“Teacher He, Teacher Liao—”
The afternoon rain had just stopped when a car horn sounded outside Hope Elementary School in Wutong Town. Lu Xi, waiting at the school gate, saw Duan Mingcheng’s car parked at the bottom of the hill and ran back to shout in front of the classroom building.
“He’s here!” Liao Zhuo called back, hurrying the four students out the gate along with He Yuenan. They quickly made their way down the hill, got into Duan Mingcheng’s car, and headed toward Hangzhou.
“Busy lately?” Duan Mingcheng glanced in the rearview mirror—Liao Zhuo and He Yuenan were both sweating.
“You have no idea. Just finished exams, still haven’t finished grading the papers, and this morning a group of kids from the neighboring town came to borrow books—Teacher Liao and I had to register each one by hand.”
Duan Mingcheng smiled. “Finals?”
He glanced at the small, slight girl in the back seat. “How’d Xixi do?”
Lu Xi didn’t answer. The other kids in the back seat all rushed to answer for her. “Definitely great!”
“Yeah, she’s been first in the class every time lately!”
Duan Mingcheng nodded, smiling. “That’s wonderful. If your Teacher Cheng knew, he’d be so happy. When we get to Shili Pavilion, you can tell him yourself.”
Shili Pavilion was a cemetery on the outskirts of Hangzhou—a rather poetic name, meaning “seeing you off ten miles,” as if the person weren’t truly gone, only traveling far away.
Two months earlier, Cheng Chang had suddenly vanished from his hospital room. Duan Mingcheng and the others had nearly gone out of their minds searching for him.
Later, once the hospital fixed the surveillance footage, they discovered that Cheng Chang had removed his own oxygen mask and pulled out his own tubes.
But the room’s monitoring data only recovered up to the exact moment he pulled the tubes out—where he’d actually gone afterward, no one knew.
Cheng Chang’s attending physician said that at the time, he’d been in the critical post-surgical window, and leaving the ICU on his own meant an extremely low chance of survival. A later check of the monitor logs also showed a set of readings where his heartbeat had flatlined.
Given his prior moderate-to-severe depressive tendencies, the sudden will he’d drawn up the night before surgery, and the seemingly farewell-like texts sent before the operation, the hospital concluded that Cheng Chang had passed away.
Duan Mingcheng, He Xian, and Liao Zhuo hadn’t given up. They filed a missing person’s report and kept searching for over a month, but Cheng Chang seemed to have simply vanished into thin air, without a trace.
Eventually, the old monk and He Yuenan came back to Hangzhou once more and said, “Stop looking. If he’s been gone this long, he’s probably not coming back. Let’s build him a grave.”
A grave, just in case he really was gone—so there’d be somewhere for him to return to.
Everything in this world has a spirit, after all. Whatever they wanted to say to him, they could say it there, at his grave.
Duan Mingcheng and He Xian had their hands full handling Cheng Chang’s will; it was He Yuenan who ended up helping find the burial plot. Once He Xian finished processing Cheng Chang’s assets, he immediately wired a large sum to the old monk to renovate his temple, with the rest to go as a donation to the temple. But when the old monk learned of Cheng Chang’s final wishes, he barely accepted any of it—he kept three thousand yuan to install an air conditioner in his run-down little temple and transferred the rest back untouched, saying his peace talismans sold well enough, he wasn’t short on money, and the funds should go toward sponsoring more children instead.
“Where are my disciples and grand-disciples?” He Yuenan asked.
Duan Mingcheng said, “My car only seats seven, no room. He Xian’s picking them up.”
Recalling that He Yuenan’s disciple and grand-disciple were the old monk and a young monk named Douzi, Duan Mingcheng couldn’t help but laugh. “Your sect’s got some pretty tangled generational rankings.”
He Yuenan pushed up his glasses, very serious. “Our sect ranks by spiritual aptitude and insight, not age.”
Duan Mingcheng laughed. “Right, of course—someone as accomplished as you would naturally live in quiet obscurity among ordinary folk.”
The car pulled into Shili Pavilion cemetery on the outskirts of Hangzhou, where He Xian and the old monk’s group had also just arrived.
It was mid-August, the weather no longer too hot, the air carrying a faint scent of osmanthus blossoms. Visitors to the cemetery usually came earlier in the day; by this hour in the evening there was hardly anyone left. But the old monk had insisted, claiming he’d calculated the timing, that dusk was the best hour to come see Cheng Chang.
Duan Mingcheng and He Xian went to park the car. The children were all students Cheng Chang had sponsored, none of whom had been to a place like this before. Restraining their curiosity, they walked quietly into the grounds alongside Teacher Liao.
