Chapter 22 – ‘Rationality Has Fallen.’

Shang Muxiao does not regard himself as an outsider at all. He picks a Penfolds’ dry red wine from the liquor cabinet, opens the cap skillfully, and grabs two glasses.

“The moon is quite full tonight, how about you tell me about it.” He pours wine into the glasses, handing one to me, and walks towards the living room balcony with his own glass.

I take a sip from my glass as I stare at his back. The wine’s rich aroma, mixed with grape, quickly occupies my mouth, and the aftertaste carries a subtle sourness along with the right amount of astringency.

Usually, I would take the time to savour this fine wine, feel the tannins on my tongue, and appreciate the winemaker’s dedication to this wine. But right now, I am not in the mood for savouring; I just want to get this evening over with.

Why on earth did I have to bring him home?

With this wondering, I lift my head and finish the glass in one gulp. I place the empty glass on the bar and then control the wheelchair towards where Shang Muxiao is.

“Stand aside for a moment. Let me adjust it, and you can take another look once I’m done.” I shoo him off to the side, turn on the power to the telescope, and start calibrating the angle.

As I adjust the telescope, Shang Muxiao leans quietly to the side with his arms crossed, swirling the glass in his hand and maintaining a serene silence. When the adjustments are nearly complete, I move aside and signal him to come over and take a look.

“So quick.” He puts his glass down on the coffee table and approaches again.

I tell him the names of the various parts of the telescope as well as their functions. Afterward, I hand him the hand control so he can experience the view of the moon for himself.

He bends down and leans in close to the eyepiece. When he gets a good look at what the telescope displays, he cannot help but let out a gasp.

“How ugly.”

From history to the present, the moon has been a subject of beautiful visualisations for mankind, with mentions of the Goddess of the Moon, Chang’e, and the Jade Rabbit often depicted in poems that liken its beauty to precious jade. However, the reality is quite different, as the moon lacks the appearance of a bright jade orb and does not harbour a beautiful goddess. Instead, it boasts a vast lunar mare, a craggy landscape, and countless craters.

“The moon has no atmospheric cushion for landing, so any material impacting its surface leaves clear marks. The absence of air and wind prevents significant weathering, allowing these marks to remain indelible for countless years. Every tiny dent you see has likely been there for hundreds of millions of years.”

While I find the opportunity to visually witness these ancient marks highly valuable, Shang Muxiao seems to find the experience somewhat inscrutable.

“Do you enjoy watching these craters so much?”

“These craters have names,” I explain. “At the far north end, the one you can see has a narrow shadow; that’s the Mare Frigoris, also known as the Sea of Cold. Below it is the equally narrow lunarite; the crater in the middle is called Plato, and the one a little to the east is Aristotles. The large shadow below Aristotles is the Mare Serenitatis, also known as the Sea of Serenity, which you cross to reach the Descartes Highlands.”

“So you’re saying that ‘all philosophers live on the moon’?” He looks up with a smile. When he notices that I am not responding, he adds, “It’s a remark by a certain foreign filmmaker, a satire on philosophers as being full of empty words and unable to keep their feet on the ground.”

While some philosophers may fit that description, it’s unfair to generalise about all of them.

“I disavow myself from such a statement,” I clarify.

“There’s another problem of yours.” He steps aside a little and asks, “what’s that shadow on the left? I think it moved.”

Moved? I assume it’s just some small bug and I approach to look through the eyepiece.

The view is clear, no nothing. No small bugs nor moving shadows to be seen.

I look up at him questioningly. “There’s noth…”

No sooner have I finished my sentence than I feel a pair of hot lips kissing me.

My brain stops functioning from that moment on, and I am unable to think about anything else.

My mouth is teased open by a wine-filled tongue, and unlike his usual assertive demeanour, he approaches with a gentler exploration.

He is like the most patient hunter who knows how to behave in a friendly manner to lower the guard of his prey.

The prey, of course, is aware of the danger but remains helpless in the face of the threat. It can only step into the trap with a spirit of bravery and a heart ready to face its fate.

My eyelashes tremble uncontrollably, my hands clench into fists, and even my breathing becomes irregular as I am overwhelmed by the moment.

Time seems to stretch indefinitely, yet the moment also appears fleeting. The tip of Shang Muxiao’s wet, hot tongue delicately touches the corner of my lips, and then he withdraws slightly, with a smile in his eyes. “Your problem is that you’re too rational. Like now…”

Now?

I stare at his parted lips, unsure if I’ve asked that question out loud. Gradually, I start to breathe again, but the dizziness lingers; the effects of air insufficiency don’t ease so easily.

He places his hands on either side of my wheelchair and says composedly, “Like now, with the mood so pleasant, how can you just wait for me to initiate the kiss?”

Then what should… I do?

Suddenly, I seem to hear the sound of ice cracking, but I cannot focus on whatever it might be.

I have obviously only had one glass of wine, so why am I now starting to feel drunk?

I shouldn’t have had that drink…

“Why are you behaving like someone who’s never been in love.” He grumbles and moves closer again, almost touching my lips. “Laoshi, I’m going to get mad if you don’t kiss me.”

Be it casual or merely exploring, he truly knows how to work his magic with finesse.

