Along the way, Chen Jia’er talked with Yang Zengyue about her own affairs. Jiuxiao listened at the side, unable to work out how his granddaughter had come to know this girl.
From their chatter, Jiuxiao gathered that Chen Jia’er was from Yunqing City, while Zengyue studied in Nanyuan, the two of them at opposite ends, north and south.
This girl had arrived at Sikun Mountain three days ago. When he first met her, he’d noticed her jacket was snagged and torn, clearly the result of long wandering in the mountains.
When she saw him, her eyes had lit up, and her skill at coaxing information out of people was severely at odds with her appearance.
Every route she used to fish for news left even him feeling outdone. Jiuxiao had at first been skeptical of her identity, but the girl was very sincere.
When she asked him about Zengyue, her eyes were full of respect and admiration, without a shred of calculation, so he’d brought her home to keep an eye on her.
He’d been afraid she might mean Zengyue some harm.
Now it seemed his decision yesterday had been the right one. But how had Zengyue come to know this girl, and be on such good terms with her?
Walking the mountain path, Jiuxiao pondered it a long while.
Yang Zengyue and Chen Jia’er each carried a back-basket loaded with some dry rations and drinking water.
In the past, on the first and fifteenth of each month, so long as Yang Zengyue was home, she would accompany her master up Sikun Mountain.
Jiuxiao was a cultivator, and the place where he cultivated was Xingyun Temple, up on the mountain.
As for her master’s secular life when he wasn’t cultivating, she hadn’t asked much about it before.
It was only later, after the apocalypse, that she learned Master came from a great family, one that ranked among the noted clans in all the Mid-Dimensional Realm.
The three of them climbed slowly up the path. Sikun Mountain was full of jagged rocks and verdant trees, birds perched on branches singing, and there was the faint tinkle of a mountain spring, the scenery was lovely.
Few people ever came here, so Sikun Mountain remained in its natural state.
Xingyun Temple, where they were headed, was a place of cultivation said to be nearly a thousand years old.
It was where Jiuxiao had first formed his bond with cultivation, and also where the master-and-disciple bond between the two of them had begun.
Yang Zengyue walked very slowly, as if wanting to fix every tree of Sikun Mountain in her heart.
The dog Pumpkin had all but disappeared once they entered the mountain.
This was its turf, and Yang Zengyue knew it would surely be waiting for them at the entrance of the great hall of Xingyun Temple.
“Master, slow down.” Yang Zengyue had turned rather fussy, which the watching Chen Jia’er found endlessly amusing.
This was nothing like the Yang Zengyue of the apocalypse, decisive, absolute, the one whose very name made others tremble three times over.
Jiuxiao waved a careless hand. “Enough now, I’m hale and hearty. I’ve walked this mountain path for over fifty years.”
Yang Zengyue smiled. Ever since waking she’d been worrying over every little thing, all because of that pain of losing family, she didn’t want to go through it a second time.
“Master, this summer break we won’t go west. I want to do a few construction projects. Once I’ve shown you the design, we can refine it further.” Yang Zengyue began telling Jiuxiao her plans.
The girl’s voice rang clear, echoing deep in the mountains, and with the path so tranquil, Yang Zengyue’s heart settled along with it.
Jiuxiao admitted he was only the slightest bit surprised at why she’d want to do all this. After hearing her out, he asked, “You mean to build Sikun Mountain here into a farm, self-sufficient, and from now on, not go to school anymore?”
Yang Zengyue looked up at her master, her eyes firm and her tone resolute. “Once we reach the great hall and finish paying respects to the founding patriarch, I’ll tell you the reason.”
Jiuxiao looked toward Chen Jia’er at the side. “Miss Chen, you’re not going to school either?”
“Grandpa, just call me Jia’er.” Chen Jia’er wasn’t quite used to that form of address. Then she broke into a smile, two deep dimples looking very cute, and nodded without hesitation. “Right, I’m going to help Zengyue with the projects.”
Yang Zengyue had no intention of hiding things from Jiuxiao, she believed her master had already noticed how abnormal she’d been since returning.
And Chen Jia’er’s appearance was another point of question.
