Once upon a time, in a land far away, there once was an old couple who lived at the edge of a quiet village that lay in the shadow of the Mountain.

They were simple and poor, and did not have much in the way of worldly wealth. Their cottage, in which they had spent the entirety of their married life, was modest and small. Their clothes were humble and homespun. Their food was homely and plain.

But the meager quality of their life did nothing to lessen their joy of it, or the love they had for each other. Their cottage was more than large enough for their shared life. Its roof and walls were sturdy and strong. Their clothes were hardy and kept their old bodies dry and warm. Their food was filling and hot.

One evening, just as they were sitting down for their evening meal, three sharp taps knocked loudly at their door.

“Who could that be at this time of night?” the old husband wondered aloud.

“It does very little to sit there and ask,” his old wife chided with a chuckle. “Go now and see who it is.”

With a grumbling smile, the old husband moved to do as his wife bade, and opened the door to reveal a small, elderly man with a head of snow white hair, and a long, black, curling mustache. He wore a simple robe of dark blue silk, and carried himself with the still but spry confidence of one who has capably weathered their old age.

He bowed deeply at the sight of the old husband and his wife, his posture loose but composed.

“My deepest apologies for having disturbed your evening,” he said. His voice was soft, but rich and smooth, as pleasing to the ear as a current of warmed honey. “My name is Lu, formerly known as Huang, and I am a humble merchant upon whom disaster has befallen and left penniless. Bandits have waylaid me on the road and robbed me of all I had. I am in desperate need of food and shelter, and though it most assuredly shames the works of my forefathers, I have come knocking at your door to plead for these base simplicities.”

But the old husband steeled himself to deny the stranger at the door. Not because he doubted his story or character. Indeed, the merchant had impressed him with the soundness of his etiquette and candor. But the old husband and his wife were well into their old age, and barely capable of living within their means on their own. They could not afford to share their belongings with every destitute person that stirred their sympathies as they passed by.

But even as he opened his mouth to speak, his wife’s warm, familiar hand pressed against him softly from behind.

“It would be our great honor, merchant Lu, to share our home and our meal with you this night,” she replied, with a smile and a deep bow of her own. “Please, come in. Though our home may be paltry and bare, we offer what little we have in the hope that it might bring you some relief in your troubled times.”

She turned aside to her husband, her intent clear in her smiling eyes. “Come, honored husband, we must not keep our esteemed guest out in the cold.”

“Certainly,” replied the husband reflexively, though he wondered at his wife’s intentions. He stepped away from the threshold with a bow. “Merchant Lu, our home is yours, and we your servants. Please do not hesitate to make yourself as comfortable as you wish.”

The merchant bowed even deeper. “May the heavens return your kindness a thousandfold.”

Inside, the old wife hurriedly prepared another helping of food and utensils and placed them at the low sitting table by the hearth. With a word and a bow, she offered their new guest the seat of honor where her husband usually sat, and seated herself closest to the fire where the smoke and heat tended to grow thick and uncomfortable. The old husband, puzzled, but not one to doubt his wife’s initiative, sat between the merchant Lu and his old wife without a sound or sign of displeasure.

Once they were all seated, the merchant Lu pressed his hands together and murmured a word of thanks. He lifted a spoonful of thin, watery rice porridge to his mouth, followed by a few thin vegetables. A dexterous hand held his long mustache back away from the table with a casual motion that mindful repetition had clearly chiseled into an instinctive grace.

“Delicious,” he declared. His voice was utterly sincere and did not contain within it even the tiniest trace of deceit or mockery.

He looked up at the husband and wife who had not yet touched their food or even their utensils, and a strange, almost pleased look flickered in the depths of his inscrutable eyes.

“Please, my esteemed hosts,” he bade, as the barest hint of a smile touched the corners of his mouth. “There is no need to restrain yourselves. Is this not your own home? Please join me in this most delicious dinner that you have prepared. That I would find such a meal out in these far lands in my moment of need is a most unexpected delight.”

At this, the old couple picked up their utensils and ate their evening meal together in the company of their guest.

Once they had all finished eating, the old wife hurried to clear their bowls, and, to the ever growing confusion of her old husband, returned with three of their finest cups and an urn of their most expensive wine, that even they seldom ever drank.

A rare and wide smile burst through the merchant’s careful composure at the sight of it, for he was well known amongst his companions to be a great lover of liquor.

“What manner of fortune is this?” he asked, amazed, as the old wife began pouring the wine. “That where I should expect hunger, I would be well fed, and where I should expect thirst, I would find wine. Truly, my esteemed hosts, you are as a cool breeze in the summer and a stream in the desert, that you would go to such lengths for a mere passerby.”