Many voices spring up in my head. One moment it’s Mr. Huang’s ‘Live each day like it is your last’; the next it’s Kant’s ‘There is nothing higher than reason’… They keep recurring, interspersed with mocking remarks from God knows if it’s Bergson or Schopenhauer, stirring my already near-strike brain into a tangled mess.

Seeing that there’s been no reaction from me for a long time, Shang Muxiao lets out a light tsk and makes a move to straighten up.

With my mind in disarray and unable to think clearly, I instinctively reach out and grab him by his sleeve.

All the voices in my head disappear in an instant as the cracking of the ice surface grows bigger and bigger, reaching a point beyond control, shattering the whole thing into pieces. I clutch the soft, thin woollen jacket in my hand and lower my gaze for a couple of seconds. Only then do I realise that it’s not an ice surface breaking, but rather my own rationality.

My rationality has fallen, bit by bit, from its core. Instinct conquers the kingdom and ascends to the throne.

Instinct has emerged victorious, quietly and powerfully, trampling over all those who once despised it. It extends its antennae into every sulcus of the brain, making it nearly impossible to easily remove its influence.

It is rapidly expanding its territory, not only conquering the high ground of the brain but also gaining control over the body.

“There’s really nothing I can do about you…” Shang Muxiao seems helpless as he gently strokes my cheek and moves his hand over to my ear.

I look up at him, still inwardly battling with my last vestiges of resistance.

I don’t believe it, I don’t believe that my rationality has fallen just like that.

“You’re not kissing me, you’re not letting me go either…” His wide palm settles on the nape of my neck, his eyes dark and heavy, with a hidden fierceness that contradicts his words and actions. “I’ll have to take the initiative then.” While saying that, he leans down, and before the last word even fades, his lips firmly capture mine in a kiss.

Unlike the tenderness of the previous kiss, he now fully embraces his desires and passionately kisses me with abandon, his lips exploring mine deeply.

It is as if he is plainly conveying through his actions, ‘This is a situation you won’t be able to escape once you’ve fallen in. This is the scholars’ Lanruo Temple, Emperor Wu of Han’s Abode of White Clouds, and a sinful debt from which you cannot break free.”

My face is forced to look up, the nape of my neck feels numb, and my head grows dizzy as I passively succumb to everything he offers me.

It is only when I start gasping for breath and my grip on his sleeve begins to tremble that he releases me, appearing partially satisfied, and withdraws his tongue from my mouth like a snake retracting its forked tongue.

“Laoshi, you lied.” His hand on the nape of my neck remains there, as if he is soothing a restless little animal, He caresses the spot with careful control, both in terms of strength and angle. I am like a cat being tickled, my bones turning soft and weak under his touch.

My chest is heaving violently, and I am trying to act as adept as possible, but my body is not cooperating. I attempt to calm my panting, momentarily ignoring what he is saying.

“And you claim you have no improper thoughts about me, but it’s obvious that you like me.”

I tilt my head to one side, trying to shake off his hand.

He clings on stubbornly, not letting me succeed.

“Let go…” I glare at him, my grip on his sleeve gradually loosening.

Rationality clings on with its last gasp of life, so there is still a chance of it surviving.

And I’m going to resuscitate it.

Shang Muxiao glances at my hand, a hint of displeasure flashing in his eyes.

He clasps his hand with mine, and his breath sweeps back into my mouth, invading it roughly once again.

He does let go of his hand from caressing the nape of my neck this time, and moves on to grab my hair.

My scalp hurts slightly, causing me to frown, and I accidentally bite the tip of his tongue. He pauses for a moment, then retaliates with a rougher bite the next second. The saliva that is too late to swallow slides down the corner of my mouth, and the cold atmosphere around us becomes tense.

Rationality has fallen. Instinct sits on the throne with its legs crossed, looking at rationality with pity. The melancholy tune of ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star’ plays around us, as if that is the funeral song of rationality and, at the same time, the coronation song of instinct.

I can taste the dry red wine that I haven’t had time to savour in Shang Muxiao’s mouth. The mixture of nicotine’s smell heightens the astringency but also accentuates the sweetness.

Way too sweet, nothing like a dry red wine.

This Penfolds… appears to be… really disappointing…

The ice shatters, and the flames, long imprisoned for years, coil into a prairie fire the moment they come into contact with the outside world.

As I regain my senses, I find myself already pinned to the bed by Shang Muxiao, yet I can’t recollect how we made it all the way into the room.

Great. Instinct even censors my memories at will.

For some inexplicable reason, the passionate scene between the male and female protagonists in ‘Ni Xing Feng’ comes to my mind. Every panting and trembling from that scene seems to overlap with the current moment with Shang Muxiao. I suddenly realise that this might be what’s known as ‘emotionally charged flutters.’

I completely give up thinking and surrender my body to instinct. That is until… I feel him undoing my trousers.

In an instant, I feel as if a bucket of icy water has been poured over my head, and I snap back to reality. Gasping for breath, I quickly hold his hand down, halting his actions.

His head, nestled in the crook of my neck, rises in bemusement, and the dim light fails to mask the intense lust in his eyes.

“We can’t…” This is my ultimate boundary, one that surpasses reason, my dignity.