“What’s wrong?”

Noticing that Meng Yanxi had stopped, Meng Shixu, who was walking ahead, turned back.

The abbot was speaking with him about the stone wall inscriptions in the rear courtyard—imperial calligraphy personally written by a certain emperor—and was about to lead him to see them. Meng Shixu halted his steps, and everyone else stopped as well.

Those present today were Meng Shixu, Meng Yanxi, and Lu Jingyue. Meng Zhuxi had not come; she was still too young. Meng Shixu believed she was not yet suitable to take part in religious rituals, even ones held to pray for her and Meng Yanxi’s deceased mother.

Lu Jingyue was walking in front. The Buddha statues blocked his view, so he could not see what Meng Yanxi was looking at. Just as he was about to turn back to check, the latter withdrew his gaze and said calmly, “It’s nothing. Let’s go.”

This time, the Meng family had come to conduct rites for the late Madam Meng. From New Year’s Eve to the second day of the New Year, three days in total, with rituals held each day. The daily rites were basically completed in the morning; the rest of the time, the trio of father, son, and nephew-by-marriage would either drink tea and listen to Zen teachings in the temple or go for walks in the mountains.

The rear courtyard of Jinjue Temple bordered a bamboo grove. The grove was quiet and serene, and within the courtyard stood an ancient well and stone steles. On the second day of the New Year, there was fine sunshine. After the rites concluded successfully, Meng Shixu brought Meng Yanxi and Lu Jingyue to drink tea and listen to Zen with Master Jikong in the courtyard.

Master Jikong was one hundred and one years old this year, the oldest accomplished monk in Jinjue Temple. His beard and whiskers were snow-white, yet his spirit was remarkably vigorous. If not for having been acquainted with the Meng family for several years, even Meng Shixu would not have been able to tell his age.

Jikong poured tea for Meng Shixu and asked after the Meng family’s little girl, Meng Zhuxi—how she was doing now, whether her body and spirit had already recovered.

“Thanks to Master’s guidance, she has already recovered well,” Meng Shixu said, glancing at Meng Yanxi as he spoke.

Following Meng Shixu’s gaze, Jikong smiled and said, “This matter is in fact unrelated to your son, and there is no need to be too harsh on him. Your daughter was born amid splendor and riches, cherished and protected in every way, but where in this world are there perfectly flawless good things? One must always undergo trials and tempering. Your son is like this, and your daughter is the same—nothing more than karmic conditions.”

Meng Shixu nodded and drank the tea together with Jikong.

After chatting a few more sentences, a monk came to look for Jikong. He first bowed to Meng Shixu, then to Jikong. “Master, that donor surnamed Jin has arrived again.”

“Donor Jin?” The hand with which Meng Yanxi was holding his teacup paused.

Jikong looked at him and said with a genial smile, “Yes, Jin as in today. That surname is rare—why, does Yanxi know him?”

Meng Yanxi set the teacup back down and said calmly, “I don’t.”

Lu Jingyue glanced at him from the side.

Though over a hundred years old, Jikong’s eyes were still clear and penetrating. He looked at Meng Yanxi and nodded lightly. “You likely don’t. He’s a male donor who has been persistently seeking a child.”

Meng Yanxi: “Seeking a child?”

“Yes, seeking a child for many years. Coming today, it seems his long-cherished wish has been fulfilled, and he has come to repay his vow.” Jikong glanced toward the distant sky and slowly rose to his feet. “I’ll go take a look.”

Jikong and the monk left, and Meng Yanxi also stood up.

Meng Shixu: “Where are you going?”

Meng Yanxi: “The signal here isn’t good. I’ll go out and give Xixi a call.”

“If you can’t sit still, just say you can’t sit still—don’t use your sister as an excuse.” Meng Shixu said irritably, then turned to ask Lu Jingyue, “Do you want to go make a call too?”

Lu Jingyue looked at Meng Yanxi, let out a laugh with an unreadable meaning, and said, “I won’t go. I’ll stay here with Uncle.”

