He glued some real human hair he had bought onto the automaton’s head, carefully checking from every angle to ensure it wasn’t crooked. Only then did he take a white dress from the clothes rack, dressing the automaton piece by piece, tying the sash. When everything was in place, he stepped back a few paces. Despite the automaton's hopelessly barrel-like waist, it did somewhat resemble Ji Tan Yin—at least in Yuan Zhong's reluctant and half-hearted assessment. He picked up a wooden comb and gently combed its long hair, arranging it into the bun that Tan Yin usually wore.
Finally, he inserted a bronze rod into the small hole at the back of its neck and cautiously twisted it several times. The automaton immediately began to flail its arms and legs, spinning in place, completing about ten rotations before stopping. Then, it clumsily began to walk downstairs. Perhaps due to his less-than-perfect craftsmanship, it descended very awkwardly, missing a step and tumbling down with a clatter, landing at the feet of Yuan Xiaozhong, who was so startled that his face turned pale.
“What... what kind of monstrosity have you made?!” he screamed.
Yuan Zhong cleared his throat and helped the automaton up from where it had rolled across the floor. It continued walking on all fours toward the outside of the small building, heading straight for the frozen lake.
“You, you, you dressed it like the master!” Yuan Xiaozhong’s wooden jaw nearly dropped. “This is a disgrace to our esteemed and revered master!”
Yuan Zhong frowned. “Shut up.”
He slowly followed the automaton outside and saw it already walking on the frozen lake. From that distance, under the cold moonlight, its long hair and white dress swayed gently in the night breeze, like a tall, bulky version of Tan Yin.
Yuan Xiaozhong could hardly bear it, scoffing, “I told you, if you couldn’t do it right, you shouldn’t have done it at all…”
He glared at Yuan Zhong, but Dazhong completely ignored him. His eyes were fixed on the awkward figure on the lake, and there was a strange intensity in his gaze, a burning fervor that left Yuan Xiaozhong speechless. He watched in silence as Yuan Zhong slowly walked to the lake's edge.
The old turtle beneath the lake, sensing his presence, thoughtfully broke the ice and surfaced, placing a small, green boat on its back.
Amidst the snowy lake and moonlit sky, Yuan Zhong felt as if he had returned to the Guixuan Platform, with the goddess standing before him—her robes flowing, her long hair gently swaying. He was so close to catching up to her.
The automaton stopped in the middle of the lake, spinning clumsily in circles. As it spun, it repeated in a sharp, awkward voice, “Ji Tan Yin! Ji Tan Yin! I am Ji Tan Yin!”
Yuan Zhong couldn’t help but laugh. It was nowhere near as good as what she would have made herself—how could he even think of showing it to her?
The wind on the lake was quiet but desolate, with only the automaton’s shrill voice echoing the same words over and over. The radiant moonlight was soon obscured by clouds, and before long, the wind picked up, and small flakes of snow began to fall softly.
Yuan Zhong slowly sat at the bow of the boat. With a gesture, a small table appeared before him, carrying a green stone wine jug and a matching cup. Surrounded by wind and snow, he poured himself a drink, watching the automaton turn clumsily in circles. If only a thousand years could pass like this in an instant, without feeling the deep loneliness of a millennium spent alone—how wonderful that would be.
“Yuan Zhong! Yuan Zhong! Little Yuan Zhong!”
It seemed like someone was calling him. Yuan Zhong’s hand froze, his gaze locked on the automaton in shock. It was spinning and awkwardly shouting his name, “Yuan Zhong! Little Yuan Zhong!”
He stood frozen for a long, long time, then suddenly hurled his wine cup away and transformed into a streak of golden light, landing in front of the automaton in an instant.
Tan Yin had infused her consciousness into the automaton, observing its crude construction from within. For some reason, she felt like laughing—and she did.
She hadn’t expected Yuan Zhong to still be in the small cave world. She had just wanted to come back for one last look. She had left so hastily and messily, and now she returned just as quietly... Perhaps she had even fled back here, running from the bone-deep loneliness she couldn’t face. She didn’t know how to face Yuan Zhong.
Until she saw the ridiculous automaton, she couldn’t help but smile. Of course, he had been secretly working on this behind her back, and no wonder he didn’t want to show her—he’d done such a terrible job.
The gloom in Tan Yin’s heart vanished, replaced by a playful urge. She had slipped her consciousness into the automaton and, noticing the crude design of the voice membrane in its throat, couldn’t resist making a few small improvements. That’s why the automaton had been able to call out Yuan Zhong’s name.
Watching Yuan Zhong rush over, his eyes wide with disbelief, Tan Yin smiled mischievously. He had no idea what had just happened.
But he didn’t react as she had expected—there was no surprise, no shouting. He simply stared at the automaton with an intensity in his eyes, as if a fire were burning inside. Tan Yin’s smile slowly faded, and a sense of guilt and uncertainty crept over her. She lowered her head, hearing him softly call out, “...Tan Yin.”
She didn’t answer. In fact, even if she had, he wouldn’t have heard her.
“Tan Yin,” he called again, louder this time. “Are you here?”
No one answered him. The automaton continued to spin in circles, its ridiculous hair bun disheveled by the wind and snow, calling out in its clumsy voice, “Yuan Zhong! Little Yuan Zhong! Ji Tan Yin! I am Ji Tan Yin!”
Its large black gemstone eyes were dull, and then, as if its mechanism had run down, it suddenly stopped, its arms drooping helplessly.
Yuan Zhong looked down at it, his voice soft. “Tan Yin, I know you're here.”
Tan Yin kept her head down, feeling her hands tremble slightly. She nervously drew them back into her sleeves. The next moment, Yuan Zhong suddenly spread his arms wide, his large sleeves enveloping the automaton—and her. His body carried the cold scent of wind and snow, mixed with a faint, lingering fragrance.
Tan Yin stared blankly at his chin. He had his eyes closed, his brows tightly furrowed. After a long moment, a thick white mist escaped his lips. “...I know you’re here.”
Yes, she was here. She had returned.
Could she stand before him again? With a body that was beginning to fall apart? Or should she continue to hide, silently, in a place he couldn’t see, waiting for his death?
She didn’t know how much time had passed. Snow had piled up on their heads and shoulders when Yuan Zhong slowly released the automaton and, suddenly, smiled. “Shall we go back together?”
He wound the automaton’s mechanism, took its hand, and began to walk toward the small building, their footsteps crunching in the snow-covered lake.
Behind them, a cold yet familiar voice suddenly rang out.
“...Yes, let’s.”
Yuan Zhong turned around. Standing in the snow, beneath the moonlight, was the goddess in white, her cold, serene beauty illuminated by the gentle moonlight. She smiled at him shyly.
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