The old man paced out of the Treasury Chamber. Qiu remained there for a long while before finally bidding him farewell. He said he still had to keep traveling the world. The old man before him was like the very first marker of the Way, fixed in place when Heaven and Earth were still a formless chaos. He had to remain steadfast.
Only by standing firm could he steady people's hearts, and steady the turbulent world of mortals.
But he was different.
His Way was to wander, to open new roads.
So he could not stop. In this life, this path full of struggle and searching would be given a lighthearted name by those who came after him: traveling the world. During his final meeting with this Master, Qiu had understood the breadth of the man's aspirations.
"You mean to create sixty years of flourishing Spring and Autumn for all living beings?"
Qiu departed. Later, he would write the stories of those flourishing years into a classic, naming it simply Spring and Autumn. Zhuang Zhou personally saw Qiu off. Standing atop the city walls, he watched the man—whose fate had never quite aligned with his from their very first meeting—leave.
He watched as the man's back remained as resolute as ever.
Was there anyone in this world more stubborn, more steadfast than him?
Zhuang Zhou turned around and saw the white-haired old man.
The old man had lost all trace of a cultivator's cultivation and was nearing the end of his life. Even Zhuang Zhou, carefree and unrestrained as he was, could not keep a faint sadness from rising in his eyes. But it soon vanished. He simply threw back his head and laughed, free and easy, seeming not to notice that the old fellow had grown so frail.
He