In the warmth of spring, a troop of light cavalry rode along the official road from the Capital City to West Mountain.
Qi Xiao had changed into a moon-white everyday robe, his hair loosely pinned up with a single bamboo hairpin. He sat straight-backed on his horse, occasionally turning to glance at the blue-curtained carriage beside him.
Qi Yu leaned against the carriage window, its curtain rolled high, talking all the way about whether the dried persimmons at Qingliang Terrace were ready and whether the newly planted grapevine in the back courtyard had survived.
A Ping rode beside the carriage and said, "Don't be impatient, Your Highness. Lord Zhao sent people to clean the place a few days ago. They even replaced the ropes on the swing." Qi Yu rolled the curtain another half inch higher and said, "Who's impatient? I was only asking."
Qingliang Terrace looked just as it had two years ago, yet it was not quite the same.
The two persimmon trees in the back courtyard had grown taller, their dense, tender-green new leaves shading more than half the yard. The hemp ropes on the swing frame had been replaced, and the seat had been sanded smooth again and coated with tung oil. The pillars beneath the covered walkway had received a fresh coat of matte ocher-red paint that blended into the spring scenery covering the mountains without looking at all out of place.
When the windows were pushed open, the mountain breeze swept in, filling the rooms with the fresh scent of new timber mingled with the earthy sweetness of soil.
Qi Yu tossed his luggage onto the daybed, changed into a light shirt, and ran straight for the back courtyard.
Standing beneath a persimmon tree, he looked up and said, "This tree should bear plenty