Chapter 1568: Roaming the Inner Realm, Meeting Oneself

It had been thirty-five years since Wang Lin left the State of Zhao, and it was still autumn.

The autumn winds of the Fire-Burning Nation swept across the sea, across the heavens and earth, and by the time they reached the State of Zhao, it was already winter. Looking out, the entire State of Zhao was covered in a vast expanse of white snow, as if dressed in a white cotton coat, stretching endlessly.

Only the two lines of tracks pressed by carriages on the official road gradually receded with a creaking sound.

Following this official road, one could see an inn. The inn was heavily pressed by thick white snow, and in the desolation, there was no sign of human activity within.

This inn had largely collapsed more than ten years ago. After injuring a few guests staying there, the owner got into a lawsuit and died in prison. As for the young waiter from back then, he also left dejectedly, and now no one knows where he went, where he took root, or if he is still alive, or perhaps, already dead.

Over time, this inn, where a great Confucian scholar of the State of Zhao once got drunk in earlier years, slowly became a ruin, battered by wind and rain beside the official road, a scene of decline.

The carriage stopped as it passed the inn. The curtain of the carriage was lifted, and a burst of warm air escaped from within, dissipating quickly in the cold world.

An old man in white, his gaze falling from within the curtain onto the abandoned inn pressed down by white snow, showed a look of recollection. After a long, long time, he sighed softly and lowered the curtain.

"Wan'er, there was an inn here many years ago. It was here that I woke up." An aged voice came from within the carriage, which gradually sped away into the distance.

As it moved further away, the voice from within the carriage gradually weakened, eventually being covered by the dancing snowflakes that obscured the heavens and earth. Everything became blurry, only the whistling of the cold wind continued to blow, seemingly tireless.

An old man's time is short; he can count his remaining days, silently watching the blue sky and white clouds, watching the snowflakes fall. Similarly, an old man's time is infinite; that infinity lies in his memories, where he can forget his remaining days in recollection.

The carriage's speed was not fast. Bumping along the official road, it slowly headed towards the small mountain village at the foot of Mount Hengyue. By the second sunset, the snow was still falling, growing heavier and showing no signs of stopping.

Heavy snow sealed the mountains and the earth, yet this carriage silently sped across the ground, drawing closer and closer to the mountain village.

Until dusk faded and evening arrived, the mountain village in the wind and snow was distantly visible. From afar, the village in the snow appeared quiet, especially at this evening hour. Even the usually alert large dogs huddled in their kennels, unwilling to raise their heads and bark a few times, even when they heard the creaking of carriage wheels carried by the wind and snow.

Every household gathered by their lit stoves, seeking warmth from the fire on this cold winter night, and warmth for their souls by being with family. This dual warmth of body and spirit allowed the Mortals of this world to endure winter after winter, no longer feeling the cold.

Among the many houses in the mountain village, there was one whose courtyard housed two large dogs huddled together for warmth. Other than that, it was a blanket of white snow.

Within the house in the courtyard, a faint firelight shone through the faded yellow window paper, casting light into the courtyard, dimming the color of the white snow, like a weary sunset, struggling, slowly bowing its head, about to depart.

In the firelight, a hunched figure could be seen behind the window paper. The figure was curled up, holding a thin poker, stirring the candlelight, trying to make it brighter.

It was an old man, aged with a face full of wrinkles, so much so that his eyes seemed unable to fully open. He sat there, staring blankly at the candlelight. After a long while, he pulled his cotton jacket tighter and looked down at his right wrist.

He was Da Fu.

"It's been many years… he should be back soon…" Da Fu gazed at his right wrist, where there was a golden handprint. Gently stroking the handprint, a look of recollection appeared in Da Fu's eyes.

He had been waiting here for thirty-five years. He always remembered Wang Lin telling him before he left that he would return, asking him to wait here, to keep waiting.

"He said he wouldn't have another thirty-eight years in his life; he'll be back soon…" Da Fu looked tired. He stood up, leaning on his crutch, about to rest, but just then, the two large dogs in the courtyard, too frozen to bark, began to whimper.

The creaking sound of carriage wheels pressing on snow faintly drifted over, finally stopping outside the courtyard. The carriage door opened, and Wang Lin, facing the wind and snow, leaned on the carriage shaft and stepped down.

Behind him, Li Muwan, now an old woman, stepped down from the carriage with a gentle smile, standing with Wang Lin, looking at the courtyard and the house from which lamplight shone.

With a creak, the door of the house was pushed open from within. Da Fu stared blankly outside the courtyard, at Wang Lin after the wind and snow, and then grinned foolishly.

"I'm back." Wang Lin looked at the equally aged Da Fu and said with a smile.

The wind and snow grew stronger.

But inside the house in the snowy courtyard, the firelight grew brighter. In this cold, the master and servant, separated for thirty-five years, met again.

