Chapter Nine: The White Jade Bridge

Waiting for a girl with performance tickets clutched in his hand—this is something that, for nearly a century now, most boys have experienced. But not every “he” is blessed with a perfect story; in fact, most are not. Some tales end before they even begin. That’s the root of a boy’s unease. For this reason, our protagonists spend much of their time anxious and restless, unable to find peace.

Failure itself isn’t so frightening, nor is pride the only thing at stake. It’s the uncertainty—maybe you’ll fail, maybe you’ll succeed—that, combined with the thousand possible scenarios you conjure in your mind, can drive you nearly mad. Yet, many boys manage to endure it, and those who can’t often stumble through regardless.

Hua Sheng felt the two tickets in his hand growing ever warmer, as though he held two glowing brands, their heat making his heart pound with unease. After his morning practice, he wandered about the Daoist Academy for over an hour, hoping to run into Weiyu by chance in the corridors, by the streams, or on the slopes of Mount Black Tortoise. But his hopes came to nothing, and by the time his legs were numb, he still hadn’t caught sight of her.

He could have asked Lord Taishang, inquired about Weiyu’s class or the courses she might be taking, to increase his odds of a “coincidental” meeting. But, as with many young people, he would rather wear out his feet than ask a single question.

Isn’t that pure, foolish stubbornness precisely what makes the young so endearing?

With his search in vain, Hua Sheng decided to try his luck atop Mount Black Tortoise. Aside from one previous visit to Idle Steps Pavilion for tea with Lord Taishang, he had never climbed the mountain.

Mount Black Tortoise rose six thousand feet. Hua Sheng tucked the tickets inside his sleeve’s inner pocket and ascended, observing his surroundings as he went. He often passed disciples practicing their immortal arts on the mountainside. Unlike the mountainside pavilion, the summit was wreathed in immortal mist, with cranes swooping gracefully through the air—a sight of exquisite beauty.

At the mountain’s peak stood the Lingyan Tower, a grand stone structure three hundred and eighty-four feet tall, its reddish-brown form divided into sixteen tiers. Before the tower lay a lake as emerald and still as a mirror, scattering sunlight into a myriad of colors. A white stone bridge, fashioned from agate and jade, spanned the lake. Its balustrades were carved with rare beasts, and from beneath, the clear waters shimmered through the translucent stone. Strange fish swam below, their scales shifting in hue—now crystal clear, now dappled like watercolor.

Hua Sheng stepped onto the bridge’s jade steps, noticing a natural break in the lake’s edge where water spilled over the cliff in a silvery cascade. Rising spray formed rainbows, with cranes flitting through the arcs—a scene of wonder. The water’s music blended with the cranes’ calls, weaving a harmonious and lively melody.

Lost in reverie, Hua Sheng caught, out of the corner of his eye, a slender figure in academy robes standing atop the lake.

He stopped breathing.

It was a silver-haired girl, barefoot upon the water’s surface. Her eyes were closed, her body gently rising and falling with the ripples.

Who else could it be but Weiyu?

The mountaintop was perfectly still; only the chirr of insects filled the air. Standing on the white stone bridge, Hua Sheng’s heart hammered wildly—he dared not disturb the scene.

At that moment, the girl called Weiyu turned the lake into her stage, dancing across the water like a dragonfly skimming the surface. Where her toes touched, rings of beauty spread out. She stretched her arms, gently brushing the water with her right hand. Droplets leapt into the air, coalescing into a translucent scroll of bamboo slips. She danced with the scroll, her words drifting softly:

“Who says the Black Tortoise cares only for itself,
Unmoved by the moon’s pity for the world below?
How long until drunken dreams are spent?
How can a single measure make one immortal?”

Hua Sheng listened, half-lost in the clouds—what was this drunken dream, this single measure? A measure is a number, a number is just a unit—how could that lead to immortality?

He didn’t understand the poem’s meaning, but he was deeply entranced by the mood she conjured.

When she finished, Weiyu pressed the transparent scroll to her chest and leapt to the bridge’s far side. The droplets on her feet transformed into embroidered shoes as she landed.

She walked slowly across the bridge, reading her bamboo scroll, head bowed. The breeze lifted strands of her dark and silver hair. Her face was delicate and pale, as if it would shatter at a touch. The academy’s wide robes hung loosely on her slender frame; it was hard to imagine she was the same girl whose silver light had pierced the heavens.

Hua Sheng’s heart fluttered uncontrollably, his hands awkward and uncertain. His mind raced for a way to greet her naturally.

