The mountain wind still blew fiercely, making the thousands upon thousands of red ribbons tied to the Magpie Tree dance wildly. They looked like flames licking around the ancient Sacred Tree, or surging veins of blood.
The constant clinking of silver ornaments filled the air, like countless tiny wishes joining in a symphony on the wind.
Jiang Shu gazed up at the magnificent, almost sacred scene and couldn’t help smiling as she remarked, her voice scattered by the wind, “So many red ribbons… Are they for praying for a good match?”
At that, Uncle Luo let out a hearty laugh. The wrinkles on his dark face relaxed as he imitated the cultured men he’d seen, stroking his chin with an air of profundity—even though he had no beard.
“Haha, Young Miss Jiang, you’ve got the wrong idea!” he called, raising his voice over the wind. “The Magpie Tree is our village’s guardian tree. Its blessings really work! The elders say its seeds fell from the heavens, seeds of the immortals! Our ancestors enshrined it and prayed for it to bless our village with good weather and bountiful harvests, safety for people and livestock, and freedom from illness and disaster!”
He paused, looking at the fluttering red ribbons. A more reverent expression came into his eyes. Then he turned back to Jiang Shu, his gaze carrying the simple, benevolent humor of a mountain man who believed all things had spirits. He winked.
“But then again… you never know, maybe it does work for matchmaking too! When it grants blessings, who’s to say a good match isn’t among them? If your heart is sincere, your prayers will be answered. If you have something in mind, Young Miss Jiang, why not give it a try?”
His words were playful, yet somehow didn’t seem flippant. Instead, they carried a natural respect for and acceptance of the ancient beliefs.
Jiang Shu smiled at his words and turned her gaze once more to the fluttering red ribbons.
The mountain wind whipped the ribbons into a rustling roar, like countless little flags proclaiming the wishes of mortals to the heavens. Reassured by Uncle Luo’s answer, Jiang Shu raised the camera hanging from her neck.
She chose her angles, sometimes focusing on the close-up details of the tree’s gnarled, powerful trunk, its roots and branches twisting like dragons, and sometimes pulling back to frame the whole massive tree, bathed in daylight and covered in prayers, along with the vast mountain wilderness it guarded.
The camera’s soft click was swallowed by the harmony of the wind and silver ornaments.
Suddenly, she felt something so faint it was almost imperceptible, yet impossible to ignore.
It was as if a gaze—calm, intent, and touched by something she couldn’t quite name—had settled on her back from some hidden corner.
A gaze… stiller and deeper, as though it could pierce her skin.
Jiang Shu abruptly stopped taking pictures.
She turned around almost at once, her eyes sweeping quickly over the surroundings. Aside from Uncle Luo, still waiting for her with a cheerful smile, there was no one else. The thick trees swayed in the wind, casting shifting shadows, but she couldn’t see any sign that someone was hiding there.
“What’s wrong, Young Miss Jiang?” Uncle Luo asked with concern when he noticed her expression.
“…It’s nothing.” Jiang Shu shook her head, suppressing the strange sensation that had surged through her a moment earlier. She managed a faint smile. “Maybe the sun’s gone to my head.”
She raised her camera again, but her mind was elsewhere. The feeling of being watched had come suddenly and vanished just as completely, but she was certain it hadn’t been her imagination.
In this place, steeped in the presence of ancient spirits, a nameless chill crept slowly up her spine.
After lingering a little longer and taking enough pictures, Jiang Shu headed back down the mountain with Uncle Luo, following the same path they’d come up. She walked faster than before, as if trying to shake off the subtle discomfort that clung to her.
The mountain wind continued to blow through the Magpie Tree, and its thousands upon thousands of red ribbons danced without tiring.
Not long after they had left, a tall, slender figure silently emerged from behind the shadow of a rock farther up the mountain.
Shen Qingxu was still wearing his indigo Miao attire. The silver ornaments made only the faintest clinking sounds as he moved. He stopped beneath the Magpie Tree and tilted his head slightly to look at the ancient tree, revered as a god.
Sunlight filtered through its dense branches, dappling his cold, pale face.
His gaze was deep, as though he were examining the ancient presence. In his eyes was a stillness far beyond his years, laden with meaning—and disgust.
The wind lifted the hair falling over his forehead and stirred the little green snake coiled around his wrist, disguised as a bracelet. The snake raised its head slightly and hissed rapidly at the fluttering red ribbons, its bright red tongue flickering. Then it settled down again.
Shen Qingxu looked away from the Magpie Tree and toward the narrow path Jiang Shu had taken down the mountain. His eyes were dark, his expression unreadable.
Climbing the mountain had taken far more energy than Jiang Shu expected. By the time she got back to the guesthouse, her calves felt weak, her damp bangs clung to her skin, and dust and bits of grass covered her clothes.
She went upstairs and took a long, comfortable hot shower, washing away the sweat and fatigue. After changing into clean, soft loungewear, she finally felt alive again. Lunch was a simple local meal, light and appetizing. By the time she’d finished eating at her leisure, sleepiness had begun to wash over her like a gentle tide.
Yawning, she headed for the stairs, planning to go back to her room for a nap. She had just stepped onto the first stair when she saw someone coming down from above.
It was the bespectacled, scholarly-looking man from the tour group, carrying a black thermos. The staircase wasn’t very wide, and they came face-to-face.
Jiang Shu instinctively moved aside to let him pass. He stopped too, adjusted his glasses, and gave her a gentle smile and a slight nod, his manner courteous and refined.
Jiang Shu returned his polite nod. Without exchanging any further glances, they passed each other, one going up and the other down.
Back in her third-floor room, the mountain breeze drifted in through the open floor-to-ceiling window, carrying the warmth of the afternoon and the scent of plants. It made her all the more drowsy.
Jiang Shu leaned against the headboard and picked up her phone to admire the pictures she’d taken at the “Magpie Tree” that morning. The sight of the giant tree, lush beneath the vast sky and surrounded by countless fluttering red ribbons, had truly been breathtaking.
She selected a few pictures and sent them to President Jiang and Mother Jiang, along with a brief message to let them know she was safe and tell them about the fresh air and delicious food.
Sleepiness deepened. The phone slipped from her hand, and she sank into the soft pillow, falling almost instantly into a deep, dreamless sleep. Her breathing grew slow and even. The birdsong and faint voices outside became distant background noise.
She slept peacefully, unaware of it all.
A butterfly quietly flew in through the open floor-to-ceiling window.
Its wings were not an ordinary color, but a deep, dusky blue with a faint phosphorescent sheen, their edges traced with dark gold. Its flight was erratic, like a silent ghost.
It circled twice in the bright room, as though drawn by something, then finally alighted lightly beside Jiang Shu’s sleeping form. It circled once around the black strands of hair scattered on her pillow, then cautiously approached her shoulder, which rose and fell with her breathing. It kept a subtle distance, never quite touching her.
Its wings beat slowly, shedding tiny, almost invisible specks of shimmering powder. It circled her like that for several long seconds, as though quietly observing her—or confirming something.
At last, as if its task were complete, it turned gracefully and flew back the way it had come, slipping silently out the window and vanishing into the brilliant sunlight and greenery beyond.
All that remained was Jiang Shu, sleeping soundly, and the tranquil room, with perhaps a trace of faint blue light in the air, slowly settling.