Mountains and rivers bear witness; memories linger in the glow of old fires Chapter Nineteen: That Mountain, That Scene, That Person (Part Four)

Farewell," Chen Zhiming bowed to the abbot. When he reached the temple gate and did not see Gu Wen and the other girl, he asked around and learned they had gone to the back mountain. After getting directions, he set off in that direction.

"Those two girls never give me peace, always running about—no wonder I didn’t see them this morning," he muttered, following the path toward the rear of the mountain. Inside the temple, the abbot gazed toward the back mountain, closed his eyes, and softly recited the words, "Amitabha."

With his painting tools slung over his shoulder, Zhiming walked on the fallen apricot leaves, murmuring about the two girls. He imagined that, once he found them, he would give each a gentle tap on the forehead as punishment for wandering off.

In the lakeside courtyard, the two girls sat in the pavilion, nibbling delicious pastries, eyes fixed on a woman nearby. Their mouths were full of praise—how tasty the pastries were, how the woman was as beautiful as a fairy, how skillful she was, making pastries both exquisite and delectable.

Hearing their muffled compliments, the woman laughed lightly. "You two, slow down, or you’ll choke."

She turned again to prune the flowers before her.

Chen Zhiming walked for quite some time before reaching the back mountain. He looked up: the trees here were tall, and a few deer stooped to drink from a stream. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, refracting on the water, casting clear reflections of the trees. Standing by the water, Zhiming saw his own image mirrored; for a moment, he couldn’t tell which side was real—himself or his reflection. Walking along the lakeshore, he heard the call of white doves. Following the sound, he spotted a courtyard by the water. Surveying the area, he guessed the two girls must be there. He approached the gate, knocked gently, and called out. Instead, he heard the patter of little feet; the door creaked open, and a small hand reached out to him, accompanied by a muffled voice: "Brother, why are you here?"

Following the sound, Zhiming saw the younger girl with her cheeks stuffed, speaking indistinctly.

"Yuluo, so you’re here. Where’s your sister Gu Wen?" Zhiming patted her head and gave her a gentle tap on the forehead. After swallowing her mouthful, she pointed inside. "Gu Wen is in there. I’ll take you to her. But there’s a beautiful big sister inside—we should ask her first if you’re allowed in."

Zhiming stared at the girl, thinking her logic was truly peculiar.

Entering the courtyard, Zhiming immediately spotted Gu Wen in the pavilion, eating voraciously. Seeing him, she quickly got up and turned away to swallow her food. Only then did Zhiming notice the woman standing among the flowers, her back to him.

"Pretty sister, I brought my brother to see you," Yuluo announced.

Zhiming was startled by the girl’s words, feeling somewhat embarrassed as he looked toward the woman.

She stood facing the blossoms, slender, her jet-black hair cascading down her back, tied loosely with a pink ribbon. Dressed in white, surrounded by flowers, she seemed to glow. It was as if mist and rosy clouds gathered behind her, a being not of this world. When she turned, she revealed the bloom of youth—barely eighteen, skin fairer than snow, exquisitely beautiful, her features radiant and impossible to look upon directly.

Seeing her, Zhiming nearly lost himself, but quickly regained composure, bowed, and said, "I am Chen Zhiming. I came here searching for my sister. Forgive my intrusion."

The woman smiled, seeing he dared not meet her gaze. "Are you the young master of Lingwu they speak of, skilled in music, painting, and medicine?"

At this, Zhiming almost coughed up blood. He knew those two girls would cause trouble.

He hurriedly explained, "You flatter me, Miss. I merely dabble in these arts, unworthy of such a title."

"Whether one is worthy depends not on daring, but on willingness. Yesterday’s scene, the first in over a decade, showed your humility in refusing titles, but you never truly denied yourself. You carry great ambition, yet hide it, living in restraint. Yesterday, you seemed to be painting, but you were also gathering news from travelers far and wide."

Zhiming blushed. Not only was she beautiful, but also astute. Yet, he wondered how she knew this, for he had never met her.

Despite his surprise, he replied, "You jest, Miss. I am merely a youth come to paint."

"Oh? Then why do you keep your head down, afraid to look at me?"

Her words were bewitching, each syllable ensnaring the heart.

After some hesitation, Zhiming replied, "Men and women should keep proper distance."

The woman covered her mouth and laughed. "You’re amusing. But do you truly not wish to look at me?"

Zhiming lowered his gaze, answering, "Your features are as beautiful as a painting. If I look, I fear no other girl could ever fill my eyes. Yet, I already hold someone dear in my heart, so I cannot meet your gaze."

