Sitting on the bed as the early morning sunlight slightly warmed his back, Mu Dishi looked at Ma Jingguo, his expression unreadable, and said, his voice flat and final, "Go pack up your bags."
Ma Jingguo's heart sank, and he slowly looked up at Mu Dishi, a wave of icy fear chilling him to the bone. The last time Mu Dishi told him to pick up his bags was to kick him out of the cave, and he had not seen Mu Dishi for five years. The memory of that painful separation resurfaced, sharp and raw. He hesitated, paralyzed by dread, and refused to get up from the bed. He just looked at Mu Dishi, his eyes wide with fear and hurt, without saying a single word, pleading silently.
Mu Dishi then said, his voice unwavering, "You can leave."
"Why?" Ma Jingguo said quietly, his voice trembling with the effort to keep it steady. "Xiao shushu, why?"
Mu Dishi said, his voice sharp and dismissive, "Because I don't want you here."
Ma Jingguo said, his voice filled with desperation, "Xiao shushu, I've waited five years to see you."
Mu Dishi said, his voice colder than the morning air, "Now you see me. You can leave now."
Ma Jingguo stood up from the bed, a surge of anger momentarily replacing his fear, but he still kept a steady voice and asked, his gaze fixed on Mu Dishi, "What if I don't want to leave? Then what?"
Mu Dishi asked, his voice laced with cold suspicion, "Why do you want to stay?" He looked at Ma Jingguo coldly, his phoenix eyes piercing. "This place has nothing to do with you."
Ma Jingguo then looked at Mu Dishi, his anger fueling his courage. "Xiao shushu, why did you kick me out five years ago?"
Mu Dishi said, repeating the old excuse, "I've already told you. I just needed you to help me practice the Killer String."
Ma Jingguo walked to the table and sat face to face with Mu Dishi, looking at him intently, his expression filled with a sad understanding. "I don't believe that is the reason," he said, his voice firm.
"You believe what you want to believe," Mu Dishi said coldly, his gaze flicking away, avoiding eye contact.
Ma Jingguo said sadly, his voice filled with quiet pain, "You knew that once you finished the training in the 'Killer String Manual', you would seek revenge. If I was with you, I would follow you to seek revenge. That's why you kicked me out." His eyes were still locked onto Mu Dishi, searching for a reaction. "The other reason is because when I put the hairpin on your hair, you knew that I liked you. Am I correct, xiao shushu?"
Mu Dishi looked down at the table, his jaw tight, refusing eye contact, the silence stretching between them, thick with unspoken truths.
Ma Jingguo smiled at Mu Dishi, a bittersweet expression. "Xiao shushu, you've always known that I like you, is that true?" he pressed gently, his voice soft but unwavering.
Mu Dishi didn't answer, the silence his only reply, confirming Ma Jingguo's words.
Ma Jingguo smiled again, the expression tinged with sorrow, but there was also a quiet strength in his voice as he confessed his deepest feelings. "Xiao shushu, you may not know, but since I was young, I always wanted to know how it felt in your arms or being held by you. When you stand still with your hands behind your back and close your eyes, I love that posture the most." This heartfelt confession, spoken with such simple sincerity, made Mu Dishi finally look at him, his eyes revealing a flicker of surprise, perhaps even vulnerability, quickly masked. Ma Jingguo gave Mu Dishi a big smile, the tears still held back, determined to make this moment count. "When I told you that I wanted to be beside you because of the promise I made with my mother, that was a lie. I want to stay by your side because I want to stay by your side."
Mu Dishi was speechless, the weight of Ma Jingguo's confession settling heavily upon him, confirming what he had suspected, what he had feared. Since the first year of being together, he had never thought Ma Jingguo had these feelings for him, not like this. He had only noticed that in the last five months before he chased Ma Jingguo out of the cave, Ma Jingguo thought of him as more than a friend or a brother. Ma Jingguo was not afraid to show his affection toward him, his actions subtle but constant, a quiet devotion that mirrored the bonds he had witnessed in his own family. For example, Ma Jingguo would wait until he came back from his sword practice to have dinner with him, a simple act of companionship that meant more than he realized at the time. Ma Jingguo's actions toward him were like his father's actions toward his mother, filled with quiet devotion. Ma Jingguo was right; the real reason he chased Ma Jingguo away five years ago was because he realized that Ma Jingguo's feelings toward him were more than that of a friend or a brother, and that realization had unsettled him, adding another layer of complication to the dangerous path he was set upon, a path he felt he had to walk alone.
