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The music of the summer wind passed softly through the branches of the plum tree in the garden. It carried the sweet aroma of ripe fruits and the freshness of the mountains relieving the hot weather.
The peaceful years that had already passed with the shade of that tree sheltering his naps were beginning to be hard to count to Shen San. Six or nine or more, but it still felt like he hadn’t spent enough time with Wei.
"Well, it's not like one lifetime, until old age, is enough anyway," he chuckled to himself as he sat down on the wooden platform that stretched across the front of the hut. Skilled hands worked to fill the ceramic jug with the contents of the large bowl without wasting a drop. Every year, Shen San would pick the plums at the right time, make plum wine, and place the jugs under the tree after labeling them with Wei's beautiful handwriting. Every year, including those three years he spent there - supposedly - alone, not knowing if he should curse the tree for taking away its spirit, his beloved, or worship the tree until it gave back the spirit or whatever Wei could be. Shen San didn’t know back then. He couldn’t say he actually knew now, although he had come to understand how old Wei was.
“Ah, it doesn’t matter, does it?” He filled the last jug and set the bowl aside, stretching before proceeding with the next step. The sight of their gardens ahead was a great satisfaction to him, the herbs and flowers Wei cultivated, the vegetables he himself grew there, the fruits of their joint dedication, thriving. Shen San glanced over his shoulder, towards the hut’s open window, through which he could see Wei's shadow as he went back and forth on his chores. “Yao-xiong,” he called the old nickname that remained though he knew Wei was no yao either. “How many years have I been making plum wine?”
Almost immediately, Wei stuck his head out the window, dark eyes filled with concern. “Have you forgotten?”
"Even nature forgets to count the years after repeating its cycle for a long time, Xiao Wei. It becomes part of existence. So I'm no longer sure how many years have passed..."
"Twelve years," Wei replied, observing how Shen San didn't seem surprised by this. Observing with more attention how the man didn't seem tired even after working from sunrise until now, mid-afternoon. Observing how Shen San's skin had a healthy flush mixed with the light tan that was always more vibrant when the warm seasons returned.
"Ah, I was close, I must have skipped a year in my count," Shen San said as he scratched the stubble on his chin. "I counted eleven. I think I skipped the year we went to pay our respects to my ancestors at the temple…”
"Hm," Wei nodded, his frown softening. There was nothing wrong with Shen San's memory. Sometimes what he had was an excess of memory instead, remembering in minute detail the most embarrassing moments Wei had ever had. He went back inside, relieved that this time it was memories about visiting a temple, not about 'things of the bed' or 'that book', as it usually was.
Back to the main task he had set for himself that day, Wei went to move the wood in the small stone oven, where the bread was baking and the good smell of it was already beginning to waft through the house. They would have this with fish roasted over the fire in man's favorite way, herb broth and chopped fresh fruit. Another good meal shared between them, another summer where Shen San made wine, practiced the way of the sword, grew vegetables, fished in the river, carved wooden items for their home, and dozed in the shade of the plum tree after tasting the wine of a different jug. Wei feared that the more things worked out to keep Shen San from falling ill, the worse his fate would be in the future, but perhaps he was just overthinking.
The dark braid swayed as he leaned over to poke the embers and add a few more thin pieces of chopped firewood that Shen San had made it his personal task to fetch and stockpile for them.
There was zeal and affection in everything they both put into that simple life of theirs. The preciousness of recovering a happiness that they had only partially experienced in the past, when it was impossible to settle in one place and live away from conflict.
A little later, as Wei was taking the bread out of the oven, Shen San entered the hut, removing chicken feathers stuck to his hair.
"I went to the coop to feed the chickens, but that damn rooster really doesn't like me. Such a terrible enemy I am, trying to give it corn and fresh water,” Shen San mocked the situation, moving closer to where Wei was taking care of the food. "It looks so good, Xiao Wei."
Xiao Wei.
The first few times Wei had heard it from Shen San, he had nearly panicked. Those words, in that voice, were both special and a painful memory. Shen San's tone, however, was different. Wei was still getting used to the person being Kunlun and not being Kunlun at the same time. He was still getting used to the joy of their shared days, even after twelve years.
