The traveler did not immediately release Ling Chen's wrist.
Two fingers rested lightly against the boy's pulse, yet his expression was as if he were holding something fragile that might shatter if touched too firmly. The wind moved across the burial hill, carrying the smell of dry earth and distant smoke from the village, but neither of them spoke.
Ling Chen felt uncomfortable.
"Sir… is something wrong?"
The man blinked, as if remembering the boy was still there. Slowly, he lowered his hand.
"…What is your name?"
"Ling Chen."
The traveler repeated it softly. "Ling… Chen…"
He looked toward the nameless tomb at the top of the hill, and for a moment his eyes seemed far away, as if comparing the present to a memory only he could see.
"I am Ren Tianhe," he said at last. "A wandering man with nowhere particular to go."
Ling Chen nodded politely. "Are you a scholar? You speak like one."
Ren Tianhe chuckled faintly. "No. I am a person who has lived long enough to learn how little he understands."
He gestured for Ling Chen to sit beside a flat stone near the graves. The boy obeyed.
For a while, Ren Tianhe simply watched the village below. Farmers moved between the fields, and a woman hung laundry beside a well. Life continued normally, untouched by the strange tension on the hill.
"Ling Chen," Ren Tianhe said quietly, "are you afraid of death?"
Ling Chen considered the question seriously.
He looked around at the tombstones. The names carved into them were familiar — people he had spoken to every morning for years.
"I don't think so," he answered honestly.
Ren Tianhe raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
Ling Chen traced a finger across the dirt.
"Because they aren't completely gone."
He placed his palm gently on the nearest grave marker. A faint warmth spread into his hand — sadness mixed with relief, like someone finally resting after a long journey.
"They still feel… here," he said. "Not alive. But not empty."
Ren Tianhe's eyes darkened.
"Then tell me," the traveler asked, voice low, "what do you fear?"
Ling Chen thought for a long time.
Finally he said:
"Being forgotten."
The wind stirred.
For a brief moment, Ren Tianhe closed his eyes.
"You hear them," he said softly. It was not a question.
Ling Chen hesitated, then nodded.
"I always thought everyone did."
Ren Tianhe shook his head slowly.
"No. Most people hear nothing. Even cultivators — those who claim to defy death — cannot hear what you hear."
Ling Chen frowned. "Cultivators?"
Ren Tianhe stood and pointed at a distant mountain barely visible beyond the horizon.
"There are people who train their bodies and minds to surpass mortal limits. They live centuries, wield power over nature, and believe themselves closer to Heaven than ordinary men."
He paused.
"But the stronger they become… the less they understand life."
Ling Chen looked confused. "Isn't living longer better?"
Ren Tianhe watched the graves again.
"…If you live long enough," he said quietly, "you will bury everyone you have ever loved."
Ling Chen did not know how to respond.
For the first time, immortality did not sound comforting.