Pojun left after delivering the letter—he had been waiting here solely to hand it over.

"He arrived last night, which means he left right after dinner without a word. The older, the wiser, huh..."

Li Mo sat in the newly built posthouse, opening the letter under the faint light of dawn.

The handwriting wasn’t particularly elegant, but it was neat.

"Little Li, by the time you read this, I’ll already be gone.

The cooperation between the Celestial Clan and Mocheng must continue. For now, mortals still need to rely on the power of the Celestial City. You know this—someone must go in the end, and given my position in Mocheng, no one can question it.

If we lose this battle, the Celestial City will surely fall into chaos. I’m old now, and the only way I can rest easy is by entrusting it to you.

You once told me the story of Zhuangzi dreaming of a butterfly. Later, someone approached me, claiming that the world we live in is fictional—that beyond our world lies an ‘Upper Realm,’ and that he had the power to take us to the true world.

After that, I began to wonder: Could there be an even greater world beyond the Upper Realm? And beyond that? What truly defines reality and illusion?

I still remember what you said: A person must live in the present.

The Celestial City is good, the people are good, and the beautiful memories aren’t false. To me, that makes them real.

That man must have sought out others too, including the Celestial Clan. I don’t know how many among them will still see the point in protecting the Celestial City."

"Crisis—within danger lies opportunity."

The words no longer carried confusion or heaviness, but rather a sense of relief.

The important matters were all laid out in the first page.

The rest no longer sounded like Dong Changtian, instead reminiscing about ordinary days over the years.

"When you first left, everyone was in a panic.

Your wife said it was fine, that you’d return. Afraid you wouldn’t find your way back, she even changed the name of the town.

Truth be told, I was scared too. I’d farmed all my life, and suddenly the village became a town with tens of thousands of people—how was I supposed to manage that? But every time I thought about how you’d even entrusted me with the Divine Sword, I couldn’t let you come back to disappointment.

I started learning to read and write. Thankfully, Dong Lian and Dong Yi were diligent. My children had always admired you, mimicking your words and actions—seems they learned well. It was Dong Lian who designed the emblem for our Blade Hunters.

Later, they passed away, and our Dawang Village became Mocheng.

The city grew, and so did I in age, yet I found myself with too much free time. So I took up the wooden staff you gave me and practiced swordsmanship. Who knew I’d have a talent for it?

Eventually, I grasped a swordsmanship technique—within an inch of my body, my blade could cut anything. So you’d seen my potential all along, Little Li.

But as I grew older, even my swordplay began to fail me. I always wanted to wait for you to return, to show you, but you never remembered me.

Now, at least I can expend my strength on foreign soil. That’s no regret. If there’s any regret, it’s missing your wedding wine with your wife.

This time, it’s your turn to wait for me, isn’t it?"

Seeing the crooked signature—"Er Niu"—Li Mo suddenly chuckled.

The first time he’d taught Er Niu to write, it was his name, scrawled in the fields.

The night’s snow hadn’t stopped the sun from rising.

Li Mo folded the letter and stepped into the pure white of the dawn, onto the bustling streets of Mocheng.

As if he’d never read the letter, he went about his usual routine—buying breakfast: steamed dumplings, soup dumplings, claypot soup, along with the chili and vinegar Ying Bing loved.

When he returned to the courtyard, Ying Bing had just woken up, her disheveled hair sticking up in two stubborn tufts. Since it was Li Mo entering, she didn’t force herself to fully wake.

"Sleeping so soundly—did you know I’d come back?"

Little Li pondered.

If he’d really planned to leave, would the ice block have obediently waited in bed for his breakfast?

No wonder she hadn’t said much last night—she’d been acting.

Just as he was thinking, a snow-white foot peeked out from under the blanket. Li Mo looked up, meeting her calm, deep eyes.

Ah, socks.

Li Mo fetched a pair and smoothly slipped them onto her feet.

Ying Bing: "?"

"What’s wrong?" Li Mo coughed lightly, realizing how effortlessly he’d done it.

Ying Bing narrowed her eyes. "Did you remember something?"

"Huh? I got the chili and vinegar. My memory’s always been good." Li Mo feigned ignorance, placing breakfast on the table.

Ying Bing nibbled on a chili-vinegar dumpling, chopsticks between her teeth. "Why’d you come back? Weren’t you supposed to join the Celestial Clan’s army heading to foreign lands?"

"I was, but Old Dong moved too fast—I couldn’t catch up. Plus, the Celestial Clan treated me like a spy and sent me back. Oh, and Old Dong left me a letter."

"What did it say that made you stay so obediently?"

"It’s a bit long."

Ying Bing pursed her lips. "Then keep it short. Summarize."

Li Mo solemnly fed her a soup dumpling. "He wants to drink our wedding wine."

"......"

Ying Bing’s cheeks moved slightly as she chewed. Today, Little Li seemed… different.

His eyes were still clear, but no longer as dull.

Otherwise, how could he so expertly cut to the chase?

And when he’d put on her socks, his hands had moved with muscle memory—a true professional, even unconsciously, employs certain techniques…

Nine out of ten, something was off.

Ying Bing lowered her gaze, studying him from the corner of her eye. Casually, she said, "I stood for too long yesterday. My legs are tired—rub them for me."

Her voice was soft, but Little Li the masseur froze as if struck by lightning.

Soon enough, he betrayed the fact that his past memories had fully returned.

A snow-white foot nestled in your lap, and Little Li—never one to keep his hands to himself—

What official could withstand such a test?

Ah, this is what you call professional integrity. Love the job, excel in the job.

After his exposure, Li Mo endured Ying Bing’s piercing stare, his scalp tingling. Finally, he straightened up.

"Old Dong bought Mocheng a lot of time. I need to make the most of it."

"Ask whatever you want."

"My cultivation is still at the Nine Apertures of Observation. The forms in my minor world are multiplying, yet the inner vista feels as distant as ever. Why is that?"