In the dim light of dawn, Abbess Sun knocked on the gate of Tai Ping Temple.
“The abbess is here again so early,” said the child attendant who opened the door.
“What do you mean, ‘again’?” retorted Abbess Sun.
“You just left a moment ago,” the child muttered under their breath.
Ignoring the remark, Abbess Sun stepped inside.
“Have you prepared breakfast? The lady has refined tastes, so be diligent with the meal. And keep quiet – don’t disturb her sleep,” she said, breaking into a smile as she glanced toward the inner quarters.
“The lady is already up. She just went out,” the child replied.
Abbess Sun paused in surprise.
“So early!”
The winter mountains held an even deeper chill, with light, scattered footsteps echoing through the valleys, stirring layers of mist.
Cheng Jiao-niang walked at the front, holding a tree branch that she occasionally used to sweep away fallen twigs on the path. Ban Qin followed closely behind with quick, small steps, her cheeks flushed red – whether from the cold or the walk was unclear – and puffs of white breath escaped her lips.
“Miss, did you and Ban Qin often walk in the mountains like this back then?” she asked.
“Yes,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied.
“Where was it that you met Old Master Zhang?” Ban Qin asked curiously.
Cheng Jiao-niang glanced around without slowing her pace.
“Right over there,” she said, raising the branch to point in a certain direction.
Ban Qin stood on her tiptoes, peering into the distance as she tried to imagine the scene from that time.
“How wonderful…” she couldn’t help but sigh.
“Each path has its own value. Different roads bring different views – there’s no need for regret,” Cheng Jiao-niang said, striding forward steadily.
Ban Qin nodded and hurried after her with a smile.
But Cheng Jiao-niang stopped and turned back to look at her.
“Don’t you want to ask me something?” she asked.
The question took Ban Qin by surprise.
“Miss, what should I ask?” she replied.
Cheng Jiao-niang smiled.
“Back in that little temple,” she said, pointing toward Tai Ping Temple in the distance, “I drove away two young attendants. Ban Qin… the other Ban Qin… thought it was rather pitiful…”
“Miss,” Ban Qin interrupted, her voice tinged with grievance, “you’re the one who’s pitiful! Why should you have to pity others? Why doesn’t anyone pity you? Do you owe them something? Are you responsible for them? Just because they’re sad or suffering, does that mean you have to share in their sadness? And if you don’t, does that make you heartless? If they’re sick or in pain, are you obliged to cure them? And if you can’t heal them or choose not to, does that make it your fault? Why does no one pity you? Why must you always pity others? Just because you stay silent? Just because you don’t cry? Is that how it’s supposed to be?”
As she spoke, she covered her face and burst into loud sobs.
Cheng Jiao-niang looked somewhat dazed, even a little awkward.
“Ah, well… I was just saying it casually…” she said with a light laugh. After a moment’s thought, she walked back and gently patted Ban Qin on the head.
Ban Qin continued to sob quietly.
“Miss, I’m alright – I just needed to cry a little. Let’s keep going; we shouldn’t waste time,” she wept.
Cheng Jiao-niang gazed at her with a soft smile but said nothing more. Turning around, she strode forward with determined steps.
They hadn’t gone far when a sudden shout came from ahead.
“Who’s there!”
Ban Qin froze in fear, her sobs cut short as she nervously peered through tear-filled eyes.
Even though her lady had said everything was fine, Steward Cao and the others remained on high alert. Whenever Cheng Jiao-niang went out for a walk, they would discreetly spread out around her. Now, with this sudden warning – had they detected some danger?
Cheng Jiao-niang’s pace never faltered. She strode ahead, quickly rounding a bend where she saw a figure seated on a rock by the mountainside.
“It’s you!” Ban Qin exclaimed in surprise.
In the hazy morning mist, the seated figure pushed back his hood, revealing the face of a young man.
“It’s me,” he said. “What a coincidence.”
A coincidence?
Had he come back? Was he still unwilling to let go? Ban Qin glanced anxiously at Cheng Jiao-niang.
“I was just thinking I’d wait until it got a bit lighter before coming to see you. I didn’t expect you to be up in the mountains too,” Duke Jin’an continued.
Cheng Jiao-niang walked toward him, and without a word, her attendants withdrew respectfully.
Duke Jin’an watched her intently.
“Look,” he said, gesturing toward the retreating figures. “You don’t even have to speak, and they trust you, they follow you.”
Cheng Jiao-niang looked at him, seeming slightly puzzled by his words.
