Chapter 57
I stayed in that chaos for two whole days.
The master lay quietly, neither waking up nor leaving.
Time solidifies and flows in the smell of disinfectant, wasting my energy in vain.
I sat dejectedly on the hardwood chair beside the bed, feeling as if all the energy had been drained out of me, leaving only a numb, empty shell. I had cried so many times I had lost count.
I only remember those vivid past events, which gradually faded away with each cold ticking sound of the instruments, becoming distant and rigid, and finally frozen into untouchable images.
The door hinges turned, making a slight creaking sound.
A familiar breath quietly flowed in, diluting the stagnant haze in the ward.
I turned my head slowly, my vision a little blurry, but the figure was clear and unmistakable.
Atobe stood at the door, dusty and exhausted, his eyes a deep, dark blue, silently revealing the torment he had endured over the past few days. Perhaps at his uncle's behest, the bodyguard silently opened the door for him.
The moment my eyes met his face, the sadness that had been suppressed in my heart suddenly collapsed like a dam, and the surging torrent instantly washed away all my disguises.
"Atobe..."
A great pain seized me, my throat choked, tears welled up in my eyes uncontrollably, and I almost stumbled towards him, like a drowning man who finally grabbed a piece of driftwood in the endless darkness.
Without any hesitation, Atobe opened his arms and steadily caught my falling body.
His arms were strong and sturdy, holding me completely in his protection, letting me lie in his arms, my shoulders shaking violently with silent sobs.
I bit my lower lip hard, and the salty liquid slid into my mouth. Only tears flowed like a dam bursting, soaking the front of his expensive suit, but I couldn't make a sound of sorrow.
He didn't ask anything, but just hugged me tighter, his chin gently resting on the top of my head, conveying a silent, heavy comfort.
Time lost its scale in grief.
I don’t know how long it took, maybe a few minutes, maybe an eternity, the machine behind me suddenly made an unusual, slightly rapid sound.
I was shocked, broke free from his arms, turned around in panic and rushed to the bed.
On the hospital bed, the master's eyelashes trembled slightly, and his eyes, which had seen all the vicissitudes of life, slowly and laboriously opened.
A cloudy gaze briefly wandered through the void before finally resting on my face. That gaze was so calm it seemed to know everything, as if it had already pierced the veil between life and death.
I rushed to the bed, my lips moving as if I wanted to call her, but my throat seemed to be filled with hot sand and no sound came out. Only the tears flowed even more violently.
The master saw me.
She seemed to understand her situation and that she was already standing at the end of time.
Very slowly and with great effort, she raised her withered hand and, tremblingly but firmly, grasped my cold hand. A faint but real warmth came from her palm.
Her eyes fell on my pale face filled with despair and sadness. Her lips moved, and she uttered two vague but extremely familiar syllables with her unique, soft accent: "Nan...Nan..."
My body began to tremble violently, like a leaf in the wind, and I cried out, "Master..." My voice was broken and incoherent.
She shook her head with difficulty, with a hint of reproach in her eyes, but more of a tenderness of reluctance.
"Don't cry... Nannan... don't cry..." Her voice was low and weak, but every word was clear.
"Time is fair to everyone... Nothing is immortal..." She took a breath and gathered her strength, "Since everyone is... fighting for their lives... I... have been fighting... for more than eighty years... That's enough..." Her eyes lingered on my face, with endless love and relief.
"You've grown up... I'm relieved..."
The overwhelming reluctance to let her go was like a huge rock pressing on my chest. I could only hold her hand tightly and let the tears wash over my cheeks. I couldn't utter a single word. Any attempt to keep her seemed so pale and powerless.
The master's gaze passed over my shoulder and fell on the figure standing silently behind me.
A glimmer of understanding seemed to flash across her cloudy eyes, as if she had remembered some distant admonition or expectation. She looked at me again, her eyes questioning, her voice softer but persistent:
"Is it...him...?"
I looked at her with tears in my eyes, not understanding this sudden question.
She asked again, looking directly in the direction of Atobe, with an unmistakable confirmation:
"It's... him...?"
At that moment, I suddenly understood.
A wave of bitterness and burning heat surged through my body. With tears in my eyes, almost subconsciously, I tugged hard at Atobe's wrist, dragged him to the bedside, and clasped our hands tightly.
