The north wind swept through Muyun Town. Leaves piled deeper in the alleys with each passing day. Year's end drew near, and passersby on the street grew bulkier in their winter layers.
Frost gathered at the wall roots. The rich traveled in sedan chairs, wrapped tight in cloaks, never sparing a thought for how many poor souls froze in the corners of town.
In the little courtyard of Willow Alley, the firewood blazed bright.
Two baskets of sweet potatoes and a basket of beans were stacked at the doorway. Inside, a pot simmered over the stove, steam puffing rhythmically.
Layne came out of the storage shed, dusting off wood shavings from hauling firewood. He was about to begin practice.
Qingshui's room was silent. He thought of knocking, but decided against it. He'd train on his own. After all, it had been three months, and he'd learned plenty already.
At the kitchen table, Bihua was kneading dough. Flour dusted her sleeves; the dough shifted between her hands, soft and elastic. Now and then she brushed hair from her forehead, leaving streaks of white across her temple like snow.
"Qingshui!" she called without looking up.
A groggy voice drifted from the other room. "What… I'm curled up like this and you still want me working?"
"Bring a cloth. Wipe the dust off the counter."
"Tch."
The door creaked open. Qingshui shuffled out, wrapped in her quilt, clutching a rag like an old woman. Without even glancing at Layne practicing in the courtyard, she shuffled toward the kitchen.
"So cold… frost last night."
"Cold weather sells hot noodles," Bihua replied with a smile, hands still kneading.
"Hmph, so now you're selling noodle soup too…"
"What, should three mouths just eat and never earn? Then we can drink the northwest wind!" Bihua's brows arched sharply.
"…I didn't say I wouldn't help." Qingshui muttered, shrinking under her breath.
Bihua huffed, jerking her chin toward the table. Qingshui sighed and began wiping lazy circles until a playful smack to the head made her wince and clean properly.
In the courtyard, Layne's fists rose and fell. He wore thick cotton, sleeves rolled high. Each breath clouded white in the air. His footwork struck the ground sharp, his arms moving fluid, and faint qi shimmered over his body like heat, warding off the cold.
"Good!" Qingshui leaned on the doorway, calling out between shivers. "Punch sharper, step lighter, don't let your breath scatter—draw in more of the outside qi!"
"When you're good enough, we'll dine and dash somewhere. Let's see who dares stop us! Saves your mom saying we only eat and never work—"
She sneaked a look at Bihua. The moment she saw that fist clench, she bolted back to her room, laughing as she called:
"Hit me? You think I'm dumb enough to stand still for it?"
"My mom said you're the one who only eats and doesn't work!" Layne laughed, losing his rhythm. He ran to bang on her door.
"Don't knock, don't knock—I was wrong! Ahh, my back hurts again!"
Layne ignored her whining. "Stop pretending! You were chasing cats on the roof just days ago!"
The cat in question had indeed been crouched on the roof, watching with indifference. With a flick of its tail, it leapt down and vanished.
The door opened. Layne jabbed Qingshui twice in the stomach before she could react.
"Rebel, are you? Talking back, hitting your teacher? I'll loosen your bones today and remind you who I am!" She grabbed his arm and dragged him out, sparring and bickering in the yard.
Bihua watched them, dough warm and pliant in her hands, her smile hidden beneath lowered hair.
Outside was winter's chill; inside, the courtyard simmered like broth.
—
Later, Bihua rolled noodles while Qingshui squatted by the stove, poking at sweet potatoes in the coals. Ash and golden crumbs smeared her lips.
Layne sat on the steps, wiping sweat, still sore from their scuffle.
Then voices echoed from the alley—first laughter, then complaints about stepping on shoes, then quick footsteps on the stone slabs.
Layne froze, then his eyes lit up. He dashed for the gate.
"Lin Ji! Bao Silang!"
The door burst open. Two small figures shot forward, colliding with Layne in a tangle of arms and laughter.
Behind them came Master Shen, stooped, clutching a paper bundle. Wrinkles lined his weathered face, but he smiled broad at Layne.
"Well now, you've grown sturdier, haven't you?"
Beside him, Wang Cheng and Yan Jiu each carried a bulging sack, smiling as they watched the children tumble.
Bihua hurried over, wiping her hands, snatching Master Shen's bundle with a scolding for Layne to move aside, ushering the guests in with no time for his noisy greetings.
Inside, the bags thumped down. Shen offered thanks and apologies, until his eyes caught another figure crouched by the stove.
"Qingshui! Come help!" Bihua called.
"Just baked sweet potatoes—must eat them hot!" The woman rose, face smeared with ash, half a tuber still smoking in her hand. She blinked at the crowd. "Huh? Who're all these?"
Once the flurry settled, they borrowed chairs and sat. Qingshui washed up, gave polite greetings, and was soon cornered by Shen, who pried until she promised to write him a calligraphy piece.
Wang Cheng cracked open a box of braised duck legs, handing them to the children.
"Cold as it is, we set out before dawn by carriage. Long road, but worth it."
Yan Jiu, in his patched coat, plunked two jars of wine on the table, along with a string of sausages. "Tonight, no leaving sober!"
Qingshui slipped away from Shen, only to find Bihua frantically rummaging for snacks to serve. "Tch," she muttered. "Feels like New Year already."
But there was no time to complain. Layne, giddy with reunion, tugged both women back to the courtyard. Despite their feigned reluctance, smiles betrayed them.
At the table, Lin Ji and Bao Silang had pulled chairs ready.
Looking at these old friends, braving the cold with gifts in hand, Bihua's heart swelled. Her eyes reddened when Master Shen spoke first.
"Bihua, how have you been?"
She only nodded.
Wang Cheng exchanged glances with Yan Jiu, then spoke gently:
"As for Laisu, we've been tending the place. No greenery now, but come summer, it blooms with flowers."
Layne gripped his mother's hand. Bihua glanced at him, blinking back tears.
"Thank you. For still looking after Laisu."
Qingshui, though she understood, kept silent. Seeing the air grow heavy, Yan Jiu quickly cut in:
"Enough gloom—today we feast early for New Year! Bihua, did you know? She never told Master Shen where you lived. Took Wang Cheng a month of paperwork to sniff you out!"
Wang Cheng shoved him, and the two bickered. Qingshui stared at the wine jars, throat tight.
"No more messages from Water Yao… no watchers in town either. I checked—those men are gone, even Xuanhu's shadows."
Her gaze fixed on the jars, hunger plain in her eyes.
"Maybe… just a little. Too long since I've had a drink. Seems safe enough now. I'm healed, mostly…"
"…Just a little. Only a little."