A Game at the Chess Pavilion
The spring rain had passed, and the mountain was newly washed. Grass and trees were only just turning green.
Below Mount Hua stood the Chess Pavilion, built against the cliff, half jutting into empty air and half braced against stone. Several old pines leaned out over the edge, their needles freshly rinsed by the night rain, green and shining. A wind rose from the valley floor and stirred the bronze bells at the pavilion corners, making them ring clear and cold. The sound only deepened the stillness of the wilderness all around.
This pavilion was one of Mount Hua's old landmarks.
Legend had it that five hundred years earlier, Patriarch Chen Tuan had once played chess here with Zhao Kuangyin, the founding emperor of the Song. Mount Hua itself had been the wager. The emperor lost a single move, and so the whole Western Peak passed into the hands of the Daoist order. The old men were long gone, but the Chess Pavilion remained. Spring and autumn came and went, rain and wind wore at the eaves, and five hundred years of time had done little more than fade the paint on the pillars.
Today there was a game here as well.
The two players were one young and one grown.
The younger was about fourteen or fifteen. He had sharp brows, fine eyes, and a bright, open expression. He wore a pale blue robe, light and elegant, with a folding fan at his waist, and sat upright on a stone stool. The spring wind lifted a few loose strands of hair at his brow, making him seem all the more like polished jade in human form, calm and composed. Yet his composure was not the shallow self-satisfaction often found in boys his age. It was something quieter, more certain, as though every possible turn across the nineteen lines had already been played out in his mind.
He lifted his stones lightly.
He placed them quickly too.
Across from him sat a Daoist in his twenties. His gray robe was old but clean. His features were broad and open, his bearing steady and solid. A white stone rested between his fingers, and he had been considering it for a long while without placing it. The position before him had already been driven into a tight corner. His white dragon was not yet dead, but its breathing room had narrowed inch by inch. No matter how one looked at it, it seemed as though he had been lured, little by little, into a net spread in silence.
Two children were standing outside the pavilion.
One was a boy of about eleven. He wore a half-worn short jacket of blue cloth, the sleeves rolled high to reveal two thin, narrow arms. His build was slight, and his complexion paler than that of boys his age. One glance was enough to tell anyone he had never had a sturdy body. Yet his eyes were extremely bright. At that moment they were fixed on the chessboard so intently that his brows were nearly tied together, as though all the principles under heaven were hidden somewhere among the crossing black and white lines.
The other was a girl in yellow, perhaps eleven or twelve. She was pretty, with a green silk sash at her waist. At first she seemed to be watching the game as well, but before long her gaze drifted away of its own accord and came to rest softly on the young player. If he did not look up, she would keep watching a little longer. If he happened to glance her way, she would lower her head at once, and the tips of her ears would quietly redden.
The mountain wind entered the pavilion. Sunlight shifted slowly.
At last the young Daoist gave a soft sigh and set down the white stone in the southeastern corner. With a bitter smile, he said, "Junior Brother Xi, if this move still cannot hold, then I truly must concede."
The boy heard him, glanced at the board once as though it mattered little, and instead looked first toward the mountains beyond the pavilion.
In spring the mountain colors were very fresh. Every peak, near and far, seemed washed clean, their green clear and luminous.
Only after a moment did he draw back his gaze. He picked up a black stone and placed it lightly on the center point.
At first glance the move seemed plain enough. It neither fought for initiative nor seized territory. It looked like an idle stone placed without much thought. Yet the young Daoist's expression changed the instant he saw it.
The few lines of support he had been struggling to preserve were silently linked together by that single move. The lonely white stones in the southeast had become sacrifices. The great dragon in the center, which had seemed still to possess a path to life, suddenly had no room left to turn. Even the ko fight he might barely have contested had in a heartbeat turned into a dead end.
He stared at the board for a long while. In the end he tossed the white stone back into the bowl and threw back his head with a hearty laugh.
"Good, good! I have truly lost. Your style is the most tormenting, Junior Brother Xi. You hold the winning position long before the end, yet you keep winding east and west, dragging the other man along until his heart starts pounding in panic. Only then do you place one soft little stone and leave him not even a scrap of room to protest."
The boy smiled as well and quickly rose to return the courtesy. "Senior Brother Zheng gives me too much credit. I only looked ahead two extra moves. I am hardly so formidable."
The Daoist shook his head, laughing. "If that is what you call looking ahead two extra moves, then half a day of my own hard thinking really has become a joke. Enough, enough. I'm done. Another game would only end the same way."
