Chapter 154 — The Old Dwelling

Xiao Yichen smiled and nodded, but then glanced around and said with some surprise, "Uncle Tian, why is it so quiet here? Where are your other junior brothers? I don't see a single one."

Tian Buhui thought to himself, "If you could see them, that would be a fine ghost story; heaven knows where they've all hidden themselves." But on the surface he was as composed as could be, and said mildly, "They are all at their studies, and so have not come out. This place of mine is not like your Jietian Peak, teeming with people; it is quite usual not to see a soul."

Xiao Yichen paused, catching a note of displeasure in Tian Buhui's tone, but he was a man of considerable depth and put on a look as though he had noticed nothing at all, smiling as he said, "Ah, I see. Uncle Tian, I have come today on my master's orders to pay you a visit; there are a few questions he wished me to put to you."

Tian Buhui frowned, taken aback. "Ask me? Ask me what? Senior Brother Daoyan is a scholar of heaven-deep learning, his attainments vast beyond mortal reckoning. What could he possibly have to ask of a worthless junior brother like me?"

Xiao Yichen smiled faintly and said nothing, only looked at Tian Buhui. Tian Buhui took the hint. "Then let us talk inside." He turned to go into the Shoujing Hall, Xiao Yichen following behind him. Suddenly Tian Buhui halted and whipped his head around, staring toward the disciples' quarters.

Xiao Yichen found it strange and looked that way too, but saw nothing. "What is it, Uncle Tian?" he asked.

Tian Buhui hesitated, then shook his head. "Nothing. My eyes deceived me. How could he possibly..." He coughed once and said mildly, "Let us go in and talk."

Xiao Yichen was baffled, and could not help glancing that way again. But he saw only rows upon rows of houses in neat array, silent and still, looking utterly ordinary. He thought no more of it and followed Tian Buhui into the Shoujing Hall.

Once the two figures had vanished into the Shoujing Hall, a hush fell over the summit of Dazhu Peak once more. How long passed, none could say, when suddenly a shadow flickered on the walkway by the disciples' quarters. It was none other than Ming Li. He gazed silently for a moment toward the Shoujing Hall, then turned and walked slowly inward along the corridor he had once known so well.

Perhaps because it was the afternoon hour, no other disciples of Dazhu Peak were anywhere to be seen. In memory, what had most often been heard here in the old days, besides the clear laughter of little junior sister Tian Lingsu, was Du Biyan's slightly crestfallen shouting, for he must have lost another wager. Then the hearty laughter of eldest senior brother Song Dayi and the others would ring out, and the other senior brothers would join in the teasing, and that youngest and most inconspicuous little disciple, surely he too must have been smiling knowingly in some corner.

Once upon a time, the days gone by turned gently over amid the slow rhythm of his footsteps, and those old matters seemed carved into every brick and tile, every pillar and stone, every terrace and hall, echoing all around him.

Ming Li's face, wooden at first, slowly changed. The frozen mask that had once cloaked his features quietly receded. So the past had been so moving after all; even after all these years he still could not forget it.

If only, if only... if only nothing had ever changed...

He stood in the corridor bathed in that pale sunlight and slowly sat down on the low railing. The warm, gentle sunlight of Dazhu Peak fell upon his face, as though it were ten years ago.

...

Footsteps and voices came from behind, far off, drawing nearer. It was He Dachuan, fourth disciple of Dazhu Peak, and Du Biyan, the sixth, walking side by side toward this place. At the very moment their figures appeared, Ming Li had already vanished like a ghost. The mountain wind blew, and the branches and grasses swayed together; no one could have told where he was hidden.

He Dachuan and Du Biyan had clearly noticed nothing. Talking in low voices, they walked slowly past. Du Biyan carried a wooden bucket half full of water, with a rag draped over its side, as though they were off to clean something. Watching them go on ahead, one saw them soon arrive at the door of a room. Du Biyan shrugged at He Dachuan, He Dachuan smiled, and the two went in together.

A moment later Ming Li's figure emerged from a corner beyond the corridor, his gaze complicated as he looked ahead. The room those two former senior brothers had entered was, in fact, the very room where he had lived when he was still Zhang Qingyue, the little disciple of Dazhu Peak. But should that room not have fallen into disuse these many years? Why would his two senior brothers still go in?

Ming Li drifted over without a sound.

As though suddenly plunged into a dream of the past, he stood transfixed at the doorway. This little courtyard was exactly as it had been in those days: the gravel path was still there, the green grass was still there, and even that little pine still grew where it had always grown, only it had grown considerably thicker over the years.

The sound of water came from within, and then the voices of Du Biyan and He Dachuan: "Fourth Senior Brother, tell me honestly, after all these years, why does Master still have us clean this room? Isn't this just deliberately making me suffer?"

He Dachuan cursed him with a laugh. "You brat, you're trying to slack off again, aren't you? I'm telling you, Master has been in a fury lately over Eldest Senior Brother's business. Don't go provoking the old man, or he'll flay you alive."

Du Biyan gave a dry laugh. "Senior Brother, you're teasing me again. How would I dare provoke Master? It's just that Little Junior Brother has been gone more than ten years now, and Master still tells us to keep this place exactly as it was and clean it every day. I really can't fathom what the old man is thinking."

The figure standing outside the room stood woodenly, then slowly lowered his head.

Inside, He Dachuan was silent for a moment, then sighed and said in a low voice, "Master has never once spoken of Little Junior Brother all these years, but all of us know in our hearts that he doted on Junior Brother Xiaofan most of all."

Du Biyan's voice answered, "Yes, even I can see that. To be honest, sometimes I miss Little Junior Brother a great deal too. But what good does it do? Little Junior Brother has long since become another person entirely. Would he really come back to Dazhu Peak, turn back into Zhang Qingyue, and be our seventh junior brother again?..."

Outside the window, Ming Li's expression grew ever more indifferent, his body held straight, only his two hands clenched into fists, tighter and tighter.

Can one turn back?

The steps you took through time, the roads you crossed—after many years, do you still remember to look back? Do you still think of turning back?

The sunlight fell warm upon his body, yet he might as well have been standing in an icehouse.

He Dachuan and Du Biyan fell silent too. It seemed that even they found the topic dispiriting and were left with nothing to say. They bustled about inside for a while, then came out carrying the bucket. He Dachuan gently pulled the door shut and looked at the green grass in the little courtyard and the swaying pine branches. For all the fullness of spring, there was a note of loneliness about it. As though, with the master of the house absent, even this patch of spring light had quietly lost some of its color.

He shook his head, sighed, and left with Du Biyan.

A long while later, Ming Li slowly stepped out from behind the pine tree. The familiar mountain wind blew against his face and stirred his hair. He walked to the door and raised his right hand, laying it upon the wood.