He was, in fact, a normal person. Just as some people were born with six fingers—six fingers manifested outwardly—he was different; his merely manifested within.
Wen Xu sat alone before the old scholar's gravestone once more. Heaven and earth were silent, and so was he.
After a long while, he finally spoke softly. He spoke of his origins, of the changes in court, of how he had asked the new emperor for a temple of incense offerings, and of... the apology he had never voiced.
On closer thought, he did owe the old scholar an apology. The man had treated him sincerely, and in the end had even let go of his obsession with scholarly honors, yet he had still failed to soften this stubborn stone. As Wen Xu spoke, his eyes gradually grew moist.
So he could still cry.
Back in the capital, so many people had felt wronged for him, angered for him, sought justice for him, yet Wen Xu's eyes had never stung in the slightest. But now, merely recalling it all, he could not help but cry.
"Father..."
Wen Xu leaned against the gravestone. He could no longer remember the old scholar's face, but he remembered the man's withered, dying body before death. Only now did he truly realize it. "Don't worry about me anymore. I'm living well now. Though I didn't become the top scholar, I have a master, a sect, and friends to whom I can entrust my life. I... would you forgive me?"
The solemn north wind upon the hill answered Wen Xu.
The wind... For the first time, Wen Xu did not try to understand it. He was simply a little tired, so he leaned against the gravestone and slowly fell asleep with tear tracks still on his face.
In his daze,