What to do? What should I say?

A moment ago, the lake had seemed immense; now it felt as narrow as a palm. Before he could think of what to say, Weiyu had already reached him, still absorbed in her scroll.

It was over—he was going to miss his chance!

Sweat beaded on Hua Sheng’s forehead, one drop even falling to his brow. He remembered reading that emotional stress causes palms to sweat—a primitive adaptation to keep a grip on prey. Humans are animals, after all.

But now it seemed as though his chance was slipping from his sweaty hands.

She’s walking past—she’s really going to walk past!

In no time, Weiyu was beside him, still reading. Passing by takes but a fraction of a second—just 0.013 seconds, they say. Yet in that instant, your whole future can change—years, even decades.

That’s life. If you try hard enough, luck won’t be too far behind. But when luck finds you, if you lack a little courage, all your effort may be for nothing. Luck is only a catalyst; without action, a heaven-sent gift becomes a missed opportunity.

Heaven offers, but if you do not take, you bear the blame.

Weiyu didn’t see him, walking past without raising her head.

“Wait, wait!” Hua Sheng called after her.

She slowed, turned around, and looked surprised. “Oh? It’s you? What are you doing here?”

“The academy rules say you shouldn’t look at your phone while walking—no, I mean, you shouldn’t read while walking. Of course, phones aren’t allowed either. It’s unsafe,” Hua Sheng stammered.

Weiyu put away her scroll. “Are you on the academy’s discipline committee?”

“No, I just…”

She smiled faintly. “You’re called Hua Sheng, right?”

“You remember my name?” Joy filled Hua Sheng’s heart.

“Of course,” Weiyu said, twirling the scroll. “Who in the academy doesn’t know the celebrity who burned down the Hall of Reminiscence?”

“I’m so sorry,” he said, rubbing his head. “It must cost a fortune to repair.”

“Master Yuran told me you’d likely be working off the repairs through academy chores,” Weiyu sighed.

“What? Really?” Hua Sheng was alarmed.

“Kidding!” She hid her smile behind the scroll. “The academy would never do such a thing. Repairs are quick—several masters take turns restoring it. Soon, it’ll be as good as new. As long as no one was hurt, that’s what matters.”

“Oh, that’s a relief.” Hua Sheng wiped his brow. He hadn’t expected Weiyu to greet him so easily; perhaps her warmth was what helped her become vice registrar on the academy’s student council.

“What are you doing up here?” Weiyu asked.

“Nothing much, just wandering. By the way, your dance was beautiful.”

Her eyebrows jumped. “You were here the whole time?”

“Yes…”

“Sorry you had to see that.”

“No, really, it was wonderful! What kind of dance was it?”

“Did it look like ballet to you?”

“Ballet?” Hua Sheng was stunned. A girl in Daoist robes speaking of ballet? It should be a modern girl in a tutu. But then, he realized, this city, though ancient in appearance, is thoroughly modern.

“You think someone in academy robes can’t dance ballet? Or must only dance those ancient fan or feather dances from millennia ago?”

“It’s just the combination seemed odd. I always think of Swan Lake and tutus when it comes to ballet.”

Weiyu laughed. “It’s not classical ballet, just some ballet-inspired movements.”

“So what dance is it?”

“Cangyue Scroll Dance.”

Hua Sheng nodded, though he still didn’t quite understand—it sounded like a dance where scroll and movement became one.

Weiyu must have sensed his confusion, but she didn’t explain further, simply rolling up the scroll.

When two people stand face to face, even three seconds of silence can feel awkward. Hua Sheng finally broke it. “Thank you for the other day. If you hadn’t…”

“The other day?” Weiyu frowned, puzzled.

“When I set the Hall of Reminiscence on fire.”

“Oh! That. Don’t mention it—I was just passing by. The academy is full of talented people. Even if I hadn’t been there, someone else would have helped. You needn’t worry about it.”

He pointed at her hand. “But you were amazing.”

She was amused. “If you want to compliment a girl, saying she’s ‘amazing’ may not be the best way.”

He was at a loss.

“You pointed at my hand—I thought you’d say my hands are beautiful.”

“They are, very beautiful.” Hua Sheng blushed.

Weiyu laughed, covering her mouth. “You really don’t know how to talk to girls. By the way, are you feeling better?”

“I’m fine now,” he replied. “But I still don’t know why I suddenly produced Samadhi True Fire.”

