The world of film and television starts from the flow of money

Summer of the thirtieth year of the Yonghui era.

Chengdu, Yurong Mountain Villa.

Summer in Chengdu is always mild and humid.

Since the Dujiangyan Irrigation System (256 BC) began drawing water a thousand years ago, the Funan River, with its two branches encircling the city, has been permeated with moisture, keeping this southwestern metropolis evergreen throughout the year. Even under the scorching sun of June, as long as a cloud covers the sky, a cool breeze will gently blow from the direction of Xiling Snow Mountain, rustling the banyan, ginkgo, and hibiscus trees throughout the city, making them whisper like secrets.

Yu Rong Mountain Villa is located in the northern suburbs of Chengdu. Not far from Zhaojue Temple, turn into a lush bamboo path, walk for two or three miles, and suddenly you will see a low hill like dark eyebrows. The villa is built on the hill and hidden in the dense shade of century-old banyan trees.

This place was originally the old residence where Consort Shu, Shi Qingxuan, lived in seclusion with her mother during her childhood. At that time, it was not called a mountain villa, but simply "Yu Rong Xiaozhu" (Jade Banyan Cottage). It consisted of a few bamboo huts, a vegetable garden, and a stream flowing down from the back mountain, converging into a small pond in front of the courtyard. Later, after Shi Qingxuan entered the palace, the residence was looked after by distant relatives and repaired year by year. In the fortieth year of the reign of Emperor Dingding, Emperor Hua ordered the Ministry of Works to send craftsmen to make slight renovations, preserving the original tranquility, adding several exquisite rooms, diverting the stream to flow around the courtyard, and planting exotic flowers and rare herbs, thus creating the scale it is today.

The villa has no high walls or deep courtyards, only a low blue stone wall, which is covered with creeping fig and morning glory. The main gate is a pair of bamboo doors that open outwards, which are usually half-closed. Above the door hangs an old wooden plaque with the two characters "Yu Rong" carved in a slender and elegant style, which is the handwriting of Shi Qingxuan's mother.

At this moment, in the late afternoon, which is the hottest time of day, the villa is as cool as autumn.

The entrance is a narrow path paved with bluestone slabs, lined with nandina and azaleas, their intertwined branches creating a dense, shady canopy. At the end of the path, the view suddenly opens up.

The courtyard, about five acres in size, is shaped like a crescent moon, facing a low hill to the north. It is filled with plants, yet there is no sense of deliberate embellishment: several century-old banyan trees reach for the sky, their canopies like clouds, enveloping most of the courtyard in cool, dense shade; beneath the banyan trees lies a pond of flowing water, fed by a stream from the back mountain. The water is crystal clear, and several koi carp swim leisurely, occasionally leaping out of the water, splashing tiny droplets; the pond's banks are planted with calamus, irises, and water lilies. In the height of summer, pink and white water lilies bloom quietly, floating on the azure surface, their fragrance faint and delicate.

On the south side of the pond stands a waterside pavilion. It is small, with three open rooms, supported by logs. Unpainted, it is simply coated with tung oil varnish, revealing the natural, warm grain of the wood. The roof is covered with a thick layer of thatch, which, over the years, has turned a grayish-brown, blending seamlessly with the surrounding trees. The pavilion is elevated on wooden stilts, about three feet above the water. By pushing open the carved wooden windows, one can lean on the railing and observe the fish.

Facing the pond to the north of the pavilion is a wide lawn. The lawn is meticulously manicured, with fine, soft blades, like a natural, emerald-green velvet carpet. Along the edge of the lawn, several natural lake stones are scattered in a pleasing manner, covered with fine moss. Clumps of unidentified wildflowers, purple, white, and yellow, bloom from the crevices between the stones, creating a charming and delicate scene.

Further north of the lawn lies the low hill. The hill is covered with pines and bamboos, lush and verdant, filtering the afternoon sunlight into a soft, pale golden halo that spills into the courtyard.

Every corner of the courtyard was meticulously maintained, yet there was no trace of artificial intervention. It was as if it had always been this way, quietly existing in this form since the beginning of time.