In the distance, the sky was just beginning to show a faint rosy glow. He Yuenan, trailing behind with his disciple and grand-disciple, watched the color gradually spreading up into the clouds and suddenly said, “What do you think he’s doing right now?”
“Who knows,” the old monk said. “Probably still grinding away like a corporate drone. He was one here in the modern world, and he’s probably one over there too.”
Douzi, overhearing, said, “Mr. Cheng was good-looking, though. Wherever he ended up, he’d do just fine.”
“Judging people by their looks like that—did you pick that up from him?” He Yuenan, quite displeased, pointed at the old monk’s young disciple.
The old monk scolded his disciple. “What do you even know? You’ve barely met the man a handful of times, and you’re already going on about how handsome he was?”
“A handsome person leaves a deep impression even after just one meeting,” the young disciple said, then paused. “Whereas some people, even after a hundred meetings, are still just another face in the crowd.”
The remark wasn’t aimed at anyone in particular, but He Yuenan still felt stung by it, clutching his chest and falling silent. The old monk hurried to comfort him. “What good is being handsome anyway? Too handsome, and you’ve got no friends. Would you want to be friends with some good-looking guy?”
“No, I wouldn’t. Absolutely not.”
“See, that’s exactly it. He’s definitely got no friends over there now!”
The glow of the setting sun deepened, spreading warmly across heaven and earth. Dusk blazed vivid, the hour of transition had come, and in that instant, the two worlds momentarily connected.
In Lin’an city, at the Liubie Garden estate.
“Young Prince, Lord Wei will be passing through Lin’an in a couple of days—he’d like to take you out for a drink,” Sun Haiping said, handing over a private letter.
“Sure,” Cheng Chang said with a smile. “He resigned from his post—must be enjoying the free time now.”
“Young Prince, the two proprietors of the Feng family silk shop in Yangzhou heard you’ll be passing through Yangzhou on your way back to Jinling in a few days. They’d like to come see you off outside the city and treat you to a midday feast,” Zhang Dahu said, handing over another letter.
Cheng Chang didn’t even look at it, simply saying, “Accept on my behalf.”
“Your Highness, the Yin family of medicine merchants heard you’ll soon be heading to the northern frontier with the young princess consort, and sent over some herbs as a gift for the soldiers stationed there.”
“Thank them for me.”
“Seriously, what’s he even doing over there?” He Yuenan grumbled. “A modern man—can’t lift a hand, can’t carry a load on his shoulder. Over there, aside from a decent face, he’s probably useless at everything else.”
“Right, just a decent face!” the old monk agreed.
“Third Young Master, here are this year’s accounts from the merchants in Jiangnan we’ve invested in—please have a look.”
“Third Young Master, and here’s the account book for the Huaibei merchants this year.”
“Third Young Master, the tea merchants in Jiangnan had a good harvest this year—should we put in more capital? If they turn a profit next year, we could take an extra tenth in returns.”
“Third Young Master, the Feng family silk shop has scouted out Jiangbei—these past few years living standards there have grown prosperous, and the silk-weaving trade has just taken off. They’re optimistic about it and want to open a chain of silk shops, asking whether you’d be willing to invest. Here’s their written proposal.”
Cheng Chang flipped through it quickly, then closed it. “Fine. Allocate five thousand taels. Going forward, we split the profits fifty-fifty with them.”
“Your Highness, the Persian merchants are complaining that your commission is too high—after a full trip, they barely make any profit, and they’re hoping you’ll bring it down by seven points.” Su Tai presented an account book written in Arabic numerals.
Cheng Chang glanced it over and said flatly, “Tell them—two points, not a fraction more. Otherwise, I’ll pull my investment.”
“What was Mr. Cheng’s field again?” the young monk asked.
“Risk management? Or was it venture capital?” He Yuenan said. “Can’t quite recall—I just remember he studied finance.”
“What use would that field even be over there,” the old monk said. “He’s probably just sitting around unemployed, wasting his days away!”
“Third Young Master, there’s been severe flooding in Huguang. The court has already called on merchants to donate relief funds.”
“How much has been raised so far?”
“The Ministry of Finance allocated twenty thousand taels; the merchants of Jiangnan together donated eight thousand. Should we contribute as well? How much?”
“Thirty-two thousand—for good luck.”
“Young Prince, there’s an epidemic in Lingnan. Dr. Yin and Dr. Ling have already rushed there. Their letter says medicinal supplies are running short, and they’re asking if you could help find a solution. I checked—there are quite a few herb dealers in Youzhou, but they’ve jacked up their prices sky-high. That’s outright profiteering off a national crisis!”
