Lin Jin smiled faintly and returned her salute.
At that moment, Han Ao—who had been silent the entire time—finally mustered his courage. Lowering his head, he stammered,
“Miss Liu… farewell!”
Liu Fuxin nodded. She curved her lips, lowered her gaze, and left behind a smile so gentle it stole Han Ao’s soul entirely. Even after descending the hill, he looked utterly dazed.
Lin Jin shook his head, hugging his small puppy and deciding the man was beyond saving.
They planned to leave the city through the main gate and return to Yanyu Mountain by artifact, so they circled back through the city from the rear hills.
Just as Second Master Qin had said, the spring snow had cleared. Sunlight warmed the streets, and Zhongyun City welcomed spring as the last traces of snow melted away.
The delicate building that once housed Manting Spring had already been torn down. Rumor had it that Second Master Qin intended to open the back wall and merge it with the neighboring academy to build a larger school.
Lin Jin wouldn’t be around to see that day. As he looked at the dismantled building from afar, he lowered his gaze—and noticed a lone figure standing by the alley.
Something stirred in him. As he passed by, he glanced over, surprise flickering in his eyes.
“Miss?”
“Hm?” The young woman turned, then brightened.
“It’s you, sir!”
She was the young scholar Lin Jin had bumped into on his first day in Zhongyun City. By now, she should indeed have finished her exams.
Since they’d met again, they chatted briefly.
“How did the exam go?”
“I’m quite satisfied,” she said with a smile.
She glanced at the demolished building, then at the crumbling wall in the alley.
“Is this place being torn down?”
“Yes,” Lin Jin replied.
He hadn’t thought much of it, but seeing her expression, a guess surfaced.
“Why?”
She snapped back to herself and shook her head with a smile.
“Nothing. I once met a benefactor here and received great kindness. Having gained a new life, I thought I’d come back to take a look. It seems I arrived a little late—but perhaps that’s for the best. I hope they all have beautiful futures.”
Lin Jin lowered his gaze, smiling along with her.
“They will.”
“Mm!”
She hoisted her bookcase and turned to leave. Just as she did, a child’s clear voice rose from behind the wall:
“Heaven and earth, dark and yellow; the universe vast and primordial…”
The sound startled them both.
“I never noticed before,” the girl said softly. “So it’s an academy.”
“Yes,” Lin Jin replied. “Soon, these walls will be opened and merged into a larger school. Boys and girls alike will be able to study here. Isn’t that wonderful?”
“Ah…” She seemed to picture it, eyes curving into a smile.
“That would be wonderful.”
She bid him farewell and walked away.
Lin Jin watched her go, then took one last look at the narrow alley beside him.
As he turned to leave, he suddenly thought he heard a woman’s clear voice woven into the children’s recitation—close, yet distant, as if from the sky itself.
She seemed to be speaking to no one in particular:
“I stood among wind and snow for so long. Now, I wish only to brush the snow from my sleeves and become a handful of spring water…”
Lin Jin’s pupils trembled. He turned instinctively.
Under the blue sky of early spring, sunlight refracted into brilliant colors. Atop the academy wall, he thought he saw two young women sitting together.
One wore plain white robes, leaning toward the other to say something that made her companion lower her eyes and smile.
Bathed in sunlight, the smile slowly blurred, indistinct.
“Lin Jin? Lin Jin? What are you spacing out for—let’s go.”
“…Oh.”
He blinked. The wall was empty. No one there.
Yet at that moment, the voice finished its final words in his ear—gentle, unwavering:
“Become a handful of spring water,
and offer it to the countless people under heaven.”
Something struck his heart. It tightened, aching faintly.
Han Ao stretched lazily beside him and sighed contentedly.
“The snow’s gone, the sky’s clear. What a beautiful day.”
Lin Jin came back to himself.
Lowering his eyes, he smiled softly.
“…Yes.”