He accepted his cup of wine with both hands and emptied it in one quick swallow, smacking his lips loudly in appreciation as he did. He was followed immediately in similar manner by the old husband, who was also not one to let an opportunity at such fine wine slip by.

The old wife filled their cups as soon as they emptied.

“We are merely an old aged couple, our guest,” she said as she poured. “Content to live our lives as humble blades of grass, to enjoy the entirety of our lives in the lands of our ancestors, and to be buried in their company.”

“Content, and then happy besides,” agreed her husband, with a fond, quiet look at his wife.

His old wife smiled a soft, small smile at the touch of his warm gaze.

“My esteemed hosts, you humble yourself too much,” the merchant scoffed, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes the only indication that he had observed what passed between the old couple. “It is not a blade of grass I have come upon today, but a deep rooted tree that stands strong and shelters against both the rain and the sun.”

He raised his newly filled glass with both hands in salutations. The old husband and his wife lifted their glasses likewise in return.

“But what will you do now that you are without your goods, sir merchant?” the old husband asked.

The merchant downed his glass with yet another single mouthful and ran a hand through his long black mustache.

“It is an inconvenience,” he admitted. “But nothing more. If I am to be fully honest, my hosts, I did not travel out into the deep country seeking to further my trade. The true reason I journeyed so far in my old age, as silly as it may sound, is that I came upon a rumor that an old acquaintance of mine was seen out here in the wild, and I found myself yearning to meet with them once again.”

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The old husband scratched the side of his face thoughtfully as his wife refilled their glasses.

“Out here, sir merchant?” he asked. “So little changes here besides the seasons that every new face that passes through is a significant occurrence, each one entirely by itself. If there is truth to the rumors you have heard, then it is likely that we may have come across this person ourselves. Perhaps you could describe this friend you seek?”

The merchant shook his head with a sigh. “It has been so many ages since they and I have last seen one another, I could hardly expect them to be the image of what they once were. Even then, I would not be the one to ask. For I must confess that while they and I are certainly acquaintances, we would have been better described as utter enemies at the time - as far apart in both temperament and character as the east is to the west.”

“Enemies?” the old wife repeated, a curious look on her face.

“You would come so far for an enemy?” the husband asked.

“It is, perhaps, a strange thing,” the merchant replied, nodding his head ever so slightly in acknowledgement. His eyes touched on the old wife’s for the barest fragment of a breath. “But as old as I am, and with so many familiar faces now living only as dreams, even the face of an old enemy can seem a warm fire in the night. Silly though it may sound, it was for such a reason that I even attempted this journey, and it is this reason that has brought this humble merchant that sits before you now.”

“I believe I understand,” the old husband nodded slowly. He gestured at his wife. “We two are the last of the children we grew up with and played together by the river long ago. As it goes, some of the other children and myself grew to be such bitter rivals that we thought the flames of our hatred would outlast even the Mountain above us!” The old husband laughed. “But if I were to somehow see any of them again now, I would not be surprised to find myself hurrying to embrace them, regardless of how immutable I once believed our enmity to be.”

The merchant nodded in agreement.

“The sentiment is the same,” he replied. “I, too, am among the last of those whose youths we spent together. The one I seek in particular was one against whom I felt as naturally predisposed against as the earth and sky. How we quarreled! How we fought! We struck out at each other at every opportunity, and taunted each other even as we were licking our wounds, some of which became scars that I carry upon me still.”

He nodded gratefully to the old wife as she refilled his glass.

“But in the end, neither one of us was able to establish dominance over the other.” He laughed. “It was not until our paths had long parted that I realized just how deeply our battles had left within me a well of respect, and even admiration for the foe I had left behind.”

He took another sip of wine, slowly this time.

“I think I also understand, in my own way,” said the old wife. She gave a slight bow, returned almost immediately in kind by the merchant. She continued. “Back when I was at a marrying age, there was once another girl in the village whom I competed against for the attentions of my not-yet-husband.”

She laid a hand over her husband’s, who hid any emotion his face might have belied by bringing his cup to his mouth.

“We were very cruel, even evil, to each other in the midst of our pursuits,” the old wife continued. “Though we fancied ourselves learned in the ways of the world, it is clear to me now how truly young we were. We cut at each other with our whispers and our turns of phrase, and wounded each other with our words in ways we couldn’t have possibly understood. For is it not clear in our old age that even the pettiest words can leave the deepest scars?”

“Indeed they do,” the merchant murmured.

“I thought I would never forgive her,” the old wife continued softly. “And it is with some shame that I admit to having felt very little sorrow when she passed away one particularly bitter winter, frozen and alone. In truth, I may have rejoiced. It was not until many more had come and gone that I thought on her again, and saw how painfully and tightly I had been holding on to the hurts she had inflicted, and what a simple thing it was to let them go.”

