What Is Love in This World?

When they heard that the Zhao Family had already established roots in the Cultivation World and that the family now had four Qi Refining cultivators, Zhao Zhijing and Zhao Xuanyi were thrilled beyond measure.

After exchanging a glance, the two quickly confessed that the Zhao Family on their side also had a cultivator.

Zhao Yujie, fifteen years old, possessed Gold Wood Fire Three Spiritual Roots and was at the Qi Refining First Layer.

He was Zhao Xuanyi's third son and Zhao Sheng's great-grandson.

Zhao Sheng was exceptionally delighted upon hearing this news.

But when he learned another unexpected piece of news, he abruptly rose to his feet and asked, nearly losing his composure, "What did you say? Yuyan is still alive? Where is she now?"

Zhao Xuanyi nodded. "Grandfather, Great-Aunt is indeed still alive. She now lives in seclusion in Moling City—you should know the place. Jie'er is there as well."

At this, a radiance suddenly appeared on Zhao Sheng's aged, gaunt face. Unable to wait another moment, he said, "No, I must go find her now."

With that, his figure flashed, and he instantly arrived at the door.

"Old Ninth..."

Before Zhao Zhijing could call out a second time, Zhao Sheng had already vanished from the room.

Zhao Zhijing and Zhao Xuanyi looked at each other, speechless.

A day later, the driver Zhao Er urged the carriage swiftly into Moling City, finally stopping before a small courtyard.

After stepping down from the carriage, Zhao Sheng looked at the words Zhao Estate on the plaque above the entrance. His heart was filled with emotion, and an even deeper guilt welled up within him.

Back then, he had only concerned himself with arranging his relatives' escape, neglecting Wang Yuyan.

He had always believed that she and the Wang Family had all perished in Fragrant Swallow Valley. He had never expected her to survive that calamity.

Just as Zhao Sheng slowly recalled some events from those years, the sound of a qin suddenly drifted over from beyond the courtyard wall.

The melody came in fits and starts, like a beginner playing an unfamiliar tune.

Yet as it entered Zhao Sheng's ears, an ancient qin melody that had lain buried for many years surged into his heart.

High Mountain Flowing Water.

Ah, it had truly been far too long since he had played it.

With that thought, Zhao Sheng lightly tapped the ground with his feet. His body slowly rose into the air, then drifted over the wall and landed in a garden of mountains and water.

At that moment, in the Octagonal Pavilion at the center of the garden, a handsome young man sat upright behind a qin table, awkwardly plucking the ancient qin before him.

At the sight, Zhao Sheng suddenly felt as though he had returned to that afternoon seventy years ago—two beauties walking side by side, their lovely eyes gleaming, their clever smiles radiant.

Just then, the youth noticed Zhao Sheng. His expression changed drastically, and he immediately asked with guarded caution, "Who are you? Why have you trespassed into my Zhao Family?"

Looking at the youth, who bore some resemblance to himself, Zhao Sheng revealed a kindly smile and said gently, "Child, don't be afraid! This Old Man means no harm. I came today only to see an old friend I have not seen in a long time."

Yet the moment he spoke, Zhao Yujie became even more tense.

"Who exactly are you? If you won't say, don't blame me for being rude!"

As he spoke, Zhao Yujie flipped his right hand, and two Vermilion Talismans immediately appeared in his grasp.

Zhao Sheng could not help laughing. He had never imagined that his first meeting with his great-grandson would be so drawn swords and bent bows.

He could not exactly fight his great-grandson. That would be far too ridiculous.

Besides, revealing his identity would not help either. With no proof beyond his words, how could his great-grandson possibly believe him?

Fortunately, Zhao Sheng had not grown so old that he was utterly muddleheaded. Upon seeing the ancient qin, he quickly thought of a solution.

"Wait!"

Seeing his great-grandson itching to fight, Zhao Sheng hurriedly said, "What you played just now was wrong. High Mountain Flowing Water isn't played like that."

Zhao Yujie was astonished upon hearing this. "You know the piece I was playing was High Mountain Flowing Water?"

Zhao Sheng smiled and said smugly, "I composed this qin piece, High Mountain Flowing Water. Tell me—would I know it or not?"

"Impossible!"

Zhao Yujie suddenly flew into a rage and said coldly, "Great-Grandmother said that only a few people in this world know this piece. You cannot possibly be one of them."

Hearing this, Zhao Sheng smiled somewhat slyly. "Why is it impossible? People may lie, but a melody will not. Come, let This Old Man teach you what it means to seek a kindred soul through High Mountain Flowing Water."

As he spoke, Zhao Sheng extended his right hand. His five fingers curled and stretched as he pressed downward through the air, and five streams of Purple-Blue Innate True Qi burst from his fingertips, instantly linking to the qin strings two zhang away.

As Zhao Sheng's five fingers repeatedly pressed, curled, and flicked through the air, the qin strings were continuously plucked by the Innate True Qi. One beautiful, ethereal note after another rang out, swiftly spreading from the garden to the surrounding courtyards.

As Zhao Sheng played, the music was at times lofty and soaring, its rhythm natural, rising and falling like high mountains; at times it was rippling and winding, gentle as flowing water, its meaning inexhaustible.

Hearing this familiar melody, Zhao Yujie stood dumbfounded, his heart filled with doubt. Who is this one-armed old man? Could he be...

Zheng! Yet halfway through the piece, the strings suddenly fell into disorder, letting out a piercing twang.

Everything came to an abrupt halt.