Meng Yanxi glanced at him, said nothing, and turned to leave.

The rear courtyard of Jinjue Temple led forward to the monks’ living quarters—siheyuan courtyards with two entrances and two exits—and only further ahead was the front court for receiving pilgrims.

Today was the second day of the New Year, and with noon approaching, the pilgrims were no longer a dense sea of people. Meng Yanxi exited through a small side door and arrived at the covered corridor.

The wind stirred the eave bells, waves of crisp, chiming sounds.

Meng Yanxi did not go to the main hall. He stood beneath a banner on one side of the corridor, his line of sight just able to pass over the main hall’s doors and see a married couple inside speaking with Jikong.

The man was tall and upright, his features straight and proper—not particularly handsome, but the sort of face that looked upright and decent. He was getting on in years, but not old; a man in his forties or fifties, in the prime of life, about the same age as Meng Shixu. The woman was clearly much younger than him, though not truly young—only, compared to her husband, the age gap was obvious. She was good-looking, with large features easily appreciated by the general public.

The couple were beaming. Even without hearing what they were saying, their body language made it clear they were expressing endless gratitude to Jikong.

Meng Yanxi leaned his back against a corridor pillar, his calm gaze settling on the man’s somewhat familiar features.

Even after the couple made another incense donation and completed the rites, Meng Yanxi still did not leave. He remained leaning there, one hand in his pocket, watching the couple exit the main hall, descend the steps, and head out of the temple.

Meng Yanxi heard the woman say, “Let’s come again next year. I still want another daughter—a son and a daughter together, to make a good pair.”

The man said, “In a couple of years. This pregnancy already came with great difficulty. Let the son grow a bit more first, then we’ll think about a daughter.”

“I won’t! I want one now! You already have a daughter, of course you’re not in a hurry. But Jin Zhao is your daughter, not mine. In a few more years, with her white-eyed wolf nature, she might not even be your daughter anymore! I want a daughter who belongs to us!”

“All right, all right. Then we’ll come again next year and ask for a daughter.” The man asked again, “Grandpa and Grandma’s place isn’t far from here. Should we stop by on the way? It is the New Year, after all.”

“Stop by for what? You think your daughter would be happy to see me during the New Year? You’re busy with work and hardly at home—you haven’t seen that proud, haughty look she usually has. At such a young age she already has her eyes on the top of her head. Every time my parents come over, she greets them and then hides in her room, never taking us seriously. Jin Wenhui, I’m warning you—don’t go!”

The couple quickly walked away. The wind scattered the rest of their words, and the youth beneath the banner could no longer hear them.

Meng Yanxi looked at their retreating figures, the corner of his lips curling in a mocking smile.

Jin Zhao—this is the gu¹Gu (蛊) is a traditional concept from ancient Chinese culture, folklore, and literature. At its core, gu refers to a poison, curse, or parasitic influence created and nurtured over time—often intentionally, sometimes unknowingly. nurtured by your kindness and weakness.

He withdrew his gaze and, inadvertently, ran into Jikong’s eyes on the steps of the main hall.

Jikong was watching him from afar. On his benevolent face was a profound smile. Caught by Meng Yanxi’s glance, he showed no embarrassment and calmly performed a one-handed greeting salute.

Meng Yanxi inclined his head slightly in response.

The Meng family would return to the city early tomorrow morning and would stay one more night in the temple’s guest quarters tonight. Meng Yanxi left Jinjue Temple, took out his phone, and called Meng Zhuxi.

The New Year had already passed; the little girl should be turning eleven, yet she was still as willful and mischievous as a five- or six-year-old. On the phone she wailed loudly, not calling him “big brother” at all, shouting “Meng Yanxi” over and over.

All the shops in Jinjue Town operated around Jinjue Temple—mostly selling incense and ritual items, along with snack shops and small restaurants. In front of the supermarket were rows upon rows of fruit baskets for offerings. Nearly everyone passing by was a tourist, accents of all kinds.

Today, Meng Yanxi was unusually magnanimous toward this sister of his. He didn’t retort at her, and even, for once, asked with concern, “Have you been having nightmares lately?”

