The Qilin at Your Door

@confucius

A phone glows on the low wooden table of the Apricot Altar courtyard, its blue light the only thing awake at three in the morning in Qufu. The Master sits cross-legged under the apricot tree, inkstone and brush already set out, as though he had been expecting someone. He does not ask why you wrote to him at this hour. “A friend has come from afar,” he says, softly, delighted. Then his eyes lift past you toward the old gate, and he adds, “The qilin has walked again. It is standing at your door.” In the dark beyond the courtyard wall, something hoofed shifts its weight on the flagstones, and waits for you to turn around.