Shiyun, go home
No one expected the old poet to suddenly "run away from home".
I thought he would be back in a few days, but he ended up being gone for several months.
On the day of Frost's Descent, the old horse at the post station delivered an unsigned letter.
The letter paper is a specialty of Jiangnan, with slightly yellowed edges, as if it has been handled many times.
When the eldest brother opened the envelope, a dried osmanthus flower drifted out and landed next to Zui Qingfeng's pipe on the stone table.
"It's Shiyun's courtesy name," Xijiang said.
The courtyard suddenly fell silent.
Dog Egg stopped pecking at the rice grains on the ground, and Fried Fish forgot to put half a piece of almond shortbread into his mouth.
The sword tassel of Chenze stopped in mid-air, like a raindrop that had been suddenly frozen.
The letter is very short:
[Seeing this letter is like seeing you in person. The osmanthus flowers in Lingnan are in full bloom; it reminds me that the tree in the gang's backyard needs pruning. The sheet music is on the third shelf; Xi Jiang knows which one it is. Don't worry.]
The eldest brother read the letter over and over again three times, the tassels of the colorful headgear hanging down on the paper.
"That's it? They didn't say they wanted it back?"
Zui Qingfeng's pipe tapped softly on the stone table.
As the white mist rose, he squinted and chuckled softly.
"Scholars are such a hassle; they don't even say they miss home."
That paulownia wood zither sat idle in the corridor for three months.
Every morning, Xi Jiang would wipe the body of the instrument with a soft cloth, but never touch the strings.
Once, while frying fish, I couldn't help but ask him why, and he answered.
"A zither without its master cannot produce its original tone."
As the autumn dew dampened the strings of the zither, Zui Qingfeng discovered a newly written musical score on the zither table.
The ink was fresh, but the brushstrokes deliberately imitated someone's usual style.
He took the corner of the paper and went to find Xi Jiang, where he saw the man chopping wood in the backyard.
"You didn't imitate it well."
Zui Qingfeng tucked the sheet music into the other person's collar.
"Your vocal transitions are too harsh, his are like water."
Xi Jiang's axe stopped in mid-air.
"You know anything about the piano?"
"I understand him."
The pipe pointed southeast.
"That guy is definitely in a teahouse somewhere in Lingnan right now, playing this very piece."
That evening, as Xi Jiang rewrote the score under the lamp, she discovered that Zui Qingfeng had added a line of small writing on the back.
[Lingnan is humid, remember to apply rosin to the strings.]
Chen Ze began to frequently wipe the two swords.
One was his own Qingfeng sword, and the other was the soft sword that Shiyun had left on the weapon rack.
The eldest brother once caught him practicing his moves in an empty training ground. The arc of light drawn when his two swords crossed looked like a pair of separated crane shadows.
"If you miss him, go look for him in Lingnan."
The eldest brother squatted on the weapon rack and said.
Chen Ze sheathed his sword.
"His swordsmanship has changed."
"What?"
"The third move should have been a diagonal flick, but now there's an added wrist return."
Chen Ze drew marks on the ground with the tip of his sword.
"He encountered a new rival in Lingnan."
The eldest brother stared at the sword marks for a long time, then suddenly slapped his thigh and burst into laughter.
"So you've been spending all your time deciphering other people's martial arts progress? Why don't you just ask them directly!"
Chen Ze hung Shi Yun's sword back in its place, straightening the tassel.
"I won't ask."
When the first snow fell, Jianyu found a camphor wood chest in the warehouse. Inside were neatly stacked tea cakes, a specialty of Lingnan, with a note on top reading "For Winter Solstice."
Zui Qingfeng examined the age of the tea cake and scoffed.
"They've been stockpiling for at least three years; they certainly know how to time it."
That afternoon, the entire Hundred Birds Gang received the most bizarre mission order since the gang's founding.
The eldest brother posted the notice on the kitchen door, his colorful headband covered in flour:
Winter Solstice Feast Preparation Checklist:
1. Dig out the third jar of plum wine from the cellar (do not drink it).
2. Repair the zither stand in the backyard (Xi Jiang is in charge)
3. Chen Ze went to Rainbow Bridge to buy a new sword tassel (cyan).
4. Dog Egg is not allowed to steal osmanthus sugar (violators will have their fur pulled out).
5. All of you stay alive and wait for me to come back.
Dog Egg pecked the notice until it was riddled with holes.
