A flap of butterfly's wings

He brought them a tea set. As he placed the tray down, he turned to Bei Sangyun and stared.

Bei Sangyun noticed his gaze and looked back at him. Their eyes met.

She frowned. She didn't like being stared at—regardless of how old the other person was. She was ready to scold him, but just as she was about to speak, the old man suddenly shed a tear.

He quickly wiped it away.

"I'm sorry... You don't like being stared at. That was rude of me," he said.

His hoarse voice sounded younger than she had expected. Because of his long beard and white hair, she had assumed he was the same age as the old monk—perhaps even older. If he had shaved his beard and cut his gray hair short, he might appear as a man in his middle age. 

And, for some reason, there was some familiarity she couldn't place with.

The unkempt man smiled at her, his eyes reflecting relief, sorrow, and longing—emotions that flickered briefly before disappearing.