Zhao Sheng's body stiffened. Slowly, he turned his head toward the garden's side gate, where a frail old woman with a head full of white hair stood.

Fifty years of wind, frost, rain, and snow had worn away the beauty she once possessed, yet Zhao Sheng still recognized her identity at a single glance.

The two stared at one another for a long time. Only after Zhao Sheng's surging heart gradually calmed did he finally manage to say, "Yuyan, I... I'm back."

Wang Yuyan looked at the one-armed old man beneath the Octagonal Pavilion, her feelings incomparably complicated.

Fifty years was far, far too long—enough to erase too many hopes and passions.

She had thought she would lose control of her emotions, yet when they truly met again, Wang Yuyan found herself extraordinarily calm. It was like a wife who had lived alone for decades suddenly seeing the husband who had not returned for so long; he still felt just as familiar.

Wang Yuyan slowly walked up to Zhao Sheng and greeted him calmly. "Long time no see. Have you been well?"

Zhao Sheng suddenly fell silent for a moment, then said softly, "I've been well. What about you?"

"Not well at all!"

Zhao Sheng was instantly struck speechless.

Seeing the look on his face, Wang Yuyan suddenly laughed.

For an instant, it was as though they had returned to the past.

With disdain, she said, "After all these years, how did you become so foolish? Where did all your sweet talk from your younger days go?"

Zhao Sheng shook his head and sighed. "Sigh, I'm old! So old I'm nearly muddle-headed. You're old too. We're both old now!"

Rather than reply, Wang Yuyan changed the subject. "Where is Yuqi? Is she well? Is her temper still as impatient as before?"

Zhao Sheng's expression stiffened at those words. After hesitating for a moment, he said in a low voice, "Three months ago, Qi Mei passed away."

The smile that had just appeared on Wang Yuyan's face vanished without a trace.

After a long while, tears glimmered in her eyes as she murmured to herself, "Dead... they're all dead. The Wang Family has only me left now."

Zhao Sheng hurriedly comforted her. "You still have me."

Wang Yuyan shook her head after hearing that and said coldly, "You aren't a member of my Wang Family."

Zhao Sheng felt somewhat embarrassed, so he stressed, "I'm the Wang Family's son-in-law. Besides, Chengle, Yujie, and many of our children and grandchildren carry the Wang Family's blood as well. Yuyan, you aren't alone."

Cough! Suddenly, A cough interrupted their conversation.

Looking to the side, they saw Zhao Yujie standing in the Octagonal Pavilion, his face full of awkwardness.

Three days later, in the northwestern corner of the Zhao Clan Ancestral Burial Ground, a brand-new grave had been erected. Zhao Xuanyi and his wife, along with Zhao Yujie and several other great-grandchildren, wore solemn expressions as they performed the grand rite of three bows and nine kowtows before Wang Yuqi's gravestone.

At the sight of this, Wang Yuyan, standing beside Zhao Sheng, was already sobbing uncontrollably.

Perhaps having suffered too great a shock, Wang Yuyan suddenly fell ill on the very day they returned, unable to rise again. Out of guilt, Zhao Sheng disregarded his own fatigue and stayed by her side every day.

Because she was too old, Wang Yuyan's illness never showed any improvement. At first, she could still get out of bed and walk around, but later, her body grew so frail that she could no longer leave her bed.

While Wang Yuyan was ill, Zhao Sheng cared for her while secretly arranging for Zhao Xuanyi, Zhao Yujie, and some of the Zhao Family members to migrate to Dragon Carp Lake.

The Zhao Family had only just established its footing at Dragon Carp Lake and was desperately short of people.

Moving part of the clan there at this time would quickly solidify the family's foundations.

Decades ago, Zhao Sheng had already seen through Zhao Chengle and his wife. One was lazy by nature, while the other was a cultivation fanatic. Neither was suited to managing a family.

Zhao Xuanyi was the family head on the Nanyang side, so his abilities naturally went without saying.

Once he arrived at Dragon Carp Lake, he would be able to help Zhao Chengle and his wife manage the mundane affairs and the ordinary clan members.

As batches of Zhao Family members continued migrating to Dragon Carp Lake, time too slipped away bit by bit.

Three years later, the autumn wind was bleak, and fallen leaves whirled through the air.

At the Zhao Family Ancestral Burial Ground, another gravestone stood beside Wang Yuqi's grave.

Zhao Sheng, his hair completely white and his face covered in wrinkles, sat on the stone steps before the gravestone. Staring at the lines carved upon it, he looked dazed and remained speechless for a long time.

At last, as the sun sank in the west and dusk descended, Zhao Sheng shifted slightly, then suddenly let out a long sigh and murmured to the gravestone, "Yuyan, I said I would give you a proper name, but while you were alive, you never agreed. You really wanted me to owe you for a lifetime.

"Sigh, I wrote Qi Mei a poem to pledge our love. Now I'll give you one too, so that when you see Qi Mei, you won't say I was unfair."

The autumn wind swept away the withered leaves that had fallen upon the gravestone, revealing several lines of writing: "I ask the world: what is love, that it makes one pledge life and death?

Paired fliers from north to south, How many chills and summers have those old wings endured?

The joy of meeting, the sorrow of parting— Amid them lie lovesick sons and daughters.

You must have words to say:

Beyond ten thousand miles of layered clouds, through evening snow upon a thousand mountains, Where can a lone shadow fly?"

The setting sun slowly sank, while the bleak autumn wind caressed the words on the gravestone again and again.

Supporting his frail, aged body, Zhao Sheng rose from the stone steps. Bent over, he staggered away into the distance...