Chapter 69: The Years to Come (2)

When I returned to the mountain, I was still immersed in sadness and couldn’t extricate myself, but I found that my master had already been waiting for me at the mouth of the valley where the bamboo forest cottage was located. Without saying a word, my master took the luggage in my hands and patted me on the shoulder.

“The pain of parting is that in the days to come, you will think of each other but not be able to see each other, and you will miss each other but not be able to do anything. But if the feelings are sincere, the cause and effect will always be unbroken. Even if there is no fruit in this life, it will always be entangled in the next life. Sanwa, don’t just look at the present. There will always be people on the road, some will leave, but maybe at the next intersection, the person who left will be waiting for you there.” The master didn’t turn around, but walked silently in front of me and whispered.

Thinking and not being able to get what you want means missing someone you miss but can’t be with. Thinking and not being able to do anything means missing someone you miss but can’t do anything about. Yes, parting is painful, and parting can turn any kind of feeling into a helpless thing. How can it not be painful?

But my master also reminded me that what I need to tell the future is that the entanglement of cause and effect should not be seen only in the present. The long road may be this life, or it may be many lives. Those who have cause and effect will be able to walk together again one day.

Looking at the back of my master, the tears that I had held back for a long time finally slowly fell, sliding down my face. But in that moment, the gloomy mood finally had a ray of sunshine. The future can be expected. Why be so stubborn about the present?

When I walked into the familiar bamboo hut, I found it a little strange. Upon closer inspection, I noticed that some of the herbs that had originally been planted around the courtyard were gone.

“Master, those…” I couldn’t help but ask.

“Oh, since you are leaving, I have already asked someone to distribute those herbs to the villagers in the village. They are not valuable things. It is always good to drink them when you have aches and pains.” The master walked back to the bamboo hut without turning his head.

Looking at the potholes on the ground, a sense of loneliness crept up on me. People always long to spread their wings and fly high, but when they really have to leave a familiar environment, that sense of helpless loneliness will still appear.

I followed my master into the bamboo hut, but found that it was already empty except for a few simple pieces of furniture.

“Master, what’s this…?” I was prepared for this, but I couldn’t help asking the question. It seemed that I was reluctant to let go of everything today.

“I’ve already asked someone to move the things down the mountain. My assistant has already gone ahead and taken some things to Beijing. Today, let’s stay at the Bamboo Hut for another night,” said the master calmly, his eyes exceptionally calm.

Perhaps this kind of nomadic life is something that Master is used to. I once heard him say that this remote little mountain village is the place where he has spent the longest time in his life, and also the most peaceful period of my life.

Perhaps for Master, peaceful years are a luxury, but having had them is enough. Why should I be obsessed with pursuing them, thinking and longing for peaceful days?

The Tao of nature is that a natural heart is to accept, experience and appreciate whatever life gives you, rather than to escape and forcefully think about what kind of life you must live.

I put down my luggage and the master came over and sat with me in front of the veranda of the bamboo hut. There were many days when we sat like this in front of the veranda, listening to the sound of the wind blowing through the bamboo leaves and watching the smoke from the village below the mountain as it rose into the sky until the night fell.

“Why do you want to stay another night?” I asked my master softly.

“For your farewell. I know your character best. You are always indecisive when it comes to parting and emotional matters. Why should I not fulfill your wish?” The master said, and habitually wanted to serve tea, but found that there was no more teacup.

I was silent. My master knew me well. I really couldn’t be decisive in many things.

I sighed, and my eyes fell on every place in this small valley, the pool under the small waterfall, the babbling brook, the grass that was already tender green in early spring, and the quiet bamboo forest. Every place was a memory of mine. I laughed, made trouble, was sad, and was tired here. They have accompanied me through these years…

“Sanwa, I’m afraid we won’t be able to cook today. Are you hungry? Or should we be so bold as to ask for a meal?” Master suddenly asked.

“Nonsense, of course we’re going to eat,” I said loudly. Actually, I wanted to go back and see the place where I was born and raised.

“Haha, that’s what I thought too, Sanwa. Do you remember the time we went to eat and had the cowpea soup? I really want to eat it again,” the master said with a smile.

How could I forget? It was that time when I heard a beautiful love story and was saddened by it for a long time. I was young then and didn’t know anything about love. Now I’m fifteen years old, and although I haven’t experienced love, I can still taste a hint of it.

Master is a decisive person. Since he had made a decision, he and I walked down the mountain in big strides. We talked about the old lady, whom we had seen when we had gone to the pharmacy to get medicine for worms a few days ago. She was considered a very old person in the village.

When we reached the bottom of the mountain and returned to my familiar small village, I told my master that I wanted to go home to see it. It had been many years since I had been there, and I had always avoided going to my old house for fear of being reminded of the past. I was leaving the next day, and I wanted to see it anyway.

Soon, my master and I arrived at the front of our house. A large lock had been placed on the door, and the lock was already covered in rust.

I took out a brass key that had been polished until it was a little shiny, and my hand trembled as I opened the lock. The key was shiny because I had played with it often, and the lock was rusted because I had never had the courage to open the door.

It took me a full minute to open the door, because I hadn’t moved the lock in so long that it was badly rusted and it was so difficult to open.

As soon as I opened the door, a pungent smell of moldy dust hit my nose, and I couldn’t help but sneeze. But when I saw this familiar courtyard again, my heart still trembled.

At this moment, it is my familiar courtyard, but it is already unfamiliar, because here, there is no longer the busy figure of my mother, the cheerful laughter of my father, or the sight of my sisters and I playing wildly. It is overgrown with weeds and so desolate.

I walked through every corner of the courtyard, and every corner was filled with memories. This place was engraved with the only childhood years that my family and I could spend together, and it was indelible in my heart.

The kitchen, where every wisp of smoke rising from the stove was a sign of home. I could almost see my mother shouting, “Sanwa, don’t run around in the yard, come wash your hands, it’s time to eat.”

The living room, where the whole family sat together to eat, was also the place where they sat around the fire on winter nights, laughing and chatting. I could almost hear my father say, “Sanwa, if you get a failing grade at the end of the semester, I’ll beat you to death.” In the end, my father didn’t beat me to death, but I really had to leave.

My parents’ room, my sisters’ room, my room… I could see my eldest sister pinching my cheeks again, and my second sister smiling as she peeled grapes and put them in my mouth.

The whole way, it was covered with dust and cobwebs, and the smell of old and decaying things was in the air, but all I saw were scenes of memories.

I ran like crazy into the courtyard, startling many unknown insects along the way, and even a grass snake. I didn’t care about any of it, just standing in the courtyard by the well, staring blankly. The well water had not dried up, and looking down, the water was still clear. This was the only place that had not changed.

“Sanwa, let’s go,” the master stood at the gate and never spoke. At this moment, he saw me staring at the well water in a daze, but finally reminded me that it was time to go.

I didn’t cry, and even my sadness had faded. These memories were mine, I had them, and they were an integral part of my life. What did I have to carry on my back? We had walked together on a long road.

“Master, wait a minute,” I shouted, then picked up a small stone and used all my strength to repeatedly carve out a line of characters on the wall of the courtyard.

Mom, Dad, and sister, I love you. In my heart, we will always be together, never to be separated.

鈥擟hen Chengyi.