Chapter 257 — Summoning
The Sword Questions the Heavens · Page 7 of 11
With that, she bent down and gently kissed Zhang Qingyue on the lips. The warmth of that touch seemed to spread through her whole body.
Faint, and happy...
She smiled, bit her lip, and stood up. She took one last look at the sleeping man, then turned and walked away—though her steps were so reluctant, her body often seeming on the verge of turning back for one more glance; yet in the end, she did not look back.
Perhaps even she knew that if she had turned back, she would never have found the courage to leave again.
White robes fluttering, she was gone at last.
The wind stirred the grass, carrying a fresh, tart fragrance. Little Grey crept over quietly, climbed onto Zhang Qingyue's chest, and sat there, silently watching the white figure recede into the distance. Beneath it, on Zhang Qingyue's palm, his fingers twitched once more.
The gentle breeze blew on and on, time slipping quietly away, and Willow Temple Village sank once more into a long silence. Day passed, night came, starlight scattered down bit by bit, having seen all the vicissitudes of the mortal world.
Little Grey sat on Zhang Qingyue's chest, looking rather drowsy; it opened its mouth in a yawn and gave a few squeaks. Then, as if suddenly sensing something, its eyes shifted and it looked down at Zhang Qingyue beneath it.
A low gasp came, and then Zhang Qingyue slowly opened his eyes.
The first thing that met his eyes was a boundless vault of heaven, an endless deep darkness studded with countless glittering stars. He did not move, only lay there quietly, gazing at the sky.
Little Grey seemed puzzled beside him; scratching its head, it crept over for a look, then shrank back again. The night wind blew softly, the green grass swaying. That deep darkness had been thus for tens of thousands of years, and compared with it a human life was like a firefly against the sun and moon—no more than a fleeting instant.
Perhaps it was precisely because the ancients understood this that they pursued immortality so tirelessly!
Only, if one were but an empty shell, what would immortality matter?
His expression was calm, more peaceful than ever before—no sorrow, no agitation. He merely gazed up at the sky in silence.
The heavens were boundless, the stars wheeled on, and all heaven and earth stood hushed; only the wind blew, moaning softly as it passed.
Unknowingly, the sky grew light.
But when the morning light fell and the last of the darkness vanished, Zhang Qingyue closed his eyes. He lay there quietly for a long, long time, until the sun rose and its warm rays fell upon him; only then did he open his eyes again—and this time, he stood up.
Standing in place, he looked around. The ruins buried in weeds were desolate yet dear to him; many places had been carved deep into his heart since years beyond counting and would never be erased, and how many places were the spots where, as a child, he had run and played, leaving behind simple joys.
He walked on at an easy pace, his steps soundless on the green grass. Little Grey darted over beside him, seized his garment, and in two or three scrambles climbed onto his shoulder and sat down.
"Wu…"
The wind blowing from behind seemed to have grown stronger, whistling as it came; the green grass around him rose and fell with it like waves. The crumbling walls and broken eaves, like silent yet gentle figures, gazed at him. He walked to the northern edge of the village, where there was another ruin, even more utterly dilapidated; from afar, its outline still vaguely resembled the shabby little temple of those years.
This time, Ming Li stood there longer. He gazed deeply at the ruins of that little temple, and after a long while, a faint, kindly smile appeared at the corners of his lips. That smile was gentle, without a trace of resentment or regret.
Then he turned and walked away just like that, never looking back.
"Let's go, Little Grey."
"Zhi zhi zhi zhi," Little Grey chirped softly on his shoulder, scratching its head.