And so, once all their belongings were packed, Sĩ and Vân carried their luggage back to the sitting room.
By then, the Village Chief had already risen. He wore a simple silk robe, his silver hair cascading gently over his shoulders. His demeanor was serene yet dignified, a figure both warm and composed. In his hand was a celadon porcelain cup, wisps of steam rising gracefully from the jasmine tea within, its delicate fragrance subtly permeating the room.
"Good morning, honored guests," he greeted them with a gentle smile, his eyes tinged with reluctance. "It seems you're about to leave, aren't you? Such a pity... Autumn has only just arrived. Why not stay for a few more days and enjoy the changing leaves?"
He raised his cup in a polite gesture, the warmth in his gaze like morning sunlight filtered through mist.
"It's not every day a dragon visits a humble pond," he chuckled softly, words sincere as spring rain. "But before you depart, won't you share a farewell cup of tea with this old man? Please, have a seat."
Sĩ bowed respectfully. "Thank you very much, sir."
The two sat down on a wooden bench by the window. A breeze flowed in, stirring the silk curtains, carrying with it the crisp chill of early morning and the earthy scent of rain-drenched soil.
"To be honest, your family's kindness has moved me deeply," Sĩ said, bowing slightly. "I'm truly grateful for the generous hospitality, though I doubt I can ever repay it properly."
"Oh, come now!" the old man laughed, pouring tea with steady hands. "You're too courteous, my dear guest. It is I who should be grateful for your visit!"
He poured the tea gently, and the green liquid glistened like morning light as it filled the celadon cups. Sĩ accepted it with both hands, bowing once more before taking a small sip. The floral scent of jasmine drifted into his senses, as gentle and pure as mountain dew. The tea spread through his mouth, mellow and refreshing, a soothing warmth that chased away the chill in his chest. In that moment, it was like sitting beside a fire on a snowy day—calming, cleansing. As if the dust of the mundane world had been lifted, and he'd glimpsed a fleeting corner of paradise.
"This tea is truly exquisite," Sĩ murmured.
"Haha, for someone so young to know how to appreciate good tea, to recognize its subtlety... Truly, you are no ordinary youth. You must have read many books to cultivate such refined taste. I admire that greatly."
The Village Chief's laughter was hearty, but laced with pride at hosting someone so discerning. Then he gestured to a servant, who brought out a large cloth bundle. Inside were neatly packed strips of cured meat and a pouch of fragrant tea leaves.
"Before you go, allow us to offer a small token of our gratitude—some dried meat and a bit of tea for your journey. Just a little something…"
"Please don't trouble yourselves," Sĩ protested gently, brow furrowed. "You've already given us too much."
"Please, take it. I would be heartbroken if you refused this token of ours."
Eventually, Sĩ bowed and accepted the gift, his expression tinged with reluctant gratitude.
"You're making me feel guilty…"
"It's nothing, truly… Haha!" The Chief waved it off, his smile as honest as morning fog drifting over golden rice fields.
After a pause, Sĩ straightened up and spoke with resolve.
"Is there anything I could do to repay your kindness?"
"I told you—it's no matter."
"But the Trần family has a rule: a debt must be repaid with service. Please, allow me to show my sincerity."
The Village Chief fell silent for a moment, his gaze clouded as though weighing something long kept in his heart. Then he looked at Sĩ with solemn hope.
"If that's the case… there is one thing I would ask of you: Take my daughter as your handmaiden. Let her follow at your side."
"…Sir? What do you mean?"
"I mean… let her accompany you, learn from you. Assist you if needed."
"That… might be too much to ask…"
"Please," the Chief's voice wavered, no longer that of a leader, but a father—his eyes glimmering like a candle flame struggling against the cold wind of midnight. "Her name is Hạ Cát. She is our only daughter. Her older brothers… all fell on the battlefield. She's all we have left. But you… you have a noble bearing, a wise heart. If she follows you, I believe she'll grow strong, and her future will be bright."
"My wife and I have discussed it," he added gently. "We see in you a man of talent and virtue. We ask not for honor, only that she may grow under your guidance and make her family proud."
Those words weighed heavily on Sĩ's heart. A request born of love, of sorrow, of hope—a father entrusting his most precious treasure. It reminded him of his own father's eyes, filled with dreams for his son's future. It was a burden, yes. But perhaps, also, a calling.
From beside him, Vân tugged his sleeve, whispering with a mischievous smile, "Master, I won't mind if there's another pretty girl around."
Her voice was light as the breeze, teasing yet sincere, a tender balm that eased the tension in his chest. Sĩ let out a soft laugh. The clouds within him began to lift.
At last, he nodded solemnly.
"Very well. I accept this responsibility."
The Village Chief let out a breath of relief. In his aged eyes, a light sparked—like moonlight reflected on a still lake.
He called out loudly, "Hạ Cát!"
A young girl rushed in from outside. "Father, you called?"
The Chief explained everything to her. A storm of emotions passed across her delicate face—uncertainty, worry, pride, affection.
"But if I go, you and Mother will be alone…"
"We'll be fine," he said gently. "Your mother and I will manage."
"But—"
"No buts. Now, go prepare your things."
She nodded hesitantly, torn between duty and love. But she trusted her father—and the man he had chosen. After a while, she returned, carrying a simple brown leather satchel, her eyes steadier, more determined. She was ready to begin this new path.
At the village gate, beneath the drooping willows, her mother was already waiting on her wheelchair, with a maid standing by. Seeing her daughter approach, she opened her arms.
Hạ Cát fell into her embrace, and they held each other tightly, unwilling to part.
"This journey… take care of yourself," her mother whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.
"I will, Mother."
"Come visit us often," she said, as if sealing a promise with the words.
"I will. I promise!" Hạ Cát replied, voice strong.
Her father gave a final word of advice, one forged in love and tempered in worry. "Follow this young man. Help him. Learn from him. Grow strong, and make us proud."
They shared one last embrace. Then came the sound of hooves on the road. The carriage of Lord Thụy Quy rolled into view, the old noble seated upright, reins in hand.
Sĩ helped Vân and Hạ Cát into the carriage. The family lingered one last moment before the parting. Hạ Cát kept waving until her parents were but silhouettes beyond the mist-veiled bamboo groves.
The carriage rolled forward into the dawn mist—carrying with it a new beginning, a sacred promise, and the hopes entrusted to a long, distant road ahead.