Senior sister, stop working and go home for dinner.

Chapter 394 Still Returning

Chen Anran did not answer immediately.

He looked at Xiaoling'er's drooping eyelashes, at her fingers clenching the hem of her dress, and at the slightly frayed collar of her plain dress.

"Yes," he said.

Xiao Ling'er did not look up.

"What if," her voice softened further, "that Master doesn't remember Junior Uncle either..."

"It's okay."

Chen Anran interrupted her.

Xiao Ling'er raised her head.

Chen Anran continued to gaze at the bamboo forest, the lines of her profile appearing exceptionally serene in the light and shadow.

"It's okay if she doesn't remember me."

His voice was not loud, even somewhat soft.

"It's enough that I know who she is."

Xiao Ling'er stared at him blankly.

After a long while, she softly hummed in agreement.

A breeze stirred in the bamboo grove. This time the wind was stronger, and bamboo leaves fluttered down, covering Chen Anran's shoulders.

Xiao Ling'er stood up and gently removed the most conspicuous bamboo leaf from his hair. Her movements were very light, just like Su Wan used to tidy his clothes.

"Junior Uncle," she said, "are you going to see that person?"

After Xiaoling asked that question, the bamboo forest remained quiet for a long time.

Chen Anran did not answer immediately.

He watched the settlement below the mountain gradually come to life, watching the wisps of smoke rise into the sky, dispersing into faint white trails in the morning breeze. The smoke came from the stoves of the Immortal Cuisine Workshop, from the firewood that Fatty Li had added that morning, and from the dough kneaded by the rough hands of the women of Little Stone Village.

"I will go," he said.

The voice was very soft, as if it were just being spoken to oneself.

Xiao Ling'er didn't ask when or how she was going. She simply hummed softly, gathered the bamboo leaf she had just picked in her palm, and carefully folded it into the hidden pocket in her sleeve.

"Junior Uncle," she said, "can I come along?"

Chen Anran turned her head.

Xiao Ling'er didn't look at him. Her gaze was fixed on a certain direction down the mountain.

It's not a resort, but somewhere further away.

"I want to see," she said softly, "what Tianjing looked like three thousand years ago."

She didn't say, "I want to see Master." But Chen Anran understood and knew she had misunderstood, though she didn't explain.

There was no explanation that "that person" was not Su Wan, but Wei Qingyi's past life.

Chen Anran only said, "...It will be very dangerous."

"I know," Xiao Ling'er said. "I will practice hard and not cause any trouble for my junior uncle."

Chen Anran remained silent for a moment.

"Okay, when Martial Uncle is about to go to Tianjing, he will take Xiao Ling'er with him."

Xiao Ling'er nodded. She placed her hands neatly back on her knees and sat quietly beside Chen Anran, just as she used to do when listening to Su Wan preach.

The smoke from the chimneys at the foot of the mountain gradually dissipated.

As the sun climbed to its zenith, it gradually shortened the bamboo shadows inch by inch, and then slowly lengthened them again.

Little Ling'er had fallen asleep against the bluestone at some point. She must have been exhausted these past few days, for her brow was slightly furrowed even in her sleep, as if she were chasing something in her dreams.

Chen Anran did not wake her up.

He took off his outer garment and gently placed it on Xiaoling'er's shoulder.

Then he stood up and went into the sect.

He will continue his seclusion to further enhance his self-cultivation.

………………

The ninth day of the tenth lunar month is auspicious for travel.

The side gate of the General's Mansion in the west of Tianjing City quietly opened at 3:45 AM.

There were no ceremonial guards, no relatives seeing them off, and no retinue of servants. There was only a blue-curtained carriage, two packhorses carrying luggage, and an old soldier in his forties with a scarred face serving as both driver and guard.

