Goose yellow and deep black interweaved to create a faint glow on the ground. I stepped on it, as if moving slowly in the river of time.
Jiu Jue walked ahead of me, his lake-blue hair reflecting on the flawless glass display cases around, as if a sliver of color had been plucked from the clearest sky and embedded in them, vividly running through his focused gaze.
It was the first time for him and me to come to Xi'an, and the first time to set foot in this magnificent and towering history museum that holds thousands of stories.
Jiu Jue came for an autumn outing, and I'm the one he forcibly hired as his companion. The first condition of employment was a box of gold bars as payment; the second condition was when he came to my shop for drinks in the future, he must pay in cash and was not allowed to ask for a discount.
Walking in a place where memorabilia from the ages are collected felt a little strange to me. In the passing years of my life, the cultural relics in the display cases that are now regarded as national treasures were once just unremarkable things enjoyed for a time and then set aside. Because they bear the imprints of history, they have found their way into these small glass cabinets, revered by countless people, unattainable. I wonder if, one day, I'll be confined permanently in a glass case like them? This peculiar thought suddenly crossed my mind. However, my strange thoughts pale in comparison to this old freak Jiu Jue.
He had been standing in front of a showcase for at least ten minutes, then turned to me, pointing at something inside with a smile, "Give me this as a birthday gift!"
Inside the case was the "Silver Kettle with Dancing Horse Holding a Cup[1]" from the Tang Dynasty. The flask is smooth and soft, with rounded lines, a gilded lotus flower lid, pure silver delicate chains on the sides, and vivid lifelike gilded dancing horse patterns on both sides of the pot. It is truly a masterpiece of exquisite craftsmanship. However, for someone like me who has seen countless rare treasures, there is nothing special about this flask.
"Old drunkard, if you want a wine flask as a birthday gift, I'll be generous and give you a limited edition Swarovski crystal wine bottle. No problem with that," I stood behind him with my arms crossed, raising an eyebrow, "But don't even think about letting me be charged with stealing a national Category A cultural relic."
"I only want this one," Jiu Jue persisted, pointing at it. "Please give it to me!"
"Seize it yourself if you're capable. I won't be an accomplice," I firmly refused, but secretly wondered why on earth this old fool was acting unhinged. Given his cultivation level, he can effortlessly obtain the thing himself. Why does he insist on involving me? He sighed, dropping his hand in disappointment. I've never seen Jiu Jue, who is never serious and always has a grin on his face, look like a puppet with its soul sucked out like he did at the moment.
"Hey, you... there's no need to act like this. If you give me a reasonable explanation, I can..." I can't bear to see him like this. After all, this guy had helped me a lot in those days. Even though his request is a bit weird, it's not totally impossible for me to do it.
"Ha! Little tree demon, I'm just teasing you!" Jiu Jue suddenly changed expressions, swiftly returning to his usual self, laughing. "It's not mine."
But in the corners of his eyes, I clearly saw a trace of loss and reluctance to leave that he deliberately wanted to hide.
"Come on, let's go eat," he turned to leave.
"You have something on your mind," I grabbed him.
"I want to eat!" He shook me off, heading straight for the museum exit.
I trailed behind him from a distance. This old fool always wears a seemingly simpler, more naive, and easier-to-read expression than anyone else. But I know he is the most difficult guy to see through among all those I've known. His heart, like that abnormal lake-blue hair of his, is as elusive as a dream.
I've known him for thousands of years, and we've talked about everything under the sun. We've discussed the past and present, yet he never mentions his own history. Many, many years ago when I was still on Fulong Mountain and he and another person used to play chess, I only vaguely heard him mention his endless search for someone… I chased after him, reaching the spot at the exit where visitors leave messages, and he had just put down the pen.
Flipping open the guestbook filled with various handwritings, the last page bore his elegant handwriting: "Following the fragrance for a thousand miles, smiling at the reflection in the wine."
Ahead, his figure drifted away in the swirls of the autumn wind. The faint echoes of a melodious tune he hummed lingered in the air, one I have never heard before…
[1] An imitation leather bag-style silver pot in the collection of the Shaanxi History Museum. Read Wikipedia entry.
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