The sea of desire is like a mirror: calm, undisturbed. The monk stood upon that sea, calmly gazing at this expanse of water—like a reflection in still water, he saw his own image within the sea.

　Never had this sea of desire been so subdued. It opened its embrace, accepting his reflection, accepting him.

　Desires, passions, worldly attachments.

　Come.

　In that instant, the monk suddenly realised that his cultivation, long stagnant without further progress, now trembled with renewed vitality.

　“…Yonglan, it’s getting late. Let us return.” Suppressing the strange sensation in his heart, Tanshan took the silent figure by the arm and walked side by side along the path they had come.

　“Dashi, you were once a cultivator beyond the ordinary world,” Yonglan paused abruptly as they neared the temple walls, releasing the monk’s hand. “If one day you regret it, even if you regret entering these gates now…”

　Given the noble lord’s reckless temperament, the monk had expected him to declare, If you dare regret this, I shall pursue you to the ends of the earth with blade in hand. Instead, he murmured softly, “If you do regret it, I shall never blame you. The fault lies with me—I was too greedy.”

　There is no true freedom and ease in living a monk’s lifetime. Unfulfilled desires breed regret; fulfilled ones bring guilt and remorse.

　Within the temple walls and beyond, monks and secular people remain distinct. Tens of years of encounters where affection arose but was restrained by propriety—this was the best outcome.

　When he had dragged the Buddha into the mortal world was an unknown hour. The person who had reached out felt a pang of pain in his heart. Only then did he realise where the sin lay in indulging desire—even if they bore the guilt together, he still felt he had wronged him.

　“…………”

　Tanshan possessed a naturally reserved temperament, unskilled in expressing feelings or offering comfort. After a long silence, his words remained measured, yet his tone carried a profound, deep warmth. Just like holding a bowl of hot soup in the depths of winter, where the weight alone soothes the heart before the fingertips grow warm.

　The monk raised his hand, brushing the lips pressed together before him. He murmured, “Yonglan, smile.”

　There are always joys and sorrows in this world, some laugh, and some cry—and the Southwest Prince, high in rank and power, adorned with splendour beyond measure, was likely the most sorrowful soul in all the land at that moment, his grief so profound it threatened to spill forth in a deluge of tears.

　He had always prided himself on being born of noble blood, commanding tens of thousands of elite troops. When Xia Chunqiu sought his aid, even the most accomplished ‘immortal teacher’ would have to heed his wishes to some degree—but after this ordeal, having faced the very threshold of life and death, the old prince finally understood. Before the face of Buddha and demons, before the affairs of demon gods, he was but an ordinary mortal with no room to resist.

　Xia Chunqiu led him out of some unknown mountain depths to meet the troops searching for him. Only then did the old prince regain a shred of confidence, but he dared not utter a single word of defiance to the monk again. Repeatedly saying “Xianshi, you must have been startled,” and dutifully ordering his men to escort the monk back to the palace to wash and rest. He himself, however, hurried back to his own residence as if his buttocks had been set on fire. Without even wiping his face, he urgently summoned his trusted advisor for a closed-door meeting, plotting a grand scheme to absolve himself of guilt.

　He was a fool, and his advisors were equally so. After much discussion, they concluded that should the emperor inquire, they should simply blame it on being ‘bewitched by demons.’

　However foolish the Southwest Prince might be, even he knew this excuse would not suffice. As he frowned in deep thought, another counsellor suggested: “Or perhaps we could claim bandits were causing unrest—Your Highness mobilising troops to suppress them would not only be blameless but meritorious!’

　“Seek no merit, but avoid wrongdoing,” the old prince waved dismissively, recognising the scheme’s potential. “Yet this pretext requires capturing bandits to substantiate it… Where would we find such bandits?”

　“Your Highness’s domain spans thousands of li; there must be some vagrants and beggars without kin or ties…” The strategist whispered a few words into his ear, and so a plan was created. A plan riddled with holes, but better than the alternative.

　Xia Chunqiu remained secluded within his residence for two days, meticulously divining the possible destinations of Tanshan and the Marquis of Wanjiang. Though his mastery of divination fell short of Tanshan’s, he could still discern their general direction. To his surprise, neither had headed towards the capital; their path instead pointed towards Mount Emei.