The girl in yellow outside the pavilion finally could not help herself and burst into laughter.
The boy in blue, however, was still staring at the board. In a small voice he muttered, "Strange. Just now it was clearly Senior Brother Zheng who had the edge. How did everything suddenly fall apart after that one move?"
The young Daoist laughed loudly. "Yingjie, if you could understand that move, there would be no place for a senior brother like me on this mountain."
That boy was Fang Yingjie.
He had been frail since childhood. At the age of three he had once fallen gravely ill and nearly failed to survive. Later his mother, Zhen E, sought physicians everywhere and pulled him back from death's door, but the illness left its mark. His body remained weaker than that of ordinary children. For that reason he had been sent to Mount Hua in the later years of childhood to recover his health and begin his education, and once there, he stayed for many years.
Everyone on the mountain cared for him.
Half of it was because he was a likable child.
The other half was because of his father.
Fang Tieshan.
Throughout Mount Hua, that name was not spoken lightly. It was not that it could not be spoken, only that every time it was, it felt as though something in one's heart had been touched very gently.
Fang Yingjie, however, knew nothing of such depths. He knew only that something had happened to his father not long before he was born, and that in all the years since, he had never returned. Whenever he asked his mother, she either fell silent or turned the question aside. In time he learned not to press. It was not that he did not want to know. It was simply that he could see that whenever she heard the words "my father," her gaze would drift somewhere very far away.
At that moment he had no room in his mind for any of this. He only knew that he could not understand the game, and yet could not help wanting to.
The young player beckoned to him. "Yingjie, come here."
Fang Yingjie hurried into the pavilion.
The boy pointed to the board and said gently, "Look here, here, and here. At first glance these are three separate places, unrelated to one another. But space had already been left between them. My move was not for initiative. It was only to draw in the net. If Senior Brother Zheng had not played in the southeast, he might still have held on a few more turns. The moment he placed that stone, though, he sent himself into the very center of the trap."
Fang Yingjie stared at the board for a long time. The longer he looked, the less he understood. At last he shook his head honestly. "Brother Xi, I still don't see it."
The boy smiled and tapped him lightly on the forehead with his folding fan. "Then never mind. There are always some things in this world that cannot be understood by looking twice."
The boy's surname was Xuanyuan, with the given name Xi.
Throughout Mount Hua, everyone knew that name.
He was the only son of Xuanyuan Qing, the late Sect Leader of Mount Hua. When Xuanyuan Qing had led the heroes of the Central Plains west on the campaign against the Crimson Flame Palace and perished in the desert, his son had still been a swaddled infant. The elders of the mountain pitied his youth and raised him by hand. More than ten years had passed since then. The blood shed by Mount Hua's older generation had not yet fully dried, and yet this child had already grown into the most outstanding of his generation.
At chess, at study, and at martial training alike.
The Daoist who had been playing against him was named Zheng Chong, whose Daoist name was Danningzi. He was the nineteenth generation's Chief Disciple of Mount Hua. His master, Lei Yiyun, had been the foremost among the Five Heroes of Mount Hua.
The girl in yellow was named Xi Qian, the only daughter of Xi Wence, the current Sect Leader of Mount Hua. Ordinarily she was straightforward and lively, yet somehow, whenever she was in front of Xuanyuan Xi, she always became quieter than usual.
The sunlight fell upon the chessboard, black and white laid out in perfect clarity. The spring mountains stood silent.
No one could have guessed that beneath so warm a sun, beyond the mountain gate, the fire from the old year had not yet burned itself out.
Laughter in the Spring Pavilion
Zheng Chong was not annoyed in the least. He simply pushed the stones aside and laughed.
"As I see it, if Junior Brother Xi went down the mountain and set up a chess stall, he could probably win back the whole county town's silver in half a month."
Xi Qian, pleased by the remark, could not help saying, "Senior Brother Chong is right for once. If Brother Xi went down the mountain, let alone Huayin, I doubt even Xi'an Prefecture would have anyone who could beat him."
Zheng Chong gave an exaggerated sigh. "Junior Sister, your heart is leaning very far to one side. I'm the one who just lost, yet instead of comforting me, you help Junior Brother Xi speak."
Xi Qian's face flushed red, and she snapped at once, "Who is helping him speak? I'm only telling the truth."
Zheng Chong laughed. "Fine, fine. We shall call it the truth, then."
