This secluded pavilion, a hidden gem of stunning scenery, was a place I and Chu Qingci stumbled upon by chance. Tucked away in a remote corner, it rarely saw visitors. Occasionally, I would accompany him there to write assignments or have casual conversations.
The pavilion wasn't far; after a brief ten-minute walk, a hexagonal structure appeared before me. Its plaque bore three grand characters, Yan Hui Pavilion, intricately carved in seal script.
Stepping closer, I noticed a round table made of pearwood at the center, flanked by four matching stools. Between the pavilion's pillars, there were spaces designed for sitting and enjoying the view. I entered and turned toward the southwest.
Before my eyes unfolded a vibrant tapestry of tender greens and vivid reds. Clusters of lotus leaves stretched across the water, while blooming buds thrived in abundance. In the distance, willows swayed gracefully in the summer breeze, their branches dancing in the air, scattering soft catkins that floated gently to the water below.
He followed me into the pavilion, and we chose a spot to sit.
"Shen Jia," Chu Qingci began, his voice calm yet weighty, "I know you have many questions. But you also know, in this world, some things are untouchable."
His words confirmed what I had begun to suspect—this was not the original Chu Qingci of this world. Suddenly, everything made sense: the peculiar way he looked at me, his drastically altered demeanor compared to his past self.
But hadn't he died on a summer day in 2018, his body drenched in blood, lying motionless on the ground? Who was he now? He was neither the Chu Qingci of this world nor the one from 2028. Could it be he never truly died? Yet my memories insisted otherwise. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't recall what had truly happened in the past life.
Seeing my silence, he continued, "Shen Jia, listen to me. In this world, there's little I can do to help you. Everything will depend on you. The key to leaving lies in the deep alley on Yunhai Road."
His eyes dimmed slightly, and after a brief pause, he spoke again, his tone more resolute. "Remember, when the time comes, you must face it rationally. There's no obstacle you can't overcome, is there, Shen Jia?"
I wanted to respond, to ask him the countless questions swirling in my mind—how he came to this world, if he had any connection with He Yi, whether he truly died in the past life, and why my memories seemed incomplete. But the words refused to come.
I knew this world would continue to bind me, withholding the answers until the moment I faced the event they spoke of. Then, his cool voice broke through my thoughts once more.
"Shen Jia, soon, you will have to walk this path alone. I must leave. Beyond the mist, you will find that glimmer of starlight."
He was leaving?
I lifted my head, confusion evident in my gaze, and asked, "Where are you going? Are you leaving this world?"
His fingers tapped rhythmically on the table, his gaze drifting, then settling firmly on me. Though he remained silent, his eyes confirmed it—he was indeed leaving.
A premonition gripped me: he hadn't died but had stayed by my side under another guise. But why couldn't I remember?
I pressed further, "After you leave, will the Chu Qingci of this world still exist?"
From the moment I arrived, I knew he wasn't truly him. So where had the original gone?
"Shen Jia," he answered, his voice steady, "the Chu Qingci of this world has always existed. I am but a fragment of consciousness within his body. He is me, and I am him. Don't worry; after I'm gone, his attitude toward you won't change drastically. In time, you will understand."
His words ended abruptly. I stared at him, hoping for more, but his gaze drifted into the distance. The atmosphere turned serene. Following his line of sight, I saw the distant sunset inching down the horizon. Its golden rays tinged the pristine clouds, their hues spilling into the pond, where ripples shimmered with the light.
The lotus leaves and flowers donned radiant cloaks, swaying elegantly in the wind. The pavilion grew dim as the sun retreated, leaving behind the soft embrace of twilight.
"It's getting late. We should head back," he said, his voice carrying a rare warmth.
I knew he wouldn't say more. I didn't press him, understanding that in this world, I could control little.
He stepped out of Yan Hui Pavilion first. I paused and turned, my eyes lingering on the structure. I'd always known its name derived from the phrase, "When geese return, the moon fills the western tower." When I first saw it, I had joked about its poetic elegance with Chu Qingci.
Back then, it felt unremarkable. But now, as we parted, its hidden sorrow of separation struck me deeply. A sense of emptiness lingered—a bitter echo of "people leave, and tea turns cold."
Chu Qingci didn't look back. He seemed to sense I had stopped and slowed his steps, waiting for me near the archway ahead.
Geese return, geese return, but ultimately, they head south again.
I brushed aside my melancholy and followed him. The scenery, like a painting, bore the weight of fleeting emotions.
Soon, we arrived at Wangbei Station.