Each painting carried a sense of life, and held an otherworldly quality that never failed to fascinate him.

Xiao Huzi chuckled, a warm and indulgent smile gracing his lips. He reached for a dumpling from the basket and took a bite. The dumpling was fresh, its thin dough encasing a flavorful filling of assorted vegetables, emitting a pleasant aroma.

“Your dad only wants the best for you, Ming’er,” Xiao Huzi said after a moment, his tone light. “Fishing teaches patience and persistence. Both are useful, even for painting.”

Ming Chen pouted but didn’t argue further. Instead, he continued to study the painting in Xiao Huzi’s hand, the vibrant colors and intricate strokes capturing his attention. “Still,” he muttered, “I think painting is way cooler than fishing. You make something that lasts forever, not just a fish that gets eaten in one meal.”

Xiao Huzi’s laughter filled the shop. “Maybe one day, Ming Chen,” he said, his voice tinged with a mix of humor and wisdom. “But for now, learn everything you can—even from fishing. You might find inspiration where you least expect it.”

The boy sighed but nodded, clearly unconvinced but unwilling to argue further. As Xiao Huzi continued working on his painting, Ming Chen sat beside him, quietly watching, his earlier frustration slowly melting away.

Moments like these had become a regular part of their lives—simple, yet brimming with an unspoken bond that grew deeper with each passing year.

Time flowed like a quiet stream, and before anyone realized it, another year had passed. This marked the fourth year Xiao Huzi had lived in the bustling capital of the Great Dao Zhu Dynasty.

Ming Chen had grown taller and sturdier, his youthful frame now resembling that of a young man. His cheerful demeanor remained unchanged.

The neighborhood around them had also evolved. New families moved in, bringing fresh faces and vibrant stories, while some old ones faded away. A shop nearby had been sold after its elderly owner passed, leaving behind a bittersweet emptiness.

Ming Chen’s father, though still in his forties, now bore a few more wrinkles, the subtle yet undeniable marks of time. His once vigorous figure had slowed slightly, but his care for his son remained unwavering.

Autumn gave way to winter as the seasons continued to pass. Xiao Huzi observed the endless cycle of life—the birth of the young and the inevitable passing of the old. Though he sometimes felt wistful, his heart remained steady, unshaken by the passage of time. He had barely practiced martial arts in these past years.

Strength and progress, now seemed trivial. Painting consumed his days as he sought the deeper truths of the Dao.

Despite his detachment, Xiao Huzi’s painting shop had become well-known in the imperial capital. Martial artists and merchants alike came seeking his work, drawn by the intricate strokes and profound intent in each piece.

Yet Xiao Huzi cared little for the money his paintings brought him. To him, painting was a bridge to comprehend the Dao, not a pursuit of wealth.

As the New Year approached, the city streets came alive with vibrant lanterns, decorations, and an infectious energy. Xiao Huzi sat on a wooden chair outside his shop, quietly watching the bustling crowd. Snow blanketed the ground, and the air was crisp and filled with laughter.

From across the street, Ming Chen burst out of his home, a string of fireworks in hand, his face glowing with excitement. He darted through the snow, leaping and shouting, until his eyes landed on Xiao Huzi.

With a wide grin, he ran over and called out, “Big Brother Huzi! Why are you sitting here all alone in the cold? The whole street is celebrating! Look, I even brought fireworks for you. Let’s go light them!”

Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

Xiao Huzi smiled faintly, the corners of his mouth barely lifting. “Ming’er, you go ahead and enjoy yourself with your friends. I’m fine here. The snow looks better in silence.”

Ming Chen frowned but didn’t argue. Instead, he placed the fireworks beside Xiao Huzi and plopped down next to him. Xiao Huzi reached into his robe and pulled out a small pouch, handing it to the boy.

“Take this,” Xiao Huzi said, his tone warm. “A New Year’s gift from your older brother. Use it to buy something nice.”

Ming Chen’s eyes lit up with curiosity as he opened the pouch. A golden gleam spilled out, momentarily blinding him. When his vision cleared, he was stunned. The pouch was filled with gold coins—more than enough to ensure a lifetime of comfort for him and his father.

“Big Brother,” Ming Chen stammered, his voice trembling with shock. “Other people give copper coins for New Year gifts, and you’re handing me gold like it’s nothing! Just how rich are you?”

Recovering from his amazement, Ming Chen tried to return the pouch. “I can’t accept this,” he said, shaking his head. “My father would kill me if he found out I took something like this.”

Xiao Huzi chuckled, gently pushing the pouch back toward him. “It’s not for your father to decide. I’m giving it to you, Ming’er. You’ve worked hard this year—helping me, supporting your father, growing into someone he can be proud of. I’m proud of you too. Consider this a small recognition of your efforts.”

