After leaving the capital, Su Ming rode hard southward.

He had no flying apparatus, so he channeled water-attributed spiritual energy into his legs, performing an escape art similar to worldly lightness skill but far more wondrous.

The Like Water Art circulated endlessly within him, leaving his stamina almost untouched.

The farther south he went, the weaker the suppressive Dragon Qi of the imperial way became. Though the world's spiritual energy was still thin, he could already feel a breath of freedom.

Three days later in the evening.

An orange-red sunset hung lazily on a distant ridge, setting the clouds ablaze in brilliant dusk.

Su Ming’s steps stopped before a familiar archway.

Qingshi Town.

The characters on the arch had weathered five years of wind and rain and looked a little worn, but the carver’s strong strokes were still clear.

Su Ming stood beneath the arch but did not enter immediately. He pressed the conical hat on his head and let his gaze extend down the bluestone-paved street.

The town looked much the same as five years ago. The shops flanking the road were still the old names; the tofu seller Wang Da-niang seemed to have been replaced by her daughter-in-law, and the clang of the blacksmith’s hammer still rang from the corner forge.

Everything felt peaceful, full of ordinary life.

Yet beneath that seeming constancy there was an unmistakable melancholy of change.

Su Ming did not go to Su Family Village first. Five years ago he had already left the paper-making business to his Second Brother and explained every contingency in a letter. He knew that with his brother’s steadiness and Village Chief Zhao Dequan’s shrewdness, Su Family Village would prosper for generations so long as it avoided great trouble.

When cultivators involve themselves in mortal affairs, they often bring disaster rather than blessing. As long as they were safe and did not meet, that would be the best protection.

Su Ming crossed most of Qingshi Town and came to a quiet alley at the east end.

At the alley’s end stood a residence—the Zhou Residence.

The courtyard walls were high. The copper ring on the black lacquer gate shone, and the stone steps were neatly swept. It was clear this household lived with some dignity in town.

Su Ming stood before the gate and gently knocked the ring.

Knock, knock, knock.

After a moment, footsteps sounded inside. A middle-aged gate attendant in a clean short brown robe opened the side door, peered out, sized Su Ming up from head to toe, and politely asked, “Young master, whom do you seek?”

Su Ming took off his conical hat and revealed his face. “Student Su Ming, here to see Teacher Zhou.”

The gate attendant paused, then his face lit with delight. “Young Master Su! The master speaks of you every day! Please come in, I will inform him at once!”

He hurriedly opened the side door and led Su Ming inside, calling into the inner yard, “Uncle Fu, Young Master Su is here!”

An old servant with graying hair hurried out from the inner yard. When he saw Su Ming, his cloudy eyes began to glisten with tears. “Young Master Su, is it really you! You’ve finally come back! The master has been longing for you every day!”

Su Ming inclined his head slightly. “Uncle Fu, I hope you are well.”

The old servant nodded repeatedly and, while leading the way, chattered, “All well, all well, we’ve been thinking of you. The master’s in his study, please hurry!”

They passed the front courtyard, rounded the screen wall, and reached the main hall of the inner courtyard. The old locust tree in the yard was still lush, but in late autumn its leaves had turned yellow. A breeze stirred and the leaves spiraled down onto the green-brick ground.

Just as Su Ming reached the main hall doorway, a figure hurried out to meet him.

He was a man in his early fifties, wearing a somewhat worn blue robe, with three strands of long whisker-like mustaches, a lean face but bright eyes and steady steps.

It was Zhou Wenhai.

The moment he saw Su Ming, his steps halted and he froze where he stood.

Five years had not carved many marks onto his face. Only a few fine lines had appeared at the corners of his eyes and some white hair had crept into his temples.

Looking at that familiar face, Su Ming suddenly recalled the time he first entered the County School as a bewildered boy. It was this very man who taught him how to live and how to find his footing in the world.

“Student Su Ming pays respects to Teacher.”

Su Ming took a step back, flicked his robe aside, dropped to both knees, and in the fallen leaves of the courtyard performed a solemn kowtow.

Zhou Wenhai’s eyes warmed. He hurried forward, hands on Su Ming’s shoulders, pulling him up.

“Get up! Quickly!” His voice choked a little as he patted Su Ming’s shoulders, “Good boy, it really is you! I always knew you were hard to kill!”

He looked him over with evident pride. “You’ve changed, you’ve changed. More steady, more solid. Good, very good!”

Su Ming looked at his mentor and said softly, “Student has been unfilial and caused Teacher worry.”

“Don’t talk nonsense!” Zhou Wenhai took his hand and led him inside. “Come in and speak! Uncle Fu, bring tea and get my prized Dragon Well out!”

The old servant smiled and complied.

The inner hall was tastefully appointed. A landscape painting hung on the wall and a few classical books lay on the desk. Tea steam rose and drove away the autumn chill.

The two sat facing one another.

Zhou Wenhai inquired about Su Ming’s five years. Su Ming omitted the bloodshed and the cruel reality of the cultivation world, only saying that he had met a master in the Northern Frontier and learned ways to survive and stand upright. Now that the court’s injustice had been cleared and Yongchang Marquis had been executed, he could return openly at last.

Zhou Wenhai was silent for a long while after hearing him.

He regarded Su Ming with deep pride. “You’ve outdone me. I only wrote memorials in those days, but you actually got things done.”

Su Ming shook his head. “I merely rode the tide. Without Teacher’s teachings, without Lord Liu’s secret help, I’d already be a skeleton.”

Zhou Wenhai waved his hand, unwilling to probe further. He shifted to small talk, his tone much lighter.

“Not long after you left, Yulin was reassigned to Lin County and became a county magistrate.” Zhou Wenhai lifted his teacup and sipped, showing some satisfaction. “That lad did well and didn’t embarrass me. He wrote recently that his performance review was top grade; maybe next year he’ll be promoted.”

Warmth bloomed in Su Ming’s chest. He understood Zhou Wenhai meant to tell him: all is well, don’t fret.

Zhou Wenhai smiled, then he sighed. “But after that posting it’s far to come back, a year passes without seeing one another. I only have this little grandson with me.” He nodded toward the yard. “That brat is a handful.”

Su Ming followed his gaze. In the yard, a five- or six-year-old boy chased a calico cat, laughing gleefully.

“His name is Zhou Cheng, childhood name Shitou.” Zhou Wenhai’s eyes brimmed with affection. “He studies all right, just can’t sit still.”

Su Ming watched the child and took a smooth jade pendant from his pocket, offering it to Zhou Wenhai.

“Teacher, this is a small token from your student. Let Shitou wear it; it will keep him safe.”

Zhou Wenhai glanced at the pendant, recognizing it was no ordinary trinket, and tried to refuse. Su Ming insisted it was for health and nothing else. Zhou Wenhai could not decline and accepted it.

Night fell.

Su Ming rose to take his leave. Zhou Wenhai did not stop him, merely walking him to the gate.

The sunset’s afterglow laid along the courtyard wall, stretching the locust tree’s shadow long. The little boy Shitou came running out again, tugged his grandfather’s robe, and asked curiously, “Grandfather, who is that uncle?”

Zhou Wenhai looked down at his grandson and smiled, “That is my student. A very remarkable student.”