Fellow Daoist! That scoundrel has written a new book again.

The story of Zhuangzi dreaming of becoming a butterfly tells of how Zhuangzi dreamed he was a butterfly, fluttering about, and when he woke up, he didn't know whether he was Zhuangzi or a butterfly.

It is impossible to tell whether the present moment is the real world or a dream.

Seeing that the old man hadn't turned a page for a long time, Zhu Wuyao's suspicions were finally confirmed, and he asked:

"Isn't this mine also not part of the real world?"

Instead, it was a small, secluded paradise within the city of Ganxiao.

Zhu Wuyao deliberately placed this story at the end.

She didn't doubt the authenticity of the place, but she suspected that the mine wasn't in the real outside world, but rather a secluded little paradise.

In the world of cultivation, when people encounter things that are difficult to understand, they are good at using "immortal techniques" as a reason to explain the problem.

Therefore, the people in the mine thought it was a magic trick of riding a cloud to travel thousands of miles a day, which brought them here in a short time.

When Zhu Wuyao went into seclusion, there wasn't even a low mountain around him.

But when she woke up, she found herself surrounded by steep cliffs. Since Zhu Wuyao was not a cultivator, she couldn't take it for granted when she opened her eyes.

The people who arrested her were still driving their car at a leisurely pace.

Listening to the conversation between the two brothers who were driving the cart, it was clear that they had come to investigate after hearing about something unusual at the mass grave. But something just didn't seem right.

From the time she went to the mass grave to look for stones to the time she was arrested, only a few days had passed.

They can't possibly hear the news from thousands of miles away and rush over, only to travel thousands of miles back after arresting the person.

Therefore, the mine must be located not far from Ganxiao City.

It is even very likely that it is located in Ganxiao City.

This reminded Zhu Wuyao of a rumor he had heard before—

"Ganxiao City was originally named Liquan Town. Lord Xuan happened to pass through this place and stayed for a while before becoming a long-term resident. Later, Lord Xuan's daughter and son died to save their mother. Liquan was moved by this and wept bitterly."

This story is absurd in every way.

Including the line, "Feeling moved upon leaving the spring, I wept bitterly."

Even if she followed the logic of a storyteller and continued writing this story, shouldn't Li Quan be moved and cry his heart out?

How could a perfectly good spring dry up just like that?

A famous scenic spot in Liquan Town was moved by the "great love" of humanity, but was ultimately destroyed.

I hope you won't make any malicious speculations.

It is estimated that this Lord Xuan traveled here and discovered that Liquan was not simple, but the entrance to a small grotto-heaven. In order to open this small grotto-heaven, he sacrificed his wife and daughter.

Finally, he became the master of the small grotto-heaven, and the strange phenomena of the departing spring were no longer revealed in the mortal world.

In the small grotto, the Lord of Xuan City discovered this mineral vein.

For this reason, the kidnapping of people for mining was always well hidden.

No one could escape or expose this tragedy.

Even if outsiders have any doubts, they simply cannot find the mine.

The "opening of the way" that Ye Xiaozhou mentioned naturally refers to opening up a passage from the small cave to the outside world.

When the old scholar heard Zhu Wuyao's question, he slowly raised his head, his attitude seemingly softening yet remaining unchanged.

He said:

"so what."

Whether you are in the outside world or in a small, secluded place, you cannot escape the mine; eventually, you will be buried alive by the sand and gravel.

Zhu Wuyao laughed and said:

"Then your identity is questionable."

The old man gently stroked the charcoal-printed characters on the book and said:

"Economic articles consume the daytime, while brilliant insights shine through the night."

"I'm just an old man who loves reading, sitting here whiling away the years."

He glimpsed fragments of the world behind Zhu Wuyao, and Zhu Wuyao also had some guesses about his identity.

Since stones picked up from the mine can be used for divination.

This means that this small grotto is imbued with spirits.

Therefore, they guarded this place and served the people.

Zhu Wuyao didn't press further. The conversation had reached a perfect point; if they continued to reveal more, there was a risk that the old man would kill them to silence them.

As for using books to lure the old bookworm into "betraying" him, that idea is too idealistic.

This friendship, though just for fun and games, might actually turn sour when it comes to real interests or serious matters.

Zhu Wuyao is quite self-aware.

Perhaps in the old man's eyes, she was just a tool for the library.

The two were not actually equal in status, so how could there be any talk of bribery or cooperation?

The old man turned to the last page of the manuscript, his gaze fixed on it.

The moment he saw this sentence, he knew that it was the interpretation of "water".

"Benefiting all things without contention..."

He thought of the description of tomorrow night in the "Outer Gate Servant" section.

That's really quite fitting.

After reading those short twenty or so words, he suddenly laughed:

"So this passage wasn't written by Zhuangzi, who dreamt of being a butterfly."

Before seeing this passage, I had made many guesses about it and tried to write an interpretation of water based on Mingwan's personality.

"When I saw those short stories, the carefree and uncontested spirit matched my guess, and I immediately concluded that they were two different books written by Zhuangzi."

The old man smiled and shook his head, seemingly with some emotion.

"Now it seems that these are clearly two different people, doing what everyone else despises..."

"Little girl, who wrote these words?"

Zhu Wuyao replied, "Laozi."

The atmosphere seemed to freeze for a moment.

Then, belatedly realizing the ambiguity of the sentence, she explained:

"It's not 'Laozi,' it's just that this person is called 'Laozi.'"

The old man's expression softened again.

He said:

"In just over twenty characters, it contains boundless philosophical insights. I wonder what kind of extraordinary book this is, 'so close to the Dao'... Your ancestor actually attempted to expound on the 'Dao'."

Zhu Wuyao felt no embarrassment at all when the old man referred to him as "your ancestor."

After all, her character in the book master's eyes not only has ancestors like Laozi, but also a family lineage spanning five thousand years.

He has a large collection of books, but he is too low-key and peaceful.

Zhu Wuyao, somewhat curious, asked:

"How did you come to the conclusion that these were not written by the same person?"

After all, Lao Tzu and Zhuangzi were both Daoists, and even though their directions differed, they had many similarities.

The old man seemed to be in a really good mood today, he said:

"Lao Tzu, who wrote of 'the highest good is like water,' speaks of dormancy and tranquility, while Zhuangzi, who dreamt of a butterfly, avoided worldly affairs. One uses things for his own benefit, the other lives a carefree life beyond worldly concerns—how could they be the same person?"

Zhu Wuyao listened, seemingly understanding but not quite, and then tried to understand it in his own words—

Lao Tzu said that under a foolish ruler, capable ministers will not emerge; this is the meaning of "a hidden dragon should not be used."

Zhuangzi, on the other hand, simply loved to lie flat and drift along, enjoying the pleasure of catching fish, regardless of who was in charge.

For the former, "self-preservation" is a means to an end, while for the latter, self-preservation is the ultimate goal.

Zhu Wuyao couldn't help but sigh:

"Master Shu, if you were in our family, you might become a scholar."

Hearing Zhu Wuyao's words, the old scholar surprisingly seemed somewhat melancholy, and said:

"There is a saying that a man who possesses a hundred books can rule the south. But alas, even with a collection of millions of books, I am nothing more than a gatekeeper in this mine."