The moon was a sliver in the sky, pale and distant. Yet, it held an almost magnetic pull over Xian Lu as he walked through the streets of the town, now silent in the late hours of the night. The marketplace had long emptied, and only the faint glow of lanterns remained to guide him through the alleys.
Xian Lu had never felt the weight of time so acutely before. In the immortal realm, days and years flowed without distinction—moments could stretch into eternities, and yet they never truly passed. But here, in this mortal realm, time was tangible, it was fleeting. He could feel it pressing down on him, as if every second were a treasure he could not afford to waste.
His thoughts turned to the brief confrontation with the men in the alley earlier. He had acted without hesitation, using his power to force them to flee. Yet, the act of subduing them had left him with an unexpected feeling: emptiness.
In the past, such an encounter would have been nothing—an insignificant event in the grand tapestry of the cosmos. His power, his control, would have seen to it that the outcome was determined long before he even engaged. But here, among the mortals, the consequences of his actions were not so easily dismissed.
Xian Lu felt the strain of responsibility, the weight of having impacted their lives, however subtly. The men would think twice before committing crimes in the town again, but what of their deeper struggles? What of the unseen forces that pushed them toward desperation? Could he, with all his power, truly understand the forces of this world? Or would he only impose his own will, like so many gods before him, ignoring the intricacies of mortal lives?
With a deep breath, Xian Lu walked to the river once more, seeking solace in its rhythmic flow. He sat by its edge, letting the cool water brush against his fingers as he watched the moonlight dance across its surface.
It was then that he heard a sound—a soft, melodic voice drifting from a nearby building. The notes floated gently on the air, delicate and haunting. The voice was familiar. He stood, following the sound until he came upon a small teahouse, where a lone figure sat by the window, playing a zither.
It was Mei Lan.
Her fingers danced across the strings with a grace that could only be described as ethereal. There was a sadness to the music, an aching that seemed to echo the emptiness Xian Lu had felt earlier. The sound wrapped around him, drawing him closer, until he found himself standing at the door of the teahouse.
Mei Lan had her back to him, lost in the depths of her performance. She played as though the weight of the world rested on her shoulders, yet there was a beauty to the sorrow that emerged from her music. It was raw, honest, and human. In that moment, Xian Lu felt the immensity of her expression. For all his vastness, all his knowledge of the universe, he had never felt something so powerful as the fragility of this woman's soul.
He knocked lightly on the doorframe, his voice soft, almost hesitant. "Your music… it carries a depth that speaks to the heart."
Mei Lan stopped playing, the last note lingering in the air before she turned to face him. She blinked, as if surprised by his presence. Her eyes were dark, but there was a warmth behind them that softened the sharpness of her features.
"You came," she said, her voice quiet, almost uncertain. "I didn't expect anyone to be out here at this hour."
"I was drawn to your music," Xian Lu replied, stepping into the room. "It's... unlike anything I've ever heard."
Mei Lan hesitated for a moment, then smiled faintly, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Not many people care for the sorrow in music. They prefer songs that make them feel happy or strong. But the truth is, sorrow is a part of life too."
Xian Lu sat down at the table, his gaze never leaving her. "I have lived a long time. I have seen joy, and I have seen suffering. But I have never known the depth of it in the way that you convey through your music."
Her fingers hovered over the zither strings, as though she might continue playing, but then she let her hands fall gently to her lap. "You've lived a long time, you say. Are you some kind of immortal?"
Xian Lu's lips quirked slightly at her directness. "Perhaps. It's hard to say what 'immortal' means anymore."
Mei Lan studied him for a moment, her brow furrowing. "You seem different from the others I've met," she said, her voice curious yet cautious. "Most people who claim to be 'immortal' don't carry the same... presence as you. You feel... real."
A flicker of something passed through Xian Lu's heart. It was an emotion he hadn't felt in centuries—genuine warmth, unguarded. Here, in this small teahouse, surrounded by the quiet of the night, he could not hide behind the façade of his divinity. He was just a man—a mortal, even for this brief moment.
"I am just like you, Mei Lan," Xian Lu said quietly. "Trying to make sense of the world, of my place within it. Perhaps that is why your music resonates with me."
She didn't respond immediately. Instead, she simply stared at him for a long moment, as though weighing his words. Then, she smiled faintly and leaned forward, her voice soft.
"Perhaps you are more mortal than you realize."
There was something in her words, a hidden truth that struck Xian Lu deeply. He had never truly considered what it meant to be mortal—not in the way she described. Mortals were not defined by their power, their strength, or their immortality. They were defined by their impermanence, by the way they navigated the fleeting moments that made up their lives.
In that moment, Xian Lu understood. It was not the strength of one's existence that mattered. It was the way one experienced it. The joy, the pain, the fleeting beauty that each moment held—it was all part of the dance of life.
The conversation lingered between them for a long time, the silence comfortable, broken only by the occasional soft sigh of the wind outside. Finally, Mei Lan rose from her seat and took her zither in her hands.
"Would you like to hear one more song?" she asked, her eyes meeting his.
Xian Lu nodded, his heart stirring with anticipation. For the first time in ages, he was eager to hear what the world had to offer, not as an observer, but as a participant.
Mei Lan's fingers brushed over the strings, and the room filled with the soft, mournful tune that echoed the pain and beauty of the world. And as Xian Lu listened, something deep within him shifted. He was no longer a detached observer of life; he was part of it.