As time passed, that streak of white light finally transformed into a diminutive old man.
The old man had white hair and a white beard, but his complexion was rosy as a child's. His eyes curved into crescents, and the wrinkles at their corners formed fine little gullies. When he smiled, he looked like the God of Longevity from a New Year's painting.
He was not tall; even standing, he would only reach Ye Lin's chest. He wore a gray robe faded white from countless washings, with broad sleeves. Both hands were tucked into those sleeves, and as he walked, he drifted lightly along as though stepping on clouds.
The little old man emerged from the white light without his feet touching the ground. He floated in a half-circle before Ye Lin, sizing him up from head to toe.
Then he stopped, cocked his head at Ye Lin, and the corners of his mouth slowly lifted into a smile Ye Lin could not understand at all.
That smile held a complex meaning.
It was like surprise, yet also like something had turned out exactly as expected.
There was gratification in it, but also a faint ache of pity.
It was mixed with appreciation, along with an indescribable melancholy, something like: at last, you have come.
Looking at that smile, Ye Lin inexplicably felt as though he had been mistaken for someone else.
He opened his mouth, about to speak, but the little old man beat him to it with a wave of his hand.
"Don't be in such a hurry to talk. Don't be in such a hurry to talk."
The little old man's voice was clear and crisp, like two jade pieces tapping together, utterly devoid of an old man's hoarseness and sluggishness.
"This old man has slept for