Chapter 2077: I Know

In the eleventh year, Ye Chen finally returned to Zhu Xian Zhen.

The first place he went was Yang Fu.

After ten years, little Yang Lan still hadn't grown at all, looking just like a two- or three-year-old, still as plump and adorable as ever. This had turned old Yang Ge Lao's hair completely white. If she stayed like this forever, he couldn't bear it—he was still waiting to hold his grandchild. Not to boast, but when he and Xia Lan took the child out, people who didn't know them thought she was his granddaughter. At first, the people of Zhu Xian Zhen were surprised, but over time, they got used to it.

"This time, you were away for quite a while!" In the pavilion, Yang Ge Lao brewed some wine and said with a smile, "It's been ten years—I've really missed you."

"You've aged a lot." Ye Chen smiled. Yang Ge Lao's graying hair was impossible to hide, though compared to others his age, he was still doing well. Now over seventy, Yang Ge Lao owed his condition to the heart-cultivation method he had learned in his early years.

"You're the same." Yang Ge Lao laughed. It was true—Ye Chen, though a half-immortal, hadn't deliberately hidden his aging, with silver strands now in his temples, marking the passage of these twenty years.

Ye Chen smiled and took a sip of wine, his gaze subtly shifting toward Xia Lan.

When he left ten years ago, the Yin Yang Xian Wen in Xia Lan's body had already started to fade gradually. Now, after a decade, while the pattern was still there, it had mostly collapsed. He could see that Xia Lan's body had weakened greatly, her face pale and sickly.

Xia Lan smiled lightly, having long accepted it. Living an extra twenty years was a gift from the immortals.

Before long, Yang Xuan and the others arrived, this time bringing wine. They, too, had graying hair early, as even immortals couldn't escape the erosion of time, let alone ordinary people.

"Another ten years—do we have to wait until we're in the ground?" Shangguan Jiu grumbled. What about the promised cultivation of immortality? Year after year, they'd waited so long the flowers had wilted.

"While you're still young, wait a few more years." Ye Chen chuckled.

Yang Xuan nearly flipped the table at those words. Was he kidding them?

That night, Ye Chen left Yang Fu and strolled slowly down the main street. On this return, many familiar faces were gone—the elderly who should have passed had already been laid to rest. They had wanted to have their fortunes told upon his return, but sadly, they hadn't held on that long.

Ye Chen said nothing, wearing his hood and walking quietly, like a passing traveler.

When he reached his own home, he paused at the gate of the small garden across the way.

Through the gap in the garden gate, he could see a young man holding a child, looking up at the stars, while a woman sat nearby, sewing clothes and occasionally glancing over with a gentle smile.

The child from back then had grown up and started a family.

Even now, Ye Chen didn't know the young man's name. Unconsciously, he thought of calling him Qi Zhuanshi, implying the reincarnation of Qi Wang.

Who would have thought that the Qi Wang's heir, who once led troops to besiege Zhu Xian Zhen, would now live there under another identity? If this got out, few would believe it.

Through the gate, he only saw the family of three, but not Qi Zhuanshi's grandfather. When Ye Chen left ten years ago, the old man was still alive, but now, upon his return, the elder had already passed away.

Ye Chen didn't disturb them and went back to his own small garden.

After ten years away, weeds had overgrown the garden, layers of spiderwebs filled the house, and dust covered the tables and chairs, making everything look desolate.

In the early morning, Ye Chen set up his fortune-telling stall.

Hearing that the martial arts legend had returned, the people of Zhu Xian Zhen gathered in droves, forming a long line that stretched for miles.

This went on for three full days.

In the blink of an eye, another ten springs and autumns passed. Those who should have aged had aged, and those who should have fallen had fallen. For instance, Xia Lan could no longer get out of bed, like someone gravely ill, without even the strength to rise. The Yin Yang Xian Wen had collapsed by ninety percent.

Yang Ge Lao still visited every day, saying it was for a fortune-telling, but really, he wanted Ye Chen to check on Xia Lan. In their family, he might be the most normal one—a daughter who never grew up, and a wife who was constantly ill, beyond the help of medicine.

Ye Chen had examined her a few times but remained silent. Not to mention being a half-immortal, even without his seals, he couldn't save Xia Lan. It was like in the past—when the time came, even gods couldn't hold on.

Yet Xia Lan was resilient, lying in bed and stubbornly lasting another three to five years.

That night, as Ye Chen was carving wood under the old tree, Yang Ge Lao hurried over with his cane, his expression panicked. He grabbed Ye Chen and pulled him along.

Ye Chen didn't resist, as if he knew where Yang Ge Lao was taking him.

Counting the time, Xia Lan's end was near.

And indeed, on the sickbed, Xia Lan was emaciated and frail, her hair white as snow. The once clear and bright eyes were now dull, and her once stunning face was covered in age spots. Even her lips were dry and cracked. Her life force was extremely faint, her breath coming and going as if she might leave the world at any moment.

Seeing Ye Chen arrive, Xia Lan tried to sit up but couldn't manage it, only forcing a smile.

Ye Chen said nothing, his heart aching. He had witnessed a once magnificent woman reach this decrepit state, and tonight, she would pass away.

"My friend, save her." Yang Ge Lao stepped forward and knelt with a thud, his voice choked, his old body trembling, tears streaming down his aged face.