　The old monk had also employed his mind possession technique to direct birds and beasts to search that area but found nothing. Instead, he observed the royal guard rounding up street beggars in all directions but he paid it little heed, assuming the old prince wouldn’t be able stir up much trouble.

　Two days later, the monk went to the prince’s residence to see him. As soon as he stepped into the main hall, he saw the old prince, his hair standing on end with fury, shouting at someone: “I ordered you to arrest beggars! Those wretches no one cares about even when they die! Open your dog eyes and look! Does this man look like a beggar to you?!”

　Having finished cursing his men, the prince, despite his exalted status, turned to the young man standing in the hall, offering a forced smile as he inquired: “Young gongzi, where are you from? What is your family name? I shall order my men to escort you home at once. This has all been a misunderstanding.”

　There knelt one man, silent and cowed, the palace guard who had made the mistake. Standing before him was the young gongzi, who indeed bore little resemblance to a beggar. He appeared scarcely over twenty, his hair dishevelled and his clothes in disarray, yet even soiled and torn, his garments were clearly of fine, high-quality fabric. His face, too, though unkempt, revealed features as fair as jade. His peach-blossom[1] eyes should have been naturally holding a smile, but unfortunately, at this moment, his eyes were lifeless, his mouth was murmuring vaguely with his words almost inaudible.

　“Your Highness, please calm your anger and drink some tea.”

　A smile suddenly spread across the old monk’s face as he addressed the Southwest Prince. Turning kindly to the kneeling guard who was trembling with fear, he inquired, “Don’t be afraid. Where did you capture this man? Why did you seize him?”

　“Your Highness, this fellow is crazy. He won’t answer any questions, only talks nonsense. We tried to drive him off, but he wouldn’t leave…” The guard protested in frustration, explaining that they later suspected the man was no beggar at all. How he’d ended up in that dilapidated temple, sleeping alongside a bunch of foul-smelling vagrants remained a mystery. But no matter how they pressed him, the man only mumbled about ‘a thousand years’ and ‘dreams.’ They couldn’t extract his name or where he came from. Bringing him back merely to tick a box, they never imagined it would land them in such deep trouble.

　“Then why didn’t you release him once you saw clearly? What was the point of bringing him here?”

　“A thousand years, one great dream…”

　As if to corroborate the guard’s truthfulness, the young man standing there in a daze suddenly raised his voice, yet uttered nothing else. He repeated only one phrase over and over: A thousand years, one great dream.

　“Young gongzi…” Xia Chunqiu stepped forward, positioning himself before the youth. His tone was gentle and concerned. “Child, what did you dream of? How could it have lasted a thousand years?”

　“A thousand years… more than a thousand years…” The man gazed blankly at the old monk, his words sounding like a mournful wail, yet his eyes were dry as two parched wells. “Dream… it wasn’t a dream… it couldn’t be a dream…

　“A-Lian…”

　“Who is A-Lian?”

　“…It was a dream… A-Lian was a dream… a thousand year long dream…”

　After two questions, the old monk understood why the Southwest Prince had deigned to ask with a forced smile—he had no choice. Anger was futile against a madman; coaxing was the only solution.

　“This monk has long said, Your Highness is truly a blessed person,” Xia Chunqiu ceased further questioning and turned to the Southwest Prince with a smile. “You are one blessed beyond measure. Are you truly resolved to abandon your quest for immortality?”

　”…………” The Southwest Prince had witnessed with his own eyes that immortal and demons truly existed in this world, beings who had genuinely ascended to heaven. How could he abandon the delusion of seeking immortality and eternal life? Yet he was also afraid—afraid of this Xianshi, afraid of those extraordinary events far beyond mortal control. How could he dare trust him again!

　“Based on your destiny,” Xia Chunqiu observed the struggle etched upon his face, “you have but seven or eight years left to live. Do you truly wish to waste away in mortal existence? Your Highness, do you recall how I once sent you to search far and wide? I sought only to discover whether, twenty six years ago in the lands you ruled when disaster struck, there were any who, like my disciple, had entered the realm of immortals and returned.”

　The Southwest Prince remained silent, so the old monk continued unprompted: “Twenty six years ago, Yucheng was struck by a sudden lightning calamity. You may have forgotten because only a few perished. There lived a wealthy family, surnamed Meng. In the dead of night, a bolt of heavenly lightning struck their residence, killing two night-watch servants. However, their eldest son vanished without a trace.”

