## Chapter One: The Door in the Dream
Ye Chen walked through the same door in his dream.
Not the door to his home, and not the door to the factory. It was a wooden door, painted deep red, with gold couplets pasted on the frame. The characters had faded some, but you could still make them out: *Martial arts strengthen the body; righteousness anchors the soul.* A wooden plaque hung on the door, three characters brushed in ink: Shouzhu Martial Hall.
Every dream began this way.
He walked inside and saw the same scene, the same place, the same people and things, all exactly as before. The old banyan tree in the courtyard, its roots coiling across the ground like a giant open hand. The water vat in the corner, its walls furred with moss, a few fallen leaves floating on the surface. The kitchen chimney breathing white smoke, the air carrying the smell of woodfire and rice.
This time was no different.
The door creaked open. From the courtyard came the sound of wooden staffs striking each other—crisp and rhythmic, like someone beating a drum. A young man's voice called out something, low and steady, carrying a kind of calm authority.
Ye Chen walked in and saw a man standing in the center of the courtyard. He wore plain cloth, his hair knotted up, a wooden staff in his hand, teaching a group of students. The man was somewhere in his early thirties, his face marked by time, but his eyes were bright—two stars set in a dark sky. His movements were fast. The staff swept a perfect arc through the air, then landed with a crack on a student's shoulder. The student didn't dodge. He laughed.
"Again," the man said. "Faster this time."
That man was Ye Changfeng.
Ye Chen knew his name, even though they had never spoken. In the dream, he simply knew. The way he knew this was the late Qing dynasty, the way he knew this place was called Liuxi Town, the way he knew Ye Changfeng was the master of this hall. That knowledge hadn't come from books. It had grown up out of the dream itself, as if he had always known it and only forgotten for a long time, and now it was slowly coming back.
Just then, a woman came out from the direction of the kitchen.
She wore a blue-gray cloth jacket, her hair simply gathered at the back of her head and pinned with a wooden hairpin. She held a towel in her hands. Her steps were light, as if she were afraid of disturbing something. Her face was delicate, her eyes large. She looked to be around twenty-five or twenty-six. She walked to the edge of the courtyard, leaned against a pillar, and watched Ye Changfeng teach.
That woman was Liu Ruping.
When Ye Chen saw her in the dream, something lurched inside him.
He knew Liu Ruping. Of course he did. She was his wife—the woman who had worked on the factory assembly line, who had become the most important person in his life. The woman whose cooking was so good that customers came back four times a week. The woman whose health was poor, yet who had fought with everything she had to give him children. The woman who, in her last message, had written: *I really do love you.*
But this Liu Ruping was different.
She wore the cloth of the late Qing dynasty, standing in the courtyard of a martial hall. Her eyes held something the modern Liu Ruping didn't have—a deep, pressed-down grief, as if something heavy had been sitting on it for a long time. Not the kind of grief that builds up in a day or two, but the kind that accumulates over many years, many things, settling slowly to the bottom.
Yet her face was the same. The way she stood in the kitchen doorway was the same. The way she looked at people—head tilted slightly, gaze focused but carrying a small distance—was the same.
Something rose in Ye Chen that he couldn't name. Like hearing a familiar song on a street corner in a foreign city.
She watched Ye Changfeng teach his students, a faint smile at the corners of her mouth. But the smile looked tired. Like someone who had held on for so long that smiling had become a habit rather than something real.
Ye Chen wanted to walk over and speak to her, but he couldn't move. In the dream he was only a witness, watching everything unfold, unable to take part. His feet had taken root. He could only follow that familiar, half-strange figure with his eyes.
Ye Changfeng finished with his students and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Liu Ruping walked over and handed him the towel. He took it, wiped his face, then draped it over his shoulder and looked at her.
"Someone came to cause trouble again today?" Liu Ruping asked. Her voice was calm, but her eyes held worry.
"No," Ye Changfeng said. "But it's only a matter of time."
He said it the way you'd say something ordinary. But Liu Ruping's expression darkened slightly, her lips pressing together.
"Don't worry," Ye Changfeng said, looking at her, his eyes gentle. "I'll keep this hall safe."
Liu Ruping said nothing. She turned and walked back to the kitchen, leaving Ye Changfeng standing in the courtyard, watching her go. Her back was straight, but Ye Chen could see that her shoulders had dropped just a little, as if she were carrying something invisible.
Ye Chen watched that retreating figure and thought: he had seen this posture too many times. In the present day, Liu Ruping was the same—carrying everything, saying nothing, gritting her teeth through the pain until the day she couldn't anymore.
