Chapter 17: A Glimpse of the South, Where Every Word and Phrase Remains Intertwined

The drizzle of Jiangnan is intoxicating, coaxing one to compose a melody. The misty, fine rain gently taps open a landscape of ink-wash paintings, and with it, it taps open Guan Yin’s desire to step outside.

"Sanheng, have you returned the bowls and chopsticks yet?" Encountering Sanheng as she came home carrying a dripping pot lid, Guan Yin felt a sudden, inexplicable sense of guilt, much like a lazy child caught red-handed by a teacher.

"Not yet." Sanheng assessed the person standing in the rain, then placed the large leaf she had been using as shelter onto Guan Yin’s head. "Master, it’s raining. You should go back inside and rest... I will return the dishes later."

Stopped before he had even taken a few steps, Guan Yin had no time to ponder how to dispel the gloom in his heart before he heard Sanheng add, with a mix of complaint and grievance, "Why did you leave the house without any rain gear, Master?"

*Sigh.* Why did this master-servant dynamic always feel like he was being coddled like a child?

Patting Sanheng on the shoulder, Guan Yin sometimes felt a sense of disorientation at her maturity. At her age, she should still be in school, not enduring so many of life’s storms.

"The rain isn't heavy; your master will be just fine." He placed the leaf back onto Sanheng’s head and stepped aside. "Oh, by the way, where are the dishes? I’ll return them myself while I’m out."

"They are in the pot. Let me get them for you, Master."

Sanheng held the leaf on her head with one hand as she answered. However, after putting down the pot lid and emerging with the dishes, she hesitated upon seeing her master standing foolishly in the rain.

"Just give them to me. I'm not so dim-witted that I'd trip and shatter them."

Was the original owner of this body truly so frail? Guan Yin found it hard to comprehend—a young woman alone in the old society, bearing a tumultuous history, having emerged from a musical troupe armed only with her literary talent. How could such a person be ordinary?

"If you hadn't fallen ill with typhoid, Master, I wouldn't be worried."

*Ah, so it’s still about my physical state.* Realizing that he might not even measure up to the restricted people of this ancient era, Guan Yin couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment. He took the dishes, determined not to botch even this simple task, his mind wandering back to the barking he had heard the other day.

"If you wish to walk about, Master, please do so. I shall be the one to return these dishes."

"Sanheng, you still underestimate your master." Was it just a matter of being looked down upon? Conflicts stemming from such prejudices occurred daily among students. Guan Yin had mediated such disputes and counseled many.

In just a few short months, Guan Yin had seen every scenario described in his psychology textbooks. He had finally realized that "counseling" and "support" were, most of the time, futile. What truly helped a student emerge from the shadows was their own self-confidence.

"Master, Sanheng didn't actually mean—"

"Sanheng is just worried about that family’s attitude toward you, Master."

Guan Yin had already walked away, but Sanheng continued to murmur to herself. As the sound of barking drifted from near to far, Sanheng realized the former had likely not taken her words to heart. Sighing, she turned back to clean up the mess left by the kitchen fire from the other day.

The spring breeze, carrying the rain, brushed against him like the touch of a beautiful woman. Guan Yin had often imagined himself strolling in such a gentle rain, swaying a self-painted fan, looking every bit the learned scholar.

But now, Guan Yin had the rain, yet only a stack of simple bowls and chopsticks in his hand. He mimicked the motion of fanning himself, only to trigger even more ferocious barking from the dogs tethered in and around the nearby courtyards. Thankfully, there were no passersby, or he would have looked like a madman.

"What are you doing at my home?"

Guan Yin snapped back to reality, fearing that the man standing before him had witnessed his childish behavior. He began to explain himself, his tone humble, silently praying that the man wouldn't truly mistake him for a lunatic.

"The dishes have been washed; I've come to return them today... Thank you for that day—"

"You could have just sent Sanheng; why go through the trouble of coming yourself?" Guan Yin was interrupted before he could finish. The large man, still holding his farming tools, tossed his sickle onto a nearby dirt pile and snatched the dishes from Guan Yin’s hands as if they had become tainted by his touch, not forgetting to throw in a sarcastic jab.

"Coming out in the rain—if I didn't know better, I'd think you were a total bookworm."

This family clearly knew something. Guan Yin didn't rush to retort; he simply stood there with his hands tucked into his sleeves. The steady drizzle caused the ground beneath his feet to sink slightly.

"Stop trampling on my field ridge! I just piled this up last year; it took me a great deal of effort!"

Seeming to realize that his words were falling on deaf ears, the man picked up a broom and nudged Guan Yin’s elbow with the bamboo handle.

"My apologies, my apologies."

Guan Yin stepped aside, albeit a bit slowly.

"Hmph..." The man bent down again, retrieving the sickle from the ridge, holding it with the blade facing downward. "Saying you're a fool—yet you managed to find your way to my field."

With one hand holding the sickle and the vegetables he had just harvested, and the other clutching the stack of bowls, he looked precarious. The sight of him swaying made Guan Yin frown, feeling an urge to step forward and steady him.

Thin clouds could not hide the bright sun, and the persistent rain continued to pour down, the scent of earth stirred up by the water growing even more intense than when Guan Yin had first stepped out.

Watching the damp bowls wobble with every step the man took, the clinking sound of *clack, clack* fell upon his heart like a fraying hemp rope straining under a heavy load.

It felt as though a clean *snap* was needed at this very moment to finally cut that nerve-wracking rope and grant them both some peace.

"Would you like—"

"You..." As the man turned his head, Guan Yin, who had been lagging a few steps behind, caught up. Their eyes met. The man gauged Guan Yin’s thin, frail arms and retracted the hand he had been about to extend.

"I really don't know what that Liu girl is thinking."

While they spoke, a cluster of buildings—more impressive than the home of Master Guan and Liu Jiao'an—came into view. The man finally sighed in relief and placed the bowls on the stone slab by the doorway. "We're here."

"It's raining so hard; walking back isn't an option. I'll have my wife brew you some ginger soup..."

Guan Yin had long since realized the man was kind-hearted. Just as he was about to express his gratitude, he heard the man add, with a touch of awkwardness, "Lest you fall ill with some ailment or other and blame it on returning these dishes to me."

"Thank you."

"Don't just stand at the door. Since you've followed me this far, why not come in and sit? Otherwise, it will look like I don't know how to treat a guest, and those writings of yours will surely give me a good scolding."

Unexpectedly, the man was not just sharp-tongued but soft-hearted; beneath his sturdy exterior lay an interesting soul. Guan Yin thanked him and stepped over the threshold into the house.