Chapter 33: No Wind on the Path, No Weariness in the Clouds; Pines on Yellow Mountain, Immortals on the Peaks

The wind and rain pause at times, if only for a fleeting moment of beauty. Ink and wash paintings may fade, yet they grant the mountains and rivers an eternal existence. As Guan Yin awoke from his dream, he appeared before others just as he had expected, his eyes rimmed with dark circles.

For the past few days, Sanheng had not appeared before Guan Yin very often, and even when he felt concern, he was reluctant to face him directly. The two maintained a tacit understanding, both knowing it was because of what had been said the day before—words that perhaps should not have been spoken, yet for the sake of his mistress, Sanheng had finally uttered them.

Now, it was not that Sanheng could not face Guan Yin with a clear conscience, but rather that he wished to avoid bringing misfortune upon him.

"Sanheng, I know everything you said was for the sake of the mistress; I have not taken it to heart." Taking advantage of the fine weather to step out, Guan Yin felt somewhat unaccustomed to the rare absence of Sanheng’s solicitous care. "Since you still address Jiao'an as 'Mistress,' you acknowledge me as your master. Your desire for me to return with her is also for the good of this household."

"Master..." Sanheng’s eyes grew moist. His gaze, which had been fixed on the hem of Guan Yin’s robe, shifted to his face for an instant before dropping once more. "Thank you, Master."

Sanheng understood Guan Yin’s sentiments, and Guan Yin understood whom Sanheng’s gratitude was truly for. And so, neither pressed the matter further, each returning to the tasks they had been engaged in.

Stepping over the low hedge, Guan Yin’s gaze swept across the trumpet creeper still striving to climb nearby. Turning his head to see the bluestone path not far off, he recalled the various small trails he had walked before and decided to wander through the village.

"Where is your master?"

"Mistress, he seems to have gone out for a stroll. He did not tell me where he was headed."

"I see." A gaze followed Liu Jiao'an’s words and landed upon him. Guan Yin knew she had seen his retreating figure, yet she did not deliberately call out to him.

Liu Jiao'an did not ask what the two had discussed; she merely instructed Sanheng to get some rest before returning inside.

Passing through the two-story courtyard, Guan Yin still remembered the curiosity he had felt as a child about the stories hidden within these high and low walls. His own family’s stories were, in the end, different from those of others.

His mother had told him that when he grew up, Guan Yin could explore them himself, or he could venture beyond these layered walls to see the world outside.

Finally, Guan Yin had grown up. He had seen many stories beyond the walls. Looking up, a branch of loquats extended over the wall, and Guan Yin was suddenly reminded of his childhood curiosity about the stories within.

"Loquats. It has been a long time since I last saw them growing on a tree."

His family always sent him local produce while he was away—partly to convey the longing of his homeland, and partly to bless the wanderer in a foreign land with stories and joys worth sharing with those around him.

From the beginning, when only a few would remain in a full crate, to later, when they arrived with the fine fuzz on the loquats looking as if they had just been picked—his family had learned better how to pack these parcels, just as the days Guan Yin spent away from home grew ever longer.

"Careful now."

A sudden reminder from someone nearby prevented Guan Yin from stepping into a mud puddle. Startled, he looked up to see the mountains in the distance, their outlines clear, appearing as though they were not far away at all.

Scanning his surroundings, he caught sight of a woman dressed as a Taoist. Recalling the gestures he had learned, Guan Yin stiffly cupped his hands in a salute: "Thank you."

"Where are you headed?"

"Just wandering around the neighborhood." Having regained his composure, Guan Yin remembered the saying, "A horse may run itself to death just looking at a mountain." He had naively thought the mountains were close, but the clouds drifting back and forth revealed that the green peaks were still far off; even if he were to walk through the night, he might not reach their base.

"Where are you headed, Daoist?"

"I have just come down from the mountain, intending to visit an old friend. But it has been so long... after much thought, I decided it would be better not to disturb them."

"Where will you be staying tonight, Daoist? Would you like to—" Guan Yin knew he shouldn't bring a stranger he met on the road into his home, so the words he was about to speak were swallowed back.

The Taoist who had come down from the mountain possessed no ethereal air of immortality, nor did she carry a whisk; she was not even particularly tall, at least not taller than Guan Yin. Yet, when she spoke with a smile, it made Guan Yin feel at ease. "Does this young master have something on his mind?"

Guan Yin lacked someone to confide in, and perhaps this Taoist who had descended the mountain was the perfect person.

"Actually... I don’t know where to begin."

Regarding the topic of history, Guan Yin did not want to bring it up with anyone again. Without his and Cheng Heng’s experience, this futile debate would appear to others like the argument between the two children over the sun.

"It has just rained, so why would a young master think to come out?" The Taoist took the initiative. "Looking at your frail frame, it is very easy to catch a cold this way."

"I could do nothing in the house, and feeling stifled, I thought I would come out for a walk... I saw a loquat tree, and now I seem to be lost, and might not find my way back."

"There is no need to worry about that."

Since it had just rained, there was mud where there were no bluestone paths. Aside from the main road, Guan Yin only needed to look for his own footprints to follow the path back.

The Taoist pointed to the half-dried footprints on the ground: "Follow the path you came by, and you will naturally find your way back."

"If there is nothing to do in the house, one could read books, practice calligraphy, or even plant flowers... venturing out in such weather is bound to lead to a chill."

"It is precisely because I cannot write." Reading was useless, and writing... Guan Yin’s thoughts were always in disarray.

Perhaps everyone has had the experience of playing teacher as a child, and since Cheng Heng was a student of performance, acting as a tutor might not have been such a great challenge.

But Guan Yin was different. He had not seen much of the Huizhou opera from his hometown, and in this era, tea-picking opera had not truly become a genre with specifically written lyrics. Yet, the original body had insisted on the most difficult form of *qupai*—every night was a headache for Guan Yin.

Cheng Heng had told him that Huizhou opera was primarily *pihuang*, but it actually encompassed six major vocal styles. Guan Yin could not remember that long string of technical terms; he only knew one thing—it was impossible to write!

"If you cannot write that, write something else."

"There is nothing else I can do." The corners of Guan Yin’s mouth curled, his lips pressed into a thin line, revealing a self-deprecating smile. "Everyone says that of all pursuits, the scholar’s is the most useless. Looking at it now, it is indeed so."

"When you cannot find a way, worrying is useless, and the advice of others is in vain," the Taoist said, choosing to avoid his self-deprecation. "You must know what it is you truly desire."

"Whether it is to survive, or to live well—these are different things."

"To survive."

"Surviving is easy. If one only aims to survive, there is much one need not worry about."

Just as Guan Yin was about to retort, the Taoist continued: "The beggar on the side of the road survives, and the high-ranking official above survives as well. As long as a person draws breath, they are surviving... therefore, it is not mere survival that you seek."

"If one wishes to live well, one cannot remain passive."

Guan Yin only half-understood these words. Just as he was about to ask further, he noticed the Taoist had already begun to walk ahead quickly: "The day is getting late; you should return home as well."