The day I arrived, the ruined temple was drafty, and I had three coins to my name.
My younger brother's leg was broken, and my younger sister was coughing herself to death. I remembered the original story's ending perfectly: poisoned wine, coffins, everyone dead. I crouched by the door to start a fire, my fingers shaking too much to strike a spark. The moment the flames caught, I told myself: This life has one purpose. Keep them alive.
I went to Gu Huaixu. He handed me a pen engraved with “Shen.” “You don't have to trade yourself,” he said. I had to.
On the night of the great fire, he drew his bow on the wall. He crawled out of the flames and looked up at me. “Don't be afraid.” When those hoarse words reached my ears, my fingers froze for a moment. Then I released the string. He stepped into the arrow's path.
Three months ago, I didn't know the inside of the pen was engraved with “Protect Tang,” or that he had carved the notch in the wall himself, afraid I might lose my footing and fall. I didn't know he'd waited for me for fifteen years, either.
Now I'm alive, and my younger siblings are alive. There's porridge beneath the osmanthus tree, and the side gate is open. He came by; those eyes saw every autumn through to the end for him.
Now I'm at a villa in Jiangnan, and the osmanthus tree has survived. Shen Yu is learning martial arts at the marquis's estate, Xiniang is crouched by the stove making medicinal soup, and Xie Ning is still beneath the wall. The side gate is open.
Those eyes saw every autumn through to the end as the osmanthus blossoms fell. I felt the gust of wind that came with you.
