Wang Lin stood as if rooted, gazing at the heavens. His eyes followed the twin rainbows, arcing across the sky like celestial serpents, until their wailing cries faded and they vanished into the swirling obsidian clouds, swallowed by the vast distance.

“She… who is she?” he murmured, a strange familiarity stirring within him. An inexplicable pang pierced his heart, merging with the lingering sorrow of the disappearing rainbows. This confluence of emotions surged through him, a potent, ethereal force that stilled his breath and drained the color from his face.

He stumbled backward, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon, stretching towards oblivion. His hand clutched at his chest, where the pain crashed over him like a relentless tide. In that overwhelming agony, his heart felt as if it were being torn asunder, leaving a hollow ache and a haunting sense of loss.

All this stemmed from the woman who had soared through the sky, her image imprinted upon Wang Lin’s mind, seemingly etched there for countless ages. Yet, her visage was entwined with a complex web of emotions he couldn’t unravel.

At length, a faint flush returned to Wang Lin’s cheeks. He gasped for air and closed his eyes, murmuring, “So, immortals truly exist… was my dream… truly just a dream?” He remained lost in thought, kneeling upon the damp earth left by the recent rain, until the sky brightened completely. Opening his bewildered eyes, he rose and continued his journey in silence.

“Did I dream of an immortal, or did… the immortal dream of me?” He couldn’t comprehend it. His life, it seemed, had been irrevocably altered by a drunken dream from the night before.

As Wang Lin once again walked along the King’s Road towards the county town, the earlier peace of mind was gone. He walked in silence, the bamboo frame carrying his books swaying upon his back, its creaks and groans his only companion.

Daybreak gave way to sunset.

He traversed the road, his feet splashing through puddles, throughout the entire day. When fatigue threatened to overwhelm him, he would sit by the roadside, take out some dried rations from his bamboo frame, and eat. After a brief rest, he would press onward.

The sound of horses’ hooves and rumbling carriages would occasionally drift towards him from the distance behind. Whenever he heard them, Wang Lin would move to the side of the road, allowing the carriages or horses to thunder past before resuming his journey.

Seven days passed. During this time, Wang Lin’s frail body seemed to grow stronger. He walked from sunrise to sunset, resting only when night fell. If he were lucky enough to encounter an inn, that would be a welcome sight.

Even more comforting, perhaps, was the sight of smoke rising from a village along the road at dusk. To find shelter for the night in such a place felt even better than staying at an inn.

More often than not, however, Wang Lin had the eerie sensation of being the only person left in the world as the sun dipped below the horizon. Alone, he would find shelter beneath some roadside trees, wrap himself in his thick cloak, and count the stars twinkling above. Amidst their flickering light, he would think of the warmth of his home and the loving smiles of his parents, before finally succumbing to sleep.

The fire he had built before him slowly died down, its crackling flames fading into embers. A wisp of smoke rose from the dying embers, ascending into the heavens.

The night wind, sharp with cold, often woke Wang Lin. Each time he awoke, he would gaze into the surrounding darkness, finding an odd sense of familiarity within it. The pitch-black night did not frighten him. Instead, his heart remained as still as a mountain lake. He would look and look, then pull his cloak tighter around himself, and fall back asleep.

In this season, the Zhao Kingdom was gripped by the rainy season. Even when the rain ceased, the sky remained overcast, and the rumble of thunder echoed through the heavens. Often, after a brief respite, the heavens would once again open, and the rain would cascade down upon the land.

On the evening of the eighth day, Wang Lin trudged forward, a weary smile on his face, beneath a large umbrella. Outside the rain was torrential, and lightning flashed amid the roaring thunder. Though it was only dusk, the world was already cloaked in darkness.

“One more day’s journey, and I’ll reach the county town, but the rain keeps getting worse,” he muttered. Moisture hung thick in the air, and as the rain fell, it bounced from the ground, spraying Wang Lin. His azure robes were soaked through, clinging to his skin and leeching away his body heat, causing him to grow increasingly cold.

The wind, carrying the dampness, seemed to pierce into his very bones. Wang Lin shivered, holding the umbrella mostly over the bamboo frame on his back, protecting the books, dried rations, and spare clothing within.

Slogging through the accumulated rainwater, Wang Lin quickened his pace, peering through the rain-soaked world in search of shelter. In the distance, through the veil of rain, he saw a vague shape, resembling a small building.

Without hesitation, Wang Lin headed towards it. As he drew closer, the indistinct shape became clearer. It was an abandoned shrine to the Earth God.

A faint creaking echoed in the rain-swept night, sending a chill down his spine.

The shrine was small and dilapidated. One of its doors was shut, the crimson paint of years past faded and darkened. Even the door knocker was covered in rust, beaded with rainwater.

