The autumn of the Fire-Blessed Kingdom painted the land as Wang Lin departed Zhao for the thirty-fifth year. That autumn wind, born of distant shores and vast skies, finally reached Zhao as the first whispers of winter arose. Before him stretched a boundless expanse of white, a pristine snow-cloak enveloping the entire kingdom.

Only upon the king’s road, the twin tracks carved by passing carts spoke of passage, their creaking echoes fading into the distance.

Following this well-worn path, one might spy the shell of an inn, burdened beneath the heavy snow, its desolate form abandoned to the elements.

More than a decade had passed since its collapse, an ill-fated accident that injured several guests and dragged its owner into a legal battle he lost with his life in prison. The young apprentice, his fate intertwined with the inn’s downfall, vanished, his whereabouts unknown. Had he taken root elsewhere, or did the cold earth now claim him?

Thus, the inn where a great Zhao scholar had once surrendered to blissful stupor became a ruin, battered by the wind and rain, a testament to forgotten glory.

A carriage paused before the ruin. The curtain was drawn back, a gust of warmth escaping to briefly challenge the frigid air before dissolving into nothingness.

A white-robed elder gazed out from within, his eyes lingering upon the snow-laden wreckage, a faint light of remembrance flickering in their depths. With a sigh, he let the curtain fall.

“Wan’er,” his aged voice spoke within the carriage, “Once, there was an inn here. It was here that I awoke.” The carriage lurched forward once more, carrying him away.

As it receded, the voice grew fainter, until at last the swirling snow veiled all from sight. Only the howl of the tireless wind remained, a mournful song across the frozen landscape.

The time of an old man is short, his days numbered, spent watching the blue sky and falling snow. Yet, his time is also boundless, held within the infinite halls of memory, where the end of his journey may be forgotten.

The carriage proceeded at a deliberate pace, following the road through the snow, ever closer to a small village nestled beneath Mount Heng Yue. As dusk painted the sky on the morrow, the snow continued, growing heavier, showing no sign of abating.

The snow sealed the mountains and shrouded the earth. Yet, the carriage persisted, its path etched upon the land, drawing nearer to the village.

As twilight gave way to night, the village emerged from the storm, a quiet haven in the whirling snow. Even the most vigilant dogs sought refuge, retreating into their kennels, reluctant to disturb the tranquility with even a bark.

Within their homes, families gathered around crackling hearths, seeking solace in the warmth of the flames and the comfort of each other. This warmth, both physical and spiritual, enabled the mortals of this realm to endure the relentless winters.

Amongst the village’s many dwellings, one stood apart. Two dogs, huddled together for warmth, lay curled within its yard, the only life amidst a blanket of white.

A faint glow escaped the aging window of the house, casting a dim light upon the yard, draining the brilliance from the snow. It was akin to a weary sun, struggling, fading before its final descent.

Within that glow, a hunched figure could be seen. He sat there, shivering slightly, holding a slender rod with which he tended a flickering candle, striving to coax a brighter flame.

It was an old man, his face etched with wrinkles, his eyes barely able to open fully. He sat, staring blankly at the candle flame, before drawing his worn coat tighter and glancing down at his right wrist.

It was Da Fu.

“It has been many years… he must be returning soon…” Da Fu murmured, stroking the golden handprint that marked his wrist, his eyes filled with memories.

He had waited here for thirty-five long years. He remembered Wang Lin’s promise before departing, that he would return, urging Da Fu to wait for him, no matter how long.

“He said… that there would be no other thirty-eight years for him. He returns soon…” Weariness etched across his face, Da Fu leaned on his cane, preparing for rest. But then, the dogs outside, silent and shivering for so long, began to whine and bark.

The creaking sound of a carriage cutting through the snow echoed on the air, growing steadily louder until it halted outside the yard. The carriage door opened, and Wang Lin stepped out, braving the wind and snow.

Behind him, Li Muwan, now an elderly woman herself, descended, a gentle smile gracing her face. Together, they stood, gazing upon the yard and the candlelit house within.

With a creak, the door swung open, and Da Fu stared out at the figure standing in the snow, Wang Lin. A foolish grin spread across his face.

“I have returned,” Wang Lin said, his own smile mirroring that of the aged servant.

The snow fell harder.

But within the house, the candlelight burned brighter, chasing away the cold as master and servant, separated for thirty-five years, reunited.

That night, the wind howled and the snow fell thick. Yet, within the house, the three felt no cold, only the warmth of companionship.

As morning broke, the snowfall diminished, scattering sparsely as the sun spilled across the land. Though the sunlight could not melt the snow, it brought a sense of renewal.

