Five days later, by the stone table in front of the Bamboo House on Tai Xu Mountain.
The atmosphere was somewhat stagnant.
Fu Hua remained silent.
Her silence wasn’t her mind going blank, but rather a surge of emotions passing through her heart that even she found unfamiliar.
Should she say that Arthur possessed some kind of magic?
This thought abruptly surfaced in her heart’s lake, which had been silent for far too long, carrying a flavor she hadn’t fully analyzed.
Setting aside the strange feelings in her own heart that were becoming clearer by the day yet harder to scrutinize.
Just looking at Lin Chaoyu—the disciple she had watched grow up—the reliance and increasingly undeniable admiration in her eyes for Arthur were almost overflowing.
A young girl’s feelings, like sprouting spring grass; she was not unaware of them.
But what gave her a more wordless shock was the child she had brought back.
Only five days.
Five days ago, the child was like a frightened young beast, only daring to clutch the corner of her robe tightly, full of vigilance and detachment toward Arthur and Lin Chaoyu.
Five days later, just now, that child actually walked up to Arthur as he was loosening the soil in the Vegetable Garden, looked up with her small face, and said in a still weak but clear voice:
“My surname is Su, after my mother.
My name…
my father gave it to me, so I don’t want it anymore.”
After saying that, those excessively calm black eyes glanced at Arthur before quickly dropping, as if she had used up all her courage, and then she turned and ran away.
Leaving Arthur leaning on his hoe, stunned in place, the usual gentle smile on his face frozen for a moment.
Surname Su.
She had discarded the name her father gave her.
And then, there was now.
That child—who for now could only be called “the young daughter of the Su family”—sat quietly on the stone stool, her legs not reaching the ground, swinging gently.
Her washed face was fair, and her vermilion hair had been clumsily but earnestly tied into two small buns by Lin Chaoyu, revealing her full face.
The beauty mark below her lip was particularly clear.
She kept her eyes lowered, fiddling with the corner of her clothes, as if that earth-shattering announcement from earlier had nothing to do with her.
Arthur cleared his throat, breaking the silence.
“Um…
since Junior Sister has given her surname, we need a name to call her by. Find the original chapter at g.com.
Master, what do you think…?”
He tossed the question to Fu Hua.
Lin Chaoyu also looked at Fu Hua, her eyes filled with curiosity, but also a faint resistance she didn’t even realize she had—a concern that the newcomer might share her Senior Brother’s attention.
Fu Hua was pulled back from her thoughts.
Naming?
She was indeed silent.
Not because she was unwilling, but because…
she wasn’t good at it.
In her long years, she had held many titles and many identities, but naming someone other than herself—especially giving a child a name that would accompany them for a lifetime—felt unfamiliar and…
heavy.
A name is the beginning of a bond, a brand of identity.
Subconsciously, she turned her gaze toward Arthur.
There was a hint of an almost dependent inquiry in that gaze that she herself hadn’t noticed.
Arthur understood almost instantly.
His heart skipped a beat when he saw his Master’s rarely shown expression, which carried a bit of helplessness and a plea for help.
He quickly composed himself and began to think hard.
What would be a good name?
Su?
Surnamed Su…
Possible names flashed through his mind.
It needed to fit the customs of this era, sound pleasant, and ideally have some meaning…
Most importantly, he couldn’t just call her “Su Mei.”
Although that was the name she was “supposed” to have, he couldn’t explain how he knew it.
In his haste, a strange combination blurted out.
“Uh…
how about Su Buliao?”
As soon as the words left his mouth, he froze.
Su…
What on earth was that?
It wasn’t beautiful, it had no deep meaning, and it was even a bit of a tongue-twister.
An even deeper silence fell around the stone table.
Lin Chaoyu blinked her pale gold eyes, clearly stunned by the suggestion.
Her lips moved, but no sound came out; her eyes were filled with “Are you serious, Senior Brother?”
The little girl sitting on the stone stool stiffened.
She kept her head down, but her fingers stopped fiddling with her clothes.
Fu Hua looked at Arthur, a very subtle emotion resembling “helplessness” or even “amusement” flickering in her azure eyes, too fast to catch.
She shook her head slightly.
Though she didn’t speak, her rejection was clear.
Arthur rubbed his nose awkwardly.
Indeed, naming was a matter of talent.
Two pairs of eyes—Fu Hua’s calm ones and Arthur’s expectant ones—all looked toward the last member present: Lin Chaoyu.
Lin Chaoyu felt a bit unnerved by these two gazes, especially her Master’s.
Though calm, it seemed able to see through her panicked lack of ideas about naming.
She scratched her head awkwardly, her cheeks turning slightly red.
“Don’t, don’t look at me…
I, I’m not good at this either…”
Fu Hua didn’t seem to expect an answer from her.
She just took advantage of the silent gap and suddenly spoke, her voice calm and steady.
“Your name, ‘Chaoyu,’ how was it chosen?”
Lin Chaoyu hadn’t expected the topic to suddenly turn to her.
She was stunned for a moment, then her eyes dimmed slightly as she lowered her head, her voice softening.
“I remember…
when my parents were still around, my father found an old scholar in the village to name me.
He said it came from the classic of poetry: ‘The morning rainbow rises in the west; it rains throughout the morning.'”
Her voice grew smaller and smaller, carrying a hint of recollection for a distant warmth and the sorrow of things having changed.