"A Simple Man, en. Good. Very good." Yijing's eyes narrowed as his smile broadened. "Or perhaps a skilled one?"
"I am only an orphan of little skill, Senior," Chún said respectfully, keeping one eye and both ears trained on the flock grazing in the pasture to their left. The familiar honking had softened into a low, steady murmur. They seemed strangely well behaved—though perhaps not so strange, he thought, considering the calm he felt himself.
"En. Young Chún, then you do not know your family?"
"This one was left in the village as a babe, Senior," Chún answered, setting aside the familiar ache with the ease of long practice. "The village raised me as one of their own. I repay their kindness as I can."
"Hmm, kindness, is it? So that is why you sing your song?" The twinkle had left Yijing's eyes, though his smile remained, and Chún felt his face grow warm.
"It is merely a pastime, Senior, and I only sing alone… I know my voice is not very good."
"Your song seems wise for one of your age, my friend. I am curious—where did you hear it?"
Chún ducked his head, momentarily forgetting to watch the flock. "I… that is… it is my song, Senior. It helps the chores go faster."
"Truly? Your own?" Yijing leaned forward slightly. "Does it have more verses, then, Young Chún?"
Chún raised his head in surprise and found the old man studying him intently for a moment before Yijing laughed, his eyes twinkling again, and Chún blinked in confusion. "Senior wishes to hear…? Well… it is only that the path is long, so… there are quite a few."
"Then we will watch your flock together," Yijing said, laughter still in his voice, "and you will sing for us both."
Chún cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck beneath the rim of his grass hat. "It is only that… I use my staff, as I walk, for the beat…"
A thumping chime interrupted him as Yijing's staff struck the grass beside the boulder. The sound lingered for a breath against the softer murmur of the pasture. Chún shook his head as he looked into the smiling face. "As you wish, then…" He took a deep breath and raised his voice in song once again.
"Good food and
Dry bed,
Stream's cry,
Wind's heart.
Stronger than wine,
Warmer than
Woman…
Treasures of
Heaven;
Treasures of Earth."
A serene mountainside; breezes swirling through the treetops and rolling down across the pasture, ruffling green grass in soft waves, the scent of wildflowers and herbs, the proud cry of a steel-backed eagle and the chatter of a drilling jackdaw. Water flows over river stones, chuckling wetly to itself as a doe and her fawn dip their soft muzzles to drink, a proud stag standing watch beside them.
The Golden Crow shines brightly in the sapphire sky, and the Essence of Heaven and Earth strengthens around the mountain; insects hum busily from flower to flower, chased by lizards darting through patches of light and shade…
…until aged laughter breaks from the top of the boulder. The deer jerk their heads upward and bound away in startlement. The jackdaw's chatter pauses, then resumes as the laughter dies away.
"Young Chún," wheezed Yijing, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, "a good verse—although perhaps, I think, you might wish to rewrite it when you get a little older."
Chún blinked, a touch of indignation rising. "I have been doing adult chores for the villagers for the last two seasons, Senior," he said, straightening slightly, "and hunting for myself for the past three. I must be nearly eleven summers old—everyone my height is about that age, or so they say."
Once again he thought he saw an appraising look cross Yijing's face before the old man dipped his head slightly in apology. "I meant not to mock your achievements, Rén Chún—merely that when one reaches my age, everyone seems young," Yijing answered, smiling at the boy beside him. "Though I do wonder—where did you hear that a woman is less warm than a good bed?"
"I heard some of the village men talking about it," Chún answered in puzzlement. "But I have never really understood it. A girl will not be any warmer than I am, and without a bed, everything is cold at night, Senior. That is why I put it into my song," he added as an afterthought, rubbing the back of his neck in confusion as Yijing broke into a fit of coughing, one hand covering his mouth and his eyes bright with laughter.
Yijing rubbed his mouth with his free hand as his coughing subsided, his eyes still twinkling. "Forgive me, ah… my throat has grown dry with all this talking—and the Golden Crow is warm. Please, share a drink as thanks for your good company." His hand dropped to the gourd fastened at the right side of his waist. He pulled it free and raised it above his head, tipping the opening towards his lips so the clear liquid fell easily into his mouth.
"Ahh, that is better," he exclaimed, smiling as he extended the gourd towards Chún. "Please, it is refreshing on such a warm day…" He waggled it invitingly, sending the clear sound of liquid sloshing to Chún's ears.
Bowing his head in thanks, Chún hesitantly took the gourd. With the old cultivator watching and nodding encouragement, he carefully raised it over his lips, catching the falling liquid in his open mouth.
An indescribable coolness rushed from his mouth and down his throat, striking his stomach like a burst of mountain wind. It spread through his body as though he had stepped beneath the small waterfall further down the mountain—the one he usually washed in—instead of sitting on a boulder beneath the hot Golden Crow. Yet the chill flowed from within rather than without.
A shiver passed through him, followed by a rush of energy. Small popping sounds came from his muscles and joints, like dry twigs snapping, making him twitch in surprise. He hurriedly lowered the gourd to avoid spilling it and stared at Yijing with wide eyes. "This… this is a treasure," he exclaimed. "Senior, you should not waste it on this unworthy one…" He hastily pushed the gourd back into Yijing's hand and scrambled down from the boulder to bow deeply.
Yijing snorted gently and hopped down after him, cuffing him across the shoulders as he landed in front of him. "None of that nonsense, Young Chún. It is water—not a treasure. Or at least…" He waggled the gourd in Chún's face, forcing him to straighten and watch with disbelieving eyes as the short figure ambled towards the stream crossing the north end of the pasture. "…not a treasure an ordinary man would recognise. Follow me, Young Chún—we can watch the flock from there as well as here."
Chún blinked, absently considering that he seemed to be doing that a great deal lately, and hurried after Yijing. Despite the old man's relaxed pace, he moved far faster than expected. Chún caught up as he reached the stream bank, a puff of dust rising from the boy's rough clothing despite the lushness of the pasture.
"Senior, I can refill your…"
His apologetic offer broke off as Yijing extended the gourd over the flowing stream. Vibrant blue mists swirled up from the surface like wind-blown dust, glittering cerulean motes darting in and out of them like fireflies as they flowed into the open mouth of the gourd.
Chún's pupils shrank in shock. Before he could speak, the stream chuckled loudly and twisted upward into the gourd, following the mist like a silver snake slipping into bushes. The quiet pop of Yijing replacing the cork shook him from his paralysis; the old cultivator was watching him steadily.
"Tell me, Young Chún, what did you see?"
Chún swallowed. "Water… the Cry of the Stream, it… into your—and then the water… just…"
Yijing's wrinkled face broke into a broad smile. "Cry of the Stream, is it? Good. Very good." He poked Chún with the top of his staff. "After hearing your song, I thought that might be how it was."
Then his face grew solemn, and he regarded Chún seriously. "What would you say, Young Chún, if I told you even the mightiest…" He frowned darkly, startling the boy. "…the mightiest cultivator would have seen only the water moving from the stream into my gourd?"
Yijing smiled broadly again. "But Young Chún can see more…" He laughed at the expression on Chún's face and moved past him, back towards the boulder, raising his voice in a singsong:
"Come with me, Young Chún,
Treasures of Heaven and Earth indeed, my friend—
Treasures of Heaven and Earth."