The noisy little girl on the other end of the line immediately went quiet. She sniffed and said sadly, “Yes… If you buy me a phone and an iPad, I won’t have nightmares.”

Meng Yanxi said, “Then you’d better keep having them.”

“Ahhh, Meng Yanxi, how can you be like this!” Meng Zhuxi exploded, scolding her brother over the phone. “You’re so heartless—do your real parents know?”

She really knew how to take advantage. Even when drawing a clear boundary between Chu and Han, she never said she was the one who had been picked up; she only ever said that he was.

Meng Yanxi: “I’m hanging up.”

“Wait!” Meng Zhuxi was quiet for a second, then initiatively made peace. “Ge, the mushrooms in Jinjue Town are really good. Can you go pick some mushrooms and bring them back for me, okay! Not the ones sold in shops—wild ones that grow in the mountains, the kind we ate last time. You know which ones!”

Meng Yanxi: “Sure. How about I also catch a tiger on the way back? You can have it perform on the side for entertainment while you eat your mushrooms?”

“……”

Meng Zhuxi fell silent for three seconds, then—click—hung up.

Even through the phone, Meng Yanxi could feel the little girl’s fury.

Well, it was only because he felt guilty toward her. Otherwise, he really didn’t want to acknowledge this troublesome little sister—whoever wanted her could have her. That was what Meng Yanxi was thinking when he headed into the mountains.

Now that tourism had picked up, most of the villagers in Jinjue Town made a living in the tertiary sector—doing business, running guesthouses, working as guides. But not all villagers lived that way. Quite a few still retained traditional farming and handicrafts. These villagers mostly lived farther from the scenic area’s core, closer to the mountains. Jin Zhao’s grandparents were like this.

In the older generation, the family farmed. By the grandfather’s generation, he had learned the craft of clay polychrome sculpture. During the years when urbanization surged ahead, the grandparents took Jin Wenhui into the city and bought a house. But they didn’t give up their household registration or land back home. Every Spring Festival, the grandparents would return to their hometown for the New Year, clean the house, stay a few days, and eat some countryside wild vegetables.

On the second day of the New Year, the weather warmed up. Toward evening, the grandfather wanted to eat wild vegetables, so Jin Zhao went out to gather some.

The wild vegetables unique to the mountains were something Jin Zhao had never seen elsewhere, nor heard of. Locals simply called them juecai, a homophone of juecai [bracken], but they were not the same thing. White stems, purple leaves, resilient texture—plain at first taste, but with a rich, lingering aftertaste that was addictive.

Juecai grew in places with heavy soil and water. Carrying a basket, Jin Zhao went to the riverside.

Far from the scenic area’s core, the mountains and waters here had no dedicated upkeep. The water was somewhat turbid, and the vegetation on the mountains was bare and sparse in winter. At a glance, the place carried a sense of desolation and decline.

Jin Zhao picked half a basket of juecai. When she straightened up absentmindedly, she saw a beautiful evening glow.

The sun had sunk behind the mountains, but the sunset clouds burned fiercely—orange-pink layered with deep purple, edged with gold, like clear, multicolored glazed glass spread across the sky.

Jin Zhao was someone easily healed. As long as the world still held such brilliant, beautiful scenery, she would feel that her mood was good.

She set the wild vegetables aside and sat alone on a rock, feeling the breeze, watching the sunset glow, watching the clouds flow and change.

The temperature had risen today, more than ten degrees. The down jacket she was wearing felt too thick. Jin Zhao felt a little hot and took off her coat.

With heaven and earth so vast, the sunset at the horizon brilliant and pure, she suddenly felt like dancing.

Under the guidance of local villagers, Meng Yanxi went into the mountains to hunt a tiger—no, to pick mushrooms.

He of course didn’t recognize any mushrooms. As for the so-called delicious mushrooms the little girl said they had eaten before, he had only ever seen what they looked like plated on a dining table. He tried offering the local villagers money to take him into the mountains to pick mushrooms, but strangely enough, not a single person took his money, and they even told him there were no mushrooms now.

