Chapter 154 — The Old Abode

Xiao Yichen smiled and nodded, but then glanced around and said with some surprise, "Uncle Tian, why is it so deserted here? Where are your other junior brothers? I do not see a single one of them."

Tian Buhui thought to himself, "If you could see them, that would be a fine ghost story indeed; who knows where each of them has hidden himself." But on the surface he was as unconcerned as could be. "They are all at their studies, and so have not come out. This place of mine is not like your Jietian Peak, bustling with people; it is common enough not to see a soul."

Xiao Yichen paused, catching a note of displeasure in Tian Buhui's tone, but he was a man of considerable depth, and put on an air of not having noticed at all. He smiled and said, "Oh, I see. Uncle Tian, I have come today at the command of my honored master to pay you a visit; there are a few questions he wishes to consult you about."

Tian Buhui frowned, taken aback. "Consult me? Consult me about what? Senior Brother Daoyan is a scholar of heaven-deep learning, his achievements in the arts beyond mortal reckoning; what could he possibly have to ask of a worthless junior brother like me?"

Xiao Yichen smiled faintly and said nothing, only looked at Tian Buhui. Tian Buhui understood. "Then let us speak inside." He turned to walk into the Shoujing Hall, Xiao Yichen following behind him. Suddenly Tian Buhui halted, whirled around, and looked toward the disciples' quarters.

Xiao Yichen found it odd and glanced that way too, but saw nothing. He could not help asking, "What is it, Uncle Tian?"

Tian Buhui hesitated, then shook his head. "Nothing. My eyes played tricks on me. How could he possibly..." He coughed once and said mildly, "Let us go in and talk."

Xiao Yichen was baffled, and could not help glancing that way again, but he saw only rows upon rows of houses in neat array, silent and still, looking altogether too normal. He thought no more of it and followed Tian Buhui into the Shoujing Hall.

After the two figures vanished into the Shoujing Hall, a hushed stillness once more settled over the summit of the Great Zhu Peak. How long passed, no one could say, when suddenly a shadow flickered along the corridor of the disciples' quarters—none other than Ming Li. He gazed silently toward the Shoujing Hall for a moment, then turned and, along the winding corridors he once knew so well, walked slowly inward.

Perhaps because it was the afternoon hour, none of the other disciples on the Great Zhu Peak were anywhere to be seen. In his memory, what he had most often heard here in the old days, besides the clear laughter of his young junior sister Tian Lingsu, was the slightly dejected outcry of Du Biyan, for he must have lost a bet again. Then the hearty laughter of the eldest senior brother Song Dayi and the others would ring out, the other senior brothers would join in the teasing, and that youngest, most inconspicuous little disciple—surely he too must have been smiling knowingly in some corner?

Once upon a time—the days of old turned gently over amid the slow sound of his footsteps, those bygone matters seeming carved into every brick and tile, every pillar and stone, every terrace and tower here, echoing all around him.

Ming Li's face, wooden at first, gradually changed; the expression that had once cloaked him like ice quietly receded. So those days past had been so stirring after all; even after all these years, he still could not forget them.

If—if only... if only nothing had ever changed...

He stood in the corridor bathed in that pale sunlight, and slowly sat down on the low railing. The mild, warm sunshine of the Great Zhu Peak fell upon his face, as though it were just as it had been ten years ago.

...

Footsteps and the sound of voices came from far behind him, drawing nearer, and there emerged the fourth disciple of the Great Zhu Peak, He Dachuan, and the sixth, Du Biyan, walking side by side toward this place. And at the very moment their figures appeared, Ming Li had already vanished like a ghost; the mountain wind blew past, stirring the branches and grass, and no one could tell where he had hidden himself.

He Da Chuan and Du Biyan had clearly noticed nothing. The two of them spoke in low voices as they walked slowly past, and Du Biyan was carrying a wooden bucket half full of water, with a rag draped over its edge, so that they looked as though they were on their way to clean something up. Watching the two of them walk on, it was not long before they reached the doorway of a room; Du Biyan shrugged at He Da Chuan, He Da Chuan gave a little laugh, and the two of them went in together.

A moment later, Ming Li's figure emerged from a corner beyond the corridor, his gaze complicated as he looked ahead. The room into which those two former senior brothers had gone was, astonishingly enough, the very room in which he had lived when he had still been Zhang Qingyue, a humble disciple of Dazhu Peak. But ought that room not to have lain deserted for many years? Why should his two senior brothers still go inside?

Ming Li drifted over without a sound.

As though he had suddenly fallen into a dream of the past, he stood frozen in the doorway. This little courtyard was exactly as it had been in those years—there was still the gravel path, still the green grass, and even that one little pine still grew there, though after all these years it had grown considerably thicker.

The sound of water came from within the room, and then the voices of Du Biyan and He Da Chuan carried out: "Fourth Senior Brother, tell me, it's been all these years—why does Master still make us clean this room? Isn't he just deliberately making me suffer!"

He Da Chuan laughed and scolded him: "You brat, you're trying to slack off again, aren't you? Let me tell you, Master's been in a foul temper lately over Eldest Senior Brother's business, so don't you go provoking the old man, or he'll flay you alive."

Du Biyan gave a dry little laugh. "Senior Brother, you're teasing me again. How would I dare provoke Master? It's just that Junior Brother has been gone more than ten years now, and Master still tells us to keep this place exactly as it was and clean it every day. I really don't know what the old man's thinking."

The figure standing outside the room stood woodenly, then slowly lowered his head.

Inside the room, He Da Chuan was silent for a moment, then sighed and said in a low voice: "Master has never once spoken of Junior Brother all these years, but every one of us knows in his heart that the old man doted on Junior Brother Xiaofan most of all."

Du Biyan's voice came: "That's right, I can see that too. To be honest, sometimes I miss Junior Brother a great deal as well. But what good is that? Junior Brother has long since become another person. Would he really come back to Dazhu Peak, turn back into Zhang Qingyue, and be our Seventh Junior Brother again?..."

Outside the window, Ming Li's expression grew ever more indifferent, and his body straightened, until only his two hands remained, clenched into fists, tighter and tighter.

Can one turn back?

The steps you took through time, the roads you crossed—after many years, do you still remember to look back? Have you ever thought of turning back?

The sunlight fell warm upon his body, yet it was as though he stood in an ice cellar.

He Da Chuan and Du Biyan fell silent as well; it seemed that even they found the topic they had inadvertently raised oppressive and unanswerable. They busied themselves in the room for a while, then came out carrying the water bucket. He Da Chuan gently pulled the door shut and looked at the green grass and swaying pine boughs in the little courtyard; though it was brimming with the spirit of spring, there was somehow a note of loneliness about it. As though, with the master of the house absent, even this patch of spring light had dimmed a little.

He shook his head, sighed, and left together with Du Biyan.