Chapter Two: Mountain Rain

Sunlight streamed in through the window once more.

Du Shiyi lay on his sickbed, his gaze lost in thought as he stared at the verdant bamboo grove outside. Over the past days, his health had gradually improved; with persistent effort, he could now turn over in bed and even sit up. He was beginning to consider telling the truth to Du Thirteen—his devoted companion throughout his convalescence. So, when he heard a stir from the outer room, he lifted his eyes and saw Bamboo Shade, dressed in her usual blue. Habit made him glance at the tray she carried: the same millet rice, two vegetable dishes, and a solitary egg. Unable to help himself, he looked past her, then suddenly asked, “Where is Thirteen?”

The simplicity of the question caught Bamboo Shade off guard, but delight swiftly replaced her surprise. Though Du Shiyi had been able to eat and drink, he’d needed help with everything else. Now, at last, he was speaking—surely a sign of hope! Taking a deep breath, she set down the tray and knelt respectfully by his bed.

“Congratulations, my lord, you can speak again!”

“What’s there to congratulate? I wasn’t born mute.”

His curt reply made Bamboo Shade think he was still wallowing in despair, recalling how tirelessly Thirteen had cared for him these past days. She bit her lip, then spoke boldly, “My lord, mistress traveled all the way from Jingzhao to Mount Song to seek a cure for you. She saves every morsel, even giving you the only egg. Now you’re speaking again—please, for her sake, eat more and regain your health. She prays daily at Songyang Monastery for your recovery.”

Though he had resigned himself to this life and accepted Thirteen as his sister, Du Shiyi frowned at her words. Each endless day he had counted painfully. He’d fallen into this foreign era and place, inexplicably inhabiting another’s body—all because the original owner, once a celebrated talent now called a spent force, had sought death in despair. To lose his poetic gift after illness—was that reason enough to abandon his only sister?

Seeing him lost in thought, Bamboo Shade recalled what Thirteen had said before leaving that morning and pleaded earnestly, “My lord, I’m no scholar and can’t speak fine words. You’ve only been ill—you will recover. Mistress smiles for you, but she’s wept countless times in secret. She’s gone to Songyang Monastery today, determined to kneel for a response—she won’t leave until Priest Sun comes out, even if it means kneeling herself to death! Ever since you fell ill, she’s suffered without a word of complaint. Even if you care nothing for yourself, please care for her and get well.”

The words startled Du Shiyi. Throughout these days, Thirteen had watched over him—wiping his face, feeding him, tending to his every need. Even though he was not the person who should inhabit this body, and his new memories felt foreign, he could not deny the girl’s devotion. Were it not for her and Bamboo Shade’s constant care, he would not have survived.

Just then, a blinding flash of white light streaked before his eyes, followed by a deafening crash outside. His slow reactions—after weeks bedridden—took a moment longer to recognize thunder. Bamboo Shade spun toward the window, her face paling. “Oh no, Mistress is still kneeling before Songyang Monastery! Mountain storms come fast—I must go to her!” With that, she jumped up and hurried out.

Du Shiyi tried to call after her, but already he could hear the door opening, an umbrella unfurling, and footsteps vanishing into the rain. After a moment’s thought, he forced himself upright—a movement he had practiced repeatedly the night before and now managed smoothly. But when he staggered off the bed, his legs trembled, threatening to collapse beneath him. Like a child learning to walk, he shuffled around the narrow room until he regained some steadiness. Yet, as time dragged on, the only sound was the pounding rain—no sign of Bamboo Shade returning, and his worry deepened.

Thinking of young Thirteen, exposed to the cold rain, he finally dragged himself, step by laborious step, past the lattice door into the outer room. There, among the sparse and shabby furnishings, he searched until he found a dust-covered bamboo hat and a rain cape. Donning them hurriedly, he ignored the missing clogs and opened the door. Instantly, the mountain wind drove icy rain against him, making him shiver involuntarily.

Never mind whether he could make the trip through the storm—he didn’t even know the way to Songyang Monastery!

As he hesitated, a figure appeared at the edge of the rain—someone staggering under a tattered umbrella. As the person drew closer, Du Shiyi recognized Bamboo Shade, soaked through beneath the broken shelter.

When Bamboo Shade reached the door and saw the man in the bamboo hat and cape, she stopped in surprise. But when he lifted his head, she rushed forward and knelt in the rain.

“My lord, please come persuade Mistress! I told her you can speak again, but she won’t listen or believe me—she’s still kneeling at Songyang Monastery’s gate, though the priests have shut her out!”

“Enough talk—help me.”

Bamboo Shade had no time to wonder how Du Shiyi was suddenly able to speak and rise unaided. Ignoring her own half-numb body, she gritted her teeth and hurried to support his right arm. After only a dozen steps, she felt most of his weight on her, sweat beading her brow. But remembering the frail figure kneeling in the rain, she pressed on, quickening her pace.

The two made their way through the muddy path to the stone road beyond. Du Shiyi’s legs felt increasingly unsteady, but the dusty hat and cape proved more effective in the downpour than Bamboo Shade’s battered oil-paper umbrella. Seeing her pale, drenched, yet stubbornly supporting him, his frustration mounted.

This body’s condition was wretched!

He didn’t know how long they trudged through the rain, but at last the dense woods thinned, and after a few more steps, the view opened up. Before them, a towering wall stretched into the mist. Green tiles, flying eaves, and ornate brackets—within came the sound of refined music, a breath of elegant tranquility. It was an immense monastery.

This was Songyang Monastery.

But now, teeth chattering from the soaking rain, he had no mind to marvel at its grandeur. Following Bamboo Shade around the long wall, he immediately spotted the frail figure kneeling in the storm. Each gust of wind hurled rain like pebbles, splashing on the flagstones before her, but the girl’s slender form remained upright, refusing to yield.

“Mistress! Mistress!” Bamboo Shade released Du Shiyi and hurried to shelter Thirteen with the broken umbrella. The child’s lips were blue, her gaze dazed, yet she refused to rise despite all entreaties. In exasperation, Bamboo Shade cried, “Mistress, the master can speak and walk—he’s come to find you! If you make yourself ill, who will care for him? Will you abandon him?”

At the desperate shouting, Thirteen seemed to stir. She looked up, dazed, and saw through the curtain of rain a figure in a cape and bamboo hat. She froze, then, as the man lifted his hat, she recognized the brother she had watched over day and night. Tears burst forth as she tried to speak but could not; when Du Shiyi reached her, she instinctively clung to his arms.

“Brother… Is it really you? Am I dreaming?”

“You’re not dreaming. Come, let’s go home.”

Sighing, Du Shiyi reached out to help her up. With Bamboo Shade’s assistance, the numb and exhausted Thirteen finally stood, though the needles of pain in her knees made her gasp before she gritted her teeth.

All this time, the great doors of Songyang Monastery remained closed. But from the main road to the south, sounds emerged through the rain. Du Shiyi looked up to see a small procession—seven or eight people escorting a carriage—approaching through the storm.