"Flames. A great fire."
Inside the little Guesthouse, Teacher Qie was still drawing. Even in the poor light, the aging of his face was visible.
It was a side effect of the fat and moisture beneath his skin rapidly disappearing.
The changes were visible to the naked eye.
His hair kept falling out, too.
"So that's how it is."
He seemed to have realized something.
A drawing emerged beneath his hand: a desolate town, a towering fire on the mountain behind it, and demons hidden in the darkness.
A scene of desolation in troubled times.
"To think that I, Qie Yi, would live to see a day like this."
He held down his sketching pen, but could no longer continue drawing the scene before him.
He had no strength left.
"So, in terms of probability, I'm necessary too. Every move I make is actually confirming history."
"Dad, can you see this? I'm a great man too. I chose to become a great man, too."
"I have nothing to be ashamed of."
"Even among the things they dig up from history, some might bear traces of my existence."
Teacher Qie coughed painfully. What came out of his throat was not blood, but great quantities of grave soil.
The Kiln Clay fell to the floor, only for him to absorb it again.
"When sweeping, fear for the lives of ants; to spare the moths, cover the lamp with gauze."
Reciting a line from Journey to the West, he bent down, producing strange cracking sounds, as though his spine were breaking.
He extended his fingers and absorbed the Kiln Clay into himself, preventing it from harming anyone.
He was exceptionally careful.
"What you borrow from others must be returned eventually. Thunder is nothing more than a mouthpiece.
Is this the world seen through