掃不盡的落葉

「那一天——」「那一天，在山下陪她等你、替她聯絡你的人，是我。」修遠僵在木椅上。茶杯還放在他的手邊，杯口已沒有多少熱氣。庭院裡的光影緩慢移動，竹葉偶爾被風吹落，發出極輕的聲響。可他像忽然聽不見周遭的一切，只看著面前那張沉靜的臉。黑框眼鏡，剃得乾淨的頭，黃色長衫。某個早已褪色的黃昏，在記憶深處微微晃了一下。「不可能……」修遠低聲說。不空師父沒有辯解，只問：「那時候，小艾剛轉到新的學校不久，對嗎？」修遠沒有回答。「她背著一個還很新的書包，拉鍊上掛著一隻藍色的小魚。右腳的鞋帶鬆了，她每走幾步，就會低頭看一次。」修遠的手指慢慢蜷起。那隻藍色小魚，是小艾在舊學校的園遊會上得到的。搬家後，她捨不得把它收起來，便掛在新書包上，說這樣到了陌生的地方，也還有一個認識自己的朋友。不空師父繼續說：「她沒有哭。只是不斷告訴我，爸爸一定會來。」修遠閉上眼睛。那個黃昏終於從一片混濁的記憶裡，慢慢顯出輪廓。

“That day—the person who stayed with her below the mountain, waited for you, and contacted you on her behalf—was me.” Xiuyuan sat frozen on the wooden bench. The tea beside him had almost lost its warmth, and though light and shadow shifted across the courtyard and bamboo leaves whispered to the ground, he seemed to hear nothing. He saw only the calm face before him: black-framed glasses, a clean-shaven head, and a yellow robe. A long-faded evening stirred deep within his memory. “Impossible…” he murmured. Master Bukong did not argue. He asked whether Xiao Ai had only recently transferred schools, then described her new schoolbag, the little blue fish hanging from its zipper, and the loose lace on her right shoe. Xiuyuan’s fingers slowly curled. That blue fish had come from a fair at her old school; she had kept it on her new bag so that, in a strange place, she would still have one friend who knew her. “She did not cry,” the master continued. “She only kept telling me that her father would come.” Xiuyuan closed his eyes, and the blurred evening at last began to take shape.

七年前，修遠與妻子分開後不久，帶著小艾搬進城市另一頭的舊公寓。新住處不大，兩個房間，一個窄小的客廳。窗外望出去，是密密交錯的電線與鄰棟斑駁的牆。小艾卻很喜歡自己的房間，因為窗台正好能放下她的彩色筆和幾盆小植物。她也轉進了離新家較近的學校。那段日子，修遠總在忙。他必須負擔房租、生活費與小艾的學費，也想證明即使婚姻結束，自己仍能把女兒照顧好。他每天提早出門，趕在放學前離開工作，再穿過半座城市去接她。小艾很少抱怨。即使修遠偶爾遲到，她也總背著書包站在校門旁，一見到他便揮手：「爸爸，你來了。」

Seven years earlier, soon after separating from his wife, Xiuyuan had moved with Xiao Ai into an old apartment across the city. It was small—two rooms and a narrow sitting room—with tangled power lines and weathered walls beyond the windows. Xiao Ai nevertheless loved her room because the sill held her colored pens and several little plants. She transferred to a school closer to their new home. Xiuyuan was constantly busy then. He had rent, living expenses, and school fees to pay, and he wanted to prove that even after the marriage ended, he could care for his daughter well. He left early every day, hurried away from work before dismissal, and crossed half the city to collect her. Xiao Ai rarely complained. Even when he was late, she would wait beside the school gate with her bag and wave as soon as she saw him: “Dad, you came.”