At this moment, in the waterside pavilion, five figures sat or lay down, each in their own place.

A woman leans against the railing near the pond.

She wore a moon-white silk dress with a subtle floral pattern, the fabric of which was extremely light and soft, with delicate silver thread embroidery of lotus scrolls faintly visible on the surface. The hem of the dress reached the ground, concealing her slender feet clad in plain white silk stockings. A matching silk sash was loosely tied around her waist, from which hung a mutton-fat jade pendant.

Her long hair, once as black as ink, had now turned completely silver-white. But the white wasn't a withered gray, but a lustrous silver, like the finest silk, shimmering softly in the afternoon light. Her hair wasn't styled into an elaborate updo, but simply draped casually over her shoulders, loosely held in place by a jade hairpin. A few stray strands fell across her forehead, making her face appear even more ethereal and refined.

It was Shan Wanjing.

Her face still resembled that of someone in their thirties. Her skin was fair and delicate, without a single wrinkle; her brows and eyes were clear and bright, and in the flow of her gaze, there was both the composure of decades of ruling the empire and a rare relaxation and languor at this moment. In her hand she held a scroll, which was "New Songs from the Jade Terrace" compiled by Xu Ling of the Southern Dynasties. She was on the page with the line "White as snow on the mountain, bright as the moon in the clouds," but her gaze was not on the book. Instead, she looked at the koi swimming in the pond, a faint smile playing on her lips.

On the other side of the beauty's chair was a low couch. A thick layer of bamboo mat covered it, a high-quality green bamboo mat from Sichuan, cool and smooth to the touch. A person was curled up on the couch.

The word "curled up" is most fitting to describe her.

Wanwan wore a light purple gauze dress, so thin it was almost transparent, revealing a matching light-colored bra underneath. The dress was open, exposing a section of her fair collarbone and neck. She wore matching wide-legged trousers, casually draped over the couch. Her bare feet were exposed, her toes round and smooth like jade, painted with a light touch of nail polish.

She lay on her side, one hand supporting her chin, the other holding a round fan, which she waved idly. The fan was made of plain white silk, painted with a branch of red plum blossoms in simple, elegant strokes—a painting she had done herself in her spare time. Her long hair was also entirely white, but it was styled into two loose buns, one on each side, secured with two jade hairpins—the very style she had loved to wear as a young girl. A few stray strands fell down, which she casually tucked behind her ears.

That face, with its exquisitely beautiful features and naturally alluring charm, held a subtle, enigmatic smile at the corners of its lips. However, the mischievous liveliness of its youth had faded from its eyes, replaced by a worldly wisdom and languid innocence. Gazing at the water lilies in the courtyard, the fan in its hand moved even slower, as if it might fall asleep at any moment.

On the low table beside the tatami mat was a plate of sliced ​​watermelon, red flesh with black seeds, brimming with juice. There was also a pot of chilled plum juice, with fine droplets of water condensing on the inside of the pot.

In the center of the waterside pavilion, there was a blue stone chessboard. On either side of the chessboard, two people sat facing each other.

The woman on the left wore a light purple palace dress with a subtle floral pattern, over which was a semi-transparent gauze robe of the same color. Her long hair was styled into a simple, cloud-like bun with a jade hairpin, from which a small pearl dangled. Her face was exquisitely beautiful, and her temperament was ethereal and otherworldly, as if she were a fairy untouched by worldly affairs. This was none other than Shi Qingxuan.

Her hair was now completely white, but it was a lustrous white that, against her exquisitely beautiful face, made her appear even more otherworldly. She was holding a white chess piece, deep in thought, her brows slightly furrowed. Her expression was exactly the same as that of the girl who played the zither in that dilapidated courtyard sixty years ago.

The man on the right is dressed in a black outfit with dark gold patterns. Although he has been out of armor for many years, his attire is still as sharp as ever. His long hair is tied into a high ponytail with a gold ring, and the silver ponytail falls over his shoulders, making his heroic face even more striking.

It was Dugu Feng.

