“Another day of drizzle and gray skies. My joints ache — a person really does grow old. The house feels so cold and empty. I heard the neighbors’ child crying, and I thought again of Xiao Fan as a little boy.”

“The old man says nothing, but I know he misses Xiao Fan even more than I do. He often calls his name in his sleep at night, and several times when I’ve turned on the light, I’ve seen clouded tears on his face. We truly are old now.”

…

The diary had gone yellow with age. With every page Ye Fan turned, tears rolled down his face. The pages were filled to the brim with longing for him — each one a vessel carrying their love.

“Papa — Mama!” Ye Fan could no longer hold back his weeping. Through all the hardships he had endured in the Big Dipper, through all the trials and suffering, he had never once shed tears — but now that he was home, he could no longer contain them. They fell without stopping.

The dust-covered diary felt heavier than ten thousand pounds, making his hands tremble uncontrollably. His heart ached to the core — his aging parents, their desolate final years, murmuring his name in their sleep, then waking to nothing but cold tears on their faces.

“New Year’s has come. Same as always — just the two of us. If Xiao Fan were to suddenly come back, to simply appear by our side — how wonderful that would be.”

“The fifteenth has arrived, the Lantern Festival. A time for families to be whole and together. But our home is so quiet. We went to bed early, but neither of us could sleep until dawn. Our backs and legs are aching — our bodies are giving out. We don’t know how many more years we can wait for Xiao Fan.”

…

Ye Fan wept bitterly, collapsing to his knees, cradling the diary in his hands — this book soaked through with tears and longing — his body shaking. Every word drilled into his heart, filling it with anguish.

How had the two old people managed all these years? Tears blurred his eyes. Page after yellowed page carried more weight than any mountain.

The final diary entry had stopped ten years ago. There were only a few lines — their bodies had given out, they could barely think of him without becoming confused; the two old people could go days without saying more than a few words to each other, their grief becoming illness.

Ye Fan’s heart felt as though it were being cut open. He grabbed his own hair with both fists and pressed his head to the floor in anguish, wishing he could reverse time — wishing he could return to that moment, if only to bring smiles back to their faces.

This was a diary from ten years ago. What remained in this house now? Only dust. Not a single breath of life. Ye Fan’s head rang like a struck bell; he felt as though his soul had left him.

He knew that some things could not be undone. And yet he refused to accept it. He cried out like a wounded animal, a howl of raw grief tearing from his throat.

“Papa — Mama!”

He screamed toward the heavens, tears streaming down his face, clawing desperately at the empty air, trying to grasp something — anything. But there was nothing he could do.

He searched frantically, through every corner, every room — but each object he found only deepened his sorrow. The mold-damp bedroom, the simple furniture, the spoiled instant noodles — all of it spoke to how difficult those final years had been for the two old people.

At last, in a relatively newer wardrobe, he found stack upon neatly folded stack of clothing. Every piece was carefully preserved. They were — all of them — his.

Ye Fan choked on his grief. Trembling, he ran his hands over the fabric, then pressed his forehead to the ground and knelt there, unable to rise, striking the floor again and again with his fist.

Though he struggled to contain himself, cracks spread outward nonetheless — this was an ending no one could accept, and he wanted to scream with the full force of his lungs.

He had left the Big Dipper star field, sparing nothing, all for the sake of this reunion — to be at the old people’s side — and in the end, he had arrived too late.

Ye Fan wept without restraint, crying out for his parents again and again, like a lost child, tears flowing without end — feeling as though he had lost the entire world.

If his enemies in the Big Dipper star field could see him now, they would surely be baffled. How could a man with a heart of iron and merciless hands have a side like this?

No one knew how long passed. Ye Fan’s heart went hollow and still. He sat with both arms around his knees, eyes vacant, motionless, staring at each object in the room.

Having read the diary and taken in everything in the house, he could already piece together what must have happened. Ten years ago, his parents’ bodies had simply given out — the conclusion wrote itself.

Like a wounded child, Ye Fan curled himself into a corner. For a full day and night, he didn’t move once. His eyes were empty, staring blankly at each familiar object.

It was only the next day that he finally stood, ready to peel back the last scar — to look squarely at a wound that still bled.

