Forty cycles of seasons had swept through Cangyun Village, altering the face of the Yao Gu hills with an unending cycle of snow and blossoms. In front of a woodworking workshop, its timber now blackened and veiled in thin moss, an old man with hair as white as frost sat in a wooden rocking chair that creaked softly.

  Zhi Xuan, now known as Grandpa Zhi, no longer possessed a frame like a steel tower. His back was slightly stooped, and the hands that held the carving knife were wrinkled, yet his grip remained as stable as if it were fused to the core of the earth. Before him stood a coffin made of ancient sandalwood, radiating a silent majesty, adorned with carvings of lotus flowers that looked ready to bloom at the touch of a dewdrops.

  The sound of light yet powerful footsteps approached. Two figures—a man and a woman who appeared to be in their early thirties, carrying an aura of clarity and strength—walked toward him. They were Nalan Shu and Nalan Yu. Thanks to the guidance of the village elders and their own latent talents, both had reached the First Ember realm—a remarkable feat for those born in mortal lands.

  However, before the stooped old man, they immediately knelt, their foreheads touching the dusty ground. Tears fell, dampening the earth in front of the workshop.

  "Uncle Zhi..." Nalan Shu’s voice trembled. She was now a graceful female practitioner, yet her sobs sounded exactly like the little girl of forty years ago. "Mother... she passed away peacefully just a few moments ago."

  Zhi Xuan did not look up immediately. He made one final, delicate cut on a lotus petal of the coffin. A wood shaving fell like a withered petal.

  "Forty years," Zhi Xuan murmured, his voice now hoarse and heavy, yet still possessing a soothing resonance. "Uncle Zhao left during the spring, Da Zhu left when his embers died out in autumn, and now Mei... she left when her ginger porridge was at its warmest."

  He slowly set down his carving knife and looked at the siblings. His deep black eyes, though surrounded by the wrinkles of age, still held the immeasurable depth of an ocean.

  "Rise, Shu, Yu," Zhi Xuan said softly. "Your cultivation has reached the First Ember. You should know that the physical body is merely a garment borrowed from nature. Why do you still weep for a garment that has been returned?"

  Nalan Yu looked up, his eyes bloodshot. "We know, Uncle. But seeing them vanish one by one... Father, Da Zhu, and now Mother... our hearts feel empty. The cultivation we learned cannot hold back their time. What is the use of this power if we cannot save the people who fed us?"

  Zhi Xuan stood up with the help of his black wooden cane. He walked haltingly toward the sandalwood coffin, his wrinkled fingers stroking its surface with the affection of an old friend.

  "Power is not for fighting time, Yu," Zhi Xuan replied while gazing at the sky turning to crimson. "Power is to ensure that when that time comes, they have a worthy place to rest. Look at this coffin. I have prepared it over the last seven years. Every carving is a prayer Mei whispered while she brought me wine. She is not dead; she is merely moving from a noisy tavern into the embrace of eternal wood."

  Nalan Shu wiped her tears, stood up, and helped Zhi Xuan stand straighter. "Uncle... we only have you now. You must rest more often. Come, we will help you walk."

  "I can still walk, Shu," Zhi Xuan smiled thinly, gently brushing away her hand with a tenderness that did not offend. "These legs may be slow, but they still know every contour of Cangyun Village better than your memories."

  Zhi Xuan walked toward the coffin and signaled for Nalan Yu to help him open the heavy wooden lid. "Bring your mother’s body here when the moon begins to rise. Let the scent of this sandalwood wash the worldly dust from her soul before she returns to the embrace of the earth."

  Nalan Yu nodded obediently, though his face still held profound grief. "Uncle Zhi, after Mother’s funeral is over... will you stay here? We promise to take good care of you, sending every herb we obtain from the sect."

  Zhi Xuan stared at Nalan Yu for a long time, his gaze seemingly scrutinizing the threads of fate entwined around the young man. He then turned to look at his wooden house, which now appeared frail, echoing the mortal shell he had borrowed from the universe.

  "Herbs from the sect..." Zhi Xuan chuckled softly, the sound like the rustling of ancient paper. "Yu, I am far too old to drink bitter decoctions that promise longevity. Longevity without understanding will only turn you into a lonely stone by the roadside."

  "Then what is it you want, Uncle?" Nalan Shu asked in a low voice. "Your wooden workbench is covered in dust, and your axe has begun to rust. Will you truly spend the rest of your time just sitting here waiting for the sunset?"

  Zhi Xuan walked to his workbench and picked up a small piece of wood he had yet to carve. "Every beginning has an end, Shu. Forty years ago, I came to this village with a heart full of fire and blood. This village, your mother, and both of you... have been the water that extinguished that fire."

  He paused for a moment, turning the wood in his hand. "After Mei’s funeral is complete, I will remain here. You need not worry; you must fare well at the sect where you study."

