The wind was bitterly cold. In this season, temperatures in the north were low, especially in the early morning — every breath came out as a white puff, and the trees stood bare and stripped.

As the morning glow first rose, Ye Fan arrived in City B. The city had grown even more prosperous; towering skyscrapers stood tall in the rosy light, as though gilded with a layer of gold.

Yet Ye Fan was filled with a deep sense of unfamiliarity. He could no longer find anything of what he once knew. He had lived here for a long time in the past, but now everything had changed completely.

Where do I even begin to look for them?

Ye Fan felt a gnawing anxiety, terrified that he might never see his parents again. He had endured countless hardships, nearly lost his life, survived nine deaths before making it back — if everything was simply gone, he couldn’t accept that.

He didn’t go to his old residence. Even from a great distance, he could see it had been completely rezoned and utterly transformed beyond recognition.

Ye Fan was tense and uneasy, his heart unsettled, as he made his way toward the outer suburbs. His parents had never liked the fast pace of city life; when he’d once invited them to move in with him, they had gently declined.

This place has changed too…

Ye Fan stood there in a daze. He had arrived at his parents’ old neighborhood, and the quiet he remembered had been replaced by bustling crowds moving in an endless stream. Towering high-rises stood where there had once been open space, and the former satellite town had become one with City B itself.

He couldn’t find a single trace of the past. If not for trusting his own instincts, he’d have thought he had come to the wrong place entirely. Everything had changed.

People often say that after years away from home, you finally return — only to find the world has moved on without you. But now, even the world itself had moved on. He stood there in silence for a long time.

Afterward, he climbed to the rooftop of a tall building and gazed into the distance. The one thing that remained was the natural lake — though it had been expanded considerably, with a large public park built along its banks.

In years past, Ye Fan’s father had always loved sitting by that lake, fishing away the hours. That was no longer possible. Some people were out for their morning exercise, but not a single familiar face was among them — and there was no one he could ask.

Ye Fan walked down to the lakeshore and spotted an elderly man practicing Tai Chi. He stopped and stretched out his own limbs, moving with fluid grace — like a dragon coiling around a tree, like an ape cradling the moon.

“Hey there, young man, you’re quite something!” the old man exclaimed, clearly impressed. “Your form is outstanding — even better than this old fellow who’s been practicing Tai Chi for forty years.”

“Uncle, may I ask you something? How long ago was this area rezoned, and where did all the original residents go?” Ye Fan asked, continuing his Tai Chi movements as he spoke.

“You’re not from around here, are you, young man? The rezoning was completed over a decade ago. Honestly, it’s not as good as it used to be. I miss the peace and quiet — fewer people, more trees, fresh air.”

The old man was quite talkative. He and his wife had specifically come here for retirement, hoping for tranquility close to nature — but then it had been merged with the urban district, and now it was the same forest of high-rises as everywhere else.

“Ah well, can’t be helped. Even the villa district here got demolished, didn’t it? The people who lived there had no choice either. An old wreck like me certainly had no say — they tore it down, so they tore it down,” the old man grumbled.

“About twenty-some years ago, there were a few elderly folks who loved fishing here to pass the time. Do you remember them at all?” Ye Fan asked, slowly continuing his movements while casually sharing some thoughts on the art of Tai Chi.

“Of course! I moved here later, but this lake really was a wonderful place. You could drag a little folding stool to the bank and sit there half the day — those were truly leisurely times. Nothing like now. My hands get itchy and the moment I drop my fishing hook in the water, four or five people come running over telling me I’ll be fined five hundred yuan — no fishing allowed. I told them I was going to throw the fish back anyway, and they said it still wasn’t permitted. Out of options, I bought a few live fish and tossed them into the fountain out front just to satisfy the urge — but there was no satisfaction in it, and on top of that I got fined a thousand yuan.”

Ye Fan felt slightly dazed. This old fellow was remarkably chatty. A few questions had drawn out all of this — though it was clear the old man led quite a comfortable life.

“You could always go to a pay fishing park, uncle,” Ye Fan said with a smile. “No need to make things difficult for the park staff. I imagine they’re on edge about it too.”

