Snow fell onto the water’s surface, startling a sand gull into flight.
A man with graying temples wore a bamboo hat and sat steady with his knees raised, fishing. There was nothing remarkable about his hands—only calluses, and a red thread tied there.
Since he was looking at the water, the water looked back at him, and it said: “Where is this boat going?”
Qiao Tianya remained unmoving. “To the ends of the earth.”
Since sighed and said: “If you turn around, there is the Buddhist gate. From that point on you can forget all past affairs. Wouldn’t that be clean and simple, perfectly resolved?”
Qiao Tianya’s gaze followed the dawn. “There are no shortcuts in the mountain Buddhist gate. I can’t find it.”
Since stirred the cold water lightly, his sleeve sliding over its surface as though drifting beyond the mortal realm. At last, he gave up persuading him and said: “You win.”
When the boat reached shore, Since stepped off and bowed to Qiao Tianya. He had followed Qiao Tianya for many years, but Qiao Tianya had never fulfilled his wish of entering monastic life. Since could not understand it—he was still a child.
Qiao Tianya was silent for a moment. “Where are you going?”
Since pressed his palms together lightly. “To seek spring.”
In an instant, the wind shifted and snow scattered. Since turned and vanished into the mist over the water. Qiao Tianya’s sleeves billowed as he continued fishing. A red thread wrapped around his wrist, just as it had once been tied around another person’s wrist.
When the wind stopped and the mist dispersed, the fishing rod trembled.
Qiao Tianya lifted the rod. As silver fish scales splashed like broken pearls, he saw the first sprout of spring on the shore.
The time had come. He had to go north—to meet a spring in March that no one would come to see.