Beneath the Apricot Tree (Epilogue)

Chengyu's heart thundered against his ribcage, a relentless drumming that echoed through the dusky street. He stood outside the brothel, where wisps of laughter and music leaked from the half-open windows like tendrils of perfume. The setting sun cast a warm glow on the wooden façade, making the carved panels and red lanterns appear as if they were steeped in liquid amber.

He stepped over the threshold, his gaze immediately seeking her out. The courtesan with the erhu, her fingers dancing over the strings with a grace that could turn the cacophony of the world into a symphony. She was not merely playing the instrument; she was conjuring spirits, weaving stories without words. He approached, drawn by the melody, until he stood close enough to see the subtle expressions that played across her face with each note.

"Good evening," Chengyu said, his voice barely above a whisper, afraid to interrupt the magic she spun.

Surprised, she looked up, a gentle smile curving her lips. "Apothecary, I didn't see you there." The music came to a rest, and in the silence that followed, was soon replaced by the percussion of his heartbeat.

He held out the package, his hands trembling slightly. "I brought you something. A token of appreciation for your playing. For you, who soothes my heart whenever I visit. I truly appreciate it."

Her delicate fingers unfolded the cloth, revealing the hairpin—an intricate piece of silverwork with a single jade stone at its heart. It was both exquisite and understated, much like the woman who now held it.

"It's beautiful," she breathed, her eyes alight with genuine pleasure. "You had this made for me?"

"Yes," he confessed, his chest tight with nerves. "The craftsman is a friend. He understands the language of beauty, as you do with your music."

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and carefully secured the hairpin, its jade stone catching the light, complimenting the luster in her dark locks. Chengyu watched, captivated by the simple act, by the way it seemed to affirm some unspoken bond between them.

"Does it please you?" he asked, his voice laden with hope.

"More than words can say," she replied, meeting his gaze. The warmth in her eyes stirred something deep within him, a joy that radiated from his very soul.

"Then I am content," Chengyu said, his relief manifesting in a smile that mirrored hers. "I only ask for one thing in return, miss. He saw a jolt of surprise, perhaps desire, but then it fell away into an ear-to-ear smile at his following words. It was a beautiful smile, yet not the kind a courtesan would wear, but Chengyu was utterly enamored regardless. "Your name, miss. For how many times we've chatted, I still haven't caught your name."

Slipping the hairpin into place, she looked up at him, nearly bashful. "Jiangnu. Only that. I have no surname."

They shared a moment, suspended in time, where the clamor of the brothel receded into insignificance. Chengyu realized then that no matter how fleeting their encounters might be, they were woven together by threads of music and moments of quiet understanding. And in that instant, with the soft hum of the city around them and the weight of the day lifting, he felt an overwhelming sense of connection—to the courtesan, to the music, and to the myriad of lives unfolding within these walls.

He was always stricken by how he didn't quite belong, but moments like these made it feel as if he had always belonged. As the last notes of the erhu faded into the dusky light of the brothel, Madam Li's silhouette filled the doorway, her keen eyes locking onto Chengyu.

"Young Master Chengyu," she began, her voice as smooth as silk, "such a gift speaks more than mere fondness. Perhaps you should consider buying her contract."

Chengyu felt heat rise to his cheeks, an inferno that threatened to burn him from the inside out. He stammered an incoherent response, his mind a whirlpool of emotions—apprehension, longing, and a hint of rebellion at the suggestion. With an awkward bow, he hastened away, Madam Li's knowing chuckle trailing behind him like a shadow.

His heart thundered against his ribs as he rushed through the streets, the city's heartbeat syncing with his own. The vibrancy of life around him blurred into a watercolor painting, indistinct and surreal. Chengyu's mind replayed Madam Li's words, each syllable echoing with the weight of implications he wasn't prepared to confront.

He reached Xiuqin's home, the familiar wooden door a barrier between the chaos of his thoughts and the tranquility he sought within. Pushing it open, he was immediately ensnared by Hua, who sprung forth like a tiger pouncing on unsuspecting prey. Hua's hands pressed firmly against Chengyu's chest, pinning him to the wall.

