At the End of This Life

Life goes on.

From that day on, Qin Zhaoer would go to the fabric shop every few days to buy some brightly colored fabrics and make clothes, but she was never seen wearing them out.

Even the White Dew rarely visits anymore.

Once, it excitedly ran over to ask for dates, but as soon as it reached the outside of the courtyard wall, it paused, turned around and left, and didn't show up for half a month.

The jokes made by the aunties in town became increasingly risqué each day.

Qin Zhaoer initially blushed and spat at people, but later she could even laugh and chime in, making those old hands feel embarrassed instead.

For the next six months, the gate to the Qin Clan Courtyard was closed more often than it was open.

Life went on like this, all sweet and blissful.

In the past, Qin Zhaoer's unbridled behavior was domineering, disruptive, and stubborn.

The current recklessness, however, is clinging.

He was forging iron, and she would sit on a small stool beside him, resting her chin on his arm to read; he was reading medical books, and she would hang from behind him, her face pressed against the back of his neck; even in broad daylight, with clothes hanging in the yard, she would dare to stand on tiptoe and kiss him in the full sunlight, and then she would be perfectly justified in doing so.

Her eyes look different now.

In the past, when she looked at him, her eyes held respect, fear, and hidden thoughts.

Looking at them now, those eyes are brimming with undisguised joy, shining brightly, as if they could see the days to come.

Qin Wangchuan said east, and she stopped arguing about going west.

It's not that I'm afraid, it's that I'm too lazy to argue.

Whether they go east or west, the two of them will always walk together.

Life goes on, year after year.

The people in the town have changed time and again.

The winter that Uncle Lu left was particularly cold. The noodle stall's signboard was taken down, and Qin Zhaoer asked for his old soup pot, placing it on the stove, saying it made her feel more at ease.

Uncle Song closed his blacksmith shop, leaving behind the sledgehammer he had used his whole life to Qin Wangchuan before he left it.

Jiang Zhuo died of old age.

In his later years, with Qin Wangchuan taking care of him constantly, he remained healthy and did not suffer from any illness.

The day I left, I was asleep, peacefully, with a slight smile on my face.

They did not suffer the same torment as Confucius did back then.

For an elderly person who has reached the end of their life, this is already a rare and fulfilling ending.

Wen's father and mother also passed away one after another.

Before they passed away, the two elders were at ease with everything else, but there was one thing they couldn't let go of.

Despite being married for so many years, Qin Wangchuan and Zhao'er have remained childless, unable to have a son or daughter.

The old man never got to hold his grandson, which became the last regret of his life.

However, this was something the two of them did intentionally.

They are ultimately not from this world; they have come here, and one day they will leave.

If the child is indeed born, how will the child cope? What kind of burden and trouble will it bring in the future?

After much thought, I've decided it's best not to keep this bloodline.

The reason was simply unspeakable, and the two elders could only leave with that lingering regret.

After returning from the funeral, Qin Zhaoer cried in his arms for half the night, and he just held her like that, patting her back again and again.

The temples of both of them were beginning to turn gray.

There's really no need for that.

With their cultivation level, let alone white hair, even if their appearance remained unchanged for a hundred years, it would be nothing more than raising a hand.

But neither of them used it.

To live a fulfilling life in this Mortal World, one must go all the way.

Birth, aging, illness, and death; daily necessities like firewood, rice, oil, and salt—none of these should be lacking.

If everyone in the town has become hunched over, while the couple's hair remains black, then what do all these decades of neighborly relations and lifelong friendships amount to?

So they let the years take their toll on them.

Wrinkles crept up the corners of my eyes, my back slowly bent, I walked slower, and I slept less.

When Qin Zhaoer first plucked out a white hair, she felt heartbroken for a long time. Later, she simply stopped plucking them, saying that it would look better if the white hairs were neatly arranged.

One autumn later.

Qin Wangchuan exhausted his last bit of cultivation and fell ill.

At first it was just a cough, but later it became impossible for him to get out of bed.

The town's new generation of doctors came to see him, took his pulse, and couldn't say a word for a long time.

