“Farewell,” I said.

A cold silence fell upon the inner courtyard.

“Will you tell your father, too?” she whispered, and gave a meaningless smile. Faint like dappled light, knowing I came here while he was gone on work.

Her hand gripped into the sleeve of her dress. It was only this one action of hers that revealed she felt something. I can’t fathom what. The vivid rouge on her lips, the intricate and dangling earrings, the lotus-embroidered, small cotton shoes were all the same since I was a child. It was the amount of gray hair, those wrinkles around her eyes from smiling each and every day that multiplied.

It’s been a long time.

I stared at the drab stone of the courtyard, thinking how the fallen maple leaves turn such a dull thing colorful, then turned my back to my mother, departing.

“I’ll be waiting for you, always,” she said, “to come back.”

Never would I come back. Not tomorrow, not in a month or a year, not for a lifetime.

Endings can be just as joyous as beginnings.

…

Once I was out the front gate, my heart felt light as a cloud, so wispy it could dissipate into the air. I jittered with excitement as I stepped through the street, the flood of people and bustle of the city barely entered my mind as I rushed along. My sights were set on the wondrous, endearing, mystifying Plum Blossom Mountain. Oh, what a beauty it is…truly, nothing within the walls of the capital can compare.

“Mommy, what’s that guy smiling at? He’s dumb?”

“Shh! Don’t gawk at him.”

It’s perfectly fine if I looked a little foolish right now.

I’d probably spent two-thirds of my life thwarting and enacting schemes on others, repeating polite phrases with a congenial smile on my face, and masquerading as civil. The consequences of this were severe. More often than not I’d have the ghost of a smile curling on my lips without even knowing it. If a person were executed by a thousand cuts¹Lingchi (凌遲), translated variously as the slow process, the lingering death, or slow slicing, and also known as death by a thousand cuts, was a form of torture and execution used in China from roughly 900 CE until it was banned in 1905. I’d probably still smile. To who? For what reason? I can't say, at this point it is the same as an involuntary and automatic response.

Plum Blossom mountain was the beloved peak of the long ascended fourth Emperor, whom titled it a symbol of the empire and stated its landscape must not be altered, allowing plum trees to tangle and flourish as they pleased. Chong’Shan²"Chong" for surname of ruling family, "Shan" for mountain. capital had been meticulously constructed around its midst three hundred years ago, with the imperial palace towers boasting a yellow-blue overlook and ornate decor of its idyllic scenery.

I, too, fell prey to the mountain’s beguiles.

Unable to catch a glimpse of it at my residence, I often spent my days at a brothel. I drank all day long on the third floor of Peony Flower House with the company of music, poetry, and dance, gazing out at Plum Blossom mountain. A courtesan would play the erhu³The erhu (Chinese: 二胡), is a two-stringed bowed instrument, more specifically a spike fiddle, sometimes known as the Chinese violin or a Chinese two-stringed fiddle., it’s yearning timbre drifting.

It took time for me to travel to the base of the mountain by foot.

I stared up at that single weedy path meandering up the mountainside with a faint eagerness, it would be a grueling, difficult climb for me, but I could want nothing more. I started in the morning, and now it was past mid-day. I ended up lounging in the shade of an evergreen for a while to recover, then figured I could climb a little more once the sun started dipping. I, a grown man, skipped up a slope of rocks while humming a tune.

Then I found myself looking down a steep precipice, bits of stone plummeting out of sight as my dust covered shoes licked the edge. My long, cerulean sleeves fluttered spiritedly in the air. If I leaned over the strong gusts of wind might knock me off, and I could go as far to envision myself flapping my arms in a panic and becoming a hapless blue butterfly.

No, to compare myself to a butterfly is certainly a little too much. I’m not so ethereal. It’s just…sort of funny to think about.

Chong'shan could also be viewed in full glory from here. Towering outer walls of red and gray stone stretched for miles, silk flags with dragons billowing red. People formed a stream that overflowed the city gate. There was the Peony flower house, a tiered building made of dark wood amongst the other bright fanfare of brothels, and the glazed yellow tiles of the imperial palace shined golden under the sun.

The wind was blowing harder, so my sleeves were flapping more wildly than before. Temperatures weren’t too low in early autumn, but at this elevation I’d feel the cold reach to my bones. My mind was clear as ice.

After over a decade, I finally find myself here, having climbed the mountain I admired so. Now, I raised an arm and pointed to the sky, angering the heavens⁴It is considered rude to point at others with one finger in China..

“I swear, this Fang Shuren will never lift a finger for work again! …Not even as a beggar with an alms bowl⁵The begging bowl or alms bowl is used in the daily lives of Buddhist monks, to collect alms (either money or food) from lay supporters. Here MC is alluding to beggars using it as a means to get charity..”