A hint of sadness flickered in her eyes, but she soon spoke, "Alright, I won’t press you. But your sister and her friend have eaten many of my pastries—how do you plan to compensate?"

Zhiming paused, glancing at the two girls still eating, and rubbed his brow. "I don’t have much money with me—just this. If it’s not enough, I’ll find another way," he said, taking out his coins.

The woman looked at his painting tools and said, "How about this: paint a picture for me in exchange."

Zhiming hesitated, afraid he wouldn’t capture her beauty, thus blemishing her likeness. But he had no other option; the girls were too busy eating to care.

He sighed, "I’ll try. If it turns out poorly, please forgive me."

"No matter. Paint as you wish. Whether good or bad, it will settle the pastry debt," she said, entering the house and returning with a veil covering her face. Zhiming was about to ask, but she explained, "No need to worry. Since you don’t wish to see me, I’ll cover my face."

"No, you misunderstand, Miss," Zhiming hurriedly explained. Looking up, he saw her leaning against the railing, veiled, holding a delicate fan, her hair dancing in the breeze. Her lips parted, and her sweet, gentle voice mingled with the scent of flowers. Even with his usual composure, Zhiming could not help but be captivated by the scene, as leaves drifted down around them.

He quickly set up his board, sat on the ground, prepared his colors, and began to paint.

Hours passed. At last, Zhiming finished. Hearing this, the woman sat down to stretch; even she could not endure sitting still for so long. Zhiming had spent more time on this painting than ever before, his careful strokes reflecting the beauty before him.

"How is it?" she asked.

Zhiming handed her the painting. The ink was still wet, yet the woman was entranced. "Truly a brush that brings flowers to life—no wonder you are called young master."

The painting depicted the lakeside courtyard, clusters of blossoms, apricot leaves drifting in the wind, the maiden beneath the flowers, her features as lovely as a painting, long hair flowing, a white robe shining among the flowers, like a fairy enveloped in rosy light.

"A fine painting. Will you leave your name on it?" she asked suddenly.

"Eh?" Zhiming was puzzled.

She explained, "So I can remember you, and know this painting was made for me."

Though still perplexed, Zhiming signed his name in a corner.

"Thank you," she said, taking the painting.

A moment later, she brought out a plate of pastries and offered them to Zhiming.

He looked at the plate, uncertain. "For me?"

She nodded.

"Free of charge?"

She nodded again.

With her confirmation, Zhiming accepted them, took one, and tasted it.

He was amazed. He could swear he had never eaten such delicious pastries, not even those in the best shops of Muyun County. He understood now why the girls were so enthralled.

"These pastries are wonderful. How do you make them?"

"Would you like to learn?"

"A little, yes."

"Apprentice yourself to me, and I’ll teach you," she said, smiling.

"Apprentice?" Zhiming wondered if he had misheard.

Seeing his confusion, the woman laughed. "Just joking. Wait here." She went inside and soon returned with a jade token.

"Here, take it," she said, handing it to Zhiming.

"Thank you."

He accepted the token, which was engraved with the pastry recipe.

Gu Wen was amazed; though the recipe was not especially valuable, it was still unusual to give it to someone met only once.

Zhiming didn’t dwell on it. Being in the moment, he could only experience; if he saw everything as an outsider, how dull life would be.

He turned to the woman and bowed again. "My name is Chen Zhiming. May I know yours?"

To his surprise, her expression darkened.

"We met by chance, and whether we meet again remains uncertain. Knowing my name is of no consequence."

Zhiming and the others were puzzled; she had just been pleasant, why the sudden change?

Still, they politely bid farewell, as their purpose had been fulfilled and it was time to leave.

As they were about to depart, the woman called out, "And you two—what are your names?"

"Eh?" Zhiming asked politely, "Miss, didn’t you just say names are of no importance? Why—"

She explained, "I meant you need not know my name. But I wish to know yours."

"Pretty sister, I’m Su Yuluo—‘Yu’ as in rain," the younger girl stepped forward.

"I’m Gu Wen," said the other.

"Su Yuluo, Gu Wen—I see," the woman replied, waving.

"Then, until fate brings us together again."

They took their leave. Watching them exit the courtyard, the woman murmured to herself,

"Though we met only once, I’m glad to have seen you. I wonder if we’ll ever meet again. I hope, when we do, you’ll remember me."

She turned to gaze at the flowers, their colors bright and distinct.

"A name? I don’t really know my own, but since you asked, I ought to choose one. Let it be Zhinuo—‘Zhinuo,’ as in promises kept, worth a thousand gold."

The courtyard gate closed softly. When it opens again, will they meet once more?