Categories > Anime/Manga > Fushigi Yuugi > Wild Wild West
Chapters: 1/10-12
Chapter warnings: character death (sort of), cursing
Notes: Continuing with the translation…
Li Houjun kept his eyes closed, pretending to be asleep and trying to shut his ears from the noises around him. He could hear through the train’s clatter the twin babies few bench rows back; ones that didn’t seem to do anything but cry. There were also two elder ladies that had been chatting loudly since Denver as well as the snoring man next to him. Houjun sighed under his breath and raised his eyes to the sceneries passing by them. The endless prairie didn’t offer much to look though and soon his memories took him over.
It had been five years ago when he had stepped to the ship that sealed his fate and took the last bits of freedom he had had. He wasn’t a slave; or at least he didn’t think himself as one. He was paid for his work and there were no shackles to confine his freedom. No, the shackles that did confine him were inside his head. He had already paid for his crimes long time ago, so what was it that stopped him from going home? And maybe that was it. How could he go to home when he had none? Not after he had destroyed it with his own hands. So instead he stayed in this cursed land, wandering from ranch to ranch, from job to job, like if he was looking something. Something long lost. It was bizarre actually. He had enjoyed his last job on that cozy little ranch. The people had been nice, almost like family and the feeling had been mutual. But something inside him made him restless, making him to resign and took the train. And who knew were?
Houjun sighed heavily and pulled the edge of his brown Stetson over his eyes, finally falling to a restless sleep.
The sun rays through the trees made small light spots play on the road that the blue haired monk walked, happily humming. It was a nice, warm day with a slight play of wind playing in the leaves and the birds sung happily as they flew between the trees. The monk sat down by a small pond for awhile and smiled as he saw his reflection from the water mirror. He couldn’t even remember when he had stopped using that always smiling mask of his. But he knew the reason for it; Tasuki.
The face of that grinning red haired youth that had taken his heart, popped to his mind. He had no idea when was it that he had fallen in love with the bandit, but who was he to question his heart. As servant of Suzaku, the god of love, he was obligated to follow his heart. But that was easier to think than accomplish. Who would have thought that for a man who had seen dangers as much as Chichiri had, he was afraid to confess his true feelings to Tasuki. But since he had spent most of his life in celibate anyway, at the moment, purely emotional love was enough for him. He would not risk losing Tasuki’s friendship for fleshly pleasures. Because as friends, they already shared everything that lovers did; apart from the physical contact of course.
Chichiri had gotten up to the road again after his little musing brake, when a terrifying emptiness carved its way to his heart. It felt like something invisible to the eye had swept through him, taking a part of him with it, a part of his very being; his soul. A horrifying though crept to his mind, but Chichiri pushed it away and instead lift his kasa on his head. A second later he was standing at the familiar yard of bandits hide-out on Mt. Reikaku. Everything around him was peaceful and quiet; way too quiet actually. Suddenly the silence was broken by the sounds of running feet on gravel. A small child, not older than seven years, appeared in Chichiri’s sight, making him sprint to meet the boy.
“What’s the matter, na no da?” Chichiri asked his voice full of worry.
“Am… am… ambush”, the little boy said, his little lungs desperately trying to get air. Nothing else needed to be said for Chichiri to start running the way the boy had come from. The trees were a flash of green as Chichiri ran, faster than ever in his life, faster than he had though he was even able to run. It didn’t take long for Chichiri to arrive to the scene where the boy had come from. The sight made his insides twitch.
There were at least two dozen men in front of him, most of which were unknown to him and all of them lifeless; covered in blood or burned unrecognizable. It was a small battlefield, the ground covered in blood and many of the trees leafless as their branches had been burned to ashes. But what made Chichiri’s insides turn cold, empty even; like there was nothing left in him, even though his heart still beat and his breath came out slightly ragged, was not the war like sight. It was the still body of a young man few steps in front of him. The usual flaming orange haired was coloured crimson and the always laughing, passionately burning amber eyes stared empty ahead.
