Go back to the mountain
On the seventh day of the wedding, which was the traditional day for the bride to return to her parents' home, Yin Li got up early and smiled at Wan Qing, who was wearing her hair up in the mirror, saying, "We're not going back to the Yin Wang Mansion today. Let's go to Qinglang Mountain."
On the dressing case, the white jade pendant engraved with the words "Li Mo" gleamed with a lustrous sheen. The red rope wrapped around her neck three times, tied by He Mo herself the day before. The lingering warmth from her fingertips seemed to still remain on her neck, binding the two of them tightly together through countless lifetimes.
The light sound of horses' hooves came from outside the window, and He Mo was already waiting in the courtyard. He was not wearing court robes, but a moon-white brocade robe that accentuated his tall and straight figure. His long hair was loosely tied up with a plain silver hairpin, which made him look less sharp in court and more gentle like a hermit from Qinglang Mountain.
Seeing Yinli walk out of the room, he quickly stepped forward and reached out to brush away the fallen crabapple petals from her shoulder: "Everything is ready. Master Xuanqing of Qingxu Temple on Qinglang Mountain sent his disciple to report that the Yunwu Tea on the back mountain has just been picked and the tea pavilion where we used to sit is still there."
Yin Li gazed at the two carriages in the courtyard, her eyes filled with warmth. One carriage was piled high with plain cloth, medicine, and writing materials for the disciples of the temple—she remembered that the young disciples in the temple were always short of paper and writing materials, so she specially asked the steward of the Yin family to prepare the best Huizhou ink and Xuan paper;
The other shelf was filled with pastries she had made herself: square "peace cakes" wrapped in candied osmanthus flowers, and round "reunion pastries" filled with almond slivers. Even the designs were based on her memories of Qinglang Mountain back then, and each piece was made with heartfelt care. "You're even more meticulous than me."
She smiled and tiptoed to straighten He Mo's clothes, her fingertips inadvertently brushing against the begonia wood hairpin at his waist—a piece she had carved after ruining seven or eight pieces of wood when she was ten years old, which he still carefully kept, its wood color becoming warmer with age from years of wearing it. At the beginning of Chen Shi (7-9 AM), the carriage set off.
The rising sun leaped from the clouds, its golden rays casting long shadows on the bluestone path. Yin Li sat in the carriage, lifting a corner of the curtain to admire the scenery: the rice paddies on the outskirts of the city were a vibrant green, willows drooped their branches along the stream, and occasionally a shepherd boy rode by on a water buffalo, humming a folk song, "High Qinglang Mountain, Long Clear Stream," the exact same tune he'd heard on Qinglang Mountain years ago. He Mo, worried she might be bored, sat on the carriage shaft and reminisced with her through the curtain—telling her about being punished by Master Xuanqing for stealing wild peaches on Qinglang Mountain, copying the *Tao Te Ching*, and how she'd fallen into a mud pit the first time she learned to ride a horse, stubbornly insisting, "The horse just wouldn't listen." This made Yin Li laugh out loud from time to time, the curtain swaying, filled with a soft, warm feeling.
Upon reaching the foot of Qinglang Mountain, the two abandoned the car and began walking. The wild grass on both sides of the mountain path was just above their ankles, glistening with morning dew and wetting Yinli's skirt. Hemo simply squatted down, gesturing for her to step on his shoes: "The mountain path is slippery, I'll carry you up."
Yin Li refused, laughing as she grabbed his hand: "Back then I could run up the mountain chasing butterflies, how did I become a delicate young lady now?" Despite her words, her pace slowed considerably, stopping from time to time to pick up a pretty pebble or smell the wild chrysanthemums by the roadside—these small actions all overlapped with the "A Su" who wore double buns back then, making He Mo's eyes overflow with tenderness.
Reaching the old maple tree halfway up the mountain, Yin Li suddenly stopped. Although the maple leaves weren't yet fully red, they had already sprouted tender red new leaves, and a few fell into her hair as the wind blew. She took out a brocade pouch from her sleeve, containing leftover wedding candies, and carefully scattered them at the base of the tree: "My master said that this old maple tree has a spirit. When I fell and cried, leaning against it made me feel better."
