Standing on Peach Blossom Mountain, overlooking Cloud City cloaked in the morning fog, a crisp spring breeze rustled through the nascent leaves, carrying the scent of damp earth. Fang Yaoting, his expression unreadable, turned to face his two new disciples, Yang Bao and Guozhao Zhiqiang, his gaze sharp.
"Before dinner," Fang Yaoting instructed, pointing towards the sprawling river below, its surface glinting in the pale light, "each of you needs to water one hundred blossom trees. After the task is completed, you may go home for dinner. Remember, you must water your own trees. No sharing."
Yang Bao's gaze instinctively flicked to his left, where a small waterfall cascaded down the mountainside, much closer. A silent question formed in his mind: Why fetch water all the way from the main river, when there's a waterfall right here?
Fang Yaoting, as if reading his thoughts, looked directly at Yang Bao, his voice devoid of warmth, a chilling warning. "Shan is watching." With his hands clasped behind his back, he slowly descended the hillside, leaving the two disciples alone, a sense of foreboding hanging in the air.
Yang Bao turned to Guozhao Zhiqiang, his brow furrowed with confusion. "Shan? Who is Shan?"
"I don't know," Guozhao Zhiqiang replied, his voice flat, his expression unreadable.
Suddenly, a cold voice spoke from behind Yang Bao, causing him to jump, startled. "I am Shan," the voice announced. Yang Bao spun around to face him, his eyes wide. "You are?" he stammered, surprised by his sudden appearance.
Shan's gaze was icy, piercing. "I'm here to watch you do your task. It's best to hurry up, because time doesn't wait for you. And neither do I."
Yang Bao grabbed the two empty buckets. They felt impossibly heavy, far heavier than the ordinary buckets he used to carry water at Dragon Inn, their weight a cruel burden. He quickly, awkwardly, limped behind Guozhao Zhiqiang, trying to keep pace.
He pushed himself to walk at his fastest pace, but by the time he was halfway down the trail, Guozhao Zhiqiang was already ascending, his first two buckets sloshing with water, his movements effortless. He reached the river, filled his buckets, and again felt their immense weight, a crushing burden. How on earth am I going to water a hundred blossom trees with these? he wondered, a wave of despair washing over him. He began his slow, arduous climb up the mountain trail, his leg aching.
At noon, a welcome sight appeared: Ping'an, ascending the path, a basket cradled in her arms, a beacon of respite. She placed it gently on the ground, her smile warm. Ping'an looked at the two young men, her voice kind. "Let's rest for lunch first." She then walked away, leaving them to their meal, a moment of peace.
Yang Bao slowly sat down beside Guozhao Zhiqiang, his body aching, every muscle screaming in protest. He observed his senior brother, a quiet, almost unreadable figure. This young man, who should be my senior brother, doesn't like to talk, Yang Bao mused. In the entire month we've known each other, he's spoken no more than ten words to me. He also wondered, given Guozhao Zhiqiang's unusual appearance, if he even understood their language, if he was truly human.
Guozhao Zhiqiang reached for the basket, pulled out a bowl of food, and handed it to Yang Bao, his movements precise, then began to eat his own meal in silence, his gaze distant.
Yang Bao watched him closely, a sudden urge to connect bubbling up, a desperate loneliness. "Senior brother," he ventured, his voice hesitant, "what do you like to eat? I'm good at cooking. I can make you anything." He looked hopefully at Guozhao Zhiqiang, but his senior brother didn't even glance his way, continuing to eat as if Yang Bao hadn't spoken, as if he neither heard nor cared, a crushing indifference.
Yang Bao knew the sting of being different, of being overlooked because of his disability. This wasn't the first time he'd been rejected in attempts to make friends or find his place. He ate his food slowly, the taste bland in his mouth, watching the relentless hot summer sun crawl across the sky. The sun will go down in four hours, he thought to himself, a heavy weight in his chest, a sense of impending failure.
