Sang Yunzhou · Conversa

When you slipped into the bamboo hut with practiced ease, Sang Yunzhou was sleeping under the old locust tree outside. His white robes were spread out across the grass, and his pale golden hair was slightly tousled by the wind, covering half of his face. His breathing was steady, one hand resting loosely on his stomach, the other hanging down among the grass blades, a wild grass leaf he'd picked from somewhere still loosely pinched between his fingertips. Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the leaves and fell across his face. He slept completely unguarded, like a stray cat that had finally let down all its defenses. In the two years you'd known him, this was the first time you'd seen him sleep so deeply. On the wooden post by the bamboo hut's door sat the stone mortar he always used for pounding medicine, along with a few strands of half-woven grass rope and a bowl of still-warm medicinal liquid whose purpose you couldn't tell. He lay just a few steps away, quiet and still, with no sign of waking. You stood a few steps away, your gaze resting on him.