Pathway to Japanese Literature

By a certain river stood the Cui family's wealthy and influential household.
It was an old, large house that Cui Zhigeng, the family head, had purchased from others and inhabited.

Cui Zhigeng was a hale old man around sixty years of age who was said to have amassed his fortune within a single lifetime.
A major landowner who traded agricultural products, he largely led an indolent existence punctuated by occasional journeys.
Whispers circulated about him keeping second and third wives in distant locales.
Further rumors claimed he made frequent pilgrimages to Jinan's Red Swastika Society headquarters and Qingdao's Houtian Temple.

Cui Zhigeng had two things he prided himself on.

One was a round pot approximately two shaku in height—an antiquated object so worn that its age could not be determined.
Though merely old and lacking artistic value, Cui Zhigeng had placed it on the decorative alcove and cherished it.—Long ago, when he had been nothing but a fisherman in Qingdao, casting his net offshore yielded not a single fish but instead hauled up one heavy pot.
It was said that inside this heaven-sent pot was filled to the brim with gold and silver.
Such was the origin story—the very pot that he himself would recount to his intimates—of that vessel.

The other was his wife, Cui Fan. Crescent-shaped gentle eyebrows; long narrow eyes with crystal-clear pupils suspended midair; a slender nose; a small mouth—her cheeks were pale with skin so thin it appeared translucent. Her height measured just under five feet in a willowy frame. At family banquets when wine heightened Cui Zhigeng’s spirits, he would lift this wife while she remained seated in her chair, carry her circling through the guests, and finally bear her off to an inner chamber. The wife smiled placidly through it all. She was about thirty-five years old—the age gap between her and Cui Zhigeng stretched absurdly wide. When he had married her in her extreme youth, Cui Zhigeng was said to have received only a single jar of aged liquor from her family while bestowing upon her seven bolts of yellow silk, seven of purple silk, three fur pelts, five gemstones of varied hues, and a modest quantity of gold. “That accounted for half my entire fortune,” Cui Zhigeng had once declared in drunken joviality.

Cui Fan had a frail constitution; she rarely went out and was always drinking fragrant herbal decoctions.
Even the slightest emotion would drain the color from her cheeks.

On a hot early summer day, Cui Zhigeng had gone out early on an errand, leaving Cui Fan and her daughter Cui Lenghong seated at the lunch table.
Cui Fan had felt unwell since morning and had barely touched her food, leaning one elbow on the dining table as she propped her cheek against her palm, sinking into a daze of vague thoughts.

Beside them was Xu He.
He was a robust man of about forty years old who managed all affairs of the Cui household, directed numerous male and female servants, and personally demonstrated his culinary skills during grand banquets with guests—in short, he served as steward, head servant, and cook.
In his youth, he had been a sailor who was well-versed in affairs across various regions and possessed diverse knowledge, yet for some reason had entered service with the Cui household and still lived unmarried.
He was a man whose sturdy physique and excessively courteous demeanor harmonized in a strangely perfect balance.

Xu He kept an eye on Cui Fan’s condition and said politely with a completely expressionless face.

“Would you care for me to prepare something more suited to your preferences?”

Cui Fan showed a faint smile and answered.

“No, this is quite sufficient.
“It’s just… I’m feeling a bit unwell…”

“But you must eat at least a little,” Lenghong said.

“There’s no need for concern.”

Cui Fan quietly shook her head.

“There’s no need for concern. No, absolutely not—there’s absolutely no such thing.”

Xu He declared emphatically, yet with an utterly unreadable expression, brought over and offered hot tea.

Cui Fan played absently with the teacup, slowly sipped her tea, then took her fan and stood up.

"Shall we step outside for a bit?"

"Yes, that would be best," Lenghong replied.

When they passed through the slightly dim next room, there were stone steps leading down to the wide garden.
When Xu He opened the door there and stood bowing his head, Lenghong let out a cry and dashed out, while Cui Fan froze on the stone steps.

At that moment, what appeared to Lenghong in the bright midday was a single pure white, beautiful bird flying low in the sky.
But to Cui Fan's eyes, it appeared as a jet-black bird, and its dark shadow instantly obscured her field of vision, pressing down all the way to the core of her skull.
She lacked even the strength to close her eyelids; half-opening the fan in her hand and beginning to lift it only to drop it, she herself began to fall like a log.