“These old bones of mine can’t take that kind of back-and-forth. A round trip would take two hours. I’m looking to relax, not put myself through an ordeal.”

“Did you ever happen to see someone like this…” Ye Fan described his father’s appearance.

“I think I did see someone like that, though he didn’t come often — only occasionally. Word was he was an avid fishing enthusiast, but his family had gone through some trouble, and the man was quite downcast. It was rare to see him even once in a fortnight.”

A wave of grief washed over Ye Fan, a sudden pang of sorrow. All of it was because he had left this world. To lose a child in old age — a white-haired parent burying one with black hair — who could endure such a blow?

“Do you know where he went?”

“He moved away before the rezoning was even finished. Word was he wanted a change of environment, to avoid being constantly reminded of the past and falling into sadness.”

Ye Fan sighed inwardly. It was going to be genuinely difficult to find them. But at least the old man had told him that some residents had stayed in this district even after the rezoning — he should be able to track down a few old neighbors.

“Say, young man — is that a Song dynasty style or Han style you’re wearing? Where did you buy it? You look quite striking practicing Tai Chi in it. One of these days I’ll get myself a set too.”

Just before Ye Fan could leave, the old man grabbed his hand and asked about his traditional garments, touching the fabric again and again, remarking that the quality was genuinely fine — authentic, proper silk.

“I brought it back from the Big Dipper…” Ye Fan muttered, his mind elsewhere, answering on instinct.

“The Big Dipper Shopping Center? That’s quite a distance from here. These old bones of mine aren’t really up to the trip.”

“It is rather far…” Ye Fan caught himself just in time — he’d nearly let something slip. The old man really did talk endlessly. Ye Fan quickly gathered his wits and said his farewells.

Before he left, the old man kindly pointed out that his hair was far too long. Even in this era of personal expression, older folks still weren’t used to seeing it.

Ye Fan said nothing, running a hand through his thick black hair. Fortunately it was simply hanging loose — if he’d had a wooden hairpin in it, there was no telling how much attention that would have drawn.

Still, more than twenty years had passed. In this age of self-expression and open attitudes, no one gathered to stare at him. At most, people gave him a curious second glance before moving on.

Ye Fan passed in and out of many residential compounds, sweeping them with his powerful divine sense, checking them one by one — and still he found not a single familiar face from the old days.

Half a day passed with no results. It left him more exhausted than any life-or-death battle — this was the weariness of the heart, the nagging dread that this might all end in tragedy.

He leaned back on a park bench by the road, both body and spirit worn thin, staring blankly up at the sky. He was running out of patience; he was considering using his spiritual abilities to enter the relevant government offices and pull the records.

“Mister, mister, where did you buy your outfit?” A little boy of four or five years, with pitch-black blinking eyes, showed not the slightest shyness as he trotted right up and asked.

“I brought it back from the Ladle Star,” Ye Fan replied with a perfectly straight face.

“Liar!” The little fellow was indignant, scrunching up his nose — but still full of hope. “Tell me, please? I want Mama to buy me one too.”

“Jingxuan, what are you doing?” A young woman in the distance came over and led the little boy away to a car.

The stubborn little fellow refused to budge. “Mama, I like that kind of clothes. Can we not go home yet?”

“That looks so outdated. Even the alternative fashion from twenty-some years ago was better than that,” the young woman said as she lifted him into the car and drove off quickly.

Ye Fan was momentarily speechless. Back in their generation, some experts had labeled them a “lost generation.” Young people of the nineties had been called “counter-culture.” And now, thinking about it — children born after 2010, after 2020, even after 2030, had all “risen up” in their own turns.

Hmm — that young woman looked familiar. Who does she remind me of?

Ye Fan suddenly startled, straining to recall, feeling she looked very much like someone he knew.

In a flash, he sprang to his feet, concealed his form, compressed space beneath his steps, and gave chase.

On present-day Earth, the Dao was suppressed. His cultivation felt as though it had been cut by a great deal — far less than before. But Ye Fan was, after all, on the verge of severing the Dao, and remained extraordinarily powerful.

