Can one achieve longevity?

Was the Millet Dream Rice still not cooked?

Those words seemed to awaken Qi WuHuo. His gaze slowly shifted. He saw the bundle on the table, the few books spread open beside it, and the three strings of copper coins Mr. Su had given him.

He saw the green plants he tended by the window, the cabbages piled in the corner, and the courtyard outside. The firewood he had yet to finish chopping. He was lying on the wooden bed he had made himself; a little warmth still lingered on the bedding. He closed his eyes, then opened them again, the light returning to his gaze.

"Yes... The Millet Dream Rice at my house still hasn't cooked through."

At the old man's urging, the youth got up and tidied away the dishes. He ladled the Millet Dream Rice from the pot, cut up a plate of pickled vegetables, and set everything on the table. He sat down and picked up his chopsticks, but then paused.

"Boy, the food's getting cold. What are you sitting there spacing out for?"

At the table, the old man took a bite of Millet Dream Rice and then picked up a crisp, appetizing morsel of vegetables. Only then did he point at Qi WuHuo with a laugh. "What is it? The dream's over, but you're still thinking about it?"

Qi WuHuo raised his eyes but said nothing.

A trace of contemplation showed in his gaze.

Outside the window, the snow had stopped. Birds perched on the branches, preening their feathers. The branches swayed, shaking down the snow, and the scene was full of rustic charm. On the table sat a rough earthenware bowl of Millet Dream Rice and crisp vegetables, the cabbage dotted with rings of chili—charming to behold.

Some time had passed since Qi WuHuo awoke from the dream. The Millet Dream Rice had slowly gone cold. The food tasted like nothing to him, and he set down his chopsticks. In a calm voice, he said to the old man, "Old man... I just had a dream..."

He paused, looking toward the bed. "That jade pillow..."

The old man chuckled.

"Oh? The jade pillow? A wandering Taoist priest gave it to me."

"He said it helped with sleep and soothed the spirit, guiding one into a dream."

Qi WuHuo nodded in silence.

The old man smiled and asked, "So it's just as that Taoist said—you slept quite soundly."

"But whatever kind of dream you had, there's no need to take it too much to heart. Life is a dream, and a dream is life. We live in this world, so how can we know we aren't figures in a dream?"

"Did you gain anything from it, WuHuo?"

Qi WuHuo lowered his eyes. Though it had been a dream, everything he had experienced in it remained so clear. Perhaps the minor details had already slipped from his memory, but the great events were still vivid, still within his grasp.

If he could walk that path again—

He could travel it more smoothly than before, accomplish with greater ease what he had only achieved at the end of his previous life. But what of it? The youth suddenly found it all dull.

Seventy years drifted away like clouds and smoke; eight hundred li away, the Taoist returned.

"Was it only a dream...?"

Qi WuHuo sighed for a long while before replying:

"The ways of honor and disgrace, the fortunes of hardship and success, the principles of gain and loss, the passions of life and death..."

"I've seen them all..."

The old man stroked his beard and laughed. "Excellent."

After the meal, Qi WuHuo washed the dishes and wiped his hands dry. He put away what Mr. Su had given him, stowing two strings of large coins and keeping the other in the cabinet for easy access.

He chopped wood, swept the courtyard, and washed clothes, just as he always did. Nothing had changed.

Only when he had some free time did he pick up the few volumes of old books Mr. Su had given him.

They were texts to prepare him for next year's Spring Examination, filled with the knowledge required for the imperial examinations. Some passages were difficult to understand, and Mr. Su had added explanations in neat red-ink annotations.

These were all things Qi WuHuo had yet to study.

Some bureaucrats and scholars might not even be able to explain them thoroughly. Mr. Su's understanding was profound and incisive; he was famous throughout the prefecture. That was why the families of so many high-ranking officials sent their children to study at the academy in this small town.