“Samadhi True Fire,” she repeated softly.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing,” Weiyu smiled. “If you can’t remember, just let it go.”

“True. I almost lost my life before coming here, but those memories are hazy—just fragments. My memory’s not great.”

Weiyu mused, “Don’t you think, sometimes, forgetting is a kind of blessing?”

“Maybe you’re right.”

“There’s so much we don’t know, but we can still be happy,” she said, philosophical. “Not everyone gets the chance to forget the past.”

“True.”

“That’s all. If there’s nothing else…”

“Oh! Right!” Hua Sheng interrupted her, nearly forgetting the concert. “Are you free the evening after tomorrow? The Winning Hawks have a concert…”

“The Winning Hawks?”

“Yes, the Winning Hawks.”

“You mean ‘Music Hawk’?”

“Yes, Music Hawk! That’s it! Do you have time? I want to invite you.”

“You listen to their music?” she asked.

A simple question, but Hua Sheng had no idea—he’d bought the tickets because he thought every girl liked popular bands, but he’d never actually heard any of their songs.

What if Weiyu didn’t like them? He silently cursed himself for his carelessness.

“They make real music,” Weiyu said.

It was as though she’d thrown him a lifeline. Whether intentionally or not, she’d given him a way out.

“People say music is dead now,” Weiyu continued. “Many truly talented musicians can hardly support themselves. Listeners would rather hear free music than pay for quality.”

“So it’s the same everywhere,” Hua Sheng remarked.

“Talented musicians are often mocked and shunned by those making money from cheap tricks. Many give up and write shallow, strange lyrics to please the crowd. Then, listeners’ tastes degrade further until they can’t tell good from bad, only caring about what’s popular.”

“Most great artists were marginalized in their own time,” Hua Sheng said. “Maybe it’s because people resist change—staying the same feels safer, so they prefer what they already understand.”

“That’s why making music—especially good music—is so painful,” Weiyu said. “But Music Hawk always stayed true to themselves, writing music with their own signature. Even when they had no audience, performing for free while working day jobs, they kept supporting each other. Finally, their time came, and people will remember them.”

“You know them well,” Hua Sheng said.

She smiled. “Isn’t it the same with everything? If you love what you do, even if no one understands, it’s worthwhile. You come into this world alone and leave alone. If you don’t believe in yourself, who will?”

“Have a goal, and keep believing in yourself,” Hua Sheng nodded.

He fumbled through his sleeves, picked the wrong pocket, and finally found the two crumpled tickets.

“These tickets weren’t cheap,” Weiyu remarked. “You’re so careless—you might lose them.”

“I know, I’m not good at keeping things. Maybe you should hold on to them for me?”

“Alright! When you find someone to go with you, come get them from me!”

“No, that’s not what I meant…”

She laughed, “You seemed so simple, but you’re actually quite cunning. Is this your way of making sure I go with you?”

“No, no…”

Weiyu thought for a moment. “But I might have something to do that evening.”

“What?” Hua Sheng’s heart sank.

“I do have something to take care of—maybe I’ll be half an hour late. But I should be able to make it afterward.”

Hua Sheng let out a long breath. Thank the heavens—his hopes weren’t dashed.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been to the Lantern Festival,” Weiyu added.

“Lantern Festival?”

“In Shengpingning, the concert and the Lantern Festival are held together,” she smiled, tilting her head.

Hua Sheng scratched his head.

The sun shone brightly over the bridge, the spring breeze played, and the willows on the lake shore danced. The wind lifted a few strands of Weiyu’s hair. Hua Sheng felt an unprecedented sense of happiness. He told himself: sometimes, all it takes is a little courage to change everything.

The more you look forward to the future, the more you will love life itself.

On the white stone bridge that afternoon, only Hua Sheng and Weiyu remained. Their reflections lingered on the mirror-like lake, and time seemed to slow. At that moment, nothing else mattered to Hua Sheng; every second lingered in this poetic, picturesque afternoon.

The future is time yet to come. The day after tomorrow is simply tomorrow’s tomorrow.

If you yearn for something in the future, even tomorrow’s tomorrow can feel as distant as next year’s next year.

The next day, after his training, Hua Sheng cleaned his academy robes. In the courtyard, he recited an incantation to a flower bud. With a wave of his finger, the petals began to spin and slowly unfurl.

Lord Taishang walked by, book in hand, and remarked, “What love-struck nonsense are you up to?”

“Ah! Nothing!” Hua Sheng cried, and the bud withered at once.

