Zhu Mingyang had stayed with Yan Zhanjin for ten days. He spent those ten days in a state of profound relief. Tonight, however, the quiet calm was broken. He sat staring at the dark night sky, devoid of stars. A deep thunder roar suddenly echoed across the vast darkness, and then the rain began to fall in sheets. He leaned against the bamboo wall, watching the downpour, lost in deep thought and reminiscing about his past, when he heard Yan Zhanjin call out to him.
Yan Zhanjin stood framed in the doorway. "Mingyang, come inside."
Zhu Mingyang ran to the door and stepped into the small bedroom. It held only a bed and a simple table.
Yan Zhanjin handed him a towel. "It will rain for a while," he said. He then looked directly at Zhu Mingyang, posing the question that broke the peace of the last ten days. "Do you have any plans?"
Zhu Mingyang shook his head slowly. "I don't."
"Anywhere you want to go?" Yan Zhanjin asked.
Zhu Mingyang shook his head again, confirming his complete detachment from his former life.
Yan Zhanjin smiled gently, his eyes filled with genuine hospitality. "If you don't have a place to go, you are welcome to live here with me. I do not mind."
Zhu Mingyang's gaze dropped, reverting to the cautious posture of a servant. "Am I troubling you by staying here?"
"No, not at all," Yan Zhanjin reassured him, glancing at the corner by the window. "You are welcome to stay as long as you like." He smiled again. "You may have to sleep on the floor tonight."
"My back has not healed yet," Zhu Mingyang said, the truth simple and painful. "I will lean on the wall. You continue to sleep."
Yan Zhanjin gave a tired yawn. "That's right. I forgot about that." He sat down on his bed and looked at Zhu Mingyang, who had already leaned against the wall and closed his eyes.
After a moment of silence, Yan Zhanjin spoke softly, setting the agenda for the morning. "Mingyang, Yin shushu will take you to chop wood tomorrow."
"Okay," Zhu Mingyang replied.
Early the next morning, Yin shushu and his young grandson arrived carrying some fresh bamboo. Uncle Yin and Zhu Mingyang went out together to find firewood, while the grandson stayed behind with Yan Zhanjin.
Later in the afternoon, Zhu Mingyang and Uncle Yin returned with the spoils of their labor. Uncle Yin and his grandson soon left, and Zhu Mingyang immediately began the task of chopping the long, heavy logs into smaller, manageable pieces for the fire. The work was simple and demanded only physical effort, a welcome contrast to the scheming he once endured.
After two solid hours of cutting firewood, Yan Zhanjin finally emerged from his bedroom. He looked refreshed, having been cloistered away while Zhu Mingyang worked.
Yan Zhanjin looked at Zhu Mingyang, who was dusted with sawdust but showed no sign of fatigue. "Let's go to the market to buy something."
Yan Zhanjin stopped outside a small, bustling quilt shop. He looked at Zhu Mingyang. "I want to buy quilts and pillows."
Zhu Mingyang immediately positioned himself against the wall. "I will stay here and wait for you."
"Nonsenses," Yan Zhanjin declared, dismissing the formality. He reached out, grabbed Zhu Mingyang's left wrist, and dragged him inside the quilt shop.
This was the first time Zhu Mingyang had ever visited such a store. The small space was warm and fragrant, full of neatly folded, handmade quilts of every pattern and color imaginable.
Yan Zhanjin released his wrist and turned, a determined look on his face. "Which color do you like?"
Zhu Mingyang, accustomed to taking orders rather than making personal choices, automatically replied, "You choose."
Yan Zhanjin insisted firmly, "No, you choose."
Zhu Mingyang, wanting to end the awkward shopping trip, simply grabbed the first quilt in front of him. "This one," he stated quickly.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
Yan Zhanjin took the quilt and the pillow up to the front register and paid. The two men then walked to a small inn in the middle of the market.
As the men sat down, Zhu Mingyang realized, with a strange melancholy, that this was the first time he had a quiet meal in an inn. The atmosphere suddenly reminded him of his painful youth. He remembered when his mother started to get sick—he was only about eight or nine years old. He would often sneak to the back of inns like this one, where the waiters threw away uneaten food. He would try to pick up the scraps on top, carefully selecting the food that hadn't touched the ground, putting the leftover food in a broken bowl to take back to his mother.
Yan Zhanjin noticed the distant look in his eye. "What are you thinking about?"
"Reminiscing about the past," Zhu Mingyang said simply.
"About?"
"When I was young, I used to go to the back of inns like this to grab uneaten food from the garbage."
Yan Zhanjin's expression darkened. "Where were your parents at that time?"
"There was only me and my mother," Zhu Mingyang explained. "She used to work in an inn, but she was sick and therefore unable to work. I was only seven or eight years old. I couldn't work either, so we survived from other people's rubbish."
The deeply personal conversation was abruptly overshadowed by the low murmur of the outside world. Sitting at the table next to Zhu Mingyang and Yan Zhanjin, two martial artists were eating and chatting loudly.
The first man spoke, leaning close to his companion. "I wonder what exactly is Chief Cao thinking? He announced that when he opened the Mu Treasure cave, he would welcome anyone who wanted to enter."
