The old body lay on the bed, fragile, as if time itself had carved wrinkles of weakness and aging into it. His white hair, scattered across the pillow like withered leaves from a tree, left only a few strands remaining.
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His eyes, which had witnessed one hundred and forty autumns, stared out through the open window, where the orange light of the setting sun bathed the room in a gentle glow. The leaves outside swayed, and some quietly drifted to the ground, as if reminding him of his own life's journey, which had begun in vitality and ended in decay.
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He let out a long, heavy sigh, as if it were the last of his remaining strength. Memories danced in his mind: the years he had spent studying alchemy, his brilliant achievements, and the students who once filled the halls, eager to absorb his knowledge. Yet today, none of them were there.
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No one cared for him as a person—only his knowledge had been of interest.
"One hundred and forty Springs ..." he murmured in a hoarse voice, his gaze, heavy with sorrow, fixed on the horizon. "What have I gained? No wife, no children, no true disciples... just people who sought my knowledge."
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His mind wandered through those moments, recalling each of them, remembering the faces that had come and gone without leaving anything meaningful behind.
"Did I make a mistake?" he wondered to himself, perhaps for the first time in his long life.
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His weary mind wandered through old memories, recalling the disciples who had surpassed him thanks to his knowledge.
Those who became immortal, after they had drained all he could offer them.
One by one, they came to him with eager hearts and a burning desire to learn the secrets of alchemy.
He trained them, taught them everything, even the secrets of immortality they so craved. And once they got what they wanted, they left.
They became immortal... and abandoned him. They never looked back, never asked about their mortal master who knew that one day he would die.
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To them, he had been nothing more than a means to achieve their ultimate goal: immortality. Meanwhile, he remained in his frail body, watching as they thrived and grew stronger, while year by year, weakness crept upon him.
"They took my knowledge, and they left…" he thought quietly, his eyes still fixed on the horizon burning with the glow of the setting sun. "Not one of them would return, or ask about me."
Jing Xuan, the greatest alchemist of his time, was a man whose name was immortalized in the annals of history for his deep understanding of alchemy and its mysterious arts.
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By his side, there was a small servant named Li, who had stayed with him during his final years.
Li was the only one who remained by his master's side until these crucial moments.
Despite the fact that Jing Xuan had trained many great disciples, none of them cared for him as much as this humble servant did.
In his last moments, when Jing Xuan felt the end approaching, he slowly turned his head toward Li, who stood beside him, his eyes filled with sorrow.
"Li…" he whispered weakly, his frail hand trembling as it reached for a small box beside the bed. "This is my personal journal… it's yours."
He handed the servant an old, worn-out notebook, its yellowed pages containing secrets even his greatest disciples did not know.
Things he had never revealed to anyone. Li looked at the notebook, astonished by the trust his master had placed in him, while Jing Xuan continued in a faint voice:
"Guard it well... It contains things I've never shared with anyone before."
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Jing Xuan closed his eyes for the last time, leaving behind the world in which he had lived for one hundred and forty autumns. In that moment, his memories began to flow, like a film reel displaying the details of his long journey.
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Scenes from his youth, his alchemical discoveries, and his disciples who had left after taking everything they wanted… they all passed before his tired eyes.
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Suddenly, amidst the solemn silence that preceded death, he heard a faint voice. A voice that seemed to come from a distant place, yet was unmistakably clear.
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He immediately opened his eyes, only to find himself in a strange place, in a new, small, and different body. Slowly, he lifted his gaze to see someone standing before him, looking at him with concern. This was the new beginning, another life had just begun.