At this moment, Qin Ming watched the small figure kneeling in the dirt, grass clippings stuck to his forehead, and suddenly felt that this was good.
From beginning to end, Qin Ming had never taught them how to cultivate.
At first, he had not wanted to disrupt this worldly cultivation.
Later, he felt there was no need.
The day Zhou the Peddler entered the city carrying his burden, his face bore a contented smile. When the woman handed over the soup, her eyes held an ordinary warmth. A-Fu and A-Yuan crouched on the ground, playing with pebbles, fretting over a piece of candy and foolishly laughing over a single remark.
They did not need to live for ten thousand years.
They only needed to live out this lifetime.
Joy, anger, sorrow, delight; birth, aging, sickness, death; firewood, rice, oil, salt; reunion and togetherness.
That was a complete life.
A-Fu rose to his feet. After all, he was getting old, and his knees had become stiff after kneeling so long. Only with Zhou Ping's support did he manage to stand steadily.
He looked at the fresh mound of earth for a long time.
Then he turned around.
"Let's go."
Zhou Ping held Zhou Nian's hand, while An'an supported A-Fu's wife. The group slowly made their way down the wild slope.
No one looked back.
Qin Ming watched them depart into the distance.
At the foot of the slope lay the road they had traveled for decades. Locust trees, alley entrances, shops, courtyard walls.
The shop was already empty.
When A-Fu left, he took the flat carving knife from the workbench.
It was the knife Qin Ming had used for decades, its handle polished smooth by his palm.
A-Fu had not touched the stone carvings on the windowsill.
Cats, old men, birds