Though he said so aloud, in his heart he already understood seven or eight parts of the matter. He merely did not say it.
Fang Yingjie noticed none of this. He was still looking at the chessboard. After a long while he suddenly said, "Brother Xi, you really can do everything. You can play chess, you can study, you can write, and even a difficult text like the Free and Easy Wandering you can recite from memory."
Xi Qian immediately cut in, "Of course he can. Last time I went into Brother Xi's room, his table was covered in books. The Dao De Jing, the Nanhua Jing, the Book of Changes—just reading the titles made my head ache."
Zheng Chong laughed. "That is because you do not apply yourself."
Xi Qian gave a snort. "I don't apply myself? Better that than some people, who lose at chess and then turn around and make me the butt of it."
Fang Yingjie, worried she might truly be upset, hurried to change the subject. "I may not know how to play chess, but I have my own skill too."
Zheng Chong smiled. "And what skill is that?"
Fang Yingjie straightened his chest. "I can run fast. A few days ago there was a gray rabbit on the back mountain. I chased it for half an hour straight and almost caught it."
Xi Qian burst into laughter. "Almost? In the end didn't it dive into a burrow and escape again?"
At once Fang Yingjie wilted. "The hole was too small. I couldn't crawl in."
Everyone in the pavilion laughed.
Slapping his leg, Zheng Chong said, "What a fine young master of the Fang family. He failed to catch the rabbit, exhausted himself instead, and then had to come back and drink two whole bowls of medicine."
Fang Yingjie's face reddened, but he grinned sheepishly too. What he feared most was not that others would laugh at him, but that no one would pay him any mind at all. These years on the mountain, it had been the liveliest comfort in his heart that his senior brothers and sisters were willing to speak with him and tease him.
Xuanyuan Xi looked at him, and the smile in his eyes softened.
"Yingjie also has qualities others cannot match."
Fang Yingjie's eyes lit up. "What qualities?"
Xuanyuan Xi said, "You are sincere with people. Whatever is in your heart can be seen in your eyes. There are many clever people, on this mountain and below it, but few who still treat others so directly. You are young now and do not yet know how rare that is. In a few years, you will understand."
At those words, the smile on Zheng Chong's face gradually faded.
Elsewhere, such praise would be no more than praise for a child. But on Mount Hua as it now stood, the words carried another weight.
These past years, storms had not ceased outside the mountain gate, and inside it, things were not wholly peaceful either. Xi Wence bore a heavy burden. Shenzang Sanren had grown advanced in years. Many matters were beginning to settle upon the shoulders of the younger generation. Fang Yingjie was still only a frail boy who liked to chase rabbits, but everyone knew he would not always remain only a child.
Fang Yingjie, however, heard none of that deeper meaning. He only knew that Brother Xi had praised him, and that made him enormously happy. He nodded at once and with great force.
"Brother Xi is right. When I go down the mountain one day, I'll be an honest man too."
At the side, Xi Qian curled her lip. "I only fear you'll be so honest that someone could sell you and you'd still help them count the money."
Fang Yingjie considered this with great seriousness, then nodded. "That could happen too."
Zheng Chong immediately laughed so hard he slapped the stone table.
Xi Qian had meant to mock him, but she too ended up laughing first.
For a while the pavilion rang with laughter. The spring wind rose from below the cliff and stirred the hems of their robes. In the distance, wild peach blossoms had only just opened. A few pale patches of red lay pressed against the green mountains, as though someone had accidentally left the evening glow behind in the middle of spring.
After the laughter had gone on for a bit, Zheng Chong seemed suddenly to remember something. He turned to Xuanyuan Xi.
"By the way, Junior Brother Xi, how are your lessons lately? Martial Uncle, the Sect Leader, asked about you just the other day."
At once Xi Qian stopped laughing as well and pricked up her ears.
Xuanyuan Xi only lowered his head and began placing the chess stones back into their bowls one by one. His voice was calm. "As before. I have not dared to slacken."
Zheng Chong looked at him and asked no more.
Others might not know, but he knew a little. The heaviest line of Mount Hua's inheritance would, in the end, have to fall upon Xuanyuan Xi's shoulders. Other people could be willful. They could divide their thoughts among many people and many affairs. He could not.
Xi Qian looked at Xuanyuan Xi. For some reason, the light that had been shining in her eyes dimmed a little.
