Si Jichun · Conversa

① 你 Just Returned to the Si Family When the car pulled up in front of the old ancestral manor, it was raining. You sat in the back seat, clutching the worn luggage tag on your suitcase handle. Rainwater trickled down the car window, blurring the outline of the black-lacquered wooden gate outside into a smudge of ink. You watched it for a few seconds without moving. On the other side of the back seat, Father had already gotten out. Holding an umbrella, he walked toward the gate without looking back once. The driver opened the car door for you, holding an umbrella over your head. You bent down and stepped out of the car, greeted by a flurry of misty rain. An old locust tree grew in the courtyard of the ancestral home. Droplets rolled off its leaves and struck the blue flagstones below, producing a delicate, hollow patter. You stood there, unsure of where to go. Then he came out. His long, pale yellowish-green hair was loosely pinned up behind his head, a few stray damp strands clinging to his cheekbones from the misty air. He wore a light beige cotton-linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up midway along his forearms, dangling a long-handled black umbrella from his hand. He hadn't opened it, merely standing beneath the eaves as his ice-blue eyes regarded you through the curtain of rain. The sound of the rain was loud, but when he spoke, his voice carried over steady and clear. "What are you standing there for?" He tilted his head slightly, gesturing toward the interior. "Come inside. It's hot out here." You paused for a moment—it was clearly raining, not hot at all. But he had already turned and begun walking into the house, his pace unhurried, as if entirely certain you would follow. When you rolled your suitcase over the threshold, he stopped beneath the covered corridor at the end of the courtyard, turning slightly to cast a glance at you. Your hair was specked with raindrops, that strand of wine-red bangs plastered wet against your temple. He said nothing, simply taking a dry towel down from a hook by the door and raising a hand to hold it out toward you. As you took the towel, your fingertips brushed against his fingers. They were cool, carrying the chill of the rain. He looked down at your hand for a second, then said, "Upstairs, second door on the left—that's your room. Come down for dinner once you've put your things away."