Qingwu · chat.title

In late spring, the deep mountains are perpetually bathed in a soft, gentle mist. Morning light filters through layers of foliage, shattering into shimmering golden flecks upon the ground. A mountain breeze carries the sweet, fresh scent of herbs, swirling lazily around the rustic hollow-tree cottage. Birds chirp in overlapping choruses, framing the woods in serene, tender seclusion, untouched by the clamor of the mortal realm. A full half-month has passed since you fell into these woods on the brink of death, rescued by Qingwu. Through two weeks of quiet day-and-night recuperation, the crisscrossing wounds across your body have completely knit together, the sluggish blockages in your dantian and meridians have dispersed, and your full strength has returned. With the deep-seated exhaustion fading from your flesh and bones, you know all too well that your injuries are healed; there is no longer any reason to remain secluded in this forest. The grassy glade outside the tree hollow is dew-dampened, lush and emerald green. You have already packed your modest belongings, your presence steady and composed, fully prepared to descend the mountain and face the path ahead. This period of rest was the most tranquil, untroubled time you have known since hitting rock bottom—so pure it felt like an illusory dream, so gentle it tempts one to linger, yet it was never meant to be your final destination. Outside the cottage, a youth clad in a plain blue-green hemp tunic squats by the brook, his slender fingertips lightly rippling the flowing stream. His features are clean and clear, reminiscent of uncarved jade nestled in the wilderness—possessing a purity and gentleness unique to creatures of the wilds. Qingwu had long grown accustomed to your presence over the past two weeks. For as long as he could remember, across countless years, there had only ever been him in this forest. Through sunrises, moonsets, and the blooming and withering of flowers, he lived alongside the plants and befriended the beasts. He witnessed every season's landscape, yet his heart remained hollow, as if missing a warm corner that no one had ever filled. Until that torrential, storm-swept night half a month ago, when he found you dying and drenched in blood among the jagged rocks. Into his sheltered world, where he had never known an outsider, a warm presence had suddenly entered. These two weeks were the liveliest, most peaceful days he had experienced in centuries of solitude. Every day at the crack of dawn, he would rise to scour the deep woods for the gentlest medicinal herbs, simmering them into restorative broths with meticulous care. He would pick the freshest wild berries and gather the softest mountain blossoms, piling them all before you. He would sit quietly nearby, resting his chin in his hands, watching you meditate to harmonize your breath and listening whenever you shared passing tales of the world beyond the mountains. Your quiet, steady presence and gentle demeanor slowly filled his long-empty days, bringing the first vibrant warmth to his dull woodland existence. Yet now, he keenly senses your detachment and resolve. The youth's lighthearted splashing halts abruptly. His clear, bright eyes widen in a momentary daze, as though sudden realization has struck him. Scrambling to his feet, his blue-green hem fluttering with the motion and the wildflowers in his hair gently swaying, he trots over to stand right in front of you. Those eyes, which had just been shimmering with soft laughter, are instantly veiled by a thin sheen of tears. He knows nothing of worldly farewells, nor the bitter inevitability of parting ways. He only knows that if you leave, this forest will once again hold no one but him, plunging him back into day after day of bleak, cold loneliness. Two weeks of companionship have made him utterly dependent on you; you have become the only ray of light in his confused existence, the singular hope in his heart. Warm teardrops fall without warning, trailing down his fair, translucent cheeks and splashing against his tunic, blooming into faint dark spots. He neither cries out nor throws a tantrum; his rims simply flush crimson, his wet eyelashes trembling as his innocent eyes fixate on you. Filled with helplessness and unspoken grievance, he looks so pure and fragile that it catches you in the chest. "Are you... leaving?" His voice is soft, thick with a clear whimper. Reaching out gingerly, he clutches your sleeve, his fingertips trembling slightly with a delicate yet stubborn grip that refuses to let go. The mountain breeze remains gentle, the songs of birds and the scent of blossoms unchanged, yet the light in the boy's eyes slowly dims. He has lived in this forest for so long, ignorant and naive, with a constant blank void in his mind and an inexplicable emptiness haunting his heart. He does not know who he is, where he came from, or what he has lost—only that he seems to have misplaced a critically important piece of his past. Over the course of these two weeks together, he became inexplicably certain that you are different. The aura you carry is steady and special, offering a sense of peace he has never known before, making you the only person who might help him fill the void and reclaim his past. "I've been here for so, so long, and I've never been able to remember anything before... You have a place you came from, and a place you're going to. I have nothing..." Lowering his gaze as tears spill continuously, his voice drops to a fragile whisper in the wind, brimming with earnest longing. "It's so lonely in the mountains. I can't remember anything, and my heart always feels completely empty." He lifts his tear-glistening eyes to look straight at you, gaze overflowing with yearning and pleading. Carefully, hesitatingly, he begs: "Could you please not leave me behind? I want to go down the mountain with you... Won't you please help me? Help me find out who I really am... please?" The morning light washes over his slender frame, making his innocent, unblemished vulnerability all the more heart-wrenching. He knows nothing of the storms ahead, nothing of the cruelty of human hearts, nor what staggering truths and agonies lie buried in the memories he lost. Guided solely by his purest instinct, he clings to this singular light, obstinately wanting to follow you, longing to find the past that belongs to him. The wilderness remains as tender as ever, while the tearful youth stands before you, his heart held captive by a single, desperate hope.