The other door was badly damaged, barely clinging to its frame. Unable to close properly, it swung wildly in the wind and rain, creating the creaking sound Wang Lin had heard.

As the wind and rain intensified, the half-open door shook more violently, as if about to be torn from its hinges.

Wang Lin hurried towards the shrine. He paused for a moment to survey the area before stepping inside. The courtyard was overgrown with weeds and scattered with broken stones. The wind and rain bent the weeds low, and the sound of rain combined with their rustling to create a swishing sound.

A thunderclap boomed, followed by a flash of lightning that illuminated the world for a brief moment. Wang Lin saw everything clearly, and gasped, recoiling in horror. Lying along the edge of the courtyard were several sets of skeletal remains.

His heart pounded. Wang Lin’s face grew pale. But the rain was unrelenting. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to ignore the bones, which had lain there for who knew how many years, and entered the shrine’s main hall.

A statue of the Earth God, several times the height of a man, stood at the rear of the hall. Its features were obscured by the darkness, and what little color remained on it was faded and mottled, adding to the shrine’s forlorn air.
Within the dilapidated temple, puddles mirrored the storm raging outside. The ancient roof, marred by countless cracks and missing tiles, wept freely upon the stone floor. A chill, deeper than the tempest’s breath, permeated the hallowed space.

Wang Lin, his face ashen as the storm clouds above, inhaled deeply. First, he bowed reverently before the neglected effigy of the Earth God, then sought a dry patch to lay down his woven bamboo raft. He gathered a meager pile of damp twigs, salvaged from the journey’s brief respite, and fumbled with his flint and steel.

The wood, stubbornly refusing to ignite, hissed and sputtered. Cold seized him, shaking his very bones. He struck the flint again, his hands trembling.

Just then, the heavens cracked. A deafening thunderclap resonated within the temple walls, and a blinding flash illuminated the world. In that instant, a colossal shadow engulfed Wang Lin.

“Who’s there?!” he roared, forcing down his rising fear, his gaze fixed upon the temple’s gaping doorway.

His voice, a raw shout against the storm’s fury, startled the newcomer.

“Who’s there?!” A panicked voice echoed back, followed by the sound of shuffling feet. A man, clad in rags and dripping like a river creature, stumbled backward from the threshold, pale with fright.

Recognizing Wang Lin within the temple’s dim interior, the man exhaled a shaky breath. He lurched inside, glaring at Wang Lin, clutching his chest dramatically.

“You scared the life out of me!” he bellowed.

Wang Lin, taken aback, offered a wry smile. “The night is dark, and the lightning sudden. Forgive my startlement, brother.”

The man grumbled, muttering under his breath before settling down a distance away. He reached into his sodden tunic, producing a half-eaten chicken leg, limp and waterlogged. He stared at it for a long moment, then burst into a heart-wrenching wail.

His lament filled the temple with an eerie sorrow, raising gooseflesh upon Wang Lin’s arms. He shuffled away from the sobbing figure, and with a final strike of the flint, coaxed a small fire from the damp tinder.

The flickering flames cast dancing shadows upon the crumbling walls, revealing the temple’s sorry state.

The man, between sobs, took a bite of the soggy chicken, then grinned, a chilling, vacant smile. He erupted into laughter, a sound that made Wang Lin shudder.

“A madman…” Wang Lin murmured, edging further away. Had the storm not raged with such relentless ferocity, he would have fled. Even along the King’s Road, the sudden appearance of a lunatic in the dead of night was enough to chill the blood.

The man’s laughter dissolved into fresh tears.

“Nobody cares about me anymore… Nobody… I can’t remember… Who… Who am I?”

His anguished cries echoed through the temple, stirring a reluctant pity within Wang Lin’s heart. He turned towards the distraught man, sighing.

“Life is but a dream within a dream… Or perhaps a play upon a stage where none know their true role. Dream is life, awakening is death, or maybe the opposite. That blink, that moment between open eyes and closed, is the border between worlds, the veil between truth and illusion…”

Wang Lin paused, his gaze distant, lost in thought. “Perhaps life is but a cycle, a wheel of cause and consequence… but when shall we truly awaken?” He mumbled to himself, his own recent dreams hinting at a profound understanding he could not quite grasp.

With another sigh, Wang Lin retrieved dried provisions from his bamboo raft. He stared at the flames, the incessant rain hammering against the temple walls, and silently ate.

The rain fell endlessly, shrouding the mountains, the land, and the crumbling temple. Within its walls, by the flickering firelight, two lost souls, each strangers in their own lives, had met.

One watched the flames, the other gnawed on a sodden bone. And the statue of the Earth God, bathed in the fire’s glow, wore an inscrutable smile, as if observing their plight for all eternity.