She understood, of course. Yet understanding was one thing. When it came to her own heart, it still hurt.
She had lowered her head and fallen silent when suddenly someone outside the pavilion called out, "Senior Brother Zheng! Junior Brother Xi! So you really are here!"
Before the voice had even finished, a figure had already darted up from below the stone steps.
The newcomer wore a blue-gray Daoist robe and moved with extreme lightness. He came swiftly along the mountain path as though his feet barely touched the ground, and in moments he had reached the pavilion. He was about Zheng Chong's age, handsome of face and brisk of manner, with a smile already half present before he even spoke.
It was Ji Sheng, whose Daoist name was Danmingzi.
He was a disciple of Lü Chongzhen. Among the nineteenth generation disciples of Mount Hua, his lightness skill was the finest. Ordinarily he could not endure loneliness for long, and he had one of those faces that always seemed made for smiling and talking. On the mountain, everyone got along well with him.
When Zheng Chong saw him, he laughed. "Flying all the way up like that—were there wolves chasing you?"
Ji Sheng laughed loudly. "Something more urgent than wolves."
His gaze swept over the group and landed on Fang Yingjie.
"Yingjie, stop standing there in a daze. Your mother has arrived."
The words themselves were perfectly ordinary.
Yet Fang Yingjie reacted as though someone had given him a violent shove. First he froze, and then the whole of him seemed to leap.
"My mother is here?"
Ji Sheng nodded. "She came up the mountain half an hour ago. She's in Supreme Clarity Palace now."
How could Fang Yingjie think of anything else after that? He gave a quick cry of acknowledgment and turned to run down from the pavilion. After two steps, he seemed to remember something, spun back, and called, "Senior Sister, come on!"
Xi Qian had been nursing her feelings in silence, but at his words she blinked, and before she knew it she had let herself be dragged away by the sleeve.
Watching the two children run off one after the other, Zheng Chong could not help smiling. "The moment that boy hears Madam Fang has come, half his soul flies off with the news."
Ji Sheng smiled too, but then his expression tightened slightly.
Xuanyuan Xi caught it at once. Something stirred in his heart.
"Senior Brother Ji," he asked, "is Madam Fang... all right?"
Ji Sheng hesitated a little before answering, "She seems unhurt. But when I saw her from a distance outside the hall just now, her expression was different from usual. It looked as though she had not slept much on the journey, and as though... she had been crying."
The laughter in the pavilion suddenly thinned.
"Crying?" Zheng Chong frowned.
Ji Sheng nodded. "I can't say for certain. But Martial Uncle, the Sect Leader, shut himself in with her and spoke for a long time. Only afterward did he send me to find you."
Xuanyuan Xi said nothing. He only slowly closed the folding fan in his hand.
The spring wind was still blowing, but the warmth in the Chess Pavilion seemed to have turned thinner all at once.
Talk Along the Mountain Path
The three of them went down from the pavilion.
The mountain paths of Mount Hua twisted and turned, stone steps winding down along the shape of the slope. Wildflowers were in full bloom among the grass and shrubs—tiny blossoms of golden yellow, pale violet, and snow white, swaying gently in the wind. Now and then a few mountain sparrows startled up from the trees and swept across the clear sky, casting fleeting shadows.
Ji Sheng walked in front. He had been in a hurry a moment before, but now his pace slowed a little.
"This visit from Madam Fang doesn't feel like she came only to see Yingjie," he said.
Zheng Chong replied, "You noticed it too?"
Ji Sheng nodded. "I can't quite say how. When she came up the mountain in the past, she looked worn as well, but she always managed to hold herself together. Today, when I saw her step down from the carriage, her face was terribly pale, as though there were a stone pressing inside her heart."
Xuanyuan Xi's steps slowed a fraction. "Did Martial Uncle, the Sect Leader, ask you to carry any message?"
Ji Sheng shook his head. "No. Only that I should hurry and bring you all back."
Then he seemed to remember something else and lowered his voice.
"Still, Madam Fang appeared to be clutching a small bundle the whole time. She did not let it leave her hand even after entering Supreme Clarity Palace. At first I thought it was something she'd brought for Yingjie, but later it didn't seem so."
At this, Zheng Chong's brows tightened as well.
Xuanyuan Xi did not ask further questions. Only, without quite noticing it, he began walking faster.
He remembered Fang Tieshan.
