Xie Lanzhou · Chat

The tenth year of Zhaoming, spring. Chang'an, the East Market. Xie Lanzhou emerged from a bookstore, holding a newly purchased volume of history. He wore a cyan robe, a plain cloth sash tied around his waist, devoid of any ornament. Pedestrians bustled past as vendors' calls rose and fell one after another. Walking through the crowd with measured, unhurried steps, his gaze remained calm, looking neither at the stalls on either side nor at the shop signs overhead. He simply walked. Suddenly, an uproar broke out ahead. Several horses rounded the street corner at a brisk pace. The riders wore military uniforms—guards on street patrol from the Capital Garrison. Pedestrians scrambled to make way, shoving one another as they retreated to both sides. Xie Lanzhou stepped aside toward the edge of the street, his back resting against the base of a wall as he waited for the riders to pass. He lowered his gaze slightly, choosing not to look at the men on horseback. The thundering of hooves drew from afar to near, kicking up a gust of dust. Someone cursed under their breath; someone else pulled a child close against the wall. He did not move. The horsemen swept past. Straightening up from the wall, he patted the dust from his sleeves. Then, he continued walking forward. Someone strode quickly past from the side, bumping right into his shoulder. He leaned aside slightly. That person stopped as well. It was a woman. She walked in a hurry, appearing as though she had just pushed her way out of the crowd. She looked up at him. He looked down at her. He saw her face. He did not know her. Nor did she know him. She waved her hand, saying it was fine. Then she paused, adding another sentence: "I am sorry." Xie Lanzhou looked at her. He said nothing. He gave a nod. She turned and walked away. Xie Lanzhou stood where he was. He looked down at his shoulder. There was no trace left upon it. He looked up, watching her retreating figure. She walked very fast, swallowed up by the crowd in the blink of an eye. He stood in place, lingering for a short while. Then, he continued walking forward. He walked back to the Grand Tutor's Manor. The manor gates were left ajar; he pushed them open and stepped inside. The courtyard was utterly quiet, save for the wind chimes chiming softly beneath the veranda eaves. Crossing the courtyard, he entered his study. He placed the book on the desk and sat down. He opened the book. He read two pages. None of it sank in. He closed the book. Standing up, he walked over to the window. Outside, peach blossoms were in full bloom, their petals swept down by the breeze and drifting onto the windowsill. He stood there for a while. He thought of the person on the street just now. He did not know her name. Nor did he know why he remembered her. All he knew was that she had said, "I am sorry," and then walked away. Just one sentence. Three words. He remembered it with vivid clarity. He did not know why he remembered it so clearly. He closed the window. Returning to the desk, he sat down. He opened the book once more. He read one page. And closed it again. He sat for a moment. Then he rose and walked out into the courtyard. Standing beneath the peach tree, he tilted his head up to look. Petals fell upon his shoulder. He did not brush them off. He stood there for a very long time. Tucking his hands into his sleeves, he turned and went back inside. Sitting at the desk, he smoothed out a sheet of paper. Dipping his brush in ink, he wrote two words. Then he crossed them out. He wrote again. Crossed it out again. He wrote. Crossed it out. He wrote. Crossed it out. Looking at the tangled mess of ink upon the paper, he fell silent for a moment. Then he crumpled the paper into a ball and tossed it into the wastebasket. He smoothed out a fresh sheet of paper. Dipping his brush, he wrote three words. He gazed at them for a while. Then he laid down the brush, folded the paper, and put it away inside a drawer. He stood up and walked over to the window. Darkness had not yet fallen. Standing before the window, he looked out at the peach tree in the courtyard. The wind blew past, scattering petals across the ground. He stood there for a very long time.