The dream began to blur. Ye Chen felt himself pulling back. The courtyard, the hall, Ye Changfeng and Liu Ruping—all of it shrank and receded, as if someone were slowly rolling up a painting.
Then he woke up.
## Chapter Two: Shouzhu Martial Hall
Every time Ye Chen woke up, he remembered everything from the dream.
Not the kind of dream that dissolves as you surface—the kind that stays sharp, every detail vivid. He could remember the shape of the banyan tree in the courtyard, the pattern on Liu Ruping's cloth jacket, the sound of the wind Ye Changfeng's staff made as it cut through the air.
He started keeping notes, writing down every detail he saw in each dream. Ye Changfeng's movements, Liu Ruping's expressions, the layout of the hall, the old banyan tree in the courtyard. He recorded what Ye Changfeng said while teaching, the tune Liu Ruping hummed while cooking, the color of the late-afternoon light on the hall's walls—a warm orange-red, as if someone had melted the sunset and painted it there.
The details were too real. Not like a dream. Like memory.
Once, in the dream, Ye Chen saw the history of Shouzhu Martial Hall.
The hall had been built by Ye Changfeng's father, Ye Shouzhu. When he was young, Ye Shouzhu had traveled across half of China, studying many styles of martial arts. He wasn't the kind of man who liked to compete or prove himself. He had learned martial arts because he believed that a strong body and a quiet mind were a person's greatest wealth.
He settled in Liuxi Town and built the hall, naming it Shouzhu—*holding to simplicity*. To hold to simplicity was to keep to your place, to stay plain and honest, not to fight or grab, just to live steadily and well.
The hall wasn't large—a courtyard, a few rooms, a kitchen. But Ye Shouzhu kept it well. He planted a banyan tree in the courtyard, he said, so students could rest in the shade. The kitchen always smelled of food, because Ye Shouzhu said that people who practiced martial arts needed to eat well to have the strength to train.
Ye Changfeng had grown up in this hall.
From childhood he had watched his father teach students, watched them go from clumsy to skilled, from weak to strong. He understood that martial arts wasn't just fighting—it was a way of living, a way of treating yourself and the world.
## Chapter Three: Morning Light of a Young Man
Ye Changfeng began standing practice at five years old.
Standing practice was the foundation of martial arts, and the most tedious training there was. Feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, both hands held in front of the chest as if embracing a ball. Stand steady, stand straight, no swaying, no moving—just stand.
At five, Ye Changfeng couldn't hold it long. He was shaking at ten minutes, crying at twenty. Legs aching, lower back hurting, arms going numb, his whole body in protest. But Ye Shouzhu wouldn't let him stop.
"A little longer," his father said, voice calm. "You can do it."
Ye Changfeng bit down, tears circling in his eyes, but he didn't fall. He fixed his gaze on the banyan tree in the courtyard, on the leaves swaying in the wind, and told himself: just a little more, just a little more.
At seven, he began learning forms.
The first set Ye Shouzhu taught him was called Returning to the Source. The movements weren't complicated—basic punches, retractions, turns, kicks. But Ye Shouzhu demanded that every movement be done perfectly. Not fast. Precise.
"Keep the punch straight," his father said. "Don't let it drift."
"Turn steady," his father said. "Don't wobble."
"Breathe smooth," his father said. "Don't let it scatter."
"Keep the mind still," his father said. "Don't rush."
Ye Changfeng practiced every day. He was up before dawn, working through forms in the courtyard. In summer, when the cicadas screamed from the trees, he was still at it. In winter, when his fingers went red with cold and his breath turned to white mist in the air, he was still at it.
Liu Ruping would sometimes stand in the kitchen doorway and watch him. She didn't speak—just watched. Watched his movements, his breathing, the beads of sweat catching the morning light on his forehead. Her eyes held something that couldn't quite be named. Not admiration. Something deeper, more complicated.
When Ye Chen saw this in the dream, something came back to him.
The modern Liu Ruping had the same habit.
She would stand in the kitchen doorway, leaning against the frame, watching Ye Chen quietly while he worked. Whether he was fixing something, sorting through the storage room, or just sitting on the couch staring at nothing, she would stand there and watch. Not speaking—just watching. That posture, that angle, that slight tilt of the head—identical to the Liu Ruping in the dream.
Ye Chen had never thought about it before. But now, watching the Liu Ruping of the late Qing dynasty look at Ye Changfeng in exactly the same way, he felt suddenly certain: this was not a coincidence.
Once, after Ye Changfeng finished his forms, he walked over and asked her: "Was that good?"
Liu Ruping smiled. "Very good."
"Really?"
