Recalling childhood

“What a lively night.”

After roughly half an incense stick’s time (TL Note: A traditional Chinese unit of time, approximately 15 minutes), a young boy finally lay down beneath the peach tree in the side courtyard.

“It’s just like Chinese New Year in the village when I was a child.”

Yún Mù murmured, staring blankly at the red glow from the main courtyard that illuminated the night sky.

Perhaps it was the pastries he had just eaten, or perhaps the night had simply grown too deep; despite the incessant clamor in his ears, a profound drowsiness slowly began to ascend within him.

Vague memories surfaced amidst the vibrant spectacle, and he slowly closed his eyes, his body turning slightly to the right, before he once again fell into a deep slumber.

****

Eight years ago.

The boy, merely six years old, endured the darkest period of his young life.

Born in a remote border town, Yún Mù had been taught by his parents from the moment of his birth to prioritize his studies, for if he could achieve renown and obtain official rank, he would not have to toil daily for subsistence as they did.

The young child diligently followed his parents’ teachings, beginning to learn characters and attempt reading from his earliest, most innocent days, even trying his hand at poetry.

Yún Mù possessed extraordinary talent; not only did he have the ability to “never forget what he saw” (TL Note: Meaning he had a photographic memory), but his comprehension was also exceptionally keen, often grasping the principles in books with ease and applying them practically. To call him a prodigy would be no exaggeration.

At the age of five, he composed his first original poem, immediately drawing the admiration of the local academy’s teacher.

The teacher, eager to nurture such talent, rushed directly to his home, repeatedly reciting the poem. He excitedly lifted Yún Mù, promising to waive all his tuition and miscellaneous fees, much like a discerning judge of horses recognizing a true steed (TL Note: A Chinese idiom, ‘Bólè shí mǎ,’ referring to a discerning person who recognizes true talent).

He indeed followed through on his promise.

As for the requirement, it was simply that Yún Mù should never forget this kindness.

In truth, this was something far more precious than the waived fees—it was a favor, a human connection.

Yet, for Yún Mù’s family, whether the teacher harbored such thoughts or not, it was inconsequential.

Such a destitute family was suddenly illuminated by a ray of light, and the warmth of receiving charcoal in the snow (TL Note: A Chinese idiom, ‘xuě zhōng sòng tàn,’ meaning to offer timely help or assistance in a dire situation) was enough for them to be grateful for a lifetime.

Thus, after that day, his parents toiled, the teacher taught, and Yún Mù studied. Amidst the clear sounds of reading, time flew by, and everything seemed to be progressing towards a beautiful future.

But—

This was merely an illusion.

On the evening of his sixth birthday, after eating longevity noodles, Yún Mù clutched the small wooden sword his father had carved and the little lamb doll his mother had woven from burlap, and fell into a deep sleep.

That night, he dreamed of a vast, crimson sea of spider lilies (TL Note: ‘Bǐ’àn huā,’ also known as Red Spider Lilies or Lycoris radiata, often associated with death and the afterlife in East Asian cultures).

He “awoke” within the dream, and what greeted his eyes was a long, blood-red river, flowing serenely.

Upon the river, there was only a single ferry boat, and a woman in red rowing it.

In a haze, he had already passed through the sea of flowers and arrived at the riverbank, with one foot suspended above the tranquil, blood-red water.

“Auntie? May I ask where this is?”

The woman in red remained silent, simply continuing to row, slowly guiding her boat from the opposite bank to his side.

Then, with a barely audible “tsk,” the oar lifted slightly, causing the foul, turbid tide to surge forward instantly.

“Auntie!”

After his startled cry, Yún Mù was engulfed by the crimson liquid, and the excruciating pain of decay instantly corroded his entire body.

Another heartbreaking shriek erupted—

He awoke.

The wooden sword in his hand was broken, the doll in his embrace was ruined, his house had collapsed, and his parents were dead.

Throughout the village, blood-red streams overflowed, and an intense, fishy stench assaulted his nostrils.