Her skin remained firm, without the slightest sagging; her eyes were still bright and piercing, sharp and intimidating. Only a few fine lines appeared at the corners of her eyes, marks left by years of battle and hardship. She was holding a black piece, playing chess with Shi Qingxuan. Black and white pieces crisscrossed the board, locked in a fierce and evenly matched battle.

At the edge of the waterside pavilion, near the lawn, stood a low table. On the table were sewing baskets filled with various silk threads, embroidery needles, and scissors. A woman sat on a bamboo chair beside the table, embroidering something with her head down.

Shang Xiuxun wore a light blue cloth dress, of ordinary material and simple style, like any ordinary woman from a common household on the streets of Rongcheng. However, even in that simple dress, she could not hide her spirited and heroic temperament.

Her long hair was also entirely white, but it was simply tied up with a wooden hairpin, falling over her shoulders. Her face was the one among the five women that showed the most "traces of time"—not that she had aged, but rather that her eyes and brows had gained a gentler touch, losing some of the stubbornness and sharpness of her youth. She lowered her head, intently embroidering a handkerchief with a few pale orchids on it, the stitches fine and already taking shape.

Her hands, once used for drawing bows and shooting arrows and wielding swords to kill enemies, now hold an embroidery needle steadily, without a trace of trembling.

…………

The waterside pavilion was completely quiet.

The only sounds were the occasional leaping of koi in the pond, the rustling of the wind through the banyan leaves, and the chirping of cicadas—a distant, melodious sound that came from the woods, lingering and undisturbed, adding to the tranquility.

Wanwan waved her round fan and suddenly let out a soft "hmm".

"This awful weather is so hot it's making my bones feel like they're melting."

Her tone was languid with a hint of coquettishness, but her voice had gained a mellow quality from years of experience.

Shan Wanjing looked up from her book, glanced at her, and a smile curved her lips:
"Who said they were going to soak in the stream behind the mountain? Now they're complaining about the heat."

Wanwan covered half of her face with a round fan, revealing only her eyes, which were curved into two crescent moons.
"We haven't gone yet. We're waiting for someone to come and carry me there."

As he spoke, his gaze drifted towards the outside of the waterside pavilion, his eyes clearly filled with anticipation.

Dugu Feng placed a piece without even raising her head:

"Stop looking. They went into the mountains early this morning, saying they were going to pick some... wild tea? They probably won't be back until evening."

Wanwan sighed, turned over, lay on her back, and rested a round fan on her face.

"Thirty years have passed, and he's still the same. He just leaves whenever he wants, and before we've even fallen asleep, he's running around the world all by himself. Who is he trying to impress?"

There was a moment of silence in the waterside pavilion.

Shang Xiuxun paused her needlework, then continued embroidering. Shi Qingxuan's hand also paused as she placed a white piece on the chessboard; the piece lingered on her fingertip for a moment before gently landing. Shan Wanjing closed her book, placed it on her lap, and gazed at the water lilies in the courtyard.

"Let him run. He's been holding it in his whole life, he can't stand not running."

She paused, then lowered her voice slightly:

"Being able to run is a blessing."

Suddenly, a series of light footsteps came from outside the waterside pavilion.

Wanwan flung open her fan, sat up, and gazed brightly at the entrance to the waterside pavilion. Dugu Feng and Shi Qingxuan also stopped playing chess and turned to look.

The footsteps drew closer.

A tall figure emerged from the dense shade of the banyan tree and stepped into the waterside pavilion.

Yi Huawei was still dressed in a plain, moon-white robe, loosely tied at the waist with a matching silk sash. His long hair was casually draped over his shoulders, held back only by a wooden hairpin. His face still looked like that of someone in his early twenties, handsome and refined, without a trace of age. Only his eyes were more profound than they had been sixty years ago, as if they held the secrets of an entire universe.

He carried a small bamboo basket filled with tender green tea buds, the leaves still glistening with dew in the afternoon sun.

Wanwan's eyes lit up. She jumped barefoot off the low couch, ran a few steps to him, and sniffed the tea basket.
"You actually managed to pick some? There really are wild tea bushes in these mountains?"

Yi Huawei reached out and gently stroked the tip of her nose:
"Yes. It's in a shady spot on the back of the mountain, a huge area that probably hasn't been harvested in decades. I'll take you there to see it tomorrow."

