"Let go of what is gone, and let those who are meant to stay stay."
"It will come back," Dandan comforted the old man.
Huaiyu gazed at the magnificent world outside the crack in the door:
"Yes, let it venture out. If it can't find food, it will always come back. Even if it finds food, it won't be able to hold it back."
Huaiyu understood their divination. She picked up three sprigs of sage and handed them to Old Man Wang.
"Come, husband, tell us, how capable are we?" Huaiyu's clear eyes were full of eager expectation, as if he were blessed with good fortune, his days were bright, and he felt he had the right to know as soon as possible. He hadn't yet reached the point of joy, but with a little effort, he would be promoted. He too harbored this desire.
Zhigao and Dandan leaned in and said, "Tell me, tell me quickly."
Old Mr. Wang shook his head and said, "Look, everyone's confused. Whose divination is whose? Let's identify them."
The three people could not be identified.
"It's alright, since you've already mentioned everything, let's assess whose fate it is?"
The old eunuch, who was telling fortunes, closed his eyes. Ah, dusk had fallen, and weariness enveloped him; he looked listless and listless. He just kept fiddling with the divination sticks in his hands, quite impatient.
"No, forget it. You're so young, what's the point of fortune-telling?" said Mr. Wang.
"My husband lied! My husband doesn't keep his word!"
All three children were angry.
The old man, unable to withstand the fuss, pushed the door open two or three times before finally giving in.
"Okay, okay. I'll tell you, I'll tell you. But maybe it won't be accurate."
"Please tell us, we'll listen to you," Huaiyu said.
"One is worse than death. The other is worse than life." Old Wang's face held a half-smile, an ambiguous expression. "You forced me to this, I didn't want to reveal it: 'And the other is death first, then life.'"
"What does that mean?" Dandan twirled her long braid and tied a red ribbon around it, waiting for her father-in-law, who was sixty years her senior, to explain the possibilities in her destiny.
My husband didn't answer. He didn't reply.
"Oh? Honey, you don't understand either!" Dandan playfully pushed him. "You don't understand either, do you?"
“Life is worse than death, death is worse than life, death first and life later…” Huaiyu frowned, his cold, straight brows furrowed.
"Ha, who is worse off than dead? Who is worse off than alive? Hmm, it seems the best outcome is to die first and then be reborn." Zhi Gao was calculating: "Maybe it's me. — No, no, it's most likely Huai Yu. Huai Yu is better than me."
As she spoke, she couldn't help but feel sorry for herself: "As for me, I'm probably living a life worse than death. Oh, how miserable my life is! Waaaaah!"
Then, in an exaggerated and dramatic manner, he wailed loudly, yelling and pounding on the mahogany box beside him.
"Don't knock! You gap-toothed brat!" Old Man Wang stopped him, forbidding Zhigao from touching his wooden box. Who knew what secrets lay inside, or perhaps valuable jewelry given to him by a nobleman? He and his cat depended on these things for their livelihood, until their very last breath.
"Dandan! Dandan!"
A shout came from outside.
Dandan jumped up to the door in response, not forgetting to turn back: "Uncle Huang is here! I'm leaving!"
Zhigao hurriedly asked, "Where are we going?"
"Go back to our hometown in Tianjin to help Brother Huang recover."
A short, burly man in his forties appeared in the courtyard. He was a seasoned veteran, his legs bent inwards in a bow shape, his steps heavy and steady, exuding the air of a江湖 (jianghu, a term referring to the world of martial arts and chivalry). On his back was a pale, slightly yellowish-white boy, dressed in bulky clothes, his hands hanging limply at his sides, his eyes darting about with boundless expectation. His mouth was constantly grinning, though it was unclear whether it was a smile or not.
He is Dandan's brother Huang, who will never be able to take another step or two in his life.
"Let's go!" Uncle called to Dandan.
The old man in this troubled passage, his cotton-padded coat worn stiff by countless winds and rains, had become hardened. Like everyone's fate, the journey is arduous, and gradually, fate hardens. Because fate is hardened, the body becomes even harder.
He loved to show off this orphaned peony before him. "Peony," the king of flowers—how could it be given such an unworthy name?
"How did you manage to sneak over here and bother people? Go back now. The 'ghost-hunting' is over, everyone's gone."
Finally, she said to Mr. Wang with a gentle smile, "I'm sorry, young lady, you're so bouncy and your speech is so rustic. Please don't mind, Dandan, say goodbye to your father-in-law and your friends."
Dandan smiled and waved:
"Goodbye, Mr. Wang, Brother Huaiyu, Brother Qiegao!"
Her uncle scolded her in her ear, "Look, I've been looking for you everywhere, and I'm exhausted!"
Huaiyu smiled and said, "Goodbye."
Zhigao waved vigorously: "Goodbye, goodbye. Hey, when are we going to meet again? I'll treat you to some cut cake. Really, when? Will you come again? Shaking your head doesn't count, nodding does."
"I don't know."
Dandan has gone far away, a lake every three steps, a leap every five, her braids swaying in the red glow of the evening sun. The boy's heart also sways in the same space and time.
The early spring sunset wasn't warm, only bringing a cacophony of red light, like a pair of giant hands that enveloped the entire Yonghe Temple east of the North Anping Gate, leaving no stone unturned. The Ancestral Hall, the Ebuqi Hall, the Yongyou Hall, the Ghost and God Hall, the Falun Hall, the Zhaofo Tower, the Wanfu Pavilion… all the statues, the people coming and going, the black and white cats—none of them could escape its grasp.
"Honey, will she come again?" Zhigao asked. Huaiyu didn't ask. He knew in his heart that Zhigao would definitely ask. But Huaiyu also wanted to know.
Old Man Wang didn't answer. After everyone said goodbye, from the courtyard and house, the strange tale of a fortune teller playing his flute drifted out, like a prisoner who had never seen the light of day, resentfully investigating the reasons for his humble and tragic imprisonment. A bright, clear sky is but a dream of injustice.
As long as people are there, feelings remain; when people leave, the place is empty—that's fate.
The vibrant season has passed, leaving only a lingering echo of uncertainty and life-or-death struggles. Huaiyu and Zhigao have already left the temple and returned home.