Ye Chen helped Yang Ge Lao up but shook his head helplessly. "Birth, aging, illness, and death are the natural order. I'm afraid I can't do anything."

In that instant, Yang Ge Lao, who had been holding on, suddenly slumped, as if losing his last support, unable even to stand steadily, feeling the whole world turn dark.

Ye Chen sighed and quietly left, leaving the final moments for the elderly couple.

In the room, only the family of three remained. Little Yang Lan slept peacefully in her cradle, murmuring "mother" in her dreams from time to time.

Yang Ge Lao sat by the bed, carefully lifting Xia Lan so she could lean against him.

"Don't be like this—everyone dies eventually." Xia Lan smiled gently, though weakly, her eyelids fluttering as if they might close at any moment. The Yin Yang Xian Wen that had kept her alive was slowly dissipating its last bit of immortal light.

"You're still going before me." Yang Ge Lao's voice was hoarse and full of sorrow.

"Husband, I died long ago!" Xia Lan laughed through her tears, her eyes filling with mist. Finally, she revealed the secret she had hidden for over thirty years.

"I know—I knew thirty-three years ago." Yang Ge Lao smiled warmly, surprisingly calm. "You're my wife, sharing my bed—we've been together so long; how could I not know?"

Xia Lan cried and laughed, realizing that for thirty-three years, it had all been an act. She had tried to hide it from him, and he had willingly let himself be deceived.

As her end approached, in that hazy state between life and death, she struggled to lift her gaze toward the cradle, watching her sleeping child. She longed to hold her one more time. As a mother, she hadn't lived to see her daughter marry or grow up. She must be a little beauty, probably looking just like her, with many suitors coming to propose...

"Husband, will you wait for me in the next life?"

"Yes."

"Then let's be husband and wife again in the next life."

Xia Lan smiled tenderly, but her soft words grew fainter and fainter until her eyes lost their final spark. Having held on for thirty-three years, she finally closed her eyes, making a promise for the next life. Only two tear tracks remained, melting away this lifetime's bond, tracing down her aged and sorrowful face.

Yang Ge Lao held her tightly, unwilling to let go, murmuring endlessly. His words carried the warmth of twilight, full of his weathered affection, as if talking to himself or to Xia Lan. He reminisced about their past, recounting their passionate love, bit by bit, woven through the fleeting years into a beautiful marriage.

Outside the room, Ye Chen listened to the murmurs and couldn't help but sigh.

Yang Xuan, Shangguan Jiu, and Ling Feng were there too, all turning away, unable to bear hearing more.

For a long time, Yang Ge Lao didn't come out, and none of them disturbed him. He needed time to say a proper goodbye to his wife.

"Mother, wake up—play with me."

Sometime later, a childish voice rang out—it was little Yang Lan, awakened from her sleep. Now, she was climbing onto the bed, shaking Xia Lan with her small hands. But her gentle mother could no longer open her eyes to look at her.

Ye Chen turned and left quietly.

For the next three days, he didn't set up his fortune-telling stall or visit Yang Fu. He only heard that old Yang Ge Lao had cried his heart out, fainting several times, and even when the coffin was sealed, he was still kneeling at Xia Lan's spirit tablet, sobbing.

Accompanied by the wail of suona horns, white funeral money scattered across the streets.

On the day of Xia Lan's funeral, people lined both sides of the path, wiping away tears. Xia Lan had been kind in life, like a female bodhisattva, often helping the poor. Her death brought great sorrow to everyone.

Ye Chen stayed home, quietly carving his wood sculptures.

On the fifth day, he heard a knock at the door.

The visitor was Yang Fan, the adopted son Yang Ge Lao had taken in years ago. Now middle-aged, he had his own family and had inherited old Yang's legacy.

"Senior, please go and persuade my father. He's been kneeling at my mother's grave for three days and nights."

Ye Chen didn't reply, just sighed and set down his carving knife. He got up and left the small garden.

Outside Zhu Xian Zhen, in a forested area, he reappeared.

Xia Lan's grave was there—it was the burial site she had chosen herself.

Before even entering, Ye Chen heard the sound of an erhu, played by Yang Ge Lao. The tune was mournful, echoing through the woods, so moving that even the birds perched on the branches and stayed put for a long time.

Ye Chen walked in slowly and saw Yang Ge Lao from afar, his white hair disheveled, sitting in front of Xia Lan's grave. His hunched back trembled as he played the erhu.

As the saying goes, one year for the qin, two for the xiao, three for the pipa, five for the zither, and a lifetime for the erhu. Yang Ge Lao was like that now—playing the erhu, carrying his life's weariness.

Ye Chen approached and sealed Yang Ge Lao's acupoints, putting him into a deep sleep, then carried him away from the woods.

After he left, a graceful figure appeared at the grave—it was Xie Mo.

Beside Xie Mo stood another woman—it was Donghuang Tai Xin.

"Can she be revived?" Xie Mo asked calmly.

"No." Donghuang Tai Xin's response was firm.

"The secrets of this ancient star—you should know them." Xie Mo said, while waving his hand to place three sticks of incense at Xia Lan's grave.

Unfortunately, the incense wouldn't light—or rather, Xia Lan couldn't withstand it.

"The reincarnation here is vague and hard to discern." Donghuang Tai Xin shook her head lightly.

Xie Mo also shook his head with a smile. "The Human King's game is truly a heaven-seizing creation."