A Short Story Collection with Non-Human Protagonists - Chapter 6

Chapter 6: The General’s Dream, Part II

Tang Shu could hear her heart drumming like a war beat.

The next moment, she touched a pair of lips as soft as glutinous rice cakes.

The heavy rain and time itself froze. It felt as if every warm and beautiful thing in heaven and earth had come flooding into her mind. It was merely the pressing of lips, yet she tasted a refreshing sweetness that seeped into her very soul.

She recklessly sought deeper, her teeth sinking into a patch of moist lip-flesh, caught in a dilemma of advance and retreat.

“Gently…”

Liu Jin murmured softly, her fingertips pressing against Tang Shu’s tensed jawline, pushing her away by half an inch only to lean back in and kiss her with agonizing slowness.

Tang Shu adjusted her rhythm, her tongue sweeping over the bite mark she had just left. Liu Jin tilted her head back following her movements, letting out a whimper like a kitten. A drop of rain slid from the General’s brow, and almost instantly, it was evaporated by the heat of their intermingled breath.

Tang Shu’s palm, as if guided by instinct, slid over Liu Jin’s shoulder blade, locking the woman firmly in her embrace. Before closing her eyes, she saw the corners of Liu Jin’s eyes plated in a lingering crimson by the kiss.

War drums turned to orioles; spring ice suddenly thawed. Tang Shu could no longer hear the cold rain or the autumn wind. There was only this fragrant, soft person, gasping and trembling between her lips and tongue.

“Miss, lunch is ready…” An old servant of the Liu family walked over from the eastern kitchen, his footsteps halting abruptly.

Liu Jin panicked, pushing against Tang Shu’s chest to escape her embrace, turning to flee into the side chamber. The old servant glanced at the hurrying Liu Jin, then at Tang Shu, who remained rooted to the spot with a lingering gaze.

“If the General is not in a hurry to return to her mansion…”

Tang Shu raised a finger, brushing it against her tingling lower lip, smiling somewhat dreamily.

“It’s fine. I’ll go back and eat.”

She rode her horse across half the capital, and every drop of rain that fell near her lips tasted sweet.

The moment Tang Shu entered the General’s Mansion, Yu’er grabbed her and dusted her from head to toe with a feather duster, her voice stern: “General, you absolutely cannot see that person surnamed Liu ever again!”

“What is all this?” Tang Shu asked, puzzled.

Yu’er stamped her feet in frustration. “I heard people say that Lady Immortal Liu—that Miss Liu—is a fox demon in disguise! Oh, you’ve truly had your soul snatched and your spirit hooked by a fox!”

“Is that so?”

Tang Shu didn’t mind. She even thought that if Liu Jin were a fox, it might make more sense. After all, how could a mortal’s flesh and blood produce such celestial grace and beauty that could turn the world upside down?

“I knew you wouldn’t believe it!” Yu’er shoved a porcelain bottle into her hand. “I begged this from Daoist Master Li of the Qingyun Temple. It’s ten-year-old plum wine mixed with powder ground from lightning-struck wood. Make that Liu woman drink three cups, and she will surely reveal her true form!”

If Liu Jin really is a fox…

Tang Shu’s heart warmed; she suddenly had an idea.

The next day, she made up an excuse to send Yu’er away and sent a servant to the Liu residence with a note, inviting Miss Liu to Moon Lake for a drink. Her evening banquet was set upon a small boat. Once the two had boarded, the boatman punted them out, drifting slowly toward the center of the lake.

The small boat was soon swallowed by darkness. It was dim and silent all around, with only a tung-oil lamp on the table. The warm shadow of the flame flickered left and right, illuminating the soft, water-like silhouette of the woman in white. Beside the lamp sat a basket of steamed crabs and a pot of wine.

The boat was truly too small. The two sat on opposite sides of the low table, yet the hems of their robes were woven together, inseparable.

Tang Shu peeled a crab leg and placed it on Liu Jin’s plate, her gaze fixed on her face as she spoke directly: “I’ve heard people say you are a fox transformed into a human. They say if you drink three cups of wine mixed with lightning-struck wood powder, you’ll turn back into a fox. Is it true?”

Tang Shu would never lie to her.

“Try it and you shall know.”

Meeting Tang Shu’s gaze, Liu Jin picked up the celadon cup on the table and drained three glasses in succession.