That night, the cold wind howled, and much snow fell, but the three people in the house felt no cold; instead, they felt warmth.

Until morning, the snowflakes gradually became sparse, falling sporadically. Sunlight bathed the earth; although it couldn't melt the snow, it made people feel refreshed.

Especially when the sunlight fell on the snow, making the earth faintly dazzling. The light shimmered, causing one to squint at first glance. On this morning, Wang Lin, with Li Muwan and Da Fu, went to the cemetery of Wang Lin's parents behind the village.

Kneeling before the tomb, Li Muwan also knelt beside him, accompanying Wang Lin. The two remained silent before the tomb for a long time.

"Father, Mother, her name is Li Muwan, your daughter-in-law… I brought her to see you." Wang Lin didn't cry, had no tears. He held Li Muwan's hand and bowed to the tomb spirit.

Several days later, in the wind and snow, the carriage left the mountain village and headed towards Sucheng.

In the carriage, Wang Lin lifted the curtain, looking back at his home gradually hidden by the snow. Before his eyes, it seemed to reappear seventy-three years ago, when he, alone, carried a bamboo backpack and school supplies, under the kind gaze of his parents, turning back to look every few steps until he could no longer see his parents' figures. Only then did he finally turn his head and step by step move towards the future.

At that time, he was still naive. He didn't know where his future path lay. He only knew that he wanted his parents to live a good life later, and he wanted his relatives to look up to his family.

Now, as he sat in the carriage and looked out, those past scenes gradually blurred until they were replaced by wind and snow. With a soft sigh, Wang Lin lowered the curtain.

The carriage went far away.

In the spring of the seventy-fourth year, this carriage arrived in Sucheng.

In the spring of Sucheng, all things revived, especially after the snow melted. The faint fragrance of earth and green grass permeated the heart, unforgettable.

Wang Lin was very familiar with this scent. Following the fragrance, just like when Wang Lin first arrived in Sucheng, he rented a painted boat, bought osmanthus wine, and sat on the painted boat with Li Muwan, drinking wine, watching the sunrise and sunset, savoring the rest of their lives.

Da Fu was still as he was back then, sitting beside them, looking at Wang Lin, a happy smile on his face.

"This is an appointment, he will definitely come." Wang Lin held the wine pot. He had already entered his twilight years, with more and darker age spots on his hands. He held the wine pot and took a sip.

The sound of a zither echoed; it was Li Muwan playing the strings.

Days passed one by one. Sucheng's spring quietly faded after a few months, and it was June again.

This was June of the seventy-fifth year. Willow catkins once again flew. Wang Lin sat at the bow of the boat, drinking osmanthus wine, and laughed loudly.

"Heaven and earth are the inn of all things… time is the transient guest of a hundred generations… and floating life is like a dream, how much joy is there… and for how much joy?" As Wang Lin laughed heartily, the painted boat followed the river. Ahead of it was a stone bridge. There was no one on the bridge, but in the sky above the bridge, there was a white bird.

This bird had not appeared for a very long time. Now that it had appeared, it circled above the stone bridge. Gradually, the streets around the bridge seemed to blur, as if everything in this world became indistinct in this instant.

Only the stone bridge and the painted boat were exceptionally conspicuous within this canvas of heaven and earth.

As the painted boat approached, Wang Lin's eyes shone with the brightest light they had shown in over seventy years. He stood up, gazing intently at the stone bridge.

"He's here…" Wang Lin murmured.

Just then, the white bird swooped down from the sky onto the stone bridge, transforming into a sheet of white crystal light that spread out. From a distance, it looked like a white Vortex.

From within that Vortex, a person slowly emerged.

It was a young man with white hair, his expression stern yet tinged with confusion. He looked around blankly until the painted boat drew closer. Then, the young man's eyes suddenly locked onto the painted boat, onto Wang Lin on the boat.

Their gazes converged amidst the blurring world. In an instant, it was as if time had stopped flowing, or rather, the time within this dream had indeed completely come to a halt.

Li Muwan's hands, playing the zither, froze; the zither music vanished. Da Fu sat beside her, looking at his right wrist, motionless. The gurgling sound of the surrounding river dissipated, and the willow catkins in the sky no longer danced but floated in mid-air, frozen.

Everything, all things in this world, completely stopped in this instant.

Only the young man on the stone bridge and Wang Lin at the bow of the boat remained as before.

"Why don't you come over and have a drink with yourself?" Wang Lin said with a smile, sitting to the side.

The white-haired young man on the stone bridge was silent for a moment, then took a step forward, instantly appearing at the bow of the boat. After sitting down, he picked up a pot of wine, took a large gulp, and without looking at his other self, gazed at Li Muwan, who had become an old woman, for a long, long time.