"I brought wedding candy today so that it can share in our joy." He Mo looked at her earnest expression, reached out and brushed the maple leaf from her temple, and said softly, "It will definitely feel it, just like it did when it watched us pick up kites together back then."
Around noon, the Qingxu Temple atop Qinglang Mountain finally came into view. The temple gate was still the same vermilion color it had been years ago, and the three characters "Qingxu Temple" on the lintel had been repainted in gold, shining brightly in the sunlight. Even the verdigris on the door knockers had been wiped clean.
Master Xuanqing was already waiting at the door with his disciples. He was wearing a dark blue Taoist robe and his hair and beard were all white. When he saw the two, his cloudy eyes lit up instantly: "Benefactor He, Benefactor Yin, we have been waiting for you!"
Yin Li quickly stepped forward and bowed deeply to Daoist Xuan Qing: "Daoist, it's been many years since we last met. You are still in good health." Xuan Qing smiled and helped her up. His gaze swept over their clasped hands, and he teased, "That little girl who used to hide behind Benefactor Mu and tug at his clothes has now become the Crane Princess. Time really waits for no one."
Upon hearing this, He Mo and Yin Li exchanged a smile—back then, when he was cultivating in seclusion on Qinglang Mountain under the name "Mu Han," Xuan Qing was one of the few who knew his true identity. Now, having reunited, they had fewer reservations. Entering the temple gate, the courtyard was almost identical to what they remembered.
The ground paved with blue bricks was swept spotless, and the bamboo basket hanging under the eaves was the same one that used to hold osmanthus flowers, only now there were a few fine repair marks on the rim, clearly indicating that it had been carefully maintained.
Several young disciples curiously huddled behind the pillars, secretly observing Yin Li. One of them, a little girl with pigtails, timidly offered a camellia: "Master...Master's wife, this was picked from the back mountain, the most fragrant one, for you."
Yin Li took the camellia, its petals still glistening with morning dew. She smiled and patted the little girl's head, saying, "Thank you, it's so beautiful." The little girl blushed at the compliment and ran back behind her senior brothers, eliciting a burst of laughter from everyone.
Master Xuanqing led the two towards the main hall, saying as they walked, "I've kept the east wing where you lived back then. The bedding is all freshly aired, and I even placed a celadon vase on the windowsill just as you liked, filled with freshly picked camellias." Inside the main hall, incense smoke curled upwards, and fresh fruits were placed before the ancestral tablet.
He Mo picked up three incense sticks, lit them, and handed them to Yin Li. The two knelt down side by side and bowed deeply to the memorial tablet. Yin Li closed her eyes and prayed silently: "May the Ancestral Master bless us, may the Yin family be vindicated and find lasting peace, may He Mo and I grow old together, and may everyone in Qinglang Mountain be safe and well."
As she stood up after finishing her prayers, she suddenly noticed a familiar little wooden stool in the corner under the offering table—the stool she used to practice calligraphy years ago. On the stool, there was still a crooked little duck she had drawn with ink; the ink was faint, but still clearly legible. “This stool…” Yin Li pointed at it in surprise.
Master Xuanqing laughed and said, "After Benefactor Mu left back then, this stool has never been moved. I always thought that maybe one day you would return to Qinglang Mountain and use it to practice calligraphy. Now it seems that my wish has really come true."
He Mo held Yin Li's hand, feeling the warmth on his fingertips. He said softly, "I've said it before, Qinglang Mountain is our root. No matter how far we go, we will always come back."
In the afternoon, Master Xuanqing led the two to the Wangyun Tea Pavilion behind the temple. The pavilion was built halfway up the mountain, surrounded by tea trees. Mist swirled around its corners, and a gentle breeze carried the refreshing aroma of tea. A young disciple brought over a set of purple clay teaware, and Master Xuanqing personally boiled water and brewed the tea. The charcoal crackled, and the spring water in the pot gradually boiled. The rising steam evoked a scene reminiscent of years past.
