When parting from Lin Wan’er, An Chengxi felt immense reluctance in her heart.
She found herself exceedingly fond of this little girl of ancestral stature, to the extent that it could be described as an overwhelming affection.
If possible, she would gladly sit down with Lin Wan’er for an intimate, extended conversation, talking for three days and nights straight, pouring out all the words she had kept bottled up over the years, convinced that a true confidante was impossible to find.
Lin Wan’er also admired An Chengxi.
Over the course of several centuries, she had never had a true friend with whom she could unburden herself completely, without any reservations.
Her adopted sons remained adopted sons after all. As their adoptive mother, she would share some of her secrets with them, yet there was always the divide of seniority and status. As a traditional Chinese woman, she had to maintain the dignified posture of a stern mother.
And in the presence of Ye Chen, she always lowered her own standing because he had saved her life, and because she had shared intimate moments with him.
An Chengxi was the first person in all these years who truly existed on the same plane as her.
As the saying goes, a thousand pieces of gold are easily obtained, but a soulmate is hard to find. If she had the time, spending several days in candid discussion with An Chengxi would undoubtedly be immensely satisfying. Yet circumstances did not permit it, and moreover, the moment was not right.
After all, Kong Yin’s passing had left her deeply sorrowful. She only wished to hasten back to the upper courtyard of Purple Gold Mountain Villa, to weep alone and vent her emotions.
Thus, she shared a gentle embrace with An Chengxi and waved farewell.
An Chengxi, her face full of reluctance, urged her, “Senior, please take good care of yourself.”
Lin Wan’er nodded softly in return and advised, “Lady Ye as well, do be careful. We shall meet again.”
An Chengxi replied respectfully, “We shall meet again!”
Sister Sun, Tang Sihai, and Master Jing Qing all regarded Lin Wan’er with utmost deference and chorused, “Senior, please take good care.”
Lin Wan’er turned to Master Jing Qing and said, “I entrust Master Zhengping’s funeral arrangements to you; please see to them diligently.”
Master Jing Qing immediately responded with reverence, “Amitabha, Miss Lin may rest assured. This monk shall devote himself fully to the task.”
Lin Wan’er nodded. She glanced at the peacefully departed Kong Yin, then at the assembled group, and said with a smile, “In that case, I bid farewell to you all. There is no need to see me out; I shall make my own way.”
With those words, without waiting for their response, she turned and departed.
Stepping out of the main hall, the dazzling, warm sunlight bathed Lin Wan’er’s face. A spring breeze, carrying a touch of warmth, swept over her, laced with the faint scent of flowers, causing her figure to pause ever so slightly.
She closed her eyes, savouring the essence of spring’s gentle bloom for a moment. Then she undid her high single ponytail with practised ease, retying it into the twin tails she had worn on arrival, her face resuming its youthful innocence.
Though her heart remained heavy, the fresh green buds on the treetops, and the flower buds emerging from the planters on either side, allowed Lin Wan’er to feel once more the power and purpose of life.
Life meant that with every spring’s thaw and bloom, new trees would bud and fresh flowers would unfurl. Yet those that had withered in the previous autumn’s chill were gone forever, never to return. Just as Gong Zizhen wrote in his poem: fallen blossoms are not heartless things; they become spring mud to nurture the flowers anew.
Even plants passed on generation after generation in this manner. Humanity, as the pinnacle of known life, did so all the more: one generation after another, advancing relentlessly, carrying forth the legacy.
Though Zhengping, her adopted son, had departed, Kong Yin, as a grand master of Japanese Buddhism, would endure indefinitely.
