Feng Yi never had a birthday. He'd lived a lazy life and never bothered to remember one. So in the end, he sim…
Feng Yi never had a birthday. He'd lived a lazy life and never bothered to remember one. So in the end, he simply took Zhu Yu's birthday as his own. After all, whether it was A'zheng, Ruzhi, or A'cuo, whenever a birthday rolled around, it was always Feng Yi who ended up in the kitchen. Rolling out fine, slender Longevity Noodles, shaping plump little peach buns, gathering fresh seasonal greens for six dishes and one soup. Somewhere along the way, Feng Yi spent more time at the stove than wielding a sword. To the point when new recruits first joined the Dragon Hall, they even mistook "Boss Feng" for the head chef, causing quite the uproar.
Some things, he thought, are best not to trouble yourself over. And some other things, trouble yourself all you can. But when it came to Zhu Yu, trouble was always something to seek out for Feng Yi. What could he do? The fishmonger had latched onto the Red-Sleeved Fairy. Of course, to latch with persistence, the right tactics are much needed. If he'd tried the sappy nonsense from storybooks, he'd have been tossed out in three days flat. Thankfully, the brothers from Nine Mortal Ways taught him better: A fierce lady fears no brute, but can't resist a man who never leaves. If she needed to eat, he became the cook, simmering fresh watershield and bamboo shoots just to stir her homesick cravings for the South. If she wanted to travel, he became the groom, "borrowing" a white steed from Wan Shixiu, riding only to places where the Qionghua trees bloomed thick in the mountains, so she could admire the blossoms and gather medicinal apricot flowers along the way. As for the three little kids she brought... Fresh from the kitchen, Feng Yi wiped his hands, spotted yet another stray child, and, chuckling awkwardly, turned back to fire up the stove again. Using his Severing Wave technique, he sliced salted fish and brewed a winter melon soup rich with dried shrimp from distant eastern merchants. When the aroma filled the air, his booming voice would always drown out the rumbling stomachs outside:
"Hot food's ready!"
Handing over a clay bowl to yet another child, Feng Yi thought, "Ah, well. Where there are people, there is a home."
Once, Feng Yi believed that a man should live only for himself, free as the wind, coming and going without ties. Once, he couldn't understand her. Couldn't understand why Zhu Yu insisted on taking the burdens of the world onto her shoulders. He asked her, why smear herself with mud and gold to play the bodhisattva as an ordinary person? She smiled and said:
"A clay bodhisattva is still a bodhisattva, is it not? A clay bodhisattva doesn't melt away when crossing the river, it simply returns to the people."
Feng Yi pursed his lips, unable to fully understand the meaning. But without realizing it, his life had filled up, with her, with three children, with the bustling souls of the Dragon Hall. Maybe, in time, there would be even more. Ah, whatever. If she wanted to be a bodhisattva, then he would be the blue lion or white elephant that carried her. If the clay bodhisattva had to cross the river to save the world, then let him be the one to wade through the mud and mire.