Chapter 6: Beneath Pines and Quiet Thought
The early morning mist clung low over the valley as Ren Shang adjusted the strap of his hunting bow and stepped out of the courtyard gate.
The chill still hung in the air, but he didn't mind. In the distance, the green outline of the mountains waited, shrouded in dew and silence.
The path he took was old but familiar. Deer often wandered the slopes in the early hours, and it was best to move quietly.
No jangling iron, no careless boots. Just the earth beneath him, damp and solid, and the steady rhythm of his breath.
He moved like the wind did—present, but unnoticed.
Each step forward was accompanied by thought. Though his hands were steady on the bow, his mind wandered back to the courtyard. To Su Yun.
That man—sharp-tongued, stubborn, and with a touch of vinegar in every word—had somehow filled Ren Shang's home with life in less than a week.
The storeroom had been rearranged, the dust swept from corners Ren Shang had never bothered with, and the air inside now smelled faintly of ginger and scallion.
Ren Shang didn't hate it.
As the forest thickened, he paused beside a shaded patch of fallen leaves and crouched. There—clusters of thick mushrooms were nestled against a fallen tree.
He touched the cap of one carefully, then pulled his hunting knife and began to harvest only the largest. These would go well in soup. Su Yun might not squeal in delight, but he would probably nod quietly while slurping two full bowls.
Further up the slope, Ren Shang passed a familiar thicket near the stream. His eyes caught the deep green glint of wild leeks.
Bending down, he dug a few out carefully. Not too many—just enough.
He never over-harvested. The forest gave, but it had to be respected.
As he worked, the sun filtered softly through the pine branches. Birds chirped, distant but calm. Everything felt still. At peace.
Yet inside Ren Shang, something stirred.
He wasn't a man of many words, nor one for open sentiment.
But today, as the wind brushed past and the trees murmured above, he found himself thinking about Su Yun's voice, and how the man hummed tunelessly when cooking, pretending he wasn't doing it.
He remembered the way Su Yun's hands moved—quick, confident—as he wiped the windowsill that first morning.
The way his eyes darted over the courtyard like he was calculating its worth.
He wasn't someone used to depending on others, that much was clear.
And yet, he stayed.
He chose to stay.
The rustle of grass caught Ren Shang's attention. He paused, slowly pulled his bow into position, and took silent aim.
A hare.
Quick and lean, snuffling the roots just ahead.
He held his breath, exhaled slowly, and loosed the arrow.
The shot was clean.
As he approached the fallen animal, Ren Shang murmured a short, respectful prayer. Not for the hare, but for balance—for harmony between taking and giving. Then he wrapped it in cloth and stowed it in his pack.
By midday, the sun hung just above the pines. He sat beneath a tree and chewed on a dry mantou, watching the wind sweep through the grasses.
Su Yun would scold him for eating this bland thing. "Even soldiers deserve oil and vinegar," he'd probably say.
Ren Shang allowed himself a faint smile.
Once the break was over, he headed for the stream again. There, nestled in the underbrush, were a few useful herbs.
Nothing too rare—just a bit of skullcap and cressroot, and even a small bundle of cordyceps tucked beneath a stone.
He wrapped them carefully in paper, tied them with twine, and tucked them into his satchel.
On his way down the slope, he stopped once more by the shaded clearing. He had passed it earlier but hadn't had time to linger.
Now, under the dappled light, he noticed a small bush full of violet flowers—bluebell thorn.
Not good for medicine, but when dried and powdered, Su Yun might find use for it in preserving pickles or warding off insects.
And Su Yun did mention wanting to start pickling things.
Ren Shang crouched, and with uncharacteristic gentleness, plucked a few blossoms, careful not to damage the root.
The journey back was quiet. The weight of the hunt—game, mushrooms, herbs—hung on his back, but didn't feel burdensome. He moved faster now, eager without realizing it.
As the village rooftops came into view, bathed in afternoon light, Ren Shang felt something shift inside him.
It wasn't just returning to a house.
It was returning to someone.
He reached the gate just as the sun began its descent. His fingers brushed the wood of the frame before pushing it open.
And there, seated beneath the porch awning with a half-finished sleeve in hand, was Su Yun—backlit by gold, hair pinned loosely, a faint frown tugging at his brow as he focused on each stitch.
Ren Shang stepped through the threshold without speaking, but the soft creak of the gate caught Su Yun's attention.
Their eyes met.
And in that moment, without needing to say a word, Ren Shang realized something:
He wasn't alone anymore.