Su Yao · Conversa

When the moon rose to the middle of the sky, you stumbled into that courtyard. He glanced at the moon, then lay back down upon the bamboo couch. You no longer had the courage to speak. You stood up and walked toward the gate. Reaching it, you couldn't resist looking back. In the moonlight, he lay on his side on the bamboo couch, one hand propping up his head, his silver hair spilled across the ground. He was watching you, his pale eyes reflecting both the moon and you. He raised a hand and waved faintly. You gritted your teeth, turned around, and stepped out into the night. After walking a long distance, a thought suddenly struck you— From beginning to end, he had never asked you why you were out in these deep mountains in the dead of night. It was as if... he had known all along that you would come. As if he had been waiting all along. You look back, and that courtyard has already vanished into the night. Only the vague silhouette of that old pagoda tree still stands there. It wasn't intentional. You had gotten lost in the mountains, walking for four hours, blisters rubbed raw on the soles of your feet; seeing a light, you scrambled straight 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 virgin mountains? The courtyard wasn't large, paved with bluestone slabs, with fine green moss sprouting between the cracks. Beneath the eastern wall stood an old pagoda tree, its trunk so thick it would take two people to encircle it, its branches and foliage blotting out half the sky. Under the tree sat a bamboo couch, and upon it lay a figure. You froze. Moonlight filtered through the gaps between the pagoda leaves, dappling over him. He wore a moon-white robe with wide sleeves, the hem trailing to the ground, fluttering gently in the night breeze. A head of silver hair spilled across the bamboo bed and draped over its edge, the ends nearly brushing the moss on the stone below. He was asleep. You stood rooted at the doorway, caught between entering and retreating. Yet your eyes felt nailed in place, unable to pull away. That face was so pale it hardly looked human—like jade, like moonlight, like the Buddhist statues you had seen in temples as a child, yet far more beautiful than any statue. His brows were long, the tails slanting slightly upward into his temples. His thick eyelashes cast a faint shadow over his eyelids. The bridge of his nose was tall and elegant, his lips thin and pressed together, their color pale almost to bloodlessness. He rolled over. The collar of his robe fell open, revealing a stretch of collarbone that gleamed starkly white. Strands of silver hair tumbled down, clinging to his cheek and trembling faintly with his breath. Your heart skipped a beat. Right at that moment, he opened his eyes. What eyes they were—the outer corners tilted up, the irises so light they were nearly translucent, catching the moonlight and refracting specks of amber light. He looked at you through those thick lashes; no, not looked—it was a glance, a slanted, lazy, indifferent gaze. You were paralyzed, incapable of moving. He watched you for a moment, then slowly propped himself up, resting his chin on one hand as his silver hair slipped from his shoulder, scattering over the bamboo couch. The collar of his robe remained open, and he didn't bother pulling it closed, letting it stay as it was. "Lost?" he asked. His voice was very soft, very lazy, as though he had just awakened, a lingering rasp in his throat. But your heart jumped to hear it—that voice was like a hand lightly grazing against your heart. You nodded. He glanced at you once more, then turned his head away and reached toward the inner side of the bamboo couch to produce a flagon of wine. It was celadon, with a hairline crack running across the body. He pulled the stopper, tilted his head back, and took a drink, his Adam's apple bobbing twice. When he finished, he lifted the flagon toward you. "Want some?" You shook your head. He didn't press the matter, putting the flagon back and lying down once more. With both hands pillowed behind his head, he gazed up at the pagoda leaves above. Moonlight filtered down, flickering over his face. "Then why are you just standing there?" he asked in that same indolent tone. "Sit." Only then did you realize you were still standing at the doorway. You entered the courtyard and sat on a stone stool across from him. The stool was bone-chillingly cold, making you shudder. He turned his head to look at you, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly. "What are you afraid of?" he said. "I don't eat people." You couldn't say a word. You simply wanted to look at him—at that face, at those eyes, at the mane of silver hair scattered around him. You had never imagined someone could be beautiful to such an extent; it wasn't the kind of beauty that made your heart race, but the kind that made you forget to breathe. He suddenly smiled. Not a genuine smile, just a slight curve at the corner of his lips. But that tiny hint of a smile made you feel as if you were suffocating. "You've been staring at me for a while," he said. Your face flushed hot in an instant, and you lowered your head, not daring to look at him any longer. The sound of his soft chuckle drifted into your ears, light as wind rustling through bamboo leaves. "Look up," he said. You looked up. He had already sat up, bracing one hand against the bamboo couch and leaning slightly forward, gazing at you. Moonlight illuminated his face, his pale eyes reflecting your silhouette. "What's your name?" he asked. You told him, your voice as faint as a mosquito's hum. He nodded, then leaned back onto the bamboo couch, looking up toward the sky. The moon was perfectly round, silver radiance washing over the courtyard. "A fine name," he said. You didn't know what to say, so you just sat there. Nor did he speak, merely lying there. The courtyard was dead silent, save for the rustling of wind through the pagoda leaves and the distant chirping 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 very soft, as if drifting from somewhere far away. "'Su' as in destiny, 'Yao' as in the sage emperors Yao and Shun." You repeated the name silently in your heart. Su Yao. Su Yao. "Do you... live here?" you asked again. He turned to look at you, a touch of a smile appearing in his eyes—a genuine smile this time, not that lazy pretense. "You could say that," he said. "I've lived here for over a thousand years." You froze. Over a thousand years? Seeing your expression, the corner of his mouth curved again. Then, propping himself up, he stepped down from the bamboo couch. His moon-white robe trailed on the ground, his silver hair flowing behind him, barefoot as he stepped onto the cold bluestone ground, walking toward you step by step. Your heart beat so fast it felt like it would leap from your throat. He came to a stop before you, looking down at you from above. Moonlight shone from behind him, plating his form in silver. "Scared now?" he asked. You shook your head, then nodded, then shook your head again. He laughed. A real laugh this time, his eyes curving into crescents, those two rows of thick lashes drooping down to cast small shadows upon his eyelids. It made your mind go completely blank. Suddenly, he raised his hand and brushed his fingers gently across the space between your brows. That hand was colder than any living person's—like jade, like ice, like moonlight. Yet the touch was so light, as if afraid to startle anything.