The merchant looked on as the old wife spoke with a rapt, somber expression on his face, and the yellow firelight gleamed softly in the depths of his eyes.

“It was only then that I realized the unique bond that she and I had shared, and how she had understood me in ways that no one else, not even my husband, ever would. Only then, long after she had passed, did I mourn the foolishness and the tragedy of our path’s end, in that we had never spoken a single word of kindness between us, and never would.”

The merchant made a low sound of agreement. The old wife put a hand over her mouth, embarrassed.

“Forgive me, sir merchant,” she said, bowing again. “It is not often we are granted the pleasure of sharing our home with so congenial a guest, and I fear my husband and I are more talkative than is seemly.”

“Nonsense,” the merchant waved. “I cannot tell you how much pleasure it brings me to find that we are all of the same mind, my hosts.”

He raised his cup again. “It is an honor to spend an evening in your company.”

The old couple raised theirs.

“The honor is ours, merchant Lu,” said the old wife.

“Entirely so,” added her husband.

They downed the contents of their glasses together in a brief but measured moment of companionable silence.

“Well then,” said the merchant, putting his cup back on the table with an air of finality. “You show me great kindness, my hosts, in the sharing of your food and wine, but do not let yourself be troubled on my account any longer. As the night grows weary, all I ask now is that I would be allowed to rest and sleep here by the fire, where it is warm.”

The old husband, red nosed and drowsy in the combined warmth of the fire and the wine, began to nod his agreement.

“We will not allow it, honored guest,” the old wife interjected. Her husband blinked, surprised out of his growing stupor. “Your trials today have been far greater than ours. It only follows that your exhaustion and weariness also surpasses ours.”

She rose, still holding the urn. “If you will just wait one moment, sir guest, I will lay out our thickest and warmest blankets as your bed tonight. It is plain to see that your need is surely greater than ours, when one considers the hardships you suffered today and the travels you will endure tomorrow.”

“I could not possibly,” the merchant protested futilely as the old wife went to retrieve the blankets. But a warm, familiar look stirred again in the depths of his eyes.

The old husband, equally amused and frustrated at his wife’s unusual behavior, could not help but chuckle.

“It seems, merchant Lu, that you have little say in the matter,” he said, then stood to help his wife. “Our blankets are plain and unadorned, but thick and warm. They will not fail to provide you a most refreshing night of rest. Seeing as how your need is indeed greater than ours, I too must insist that you use them tonight.”

The merchant stood, and bowed. “You are too kind.”

The next morning, as they all stepped outside to say their farewells, the old wife asked her husband to pack some rice and the rest of the wine for the road. Incredibly perplexed by the peculiarity of her actions, but having the patience to wait until they returned to their privacy, the old husband did as she asked and stepped back into their cottage.

After a brief moment of silence, the merchant leaned in close to the old wife.

“Speak truly, daughter,” he asked, very quietly. “How is it that you know the old ways?”

“My lord,” she replied. Her voice trembled and her eyes welled with tears. She turned and bowed as deeply before the merchant with her hands folded in front of her. “It was my mother who passed on the knowledge which she had received from her mother, who learned it from her mother before her.”

“I see,” said the merchant, smiling down on the elderly woman with his hands clasped behind his back. “Hear me. You do their memories and their teachings a noble and worthy service.”

The old wife’s bow sank as low as she could physically manage. “If it is so, it is only because my lord has chosen to bestow such honor upon them.”

The merchant’s smile broadened. “Well answered, child, and do not fear. You and your spouse have pleased me greatly, and it shall not be forgotten. Now compose yourself, quickly. Your husband returns.”

The old wife hurriedly returned to her standing position just as the door slid open and the old husband returned from the cottage. He handed the merchant a small sack of rice and a stoppered gourd.

“Will you be needing anything else, merchant Lu?” he asked.

“This is already far more than enough,” the merchant assured. “You and your wife have been kind in more ways to me than I can bear in good conscience.”

He bowed deeply with his hands folded at his waist, a gesture returned immediately in kind by the old husband and his wife.

“Thank you both for your kindness,” he said, picking up the rice and wine as he rose, and though it may have been a trick of the morning light, for the briefest of moments it seemed to the husband that a wild, almost vicious, smile played at the corner of the old merchant’s mouth.

“I shall never forget it for as long as I live.”

“Please travel safe,” the old wife replied. “May you find only blessings upon your journey.”

Then the merchant stepped back on to the path that ran past the old couple’s cottage, and turned back one last time to bid a final goodbye to the old couple that stood still watching on. A wide, joyful smile now splayed fully across his ancient face, the merchant lifted his face to sky humming an old, forgotten tune, and made his slow, steady, unhurried way along the path that led out of the quiet village, and up into the depths of the Forest on the Mountain.