I choked with sobs and said to the master in a hoarse voice: "He...his name is Atobe Keigo... Atobe Keigo..."
"It's him."
"That's him..."
The master's gaze lingered on our tightly clasped hands for a moment. That look was like a final scrutiny, and also like a sense of relief that everything had settled.
Very slowly and with great effort, a faint, yet extremely clear, reassuring smile blossomed on her old face.
That smile was filled with all her concerns and blessings.
She turned her gaze to Atobe again. Atobe had already learned a lot of Chinese, and he understood the words of our conversation, but he might not fully understand the hidden code between me and my master.
He simply squatted silently and solemnly in front of his master's bed, bringing his gaze level with the old woman's. He looked directly into her cloudy yet still bright eyes, and spoke in his distinctly foreign accent, yet with great seriousness, each word emphatically, "Master, I am Atobe Keigo."
The master looked at him, then looked at our hands which had never been released, and nodded gently. The movement was so slight that it was almost imperceptible, but it carried a great weight.
Then, her eyes slowly moved away from Atobe's young and solemn face and fell back on my tear-stained face.
In that look, there was infinite attachment and final instructions.
Finally, her gaze passed over us and turned to the small window of the ward that let in the light from outside. Her eyes became distant and empty, as if she was staring at some unreachable distance.
Her lips moved again, her voice as soft as a sigh, carrying a strange sense of calmness and longing:
"Nannan..."
"Master...I'm going home..."
"Going back...to Yunnan..."
The wind of Yunnan, the rain of Yunnan, the old friends and memories of Yunnan, all floated and spun at this moment, wrapping the master softly. She was trapped in that long memory, and a relieved smile appeared on her face.
As soon as he finished speaking, the regular ticking sound that had lasted for two days suddenly turned into a sharp, cold, eardrum-piercing long sound without any warning.
"drop------!"
The voice was like an invisible sharp blade, instantly piercing my shaky last line of defense.
In my field of vision, the master's hand, which I had been holding tightly, lost all its strength to support it and fell down silently and softly.
I stared at the falling hand, and the world collapsed completely with a sharp buzzing sound.
All the strong dams collapsed completely, and the grief of attachment and reluctance that had accumulated for two days, no, for ten years, erupted like a volcano.
I couldn't hold it back any longer, a heart-wrenching wail burst out from the depths of my throat, and I collapsed forward, crying out loud, as if I wanted to cry out my entire soul.
A pair of strong arms immediately hugged me firmly, tightly, and irresistibly from behind, supporting my limp body.
Atobe hugged me deeper into his broad arms, as if he wanted to use his body to isolate me from this cruel world.
His chin rested against the top of my head, and I could clearly feel the violent rise and fall of his chest and the tension he was trying to hold back. His eye sockets were red and filled with heavy moisture, but he didn't make a sound.
He just held me with all his strength, his arms so tight, so tight that it hurt, as if he wanted to rub me into his bones and blood.
In that suffocating vortex of grief, amidst my heart-wrenching cries, his deep voice echoed in my ears again and again, stubbornly, clearly, and with unquestionable power, becoming the only anchor in this shattered world:
"I am here."
"Xiao Yin, I will always be here."
The people sent by my uncle handled the master's funeral affairs extremely well and so thoroughly that I, the only relative, had almost nothing to do.
Like a puppet, I was being pulled to sign my name on sheets of paper, some white, some yellowed. My pen tip slid across the paper, leaving behind one "Dragon Hidden" after another.
Atobe always stood by my side, accompanying me silently.
His gaze rested on those two words for a long time, repeating them over and over again, a complex mix of emotions swirling in his deep blue-gray eyes. Sudden realization, understanding, and a hint of indescribable heaviness.
He finally understood that this was the real name that was branded in my blood.
I stubbornly insisted on personally confirming every detail and completing every process, as if this was the last and insignificant thing I could do for my master.
Atobe did not dissuade me, but silently offered his shoulder and arm for support when my steps became unsteady due to exhaustion; when I was staring at a document and suddenly burst into tears, he held me in his arms and let my tears soak his clothes.
Sadness is like a continuous rain. I often cry in his arms until I fall asleep exhausted, and then wake up crying in deeper sorrow, as if I want to shed all the tears accumulated in this life at this moment.
During this period, Atobe has been living in my villa.
