◎Shadow of the Sky◎

A fine, misty rain fell over Lin’an.

Qu You happened to be up on Apricot Hill Slope behind Sky Shadow Pavilion, learning the art of brewing apricot blossom wine from a woman who sold liquor at the estate, when the rain caught her on her way down the hill. She had no choice but to shield her head with her hands and hurry down in an undignified rush.

Before long, she spotted a graceful figure in white in the distance—Zhou Tan, holding up a dim oil-paper umbrella, looking up at her through the misty rain.

Qu You paused for a moment, then gathered her skirts and ran quickly toward him, taking the umbrella from his hands with a scolding tone. “Why did you come out? What if you catch a chill?”

Zhou Tan’s face was pale, and he needed to cough after every few words, but even so, the corner of his mouth curved up, and he spoke with easy composure. “I thought of you, and remembered you’d forgotten your umbrella again.”

They walked a few steps together, and he added, “Lin’an isn’t like Bianducheng—the rain comes without warning here. This is already the third time you’ve forgotten your umbrella.”

Qu You said, exasperated, “It’s only a dozen or so steps up Apricot Hill Slope—why would I need to carry an umbrella every single day?”

Zhou Tan gave a soft, drawn-out “Mm,” only smiling without saying anything more.

Within just a few exchanges, the lingering drizzle had already faded away, nearly vanishing entirely.

In the courtyard of the villa where they lived stood an elegant old pavilion. When they’d first arrived, the villa had been named Apricot Blossom Villa, and because someone nearby happened to be playing the tune “Apricot Blossoms’ Sky Shadow” at the time, Zhou Tan had personally chosen the name “Sky Shadow” for the pavilion.

On the pillars of Sky Shadow Pavilion, a line Qu You had casually inscribed still remained—”At dusk, shall I move my boat, and toward what shore?”

The two of them entered the courtyard, and Zhou Tan, glancing at the scattered apricot petals knocked down by the rain, suddenly said, “Shall we sit in the pavilion a while, and enjoy the scenery after the rain?”

His health had been declining steadily, and he really shouldn’t linger long in the lingering chill of early spring. Qu You was about to object, but suddenly remembered the blood-stained handkerchief she’d found under his pillow that very morning.

How many years does a person truly have in this life, and how much joy within them?

She thought of the line she’d once written for him—”Once the wine is poured and drained, I’ll walk with my cane, singing as I go.”

So Qu You smiled gently at him instead and simply said, “All right.”

Zhou Tan wrapped her in his fur-trimmed cloak, and without even bothering with the stone stool in the pavilion, sat down directly on the steps of Sky Shadow Pavilion.

From where they sat looking up, the sky appeared fragmented, broken apart by the apricot blossoms above.

Amid the fine rain and drifting wind, Zhou Tan, rare for him, drifted into thought, simply sitting in silence, watching the sparse rain fall before the eaves.

A strip of red silk was tied to the apricot tree, now damp with rain, hanging limp and lifeless, unable to flutter. Qu You didn’t disturb him, watching the ribbon for a while before something occurred to her, and she turned to look at Zhou Tan’s temples.

The young man’s hair was still black and glossy, just as it had always been.

No premature gray, unlike in her dream.

Somewhat relieved, she asked idly, “What are you thinking about?”

Caught off guard, Zhou Tan spoke the truth—a rare moment of carelessness for him. “I was thinking… after I die, what words should be carved on my gravestone?”

The moment he said it, he seemed to realize he shouldn’t have, but not knowing how to take it back, he simply fell silent. Qu You froze for a moment, then forced a smile. “Isn’t that something I, as the one who’ll be erecting your gravestone, should be the one thinking about?”

Then she suddenly remembered something from long ago. “I recall you built yourself a grave once too, out in the countryside near the capital?”

Zhou Tan nodded. “Before leaving Bianducheng, I had someone bring back a handful of earth from behind my parents’ gravestone, as a token of mourning. As for the grave I built for myself… I had it torn down.”

“Why?”