The old soldier was named Zhou Da. He was originally a squad leader in the scout battalion of the Western Army. Sixteen years ago, when he followed Commander Wei on a northern expedition, he had half of his left ear cut off by a barbarian scimitar, and a scar on his right cheek that ran diagonally from his brow bone to his jaw. After recovering from his injuries, his eyesight was impaired, and he could no longer serve as a scout. Commander Wei then transferred him to the General's office to be in charge of the carriages.

Zhou Da had killed barbarians, protected his commander, and witnessed mountains of corpses and seas of blood in his life. Yet, at this moment, a thin layer of sweat had seeped into his palm as he gripped the reins.

The only eldest daughter-in-law of the General's family was sitting in his car.

He watched the girl grow from an infant into the graceful woman she is today.

Today, he is the one who will personally escort the girl from Tianjing to that damned Qingyang Valley, eight hundred miles away.

Zhou Da did not turn around.

He simply tightened his grip on the reins, urging the horse along the deserted street in the early morning, steadily heading towards the west gate.

Inside the train carriage.

Wei Yiran sat upright.

It wasn't the demure, reserved sitting posture of an ordinary young lady; it was an ingrained demeanor, honed through countless corrections by the matron with a ruler. Her back was ramrod straight, her knees together, her hands clasped on her knees, and her gaze fixed straight ahead. The blue curtain blocked out most of the sunlight from the carriage, allowing only a sliver to pierce through the gap and fall upon her drooping eyelashes.

She is fifteen years old this year.

From the time she could remember, everyone in the General's Mansion treated her extremely well. Although her grandfather was stationed in the northern frontier year-round, he would always send letters and gifts to her during festivals, addressing her as "Little Aran" and signing them "Grandfather Shanyue" in strong, vigorous handwriting. Her father, Wei Ming, was upright and not good with words, but he would personally teach her to read and write and study history for three days every month, never relying on a tutor.

As for the mother...

Wei Yiran lowered her eyes.

My mother passed away early. So early that she could only vaguely remember a blurry figure, the faint scent of plum blossoms on that person's body when they held her, and the soft, gentle voice that sounded like snow falling on window paper in winter.

My mother passed away early. So early that she could only vaguely remember a blurry figure, the faint scent of plum blossoms on that person's body when they held her, and the soft, gentle voice that sounded like snow falling on window paper in winter.

After the age of three, it never happened again.

She never inquired about the cause of her mother's death. Some things were best left unsaid in the household, so she never asked.

Asking is useless.

The carriage swayed slightly as the wheels rolled over the long-neglected crack in the bluestone at the city gate.

"Madam," Zhou Da's deep voice came from outside the curtain, "we've left the city."

"Mm," Wei Yiran responded.

She finally turned her head slightly and looked behind the car through the gap in the curtain.

The western city wall of Tianjing was slowly receding in the morning mist. The scenery she had seen for fifteen years was now being pulled away inch by inch, like an old dream that refused to end.

She couldn't quite describe how she felt at that moment.

Reluctance? Perhaps.

Fear? A little.

There seems to be some expectation... but not entirely none.

She recalled the conversation she had seven days earlier that had changed her fate ever since.

That day, her father summoned her to his study, dismissed everyone else, and remained silent for a long time.

She didn't urge him, but just stood there quietly, looking at the old inkstone on her father's desk that had been used for more than twenty years. The edge of the inkstone was chipped, but she still couldn't bear to replace it.

"Yiran," the father finally spoke, his voice hoarser than usual, "do you know why your grandfather named you 'Yiran'?"

She replied, "'The carriages and horses remain' means that things are constant and unchanging."

The father shook his head.

"That's only one thing," he said. "The second thing is—"

He paused, his gaze falling on the old inkstone on the desk, as if looking through that small inkwell to a place very, very far away.

"Still" also means to return.

归来。

Wei Yiran silently repeated this word in her heart.

She didn't know where she would eventually go, nor did she know what kind of "return" her grandfather and father were hoping for when they sent her away from Tianjing to Qingyang Valley on the distant southeastern border.

All she knew was that it was her grandfather's letter and her father's decision.

She only needs to comply.