“Ta-tasuki”, Chichiri could hear his voice whisper as his trembling feet took one unsteady step towards the familiar body. It was then that a pair of strong arms grabbed his hands from behind, gently turning him away. Chichiri looked up at the tall man who was practically carrying him away from the battlefield. Confused, begging even, Chichiri tried to find an answer, an explanation, other than the one he already had, from the man who was holding him together. But the torment visible in Chichiri’s only eye was too much for the other man to take and he could not meet Chichiri’s eyes, let alone give him any answers.
“No!” Chichiri cried out shaking his head and tear himself away from the other man’s arms. He backed away with shaky legs until his foot hit something, making him lose his balance and fall on his back on the bloody ground. As he saw what had caused him to lose his footing, tears filled his only eye. If not all the blood and the empty eyes, one might have though Tasuki was just sleeping, his face more calm than usually.
Chichiri crawled to him and picked his lifeless body to his arms. How cold did his body feel, so different than before. And Chichiri knew this, since more than once had they pressed against each other, to keep away the cold when sleeping on the ground, alongside the road. Warm and alive, cold and dead. But that couldn’t be. Tasuki was life itself. Something like that couldn’t be killed, right?
As Chichiri gently rocked the still body of Tasuki’s in his arms, he wiped away some of the damp hair from his face, leaving a streak of read on Tasuki’s forehead. Puzzled, as if seeing blood first time in his life, Chichiri stared the red streak and after that his own hands, that were coloured in crimson. Looking back at Tasuki, still confused, his hands caressed the heavy, dark jacket until found the damp, tore spot.
Chichiri tore Tasuki’s jacket open and the nauseate feeling he had had since the first time he felt that coldness pass through him rose up. The pure white shirt had been coloured red and through the shreds of it, he could see Tasuki’s torn chest. Pressing violently and desperately Tasuki’s still, cold, dead body against himself, Chichiri wept aloud.
Houjun inhaled deeply and flew his eye open, staring his hands blinking. What on earth had that been? Never before had he seen a dream like that. So clear that it didn’t even feel like a dream, more like watching something aside. No, aside wasn’t right. He had felt the monk’s feelings, his pain, as if it had been his own.
“Hey, you deaf or something! I said get your money out and fucking fast if you wanna stay healthy” A commanding yell above his head said.
Houjun raised his head in surprise and met the piercing amber eyes, staring at him under the edge of black Stetson.
Chapter warnings: character death (sort of), cursing
Notes: Continuing with the translation…
Li Houjun kept his eyes closed, pretending to be asleep and trying to shut his ears from the noises around him. He could hear through the train’s clatter the twin babies few bench rows back; ones that didn’t seem to do anything but cry. There were also two elder ladies that had been chatting loudly since Denver as well as the snoring man next to him. Houjun sighed under his breath and raised his eyes to the sceneries passing by them. The endless prairie didn’t offer much to look though and soon his memories took him over.
It had been five years ago when he had stepped to the ship that sealed his fate and took the last bits of freedom he had had. He wasn’t a slave; or at least he didn’t think himself as one. He was paid for his work and there were no shackles to confine his freedom. No, the shackles that did confine him were inside his head. He had already paid for his crimes long time ago, so what was it that stopped him from going home? And maybe that was it. How could he go to home when he had none? Not after he had destroyed it with his own hands. So instead he stayed in this cursed land, wandering from ranch to ranch, from job to job, like if he was looking something. Something long lost. It was bizarre actually. He had enjoyed his last job on that cozy little ranch. The people had been nice, almost like family and the feeling had been mutual. But something inside him made him restless, making him to resign and took the train. And who knew were?
Houjun sighed heavily and pulled the edge of his brown Stetson over his eyes, finally falling to a restless sleep.
The sun rays through the trees made small light spots play on the road that the blue haired monk walked, happily humming. It was a nice, warm day with a slight play of wind playing in the leaves and the birds sung happily as they flew between the trees. The monk sat down by a small pond for awhile and smiled as he saw his reflection from the water mirror. He couldn’t even remember when he had stopped using that always smiling mask of his. But he knew the reason for it; Tasuki.
The face of that grinning red haired youth that had taken his heart, popped to his mind. He had no idea when was it that he had fallen in love with the bandit, but who was he to question his heart. As servant of Suzaku, the god of love, he was obligated to follow his heart. But that was easier to think than accomplish. Who would have thought that for a man who had seen dangers as much as Chichiri had, he was afraid to confess his true feelings to Tasuki. But since he had spent most of his life in celibate anyway, at the moment, purely emotional love was enough for him. He would not risk losing Tasuki’s friendship for fleshly pleasures. Because as friends, they already shared everything that lovers did; apart from the physical contact of course.
