"Sir, may I ask where you come from?"
"I came from the other side of the bamboo grove."
Perhaps it was exhaustion, or perhaps the quiet charm of the place — I sat down upon the earthen mound, gazing at the beauty before me. I wouldn't say my heart was brimming with joy, yet there was a faint trace of freedom in the air, light and unbound. When I turned my head, the young woman was already sitting beside me, softly describing the scenery of this place.
What surprised me most was that, according to her, no one had ever come here before — I was the first to arrive. In her words, I could sense the weight of her hardships, the hidden twists of her fate. Then she lifted the Scottish bagpipe once again and began to play. Perhaps every note, every beat of that melody, was her way of telling me her sorrow.
By now, the sunlight had slipped toward nightfall. The sky above was painted with layers of crimson and violet, streaking across what had once been a field of golden light. From the corner of my eye, I saw tears glimmering in hers — a mixture of helplessness and unspoken wishes. I didn't know what to say. All I could do was stand up and gently pat her shoulder.
Maybe that was the best comfort I could offer — silent, yet far more sincere than words. So I turned and began walking back, retracing the path over the hill toward the bamboo grove...
"Sir," she called out, "may I know your name?"
I looked back. Tears had already traced down her cheeks, yet she still managed to hold up that faint, beautiful smile. How it pained the heart to see it. Lowering my head, I steadied my breath and spoke my name quietly. Then, without another word, I crossed over the hill and started on my way home.
By now, my mind was too heavy to take in the beauty of the bamboo grove again. The image of her face was etched deep in my heart. When I finally looked up, I found myself beyond the grove. Night had fallen — deep, quiet, and cool. The evening wind had turned cold, and along the dim path, only the scattered torchlights flickered like tiny stars on the earth.
Guided by their faint glow, I made my way home. As I pushed open the wooden door, the dim interior revealed nothing more than a table and chair bound together with bamboo, and a simple bed. Perhaps, as the old saying goes, "Though the house is humble, virtue makes it fragrant."
I let myself fall onto the bed, and soon drifted into sleep.