The Tomb-Guarding Old Man

As Chen Nan walked out of the snow maple grove, the sight not far away made him pause in slight surprise.

Three crude thatched huts had been built against the mountainside. In the clearing before them stood a gaunt old man.

The old man's hair and beard were completely white, his long beard hanging to his chest. Deep wrinkles covered his face, the marks carved by time. His frame was so frail that a gust of wind seemed capable of knocking him over, making him appear exceptionally weak.

The moment he saw the old man, an indescribably complicated feeling rose in Chen Nan's heart.

There was unfamiliarity, a sense of closeness, a faint and barely perceptible loss, and utter confusion.

This was the first living person he had seen since returning from the dead. That long-lost breath of human life loosened the taut strings in his heart ever so slightly, yet what followed was an even deeper bewilderment and helplessness.

Leaning on a battered cane, the old man trembled as he walked toward Chen Nan. Every step seemed exceptionally difficult, his body swaying slightly, making one instinctively worry that he might fall the very next moment.

Chen Nan hurried forward, covering three steps in two, and carefully supported the old man by the arm. His voice carried a hint of urgency. "Sir, walk slowly. Be careful not to fall."

The old man turned his head and glanced at Chen Nan. A trace of gentleness flashed through his eyes, then he waved his hand, signaling Chen Nan to let go, and spoke a few words in a mildly reproachful tone.

But Chen Nan frowned, his eyes filled with confusion.

The old man's words were obscure and difficult to understand, their syllables strange. Chen Nan did not understand a single word.

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