Chichiri had gotten up to the road again after his little musing brake, when a terrifying emptiness carved its way to his heart. It felt like something invisible to the eye had swept through him, taking a part of him with it, a part of his very being; his soul. A horrifying though crept to his mind, but Chichiri pushed it away and instead lift his kasa on his head. A second later he was standing at the familiar yard of bandits hide-out on Mt. Reikaku. Everything around him was peaceful and quiet; way too quiet actually. Suddenly the silence was broken by the sounds of running feet on gravel. A small child, not older than seven years, appeared in Chichiri’s sight, making him sprint to meet the boy.
“What’s the matter, na no da?” Chichiri asked his voice full of worry.
“Am… am… ambush”, the little boy said, his little lungs desperately trying to get air. Nothing else needed to be said for Chichiri to start running the way the boy had come from. The trees were a flash of green as Chichiri ran, faster than ever in his life, faster than he had though he was even able to run. It didn’t take long for Chichiri to arrive to the scene where the boy had come from. The sight made his insides twitch.
There were at least two dozen men in front of him, most of which were unknown to him and all of them lifeless; covered in blood or burned unrecognizable. It was a small battlefield, the ground covered in blood and many of the trees leafless as their branches had been burned to ashes. But what made Chichiri’s insides turn cold, empty even; like there was nothing left in him, even though his heart still beat and his breath came out slightly ragged, was not the war like sight. It was the still body of a young man few steps in front of him. The usual flaming orange haired was coloured crimson and the always laughing, passionately burning amber eyes stared empty ahead.
“Ta-tasuki”, Chichiri could hear his voice whisper as his trembling feet took one unsteady step towards the familiar body. It was then that a pair of strong arms grabbed his hands from behind, gently turning him away. Chichiri looked up at the tall man who was practically carrying him away from the battlefield. Confused, begging even, Chichiri tried to find an answer, an explanation, other than the one he already had, from the man who was holding him together. But the torment visible in Chichiri’s only eye was too much for the other man to take and he could not meet Chichiri’s eyes, let alone give him any answers.
“No!” Chichiri cried out shaking his head and tear himself away from the other man’s arms. He backed away with shaky legs until his foot hit something, making him lose his balance and fall on his back on the bloody ground. As he saw what had caused him to lose his footing, tears filled his only eye. If not all the blood and the empty eyes, one might have though Tasuki was just sleeping, his face more calm than usually.
Chichiri crawled to him and picked his lifeless body to his arms. How cold did his body feel, so different than before. And Chichiri knew this, since more than once had they pressed against each other, to keep away the cold when sleeping on the ground, alongside the road. Warm and alive, cold and dead. But that couldn’t be. Tasuki was life itself. Something like that couldn’t be killed, right?
As Chichiri gently rocked the still body of Tasuki’s in his arms, he wiped away some of the damp hair from his face, leaving a streak of read on Tasuki’s forehead. Puzzled, as if seeing blood first time in his life, Chichiri stared the red streak and after that his own hands, that were coloured in crimson. Looking back at Tasuki, still confused, his hands caressed the heavy, dark jacket until found the damp, tore spot.
Chichiri tore Tasuki’s jacket open and the nauseate feeling he had had since the first time he felt that coldness pass through him rose up. The pure white shirt had been coloured red and through the shreds of it, he could see Tasuki’s torn chest. Pressing violently and desperately Tasuki’s still, cold, dead body against himself, Chichiri wept aloud.
Houjun inhaled deeply and flew his eye open, staring his hands blinking. What on earth had that been? Never before had he seen a dream like that. So clear that it didn’t even feel like a dream, more like watching something aside. No, aside wasn’t right. He had felt the monk’s feelings, his pain, as if it had been his own.
“Hey, you deaf or something! I said get your money out and fucking fast if you wanna stay healthy” A commanding yell above his head said.
Houjun raised his head in surprise and met the piercing amber eyes, staring at him under the edge of black Stetson.
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