The second man scoffed, "Do you think he is lying?"
"I believe he only said that because he wants the treasure map," the first man replied. "The last time I heard, the Yueguang Sect had all five maps."
The second man shrugged, dismissive. "They are both from famous households, and their words should not be taken seriously."
"Perhaps," the first man said, finishing his wine. "But if Chief Cao really does what he says, many martial artists will join him."
The second man mused, "There are only three House leaders left in the martial arts world. Which family do you think will be extinct next?"
The first man lowered his voice conspiratorially. "I think it's the Gu Household."
"Why do you think so?"
"If the Cao and the Wang household join forces, then the Gu will be annihilated like the Mu and the Rao."
The second man changed the subject, his eyes flicking around the room. "I heard that people from Beixing Sect are looking for a doctor. Do you think Cheif Cao is sick?"
The first man simply scoffed. "Who knows what those famous household leaders are practicing."
Yan Zhanjin watched Zhu Mingyang, his eyes narrowed slightly in observation. He noticed the minute, almost imperceptible way Zhu Mingyang's jaw had tightened, confirming he was paying close attention to the martial artists' careless chatter. Yan Zhanjin wanted to understand the depth of Mingyang's connection to the world they had just heard about.
"Mingyang, are you a disciple of any of those Sects?" Yan Zhanjin asked, his voice low and direct.
Zhu Mingyang immediately dropped his gaze, giving a response that felt too practiced, too quick. "No, I'm just an ordinary bodyguard." He quickly placed his bowl and chopsticks down on the table, signaling the end of the intimate meal and the end of the questioning. "I'm stuffed."
The two men returned to the quiet isolation of the bamboo shed. As they walked, Zhu Mingyang tried desperately to suppress the overheard words of the martial artists. He had to keep his head clear. He reminded himself that he had only three months of life remaining; he could no longer afford to do anything to help Gu Yingjie.
He looked at Yan Zhanjin's right hand and saw the pink quilt embroidered with white flowers.
"Why did you buy this quilt?" Zhu Mingyang asked, the domestic detail momentarily distracting him. "Do you like pink?"
Yan Zhanjin looked at him, surprised. "I think you like it."
"No, I don't," Zhu Mingyang immediately replied.
"If you don't like it, why did you choose it?" Yan Zhanjin countered.
Zhu Mingyang stared at the quilt, then at his own empty hands. The truth settled on him with a familiar weight: he had grabbed the first thing he saw in the shop, completely indifferent to its color or pattern, simply to end the confrontation. He had not paid attention, even to the simplest decision about his own comfort.
When the two people reached the main entrance of Yan Zhanjin's house, a basket of bright orange persimmons hung conspicuously on the fence.
Zhu Mingyang paused, looking at the unexpected gift. "Do you often get free food?"
"Yes," Yan Zhanjin replied, gathering the quilt and pillow he had carried from the market. "I help them when they need my help, and they're just returning my kindness back to me by giving me free items like this." He looked at Zhu Mingyang, his eyes warm. "You can take that basket and wash the persimmons." Yan Zhanjin then walked into his room with the blanket and the pillow.
Zhu Mingyang washed the basket of persimmons and put them on the kitchen table. Just as he finished, Yan Zhanjin walked out of the bedroom.
"Come with me," the doctor said simply.
Zhu Mingyang followed Yan Zhanjin into the bedroom. He saw that the small room had been rearranged: a second bamboo bed stood beside the window, opposite Yan Zhanjin's own. The pink quilt and pillow they had purchased that afternoon lay neatly on the mattress.
"What is this?" Zhu Mingyang asked, startled.
Yan Zhanjin gestured toward the new bed. "You have no place to go, and you will be staying here for a while. I don't think you are suitable for sleeping outside in your condition. I don't mind sharing this room with you, as long as you want to."
That night, lying on the soft quilt, Zhu Mingyang stared across the dark room at Yan Zhanjin's sleeping figure. They had been strangers, yet Yan Zhanjin showed him a deep, effortless sympathy. Except for his mother and Gu Yingjie, this was the first time someone had given him something, and they genuinely wanted nothing in return.
Zhu Mingyang looked down at the pink flowers on the quilt, and the sight triggered a distant memory—the memory of a flower-embroidered money bag.
Gu Yingjie had shyly handed him the small, stitched pouch. "This is for you."
"I already have one," Zhu Mingyang had replied, confused.
Gu Yingjie's cheeks were dusted pink. "This one is special."
"How?"
Gu Yingjie replied softly, "I made it."
Zhu Mingyang felt a genuine smile spread across his face, a smile he hadn't known since. "You made it? Really?"
"I asked Chaomei to teach me how," Gu Yingjie said, his voice earnest. "Mingyang, I hope you don't mind that the stitching is not very good, but next time when I make you an outfit, I promise that the stitches will be equal."
Zhu Mingyang closed his eyes and let out a long, shuddering sigh, the memory of that pure, broken love a fresh ache in his chest. He murmured softly into the darkness, "Yingjie, do you miss me?"