“Blessed be the Heavenly Lord! What a crime—what did this poor flower do to deserve your torment?” Lord Taishang came over, placed a hand on the withered blossom, and the petals miraculously flew back, restoring the flower’s beauty. “Suddenly love-struck for no reason—must have a date with a girl.”

Hua Sheng was speechless, then asked, “Lord Taishang, can immortals, humans, and spirits be together in Shengpingning?”

Lord Taishang was taken aback. “Oh? So which goddess has caught your eye?”

“Shh!” Hua Sheng pressed a finger to his lips, flustered. “I’m just asking!”

“Just asking? Your forehead practically says ‘I’m a secret agent for romance!’” Lord Taishang tapped Hua Sheng’s brow.

Hua Sheng hurried to the mirror, but of course, his forehead was blank. He turned and saw Lord Taishang floating cross-legged, chin resting on his fist. “Knew it! Anyone can see it.”

“Don’t go around telling people.”

“I practice divination, not gossip,” Lord Taishang yawned, drifting back into his room. “It’s the modern age—no law forbids relationships among immortals, humans, and spirits. But as I said before, their lifespans differ greatly. Take care not to bring yourself needless trouble.”

Hua Sheng asked, “Lord Taishang, have you ever dated anyone?”

“Strange question. I’m single by choice—why would I need a girlfriend?”

…

Hua Sheng returned to his room in silence. He remembered that Weiyu was a spirit—how old was she, really? But as Lord Taishang said, in the academy, everyone was of similar age; only the future would separate their lifespans. His mind was a tangled mess.

Soon, the appointed day arrived.

Hua Sheng and Weiyu had agreed to meet at the entrance of Liyuan Center. He’d found out the location—it was about a twenty-minute walk from the academy’s east gate.

This was the first time in months that he’d left the academy. Maybe it was just so vast that living inside felt like a world of its own. Only upon leaving did he realize that Shengpingning was far greater.

On the busy streets, people of every age bustled about. He saw grand inns, apothecaries, restaurants, and clusters of ancient yet ornate buildings.

In the shops, clerks in various uniforms hurried to pack customers’ purchases and graciously escorted them out. Customers bowed in thanks—all was lively and harmonious.

Vehicles floated above the ground, moving in orderly lines. Passengers gazed out windows, chatted, or read in silence.

The pedestrian roads were paved with cool, clean bluestone. Walking on them in cloth shoes, Hua Sheng felt the summer heat melt away, replaced by a refreshing energy. He marveled—if the industrial revolution had happened in the Tang, Song, Yuan, or Ming dynasties, perhaps the world would look just like this.

Unnoticed, the sun set, and the blue sky turned violet. Store clerks stepped out, pointing at the lanterns hanging at their doors; a tap, and the lanterns gradually glowed. Soon, rows of red lanterns drifted down from somewhere, lining the streets and lighting up one by one. In an instant, the entire street was ablaze with light.

So the streetlights floated in only at night—by day, they took up no space. Hua Sheng was amazed.

Soon, he reached the riverbank. The scene unfolded before him: a broad lake covered with lotus leaves, blossoms glowing with seven colors and mysterious auras, making the water look like a starry night sky. Near the shore, lantern displays depicted myths and legends—Pangu creating the world, the Cowherd and Weaver Girl meeting on the Magpie Bridge, Kongming borrowing the east wind, and many others.

Ahead, the riverside was lively, with thousands of red and yellow lanterns filling the sky and a bustling night market stretching before Hua Sheng’s eyes.

At the market’s entrance stood a grand archway: “Liyuan Music Center,” written in upright calligraphy. So this was the center’s entrance. The wide corridor was a lantern fair; colored lanterns floated above, and vendors lined both sides, selling crafts and snacks.

Hua Sheng waited, glancing around for nearly the time it takes two incense sticks to burn, but there was no sign of Weiyu. Anxious hope crawled inside him like a caterpillar.

He realized, with a jolt, that he’d only agreed on the time and place with Weiyu, but had forgotten to exchange any way to contact her. Had he gotten the place wrong?

At that moment, he saw a graceful girl in a sheer robe descending slowly from the sky, standing atop a cloud as soft as cotton. As the breeze settled her sleeves, she brushed her legs with her cuff, as if sweeping away what remained of the cloud. When the cloud dispersed, the girl lifted her head—it was, of course, Weiyu.

Already beautiful, Weiyu’s translucent attire drew every eye. As she walked toward him, Hua Sheng’s face flushed to the tips of his ears.