The cold wind stirred the earth, the air vast and gray; a flute's mournful notes stretched beyond the frontier.
Li Ping'an and Changqing walked together along the streets at night.
There were scarcely any people by the roadside, only the cold wind blowing through the trees on either side.
This was the slum district in the south of the city, filled with haphazardly built structures and only a narrow path wide enough for one person.
Abandoned buildings were everywhere.
Suddenly, Changqing stopped and looked in a certain direction.
"What's wrong?" Li Ping'an asked.
Changqing said, "There's a wronged soul over there. Let this humble monk go help him pass on."
With that, he left.
A little while later.
Changqing returned, missing a piece of clothing and his shoes.
"Amitabha."
Li Ping'an asked curiously, "What happened?"
"Helping the soul pass on didn't go smoothly. That female ghost insisted on having this humble monk's clothes before she would let the matter rest."
"So you gave her that?"
"She insisted."
"And you just gave her that?"
"She insisted."
"Oh~"
They walked a little farther.
Changqing said, "Don't tell anyone about this."
Li Ping'an hesitated. "Mm."
It was a farewell, only without the pavilion beyond, the ancient road beside, or fragrant grass stretching green to the horizon.
Changqing's injuries had long since healed; he had merely been worried about Li Ping'an.
After seeing Li Ping'an's condition stabilize over the past few days, he bade him farewell.
"Benefactor Li, the mountains are high and the waters run long. If fate allows, we will meet again."
Li Ping'an smiled. "Next time, no cheating at chess."
They told each other that the days ahead were long and they would meet again.
Yet both knew that in this vast world, meeting even once was hardly easy.
Where