劍問蒼天 - 第231章 困惑 - 翰墨軒

Ming Li was taken aback. He opened his mouth, then stopped, and Zhou Yixuan had already laughed and said, "What, no easy answer? Take your master and mistress, who passed away not long ago—do you think they were suffering?"

Ming Li stammered, "Master and Mistress... they..."

Zhou Yixuan's expression turned grave. "Tian Buhui died where he belonged; he had no regrets in death, and departed with a smile. And your mistress Su Wan—she and your master were bound by the deepest love, and she would not live on alone. You think she took her own life in grief, but do you not know that where her soul has gone, she is reunited with her husband, and that this is the very thing that gladdened her most?"

Ming Li was stunned and for a moment could not speak.

Zhou Yixuan said mildly, "You grieve over the passing of Tian Buhui and his wife, never guessing that those two may be the clearest-sighted and most content of all. To measure others by your own heart—is that not absurd?"

Here Zhou Yixuan suddenly smiled, and looking at Ming Li, said, "Are you afraid to die?"

Ming Li hesitated, then gave a low sigh. "I am."

"Oh? Then I must ask you—what is it you fear? Is it the word 'death' itself?"

Ming Li shook his head silently. "Since I have no desire for immortality, I hardly care about dying. What I fear is that after I die, my dearest wish will go unfulfilled."

Zhou Yixuan smiled. "There it is. You may have seen through life and death, yet there remains in your heart something weightier than either. Rather than endlessly asking me about the confusion in your heart, why not think well on these weightier matters?"

Ming Li's brows knit, and his eyes lit up, as though he had grasped something—yet his face did not clear; instead he sank into still deeper reflection. Zhou Yixuan did not disturb him, but quietly withdrew to one side and looked up. The bright moon hung in the sky, and its light, like water, poured down over all.

Over the open wilderness the evening wind sighed; the stars wheeled, the Dipper turned, and the vault of heaven stretched boundless.

He gazed for a long while, then suddenly heaved a deep sigh.

Behind him came Ming Li's voice. "Senior, is there something in your heart as well that you cannot see through?"

"I?"

Zhou Yixuan did not turn. He still gazed at that bright moon at the far edge of the sky, and after a long while he said, lightly, "Since I am still wandering in this world, then I too have thoughts I cannot see through."

"Oh? What are they?"

Zhou Yixuan smiled faintly. "What I cannot see through is this wheel of reincarnation."

Canglan Mountain, Xiaozhu Peak.

From the very beginning, Xiaozhu Peak had been home only to female disciples, and so its atmosphere differed from that of the other lineages of Qingyun. It had always been quiet and peaceful; even by day it was often wholly still, with only birdsong and the fragrance of flowers echoing over this lovely peak.

But ever since yesterday, when Master Shuijing had returned with a company of disciples from the funeral at Dazhu Peak, the calm of Xiaozhu Peak had been tinged with a certain solemnity and oppression. Many of the younger female disciples had seen for the first time how Master Shuijing could not conceal her desolation and grief—she whose cultivation should long since have taught her to keep joy and sorrow from her face.

Wen Pei had always been the one who best understood Master Shuijing's heart, and she had early sent word to her sisters to mind their conduct, and above all not to laugh or talk loudly, lest they inadvertently provoke their master. Under such counsel, Xiaozhu Peak was naturally hushed and grave.

And since returning from Dazhu Peak, Master Shuijing had shut herself away in that bamboo-grove retreat and had not shown herself again. Wen Pei and the other disciples had ventured to inquire after her, but had not been admitted; this had left Wen Pei and the rest somewhat anxious.