The Long family's heritage was fully revealed before him in a silent yet magnificent manner. Carved beams and painted buildings, ancient artifacts shone brightly, and there was a sense of majesty in the stillness.
He didn't need to investigate further, as he already knew the weight of the name "Long" in the business and political circles.
If there were truly powerful and powerful families in China, the Long family would be the unfathomable one, perched at the top. And the legendary Ninth Miss, the elusive dragon who never appeared in public—"Long Yin"—was also known as "Wu Shan Yin."
The gap in identity and real emotions are intertwined to form a strange tension.
When the small, heavy urn was finally solemnly placed in my hands, I looked down at it. The warm porcelain felt cold to the touch. Instinctively, I raised my head and gazed out the window at the gray sky.
It turns out that the boundary between life and death, stripped away from all rituals and sorrow, is like the sunrise and sunset, with an almost cruel calmness.
"I want to send my master back to Yunnan." My voice was very soft, but it was filled with unquestionable persistence.
The second brother immediately frowned and objected: "It's almost the Spring Festival, and it's a rare family reunion. After the New Year..."
"Let her go." Uncle's low voice interrupted my second brother's words.
He sat in the main seat, his eyes sweeping across the urn in my arms before finally landing on my face. With a look of worldly weariness and a hint of barely perceptible indulgence, he said, "It's time to go back. Let's fulfill our wish."
Atobe didn't hesitate at all: "I'll go with you."
So we set out on the long journey home.
From roaring airplanes to speeding high-speed trains, to bumpy and shaking long-distance buses, and finally, even squeezed onto a mud-stained, rumbling agricultural tractor.
As we head south, the road becomes increasingly rugged, but the air becomes increasingly fresh and moist, carrying the unique scent of mountains and forests.
Atobe sat across from me on a simple wooden bench, his body tensing slightly as the tractor jolted him violently, his expensive windbreaker dusty. This young man, accustomed to first-class cabins and luxury cars, found himself in a completely different environment.
I looked at his profile, which was still clearly defined in the dust, and a slight sense of sadness and regret welled up in my heart.
He seemed to notice my gaze and turned his head. In those deep eyes, I didn't see the impatience or disgust I had expected, but instead saw a focused calmness and even a hint of novelty.
"It's a rare experience," he said, meeting my gaze with a slight smile on his lips, his voice clear over the roar of the tractor. "Not bad."
Finally, we returned to the small village surrounded by mountains and that our master had been longing for.
According to her wishes, we buried her at the foot of her hometown. The soil had the unique moist smell of rain, and the newly built grave was backed by the lush green mountains.
I stood quietly, looking at the huge vines in the distant deep mountains and dense forests, which were intertwined and entangled with each other, as if they would be entangled forever. They silently covered the mountains, like some kind of eternal obsession.
The mountain breeze blew through the treetops, making a rustling sound.
After a long time, I heard my own voice, so calm and strange.
"When I was little, I was actually very afraid of those vines," I said, my eyes never leaving the deep green. "I always felt they would wrap around me like snakes, dragging me deep into the mountains, and I would never be able to get out."
Atobe didn't say anything, just stood quietly beside me and held my hand.
His palms were warm and strong.
"Later, my master took me in. She said, 'Don't be afraid, everything has a soul, they just grew with a little more effort.'"
I slowly began to tell the story, and those dusty fragments of memories that belonged only to me and my master were revived little by little in the wind of my hometown.
The sudden passing of my parents left a huge void; how my master's withered yet warm hand led me away from the cold mourning hall; wandering through different cities and courtyards, practicing martial arts and studying in unfamiliar environments, each move felt like a small exile...
Those times of loneliness, tenacity, and careful protection, those pasts that have long been integrated into the bones and blood, are revealed to another person so completely for the first time.
Atobe listened in silence the entire time.
He didn't interrupt or ask any further questions. He just held my hand tightly, applying a little force on his knuckles, as if he wanted to transmit some kind of power through this silent connection.
We walked slowly along the winding bluestone road in the village, which had been worn smooth by time.
The afterglow of the setting sun stretched our shadows very long, blending into the twilight of this ancient land.
My voice was not loud, mixed in with the chirping of returning birds and the faint barking of dogs in the distance. It was as if I was talking to the mountains, or as if I was delivering a heavy past to the person next to me.
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