The waves crashed against the shore rocks with a splash, rippling with glittering light. Before my eyes was a vast expanse of white, and an unfamiliar, cold haze gradually enveloped me.
Thinking of the past, thinking of what came after, all was confusion and panic. Whenever I reached out trying to hold onto something, I could do nothing but watch helplessly as everything changed around me.
When I turned around, I saw a figure standing beneath a tree, just a few steps away from me, quietly watching me.
I stared at him in bewilderment, unable to understand for a moment how he could appear here.
After a brief silence, I saw Song Langsheng slowly walking toward me. He came before me, then in the next moment, lifted me horizontally from the water and carried me back step by step.
I wanted to say something but didn’t know how to begin. “I…”
I heard him say slowly, “It’s my fault. I came too late.”
I kept shaking my head, speaking incoherently: “If it weren’t for me… he wouldn’t have… he shouldn’t have…”
Song Langsheng carried me back to shore, set me down to stand steady, removed his outer robe to drape over me, then said gently: “A’Tang, don’t feel guilty… none of this was your fault.”
I felt my tears falling like broken pearls. He pulled me against him, stroking my head again and again, saying nothing more. His breath was right by my ear, that warm temperature like a ray of hope in the endless dark night. Gradually, my aching heart eased slightly.
Birds flew without leaving traces. Across the distant mountains, one could see fields of corpses and desolation, as if lamenting how brutal the recent wars had been.
I asked Song Langsheng how he had come, since the army wasn’t supposed to return for another two days.
Song Langsheng said: “Once Nie Guang was executed, I thought to return and see you… I heard news of the Liang army midway. When I reached Ze Zhou, Lu Lingjun said you had been rescued by Nie Ran and gone east, so I searched all the way here…”
Seeing I didn’t respond, he turned his head to look at me. “A’Tang?”
I sniffled and shook my head. “I just feel… tired…”
He held me tighter, and after a long while said: “Don’t be afraid, it’s all over.”
Red clouds chased the wind. Song Langsheng slowly urged the horse forward while I leaned against his chest, unknowingly falling asleep.
I must have slept for a long time. When I opened my eyes, the wind had grown gentler and the willows greener. Ahead was an open wilderness, and we were traveling through mountain fields and countryside, winding far into the distance.
I looked around for a long time, quite unable to distinguish north from south. “Where… where are we?”
“We’ve already left Yizhou territory.”
“Left… left Yizhou?” I opened my mouth. “Aren’t we returning to Ze Zhou?”
“No, we’re not going back.”
I turned around in surprise to look at him. “Then, you’re not waiting for the army to return? If we just leave like this, Jingyan will surely think something happened to us. If the Liang army attacks Ze Zhou again, if…”
He grasped my hand and said softly: “No matter when we leave, thousands of people will come looking for us, won’t they?”
I said: “But we haven’t even packed our belongings. Where can we go? I…”
Under the slanting sun, I saw him in the halo of light looking at me: “The road ahead, a horse, you and I—that’s enough.”
So, we eloped just like that.
Although I was Song Langsheng’s properly married wife, regardless, this behavior of privately fleeing to distant lands and disappearing without a trace could still be called an elopement.
Before this, I had always thought elopement was a romantic and beautiful thing. Only after experiencing it firsthand did I understand the hardships involved. Though having Song Langsheng with me meant we wouldn’t face problems like missing meals or having no shelter, to avoid detection by various government patrols, we had to take alternative routes and make detours. This led to inhumane experiences like going two days without bathing or five days without washing our hair.
Yet there was also some wonderful charm in it.
For instance, on clear nights, we would roast fish and pigeons by a campfire near streams, bickering over why we hadn’t prepared salt beforehand, then lying on the grass under those brilliant starlit midsummer nights, chewing meat while chatting casually about the past and thinking about the future.
Sometimes when craving a delicious meal, Song Langsheng would disguise himself as a long-bearded scholar while I played his attendant, swaggering into taverns to enjoy the world’s most beautiful entertainers and dances while ordering tables full of bird’s nest, abalone, shark fin, and sea cucumber, fanning ourselves and engaging in lofty discussions about national affairs with neighboring scholars.
Life could be so pleasant—why had I never known this before?
We continued this pattern of hiding and playing all the way to Guangling in Jiangnan. By then, five months had passed since our disappearance, and notices with our portraits were rarely seen on the streets. Indeed, this journey had been thoroughly enjoyable, but this rootless lifestyle had grown quite tiring. After consulting with Song Langsheng, we decided to hide among the common people for now and make further plans.
We bought a small residential courtyard in a small town in Guangling. After some simple arrangements, we settled down there.
Although the Mingjian Division token could have spared us financial worries, Song Langsheng was unwilling to be a freeloader, so he found work at the town’s private school. Each morning, after eating breakfast with me at the small teahouse, he would go teach. I would then stop by the neighboring street’s market to buy vegetables. When I returned home, the hired old woman would have already cleaned everything spotless, and I would join her in the kitchen to study the lunch menu. After eating lunch and taking a good nap, if I felt bored I would secretly watch Song Langsheng teach, pursing my lips and smiling secretly outside the door while the young students inside would purse their lips and steal glances at me with smiles. In the evenings, Song Langsheng and I would walk hand in hand through the night markets, buying street snacks and strolling leisurely until we grew tired and slowly made our way home to sleep.
Cough, regrettably, due to a certain someone’s tendency toward lustful thoughts when well-fed and warm, I was often too exhausted to get up the next day even when the sun was blazing on my bottom.
We spent each day peacefully like this, living in our warm little house with gossipy neighbors, stable income, and someone willing to accompany me for life.
In the long, lonely days that followed, I would often remember one particular night when the moon was clear and the breeze gentle.
He sat at his desk painting while I sat cross-legged on the floor playing the qin. Thinking of all the past dangers and separations of life and death, I was grateful that person was now close at hand. With this thought, warmth filled my heart. I stopped playing and looked up at him with my elbow resting on the qin. Hearing the music suddenly cease, he couldn’t help but turn his head. Seeing my smile, he asked: “What’s wrong?”
I said: “A’Sheng, this moment is even better than a dream.”
Hearing this, he also smiled. “What are you being sentimental about now?”
I shook my head. “Nothing, I just feel that now… it’s very good. Do you think we’ll continue living like this, then have a child, and when the child grows up, we’ll still be this happy together?”
He was momentarily stunned, then put down his brush and slowly walked to my side. “Of course.”
Seeing I was still lost in thought, he took my hand and smiled mischievously: “Are you thinking again about doing the things one needs to do to have children?”
I startled and smacked him hard. “Don’t say such mood-killing things at times like this!”
He laughed heartily at my embarrassed expression. “I just saw you were about to overthink things again. You, always worrying about something! Oh right, the osmanthus wine we brewed last time already has a fragrant aroma. Tomorrow we’re going to admire flowers in the suburbs—how about we bring the wine along?”
Thinking about it now, there’s no point mentioning what happened many years later.
But I can still remember the morning after that night, with brilliant sunshine. We dug up the wine we’d buried in the garden, filled two full wine pouches, and rode our white horse to the flower fields in the suburbs. Wherever we went, fragrance splashed up, and when the wind blew, petals danced through the sky.
After chasing each other around, we finally collapsed exhaustedly on the ground, lying shoulder to shoulder watching the slowly drifting clouds in the sky.
Such a life—we had never dared hope for it before.
In our youth, when we couldn’t obtain what we sought, we would comfort ourselves with hopes for the next life.
This life has both gains and regrets—why must we be too obsessed with the ending?