“His name is Wang Lin,” Su San interjected hastily.

“His examination scroll, give it to me.” The robed elder, Su Dao, commanded, a glint of delight sparking in his eyes.

Seeing the elder’s eagerness, Su San offered a subtle smile and retrieved the scroll from within his robes. His purpose in visiting the esteemed scholar was solely to present this singular examination paper for his perusal. Yet, since his arrival, Su Dao had remained indifferent… until this very day.

Receiving Wang Lin’s scroll, Su Dao examined it meticulously, nodding once. “This young man,” he declared with a smile, “shall be the last disciple I ever accept.” He glanced at the departing silhouette of the painted barge, a lone willow seed drifting in the moonlight, suspended between the elder’s gaze and the receding vessel. It was unclear whether Su Dao observed the seed or the barge itself, before he turned and departed.

Time flowed ceaselessly, leaving no trace for those who sought to recapture it.

Several suns later, Wang Lin, accompanied by Da Fu, left the painted barge. Standing upon the shore, he gazed at the vessel that had been his home for over a month, at the river he had watched for so long, lost in a prolonged silence.

After half an incense stick of time, Wang Lin shook his head with a sigh. As he turned to leave, a high-pitched cry echoed faintly from the heavens. Wang Lin shuddered, his gaze snapping upward.

There, circling amidst the clouds, was the familiar white bird. Slowly, it descended, landing upon the distant stone bridge, locking eyes with Wang Lin before soaring once more into the clouds. Its white form resembled nothing so much as a drifting willow seed.

“Is it you…?” Wang Lin murmured.

Wang Lin did not participate in the Imperial Examinations. On the very day he departed the painted barge, he was summoned to the estate of Su Dao, the celebrated scholar of Su City, escorted by the old magistrate from the county town.

Su Dao’s estate was modest, yet possessed an undeniable elegance. A serene tranquility permeated the air, soothing the very soul. Within the courtyard, Wang Lin beheld the elder who had questioned him upon the bridge.

Da Fu was left in the care of the grounds, while Wang Lin and Su Dao shared Osmanthus wine within the pavilion, conversing at length amidst the peaceful surroundings.

As the moon reached its zenith, Wang Lin bowed deeply before Su Dao.

“I have taken many disciples in my life, but only three can truly be called my students. From this day forward, you shall be my last. I do not wish to see you pursue the path of officialdom, for your temperament is not suited for it… I desire to see you become, after I am gone, the greatest scholar of Zhao!

“Nay, not just of Zhao! Upon this Vermilion Bird Star, many nations exist. I aspire for you to be the foremost scholar of the entire Vermilion Bird Star! Such a life may not bring riches or power, but it will grant you understanding of the principles of the heavens and earth, and allow you to forge your own unique philosophy!

“In this world, we are but mortals, yet there are also cultivators. Many a wandering immortal has sought to invite me to their path, but I have refused them all.

“I gaze upon the heavens with a smile, for my heart holds its own universe. I seek not the Dao of immortality, but rather a profound understanding of this world. I may have a fragile mortal body, but my thoughts can endure for centuries, shatter the chains of the heavens, and command even immortals to lower their noble heads before a scholar of my caliber!

“Cultivation seeks to defy fate, but are we, scholars who understand the laws of the universe, not also rebelling against destiny and treading upon the earth?

“If the heavens possess a spirit, they would see both cultivators and mortals as one and the same. They possess power that can shatter mountains and rivers, but we possess the wisdom to comprehend the universe. Ultimately, these paths converge.

“In my life, many of my disciples have become cultivators. They sought my guidance on matters of intent, hoping to achieve the ethereal realm of ‘Transforming Thought into Divinity’. Others delved deeper, seeking to understand the very nature of the Dao!

“Such a life is both ordinary and extraordinary, Wang Lin. Are you willing to choose it?” Su Dao asked, the moonlight casting him as a simple old man, yet a powerful aura emanated from him, one that Wang Lin recognized as an all-encompassing presence, born from understanding and the formation of a unique, powerful philosophy.

This philosophy was like a flame, burning within Su Dao’s core, strong enough to shake the very heavens.

“First a scholar, then a great scholar, and finally… a Master and Teacher of Kings!” Su Dao finished, turning to look at Wang Lin.

Wang Lin was silent, until he bowed deeply before Su Dao again.

Wang Lin was nineteen, while Su Dao was eighty-three years of age.

Su Dao laughed, taking Wang Lin’s hands and raising him up. In the pavilion, his words echoed.

“In my youth, I served in the government. In middle age, I resigned and returned to my hometown, traveling throughout Zhao and many other countries on this continent, observing mountains, rivers, and the myriad aspects of human life. When my wife died at the age of fifty, I was struck with grief at her tombstone and comprehended the heavens and earth, recalling every moment of our early relationship.

“After that, my philosophy became based on Causality.