Guozhao Zhiqiang finished his meal, placed his bowl back in the basket, and poured himself a cup of water. After drinking, he returned the empty cup to the basket and stood up. He looked down at Yang Bao, his gaze cold, a hint of impatience in his voice. "Let's hurry up." He then grabbed his two buckets and began his descent down the trail, his movements swift.
Yang Bao quickly finished his lunch, tossed his empty bowl into the basket, and grabbed his own heavy buckets. Halfway down the trail, he passed Guozhao Zhiqiang, who was already coming back up with two full buckets of water, his face impassive.
As the sun began its descent, casting long shadows across the mountain, Yang Bao realized he had only managed to water thirty-five blossom trees. Darkness was beginning to fall, yet he forced his exhausted body down the mountain, where he met Guozhao Zhiqiang returning with his last two buckets. Despite his profound fatigue, Yang Bao's determination flickered. He wouldn't give up. He had to prove himself.
"Senior brother," Yang Bao asked, his voice breathless, "how many trees have you watered?"
Guozhao Zhiqiang simply walked past him, offering no answer, no glance, disappearing into the gathering twilight. Yang Bao watched him disappear into the gathering twilight. He then turned to climb the path again, not seeing Guozhao Zhiqiang, but instead finding Shan standing silently in the middle of the mountain trail, his presence chilling.
"Shan," Yang Bao asked, confused, "where is Senior Brother? Did he finish?"
Shan's voice was as cold as ever, devoid of emotion. "He is inside Peach Blossom Valley, having dinner with the three masters."
"He watered one hundred blossom trees already?" Yang Bao muttered, disbelief warring with exhaustion, a bitter taste in his mouth.
"And you, my friend," Shan replied, a hint of disdain in his tone, "have seventy-five trees to go. You're far behind."
Yang Bao's face crumpled in a frown, a wave of despair washing over him. "No wonder you look down on me... I'm so useless... I can't do anything right."
Fang Yaoting slowly approached, his presence stern, his gaze unyielding. "If you don't want others to look down on you," he said, his voice flat and cold, "then you should strengthen your game. Stop complaining." He tossed a bun to Yang Bao. "Your dinner." He then turned and began to walk away. "Once you get to the top, do a horse stance until morning. That will teach you discipline."
Yang Bao's heart sank, a sad frown on his face, tears pricking his eyes. "Yes, Third Master," he managed, his voice barely a whisper, filled with resignation.
Yang Bao pushed himself tirelessly, day after day, but after two grueling months, he still couldn't water a hundred blossom trees before sunset. On the other hand, he noticed Guozhao Zhiqiang's remarkable improvement. Every single day, Guozhao Zhiqiang completed his task before the sun dipped below the horizon, his efficiency growing.
One crisp morning, Yang Bao woke up to find two red eggs placed beside his bed, warm to the touch. He sat up, a surge of happiness bubbling within him as he held the warm eggs in his hands, a forgotten comfort. He didn't want to cry, yet slow, uncontrollable tears rolled down his cheeks, a profound emotion he couldn't suppress. No one had given him red eggs since his parents died, a lifetime ago.
Guozhao Zhiqiang, sitting silently across from him, watched Yang Bao cry without a sound, his gaze unreadable. "Is it your birthday today?" he asked, his voice betraying a rare hint of curiosity, a soft inquiry.
Yang Bao quickly wiped his tears, a shaky smile touching his lips. "Yes..." he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.
Guozhao Zhiqiang stood up. "Happy birthday," he said simply, his voice gentle. Before Yang Bao could even voice his thanks, his senior brother turned and walked out of the room, leaving him alone with his emotions.
By noon that day, Yang Bao had only managed to water six trees, his progress slow and painful. Guozhao Zhiqiang, on the other hand, was nearing completion of his hundred, his buckets moving effortlessly.
As Yang Bao trudged breathlessly down the path, his body aching, he met Guozhao Zhiqiang ascending. Guozhao Zhiqiang's voice was cold, his words a stark reminder, devoid of emotion. "It's better to water your hundred trees before sunset, unless you can't have your birthday dinner with us."