  "But, Uncle," Nalan Yu interrupted urgently, "many foreign practitioners are coming to this western region. I worry you won't be safe if Cangyun Village ever faces a disaster."

  Zhi Xuan only shook his head slightly, a faint smile brightening the corners of his wrinkled lips. "A disaster, for me, is a quick end. But for the two of you, it is something to be avoided. Enough, let us bury your mother."

  That night, a silver moon hung high over Cangyun Village, casting a cold, pale light onto the silent procession. Zhi Xuan walked at the front, leading Nalan Yu and Nalan Shu, who carried the sandalwood coffin toward the hill behind the village—the place where Uncle Zhao and Da Zhu already rested.

  After the last mound of earth was smoothed and sprinkled with Pale Moon flowers, Zhi Xuan stood motionless under the shadow of a large banyan tree. Nalan Yu knelt by his mother’s grave, while Nalan Shu stood by Zhi Xuan’s side, trying to stifle her recurring sobs.

  "Cry all you wish, Shu," Zhi Xuan said without turning, his voice merging with the sighing night wind. "Tears are the way mortals acknowledge they have a heart. Do not let your cultivation freeze the feelings that make you human."

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  Nalan Shu leaned her head for a moment on Zhi Xuan’s thin shoulder. "Uncle, why do you never look sad? From the death of Uncle Zhao until Mother tonight, your face is always like water in an old well. Do you truly feel no more pain?"

  Zhi Xuan exhaled, a white puff of vapor leaving his mouth in the chilling night air. "The pain is there, Shu. But I have learned that death is not a thief who robs life, but a tailor who finishes a garment. Your mother has finished the stitching of her life beautifully. Why should I ruin that beauty with excessive lamentation?"

  Nalan Yu rose from the grave, wiping his face with the sleeve of his sect robes. "But Uncle, Mother loved you dearly. She always said you were the only person in this village whose soul was the loneliest, even though you were surrounded by us. Is that why you refuse to leave?"

  Zhi Xuan gazed at the sandalwood headstone with a profound look. "Your mother was a wise woman. Loneliness does not mean there are no people around, Yu. Loneliness is when you have memories too vast to share with those who have so little time. But in this village, that loneliness became a warm friend."

  "Then, what will you do now?" Nalan Shu asked, releasing her hold on Zhi Xuan’s shoulder. "We must return to the sect tomorrow. Our hearts are heavy leaving you alone in that old workshop."

  Zhi Xuan turned slowly, looking at the two youths who had become practitioners. "You must go back. Live out your destinies out there. Do not let the shadow of an old woodworker hinder your steps toward the peak."

  "Uncle Zhi," Yu held Zhi Xuan’s wrinkled hand, "if one day I reach a higher realm, may I take you to our sect? The air there is purer, and you won't need to hold an axe or a chisel anymore."

  Zhi Xuan chuckled, this time his laughter sounding clearer in the silence of the night. "Yu, if I let go of the chisel, I will truly become a corpse. Let me be here. Carving wood is my way of speaking with the world."

  "Promise us one thing, Uncle," Nalan Shu said with a pleading look. "Do not disappear without letting us know. If you feel your time is near, send a bird messenger. We will come immediately, no matter how far away we are."

  Zhi Xuan fell silent for a moment, looking at the two faces full of concern. "I promise. Now, go home. Rest for your journey tomorrow."

  After the siblings walked away toward the village, Zhi Xuan remained standing at the peak of the burial hill. The silence of the night enveloped him like an invisible cloak. He stood still amidst the expanse of wooden markers that were now beginning to weather. Forty years of mortal life had eroded the body he borrowed, but his inner self felt increasingly dense, as if every wood shaving he had discarded over the decades had been replaced by fine threads of law.

  "Forty years," Zhi Xuan murmured, lifting his wrinkled palm. "Time is the one thing a mortal cannot fight. But for those who cross eternity, it is the only thing feared in an endless journey."

  The next ten years passed like a gust of wind across the Yao Gu mountains, leaving no trace. Cangyun Village had grown; the muddy paths were now paved with river stones, and the woodworking shop at the edge of the village had become an old structure that seemed to merge with the earth.

  Zhi Xuan now sat at the threshold, his mortal frame having reached the final twilight. His sparse white hair hung thin, and his eyes, once as sharp as an eagle's, now appeared cloudy, covered by the film of age. He looked like an old, dried tree, merely waiting for one more winter to finally topple.

  Before him, the road was filled with mortal residents traveling to safer regions; trade routes were becoming deserted as mortals began to cultivate. Furthermore, hundreds of miles from Cangyun Village was a place known for the battles of various sect factions vying for treasures.

