Within the Hall of the River Master, Zhang Yanling carved tablets, tireless and unceasing. A hall filled with deities, drowned in deathly silence. Only the steady sound of the chisel striking wood remained, neither hurried nor slow.
"Tok, tok, tok..."
"River Master Yu the Great."
"River Master Li Bing."
"River Master Wang Jing."
"River Master... Zhang..."
Each time he reached that surname, Zhang Yanlin's hand would falter, just slightly. Some names he carved, then destroyed. Carved to remember, destroyed to forget. To forget the boy who had once dreamed of roaming the jianghu. To forget the northern deserts and the southern peach flowers. To forget himself who had once tried to run from everything.
The promises made to old friends still echoed faintly in his ears, but what could he do now, with a broken body and hair turned white? Not everyone, in their darkest hour, is lucky enough to meet someone like Zhu Yu. A clay bodhisattva like her, how could the world ever produce another?
"Tok, tok, tok..."
The heavy doors of the Eternal Solitude Hall creaked open.