He had been small back then, and much of it was dim now. Yet some things remained carved in his heart and could not be forgotten. Fang Tieshan's open laughter, for one. The way the man would pull him onto his knee and tell him old tales of the martial world, with bright light always in his eyes, for another.
Later Fang Tieshan had gone down the mountain to return to Shandong, and from that day onward there had been no more word.
All these years, whenever the mountain spoke the words "Martial Uncle Fang," voices would drop without meaning to, as though afraid of disturbing something—or of touching something that ought not to be touched.
Seeing the change in Xuanyuan Xi's expression, Zheng Chong reached out and patted him on the shoulder.
"Don't think too much for now. Once we see Madam Fang, we'll know."
Xuanyuan Xi nodded.
Yet he knew in his heart that some things might not become clear even when one stood face to face with the person involved.
Mother in Supreme Clarity Palace
Inside Supreme Clarity Palace, the sandalwood incense drifted in thin threads.
The doors and windows of the main hall stood half open. Spring light slanted in, making the smoke before the altar table seem all the finer and the hall all the quieter. Xi Wence sat in a wheelchair. Behind him stood two young Daoist attendants, one holding a horsetail whisk, the other standing with hands folded.
Xi Wence was about forty-six or forty-seven. He wore a long robe of blue-gray, with a plain light cloak draped over it. His clothing was simple and immaculate. His face was thin and calm, with gray already showing at his temples. Though both his legs were useless, his back remained extremely straight. When his hand rested on the wheelchair, his fingers did not tremble in the least. He carried the composed bearing proper to a Sect Leader.
There was one other person in the hall, a woman of about thirty-nine. She wore plain clothing with a light gray cloak over it. Her hair was bound neatly and held with nothing more than a simple silver hairpin. Her features were refined and dignified, though there was bluish exhaustion beneath her eyes and a weariness at her brow she could not fully hide. Yet as she stood there, her shoulders were steady and her bearing unshaken, still that of the lady of Fang Stronghold. Only within that steadiness one could clearly sense the strain and fatigue of eleven years spent holding up a household alone and searching everywhere for her missing husband.
Fang Yingjie nearly crashed through the doorway.
"Mother—!"
The cry was barely out before he had flung himself into Zhen E's arms.
The force of it made her sway slightly, and at once she lifted her arms and held her son tight. All the aching heat she had forced herself to suppress along the road was nearly dragged straight into her eyes by that one word, "Mother." She lowered her head quickly and buried her face against his hair. Only after a long moment did she answer softly, "Mm."
Fang Yingjie looked up at her, joy shining all through his face. "Mother, why did you come? How many days can you stay this time? A few days ago Senior Brother Ji and I went to the back mountain to catch rabbits, but we didn't catch any. It's perfect now that you're here to help me—"
He was speaking so fast that he broke into laughter first himself.
Zhen E looked at him and smiled too, though her smile could not hide her weariness. Eleven years had passed, and the more this child grew, the more he resembled his father—especially when he smiled. That slight upward lift at the end of his brows seemed taken from the same mold.
She reached out and straightened the hair at his temples. "This time, Mother will stay and keep you company for a few more days."
Fang Yingjie was overjoyed. He turned at once and called out, "Brother Xi! Senior Brother Zheng! Senior Brother Ji! My mother says she'll stay with me for several days!"
That shout drew smiles from everyone in the hall.
Only then did Xuanyuan Xi and the other two step forward to offer their greetings.
Zheng Chong and Ji Sheng clasped their fists together. "Madam Fang."
Xuanyuan Xi bowed. "Madam Fang has had a hard journey. Yingjie is doing well on the mountain. His health is stronger than before. Martial Uncle Shenzang was saying only the other day that after another year or two of care, Yingjie may begin proper martial training."
Zhen E nodded. Her gaze rested on Xuanyuan Xi's face for a moment, and suddenly she froze slightly.
He was too much alike.
This child truly looked like his father, Xuanyuan Qing.
Back then, on Mount Hua, at Fang Stronghold, and throughout the martial world, Xuanyuan Qing had been the sort of man one could never forget after a single glance. She still remembered him sitting across from Tieshan over wine, discussing swordsmanship and affairs until deep in the night. And yet later he had been left forever in the sands of the western regions, never again to set foot on Mount Hua.
Those people of the old days were gone. Only this child remained before her now, and already some part of that old radiance had entered his bearing.
A pang passed through her heart. Only after a while did she say softly, "You've all grown so much."
