The sharp whistle of the wooden sword sliced the cool morning air.
Swing.
Swing.
Swing.
A young boy persisted, his small hands clenched around the wood.
Sweat beaded on his forehead and traced paths down his temples.
His arms shook with the effort.
Suddenly, the sword slipped from his grip and hit the packed earth with a soft thud.
He doubled over, gasping for breath.
“Haa…
haa…”
A quiet voice cut through his labored breathing.
“What was that?”
The boy froze.
An older man stood a few paces away, arms crossed.
He looked to be in his mid-forties, his face composed, but a hint of disappointment shadowed his eyes.
“You’re tired already, after just twenty-seven swings?
Or have you forgotten the maximum count?”
The boy looked down, unable to meet the man’s gaze.
“One hundred.”
The older man gave a slow nod.
“That’s right.
Now, get back to it until you reach one hundred.”
Without a word of protest, the boy retrieved the fallen sword.
He resumed his swings, picking up where he had stopped.
After he completed fifty-eight swings, the older man observed the clear exhaustion etched on the boy’s frame.
He let out a soft sigh.
“That’s enough for now.
Go get some rest.”
Confusion flickered across the boy’s face, but his body, pushed to its limit, finally gave way and the boy collapsed onto the ground.
His chest rose and fell with every exhausted breath.
He didn’t have the strength to lift a single finger.
His master glanced at him before quietly walking away, leaving the boy to recover on his own.
The boy stared at the clear blue sky above.
A relieved sigh escaped his lips.
“What a relief, I didn’t have to do a hundred swings today.
If I had, I think my body would have just shut down and I wouldn’t have been able to move a single muscle afterwards.”
For a brief instant, a faint smile flickered across his face, but it was quickly replaced by a stern expression, his features tightening up in a matter of seconds.
“Wait.
I still have chores…”
The happiness didn’t last long, it just disappeared.
The boy was so tired, but he made himself sit up anyway, letting out a deep groan as he did.
“Why is growing up so difficult?”
The boy slowly pushed himself to his feet, dusting the dirt from his clothes, his body still ached from training, every muscle begging him to rest.
Unfortunately there was still work to be done.
As he breathed out a soft sigh, he began walking towards the fields.
Out of all the tasks his master had assigned to him, ploughing the fields was the one he enjoyed the most.
There was something about the repetitive movement that helped calm his thoughts, and the cool breeze made the tiredness a bit more manageable.
The fresh air filled his lungs, and he felt his mind start to clear, like the fog lifting off the fields at dawn.
It was a small comfort, but it was enough to make the hard work a little more bearable.
Once the fields were finished, the young boy returned to the house.
He swept the wooden floors, cleaned each room, fetched fresh water, and finished the remaining household chores one by one.
By the time he was done, the golden sun had begun to sink beyond the distant mountains, painting the sky in shades of orange and crimson.
“…It’s already evening.”
So, after getting everything else done, the only thing left to do was to make dinner.
The boy stepped into the kitchen and lit the stove.
Before long, the comforting aroma of freshly cooked food filled the small house.
He carefully prepared two simple meals before placing them neatly on the table.
Looking over his work, he gave a small nod of satisfaction.
“Not bad.”
A faint smile crept onto his face because this time, for a change, he was pretty sure he hadn’t messed anything up.
After finishing up with dinner, the boy grabbed a cloth to wipe his hands, and then he headed to the room where his master liked to spend his evenings.
He gently slid the door open.
“Master?”
He sat there, calmly, in front of the huge dragon painting on the wall.
His hands were folded on his knees, and he was talking to it softly, like it was someone he knew really well, someone who would understand everything he said.
The boy blinked.
No matter how many times he witnessed it, he could never understand it and it wasn’t just the painting.
Sometimes his master would spend an afternoon talking to the birds perched outside the window.
Other times, he would greet the stray cats that wandered into the yard as if they were honored guests.
It was strange….very strange.
After spending years together, he had grown accustomed to his master’s ways, and it had become second nature to accept him for who he was.
Just as he was about to say something, his master turned to him with a gentle, warm smile, and for a moment, everything else seemed to fade away.
“Sun Yunso, is dinner ready?”
“Yes, Master Su Qing.”
“Excellent.”
Su Qing slowly rose to his feet
“Then let us eat.”
As the old master made his way to the door, he walked by Yunso with the same peaceful smile that had become so familiar.
Yunso, however, couldn’t resist taking one last look at the dragon painting, and he found himself pondering the same question he always did – what was it about that painting that made his master treat it like an old friend, having normal conversations with it as if it were a real person?
The master’s behavior had always seemed a bit strange to Yunso, but at the same time, it was also kind of comforting to see him so at ease with the artwork.
He just wasn’t interested enough, so he decided to drop it and followed his master to the dinner table instead.
The two sat across from one another in comfortable silence and only the sound of clinking chopsticks against bowls and the occasional crackle of the fire was heard.
Yunso quietly watched his master as they ate.
Su Qing took another bite, and then another.
A small smile started to form at the corner of his lips.
He remembered how, years ago, Yunso’s cooking had been a complete disaster.
Burnt rice, oversalted soup and undercooked vegetables.
Su Qing had managed to get through every meal without saying a word of complaint.
As Su Qing watched the boy cook, he was amazed at how much his skills had improved.
It was incredible to see how far Yunso had come, and it filled Su Qing’s heart with a sense of pride and warmth, reminding him of just how much the young boy had grown and developed over time.
Yunso blinked.
“M-Master…”
Su Qing looked up.
“…Is that a smile?”
The question took him by surprise, and in a split second, he looked away.
I’m completely clueless, what are you even referring to with this smile thing?
Yunso raised an eyebrow.
“I just saw one.”
“You didn’t.”
“I did.”
“You imagined it.”
“Master.”
Su Qing cleared his throat, then spoke in a totally serious tone.
“And besides…What even is a smile?”
Yunso burst into laughter.
He laughed so hard he nearly dropped his chopsticks.
Su Qing frowned, pretending to be annoyed.
“You find your master amusing?”
“N-No…”
Yunso struggled to hold back another laugh.
“I’ve just…
never heard anyone deny smiling before.”
“Hmph.”
Su Qing crossed his arms, turning his head to the side, but a small smile still managed to sneak onto his face.