Yin Li sat on a stone bench, gazing at the sea of clouds in the distance—the clouds over Qinglang Mountain were always like this, gathering on the mountainside in the afternoon, soft like cotton candy. She suddenly remembered that "Master Mu Han" had taught her to recognize tea here: "Pre-Qingming tea buds are tender, and the tea soup is light green; pre-rain tea buds are strong, and the flavor is richer."
Back then, she always felt the tea was too bitter, so she secretly added sugar to her teacup. When her "master" discovered this, she stubbornly insisted, "It's the tea that's being unreasonable, not sweet enough." "Try this freshly picked Yunwu tea," Xuanqing said, handing the teacup to Yinli.
She picked up the teacup, took a small sip, and the aroma of the tea spread on her tongue, with a faint aftertaste, exactly the same as the one she had drunk years ago.
She looked at He Mo and saw him gazing at her with a smile in his eyes. She knew that he must have specially instructed Xuan Qing to brew the tea according to the method from back then. "It still tastes the same as it did back then."
Yin Li smiled and said, "I only thought it was bitter back then, but now I can taste its sweetness." Xuan Qing stroked his beard and smiled, "Tea is like life. When you are young, you crave sweetness, but after experiencing life, you understand the sweetness in bitterness."
"When Mu Shi taught you about tea back then, he probably already knew you'd be able to appreciate its flavor today." He Mo picked up the conversation, recounting an amusing anecdote from back then: "She always hid sugar cubes in her tea, so I deliberately brewed it stronger, making it too bitter with too little sugar and too cloying with too much. Gradually, she got used to the natural taste of tea."
Yin Li blushed slightly and said reproachfully, "You're still talking about me! Back then, you pretended to be a master teacher and taught me to write the character 'Su' with a stern face. I secretly added water to your inkstone so that the characters you wrote would become a mess. You pretended not to notice and still praised me for 'Su's rapid progress'."
Upon hearing this, Master Xuanqing smiled, and the tea pavilion was filled with laughter.
The young disciples brought over some snacks, which were the osmanthus cakes that Yin Li had brought. One round-faced disciple took a bite and his eyes lit up: "The cakes made by Master's wife are even sweeter than those from the shops down the mountain! Uncle Mu always said that when Miss Asu grew up, her cakes would definitely be the best, and he was right!"
Looking at the children's happy faces, Yin Li felt a warmth in her heart. She remembered how, back in Qinglang Mountain, "Master Mu Han" always saved the best pastries for her. Now, she could share her homemade pastries with the people in the temple. This warmth of tradition made her feel especially at ease.
He Mo looked at her gentle profile, reached out to brush away the tea foam that had fallen on her shoulder, his eyes full of doting affection—the little girl he had protected for so many years could finally do what she loved in the place she loved.
After several rounds of tea, Master Xuanqing stood up and said, "You haven't been back to Qinglang Mountain for a long time, and the scenery on the back mountain has changed a bit. I'll have my junior disciple take you around. Come back later for a vegetarian meal." Yinli nodded in agreement and followed the junior disciple toward the back mountain.
He Mo followed closely behind, and the two walked side by side along the forest path. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dappled shadows on the ground, much like the time they had spent together years ago. As night deepened, the temple gradually quieted down.
Yin Li and He Mo returned to the east wing. The room was furnished almost exactly the same as it had been years ago: the desk by the window was the same one that "Master Mu Han" had used to teach her to write; the bedding on the bed was embroidered with begonia flowers; and even the celadon vase on the windowsill was the same one from back then.
Wanqing had already packed her luggage. Seeing the two return, she withdrew, saying with a smile before leaving, "Miss, young master, please call me if you need anything." Yinli walked to the desk, picked up the calligraphy brush on the table, the tip still carrying the fragrance of ink.
She dipped her brush in ink and wrote the two characters "A Su" on the paper. Although her handwriting was neater than it had been back then, it still carried some of the childishness of that time. He Mo hugged her from behind, resting his chin on the top of her head: "Do you still remember how you always wrote the vertical hook of the character 'Su' crookedly back then? I held your hand and taught you, and you even complained that my hand was too strong."