Cheng Chang considered this for a moment. “First release two hundred thousand taels…”
Every servant and steward in the room simultaneously drew in a sharp breath.
“The Young Prince’s wealth rivals the nation’s treasury!”
“Long live the Young Prince, for ten thousand generations!”
“What’s the state treasury compared to this? Our Young Prince could outdo it with a flick of his little finger!”
Cheng Chang: “…”
He paused, then finished the thought that had been interrupted. “First release two hundred thousand taels to seize control of the herb market in Youzhou. Once they’ve got nowhere left to sell their herbs, buy up their stock at low prices—recoup what I invested, then use the surplus to purchase supplies and send them all to Lingnan.”
Having said this, Cheng Chang ignored the room full of staff bowing in awe and walked straight out of the accounting office, asking Su Tai, who was waiting outside, “Where’s A’Ting?”
“The young princess consort went to the stables to see the horses,” Su Tai said, then added with a smile, “The young princess consort is very fond of that Ferghana horse Your Highness had someone bring back from the Western Regions the other day—she goes to look at it several times a day, and even said she wants to ride it out onto the grasslands in a couple of days.”
Cheng Chang smiled too, and handed Su Tai a sketch. “Help me find the materials for this, according to this drawing.”
Su Tai looked at the sketch—besides two bamboo tubes, there were four bronze lens pieces, two concave, two convex. He had no idea what His Highness was planning to make with all this.
Duan Mingcheng and He Xian, having parked the car, joined the others. The old monk, He Yuenan, the young disciple, Liao Zhuo, and the children were already waiting at Cheng Chang’s grave.
It seemed someone had already visited earlier—two bouquets of yellow and white chrysanthemums sat before the headstone, with a card hanging from one of them: “Thank you for the library you donated. Your kindness will always be remembered.”
Duan Mingcheng and the others, all still young, had never really paid respects at a grave before. Each said a few words to Cheng Chang and left it at that.
Duan Mingcheng mentioned he was planning to change jobs next year, and once he did, he’d come by for a drink with him.
Liao Zhuo said she was happy teaching at the Hope Elementary School and planned to stay on in Huangshan for the next several years.
He Xian said he’d only processed half of the assets Cheng Chang had left behind—the other half, he was keeping in reserve. They were still waiting for him to come back.
He Yuenan gazed at the photo on the headstone, of the strikingly handsome young man, and after a long silence said, “Good and evil always find their due reward, in the end. Sometimes, it just happens where no one can see.”
“I know you’ll be safe. Wherever you’ve gone, I’m sure you’ll live happily there, free of worry, all the way to old age.”
Indeed—among the countless threads of cause and effect woven through heaven and earth—
The saying that good and evil are always repaid—sometimes, it simply happens where we cannot see it.
Lu Xi and the other children brought out the flower lanterns they’d made in advance, lighting them one by one before Cheng Chang’s grave.
They pressed their palms together, closed their eyes, and said, solemn and sincere: “Teacher Cheng, thank you for your support, thank you for your kindness. I promise I won’t let you down. When I grow up, I’ll stand on my own two feet and become someone just like you.”
The lantern light rose gently over the cemetery grounds, as if lighting one lantern after another along the brow of the gently smiling man carved into the headstone.
Dusk gathered over the surrounding fields, the last traces of the sunset’s glow still lingering. That light, clinging to the lanterns, seemed to take on an extra, otherworldly brilliance.
Carried by that strange radiance, the lanterns rose higher and higher, until they climbed past the clouds, connecting heaven and earth, merging with the splendor above—and in an instant, burst into full, radiant bloom.
On the grasslands, beneath a vast dusk sky and wide-drifting clouds, Yun Xi, A’Jiu, and Yun Luo returned from tending the horses to find Cheng Chang sitting in front of their tent, holding up the telescope he’d made from bamboo tubes, gazing at the horizon.
He was smiling as he watched.
Curious, Yun Xi looked toward the horizon too—but there was nothing there except a sky full of rosy clouds.
“What are you looking at, Third Brother?” Yun Xi asked, walking over.
Cheng Chang lowered his homemade telescope, smiled, and handed it to her. “Take a look too.”
Across the shifting clouds of the vast sky, amid ten thousand rays of rosy light, flickered scattered points of shimmering gold—some drifting among the clouds, some soaring across the heavens, some rippling, some blooming outward, as though someone had lit a string of lanterns in the clouds to pray for them both.
“Do you see it?” Cheng Chang asked.
Yun Xi smiled. “Mm. I see it.”
(END)