The two matters—rebirth, and the apocalypse, had to be told to Master.
Since she’d been given the chance to start over, there was no way she’d leave Master to go to school again.
She would protect all of this, guard this old man who was wholeheartedly devoted to her.
Jiuxiao reflected that, since coming back, his granddaughter hadn’t only changed greatly in her thinking, her disposition had grown steadier too.
The way she did things, the way she weighed matters, was utterly beyond her years. She was like a winter plum that had weathered wind and frost, waiting to bloom.
No, more like a sword honed over many years, waiting only to leave its sheath.
Walking and pondering, Jiuxiao wondered: could Zengyue have received the fortune of waking from a single night’s dream?
The truth was not far off from his guess.
And once he learned it, he would sigh over what Zengyue and Chen Jia’er had suffered, and feel grateful all the same.
An hour later, the three arrived at the front gate of an ancient structure. On the plain wooden plaque, three vigorous, powerful characters were carved:
Xingyun Temple
It was a very old building, even from outside the mountain gate, one could see the grandeur of the great hall within.
The flying eaves swept high, and endearingly rendered animals crouched at the upturned corners, the twelve zodiac animals lined up in order, each lifelike, like a full sexagenary cycle turning.
Behind this structure hid several smaller ones, together forming a picture like the flow of ages, ancient and eternal.
Yang Zengyue took out a key and opened the closed wooden door. With a “creak,” it was as if a door onto the far side of time had opened.
In the broad courtyard some wind-blown leaves had gathered, and cute little squirrels hopped merrily about the ground. Hearing the sound, they all fled warily back up the trees.
On an ordinary day Chen Jia’er would surely have dashed over to catch a few squirrels to play with, but she knew the occasion, so she followed behind Yang Zengyue to the great hall.
Yang Zengyue climbed the steps.
Nine in all, yet it felt as if she’d walked an entire lifetime.
For her, she truly had already lived one.
Jiuxiao watched her back, devout and reverent.
As always, and yet Jiuxiao understood: today Zengyue’s expression was different from before.
In it was a transcendence that comes only after time has settled and deepened.
Pumpkin darted out from somewhere and followed Yang Zengyue and the others into the hall.
Pushing open the doors, they found it very spacious inside. Although they came twice a month, some small animals that treated the place as home had still left their traces in the hall.
Yang Zengyue set her back-basket outside the hall door, went to the side hall to fetch cloths, and she and Chen Jia’er each carried in a bucket of water and began cleaning the various objects in the great hall.
Chen Jia’er followed her.
Whatever Yang Zengyue did, she did, every bit the little sidekick.
On the hall’s dais stood a statue: Lu Xingyun, the founding patriarch who had established Xingyun Temple.
Once the cleaning was done, Yang Zengyue took incense and joss paper, knelt on the cushion beneath the statue, lit them, and offered incense devoutly, everything done just as Jiuxiao had taught her from memory.
Rising to place the incense in the burner, Yang Zengyue knelt again on the cushion, closed her eyes, and reverently kowtowed nine times before the statue.
In her heart she silently vowed:
Disciple Yang Zengyue, blessed by the founding patriarch Xingyun, has been granted this chance. The things left unfinished in my past life, this disciple will make right in this one. As for the secrets of Xingyun Temple, no one need think to take them from Yang Zengyue’s hands.
Having kowtowed, Yang Zengyue kept her eyes shut and silently recited once more the cultivation mantra left behind by the founding patriarch Xingyun. Only after two sticks of incense had burned down did she open her eyes, drawing in all her sharpness.
After lighting his own incense, Jiuxiao went to sit outside the great hall.
That was where he usually sat in meditation, from there one could gaze far over everything in the courtyard and the distant mountain peaks.
Finishing her recitation, Yang Zengyue went to his side and sat cross-legged on the cushion facing him, just as she had done so many times before.
As if by some tacit understanding, she turned to look back at the statue of Patriarch Xingyun.
The statue sat upright upon the incense table, its face kindly and serene. In that moment, Yang Zengyue understood that all of this, this chance to start over, was a gift, a present bestowed on her by Heaven.
Hair bound, granted long life.