"Really." Her smile was warm, like spring sunlight. "You're getting better every day. I can see it."
Ye Changfeng felt his exhaustion dissolve all at once. It was a strange feeling—not because she had said anything remarkable, but because she had been watching him. To be seen, to be recognized—sometimes that mattered more than any reward.
## Chapter Four: The Martial World of Liuxi Town
Liuxi Town wasn't large, but it had no shortage of martial halls.
This was the late Qing dynasty, an era when martial arts were woven into daily life. The outside world was changing—the foreign powers' guns and warships had made many people realize that traditional martial arts could no longer stand against modern weapons. But in a small place like Liuxi Town, martial arts were still part of how people lived.
Besides Shouzhu Martial Hall, there were several others. The largest belonged to the Zhao family, run by a man named Zhao Tieshan. Zhao Tieshan was more than ten years younger than Ye Shouzhu, but powerfully built, his fighting style hard and direct. His hall did good business, with many students; every day you could hear him shouting "Again!" from his courtyard.
It was a world where the strong consumed the weak.
Halls competed with each other. Sometimes students from one hall would go challenge another; win, and you absorbed their students—lose, and you closed your doors. No one pitied the loser. Only the winner had the right to speak. The rules were brutal, but in that era, that was simply reality.
Zhao Tieshan began absorbing the smaller halls one by one, using force, threats, and whatever means were available. His approach was direct: first send students to issue a challenge; if the other side lost, demand they close. If they refused, he came himself. Zhao Tieshan's fighting style was hard, and few people could take three of his strikes.
By the time Ye Changfeng was fifteen, only two halls remained in all of Liuxi Town—Shouzhu Martial Hall and Zhao's.
Zhao Tieshan turned his attention to Shouzhu.
But he didn't move immediately. He sent people first to gather information—to learn Ye Shouzhu's capabilities, how many students the hall had, how good Ye Changfeng's martial arts were. Those scouts came and went, and Ye Shouzhu watched them all, but said nothing.
Ye Shouzhu understood Zhao Tieshan's intentions. He didn't hide from them, and he didn't run. He simply kept teaching his students, kept Ye Changfeng training, kept the hall as it had always been.
"He'll come," Ye Shouzhu told Ye Changfeng. "But don't be afraid."
"Why not?" Ye Changfeng asked.
"Because we have righteousness on our side," Ye Shouzhu said. "What we teach isn't for fighting—it's for strengthening the body. As long as our hearts are right, we have nothing to fear from anyone."
Ye Changfeng didn't fully understand his father's meaning. But he trusted his father.
## Chapter Five: The Scent of Su Wan's Herbs
In Ye Chen's dreams, Liu Ruping didn't appear alone.
She had a younger sister named Su Wan.
Su Wan was five years younger than Liu Ruping, around twenty. Her face was rounder, her eyes brighter; when she smiled, two shallow dimples appeared in her cheeks. She liked to grow medicinal herbs in the courtyard, always busy among those green plants, like a diligent bee.
When Ye Chen saw Su Wan, he felt a wave of disorientation.
The modern Liu Ruping was the third child in her family, with an older brother and an older sister. Her mother was the eldest among her siblings, and her maternal grandparents had run a restaurant. Liu Ruping's aunts and uncles had all gone on to open restaurants of their own, and well-known ones at that. Liu Ruping had helped out in those restaurants from childhood, absorbing everything around her, and had developed a remarkable talent for cooking.
In the dream of the past life, Liu Ruping was also the older sister. She ran the kitchen, her skills exceptional—every meal eaten by everyone in the hall came from her hands. Su Wan was the younger sister, responsible for the medicinal herbs and wound remedies.
The older sister cooked. The younger sister made medicine. One tended to people's hunger; the other tended to their injuries.
That division of labor made Ye Chen think of the modern Liu Ruping's family—those aunts and uncles with their restaurants, each with a signature dish, each using food to take care of others. The Liu Ruping of the past life had been the same.
Su Wan was Liu Ruping's sister, but their personalities were very different. Liu Ruping was steady and quiet, not one for many words, but every word she said carried weight. Su Wan was lively and open, full of words, but every word was sincere.
How they had come to Shouzhu Martial Hall, Ye Chen never saw the full story in his dreams. But he knew they had been there for many years. Liu Ruping handled the kitchen and the daily running of things; Su Wan handled the herbs and remedies. They were an indispensable part of the hall.
Sometimes Ye Changfeng would come across Su Wan gathering herbs. She would crouch on the ground, carefully cutting leaves with a small knife and placing them in her basket. Her movements were gentle, as if she were afraid of hurting the plants. She would talk to each one—saying *thank you*, saying *you're growing well*, saying *I'll use you carefully*.
