Chapter Eighteen: Farewell Without End

Ignoring Ji Wu’s shouts behind him, Xu Yuan walked swiftly toward the outskirts of the city. The day was still young and the streets were sparsely populated. This time, Xu Yuan’s steps were purposeful, unwavering as he made his way out of town.

Seeing that Xu Yuan paid him no mind, Ji Wu ceased his calls and followed behind with a hint of recklessness. ‘Though Mr. Xu refuses to take me as his disciple, he never said I couldn’t follow him… that means I can!’

As expected, after trailing Xu Yuan for some distance and noticing he wasn’t driven away, Ji Wu’s restless heart gradually settled. Though his temperament was somewhat impetuous, he wasn’t without sense. A year of waiting, the sudden sight of celestial palaces, and finally meeting the long-awaited Mr. Xu—his exuberance was hard to contain, but he was clever enough. He was certain Mr. Xu was a good man, an old acquaintance of his parents. As long as he didn’t make himself a nuisance or interfere in Mr. Xu’s affairs, merely following along shouldn’t provoke harsh words.

Indeed, Xu Yuan didn’t chase him off, so he had already achieved half his goal. Only through continuous contact could he hope to become Mr. Xu’s apprentice. If he didn’t want to accept him now, perhaps he would change his mind in time. Ji Wu wanted Mr. Xu to see his sincerity. Following him might lead to success; not following would guarantee failure. Given the choice, he would always take the lesser risk—it was worth it.

This time, trailing behind Xu Yuan, Ji Wu kept silent, his gaze firmly fixed on Xu Yuan. The two walked, one ahead, one behind, out of Qingshan County’s bounds. Just as Ji Wu began to wonder where Mr. Xu was headed, Xu Yuan suddenly turned toward a mountain.

Ji Wu hurried after him, only to find that Mr. Xu’s pace had quickened. It was still early morning; even the stone steps up the mountain were slick with dew, moss growing thickly—a sign few people ventured here. Yet Mr. Xu’s speed did not falter. Fortunately, Ji Wu had trained in martial arts since childhood; his physical strength and control were excellent, allowing him to barely keep up.

They climbed in silence to the middle of the mountain, where Xu Yuan finally stopped. Ji Wu, exhausted and gasping for breath, drew up beside him and looked ahead.

There, nestled on the mountainside, was a particularly dilapidated Daoist temple. Its plaque, battered by wind and rain, was almost illegible. Ji Wu squinted for a long time before barely discerning the words “Qingfeng Temple.” But it was little more than a walled compound with three stone rooms—could this truly be called a temple?

Xu Yuan’s gaze, however, did not rest on Qingfeng Temple, but on the thin patch of farmland in front of it. The last time he’d come, the fields were already sparse. Now, they were not just sparse—they were practically barren.

Even the meager land carved out from the mountains shouldn’t look so poor unless… unless there was no one left to tend it. A trace of desolation appeared on Xu Yuan’s face, but he still walked toward Qingfeng Temple.

“Visitors have come,” Xu Yuan announced as he entered, his voice markedly lower and graver than the last time.

“Mr. Xu, you’ve returned?” Two figures appeared from within the temple—A Chou and A Guai.

Xu Yuan glanced toward another room, waiting for the bold, hearty voice he remembered. But it did not come.

“…” He withdrew his gaze. Though he’d prepared himself on his last visit, he couldn’t resist asking, “Where is your master?”

“Our master, last winter, attained the Dao and departed,” A Guai replied sadly.

Behind Xu Yuan, Ji Wu, who had been eager to peek inside, instantly stood quietly outside upon hearing this, no longer daring to look in.

“Last winter, then?” Xu Yuan’s gaze grew distant, as if he could still hear the voice of Elder Xu from his previous visit—aged, yet still full of vigor. For them, it had already been a year. But for Xu Yuan, whose memories belonged to the mortal world, it was but yesterday. A year in heaven, a day on earth. In that single day, many earthly things must be left behind.

“Where is his grave? I’d like to see it.” Xu Yuan spoke without elaboration; even his expression betrayed nothing.

“Our master told us to bury him in the backyard,” A Chou explained. “He said he’d spent most of his life here, basked in the sun and rain of this place, and in old age, he ought to remain here.”

A Chou’s grotesque, tattooed face was etched with unspeakable sorrow. He and A Guai had both been taken in by Elder Xu; without him, they surely wouldn’t have survived. Now, the one who raised them was gone, the one who shielded them from the world was gone—no matter when the subject was broached, it brought grief.

In Qingfeng Temple’s backyard, Xu Yuan found Elder Xu’s grave—a simple mound of earth with a stone tablet before it. The inscription read: “The grave of our benefactor, Xu Cheng’an.” Nothing else accompanied it.

Xu Yuan stepped forward and touched the gravestone, cold and damp. No one spoke.

He stood before the grave for a time, then patted the stone and turned to ask, “Did he leave any wishes or instructions when he went?”

“Master did leave words for you,” A Chou said.

“Speak, then,” Xu Yuan replied, his expression solemn.

“Master said…” A Chou’s face suddenly shifted; the tattoo covering most of his face seemed to come alive, brimming with pride and mischief. “You’ll never beat me at chess again!”

The words were delivered with such swagger, as if mocking a defeated opponent, almost as if Elder Xu himself had spoken.

Xu Yuan’s composed face froze.

“Mr. Xu, Master insisted I say this exactly as he would—not just the words, but the manner as well…” After delivering the message, A Chou returned to his simple, honest self, scratching his head apologetically.

“Scoundrel!” Xu Yuan fumed, facing the grave and barking, “Did you not know I let you win that last game? Only because you were old! If you dare, come out and play three hundred more rounds with me!”

Elder Xu would not come out again, nor could he ever battle Xu Yuan across three hundred games. The gravestone stood silently, saying nothing. One cannot settle accounts with the dead. This time, Elder Xu truly got to savor his triumph.

Yet this final message lightened the heavy mood considerably.

Once Xu Yuan composed himself, he turned to A Chou and A Guai and asked, “How did your master instruct you? Tell me, I want to hear.”