Jing and Da dragged their feet back to camp. Da collapsed on a haystack, completely giving up the idea. But Ji…
Jing and Da dragged their feet back to camp. Da collapsed on a haystack, completely giving up the idea. But Jing couldn't swallow his frustration; he was determined to uncover Uncle Zhang's origins. After all they'd been through, he no longer acted recklessly. Instead, he hid behind a woodpile, watching for a glimpse of that familiar tattered robe.
Later, as the ancient scroll was gradually restored, inch by inch, Uncle Zhang's madness seemed to recede. He would often crouch in the moonlight, stroking the yellowed paper, his knuckles rasping against the worn edges. Finally, when a wanderer filled in the last stroke of missing ink, Uncle Zhang suddenly smiled, deep creases forming at the corners of his eyes.
That night, Jing hid as usual in the reeds. He saw Uncle Zhang standing on the riverbank, throwing back his head and laughing loudly, the sound startling roosting birds. The previously blurred characters on the Heng Blade now glimmered with golden light, clearly discernible as the characters "Guiyi."
"Thus, we can go home now."
No sooner had the words left his mouth than his broken armor seemed to ripple. Uncle Zhang's body began to blur, dissolving into fireflies that vanished into the night wind, flying westward, disappearing into the darkness. All that remained was half a scroll of the "Hexi Map" lying among the pebbles.
Jing rubbed his eyes, unable to believe what he had seen. He rushed over and snatched up the map.
Unfurling it slowly, he saw the territories of the eleven prefectures of Hexi meticulously outlined, with military fortresses like Jade Gate Pass and Yangguan Pass clearly marked. At the end of the map, a letter slipped out.
Uncle Zhang's message was kind, his tone calm.
"Young man, following me these past few days must have disappointed you."
"...I remember it... I remember my home, I remember the Great Tang, and I remember my soldiers. They were just like you. Their eyes bright, looking at me as they waited for me to lead them home..."
"We, too, risked our lives escorting, crossing over, standing on the bodies of comrades to look ahead... Only, what we escorted was a map. What we crossed were the icy crevasses of the Qilian Mountains' passes. And what we stood shoulder-to-shoulder, straining to see... were the beacon fires in the desert, and beyond those fires, Chang'an city."
"Sorry... these past few days... I mistook you for my boys..."
The morning light was piercing. Jing rushed back to camp, wanting to tell everyone. To his surprise, everyone's memory of Uncle Zhang had dissipated like smoke.
"No, I still have the letter!" He hurriedly unfolded the letter, only to find the writing had vanished without a trace.
"You must have been dreaming, right?" The crowd laughed and dispersed. Jing rubbed his head, his heart full of confusion.
Could it have been... just a dream? But these past few days... they felt so vivid...
"You must have been dreaming, right?" The crowd laughed and dispersed. Jing rubbed his head, his heart full of confusion.
Could it have been... just a dream? But these past few days... they felt so vivid...
"Jing, hurry up, or we won't get any food!" Da's urging came from the doorway.
Jing snapped back to reality, shook his head with a bitter smile, glanced at the blank paper, then at his own growling stomach.
In the end, he decided to put aside these troubles for now. Quickly gathering his things, he joined the rush for food.
Inside the room, as he turned away, the letter paper scattered into starlight, mingling with the morning mist and dissipating into the cooking smoke. Carried by the wind, it drifted westward.