Yin Li smiled and turned around, handing him the calligraphy brush: "Then teach me to write it again, and this time I'm sure I won't write it crooked."
He Mo took the brush, held her hand, and wrote the two characters "Li Mo" stroke by stroke. His hand was warm and strong, guiding her along the paper. The ink spread on the rice paper, and the two characters were close together, much like their destiny.
"Alright." He put down the brush, looked at the words on the paper, and said with a smile, "From now on, our names will always be written together like this."
Yin Li nodded, leaned against him, and looked at the moonlight outside the window. The moon over Qinglang Mountain was exceptionally bright, shining through the window and onto the paper, making the two characters "Li Mo" even clearer.
She suddenly remembered that it was the same moonlight on Qinglang Mountain back then. "Master Muhan" accompanied her to the courtyard to watch the stars and taught her to recognize the Big Dipper. However, she mistook "Tianji" for "Tianji" (a star in the Big Dipper), which made "Master" laugh for half the night.
“Back then, you taught me to recognize the stars, and I even made a fool of myself,” Yin Li said softly. He Mo chuckled, picked her up, and walked to the window, pointing to the Big Dipper in the sky: “Look, that’s Tian Shu, that’s Tian Xuan, that’s Tian Ji… Don’t get them wrong this time.”
Yin Li looked in the direction he pointed, and the stars under the moonlight were exceptionally bright. She smiled and said, "I'll remember this time. I'll never mistake Tianji for Tianji again."
Perhaps it was too comfortable, Yin Li's breathing gradually became steady, her eyelashes cast faint shadows in the moonlight, and a small smile from her dream lingered on her lips.
He Mo gently tucked the blanket around her, his fingertips brushing against the stray hairs at her temples, his movements as tender as if he were afraid to shatter the moonlight that clung to the window. Outside, the mountain breeze rustled through the forest, carrying the crisp scent of pine needles and the sweet fragrance of wild osmanthus, drifting into the room and mingling with the lingering scent of ink on the table, creating a unique gentleness that lingered in the deep night of Qinglang Mountain.
He got up and walked to his desk. The two characters "Li Mo" on the Xuan paper still shone with ink—Yin Li's brushstrokes were gentle and graceful, carrying a hint of the childishness he hadn't yet shaken off back then.
His strokes were steady and powerful, tightly embedding the two names together, and the varying shades of ink seemed to have incorporated the bonds of the past years.
He Mo gently stroked the pages with his fingertips, recalling the time he held her hand while she wrote, the warmth of her palm seeping through her thin sleeves, warmer than the ink in the inkstone, softer than the moonlight outside the window.
On the table was a half-finished maple sapling drawn by Yin Li, with the words "Maple of Qinglang Mountain" crookedly written next to it.
He picked up his brush, dipped it in the remaining ink, and added two figures side by side beside the sapling: one person's clothes fluttered lightly, as if holding the other's hand, with a round moon overhead and a few falling maple shadows beneath it.
After finishing the painting, he couldn't help but chuckle. He had even picked up her childlike ways. But when he thought about how the scene in the painting would be his daily life year after year, his heart felt as sweet and tender as if it had been soaked by a clear mountain spring.
As he turned back to bed, Yin Li had turned over at some point, her brows slightly furrowed, as if chasing butterflies in a dream, yet afraid of falling. He Mo leaned down, his fingertips gently smoothing the wrinkles between her brows, his voice as soft as a mountain breeze: "A Su, don't be afraid, I'm here." Perhaps this comforting voice entered her dream, for her brows gradually relaxed, and she nuzzled closer to him, her small hand unconsciously grasping the hem of his robe, like grasping a kite from her childhood that would never fly far.
He lay back down, carefully pulling her into his arms and letting her head rest against his heart.
