In the splendid month of March, when the willows weep and the orioles sing, the city renowned for its beauty throughout the land is at its most enchanting. Verdant hues abound, grasses stretch long, and orioles flit about. By the lakeside, willows caress the water with tender grace, while peach blossoms along the pathways burst into vivid hues. The spring breeze whispers through, sending petals into a whirlwind dance, and soon the cobblestones are strewn with a crimson carpet, each fallen petal a testament to the fleeting beauty of spring, so delicate that one hesitates to tread upon them.
Following the path of bluestone slabs, one passes through a grove of emerald bamboo, then turns left to behold a two-story Chinese-style building. Its roof tiles are as black as the night sky, its walls as red as the dawn, and its carved railings as intricate as the patterns on a butterfly's wings. Above the entrance hangs a plaque with characters that dance like dragons and phoenixes: "Past and Present."
"Past and Present," the name of a teahouse and my place of work. I, Yvonne, a girl of nineteen, serve here. In this city where the culture of tea drinking thrives, such teahouses are as numerous as the stars in the sky. Naturally, a teahouse is a place of business, but beyond tea, we engage in a special trade, one that concerns the past and the present.
Have you ever heard such a saying? To know the deeds of the past life, look to the trials of the present. The causes of the past, the fruits of the future. If you sow the seed of cause, no matter how many reincarnations pass, you cannot escape the fruit of that cause. But how to resolve it? It may be an inescapable, insurmountable fate, yet our business is precisely to return to the lifetime when the cause was sown, to uncover the root of destiny, and to change it. This trade does not ask for money but for a single tear from your eye.
Some may say that it involves traveling through time and space, how is that possible? Indeed, it is time and space travel, and while it is impossible for ordinary people, for him, it is no great feat. He is my master, the owner of this teahouse.
My master has a beautiful name—Sean, and he is as elegant as the name suggests.
Raised by Sean since childhood, I naturally regard him as my dearest kin. From the moment I gained consciousness, I seldom saw Sean smile, nor did I witness him in anger or frustration. Always calm and detached, it seemed nothing in this world could move him. The only time I recall a hint of warmth in him was when he was teaching me the arts of spiritualism and exorcism. Beyond the name Sean and his spiritual arts, I know nothing of him, not even his age or nationality.
In the teahouse, there are usually three of us: Sean, me, and my senior fellow apprentice, Phoenix. Despite his Eastern name, Phoenix has a head of resplendent golden hair and eyes as blue as the ocean. I do not know where he comes from; he was already there when Sean took me in, four years my senior, a warm and open-hearted boy. Perhaps because of his personality, his girlfriends change as frequently as the seasons. But we grew up together, and our bond is stronger than that of blood siblings. He is gifted and was apprenticed long before me, always traveling through different times and spaces, seeking the karmic origins of our clients.
The past lives of our clients are as diverse as the world itself, not limited to ancient China but extending to ancient Europe and Africa. Language is no barrier; before each journey, Sean gives him a language pill, which allows him to understand and speak any language in any time and place. However, the language pill only works in other times and spaces and is ineffective in our present reality. When I learned this, I had no choice but to pick up my language textbooks again, disappointed that a single pill wouldn't grant me fluency in the real world.
But today is a special day for me, for I have officially completed my apprenticeship. From now on, I too can soar through the millennia like my senior fellow apprentice. Every time I heard him speak of his adventures in different times and spaces, I was filled with longing. Now, I am finally ready to stand on my own, and the thought makes me laugh with joy. I hope my first client's past life is in an era that interests me, but no, I mustn't think that way; this is work, not play—although, a little exploration after completing the mission should be permissible, right?