Qi WuHuo turned a few pages. Before he had even begun to read, words poured through his mind like flowing water—the contents of these very books. It was as though he already knew them by heart, as though he had pored over them more than a dozen times. Before he looked, they had already risen freely in his heart.

Qi WuHuo's hands paused.

He was certain he had never read these books.

Except in the dream...

An absurd thought rose in his heart.

"Could it be..."

"That dream..."

He swiftly recalled the contents of the book in his mind. Though he had never read it before, its words surfaced in his heart with astonishing clarity. He opened the volume and rapidly flipped through it. The contents were exactly as they had appeared in his mind!

He checked the other books. They were all the same.

Not only was he thoroughly familiar with their contents, he had also absorbed their subtleties and deeper meanings, understanding them inside out. Now, as he read Mr. Su's annotations, he could even see where Mr. Su's explanations of these classics fell short. Mr. Su was renowned throughout the prefecture, and his insights were still remarkable—but they were not without flaws.

It was as though Qi WuHuo was no longer a youth of fourteen.

It was as though he were Master WuHuo, the white-haired scholar who had exhausted the classics, served as both general and minister, and stood peerless among the great scholars of the world. After a long while, Qi WuHuo put all three books back. His expression was calm and composed, and the suspicions in his heart grew clearer.

The powerful emotions he had experienced in the dream had faded, but the knowledge gained from reading seemed to remain. It did not show itself in ordinary moments, but when he encountered something familiar, his thoughts could turn over it as naturally as an instinct.

Though it had only been a dream—

The books he had read and the things he had seen were not mere illusions.

Qi WuHuo rose and looked at the jade pillow.

The pillow was made entirely of white jade. Six tadpole-like cloud patterns adorned both its upper and lower sides, with clouds carved in relief and curling around them. It seemed to be an object of the Daoist school. When he reached out to touch it, it was as if he had triggered something. The cloud patterns seemed to flash for an instant—or perhaps it was only a dreamlike illusion. Then came a sharp crack, and the pillow was covered in countless fractures.

The old man's regretful voice came from behind him.

"Alas, what a shame. What a shame."

"I got it from that wandering Taoist priest twenty-seven years ago. I never expected it to be so fragile; it broke after just one use. That Taoist must have been making a fool of me."

Qi WuHuo turned and saw the old man standing behind him, his purple robe half-hidden in light and half in shadow. At a glance, it almost looked like a purple Daoist robe. He watched Qi WuHuo with a faint smile.

Qi WuHuo knew the old man was no ordinary person. After a moment's silence, he asked, "Old man... you said a Taoist?"

The old man chuckled. "That's right. He called himself True Man Huolong."

"More than twenty years ago, we met by chance on the road. He lost three rounds of gambling to me in a row, so he gave me the pillow to settle his debt. It was only a thing for sleeping on; it wasn't worth much."

"WuHuo, you don't need to worry about it."

"If I remember right, there should be more than one of these pillows. I think there's another one. Next time I see him, I'll ask him to give it back."

Qi WuHuo set aside his doubts, poured tea, and treated the old man no differently than before. Though he now knew the old man's identity, he showed him no greater deference; nor did the events of the dream make him presumptuous or arrogant.

Holding his teacup, he thought over what he had learned and murmured:

"Demons, ghosts, and monsters exist in this world. A monster is merely a wild beast that has gained a spirit; it still lives and dies."

"A ghost is merely an obsession that lingers."

"But..."

Qi WuHuo fell silent. His eyes half-closed as the seemingly real, seemingly false images from the dream churned in his mind. Seventy years had passed in that absurd dream: studying, entering office, rising to the highest ranks as general and minister, the glittering mortal world, emperors and generals, fame and beautiful women—all had streamed past him. Suddenly, he sat upright, composed himself, and asked:

"May I ask, old man—are there truly immortals in this world?"

The old man's smile faded. "There are."

The youth asked again:

"Can they attain eternal life?"

The old man straightened his robes.

He sat upright, composed himself, and answered:

"Yes."