At some point, the stories finally ran out.
Or perhaps they simply became too slow to continue.
The wine jar sat nearly empty.
The lantern burned lower than before.
And He Qing was losing a battle he had never truly had any chance of winning.
"I'm awake."
His eyes were closed.
Lu Wenyuan looked at Shen Qiyao.
Shen Qiyao looked at Lu Wenyuan.
Neither said anything.
A moment later—
He Qing's head dipped forward.
Then immediately lifted again.
"I'm listening."
"No, you're not."
"I am."
"You aren't."
"I am."
His voice grew quieter with every word.
The argument became less convincing.
Eventually, He Qing blinked slowly toward Shen Qiyao.
The movement seemed to require enormous effort.
"...Mr. Taller Shen."
"Hm."
"Your childhood was very embarrassing."
A pause.
Then his eyes closed again.
Completely.
This time they did not reopen.
The room fell silent.
Lu Wenyuan laughed softly.
"A devastating final attack."
Shen Qiyao sighed.
Then stood.
Naturally.
Without hesitation.
Without even appearing to think about it.
He stepped beside He Qing's sleeping mat.
Adjusted the blanket that had somehow become tangled around one foot.
Moved the cup away before it could be knocked over.
Then carefully lowered the sleeping young man properly onto the mat.
The motions were familiar.
Habitual.
The kind of thing done countless times before.
Only after finishing did Shen Qiyao seem to realize someone was watching.
He looked up.
Lu Wenyuan quickly lowered his cup.
As though he had seen absolutely nothing.
Which only made it more obvious.
For a brief moment, neither spoke.
Then Lu Wenyuan smiled into his wine.
"A-Yuan."
Shen Qiyao already knew that tone.
"No."
"I didn't say anything."
"You were about to."
"I was."
The older man laughed quietly.
Shen Qiyao returned to his seat.
The shrine gradually settled into silence.
Only the occasional crackle of lantern flame remained.
Across the room, He Qing slept peacefully.
Completely unaware of the conversation happening around him.
Or perhaps pretending.
With him, one never knew.
The thought almost made Shen Qiyao smile.
Almost.
Outside, the moon had climbed high above the bamboo grove.
Silver light spilled through the open doorway.
After a while, Shen Qiyao spoke.
"How did you find this place?"
The question surprised neither of them.
It had simply taken this long to arrive.
Lu Wenyuan looked down into his cup.
For several moments, he said nothing.
As though deciding where to begin.
Then finally—
"I didn't."
Shen Qiyao looked up.
"I searched."
The older man laughed softly.
A tired sound.
"For years."
The words hung quietly in the room.
"I searched every place I could think of."
"Every province."
"Every city."
"Every village someone mentioned."
His gaze drifted toward the lantern.
"Nothing."
The smile faded.
"No clues."
"No traces."
"No letters."
"No sightings."
"Nothing."
Shen Qiyao remained silent.
Lu Wenyuan took another sip of wine.
Then shook his head.
"And then I stopped."
That answer surprised him.
"A-Yuan, there comes a point where searching begins to resemble grieving."
The room grew quiet.
"I told myself I was being realistic."
A faint laugh escaped him.
"I even started believing it."
Outside, the wind moved softly through the bamboo.
Then Lu Wenyuan continued.
"A few weeks ago I was traveling through the neighboring region."
"Court business."
"Nothing related to you."
His expression softened.
"I stopped in Zhuyin Village because I was hungry."
The answer was so ordinary that Shen Qiyao blinked.
Lu Wenyuan laughed.
"I know."
"It sounds ridiculous."
"You searched for years."
"Mn."
"And then found me because you wanted lunch."
"Unfortunately."
The older man covered his face briefly.
"I would prefer a more heroic story."
A faint smile appeared at the corner of Shen Qiyao's mouth.
Just for a moment.
Then Lu Wenyuan lowered his hand.
His voice grew quieter.
"When I entered the marketplace..."
The smile disappeared.
"I saw someone buying vegetables."
The room fell silent.
"He was arguing with a vendor."
Shen Qiyao immediately looked toward the sleeping He Qing.
Lu Wenyuan followed his gaze.
"Aha."
"Continue."
The answer came too quickly.
"I wasn't arguing."
"You were."
"I wasn't."
"You absolutely were."
The familiar exchange almost felt comforting.
Then Lu Wenyuan's voice softened again.
"I only saw your back."
His gaze lowered.
"And for a moment..."
The sentence stopped.
As though even now he wasn't certain how to explain it.
"I thought I was imagining things."
Silence.
"You looked exactly the same."
The words carried years within them.
"Older."
"Tired."
"Thinner."
"But still..."
His smile became fragile.
"Still A-Yuan."
