Early in the morning, Yan Zhanjin asked Zhu Mingyang to deliver the firewood to Donglong Inn. When Zhu Mingyang arrived at the back of the inn, five waiters quickly came out and grabbed the load of wood. One of the workers paid him, and he walked away, heading toward the open-air market.
He stopped at one of the vendors. A beautiful young lady was selling jewelry and women's accessories; the table was filled with cosmetics, paper lipsticks, hairpins, and other trinkets. He ignored everything else, his gaze fixed toward the end of the table where he saw an obsidian bracelet. He picked up the feng shui black obsidian bracelet.
Zhu Mingyang realized he had been living in Yan Zhanjin's house for more than three months now. This new life, full of simple kindness, was a haven. He decided the bracelet would be a good gift for Yan Zhanjin. He didn't want to forget a friend like the doctor. Perhaps when the poison finally started to work, this bracelet would remind him that there was a kind soul in the world who still cared about him.
Zhu Mingyang reached for the money bag—the one Gu Yingjie had made him—and paid the young lady. The young lady smiled warmly as she wrapped the purchase. "Sir, I know your wife will like that feng shui bracelet. That purse... Did she make it for you?"
"This bracelet is for a friend," Zhu Mingyang clarified.
The young lady blinked, then apologized. "I'm sorry, sir. Seeing you holding that kind of embroidery money bag, I thought you were a married man."
"It's all right. Don't worry about it." Zhu Mingyang took the carefully wrapped bracelet, put his change back into the little pouch, and began pushing the empty wagon back toward Yan Zhanjin's house.
As he walked alone on the dirt road, his thoughts turned inward, recalling the memories he didn't want to forget. In his heart, Gu Yingjie was a person he never, ever wanted to lose to oblivion. He believed that even if he lost his reason and his mind became blank from the poison, he would always remember Gu Yingjie's face and voice.
He sighed heavily, recalling the time Gu Yingjie had appeared before him, his fingers wrapped with white cloth—a clumsy attempt to cover the nicks from the needle—and handed him the poorly stitched money bag. The bag was stitched unevenly, the flower awkwardly sewn, with a few crucial stitches missing. Even though it was far from perfect, he had cherished it like gold.
He recalled a cold winter day when the bag had been lost. He retraced his footsteps for the entire day and finally found it lying in the dirt. Gu Yingjie had asked him to throw away the dirty money bag, but he had refused. He remembered the exact words he'd used, spoken from the deepest part of his devoted heart: "Everything you gives me will be my most precious possession."
Zhu Mingyang was also haunted by a fresher memory he didn't want to forget: two nights ago, he'd seen through the window that Yan Zhanjin was helping him fix his torn clothes. Early the next morning, the doctor's left hand was pierced with several needle holes. Zhu Mingyang felt that Yan Zhanjin's poorly sewn clothes, fixed with such earnest effort, had more meaning than all the extravagant clothes Gu Yingjie had given him before.
He desperately wanted to forget all his bad memories, but now he knew the price: these three months of peaceful, happy memories were also fleeting, and he would soon forget them bit by bit.
Zhu Mingyang placed the wagon next to the well and sat at the table, watching Yan Zhanjin in the kitchen. In the past three months, their shared life had made him truly happy. He recalled all the good memories with the doctor. He remembered a time they were washing clothes by the river: Yan Zhanjin, so concentrated on beating the clothes, forgot that his wooden basin floated away. When he started chasing the wooden basin, the clothes he had laid on the rock washed away too! If he hadn't been there, Yan Zhanjin would have come home with neither clothes nor basin.
He carried some firewood into the kitchen, placing the logs next to the stove. He then stood in front of Yan Zhanjin, silently watching the doctor wash the vegetables, simply cherishing the sight.
"What?" Yan Zhanjin asked, looking up from the vegetables he was washing.
Zhu Mingyang stepped closer. "Zhanjin, since I've lived here with you, I haven't given you anything to show our friendship."
Yan Zhanjin raised his head and smiled, shaking the water from his hands. "No need. You've helped me a lot. You run errands for me."
"These are what I should do," Zhu Mingyang countered, "because you gave me a place to sleep and food to eat."
"Well, then let's forget about it," Yan Zhanjin conceded, returning to his task. He looked at Zhu Mingyang one last time. "Tell me when you want to leave. I just don't want you to leave without saying goodbye."
Zhu Mingyang pulled the small, wrapped obsidian bracelet from his sleeve. "I want to give you this," he said, handing it over. "I'll be forgetful soon. I hope this will help me remember you."
Yan Zhanjin stopped washing the vegetables, looking surprised. "Why, you want to give me this suddenly?"
Zhu Mingyang's voice was low, filled with solemn finality. "Soon, I will slowly forget. When I can no longer remember who I am, you hold it to remind me who I am." He reached out, grabbed Yan Zhanjin's right hand, and slid the feng shui black obsidian bracelet onto the doctor's wrist.
Yan Zhanjin looked at the dark, smooth beads on his skin, then up at Zhu Mingyang. "Are you sure you want to give this to me?"
Zhu Mingyang nodded, his expression resolute.
Yan Zhanjin smiled, a brilliant, confident, and slightly mysterious expression. "You will not lose your memory, and you will not forget."
Zhu Mingyang's statement about drinking the poison is met with Yan Zhanjin's confirmation that he has already been cured, leading to a lighthearted acceptance of the future.
"I drank the forgetfulness poison."
Yan Zhanjin smiled broadly, clearly amused by the secret he had kept. "Remember the brewed medicine I had you drink the first three days you were here?"
"Yes."
Yan Zhanjin chuckled then said, "That is the antidote to the forgetfulness poison." He quickly pulled his hand away from Zhu Mingyang's grasp, holding the obsidian bracelet protectively. "You already gave it to me, I won't give it back."
A genuine smile, free of old sorrow, spread across Zhu Mingyang's face. "I will help you cook."
Yan Zhanjin pointed toward a pen in the yard with a playful grin. "Help me kill the chicken over there."
A loud voice suddenly cut through the quiet air of the kitchen. Lao Yin shouted from the front of the gate, "Yan yisheng, are you at home?"
Zhu Mingyang and Yan Zhanjin exchanged a quick look and walked to the main entrance. Standing at the gate, they saw Cao Wenyan, the feared leader of the Beixing Sect, accompanied by Lao Yin and the notorious five-colors mice.
Lao Yin quickly stepped away, bowing slightly. "Childe," he said to Cao Wenyan, "this is Yan yisheng." Then, to the doctor, "Yan yisheng, this childe is looking for you." He then hastily walked away from the group, clearly wanting no part of the interaction.
Cao Wenyan offered a smooth, chilling smile, his eyes fixed on the doctor. "Yan yisheng, may I trouble you to go to Beixing Sector with me?"