For their next stop, they made their way to the usual haunt — the small, slightly run-down internet café just off the main road.
Its neon sign flickered faintly, casting a pale glow over the cracked pavement. Inside, the faint hum of old computers and the click-clack of keyboards filled the air, a steady rhythm of life in the chaotic world of online gaming.
The trio settled into their usual corner, the three of them taking their places at the worn-out desks. The sticky keyboard and faded chairs seemed a fitting backdrop for the hours that stretched ahead.
For a few hours, they lost themselves in the chaotic worlds on their screens — laughing, shouting over headsets, battling through matches with reckless abandon.
But eventually, the hour grew late, and they decided to call it a night.
Meng Yao sighed dramatically and stretched, his arms soaring above his head. "Alright, I'm done. I need to sleep before my brain turns to mush."
Xu Liang clapped his hands, barely suppressing a yawn. "I've had enough. Can't stay up much longer or I'll start hallucinating about my rank falling"
Zhou Chen pushed his chair back with a soft, almost inaudible squeak, "Yeah, same," he muttered, his voice lacking its usual edge.
They gathered their things, exchanged the usual jokes and half-hearted threats about who'd win next time, and left the café together.
The trio parted ways at the corner near campus.
Zhou Chen lingered for a moment, watching their backs fade into the dark, their laughter carried away by the night wind. A faint smile tugged at his lips — not sadness, not longing — something quieter, deeper.
He adjusted the strap of his bag and turned away, his steps light but unhurried.
As he walked, the world around him blurred into a dreamlike half-state, each step feeling as though he were moving through an echo of a place he could never quite place.
The city lights thinned out. The familiar noise of traffic and distant voices faded until only the soft sound of his own footsteps remained.
The streets stretched before him, unfamiliar in their familiarity, lit only by the occasional flicker of a dying streetlamp. Buildings leaned at odd angles, casting long shadows that trembled even without wind.
Still, Zhou Chen's steps remained steady.
A low mist curled along the edges of the road, swirling lazily around his ankles before retreating into the darkness.
Eventually, the crumbling pavement gave way to a narrow path of stone, worn smooth by countless steps. An old park gate loomed ahead — rusted iron, slightly ajar, inviting him through.
Zhou Chen moved through the worn iron gates, the hinges creaking faintly behind him. His feet found the way on their own — The world shifted the moment he crossed the threshold.
Then — in the center of the park — he saw it.
A lotus.
Not the delicate pink or serene white he might have expected from old temple ponds. This one was dark — so dark it seemed to drink in the light around it — a deep, rich black, threaded with veins of muted gold.
It sprouted directly from the cracked stone, its thick stem slicing through the earth like a blade. Unusual and out of place, yet it was the source of his earlier pains.
Zhou Chen halted a few paces away. The pull on his spirit was sharp — painful — like a memory returning all at once.
The stillness of the night wrapped itself around him like a heavy blanket, the cool air sharp against his skin. It was an unfamiliar peace, one that seemed to stretch out endlessly before him.
The silence felt comforting, when a sound reached his ears.
A soft, rasping cough.
Zhou Chen turned his head to the left, his gaze naturally drawn to the source of the sound. Near the edge of a crooked stone path, an old man sat hunched on a worn, rotting bench.
His robes were little more than stitched-together rags, hanging loosely on a body whittled down by hunger and time.
Hair, once black perhaps, now hung in a tangled gray mess about his shoulders, framing a face that looked as though it had been carved by years of hardship.
The old man's hands — cracked, calloused, and trembling — fumbled weakly with a dry crust of barley bread.
Zhou Chen's gaze lingered. His mind flickered back to a memory — yes, he'd seen him earlier today... in the supermarket. The same unkempt appearance, the same disheveled look. this wasn't the first time he'd crossed paths with him.
Yet, when his gaze shifted to the old man's face, his features dissolved into nothing but a blurry darkness—like something out of a horror movie, unsettling in its ambiguity.
"Isn't it truly ironic?"
The voice was smooth, almost casual, but it carried an underlying tone and weight that made Zhou Chen pause.
He turned to the source of the voice. Emerging from the shadows to his right was a man, appearing to be in his mid-forties. His attire was strange, almost archaic.
The fabric of his robes shimmered faintly in the low light, the edges embroidered with intricate symbols out of this world. They seemed almost alive, pulsing with a quiet, unspoken power, as if each thread held some deeper meaning that eluded his understanding.
At the man's waist, a sword was sheathed—its hilt adorned with detailed, ancient designs. The sword looked more like a weapon than a relic, as if it belonged to a time long forgotten.
Zhou Chen's gaze lingered on the man, and once again, he noticed the same unsettling blurriness around his face. The features, like the old man's, were hidden in darkness—an indistinct void where identity should have been.
"Of all things to witness…" the man murmured, almost to himself, the edge of a rueful smile in his voice. "Not the peak of 'our' time. Nor an immortality of life... but this—this mundane Earth?"
Zhou Chen remained silent, the mist swirling thicker around his ankles. He didn't reply to the man's words.
Instead, he turned his gaze to the front, where Two shadows emerged from the path before him — both eerily familiar, yet wrong in ways he could tell.
Both figures had the same blurred faces — indistinct and empty, like charcoal sketches half-erased by an unseen hand.
Yet their forms were unmistakable.
The first wore robes much like the middle-aged man's, though less extravagant and younger. The embroidery was subdued, the colors faded like old memories. No sword or belt in sight.
The second wore something painfully close to Zhou Chen's own reflection: a casual college uniform, the jacket slung carelessly over the shoulders, dark slacks faintly scuffed at the knees.
The figure bore the faint shadow of spectacles perched low on the nose, catching the dim ambient light like a cold gleam.
"Unexpected isn't? Even after a hundred years... you still remember? Yearn for it?" Breaking the silence, the young robed man spoke to Zhou Chen.
Zhou Chen stood motionless, his gaze flickering between the two figures. The words hung heavy in the air, like a weight pulling at the very fabric of his thoughts.
The young robed man chuckled, the sound hollow and mocking. "Hahaha… you even changed your name to forget about it, didn't you? Xian?" His voice dripped with a mixture of curiosity and scorn. "Immortal? Hah. Dressing up your weakness with pretty words doesn't change what it is" [1]
The laughter echoed in Zhou Chen's mind, He felt a shudder run through him. His grip on the present moment faltered, but he stood firm, not allowing the ridicule to consume him, he kept his gaze fixed ahead, the words stirring something deep within.
The second figure, the one wearing a college uniform eerily like Zhou Chen's own, stepped forward. His presence was unsettling, like a reflection that had been slightly distorted.
"You said you were tired, remember?" the figure asked, the words slipping into the stillness like a knife. "Tired of the struggle? The suffering? Isn't this what you desired — eternal peace? happiness?"
The mist swirled around Zhou Chen's ankles, thickening, as if in response to the weight of the words. He could almost feel the pull of that promise — endless peace, freedom from suffering.
From the left, a hunched old beggar rasped, "I — we already tried... Haven't 'we' earned our rest?"
...
[COMING NEXT] - CHAPTER 8 - Nirvana.
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GLOSSARY -:-
[1] Xian (仙 ) — is a Chinese term that generally means "immortal," "transcendent being," or "enlightened one." It's deeply rooted in Daoist (Taoist) philosophy and Chinese mythology.