Unnoticed, the carriage, bearing an aged servant and his master, along with several flagons of wine, rumbled slowly out of the city of Su. Upon the king’s road it turned, its course set gradually towards home.

As twilight descended, two women emerged from a painted pleasure boat upon the Su River. Stepping onto the cobblestones of Su, they walked in disguise, their beauty veiled, appearing as ordinary folk.

“Sister, you were raised in this place. Is there naught of interest in Su save for the river’s painted ships? After such a long seclusion, this descent from the mountain must be properly celebrated!”

“Foolish one,” the other replied, “I return to visit my parents, yet you insist upon tagging along. Su offers little of amusement. Tomorrow, I shall pay respects to the venerable Sage Su Dao. Long ago, our families were allied. Be mindful of your tongue in his presence, for though mortal, even our master holds him in high regard.”

As they spoke, a passing scholar overheard their words and chuckled softly. Despite the women’s plain appearance, he paused, saying, “Fair maidens, it seems you have been absent from Zhao for many years. The great Sage Su Dao passed on over a decade ago. Now, the foremost sage of Zhao is named Wang Lin, a disciple of the late Su Dao.”

The women exchanged a startled glance. With a shake of his head and a smile, the scholar continued on his way.

“Wang… Wang Lin…” The first woman stammered, “Sister! I remember now! The old man who watched us from the pleasure boat today, despite his age, it was the young scholar, Wang Lin!”

Zhou Rui halted, her gaze snapping back towards the hazy river fading in the twilight. In her mind’s eye, she saw the flushed face of a youthful lad.

“Sister? Sister, what troubles you?” Xu Fei, sensing something amiss, spoke softly.

Zhou Rui remained silent for a moment, then shook her head. She began walking away with Xu Fei, but after only a few paces, she bit her lip, as if making a decision.

“Wait for me!” she cried, her body shimmering. In a flash, she transformed into a streak of light, soaring into the heavens. Her sudden ascent sparked a wave of awe and disbelief among the onlookers, who gaped, stunned, until understanding dawned.

“A Celestial!”

“It is a Celestial!”

Xu Fei watched Zhou Rui’s departure, her brow furrowed with a sigh.

Above Su, Zhou Rui’s divine sense spread wide, searching as she sped along the river. Yet, in the end, she found no trace.

She searched the entirety of Su, but it was to no avail.

“Gone…” Zhou Rui knew not why she sought him, only that she yearned to see him. Yet fate, it seemed, had other plans. Like two diverging paths, once separated, their intersection would not come again for some time.

Some leagues from Su, upon the king’s road, the carriage creaked and rattled along. Wang Lin sat within, the wind tugging at the curtain, sweeping past him.

He sipped his wine, gazing through the opening at the darkening sky, his thoughts a mystery. Though not yet old, his youth had passed. Silver threads laced his temples, a silent testament etched by each swallow of wine.

Then, he saw them in the dimming sky, a flock of white birds circling, flying homeward with him.

Years weighed upon him, his body wearier than in his youth. The jolting carriage felt as though it would shake his very bones.

They traveled onward, resting often, through the waning days of summer. Four months later, under the midday autumn sun, Wang Lin and Dafu arrived at the edge of the Heng Yue Mountains, far from the city of Su.

When they had left, flowers bloomed and leaves shone green upon the trees that lined the road. Now, most of the flowers had withered, and the leaves had begun to turn gold. Though not yet fallen, their descent was near.

“Twenty-eight years…” Wang Lin whispered, his eyes misty as he took in the familiar sights. He remembered leaving as a boy, now he returned, halfway through his life.

The carriage continued, its axles groaning, down into a quiet village nestled among the mountains. Wang Lin knew this place well. It was where he was born and raised.

They arrived without causing too much commotion. Wang Lin and Dafu returned to the home they had long left behind.

His parents still lived. His father, once strong, now relied upon a crutch. His white-haired mother, aided him, smiling as they beheld their returning son.

Though he had become a renowned sage of Zhao, the pride of the Wang family, a man at the pinnacle of his life, before them, Wang Lin was still their child, just as he had been twenty-eight years ago when he had left.

And just as they had been when they joined him in Su.

The carriage halted outside the courtyard gate. Wang Lin grasped the side and stepped down. His eyes met his parents’.

A gentle smile spread across his face. Wang Lin went before them and knelt upon the ground.

“Father, Mother, Tie Zhu has returned.”

Dafu blinked, and upon leaving the carriage, also knelt, proclaiming, “Father, Mother, Dafu has returned!”

Wang Lin’s father chuckled. Ignoring Wang Lin for the moment, he helped Dafu to his feet, shaking his head. “You, still the same as always. For taking care of Ping’er, I am forever in your debt. You mustn’t follow his lead.” Wang Lin stood, warmth flooding his heart as he gazed upon his parents’ joyful smiles. He took his mother’s arm and supported his father. Together, they, Dafu, and his parents stepped through the gate into the courtyard.