In that instant, Xu He supported her.
Xu He firmly caught her full weight settling into his arms, gazed at her face for a moment, then suddenly shuddered. Effortlessly lifting her against his chest, he dashed to her private room, laid her on the bed, and turned toward the doorway to call loudly for help.

Lenghong arrived, and a large number of servants came rushing in.

Cui Fan remained unconscious, continuing only shallow breaths.

It was a night of beautiful moonlight.

In the small pavilion of the spacious garden, a young man of about twenty-five was drinking whiskey alone.
Pale complexion and long hair; a cream-colored suit and white leather shoes—it was an outfit that appeared somewhat outlandish within the Cui household.
He was Cui Fan’s nephew, named Cao Xin, who had been taken in by the Cui family from early childhood, gone abroad to study sociology, and after returning home had continued his studies in Beijing, but rushed here in haste upon hearing of Cui Fan’s illness.

He was listlessly emptying glass after glass of whiskey.

There, almost without making a sound, Xu He—wearing a worn-out, inconspicuous Chinese-style garment—approached.

“Shall I bring you something?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Cao Xin replied curtly.

Xu He picked up the whiskey bottle and poured a drink.

"Did you bring this from Beijing?"

"Yes, just a precaution."

Since Xu He remained silent, Cao Xin chimed in.

"When you're by the bedside of a critically ill patient, you need a pick-me-up."

Xu He looked up at Cao Xin from under his brow, sat down there, and inquired.

“And how was the matter of the doctor?”

“It’s no use,” Cao Xin spat out.
"Uncle absolutely refuses to consent."

"That may indeed be the case."
“I was well aware of that.”

“What—you knew… How come?”

Xu He remained silent.

“Let’s hear your explanation.”
“How come?”

“Then I shall explain—during that incident, I twice witnessed the Master’s stern gaze.”
“When I mentioned having caught Madam with both hands when she collapsed, the Master looked at me with a terrifying gaze.”
“Then, when I mentioned having applied a hot water bottle to her feet and placed a mustard plaster on her chest while tending to her, the Master looked at me with an even more terrifying gaze.”

“What in the world does that even mean?”

“I understood perfectly well. For a manservant of my station to brazenly embrace Madam or lay hands upon her skin would be deemed unconscionable—so it has been declared.”

Cao Xin rose to his feet.

“Therefore, there is no possibility of him consenting to entrust Madam’s person to some unknown doctor from god-knows-where.”

Cao Xin remained standing rigidly, staring fixedly at Xu He’s face, but could discern nothing in that expression.
In the moonlight, Xu He’s face looked as though he were wearing a wooden mask.
“Are you seriously saying that?” Cao Xin pressed closer to Xu He.

“Yes, I won’t lie.”

“Then I’ll ask—did you normally… love Aunt? Won’t you confess it?”

“What an outrageous suggestion, sir. While I hold Madam in deepest esteem, as a mere servant I would never harbor such presumptuous notions.”

“But Uncle tells me he distrusts doctors and modern medicine—insists on relying solely on traditional decoctions and salves. Between that explanation and yours—which contains the truth?”

“Both may indeed be true.”

“Both are true…”

Cao Xin fell silent as if he’d collided with an invisible barrier, then abruptly changed his tone.

“Could you bring another glass?”

“Yes, what would you like?”

“Just bring whatever.”

He paced about in the moonlight.

When Xu He returned with a silver tray bearing a plate of watermelon seeds and peanuts alongside a glass, Cao Xin made him sit beside him and poured whiskey.

“There are various matters I want to ask you about—let’s talk while we drink.”

Xu He compliantly accepted the glass.

Cao Xin lowered his voice and slowly began to speak.

"You have knowledge of many things and a sharp mind—and you're no longer young—yet you never oppose a single thing Uncle says. Even with what happened to Aunt this time, you seem to follow him blindly. What's the reason for that?"

“I am but a servant by station.”
“Is that how servants are?”

“Furthermore—and I must remind you of what I mentioned previously—my father had long sought a close relationship with the Master, from whom he received many kindnesses. When my father passed away, he left me urgent instructions: to serve this Master faithfully whether in good or evil, whether in good or evil—he impressed this upon me repeatedly.”