“And yet, even after everything you’ve told me, I still didn’t believe you,” Duke Jin’an said.
“How can these two things be compared?” Cheng Jiao-niang shook her head.
“I’m sorry,” Duke Jin’an said, rising to his feet. He took a deep breath and met her gaze. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper at you. What happened to him wasn’t your fault. That he couldn’t be cured – that wasn’t because of you either. None of it had anything to do with you, and yet I blamed you. I didn’t dare blame those who truly deserved blame, so I turned on you instead – taking my frustration out on someone kind, avoiding the tough targets.”
Oh heavens – Ban Qin couldn’t help but raise a hand to cover her mouth, tears streaming down her face once more.
“I wasn’t angry,” Cheng Jiao-niang said.
“I know,” Duke Jin’an replied. “This is more for my own comfort than yours. Rather than an apology to you, it’s a release for myself.”
Cheng Jiao-niang looked at him and smiled softly.
“It’s alright,” she said, reaching out to give his arm two gentle pats.
Don’t be sad.
Duke Jin’an looked at her and smiled in return.
But she wouldn’t say it aloud – because how could he not be sad? She never made promises she couldn’t keep.
He extended his hand, offering a small wooden box.
“This is a New Year’s gift I prepared for you,” he said with a faint smile. “I originally planned to have it delivered, but then… everything happened, and I never got the chance. Since I came here myself this time – I forgot yesterday… but today I can give it to you. At least this trip wasn’t entirely in vain…”
A gift?
Ban Qin’s gaze instinctively drifted to her lady’s hair, where only a simple silver comb held her elegantly tied-up locks.
Cheng Jiao-niang reached out and accepted the box. Ban Qin quickly stepped forward, expecting to take it, but instead, her lady opened it herself.
Unable to resist, Ban Qin leaned in slightly to look. Inside the wooden box lay a hairpin – not gold, not silver, not adorned with jewels, but a delicately carved wooden hairpin that clearly showed its age.
“This was given to me by my mother when I was a child,” Duke Jin’an explained, then added with a soft chuckle, “Well, not exactly given – I mischievously pulled it from her hair when I was little.”
Mother, Mother, don’t go, don’t go…
A small child, face filled with fear, desperately clutching the sleeve of a beautifully dressed woman.
Don’t leave me, don’t leave me…
Cong–lang, be good.
The woman bent down to comfort the little boy, picking him up and placing him in the arms of a maid following closely behind.
Mother, Mother.
Though reluctant, the woman gently pried the child’s fingers from her sleeve.
Mother, Mother!
The child cried hoarsely, reaching out wildly – his small hand catching on her hairpin, loosening her carefully styled hair. But it didn’t stop her from leaving.
Clutching the hairpin tightly in his hand, he watched as the woman grew smaller and smaller in the distance, eventually disappearing from sight entirely.
“I thought… when giving a gift, one should offer what is most precious and most beloved,” Duke Jin’an said with a gentle smile.
Ban Qin’s gaze drifted once again to Cheng Jiao-niang’s hair.
Cheng Jiao-niang reached into the box, took out the hairpin, and secured it into her bun. She then handed the empty box to Ban Qin.
“It’s… not particularly beautiful, I suppose,” Duke Jin’an said with a light laugh, his eyes lingering on the dark elegance of her hair. He realized, then, that even without elaborate adornments, she carried a quiet grace all her own.
“As long as it serves its purpose,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied calmly, before offering a slight curtsy in thanks.
Duke Jin’an returned the gesture with a respectful bow.
A brief silence settled between them. Just as the duke was about to take his leave, Cheng Jiao-niang spoke first.
“I’m going to take a stroll,” she said. “Would you care to join me?”
A stroll?
Duke Jin’an paused, wondering if perhaps she had something more to say to him. Without hesitation, he nodded.
Cheng Jiao-niang turned and began to walk. Duke Jin’an fell into step beside her.
The quiet mountain path was now accompanied by the sound of footsteps. Duke Jin’an watched the girl walking ahead – her strides swift and steady, her cloak billowing gently in the wind, a branch in her hand occasionally sweeping the path as she moved.
They had been walking for some time, yet she remained silent, simply walking as she had said she would – no words, just motion.
“Do you walk like this often?” he asked, breaking the silence.
“When I was unwell before, I walked often to recover more quickly,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied.
The her of the past was considered a fool – her speech unclear, her movements clumsy. To have improved so much now… it seems she trained herself step by step like this.
