Qin's Moon: Yang Shi's Long Song

Yang Hui returned to the backyard in the evening.

He finished flipping through Han Fei's account book for the second time in the elegant room—not to read the contents, but to take notes on "which names to remember, which numbers to use, and which lines to connect." After closing the book, he sat at the table for a while, then heard the sound of firewood burning coming from the direction of the kitchen downstairs, and heard Zi Nu telling the helper, "Don't make too much tonight, there are few guests." He got up, went downstairs, and walked to the backyard.

Autumn evenings come quickly. The sky changes from gray-blue to leaden gray, and the shadows cast by the courtyard wall lengthen, covering most of the yard. Another layer of leaves has fallen from the old locust tree, blown by the wind to the steps by the kitchen door, accumulating into a thin, withered brown heap. Yan Lingji squats at the kitchen door, her back to him, looking at the pile of fallen leaves on the ground. She doesn't sweep or pick them up; she just squats there, as if waiting for something.

Yang Hui remained silent. He stood on the stone slab at the entrance to the courtyard, watching her back. After about five breaths, he saw her right hand rest on her knee, fingertips pointing downwards, towards a withered leaf on the ground. The edge of the leaf curled slightly—as if pushed from the inside by something. Then, a very thin wisp of black smoke emerged from the center of the leaf vein, like a strand of hair being ignited, lasting for less than a breath. After the black smoke, a small cluster of flames ignited from the same spot. The flames were small, smaller than a candle flame, but they weren't ignited from the outside—they burned from within the leaf itself. The flames burned for about three breaths, then went out. A small hole was burned through the middle of the leaf, its edges charred black, still emitting the last wisp of smoke.

Yan Lingji stared at the charred leaf for a moment, then returned her hands to her knees, lowered her eyes, and said, "It's back again."

Yang Hui walked over. His footsteps weren't heavy on the stone pavement, but she heard them—she didn't turn around, but her shoulder twitched slightly, as if confirming it was him. He knelt down beside her and looked at the scorched leaf on the ground with her. The edges of the scorched hole were still faintly red, slowly darkening.

"That was just now—"

"Karmic Fire." Her voice was flat. "I thought it was gone. It lay in the ice for ten years; I thought it had frozen to death. But it's still here. This afternoon I was squatting here looking at the leaves, and I felt a little warm, and then it came out on its own."

Yang Hui looked at the scorched leaf. "You felt it was a little hot, so it came out?"

"It wasn't like this before. Before, it would only come out if I wanted it to. Now... it comes out on its own."

She opened her hand and placed it in front of her. Palm up, fingertips slightly clenched, as if trying something she hadn't done in a long time. After a few breaths, a very faint warm light appeared on her fingertips—not fire, but temperature. Like a stone that had been exposed to the sun for a long time, retaining a trace of warmth even after cooling down. She withdrew her hand and clenched her fingertips into her palm.

"It doesn't hurt," she said. "It's not pain. It's heat."

Yang Hui squatted down beside her, without touching her or asking, "Are you scared?" He simply squatted beside her, looking at the pile of withered leaves below the steps, and said, "It'll get hotter and hotter."

How did you know?

"Because you've been frozen for ten years. It's time to warm up."

Yan Lingji paused for a moment. Then she said softly, "It returned faster than I expected."

"You think it shouldn't have come back?"

"I thought I'd forgotten how to get it back." She stretched out her hand, slowly clenching it in the air as if grasping something invisible. "But today, as I squatted here, it suddenly occurred to me—before, I used it to survive. Now, it's to keep warm."

Yang Hui said, "That doesn't conflict."

Yan Lingji turned her head and looked at him squatting beside her. She stared at him for a moment, then stood up and cleared away some of the unburnt leaves on the steps, as if to make way for the doorway. "After your senior brother arrives, are you going to touch that sword?"

"Soon."

"When that sword was drawn," she said, "you stood back."

Yang Hui stood up and looked her in the eye. "Why?"

"Because fire recognizes people." She looked at him, her voice soft but not hesitant. "If it senses you're near that sword, it will follow you. Not everything can get too close to fire."

Yang Hui and she gazed at each other. The night wind swept over the courtyard wall, ruffling his clothes. He looked down and saw the warm glow on her fingertips had just faded, like a small lamp blown out by the wind. He thought for a moment, then said, "That sword isn't cold. It might not be afraid of fire."

Yan Lingji did not answer. She turned and went into the side room, saying before closing the door behind her, "I'll see if I can keep it burning a little longer tomorrow."

Yang Hui stood in the courtyard, looking at the closed door. On the blue bricks under his feet, there was still a burnt leaf—the edges of the scorched hole had completely darkened, turning a dark brown, like a mark burned by time.

He squatted down, picked up the leaf, and turned it over. The back wasn't burned; it was still its original withered yellow color. Only the scorched hole on the front looked like an opening, facing the dry autumn sun.

He put the leaf back on the ground, blew the dust off his fingertips, stood up straight, turned around, and went back into the house.