"What are you doing?" Ye Changfeng had asked her once.
"Gathering herbs," Su Wan said, looking up with a smile. "Sister says we need to learn to use herbs for healing. The students in the hall get hurt all the time—just applying ointment isn't enough. You have to treat them with herbs."
"You know how?"
"Still learning," Su Wan said, still smiling. "But I'll get it soon. I pick things up fast."
Her smile was guileless, the kind that made something brighten inside you just from looking at it. Ye Changfeng watched her and thought of his own younger sister. He had a sister too, but she was far away, and he hadn't seen her in a long time.
Su Wan often brought Ye Changfeng herbal teas. She said it was to help him recover his strength—that people who practiced martial arts expended a great deal and needed to replenish their energy. Ye Changfeng drank those teas and tasted a faint sweetness, along with the herbal scent that clung to Su Wan's hands. That scent was distinctive—not floral, but something more grounded, something that came from the earth.
When Liu Ruping watched Ye Changfeng drink the tea Su Wan had made, something moved in her eyes that couldn't quite be named. Not jealousy. Something deeper, more complicated. She looked at Ye Changfeng, looked at Su Wan, then turned her head and went back to her own work.
Once, Ye Chen saw Liu Ruping sitting alone in the kitchen, a chopstick in her hand, tracing something on the tabletop. Her gaze was far away, as if her thoughts were somewhere distant.
Ye Chen wanted to know what she was thinking, but he couldn't see inside her.
He only knew that the modern Liu Ruping had this habit too—sitting alone, not speaking, eyes fixed on something far away. What had she been thinking in those moments? About the pain in her body? About the pregnancies she had lost? Or about something she couldn't have put into words herself—something very far away?
Maybe she was thinking about a past life.
## Chapter Six: The Birth of Returning to the Source
When Ye Changfeng was eighteen, he arrived at a new form entirely on his own.
It was a summer evening. He was in the courtyard working through his forms when he suddenly stopped. He stood there, watching the sunset turn the courtyard orange-red, watching the banyan leaves stir gently in the wind, watching dragonflies hover above the water vat.
Something became clear to him.
Martial arts shouldn't be about hard force meeting hard force. Martial arts should be like water—soft but powerful, able to flow around obstacles and also to wear through stone. Martial arts should be like wind—invisible but felt, able to bring calm and also clarity.
He began to move.
Not his father's form. His own. The movements were fluid, without the hard collision of force against force. What it emphasized was breath, rhythm, the harmony of body and mind. Each movement was like a conversation with the air, a conversation with his own body.
He called it Returning to the Source—returning to one's original nature, returning to what is natural.
Ye Shouzhu watched his son perform the form, deep satisfaction in his eyes. He said nothing, just watched for a long time. When Ye Changfeng finished, he walked over and put a hand on his son's shoulder.
"This is what I always wanted to teach," Ye Shouzhu said, his voice catching slightly. "Not for fighting. For living."
Returning to the Source spread quickly through Liuxi Town. Many people came to learn it—not because they wanted to defeat anyone, but because they saw in Ye Changfeng a kind of stillness and strength. That strength didn't come from muscle. It came from within.
Liu Ruping watched Ye Changfeng teach his students Returning to the Source, watched them slowly grow calmer and stronger under his guidance. Her eyes held pride, and also a deep, quiet regret. What that regret was, Ye Chen couldn't make out clearly, but he could feel it.
Once, she asked Ye Changfeng: "Why did you create this form?"
Ye Changfeng thought for a moment. "Because I want people to understand that strength isn't for defeating others. Strength is for protecting yourself and the people around you."
Liu Ruping listened, and tears gathered in her eyes. She didn't let them fall. She turned her head and looked at the banyan tree in the courtyard.
"You're right," she said, her voice very quiet. "Strength is for protecting."
In the dream, when Ye Chen heard those words, something struck him hard in the chest.
Protecting.
The one thing he had wanted most in his life was to protect Liu Ruping. And he had failed. When her health was bad, all he could do was drive her from doctor to doctor, be her outlet for frustration, run hot water to ease her pain. When she wanted to give him children and lost them one after another, he could only stand beside her and watch, helpless. When she sent that final message in the middle of the night, he was at the factory, too busy to breathe, and he didn't get home until thirty minutes too late—
He hadn't protected her.
And in the past life, Ye Changfeng had said the same thing: strength is for protecting.
Maybe that was the grief that stretched between them across a hundred years. He hadn't protected her in the past life. He hadn't protected her in this one. That debt had carried forward from the late Qing dynasty all the way to the present.
