My words have become law; I truly have no desire to display my divine power before others.

When Lü Yang said this, he himself looked confused.

He didn't know why the immortal master gave Yunniang a leaf, nor did he know what was so magical about this leaf.

But having followed the immortal master for so long, he had long since learned one thing—to do exactly what the immortal master said.

Yunniang looked at the leaf and remained silent for a while before saying, "Please thank the Immortal Master for me."

Lü Yang smiled and said, "Okay. You should get some rest. I'll head back now."

He turned and took a few steps, then turned back and added, "Hey, don't sit alone at night, go to bed early."

Yunniang watched his figure disappear into the alley, listening to the footsteps grow fainter and fainter, and then closed the door.

The courtyard was dark and quiet.

The shadow of the osmanthus tree fell on the ground, a dark mass, making it impossible to distinguish between the tree and the shadow.

She stood at the doorway, looking down at the leaf in her hand.

The leaves were still a bright green, gleaming faintly in the darkness, as if someone had lit a tiny lamp inside.

She didn't know why the immortal master gave her this leaf, nor did she know what she could see after wiping her eyes with it.

But she believed in the immortal master.

That Taoist priest wouldn't do something without a reason.

She pinched a leaf between her fingers and gently dabbed it over her right eye.

The leaves were slightly warm, pressing against her eyelids as if they were breathing.

Then a very faint golden light seeped out from the veins of the leaf, like water, and flowed into her eyes.

It didn't hurt or feel dry; there was only a warm sensation that spread from my eye sockets to my forehead, then from my forehead to the top of my head, and then dissipated.

The leaves gradually faded in the golden light, like a thin sheet of ice melting and disappearing from her fingertips.

Yunniang looked down at her hands; her palms were empty, there was nothing there.

She paused for a moment, then looked at her hand again, but there was still nothing there.

The leaf is gone.

She blinked, feeling that nothing had changed.

The house is still the same house, the yard is still the same yard, everything is the same.

She stood there for a while, then thought that the immortal master might be playing a joke on her.

Or perhaps that leaf truly possessed a magical quality that she simply hadn't discovered.

She thought for a moment, then put her free hand back and walked into the house.

The pipa was placed on the table, the cloth was untied, revealing the instrument, which gleamed faintly in the dim light.

She didn't look, but fetched water, washed her face and hands, changed her clothes, and prepared to go to sleep.

As she passed the mourning hall, her steps suddenly slowed down.

The door to the mourning hall was open, but it was dark inside as no lights were on.

She sits here for a while every night, but it's too late today, so she doesn't want to.

Just as she was about to walk over, she caught a glimpse of a shadow inside.

It wasn't the shadow of the offering table, nor the shadow of the memorial tablet; it was the shadow of a person standing there.

Yunniang's heart skipped a beat.

Her hands trembled slightly as she touched the tinderbox by the door, blew on it a few times, and it lit up.

She carried the tinderbox, entered the mourning hall, and lit the oil lamp on the wall.

The flame flickered, and the mourning hall was illuminated.

A person stands beside the offering table.

He wore a blue robe and a square scarf, and held no book in his hand.

He stood there, his back to her, facing the memorial tablet.

Yunniang held up the oil lamp and walked towards him. After taking two steps, she stopped.

"Who are you?" Her voice was a little hoarse.

The figure moved slightly.

He slowly turned around.

The scholar looked bewildered.

He looked down at his hands and frowned.

He didn't know why he suddenly appeared, nor why Yunniang could see him.

He stayed there for a long time, and no one ever saw him except when he wanted to be seen.

But he didn't do anything just now, he didn't even move, he just stood there.

He looked up at Yunniang.

She stood not far from him, holding an oil lamp. The firelight shone on her face, revealing her red eyes filled with tears.

He suddenly felt a little panicked.

He opened his mouth, wanting to greet her as the scholar-ghost he knew, just like always.

"Yunniang, it's so late—"

He didn't finish speaking.

The oil lamp in Yunniang's hand fell to the ground and shattered with a "crack".

The lamp oil spilled out, igniting a small fire on the ground before going out.

The mourning hall darkened, with only the eternal lamp on the offering table still burning; the flame flickered and then settled.

She didn't speak. She just stood there, looking at his face.

one Year.

She has waited a year.

Waiting for the person who will never come, waiting for the footsteps that will never sound, waiting for the words that will never be spoken again.

She thought he was dead, that she would never see him again.

But now he was standing right in front of her, wearing her favorite blue robe, his hair neatly combed, just like before.

She's just a bit thinner and paler, and her eyes aren't as bright as they used to be, but her eyebrows, her eyes, and the slight upturn of her lips—she wouldn't mistake them.

How could she admit her mistake?

This is her husband, the one who fell on the mountain and broke the medicine basket, the one who squatted on the ground picking up medicine until he was covered in sweat, the one who slurped down his plain noodles in the noodle shop, the one who warmed her feet in his arms in winter and said, "They don't smell."

She waited for him for a year, cried for a year, and dreamed for a year.

He is standing right in front of her now.

Yunniang walked towards him.

One step, two steps, three steps.

Her legs were trembling, and her heart was pounding.

She walked up to him, reached out, and touched his face.

The face was cold, but it was a real face, not a dream.

The scholar froze.

He didn't know what was wrong with Yunniang or why she suddenly cried, but he couldn't bear to see her cry.

Her fingers touched his face; they were cool and covered with a thin layer of calluses, the result of years of hard work.

He recognized that hand.

"You lied to me." Yunniang's voice was very low, so low that it seemed to be squeezed out of her throat.

"You stood before me, making me call you 'Scholar,' and you called me 'Yunniang.' You watched me cry, watched me grieve, watched me want to die. You said nothing, you just watched."

She looked up into his eyes.

"Are you really that eager to push me onto someone else?"

Her tears finally fell, one by one, streaming down her cheeks and dripping onto the back of his hand.

His fingers trembled slightly.

He looked at her, at her tear-filled eyes, at her thin face where her cheekbones protruded.

He recalled how she had climbed down from that white silk a few days ago, stumbled to the door, opened it, and saw a strange scholar.

She didn't know who the scholar was; she just felt sorry for him.

She cooked for him, took him out for walks, and talked to him about her husband.

She never cried in front of him, except when she talked about those things, tears would involuntarily stream down her face.

He reached out and wiped away the tears on her face.

His fingers were cool and light, as if he were afraid of breaking something.

He seemed to understand something; Yunniang already knew his identity.