Leaving the commercial street behind, he followed the car into a reasonably pleasant residential compound not far away. The young woman carried the boy out of the vehicle.

“Mama, I’m unhappy now. You won’t buy me the outfit, so I don’t like you anymore,” the little boy pouted.

“Be good. Can you imagine what you’d look like in something like that? It wouldn’t suit you at all,” the young woman coaxed him toward the stairs.

“Excuse me — are you Liu Qian, Uncle Liu’s daughter?” Ye Fan stepped forward.

“Wow, mister, you live here too? Mama, I want that outfit!” the little boy cried out.

“You — who are you?” The young woman was immediately wary. An unfamiliar man following her home made her uneasy.

Ye Fan was now certain. This was Liu Qian, daughter of their old neighbor Uncle Liu. She still faintly resembled her childhood self. When he had left, this little girl had been no more than six or seven — now she had grown up, looking very much like her mother had back in those days.

Back then, the couple had been blessed with a daughter late in life and had treasured her beyond measure. When he’d left, she had still been bounding around full of energy — and now she herself was a mother.

Ye Fan didn’t linger. Dressed as he was, he looked nothing like an ordinary young man by any measure — so he wisely took his leave.

Shortly afterward, he cut his long hair, went into a shopping mall, changed into modern clothing, and finally looked as though he belonged in this world.

He had grown so accustomed to his battle armor from the Big Dipper that putting on his old clothes felt strange — restrictive, as though it would hamper him in a fight.

Returning to that compound, it came as no surprise: not long after, he saw an elderly man come out for a stroll. It was indeed Uncle Liu — nearly eighty now, much older than before, but still reasonably hale and hearty.

Ye Fan made a slight adjustment to his appearance — anything too recognizable would have been startling, possibly frightening the old man. He arranged a natural encounter within the compound, and the two fell into easy conversation.

“The old neighbors have all scattered. At our age, not many are left…” Uncle Liu said with deep feeling, speaking of those years.

More than a decade ago, Ye Fan’s parents had moved away from there — though they hadn’t left the city, only relocated to another district.

“Are you still in contact with them?”

“No, not anymore. Ten years ago, we suddenly lost touch.”

Ye Fan’s heart sank. His body trembled involuntarily — but he steadied himself. He had been mentally preparing for this, and besides, he hadn’t yet seen the final outcome for himself.

“Ah, you have to believe it — there really are immortals in this world.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Mount Tai, of course. The people up there kept it quiet, but plenty of people saw it with their own eyes. Poor Old Ye’s son — such a fine young man, gone just like that. Though maybe he became an immortal — nine dragons carried them all away.”

The old man rambled on with age, recounting many things from those days. Ye Fan listened in silence, his heart flooded with a hundred different emotions.

At last, he departed and made his way to District P of City B, finding the address his parents had moved to after leaving their old home. It was in the outskirts — beautiful surroundings, hills and water nearby.

In the past this area had been quite desolate, but now a good number of people had fled the city and chosen such places to spend their later years.

Ahead stood a cluster of old courtyard houses from the last century — worn with age but full of character, surrounded by broad stretches of woodland and an artificial lake.

In every way it resembled his parents’ old home. It seemed that even when they sought a fresh start, they still carried a certain nostalgia with them.

Ye Fan found the address, descended from the sky, and landed in the courtyard below, calling out at the top of his voice: “Mama! Papa! I’m home!”

Silence. Not a soul responded. Ye Fan trembled, staring at the locked door, a chill spreading through his entire body.

He entered the house. It was clear no one had lived there for a long time — a layer of dust had settled over everything, deepening the dread in his chest.

The place lacked any warmth of habitation; no one had cleaned or come and gone in a very long time. Finally, in the bedroom, he found a notebook. He opened it at random and his eye fell on a line that pierced him to the core.

“In a daze, I seemed to see Xiao Fan again — saw him come home. But when I woke, there was nothing. Only something cold and wet on my face…”

“Mama — Papa!” Ye Fan cried out, tears bursting from his eyes.