After dinner, Wei He escorted Jiang Su back. When he returned home, he saw Mister Yuan Zhouchi again.
Under the blazing noon sun.
He sat in a small scenic pavilion at the street corner, holding a large bamboo tray filled with aquatic weeds dredged from the water.
He kept turning the weeds over with his hands so they could catch more sunlight. Every so often, he picked up the waterskin beside him and took a drink.
This old gentleman had once lectured at the Scripture Hall. Originally a man of lofty virtue and great prestige, he had taught classical teachings to the children of many wealthy families in the city.
Yet now, he wore clothes covered in thick patches, and his once grizzled beard had turned completely white.
His eyes seemed to be failing. Hunched over on a cracked stone bench in the pavilion, he carefully picked out the rotten, spoiled portions from the aquatic weeds.
Wei He paused, standing where he was as he watched Yuan Zhouchi slowly sort through the weeds.
Perhaps because he had lingered too long, Yuan Zhouchi eventually noticed him and studied him carefully.
Wei He smiled back. Rather than disturb his life, he passed by from the side.
He had originally intended to leave something for his former teacher. But recalling Yuan Zhouchi's pride and that stubborn old face of his, then seeing that same stern expression now—
Though the teacher had fallen on hard times, there was nothing wrong with his breathing or complexion, so Wei He let it go.
Wei He quickened his pace, crossing a vast stretch of the Outer City as he hurried toward Shiqiao Town.
When he returned home, Wei Ying was also drying the family's pickled vegetables. The courtyard was thick with the pungent smell of pickles.
Wei