Sequel: A Serendipitous Encounter - Drunkenly Celebrating Spring

"Help!"

"Help! ...Is there anyone kind enough to help me...?"

"Is there anyone who can save me, this lonely and helpless person who has been starving for three days and three nights, no, seven days and seven nights...?"

"Help!"

While idly strolling around Qinghe using your superb light-footed skills, you passed by this place and couldn't stand the pleas for mercy. After landing with a thousand pounds of force, you followed the sound and found a cave entrance filled with rubble.

Vines grew rampant, obscuring most of the view inside the cave, but you could vaguely see a gaunt man crawling on the yellowish-brown earth.

Ragged clothes, emaciated, you feel an inexplicable, immense sadness—about this man.

"Hey!" Seeing someone coming, the man snapped out of his despair and excitedly grabbed the vine, pleading for help from the outside world, "Young hero, save me!"

You: "...?" Could it be that you're imagining things? He doesn't look sad at all.

After burning through the sturdy restraints with a rocket, you pulled the unconscious man up from the ground, carried him to the roadside, and gave him some water. You expected him to thank you once he woke up, but the first thing he said when he opened his eyes was, "Go get me a pot of Fenghechun liquor, and cook me two dishes!"

"What? Did I give you too much face?" You almost couldn't stop yourself from drawing your sword, your fingers already on the hilt. "What do you mean, 'I owe you'?"

"Huh?" The man blinked, looking utterly innocent. "Who are you?"

"...Your! Lifesaver!!!"

"My savior...? I don't remember. Never mind, I'm thirsty and hungry, so I'll trouble this young hero to have some kindness and find me something to quench my thirst and fill my stomach."

chant.

Hey, you!

Seeing how shameless this person is, you really want to leave.

But judging from the clarity of this scoundrel's mind, you inexplicably feel that he might kill himself in the next second.

...Good heavens, this is really going to kill me.

You cursed under your breath, remembering the jar of Fenghechun that Chen Zixi had buried in Zhulinju a few years ago, and besides, it wasn't far from Beizhulin... Sigh, you really are still that helpful young master.

Avoiding Jiang Yan and Chen Zixi who were discussing matters in the bamboo hut, you quietly dug out the wine and, adhering to the principle of doing a good deed to the end, made another earthenware pot of Immortal Stuffed Fish.

The man devoured the food. Watching him wolf it down, your slight annoyance dissipated somewhat. While reminding him to eat slowly and be careful of the fish bones, you also felt proud – “Isn’t it delicious? This is a signature dish from my hometown.”

"Mmm, so delicious!"

"By the way, why are you in this cave? Who locked you in?"

"I'm waiting for someone," the man replied, only answering the first question.

"Waiting for someone...? Waiting for whom?"

The man's cheeks were bulging, making him look like a fathead fish. "Waiting for two people."

You truly admire his ability to give irrelevant answers; perhaps only Old Jin can compare. After receiving such a nonsensical answer, you buried your face in your hands, rubbing it vigorously, your brain racing, trying to figure out if this guy was just being evasive or deliberately picking a fight.

"Fine, if you don't want to talk about it, then don't—so when are they coming?"

"I don't know, but it will definitely come!"

"You haven't been fooled, have you? When was the last time you saw those two people?" What's wrong with this person? Has he been trapped for too long and his brain has become muddled?

The man stopped chewing, lowered his eyes, and carefully fidgeted with his fingers, muttering, "The last time I saw him... it should have been..."

"?" You are puzzled by his sudden gesture of pointing a finger at you.

You: "An hour? A day? A week? A month? A year???"

None of these answers are correct.

"Who are you?"

"..." He must be sick.

You were so angry that you felt dizzy and decided to return to the cave to investigate and find useful information on your own.

However, there was nothing eye-catching inside the cave, and it was probably where that person ate, drank, and relieved themselves. The air was filled with an indescribable odor, so strong that it almost made you want to vomit.

Just as you were about to retreat and get some fresh air, unable to bear the suffocation any longer and your face turned purple, two symbols on the ground caught your attention—

"Is this 'nine' and... 'hero'?" The characters looked like scribbles; you squinted and tried to decipher them for a long time before finally making out a rough outline.

Nine?

A chivalrous hero?

What does this man have to do with these two words?

Just as I was deep in thought, I suddenly heard a short, sharp "Ah!" from outside.

!