Why are you targeting me?!
As Zui Qingfeng exhaled smoke rings and counted the days on the calendar, he discovered that the winter solstice was exactly the hundredth day since Shiyun left the gang.
On the eve of the winter solstice, a messenger arrived in Lingnan.
The man, covered in blood, lay collapsed at the gang's entrance, clutching a zither case tightly in his arms.
Xi Jiang opened the blood-stained brocade pouch. Inside, there was no letter, only a string of a zither that had been severed by a sharp weapon.
"It's the Shang string of 'Guangling San'."
Zui Qingfeng, who was strumming the strings of his zither, suddenly stood up. "Prepare the horses."
Chen Ze's sword was already three inches from its sheath: "Direction?"
"No rush."
Xi Jiang untied a knot from the end of the zither string.
"This is Fisherman's Knot; he's by the water."
The eldest brother's fingers were trembling as he pulled out the map.
"But Lingnan is full of..."
"Tingzhou."
The drunken breeze stopped the pipe at a certain spot on the map.
"Three months ago, a tea merchant mentioned that there were river bandits in Tingzhou recently."
As the snow fell heavier, five horses charged out of the gang's gate. Dog Egg, perched on Fried Fish's shoulder, cursed and swore, his paws entangled in the broken string.
They found Shiyun in the reeds along the Tingjiang River.
A scholar in white sat at the bow of a dilapidated awning boat, with a zither with a broken string in front of him.
Ten feet away on the shallow water, seven corpses remained frozen in the ice, still in a charging posture, each with a thin piano nail driven into their forehead.
"Too late."
Shiyun didn't even look up.
"They threw the osmanthus cake into the river."
Drunk on the breeze, he waded through the icy water and jumped onto the boat, using his pipe to lift the other's chin.
The fresh wound on her forehead was still bleeding, and frost clung to her eyelashes, yet she clutched an oil paper package tightly in her arms.
"For frying fish."
Shiyun released her hand, revealing half of the almond shortbread that hadn't been soaked in blood.
"This is the only flavor left in the shop."
Xi Jiang silently handed over the medicine box he carried with him, and Chen Ze's sword tassel swept across the ship's deck, making a slight clicking sound.
The eldest brother stood on the shore, his colorful headgear covered in a layer of snow.
"......go home?"
Shiyun looked at the river.
"The string broke."
"Well done."
Zui Qingfeng tore off his hair ribbon and wrapped it around his wound.
"Like a trill that someone just can't seem to learn no matter what."
That year, the Hundred Birds Clan's Winter Solstice Feast had three full tables.
Fried Fish finished the crushed almond shortbread while crying, and Dog Egg drank plum wine and passed out drunk under the zither platform.
Chenze's new sword tassel and Shiyun's old sword hung side by side, and Xijiang finally played the piece that had been revised countless times.
Zui Qingfeng smoked under the eaves, watching the eldest brother and Shiyun wrestling in the snow.
The latter insisted on repairing the instrument himself, while the former insisted that the tassels on the colorful headgear could be used as strings.
Are you leaving again next year?
Xi Jiang suddenly asked.
Shiyun wiped the snow off her face, revealing her first genuine smile since leaving the gang.
"Aren't you going to look for them?"
The snow stopped, and water began to drip from the icicles under the eaves.
In a secluded corner unnoticed, the blood-stained broken string was woven into the sword tassel by Zui Qingfeng, the blood-stained black hair resembling a healed wound.
In early spring, a Lingnan osmanthus tree appeared in the backyard of the gang.
Every day when Chenze practiced his sword, he would prune off a few careless branches, and Xijiang buried three jars of new wine under the tree.
Once, the boss asked why it was three jars, and Zui Qingfeng laughed while biting his pipe.
"One jar to celebrate victory, one jar to bid farewell, one jar..."
"Wait for the lost to return home."
After finishing the second half of the sentence, Shiyun's fingertips brushed across the newly formed strings of the zither.
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