Duke Jin’an nodded thoughtfully.
“Lately,” Cheng Jiao-niang began, pausing briefly before continuing, “I haven’t been in the best spirits. Walking like this… helps ease my heart a little.”
Walking when feeling down can make things better? Is that why she invited me along?
She… comforts others in her own way too?
A faint smile touched Duke Jin’an’s lips as he watched her back, then quickened his pace to keep up.
The mountain path fell silent again, save for the sound of footsteps and the distant calls of birds and wildlife.
Liu Ge’er would not be cured. In truth, he had known it even before coming – but people are always reluctant to give up easily, always desperate to clutch at any lifeline, unwilling to accept that the lifeline itself might be dangling in midair.
Wake up. Wake up.
Duke Jin’an’s pace grew faster and faster.
Ban Qin wiped the fine sweat from her forehead, breathing heavily as she watched the two figures ahead grow more and more distant. She wasn’t intentionally falling behind – they were simply walking too fast for her to keep up.
They really were speeding up. At first, her lady had been in the lead, but now the young lord seemed lost in thought, forgetting to yield, and had even overtaken her. Not to be outdone, her lady quickened her steps as well. This back-and-forth chase led them to walk side by side at times on the narrow mountain path.
Ban Qin wasn’t worried about any danger – the attendants were nearby, after all. But their presence didn’t change the fact that she didn’t want to be left behind. Catching her breath, she pushed herself to walk faster and catch up.
Xuan-miao Mountain wasn’t particularly high. By the time the two reached the summit, the morning light had fully emerged, casting bright rays across the slopes and dispelling the lingering mist. The villages and fields below came clearly into view, and even Jiang-zhou could be seen in the distance. On the main roads, people on horseback, leading donkeys, pushing carts, or walking dotted the landscape like moving specks – tiny from this height, yet lending vitality to the entire scene.
Duke Jin’an couldn’t help but take a deep breath, then exhale heavily. Whether it was due to the long walk or the crisp mountain air, the heavy knot of frustration in his chest had eased considerably.
“Perhaps even Confucius, upon reaching a mountain, would sigh, ‘Thus flows all that passes,’” Cheng Jiao-niang said suddenly.
Duke Jin’an couldn’t hold back a soft laugh and turned to look at the girl beside him.
The climb had brought color to her usually pale cheeks, and her large eyes seemed even brighter.
“Cheng Fang,” he called out almost involuntarily.
Cheng Jiao-niang turned to face him.
“I’m sorry,” Duke Jin’an said.
She looked at him, a slight, almost imperceptible lift of her brow animating her expression.
“I shouldn’t have said you used to be… unattractive and foolish,” he said with a gentle smile. “What you were before doesn’t matter. After all, now you are… very beautiful.”
Cheng Jiao-niang smiled, revealing a glimpse of neat, white teeth that made her entire face seem to glow.
Duke Jin’an smiled back.
“Do you feel sad?” Cheng Jiao-niang asked suddenly.
His smile faltered slightly.
“I feel sad too,” she said, turning away from him to gaze down at the foot of the mountain, her voice soft and measured.
Those four simple words seemed to carry an endless weight of sorrow. To Duke Jin’an, they felt like a sharp, sudden stab to the heart.
Sad… Yes, it really is sad. True sadness is this kind of indescribable ache.
“But even when we’re sad, life goes on – what else can we do?” Cheng Jiao-niang continued. “Cry? Make a scene? Will that help? After the crying and the noise are over, don’t we still have to keep living? Thus flows all that passes. The transformations of heaven and earth – what has passed is gone, what is to come continues. Not for a single moment does it pause. Such is the fundamental nature of the Dao. We cannot change it; we can only follow along. And if we refuse to follow? Well, the alternative is simple: death. To die is to end all ends. But… are you willing to accept that?”
Forget… Forgetting would be easier.
Yes, forgetting would be easier – but how could she forget? How could she simply accept it?
Unwilling! Unwilling!
Duke Jin’an also turned his gaze toward the foot of the mountain, falling into silent contemplation.
“But why must it be so difficult?” he murmured softly.
“I don’t know,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied. “Perhaps… it’s fate.”
Fate.
Neither spoke another word. Both simply watched the world below as the sunlight grew brighter and the roads filled with more and more people. Another new day had begun.
Whether in sorrow or joy, whether facing hardship or ease, day after day continues – unceasing, unhesitating, never pausing for anyone.