那一天，工作臨時出了問題。電話接通時，修遠一手翻找桌上的文件，一手將手機夾在耳邊。周圍不斷有人叫他的名字，影印機也卡住了紙。「小艾，爸爸今天可能會晚一點。」電話另一端安靜了一下。「很久嗎？」「不會太久。妳留在學校裡等，不要自己亂跑。爸爸處理完就過去。」「好。」小艾的聲音很輕。在掛電話前，她又補了一句：「爸爸慢慢來，不要急。」她確實等了一會兒。校門口的人漸漸少了。值班老師來問過她，她仍笑著說爸爸就快到了。夕陽把圍牆的影子拉得很長，她看著一個又一個同學被家人接走，最後低頭想了很久。她記得自己曾坐在車上經過新家附近的市場，也記得修遠說過，學校離家沒有那麼遠。如果自己走回去，爸爸就不必那麼趕了。

That day, an unexpected problem arose at work. With the phone wedged against his ear, Xiuyuan searched through papers while people called his name and the copier jammed. “Xiao Ai, Dad may be a little late today.” After a quiet moment she asked, “A long time?” He told her it would not be long and to remain at school until he arrived. “Okay,” she answered softly, adding before they hung up, “Take your time, Dad. Don’t rush.” She did wait for a while. The school entrance gradually emptied; when the teacher on duty checked on her, she smiled and said her father would arrive soon. As the setting sun stretched the wall’s shadow and one classmate after another left with family, she lowered her head and thought for a long time. She remembered passing the market near their new home and Xiuyuan saying that the school was not very far away. If she walked home herself, Dad would not have to hurry so much.

於是，她背好書包，沿著記憶中的方向出發。最初幾條街還算熟悉。她經過早餐店、藥房，也看見那間門口擺著紅色塑膠椅的麵店。可是走過市場後，道路分成了幾個方向，每一條都像曾經見過，又都不像真正回家的路。小艾試著走了一段，又退回原處。她不想問人，怕別人覺得她不乖，也怕爸爸知道後更著急。於是，她抱著書包，在同一個路口來回走了幾次。夕陽漸漸沉到屋頂後方。

She put on her bag and set out in the direction she remembered. The first streets were familiar: a breakfast shop, a pharmacy, and a noodle shop with red plastic chairs. Beyond the market, however, the road divided. Every way looked half familiar, yet none looked like the true road home. Xiao Ai tried one, then returned. She did not want to ask anyone, fearing they would think her disobedient and that her father would worry even more. Clutching her bag, she walked back and forth across the same intersection as the sun sank behind the rooftops.

就在她第三次走回那個岔路口時，一道溫和的聲音從身後傳來：「妳是在找路，還是在等人？」小艾轉過身。一位穿著黃色長衫的人站在不遠處。他身形修長，戴著黑框眼鏡，手中提著一只布袋，頭上卻一根頭髮也沒有。小艾先看了看他的臉，又看了看他的頭。「我本來在找路。」她老實回答，「可是找不到以後，就只好等爸爸找到我。」那人蹲下來，與她保持一段不會令她不安的距離。「妳記得爸爸的電話嗎？」小艾點點頭，從書包裡拿出聯絡簿。那人沒有把她帶往陌生的地方，只陪她走到路口一間仍亮著燈的雜貨店，請店家老闆娘代為聯絡。電話撥通後，他把話筒交給小艾。「爸爸，我沒事。」她先說了這一句。「我只是走錯路了。這裡有一個……」小艾抬頭看了看身旁的人，像在思考該怎麼形容。「有一個戴眼鏡的叔叔陪我。」修遠在電話另一端問清楚地址，說自己立刻趕來。掛上電話後，小艾坐在店門口的小板凳上。她兩隻腳懸在半空，鞋尖輕輕晃著。那人坐在另一張凳子上，沒有追問她為什麼獨自走到這裡，只安靜陪她等。過了一會兒，小艾又偷偷看向他。「叔叔。」「嗯？」「你為什麼沒有頭髮？」那人抬手摸了摸自己的頭，笑了。「因為叔叔是出家人。」「出家人，就是離開家的人嗎？」他想了一下。「不是離開家。是把很多人的地方，也當成自己的家。」小艾似懂非懂地點了點頭，又盯著他的頭看了一會兒。夕陽剛好從屋簷斜照過來，在那顆乾淨的光頭上留下一圈淡淡的亮光。「光頭叔叔，你的頭亮亮的。」那人再次摸了摸頭，故意認真地說：「大概是曬了太陽。叔叔的光頭，也像一顆燈泡。」小艾忍不住笑了。「那你晚上走路，就不用帶手電筒了。」「可能還是要帶。」他推了推黑框眼鏡，「這顆燈泡有時候不太靈。」小艾笑得更開心了。方才因為迷路而一直繃緊的肩膀，也終於慢慢放鬆下來。「光頭叔叔，那你住在哪一個家？」他抬手指向道路盡頭的山影。「叔叔住在那座山上的寺院。」小艾順著他的手望去。暮色裡，只看得見山的輪廓，樹與房舍都疊成了深淺不一的影子。「那麼黑，你找得到回去嗎？」「找得到。」「為什麼？」「天黑的時候，山上會有人點燈。」小艾望著那座山，像把這句話認真地記了下來。

