Even if it is just a blade of grass, as long as the heart is filled with sunshine, it can live a life as brilliant as a flower!
— Prologue
"Let's stop here. I've come this time to meet an old friend." Mei Hanluo paused beside a bamboo grove and gave a flick of his hand. A stone table and matching stools materialized within the grove, adorned with plum blossom carvings so lifelike they seemed to emit a faint fragrance.
"Sit down. You don't need to stand on ceremony with me." Mei Hanluo casually seated himself on a stone stool, smoothing the hem of his robe. His pale green eyes held a touch of warmth. Unsure how to phrase what he wanted to say, he simply asked Lan Ruoxue to sit with him first, then deliberately avoided her crystal-clear gaze—he disliked being looked at like that, as though someone were trying to peer straight into the depths of his soul.
He constantly drew the attention of others without meaning to, yet he hated being remembered or adored, much like how easily he forgot things, whether through deliberate effort or natural absent-mindedness.
A bone-chilling cold permeated the bamboo grove, bearing no resemblance to the vibrant spring outside. The cold continued to spread outward, until a layer of frost even coated the stone table and chairs.
Lan Ruoxue noticed the anomaly and looked up in puzzlement at Mei Hanluo's impassive expression.
"Ah, right. You probably can't withstand frost and snow." As he spoke, Mei Hanluo stood up and draped his cloak over Lan Ruoxue's shoulders. "Stay seated and don't move."
"I've arrived!" Scarcely had Mei Hanluo's voice faded when a man's wild, unbridled laughter rang out from within the bamboo grove.
"Lord Mei, were you waiting here specifically for me?" Snowflakes drifted down with the laughter, condensing into a human figure that seated itself quite naturally beside Mei Hanluo.
"Xueling, what on earth brings you to see me? Speak your mind plainly; I have no time to humor your jokes."
"Oh, come on, who's joking with you? After all these years, you're still the same—walking around every single day with a face like a frozen block of ice, as if everyone in the world owes you money. Would it kill you to crack a smile?!" Xueling flicked a lock of his slightly bluish short hair and shot a sidelong glance at the beauty beside him.
"Do you have any other talents besides grinning? You dragged me all this way, surely not just to watch you smile."
"And if I did? Aren't my smiles enough to captivate all living beings!" Xueling curved his lips as he spoke, flashing a flirtatious wink at Mei Hanluo.
"Sorry, I got sick of it ages ago!" Seemingly accustomed to the other's uninhibited temperament, Mei Hanluo retorted without the slightest hesitation. His expression remained frosty, and he refused to give even a direct glance at Xueling's exaggerated, smiling face.
By contrast, Lan Ruoxue across from them was captivated by Xueling's unusual hair color, her gaze lingering on the pale blue short locks and refusing to shift away.
"Oh! This lovely young lady seems quite interested in—my hair! Since we're meeting for the first time, let me introduce myself. My name is Licheng, though you can call me Che. If the young lady doesn't mind, how about we become friends?" Being an elf born of snowflakes, his nature was unrestrained and wild.
Noticing that Lan Ruoxue's gaze had finally shifted from Mei Hanluo to himself, he raised a hand with a beaming smile and waved.
"Indeed, it's my first time seeing such a hair color. *The blue of the skies after rain, when clouds break apart*—that's the phrase for this shade of blue. Truly gorgeous!" A little girl's figure suddenly popped up behind Lan Ruoxue, fluttering a pair of transparent wings. She was carrying a tray that looked far too big for her and said with a wide smile,
"Oh, another beauty! Today is truly my lucky day!" Xueling kept his wicked grin.
No sooner had the words left his mouth than a strange, stinging pain flared across his scalp. He reached out, grabbing only a handful of air. "Are you out of your mind? Why are you pulling my hair?!"
"Nothing much, just curious! I'm pulling a strand back to study whether this color is dyed or natural!" Alin held up the precious hair like a treasure, saying with a cheeky grin, "Just a single strand of hair traded for a cup of top-tier tea—you made out like a bandit, didn't you? Don't just sit there, everyone, come on, drink your tea!"
With that, she filled each teacup with hot tea, picked up a cup for herself without waiting, drained it in one go, and looked immensely pleased with herself. "Good tea!" It made her long trip worthwhile.
Xueling stared at the steaming teacup without reaching out, because his hands radiated a biting chill—any hot tea he touched would instantly turn into ice water. He could only watch with quiet resignation as Mei Hanluo gracefully picked up a teacup and sipped from it with evident enjoyment.