He walked out slowly, raised his eyes to the sky, and felt that everything had gone gray. Even the sun had lost its brightness; everything was suffocating and bleak.

He looked at the old courtyard house, lost in quiet thought. He had left his parents considerable money when he’d departed. After he vanished on Mount Tai, everything — the house, the car, the savings — should have gone to the two old people. Why had their lives been so difficult?

By the standards of the time, what he had left behind was enough for ordinary people to live comfortably for several lifetimes.

Rising prices? Inflation? Ten yuan in 2010 had roughly the buying power of one yuan in the nineties. But even accounting for more than two decades of wild price increases and heavy inflation, those assets should have been more than enough for them to live well in their old age.

Ye Fan shook his head. They were gone now — what was the point of pursuing any of this? He steeled himself to near-despair as he went to face the final answer.

He needed to find out where his parents had gone after the diary entries stopped. He needed to see everything about their final days. To do it, he resolved to use his divine abilities without hesitation — to enter the relevant offices, no matter how conspicuous — and read every available record.

First, he released his powerful divine sense and sifted through the memories of certain residents in the surrounding courtyard compound, searching carefully — then erased every trace of his having done so.

What he had not expected was that he truly found a clue of tremendous value. Ten years ago, someone had come to take away his parents — whose bodies had already been failing — and that someone was a woman.

None of the residents knew who she was. They only knew her surname was Xu, because just before they got into the car, his parents had called her “Little Xu.”

A woman with the surname Xu. Something stirred in Ye Fan’s chest. Among everyone he had known — everyone who had crossed paths with him and whom his parents would have addressed that way — there was only one person it could be.

Thinking of this woman, Ye Fan was briefly stunned, and then gave a quiet sigh. More than twenty years had passed. What could be said? Time was so ruthless, and had changed so many things.

Xu Qiong — a woman who had left a vivid mark on his life. They had been parted for over twenty years. He couldn’t begin to imagine what it would be like when they met again.

He left the suburban outskirts, called upon his divine abilities, entered the appropriate government offices, and looked through their records — finding what he needed, learning where Xu Qiong now lived.

After he and Li Xiaoman had reached their natural end following his university graduation, he had met another woman a little over a year later — Xu Qiong. They had known each other for two years.

From a bland acquaintanceship, through two years of knowing each other, they had become very good friends — and then… there had been no “and then.” Because before anything could begin, everything ended.

If not for that gathering. If not for going to Mount Tai. If not for his vanishing from this world — perhaps there would have been many more chapters to that story.

In a city as expensive as every inch of City B, owning a standalone villa was a dream most people could never fulfill in their entire lives — especially here, in Xishan.

Xishan was the collective name for the mountains to the west of City B — ideal location, scenic beauty, and renowned above all for its ancient temples. Neighboring scenic districts, situated within them, it bore the name of an imperial enclave.

Ye Fan came to a spot not far from a detached villa and stood quietly watching. The weather was cold, the trees stripped bare of every leaf — yet he could see at once that this place had been chosen with care. Fine views, and a fine position to live in.

Nothing dramatic happened. He found Xu Qiong’s residence without any difficulty — it was the standalone villa ahead.

In the distance, a car drew slowly to a stop. A graceful, elegant woman stepped out. She was immediately familiar, and Ye Fan felt a sudden jolt in his chest. It was Xu Qiong.

She had taken good care of herself. Though she was long past the bloom of youth, she bore little trace of the years — only an added quality of maturity and composure.

Ye Fan gazed at her in a daze, memories flooding back. The beautiful girl from those days had been cheerful and talkative, warm and open. Her bearing now was entirely different.

Those vanished years, that vanished youth — so much had changed. Had he met her anywhere else, he might not have dared to recognize her.

“Mama.” The other car door opened and a girl of sixteen or seventeen stepped out, bounding along lightly, vivid and beautiful — looking very much like Xu Qiong had looked over twenty years ago.

In the distance, Ye Fan stood still. So many years had passed. The girl he had known had become a mother, with a daughter this grown already. His heart filled with a hundred mingled feelings; he stood rooted to the spot.

“The years,” he murmured, letting those three words out slowly.

