Zhong Zhengyuan said, “Time has changed, seas have transformed into mulberry fields. For long-lived beings like us, this is already the norm.”

“Master Zhong seems quite accustomed to it.”

Chen Changsheng pondered in his heart. The sudden arrival of chaos felt utterly overwhelming, like waking to find the world plunged into darkness.

Zhong Zhengyuan said, “Over these five hundred years, ruling dynasties have come and gone. First, the Great Yan ruled the south. Then came the age of Five Kingdoms vying for power. Only a hundred years ago did things slowly settle—though that peace was brief. Who knows how many will die in this turmoil?”

Chen Changsheng had to ask, “Has there ever been true unification?”

Zhong Zhengyuan shook his head. “Not in the last thousand years. Endless wars may seem bleak, but they follow Heaven’s design.”

Chen Changsheng sipped his tea. “While dynasties war and the world changes, peace might actually slow Humanity’s Dao. Though the cost… is heavy.”

“True,” Zhong Zhengyuan acknowledged with a silent nod. “A rough estimate: tens of millions perished in wars these five centuries.”

Chen Changsheng responded, “In the end, ordinary folk bear this suffering.”

He glanced toward the street. Though still busy with passersby, gone were the smiles of before.

Zhong Zhengyuan sighed, “The world is bitter. Even we cultivators, who fathom Heaven and Earth, cannot change its chaos.”

Chen Changsheng looked at him. “I disagree.”

Zhong Zhengyuan paused and met his gaze. “Does Mr. Chen truly intend to save Great Jing?”

Chen Changsheng countered, “Does Master Zhong believe Great Jing’s fall is certain?”

Zhong Zhengyuan stated, “Great Jing’s military is weak, lacking strategic location. Once Northlands and Beixiang invade, they’ll carve it up. Then Northern Mang will rise north of Beixiang. The Three Kingdoms will emerge—Heaven’s Mandated Cycle.”

He’d foreseen Great Jing’s doomed fate through divination long ago. Even if Northlands faced rebellion, the outcome remained the same.

Chen Changsheng suddenly smiled. “Master Zhong once predicted wind and rain’s timing with me. Doesn’t that show Heaven’s Mandate isn’t absolute?”

Zhong Zhengyuan stiffened, then warned, “Why tempt Fate so? Tangling yourself with Karma may bar your Path of Immortality forever.”

He believed cultivation required avoiding Karma, submitting to the Heavens. Defying Fate invited decline.

Chen Changsheng shook his head. “Tell me, what is cultivation for? Why seek Immortality?”

Zhong Zhengyuan opened his mouth, then froze. After thought, he offered vaguely, “Long life.”

Chen Changsheng chuckled. “My goal differs from most. I’m an ordinary man. I simply want the world… to feel right.”

For him, immortality held little allure.

All crave long life. Few know its loneliness. Watching loved ones vanish. Seeing landscapes transform until nothing remains familiar.

“Why?” Zhong Zhengyuan didn’t understand.

Chen Changsheng replied, “Suffering fills this world. Lessening a little bit is good. After I journey away, I just wish—returning years later—to find traces of… hope.”

His wish was that simple.

Watching him, Zhong Zhengyuan felt respect bloom within. Among innumerable cultivators, he’d never met one like Chen Changsheng. All feared Mortal World ties—Karma’s chains. Yet this man embraced it, perhaps reveled in it, dismissing the Path of Immortality. Utterly unique.

For an instant, Zhong Zhengyuan’s own convictions wavered. Only an instant. Then he grasped the gulf between them—not of cultivation strength, but perception of the Mortal World.

Zhong Zhengyuan breathed, “You are a True Immortal within the Mortal Dust. I fall far short.”

Chen Changsheng waved it aside. “You flatter me. I’m just one among the hundreds of millions—a drop lost in the human sea.”

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“So am I,” Zhong Zhengyuan replied.

He sighed inwardly.

This man was no mere drop in the ocean.

He was the hundreds of millions themselves.

Chen Changsheng asked, “Amidst this chaos… what are Master Zhong’s plans?”

Zhong Zhengyuan said, “I meant to depart for Immortal Mountain soon. Yet after our talk… I feel compelled to see how you plan to save this chaotic age.”

Chen Changsheng nodded briefly, then suddenly grinned. “Is Master Zhong… trying to reclaim that owed three centuries of Merit?”

Zhong Zhengyuan blinked, then burst into laughter.

As mirth faded, he quipped, “Well? Will you repay me?”

Chen Changsheng just smiled wider. “No Merit here. Only my life to offer if you want it.”

“…”

Zhong Zhengyuan could only shake his head with a wry smile. The three centuries of Merit seemed unimportant now.

Meeting this man felt… worthwhile.

The Path of Immortality is remote. Kindred spirits even rarer. After decades wandering alone, he’d never met anyone like Chen Changsheng.

They shared light-hearted talk—sipping tea that somehow tasted like intoxicating wine. Their laughter never ceased.

Time flowed. Their cups emptied.

Zhong Zhengyuan rose. Solemnly, he placed one copper coin on the table, payment for the tea. Likely his last payment here.

Leaving the Tea Stall, he mentioned lingering business—some “hopes” held across his long stay.

Chen Changsheng followed him to a humble Divination stall on the bustling street. Zhong Zhengyuan gazed at it thoughtfully, lingering in memories at its familiar sight.

After a long silence, he murmured, “Leaving, perhaps for good… What should remain?”

Chen Changsheng considered it. “If it were me… I’d write, ‘I have gone.'”

Zhong Zhengyuan stared, then nodded with sudden warmth.

“Laughter is better. Mr. Chen’s idea sounds perfect.”

Stepping toward the stall, Zhong Zhengyuan raised a hand. His touch swept over the signboard. Words faded.

In their place, new characters appeared:

[Zhong has gone.]

Chen Changsheng regarded the script. Raising his Wine Gourd for a deep sip, a faint smile touched his lips.

That day, the Divination Master who measured wind and rain vanished from the riverside Civic District.

His stall remained untouched upon the street’s edge, long after his departure. Over years, rain, wind, and sun would blur the characters upon its sign. They’d fade, soften, and scatter away, eventually turn to dust between Heaven and Earth. Forgotten.

Though folk whispered legends of the “Master of Wind and Rain,” his final words to the world remained simply:

“[Zhong has gone.]”