Lan Ruoxue sipped her tea in small sips, wondering internally whether Alin or Che was more formidable when it came to tormenting people, while also trying to guess Che's real purpose in seeking out Mei Hanluo.
Sure enough, Xueling wiped away his wicked smile and fixed an injured expression on the immortals and spirits who were solely preoccupied with drinking tea and paid him no mind. Extending his left hand, he pointed to a blood-red, crystal-like mark on his wrist. "This is a brand left behind by Blood Spirit. This power is growing stronger and stronger, and soon I won't be able to control it. The consequences of whatever I might do then are unpredictable, so I want to ask you to help me seal it."
"Blood Spirit? How on earth did you manage to offend her? Her power isn't something that can be sealed easily. Blood Spirit walks the line between righteousness and wickedness, and her strength is immense." Mei Hanluo pulled Che's hand toward him, eyeing the dark red mark. Its deepening color was a precursor to growing power.
"Offend her? Do you think I have nothing better to do with my time?! That grand dame probably wasn't in a great mood that day, and I just had the bad luck to run into her—what could I do? It was entirely a misunderstanding!" Xueling curled his lip, offering an aggrieved, bitter smile.
"With a mouth like yours, even if you don't go looking for trouble, trouble will come looking for you!" Mei Hanluo gave Che an exasperated glare. "To untie a knot, one must go back to the person who tied it. Without Blood Spirit's help, this seal cannot be completed." Releasing Che's hand, Mei Hanluo indicated that there was nothing he could do to help.
"You've got to be kidding me! I have to go look for that female ghost?!" Che's face fell. "I might as well go hang myself!"
"Are you talking about Muyin? Muyin is a Blood Spirit, not a female ghost, and she is infinitely more troublesome than any ordinary ghost. Just wait until she tortures you to death!" Alin bit her lip to keep from laughing out loud. Muyin's temper—did anyone else know it better than she did? Her "goodness" was enough to give even ghosts a headache, which was why people bestowed upon her the nickname "Ghost's Bane"!
"She won't let you off easily, trust me!" Alin patted Xueling's shoulder with a bright smile.
Mei Hanluo nodded, exchanging an amused smile with Alin.
"And here you are, still laughing so happily! How does that saying go—*building one's own happiness upon another's misery*—that describes heartless people like you precisely!" Licheng felt his heart bleeding. Why on earth had he asked these people for help? He had truly brought this suffering upon himself—each and every one of them was simply waiting to make a fool of him. Coupled with the elusive Muyin, whose appearances were as rare as a dragon's tail, his future looked utterly bleak and desolate, as if his dying day were right before his eyes!
"Stop wearing such a mournful face! We'll go with you to find Muyin, and you can cry all you want once we find her! Who knows, maybe she'll be in a good mood and won't hold a grudge against you." Alin set down her teacup, flashing a standard dark, scheming smile.
Grant life a trace of equanimity, grant existence a sense of reality, grant oneself a measure of gratitude, and grant others a degree of tolerance.
As the poem goes: *The humble bamboo bears drooping leaves, the proud plum yields no upturned blossoms.* True wise men keep themselves humble, living all the more remarkably as they greet one high moment after another in life.
Years flow by; I wait alone. Where are you?
Amidst the bustling mortal realm, the gentle breeze and fine rain are moist and tender. When the peach blossoms shed their spring crimson, it is yet another cycle of the seasons. From then on, within the misty mortal rain, with an untainted heart and serene composure, I hold gratitude in my chest, face the storms of the secular world with detachment, and quietly savor the brilliant moments of fleeting years.
People whose hearts are bound together will always find stepping stones for themselves no matter how bitter the argument, swiftly returning to harmony. Those whose hearts have drifted apart will seize any excuse, however trivial, to slip away.
Since my heart clings to the passing years, remaining just as it was at the dimming of the lights, then regardless of whether the place my heart yearns for is close at hand or at the ends of the earth, I have no choice but to lay down the bone-deep memories of the past, cross mountains and rivers, span abysses of ten thousand fathoms, and—after coming to understand the solitude of *a thousand mountains with no bird in flight*—walk the path of fulfilling my original aspirations, sharing with a kindred spirit the sight of ice clinging to plum branches, guarding the pure white snow, and seizing a fleeting beauty that feels like eternity.
Strumming a tune of heartache, I roll up the red beaded curtains at the southern window; turning away from the shadows of departing geese on the far side, I trace every inch of the western pavilion's railing.
Behold the universe, sun and moon, eternally silent and wordless; green mountains and long rivers, enduring across generations—just as in my heart, you have never left, and have never changed.