"Chengyu!" Hua's voice was a mixture of confusion and accusation. "Why have you brought another girl home?"

Chengyu sputtered, taken aback. "What are you talking about, Hua?" His gaze darted past Hua's shoulder, seeking clarity.

There, in the dimly lit room, sat little Maque, perched on a cushion beside Xiuqin. With Xiangcui's gentle guidance, she spoon-fed the sick woman a concoction they had brewed together. The scene was domestic and tender—a stark contrast to the turmoil raging in Chengyu's heart.

"Look at her, Hua. She's like, seven years old and an orphan," Chengyu said, his words laced with exasperation, that hint of moderness he always tried to hide. He hated how easily his emotions frayed, like the strings of an erhu played too fiercely.

Hua's eyes narrowed, his lips curling downward in a pout that would be comical if not for the genuine distress behind it. "But she's adorable. I won't stand a chance at occupying your heart now."

Chengyu sighed, the absurdity of the situation momentarily lifting the weight from his shoulders. "Hua, you're a however-many-years-old-you-are man," he said, the corners of his mouth twitching despite himself.

"Age is irrelevant in the face of cuteness," Hua muttered, but the fire in his eyes was doused by the warmth of his affection for their makeshift family. "And I am nineteen."

"Oh. That's a year older than me," Chengyu said, absent-minded.

Hua immediately fired back. "Call me big brother."

"Absolutely not."

Hua held him tighter, shaking him now. "But I always wanted a younger brother. All I have are jerk sisters."

"Let me go, Hua," Chengyu implored, his voice softening. In truth, he could never replace any of them; they were unique threads in the fabric of his life here, weaving a pattern of belonging he had long craved.

With a dramatic sigh, Hua released him, stepping back to allow Chengyu to regain his balance. The room seemed to breathe with them, the walls echoing the rhythm of their lives intermingling, disparate yet harmoniously entwined.

"Forgive my theatrics, brother," Hua whispered, and Chengyu recognized the term for what it was—a bond unbreakable by time or circumstance.

"Forgiven," Chengyu replied, patting Hua on the shoulder as he made his way toward Maque and Xiuqin.

As he watched Maque's delicate hands carefully raise the spoon to Xiuqin's lips, Chengyu felt a sense of peace settle over him. This life, this home may not have been the one he envisioned for himself, but it was a life rich with unexpected joys and sorrows, with connections that transcended the boundaries of blood and tradition.

"Is she feeling any better?" Chengyu asked, kneeling beside Xiangcui.

"Thanks to your recipe, she is," Xiangcui responded with a smile that reached her eyes.

"Then that is all that matters," Chengyu murmured, allowing himself to bask in the simple contentment of the moment.

Chengyu's fingers traced the grain of the wooden table, the very one which Hua had stolen before their departure. The courtyard was bathed in the golden hue of dusk, with the apricot tree casting lacy shadows that danced upon the ground.

"Big brother Chengyu," Maque's voice shimmered with mirth, pulling him from his reverie. Her eyes sparkled like a stream kissed by sunlight as she spoke with an earnestness only a child could possess. "You're my big brother and teacher now."

Hua, theatrically clutching his chest, feigned a swoon beside them. "And what am I to become? Cast aside, forgotten?" His voice held the lilt of jest, but Chengyu detected a thread of genuine concern woven within.

"Never," Chengyu assured, the corners of his mouth curving upward despite himself. "You are irreplaceable, Hua. You're the first apothecary we gathered, so you're precious to me." He wrapped an arm around Hua's shoulders, feeling the warmth of brotherhood between them.

"Promise?" Hua sniffled, his performance worthy of any stage.

"Every word," Chengyu affirmed, and at last, Hua released him, a playful glint in his eye revealing the farce. "Let's prepare dinner," Chengyu suggested, eager for a task to ground him. Together they moved through the familiar dance of slicing vegetables and simmering broth, the aromas mingling with the scent of earth and blossoms.

As Hua set out the bowls with meticulous care, Chengyu's thoughts drifted unbidden to the courtesan and her melodic erhu, to the hairpin he had given her. The weight of decisions yet made pressed upon him, but the laughter of Xianghui and Maque, playing some game of their own invention, tethered him to the here and now.