When she returned to the fork for the third time, a gentle voice asked from behind, “Are you looking for the way, or waiting for someone?” Xiao Ai turned. A tall man in a yellow robe stood nearby, wearing black-framed glasses and carrying a cloth bag, with not a single hair on his head. She looked first at his face, then at his head. “I was looking for the way,” she answered honestly, “but after I couldn’t find it, I had to wait for Dad to find me.” He crouched while keeping a distance that would not frighten her and asked whether she remembered her father’s number. Xiao Ai nodded and took out her school contact book. He did not lead her somewhere unfamiliar, but accompanied her to a lit grocery shop at the corner and asked the owner to help call. When the call connected, he handed the receiver to Xiao Ai. “Dad, I’m all right,” she said first. “I only took the wrong road. There is a… an uncle with glasses staying with me.” Xiuyuan confirmed the address and said he was coming at once. Xiao Ai sat outside on a low stool, her feet swinging above the ground, while the man quietly waited on another stool without questioning her.

等待的時間裡，小艾從書包取出畫冊和彩色筆，趴在店門旁一張舊木箱上。她翻過幾頁，找到一張先前已經畫好的畫。畫上有一座青綠色的山。小艾拿起彩色筆，沿著原來有些淡去的線條，一筆一筆重新描了起來。山坡中央有一棟屋子。屋頂畫得很高，兩側歪歪斜斜地向外伸展，幾扇窗戶大小不一。其中一扇被她反覆塗上黃色，顏色濃得幾乎透過紙背。不空師父站在一旁看了一會兒。「這是山上的寺院嗎？」小艾立刻搖頭。「不是，是我們的家。」「可是這間房子，看起來有一點像叔叔住的地方。」小艾低頭替屋頂補了一條線。「因為家裡也要安靜，大家才不會一直不開心。」不空師父的目光在畫上停了一會兒，沒有追問。他指著屋子中央那團明亮的黃色。「這裡呢？為什麼畫得這麼亮？」「那是家裡的燈。」「一盞燈需要畫得這麼大嗎？」小艾想了想，很認真地說：「要啊。家裡亮一點，爸爸媽媽就不會走錯路了。」

After a while Xiao Ai stole another glance. “Uncle, why don’t you have hair?” He touched his head and laughed. “Because I am a monastic.” “Does being a monastic mean leaving home?” He considered this. “It is not leaving home. It is treating the places where many people live as your home too.” Xiao Ai nodded without fully understanding and kept studying his head. The setting sun slanted beneath the eaves and left a pale ring of light upon it. “Bald Uncle, your head is shiny.” Touching it again, he said solemnly, “It must have soaked up the sun. My bald head is like a light bulb.” Xiao Ai laughed. “Then you don’t need a flashlight at night.” Pushing up his glasses, he replied, “I may still need one. This bulb does not always work.” Her laughter grew, and the tension left her shoulders. She asked which home he lived in. Pointing toward the mountain at the road’s end, he said he lived in the temple there. Xiao Ai could see only the darkening outline. “Can you find the way back when it is so dark?” “Yes.” “Why?” “When darkness comes, someone on the mountain lights the lamps.” Xiao Ai gazed at the mountain as if carefully storing those words away.