Zhou Tan crossed his arms and simply lay back. “I didn’t want to die in Bianducheng.”

He paused. “When the time comes, just bury me up on Apricot Hill Slope. I’ve always liked it there.”

Qu You pressed her lips together and agreed. “All right.”

A single petal drifted down with the last of the rain and landed on his eyelid. Too lazy to brush it away, Zhou Tan simply asked, “Have you thought of what you want carved on my gravestone yet?”

Qu You said nothing.

“‘Though your bodies and names will both perish, the rivers still flow on, unceasing through eternity,'” Zhou Tan recited quietly, eyes closed, then immediately dismissed it himself. “No, too common, too clichéd. Let me think of something else…”

Qu You propped her head on one hand, lying down beside him, and heard him continue, “What would that friend of yours, Master Ni, have to say about it? I remember you always used to bring up his words at times like this…”

Qu You couldn’t help but laugh at his baseless jealousy. “Master Ni won’t be born for another thousand years. I’m afraid you’ll never get to meet him, Lord Zhou.”

Zhou Tan gave a soft snort. “Last time you told me he’d already passed away long ago.”

The moment he finished speaking, he coughed twice without warning. Qu You immediately sat up, seeing Zhou Tan cover his face with a handkerchief and wave a hand at her, blood trickling from the cloth onto the back of her hand.

Seeing her expression, Zhou Tan caught his breath for a moment, then spoke haltingly. “I remember… my zither is on the desk. Would you… go get it for me?”

She knew he didn’t want her to see him like this any longer, so, swallowing the ache in her chest, she rose and went to fetch the instrument as he’d asked.

By the time she returned with the zither in her arms, Zhou Tan had already put away the handkerchief, as though nothing had happened at all.

“Never mind, what’s the point of thinking about all this now,” Zhou Tan said, taking the zither and laying it flat across his lap. “Treasure the days of your youth while you have them… pick the blossoms while they still bloom. Shall I play you a tune of ‘The Golden Thread Robe,’ my lady?”

“All right,” Qu You agreed at once. “Let me warm a jug of wine to go with it.”

She still hadn’t learned how to brew apricot blossom wine, so what she brought was only the most common wine sold on the street. Zhou Tan had tasted the finest wines in the realm, yet he still found this bowl before him the most comforting of all.

Qu You’s tolerance for wine was poor, and she was soon tipsy. Listening to the music, she lay lazily across Zhou Tan’s lap, and, seized by a sudden reckless spirit, pointed at the sky and cried out, “My gaze spans the vast blue sky, holding past and present in my heart—why bother with the petty grudges of ordinary men!”

The zither’s melody quickened, and Qu You, cup in hand, drained it in one go.

“…Raise the great white cup, and listen to the Song of Golden Threads!”

When the song ended, Zhou Tan gently stroked her face, brushing the strands of hair from her forehead aside. His movements were tender, but Qu You felt something cold beneath his hand.

She grabbed his hand at once and found, sure enough, the white jade ring still on his finger.

Suddenly, she burst into tears she couldn’t hold back.

Zhou Tan, at a loss, could only murmur softly to comfort her. “Why are you crying, A’Lian? What have I done to upset you?”

But Qu You only clutched his hand, rubbing at the white jade ring over and over, saying, indistinct through her tears, “So… when you looked at it, were you thinking of me? When you stood alone under that tree, were you… thinking of me?”

“But there’s still something I have to finish…”

Qu You fell into a deep sleep resting against his leg. He understood some of what she’d said, and not all of it.

Whether he understood or not didn’t seem to matter so much, in the end.

In moments like this, one more glance mattered more than understanding ever could.

The next day, Qu You woke to find the sun already high in the sky.

Rubbing her aching head, she threw on an outer robe carelessly and headed outside. The moment she opened the door, she saw Zhou Tan sitting alone at the far end of the long corridor, a thin blanket over his knees against the cold, gazing blankly at the apricot blossoms before him.

As though in a dream, Qu You then heard two voices drifting from beside the villa wall—faint, yet strangely clear to her ears.