Xi Qian stood to one side. She had been dragged all the way there by Fang Yingjie, and her earlier little sulk had long vanished. She had wanted to step forward and speak to Zhen E, but seeing how quiet the mood in the hall was, she too lowered her voice without thinking and simply stood there obediently.
Xi Wence spoke slowly. "Sister-in-law has come a long way. Please sit first, and we can talk properly."
Only then did Zhen E release Fang Yingjie and sit down on the nearby chair.
Though she tried her best to compose herself, everyone in the hall could see the heavy bloodshot lines in her eyes, as though she had gone several nights without sleep. Beside her still lay a small blue cloth bundle, wrapped very tightly and never leaving her side.
Zheng Chong was straightforward by nature. He looked once at the bundle and quickly moved his gaze away again, pretending not to have noticed.
Fang Yingjie, however, understood none of this. He only sat close against his mother, nearly pressing half his body to her arm.
Looking down at her son, Zhen E's eyes finally softened.
For years, what she had feared most was that after leaving Shandong, this child might suffer neglect on the mountain. She had also feared that growing up without ever seeing his father might twist something inside him. But now it was plain to her that the elders, senior brothers, and senior sisters on Mount Hua all treated him with genuine care.
That, in all these years, was one of the few solid pieces of peace she had been able to hold onto.
After a few more casual words, Xi Wence said, "Sister-in-law has had a tiring journey. Let Yingjie take you back to your room to rest first. If there is anything more to discuss, we can speak of it later."
Zhen E nodded faintly.
But before rising, her fingers touched the blue cloth bundle lightly, as though she feared that something inside might leap out on its own.
The touch was so slight that others might not have noticed. Xuanyuan Xi did.
And the weight in his heart deepened a little more.
A Night Talk Between Mother and Son
At night the mountain grew very still.
The eastern side room where Fang Yingjie lived was not large. The paper windows were old but clean. A wooden couch, a writing desk, a bronze lamp—everything was the ordinary furnishing of a disciple on the mountain. But because Zhen E had come this time, Xi Wence had ordered that a new quilt be added, and the room now held a little more of the feeling of home.
Under the lamplight, Fang Yingjie lay across the table, staring at his mother without blinking.
In the daytime there had been too many people around. He had been too busy rejoicing and had forgotten half the things he wanted to ask. But now, with the night deep and no one else nearby, the questions that had lain buried in his heart for so long slowly rose again.
Zhen E was sorting his clothes when she suddenly heard him say in a small voice, "Mother."
"Yes?"
"What... did my father actually look like?"
Her hands stopped.
He had asked that question many times when he was little. Later, as he grew older, he asked it less often. She had thought perhaps he had forgotten, or perhaps he had become thoughtful enough not to press her anymore. Yet the thought had never disappeared. He had only tucked it away quietly in his heart.
After a moment of silence, she set the folded clothes aside, turned, and sat down next to him.
"Your father," she said softly, "was very tall, with broad shoulders. He didn't walk quickly, but anyone who saw him knew at once he was a martial artist. When he laughed, his voice was very loud. If he laughed in an inn below the mountain, everyone in the whole building would turn to look."
Fang Yingjie's eyes shone. "Really?"
"Really." Zhen E smiled as well. "He treated people well, and his heart ran hot. Whenever he saw something unjust, he could never stop himself from stepping in. That is why so many people in the martial world respected him and called him the Dragoncloud Divine Hand."
Fang Yingjie repeated the four words softly under his breath, as though carving them into his heart.
Looking at him, Zhen E went on, "Before you were born, he would often speak to you through my belly. He said that once his son was born, he would first teach him stance work, then teach him fists and kicks. When he was older, he would take him riding, take him to see mountains, to see rivers, to see the roads of the world."
By now Fang Yingjie's eyes had begun to redden.
"Then why didn't he come back?" he asked in a low voice. "If he wanted to see me, why hasn't he come back all these years?"
The moment the question was spoken, the room became so quiet that only the tiny crack of the lamp flame could be heard.
Zhen E lowered her head and did not answer at once.
All these years she had asked herself the same question countless times. If Tieshan were still alive, why had he not returned? If he were dead, why could even his bones not be found? Some sorrows in this world are like visible blade wounds. Others are like fine splinters buried deep in flesh and blood, impossible to touch, yet aching at every moment.
When Fang Yingjie saw that his mother did not answer, he dared not press her further. He only said softly, "Mother, I didn't mean to make you sad..."