屋子前方原本就畫著三個人。爸爸站在紙的左邊，媽媽站在右邊，小艾站在兩人中間。三個人的身體都很小，頭卻畫得圓圓的。最奇怪的是小艾的兩隻手，長長地橫過半張紙，分別牽住爸爸與媽媽。不空師父問：「妳的手為什麼畫得這麼長？」小艾沒有抬頭。「因為爸爸媽媽站得太遠了。」她換了一支顏色，將三個人的手又描了一遍。「我的手如果不畫長一點，就牽不到他們。」不空師父看著那雙超出比例的手，聲音更輕了一些：「一直這樣牽著，手不會痠嗎？」「會啊。」小艾停下筆，看著畫裡的三個人。「可是放開的話，他們就更遠了。」

While they waited, Xiao Ai took her sketchbook and colored pens from her bag and leaned over an old wooden crate. She found a drawing she had begun earlier: a blue-green mountain and, midway up its slope, a house with a high roof, uneven wings, and windows of different sizes. She traced its faded lines again, coloring one window so heavily in yellow that the color nearly showed through the paper. After watching for a moment, Master Bukong asked, “Is this the temple on the mountain?” Xiao Ai immediately shook her head. “No. It is our home.” He observed that the house looked a little like his temple. Adding another line to the roof, she explained, “Because home needs to be quiet too, so everyone won’t always be unhappy.” He pointed to the bright yellow at the center. “And this? Why is it so bright?” “That is the lamp at home.” “Does one lamp need to be this large?” She thought seriously. “Yes. If home is brighter, Mom and Dad won’t take the wrong road.”

雜貨店裡傳來收音機模糊的音樂，老闆娘正將門口的貨物一件件搬回店內。街上的行人少了，遠處偶爾傳來車輛經過的聲音。不空師父在她身旁坐下。「爸爸媽媽的路，不需要妳一直牽著。」小艾抬起頭。「為什麼？」「因為那是大人要學著自己走的路。」「可是他們有時候會走錯。」「是啊，大人也會迷路。」不空師父說，「有時候，比孩子迷得更久。」小艾似乎聽懂了一點，又像沒有完全明白。她低下頭，用黃色的筆重新描亮屋裡的燈，又沿著原有的淡黃色線條，慢慢描到三個人的頭頂。

Three people already stood before the house: Dad on the left, Mom on the right, and Xiao Ai between them. Their bodies were small and their heads round, but Xiao Ai’s arms stretched across half the page to hold both parents’ hands. Master Bukong asked why she had drawn them so long. Without looking up, she said, “Because Mom and Dad stand too far apart. If I don’t make my arms longer, I can’t reach them.” She traced their joined hands once more. His voice softened. “Won’t your arms ache if you keep holding them like that?” “They will.” Xiao Ai paused and looked at the three figures. “But if I let go, they will be even farther apart.”

