Luo Chuan's figure is still upright, but he no longer looks like the upright and handsome young man he once was. He wears a plain green robe that has been worn for many years and has become slightly white after washing.
The silver hair on his head makes him more eye-catching, giving him the appearance of an old man who has retired to the mountains and spent all his time in the world.
Thirty years, three hundred and sixty months, more than ten thousand days and nights.
Make tea in the morning and read at dusk; wake up in the morning and watch the mist lingering in the mountains, and sit at night and watch the stars and the moon rotate in the sky.
The days are as ordinary as a clear pool in the courtyard, without waves or waves, day after day, year after year.
No one knows that in the courtyard of this seemingly ordinary old man, there is an ancient troll Progenitor that can shake the entire star field.
No one knows that in the dead of night, when Falling Flower Village is completely silent, Luo Chuan sits quietly in front of the court, and occasionally there will be an indifferent light in his eyes that overlooks the eternity.
After hundreds of years of transformation, the Daoist heart is perfect.
Luo Chuan Deliberately seal up the cultivation that reaches the heaven and the earth, cut off the past of the immortal path, experience life, old age, illness and death in the mortal world, the years Kurong, and realize the most simple road in the world.
For him, the pinnacle of the immortal path and immortality are all illusions. Only the fireworks of this world and the warmth of the world are the most precious opportunities for him to practice in this mortal world.
And Luo Nian'an is the most important cause and effect and the deepest concern in his worldly practice.
In the past thirty years, he has never actively explored the traces of Luo Nian'an, nor has he allowed the secretly guarded Lei Ji to send back any information.
He abides by his original intention to be a father, and also adheres to his Daoist intention of transforming into a mortal.
Towering trees cannot grow in a greenhouse, and true avenues cannot be cultivated in comfort. Only constant experience can make oneself stronger.
Luo Chuan knows very well that she can be his eternal retreat and his eternal destination, but she cannot be his lifelong shelter.
The path to immortality is inherently cruel, the great road is inherently lonely, ups and downs are all part of practice, and setbacks and troughs are all opportunities.
He only needs to wait quietly, until he is tired, tired, exhausted, and defeated. When he looks back, there will always be a small courtyard with an old father waiting for him to return home.
In spring, you can see mountain flowers all over the mountains and fields; in summer, you can listen to the gurgling and tinkling of streams; in autumn, you can know the fall by picking up fallen leaves in the courtyard; in winter, you can watch the sky all over the sky Bai Xue close the mountain.
Year after year, one person has three meals and four seasons, and one courtyard has flowers falling in the breeze.
Occasionally, children from the village ran outside the courtyard to play, and their chirping laughter penetrated the courtyard wall and fell into the quiet courtyard.
Luo Chuan always raises his eyes and gazes gently, and in a trance, he always sees the clear-faced, well-behaved and sensible boy from decades ago, sitting at the stone table, studying calligraphy and reading seriously, his eyebrows are curved, gentle and pleasant.
Every time at this time, the loneliness in his eyes would fade a little, and a gentle smile would appear on the corners of his lips.
But the smile fell, but deep in his eyes, there was still a lingering longing that couldn't be hidden.
He doesn't ask for his child to be famous in the immortal realm, he doesn't ask for him to reach the pinnacle of enlightenment, and he doesn't ask for his eternal life.
I only hope that he will be safe and successful every year, have fun and live a magnanimous life.
Time flies, and time flies by. Thirty years of mortal time have aged the Falling Flower Village generation.
Neighbors in the village who used to be in their prime gradually grow gray hair and grow old, children grow into young people, and young people enter middle age.
Old people are getting old and new people are born. Only Luo Chuan in the small courtyard behind the mountain can stand quietly outside the time and watch the changes of fireworks in the world, as well as life, old age, illness and death in the world.
The years are silent, but the vicissitudes of life have their traces.
On this day, in the late spring afternoon, there was a warm breeze and falling flowers were flying in the courtyard.
Luo Chuan is sitting on a bluestone bench, holding an old book in his hand. The sun shines through the gaps between the branches and leaves, and falls on his silver hair and old eyebrows, gentle and lonely.
The fragrance of tea lingers in the courtyard, and the fragrance of grass and trees lingers on the tip of the nose. The years are quiet and safe.
In this quiet and peaceful place, a burst of hurried and panicked footsteps came quickly from the path outside the courtyard, breaking the tranquility that had existed in the small courtyard for thirty years.
The footsteps were hurried and messy, and with the panic unique to young people, they ran all the way, crushing the fallen flowers in the forest, and headed straight for the courtyard gate.
"Uncle Luo! Uncle Luo! Wake up! Come and see my house!"
Urgent shouting followed, with a strong tone of panic and crying. It was the voice of Da Hu, a young man in the village.
Da Hu is the only son of Brother Wang. When Luo Nian'an was still in the village, the two were similar in age. They often went to the mountains to chop firewood and went down to the river to fish. They were the best playmates.
Thirty years have passed by in a blink of an eye, and Da Hu, the honest and immature child in the past, is now a mature man in his thirties.
But at this moment, his face was red, sweating profusely, his clothes were messy, his eyes were red, and his face was full of fear and grief.
Da Hu ran all the way into the small courtyard. When he saw Luo Chuan sitting quietly reading, he immediately stopped with a plop, breathing heavily, his voice trembling, and with uncontrollable choking:
"Uncle Luo, please go see my dad quickly! My dad... he is dying! The doctor said he won't survive today!"
Luo Chuan heard this and slowly closed the small book in his hand, moving slowly and calmly.
He raised his eyes to look at Da Hu, who was panicking and grieving in front of him, and there was a hint of sadness and understanding in his gentle eyes.
Time is ruthless, the world reincarnates, birth, old age, illness and death are all inevitable.
Brother Wang is an old resident of Falling Flower Village. He is honest, honest and kind-hearted. He has been rooted in the mountain village all his life, works hard and treats others with enthusiasm.
Thirty years ago, when Luo Nian'an was still in the village, Brother Wang often took care of the neighbors and was very helpful to Luo Chuan and his son. He often sent fresh fruits and vegetables from home and treated Luo Nian'an as close as his nephew.
Fast forward thirty years, and the middle-aged man who used to be strong and strong has finally reached the point where his life is exhausted and his life is about to expire.
Mortal mortals cannot live longer than a hundred years. This is the fairest and cruelest fate in the world.
Luo Chuan stood up slowly. Although his figure was stained by years, he was still as steady as a green mountain.
He gently raised his hand and smoothed the fallen flowers and leaves stained on his sleeves. His voice was gentle and hoarse, with the indifference of time. "Lead the way."
There was no hesitation, no hesitation, these three plain words, gentle but stable, instantly soothed the extreme panic in Da Hu's heart.
Da Hu nodded heavily, tears instantly rolled down his face, he turned around and led the way, his footsteps hurried.
Luo Chuan followed slowly behind him, walked out of the small courtyard where he had been stationed for thirty years, followed the familiar mountain path, and walked towards the village houses not far away.
Along the way, all the scenes in the village came into view.
The old locust trees on the roadside are becoming more vigorous and curling, with lush branches and leaves, blocking out the sky and the sun. It is the place where Luo Nian'an waved goodbye and went to the fairyland.
The creek on the roadside is still gurgling. The water is clear and tinkling. It has flowed for decades and has never stopped.
Only a few old houses on the roadside have been renovated, and most of the familiar neighbors are now old and faltering.
Things are what they are, but people are no longer the same.
For a short distance, Luo Chuan walked slowly and unhurriedly, with endless sighs passing through his eyes.