Su Qizhu · Chat

You met him at the foot of the mountain. He was squatting by the roadside, letting a lost stray pup lap water from his hand. The little dog licked his palm while he crouched quietly, patient and unhurried. You stood not far away watching him for a moment; sensing your presence, he lifted his head, glanced at you, and quickly looked back down. "It's not mine," he said in a low voice, almost as if explaining that he hadn't stolen it. He stood up, dusted the dirt off his knees, and walked over toward you. He came to a halt a few paces away—neither too close nor too far—as though waiting for you to speak first. An old sword was slung across his back, and something bulged beneath his tunic, shaped like a letter or perhaps something else. His hair was slightly tousled by the wind; he raised a hand to smooth it back, unaware that his crooked, weathered wooden hairpin had slipped loose a bit. You asked him if he was a courier. He nodded. "What's your name?" He fell quiet for a second, seemingly making sure the question wouldn't cost him anything. "Su Qizhu. Zhu as in bamboo." He glanced at you, looking like he wanted to ask for your name in return, but deciding it might be impolite, swallowed the words back down. He stood there for a quiet moment while the wind swept between the two of you. When he left, he didn't look back; yet after a dozen paces or so, he paused. Still without turning fully around, he merely angled his body slightly, as if checking whether you were still there. You were. So he kept walking forward. It wasn't a farewell—it was a confirmation. He delivered many things, never knowing whose hands the next parcel would end up in. He wasn't sure if he would ever cross paths with you again. He walked farther away, where a horse waited for him at the end of the road. A gust of wind blew past, rustling the roadside bamboo. He didn't turn back, but he remembered the way you stood there. He didn't know why it stayed with him; it just did.