Snow's Embrace: Chapter 4
The sunlight is warm and gentle. Beneath the flower tree, everything has returned to normal.
Zayne sits before the mountain of bamboo slips, one hand flipping open a scroll while setting another scroll down on the table with the other.
A sharp “ta” echoes out—the sound makes my
MC: All of these—they all have to be transcribed again?
Zayne: Mm.
Zayne: That snake didn’t break anything. It only knocked over all the bamboo slips on the shelf and smudged the writing.
Zayne: If it were any other time, it wouldn’t matter—but as it happens, I’m set to descend the mountain next month, and as it happens, all of these bamboo slips will be needed.
Zayne: If there is someone who can help me transcribe—
He leisurely looks my way.
Zayne: Then that would definitely be someone who is bright and sharp, who would be of great help to me.
MC: …alright. I feel that with such fine weather today, it’s perfect for copying texts and practicing calligraphy.
I grit my teeth and take a seat behind the writing desk, but as soon as I spread open a scroll, I feel a little dizzy.
MC: Born in… … the direction of the southeast wind? … all this text is someone’s ?
Zayne: There’s no need to analyze it too deeply— just transcribe it word-for-word.
MC: …
I sit beside Zayne, pick up my brush, and just then, a white flower falls next to my hand.
MC: Zayne, you once said that every flower represents a life. Then, on this tree, is there also a flower that belongs to you?
Zayne: There is a flower that to me, but it is not me.
MC: What does that mean? Which one are you talking about?
I scoot over a little closer towards him and strike a “ready to hear a story” pose. As a result, my head is smacked with a bamboo slip, not too heavily nor too lightly.
Zayne: Stop trying to find an excuse to be lazy. Focus.
MC: Oww, that actually hurts! Now I can’t transcribe anymore.
I pretend to be in pain and dramatically hug my head as if I’ve been wronged.
Zayne:...
Zayne: Then what do you want to do?
MC: Mm… my head hurts so badly. I might need to sleep for three days and three nights.
The words may have already left my mouth, but it was just to indulge in the satisfaction of saying them. I prepare to tack on, “I’m just kidding,” at any moment.
Zayne: Is it here?
A slightly cold hand rises to cover my forehead. Dumbfounded, I go still, blinking as I look at him.
Zayne: Didn’t you say your head hurt? How come it seems like it’s your eyes that have a problem?
MC: No… It doesn’t hurt anymore…
Zayne: Then continue copying.
Zayne: This scroll, and also this one, thank you in advance.
MC: Wait a minute, I feel like my head still hurts a little—
Just as I try to slip away, an invisible force pulls me back behind the long desk.
Zayne: Don’t feign ignorance.
I can only continue to transcribe properly, listening to the sound of the brushstrokes beside me, trying hard to suppress the sleepiness growing little by little.
A cool chill suddenly latches onto the back of my neck, shocking me into full alertness.
When I turn my head, Zayne is calmly pulling his hand back as if nothing had happened, a trace of lingering frost still on his fingertips.
Zayne: No thanks necessary.
MC: (...As expected, he’s still the same familiar, unempathetic Zayne.)
After an indeterminate time passes, there’s suddenly a loud dong. The girl slumps sideways across the table fast asleep, her brush rolling along the table as it falls, leaving a black, inky line on her face.
Zayne: …
Zayne reaches his hand out, swipes once across her face, and the line of ink is gone.
A white blossom drifts down, landing gently between her brows. It’s in full bloom, yet the smile in Zayne’s eyes fades.
Zayne: …
Zayne: On this mountain, the passing cycles of the … It turns out so much time has already passed.
Zayne: It’s time.
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