Wanwan wrinkled her nose, her expression exactly the same as the little girl she was sixty years ago.

Shan Wanjing put down her book, stood up to greet him, took the tea basket, and carefully examined the tender buds, a look of satisfaction appearing in her eyes:

"The quality is excellent. We'll sun-dry it tomorrow, and then it can be processed the day after. We'll have plenty of new tea to drink this year."

Shang Xiuxun also put down her embroidery and came over. Looking at the basket of tea buds, she smiled and said:
"You certainly know how to pick your timing. Just a few days ago you were saying that you'd finished last year's tea, and now you've already picked it."

Yi Huawei walked to Shi Qingxuan's side and glanced down at the chessboard.

"Who has the upper hand in this round?"

Shi Qingxuan looked up at him, her eyes clear and bright:

"you guess."

Yi Huawei smiled slightly, reached out and picked up a chess piece. It wasn't from the chessboard, but rather slid out of his sleeve—a round, translucent blue stone, its texture as warm and smooth as jade, yet it wasn't jade.

"I just picked it up by the stream. It'll fit perfectly with your prayer beads."

Shi Qingxuan took it and examined it closely in her palm. The pebble was only the size of a little fingernail, entirely bluish-green, with faint cloud-like patterns flowing around it, and felt cool to the touch.

A slight smile curved her lips, a faint smile, but one that revealed genuine joy.

"nice."

Yi Huawei walked over to Dugu Feng. Dugu Feng was staring at the chessboard, seemingly still thinking about the move she had just made. She didn't look up, but simply stretched out her hand.

Yi Huawei took out another item from his sleeve and gently placed it in her palm.

It was a small bone whistle, carved from some kind of animal bone, pure white, with several extremely fine runes engraved on it.

"It's something from the mountains. They say blowing it can summon birds. Why don't you give it a try?"

Dugu Feng finally raised her head, glanced at him, brought the bone whistle to her lips, and blew it gently.

A clear, melodious whistle broke the afternoon's tranquility.

From the distant woods came the sound of flapping wings. Several unidentified birds took flight, circled in the air for a moment, and then landed back in the woods.

Inside the waterside pavilion, all five of them laughed.

Wanwan clapped her hands and smiled:

"It's done! From now on, when I go for a walk in the back mountain, I'll take this whistle with me, and all the birds in the mountain will come to pay homage. Just thinking about that scene is interesting."

Shang Xiuxun walked to Yi Huawei's side and looked up at him.

"And me?"

Yi Huawei looked down at her, took out the last thing from his sleeve—a neatly folded plain white handkerchief, unfolded it, and inside were several oddly shaped leaves.

"This is called 'forget-me-not,' that's what the mountain people call it. You can dry it, steep it in water, and drink it to calm your nerves and help you sleep. If you always have trouble sleeping at night, try this."

Shang Xiuxun took the leaves and examined them closely in her palm. The leaves were slender like orchids, with a layer of fine hairs on the back, and they had a faint fragrance.

Shang Xiuxun looked up at Yi Huawei, a smile curving her lips.

"Sixty years have passed, and I still remember this."

Yi Huawei reached out and gently brushed away the stray hairs that had been ruffled by the wind from her forehead.

"remember."

After sorting through the odds and ends of what he had gathered in the mountains, Yi Huawei sat down on a low couch covered with a straw mat. Wanwan leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder, and gently waved her round fan, making his eyelids feel heavy.

Shan Wanjing handed the basket of tea buds to the maid waiting in the corridor, gave instructions on how to dry them the next day, then turned back and sat down again on the balustrade.

Shi Qingxuan tucked the blue pebble into her sleeve, her gaze returning to the chessboard. She picked up a white piece, twirling it gently between her fingers, but didn't place it. Dugu Feng played with the bone whistle, blowing it twice. Birds fluttered up from the distant woods, causing a smile to appear on her lips.

Shang Xiuxun carefully wrapped the few leaves of the forget-me-not and placed them in her sewing basket. Then she picked up the half-embroidered handkerchief and continued embroidering. (End of Chapter)