Winter Time Rendering

’Now that I’m back, I shouldn’t deal with people based on my old impressions. That will only hold me back.’

Today was December 5th, the first day after the rewind. Before bed, he’d gleaned a piece of wisdom. Zhang Shutong said goodnight to everyone in the group chat, turned off the lights, and went to sleep.

He was asleep, but the other three were still chatting up a storm.

Zhang Shutong: Good night

Du Kang: Going to sleep already?

Du Kang: You really asleep? You there?

Qingyi: You forgot he mutes his phone when he sleeps

Ruoping: It’s not like we won’t see him tomorrow when we’re back at school

Ruoping: @Qingyi So what do you think of my suggestion? Should I go talk to Qinglian tomorrow?

Qingyi: Up to you

Ruoping: What should I say?

Qingyi: Talk about schoolwork. She’s first in class, after all. Ask her about a wrong answer on a test, or to borrow her notes.

Du Kang: I suggest you two give up now. I’ve already tried that.

Ruoping: Why?

Du Kang: She doesn’t take notes.

...

The path up the mountain was difficult.

It was pitch-black all around, so dark you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face.

The path was icy and the rocks were steep, with the withered branches of shrubs crisscrossing over it, yet the lone figure walking the mountain trail didn’t look down at her feet.

Her steps were light and quick, as if she were treading a familiar path.

Tonight’s sky was starless. The only light was the cold moon, its rays trickling down only to be wholly blocked by the clouds. When a stray beam did escape and land on her pale face, her eyes would gleam like the only stars, shining with a faint light in the darkness.

But the young woman’s face remained expressionless.

The temperature was dropping.

As she reached the mountainside, she could see the lights of a distant courtyard. It was the Cyan Snake Temple.

Suddenly, a black shadow darted out—

The black shadow was short—it was a fox. The animal showed no fear, walking right up to the young woman’s leg and gently rubbing its head against her long robes with a soft whine.

The fox’s arrival was like a small stone tossed into an ancient well, sending ripples across the water’s surface.

The mysterious and beautiful sixteen-year-old girl, like a celestial maiden descended to the mortal realm, knelt down on the winter path. The snow at her feet was like a layer of solidified clouds as she gently stroked the fox’s head.

The fox only whimpered.

There used to be five of these furry creatures. They would always frolic together in the mountains, loving to tag along at the young woman’s heels. Their padded paws would tread the mountain paths as their noses sniffed the fragrance of the plants, carefree, as if nothing in the world could frighten them.

But now, only one remained.

A piece of the fox’s ear was torn, and the dried blood from the wound quickly smeared onto the girl’s long robe.

"I’m sorry," she said in a low voice after a long while.

As if it understood her, the fox whimpered once more and ran off.

The young woman stood up and watched until the fox had vanished from sight before continuing on her way.

The temple drew ever closer, until the moment the lanterns hanging on its courtyard walls were extinguished.

Finally, she pushed open the heavy courtyard gates.

The temple wasn’t particularly large. It was only a few dozen steps from the courtyard gate to the entrance.

As she walked, step by step, she undid her ponytail. Countless strands of dark hair cascaded down, and her entire aura changed with the motion.

The qualities that made her seem like a young girl vanished. Her posture remained the same, and she still wore the same long robe, yet in those few dozen steps, it was as if she had shed her disguise. With her long hair now falling to her shoulders, she looked like a mature woman.

It was as if all of creation submitted to her arrival—

The howling night wind whispered around her;

The wild weeds bowed their heads at her feet;

Even the faint moonlight was completely extinguished.

She lightly tossed her long hair, revealing a face devoid of any emotional fluctuation. In the complete darkness, her eyes were impossible to see.

By the time she reached the temple entrance and pushed open the wooden doors with their peeling lacquer, a faint candlelight illuminated her face. The already pitifully faint emotion in her eyes had faded completely, leaving them as still as an old well—as if she were a figure sealed within an ancient black-and-white photograph.

Lu Qinglian looked at the altar before her.