In the distance, Xu Qiong happened to glance his way. The moment she saw him, her handbag slipped from her fingers and fell to the ground. The expression on her face froze entirely as she stared at him in astonishment.

Then a wave of overwhelming emotion swept across her face. She raised her hand, pointing toward Ye Fan, her lips moving faintly: “You — you — you are…”

“Mama, what’s wrong?” The girl quickly rounded the car, ran to her side, and threw her arms around one of her mother’s arms, shaking it with concern — then followed her gaze toward Ye Fan.

All these years had passed, and Ye Fan’s face was unchanged — if anything, a few years younger than he had been back then. He walked silently forward until he stood before her.

“Is it really… you?” Xu Qiong asked, her voice trembling.

“It’s me.” Ye Fan nodded.

Such a reunion — and so many things impossible to say all at once. The two of them stood facing each other in silence, feelings rising and falling like tide.

“Come inside,” Xu Qiong said at last, having steadied herself somewhat.

“Mama, who is he?” the girl beside her asked quietly.

Once they were in the sitting room, Xu Qiong said, “Xu Ye, go to your room. I need to speak with this gentleman.”

“What gentleman? He’s barely older than me,” Xu Ye said, wrinkling her nose in displeasure, then turned to Ye Fan with playful provocation: “Hey, kid — who are you?” The teasing tone carried no real malice and was actually rather charming — the mark of a lively personality.

“Go to your room,” Xu Qiong said firmly.

“Alright, fine.”

The sitting room went quiet. Neither of them spoke. For Xu Qiong, Ye Fan’s reappearance was something almost too staggering to process.

A breathless silence hung between them. After a long moment, Xu Qiong spoke. “All these years — where on earth have you been?”

“Very far away. So far that I had to fight with everything I had, surviving death again and again, before I could finally make it back now.”

Xu Qiong gave a quiet sigh. “I didn’t wait too long. Two years of knowing each other — and I only waited another two years. A person has to live.” There was no reproach in her voice.

Ye Fan nodded. Life was not a story. People had to survive, to go on. Waiting a lifetime — that was something beautiful that existed only in fiction. Everyone had to keep moving forward.

He didn’t know how Xu Qiong had come to take his parents in. Something must have happened in the years between — there was a story there.

“Xu Qiong — my parents…” Ye Fan’s voice trembled.

“If you had come back even three years earlier…”

The words struck Ye Fan like a bolt of lightning. He slumped helplessly against the sofa, the world going dark around him. He had anticipated it — but hearing it spoken aloud was something else entirely. It was as though he had plummeted into a bottomless abyss; his vision swam, and tears fell beyond his control.

Xu Qiong rose and led him into a room — telling him this was where the two old people had lived out their final days. Three years ago, one after the other, less than a month apart, they had left this world.

Ye Fan knelt there, tears falling in silence, clutching the bedsheet with all his might, trying to feel everything of theirs — trying to catch some trace of their presence.

“They really did miss you terribly. Every night they would softly hum the lullaby they used to sing to you when you were small, and stroke your childhood photographs…”

“And especially toward the end, when their bodies gave out and they couldn’t move anymore — they would hold that yellowed photo album as though terrified of losing it.”

“In their last days, they would run their worn, rough hands over it, and stare at your photograph with clouded, unblinking eyes…”

Ye Fan could bear it no longer. He knelt on the ground, pressed his forehead to the bed, and sobbed out loud — broken and inconsolable.

Over twenty years. All of it — every effort — amounted to nothing in the end. He had not been able to see his parents. His heart felt like it was being carved apart, filled with grief and sorrow and boundless regret.

A pain that tore at his very soul. Tears that poured without end, blurring his eyes. Ye Fan’s fingers nearly snapped with the force of his grip. He could not accept this.

Xu Qiong stepped out, leaving him alone in the room. In a daze, Ye Fan sensed a warmth, a calling.

“Xiao Fan — have you come back…”

Ye Fan felt his very heart and liver shatter. His lips moved, one word at a time — each syllable a drop of blood — as he chanted the Scripture of Salvation. He had never imagined he would one day recite it for his parents. Every character blazed into the void, bearing his sorrow and grief, seared deep into the room.