Chapter 52 Ji Hongye's Dream
In the dream, Ji Yun had been married for a year. His new wife, Meng Yutong, managed all the affairs of the household perfectly. Not only was Ji Yun's daily life well taken care of, but even Ji Ming was well looked after.
With such a capable wife, even if Li Wan stayed in the small Buddhist hall every day and did not care about worldly affairs, the mansion would not fall into chaos.
Later, I heard that Qinglan Temple was a scenic spot, far from the crowds, and suitable for recuperation.
Now that everything in the manor has settled down, Ji Hongye decided to take Li Wan away from the Ji manor to Qinglan Temple for a period of quiet contemplation.
On the eve of his departure, he felt inexplicably uneasy and finally went to find Ji Yun late at night.
The father and son sat facing each other, the candlelight flickering, and they talked for a long time, a rare occurrence for them.
Ji Hongye even mentioned Ji Zhao, bringing up that complex emotion that even he himself might not have fully grasped—an overly heavy burden on his eldest son and an almost neglectful attitude towards his second son.
He stated that he was worried that Ji Yun would feel lonely and uncomfortable in this large mansion after he and Li Wan left.
Upon hearing this, Ji Yun simply lowered his eyes slightly and remained silent for a moment. When he raised his eyes again, a very faint and light smile was on his lips, but the smile did not reach his eyes. Instead, it made his gaze appear even more indifferent, even revealing an unspeakable indifference.
His voice was calm to the point of being distant as he slowly said, "Father and Mother, please rest assured and don't worry about anything in the household."
Seeing his once carefree and unrestrained son now so cold and taciturn, Ji Hongye felt a pang of guilt, and couldn't help but ask, "Yun'er, over the years, your mother and I have not fulfilled our responsibilities as parents. The burden of the family has fallen on your shoulders. Have you ever resented us?"
Upon hearing this, Ji Yun's eyes seemed to surge with undercurrents, a complex and profound look flashing across them. He paused, not answering whether he 'resented' or 'did not resent', but only saying, "Actually, when my son was young, he envied his older brother."
"I don't know if my father knew that I would get rashes after eating hawthorn and that I didn't like sour foods. But my older brother had a fondness for sour foods since he was a child. So every day, without fail, the small kitchen would always have his favorite hawthorn cake, dried apricots, and plum jam."
“I mustered up the courage to ask my mother for some of my favorite pine nut candy and poria cocos cakes,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion, except for the slight, unconscious curling of his knuckles in his hand resting on his knee.
“My mother would always gently agree.”
"But when we looked at it again the next day, the contents of the dish were still exactly the same as before."
“After a while, I stopped saying it,” he said, the faint smile on his lips seeming to deepen slightly, but also appearing more bitter. “As a result, I don’t seem to like pine nut candy anymore, which I used to love so much.”
His tone was casual, but every word struck Ji Hongye's heart. Ji Hongye's voice faltered slightly: "Your elder brother is frail. Your mother and I were always afraid that we couldn't take good enough care of him, so we were very careful. But we didn't expect that we would... neglect you."
Perhaps because tonight was a rare opportunity, Ji Yun was no longer as tense as usual. He continued, "Actually, my brother and I don't get along at all when it comes to food. The yams, bamboo shoots, and eggplants that he loves are exactly what I hate."
“At first, my son would say so if he didn’t like a dish. But he gradually realized that his little preferences in this family might not be that important.”
"So I stopped talking about it. But if I encounter something I don't like, I won't force myself to eat it. Fortunately, I can eat rice, so I won't go hungry."
He turned his head slightly, his profile appearing somewhat thin in the candlelight, adding to his desolate air.
"My son may have seemed carefree when he was young, but he understood early on that many things in this world cannot be forced. This is true for food, and it is also true for the love of a father and mother. I never dared to hope for it."
Ji Hongye felt a pang of sorrow in his heart, his throat tightened, and after a long while he finally said in a hoarse voice, "Yes... it was your mother and I who took too little care of you."
Ji Yun slowly shook his head, his expression calm, as if he had already crushed, swallowed, and digested everything, and no longer had any emotions.
“I’m telling you all this today, Father, not out of resentment, nor to demand blame. I’m the least qualified person in this family to hold a grudge. It was my mischievousness that led to the delivery of that pigeon, which startled my brother and caused him to choke while taking his medicine, triggering his heart condition. I bear an inescapable responsibility for my brother’s passing.”
His voice lowered, carrying a deep weariness and self-abandonment, "If I could, I would rather that I was the child who died in the Ji family back then. I have thought countless times, if I had died back then, would you, Mother, Grandfather and our entire Ji family have become what we are today?"
"Yun'er!" Ji Hongye's heart clenched violently at the undisguised misanthropy on his face. "Don't think such nonsense! This matter... is not your fault!"
As if realizing his lapse in composure, Ji Yun closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them again, he had already concealed his emotions beneath that calm and indifferent mask.
Ji Hongye steadied himself and said slowly, "You and Yutong must live a good life together from now on. She is a good girl, so don't let her down."
Meng Yutong is indeed a very good person. She is considerate and thoughtful, tolerant of his quirky nature of not liking to speak first, and explores his preferences from the little things in daily life, offering silent comfort.
She was so good to him that he felt he didn't deserve her.