Ma Jingguo smiled, holding back his tears, looking at Mu Dishi, his heart aching. Ma Jingguo didn't know why he had tears welling up. These tears, he didn't know whether they were happy tears of finally confessing or sad tears of knowing the likely outcome, of seeing Mu Dishi's reluctance, his quiet rejection. His heart was hurting terribly, a sharp, physical ache in his chest, a mirror to the pain in his injured shoulder. He wanted to stand beside Mu Dishi and be Mu Dishi's human shield: to shield and protect Mu Dishi from any harm. He wanted to stay with Mu Dishi, to be his home, but if Mu Dishi didn't want him to stay, if Mu Dishi would always push him away, what good was it? The thought was a crushing weight, stealing his breath.
Ma Jingguo gave Mu Dishi a big smile with his innocent, big eyes, a brave, heartbreaking expression that tore at something deep within Mu Dishi. And he said, his voice soft, laced with unshed tears, accepting the inevitable, "Xiao shushu, let me comb your hair for you. After that, I'll pick up my bags and go home." Ma Jingguo felt a sharp pain inside his heart as he spoke these words, the lie of "go home" a cruel twist of the knife. His only home was inside that secluded mountain area with Mu Dishi. That was the only home he knew.
Mu Dishi said, a low sound of reluctant agreement, his gaze still fixed on Ma Jingguo, perhaps sensing the finality in his tone, the depth of the sacrifice in his words. "Mm."
Ma Jingguo walked to his bag, his movements slow with pain and sorrow, and he took out the jade comb tied with a red string, the one he cherished, the one given to him by Mu Dishi. He began to comb Mu Dishi's hair, standing behind him, his fingers trembling slightly. As he combed, he stroked Mu Dishi's dark, silky hair gently, savoring the texture, the quiet intimacy of the moment, and said, his voice soft and full of quiet affection, a farewell in every stroke, "Xiao shushu, have I told you before, your hair is the most beautiful hair?"
"Hair is all alike," Mu Dishi replied, his voice still quiet, allowing the intimate gesture, the unspoken goodbye.
Ma Jingguo shook his head gently, a sad smile on his face that Mu Dishi couldn't see. "No, Xiao shushu's hair is the most beautiful and softest." He combed Mu Dishi's hair with tender care and tied it up with Mu Dishi's favorite hair ornament, the familiar movements a comfort amidst the pain of parting. He also pinned the jade hairpin onto Mu Dishi's tied hair, placing the small, symbolic object back where it belonged, a silent reminder of their connection. Ma Jingguo then picked up his clothes he had hung to dry overnight, folded them neatly, and put them inside his bag. He changed back into his own clothes, the familiar fabric feeling foreign and cold against his skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of Mu Dishi's earlier embrace. He also folded Mu Dishi's pants and robe and put them on the bed, a small act of care before he left.
Ma Jingguo looked hurtfully at Mu Dishi's handsome face one last time, memorizing his features, and said with pain, his voice a raw whisper, thick with unshed tears, "Xiao shushu, you take care of yourself." He walked past Mu Dishi, his heart aching with the desperate hope that Mu Dishi would look at him one more time, call him back, but Mu Dishi did not turn around to look at him, his back remaining straight and unyielding. "Xiao shushu, goodbye," he said, the words tearing from his throat, the final farewell echoing in the small hut.
Ma Jingguo walked out of the bamboo hut, leaving the only home he had ever known, leaving his heart behind. The rain had stopped, but the air was cold and damp. When he believed he had walked far enough, out of Mu Dishi's sight, far enough that his desperate call wouldn't reach him, he turned around and looked back at the small bamboo hut, at Mu Dishi's back, still visible in the distance at the entrance. Only then did the tears that he had tried his best not to cry in front of Mu Dishi finally begin to fall, hot and heavy, streaming down his face as he stared at the retreating figure, the figure who was his world, the figure who had just cast him out again. He walked away toward Mu Village, leaving his heart behind in that small, secluded bamboo hut.