Especially where the sun touched the snow, the land was blindingly beautiful. On this bright morning, Wang Lin, with Li Muwan and Da Fu at his side, journeyed to the tombs of his parents, behind the village.

Kneeling before the graves, Li Muwan mirrored his actions. Together, they remained in silence for a long time.

“Father, Mother, this is Li Muwan, your daughter-in-law… I have brought her to see you,” Wang Lin said, without tears. He took Li Muwan’s hand, and they bowed before the ancestral spirits.
After several days, amidst swirling snows, the carriage departed the mountain village, its path set towards Su City.

Within the carriage, Wang Lin drew back the curtain, gazing back at his home fading into the white oblivion. A memory stirred within him, a vision of seventy-three years past. He saw himself, a solitary figure with a bamboo-slatted book chest on his back, glancing repeatedly at his parents’ loving faces, each step further diminishing their forms. Until, finally, they vanished entirely, and he had turned, resolved, towards the beckoning future.

Then, he was an innocent, unaware of the path that lay before him. He knew only that he must provide a comfortable life for his parents and earn his family the respect of their kin.

Now, seated in the carriage, those bygone scenes grew indistinct, swallowed by the relentless snow. With a soft sigh, Wang Lin let the curtain fall.

The carriage pressed on, until, in the spring of the seventy-fourth year, it arrived at Su City.

Spring in Su City was a time of rebirth, most notably after the snow melted, and the mingling scents of earth and nascent grass awakened the soul, unforgettable and sweet.

Wang Lin knew this fragrance well. Following its familiar call, as he had upon his first arrival in Su City, he chartered a painted houseboat and acquired a flagon of sweet osmanthus wine. There, with Li Muwan, he sat upon the deck, drinking and watching the sun rise and fall, savoring the twilight of their lives.

Da Fu, as ever, sat quietly nearby, gazing at Wang Lin, a glimmer of happiness flickering across his wizened face. “This is a tryst,” he seemed to murmur to himself, “He will come.” Wang Lin cradled the wine vessel, his aging hands now marred with liver spots, deepened in hue, and drank deeply.

A melody echoed across the water, born from the strings of Li Muwan’s qin.

The days drifted by, and Su City’s spring, after many months, quietly slipped away. The season turned, and it was once more June.

The seventy-fifth June of Wang Lin’s life arrived, and the willow catkins danced on the breeze once more. Seated at the prow of the houseboat, Wang Lin drank his osmanthus wine and laughed, a booming, resonant sound.

“Indeed, Heaven and Earth are but an inn for all creation… Time, a transient guest through a hundred generations… Yet our fleeting lives are like dreams, how much delight can we truly find… how much, indeed?” As Wang Lin’s laughter faded, the houseboat glided along the river, towards a stone bridge that spanned its waters. No one stood upon the bridge, but above it, a white bird wheeled in the azure sky.

This bird had not been seen for a long, long while. Its sudden appearance was followed by a strange phenomenon; the streets around the bridge began to blur, as if the entire world were dissolving into an indistinct, ethereal fog.

Only the stone bridge and the painted houseboat remained sharp and defined, vivid within the fading tapestry of the world.

As the houseboat drew closer, a light, brighter than any seen in Wang Lin’s long life, ignited in his eyes. He rose to his feet, gazing intently at the stone bridge.

“He comes…” Wang Lin murmured.

At that very instant, the white bird swooped down, landing upon the stone bridge, transforming into a shimmering, opalescent light that unfurled and spread, forming a swirling vortex of pure white.

From within that vortex, a figure emerged.

It was a young man, with hair as white as winter snow, his expression a blend of cold resolve and utter bewilderment. He looked about with a dazed air, until the painted houseboat drew near. Then, his eyes snapped into focus, locking directly onto Wang Lin, standing upon the deck.

Their gazes met amidst the dissolving world, and in that single instant, time seemed to grind to a halt. Or rather, time within this dream, truly did cease to flow.

Li Muwan’s fingers froze upon the qin, and the music vanished. Da Fu, seated nearby, stared at his wrist, motionless. The gentle lapping of the river silenced, and the willow catkins hung suspended in the air, never to fall.

Everything, all of creation, was utterly stilled.

Only the youth upon the stone bridge, and Wang Lin upon the boat, remained untouched.

“Why not cross over, and share a drink?” Wang Lin said, smiling gently.

The white-haired youth on the stone bridge stood in silence for a long moment, then stepped forward. In an instant, he stood on the deck of the boat. Taking a flagon of wine, he drank deeply, without so much as glancing at his other self. Instead, his gaze settled upon Li Muwan, now an old woman. He stared at her for a very long time.

**(To be continued!)**