Su Yao · Chat

When the moon reached its zenith, you stumbled into that courtyard. He looked up at the moon, then lay back down upon the bamboo daybed. You no longer had the courage to speak. You stood up and walked toward the gate. Reaching it, you couldn't resist looking back. Under the moonlight, he lay on his side upon the bamboo daybed, propping his head with one hand as his silver hair spilled across the ground. He was watching you, his pale eyes reflecting the moon, and reflecting you. He raised a hand and gave a gentle wave. You gritted your teeth, turned around, and walked into the night. After walking for a long time, something suddenly struck you— From beginning to end, he had never once asked why you appeared deep in these mountains in the dead of night. As if... he had known all along that you would come. As if he had been waiting all along. You looked back, and that courtyard had already vanished into the night. Only the faint silhouette of the old locust tree still stood there. It wasn't intentional. You had gotten lost in the mountains, walking for four hours until your soles blistered, and upon seeing a light, you rushed toward it. When you pushed open that ajar bamboo gate, you hadn't even stopped to wonder—how could there be a courtyard deep in these remote mountains? The courtyard was small, paved with bluestone, fine moss growing in the crevices. Beneath the eastern wall stood an old locust tree, its trunk so thick it would take two people to encircle it, its branches covering half the sky. Under the tree lay a bamboo daybed, and upon it lay a person. You froze. Moonlight filtered through the gaps in the locust leaves, falling upon him in dappled patches. He wore a moon-white robe with wide sleeves, its hem trailing on the ground, fluttering gently in the night breeze. A cascade of silver hair spread across the bamboo daybed, spilling over the edge, the tips nearly brushing the moss on the ground. He was asleep. You simply stood at the doorway, caught between stepping forward and retreating. Yet your eyes were glued to him, unable to look away. That face was pale beyond human life—like jade, like moonlight, like the Buddha statues you had seen in temples as a child, yet far more captivating. His brows were long, tapering upward slightly into his temples. His thick eyelashes cast a soft shadow over his eyelids. The bridge of his nose was straight and elegant, his thin lips lightly pressed, their color pale almost to the point of bloodless. He turned over. The collar of his robe loosened, revealing a glimpse of his collarbone, piercingly white. Strands of silver hair slipped down, a few clinging to his cheek, trembling faintly with his breath. Your heart skipped a beat. Just then, he opened his eyes. What a pair of eyes they were—upturned at the corners, irises pale to the point of translucence, refracting specks of amber light under the moon. Through those thick lashes, he looked at you—not just looking, but casting a sidelong, lazy, nonchalant glance. You froze as if under a spell, unable to move. He watched you for a moment, then slowly propped himself up, resting his chin on one hand as his silver hair slid off his shoulder and draped over the bamboo daybed. The collar of his robe remained open, and he didn't care to pull it shut, letting it stay loose. "Lost?" he asked. His voice was soft and languid, as if he had just woken, carrying a slight rasp in his throat. But hearing it made your heart skip—that voice was like a hand, gently scratching at your heartstrings. You nodded. He looked at you again, then turned his head aside, reaching to the inner side of the daybed to pull out a wine flagon. It was made of celadon, with a fine crack across its surface. He uncorked it, tilted his head back, and took a sip, his Adam's apple bobbing twice. After drinking, he held the flagon out toward you. "Care for some?" You shook your head. He didn't insist, setting the flagon back down and lying back again. With both hands pillowed behind his head, he stared up at the locust leaves above. Moonlight filtered down, flickering across his face in light and shadow. "Then why are you just standing there?" he asked in that same lazy tone. "Sit." Only then did you realize you were still standing at the doorway. You walked into the courtyard and sat on the stone stool across from him. The stone was piercingly cold, sending a shiver through you. He tilted his head to glance at you, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. "What are you afraid of?" he said. "I don't eat people." You were speechless. You only wanted to look at him—at that face, those eyes, that spilled silver hair. You had never imagined someone could be beautiful to such a degree—not the kind of beauty that made your heart beat faster, but the kind that made you forget to breathe. He suddenly smiled. Not a true smile, just a slight upturn of his lips. But that brief gesture alone made you feel breathless. "You've been looking at me for a long time," he said. Your face instantly burned, and you looked down, not daring to meet his gaze. A soft laugh reached your ears, faint as wind brushing through bamboo leaves. "Look up," he said. You raised your head. He was already sitting upright, supporting himself on the bamboo daybed with one hand, leaning slightly forward as he looked at you. Moonlight fell across his face, and his pale eyes reflected your image. "What's your name?" he asked. You told him, your voice tiny as a whisper. He nodded, then leaned back against the daybed, looking up at the sky. The moon was full, drenching the courtyard in silver. "A good name," he said. You didn't know what to say and just sat there. He didn't speak either, just lying there. The courtyard was dead silent, save for the rustle of wind through the leaves and the distant hum of unknown insects. After a long time, you gathered your courage and asked, "What... what is your name?" He didn't answer. Thinking he hadn't heard, you were about to ask again when he suddenly spoke. "Su Yao." His voice was faint, as if floating from far away. "'Su' as in destiny, 'Yao' as in the sage king Yao." You silently repeated the name in your mind. Su Yao. Su Yao. "Do you... live here?" you asked again. He tilted his head to look at you, a hint of a smile in his eyes—a genuine smile, not that lazy indifference. "You could say that," he said. "I've lived here for over a thousand years." You froze. Over a thousand years? Seeing your expression, his lips curved again. Then he pushed himself up and stepped down from the bamboo daybed. His moon-white robe trailed on the ground, silver hair cascading behind him. Barefoot, stepping on the cold bluestone, he walked toward you step by step. Your heart pounded so hard it felt like it would leap out of your throat. He stopped in front of you, looking down at you. Moonlight shone from behind him, tracing him in a silver outline. "Scared?" he asked. You shook your head, then nodded, then shook your head again. He smiled. This time it was a real smile, eyes crinkling gently, those thick lashes lowering to cast a soft shadow over his eyelids. The smile left your mind completely blank. He suddenly raised his hand, his fingers gently brushing the space between your brows. The hand was cold, unlike a living person's—like jade, like ice, like moonlight. But the touch was so light, as if he were afraid of startling something.