“…I heard the one living in that Apricot Blossom Villa used to be a terrible villain. Now he’s so sick he’s got one foot in the grave, and not a single physician will come treat him.”

“Do too much evil, and heaven’s punishment is bound to catch up with you!”

It wasn’t that no physician was willing to come—she had already sought out every famous doctor in Lin’an, but every one of them had been at a complete loss.

After Bo Ying’s death, the entire Imperial Academy of Medicine had taken Zhou Tan’s pulse, and not a single one of them had left without shaking their head.

Over time, she had given up hope entirely, no longer daring to seek out physicians, afraid only of finding fresh disappointment each time.

But she had no time to dwell on any of that now.

That voice was far too familiar—she had heard it clearly, again and again, in her dreams.

Qu You’s face turned pale in an instant. She quickened her pace, running toward the far end of the corridor—it seemed that only beside Zhou Tan could she feel any sense of safety at all.

The scene from her dream was repeating itself.

If she remembered correctly, this was the moment Zhou Tan had died.

Overhead, apricot blossoms bloomed in full; at his knees, a thin blanket against the cold; in his ears, the world’s misunderstanding and slander. He sat there alone, the white jade ring clutched in his hand, still as eternity.

She hadn’t yet reached his side when she heard a scolding voice ring out from beyond the wall.

It sounded like the wine-seller she often went to for advice. “Bah! What nonsense are you two spouting under this wall? Say one more word and watch your mouths rot off!”

Immediately after came a pained cry from one of them: “Auntie Er, how can you not tell right from wrong! This household isn’t full of good people—didn’t you hear? This man did no end of evil back in Bianducheng, he’s a corrupt official!”

Auntie Er scolded back at full volume: “What corrupt nonsense? All I know is the lady of this house is kind, and the master gives out charity all the time—every household for miles around here has been helped by them one way or another. You two good-for-nothing troublemakers, believing every rumor you hear and spreading it around—say it again where I can hear you, and you’ll be sorry!”

Qu You froze in place, stopping in her tracks.

Zhou Tan, however, seemed not to have heard any of it at all, simply turning to look back at her with a smile on his face—pale as ever, but showing none of the weakness of a dying man. “Why are you running? Steady now.”

She walked slowly toward him a few more steps, when suddenly she heard someone knock at the front door. She opened it to find it was “Auntie Er,” the very woman who had just been scolding people outside, leading by the hand a child still wearing his hair in a little topknot.

Before Qu You could quite process this, she asked, dazed, “Auntie Er, what brings you here?”

Auntie Er broke into a broad, ingratiating smile, showing not a trace of the sharp-tongued woman from moments before. “It rained after I parted with you yesterday, my lady, and I worried you might have caught a chill from it, so I came specially to check on you. I’m glad to see you’re well. This is my son, Fusheng—when he heard I was coming, he insisted on tagging along to pay his respects to the master.”

Qu You reached out to ruffle the boy’s hair, and Fusheng bounded happily over to Zhou Tan. A little shy, he still held out his beloved pinwheel toward him. “This is for you.”

Zhou Tan didn’t take it at first, asking with a smile, “Why give it to me?”

Fusheng answered brightly, “Papa said, this spring Grandpa got really sick, and the harvest wasn’t good either, and we didn’t even have money for medicine—but thankfully the master was so kind… Now Grandpa’s pulled through, and Mama found a place to sell wine, and our days keep getting better and better. I made this pinwheel myself, to say thank you to the master.”

Just as Zhou Tan reached out to take the pinwheel, he heard the boy whisper, “The master is really handsome, just like the immortal in the storybooks. Can I call you Big Brother?”

Zhou Tan couldn’t help but laugh. “Of course you can.”

Fusheng blew on the pinwheel in his hand, and seeing it spin with a soft whirring sound, ran back happily. Seeing him coming, Auntie Er called out hastily, “Fusheng, did you forget what Mama taught you again?”

Fusheng immediately stopped, turned around, straightened his back, folded his hands together, and bowed respectfully to Zhou Tan.