## Chapter Seven: Zhao Tieshan Comes to the Door
That day, Zhao Tieshan finally came.
He brought more than a dozen men, riding on horseback, and stopped at the gate of Shouzhu Martial Hall. The hoofbeats struck the ground with a heavy sound, startling the birds from the courtyard. Zhao Tieshan sat tall in the saddle, a contemptuous smile on his face. His eyes swept across the gate, across the banyan tree in the courtyard, and finally settled on Ye Shouzhu and Ye Changfeng.
Ye Shouzhu and Ye Changfeng stood at the entrance to receive them. They carried no weapons. They simply stood—stood steady.
"Master Ye," Zhao Tieshan said, dismounting, his voice loud and carrying the tone of someone looking down from a height. "I've come today to discuss a business arrangement."
"What arrangement?" Ye Shouzhu asked. His voice was as calm as when he was teaching students.
"Simple," Zhao Tieshan said. "You hand the hall over to me, and I give you money. You take your family and leave Liuxi Town, go somewhere else and live your life. I guarantee no harm will come to any of you."
Ye Shouzhu said nothing. He only looked at Zhao Tieshan, his expression undisturbed, as if he were looking at something of no particular importance.
"And if we refuse?" Ye Changfeng asked. His voice was steady, but his eyes were alert.
Zhao Tieshan turned to look at Ye Changfeng, a cold smile at his lips. "Then I'll defeat you all and take it anyway. There's nothing in this town I can't have."
Ye Shouzhu finally spoke: "I won't agree."
"Then don't blame me," Zhao Tieshan said. "I'll give you three days to think it over. When I come back, I hope you'll have made the right decision."
He rode away. The sound of hoofbeats faded, and the courtyard returned to silence.
Liu Ruping stood in the kitchen doorway, watching all of it. Her face had gone pale, her hands gripping the doorframe. Su Wan stood beside her, placing a hand on her arm and holding it gently.
Ye Chen, watching Liu Ruping's face in the dream, felt a sharp pain in his chest. That pallor—he knew it too well. When the modern Liu Ruping's health was bad, her face went the same way—white to the lips, white enough to break your heart just looking at her. Every time he saw her like that, he wanted to take all her pain and carry it himself.
But whether in the past life or this one, he couldn't.
Ye Changfeng looked at his father. "What do we do?"
Ye Shouzhu didn't answer. He turned and walked into the hall, into the courtyard, and began to practice.
Not Returning to the Source. A different form—hard, fast, powerful. Every movement carried a decisive force, as if declaring war on something.
Ye Changfeng watched his father and understood the answer.
They would not run. They would fight.
## Chapter Eight: A Conversation Under the Moon
That night, Ye Changfeng practiced under the moon.
The moonlight was bright, illuminating the courtyard clearly—you could even make out the veins on the banyan leaves. Ye Changfeng stood bare-chested in the moonlight, moving through Returning to the Source. His movements were slow and fluid, but each one carried force. Sweat ran from his forehead and caught the light.
Liu Ruping came out of the kitchen and watched him practice. She didn't speak—just stood there. She held a cup of water in her hands, but she didn't walk over. She stayed in the kitchen doorway and watched.
When he finished, Ye Changfeng walked over.
"You're still up?" he asked.
"Couldn't sleep," Liu Ruping said, handing him the water. "Thinking."
Ye Changfeng took the cup and drank. The water was cool, with a faint herbal taste—the kind Su Wan brewed.
"Thinking about what?" he asked.
"About you," she said, her voice so quiet it seemed she was afraid of being overheard. "About whether you'll be all right."
Ye Changfeng looked at her, his eyes gentle. The moonlight fell across her face, tracing her features in a soft line. Her eyes were bright—not with happiness, but with tears held back.
"I will be," he said. "I'll keep myself safe, and I'll keep this hall safe."
"How can you be so sure?" she asked, and her voice held a fragility she rarely let show.
"Because I have a reason," Ye Changfeng said. "What I'm protecting isn't just this hall. It's you, and Su Wan, and everyone here. With that reason, I can't afford to fall."
Liu Ruping's tears came. Not sobbing—the kind that falls when you've held it back too long and can't anymore. She lowered her head, letting the tears drop to the ground, not letting Ye Changfeng see her face.
"I'm scared," she said. "I'm scared of losing you."
Ye Changfeng reached out and gently wiped her tears away. His hands were rough, calloused from years of training, but his touch was light—the way you'd handle something fragile.
"You won't," he said. "I promise you. I'll live."