His vision, blurred for an unknown reason, revealed a white-haired woman treading through the bloodstains, slowly approaching him.

“Child, come with me. Your home is gone, destroyed by demonic cultivators.”

‘Demonic cultivators,’ what were they?

The young Yún Mù didn’t know, but he understood one thing.

His home was gone.

Almost instinctively, he climbed onto the woman’s slender back. The strong scent of blood stimulated his nose, making the young boy feel on the verge of vomiting.

But he held it in; he didn’t want to be abandoned again because of something like this.

“Sis… Sister, will I ever see my parents again?”

He asked, clinging to her back, clearly not yet understanding the gravity of life and death separation, yet he began to tremble at his own question.

The sorrow he had only ever read about in books had, in that moment, truly transformed into bone-chilling grief.

Early wisdom, at times, was not a blessing.

“You will meet them. You will die in eight years, and then you will be reunited.”

“If that’s the case… Sister, why are you still taking me with you? I… I’d rather leave with my parents right now…”

The white-haired woman sighed softly, treading on thick snow with her feet, and on fate in her heart.

“At that time, someone will use your life, which was destined to end, to save a person who was not meant to die.”

“Is that so? Then, before I die, I’ll be able to save someone? That… that doesn’t seem so bad?” The boy’s lips trembled twice as he recalled a saying, “Saving a life is more meritorious than building a seven-storied pagoda (TL Note: A Buddhist saying emphasizing the immense merit of saving a life). When that time comes… my parents will surely be happy, won’t they?”

Before his words had fully faded, the white-haired woman’s steps faltered, and her stride grew heavier.

A rich, gentle stellar energy surged from her pulse points, enveloping the small body on her back.

The warm current, mingled with a sweet fragrance, dispelled the bone-chilling cold, making Yún Mù feel utterly comfortable.

He curled his small, thin body, clinging to the woman’s back like an injured fledgling, his eyelids uncontrollably fluttering.

“Sleep now… Until your appointed death, you will come with me to the Shangguan family in the capital and live a peaceful life as my disciple. At least… until you are fourteen, your days will be more comfortable.”

“Ma… Master…?”

Heavy snow fell, collapsed wooden pillars pressed down on the charred remains of lanterns, and the biting wind, seizing the opening of his murmur, drilled into his body, bringing an unbearable chill that startled a low cry from him.

“Master!”

****

Beneath the peach tree,

The young boy suddenly opened his eyes, his right hand, which had unknowingly plunged deep into the soil, instinctively clenched, bringing up a handful of damp earth and dislodging a few peach blossoms.

He slowly sat up, then leaned back against the peach tree.

Above the main courtyard, the scarlet glow illuminating the night sky remained dazzling, and the clamorous din of gongs and drums had reached its peak.

He raised his eyes to gaze at the swirling radiance, a faint smile gracing his lips.

“Ah, it seems it’s been a long time since I’ve seen you all appear in such clusters; truly adorable…”

The “you all” Yún Mù referred to were the particles that constituted stellar energy.

More vividly, they resembled thumb-sized, multi-colored orbs, each exuding different emotional auras, yet without exception, they all naturally gravitated towards the young boy.

“Oh, it tickles, you mischievous little ones, haha…”

Feeling the ticklish sensations of the little orbs dancing on his face, he chuckled aloud, involuntarily raising his thin, withered hands.

The little orbs seemed to understand his intentions, rushing eagerly towards his palms. Some, being too weak, were pushed out of the “team” (TL Note: ‘Duìwǔ’ means ‘team’ or ‘queue,’ here referring to the main group of orbs), floating forlornly in a corner, emitting faint wisps of sorrow.

“Alright, alright, don’t push, one by one, there’s enough for everyone…”

“Ugh—!”

Before his words had fully faded, Yún Mù collapsed to the ground once more.

“…Who…”

The young boy’s barely open eyes only managed to catch sight of two pairs of shoes below his line of vision—embroidered slippers and leather boots—before he plunged into boundless darkness.