Startled, you rushed back, about to ask him what he was doing when the man interrupted, "I remember now, I need to go to Hexi! Young hero, would you be willing to come with me?"

Where are you going?!

You knew you shouldn't have expected him to provide even a single useful clue… You shook your head, almost bursting into tears. Not only did he not help, but he just made things worse. When you looked down at the man's feet and saw the overturned empty wine jar and the gleaming earthenware pot licked clean with oil, the urge to cry intensified—I haven't even had a sip of Uncle Chen's Fenghechun wine yet!!!

You weren't planning on going, but this person suddenly became stubborn. Without luggage, food, or even a decent piece of clothing, practically naked, they acted on a whim, and strode off into the distance amidst your incredulous gaze.

You really don't have time to deal with his antics.

You asked Miaomiao to send a message home. Carrying your simple luggage, some food, and a piece of clothing that fit the man, you boarded a boat with him and sailed away from Qinghe.

The people were chattering away the whole way.

"Is Hexi very far? How many days will it take to get there?"

"It is far, but if you know how to use light-body skills, it will be over in the blink of an eye."

"Lightness skill? Oh! My senior brother knows it!"

Senior brother? You lifted your tired eyelids and looked him up and down in the dim moonlight. You really couldn't tell that this guy was a martial arts expert.

You: "Where is your senior brother?"

"They went to Hexi."

"So you went to Hexi to find him? Who is the other person? Do you have two senior brothers?" After all, he had previously said that he was waiting for "two people".

"It seems so, but it also seems not." Hearing this, you completely lose interest in talking to him; this person definitely has some memory problems.

Man: "Young hero, don't fall asleep! Chat with me for a while—how about this, I'll tell you a story? I have so many stories to tell."

The coolness of the spring night couldn't diminish the man's surging passion in the slightest. You were so sleepy your eyelids felt like they were weighed down, and you were too lazy to cover his mouth. Oh well, let him talk if he wants to.

What do you want to say?

"How about telling me the story of me and my senior brother?"

"You and your senior brother... okay." Maybe you can get some useful information out of them.

And so, a story told from the perspective of the junior disciple slowly unfolded from the man's mouth, its melody flowing into the river beneath the boat, bathed in the bright moonlight—

"Young hero, have you noticed anything amiss along the way?"

You: "What?"

"I have a bad memory."

You: "..." You've figured it out, but it's not just a little bit, bro, it's downright terrible. Who asks their savior "Who are you?" twice in less than the time it takes for an incense stick to burn?

He gave an awkward laugh, his fingers fidgeting helplessly with a strand of hair that always stood up because it hadn't been groomed in a long time. The ends of the hair brushed against his slightly reddened earlobes, like a child twisting the hem of their clothes after doing something wrong.

"The first time I met my senior brother was for this reason. At that time, my senior sister who was in charge of me—in our sect, the younger disciples were all raised by senior brothers and sisters—was so angry at my terrible memory that she fainted at least three times. When she woke up, she looked at me with tears in her eyes and said, 'Junior brother, your senior sister is incompetent. Why don't you find someone else to take care of you?'"

I can't quite describe how I felt at the time, but I felt both ashamed and guilty. Why did I have to be born with such a terrible brain?

I feel guilty towards my senior sister, but right now it's difficult to find someone else to take over this mess, and even if another senior brother or sister were to take over, they would be driven crazy by me in no time.

I am a burden, a drag on.

So I started thinking about whether I was suited to learn martial arts or join a sect.

That night, I packed my bags. It wasn't that I didn't want to leave openly, but rather that I couldn't afford the 50,000 yuan cancellation fee. I tiptoed out, only to bump into a man who was completely drunk.

"You damaged my shopkeeper's token," the man's voice was muffled but carried an undeniable force, "Repairing something like this is incredibly expensive. From now on, you'll be following me on trade trips to pay off your debts." As he spoke, he poked my forehead with his finger.

The word "sky-high price" terrified me so much that I almost curled up into a ball, stammering in a voice barely audible, "But... but senior brother, I don't know how to run a trade route..."

"..." The night wind suddenly stopped. He stared at me for a while, then suddenly let out a very short laugh, as if he had choked.

"If you don't know how, then learn!" He grabbed me by the back of the collar, like he was lifting a kitten. Beneath the fabric, his senior brother's arm was taut, revealing a smooth yet powerful silhouette. "I'd like to see just how difficult it is to teach you."

