Chapter 85 — Old Grounds

Canglan Mountain, Dazhu Peak.

Cloud-mist drifted through the mountains like soft white ribbons, shifting gently. The early-morning air held a faint dampness, and a fresh cool wind crossed that stretch of emerald bamboo forest and brushed over the summit of Dazhu Peak.

The cluster of buildings centered on the Shoujing Hall stood quietly in the dawn light; everything seemed so serene...

Then a sudden burst of barking broke the stillness, mixed with chirping "zhizhi" cries. A glossy-coated Da Huang came racing from afar, Xiao Hui riding on his back, one hand gripping the fur at the big dog's neck to keep his seat while the other waved in the air, looking utterly thrilled.

Ten years ago, after Zhang Qingyue left this place for Jietian Peak, she had never returned. For a while at first, both animals grew listless and sullen—Xiao Hui especially, who turned from his usual restless self and moped for a long stretch. Da Huang fared no better, drooping about all day; perhaps he had simply grown too fond of Zhang Qingyue's cooking, for in those days whenever Du Biyan, who took over the kitchen in her stead, brought them food, he was sure to get an earful of snarling from the pair, and more often than not a few dirty looks after they had eaten, as though nothing could satisfy them. Poor Du Biyan brooded over it for a long while.

But time flows like water, drifting past, and the memories of those years seemed to fade bit by bit. No one could say when it began, but Xiao Hui and Da Huang took up their old roughhousing on the slopes of Dazhu Peak again, playing without end. Even so, late at night when they slept, they always returned to Zhang Qingyue's old room, as though waiting for something.

Though all these years, that room had always stood empty.

"Hiss!"

Da Huang suddenly skidded to a halt mid-run, and the momentum nearly threw Xiao Hui from his back; only his tight grip saved him from tumbling off. Da Huang barked loudly, then whipped his head around, tongue lolling from his open mouth, and began chasing his own tail, spinning in place again and again.

Xiao Hui sat secure on his back, grinning wide and chirping with laughter, beside himself with delight. Heaven knew how many times Da Huang had played this dull game, yet to them it seemed the finest sport in the world.

The faint morning light spilled over them, and the sounds of the two creatures echoed across Dazhu Peak. People were still asleep; this fine hour seemed reserved for them alone.

Far off, in the green bamboo forest on the back hill, came the faint rustle of wind through the leaves, a surging bamboo tide that echoed softly on and on; even the wind blowing from that direction seemed to carry the fresh scent of bamboo leaves and the breath of that grove.

Suddenly!

Da Huang stopped chasing his tail, and Xiao Hui on his back lifted his head almost in the same instant, mouth agape, gazing toward the bamboo forest.

Green hills, emerald bamboo, wind passing through, like a sea...

Shasha, shasha, shasha...

"Zhizhi zhizhi!" Xiao Hui suddenly shrieked. Da Huang's reaction was odd too, though far quieter—a few small barks—but a moment later, as if both creatures understood something, Xiao Hui clutched tight to Da Huang, and Da Huang at once stretched out his four legs and bolted for the black bamboo grove on the back hill.

On the familiar back-hill path, perhaps because no one had come here to practice for a long while, the vegetation had grown so thick that the old trail had gradually blurred away; yet Da Huang seemed to possess a natural instinct, weaving through the trees faster and faster, and soon reached the edge of the grove.

Within the emerald bamboo, deep and faintly mysterious, Da Huang halted outside the grove and gave a few low "wuwu" whines. Xiao Hui jumped down from his back and crouched to one side, glanced at him, then peered into the depths of the grove, scratching his head from time to time as though hesitating.

But after only a moment, Xiao Hui made up his mind. He chirped twice at Da Huang and went first into the grove—though "walked" was not quite the word, for oddly Xiao Hui did not climb the bamboo; instead he supported himself on his forelimbs and hopped slowly inward, looking wary and yet somehow full of expectation.

Da Huang whined twice and set off too, following behind him into the grove.

A monkey and a dog wove slowly through the quiet bamboo, and soon vanished from sight.

The morning light was blocked by the dense bamboo leaves, but through the gaps rays still filtered down, becoming finger-thick shafts of light that fell from above the grove onto the ground below.

Xiao Hui and Da Huang walked slowly on through the bamboo, on and on... Before they knew it, they had come to a certain spot deep in the grove, a small clearing that looked somehow familiar—in the haze of memory, it seemed to be the place where Zhang Qingyue had first come and labored to cut bamboo.

Xiao Hui stopped, crouched in the clearing, scratched his head, and looked around.

In the deep bamboo, all was still.

Yet some nameless presence seemed to drift here.

Making the heartbeat slowly quicken...

"Pu!" A soft footstep fell into the stillness deep in the grove.

Xiao Hui and Da Huang turned their heads at once. A figure slowly emerged from behind a thick bamboo stalk.

The grove fell silent again—but a moment later, a cry of joy burst out. Xiao Hui sprang up, his body streaking like a gray ray of light, leaped into the air, and flung himself into that person's arms!

He clung tightly to the man's clothing, laughing aloud, pouring out his delight without restraint, chirping and chirping with unending laughter.

The man brought his arms around him; the old ferocity was now nowhere to be seen, and between his brows was a gentle smile that had not shown itself for so long, as he gathered Xiao Hui into his embrace. A moment later he seemed to sense something else, looked down, and a trace of a smile appeared at the corner of his mouth; he bent forward and stroked the head of Da Huang, who was rubbing against him, and said with a smile, "Da Huang, have you been well?"

Da Huang of course could not speak; he only whined low, tail sweeping back and forth without pause, nuzzling his palm.

At the corner of his eye, where no one could see, light seemed faintly to gather: "You two alone still treat me as you always did!"

He sighed softly and drew a deep breath—the scent of this bamboo grove, once so familiar and so missed.

"Hua hua!"

Then came another hurried clatter of footsteps: the Wild Wolf Daoist burst out from behind him, and from the several rents torn in his ragged Daoist robe by thorns, it was plain he had taken the wrong path.

The Wild Wolf Daoist's face was full of ill luck, and he grumbled at the former Zhang Qingyue, now Ming Li: "Hey, you brat, have you gone mad? If you want to die, there's no need for this! This is the Canglan Sect—if anyone spots us, even ten lives apiece won't save us!"

Suddenly Da Huang, who had been so docile with Ming Li a moment before, turned his head. The fur on his neck stood on end, and he bared his teeth in a snarl, plainly taking a great dislike to the wild dog. A moment later Da Huang let out a roar and actually lunged.

The wild dog was badly startled. Seeing this huge beast, nearly half a man's height, come hurtling at him, his heart lurched; instinctively he reached for his fang-tusk artifact.

But just then Ming Li said mildly from the front: "If you dare use your artifact to hurt this dog, I'll cut off your hands and feet and throw you down the mountain in front of the Shoujing Hall."

The wild dog was dumbfounded, then furious: "What did you say—"