A wild goose trod upon the snow, leaving a few fleeting claw marks.
Once the goose had flown away, its tracks remained.
Jinghe Year Fifteen, October, the Feng Residence.
Autumn had deepened.
The flowers had bloomed, the leaves had all fallen, and the wind beneath the eaves grew colder by the day.
Wei Nisheng sat alone in the Feng Residence's study.
Since his teacher's passing, he had scarcely returned to the Wei Residence.
By day, he sorted through the manuscripts his teacher had left behind; by night, he slept in the thatched hut beside the pavilion.
Today, Feng Guan and his wife had invited Fu Niang over to talk, while Feng Ci had gone to attend to clan affairs. Only he remained in the study.
He sat in the chair his teacher had once occupied.
On the desk, all the old things remained: an inkstone, a brush, a Discipline Ruler, a volume of the Book of Documents, and a cup of cold tea.
The inkstone was old, its corners worn smooth, its base stained with ink that would never wash clean.
His teacher had always ground ink slowly, saying, "Ink must be ground slowly for the heart to settle."
Now the inkstone remained, but the ink had dried.
The Discipline Ruler lay beside the brush rest.
In days gone by, a little boy had practiced Hanging One's Head from a Beam and Piercing One's Thigh with an Awl.
And laughingly teased his teacher for having selfish motives...
Wei Nisheng reached out and stroked each object in turn.
The inkstone, the brush, the Discipline Ruler, the book.
As though he were stroking his teacher's palm.
Just then...
The wind lifted the door curtain.
In a daze, Wei Nisheng raised his head and heard that familiar greeting.
"Zi'an, you're here?"
Wei