无题

The mountain wrapped itself in dim, sleepy moonlight.

Thin cool wind drift through pine branches, whisper soft and low.

Somewhere among dark shadow of trees, a figure move slow‑slow.

It was my senior brother.

Nobody knew what crazy thought was swirling deep down inside his brain.

We younger disciples peeked from behind a thick pine trunk, eyes wide open, not daring to make even a tiny sound.

His shape half‑hid by dark bushes at first.

We could only catch glimpses of flowing dark fabric once in a while.

He clutched a crumpled paper bag tight‑tight between his fingers.

The paper crinkled non‑stop. His fingertips shook little‑little.

Inside that bag laid the white soft pastries he spent the whole afternoon grinding and kneading.

Beads of sweat rolled down his wrist. He stopped short, shook his hands roughly, trying to calm his racing heart.

“Don’t mess up tonight.” He mumbled to himself over and over.

Further ahead, on a smooth flat boulder bathed in silver moonlight, sat one lone person.

We still could not make out his face clearly from this far spot.

Only a sweep of snow‑white robe melting gently into the hazy night.

Long silver‑colored hair cascaded down his slender shoulders.

A slim polished silver trinket tangled within one lock of hair, sway‑sway whenever breeze brushed past.

He sat perfectly still, his breath faint‑faint, as if he had blended wholly with the quiet mountain night.

Senior brother tiptoed forward step by step.

His heart went thump‑thump‑thump, banging wildly inside his ribcage.

He feared the loud pounding would travel all the way and reach the ears of the person on the rock.

His mind was stuffed full of vague, sweet, silly wishes.

He only wished to draw near, stay for a brief moment, and take a quiet look.

No big foolish tricks. That was the promise he made to his own self.

He had practiced his short gentle line thousands of times inside his head.

I brought fresh‑made pastry for you, master.

His gaze glued firmly on the white silhouette ahead.

He paid zero attention to the twisted tree root hidden beneath the thick grass.

His foot slipped.

A tiny stifled “ah” slipped out his parted lips.

The paper bag flipped high up in the cool night air.

Round white pastries tumbled out one after another, dump‑dump, splattering all over the spotless white robe.

Several squashed treats stuck to the silver strands, crumbs coated the dangling silver ornament.

The quiet man on the rock lifted his eyelids extremely slowly.

Stunning, well‑shaped phoenix eyes emerged from the dim shadow.

Skin pale as frozen spring water, slender lashes casting faint shadows.

Not a flicker of anger, not a spark of surprise. Just blank, peaceful stillness.

The moon slid out from behind heavy clouds all at once, flooding the mountainside with bright silver glow.

Only then could we fully see senior brother’s entire black robe.

Loose dark garment draped over his tall frame, a messy black ribbon loosely tying half of his tousled hair.

Both of his ears burned hot‑hot, bright red like smoldering embers.

Every well‑practiced phrase got jammed deep in his throat.

His mouth opened and shut repeatedly just like a gasping little fish, no coherent words came out.

He waved his hands wildly, attempting to brush away the pastry mess, only smearing soft cream further across the white fabric.

Panic wrapped him completely.

He spun around abruptly and broke into a frantic run, vanishing along the stony mountain trail.

A faint, defeated murmur drifted back riding on the wind.

“Tomorrow… tomorrow I will try again. I will make better pastry.”

Behind the pine tree, us juniors shook from head to toe, shoulders bouncing non‑stop.

We bit down hard on our sleeves, struggling our hardest to hold back roaring laughter.

Hot tears leaked out from the corners of our eyes.

If the master turned his head and spotted our hiding group, we would land ourselves in deep awkward trouble.

None of us ever imagined our usually sharp‑witted senior brother could stumble into such a ridiculous mess.

Dawn painted the mountain valley soft peach and orange the very next morning.

Every single one of us already knew our senior brother was bound to come up with another new silly plan.

We found him squatting beside the gurgling mountain stream at daybreak.

Scrubbing pastry stains off his black sleeves over and over.

Dark heavy circles hung beneath his eyes, as if he had not shut his eyes for a single second the whole night.

He bickered quietly to the rippling water, racking his brain for a flawless new scheme.

He hurried toward the small wooden kitchen hut when sky was still faint blue‑grey.

He pounded rice powder, stirred sweet cream, stoked the stove fire again and again.

Once a lump of pastry got burnt, he tossed it away without hesitation, grumbling quietly to himself.

I cannot embarrass myself twice.

White flour dust dusted his cheeks, leaving a silly pale mark that he never even noticed.

Twilight spilled across the mountain peaks once more.

This time he carried an elegant carved wooden box etched with delicate cloud patterns.

He marched toward that familiar boulder, each step slow and extra cautious.

Eyes darting down to scan the ground, checking for sneaky tree roots that might trip him.

The familiar white‑robed figure waited there once more under sunset glow.

Silver hair shimmered softly, the tiny silver ornament dancing along with the gentle wind.

Senior brother drew a deep, deep breath, chest swelling big‑big.

He wiped his sweaty palms against his black robe and gripped the wooden box tight.

He safely reached the side of the boulder, no slip, no stumble. Everything was going perfectly for once.

A goofy, hopeful grin bloomed across his face.

He leaned forward, fingers ready to flip open the carved wooden lid.

Right that very moment, a fluffy little mountain squirrel darted out from the thick bushes.

It zoomed straight across senior brother’s boots.

He jumped in shock, elbow knocking hard against the stone edge.

The fancy wooden box slipped right out of his grasp.

Wood clattered loudly against hard rock.

The lid bounced wide open.

Neatly stacked white pastries rolled everywhere, tumbling down the sloped ground.

One plump pastry landed softly right upon master’s knee.

Master tilted his head slightly, those exquisite phoenix eyes blinking once.

He stretched out a slender pale finger, poked the round pastry lightly.

No trace of amusement, no sign of annoyance either.

Senior brother froze stiff as a wooden stake.

His hands hung useless in mid‑air, brain turned total mush.

He wanted to bend and pick up the scattered snacks, but his legs refused to move an inch.

We behind the bush covered our mouths, our whole bodies trembling with trapped laughter.

We nearly gave away our hiding spot right then.

Master slowly lifted the pastry from his knee, held it between his long fingers.

He stared at it for a long quiet while.

Senior brother’s breath stopped entirely, waiting for cold words of blame.

But master only set the clean pastry on the corner of boulder gently, then closed his eyes and returned to quiet meditation, ignoring all the scattered treats all around his feet.

Senior brother stood there for a long long minute, blank and confused.

Eventually he knelt down, silently gathered every fallen pastry piece, stuffed them back into the dented wooden box.

His shoulder drooped low‑low.

Without making any noise, he trundled away into deep dusk.

When he walked far enough, faint voice float over the hills once more.

“Next time… I will pick a day with no squirrels.”