Eight candlesticks stood on the altar, but half had already gone out, barely illuminating the statue enshrined above.

The statue was a massive sculpture of a Cyan Snake. It was about two meters tall, but only its camphorwood-carved body was visible; its head and tail were hidden in the darkness.

"I’m back," Lu Qinglian said calmly to the empty hall.

A woman’s voice suddenly rang out from the side hall next to the statue:

"Where were you tonight?"

The voice belonged to an old woman. It was hoarse, and when she spoke, it was like a razor blade scraping across glass, or like the rattling of a scorpion’s stinger.

"I was playing with some kids for a bit."

Lu Qinglian’s voice was no longer crisp and clear as it once was. It was now as still as stagnant water, without the slightest hint of movement.

"What kids?"

"Students from school."

"So, were they kids, or were they friends?" The voice suddenly let out a sharp, piercing laugh, making no attempt to hide its mockery. "Someone like you has friends?"

"Just kids, not..."

"Lu Qinglian!" the old woman barked.

"...Yes."

"You’re really starting to think of yourself as a student! Don’t you forget your duty!" The old woman’s grim voice squeezed out of her throat, word by word. "You. Are. The. Temple. Keeper!"

"Yes."

"...For your entire life! Other than this mountain, other than serving the God, you are to have no other thoughts! Do not do anything unnecessary! Anything!"

"Yes."

The old woman seemed to want to say more, but her anger brought on a fit of gut-wrenching coughs. Once her breathing stabilized, her voice became low again, like a venomous stinger lying in wait in the darkness.

Lu Qinglian simply lowered her gaze.

"You should rest."

The voice from the side hall finally fell silent.

Lu Qinglian relit the extinguished candles, and the temple instantly grew brighter. The head and tail of the Cyan Snake materialized in the candlelight. The snake had a flat head that gleamed with a dark golden luster in the flickering flames—

The entire body of the Cyan Snake was carved from camphorwood, but its head was cast from brass. Over the years, even the metal itself had begun to fade.

The Cyan Snake’s face was ferocious, its jaws slightly parted to reveal rows of fine, sharp fangs.

And on either side of its flat head were two eyes, inlaid with agate.

The two agate eyes were the final, crucial touch, bringing the Cyan Snake to breathtaking life.

But upon closer inspection, the luster of the two agates was not identical; the right one was slightly duller.

And if one looked even closer, they would see that a thin layer of wax had been smeared over the snake’s right eye.

Lu Qinglian scraped off the hardened wax from the snake’s eye with her fingernail, showing no surprise.

After all, she was the one who had put it there.

The wax came off, falling in little flecks onto the altar. Looking again at the Snake Statue’s right eye, one could see the agate was cracked.

The wax was there to hide the cracked eye.

But the agate hadn’t cracked from age or neglect, nor was it a defect from its creation.

It was an accident that had suddenly occurred this very afternoon, while she was sweeping snow.

The Cyan Snake Statue had stood for over a hundred years. This afternoon, its agate-inlaid right eye had cracked without any warning.

And so, she had gone out this afternoon to do something.

She had only just now returned.

Lu Qinglian stared at the cracked agate, standing before the altar for a long time.

She reached toward a lit candle, dipping a finger into the hot wax without so much as a frown. The finger came away stained a pale red. Before the wax could harden, she lightly coated the snake’s eye.

Her grandmother was always in the side hall; she wouldn’t come out. And even if she did, her eyes were too dim with age to notice the wax on the agate eye.

For now, this was a secret only she knew.

Finally, Lu Qinglian took one last, deep look at the Cyan Snake’s right eye, then turned and left.

The night wind poured through the temple doors, and the candle flames on the altar flickered as if about to go out.

A sentence her grandmother once spoke echoed in her mind.

Back then, her grandmother’s hair hadn’t yet turned gray.

She had been kneeling solemnly before the statue when she told her:

If, one day, the Cyan Snake God’s right eye cracks;

it means...

Someone has returned from the future.