The old crone guarding outside, upon learning that Wang Anfeng and her companions had indeed met the Kong Taoist, and that Zhang Tingyun had been personally given the Taoist Script by the elder, found herself plunged into a state of bewilderment.
Although Qiu Ruoshui did not show it, the others could feel her sense of regret.
As dusk fell, Wang Anfeng had only had a bowl of millet porridge at the elder's place, yet she felt not the slightest hint of hunger. Her Green-Maned Horse had been entrusted to a stable within the city and there was no hurry. What had felt like early spring moments before now seemed deep in winter; she exhaled puffs of white breath, feeling for some reason as if she was in a half-awake dream.
Qin Fei looked at the sky and sighed,
"I had hoped to roam with Brother Wang today, but who would have thought that just a brief conversation has already spanned several hours. A Taoist True Master, a game of Go forgetting the log's decay, is indeed extraordinary."
"My mother wants my younger brother and me to return home early today. Would Brother Wang care to join us?"
Qin Fei's expression was sincere, but Wang Anfeng's mood was beyond the ordinary, like a swan leaving its trace on the snow, still immersed in the Taoist charm, as yet dispersed, only wishing to step into the dust of the cold winter's mortal realm. With a light laugh, she declined.
Qin Fei did not become annoyed, but simply stated they would meet again another day and, with Qin Xiao, nodded in farewell. Meanwhile, Qiu Ruoshui bowed slightly and went off in the direction of the Music Bureau. In a blink, she had disappeared into the crowd. The several companions had just left, leaving behind a touch of desolation.
At this moment, Zhang Tingyun suddenly handed the Taoist Script in her hands to the old crone behind her, saying,
"For father and mother."
Wang Anfeng was taken aback, and the old crone was even more emotionally unguarded. For their generation, the Kong Taoist held a profound significance, and anything given by the Kong Taoist was even more precious. Now that Zhang Tingyun handed it over, the old crone's resolve to stay by her side began to waver.
The old crone made a great effort to look away, refusing to gaze upon the scripture.
Zhang Tingyun said, "You should go back to them."
"Anfeng is here, I am very safe."
The little girl spoke very slowly, but each word seemed to strike the weakest part of the old crone's psychological defenses. Eventually, Zhang Tingyun pushed the Taoist Script gently forward, shattering the old crone's emotional state, who then, trembling, took the scripture with both hands.
It wasn't until she wandered back to her room in the inn that she came to a startling realization.
What on earth had she done?
As she was gripped by panic, the sound of footsteps approached, the wooden door opened, and a weary but excited Zhang Tingyun's father strode in. To his surprise, he found only the old crone, which drastically changed his expression as he demanded,
The old crone's face twitched, cautiously recounting the recent events. The beautiful matron, upon hearing that Zhang Tingyun was with Wang Anfeng, had her tension alleviated, but Zhang Tingyun's father, whose heart had just relaxed, was once again tightly wound. Then, the old crone presented the Taoist Script with both hands, saying,
"This is what the Kong Taoist gave to Yun'er."
Zhang Tingyun's father looked stunned, his gaze falling upon the somewhat yellowed scripture that seemed to have been washed by many years, and he quietly read out loud,
"'Cloud Basket of the Seven Lots'?!"
Inside the Music Bureau.
Qiu Ruoshui greeted her sisters with a nod, like always. Today, a younger sister who had taken over her place dancing with the sword at the festival walked past her with a touch of pride, yet it did not stir a ripple in her eyes.
Returning to her own room, she gazed through the windowsill at the darkened night sky outside.
Gently strumming her lute, thoughts cluttered in the melody, today's events hidden beneath a tranquil surface with their own ripples. Reminiscent of past landscapes, of love and hatred, which all too quickly came to naught. And, having been just a step away from meeting the legend, her heart was filled with regret.
From ethereal, the tune shifted to a somber depth. The full moon hung in the sky as if on a cue, lights across the city suddenly illuminated, red lanterns on either side stretched forward like the endless mortal world, the music stopping abruptly. The girl looked up, ethereal white snowflakes falling from the sky, enveloping Yulin City within them.
In the lamplight as bright as day, a light snow softly fell.
