Looking Through the Mirror

[I don't want to be involved in right and wrong, so I don't expect things to go against my wishes.The flower in my heart is withered, and time will never return. 】

One day many years later, he passed a wooden house.

Two tall ginkgo trees were planted outside the house. It was late autumn at this time, and the golden leaves of the trees rustled with the sound of the wind.He pushed open the door, creaked, and a beam of sunlight came in, hitting his eyelashes one after another against the dust flying in the air.

A broom was leaning behind the door, the brass basin was rusty, the candlestick on the wooden table was covered with milky white cobwebs, and the books on the shelf exuded a damp smell.

It's been a long time since anyone came to visit.

He raised his hand and touched it lightly, his fingertips stopped in the void and could no longer move forward, as if he had touched a cold and hard stone wall.

Many years ago, this place was not a barren cliff, and he sat on the edge of the cliff with the owner of the house, making tea and chatting.From time to time, there is a gentle breeze, blowing plum blossoms like snow, blowing snow all over the mountain.

Talking until the evening, when the sun was setting, the master got up, stood in the backlight, shook his head with a sigh in his tone.

"That's not the answer."

He subconsciously withdrew his fingers, took a step back, turned around and looked towards the sky beyond the mountain. Under the plum tree bathed in the sunlight, the bright red holy sword monument stood silently.

Hundreds of years and thousands of years are just a snap of his fingers, and he has already got the answer, but the monk in white who sat and drank tea with him, and the owner of the holy sword, have been dead for many years.

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