Meng Yanxi was not someone easily fooled. He insisted on asking for directions. He didn’t find any mushrooms, but he did see a girl dancing in the mountains.

Meng Yanxi had seen many kinds of dance. His privileged upbringing had destined him for a refined eye; when he was only a few years old, he had already seen world-renowned dance artists perform in front of him. They were beautiful, radiant, exquisite down to every strand of hair; their technique flawless, their backgrounds meticulously luxurious—so much so that even a carpet had been carefully selected.

This was the first time he had seen someone dance on ruins.

Sorry—his wording might not be very polite, but in his eyes, this place truly was no different from ruins.

Still within Jinjue Town, this place and the scenic area felt like two different worlds. The scenic area was a natural landscape carefully crafted by the cultural tourism authorities, polished yet made to look uncarved. Here, however, the land was barren and poor. In winter, there were only a few bare branches. There was a river, downstream from the scenic area, its water turbid. Along the banks stood several self-built houses, scattered and uneven, utterly different from the uniformly renovated, brand-new classical facades of the scenic area. This place felt like a product of the eighties or nineties of the last century, its exterior carrying a gray, defeated air as if built by the combined efforts of several generations.

Yet the dancing girl seemed completely blind to this decay, wholly immersed in the brilliance of the sunset glow.

Her down jacket lay tossed aside. On Jin Zhao was a goose-yellow drop-shoulder hooded sweater and a snow-white long skirt, her long hair gathered into a bun.

She must have studied classical dance for many years—at the very least, since childhood. It was obvious that her body was especially supple. Every exertion of strength extended from her chest and waist to her fingertips, like willow branches with a soul of their own—soft yet resilient, dancing with the wind, but by no means fragile.

Her softness was flexibility under the control of strength, a softness with lines, released and gathered at will, like freehand brushwork. Fast, slow, firm and soft were all merely her choices, entirely within her control.

There was no music, and she seemed not to need any. She carried her own sense of rhythm and control, pushing the sense of extension in classical dance to its extreme.

Several consecutive spot turns were so fast they made one dizzy. Immediately after came a backbend, slowed to the utmost limit, until it froze in place.

The evening clouds at the horizon were bright and splendid, golden light falling upon the girl’s jet-black hair and fair face.

Meng Yanxi’s gaze also froze on her face.

The tranquility and compassion on her face made him think of the deities in the Buddha hall.

“Bang—”

Something suddenly exploded.

Startled, Jin Zhao sprang up and looked back.

In the fields not far away, villagers were burning straw.

Crackling explosions came through the wind, along with the scorched fragrance of grass and wood mixed with the earthy scent of soil—a smell of human smoke and fire.

In the thin haze of smoke, the boy who occasionally appeared in her dreams seemed to bring yet another unreal dream, suddenly appearing before her.

“Bang—”

Grass and wood exploded once more amid the fierce flames, uncannily like a heart pounding without warning.

“Why are you here?”

In the first second after coming back to herself, Jin Zhao hurriedly picked up the down jacket from the rock and put it on, stamping her foot secretly in annoyance.

So ridiculous!

No music, no companions, dancing here alone like a madwoman. To make matters worse, she’d been seen by Meng Yanxi, who had popped out of nowhere.

Jin Zhao was so annoyed she wanted to cover her face, but running away now seemed even more embarrassing. She could only brace herself and step forward to greet him.

The wind swept across the mountain fields. Meng Yanxi lowered his gaze to look at her. After two seconds, as if only then coming back to himself, he answered casually, “Picking mushrooms.”

“…Huh?” Jin Zhao was genuinely puzzled. She had no idea what kind of mushrooms could be so precious as to be worth him taking a high-speed train, then a car, spending almost an entire day just to come pick them.

“Came to Jinjue Temple to worship the Buddha. Heard the mushrooms here are good, so I came to take a look.” Meng Yanxi paused, then asked, “What dance were you doing just now?”