描完後，小艾端起畫看了一會兒，忽然把它從畫冊裡小心撕下來，雙手遞到不空師父面前。「光頭叔叔，這張送給你。」不空師父沒有立刻接。「這不是妳畫的家嗎？為什麼要送給叔叔？」小艾指著屋裡那團被重新描亮的黃色。「因為你住在山上。」「你可以幫我把這盞燈放高一點，不要讓它熄掉嗎？」孩子的眼神沒有任何神祕，只帶著最單純的盼望。她希望父母不要再走失，也希望自己所愛的人，即使不能住在一起，仍然找得到各自回家的路。不空師父這才雙手接過畫。「好。」「叔叔答應妳，會為妳，也為爸爸媽媽祈福。」小艾露出笑容。不空師父將畫妥善收進隨身的布袋，隨後走進雜貨店，請老闆娘繼續陪著小艾，等修遠抵達。「她爸爸已經在路上了。」老闆娘說，「你放心回山上吧。」不空師父向老闆娘道謝，又回頭叮囑小艾：「這次就在這裡等，不要再自己找路了。」小艾點點頭，向他揮手。「光頭叔叔，再見！」不空師父也抬手向她道別，轉身沿著暮色中的山路離去。那時的他並不知道，這會是兩人最後一次見面。

Faint music drifted from the shop radio while the owner carried goods indoors and traffic sounded only occasionally. Master Bukong sat beside her. “You do not need to keep holding the road for your parents.” Xiao Ai looked up. “Why?” “Because that is a road adults must learn to walk themselves.” “But sometimes they take the wrong way.” “Yes, adults become lost too,” he said. “Sometimes for longer than children.” Xiao Ai seemed to understand a little. She lowered her head, brightened the lamp inside the house, then traced the pale yellow lines up toward the three heads. When she finished, she carefully tore out the drawing and offered it to him. “Bald Uncle, this is for you.” He asked why she would give away the home she had drawn. Pointing to the lamp, she said, “Because you live on the mountain. Can you put this lamp somewhere higher for me and not let it go out?” Her eyes held no mystery, only a child’s simple hope that her parents would stop losing one another and that the people she loved, even if they could not live together, would each find the way home.

一陣急促的煞車聲停在路旁。修遠推開車門，幾乎是跑著穿過馬路。「小艾！」聽見父親的聲音，小艾立刻站起來。修遠來到她面前，先握住她的肩膀，上下確認她是否平安，隨後一把將她抱進懷裡。那個擁抱很短。恐懼還沒有退去，便很快變成了責備。「爸爸不是叫妳留在學校嗎？妳為什麼自己亂跑？妳知不知道我找不到妳有多著急？」小艾低著頭。「對不起。」「這裡妳根本不認識，要是又走到別的地方怎麼辦？」「我以為我可以自己走回去。」她的聲音很小。「這樣爸爸就不用趕了。」修遠怔了一下，卻沒有真正聽懂這句話。他仍被後怕推著，只顧著替她背好書包、檢查畫冊與聯絡簿有沒有遺失。雜貨店老闆娘走出來，將聯絡簿和小艾放在凳旁的水壺交還給修遠。修遠匆匆向她道謝，心思全在失而復得的女兒身上，隨即牽著小艾上了車。

Master Bukong accepted the drawing with both hands. “All right. I promise to pray for you, and for your mother and father.” Xiao Ai smiled. He placed it carefully in his cloth bag, then asked the shopkeeper to remain with her until Xiuyuan arrived. The owner assured him that her father was already on the way. Before returning up the mountain, he reminded Xiao Ai, “This time, wait here. Do not try to find the road by yourself again.” She nodded and waved. “Goodbye, Bald Uncle!” He waved back and disappeared along the mountain road in the dusk. He did not know then that it would be their final meeting.

車子開離雜貨店後，小艾坐在後座，仍試著向父親解釋方才的事。「爸爸，那個戴眼鏡的叔叔住在山上。」「嗯。」修遠看著前方，情緒還沒有完全平復。「他沒有頭髮，頭亮亮的，像燈泡。」修遠從後視鏡看了她一眼，以為那只是孩子形容陌生人的玩笑。「他還說，山上有人點燈。」小艾努力回想著，「家裡也要有燈，心裡……心裡也要亮亮的，不然會看不到路，還是看不到地圖……」她說得零零碎碎，一會兒是山上的寺院，一會兒是光頭叔叔的燈泡，又提到自己送了一張畫。修遠只聽懂，是某位戴眼鏡的光頭叔叔幫助了她。車子經過通往山邊的岔路時，小艾忽然貼近車窗，指向外頭：「爸爸，你看，就是那個叔叔！」修遠順著她指的方向匆匆望去。暮色裡，一道穿著黃色長衫的背影正沿著山路往上走。距離太遠，他只看見那人身形修長，偶爾有夕光在黑框眼鏡的邊緣閃了一下。後方傳來車聲，修遠很快收回目光，繼續往前開。那道身影就這樣留在他記憶的邊緣，模糊得幾乎像從未存在過。