But there was something in his voice that couldn't be hidden—a sadness, as if he knew the promise might be impossible to keep, and said it anyway, because he wanted her to have some peace.
Liu Ruping looked up at him. Her eyes were red, but she didn't cry again. She just looked at him, for a long time.
"Do you know," she said, "I don't know what we are to each other. I'm not your wife. I'm not your sister. I'm not your friend. I'm just… here."
Ye Changfeng was quiet for a moment. Then he said: "You're the person I most want to protect. That's enough."
Liu Ruping said nothing. She turned her head and looked at the banyan tree in the courtyard, at the moonlight moving through the leaves.
"If there's a next life," she said, "I hope we can be together properly. Not like this. Not this hard."
In the dream, when Ye Chen heard those words, it was as if lightning had passed through him.
*If there's a next life.*
They had gotten one. In the next life, they worked at the same factory—she on the assembly line, he in inventory. They met over late-night food orders, grew close over card games, felt something shift during a trip they took together. He worked up the courage to tell her how he felt. She went silent for days after her mother died suddenly, and he thought he'd lost his chance—then one night, a message came.
They got together. They got married. They rode around the island, honeymooned in Korea, bought a small apartment, adopted a miniature pig they named Yuanbao. She opened a restaurant for him; customers came back four times a week. She fought with everything she had to give him children, her health declining all the while, never once asking to stop.
They had really been together. Not the undefined thing of the past life—a real marriage.
But *together properly*—had they managed that?
Ye Chen didn't know. He only knew that she had left in the end.
Ye Changfeng didn't answer Liu Ruping's words. He only stood beside her, looking at the same banyan tree, the same moonlight.
## Chapter Nine: The Last Calm
The three days Zhao Tieshan had given them, Ye Shouzhu and Ye Changfeng didn't spend on escape. They spent them preparing.
They taught the students more forms, taught them how to defend, taught them how to protect themselves in a crisis. Ye Shouzhu gave everything he had learned in his lifetime to his students in those three days. He knew this might be the last time he ever taught.
Liu Ruping and Su Wan were also preparing. They sorted through all the medicinal herbs in the kitchen, made sure the wound remedies were fully stocked, and gathered together what could be taken if they had to leave. They didn't say they were planning to flee—but they were preparing, just in case.
Ye Changfeng and his father talked more in those three days than they had in years.
"Dad," Ye Changfeng asked, "what if we lose?"
Ye Shouzhu stopped and looked at his son. His eyes were deep, as if looking at something far away.
"Then it means our time is over," he said.
"What do you mean?"
"It means," Ye Shouzhu said, "that what our generation taught no longer fits this era. A new era has come, and it speaks in iron and fire. We speak in fists and righteousness. If we lose, it's because the times have changed—not because we were wrong."
"Then what should we do?"
"We should remember," Ye Shouzhu said. "Remember what we believed in, remember what we fought for. And then pass those memories to the next generation. Maybe they'll find different ways to live them out—but at least they'll know that someone once fought for what was right."
Ye Changfeng listened, and slowly understood.
On the evening of the third day, Ye Shouzhu called Ye Changfeng into the courtyard. The two of them, father and son, performed one last set of forms together under the banyan tree. Not Returning to the Source—the basic form Ye Shouzhu had first taught Ye Changfeng, all those years ago. Simple movements, but each one full of force.
When they finished, Ye Shouzhu said: "Do you have it?"
"I have it," Ye Changfeng said.
"Good," Ye Shouzhu said. "Whatever happens—hold on to it."
That evening, Liu Ruping made a full table of food.
Nothing elaborate—just everyday home cooking, but every dish made with care. The white rice steamed grain by grain, the greens stir-fried bright and tender, the soup simmered rich and deep. She said: eat well, and you'll have the strength you need.
In the dream, Ye Chen looked at that table and breathed in the familiar smell.
That smell was the same as the food the modern Liu Ruping made. Nothing extravagant—just home cooking, but every dish carrying a taste that made you feel safe. Liu Ruping had learned to cook from her mother, who had learned from her grandparents' restaurant. It was a craft passed down through generations, made with care.
But now Ye Chen understood—maybe that craft hadn't only come down from her mother. Maybe, from the past life onward, Liu Ruping had always been using food to take care of the people around her. That tenderness had crossed a hundred years, from the kitchen of a late-Qing martial hall all the way to a small modern restaurant, all the way to the kitchen in their home.
Everyone sat together and ate. No one spoke, but the silence wasn't awkward—it was a deep, warm connection.
## Chapter Ten: The Storm Coming
On the morning of the third day, the sky was heavy.