As if some dark history had been brought up, Jin Zhao’s cheeks heated up in an instant. Embarrassed to look at him, she stared at the burning wheat stalks in the distance and said softly, “Classical dance.”

Meng Yanxi: “What’s it called?”

Jin Zhao: “……”

If she said it had no name and she was just dancing randomly, wouldn’t that completely confirm the image of her as a lunatic?

Her eyelashes flickered. “I forgot.”

Between having poor mental health and having a bad memory, she chose to sacrifice her memory. After all, a bad memory could still be remedied by eating some walnuts, but poor mental health was probably beyond saving.

Meng Yanxi nodded. It was unclear whether he believed her.

Jin Zhao hastily changed the subject. “Let’s go. I’ll take you to pick mushrooms.”

She walked straight ahead, with Meng Yanxi a few steps behind her. Noticing a bamboo basket not far away with half a basket of wild vegetables inside, Meng Yanxi strode over and picked it up.

“Is this yours?” he asked.

Jin Zhao turned back at the sound. “……”

“Thanks.” She moved back silently and took it from his hands.

Because of carrying the wild vegetables, what had been one in front and one behind inevitably became walking side by side. The wind blew from his side, the cold scent of mountain pines and mist dominatingly enveloping her. Jin Zhao didn’t even dare to breathe deeply, afraid that if her breathing grew heavier her heart would jump out.

But if she suddenly sped up and walked ahead at this moment, it would look deliberate.

Fortunately, Meng Yanxi seemed not to notice anything. He chatted casually, even pointing with his gaze at her basket and asking, “What’s this?”

“Juecai.”

“Bracken?”

Jin Zhao: “Not that juecai. It’s the jue from Jinjue Temple.”

Meng Yanxi: “Oh.”

Meng Yanxi: “You live around here?”

Jin Zhao: “My grandparents’ place is here.”

Meng Yanxi: “Mm.”

After a few seconds, he added, “I’ve come here before but never saw you.”

Jin Zhao thought to herself that even if he had seen her, he wouldn’t remember. A heaven-blessed prodigy with his eyes on the top of his head, he probably spent a month or two just memorizing her name.

She didn’t know why Meng Yanxi was so talkative today. In her impression, Meng Yanxi was definitely not someone who would initiate small talk. But she had no time to think about it; she always felt she had forgotten something very important.

Jin Zhao tried to rack her brains, but to no avail. This made her a little anxious. The more anxious she got, the faster her heart beat—but she couldn’t tell whether what was making her heart race was that forgotten matter or Meng Yanxi. She remained mired in her own confusion.

Until they walked for another five minutes or so, when Meng Yanxi suddenly asked, “Where are we going to pick mushrooms?”

Jin Zhao came to a sudden halt.

She finally remembered that important thing.

Mushrooms only appeared after rain. Wild mushrooms were valuable—on average, a jin²jin (斤): A Chinese unit of weight, equal to 500 g (approximately 1.1 lb). could sell for eight or nine hundred yuan—so usually on the day after it rained, local villagers would go into the mountains to pick mushrooms. The more fresh and fragrant the mushroom, the higher the price it could fetch. But these past few days had all been bright sunshine. Where would mushrooms come from? If there were any, they would only be poisonous mushrooms that no one picked.

Jin Zhao slapped a hand over her own face.

You blockhead!

Jin Zhao quietly steadied her emotions, then looked at Meng Yanxi beside her with a serious expression. “I seem to have forgotten to ask, what kind of mushrooms do you want to pick?”

Meng Yanxi thought for a moment and said, “Anything is fine.”

“Is that so…” Jin Zhao pondered. “How about poisonous mushrooms?”

Meng Yanxi: “……”

Footnotes

• 1
  Gu (蛊) is a traditional concept from ancient Chinese culture, folklore, and literature. At its core, gu refers to a poison, curse, or parasitic influence created and nurtured over time—often intentionally, sometimes unknowingly.
• 2
  jin (斤): A Chinese unit of weight, equal to 500 g (approximately 1.1 lb).