The pulse is very steady, but the lamp oil is almost gone, and no one can add more.

Once the news spread, people came to visit in droves.

Among them were the children and grandchildren of the patients he had treated, longtime customers who had used the ironware he had made their whole lives, and neighbors who had knelt by the roadside during the Welcoming Deity Festival and whose hair had now turned white.

Zhou Heng also rushed back from outside Qing Prefecture.

That sleeve was still empty.

This time, however, he was accompanied not only by his wife but also by his two sons.

The eldest son has already taken over the family business, and the youngest is already as tall as a person.

He sat by the bed for a whole day, and when he left, he stood at the gate of the courtyard for a long time, his back hunched over so badly.

Fan Yuan was long gone; the new generation of the Soaring Tower had arrived. He respectfully kowtowed three times before the bed, addressing the new master as "Grandmaster."

Qin Zhaoer stayed by the bedside, never leaving her side.

She had grown old; her head of silver hair was tied up in a bun, but her eyes remained the same as before.

But these days, those eyes are always red.

She didn't cry out loud, but her hand trembled as she fed him the medicine.

He fell asleep at night, and she sat by the bed watching him. As she watched, tears welled up in her eyes, which she quickly wiped away, afraid he would wake up and see them.

Several times I couldn't help but want to say, "Use your Spiritual Power."

It won't hurt so much if you use it.

But she also knew that Qin Wangchuan wouldn't use it.

Those words stuck in my throat.

At dusk that day, there were no footsteps outside the courtyard gate, but suddenly a figure appeared inside the house.

A White Deer stood quietly before the bed.

Nearly a century has passed, White Dew solar term is no longer what it used to be.

Its body was a whole size larger than before, its white fur was as smooth as jade, and between its antlers, there was a faint flow of clouds.

Over the years, all the spirits and beasts in the mountains have shown it respect. Even cultivators would address it politely as Lord Deer.

But at this moment, this White Deer, which had even survived the Thunder Tribulation, simply lowered its head and gently rested it on the edge of the bed, just like the greedy little deer from many years ago.

It gazed at the emaciated old man on the bed for a very long time.

Then, he spoke in a low voice:

"Gentlemen."

Even someone as remarkable as you... cannot escape birth, aging, sickness, and death.

"Then we shall cultivate the Tao..."

Qin Wangchuan lay on the bed, his breath barely audible.

Upon hearing this, he responded with a very soft question.

"Escape?"

Why did you run away?

White Dew was taken aback.

"But..." it said, head bowed, its voice full of confusion, "Who in the world doesn't want to live forever? Sir, don't you want to?"

"Yes," Qin Wangchuan answered softly, yet frankly, "But not in this world."

Even if one could live forever, one would be trapped in this small world for life, unable to escape...

"What's the point of such immortality?"

White Dew remained silent.

It couldn't answer, and it didn't quite understand.

Those gentle, deer-like eyes were filled with doubt, but looking at the withered appearance of the person on the bed, she didn't dare to ask those questions.

Qin Wangchuan, however, seemed to see right through its thoughts.

"White Dew".

White Dew quickly moved closer, burying herself in those already somewhat unfocused eyes.

"Sir, I'm here."

"Your aptitude is not bad." Qin Wangchuan spoke slowly and deliberately, "If one day you are able to leave this world... then come to the Inner-Domain Qin Clan and find me."

"The Qin Clan?" White Dew was taken aback. "Which Qin Clan?"

A distant, almost nostalgic look suddenly filled Qin Wangchuan's cloudy eyes.

Ultimately, he does miss home.

"The biggest, strongest, and most glorious one you will ever see in your life."

"That is my Qin Clan."

"This matter cannot be rushed, nor can it be forced."

"Just let things take their natural course."

As if in a final burst of energy before death, Qin Wangchuan spoke at length, a rare occurrence for him.

But in the end, that last bit of strength he had been holding on to finally dissipated.

"The path of cultivation is long and winding, stretching as far as the eye can see."

"Just as mortals can become immortals, so too can deer."

"I'll go first."

"You... slow down, slow down..."

Everything before my eyes began to blur little by little.