Dark clouds had piled up overhead, as if someone had spread a vast gray cloth across the sky. The wind moved through the leaves with a rustling sound; the banyan tree in the courtyard swayed, as if warning of something. Liu Ruping stood in the kitchen doorway, looked up at the sky, and knew a storm was coming.
Not just a weather storm.
Zhao Tieshan came with more people this time. Not only his students—there were others, men in different clothing. Their eyes were cold. What they carried in their hands was not wooden staffs, not blades, but something Ye Changfeng had never seen before.
Guns.
In the dream, Ye Chen saw those guns, and something sank in him. He knew what it meant.
The foreign powers had brought guns to Liuxi Town. Zhao Tieshan had made a deal with them. He had traded the hall's location, his knowledge of Ye Shouzhu, for their backing. He believed that with this, he could have everything he wanted.
Ye Shouzhu looked at those guns. There was no surprise in his eyes—only a deep, quiet resignation. He turned his head and looked at Ye Changfeng, and his eyes held many things: love, pride, regret, and something that had no name.
"The times really have changed," he said to Ye Changfeng, his voice low, as if speaking to himself.
Ye Changfeng looked at his father, looked at the guns, looked at the satisfaction on Zhao Tieshan's face. Something complicated moved through him—anger, grief, and a strange calm.
He turned his head and saw Liu Ruping standing in the kitchen doorway. Her face was white, her eyes wide, fixed on the guns, on the strangers. Su Wan stood beside her, gripping her arm tightly.
Ye Changfeng and Liu Ruping's eyes met.
Just for a second.
But in that second, they said everything.
## Chapter Eleven: The Last Form
When the fight began, Ye Changfeng performed the last set of forms of his life.
Not Returning to the Source. Not his father's hard form. What he performed was something that fused the two—the fluidity of Returning to the Source and the force of the hard form. The set had no name. It came out of him naturally in that moment, as if his body knew this was the last time and put everything into it.
His movements were fast and precise. He defeated Zhao Tieshan's students one by one. His form kept them from getting close, made their attacks fall short. Zhao Tieshan stood at the back, his expression darkening.
"You think you can win?" Zhao Tieshan said. "You're only one man."
"I know," Ye Changfeng said. "But I want you to know that Shouzhu Martial Hall is not something you can just take."
He kept going.
The banyan tree swayed in the wind, leaves falling across the ground. Liu Ruping stood in the kitchen doorway, watching Ye Changfeng, tears running down her face, but she didn't move. Su Wan stood beside her, face buried in her shoulder, unable to look.
Ye Shouzhu stood to one side, watching his son. His expression was complicated—pride, heartache, something beyond naming.
Then the gunshot came.
The sound was enormous, reverberating through the entire courtyard, pressing down every other sound.
Ye Changfeng stopped.
He looked down at his chest. Blood was flowing from there—fast, and a great deal of it. His legs began to give. He tried to hold himself upright, but his body would no longer obey.
He fell slowly. Not the sudden collapse of a man struck down—a slow, gradual descent, like saying goodbye to something. His back found the trunk of the banyan tree and he slid down it, coming to rest among the roots.
His eyes were still open, looking at the sky. The sky was still that blue, the clouds still that white, as if nothing had happened at all.
Liu Ruping ran to him and knelt before him and held him. Her voice rang out across all of Liuxi Town. She called his name, again and again, as if calling it enough times would make him answer.
Ye Changfeng looked at her, a faint smile at the corner of his mouth.
"I said," he said, his voice very quiet, "I would protect you."
"You did," Liu Ruping said, her tears falling on his face. "You did."
"If there's a next life—" he said, his voice growing quieter.
"There will be," Liu Ruping said. "There will be."
Ye Changfeng's eyes slowly closed.
Su Wan stood in the kitchen doorway, herbs in her hands, knowing that no herb could save him now. Her tears fell onto her hands, onto those green leaves.
Ye Shouzhu stood to one side, looking at his son's face, his eyes hollow. His lips moved, but no sound came out.
The foreign soldiers began to loot the hall. They took everything of value, then set fire to the place.
The flames consumed Shouzhu Martial Hall quickly. The old banyan tree burned too, its leaves falling one by one, drifting through the air—as if saying goodbye.
## Chapter Twelve: The Way Out of the Dream
Ye Chen watched all of it in the dream.
He watched Ye Changfeng die, watched Liu Ruping weep, watched the hall burn, watched the end of an era. He wanted to reach out and stop it, but he couldn't move. He could only watch, watch those things he could not change as they happened.
Then he woke up.
