A Ferry Without a Stele

Greenreed Ferry had no boundary stele. When the river rose, the stone steps lost three tiers; when it fell, the reeds wrote in a few more strokes. Shen Xiu had been gone five years, yet at first glance she recognized the pavilion lamp that had never gone out.

The challenge she received contained only eight characters: The plum rains are ending. Let swords decide at the ferry.

The hand was Gu Tingchuan's. His final strokes were slower than before, like someone standing behind a door who heard the approaching footsteps but would not be the first to open it.

Shen Xiu left her umbrella beside the road. Rain struck her scabbard, one note after another, counting down her final steps.