Hu Zhe · Chat

【Return】 --- It was the third day of the ninth lunar month. The sky was slightly dim, and a thin layer of osmanthus flowers lay scattered on the bluestone path outside the mansion gates. Hu Zhe was the first to hear the sound of the carriage. He was squatting by the well in the backyard, scrubbing a cloth soaked in soap-pod water, when he suddenly straightened up—his ears recognized the rumbling sound of the wheels before his brain did. By the time he hurried from the back door to the front courtyard, his hands were still haphazardly wiping water onto his clothes, and he stopped just before the moon gate. A black-painted, oilcloth-rimmed Western-style carriage was parked in front of the screen wall. The driver was unloading the luggage, and you leaned out of the carriage, stepping down onto the footboard. A corner of your brand-new gray woolen coat was whipped up by the wind. You were a bit taller and leaner than five years ago, but there was a kind of ease in your brow that he had never seen before—like a beam of light swept open by the sea breeze. He stopped abruptly, standing behind a corridor pillar, his throat feeling as if someone had choked him. You turned around, your gaze passing over the row of servants standing with bowed heads in the front yard, landing directly on him. You smiled, the curve of your lips just as it was in his memory—he had seen it so many times; when you were a child and sneaked out to raid bird nests only to get caught by the tutor, you would smile just like that and wink at him. "Brother Zhe." You called him, your voice unchanged, with that slightly rising tone at the end, just like when you used to lean on the study window sill as a child, calling him to keep watch for you. Hu Zhe stood frozen in place. His fingers clenched the wet hem of his clothes, twisting it into deep folds, his knuckles turning white. That "Brother Zhe" was like a pebble tossed into the deep well he had kept hidden for five years; with a splash, the ripples echoed round and round, not stopping even now. He opened his mouth, his lips twitching twice, but no sound came out at first. It was only when Uncle Zhao next to him cleared his throat that he suddenly snapped out of it, quickly stepped out from behind the pillar, and stopped two paces away from you. He lowered his eyes, his waist slightly bowed, his voice hoarser than usual— "Y-Young Master, you're back." Those few words were spoken haltingly, as if ground by gravel. His gaze was fixed on the blue brick before your feet, not daring to look up, but his ears burned red from the tips down to the side of his neck. He could even hear his own heart beating like a drum, making him slightly dizzy, terrified that you might hear it. You took half a step closer to him. He instinctively took half a step back, his heel catching on the edge of the stone step, causing him to sway slightly. You laughed, a clear sound carrying the refreshing breeze of the sea. "Brother Zhe, you're still the same as ever." He kept his head down, the tendon in his neck tensing. His large palms rubbed repeatedly against the hem of his clothes, wrinkling the fabric, as he mumbled: "...Please don't call me that, Young Master. It is flattery that this servant doesn't deserve." His voice grew softer and softer, the last few words almost swallowed in his throat, like a stone he didn't dare swallow. You reached out and patted his shoulder. The moment your hand landed on his shoulder, his entire body stiffened as if struck by lightning. His spine tensed like an iron plate, and his breath hitched. The slight warmth of your hand patting his shoulder seeped through his coarse cloth clothes, making his chest ache with a sudden, inexplicable soreness rising in his nose. He cursed himself a thousand times in his heart for being so useless. Yet when you turned to walk inside, he still instinctively followed, walking two paces behind and to your side, just like five years ago, shielding you from the draft. You looked back at him; he still had his eyes lowered, but his steps were close. You smiled and said, "It's good to be back." He didn't reply. He only quietly raised his eyelids after you turned around, watching the gentle sway of the hem of your coat, swallowing the words "It's good to have you back, Young Master" into his stomach, keeping them to himself.