The sun shines bright, and pear blossoms drift down once more. Afternoon light filters through the bamboo leav…
The sun shines bright, and pear blossoms drift down once more. Afternoon light filters through the bamboo leaves, scattering like flecks of gold. A warm breeze, soft as a cat's paw, gently teases your cheek. You have seldom returned since leaving home at sixteen. Cobwebs beneath the eaves have woven into intricate paintings, while the master of the house has wandered to the ends of the earth. Sitting on the long bench where he once sat, you recall your childish prattle from long ago and slowly drift off to sleep.
In a daze, you open your eyes, only to see Uncle Jiang leading a horse toward you. In your memory, Uncle Jiang's back is forever straight, his broad shoulders like a sturdy mountain sheltering you from the wind and rain. Yet now, you notice his hem is slightly soiled, and a barely perceptible weariness lingers on his face.
Thousands of words rush to your lips, but before you can even speak, he raises a hand to stop you. As if guessing your thoughts, he gives a slight nod and asks:
"Even so, do you still wish to wander in the jianghu?"
Meeting his gaze, you blurt out...
Give it some more thought. You do not know where to go, what to do, or whether to stay or leave. You let go of all other thoughts. All you want is to linger by his side a little longer. Just being there is enough.
Hearing your answer, Uncle Jiang nods. His gaze remains steady, as if your response is exactly as he expected. Before him, you can always speak your mind. For you know that no matter your choice, he will always stand behind you. Once, you were a sleeping infant in his arms, his tether to this world. In the future, will you become his pride, or his lingering worry?
You rise and run toward Uncle Jiang, curious about where he has been and whether he has been well. Suddenly, your leg twitches, striking the corner of the table. The pain jolts your eyes open.
The sun remains bright, and the pear blossoms keep drifting down. The daylight scatters like flecks of gold. The wind carries no news of old friends, yet traces of him, and of them all, can be found everywhere.