Ji Hongye noticed that when Meng Yutong's name was mentioned, a faint glimmer of tenderness seemed to finally appear in Ji Yun's cold and deep eyes, and the sudden look of world-weariness and self-abandonment on his face subsided somewhat. He smiled very faintly, "Father, rest assured, with Yutong, Ming'er, and my brother's dying wish to fulfill, I will live a good life with Yutong. In the future, Father and Mother, please take good care of your health while you are at Qinglan Temple."
In that dream, so real it was hard to tell if it was real or not, Ji Hongye believed that Ji Yun and Meng Yutong's future would gradually become more fulfilling, and the clouds would part to reveal the sun.
But to my utter surprise...
The dream abruptly shifted, the scene changing drastically, and it suddenly moved to two years later. People came down from the mountain with news of Meng Yutong's death... He wanted to see what happened next, but when he opened his eyes, he was already awake from the dream.
In the latter half of the night, Ji Hongye was preoccupied with these past events and dreams, and found it difficult to fall asleep for a long time.
In the stillness of the night, with the bright moon hanging high, some people on this side of the Ji family's Wutong Courtyard were also awake.
Ji Yun stood alone before the window, the window panes half-open, letting in the unobstructed night breeze that ruffled his thin outer garment. The fluttering fabric seemed to gather a handful of cool moonlight.
Outside the window, the clump of Xiangfei bamboo at the base of the wall was clearly visible in the moonlight.
The bamboo stalks stand tall and slender, their branches and leaves lush and verdant, exuding a graceful charm. In this small courtyard, they stand alone, seemingly untouched by the world's grime, untouched by worldly dust.
Whenever he looked at this clump of bamboo, he would think of Ji Zhao.
He and Ji Zhao seemed to be two completely different types of people from birth.
Ji Zhao loved bamboo very much, admiring its elegant appearance, noble character, and even more so its unyielding spirit.
But Ji Yun felt that bamboo, being hollow and devoid of substance, was too rigid and inflexible, and he didn't like it. He preferred the bright and beautiful peach blossoms in spring, longed for the eagles soaring in the sky, and also appreciated the ordinary plants and trees that grew tenaciously and unconventionally in the deep mountain streams.
However, the courtyard of the Ji family mansion has always been planted only with bamboo, with no peach blossoms or wildflowers.
His preferences are irrelevant.
He originally thought he would continue like this, following a path completely different from Ji Zhao's.
But life is unpredictable. After Ji Zhao passed away, Ji Yun began to take care of the Xiangfei bamboo in his place, just like he had.
From that time on, he began to tell himself day after day: bamboo is elegant, noble, and unyielding; he should like it too.
Not only in this clump of bamboo, but in many other things, he was also deliberately imitating Ji Zhao's behavior.
He hides his emotions, suppresses his unknown preferences, and doesn't care who he gets engaged to or married, or even if the engagement is broken off.
It seems that only in this way can the deep, bone-revealing scar that stretches across everyone's heart be barely covered up, preventing it from bleeding profusely.
So he kept telling himself: I shouldn't care, I can't care.
He only needs to do as he once promised, like Ji Zhao, shoulder the future of the Ji family, be a good eldest son of the Ji family, carry forward the family's medical skills, make his grandfather happy, and put his parents at ease.
That is enough.
He thought he was doing a good job of disguising himself, and that he could continue living like this, wearing a mask and deceiving himself.
He gazed at the bamboo shadows trembling in the wind, his eyes deep and distant, as if filled with endless sorrow and silence.
But he was not Ji Zhao after all. Over the years, he found that he could never learn that innate gentleness and composure, that seemingly desireless perfection.
He gradually realized that he cared, he really cared.
At first, this feeling was like a tiny blade of grass, silently emerging from the depths of his heart. It was just a tiny, insignificant green, which he could easily conceal and suppress, and no one could see its secret.
But recently, those frail grass sprouts have quietly spread out, subtly growing branches and leaves, bursting through the soil with sharp and tenacious vitality, gradually becoming a lush and verdant grassland that can no longer be ignored...
The night breeze blew again, bypassing the carved window lattice, carrying the coolness of dew that swept over him, bringing his almost runaway reason back to his senses.
He composed himself and, as usual, tried to cover up the wild weeds growing in his heart with his usual disguise.
But deep in his heart, there was always a subtle and persistent itch that he tried to ignore, but it only made him more and more disturbed.
He recalled Meng Yutong's distant and cold gaze tonight, and the sharp, inexplicable pain he felt when she looked at him.
He was plunged into torment again.
If a life lived step by step gradually deviates from its intended trajectory, if cracks appear in what you thought was an unbreakable and unshakable heart, if that person always brings unpredictable changes and dangerous thrills...
Should we stay away, or let them get closer?
He suddenly braced his hands on the windowsill, letting out a long sigh as if he wanted to pour out all the chaotic thoughts in his mind.
A night breeze stirred, ruffling his wide sleeves. With a flick of the cuff, an apricot-yellow sachet quietly rolled onto the windowsill. His gaze sharpened, and he carefully picked it up, cradling it in his palm.
His fingers gently stroked the eagle embroidered in dark blue thread on the sachet.
The eagle is so lifelike, with its powerful and outstretched wings, as if it is about to break free from this small embroidered face and soar into the clouds, heading to any place it desires.
The wind rustled through the bamboo leaves, as if someone were whispering questions in my ear.
He lowered his eyes and stared at the sachet in his palm, a secret thought suddenly arising in his mind.
He suddenly wondered why he couldn't care less.
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