“Whether in good or evil…”

“Yes, this is already an inescapable matter.”

Cao Xin fell silent and stacked his whiskey glasses. Then he abruptly began.

“You must know everything about Uncle – won’t you tell me plainly?”
“How exactly did Uncle amass his present fortune?”

“It would have come about naturally, I suppose.”

“Naturally….”
“Then that pot Uncle takes such pride in—the one supposedly filled with gold and silver—did it really come from the sea?”

“That I do not know.
“But what do you think, sir?”

“That’s why I’m asking.”

“I was once a sailor and know the sea well, but if that pot had been submerged in the ocean for a long time, barnacles would have attached themselves and algae would have grown—things not easily removed without causing various scratches if forced off.”
“That pot shows no such scratches, it would seem.”

“Hmm, I see… And then—Uncle occasionally goes on trips that don’t seem to be for business purposes, and he’s always vague about them—but generally, which direction does he mainly go?”

“I myself do not know well, but what do you think, sir?”

“That’s why I’m asking you.”

“The souvenirs for Madam and the Young Mistress would generally seem to be items from around Shanghai.”

“Ah, I see… And then—sometimes grain merchants or such come to the house, seclude themselves in the inner room with Uncle for lengthy conversations—are they genuine merchants?”

“I do not know, but what do you think, sir?”

“Again? That’s why I’m asking you.”

“If they were ordinary merchants, they would hardly spend such lengthy hours engaged in secretive discussions.”

“I see… Even so, they say Uncle often visits the Red Swastika Society’s headquarters in Jinan and Houtian Temple in Qingdao—is that true?”

“That must indeed be true. To the Red Swastika Society, he has made substantial donations. Also, are you aware of what deities are enshrined at Qingdao’s Houtian Temple?”

“I don’t know.”

“That is where the Boat God and the God of Wealth are enshrined.”
“However, the Master no longer has any connection to ships.”

“As for the God of Wealth… Does he still want to increase his wealth, I wonder.”

“There may be cases where no amount of wealth suffices.”

“What kind of cases would those be?”

“Though I cannot say for certain, wealth often seems directly connected to other things.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, if I may use an analogy—politics, power, and other such matters, I suppose.”

At that point, the conversation came to an end.

Cao Xin drank whiskey repeatedly， offered some to Xu He， and Xu He accepted without hesitation.

After a long silence, Cao Xin kicked the ground and said.

"I won't take part."

Xu He raised his eyes.

“Now I’ve completely understood.”
“Just as I’d been privately concerned.”
“Let me make this clear—I have my own way of thinking, so you’d best leave me be.”

Xu He stared at Cao Xin from beneath his thick brows with a look of bewilderment.

“I understand perfectly,” Cao Xin repeated. “Some time ago, you once gave me good advice. When I returned home and found that the sociology I had been studying up until then somehow felt like it was measured by a different standard, and I confessed to you how lost I was, you said this: ‘Sociology and political science—those systematic principles—don’t apply here. Why not study things rather than those abstract principles? You could study clouds for all I care—why not engage with practical matters?’ The wording may differ, but that’s essentially what you meant. After that, I too thought long and hard, and here in this land of China, I came to realize there was a certain truth to your opinion. But setting aside that truth as truth, everything you said back then was foreshadowing for today, wasn’t it? The destruction of order and laws is what you people are after, isn’t it? Uncle and you are the same breed. But you should cease this roundabout manner of speaking to entangle me—at least for now. I have my own convictions too.”

Xu He, composed and calm, said decisively.

“You are laboring under some grave misunderstanding, sir. I have merely responded to your inquiries, sir.”

It was a proper tone, devoid of any hint of panic or sarcasm.

“Then aren’t you one of Uncle’s accomplices?”
“What exactly the Master is involved in, I cannot claim to fully know.”
“Then do you think Uncle will succeed or fail?”

“I have no idea at all.”

“And you’re fine with that?”

“I am merely a servant who simply remains by the master’s side, through both good and evil.”

“Is that all you aspire to?”

“My father also left those same words.”
“There is nothing to be done.”

“Oh, it can’t be helped.”

“There is nothing to be done.”

Cao Xin stood rigidly as if beside himself and struck Xu He’s cheek with his right fist.
Xu He silently lowered his head.
Gazing at that robust yet obedient figure, Cao Xin clutched his own hair and let out a sharp cry.
“Get over there, you vile thing.”