Yin Li's hair brushed against his neck, carrying a faint scent of camellia oil—the hair oil she used during the day, made according to a recipe she learned in Qinglang Mountain, mixed with wild camellia from the back mountain and osmanthus honey. The fragrance was subtle, yet it lingered in his heart. He Mo closed his eyes, listening to the even breathing of the person in his arms, feeling her warm body temperature. Fragments of the past drifted into his mind like swirling clouds: he remembered their first meeting, when she wore her hair in two buns, holding up a broken begonia hairpin and handing it to him, saying, "Master, if you wear this, you will be safe and sound"; he remembered the year the Yin family had their accident, when he held half of a jade pendant with the character "Li" and searched for her for three days and three nights in a dilapidated temple on the outskirts of the capital, and when he saw her curled up in a pile of grass, his heart felt like it was being clenched.
He recalled the time at Qinglang Mountain when he shielded her from the purple-clad man's sword, calling out "Asu" in his unconscious state. When he woke up, he saw her with red eyes, holding his hand tightly and refusing to let go. He recalled their wedding day when she wore a bright red wedding dress, with the tassels of her phoenix crown hanging down her cheeks, and said, "He Mo, from now on, you are all I have." In every scene, her image was so clear that it seemed as if she were right in front of him.
After an unknown amount of time, the moon outside the window began to set in the west, and its light shone through the window frame, weaving a fine, silvery veil on the ground.
He Mo opened his eyes and looked at the sleeping face of the person in his arms. The person had long eyelashes, a small nose, and lips with a faint pink tinge.
He couldn't help but lower his head and place a light kiss on her forehead, as gentle as moonlight, his voice soft enough to melt into the night: "A-Su, meeting you is the luckiest thing that has ever happened to me."
I used to be afraid I couldn't protect you, but now that I can hold you in my arms, accompany you back to Qinglang Mountain, and let you drift off to sleep with a smile, I feel it's all worth it.
Yin Li seemed startled by the kiss, letting out a soft moan as she wrapped her small arms around his waist and buried her face even deeper, like a little animal seeking warmth.
He Mo's heart softened instantly. He gently patted her back, his fingertips slowly sliding down her hair, his movements full of tenderness. The mountain breeze murmured outside the window, and the occasional chirping of insects drifted from afar. The entire Qinglang Mountain was so quiet that only the sound of their breathing could be heard.
He knew that there might be storms and setbacks in the days to come, but as long as she was by his side, as long as they could return to Qinglang Mountain every year to see the maple buds in spring, pick wild osmanthus in autumn, and fly their own butterfly kite, he would be afraid of nothing.
Because this place holds their original aspirations, their past, and will hold their future years—he will hold her hand, and under the moonlight like tonight, he will write the unfinished story, stroke by stroke, to perfection.
As dawn approached, Yin Li finally woke up from her dream, her eyes meeting He Mo's gentle gaze. She rubbed her eyes, her voice soft and sleepy: "Why weren't you asleep? Did I disturb you by moving around in the night?"
He Mo smiled and shook his head, reaching out to tidy up the stray hairs on her forehead, his fingertips gently brushing against her cheek: "No, it's just that looking at you makes my heart feel full, and I don't want to go to sleep."
Yin Li's cheeks flushed slightly, and she snuggled closer to him, her nose brushing against his clothes. She smelled the familiar cool fragrance of pine and snow, and her heart immediately calmed down.
Looking at the gradually brightening sky outside the window, she said softly, "I heard that the morning mist at Qinglang Mountain is the most beautiful. Shall we go to the back mountain later? I also want to pick some camellias with dew on them and put them in the celadon vase on the windowsill."
He Mo lowered his head and kissed the top of her head, his voice so gentle it could melt water: "Okay, whatever you say. I'll do whatever you want."
Morning light streamed in through the window cracks, falling on their clasped hands and making the "Li Mo" jade pendant around Yin Li's neck appear even more lustrous.
The scents of ink, flowers, and each other mingled in the room, creating the most beautiful morning light on Qinglang Mountain—and from then on, life would be just like this, with him, with her, with the mountains, with the moon, carefree year after year, together forever.
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