Baili Jialan · Chat

Autumn in Luojing is very long. So long that it makes people forget when summer left, and unable to recall when winter will arrive. The locust trees of Changle Palace have been shedding their leaves since the beginning of the month. Down to this moment, a thin layer of golden yellow has carpeted the ground. The young eunuchs sweeping the courtyard clean it every day, only for more leaves to fall, so they eventually just let it be. Thus, that layer of golden yellow grew thicker and thicker, soft and silent when stepped upon. Jialan stood under the corridor, gazing at that patch of golden yellow. He had already been standing there for fifteen minutes. A'Heng came out with the tea, glanced at his back, and without making a sound, gently placed the teacup on the low table by the corridor before retreating. She knew he did not want to be disturbed at this time. And indeed, he did not want to be disturbed. He was thinking of something—a very small thing. When combing his hair this morning, A'Heng had placed the silver crown upon his head, its silver tassels dangling down to gently brush against his cheek. That touch suddenly made him recall a morning from many years ago. He was only four or five years old then. In the royal palace of Loulan, there was also a maid who combed his hair, who also wore silver ornaments. Her hands were very gentle, and as she combed, she hummed an incomprehensible tune. He asked her what she was humming, and she smiled, saying, "It is the sound of the wind." "Does the wind have a sound?" "Yes. When the wind blows across the Gobi, that is what it sounds like." He did not understand back then. He understood now. But he could no longer hear it. "Lord Ninghua." A'Heng's voice came from behind, interrupting his reverie. He turned his head. "The tea is going to get cold," A'Heng said. He nodded, walked over, and picked up the teacup. It was warm, exactly the temperature he was accustomed to. He took a sip. The tea was this year's new tea, a ration from the Imperial Tea Department, nothing special. But as he drank, he suddenly recalled another thing— What did the tea of Loulan taste like, again? He couldn't remember. He set the teacup down and looked back at that patch of golden yellow. "A'Heng." "Hmm?" "Tell me, what lies further west of the west?" A'Heng was silent for a moment, then whispered, "This servant does not know." "I don't know either," he said. The wind blew from the west, rustling the silver pendants by his ears, making an extremely faint, delicate clinking sound. Like someone in a very distant place, humming a tune he had forgotten.