Yang Bao spun around, looking at Guozhao Zhiqiang's retreating back, a desperate hope in his voice. "Senior brother!" he called out, "Is there a dinner party for me?" Guozhao Zhiqiang neither answered nor looked back, disappearing into the distance. "Senior brother!" Yang Bao called again, his voice filled with longing.
Shan, standing silently behind Yang Bao, spoke with his usual frigid tone. "There is a dinner party for you, but if you haven't completed the task, you can eat the cold bun prepared by Master Fang. Today is your birthday; it doesn't mean you will get special treatment. Rules are rules." Shan sneered, a cruel satisfaction in his voice. "If you want to have dinner with each other on your birthday, hurry up. Time is running out."
Driven by the promise of a birthday dinner, a desperate longing for acceptance, Yang Bao focused with fierce determination on watering his hundred trees. He pushed past the pain, the exhaustion, his body screaming in protest. Before he knew it, he had watered the last two. A triumphant smile spread across his face, a wave of elation. "This will be the last time to go up this mountain!" he declared to himself, a vow. Even though his legs screamed in protest, he rushed up the path, his heart pounding with renewed hope. "Even if I had to climb the trail, I would make it to dinner tonight! I won't miss it!"
After watering his last two trees, Guozhao Zhiqiang looked at Yang Bao, his voice surprisingly soft, a hint of warmth. "Let's go to dinner, Ah Bao."
The two brothers walked together towards Peach Blossom Valley but found Fang Yaoting standing alone in the middle of the empty yard, his face grim, Shan standing beside him. Fang Yaoting looked first at Guozhao Zhiqiang, then at Yang Bao. He turned to Shan. "Shan, pay attention to Zhiqiang when he does the horse stance. He can't eat or drink until this time tomorrow. He broke a rule."
"Yes, Master Fang," Shan replied politely, his voice flat.
Fang Yaoting's gaze hardened, fixed solely on Guozhao Zhiqiang. He completely ignored Yang Bao, his focus entirely on his disciple. "Do you know what you did wrong, Zhiqiang?" he asked, his voice cold and cutting.
"Yes, I know what I did wrong, Third Master," Guozhao Zhiqiang responded, his voice low and accepting, his head bowed.
The dinner table in the valley was laden with food, but Yang Bao found he had no appetite, a knot of worry in his stomach. He had dreamed of celebrating his birthday with everyone, but his senior brother was being punished. Despite Guozhao Zhiqiang's quiet nature, Yang Bao admired him immensely. As he ate, a question gnawed at him: What had Guozhao Zhiqiang done wrong? But he was too afraid to ask, fearing his query would only bring more trouble to his senior brother.
That night, Yang Bao couldn't sleep. As he walked to the bathroom, he saw Shan standing beside Guozhao Zhiqiang, who was enduring his horse stance, his body rigid in the moonlight. "Why did you do this, Zhiqiang?" Shan asked, his voice echoing in the quiet night, a hint of curiosity. "Do you think Master Fang wouldn't know?"
"I took a chance, Shan," Guozhao Zhiqiang replied, his voice strained, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
"Zhiqiang," Shan stated, his voice flat, "everything you do on this mountain can't escape my eyes. I see all."
"I know," Guozhao Zhiqiang conceded, his voice weak.
"If you know, why are you still doing it?" Shan pressed, his voice sharp.
"It's his birthday today," Guozhao Zhiqiang explained, a hint of tenderness in his voice, a profound reason. "You wouldn't know the feeling, unless you hold those red eggs in your hands."
Shan scoffed, a dismissive sound. "So? This doesn't mean you can disobey Master Fang's order. Master Fang's order was very clear: you must water your one hundred blossom trees before dinner, and he didn't even notice that you helped him water half of his."
Yang Bao, hidden in the shadows, whispered in stunned realization, his heart pounding with a sudden, overwhelming gratitude, "He helped me?"