Brakes sounded sharply at the roadside. Xiuyuan ran across the street calling Xiao Ai’s name. She stood at once. He grasped her shoulders to make sure she was unharmed, then pulled her into a brief embrace. Before his fear had faded, it turned into reproach: he had told her to remain at school; did she know how frantic he had been when he could not find her? Xiao Ai lowered her head and apologized. She said she had thought she could walk home by herself. In a tiny voice she added, “Then Dad would not have to rush.” Xiuyuan paused, but did not truly hear what she meant. Still driven by fright, he adjusted her bag and checked that nothing was missing. The shopkeeper returned her contact book and water bottle. Xiuyuan thanked her hastily and led his daughter to the car.

回憶退去，無盡燈寺的庭院重新回到眼前。修遠仍坐在茶桌旁，久久沒有說話。他想起回家的路上，小艾曾零零碎碎地提過那位「戴眼鏡的叔叔」。她說他沒有頭髮，光頭像一顆燈泡；又說他住在山上，山上有人會點燈。當時的自己只應了幾聲，注意力仍放在她擅自離開學校這件事上。他也想起車子經過岔路時，那道曾在暮色裡一閃而過的黃色背影。他甚至已經忘了，小艾曾經說過：「爸爸，如果心裡的燈一直不亮，就會看不見別人留的地圖。」原來那些話，並不是夢裡才出現的。是他從未真正聽進去。

From the back seat, Xiao Ai kept trying to explain. The uncle with glasses lived on the mountain; he had no hair and his head shone like a light bulb; people lit lamps on the mountain. “Home needs a lamp too, and the heart… the heart has to be bright, or you cannot see the road—or the map…” Her account wandered between the temple, the bald uncle’s light-bulb head, and the drawing she had given him. Xiuyuan understood only that a bald man with glasses had helped her. At the turn toward the mountain, Xiao Ai pressed close to the window and pointed. “Dad, look—that’s the uncle!” In the dusk, a tall figure in a yellow robe walked upward. Xiuyuan saw only his back and a glint of evening light on black frames. A car sounded behind them, and he looked forward again. The figure remained at the edge of his memory, so indistinct that it almost seemed never to have existed.

不空師父起身，示意修遠跟上。兩人穿過迴廊，走進一間不大的側室。室內只有一張木桌、一座書架，以及一只擺在經書旁的深色木匣。晨光從木窗照進來，細小的塵埃在光裡緩緩浮動。不空師父打開木匣，從中取出一張已經泛黃的畫紙。紙張有幾道摺痕，邊角也微微捲起。青綠色的山、像寺院又像家的房子、屋內那團濃濃的黃，以及站在下方的一家三口，都還清楚地留在上面。修遠一眼便認出小艾的筆跡。她總把太陽畫得很小，卻把窗戶畫得很大；畫人的時候，喜歡用深藍色畫爸爸，用紅色畫媽媽，再用黃色畫自己。而這一張裡，黃色的小艾站在中央，兩隻手長長伸向兩側，緊緊牽著父母。修遠伸出手，卻在快碰到畫紙時停住了。「你一直留著？」「嗯。」「為什麼？」不空師父看著畫。「起初，只是不忍心丟掉一個孩子親手送的東西。」「後來，我在消息裡看見她的名字和照片，才知道她已經往生。」修遠的目光落在那盞被畫得過分明亮的燈上。不空師父繼續說：「我想起自己答應過她，要為你們一家祈福，也答應替她守著這盞燈。」