A moment later, a peach-colored blush rose to Liu Jin’s face, but she did not turn into a fox; she remained perfectly human. Tang Shu smiled in relief. “So it was just nonsense. I really thought…”

Liu Jin interrupted her calmly.

“The female Daoist at Qingyun Temple perhaps forgot to tell you that this wine only works if you add a few drops of human blood.”

Tang Shu was stunned. “Then…” She looked down at the saber at her waist.

The corners of Liu Jin’s lips quirked up slightly. “There’s no need for such trouble.”

The night breeze stirred the curtains at both ends of the cabin. Tang Shu started again, seeing the flickering lamplight in the depths of Liu Jin’s eyes, suddenly understanding her subtext.

…Since it’s going into the mouth anyway, why not just feed her directly?

Tang Shu blew out the oil lamp and moved the table aside. Before she could stand, her lap suddenly felt heavy.

—Liu Jin had pressed into her embrace first.

She extended her arms, steadily catching the young lady’s warmth. In the cozy darkness, the sweet scent of osmanthus drew closer and closer, finally gathering at her lips. Tang Shu pressed forward an inch, opened her lips, and began this calculated kiss.

The oars broke the lake’s surface time and again; the small boat swayed slowly in the sound of the water. Liu Jin swayed upon her lips as well. Tang Shu extended her tongue and was sucked in by two lips, followed by a mass of moist, soft flesh. She ground back and forth, tasting the sweetest entanglement in the world within Liu Jin’s mouth, until Liu Jin finally bit her tongue.

—A flash of sharp pain, and the scent of blood drifted like a thin mist.

The warm light of the lantern at the bow traced Liu Jin’s profile through a gap in the curtains. She was still that unforgettable girl, breathtakingly beautiful. But the temperature of the air grew hotter, and something was quietly changing.

A pair of snow-white, fluffy animal ears sprouted from Liu Jin’s hair.

She really was a fox… yet this half-human, half-fox appearance made her all the more endearing.

“Is the General afraid?”

Liu Jin asked into Tang Shu’s ear, every word sparking a wave of numbness. A bushy long tail slowly slithered out from under her skirt, swaying a few times before wrapping around Tang Shu’s ankle.

“A monster turned from a fox… wants to eat people, you know.”

Tang Shu caught Liu Jin’s waist, countering her: “Then a person who is just a person… wants to eat foxes, too.”

As the words fell, she leaned in for another kiss.

Stray cats often came to the army camp begging for food; it occurred to her that the method to please a fox wouldn’t be much different from coaxing a cat.

Tang Shu gently rubbed the base of the fox’s ears while kissing her eyes, temples, and the tip of her nose, then took a rosy earlobe between her lips, grinding and lingering over it. Her fingers caught the tip of the fox’s tail, stroking the smooth, soft fur in circles. Her hands, accustomed to blades and spears, were too coarse; every time she brushed against the grain of the fur, the fox-woman and the tail-tip trembled together against her fingertips.

“Now that I have something over you,” Tang Shu teased her, “if you ignore me in the future, I’ll spread the word everywhere that you’re a wicked fox who eats human souls for every meal.”

The fox-woman, who had been sitting on Tang Shu’s lap, gasped under the teasing. Her falling hair was soaked with fragrant sweat, curling against her forehead. Leaning on Tang Shu’s shoulder, her body and voice were so soft they nearly melted: “…Would you truly have the heart?”

The hell she would.

Tang Shu looked up to bite the fox-woman’s sweet lips, her heart melting as if she were falling into a mist. The boatman pununted the small boat round and round Moon Lake. Tang Shu had long since stopped hearing the ripples of the wooden oar. She only knew that Liu Jin was a rice wine brewed from osmanthus, capable of making one drunk unto death, mad and obsessed.

At the end of the long kiss, Tang Shu remembered that long dream of clashing swords. A pure white spiritual fox, sitting silently amidst the fierce battle.

“Thank you… for coming into the dream to save me,” she said.

Liu Jin leaned against her ear, her tone a bit lonely.

“…Because you saved me too, many years ago.”

Tang Shu did not remember ever saving a fox, but the days were long; she would have plenty of time to ask. For now, it no longer mattered how they met. She gripped Liu Jin’s hand, their lips and tongues entwining, their fingers interlocking.

If there truly were gods in this world, she only prayed for their protection. That they would never be parted again, staying together from the Yellow Springs to the Azure Vault, until their hair turned white.

Unfortunately.

