"The madman of those years is all gone now, leaving only this orphan who sold paintings, who is now old and decrepit. Upon asking his wife, she also said that for thirty years, he never once rushed through the mountains again," Zi Huang spoke softly, "Even though the scroll is precious, we ultimately cannot torment and stimulate an old and sick person, so we aimlessly searched the mountain for two months, to no avail, and had no choice but to descend the mountain with regret."
"This happened two years ago," Zi Huang said, looking at the youth, "We thought it would remain a lifelong regret."
"But we were not so fortunate."
....
....
On the rainy night of July 11, Zhang Zijing stood under the steps watching Zi Huang, his eyes burning brightly in the rainy night: "Quick, pack your bags and follow me to the mountains!"
Zi Huang was momentarily confused: "What's the matter... let's go inside and talk."
