July 4th, six o’clock in the morning on Sikun Mountain.
Mist coiled through the air, the leaves lush and green enough to drip, birds singing merrily, insect calls rising and falling, a scene of flourishing life.
The sunlight soon poured into the courtyard, then slipped through the curtains into the second-floor room.
The room’s owner, Yang Zengyue, lay on her comfortable bed, breathing rapidly, her brows nearly knotted together as if in a nightmare.
In a moment, feeling the warmth of the sunlight, Yang Zengyue snapped her eyes open.
She hadn’t enjoyed such comfort in a very long time, a flash of sharpness shot through her eyes.
Seeing the ceiling, she sensed something was wrong. Quickly, with a carp’s-flip she sat straight up and reflexively reached for her weapon, only to find nothing beside her…
Yang Zengyue came fully awake in an instant.
She’d already come home last night.
And she’d seen Master.
Even though she’d returned to before the apocalypse, she still wasn’t used to waking in a different environment, the habits formed over long years in the apocalypse couldn’t be shaken off.
Giving her head a shake, Yang Zengyue got up and walked to the window. Light shone gently in through the half-open curtains.
Even through them she could smell the fragrance of grass and trees in the courtyard, with the faint, distinctive scent of medicinal plants slipping into her nose.
This was a Sikun Mountain morning.
Beyond the window, birdsong.
In the air, the scent of flowers.
Everything quiet and peaceful.
None of the blood, none of the battles fought out of the sheer need to survive.
Yang Zengyue drew a deep breath of Sikun Mountain’s fresh air. Remembering she’d told Master yesterday they’d go up the mountain today, she quickly dressed, tied up her hair, went downstairs, and knocked on Chen Jia’er’s door as she passed the guest room.
Chen Jia’er, used to rising early, was already ready. She wore a trim, army-green long-sleeved work outfit, her hair tied into a ponytail, her eyes clear and bright, looking sweet and lovely.
Watching this version of Chen Jia’er, Yang Zengyue’s heart was full. They’d been through tribulation, then returned to before the tribulation came, and everything was within her own grasp.
She felt fortunate.
Chen Jia’er’s slightly sweet, soft voice reached Yang Zengyue’s ears. “Morning, Sister Zengyue.”
She greeted her as she always had, but with a different mood, her tone changed a great deal, cheerful and bright.
“Jia’er, morning. Come on, let’s go downstairs to wash up.” Yang Zengyue greeted her back with a smile.
She felt light all over.
“Pit-pat, pit-pat—”
After a flurry of footsteps down the stairs, Yang Zengyue reached the first-floor doorway and saw her master, Jiuxiao, exercising in the early morning.
The spirited old man was leisurely practicing his fist forms, every move and stance precise, the force of his fists vigorous, you could feel the shift of air currents as they sliced through the air. He looked every bit the immortal.
Yang Zengyue slowed her steps and finally stopped in the doorway, her right hand bracing the door frame, cautious, afraid that with one motion the scene before her would burst like a bubble.
Even knowing she’d come back, she still couldn’t quiet the violent pounding of her heart.
Swallowing, she forced down the surge inside her.
In the morning light there was still a bit of water-mist, against the glare, one could see the girl’s peerless beauty.
Her lashes were long and slightly upturned, her eyes the standard almond shape, their corners tilting a touch upward.
When her heart was calm, those eyes should hold a look of contentment with the world.
But right now, there was panic in them.
Yang Zengyue’s full lips were pressed tight, her brow unsmoothed, her heart was in turmoil.
She had come back.
The master before her couldn’t be more real.
And yet the pain of that loss, she could never forget it.
Chen Jia’er didn’t step up to disturb her.
She quietly went off to wash up.
Yang Zengyue felt her heart beating erratically, the corners of her eyes reddening, a mist gathering in them.
The emotion she hadn’t had time to unleash the night before erupted fully in the morning.
Was it because in the apocalypse she’d fought valiantly and saved so many people that she’d been granted this second chance at life?
Heaven truly hadn’t failed her.
In her past life she’d worked so hard, it was Master’s faith that had sustained her as she cut through thorns and brambles, and it was Master who had given her the skills to survive the apocalypse.
Yet she had lost him.
Hearing his granddaughter’s footsteps down the stairs, the practicing Jiuxiao halted and looked toward the girl leaning in the doorway.
Her face still carried some baby fat, she was tall and well-proportioned, her hair now very long but all tied up into a bun atop her head. She wore the purple slanted-collar practice robe she liked to wear at home.
But Jiuxiao noticed the change in her, her gaze, and the aura about her, were markedly different from before.
The doubt he’d carried since last night lingered in his heart, and he was quite certain that, in that instant just now, she’d revealed the aura only a true powerhouse would have.
Extremely strong!
Beyond what he could comprehend!
But, how could that be?
Jiuxiao saw the black beads on her wrist, in the morning light they looked especially striking.
In this stretch of time, something must have happened to her that he didn’t know about.
“Master, good morning.” This morning greeting, seven years late, she finally spoke aloud.
In her past life, the past life, she supposed, she had, after untold hardships, still rushed back to Sikun Mountain.
But by then the place stood empty, deserted. That last moment she’d left Sikun Mountain to go to school had turned out to be her final parting with Master.
Master was the only family she’d had in her past life and this one, in those seven years of struggle through the apocalypse, that regret had nearly become her inner demon.
“Morning. Go wash up, we’ll head up the mountain after breakfast.” Jiuxiao gently patted his granddaughter’s shoulder.
There was boundless tenderness in it, and it filled Yang Zengyue’s heart to the brim.
Yang Zengyue gave a nasal “Mm.”
She turned to wash up. By the time she’d finished, she’d reined in her emotions.
Together with Chen Jia’er she prepared breakfast, they planned to cook a bowl of egg noodles for each person.
Jiuxiao came into the kitchen and watched the busy Yang Zengyue, she seemed no different from usual, didn’t she?
Pumpkin scampered happily around her, and whenever she teased it a little the dog was overjoyed.
Chen Jia’er worked in sync with her, the two cooperated smoothly, clearly longtime acquaintances.
Only when handling certain kitchen tools did they seem a bit unpracticed.
After eating, Jiuxiao sat beneath the grape trellis, the teapot on the table steaming. Yang Zengyue walked over and sat down, her expression reverent yet a little rusty as she poured tea for him.
The dog Pumpkin wagged its tail and rubbed against her foot, then went off to play on its own.
Yang Zengyue’s heart suddenly turned warm, so warm, a smile lingering on her face.
Jiuxiao saw that the way she poured tea was just like the way she’d handled the kitchen tools earlier, and the doubt in his heart grew very large indeed.
He knew that when Yang Zengyue wanted to keep something hidden, no one could pry it out of her, this child had been stubborn since she was small.
Chen Jia’er had never savored tea this way before, having had no chance to, so she curiously mimicked Zengyue’s movements, poured herself a cup, blew on it, and drank it down in one go.
Refreshing.
Then she and Yang Zengyue exchanged a smile.
Both of them read the emotion hidden in the other’s eyes.
After the tea and a short rest, the three took the things they’d prepared the night before, locked the door, and entered the densely wooded Sikun Mountain.