Zhen E raised a hand and drew him gently into her arms.
"You did not make Mother sad," she said in a low voice. "There is nothing wrong in what you asked. It is only that there are some things I still cannot tell you in full."
Fang Yingjie buried his face against her and muffled, "Is it because I'm still too little?"
Her fingers passed lightly through the hair at the back of his head. "You are still young, and your body still has not fully grown steady. When you are a little older, when you can truly bear it, then naturally Mother will tell you everything she ought to tell you."
Fang Yingjie was silent for a very long time. Then suddenly he said, "Mother, one day I'm going to go find Father."
The arm around him tightened slightly.
"Right now I'm still small. I can't even run fast, I can't understand chess, and half the things Brother Xi says go over my head." His voice was light, but utterly serious. "But I'll grow up. One day I'll grow up. And when I do, I'll go find him. Alive, I'll see the man himself. Dead... dead, I'll at least see the truth with my own eyes."
The last sentence stumbled awkwardly, like a child forcing himself for the first time to speak a cruel word.
Suddenly heat rushed into Zhen E's eyes. She turned her face slightly so that he would not see.
"All right," she said softly. "Mother will wait for that day."
That night Fang Yingjie took a long time to fall asleep.
Even before sleep came, he was still clutching the corner of his mother's sleeve, as though afraid that if he let go, she would be gone down the mountain again by morning. Zhen E sat at the side of the couch without moving. By the light of the lamp she looked again and again at her son's sleeping face, as though trying to burn the moment forever into memory.
Only after his breathing had finally grown even did she rise slowly and tuck in the edge of his quilt.
Then she turned, reached into the blue cloth bundle, and drew out a small oilcloth packet.
The packet's edges had long been worn fuzzy by repeated handling, as though it had never left her hand all along the journey. She placed it beneath the lamp and looked at it in silence for a long time. In the end she pushed open the door and went out.
A Midnight Conversation in Secret
A lamp was still burning in the side hall of Supreme Clarity Palace.
Xi Wence had not yet retired.
Though his legs had long been ruined, his sleep had only grown lighter with the years. At the slightest stir of wind at night, he would wake. Thus, when he saw Zhen E enter, he was not surprised. He only lifted a hand to signal her forward.
Zhen E did not sit.
She came to the desk, set the oilcloth packet beneath the lamp, and slowly pushed it toward him.
"This is it," she said.
Xi Wence glanced at her once and opened the packet. Inside was no ordinary letter, only a narrow, very old strip of paper. The paper had yellowed with age, its edges curled, as though it had once been soaked in water and then carefully dried. The handwriting upon it was brief and stark, plainly written in haste. Only a single line appeared:
An old acquaintance is not dead. His trail follows the water. If you would know the truth, search Jiangnan with great care.
Xi Wence's gaze lingered for a long time on the four words: not dead.
The hall was so still that only the lamp flame could be heard leaping faintly.
After a long while, he finally lifted his head. "Do you believe it?"
Zhen E's face was pale, but her eyes were bright.
"I did not dare believe it at first," she said slowly. "But the one who delivered it was not old—more like half-grown. His face was covered. He dared not enter the stronghold. He only left the thing outside and went away. When I sent men after him, all they saw was a flash of bamboo-shadow behind the barren trees. Pursue as they might, the figure was gone."
Xi Wence folded the strip back up. His voice turned lower.
"It could be a trap."
"I know." Zhen E nodded. "That is why I came to Mount Hua first."
Here she paused, something seeming to catch in her throat. After a moment she forced herself on.
"It has been so many years. If it is false, then I will accept even that. But if it is true... Junior Brother Xi, I cannot wait any longer."
Xi Wence did not reply at once.
The lamplight fell over his face, making that thin, composed countenance seem colder and more tired than it had in daylight. Since the western campaign, he had seen too many traps, too many lies, too many schemes that used old wounds as bait to lure men to their deaths. Precisely for that reason, he no longer dared believe easily in even the smallest thread of hope.
And yet if that thread concerned Fang Tieshan, how could he truly say, "We will not go"?
Only after a long while did he speak slowly.
"For now, do not tell Yingjie."
Zhen E closed her eyes briefly and nodded.
Xi Wence continued, "Tomorrow I will discuss this with Martial Uncle Shenzang as well. If it is truly to be investigated, it cannot remain known only to you and me."
Zhen E gave a quiet assent.