Xu He stood up quietly and walked away in that direction.

Cao Xin stood blankly for a while, then shook his head vigorously, drank whiskey in rapid succession, slammed the bottle—which still contained some liquid—onto the ground, and after hearing the sound of the bottle shattering, sprawled face-up on the bench.

Cui Fan lay on her sickbed with dimmed consciousness, scarcely taking any nourishment, and after some ten days breathed her last.

The lavish funeral was executed without mishap, chiefly directed by Xu He.
The burial ground was chosen in a field approximately one kilometer west of the house, where a small shrine of brick and white chalk was erected.

Cui Zhigeng hardly met with guests, spoke little, and tended to seclude himself in his room.
Cui Lenghong spent most of her time visiting graves.
Cao Xin did nothing but take walks.
Xu He managed the household affairs with a solemn demeanor.
And the family’s atmosphere was becoming a centerless, desolate thing.

At that time, about half a month after the funeral had concluded, Cui Zhigeng suddenly made a proposal.

“The deceased had said she’d like to fill the garden pond with water and let goldfish swim.”
“It’s an amusing idea.”
“Let’s carry it out.”
“Since it was the deceased’s wish during her lifetime, I want it done by the hands of family members as much as possible.”
“No matter how many days it takes.”

In the spacious garden, amidst rough tree plantings, jagged Taihu stones were piled in various ways, presenting strange cloud-like shapes everywhere—here evoking an immortal, there a soaring dragon, and elsewhere a mythical beast.
And in the distance stood a small pavilion, with a bamboo thicket serving as its backdrop.

Amidst the layered stacks of Taihu stones, an empty space three to four feet deep stretched out, with bear bamboo and weeds growing along its edges.
The plan was to excavate and expand this pond, deepen it, line the bottom with cement, fill it with water, and stock it with red and crimson fish.

There being no time limit imposed, the male servants began working whenever they found spare moments.
Cui Zhigeng would occasionally emerge to issue instructions and solicit Cao Xin's opinions regarding the pond's shape.
Xu He too threw himself into assisting with the work, sometimes taking up a hoe personally.

Cao Xin casually descended into the pond and, when he unexpectedly encountered Xu He holding a hoe, stopped before him and cast a probing gaze.

“Auntie—did she ever actually express wanting something like this?”

“I cannot say for certain, but Her Ladyship must have desired it.”

“What? ‘Must have desired it’…”

“That is my understanding.”

On his sweaty, tanned face, there was nothing but his words.
When Cao Xin remained silent, he said in a murmur.

“I thought it prudent to expedite completion, hence my diligent assistance.”

“Is haste truly preferable?”

“Yes, though in this particular endeavor alone does the master exhibit forbearance.”
“That too remains beyond remedy.”

Faced with Xu He’s unsettling perspicacity—his countenance betraying nothing despite apparent omniscience—Cao Xin merely knit his brows momentarily before striding away.
He expelled a heavy breath upon emerging from the pond’s excavation.

It was the evening of the following day.
Xu He was alone at the bottom of the pond, inspecting the depth and condition of the edging with his arms folded in thought, when suddenly a massive Taihu stone collapsed from above. Before he could cry out, the rocky edge shattered his head and back.

At the noise, a servant came and, seeing that two or three Taihu stones had collapsed, discovered Xu He lying bloodied beneath them.
He let out a deathly scream.
A crowd rushed to the scene.
Many cries arose.

Cui Zhigeng displayed intense fury upon seeing Xu He's ghastly corpse.
Yet his words carried an unperturbed tone.

“The corpse should be treated with care.”

Then, his voice suddenly trembled.

“Those Taihu stones are stained with blood.”
“Take them to the river and sink them.”
“The pond project is canceled.”
“Bury them at a shallower depth than before.”

No one noticed they hadn’t even tried to investigate why that tragedy had occurred.

They were carried out as ordered.
The servants carried Xu He’s corpse to his former room, wiped away the mud, and wiped away the blood.

And as dusk began to fall, the large Taihu stones were carried by several people, with Cao Xin also accompanying them, and were thrown into the river far downstream. In the twilight, the stones appeared to float momentarily on the water's surface, but soon sank smoothly—bubbles rose, and after the bubbles, a pitch-black vortex swirled and drifted away. The group returned home in silence, without looking back.