Military orders are as immovable as mountains.

On the day of the first snow in the capital, an urgent military report traveled eight hundred miles into the palace gates. The Emperor issued an edict: Tang Shu was to depart immediately.

Before the sun set, she rushed to Gourd Alley to bid a hasty farewell to Liu Jin. Liu Jin untied a sachet from her waist and placed it in Tang Shu’s palm, reminding her repeatedly: “Keep this with you at all times; it will keep you safe and unharmed.”

Tang Shu cherished it. She believed everything Liu Jin said. The two looked into each other’s eyes; knowing the separation was near, there was too much to say, yet no way to begin.

Finally, the only thing she asked was a trivial detail: “By the way, you said last time that I had saved you?”

Liu Jin looked at her, her smile soft.

“When you return, I’ll tell you.”

“Alright.” She kissed the corner of Liu Jin’s lips one last time. “Wait for me to return.”

She saw the last rays of the setting sun shining on Liu Jin’s face, brilliant as molten gold. Then she crossed mountains under the moon and traversed shoals through the clouds. Tang Shu rode without stopping, heading straight for the northern frontier.

The battlefield was already strewn with corpses. The northern wind swirled with ten thousand acres of yellow sand; the sky was a grey chaos. Tang Shu sat astride her horse, blade in hand. A tattered war flag flapped loudly above her head.

Another wave of barbarian cavalry surged like a black tide, their hooves crushing the frozen earth, splashing mud mixed with ice shards. Through her blood-stained armor, Tang Shu lightly touched the sachet in her bosom. The sweet scent of osmanthus lingered at her nose, as if Liu Jin were standing right beside her.

“Fire arrows—!” the lieutenant’s roar pierced the wind and sand.

War drums thundered; arrows fell like locusts. The enemy was already looming close. A poisoned wolf-tooth arrow aimed straight for Tang Shu’s throat, but she swung her blade and deflected it. A squad of barbarian soldiers ambushed from the flank, their spears lunging at her shoulder blade. Tang Shu swung her hand back, snapping the spear shafts and knocking the enemies to the ground.

In the chaos, the sachet pressed tightly against her violently heaving chest, feeling like a slender, soft hand stroking her racing pulse. Time and again, Tang Shu turned peril into safety. No one could harm her.

When night fell, she led her remaining troops to retreat to Eagle Beak Cliff. Snowflakes fell like goose feathers, the campfire reflecting the exhausted faces of the soldiers. Tang Shu leaned alone against the rock wall, unbuckling her blood-stained breastplate. The sachet was perfectly intact, the golden-threaded osmanthus flowing with honey-colored light.

Tang Shu buried her face in her palms, as if she could still hear Liu Jin whispering in her ear. Her dreams every night were of that long kiss at Moon Lake—swaying, sweet, smelling of plum wine and blood. The fox tail entwining her ankle, the candlelight in the fox-woman’s eyes burning through her mountain of longing.

At dawn that day, before the frost-mist had fully dispersed, a horn suddenly sounded outside the tent.

A personal guard rushed in with a report. “General! The barbarians are coming up from the back of the mountain!”

Tang Shu rolled out of bed, reaching under her pillow, her heart tightening—the sachet was gone.

She overturned the entire bed. Handkerchiefs used to wipe blood, loose silver, and military tallies clattered to the floor, but the sachet was nowhere to be found. Time was of the essence; Tang Shu could only tighten her armor, lift the tent flap, and rush into the smoke of war.

She carved a path of blood through the piles of corpses.

“General!”

The lieutenant pulled Tang Shu away, dodging a curved blade, but had half his own arm sliced off in the process. Tang Shu spun and pierced the enemy’s throat, hot blood spraying across her eyelids. She wiped her face and suddenly caught sight of a black cat darting from the shadows of a military tent.

—The black cat held her sachet in its mouth.

At that exact moment, a sharp pain erupted from Tang Shu’s back. A spear thrown by a barbarian soldier pierced her shoulder blade, pinning her to the snowy ground. More blades and spears stabbed into her body, but she no longer felt the pain.

At the edge of her vision, the black cat dropped the sachet beside a pile of burning grain. The golden petals were caught by the tongues of flame, gradually withering away.

A patch of deep red spread across the pale snow.

Unfortunately, the story can only end here. The heavy snow gently covered her eyes, which refused to close.

If there is a next life… if there truly is a next life.

We will surely meet again.