I know my senior brother likes to be unconventional. I also know he's the most powerful person in the entire sect. So I've always kept my distance from him, always seeing him as an inspiration to keep me going. But now, this light has unexpectedly shone into my dark corner, leaving me no choice but to accept it.

He said that teaching me is true teaching.

When I was learning the move "Chestnut Clouds Flowing," I stood in the courtyard and was ordered by my senior brother to swing the dart rope three hundred times. After returning home, I slept like a log, lying on the bed as if my body had fallen apart. The next day, I was woken up by my junior brother in the same room.

He taught me how to run a business, how to compare prices, how to buy and sell goods, and how to negotiate and raise prices. When I finally stumbled and earned my first sum of money, my senior brother would happily and unceremoniously take it away, and the mouse he had tamed would perch on his shoulder and laugh along with him.

He taught me how to make oiled paper umbrellas, his fingers deftly flipping bamboo strips; he taught me how to weave sturdy straw sandals; he even taught me how to quietly "borrow" treasures from others.

“Remember,” my senior brother said with a rare seriousness, “we only target the wicked and wealthy, not the poor and kind-hearted—unless, of course, an honest official is rich… well, that’s another story.” He told me to keep this in mind, saying it was an essential survival strategy for our sect when navigating the marketplace.

Besides the things mentioned above, my senior brother also gambles and always wins, but he never lets me touch it.

Although the days spent with my senior brother were tough, they were mostly fulfilling because he never complained about my poor memory. Perhaps he had heard something from other senior brothers and sisters, because he would always repeat the same things tirelessly and always find an opportunity to test me. Over time, the words he spoke and the techniques he taught me were finally imprinted into my blank life through repeated repetition.

Sometimes when I answer a question correctly, my senior will smile and pat me on the head, saying, "Not bad, your memory isn't too bad either, you deserve a reward. Do you want some pine nut candy?"

"Yes!" I answered loudly.

The sweetness of sugar and the aroma of pine nuts blended together, becoming one of my most unforgettable memories from the past.

Six months later, my senior kicked open my door, wanting to drag me out to gather intelligence in the middle of the night. Yawning, I looked sleepily at the unfamiliar man before me, and the question etched into my instincts, after six months, slipped out again: "Who are you?"

...

The moonlight fell on my senior brother's suddenly stiff face. It was the first time I had ever seen such a "horrifying" expression on his usually unrestrained and flamboyant face. He stood in front of me, his eyes filled with an unusual light, which, though fleeting, I still caught.

My senior brother stood outside the door, and I stood inside. A threshold separated us, and we faced each other. I really didn't remember who this man was or why he had found me.

I know nothing; the only thing I remember is my own name.

...

"My memories are reset every six months?" My senior brother found the senior sister who originally mentored me and asked her about me. He couldn't help but feel overwhelmed after hearing that my memories would be reset every six months.

My senior sister was woken up in the middle of the night, full of resentment, but when she mentioned me, her gaze drifted to my tightly closed door, and her tone softened, filled with pity. "When the elder brought him back, he had a high fever. After the fever subsided, he forgot everything from before. I first realized something was wrong when he had been with me for six months. He stood there blankly and asked me, 'Who are you?'"

Who are you.

These three words are an inescapable curse in my life.

For the six months leading up to the memory wipe, I lived in constant fear. I was afraid the illness would flare up on schedule, but even more afraid it would strike prematurely, as if possessed. I was afraid that one day I would open my eyes and, once again, with a blank mind, be like a newborn infant facing this entirely new and unfamiliar world amidst the astonished gazes of the "strangers" around me.

That familiar, chilling panic swept over me again. I watched my senior brothers and sisters whispering in the courtyard, their shadows stretched long by the moonlight. My senior brother's back seemed tense, and I couldn't hear what they were saying, but my senior sister's pitying gaze swept over me from time to time, piercing my heart like needles.

They finished talking. My senior turned around but didn't come over immediately. He just stood there, looking at me from a few steps away. His gaze was incredibly complex, unlike his usual playful or unquestionable certainty. Something had sunk within him, like a stone falling into a muddy pool.

I instinctively lowered my head, not daring to look at him. My fingers habitually twisted the hem of my clothes, awaiting the expected rejection. I could even imagine what he would say—"Truly a nuisance," "Who can teach this?" "Fine, you can fend for yourself."