Xu He’s funeral was conducted simply.
A short distance from Cui Fan’s small shrine, one dirt mound topped with a small stone was added.

A few days later, Cui Zhigeng departed for Jinan.
He stated before leaving that he would seclude himself in the Red Swastika Society’s Mother Temple’s Daoist Hall and undergo a twenty-one-day devotional retreat.

It was early morning.

After returning from visiting Cui Fan’s grave, Cao Xin and Cui Lenghong sat in a secluded corner of the backyard where they wouldn’t be noticed.
In the oleander thicket within the shadow of the large sophora tree, a few pale red flowers still clung scattered.

Cao Xin was dressed in a Western-style suit of fashionable cut and held a slender walking stick.
Cui Lenghong wore a black sheer silk garment, her seventeen-year-old willowy form showing a faint blush on wheat-toned cheeks as she blinked long-lashed eyes inherited from her mother.

“Did you need something?” she said, squinting her eyes as if dazzled.

“Yeah, I’ve finally made up my mind,” Cao Xin replied.

Cui Lenghong remained silent.

“I intend to depart today.”

“If you wait until Father returns…”

“I don’t know when that would be…”

“But he said twenty-one days,” she replied. “The servants have already reported seeing him at the Daoist Hall in Jinan. Once those days pass, he’ll surely return. It’s only about another week left.”

“But somehow… I feel afraid to meet Uncle.”

“Why is that?”

“I was quite conflicted about whether to tell you everything or not, but I decided to speak before departing.”
“Earlier, you said you wouldn’t be surprised by anything, didn’t you?”

“Yes, that’s exactly right.”

“Alright, I’ll come clean—but don’t be shocked.”
“It’s about when Xu He died.”
“Somehow, I became concerned about that pond, and the strange Taihu stones also oddly caught my eye—at that time, I climbed up from the window and was peering into the garden.”
“Then I noticed someone stealthily approaching those Taihu stones.”
“After a short while, that man pushed the Taihu stone into the pond with both hands.”
“And then came that outrageous incident.”
“That large rock—the one that should’ve been cemented in place—rolled down with such ease was strange enough, but what truly astonished me was how swiftly that man pushed the rock down, dodged out of harm’s way, and darted off.”
“Who do you think that man was?”

“Did you figure it out?”

“Wasn’t that Uncle?”

“But Father... doing such a thing...”

Cui Lenghong’s face paled as she turned rigid like stone.

“That’s why I warned you not to be shocked.”

“Why would Father ever... You’re lying.”

“It’s true—these eyes saw it myself.”
“The reason still escapes me completely.”
“But piecing things together, Uncle seems involved in some dangerous secret political movement.”
“How he’d often travel to Shanghai, how those suspicious men came disguised as merchants for long private talks.”
“Even that tale about gold and silver from Qingdao’s sea pot reeks of falsehood.”
“Xu He knew it all yet kept silent watch.”

“So, are you saying Father’s position has become endangered?”

“Well, such things can happen. Then, when Aunt collapsed, upon hearing that Xu He had caught her and provided various treatments, Uncle apparently became terribly upset.”

“Why would that be?”

“Why… Well… Aunt was something terribly important to Uncle.”
“That’s why he never called a doctor, no matter how much they urged him.”
“At your wedding, they say he gave seven bolts of yellow silk, seven of purple silk, three fur pelts, and five five-colored gemstones.”
“It was practically a forced purchase.”

“No—that’s wrong! That’s not true!”
“Mother cherished those yellow and purple silks and gemstones—though I don’t know if they were leftovers.”
“So when she passed away, I alone was allowed to stay briefly by the coffin.”
“That’s when I placed them inside—the yellow silk, purple silk, and gemstones.”
“I did exactly as Mother wished.”

“Wait—is that true?”

Cui Lenghong nodded.
Cao Xin fell into deep thought.
For a while, both remained silent until Cui Lenghong suddenly teared up and pressed her handkerchief to her mouth with quiet sobs.

“What’s wrong?” Cao Xin asked.

“But you’re always worrying about such trivial things.”

Cao Xin was at a loss for words, stood up, and began walking around the area.
He then returned, placed his hand on Cui Lenghong’s shoulder, and said.

