Clouds surged. The pale sun appeared and disappeared within the thick layers of clouds, and before one realized it, it had already begun its rapid journey westward.
Xue Lao Gen sat barefoot at the bow of the boat, silently weaving a flag with his hands. His large, veiny hands, though hardened and calloused from years of rowing, moved with an inexplicable dexterity as they worked on the tattered flag.
His head hung low, watching the thread in his hands twist and turn like a snake. A sudden wave of nausea swept over him.
The bloody battle had ended, and the soldiers of the Xiang Yang Prince’s mansion had departed. Yet, why did everything that had occurred that morning still loom over him like a nightmare, coiling around him like a venomous snake?
For no particular reason, he felt afraid. He did not know if this nightmare would ever truly end.
He hadn’t intended to return to this ferry crossing so soon, but the children at home were still waiting for the soup and steamed buns he earned by ferrying passengers and fishing.
He also knew it wouldn’t be long before the other townsfolk, like him, would inevitably return.
– Perhaps it wouldn’t take too long for a sense of normalcy to resume. Even the flags along the ferry, beckoning passengers, might be raised once again. But how long would it take for every resident of this small town at the West Bridge ferry crossing to forget what had happened here?
The river flowed endlessly, carrying everything away, never to return. How long would it take for the events of today to become memories, and how long after that would those memories fade away like smoke?
Xue Lao Gen stared at his bronze-colored hands and, for a moment, wished he could be blind.
– If he were blind, would he no longer see all this bloodshed?
Suddenly, this honest and unassuming fisherman noticed a pair of eyes seemingly fixed on his hands.
An inexplicable chill ran through him. His hands slowed their work.
– They were a beautiful pair of eyes.
Originally, those eyes should have been filled with a pure, water-like vitality. At this moment, however, they seemed lifeless.
The eyes belonged to a young man in a yellow robe.
The young man had a strikingly beautiful face—not just because of those large, captivating eyes but also because of his slightly glistening buck teeth.
– In all his years ferrying at the West Bridge crossing, Xue Lao Gen had never seen a face as radiant as his.
This should have been a carefree, proud, and happy face. Yet now, it was etched with weariness and sorrow.
The young man in the yellow robe seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, standing silently at the edge of the ferry crossing. He stood in the very spot where a blood-soaked battle had just taken place.
His eyes lingered on the people on the boat for a long time. After hesitating for a moment, he finally began to walk toward him, slowly.
As the figure drew closer, Xue Lao Gen noticed that while the youth’s robe was ornate, it was also disheveled. One sleeve seemed to be shorter than the other. The only thing pristine about his appearance was the pearl affixed to his collar, which glimmered faintly in the sunlight.
Xue Lao Gen’s gaze suddenly froze.
– He had lived for decades, toiling by the riverside for just as long, and had seen countless travelers flaunt their wealth and status. Yet, he had never seen a pearl of such extraordinary quality.
This wasn’t a look of greed; Xue Lao Gen was an honest and upright man. It was the same gaze a farmer would have when admiring the full, ripe ears of wheat in their fields.
The youth in the yellow robe noticed his gaze.
Seeing the young man’s seemingly casual attention, Xue Lao Gen’s heart inexplicably trembled. He nervously got to his feet.
The heavy burdens of life had hunched his back deeply. Time had etched its marks and weathered traces onto his face, sculpting a man who only said the words travelers wanted to hear—or needed to hear.
“Honored guest, are you looking to cross to the other side?”
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