Long after Ma Jingguo was gone, his figure a distant memory on the road, Mu Dishi finally turned around, his expression unreadable in the soft morning light. He got up from the chair, dressed himself in the clothes Ma Jingguo had folded – clothes warmed by Ma Jingguo's touch. He walked out of the bamboo hut, closing and locking the door behind him, a final closure on this chapter of his life in the village. Then he walked through the ruined Mu Village, the silence broken only by the sounds of nature. When he was walking out of Mu Village, he saw Yong Hao, who was burning paper money for the dead at the graveyard, and two Sword village disciples putting incense sticks in front of a tombstone, performing their own acts of remembrance.
Yong Hao asked, looking up as Mu Dishi approached, his expression weary but respectful, "Childe Mu, are you leaving?"
"Mm," Mu Dishi replied, a simple affirmation, his gaze fixed on the road ahead.
Yong Hao said, his voice cautious, "Childe Mu, I've heard that you tore the Mu treasure map apart and threw it at the gathered Sects and clans in Shaolin Sect."
"I did," Mu Dishi confirmed, a hint of coldness in his voice.
"It's a good thing," Yong Hao said with a nod of approval, recognizing the wisdom in that act. "Childe Mu, you be careful. The four clans and three Sects will not let you off easily."
Mu Dishi walked past Yong Hao, his gaze fixed ahead, his back straight and unyielding, and he said coldly, his voice carrying a chilling promise, the vengeance not entirely extinguished, "If they dare to come, I have no problem ending their doggie lives." Mu Dishi proceeded to walk down the hill path, merging into the main road, a solitary figure once more, his destination Jiangnan, his path forward uncertain, but clear of the emotional entanglement he had just left behind.
Ma Jingguo walked for two hours, the pain in his left shoulder a dull ache, but the pain inside his heart was unbearable, a sharp, constant agony. He stopped at a roadside tea house, drawn by the faint sounds of life. He sat down at an empty table, collapsing onto the stool, unaware of his surroundings, lost in his grief.
The Owner approached him cautiously. "What can I get for you?"
"Liquor," Ma Jingguo said, his voice rough. "Five jars."
The Owner, sensing his distress, soon came back to Ma Jingguo with five jars of liquor.
Ma Jingguo began drinking, desperately trying to drown his pain, to numb the ache in his heart. After Ma Jingguo finished his five jars of liquor, the bitter liquid doing little to ease his sorrow, he ordered more. After ten small jars of liquor, the world began to blur, and Ma Jingguo lowered his head onto the table, the wood cool against his feverish skin. Then, through the haze of alcohol and grief, he saw someone sitting in front of him. He raised his head, blinking through his tears and the effects of the liquor; it was Kuo Changchang.
"Why are you here?" Ma Jingguo scoffed, surprised and disoriented.
Kuo Changchang said, her voice gentle, full of concern, "Ah Chen, you are hurt. You shouldn't be drinking."
"I am not drunk yet," Ma Jingguo mumbled, swaying slightly. "I want to get drunker."
"If you are drunk," Kuo Changchang said, trying to reason with him, "how can you find your xiao shushu?"
Ma Jingguo laughed, a harsh, broken sound, holding back his tears, the irony of her words piercing his heart. "I found him," he choked out, the laughter turning to sobs, "but he chased me away again."
"Let's go," Kuo Changchang said softly, reaching out a hand to him.
"Go where?" Ma Jingguo cried, pulling back, his voice filled with despair. "I can't go where I want to go."
"Let's go back to Jinfeng Sect," Kuo Changchang said, offering him a lifeline, a place of belonging. "You are still a disciple of Jinfeng Sect."
Ma Jingguo cried openly now, the dam of his emotions finally breaking, the alcohol loosening his control. He leaned into Kuo Changchang's gentle embrace, burying his face in her shoulder as she held him. "Shijie, I really want to go back home!" he sobbed, tears streaming down his face, blurring the world.
As he cried softly inside Kuo Changchang's arms, a memory surfaced, sharp and clear – the pain of being shut out, and the moment he found an unexpected connection in the aftermath. It was the first time they had met, five years ago, in a situation not unlike this one, alone and lost after leaving the safety of the mountain.
He recalled the first night he stood outside the ten-thousand-pound stone door, the cold, impenetrable barrier between him and the person he loved. He kept banging on the stone door with his bare fists and called for Mu Dishi to open it, his voice hoarse with pleading and desperation. He didn't know if Mu Dishi heard him or not, if he was deliberately ignoring him, or if he was simply gone. He knocked and knocked until his knuckles began to bleed, the pain a dull counterpoint to the ache in his heart. He then waited outside patiently for three days and three nights, hoping, praying, for the door to open, for a sign, a word, anything. On the fourth day, when Mu Dishi still did not open the stone door, when the silence from within remained unbroken, that was when he finally gave up; that was when he decided to go to Jiangnan by himself, carrying his broken heart and the echo of that closed door.
