The mist did not feel cold.
That was the first thing the old man noticed.
It should have been damp, heavy against the skin, clinging to clothes and breath alike. Instead, it brushed past him lightly, like a passing thought. His steps slowed without him meaning them to.
The ground beneath his feet felt… farther away.
Not unstable.
Just distant.
He stopped walking.
Lin Yuan stopped as well.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The sounds he had grown accustomed to—the river's murmur, the faint echo of traffic, the rustle of wind through distant trees—had all faded, leaving behind a silence so complete it felt intentional.
The old man frowned slightly.
"This place…" he began, then stopped. He searched for the right words, but they slipped away before forming. "It's strange."
Lin Yuan nodded once. "Yes."
That answer settled the matter, though the old man wasn't sure why.
They continued forward.
The mist thinned gradually, not by dispersing, but by retreating, as though it were making room. Light seeped in next—soft, diffused, without an obvious source. It did not blind him. It did not warm him. It simply was.
Then the world opened.
The old man halted again, this time without realizing it.
Mountains rose before him.
Not sharply, not violently, but with a quiet inevitability, like thoughts that had always been there, only now remembered. Their peaks were wrapped in slow-moving clouds, drifting lazily as if time itself had grown unhurried.
Waterfalls traced silver lines down distant cliffs, their sound present but muted, as though the air itself refused to echo too loudly.
The sky was vast.
Too vast.
The old man's chest tightened—not from fear, but from something heavier. Reverence, perhaps. Or the sudden awareness of his own smallness.
"This…" His voice faltered. He swallowed. "This isn't—"
Lin Yuan stood beside him, hands loosely at his sides, gaze steady.
"It's quiet here," he said.
The old man let out a slow breath. He had not realized he was holding it.
"Yes," he said. "Very."
They stood at the edge of a stone path that wound forward, cutting through rolling clouds toward a single mountain that rose slightly apart from the rest. Unlike the distant peaks, this one felt near, tangible, as though it acknowledged their presence.
On its summit stood a cluster of buildings.
Courtyards layered naturally into the mountainside, neither ostentatious nor humble. Their roofs curved gently, tiles catching the light in a way that made them seem untouched by age. No cracks. No moss. No signs of decay.
They looked… complete.
The old man's legs weakened.
He steadied himself instinctively, but before he could stumble, the ground beneath him felt firmer, more certain. His breathing slowed. The ache in his joints dulled, receding like a tide.
He noticed it only after the fact.
Lin Yuan watched him quietly.
"You may rest there," Lin Yuan said, nodding toward the mountain. "If you wish."
The old man turned to look at him.
For the first time since they had met, uncertainty flickered in his eyes.
"This place," he said carefully. "Is it yours?"
Lin Yuan considered the question.
For a moment, the clouds shifted, revealing a glimpse of distant peaks that seemed endless, layered one behind another, fading into pale blue nothingness.
Then he answered, simply, "It exists."
The old man lowered his head.
That answer was enough.
They walked toward the mountain.
With each step, the old man felt lighter—not in body, but in spirit. The heaviness he had carried for years, the constant background awareness of time running out, softened until it no longer pressed against his thoughts.
At the foot of the mountain, the path widened into a courtyard.
Stone tiles lay perfectly aligned. A small pond reflected the sky, its surface so still it seemed unreal. Nearby, a pavilion stood open, curtains stirring gently despite the absence of wind.
Someone was waiting.
The figure stood near the steps, posture straight, hands folded neatly before him. He appeared young, perhaps in his early twenties, dressed in plain but immaculate robes. His expression was calm, eyes clear and unclouded.
When he spoke, his voice was even, without emotion or warmth.
"Welcome."
The old man froze.
He had not sensed the person's presence at all.
"This guest may stay," Lin Yuan said.
The attendant inclined his head slightly. "Understood."
Only then did the old man realize something else.
Lin Yuan had not stepped forward with him.
He stood at the edge of the courtyard, as though the invisible boundary between them mattered.
The old man turned back.
"Won't you—?"
Lin Yuan shook his head gently. "Rest."
The word carried weight.
The old man hesitated, then bowed deeply, his movements slow but sincere. He did not know why he bowed. Only that it felt necessary.
When he straightened, Lin Yuan was already gone.
The courtyard remained.
The mountain stood silent.
And the attendant waited, eyes calm, as though he had always been there.
"Please follow me," the attendant said.
The old man did.
As they ascended the steps, the old man glanced back once more, half-expecting the mist to reclaim him, to reveal the riverbank and the fishing rod and the ordinary world he had stepped away from.
There was nothing.
Only the mountain.
Only the quiet.
And the unsettling sense that he had crossed somewhere he could never fully return from unchanged.
End of Chapter 2