Chapter Text
Yu Xiaoyang felt a warm hand cover his own. ‘Yu liang’, he said to the man standing by his bed and gave a weak smile. ‘I have lived a long life, this is not a sad event.’
Yu Liang used his sleeve to wipe at the dampness on his face and nodded. ‘I know, dad.’
‘I will look after him,’ a voice said softly from behind Yu Liang. Shi Guang placed a hand over Yu Liang’s shoulder and gave a supportive squeeze.
Yu Xiaoyang’s eyes landed on Fang Xu. Fang Xu with his glasses crooked and balanced dangerously on top of his head and with his face in his hands.
Yu Xiaoyang laughed softly. ‘You look like you did when you were 15 and lost your first official match.’ There was scattered laughter around the hospital room and a choked ‘Lao shi!’ from Fang Xu. Yu Xiaoyang smiled and looked out of the window of the hospital room. There was a storm raging with occasional flashes of lighting. It was quite different from the calmness he felt inside.
Yu Xiaoyang was over 90 when he closed his eyes for the last time. He wasn’t lying when he said he had a long life, but he could not say that he had a completely fulfilled one. There was always one ache, one unfulfilled wish that did not eventuate no matter how long he waited and no matter how hard he looked. He knew from the bottom of his heart, felt it from his core, that he was meant to reach the hand of god with that person . But he was never given a second chance -
-until he was, in a different place, in a different time.
When Yu Xiaoyang opened his eyes again, he was laying on a hard surface. He groaned and pushed himself up only to see a curtain of black hair fall in front of his eyes. He ran his fingers through the long hair, astonished to find that it was his own hair. He stared at the plain white robes he was wearing, the way his own hair fell to his waist and the small room that he was currently in. The walls were not white, there was no medical equipment and he couldn’t even find a light on the wooden ceiling.
‘Where am I?’ he asked the empty room.
He tried to stand up but the room suddenly tilted and he was met with the hard wooden floor. His body ached from the impact but his mind felt as though it was suddenly invaded. Images of him, no, it was not him, but of a boy who resembled him, flooded his head.
He was six, dressed in silk learning to read and write.
Then he was eleven, dressed in rags holding onto his mother’s hand as she told him to let go, Sanlang, please let go and hide, and don’t look back!
He was fifteen, sitting behind a stall putting brush to paper as an elderly woman dictated a letter to her son who was miles away from their rural home and working as a stable boy in a prominent household. Her expression was full of pride and longing.
He was twenty, facing a group of five masked men demanding that he hand over the accounts his father had secretly kept. Behind him was a cliff and below that, stormy waters. No matter how many times he repeated that he didn’t know what they were talking about, they did not believe him. Light reflected on the swords that approached him and at that moment, Yu Sanlang decided that if he had no choice but to die, then it would be on his own terms.
‘Are you alright?’ a voice asked.
Yu Xiaoyang was suddenly back in the small room again. These memories, they were not his, or were they? The boy in those memories, Yu Sanlang, died when he jumped off the climb but then why was he here? He had so many questions, but could not answer any of them. His legs shook as he struggled to stand up, a warm hand steadied him.
He looked up to see a young man, tall, with flowing long hair and dressed in simple white and grey robes. It took a moment for him to notice that the man was staring at him. In fact, his face was drawing closer and closer to his. Yu Xiaoyang took a step back.
The man raised his arms in front of himself and bowed. Yu Xiaoyang awkwardly copied his movements and returned the greeting.
‘Apologies,’ the man said, he closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. ‘It’s just that you look very similar to someone I used to know. A lot younger, but still similar.’
Yu Xiaoyang nodded wearily before bringing both hands to his face. There was stubble along his jaw, proof that he had been unconscious for some time, but what surprised him was that his skin felt soft… and young. He was 92 when he died and it had been a long time since he had felt his own skin as soft as this.
‘Would you like to freshen up?’ the man asked. He indicated to the basin of water and the pile of neatly folded clothing. There was a pair of shoes placed next to the clothing.
‘The clothing is mine,’ the man said looking a little embarrassed, ‘I’m afraid I don’t have anything better than the most common material in terms of clothing and shoes. I hope you will accept them.’
‘Thank you,’ Yu Xiaoyang said earnestly. The man smiled and then left the room.
Yu Xiaoyang approached the basin of water first and stared at his own reflection. He looked… like he did at twenty, although there were subtle differences. His skin was more tanned and there was a slight roughness to the set of his jaws, which was most likely a reflection of someone who had spent several years on the move, instead of sitting indoors playing weiqi. He wondered if Yu Sanlang was one of his ancestors or whether his spirit entering this body had altered its appearance.
After washing his face, he turned to the clothing. He had worn hanfu before but they were mostly from later periods. The clothing had several layers and Yu Xiaoyang tried to remember if Sanlang left him any memories about how to wear the clothing in this era. Sanlang’s memories were a mismatch of particular moments and emotions and everything else was still blurry. Yu Xiaoyang stared at the clothing helplessly until there was a knock on the door.
The young man opened the door and seemed confused as to why Yu Xiaoyang had not changed and then appeared to remember something.
‘When I first began living by myself, it took me some time to get used to dressing myself too. I’m afraid I don’t have any servants here…’ he seemed reluctant to continue.
It occurred to Yu Xiaoyang that the young man probably thought he didn’t get changed because he was waiting for servants to help dress him. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so uncomfortable or embarrassed, certainly not for at least 40 years in his original lifetime.
‘I don’t remember much of anything,’ he started, deciding perhaps amnesia would become handy in situations like these.
‘Oh!’ the young man said in surprise and then nodded, ‘it must have been the fall.’ Then he unfolded the pile of clothes and picked out a light coloured robe.
It was somehow awkward, Yu Xiaoyang felt, to have a man help him get dressed, but he had lived until 92 and in his late years, after his wife passed away, he had nurses and sometimes even Yu Liang and Fang Xu help him with daily activities, so it was not completely unfamiliar. The top layer was in a dark blue and fell just above the ground. He marveled that Sanlang’s body was perhaps slightly taller than his original body.
The young man stood back and seemed pleased that the clothing fitted him.
‘I will get some tea,’ he said and turned towards the door.
‘Wait,’ Yu Xiaoyang said. ‘How should I address you?’
‘Oh,’ the man said and smiled brightly, ‘I forgot I hadn’t even introduced myself!’
‘My surname is Chu, Chu…’ he paused slightly, ‘Chu Guang.’
Yu Xiaoyang considered which name he should go by. He then decided to use Sanlang’s name given that this was his world.
‘You can call me Yu Sanlang,’ he said.
‘Yu?’ Chu Guang repeated and seemed amused. ‘If you don’t mind, I will call you Yu-xiong?’
Yu Xiaoyang nodded, ‘and I will call you Chu-xiong.’
‘I just have one question, Chu-xiong,’ Yu Xiaoyang said as Chu Guang was leaving the room. ‘Do you have a weiqi board here?’
Chu Gang paused mid-step and spun to turn towards him. His eyes seemed to sparkle in excitement.
‘Do you play weiqi often, Yu-xiong?’
Yu Xiaoyang smiled, ‘I play every day.’