Li Ping'an packed up all his belongings.
Finally, he closed the door. He was still somewhat reluctant to leave the room he had lived in for several months.
But in the end, he had to leave.
Before leaving, he picked a little red flower.
With a bamboo pole over his shoulder and Old Ox in tow, he strolled away.
Changqing had also decided to return to his monastery, and the two parted outside the city.
A single farewell, and they parted across the boundless reaches of the world.
The grass grew and orioles flew, while a gentle breeze brushed over the hills.
Monk Changqing watched Li Ping'an's retreating figure.
That figure simply walked on, as though unconcerned with the road ahead, having watched every sunrise and sunset.
That alone left him without worry, remorse, or regret.
The two little foxes, A Bai and A Hong, also waved to Li Ping'an from the hillside.
The shop assistant hung the sign for postpartum sow care high, waiting for the next person to enter Demon-Suppressing Pass.
The little gray dog panted with his tongue out and cultivated diligently, dreaming of one day trampling his great enemy Jing Yu beneath his paws.
Before Zhang Song's gravestone, a little red flower drifted away on the wind.
The mountain wind blew through, setting the woods rustling.
Li Ping'an hummed a song, his steps light.
Brimming with spirit, he seemed to have an endless road beneath his feet.
On an ancient road.
A carriage rolled slowly past.
Inside sat a middle-aged man dressed in a blue silk robe, his brow bearing an air of unbending integrity.
Beside him, a plump woman complained incessantly.
"Of all the things you could do, why did you have to go serve as an official in some poor, remote backwater?"
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