Beyond the Lonely City,

In the wilderness.

A pair of wrinkled old hands trembled to remove the weeds in front of the grave, which were almost a man high.

He seemed to have traveled a long way, came from afar, exhausted his strength, dropped his staff, and sat down at the grave.

With a wine gourd hanging from his waist, he took out two white porcelain wine cups from his arms, one in front of the grave, and the other in his hand, each full of wine.

The old man drank a cup, frowned, coughed a few times, and the muddy old tears flowed down his eye sockets, and I don't know if he choked on tears because of the strong wine.

"Master, this is your favorite potpourri brew, let's drink a cup."

The old man took the wine cup in front of the grave and poured the wine from the cup on the grave.

It was getting late, the smoke was rising, and the sound of mooing cattle came from not far away, and the peasants who had been plowing for a day were driving the cattle home to eat, chatting casually, passing by the wilderness, and seeing the old man in front of the lonely grave.

The peasants were no longer surprised, and the peasants of a little older age knew that the old man would come here every three or five years, but he seemed to be in worse spirits.

"Brother, it's late autumn, it's cold on the ground, my house is at the entrance of the village in front, go to my house and drink a bowl of hot soup." The farmer was carrying a hoe, and when he saw that the old man was alone, he couldn't bear it, so he stepped forward and extended a kind invitation.

The old man lowered his head and drank to himself, but he turned a deaf ear.

"Brother, brother......"

The farmer called a few more times, but the old man still sat in front of the grave and never spoke to him.

The farmer shook his head and led the oxen home with his hoe.

As it got late, every house in a small village not far away lit their oil lamps, and the wilderness fell silent again, and as night fell, the old man's rickety body seemed to merge with the wilderness.

The wine gourd was lying on the weeds on the side, and one or two drops of wine were dripping from the mouth of the gourd from time to time, and the two wine cups were scattered in front of the grave.

In the night breeze, the old man sat cross-legged on the grass, his eyes were red, he coughed from time to time, and his face was sometimes white, sometimes red.

The old man took out an object from his bosom, which was wrapped in several layers of linen, and in the night light, there seemed to be a clear light through the layers of linen, like the light of fireflies, although it was dim, but it was not clear.

"Master, I found that thing. Back then, you were rich and prosperous because of this, and you lost your life because of this. I wanted to find it and smash it to pieces in front of your grave. ”

The night wind swept through the wilderness, causing the weeds to sway. The old man coughed a few times, and his old face turned red again.

"Master, if I can't avenge you, what's the use of me looking for it?"

The old man's cloudy eyes widened, and he still couldn't help palpitating when he remembered the tragic situation back then.

"Whoever destroys my Heavenly Gate will be killed by Heavenly Gate!"

There was a crisp sound, and the wine cup that he picked up at some point was smashed by his two fingers.

"Master, you rest, the old slave is gone. Next time, I'll take him to see you. ”;