How satisfied I was with this tasteless remark is hard to describe. As far as I was concerned, there was nothing else left to do or say. An exhilarating, roiling emotion stirred in my chest and settled in my toes. It told me that it was time to die. My foot was stepping out naturally, but then it retracted back to solid ground and my eyes went wide...is this a delusion?

There was a voice. Strident, it boomed from below then crawled up the mountain face and into my ear. 

“Isn’t this a fine mountain?” they said. 

Plum Blossom mountain would be tipped with snow in the coldest period of winter and the flurried winds would create a cold white mist. In summer and spring it was green and rocky, blueish stone and artistically knobbed trees growing horizontally on cliffs.

I murmured, “It’s magnificent.”

At first, I didn’t think that it had been a real person who had spoken. This mountain was meant to be left untouched, so it was rarely traveled besides sightseers. Meeting someone up here should be impossible.

But a tiny figure cloaked in grey stood far below. He seemed to nod at my murmur of ‘magnificent’.

My lethargic head stirred. He heard it through all the wind? Now that I think of it, I don’t even know how long I’ve been standing here. Who the heck is this man out of nowhere? His face wasn’t clear from this height, but his figure managed to be imposing; dark hair swirled behind him and a robust stallion adorned in crimson tassels was stomping its hooves on the stone, causing a clattering echo.

The man said, “One doesn’t tire of looking at it. Although, I worried that you might fall right off the ledge with the way you leaned. You should take a step back and check your balance.”

“…”

Did he hear me shout at the heavens earlier? If he heard it and was keen enough to piece the rest together...it's odd. The gusts were so strong and deafening. Well, it doesn’t matter too much either way. This whole incident caught me off guard. Randomly meeting a person on a random mountainside that I randomly went to.

While I was deliberating over this, the man waited for a response with eyes trained on me. From up here they were little pitch black dots, yet there was an intensity from it that made my blood boil, giving him a violent air. He settled his pawing horse, placing its reins on the saddle, and his gaze didn’t waver once the entire time.

I fixed my collar in a flurry. The way he acted was somehow disturbing, so I was going to play this whole thing off. Thankfully I was good at two things; keeping an amiable appearance and lying.

“You jest,” I said. “Sir needn’t be worried. My feet are firmly planted. I came all the way up here for a certain hobby of mine, and I believe that if one journeys up the mountain, they can’t settle for an inferior view.”

Now he was inspecting the cliff side. Which, for no reason, caused my heartbeat to sputter to an anxious thrum. Suddenly, the man grinned.

“You’ve got a point. Should I climb up higher and take a look as well?” he replied. “…however, you said you’re looking at the view, but your eyes and neck were craned downwards a long time. Do you have a fascination with dusty rocks?”

I crinkled my brow. 

“I have an interest in cartography. Mountains are important for trade and warfare, and they’ve always been a favorite of mine to chart. I wanted to take the time to observe every ridge. So…it’s embarrassing to admit, but I was staring at rocks.”

He laughed at my rubbish answer. The tone was one that soared, it was unrestrained yet not coarse in the least, open as a leaf on the breeze. Yet again, it seemed to echo into my ear. I found it obnoxious. The man then scratched under the chin of his horse, appearing content with the desultory conversation, the small talk that involved two people yelling up and down the mountain to each other.

“Only a practiced scholar can do such work, I won’t fault you for it. As for myself, I visit the mountain once every few years when I have the time. It’s a shame that this time it’s only the start of autumn.”

“Summer or winter, either is pleasant.”

His eyes were still fixated on me. The conversation had gone back to normal, but with his staring I felt something was off.

“No.” Each word he spoke became more trenchant and encroaching. “You’re wrong. Winter is the best time to visit. After all, this is a mountain of plum trees.”

“...it’s a matter of opinion?” my tone had weakened, and I feared his next words would be something I couldn't recover from. 

He crossed his arms with a sneer. “The plum tree flowers in the cold, same as how prosperity only grows from calamity. Don’t be rash. I don’t prefer to see a body break to pieces right in front of me. It’d be troubling.”

I sucked in a breath, hackles raising all over my skin.

Some people were inherently meddlesome, rather than closing one eye, they couldn’t let things be. It was all right to try and spread good in the world, but it was irritating now that I got caught up in it. It was because when he first called out to me it sounded like he was none the wiser—that’s why I tried to make up a lie. I figured he’d go away on his own after that.

I was incorrect.

His hair still billowing, horse still stomping, standing like he owned the world, and acting as though he could prevent my actions with words alone. He’s cocky. Must’ve had fun pretending not to know.

“So you’ve happened to see me,” I said. “That isn’t an issue of mine.”

The man tilted his head. “I saw your blue clothes in the distance and decided to approach out of curiosity. Considering that you’ve gone to all this effort to find an isolated spot…seems that it is an issue if someone sees you. And, of course, I’d be extremely troubled. Can you back off?”

I was getting a headache. Fine then. This is very fine! You, stranger, do not appear troubled at all, but I gave a disdainful sneer and turned around, walking away.

