The Wolf and the Lily of the Valley

Prologue

Prologue.

His long dainty fingers held the brush with delicacy and prudence as though it was his first time to ever held a brush in his life. He loved the sound of the brush against the unwrinkled immaculate paper, as though every movement of it was like dancing with the wind in an autumnal morning. Even the sound of rustling paper as the mistral from the cold north made its way inside his window fuels the fire in his chest. Today was yet another morning when patience was not his enemy but a lingering lover.

A stitch in time saves nine. He wrote vertically on the paper.

His strokes were the finest Changying has ever seen in the capital. She bent over and lowered the wooden tray where the pot of fresh hot tea was on top of the table. She peered over her shoulder again to catch a glimpse of that gracefully written proverb.

"Procrastination is the thief of time," she said to him while pouring him tea in his cup.

Only the side of his lips moved and formed a smile but Changying felt she got the answer she needed.

"So, does this mean we are close to starting patching off some needlework?"

"Nearly there, Changying," he finally said a word after folding the piece of paper three times and slid it into an envelope. Handing over the envelope to Changying, she could swear to the heavens that his eyes glistened.

Coyly she smiled and received the envelope with no apprehension.

"I shall deliver this in no time," she said, trying to hide the smile.

"You are getting better at making tea, Changying," he said. "This smells like Mount Sanya itself."

"I learn from the best," she answered as she got up to her feet. Facing him, she made a slight bow, and said, "I am honoured to be of great service. I shall wait for the next time you'll call upon me."

"Drop the formalities, Changying. You are always welcome in my residence," he said without looking at her. His attention drawn to the aroma and warmth of his drink. "As I am in the House of Ye Lai."

"As I can see, your place seems to need some kind of..." Her eyes wandered around. The room was massive but was only adorned with miniscule embellishment.

"Refurbishing?" Taking the pleasure of saying it for her, he understood what she meant, and he did not take any offense from it. He got up from his knees and stood up. His white robe touched the floor, and his long jet-black hair flowed along the delicate fabric. He turned his back on her and faced the window. His sight set to the hindmost distance which the physical eyes cannot reach.

"I suppose you would not really need it as you will be moving out soon in a rather palatial dwelling," teases Changying. "I hope you come and visit the girls before you have too much on your plate. The last time you visit was five years ago and you did not even stay long. Now that you're back indefinitely, why not have a whale of a time with your dear old friends?"

"You have my word, my friend," he replied as he turned to her, beaming.

As soon as Changying disappeared from his sight, he ambled towards the high and wide bookshelf to his left where his most precious manuscripts were filed. The bookshelf was so wide that it took much of the wall. A tiny porcelain figurine of a dragon was sitting at one empty corner of the shelf. He reached for the dragon's head and turned it carefully to the left. A squeaking sound came out of nowhere, and the bookshelf parted into two, revealing a dark stairway leading to a place he only knows.

Reaching for a lighted candle, he looked around to see if anybody was watching.

The room was empty. Changying knew nothing of the secret door, nor the presence of a secret tunnel underground.

His footsteps were light and steady. As he took three steps down, he turned to his right and saw another dragon figurine sticking out of the stone wall. He grabbed it by the head and moved it away from his direction. The secret door glided until it met in the middle, and the tunnel was without light except the only candle he brought with him. Following the stairway, he found himself listening to the few drops of water hitting the ground. The stone floor was cold and a little damp, as though there was ventilation underground that keep the air circulating as long strands of his hair move in accord with the little gush of wind from the outside. The flame in his candle bent as the wind blows. Its light petered out only when he reached the part of the tunnel where there was an abundance of lit torches on the wall.

He could see from where he stood a red door with two golden ring pull handles. The face of a smiling dragon glued on each knob. With his arms outstretched, he reached for the handles and pulled the doors towards his body.

The chamber in hiding was not too big in space but there were small holes on the wall facing north to let air pass through. Falling from the ceiling were tall banners of black and white, and the head of a wolf in gold. These banners encircled the shrine that housed the sword of his ancestors, its golden pommel the symbol of independence, strength, and freedom, and the memorials of his fallen loved ones. There was a dozen of them piled across the shrine, their names written exquisitely so he could read them in his prayers. However, he was not there to pray.

Just at the middle of the room, before he could reach the shrine was a round raised platform where a little low table and a few important possessions were resting. Sleeping soundly on top of the woollen mat was a majestic beast as white as snow. Its fur soft and thick, glowing as the meagre brightness from the candles in the room shone on it. It extended its neck up as it noticed the door opened and a strange figure approaching in steady soft steps, wagged its tail, shifted its massive trunk upwards so it was standing on its sturdy legs, its hackles rose, and muzzle curled inwards to expose its glistening white fangs, as though prepared to attack the incoming danger. Its pair of eyes are bright red as the rubies of the Southern Valley, fiery and angry. However, as the man came to the light, it recognized him immediately, and so it went to greet him before he made it to the platform in no time. The wolf stroked its side of the face against his hanfu affectionately; and followed him to the centre before it settled down next to him. Kneeling before the low table, he took hold of a pair of silver scissors from a box nearby. On his side was a mirror in which he can see the reflection of a wounded man.

"As the day breaks, the birth of a man

Is not to look back in the past

But to get past the past.

To live... to move forward...

To protect... to suffer...

To avenge... and to die..."