Ming Chen hesitated, still unsure. “But, Big Brother... This is too much. I don’t know if I deserve it. And what about you? Won’t you need this for yourself?”

Xiao Huzi laughed softly and ruffled Ming Chen’s hair. “My shop does well enough, and my needs are few. As for whether you deserve it, that’s for me to decide, not you. You’ve brought laughter and company to this quiet shop of mine. That alone is worth more than gold. Now, take it. Unless, of course, you don’t consider me your Big Brother anymore?”

He finished with a mock frown, his voice playful. Ming Chen’s eyes welled up as he clutched the pouch tightly.

“I… Thank you, Big Brother Huzi. I don’t know what else to say,” he murmured, his voice choked with emotion. His big brother was truly good to him.

Xiao Huzi’s smile deepened, and for a moment, the cold winter air seemed a little warmer. “Then don’t say anything, Ming’er. Use it to lighten your father’s burdens, or perhaps, if there’s something you’ve been longing for, use it for yourself. You’ve earned it. Now go. Your father has been calling for you.

Ming Chen hesitated, his reluctance visible in the way he shuffled his feet. But he eventually nodded, his youthful face a mixture of gratitude and unease. “Thank you, Big Brother. I won’t forget this.”

With that, he turned and dashed toward his home, the string of fireworks bouncing in his hand. Xiao Huzi watched as the boy disappeared into the warm glow of his house, the door closing behind him and sealing him within the embrace of familial comfort.

A faint smile lingered on Xiao Huzi’s lips, but it soon faded, replaced by a distant look that seemed to pierce through the falling snow and into the unseen horizons.

Snow fell in gentle swirls, blanketing the world in a fragile white stillness. He exhaled slowly, his breath forming ephemeral clouds in the chill air.

A quiet sigh escaped his lips, and his eyes traced the snow-covered streets. "The path of immortality… It is a paradox wrapped in infinite layers of truth and illusion. To seek eternity is to forsake all that is transient. Yet, how can one truly understand eternity without first experiencing the fleeting nature of life?"

"People often mistake immortality for escape. Escape from death, from pain, from loss. But immortality is not freedom. It is a shackle of its own. To live beyond the cycles of life and death is to bear witness to an eternity of change. Empires will rise and fall, rivers will carve mountains and vanish into the sea. Faces will fade, laughter will become echoes, and even memories will erode under the weight of infinite time."

"And yet, I choose this path. Not because it is easy, but because it is inevitable. To remain in the mortal coil is to accept decay. To seek the eternal is to challenge the heavens themselves. This is the ultimate defiance—to claim for oneself what the cosmos denies. Immortality is not given; it is earned through struggle, through sacrifice, through unyielding resolve."

His mind delved deeper into the heart of his pursuit. "What is the Dao? Is it the laws of the universe, the patterns of existence that bind all things? Or is it the essence beyond the laws, the eternal truth hidden beneath the illusion of reality? Perhaps it is both, or neither. The Dao is a riddle with no answer, a journey with no destination. Yet, I walk this path because I must. Because to not walk it is to deny my very essence."

The snow outside grew heavier. Xiao Huzi watched it, a flicker of understanding dawning in his eyes. "The snow falls, unbidden, unbound. It does not ask why it falls or where it lands. It simply is. Perhaps that is the nature of the Dao—not a thing to be grasped but a state to be embodied. To live as the snow, to drift without fear, without attachment, yet with purpose."

His thoughts drifted, unbidden, to the boy who had just left and the simple joys of their time together. "When I leave this plane," he thought, "what will I miss most? It won’t be the people of Iron Vein Sect, nor the people I’ve met while wandering, but the fleeting warmth of moments like these. In all my lives, I have never felt what I feel with him—a bond as fragile and fleeting as the snowflakes falling now."

Xiao Huzi felt cold. The cold he felt was not from the winter’s bite but something deeper—an ache rooted in his very soul.

His heart ached, a sharp pain born of the memories he held dear. "Ah, this pain… It is the weight of mortality. The longing for what must be left behind. But is it not this very pain that gives meaning to the pursuit? To sever these bonds is not to discard them, but to honor them."

"For only by letting go can I hope to rise above, to become something greater than the sum of my fleeting experiences. This is the trial of the path—not the battles, not the power struggles, but the quiet moments when you must turn your back on the things that make you human."

"To tread the path of immortality is to embrace solitude, not as a curse but as a crucible. Loneliness is the forge in which the soul is tempered, the fire that purifies the heart. And in this solitude, one discovers the self—not the self defined by others, but the self that exists beyond all definitions, eternal and unchanging."