The memory receded, and the courtyard of Endless Lamp Temple returned. Xiuyuan sat beside the tea table without speaking. He now recalled Xiao Ai’s scattered words about the uncle with glasses, the shining bald head, the mountain, and its lamps. At the time, he had responded absently, still preoccupied with her leaving school alone. He remembered the yellow figure glimpsed at the fork, and even words of hers he had forgotten: “Dad, if the lamp in your heart never lights, you won’t see the map someone left for you.” Those words had not first appeared in a dream. He had simply never truly listened. Master Bukong rose and motioned for him to follow.

「所以，我在寺院門前點起了一盞長明燈。」修遠緩緩抬起頭。「門前那些燈……」「最初，只有一盞。」不空師父說。「後來，有人為離開的親人點燈，有人為失散的家人點燈，也有人只是希望自己不要再迷失。慢慢地，一盞成了兩盞，兩盞成了如今的一排。」修遠想起昨日黃昏，自己站在梯子上，小心修整其中一盞燈的燈芯。火焰曾在風裡縮小，隨後重新穩住。慧本也在一旁添油、擦去灰燼，一盞接著一盞，從未特別說明它們屬於誰。「所以，每一盞燈的背後，都有一個人的故事嗎？」修遠問。「有時是一個人，有時是一個家庭。」不空師父望向門外那排燈，「也可能是一段來不及說完的話，或一個仍在尋找歸途的心願。」「那小艾呢？」「她的心願，是最初被留下的那一道光。」不空師父停了一下。「可是燈一盞盞點起之後，光便照在了一起。到了那時，哪一盞屬於誰，已經不再重要。」修遠望向寺門。晨光之下，那些燈安靜排列著；每一盞形狀相近，火焰也同樣微小，卻共同守著一條上山與下山的路。他忽然明白，昨日自己整理的並不是一盞只屬於小艾的燈。他所扶穩的，是許多人共同留下的一點光——有人曾經失去，有人仍在思念，也有人正在學著重新走回生命裡。

They crossed the corridor into a small side room containing only a wooden table, shelves, and a dark box beside several sutras. In the morning light, dust drifted slowly. Master Bukong opened the box and removed a yellowed drawing, creased and curled at the corners. Its blue-green mountain, house that resembled both a home and a temple, brilliant yellow lamp, and family of three remained clear. Xiuyuan recognized Xiao Ai’s hand at once: she always drew the sun small and windows large; Dad in dark blue, Mom in red, herself in yellow. Here yellow Xiao Ai stood between them, long arms holding both parents. Xiuyuan reached out, then stopped before touching the paper. “You kept it all this time?” “Mm.” At first, Master Bukong explained, he could not bear to discard something a child had made for him. Later he saw her name and photograph in the news and learned that she had passed away. He remembered his promise to pray for the family and guard her lamp. “So I lit a lamp before the temple gate and kept it burning.” Xiuyuan slowly looked up. The lamps outside? At first there had been only one.

窗外的光落在畫紙上，小艾長長的手臂被照得格外清楚。那雙孩子畫下的手，曾努力牽住分開的父母；而七年後，彷彿又從泛黃的紙上伸出來，將迷路的父親，一步一步牽到這座山上。他終於將指尖輕輕放在畫中小艾的手上。「她那時候……有沒有怪我那麼晚才到？」不空師父沉默片刻。「她沒有說過一句責怪你的話。」「她只說，爸爸不是不來。」「爸爸只是有時候，也會找不到路。」修遠低著頭，沒有回答。不空師父將畫紙輕輕托起，轉向修遠。「這張畫，是小艾當年送給我的。」「她請我替她守著畫裡的燈，也請我為你們一家祈福。」修遠抬起頭，望著那張熟悉又陌生的畫。不空師父雙手將它遞到他面前。「如今你已經找到這裡，它也該回家了。」修遠沒有立刻伸手。他像是不敢相信，一張由女兒親手畫下、在七年前被自己忽略的心意，竟繞過漫長的歲月，又重新回到面前。過了許久，他才慢慢伸出雙手，接住那張泛黃的畫紙。紙很輕。落進他掌心時，卻像把七年來一直壓在心底的所有重量，也一併交還給了他。修遠看著畫裡的家。爸爸和媽媽仍站在兩邊，小艾站在中央，兩隻被畫得很長的手，依舊固執而溫柔地牽著他們。他的視線漸漸模糊。「小艾……」

