Tan Yin increasingly felt that the once annoying, frivolous, and suspicious monk had disappeared, and she found herself disliking him less and less. She didn’t mind when he casually called her “little rascal,” didn’t mind when he playfully flicked her forehead, and she especially didn’t mind when he had said, “I like it.”
She wanted to say something, but didn’t know what. She had never been good with words, so all she could do was look at him and smile foolishly.
“What are you smiling at?”
Yuan Zhong deliberately put on a stern face and gently brushed the snow off her hair and shoulders. The Xie Xiang Forest was utterly silent, save for the delicate sound of snowflakes falling to the ground. Despite his efforts, more snowflakes quickly settled on her hair. With a sigh, he took off his cloak and draped it over her head.
“You came out dressed too lightly. Don’t let this delicate mortal body of yours catch a chill.”
Tan Yin smiled again, a thick cloud of mist rising from her lips. “I’m not cold.”
“Even if you’re not cold, I won’t let you stand here any longer,” he said, tying the cloak around her securely. “Come on, let’s go back together.”
Tan Yin nodded and turned to call out to the other “Yuan Zhong” still standing in the forest. “Yuan Xiaozhong, time to head back.”
Yuan Zhong nearly dropped the basket of herbs he was holding, his voice rising in disbelief. “What… what did you just name him?!”
Tan Yin giggled. “Yuan Xiaozhong! You’re Yuan Dazhong.”
Yuan Xiaozhong, Yuan Dazhong… Clearly, she wasn’t the most refined person, judging by the names she chose. Yuan Zhong shot her a fierce glare, then turned to glare just as fiercely at the innocent Yuan Xiaozhong. “Why would a mechanical man need a name anyway?”
Yuan Xiaozhong, now looking alarmed, cowered behind Tan Yin, trembling and choking back tears. “Master, does he hate me?”
Tan Yin patted his shoulder comfortingly. “No, he said earlier that he likes you.”
Seeing Yuan Xiaozhong’s delicate, effeminate expression made Yuan Zhong feel suffocated. He didn’t consider himself a particularly fierce man, but he would never make such a womanly face. The fact that this mechanical man looked exactly like him only made it worse.
Striding over, he grabbed Yuan Xiaozhong by the collar and asked coldly, “Are you a man?”
Yuan Xiaozhong frantically waved his hands. “I-I’m a mechanical man! Please don’t be angry!”
Yuan Zhong frowned. “If I ever see you act like that again, I’ll dismantle you!”
He turned back to see Tan Yin watching with a playful smile, and his frustration only grew. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you?”
Tan Yin hurriedly shook her head. “No! You asked me if I could make a mechanical man just like a real person, didn’t you? Isn’t he just like you?”
So in her mind, was he just some useless, effeminate thing like this?
Yuan Zhong gazed helplessly at the sky, but all it offered in return were large snowflakes that blurred his vision.
He felt a gentle tug on his sleeve. Tan Yin looked at him with concern, though she said nothing. But he understood what she meant.
Deep down, of course, he was happy. It’s just that… if he didn’t find something else to focus on, he wouldn’t know what to do.
What a foolish, clumsy man, he thought to himself with a bitter smile.
“…Let’s go back. We can talk more later.”
Yuan Zhong wrapped his arm around hers, then slowly let it slip down until he was holding her cold hand. At first, he held it gingerly, afraid that she might notice and quickly pull away. But she seemed completely unaware, too busy chatting with Yuan Xiaozhong. It was obvious that she was also making a mechanical man like this for the first time, and she was finding it quite novel.
Gradually, he tightened his grip, squeezing her hand firmly in his. It felt like a thief’s first successful heist—an exhilarating mix of nervousness, fear, and joy. For a moment, everything became surreal. The world around him faded; no sounds reached his ears. His emotions were a blend of happiness and sadness, fear and excitement. Is this a feeling that everyone experiences at least once in their life?
Back at the small building, Yuan Xiaozhong busied himself with boiling water and making tea. Tan Yin sat by the charcoal stove, warming her hands. In her mortal body, she would sweat when too warm and shiver when cold—certainly a hassle.
The windows and doors were tightly sealed, with cotton strips lining any gaps. The small sitting room was warm and fragrant. The Fox Clan truly lived up to their love of making incense; even the charcoal they burned was fragrant, with each piece shaped like delicate plum blossoms or lotus petals—exquisitely crafted.
Tan Yin used tongs to pick up one of the charcoal pieces and examine it, when suddenly Yuan Zhong asked, “Why did you make the mechanical man look like me?”
She didn’t know the answer to that question herself. Caught off guard, the tongs slipped from her hand, and the charcoal fell back into the stove. She fidgeted with the tongs for a while, murmuring softly before finally saying, “I don’t know… when I finished, that’s just how it turned out.”
At that moment, the door curtain was pulled aside, and Yuan Xiaozhong entered, looking every bit the picture of a dutiful wife, carrying cups and a teapot to serve them tea. As if worried about disturbing them, he quickly covered his face with the tray and scurried out.
Yuan Zhong felt both exasperated and amused, but he forced a stern tone. “So, making me look like that brings you joy?”
Tan Yin was puzzled. “Isn’t he just like you?”
“He looks like me,” Yuan Zhong sighed. “But his personality is completely different. You really don’t understand men at all.”
Tan Yin whispered, “I can’t control what he says or does. He’s nothing like the wooden figures I’ve made before… This is my first time making a mechanical man like him.”
“And it will be the last,” Yuan Zhong said firmly. “The last time. You’re not allowed to make one that looks like anyone else.”
Tan Yin looked up at him in confusion. His expression was one she had never seen before—a mix of hope, pain, and joy. His eyes held a hint of vulnerability, like a fragile flower bud trembling with anticipation.
Without thinking, she nodded. At that moment, the flower in his eyes bloomed fully, and he lowered his gaze, as if trying to hide it. After a long pause, he spoke in a playful, almost smug tone, “You made him look like me because you like me, right?”
She wanted to shake her head, but her neck refused to move. After a long struggle, she lowered her head in silence.
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