I climbed up a short ledge. Above it was a slope of loose rock that led to a large plateau. With a sigh, I couldn’t help but think about something or another during the exhausting climb; That man had a bow on his back and the horse had a pheasant hanging off the saddle. Perhaps he had been hunting around the mountain. That’s illegal.

The shadow of a bird lazily passed over my head as I went, gliding off the wind and mocking my arduous pace.

When I reached the plateau, my chest was lifting in shallow bouts. The excitement was wearing thin, so it was getting difficult for my limbs devoid of a bit of muscle. I had to lean over with my hands on my knees before moving forward again. I would have brought something to drink if I had known it would be like this. Thankfully this is a mountain, and there are no shortages of steep ledges. I simply went to another edge along the plateau.

As I peered down at the rocks, I startled.

The obnoxious man from before stood at the base of the drop with one hand framing his chin, beaming up at me as though given a pleasant surprise. This wasn’t the startling part. It was that the place he stood at below was a thin precipice, one that required one foot to be directly in front of the other as though walking a rope, like a street performer or assassin sneaking along a roof. 

“What a coincidence,” he said.

…at this point, I simply didn’t have the energy left and went away.

They say if you respond to the supernatural it brings disaster. Making eye contact can be just as bad, and I'd done that already. Cursed, doomed to be haunted. I didn’t believe that superstitious nonsense at all, but I could not shake the sense that if this man appeared twice, he’d appear thrice. That would be undeniably ghostlike. I could accept that he happened to see me the first time because he was hunting or curious or whatever, but not a second. Nevertheless, it was physically impossible for him to know my position on the plateau once I left his line of sight. There had to be a logical reason.

And so I went on.

Can't be possible that he’s using sound. 

Is it possible he brought another person hunting with him? That they’re lurking up here…

I was admittedly on edge, even the chirp of a locust drew my attention. Like this, I noticed when a shadow zipped over my feet and arced onto the tree line, then came towards me again. The shadow was not the shape of a hawk or vulture, the typical circlers, so I squinted up into the sky. It was silhouetted black, but the bird was about the size of a falcon. On its leg was a fluttering thing, most likely a leather strap used to fasten bamboo slips⁶Bamboo and wooden slips were the main media for writing documents in China before the widespread introduction of paper during the first two centuries AD..

I took a sharp right turn. The falcon followed.

I went into a patch of forest on the plateau, but even when sheltered by a canopy of firs the falcon was flying in loops over my head. For carrying messages or surveying land, besides carrier pigeons that only know to return to their roosts, trained hawks and falcons aren’t unusual. If they can hunt for prey, can they also track a target?

That settles it; there are no ghosts here. A highly intelligent falcon is easier to believe in.

At any rate, the bird is a nuisance. I glanced about. Shoving a branch away, I spotted a larger pine in the forest, and the residents near the top of it caught my interest.

My lips curled up. “Little falcon, better you don’t follow me anymore.”

Well, the falcon didn’t listen.

In a few more steps it was flying frantically, chased by a group of magpies that had been roosting in the pine. They swooped over my head with a whoosh, cackling with heated anger. The size of the falcon was equal to the magpies, so it had no option but to maneuver deftly to avoid their sharp beaks. There was much squawking and diving, a little pecking. Magpies and crows despised predatory birds; they’d mob them relentlessly. I guess even if you’re the king of the skies there will be those who flock together and resist your rule.

Screeching once from the harassment, the falcon flew down past my side, allowing me to take a better look at it. Primarily a drab grey, it had a rust tint under its tail feathers and bright orange rings around its eyes⁷The Amur falcon (Falco amurensis) is a small raptor of the falcon family, also known as the eastern red-footed falcon..

Oh. I shouldn’t be distracted. There was no motivation to run, but I hurried along to the edge of the plateau. No one was standing below. Carefully, I scanned it over a few more times.

Blueish rock still as a lake, tempting me to touch a toe in. The wind that sings desolately through the valley, battering the lone plum tree that grows out of the precipice. It was enough, my foot soared over the edge.

A strong force yanked on the back of my collar.

The world over the edge of the mountain was still more enthralling. I wiggled my foot out slightly, but it could no longer reach over the edge.

“—knock it off! Do you hear me?!”

I was lifted into the air like some sort of street hooligan caught in the act of petty thievery, then my body was shaken violently by the unknown force, swinging back and forth, up and down, scrambling every organ within me. I thought my arms would dislodge from their shoulder sockets and my head would snap backwards. It took not a moment for me to be shook right out of my stupor.

“Ouch! I hear you!”

Amarathia

Hello. I am the temporary narrator that will bring insights to the story while Fang Shuren is too *cough* busy to do so. It seems that the ML and MC have already met, but there might be small clash in character between them. The small Amur falcon, Biao, is a permanent character, but not the magpies.

In any case, feel free to leave a comment!