“Hey, don’t you want to go to Beijing again and try studying?”

Cui Lenghong shook her head.

“Father would never permit it.”

After that, the two of them fell completely silent.
As time passed, the shadow of the locust tree gradually shifted.

Cao Xin fixed his resolute gaze into space and said.

“I think I’ll depart today after all.”
“It seems better if I don’t meet Uncle.”
“When Uncle returns, please pass this message on for me.”
“I might have things to think about and need to hide my whereabouts, and I no longer require tuition fees, and from now on I’ll be pursuing special studies—you understand, right?”
“Until I complete those studies, I likely won’t meet you again.”
“To be frank—I have loved you.”

Cui Lenghong bit down on a handkerchief and cried.
Cao Xin wiped away tears and walked away from there.

Cui Zhigeng was at the Red Swastika Society’s monastery, spending his days in prayer and ascetic practice, gaining much insight through the guidance of Taoist priests and through methods of seated meditation and concentrated mental detachment. And in that dim room with only lattice windows, he saw many fragmented visions. To call them visions, some took clear forms while others were indistinct thoughts like floating clouds, but when synthesized into a single form, they generally manifested as follows.

A vast space.
Neither bright nor dark—a space that completely transcended the gradations of light and shadow, merely a space.
Within it, there was one eye.

It was a strange eye.
An eye that neither blinked nor wavered, kept perpetually wide open.
Ah—an eye consisting solely of an eyeball.

The eye consisting solely of an eyeball gazes in all directions.
No—it does not see, but faces.
It is open.
It is an eye that remains open and facing in all directions.

It was impossible to tell whether the eye was clear or clouded.
That was of no consequence.
It was merely an eye that remained steadily open.

What could it be looking at?
No—it wasn’t looking.
It became visible of its own accord.
It was not a sharp eye that saw through and penetrated, but merely an eye that saw everything.

Anything and everything were reflected in that eye.
No matter how much they were reflected, that eye never became full.
It was a bottomless eye.
One after another, it perceived all things.
It perceived them, but did not seek to do anything with them.
It simply perceived.

What abundance! What an accumulation of knowledge!
But that is all there is to it.
If one were to utilize it, business would prosper, careers would advance.
However, one cannot digest it and assimilate it into one’s very flesh and blood.
It is like a collection of pebbles.

It is such an eye.
It remains motionless in one place forever.

Is it heavy? Is it dead?
It is not dead.
It must be heavy.
It looks heavy.
It somehow looks solidly heavy.
Even if the wind blows, it wouldn’t sway.

It disliked moving.
It had even lost the will to move.
Therefore, it was heavy.
And it remained motionless in one place forever.

That eye—in the vast space...
No—there seemed to be ground.
Beneath a space where light and dark were indistinct lay a hazy ground—a vast land.
A land of unknowable expanse—endless and boundless.

The eye was set upon this land.
And it neither attempted to move nor swayed—by its own weight, it stayed fixed eternally in one place.

It was a strange, irritating eye.
It was an eye that made one want to take a large stone and drive it into the ground.
It was an eye consisting solely of an eyeball staring wide open in all directions.

Was it that it couldn't even roll?
Yes—it sat solidly upon the ground.
Its lower portion had sunk slightly into earth.
Under its own weight—it kept sinking deeper still.

Because it did not attempt to move, it was heavy.
It was not that it did not move because it was heavy.
Over time, it would gradually sink into the ground.
Even then, it continued to sink little by little.

Was it that the ground was soft, or that the eye was exceptionally heavy?
The eye gradually sank deeper.
It was already about halfway submerged.
It sank even deeper.

Finally, the eye sank beneath the ground.
A space of uncertain light and dark and the earth.

...That eye—Cui Zhigeng found it within Xu He, and found it within himself as well.

It was early spring five years later.

On a balmy day without wind or red dust, Cao Xin returned to the Cui household.

The Cui household had changed considerably.
Until now, Cui Zhigeng had hardly allowed any impoverished relatives to approach, so the family members themselves were only a few as previously mentioned, while there were a great number of male and female servants.
However, when he returned from the monastery, he began allowing interactions among relatives and permitted poor people to come and live in his house.
And one after another, small annexes were added, the surrounding earthen walls were expanded, and now it became a large household.
For their farming, there was sufficient land.

