The drunkard slept in the wind, steeped in drink, knowing nothing of autumn waters in his dreams.
Thoughts lingered on; alas, alas, nightmares were brief, scattered and shattered...
The old horse trod through memories on its way back, never feeling weary along the road.
Thoughts drifted deep; the boundless, endless road was strewn with broken steles...
An unspeakable desolation seemed to hang between the vast heavens and earth. Everywhere he looked, nothing was as it had been.
Su Mo sat atop the mountain just like that, for who knew how long.
It seemed to have been several days, or perhaps several full months...
His gaze remained fixed on the Brush of All Living Beings, which had long since lost its spiritual awareness, as though he expected, hoped, that it might speak again.
Even its unbridled tongue, or its cursing and swearing... either would have been fine.
But the dead were like dust, and a departed spirit left only emptiness.
No one had ever been able to stay by his side forever. No one ever had...
A lifetime in white, born alone.
He was always meeting and parting with others. Their meetings might have been theatrical, but their partings brought sorrow or grief...
He had thought he was long accustomed to it, yet in the end, it was still just as it had been back then.
At last... Su Mo raised a trembling hand, picked up the spiritless Brush of All Living Beings, and tucked it into his bound hair.
White robes fluttered, white hair like snow.
The Brush of All Living Beings in Su Mo's bound hair was like a solitary skiff amid a thousand miles of snowy river.
As though it would carry Su Mo through reincarnation in search of the dreamscape within his heart...
The Reincarnation Mirror slowly