“What is Causality? Why do these causal links exist throughout Heaven and Earth…?”

Overnight, Wang Lin’s life changed. He abandoned all thoughts of taking the Imperial Examinations, silently pursuing the life he truly desired. He would provide filial service to his parents, and above all, contemplate the mysteries of the universe and pursue the answers he sought.

“What is Causality…? What is Life and Death…? What is Real and False…?”

He and Da Fu resided within Su Dao’s estate, listening to his teachings daily. Gradually, the aura of a great scholar grew stronger within him.

That year, dozens of scholars passed the Imperial Examinations, embarking for the capital. Some would rise to great heights, others would return home in disgrace. Wang Lin observed all this, yet it did not stir his heart.

Though he did not become an official, Wang Lin’s reputation spread throughout Zhao, surpassing even those who had passed the Imperial Examinations. As Su Dao’s disciple, Wang Lin often represented his teacher, meeting with those who came to pay their respects.

Whether a humble scholar or a scion of the gilded Imperium, even cultivators aplenty, Wang Lin had witnessed countless souls drift through his years. He found himself drawn ever inward, a deepening fondness for wine and a growing ease within his own skin.

Seasons spun by in their endless dance, and as the willow catkins danced through the air, painting the city white, Wang Lin stood on the threshold of middle age. He lingered in the courtyard where, a decade past, Su Dao had taken him as a disciple, the swirling flurries of willow fluff blanketing the ancient flagstones.

Su Dao, his frame withered by the relentless march of years, bore the marks of time upon him. No longer could he engage in nights of spirited discourse as he once had, but sat instead in a wooden chair, wheeled forth by servants to witness the willow-borne snow alongside Wang Lin.

Wang Lin, his face an unreadable mask, dismissed the attendants and gently steered Su Dao’s chair.

“Lin’er, observe the catkins. Year after year they return, as if bound by an ancient pact with the heavens. Even when I am gone, they shall come, as ordained by the cycles of the world.” Su Dao’s voice was raspy, yet his spirit remained bright. He raised a hand, and a single catkin settled upon his palm, still and fragile.

“These catkins,” he murmured, “are but a reflection of life itself.”

Wang Lin spoke softly, “And life, a tapestry woven of cause and consequence.”

“Indeed,” Su Dao agreed. “A wisp of consequence drifts before you, yet when you reach to grasp it, it eludes your fingers, forever beyond your reach until, weary of its wanderings, it settles upon your hand.” He gazed at the catkin in his palm, and as if stirred by a gentle breath of his words, it lifted once more, drifting further and further away.

“Cause and consequence, Wang Lin. Should you, one day, within this swirling blizzard of willow-fluff, discover the one that is truly yours, you shall then understand the nature of cause and consequence.” Su Dao smiled, and raised a hand toward the heavens.

“That catkin, that is I!”

Wang Lin followed the old man’s gaze, but the sky was thick with the drifting down, a veritable snowstorm of willow. He could not discern which one Su Dao indicated.

“You cannot see it, for that catkin is my life…” Su Dao closed his eyes, and two tears traced paths down his weathered cheeks.

“They are two catkins, clinging together as they are swept by the wind, bound inseparably. They are the embodiment of her life, and mine….” In the theater of Su Dao’s mind, the sky was purged of all but two intertwined catkins, bobbing gently, drifting further and further away.

“That year the willow bloomed, I saw you. Standing upon the bridge, your eyes were clouded with bewilderment. I thought then that you, Wang Lin, were like a rootless catkin, adrift and lost, tormented by some riddle you could not solve.”

“I watched you, and the catkins that danced before you. One of them, the very essence of your life, swirled and spun, but you did not see it. So it came to me instead.”

“I looked at that catkin, though you surely believed I was looking at you… The questions I posed, I directed to the catkin, yet you believed them meant for you alone….”

“It was then that I knew I must help you.” Su Dao turned his chair, and his aged face was lit by a gentle benevolence as he looked at Wang Lin.

Wang Lin started.

“You are the final strand in the tapestry of my life, the last echo of consequence. It feels as though I have met you before, in some distant age.” Su Dao turned his gaze heavenward once more.

“Year after year, the city is drowned in willow fluff, yet the people do not comprehend. They do not understand that each catkin comes seeking its counterpart, the soul to which it is bound. For each is the life of a single being….”

“But in the end, they fall upon the waters, they are lost to the dust, they fade from our sight… Not because they failed to find their own, but because we, alas, cannot find our own within them.”

Wang Lin silently lifted his head, gazing at the dancing catkins, as he had a decade ago.

And slowly, as if his eyes were finally opening, he saw a pair of catkins intertwined, cleaving together, drifting slowly amidst the endless snowfall. No wind could tear them apart.

A mournful melody drifted on the air, born from some unseen source, a lament that spoke of loneliness and the solace found only in the strings of a lute.