And as the family grew larger, Cui Zhigeng gradually withdrew into a solitary life, until eventually he almost ceased going out, rarely met visitors, and tended to seclude himself in reading.

Cao Xin was welcomed by a large crowd with curious interest.
He was no longer wearing Western clothes but was clad in very ordinary Chinese attire.
Instead, he was carrying a great deal of luggage.

From that luggage, he took out seven bolts of yellow silk, seven bolts of purple silk, three fur pelts, and five gemstones of five different colors, then abruptly presented them before Cui Lenghong without regard for onlookers or prior warning.

“I followed the Cui family’s customary practice.”
“Will you accept them?”

Cui Lenghong’s face flushed crimson.
She had retained the same slender figure as five years prior, but her facial features had come to resemble her mother’s, the skin of her cheeks appearing thin and translucent.

“Will you accept them?” Cao Xin repeated.

Cui Lenghong stood motionless with her face lowered, but when a tear fell, she suddenly reverted to her former self, rushed to Cao Xin’s side, grabbed his sleeve, pulled him into the next room where no one was present, and threw herself against his chest weeping.

“I’m happy, Brother.”

“No—you shouldn’t call me ‘Brother’ anymore.”

There, the two of them laughed for the first time.
And they went to the inner room.

Cui Zhigeng was waiting.
Cui Zhigeng’s appearance had changed considerably.
Wearing a small hood and tilting his head slightly as he rubbed his hands together over the fire bucket, his manner of response was imbued with a gentle softness and roundness.
Yet the light in his eyes retained their former sharpness.

Upon hearing about the gift from Cao Xin to Cui Lenghong, he nodded deeply several times.

“I clearly felt you would return,” he said.
“Within us, there always remains something deep-rooted that we simply cannot rid ourselves of.”

“Yes,” Cao Xin said.
“However, regarding my return, there are two matters for which I must beg your forgiveness.”

“There is no forgiving or not forgiving—you may do as you please.”
“But go ahead and speak.”

Cao Xin said with his face still turned downward.

“The first is that I intend to practice medicine in this land from now on. For that purpose, I have spent five years studying medicine. I can now manage actual treatment as well. If I look carefully, even within this household there are quite a few suffering from eye diseases, and in the nearby villages there must be many patients of various kinds. I want to do my best to care for them. The second matter—this is a personal sentiment of mine—is that when Xu He met his disaster and the Taihu stones from the garden were sunk into the river, I would like to erect a small monument at that site. It is not for Xu He. It is for my way of life. To put it bluntly, it’s not about me personally—the conviction that we must now wage battle against existences like Xu He has grown increasingly clear.”

Cao Xin said everything in one breath and then quietly gauged Cui Zhigeng’s expression.
Cui Zhigeng simply continued nodding, maintaining his gentle and soft demeanor as before.

“Ah, that is a good thing,” he replied.
“You may do as you please with both.”
“And then, regarding me as well, something may happen soon that makes you want to erect some kind of monument.”

“What does that mean?”

"I expect you already grasp this much - I've cast off every last ambition to live as I do now."
"A seclusion distinct in nature from Xu He's, you understand."
"It would seem we Cui men inevitably dash ourselves against peculiar junctures."
"And paradoxically, this very tendency may yet plant us in perilous stations."

Cui Zhigeng wore a casual smile as he spoke, but to Cao Xin, each word struck like a temple bell tolling foreboding.

“Well, we can discuss things at leisure anytime,” Cui Zhigeng said abruptly.
“In gratitude for Lenghong receiving such splendid gifts, I shall promptly open an old jar of aged wine.”
“It’s authentic Shaoxing wine.”

At the corner table where she had been flipping through an old picture book, Cui Lenghong raised her face and directed a gaze that seemed both glaring and smiling toward Cui Zhigeng and Cao Xin.

Cui Zhigeng stood up.
He had a quite satisfied and gentle demeanor.

And then, about ten days later, Cui Zhigeng’s corpse—its chest gouged by a dagger—was discovered in the riverside wilderness.

By that river’s edge, there still stands a single small yet sturdy monument.
It is an unmarked monument whose purpose remains unclear, but were an inscription to be carved upon it and deciphered, would it not roughly tell a story such as this?