Later, others lit lamps for departed loved ones, missing family, or simply in the hope that they themselves would not remain lost. One became two, and two became the row there now. Xiuyuan remembered tending one flame the previous evening while Huiben added oil and wiped away soot, never saying to whom each lamp belonged. “So there is someone’s story behind every lamp?” he asked. “Sometimes one person, sometimes a whole family,” Master Bukong said, looking toward them. “Perhaps unfinished words, or the wish of a heart still seeking its way home.” Xiao Ai’s wish had been the first light left there. Yet once the lamps multiplied, their light mingled, and which lamp belonged to whom no longer mattered. In the morning, their small flames together guarded the road up and down the mountain. Xiuyuan understood that the lamp he had steadied was not Xiao Ai’s alone. He had tended a light left in common by many people—some who had lost, some who still remembered, and some learning to return to life.

名字剛出口，壓抑多年的悲傷便再也無法維持原來的形狀。他將畫小心貼近胸前，彎下身，終於放聲哭了出來。他哭那個曾經在校門口等他的孩子，哭那場再也無法改寫的雨，也哭這些年把自己關在愧疚裡、始終找不到歸途的自己。這一次，他沒有對著水溝蓋呼喊，也沒有等待黑暗中傳來回答。他只是抱著小艾送回來的畫，讓那些來不及流下的眼淚，終於有了可以抵達的地方。不空師父沒有勸他停止，也沒有再說任何道理，只安靜坐在一旁，陪他走過這場遲來的悲傷。側室外，掃帚掠過石板的聲音不知何時停了。風穿過竹林，庭院裡的落葉仍一片一片落下。這一次，沒有人急著去掃。

Light fell across Xiao Ai’s long painted arms, which had once tried to hold her separated parents together and now seemed to reach from the yellowed page to guide her lost father, step by step, to this mountain. Xiuyuan finally rested a fingertip on her painted hand. “Did she blame me for arriving so late?” After a moment Master Bukong answered, “She never said one word against you. She only said that Dad was not refusing to come. Sometimes Dad simply could not find the road either.” Xiuyuan bowed his head. Master Bukong lifted the drawing toward him. Xiao Ai had entrusted him to guard its lamp and pray for the family. “Now that you have found your way here, it should go home.” Xiuyuan stared at the familiar yet unfamiliar picture. A feeling he had overlooked seven years before had traveled through the long years and returned. At last he accepted it with both hands. The paper was light, yet as it settled into his palms, it seemed to return all the weight that had pressed upon his heart. In the drawing, Xiao Ai still stood between her parents, her impossibly long arms holding them with stubborn tenderness. His vision blurred. “Xiao Ai…”

第三章・完

At the sound of her name, the grief he had held back for years could no longer keep its former shape. Holding the drawing close, Xiuyuan bent forward and wept—for the child who had waited at the school gate, for the rain whose outcome could never be rewritten, and for the self he had locked inside guilt, unable to find the way home. This time he did not call toward the manhole or wait for an answer from the dark. He simply held the drawing Xiao Ai had sent back, allowing long-delayed tears at last to reach somewhere. Master Bukong offered no argument and did not ask him to stop. He sat quietly beside him through the sorrow that had arrived so late. Outside, the sound of a broom on stone had ceased. Wind passed through the bamboo, and leaves continued to fall across the courtyard. This time, no one hurried to sweep them away.