The lantern flickered.
For the first time that night, genuine emotion appeared openly on Lu Wenyuan's face.
"I followed you halfway across the marketplace."
Shen Qiyao blinked.
"What?"
"I wasn't sure."
The answer came immediately.
"What if I was wrong?"
The older man laughed quietly.
"What if I called a stranger by your name?"
The image was unexpectedly ridiculous.
Yet neither laughed.
Because both knew the truth beneath it.
Hope was frightening.
Especially after years without any.
Lu Wenyuan lowered his gaze.
"When I finally called out..."
His voice softened.
"...I thought my heart would stop."
The room became silent again.
Shen Qiyao stared into his cup.
For a while, neither spoke.
The years between them seemed to settle quietly around the room.
Then eventually Lu Wenyuan rose.
The long journey was finally catching up with him.
"I should sleep."
"Mn."
"A-Yuan."
"Hm?"
The older man smiled.
A tired one.
A genuine one.
"I'm glad I stopped for lunch."
For the first time that evening, Shen Qiyao laughed.
Softly.
Only once.
Yet it was enough.
Lu Wenyuan stared for a moment.
Then shook his head.
"Now I know I drank too much."
The shrine gradually fell silent.
The lantern burned low.
Across the room, He Qing slept soundly.
In the guest room, Lu Wenyuan had finally retired for the night.
For a few moments, Shen Qiyao remained seated alone.
Then, as he had done countless nights before, he rose quietly.
His steps carried him toward the small shrine altar.
A single bowl remained from dinner.
Simple.
Unremarkable.
Yet his movements were practiced.
Careful.
Almost ritualistic.
He placed the bowl before the altar.
The offering lamp beside it flickered softly.
For years, he had done this.
Rain or shine.
Winter or summer.
A bowl of food.
A cup of tea.
Sometimes wine.
Always left untouched through the night.
No one had ever asked why.
And Shen Qiyao had never explained.
His gaze lingered briefly on the offering.
A faint smile appeared.
Small.
Familiar.
As though he were greeting an old acquaintance.
Or perhaps thanking one.
The silent guest.
The unseen flute player.
The companion who had never shown his face.
The one whose music had filled countless lonely nights.
Only after setting the offering in place did Shen Qiyao turn away.
Yet as he stepped toward the veranda, an unexpected thought surfaced.
The offering had remained untouched for weeks now.
Longer, perhaps.
His gaze paused briefly.
Then drifted toward the sleeping figure sprawled carelessly across the mat.
He Qing.
The thought disappeared as quickly as it came.
And without examining it further, Shen Qiyao stepped into the moonlight beyond the shrine.
Moonlight spilled across the courtyard.
The bamboo grove shimmered silver beneath the night sky.
For a long time, he simply sat there.
Listening.
Thinking.
Past.
Present.
Future.
All tangled together.
The Shen Residence.
His father.
The accusation.
The search.
The shrine.
He Qing.
A faint breeze brushed past.
And unexpectedly—
A memory surfaced.
Soft.
Faded.
His mother's hand smoothing his hair.
The touch barely remembered.
A warmth more feeling than image.
The memory lingered only briefly.
Yet another followed.
He Qing tugging his sleeve because he had forgotten breakfast.
He Qing pushing medicine toward him.
He Qing scolding him for working through the night.
Different memories.
Different people.
Yet somehow—
The feeling was strangely similar.
The realization made him pause.
Then slowly look toward the bamboo grove.
The bamboo swayed gently beneath the moon.
Quiet.
Too quiet.
A strange thought suddenly occurred to him.
Since He Qing had arrived...
The flute had never played again.
Not once.
The realization settled unexpectedly deep.
For years, that sound had accompanied his nights.
For years, it had been his only companion.
It was the reason he had chosen Zhuyin.
The reason he had remained.
And now—
Nothing.
Only silence.
Shen Qiyao stared toward the darkness.
Toward the unseen musician.
Toward the ghost he had never met.
Then quietly said,
"It's been quiet lately."
The bamboo rustled softly.
No answer came.
A faint smile appeared.
Small.
Almost wistful.
"Where have you gone?"
The question disappeared into the night.
The grove remained silent.
Eventually, Shen Qiyao rose and returned inside.
The shrine settled once more.
Moonlight spilled gently across the sleeping mats.
Across Lu Wenyuan.
Across the empty wine cups.
Across He Qing.
For a long moment, nothing moved.
Then—
He Qing's fingers twitched slightly.
His lips parted.
And in a voice so soft it could have been mistaken for a dream, he whispered:
"...I've always been here..."
The words faded into the moonlight.
Into the silence.
Into the sleeping shrine.
And no one heard them.
Except the night.