“This boy’s constitution—it is truly terrifyingly formidable. Even from such a distance, he can instinctively draw upon this stellar energy, nearly ruining Qiūyuè’s crucial blessing ceremony.”

The owner of the boots spoke first, his voice hoarse, yet his face, with its sword-like brows and star-bright eyes, was undeniably handsome.

The person who had arrived was none other than the Shangguan family patriarch—Shangguan Hóngzhì.

“Hóngzhì, Qiūyuè’s illness… must we truly use this child’s bones and eyes?” The owner of the embroidered slippers spoke with a gentle voice, her cheongsam outlining a graceful figure, and her face as delicate and rosy as a young girl’s.

It was not difficult to discern that both this woman and Shangguan Hóngzhì bore a slight resemblance to Shangguan Qiūyuè in their features.

“Yǎyuè, your womanly compassion (TL Note: ‘Fù rén zhī rén’ is an idiom, often used to describe misplaced or excessive leniency, implying a lack of resolve or pragmatism), are you still feeling pity for this servant?” Shangguan Hóngzhì turned his head, looking at his frowning wife, his voice softening. “Are we not to save our daughter’s life then? Besides, even if his bones are replaced, he won’t die.”

Lín Yǎyuè pressed one hand to her chest, uttering a soft “Mm,” while her left hand, naturally hanging by her side, involuntarily clutched the hem of her garment.

“If, if that is truly the case, then quickly heal this child and take him away, lest further complications arise… After all, our Shangguan family owes him, whether it’s because of his master or his parents…”

“Ah, those words are mistaken,” Shangguan Hóngzhì raised a hand to her lips, his expression slightly grave.

“His master’s death was self-inflicted. That villain, who massacred an entire village back then, dared to think of sending this child away to atone for his own sins? In the end, he died of despair and leaped into the Endless Abyss. Our Shangguan family taking in this child, though we have need of him, has already shown utmost benevolence. How can you speak of owing him?”

Seeing that his wife still kept her eyes cast down, he added another sentence.

“Rest assured, Immortal Doctor Lu’s medical skills are unrivaled throughout the ancient kingdom of Lixun. When the time comes, this child truly won’t die, and his eyes might not even go blind. Do you truly believe… your husband would deceive you with empty words?”

“…” Lín Yǎyuè’s lips trembled slightly, and she finally whispered, “…Mm.”

Seeing his wife seemingly persuaded, a flicker of satisfaction crossed Shangguan Hóngzhì’s lips.

“Guards!”

From the shadows, two black-clad figures silently materialized.

“Guards, after you’ve healed this boy, lock him up…” He frowned slightly, then, after a moment’s thought, corrected himself. “Send him back to his original residence, and remember to be gentle.”

“Understood!”

The black-clad figures acknowledged the order, swiftly and silently lifting the unconscious Yún Mù, whose limbs hung limply, and quietly disappeared into the darkness.

“Alright, Yǎyuè.” Shangguan Hóngzhì turned to his wife, forcing a smile onto his face. “Why the long face? Today is a joyous occasion, a day of blessing for our daughter. Looking like this, wouldn’t you be offending good fortune? Smile.”

“…Alright.” Lín Yǎyuè made an effort to lift the corners of her lips, revealing a faint, bitter smile that nonetheless held a certain charm.

This smile, however, stirred a warmth in Shangguan Hóngzhì’s heart. He gently pinched his wife’s tender cheek, leaning close to her ear to whisper.

“Once all matters are concluded smoothly, your husband will properly reward my lady, how about that?”

“You…!” Lín Yǎyuè’s face flushed crimson, and with a slight pique, she pushed away his restless hand. This expression, a mix of shyness and anger, only further ignited Shangguan Hóngzhì’s passion.

“Hahaha! Come! Let’s continue drinking!”

The moonlight coldly bathed the peach tree courtyard, leaving behind only a interwoven glow of yellow and white, and an pervasive loneliness.

The people had long departed, leaving only the night wind to brush past a few scattered blossoms.