"Chengyu, do you think the stars listen to our wishes?" Hua asked as he folded a napkin into a precise triangle, his question punctuating the quiet of the evening.

"Perhaps," Chengyu replied, considering the vastness above them. "But it is our actions that shape the morrow."

"Then let us make tonight a good memory for that little girl. Heavens know she needs some joy." Hua said with a determined nod, smoothing out the last crease.

"Indeed," Chengyu agreed, watching Xianghui chase Maque around the apricot tree, her laughter ringing clear and true.

The table was set, each dish placed just so, beneath the sprawling branches. As the first star blinked into existence in the deepening sky, Chengyu felt the tapestry of his life here pull tight, a comforting embrace that promised no matter how far he wandered in thought or deed, this place, these people, would always be a home to return to.

The sun dipped low, casting its last warm rays across the courtyard as a soft breeze danced through the branches of the apricot tree. Petals fluttered to the ground like gentle rain, the world bathed in hues of pink and gold. Chengyu took his seat at the head of the table, the rough wood familiar beneath his palms. Maque, with her youthful exuberance, quickly claimed the spot to his right.

"Hey, no fair! I was going to sit there," Hua protested, hands on hips, but his eyes sparkled with mischief.

"First come, first served," Maque retorted, sticking out her tongue before turning to beam at Chengyu. "Right, big brother?"

Chengyu chuckled softly, a wry smile playing on his lips. "Now, now, you two, there's room for all of us."

Xianghui leaned against the trunk of the tree, her gaze flitting between the playful squabble and Xiuqin, who sat opposite Chengyu, her features alight with quiet amusement. "I could fetch another chair if it would please the court," she quipped, her voice carrying the lilt of laughter.

"Ah, but then we'd miss this delightful performance," Xiuqin said, her eyes twinkling as she clasped her hands together, feigning anticipation.

"Performance?" Hua pouted, though he couldn't quite suppress a grin. "I shall have you know my feelings are genuine. Chengyu's favor is a coveted prize."

"Is that so?" Chengyu mused aloud, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He watched as Hua finally settled into a chair to his left, still sending mock-glaring looks at Maque.

As they began to eat, the clinking of chopsticks mingling with soft conversation, Chengyu felt the fabric of this moment wrap around him, warm and comforting. The food was simple, yet each flavor seemed to hold a story—a tale of hardship and healing, of bonds formed in the most unexpected of places.

He glanced at Maque, her small face lit with a joy that only the innocence of youth could own, then to Hua, whose eyes held a depth beyond his years despite the frivolity of his demeanor. Xianghui's laughter rippled through the air, a soothing melody, while Xiuqin watched them all with the tenderness of one who had seen too much yet still found solace in the present.

In the quiet spaces between bites, Chengyu's thoughts meandered. Life had not unfolded as he had once envisioned—paths taken, paths forsaken, a journey led by destiny's inscrutable hand. His old home, with its rigid expectations and hollow daily ceremonies, the masquerade of a family, felt like a distant dream. Here, amidst the laughter and petty quarrels under the apricot tree, he discovered an unexpected truth.

Life may not heed our careful plans, he reflected, the realization settling deep within him. Yet in its chaotic tumble, it sometimes grants us a haven—a place where the heart may lay its burdens down.

"Nothing quite went how I wanted it to," Chengyu murmured, half to himself, his gaze tracing the arc of a petal as it spiraled to earth. And he still wasn't even halfway to his goal.

"What was that, big brother?" Maque asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.

"Nothing important," he replied with a gentle shake of his head. "Just a thought."

And so, surrounded by this makeshift family, Chengyu allowed himself to simply be—to savor every mouthful, every shared glance, every burst of laughter that rose and fell like the twilight breeze. For however long he remained here, this patchwork of souls beneath the apricot tree was home. And for now, that was enough.

On the still-crumbling wall enclosing this scene, a cat with fur in a pattern that resembled pale moonlight and shadows, gazed down through half-lidded amber eyes that gleamed like precious stones. Yawning, it stretched. Then with a final flick of its tail, jumped down and disappeared from sight.