell and smoke of the herbs curled skywards from the opening in the pot, and interspersed was a faint aroma that was floating up out of the ancient notebook. The robed figures eyes turned to Feng Zhiwei’s fingers.

There was a light redness on Feng Zhiwei’s fingertips, and it shone more clearly the closer she was to the stove and the herbs, but then they gradually faded.

Big rob man’s eyes glittered in a flash, and Feng Zhiwei didn’t know about this at all. After finishing her chores, she waved that notebook in her hand at him: “May I bring this back to read?”

After a moment of thought she added, “I will be careful that no one else sees it.”

She could tell that the notebooks weren’t just a collection of random thoughts; she had no idea what this Golden Thread Monkey was, but she assumed that anyone who could use the skin of this rare creature for a notebook was not normal, and the words that these people left were surely very valuable. It was as the old saying went: trouble would find the innocent for their wealth; but even though Feng Zhiwei knew that she would be safer without this small book, she couldn’t help herself and was unwilling to let it go.