We'll Face It Together

The plane tree leaves by the roadside had begun to yellow. Autumn sunlight slanted down, cutting alternating bands of light and shadow across the stone-paved road. The wind passed through the street trees, blowing down several leaves that had already turned brittle. They spiraled to Wu Changkong and Long Bing's feet, then were stirred up by their footsteps, flipped over, and settled back onto the ground.

Warm air drifted from a distant bakery, carrying the scent of freshly baked wheat. By the time the wind brought it here, the aroma had faded considerably, leaving only the faintest lingering trace. Long Bing walked to his left, her steps slower than usual, as though she was in no hurry to arrive anywhere.

She walked quietly for a while before tilting her head to glance at him. "Changkong, my cultivation is progressing so slowly." Her voice was soft, its last note seeming to be gently cut off by the wind. After saying that, she stopped walking, as though those words were heavier than she had expected and she needed to stop for them to land. She turned and threw herself into his arms, pressing her forehead against his chest as if trying to hold something down.

Wu Changkong did not move. He stood still and let her lean securely against him, then raised an arm around her shoulders, as though completing a motion he had done countless times before. He lowered his head, gently resting his chin atop her head. The crown of her hair fit perfectly into the curve beneath his jaw. After a moment, he spoke, his voice lower than usual. "The Hummingbird Martial Soul may not be especially outstanding, but I've always seen how hard you work." He did not simply tell her not to rush. Instead, he laid out, word by word, what he had seen, as though telling her this way—you don't need to explain. I've seen all the things I never said aloud. "No one has smooth sailing all the time," he said. "We're not that kind of people, so there's even less reason to be anxious over this."

Long Bing's face remained buried against his chest, her eyelashes brushing his lapel as she said in a muffled voice, "I... I'm not anxious." Her fingers clutched the hem of his coat lightly, as if she feared that using too much strength would break something.

"Mm." He did not argue with her. He quietly allowed her to remain in those words for a little longer. Only after the fingers clutching his coat loosened slightly did he continue, "I know you aren't anxious. Our Bing'er just secretly meditates a little longer at night, looks through information on the Hummingbird Martial Soul by herself, and thinks to herself—" He did not finish, as though he felt she already understood by that point. After a pause, his voice softened further. "But that isn't the truth."

Long Bing's shoulders trembled slightly. She buried her face even deeper, as if trying to force down the things spilling out of her. She really had hit a bottleneck. She wanted to overcome the inherent weakness of the Hummingbird Martial Soul, wanted to be able to help when he ran into trouble. She did not want him to remain in East Sea forever, did not want his talent trapped in this small city. She was afraid of losing someone again. "But I—" Just as she was about to speak, Wu Changkong's voice was already waiting for her. "I know what you're afraid of."

His words were gentle, as though he had long known she would think this way. "I don't know why you've always refused to let me face these things with you—maybe you think there's no point in saying them, or maybe you think I can't help." His chin shifted gently against the top of her head. "But you have to let me try. You have to let me—" He softened the rest of the sentence. "Let me know that you're still willing to have me by your side."

Long Bing sobbed twice in his arms without making a sound, her shoulders simply rising and falling. After a while, she nodded lightly. The movement was so faint, as though she feared making too large a motion would interrupt something. "Mm." Her voice carried a nasal tone, as though it had been blocked and forced back out.

He lowered his head to look at her, then bent down and lifted her into his arms. His movements were neither fast nor slow, as though he had considered countless times what amount of strength and what angle he should use for this. When she left the ground, she gave a soft cry and instinctively grabbed his collar before slowly letting go. Tilting her head, she looked at him. "Where are we going?"

"Home. To change clothes." Holding her, he slowly rose farther and farther from the ground. Her hair and skirt fluttered slightly in the airflow. "We're going to see Teacher. The old man will definitely have a way."

Elsewhere, dusk was seeping in through the window, gradually pushing the room's light and shadows toward the corners. The tea on the table had long stopped steaming, and tiny droplets had formed along the inside of the cup's rim, as though it had been left there for a very long time. Zhuo Shi sat by the window with a book in his hand, but his gaze was not on its pages. Suddenly, he sneezed loudly. The pages snapped shut for an instant from the force. He set the book down, rubbed his nose, and turned to glance at the sky outside. "That shouldn't be possible. With my physical condition—" He rubbed his nose again. "Could I really be getting old?"

Shen Yi happened to push open the door just then, carrying a plate of pastries. Hearing him mutter to himself, he added, "Teacher, have you caught a cold?"

"No." Zhuo Shi frowned in thought. "Maybe someone is talking about me."

Shen Yi set the pastries on the table, a teasing smile at the corner of his mouth. "What if it's Senior Brother missing you?"

Zhuo Shi lifted his teacup and took a sip, then snorted. "That brat, once he married a wife, he—" His voice suddenly lowered, as though something had caught in his throat and could not quite fall into place. He set down the teacup, his gaze settling on the yellowing treetops outside the window. His voice lowered with it. "He should come home and visit too."

All these years, although Wu Changkong had continued to send things here, because of what Yun Ming had said back then, everyone knew that Yun Ming had only said it for outsiders to hear.

But...

The tree shadows outside slowly stretched longer in the dusk. Wind seeped through the crack in the window, lifting the corners of the stack of letter paper on the table before letting them fall again. The edges of the photographs had been turned slightly curled, as though waiting for someone to come look at them, or perhaps saving a place for someone.