  The setting sun hung low, washing the face of Cangyun Village in a deep, blood-red hue. Zhi Xuan, with fingers that trembled yet still held the remnants of a craftsman's resolve, was trying to tie a bundle of twigs in front of his workshop.

  "Grandpa Zhi! Stop, let us do it!" shouted a middle-aged man, one of the remaining villagers, as he ran closer. He immediately took the twigs from Zhi Xuan’s wrinkled hands. "Grandpa, you’ve heard the news from the merchants, haven't you? Forces from the Thunder Sword Sect and the Black Valley Alliance have started fighting at the forest borders. This village won't survive if they bring the battle here!"

  Zhi Xuan slowly leaned his back against the workshop’s termite-eaten pillar. He regulated his breath, which now sounded short and heavy. "Let them fight, Ah-Lang. Heaven has its own way of surging, and the earth has its own way of accepting blood."

  "But Grandpa! We are all leaving tomorrow morning!" A young woman, carrying her child, approached with a face full of anxiety. "Master Nalan Yu and Mistress Nalan Shu sent a bird messenger; they asked us to ensure Grandpa joins the refugee group heading west toward their sect's territory. They will meet us at the border!"

  Zhi Xuan looked at the small child in the woman's arms. The child laughed innocently, pulling at the edge of Zhi Xuan’s thin grey robe. Zhi Xuan extended one finger, letting the child grasp it.

  "Go, child," Zhi Xuan said in an incredibly low voice, barely more than the hiss of wind through a door crack. "Take your child to a place where he can grow up seeing the sun without the shadow of a sword. That is your destiny."

  "Then what about Grandpa?" the woman asked, tears welling up. "Grandpa has been like our own grandfather. Who will feed you? Who will help you when winter comes? This workshop is already collapsing!"

  Zhi Xuan chuckled, the sound of his laughter this time no longer like old paper, but like the chime of a cracked bell. "This workshop... it has kept me company for fifty years. If it collapses, then let it collapse with me. I am wood that is too old to be moved to new soil, child. If forced, my roots will break."

  A group of village children, who used to listen to Zhi Xuan’s stories about strange beasts from the forest, crowded around his feet. One of them, a little boy with a runny nose, hugged Zhi Xuan’s thin knees.

  "Grandpa Zhi, come with us! I’ll share my mantau bun with you on the road later," the boy said, his voice raspy from holding back tears. "Mother said there's a bigger river in the new place. Grandpa can make wooden boats there!"

  Zhi Xuan stroked the boy’s head very gently. "The river here is enough for me, Little Yu. Grandpa has finished making his boat. My boat does not need water; it only needs time."

  "Grandpa Zhi, please don't be stubborn!" Ah-Lang pleaded again, his face red with frustration and affection. "This is a matter of life and death! Those practitioners... they don't care about commoners like us. They will destroy this village just to find a single herb or treasure!"

  Zhi Xuan slowly opened his clouded eyes, looking straight at the village road now filled with refugee carts—carts that were mostly his own handiwork from the past, now aging along with him.

  "Life and death..." Zhi Xuan murmured. He took a deep breath, as if inhaling the entire scent of Cangyun Village for the last time. The scent of sandalwood dust, the smell of wet earth, and the lingering fragrance of Auntie Mei’s ginger porridge that seemed to remain in the air. "For you, moving is the way to live. For me, staying here is the way to go home."

  He pointed toward the hill behind the village with his wooden cane. "There, Zhao is waiting for me. Da Zhu is probably cursing because there's no one to sharpen his chisel, and Mei... she must have prepared a seat beside her eternal tavern. How could I possibly leave my own home?"

  "But this is no longer a safe home, Grandpa!" shouted one of the village youths from atop a cart.

  Zhi Xuan sat back in his rocking chair and closed his eyes. "Go. Do not let the day turn dark before you reach the border. Give my regards to Nalan Shu and Nalan Yu. Tell them... their uncle has kept his promise. Uncle hasn't disappeared; uncle is just resting where he belongs."

  The villagers, with heavy hearts and stifled sobs, finally began to move. One by one, they bowed in respect toward the old man at the threshold. They knew no words could move Zhi Xuan’s heart. As the last cart disappeared behind the hill and the clamor of humanity faded into a haunting silence, the sky truly turned dark.

  Zhi Xuan merely closed his eyes in the stillness; this old body was, to him, but an illusion he created to understand Reincarnation. The night continued to darken as flashes of brilliant light struck the gates of Cangyun Village. Zhi Xuan did not open his eyes; his chair continued to rock to a low, rhythmic hum.

  "Asura... they always fight to seize power; nothing possesses the intent of contentment," Zhi Xuan murmured. The ground around him trembled as explosions of light from the war devouring the surrounding small villages shook the earth. "Even under the shelter of the Heavenly Leaf Sacred Pavilion, the western region is not exempt from the nature of the Asura."