Chapter Four: An Encounter with the Lady of Forgetfulness

On the iron tree by the window, a small flower bud had emerged. Whenever the wind blew, it trembled delicately, as if it might snap at any moment. Obsidian was thoroughly fascinated by this discovery—how could something made of iron and the like actually begin to bloom? This world was truly full of wonders.

Obsidian gently touched the bud, and a sharp pain pricked his fingertip. He quickly withdrew his hand, only to find no wound there. Yet, the bud flashed briefly with a crimson glow, so uncanny it felt almost sinister.

Since returning here, something inexplicable had happened: Yanluo, who used to sleep by his side, suddenly insisted on returning to his own quarters. Not that Obsidian minded, or found anything wrong with it. In theory, he should have been pleased—after all, who wanted to share a bed with someone so cold and expressionless? Yet now, he felt strangely empty inside, a vague ache swelling within him.

Suddenly, Obsidian recalled what that Bai-something had said the last time: that Yanluo still harbored old affections...

Restless, Obsidian tossed and turned on his bed, thoroughly vexed. It was infuriating—he absolutely did not care about that cold-faced man, not in the slightest. He still had to find himself a wife, yes, find a wife...

“Hey, Obsidian, what are you daydreaming about? The supervisor’s coming for inspection!”

Obsidian snapped back to his senses and realized he was at work. He hurriedly finished his tasks and packed up to leave.

“Hey, Obsidian, want to go out for a drink?” a colleague suggested.

Obsidian was about to decline when another chimed in, teasing, “Oh, come on, why bother? I’ll drink with you instead. Have you forgotten our Obsidian here is a married man? If his wife finds out, he’ll be in big trouble! Isn’t that right, Obsidian?”

The corners of Obsidian’s mouth twitched. He forced a smile and waved goodbye, thinking to himself—since when did he have a wife? Why was he the last to know?

At long last, he made it back to his apartment. Just as he was about to open the door, it swung open on its own, and someone rushed out, throwing their arms around him. “Honey, you’re home!”

Obsidian looked up—there was Yanluo, wearing a pink apron and smiling with a warmth that seemed to melt glaciers. Obsidian was immediately dumbstruck, his mind running wild with disbelief.

Suddenly, with a heavy thud, he and his bedding tumbled off the bed onto the floor. His face was pitch black with exasperation. After a long moment, he sighed helplessly and climbed back into bed to continue his sleep.

Half-awake, half-dreaming, Obsidian heard the creak of a door opening. Already on the verge of sleep, his mind was hazy, and all he wanted was to remain lying there.

The newcomer sighed softly and, with practiced care, climbed into the bed, wrapping their arms around Obsidian. His body still radiated the warmth of a recent bath, making for a soft, cozy embrace.

Obsidian, nearly asleep, recognized who it was almost instinctively, and his heart began to pound wildly. His face flushed crimson, and he found himself utterly unable to regain his composure.

Yanluo chuckled softly, pulling Obsidian closer, his fingers tracing gentle, almost imperceptible patterns along Obsidian’s waist. “Still awake?”

Obsidian remained silent, pretending not to hear.

Yanluo leaned in a little more. “With such a loud heartbeat, are you beating a drum?”

Obsidian’s face grew even hotter, but he still said nothing.

Seeing this, Yanluo simply held him tighter. His voice was as melodious as music, and as Obsidian listened, he drifted into a peaceful sleep.

Yanluo gazed at Obsidian, full of fondness, and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. “How much longer will I be able to look at you like this?”

The air was silent; no reply came.

As Obsidian had expected, when he awoke, Yanluo was long gone. If not for the lingering warmth on the empty pillow beside him, he might have thought he’d only dreamed another dream within a dream.

By the riverbank, things were as ever. Obsidian found his usual spot beside the old ferryman.

The old man chuckled instantly. “Lost your way again, boy?”

Obsidian waved a hand. “Not at all. I just came to chat with you for a bit.”

The old boatman sighed. “You’re not being very considerate, are you? At least bring some wine next time. My wife’s not around, so there’s no one to scold me.”

Obsidian nodded. “Alright, I’ll bring some next time. By the way, what’s your name?”

“Me? I’m just an idle old man. If you don’t mind, just call me Old Man Yan.”

Obsidian took note and asked, “So, what do you do, Old Man Yan?”

“Ever heard of a guide?”

“You mean someone who ferries souls?”

Old Man Yan nodded. “That’s right. That’s my job. It’s the only way I can stay here and wait for my wife.”

“Say, Old Man Yan, can I ask you something?” Obsidian rubbed his nose, a little sheepish.

“Go on, don’t dawdle, just say it.”

Obsidian stammered, “Well, I don’t have much experience, but if you find yourself thinking about someone every day, does that mean you like them?”

Old Man Yan laughed. “Not necessarily. By a certain age, thinking about someone daily doesn’t always mean you like them. It’s more about how you feel when you think of them.”

Obsidian pressed, “What kind of feeling?”

Old Man Yan pondered for a moment and replied, “When you think of her, does your heart beat faster? Does seeing her smile make you feel happy? If your mood is completely at her mercy, then you’re probably in love.”

Whatever hope Obsidian had clung to was swept away in a few words. “And what if that person might still have feelings for someone else, but still wants to share a bed with you?”

Old Man Yan was briefly surprised. He patted Obsidian comfortingly on the shoulder. “In that case, she’s probably just playing with you. You’d better take a good look and see if she’s really over her old flame.”

Obsidian’s face grew paler, but his expression seemed relieved. “Old Man Yan, do you want me to help you look for her?”

Old Man Yan smiled. “It’s alright. I’ve waited this long and heard nothing. The thought is enough for me.”

As dusk approached, Obsidian finally rose and said his farewells.

Just playing around? …Yes, that must be it. No wonder he always felt like Yanluo’s gaze passed right through him, as if he were searching for someone else. Even that chubby little one was the same—they were all the same…

Black Slave saw Obsidian return and began to ask, “Where did you—”

He didn’t get to finish before Obsidian, eyes vacant, walked right past him, as if he hadn’t seen him at all.

Black Slave was puzzled, then angry. What had that pretty boy done to Obsidian after sending him away?

Obsidian wandered in a daze, when suddenly he heard someone call him, “Well, if it isn’t Lord Impermanence! My respects to you, Lord Impermanence.”

“And you are…?” Obsidian asked in confusion.

The old woman chuckled softly behind her hand. “After all these years, I suppose you’ve forgotten me, Lord Impermanence. I’m Granny Meng. A few days ago, I ran out of my famous soup, so I came to the bureau to ask for help making some more. Would you care to join me?”

“Very well,” Obsidian replied. Only then did he notice, behind Granny Meng, the long-suffering Little Ding, face still bearing a bright red handprint.

Obsidian’s mood lightened a little, and, unable to resist, he teased, “Little Ding, that red mark suits you remarkably well.”