Chapter 26: Who Speaks of Sleeping in the Same Bed with Different Dreams? As the Saying Goes, When the Wind Rises, One Rides the Clouds.

Sunlight spilled through the wide-open wooden door, flooding the room. Liu Jiao’an opened her eyes, and the first thing she saw was the shadow of Guan Yin cast into the room.

Straightening her posture, she carefully smoothed the stray hairs at her temples. With a slight downward tilt of her eyes, she looked toward the person entering. "You are up quite early today, my husband."

"Hmm. Are you busy today, my dear?" After a long night of dreams, Guan Yin could hardly say whether she had truly slept. She forced the corners of her mouth upward, unwilling to dampen Liu Jiao’an’s morning spirits.

Having spent so much time together, Guan Yin would often, in a daze, mistake Liu Jiao’an for her best friend from high school—a friend with whom she had stayed close during college, though later, in graduate school, they would only remember to share a few words once every month or two.

Guan Yin had once suspected that this friendship was slowly fading, destined to dissolve into time and daily life. It was only recently, seeing the shadow of that dear friend in Liu Jiao’an from time to time, that Guan Yin realized the frequency of contact never truly changed the most sincere bond between two women.

"Is there something you wish to instruct me on, husband?" Liu Jiao’an, who had been arranging her hair in the rhomboid mirror, turned her head. She looked at Guan Yin, who was standing blankly in the center of the room, and smiled—a smile more genuine than the one Guan Yin had just offered. "Why are you staring at me like that? Is there something on my face?"

"No."

Hearing Guan Yin’s reply, Liu Jiao’an did not press further; she simply turned back to continue smoothing her robes. Suddenly, she heard Guan Yin say, "The trumpet creepers on the fence are truly beautiful. No wonder your gaze lingered on them for so long."

Liu Jiao’an’s hands paused as she adjusted her sleeves. She said nothing more as she stood up, but Guan Yin could clearly feel a relaxed and joyful atmosphere spreading through the room—a mood Liu Jiao’an had not shown for a long time, or at least, not since Guan Yin had begun expressing that she had forgotten many things.

The two moved toward each other’s direction, yet neither’s destination was the other. Guan Yin’s target was the lazy spring light on the desk; as for Liu Jiao’an...

At the moment they crossed paths, they stepped aside with practiced tacit understanding. Guan Yin reached out to touch the corner of the desk, but as she pivoted, she bumped her thigh against the sharp edge.

"Be careful, my husband."

As Liu Jiao’an turned her head back, Guan Yin hid her grimace. Pretending nothing was amiss, she reached for the bookshelf and skillfully pulled out the sheet of rice paper covered in writing that Cheng Heng had helped her analyze the day before, spreading it across the desk.

With one hand pressing against her bruised leg and the other trying to smooth the creases in the paper, Guan Yin still had to spare a moment to show concern for Liu Jiao’an. It all seemed a bit rushed. "I am fine. Do take care on your way."

With a flicker of her eyes, Liu Jiao’an looked Guan Yin over once, then nodded and walked out into the small courtyard where the light was pouring in.

***

It seemed as if she feared the person in the room—already frail—might catch a chill, so she left the wooden door half-closed behind her, causing the light that had filled half the room to narrow considerably.

"Trumpet creepers?"

Could the trumpet creeper be an indispensable clue? For a moment, Guan Yin forgot that this was real life, not some game with a set of tasks, and naturally, not every object that appeared had to hold some hidden meaning.

"Drunken Flower Shade." This aria, *Northern Drunken Flower Shade*, held none of the tenderness of spring blossoms; it was filled with bitterness. Seeing it in a dream last night, she hadn't felt much, but now, with the spring light so perfect, every word seemed even more desolate. Guan Yin could not even imagine how she would weep if she saw this performed on a stage.

Staring at the rice paper on the desk for a long time, Guan Yin finally recalled the answer they had reached at the end of their conversation. She should go out and walk around, to inquire about the "flood."

It was easy to say. But by the time San Heng emerged from the kitchen and watched Guan Yin stroll out of the courtyard, Guan Yin once again had no idea where she was going.

A few familiar barks made Guan Yin look up instinctively—she had reached the door of the burly neighbor’s house. She had come once before under the guise of returning a bowl, but had left in a hurry. What excuse could she possibly use now?

"Gu... Master Guan? Why have you come to my door?"

The person who walked to the door to greet her was not the burly man, but the kind-looking woman. The fine wrinkles at the corners of her eyes seemed to speak of a sense of relief upon seeing Guan Yin.

"I..."

The woman did not wait for Guan Yin to "invent" a reasonable excuse. She simply stepped aside and welcomed her in. "Since you are here, come in and sit for a while."

The two sat opposite each other. Just as Guan Yin was hesitating on how to bring up the subject, the man slowly shuffled out from the back. He looked distracted, not at all like his usual self.

"Master Guan is here." The man looked at Guan Yin, devoid of his usual sharp, pointed remarks. His voice was weak, but he still gestured for his wife to prepare tea. "Sit. Have some tea."

"Thank you." The sudden change made Guan Yin wonder if they had sensed something. She stood up, feeling a bit awkward, and bowed.

The three finally sat together. Even with the light filtering in from behind the screen and the doorway, the deep room remained dim.

***

"I caught a cold last night. Please forgive my poor hospitality." Before anything else could be said, the man poured himself half a cup of tea, seemingly looking for an excuse to leave.

But Guan Yin did not want to return empty-handed. She stood up and bowed again. "I was merely out for a stroll; I apologize for the intrusion."

"Wife, I am going back inside. You talk with Master Guan; I need to rest." After a few subtle signs, the man left his wife and Guan Yin together.

Once he was gone, the atmosphere in the room softened considerably. Guan Yin clearly felt the tension dissipate.

"Don't mind him. There are a few days every year, the day after a night of rain, when he falls into these foolish dreams." The woman had long since seen through Guan Yin’s confusion. As soon as the man turned behind the screen, she lowered her voice to explain. "When he wakes from the dream and cannot find what he's looking for, he becomes like that."

"Night rain?" Guan Yin seized upon the detail. "Is it that he fears the sound of thunder?"

As a teacher, Guan Yin had studied educational psychology and had even obtained a counseling certificate on the side. She knew that if some people suffered psychological trauma in childhood, they would be affected by it for the rest of their lives.

"It is not the thunder he fears; it is his son."

"Never mind, I won't burden you with these sad matters. In those years, many neighbors thought of this, but he was determined not to leave the place of his sorrow..."

They were mere acquaintances; it was rare enough that the woman would tell her this much. Guan Yin suddenly didn't want to pry for information anymore—the night rain, the son; perhaps her sorrow was far more important than a simple answer to her own questions.

"Master Guan, is there something you wished to ask?" The woman finally brought the conversation back. "If there is anything my husband or I can help you with, please, just say it."

A flicker of pity crossed Guan Yin’s eyes, and she spoke somewhat evasively: "I was just out for a stroll, and seeing the trumpet creepers on the wall drooping their heads, I stopped to look..."