Wandering alone by himself on the street, feeling utterly lost, his stomach began growling, and he realized that he hadn't eaten anything since the day he was locked out. He looked at the street and he saw a small Inn. He then walked into the Inn as he saw with a group of people surrounding a table, a commotion drawing attention. He made his way to the crowded people, his curiosity piqued. He saw a young teen, about fifteen, arguing fiercely with the waiter.
"Miss," the Waiter said, his voice exasperated, "you are a good, decent-looking lady. Please pay."
"Please don't make a scene," Kuo Changchang said, her face flushed with embarrassment. "My money bag was stolen. If I had known that my money bag was stolen, I would never have ordered this food."
Ma Jingguo looked at the young lady, recognizing her now, and felt somewhat sorry for her predicament. Ma Jingguo then said, stepping forward, his voice steady despite his earlier drinking, "Waiter, don't make a scene; I will pay for her food. Add her tab to my tab."
The Waiter looked at him, surprised. "This young man," he said, glancing at Kuo Changchang, "she also booked a room as well."
"I will also pay for that too," Ma Jingguo said, pulling out a silver ingot.
The Waiter's eyes widened. "This young man," he asked, his tone changing to respect, "are you just dining, or do you also want a room too?"
"Both," Ma Jingguo said simply, handing the silver ingot to the waiter. "This should take care of everything. The rest is your tip."
The Waiter beamed, bowing low. "Thank you, young gongzi."
Kuo Changchang walked up to Ma Jingguo, her face filled with gratitude and surprise. "Thank you, shixiong. I am Kuo Changchang of Jinfeng Sect. May I know your name and where you live? I will send you back your money."
"Ah Chen," Ma Jingguo said, a sad smile touching his lips. "I don't have a home to return to."
Kuo Changchang smiled, a genuine, kind smile. "How about you become a disciple of Jinfeng Sect if you don't have a home to return to?"
"Jinfeng Sect? Where is that?" Ma Jingguo asked, intrigued by the offer.
"Fuzhou," Kuo Changchang replied.
Ma Jingguo then asked, calculating the distance, "How far is Fuzhou from Guangzhou?"
"About ten days' walk," Kuo Changchang said.
"You don't know me," Ma Jingguo said, a hint of warning in his voice, suggesting his complicated past.
Kuo Changchang smiled and said, her gaze steady, "I am good at judging people."
The memory faded, leaving Ma Jingguo still in Kuo Changchang's arms, the tea house sounds returning, the present pain layered with the echoes of the past. He knew where he was going now. He had a path.
Ma Jingguo and Kuo Changchang took ten days to get to Fuzhou, beginning Ma Jingguo's new path, a path away from the pain of the past, but not free from its shadows.
Mu Dishi sat quietly inside his room at a different inn, listening to the rain, the rhythmic drumming a familiar sound of solitude. He was thinking about where he should go next, his revenge fulfilled, his path now uncertain. Then he recalled Ma Jingguo once told him that Ma Jingguo wanted to go to Jiangnan. Perhaps that was a direction to take.
He had lived in Guangzhou on the outskirts of Tong Village for ten years, a decade spent in isolation, honing his skills for vengeance. He had never gone further than Tong Village to buy food, a hermit by necessity and choice. Sometimes he also questioned himself why, when the Mu family lived up North, the treasure cave was located down South. It was a mystery he hadn't bothered to unravel until now.
Mu Dishi couldn't sleep, the quiet of the inn room too still after the recent chaos. He got up and walked around the small Inn premises, seeking the distraction of movement. It was a rainy night, so none of the oil lamps were lit, casting the corridors in deep shadow. He walked in the dark, guided by memory, listening to the sound of the rain, when someone bumped right into his back, a sudden collision in the darkness. He turned around, his hand instinctively going to Honglei, his senses on high alert. It was too dark to really see the man's face clearly, only a vague outline.
"Sorry," the Man said, his voice muffled, stepping back quickly.
"It's okay," Mu Dishi replied, his voice calm, assessing the stranger.
Then, the Man hesitated, and his voice, filled with surprise and recognition, called out softly from the darkness, "Xiao shushu, is that you?"