Xi Wence tucked the strip into his sleeve, lifted his eyes toward the heavy darkness outside the hall, and murmured, "The waterways of Jiangnan..."
The words were extremely soft, as though spoken partly to Zhen E and partly to himself.
Outside, the night wind moved through the corridor and bent the lamp flame to one side.
Spring nights in the mountain should have been peaceful. Yet at that moment it seemed as though somewhere in the Central Plains, some very distant, very cold old fire had silently brightened once again.
Morning Light in the Mountains
The next morning, when the sky over the mountain had only just begun to brighten, birds were already calling from the eaves.
Fang Yingjie woke early.
The night before he had gone to sleep clutching his mother's sleeve and refusing to let go. At some point he had sunk into deep sleep without knowing when. Now when he opened his eyes, the morning light had already passed through the paper windows. Half the room was empty, and the bedding by the couch had long since been folded neatly away.
Panic struck his heart. He did not even finish putting on his shoes before shoving the door open and running outside.
The spring light in the courtyard was beautiful.
Zhen E was standing beneath the corridor, speaking softly with Xi Wence. She still looked somewhat tired, but steadier than the previous night. Xi Wence sat in his wheelchair with a scroll gathered in one hand, as though discussing some matter with her. The moment Fang Yingjie rushed out, both of them fell silent.
"Mother!" Fang Yingjie ran over quickly, looking first at his mother and then at Xi Wence, as though afraid that if he did not watch closely enough, the two of them might hide something from him.
At the sight of him, Zhen E smiled faintly and reached up to straighten his collar. "Why so flustered? Mother is still here, isn't she?"
Only then did Fang Yingjie let out a breath. Tugging at her sleeve, he said, "I thought you'd gone down the mountain first thing this morning."
Xi Wence said warmly, "Since your mother has said she will stay a few days, then she will not leave without a word."
Fang Yingjie answered, "Oh," but his eyes still moved back and forth across their faces. He was young, but he was not truly a fool. His mother had looked wrong the previous night, and this morning she was speaking alone with the Sect Leader. Naturally he knew there were things they were keeping from him.
Yet since the adults clearly would not speak, he could not very well press the matter again.
Xi Wence looked at him once, as though seeing straight through his thoughts, and smiled faintly. "A child need not trouble himself over the affairs of adults. You need only care for your health and train your martial skill well. As for the rest, your elders will worry over it."
Hearing that, Fang Yingjie pouted, though he knew well enough that he truly was still young. In the end he could only mutter under his breath, "I won't be little forever..."
Zhen E heard him, and something in her heart shifted slightly. She lowered her eyes to look at her son.
Before, he had only known how to laugh, to run, to make noise, to chase Xi Qian and the senior brothers all over the mountain. But after that one night, she suddenly felt he had quietly grown a little. The change was slight, like one night of spring rain in the mountains. It falls without a sound, and only at dawn does one see that the grass and trees have already put forth new shoots.
Fang Yingjie knew nothing of what his mother was thinking. He only lifted his eyes toward the distant mountains.
Morning on Mount Hua in spring was full of drifting cloud and layered peaks. Sunlight was slowly climbing the ridgelines from the east. The wind passed through the treetops, and the mountain road flickered in and out of the mist, leading all the way toward a far distance he had never truly walked.
He looked for a long time. Then suddenly he said softly, "Mother."
"Yes?"
"One day I'll have to go down the mountain too, won't I?"
Zhen E looked at him and did not answer at once.
But Fang Yingjie continued on his own. "One day I'll have to go and see those roads, and see the places Father once went. Mount Hua, Shandong, Henan... someday, I'll go and search for them myself."
When he said it, his voice still carried the youthfulness of a boy, yet his expression was serious in a way seldom seen before.
A pang tightened in Zhen E's chest, but outwardly she only nodded softly.
"That day will come," she said in a low voice.
Fang Yingjie gave a quiet sound of acknowledgment, but his gaze remained on the mountains beyond.
From that moment onward, those mountains, those roads, and that unseen far horizon quietly took root in his heart.
Spring lay warm upon the Chess Pavilion stones,
and laughter stirred the newly greening grass.
Who could have guessed what stirred within that youthful heart—
half won by mountain light, half by a single face?
At night, beneath the lamp, a mother spoke with her son;
old sorrow drifted coldly through his dreams.
And when he looked at last toward the distant road in morning light,
he knew that beyond Mount Hua, unfinished causes waited still.
(End of Chapter Two)