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He often found himself thinking of her.

Frequently, he pondered what she might be doing now if he had arrived at the Sishi Garden half a day earlier that fateful day.

Would she be leaning against the railing, turning her head to reveal those eyes shimmering with a galaxy of stars as they slowly took in his face?

Or perhaps she would be reclining by the bed, warming a bowl of porridge for him?

Or even, with an annoyed huff, lifting her hand to pinch his cheek while scolding, "Gu Yunzhi."

Anything would be fine, as long as she was there. That was what he wished.

The previous night, he dreamt of her weeping again.

It had been a long time since he last saw her crying in his dreams.

In that instant when he reached out to wipe away the tears from the corner of her eye, an overwhelming sense of loneliness engulfed him.

How desperately he wished to see her.

He longed to tell her that Gu Yunzhi truly missed Rong Zhaozhao.

In the flickering flames, the silver threads in his temples were slowly fading, and the fine lines around his eyes were vanishing inch by inch.

Suddenly, the man lifted his head, gazing at an empty spot in the air.

There, countless images emerged before him.

- It was Madam Shen returning to the capital, handing him the ink-jade vase while tears welled up in her eyes. "Yunzhi, I've brought Zhaozhao back to be with you."

- It was the pitter-patter of autumn rain, as he held her in his arms, whispering, "Our Zhaozhao won't feel pain anymore."

- It was inside the swaying carriage, where he dipped his brush and wrote: My wife, Zhaozhao.

The past unfolded like surging winds and clouds, or pages flipping through a book.

Gradually, he felt his strength ebbing away, and his fingers holding the ink-jade vase trembled softly.

The torrent of images before his eyes gradually slowed to a halt.

It froze on a scene bathed in a fiery glow.

Large, crimson wedding candles burned silently. The groom, with an icy expression, held a white jade handle and slowly, deliberately lifted her veil.

Beneath the brilliant candlelight, the bride stood resplendent in a deep red wedding dress, adorned with a phoenix coronet and a cloak of brocade. She offered him a radiant smile.

A rust-colored hue began to stain Gu Changjin's eyes.

"Save her!"

"Gu Changjin, save her!"

The deafening cry pierced through the raging inferno, echoing endlessly within the underground palace.

After the echoes faded, Gu Changjin abruptly looked at his palm, which was now empty. The black jade urn containing her ashes had vanished without a trace.

She had returned.

Four decades of life had passed without her.

Separated by countless mists and rains, myriad mountains and rivers, and the insurmountable barrier of life and death where human effort is futile.

Now, it was but a single blink away from seeing her again.

Gu Changjin closed his eyes with a gentle smile.

Rong Zhaozhao, Yunzhi has come to see you.

Chapter 113

Dragon Yin Mountain, Green Rock Temple.

Night snow falls like cotton, gentle and serene.

As Baoshan passed by a towering pine tree, a snowball the size of a fist dislodged from its branches with a "pfft," plunging into the nape of his neck and sending a chill through his entire body.

Yet, he had no time to brush the snow from his collar as he carefully carried a small pot of simmering, glutinous porridge towards the thatched hut. In these past few days, Miss Shen had hardly eaten properly, and in just three short days, her jawline had grown razor-sharp from the weight she'd lost.

Baoshan had grown up in the temple with his master as his only companion, so he had never had many playmates. Naturally, he was delighted when someone else finally arrived at the temple, wishing earnestly that Miss Shen could stay and become his junior sister.

Logically, the longer that young man remained unconscious, the longer Miss Shen would stay in the Taoist temple. Yet, as he witnessed her growing weaker day by day, he hoped that the young man would awaken sooner.

Lost in thought, he had already reached the cottage's door and was about to knock when he suddenly heard a gentle voice from within: "It's been four days, and he's still not awake. Should we give him another dose of medicine, Daoist?"

The young lady's soft voice held an undeniable concern.

Afraid that his master might say something to distress Miss Shen, Baoshan hurriedly freed one hand to push open the door. At that moment, the corner of his eye caught a sudden flash of light.

A thick bolt of purple lightning appeared abruptly against the dark night sky. In the next instant, countless tiny sparks detached from it, filling the entire night sky in an instant.

It was as if the world was enveloped by a web of light. Soon, a tremendous peal of thunder rolled in from all directions.

In all his years, Baoshan had never witnessed such an extraordinary phenomenon.

His scalp tingled uncontrollably.

How eerily similar was this scene to the heavenly wrath his master had once described?

In the thatched cottage, as lightning illuminated the night sky, Qing Miao Daoist held his breath, intently gazing at the palm fan in his hand.

The tattered fan, already split into three cracks, was now slowly fracturing along a fourth line.

Thunder rumbled deafeningly around them, shaking the heavens and earth as if they were on the brink of shattering.

Rong Shu stared blankly at the palm fan in Qing Miao Daoist's hand.

"The formation is complete!"

Qing Miao paced back and forth, occasionally waving the fan while his eyes burned with an intense, frenzied glow. He repeatedly murmured, "The formation is complete."

After a moment, he seemed to recall something, turning to Rong Shu with urgency in his voice. "Quick, look at your left palm!"

Like a marionette, Rong Shu obediently opened her left hand and lowered her gaze to inspect it.

There, between the delicate whiteness of her palm, a thread slowly emerged from the space between her index finger and middle finger, winding its way down to the base of her palm.

"That's your new life line!" Qing Miao Daoist exclaimed excitedly.

Almost the moment Qing Miao finished his words, Rong Shu seemed to hear a faint "crack" deep within her soul.

It was as if an imprisoning shackle within her body had been forcibly broken and dissipated entirely, leaving her feeling weightless all over.

Rong Shu's eyelashes fluttered gently, and soon they were moist with tears.

Her long lower lashes, seemingly unable to bear the burden, drooped slightly, and a teardrop fell onto Gu Changjin's well-defined palm.

The man's hand moved.

As if sensing something, Rong Shu turned her head towards the bamboo bed. There, the man with pale features slowly lifted his eyelids.

The moment he opened his eyes, his gaze met hers.

He looked at her silently for a long while, then reached up to wipe away the tear on her cheek. His voice was hoarse as he said, "I dreamed last night that you were crying. They say dreams are the opposite of reality, so why are you really crying?"

Rong Shu didn't know that his "last night" referred to the night after their forty-year wait; she took it to mean a dream he had during his recent coma.