He sat up and found himself soaked in sweat. Outside the window was the modern city—high-rises, cars, neon lights. Everything so different, so unfamiliar, and yet so known.
The dream was still with him.
He picked up his phone and saw a message from Liu Ruping. She said she was off work, asking when he'd be home.
Ye Chen looked at those words, his fingers trembling slightly.
He thought of another message. The one that had come in after midnight. The one he hadn't seen until past one in the morning, too busy at the factory. The one that said *I really do love you.* The one he had taken for a simple good night, which had turned out to be the last thing she ever said to this world.
He typed back: *On my way.*
Driving home, Ye Chen thought about the dream.
He thought: maybe it wasn't a dream. Maybe it was memory. Maybe he and Liu Ruping had known each other in a past life, maybe they had been connected in that era. Maybe the Liu Ruping in the dream was the Liu Ruping of now.
Her eyes, her movements, the way she stood in the kitchen doorway and watched people—all the same. Her cooking, the way she took care of others, the stubbornness with which she carried all her pain herself and let no one see—all the same. The way she had sat alone in the past life, tracing something on the table with a chopstick, her gaze far away—and the way she sat alone in the present, staring at nothing—all the same.
Even the way she was unwell, her face pale, still holding a smile—past life and this one, all the same.
Maybe what was owed in the past life was repaid in this one.
They hadn't been able to be together in the past life, so in this one they finally were. She had said *if there's a next life, I hope we can be together properly*—and they had done it. They had married, bought a home, adopted Yuanbao, had children. She had opened a restaurant for him; he had been her outlet when she needed one. They had ridden around the island together, gone to Korea together, wandered night markets in the south until the sky went dark.
They had lost each other in the past life, so in this one they were meant to cherish each other.
But had he cherished her?
Ye Chen drove, and tears came without his noticing.
Not tears of grief. Tears of understanding.
He understood now why he had loved Liu Ruping the way he did. Not only because of her smile, her cooking, her courage. But because in some past life, he had already fallen in love with her. That love had crossed time, crossed death, and arrived in this life.
He thought of what Ye Changfeng had said in the dream: *You're the person I most want to protect. That's enough.*
That, he thought, was what he had wanted to say too.
The Ye Changfeng of the past life had not protected her. The Ye Chen of this life had not protected her either.
But maybe there would be another life.
Maybe in the next one, he would finally get it right.
## Epilogue: What Carries Forward
When Ye Chen got home, Liu Ruping was in the kitchen cooking.
She wore an apron, her hair gathered back, moving quickly at the stove. She hadn't heard him come in—she was focused on what her hands were doing. The pot on the burner was steaming, and the kitchen smelled of food, a smell Ye Chen had known for years.
Ye Chen stood in the kitchen doorway and watched her.
He thought of the Liu Ruping in the dream, of the way she had stood in the kitchen doorway watching Ye Changfeng practice. He thought of what she had said: *If there's a next life, I hope we can be together properly.*
The times had changed. But some things hadn't.
Liu Ruping was still in the kitchen cooking, still using her hands to take care of the people around her. From the kitchen of a past-life martial hall, to a small modern restaurant, to the kitchen in their home—she had always been doing the same thing. Using food, using warmth, using a love she never put into words, to watch over everyone near her.
And Ye Chen—from the Ye Changfeng of the past life to himself in this one—had always been doing the same thing too: wanting to protect her, wanting to spare her suffering, wanting to take on the invisible weight she carried.
In the past life, he had used his fists. In this one, he used his presence.
"You're home," Liu Ruping said, turning her head, seeing him, and smiling. "Go wash your hands—dinner's almost ready."
Ye Chen walked over and put his arms around her from behind.
Her body went slightly rigid, then slowly relaxed.
"What's wrong?" she asked, a note of puzzlement in her voice.
"Nothing," he said, his face buried in her hair. "Just wanted to hold you."
She leaned back against him and kept cooking. The food turned in the pan, oil smoke drifting through the air, the kitchen warm.
Ye Chen closed his eyes and stayed in that moment.
He knew that whether in the past life or this one, he would always stand beside her. Because some love crosses time. Some bonds cross death.
The words they hadn't finished saying in the past life—they finished them in this one.
The road they hadn't finished walking in the past life—they walked it in this one.
*In the past life, he performed his last form to protect her.*
*In this life, he would spend a lifetime loving her—to make up for what the past life left undone.*
*What was owed before, repaid now.*
*They had finally, in this life, lived the life the past life never got to live.*
*That love, from a martial hall in the late Qing dynasty, crossed a hundred years,*
*and came to rest in a modern kitchen, in her smile,*
*in the moment he came home and saw her.*
**End**