Chapter Text
The feng shui in Yucun was undeniably strange, massive trees surrounded the village, adding to its mystical and serene ambiance, and creating an environment that seemed to encourage introspection and reflection.
Wu Xie climbed to the top of a stone, settling into a swath of dawn light, and began meditating while gazing at the stream. He meditated like this once or twice a month to sort out his thoughts. He couldn’t avoid it, being the only one whose mind was cluttered with a tumultuous cascade of memories.
They had come to Yucun to avoid the world, yet they weren’t nearly as successful as he wished. Consequently, there were still various things to worry about.
He also needed this time to build up a resistance to some of the more distracting thoughts in his heart. Reflecting on his past experiences, he pondered how they should exist in his mind. Should he persist in remembering them, or should he focus on letting nature take its course?
For the past two months, he had been trying his hardest to avoid them, and life in Yucun had been relatively eventless.
This mountain village was an extraordinary place. Nestled on half the slope of a valley, water from six waterfalls cascaded on the village all year round, as if it were perpetually raining.
While it was challenging to recall every single day, there was a distinctive atmosphere here that resonated with him strongly. In the past year – before their latest dance with death – whenever Wu Xie’d left the village for a quick visit to his friends and family, and thought about returning, he could almost sense a sweet-smelling mist rising in his heart.
The same applied to memories. Once he didn't deliberately force himself to remember all the details, the memories would eventually transform into a scented mist. Some became a stench that kept him away, some were beautiful and fresh, and some were strong and confusing. People might be unable to remember the details forever, but they could remember these smells. The more time that passed, the purer these memories would be.
At moments like these, Wu Xie recalled all those friends who had passed away one by one. Recently, they were starting to become like this mist more and more. While fiercely resisting the idea of forgetting them, he was starting to come to terms with their loss. He had to, if he wanted to live. When he sat there and meditated, the mist that smelled of them would envelop him, making him feel that he was with them again. A Ning, Pan Zi and sometimes even his Sanshu.
This was probably the way people remembered others without being trapped in the past. Wu Xie also wondered what these mists would eventually become in Zhang Qiling’s mind since only he had enough time to feel their final evolution. Would they become some kind of emotion revealed in his eyes? The eyes of one who had seen everything but was connected to nothing? A type of indifference?
But did this indifference mean that the mist eventually lost its scent? Although it existed and accounted for a considerable proportion of his life, was it already invisible and transparent, just like the dark void of his memories? Everything about Zhang Qiling suggested otherwise. The scent was still there, only scarce and hard to detect.
Meditating like this, Wu Xie soon entered a state where his thoughts raced. It was like being awake and dreaming at the same time, a kind of trance-like state.
Pangzi and Zhang Qiling stood by the stream, watching him.
Pangzi suddenly reminisced about the past, sighing, “Wu Xie picked up the meditation from the old Lama. After his addiction got too severe and almost life-threatening, we packed to Medog for half a year.”
At the Lama temple atop the snow-capped mountain, Wu Xie often sat cross-legged quietly on the stone in the courtyard in front of Zhang Qiling’s statue, surrounded by snow, with a large charcoal stove placed to keep him from freezing. It had been years since then, yet Pangzi vividly recalled the conversation he had with the old Lama at the time.
“Wu Xie, the atheist, being like a monk… I would have bet my everything against it before today,” Pangzi said while inhaling deeply from his cigarette.
The corners of Lama’s mouth turned up in an inexplicable smile, “To worship, there is no need for it to be someone out of reach. Some people worship animals, stars, or spiritual leaders. As long as it helps reach inner peace and serenity... it doesn’t matter.”
Pangzi squinted his eyes, tilting his head to the side in contemplation, “It isn’t a very Lama-like thing to say,”
Old Lama shook his head, gesturing in Wu Xie’s direction with his wooden staff, “He already has a deity. The one he worships is in his heart. Perhaps... it is the only way for him to reach peace.”
Back to the present, Pangzi suddenly smiled, knocking his shoulder against Zhang Qiling’s, “Now that the real one is here, he doesn’t need the statue.”
In a moment of silence, Zhang Qiling's eyes conveyed more than words ever could. The corners of his mouth held a gentle smile, his gaze unwavering on Wu Xie as he nodded slightly, “I’m here.” However long it would be…
He spoke softly, his voice carrying a mixture of understanding and a hint of melancholy. Deep down, he knew there would be no next time a statue could be his substitute. As he’d realized, Wu Xie’s heart no longer held the capacity to endure that kind of separation. Zhang Qiling couldn’t help but feel it was partially his fault.
When Wu Xie came back to his senses, he couldn’t remember what he had been thinking about just then. However, he already expected to see Pangzi and Zhang Qiling looking at him.
Wu Xie never got any answers despite all of his thinking, but he didn’t want them anyway. It might seem very strange, but he had a hunch that his thinking was actually an answer in and of itself.