Chapter 22: Fading Springtime, No One Casts a Spell; Distant Temple Bells, A Solitary Sorrow

“Knock... knock... knock...”

“Knock... knock... knock...”

When the rhythmic tapping slipped in through the window, Guan Yin finally managed to rouse himself from sleep. Yet when he pricked up his ears and listened carefully for the source, not even the tail end of a sound remained.

What were those students, anyway?

The first thought that came to Guan Yin upon waking was still tangled in the letter he had just read. Could the original Guan Yin and Liu Jiao'an also have exchanged letters that had been hidden away for many years?

“My lord?”

Why was Liu Jiao'an, who had just returned from the market, the one standing before him? Guan Yin had heard nothing of San Heng. The sun had already set, and darkness was spreading across the sky. San Heng should not have been absent.

“My lady, is San Heng not here?”

“I did not see him when I came in either.”

“I wonder when he slipped out.”

San Heng had always treated both him and Liu Jiao'an well. He had even abandoned the comfortable life offered by the Liu family to follow his mistress into this tiny, half-ruined house. How could that fail to move anyone?

And yet Guan Yin had always felt there was something strange about San Heng.

Perhaps he was simply too precocious. Or perhaps he was far too “merciful” toward someone who had come from the entertainment quarter.

Liu Jiao'an could never bear to see Guan Yin frown. The moment his brows drew together, she was already trying to reassure him.

“He is no longer a child. He can protect you and me now, so there is no need to worry so much. Perhaps he went to look for his parents.”

Guan Yin did not want to trouble himself needlessly either. It was only that the letter Cheng Heng had received seemed almost like a silent warning, as though it were trying to tell him something.

For instance: Was this world truly real?

Or perhaps...

Guan Yin was unwilling to believe in such supernatural nonsense. Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio had been written to warn people, after all, and he had no particular greed in his heart. As a public-school teacher who had remained single for more than twenty years, he had never had much experience with seductive spirits.

No matter how powerful a demon might be, could it really devise more tricks than students unwilling to do their homework?

After all these years as a student himself, Guan Yin was certain the answer was no.

“My lady, do you think we truly exist between Heaven and Earth?”

“My lord once told me the story of Zhuang Zhou dreaming he was a butterfly.” Liu Jiao'an poured him a cup of tea and answered unhurriedly. “He also told me not to become lost in it.”

Could the original Guan Yin really have discussed such philosophical matters with Liu Jiao'an?

Guan Yin had not originally thought so far. But since she had brought it up, he naturally followed the thread.

“Then tell me—are we butterflies, or are we Zhuang Zhou?”

“I do not know what my lord thinks. I only know that I am neither Zhuang Zhou nor a butterfly. I am Jiao'an. I am simply myself.”

Her answer was unexpected, yet entirely reasonable. For some inexplicable reason, Guan Yin felt that the ancients seemed to see things more clearly than people did now.

In the days when a hundred schools of thought had contended, how many ideas had collided and flourished? Why was it that now, despite having long since achieved what the ancients described as knowing all beneath Heaven without stepping beyond one’s door, so few new philosophies were ever discussed?

Was it because people could no longer quiet their minds? Or had all those countless voices finally drowned out their own, making everything more complicated instead?

“What does my lord think?”

“I am who I am.”

Faced with Liu Jiao'an’s question, Guan Yin, unwilling though he was to brush her off, could only give her an answer that amounted to saying, “I feel the same.”

Liu Jiao'an was a good woman. But the deep affection and devotion she had shared with the original Guan Yin might not allow this intruder, who did not belong here, to remain in her life. Until he found a way home, Guan Yin did not want to take that risk.

“It is late. You have been busy all day, my lady. Have some hot tea and rest.”

Before Liu Jiao'an could ask another question he would not know how to answer, Guan Yin rose, poured her a cup of tea, and offered it to her with both hands.

“You have worked hard, my lady.”

“Mm. Take care of yourself too, my lord.”

She accepted the cup and drained it in one breath. Liu Jiao'an had never doubted the intentions of the person beside her. Fortunately, Guan Yin had never entertained any thought of harming her.

Just as Liu Jiao'an was about to set down the cup, Guan Yin thought of something else he wanted to ask.

“Oh, my lady.”

“Go on.”

Her tenderness was like water. Liu Jiao'an always possessed endless patience and forbearance, waiting for the person before her, quietly attending to him.

“If... if you could return to the past, do you think you could change the present?”

“What does my lord mean?”

Liu Jiao'an had never read any tales of time travel, and for a moment she could not understand what Guan Yin was trying to say. Her eyes glimmered with moisture as she looked at him.

“Is my lord referring to those stories of borrowed corpses and returning souls? I do not believe such a thing is possible.”

“When someone leaves, they never come back. To see them rise from the dead and clear their own names is nothing more than wishful thinking.”

Liu Jiao'an’s words sent a tremor through Guan Yin’s mind. He was even more astonished than when he had seen the letter.

For one brief moment, he felt that with every word she spoke, Liu Jiao'an was looking through him at someone else—as though she had known all along that the original Guan Yin was gone, and that he was not the man who had accompanied her through all those years.

“What are you thinking about, my lord?”

“I was thinking... if you could return to the past, would you still choose to come here with me and endure this hard life?”

Liu Jiao'an was strangely forceful today, and Guan Yin was desperate to change the subject.

“If I returned to the past and truly chose not to be with my lord, what would you think?” There was a sly glint in her eyes, and her tone seemed deliberately teasing. “Would you be unhappy?”

“But returning to the past is impossible, is it not? Even if I did everything in my power to change something, perhaps we would never have become who we are today. And what is forced into being might not be better than what we have now.”

Liu Jiao'an saw things with remarkable clarity. Guan Yin knew that, in truth, she was much like him.

To interfere recklessly in the unfolding of events was to invite consequences no one could foresee. No one knew how profoundly even the smallest alteration might transform the course of history.

And so, after crossing into this world, Guan Yin had done nothing more than try to live according to the customs and circumstances of the present. He had never tried to flaunt the extraordinary intellect of a modern man, nor dreamed of becoming some regional overlord.

“What is wrong with you today, my lord? Did a troubling dream startle you?”

Just when Guan Yin thought Liu Jiao'an would say nothing more, her concern arrived all the same.

“Not really.”

Guan Yin was about to offer some further explanation when Liu Jiao'an turned toward the door, carrying a kettle filled with hot water.

“Another day, I will prepare some calming medicine for you. It cannot be good for your health to wake at night and sleep through the day.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

“Taking good care of yourself would be the greatest gift you could give me.”

The door, left only slightly ajar, shut firmly over her final words. Guan Yin had assumed Liu Jiao'an would not hear him.

Yet when she returned carrying a bowl of hot soup, the very first thing she said was a response to his words.