Wang Anfeng bought a green umbrella.
He let out a breath, creating a layer of white mist in the cold night, leading Zhang Tingyun with one hand, and slightly tilting the green umbrella with the other, to shield the little girl from the wind and snow.
In her hands, the little girl held a stick of sugared hawthorn, her delicate cheeks puffed out as she chewed gently, seeming to have bitten into a particularly sour berry, her brows slightly furrowing—an incredibly rare expression on her otherwise tranquil face.
Wang Anfeng smiled softly, bending down to wipe the sugar from her lips. Behind him, the clamor of five or six red-clothed, silver-armored young soldiers from the Military Family rose as they strode past, their eyebrows flying high with vivacity. Among them was a tall yet thin figure who, despite his reserved demeanor, still had a spark in his eyes.
The joyful shouts of the youth, mixed with the fragrance in the air, filled the bustling streets.
End of Year Festival.
The east wind unleashed blossoms on thousands of trees, blowing them off like rain of stars. The road was filled with the scent of luxurious carriages and horses. As the sound of phoenix flutes stirred, the light reflected from jade vessels cast moving shadows, and for that one night, the world danced like fish and dragons.
In the ordinary world, the city was filled to the brim. Above Yulin City stood an ancient tower of seventeen floors amidst the stars and above the mortal view, where Xuan Chengzi sat at the very top, drinking alone, his demeanor serene. The wind whipped at his robe, creating a sound only he could hear.
He looked down at the mortal world below.
Sixty years ago, he was a spirited youth, hanging out in the streets with friends, with endless novelties before his eyes.
Fifty years ago, he was a ranger with a sword, admiring beauties in the tall buildings of the Music Bureau.
Sweet scent in hair, it's not the wine that intoxicates, but the drinker himself.
Now, he represented a senior of the Taoist Sect, a master of the Martial Arts World. The rolling mortal world, like waves, had drowned everything he was familiar with—those enemies he had wished to vanquish, his rivals who respected each other, and his close friends entrusted with mutual support.
It wasn't that he had chosen to live in seclusion amongst the mountains and rivers.
It was that this Jianghu no longer belonged to him.
His Jianghu should have been filled with heroes who could split the sky with a single sword strike, strongmen who measured the earth with their feet, and young sword-bearing Taoists who could cry, laugh, sing wildly, and indulge in wine. Now, everyone treated him with utmost respect, greeting him as "Senior" and "Master," suffocatingly molding him into the very image of a senior.
The stories he spoke of—those opponents, friends, and enemies—had all turned into legends, unknown and unknowable to others. Those tales were even rarer known. His presence only ever prompted a respectful awkwardness.
He suddenly realized that he himself had become a legend.
As the marks of his era faded away with the disappearance of those masters and brilliant stars, the past collapsed. He wasn't a hermit but merely a wanderer who had lost his homeland.
Xuan Chengzi took another sip of cold wine, chanting long and leisurely in the chilly winds of heaven and earth:
"What was once said about others, is now said about me..."
"Who will I be in the eyes of future generations?"
The mountains and rivers have been reduced to dust, what more of the dust within the dust; the flesh and body return to mere shadows, what more of the shadows within the shadows. Without supreme wisdom, without a clear heart, upon realizing this, how can one not be sad?
And how can one not rejoice?
Having seen all the glories of this city, having drained his pot of cold wine, Xuan Chengzi laughed heartily, stepping towards the heavens, his robes fluttering. The Taoist soared above the ten-thousand-zhang mortal world, his figure leaning, his right foot lightly touching a snowflake, its essence lingering as he soared again into the sky.
The snowflake shattered, drifting with the wind, scattering on top of the green umbrella.
Underneath the umbrella, Wang Anfeng stood up, looking at Zhang Tingyun, who frowned, reluctant to spit out the sugared hawthorn stick, a warm smile spreading across his face. He took the little girl's hand and slowly walked through the bustling End of Year Festival.
The green umbrella turned, shaking off the accumulated snow, which gently fell to the ground, spreading the warm glow of the lanterns.
PS: Master Jin Yong has passed away...
Suddenly, there's a feeling that an era is gradually coming to an end.