When the Turtle City Remembered Its Own Heart Again.

When the Turtle City Remembered Its Own Heart Again.

A Reflection on Stubborn Souls, Unexpected Healing, and the Strange Magic of Letting Go – Part 2

By Kateb Shunnar

Turtle City in 1426 was alive in ways that felt deliberate, loud, and occasionally ridiculous. Hàoyú Mei Cheng and Fen Zhōu Liú had survived one Lantern Festival of verbal swordplay, and the city itself seemed to sigh in relief, as if thinking, finally, these two will stop turning minor grievances into epic dramas. But, naturally, Pingyao didn’t allow serenity to settle quietly. No, this city had a knack for turning subtle transformations into full-blown spectacles, like a street vendor tossing a dumpling too high and somehow catching it on the first try.

Hàoyú Mei Cheng had softened. Not monk-level soft, mind you. More like “you might catch him not muttering angrily at the wind” soft. His volcanic temper had cooled into something vaguely manageable. He still carried a few grudges, sure, but now he’d release them with a sigh, a shrug, or a muttered, 算了吧 (Forget it already) a phrase that shocked the citizens almost as much as seeing a cat politely refuse a fish. Rumors swirled. Some whispered he had been possessed by tea-loving ancestors, others swore he’d discovered some river-sage enlightenment hack, and a few skeptics simply shrugged: this city is crazy, let it be.

Fen Zhōu Liú remained a puzzle wrapped in calm mischief, her serenity punctuated with occasional, almost imperceptible smirks. She noticed everything. Her sarcasm had softened into a kind of warm mischief, the sort that made people wonder if she had invented laughter just to confuse philosophers. She was still precise, still unflappable but now she occasionally tripped over her own fears, the quiet kind that sit behind the ribs, whispering, don’t get too comfortable.

The river, patient and sarcastic as ever, shimmered beneath the eastern bridge. Hàoyú approached it, stones in hand, ready to do his awkward, human version of spiritual decluttering. He muttered instructions to himself like a student rehearsing for an exam he didn’t want to pass: Let go… float… lighten the heart… blah, blah…

The river gave no reply, just ripples that said, I’ve seen better, and worse, and mostly the same.

“Fine,” he sighed, “we’ll do it your way.” He tossed the first stone into the water. “For that noodle argument eight months ago.” Plop. The river accepted it, unimpressed, as if to say, finally, you’re catching on.

Next stone. “For keeping score in conversations instead of listening.” Plop.

Another. “For believing sarcasm counts as emotional honesty.” Plop.

And so it went stones for petty grudges, simmering irritation, minor betrayals, and the neighbor who borrowed his hoe and never returned it. With every stone, his chest lightened. Not enlightened, just… less cramped.

Of course, the city couldn’t let him have peace.

A fisherman on the opposite bank shouted, “Brother! If you throw any more stones, you’ll be out of excuses before problems!”

Hàoyú nearly fell in. “Mind your business!”

“If humans minded their own business,” the fisherman hollered back, “the tea shops would go bankrupt!”

Even the river shimmered with agreement. Traitor.

Fen Zhōu Liú wandered elsewhere, to the southern peony garden, where blooms looked like gossipy aunties draped in silk robes, whispering secrets and utterly unconcerned with human drama. She brushed past a gardener, who eyed her with the blunt honesty only centuries of tending flowers could cultivate.

“You look like someone who forgot to breathe for ten years,” she said.

Fen blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Peonies bloom,” the woman continued, “because they dare to open, not because they hoard petals like the world might steal them.”

Fen rubbed her temple. “So… advice?”

“No. Truth. Stone cracks, dough rises. Choose.”

Fen choked. “I… am dough?”

“Yes. Dough. Soft, resilient, capable of rising. Stop pretending you’re carved from rock.”

Pingyao had a habit of serving wisdom like hot dumplings sometimes too hot, sometimes burning the tongue, but always delicious.

By the west gate, Hàoyú and Fen’s paths collided. He carried a lighter spirit, she a careful heaviness.

“Where were you?” she asked casually.

“The river,” he said. “Releasing things.”

“Mm. Did it survive?”

“I’m evolving, not becoming a monk,” he replied.

“Oh good,” she teased. “The world isn’t ready for Monk Hàoyú.”

They walked side by side, close enough for the air to hum between them, far enough apart for the city to speculate wildly.

“You ever get tired of pretending you’re fine?” Hàoyú asked suddenly.

“…No,” she lied boldly.

“I know you’re lying,” he said.

“Fine,” she muttered, “maybe a little.”

“A little?”

“A medium amount.”

“A medium?”

“A large amount, okay?!”

“Finally,” he said, grinning. “Honesty.”

“Don’t get used to it,” she warned.

The cobblestones whispered, the lanterns flickered, and somewhere, the Fen River chuckled. Humans were dramatic, yes but trying counted for something.

That evening, Turtle City exhaled. Lanterns lit one by one, peonies unfurled, and the river reflected centuries of human stubbornness, resilience, and occasional brilliance. Hàoyú and Fen stood on the city wall, watching, breathing, and letting the quiet magic of release settle around them.

“You know,” Hàoyú murmured, “the river told me something today.”

“Oh?” she raised an eyebrow. “Rivers talk now? Should I be worried?”

“It said bitterness is heavier than sorrow. Forgiveness isn’t grand it’s just deciding to stop rehearsing the pain.”

Fen laughed, a sound that made lanterns sway. “And you believed a river?”

“Not really,” he admitted. “But inspired by it.”

She smirked. “Well, dough rises, right?”

“Yes. And it scares me.”

“And letting go?”

“Every day.”

“Maybe that’s the point,” she whispered. “Bravery isn’t absence of fear. It’s dancing with it, awkwardly, maybe tripping, but still moving.”

Hàoyú laughed, “Bravery is overrated. Half the time, it’s just complaining under your breath and pretending you’re a hero.”

“Human,” Fen said.

And there it was. Truth, wrapped in sarcasm, humor, and awkward humanity.

The Turtle City walls leaned closer, approving. The lanterns glowed. Peonies clapped their silk petals. The river shimmered. And for a fleeting moment, Hàoyú and Fen felt space a sliver, a pause, a gentle letting go.

Not perfection. Not clarity.

Just softness. Release. Possibility.

Turtle City remembered its heart again, because two stubborn souls decided awkwardly, hilariously, and with a little fear to remember theirs.

Rebirth arrived quietly: not with ceremony, not with fireworks, but with laughter, truth, and the gentle loosening of ancient knots.

放下旧事，心才会腾出空间迎接新光。

(When old burdens are released, the heart finally has room for new light.)

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