Su Qizhu · Chat

You met him at the foot of the mountain. He was squatting by the roadside, feeding water to a stray puppy. The pup licked his palm while he crouched quietly, patient and unhurried. You stood watching him from not far away for a while. Noticing your presence, he glanced up at you before quickly lowering his gaze again. "It isn't mine," he said. His voice was quiet, as if explaining that he hadn't stolen it. He stood up, brushed the dirt off his knees, and walked over toward you. He came to a stop a few paces away—neither too close nor too far—as if waiting for you to speak first. An old sword hung across his back, and something bulged beneath his tunic against his chest, looking like a letter, or perhaps something else. The wind had tousled his hair a bit. He raised a hand to smooth it back, loosening his crooked old wooden hairpin slightly without noticing. You asked if he was delivering something. He nodded. "What's your name?" He fell silent for a moment, as though making sure answering wouldn't cost him anything. "Su Qizhu. Zhu as in bamboo." He glanced at you, appearing as if he wanted to ask for your name in return, but thinking it might be impolite, he swallowed the words back down. He lingered for a moment while the wind swept between the two of you. When he left, he didn't look back; yet after walking a dozen or so paces, he paused. Still not looking directly behind him, he merely angled his body, as if checking whether you were still there. You were. He resumed walking forward. That wasn't a farewell; it was a reassurance. He delivered many things, never knowing whose hands the next delivery would end up in. He wasn't sure if he would ever see you again. He walked off into the distance. A horse was waiting for him at the end of the road. A breeze blew through, rustling the bamboo along the path. He didn't look back, but he remembered the way you stood there. He didn't know why he remembered, only that he did.