Chapter 14: Boundless Springtime Drifts into Dreams, Tender Affections Trace the Winds in the Clouds

A room, a makeshift kitchen, and a circle of fences enclosing an open space.

In Guan Yin’s mind, this could hardly be called a standard Hui-style residence. Yet, as those familiar sights appeared one after another, gazing upon the white walls and black tiles nestled in the distant mountains, it did resemble the ancient Hui Prefecture in a way.

“Don’t worry, sir, Sanheng has been protecting me well,” Liu Jiao’an said upon seeing Guan Yin—not with tears or a torrent of complaints, but calmly. “This isn’t the first time. Sanheng and I both know how to handle such matters.”

Hearing Liu Jiao’an’s words and recalling the neighbors’ reactions earlier, Guan Yin increasingly felt somewhat superfluous—after all, the original self could at least supplement the household income by writing scripts.

“It’s good that madam is unharmed. You’ve been startled today; it’s best you rest early.”

Half coaxing, half urging Liu Jiao’an inside, Guan Yin stepped back just as he was about to enter, noticing Sanheng standing silently in the courtyard, stunned. Originally intending to ask about the whole sequence of events, he caught the incredulous look in Sanheng’s eyes directed at him.

Without even following Sanheng’s gaze, Guan Yin already realized what mistake he had made.

The “home,” barely deserving the phrase “small but complete,” had its kitchen burned down by his own carelessness. How should tonight’s dinner be handled? With an apologetic smile, Guan Yin said, “Uh, maybe I’ll go buy some food, and tomorrow we can rebuild together?”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than he doubted their usefulness; they might only add fuel to the fire. Hastily, he explained, “I forgot there was still something on the stove. By the time I noticed, it was already getting out of control.”

Guan Yin looked at Sanheng, Sanheng looked back at him, and finally, seeing the sincerity on Guan Yin’s face, he sighed and said, “Sir, you’d better keep away from the kitchen from now on!”

The vast mountain sky was clear and bright with a lone moon; the village was quiet except for a dog’s bark now and then. The smoke from cooking fires rose and faded. Soon, a dog barked again, drawing nearer, as if someone had left their home, passing several households before finally reaching the fence.

“Sanheng?”

“Sanheng!”

A familiar voice sounded. Guan Yin recognized the man with a sharp tongue but a soft heart. Sure enough, he appeared at the gate holding his wife’s hand and carrying a roughly made porcelain bowl.

“Sanheng?” Despite standing there dumbfounded, Guan Yin tried belatedly to greet them. Yet the man seemed not to see him at all and called Sanheng back inside.

“Ah…”

Sanheng dragged the word out as he walked out of the house.

He had just gone inside to refill his wife’s tea. Seeing his own husband still outside, Sanheng glanced at Guan Yin before focusing on the newcomers. “Didn’t I already tell you? My wife wouldn’t cause trouble or get involved with anyone else!”

Sanheng was usually steady, but sometimes his words ran ahead of his thoughts. Seeing what the visitors held and understanding their purpose, he stumbled over his words, “What I mean is... uh, um... I thank you both on behalf of my wife and myself!”

Handing over the food to Sanheng, the neighboring couple did not linger and soon returned along the same path. Another series of dog barks followed from near to far, and the village soon returned to its original tranquility.

“What others say, sir, you really need not mind,” Sanheng spoke earnestly. “The past is not something you can choose, but you are my wife’s own choice.”

Guan Yin nodded.

“Aren’t you coming back? It’s time to eat.” Sanheng had already brought in two bowls and now stood at the doorway holding the remaining two, passing on his wife’s words to the still-dazed Guan Yin. “My wife says you need not worry. Tomorrow’s matters can wait. As long as everyone is safe, that’s what matters.”

Guan Yin shook his head.

“You and my wife eat first.” Though the poet Qingyun Langyue’s words spoke of clouds and moonlight separated by a thousand miles, Guan Yin knew the distance was unbridgeable. Liu Jiao’an was a good woman, and this land seemed promising, but it was unrelated to him. He should not frivolously interfere in an era of history with modern thinking.

As he sat down, Guan Yin began to ponder how to leave—whether the original self would return or this body would die completely, either option was better suited to existing in this time, beside Liu Jiao’an and Sanheng.

“The Twenty-four Bridges remain, waves ripple, the cold moon silent.”

“The sorrow of separation, mountains and rivers drifting apart...”

Hearing the familiar voice, Guan Yin knew he was dreaming again.

“Sis, my dear sister, Guan Yin, you’ve finally come... These students are really hard to manage! Some don’t do their homework; others just copy down articles in class. If I keep teaching, I’m afraid I’ll end up summoning parents. Those parents will probably want to tear me apart!”

Cheng Heng seemed far more accepting of time travel and meeting in dreams than Guan Yin, though his situation seemed more complicated. “If only I could find you and swap places with you!”

Unlike Liu Jiao’an’s composed demeanor, Cheng Heng was more like a child caught between two worlds, relying on Guan Yin to find solutions.

“At school, the students’ progress is uneven; you needn’t worry about that. But your demonstration...”

“How can my handwriting compare to the ancients who wrote in official script or typed on typewriters? It’s a miracle it hasn’t turned into scribbles!” Cheng Heng was genuinely at his wit’s end.

Every scriptwriter dreams of stepping into their own work to live through a character’s tumultuous life. But to do so, one must wield the character’s skills and memories to survive in a completely different era!

“Everyone says time travel is great; I say you won’t live to old age!”

Listening to Cheng Heng’s incessant chatter, Guan Yin was not annoyed—it echoed his own feelings. After years of teacher training and months of internship, he no longer had the urge to vent so plainly.

“Besides, I found a letter the other day. I feel this teacher’s story isn’t so simple. You know, the Lanxiang family in my script is a tea merchant house. If they hired a teacher for their child, they’d surely employ a private tutor, like Du Liniang and Chunxiang. This one... uh, is it a private school? It must mean this teacher is no ordinary person.”

“Hey, Guan Yin?”

“Are you even listening?” Cheng Heng sighed. After saying so much, Guan Yin seemed lost in his own world.

“I’m wondering: every script has its purpose. What’s your purpose here?”

“Hm?”

“I don’t think it’s to forcibly change anything... The history of an era is often inevitable. Too progressive ideas, when mismatched with the economic and labor conditions, amount only to empty talk.”

“Anhui? Hui merchants? Patriotism?” The disconnected words made Cheng Heng dizzy. “What does that have to do with teaching?”