　“…………”

　“Ah, your expression suggests you truly have forgotten—understandable, for though the Mengs were wealthy, they dared not bring their grief before Your Highness. Yet back then, they plastered the entire city with missing person notices, offering a hundred taels of silver for even a single clue. Alas, neither body nor trace of the son was ever found.”

　“Xianshi, could it be…”

　“If Your Highness doubts my words, you may have the case files from the Meng family’s official report retrieved for comparison. Among those documents lies the missing person notice, bearing a portrait rendered with uncanny accuracy.”

　“Young gongzi, might your surname be Meng?”

　The old monk addressed the young man, who still muttered incoherently. Receiving no reply, he paid it no mind and turned to the guard kneeling nearby, who had listened so intently he’d forgotten his fear. “I shall grant you an opportunity to prove yourself. Take ample men and journey to Yuzhou,” Xia Chunqiu instructed him with a smile, “Remember to bring both the master and his wife from the Meng household. Gather the elderly servants from the household and the long-resident elders of Yucheng too. If they refuse, bring them by force—but don’t forget to tell them it’s a joyous occasion: His Highness has found their son, missing for twenty six years. Let them come and reunite with their kin.”

　“Twenty six years ago… this… he looks only twenty now…” The old prince circled the deranged man twice, pointing at him in stunned disbelief, his finger trembling.

　“The year young Meng-gongzi vanished, he was precisely twenty years of age,” Xia Chunqiu nodded and smiled. “Twenty six years have passed since then. He has returned to this mortal realm, yet his appearance remains unchanged from the portrait. That is why I recognised him at a glance—Your Highness, the immortal realm is real. It is also true that one attains eternal life upon reaching it. Do you believe it now?”

　“I… I have never doubted the Xianshi…”

　“Very well, whether you believe it or not matters little,” Xia Chunqiu lifted his head slightly, gazing towards the northeast. Though his eyes could only take in the hall of the Southwest Prince’s residence, he seemed to see a thousand-tiered palace, golden halls and jade-green tiles. “Once the person is brought forth and the kinship acknowledged, you and I shall take the Meng family, young and old, on a journey to the capital.”

　“Go… go…” Even the bewildered Southwest Prince grasped his meaning. “You intend to…”

　“The ruler of all under heaven, the emperor of men,” Xia Chunqiu turned to face him, his tone gentle. “The imperial Chang’an Seal has fallen into another’s hands. If I do not seek justice from the current Emperor, what use would you be?”

　“My imperial nephew… You don’t know him,” the old prince seemed hesitant, “He’s never been one to heed counsel. Since childhood, he’s prattled on about how hearing is not as good as seeing, and seeing is not as good as experiencing firsthand. How could he possibly…”

　“Seeing is believing, isn’t it splendid?’ Xia Chunqiu pointed at the dazed Meng-gongzi. “And what could be more tangible than this living, breathing person before us?”

　“…………”

　“Even if Your Highness is reluctant, might this not be an opportunity to atone for past transgressions?’ Though Xia Chunqiu knew nothing of the Southwest Prince’s ill-conceived plan to ‘suppress mountain bandits,’ he understood the prince would never pursue a mere beggar without cause, and so cut straight to the heart of his scheme. “The merit you offer the emperor could atone for any crime, however grave. When the time comes for ascension to immortality, the emperor, mindful of blood ties, will surely grant you your share.”

　“…Very well, we shall proceed as Xianshi suggests. This Prince shall make preparations at once!”

　After a few more words, the old Prince suddenly realised—after audience with the emperor, whether the opportunity to seek immortality would still be his was one matter, but surely he wouldn’t lose his life in a moment of carelessness.

　After all, he was an imperial prince. Rather than deceive the emperor, it would be wiser to treat him as a pillar of support—for he was truly terrified of this Xianshi. In the face of such dread, even his distant imperial nephew seemed far more approachable.

　“How splendid—cause and effect, mutually intertwined and arising…”

　Xia Chunqiu ceased his chatter with the Southwest Prince, pacing out the hall doors. Gazing up at the sun high in the sky, he sighed wistfully: “So that near-failure was not in vain after all… Truly, cause and effect follow one another; Heaven did not deceive me.”

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[1] Almond shaped