“Tie Zhu, when will you be leaving this time?” Wang Lin’s mother asked, gazing upon her son with love. He was her pride.

“Don’t call him Tie Zhu. Wang Lin is now our Zhao’s great sage, understand? That’s the sort of person even the Emperor is respectful to. Haven’t you noticed how the magistrate always comes to visit?” Wang Lin’s father glared at his wife.

“This time, I won’t be leaving. Tie Zhu will serve you until the end,” Wang Lin replied softly, looking at his mother, at the white hair on her head and the wrinkles on her face.
Word of Wang Lin’s return rippled through the mountain village like a stone cast into a still pond. In the days that followed, the quiet hamlet was abuzz. Neighbors, those who had once known him as a boy, flocked to his ancestral home, eager to catch a glimpse of the learned scholar, the very pride of Zhao.

Even dignitaries from the county seat, along with eager students of the script, upon hearing the news, made haste to arrive. With them came a host of Wang Lin’s distant relatives, a murmuring tide of kin eager to bask in his reflected glory.

Wang Lin’s father, old Master Wang, bloomed under the attention. The weariness of years seemed to melt away, replaced by a ramrod-straight posture and a chest puffed with pride. His son, the esteemed scholar, was his life’s greatest achievement.

Seeing such a multitude gather, Master Wang, his heart overflowing, commanded that a grand feast be prepared. Silver coins jingled as he sent word throughout the village, decreeing a celebration in the village square.

Village feasts were usually simple affairs, but the collective ambition of the crowd transformed it into a spectacle. Cooks were summoned from the county, bearing laden carts of exotic ingredients. Tables groaned under the weight of delicacies, each dish a testament to Wang Lin’s elevated status.

Such extravagance was difficult to recount in full. Wang Lin, seeing his father’s joy, held his tongue. By nature, he preferred solitude, but parental happiness was a powerful charm.

Throughout the feast, relatives, distant and near, approached Wang Lin with offerings of respect. Uncles, wizened with age, and the venerable clan elder, along with a scattering of cousins and kinsmen, bowed low. Wang Lin, accustomed to such adulation, merely nodded, a gesture that sent shivers of delight through their obsequious hearts.

As Wang Lin watched, a sense of déjà vu washed over him. He felt as though he had seen this scene in a dream, yet the reality differed in subtle, unsettling ways.

As dusk began to paint the sky, Wang Lin, sensing his parents’ fatigue, gently ushered them away from the revelry. The boisterous feast gradually dissolved, and within days, the mountain village settled back into its tranquil rhythm.

“Tie Zhu, you’re no longer a lad… why haven’t you taken a wife?” Wang Lin’s father mumbled, the words slurred with wine. A sigh followed, and the subject was abandoned.

And so, Wang Lin remained in the village of his birth, watching the sun rise and fall, observing the turning of the seasons.

Five years passed. It was the thirty-third autumn since Wang Lin had left the village as a youth. The wind scoured the earth, sending withered leaves scraping across the ground, pulled by an ancient longing to return to their roots. Wang Lin’s father lay on his deathbed, his hand clasped in his son’s. His eyes, clouded with pain, held a poignant mixture of sorrow and pride.

“Tie Zhu… my life… because of you… it will never be forgotten…” His voice was weak, a breathy whisper. “I cannot read, but I had men read your words… the books they gathered. You spoke of the cycle of heaven, of birth and death like the seasons… I remember…” A faint smile flickered across his lips. Beneath the pride and contentment, Wang Lin sensed a deep, primal fear.

He feared the unknown, the loneliness of death, the void beyond. His grip tightened on Wang Lin’s hand, as if it were the last root, the final anchor to his mortal existence. A desperate helplessness filled his fading gaze.

“Father, do not fear. I am here.” Wang Lin’s hair was now streaked with silver. He looked upon his father with profound grief. Reaching forward, he gently embraced the frail, withered form.

“Father, I am here. Do not be afraid. I am here.” Wang Lin murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “Father, remember the little wooden horse you gave me for my birthday? I found it just the other day…”

“Hong…” From beyond the courtyard wall, the ancient tree, said to have stood for centuries, cast its weathered silhouette. In this autumn storm, almost all of the leaves had been swept away, save for one lone leaf clinging stubbornly to its branch. Swaying in the wind, it seemed to gather its remaining strength. It broke free from the branch and spiraled downward, tracing a graceful arc before coming to rest upon the roof of the Wang family home.

In Wang Lin’s embrace, his father gradually lost his fear. His eyelids closed, and his breath stilled. He passed from this world, held safely in his son’s arms.

As he departed, the leaf upon the roof seemed to awaken. It lifted, catching the wind, and danced away, disappearing into the vast, unknown expanse.