His hands were folded slightly wrong, and the bow came out a little crooked—no one in this rustic mountain village would ordinarily perform such a bow, and it clearly hadn’t been easy for him to learn.

“Goodbye, Big Brother!”

Auntie Er also copied Fusheng’s bow before taking her leave.

Qu You closed the door and turned to find Zhou Tan staring blankly at the paper pinwheel in his hand, his eyes somehow a little red.

She walked over, understanding, and rested a hand on his shoulder, saying very seriously, “Even people living deep in the mountains, who’ve never had any dealings with you before, are still willing to learn a gentleman’s bow, just for your sake.”

“That is what it means to be a gentleman.”

Zhou Tan looked up at her, tears welling in his eyes, though he was still smiling.

“If that’s the case… then this life hasn’t turned out so badly after all.”

Qu You took his hand, and was just about to reply when she heard a loud “bang” behind her—she hadn’t closed the door properly, and now someone had kicked open the gate of Apricot Blossom Villa!

The person who entered was an old man with graying hair and beard, though remarkably spry, his eyes bright and sharp. Without any courtesy at all, he demanded, “Are you Zhou Tan?”

Qu You stepped in front of Zhou Tan, asking warily, “And you are…?”

The old man slapped his thigh. “Finally found you! You two have led me on quite a chase!”

He immediately shook loose a medicine chest hidden in his sleeve and said impatiently to Qu You, “Come on, come on, step aside, let me take his pulse.”

Qu You didn’t move. “Sir, you…”

“Oh, me,” the old man said, frowning as he pulled out a silver needle and blew on it, chattering all the while. “Surname’s Li, if it please you, can’t quite remember my given name anymore—everyone just calls me Old Man Decoction Seed. I came looking for you two because I got a letter my unlucky disciple sent right before he died. You have no idea how hard it was to track you down—they say children are debts from a past life, but here I am, an old man with no children of my own, still getting ordered around by my unlucky disciple. What a bitter fate…”

Qu You’s eyelid twitched. “Decoction Seed?”

Li Juemíng—”Decoction Seed”—was a renowned physician of legend in the customs and folklore of the Great Yin dynasty; the histories noted that “Juemíng” was merely the name of a medicinal herb he’d picked at random, not his real name. The physician known as Juemíng had written a text called Records of the Southern Mountain Herbs, which remained enormously influential in medical circles even centuries later.

She dimly began to sense something and, forgetting all courtesy, asked in a trembling voice, “Sir, your disciple… could he be…”

Old Man Juemíng grasped Zhou Tan’s wrist with one hand; Zhou Tan, too weak to resist, simply submitted.

He felt Zhou Tan’s pulse for a moment, gave a low whistle, and answered offhandedly, “My disciple’s an old acquaintance of yours, isn’t he—surname Bo, given name Ying, no courtesy name. Back when I picked him up, he didn’t even have a name yet. Bitter fate, truly—finally manage to train up a proper disciple, and he turns out to be the type who can’t let go of things…”

Qu You’s knees went weak; she nearly dropped to her knees before him right then and there. “Sir, my husband’s illness…”

Old Man Juemíng turned to her, raising an eyebrow—he seemed to rather enjoy talking. “Illness—what illness. My unlucky disciple poisoned him, that’s all it is. Poisoned him, then regretted it, and even on his deathbed insisted on sending this old man here to clean up his mess…”

“Poison?” Qu You repeated in a murmur, as though grasping at a lifeline. “Then… can this poison be cured? And after it’s cured—how much longer can he live?”

“Not much longer,” Old Man Juemíng answered offhandedly. But the moment he’d finished putting away his needle, he glanced up and saw Qu You’s face had gone completely white, startling him into hastily adding, “Hey, hey, hey, don’t panic, I’m only teasing! If it couldn’t be cured, why would I have gone through all this trouble to find you two? He’ll live, he’ll live, he’ll live to ninety-nine, there, satisfied? …Oh, and by now I’m starving—do you happen to have any meat buns?”