"Are you going to roast the fish?"
"Hm," Shen San nodded as he tossed the chicken feathers out the window. "I'd better start doing that now, while the window can stay open. The clouds are gathering, and it looks like we'll have rain before night falls."
.
While the fish was roasting and the broth was boiling in the pot, Shen San sat on the doorstep with a knife and a small piece of wood, beginning to carve as he enjoyed the last rays of sunlight coming from the south, all other directions of the sky were covered in dark clouds.
"Rainy nights are very good for sleeping," he commented, looking up at Wei who had just sat down next to him.
"Every night is a good night for you to sleep, Shen San Ye," Wei chuckled softly. "I don't remember you ever saying any night was a bad night for you to sleep."
"Aiyo, Yao-xiong, there must be some night that isn't good for sleeping. I just haven't found it out yet-" Shen San paused as he noticed Wei's attention suddenly shift beyond the fences surrounding their gardens, to the road that passed further down, past the foot of the mountain, where the valley began. He followed the direction of Wei's gaze to see what had stolen his attention, but except for the distant shadows of figures passing by on the road, which he couldn't quite make out from so far away, there didn't seem to be anything. “Xiao Wei, you’ll have to tell me. My eyes aren’t as good as yours…”
Wei was thoughtful for a while, not taking his eyes off the passersby on the road, until he finally said, "It's a long way of hours to the nearest houses or the village... The rain will pour long before then."
Shen San was taken aback by what that implied. They had never had visitors there; Wei had always been completely uncomfortable with the idea of anyone in their private space. "We have a good collection of blankets we've woven over the years," he tried.
"Do we have that many blankets?" Wei didn't take his eyes off the road.
"Do you think they'll try to reach the village before the storm?"
"If I recognize that soul correctly, he would rather be cautious. I'm going to make more broth, boil water and put congee on to cook," Wei informed as he got up and walked back into the hut.
“Soul? Recognize? He? He who? Xiao Wei!” Shen San protested at being left talking to himself, but eventually turned his gaze back to the road, following the two figures that were slowly becoming less like blurred shadows moving across the landscape and more like people.
Recognize someone through their soul? Have we met before, Xiao Wei? Did you recognize my soul too? You haven't said anything about it so far. Maybe you'd disappear again if I asked about it…
Shen San wasn't a man to live with doubts, but in this case, he preferred not to take the risks of trying to find out - not without first considering a slow and safe path, if such a thing existed. Nothing was worth the risk of Wei disappearing from his life again.
He stayed with his carving and his thoughts there at the door, occasionally glancing at the road and the darkening clouds, seeing the travelers getting closer, hearing the familiar sounds of Wei working in the kitchen.
Visitors, such as they had never had before, sheltered in their home for a fleeting moment in those years. Like a passing summer breeze. And then gone, never to be seen again.
At those thoughts, Shen San scolded himself aloud, “Aiyo, Shen San, have you grown old and forgotten that this life is just a tiny piece of everything? If you don't see it today, you might see it tomorrow. If you don't see it tomorrow, the next life is just a different form of tomorrow.”
After all those years there, Shen San was no longer so young, but he wasn't old enough to not be able to start making new plans. Stopping watching the travelers on the road or his carving, he turned to the open door. "Xiao Wei, that got me thinking, we've always been alone here, and despite the chickens, there's no friendship there.” All the sounds of Wei working in the kitchen stopped. “What do you think about adopting a cat?” All inside the hut remained dead silent. “Maybe a black one,” Shen San finished, only to hear the sound of a ceramic bowl shattering on the floor next. Wei had never let anything slip from his hands under any circumstances, not when dealing with the kitchen nor when doing anything else. "Yao-xiong, you could just tell me that you don't like black cats and prefer a white one instead..."
Half a minute passed before Shen San heard Wei picking up the pieces of the broken bowl, and his voice quietly murmuring, so low that Shen San almost didn't catch the words.
“A black one is good.”
…