Several days later, before the side room of the old farmer who lived alone.
Qin He withdrew the Gold-Black Law around his body and softened his footsteps to the utmost.
He could clearly sense the faint fluctuations of life within. They were no longer as frail as a lamp running out of oil, but instead carried the unsteady weakness of someone newly awakened.
He raised a hand and gently pushed open the wooden door. With a soft creak, it shattered the silence in the room.
On the earthen kang, Wei Yuanji leaned half against the wall. He was covered in the coarse cloth bedding the old farmer had brought him. His face was still pale as paper, and on that gaunt face with its prominent cheekbones, only his eyes held traces of bewilderment and exhaustion.
Hearing the sound, he slowly lifted his gaze. When his eyes fell upon Qin He, he froze at first. Then his pupils abruptly contracted, and an incredulous light gradually welled up in his clouded eyes.
He opened his mouth, but only a dry, hoarse sound came from his throat, as though something were lodged there. For a long while, he could not utter a complete word.
Time seemed to have had its fast-forward button pressed by an invisible hand. In the blink of an eye, decades had passed.
The prosperity of Great Li in the Eastern Land, the clamor of the group, the days and nights they had traveled side by side—all had long since become blurry fragments in his memories.
He had changed from a high-spirited, slightly simple-minded youth into this haggard, weather-beaten figure. Even his cultivation had been crippled, reducing him to a mortal who could only struggle on for a wretched existence in the barren mountains.
Yet the man before him, apart