Li Xiaoyu raised his head and looked toward the northwest.
His gaze became incomparably profound.
"What is it?" Lu Xueqi noticed something unusual about him.
"The wind is rising," Li Xiaoyu said slowly.
Lu Xueqi stood as well and followed Li Xiaoyu's gaze.
She could see nothing.
But she could feel the hand holding hers trembling slightly.
It was a tremble he had never shown in three hundred years.
"Is it them?" Her voice began to tremble too.
Li Xiaoyu did not answer.
He closed his eyes and sensed carefully.
Those two traces of aura he had pursued for centuries were finally no longer vague, ethereal wisps.
Like dandelion seeds that had found a place to settle, they had begun to take root and sprout somewhere far away.
Though still very faint, he could never mistake those auras.
One was so simple and steadfast, carrying an unshakable stubbornness.
The other was so lively and charming, concealing a devotion etched deep into the bones.
"Yes."
After a long while, Li Xiaoyu opened his eyes.
His eyes were slightly red.
Lu Xueqi's eyes had misted over as well.
Three hundred years.
A full three hundred years of waiting.
At last, they had received word that the flowers had bloomed.
"Where are they?" she asked urgently.
"A very familiar place." A complicated smile appeared on Li Xiaoyu's face.
"We should go home and take a look."
The home he spoke of was not this little wooden cottage by the sea.
It was the place that had carried the beginning of all their stories.
The next day, the people of the fishing village discovered that the immortal couple at the eastern end of the village had disappeared.
Their wooden cottage had been left spotless, as though no one had ever lived there.
Only a