A Promise Remembered

I stumbled after him, half-conscious, back into the little thatched hut.

Zhao Xiao sat down before me, wearing an expression I had never seen on him before.
Without a word, he drew a cloth from his sleeve and began to wipe my face, rubbing away the ash smeared across my cheeks.

I didn’t know what to do—so I sat there quietly, letting him do as he pleased.

When my face was clean, he uncorked a small porcelain bottle and scooped out some white ointment.
With surprising gentleness, he dabbed it onto the scar that cut across my cheek.

For a long while, neither of us spoke.
Then he set the bottle down on the table with a sharp thud and said sternly,
“If you want to leave, I won’t stop you. But I thought, after all these days living under the same roof,
you would at least treat me as a friend—and tell me you were going, face to face.”

I fidgeted, embarrassed. “Didn’t I leave you a note?”

“I said,” he barked, “face to face.”

I shrank back under his gaze, searching for a clumsy excuse.
“You left too early this morning. When I woke up you were gone, so I couldn’t say goodbye in person…”

He took a deep breath, no longer arguing.
From his robe he drew a small pale-yellow flower and handed it to me.
“Since you insist on leaving, then at least take this.”

I accepted it blankly. “What is it?”

“Zhenyu grass,” he murmured.
Then, after a pause, “It helps the flesh knit. Grind it up and apply it—you won’t scar.”

I was silent for a moment. “Thank you.”

I turned to leave. But something about those two empty words—thank you—felt too light.
So I looked back at him and said seriously, “Your kindness to me, I will never forget.
If I ever have the chance, I’ll repay you a thousandfold.”

He gave a small, bitter laugh.
“Another promise you won’t keep?”

“What? What do you mean, another?”

He gave me a look that said I knew it, and smiled wryly.
“I thought so. You really don’t remember.”

I frowned, baffled.
In twenty-five years of life I’d met few people, and I remembered them all.
If I had ever made a promise, I’d remember that too.
Unless—unless he was some poor soul I’d once robbed on Mount Xuhe?

I stared at him intently.
He sighed and said softly, “Roast chicken.”

I blinked.

“Also—betrothal.”

I blinked again.

He sighed once more. “You promised to marry me.”

A mouthful of tea shot out through my nose.
“Impossible!”

A flush crept up his neck. “Why impossible? …Though, yes, I was only seven at the time.”

Slowly, hazy memories stirred.
A roasted chicken.
A small ceremony.
A boy—seven years old—offering me a golden, glistening bird.

His round face smiling up at me:
“Sister, this roast chicken’s for you. You must remember—you promised to marry me!”

Oh heavens.
I really had agreed to something that ridiculous.

But—he had been just a child!
How could that boy suddenly have become this grown man of thirty?

He watched my horrified expression, then asked carefully,
“So… you remember?”

I nodded stiffly.

“Then you know I wasn’t lying.”

Another stiff nod.

The air between us grew awkward.
He looked at me quietly for a while before saying,
“I didn’t tell you this to force you into keeping an old promise.
Back then, I was a child, and you were only humoring me.”

I lowered my head, twisting my fingers. “It’s not as if you’d still want to marry me.”

I pointed at my face.
“Look at me. Does this look human to you?
I haven’t aged a day in twenty-five years. You must have guessed—I’m not one of your kind.”

He stared for a moment, then suddenly smiled.
“So that’s what worries you?
Whether you’re human or not makes no difference to me.
As long as you’re Qiao Qiao, that’s enough.”

My heart gave a painful tremor.

As long as you’re Qiao Qiao.

The words struck something deep within me.

He stood then, abruptly, and bowed slightly.
“I’m sorry. I was too forward.
If you still wish to go, I won’t stop you.
But at least take the Zhenyu grass—it’s all I can offer.”

“I’ll marry you.”

He froze. “What?”

“I said,” I repeated, “I’ll marry you.”

His eyes widened until they nearly popped from their sockets.
“You—say that again?”

“I’ll marry you.”

He finally understood, joy flooding his face.
He stepped forward and pulled me into his arms.

“Qiao Qiao,” he whispered, voice trembling,
“I never dreamed I’d be fortunate enough to marry you.”

Neither had I.
I had never imagined I would one day agree to marriage.
But I was tired of wandering.
I wanted a home.
I wanted someone who truly loved me.

On the twentieth day after meeting Zhao Xiao, I promised to be his wife.

I did not love him.
Not yet.
But as he said—I was too lonely, and I longed for a place to rest.

He promised to give me that.
A home.
A beginning.

I told myself that once I had that home,
I could finally start anew—
leave behind everything that came before
and live a life that was mine alone.

That night, Zhao Xiao moved his bed inside the hut.
Until now he had always slept outside, giving me the only bed.
By bringing in his cot, he said, it was “as if we were wed.”

Yet he still kept a respectful distance,
placing his bed far from mine and refusing to share even the edge.

“You agreed to marry me,” he said solemnly, “but we haven’t bowed to Heaven yet.
Until the ceremony, we are not truly husband and wife.”

He was hopelessly proper, a man who prized his sense of honor.
I could hardly object.
Our wedding day was already set—ten days hence.
It was only a matter of time.

That night, I lay awake listening to him toss and turn in the corner.
His breathing was fast—he wasn’t asleep.

Nor was I.

Through the small window, I watched the moonlight spill across the floor.
For a long time, neither of us spoke.

Then his voice came softly through the dark.
“Qiao Qiao… will you regret marrying me?”

I didn’t know what to say.

After a pause, he continued,
“I know I’m not worthy of you.
But I want to protect you—all your life.”

He exhaled, voice trembling slightly.
“Do you remember the little cat I told you about?
The one that had been hurt so many times it no longer trusted anyone?
When I first met you, I knew.
You’d suffered too much.
All you wanted was a place to rest,
somewhere you wouldn’t be hurt again.”

He was quiet a moment, then said,
“I’m only a mortal man, Qiao Qiao.
But I’ll use my life to keep you safe.”

When he finished, he rolled over, and soon his breathing slowed.
He was asleep.

I blinked hard, eyes stinging, and whispered into the darkness—

“Thank you.”