Chapter 15 — Wu Yang Flower – Jade Snow Palace

Officials repeatedly submitted statements, some said he neglected his duties, some accused him of corruptly selling the country, and some even publicly accused him of making fun of the society for the sake of a woman. The Emperor had long been suspicious of him, but now had an excuse to revoke all his power, abolish his title as Regent, and then in the name of "resting" kept him under house arrest. One step at a time, more than ten thousand people, power and authority, in the blink of an eye became the biggest joke in the capital. Uncle Chung finished speaking, slightly raised his head to look at me, his eyes were cautious, as if he wanted to probe his mind. It was as if I wanted to detect some fluctuation from my facial expression. But I just listened quietly, from beginning to end without changing my expression. In my heart, too, there was not even a small ripple. What you just said was already in my expectations; That was the end when I personally paved the way for him, step by step, without error. Therefore, I have no pity. Not even half of the satisfaction. Tieu Quyet now, to me, is just a stranger I once knew. His honor and humiliation, his life and death, are no longer enough to touch my heart.

“I know.” I spoke softly. “From now on, you no longer need to report anything to me about the capital.”

Uncle Chung seemed to want to say something more, but in the end he just nodded slightly: "Yes, master." He retreated. The room became quiet again, only the sound of the rain outside on the porch, falling evenly on the tiled roof. I raised the tea cup and took a gentle sip. The water has cooled down a long time ago, cold to the throat, just like my heart - which soon cooled down after many years of storms. I used to think that between me and him, all the dust of the past had completely settled here. From now on, no more trouble. No more turning around. Spring in Giang Nam always comes earlier than elsewhere. As soon as the spring rain stops, the green color seems to awaken, flooding the garden, unable to be contained. The weeping willow sprouts lush buds. Peaches bloom brightly on all branches. Thanh Nguyet Cu in that spring light is as beautiful as a watercolor painting, both gentle and clear. We began to step out of the already familiar room, leisurely stroll in the garden, or sometimes take a small boat and sail alone along the calm lake in the middle of the manor. Life is so comfortable that it makes people hallucinate, as if those two lifetimes of suffering and struggle were just a distant dream, never really existing. That day, Xuan Hoa followed me for a walk by the lake. She suddenly stopped walking and pointed to the opposite shore.

“Miss, look,” she said softly, “since when is there another drawing booth over there?”

I followed her hand and looked over. Sure enough, under a weeping willow tree on the opposite bank of the lake, a small stall appeared at some point. Behind the stall is a man wearing a simple coarse cloth shirt, bowing his head and quietly painting, looking calm as if he had never been bothered by the world. I squinted my eyes slightly. In that moment, the spring wind suddenly blew a little stronger. The lake surface gently rippled. His body was somewhat skinny, his back looked a bit desolate from afar, just like a disheartened scholar who had to wander to the South to make a living by painting a few paintings by the lake. I don't care. Giang Nam has many talented people, people like this who rely on pen and ink to make a living are everywhere. A person selling paintings by the water, to me, is just a shadow very normal among countless people passing by. But in the days that followed, that drawing counter was still there. The painter was still sitting in the same place. Perhaps business wasn't very good, because very few people stopped in front of his stall. He didn't sell or solicit, he just sat there quietly day after day, bowing his head and drawing. Draw a lake. Draw a row of willows. Draw clouds floating above your head. That silence made Xuan Hoa feel pity. She said softly to me: "Miss, that painter looks so pitiful, he hasn't been able to sell a single painting all day. How about we go over and buy one for him?" I shook my head.

"No need."

I don't even know why, but I always have a vague feeling of insecurity in my heart, like something isn't right. He was very far away, I couldn't see his face clearly, but every time my eyes glanced at that skinny back, a familiar feeling that was hard to name arose in my heart. That feeling was like a small needle, not painful enough to make people cry, but deep enough to be impossible to ignore. From then on, we began to avoid the lake area and no longer strolled in that direction. Then just a few days later, the drawing counter disappeared. The painter can no longer see his shadow.