Chapter Thirty-Six: A Temporary Farewell to the Bustling World, A Journey Promised Afar

The Zhao family affair was like a stone tossed into a lake: though it sent ripples across the surface, the water would inevitably return to stillness. At least, outwardly, it seemed so.

Afterward, my "Anhe Hall" appeared to resume its former rhythm. Each day, I opened the doors to treat the neighborhood's minor ailments, life passing by with uneventful calm. Yet only I knew that the pure, undisturbed tranquility I once enjoyed had become nearly impossible to recover.

This unrest did not stem from trouble; on the contrary, it arose from an excess of goodwill and reverence.

It was a fine afternoon, sunlight filtering just right through the windows. I sat behind the counter, cradling a yellowed medical classic in my hands. Beside me, Yi Yi lay sprawled over the desk, earnestly drawing. Qin Muyao, industrious as a little bee, was busy polishing the medicine cabinets with a cloth, moving from one to the next with care. She had become a regular at the clinic, helping out almost daily. She brought with her the vibrant, lively essence of this era—and, occasionally, news from the upper circles of the capital that I hardly cared for.

“Mr. Jiang, did you hear? The Zhao family sent Zhao Wei abroad. They say it’s for study, but really, they just fear he’ll get into more trouble.” She spoke as she cleaned, her tone carrying a trace of glee.

I made a noncommittal sound, eyes never leaving my book.

Outside the courtyard, another figure appeared—Lin Qinghan. She often came to visit Yi Yi, sometimes bringing snacks, sometimes novel paintbrushes. Her temperament was gentle and serene, unlike the lively Qin Muyao; she simply kept Yi Yi quiet company, occasionally casting me a glance with clear, admiring eyes.

“Good day, Mr. Jiang. Hello, Yi Yi,” she greeted softly, placing a box of newly bought colored pencils before Yi Yi.

“Qinghan Sis!” Yi Yi’s face lit up with delight.

The two girls quickly huddled together, chattering about the little figures in their drawings. Qin Muyao, seeing this, joined in with a smile. Three girls of different ages and backgrounds, harmoniously gathered in this tiny clinic.

It ought to have been a heartwarming scene.

Yet the back door creaked open. Ling Qingzhu, dressed in white, emerged from beneath the old scholar tree. Her presence had grown ever more ethereal, as if she might be carried away by the wind at any moment. In these past months, her progress had been swift, as though she stood at the threshold of something entirely new.

She walked straight to me, ignoring the others, a glimmer of perplexity in her calm, deep eyes.

“What does it mean to be ‘sentimental’? And what does it mean to be ‘without feeling’?” she asked. “The supreme teaching counsels the forgetting of sentiment, but this is not true heartlessness. To forget is not to be unmoved. But if the heart is unmoved, how can one perceive the emotions of all things, and thus unite with the Dao?”

This was a question of profound cultivation, one that reached to the heart of spiritual practice.

Qin Muyao and Lin Qinghan listened with bewilderment, finding the words of this otherworldly beauty utterly mysterious.

I set down the medical classic and looked at her, replying mildly, “Tell me, do you think the flowers and plants in this courtyard are sentimental, or without feeling?”

Ling Qingzhu fell into deep thought.

As I watched this scene unfold, a gentle sigh rose in my heart.

One of them brought the entanglements and affections of the mortal world; another, the gratitude and bonds of family; and yet another, the pursuit of transcendence and the questions of the Dao.

They were all wonderful.

Yet their presence was like an invisible net, anchoring me firmly in place. I was no longer the Jiang Xiuyuan who could depart at any moment, but had become a fulcrum in their lives.

This peace, this bustle, had become a new kind of shackle for me.

Just then, Yi Yi ran over holding a drawing, waving it high. “Papa, look! This is our family going on a trip!”

On the paper, beneath a big sun, an adult held a child’s hand, the background a jumble of mountains and sea.

Her hopeful gaze moved me.

Yes, a trip.

Perhaps it was time to leave.

That evening, after checking Yi Yi’s homework, I said to her, “Yi Yi, summer break is here. How about Papa takes you out to see the world?”

“Yes!” Her eyes instantly sparkled, and she bounced with excitement. “Where will we go? To the Disneyland on TV? Or to the mountains with pandas?”

“We’ll go everywhere.” Smiling, I stroked her head. “We’ll see mountains, see the sea, visit all the beautiful places in our land.”

Once made, this decision could not be undone.

The next day, I told Qin Muyao and Lin Qinghan of my impending journey.

“What? You’re leaving?” Qin Muyao exclaimed first, her face full of disappointment. “How long will you be gone? When will you be back?”

“I don’t know,” I answered calmly. “Perhaps a month or two, or maybe longer.”

Tears welled in Qin Muyao’s eyes. She had long since grown accustomed to coming here every day, to hearing my occasional words of hidden meaning, to the peace she found in this place. With my departure, it was as if a part of her life had been hollowed out.

Lin Qinghan was more reserved. She only lowered her head, nervously twisting the hem of her clothes, and asked softly, “Will the clinic stay open?”

“It will not,” I replied. “I’ll hang a notice saying I’ve gone to gather herbs.”

The two girls fell silent, the air between us weighted with the sorrow of parting.

I did not comfort them. Meeting and parting are the constants of life; they would have to learn to adapt.

I went into the backyard. Ling Qingzhu still sat quietly beneath the tree.

“I’m taking Yi Yi on a long journey,” I told her.

She slowly opened her eyes, clear and bright. She seemed unsurprised, as though she had expected this all along.

“Tempering the heart amidst the mortal world, traveling a thousand miles, is also cultivation,” she said, nodding. “Your path should never be confined to a single courtyard.”

She saw more clearly than Qin Muyao and Lin Qinghan.

“And you?” I asked. “Will you stay here, or return to your Shushan?”

Ling Qingzhu stood, and bowed deeply to me.

“Sir, I wish to travel with you,” she said with quiet resolve. “Reading ten thousand books is not as valuable as walking ten thousand miles. Seeking the Dao behind closed doors is mere theory. I want to see, with my own eyes, how you walk this world and view the myriad lives. This is of utmost importance.”

Her gaze, steadfast and unwavering, left no room for refusal.

I considered for a moment, then nodded, “Very well.”

One more or one less made no difference to me. But for her, perhaps this would be the most important step on her path of cultivation.

And so, our simple journey of two became an unusual party of three.

A pair of “father and daughter” who had lived for more than two thousand years, an innocent, lively child, and a peerless Shushan sword cultivator, wholly devoted to the Way.