The startled wind ripples through the white day, as time flows westward.
Life between heaven and earth is like a white colt crossing a chasm, fleeting and ephemeral.
The evening drum and chime of the bell mark yet another few cycles, moments trickling by as years roll on. The bowl of longevity noodles within the halls of the Netherworld Mansion has long grown cold, overturned, spanning twelve years hence.
The lord of the Nine Nethers never again saw the child who inadvertently stumbled into the mansion those years ago, daringly wielding a duster to tidy the chamber filled with bamboo scrolls.
No matter how excessively youthful the Taiyin Emperor appears on the outside.
Yet beneath that youthful facade dwells the soul of an ancient, solitary old man.
An aging emperor trapped within a youthful shell, meticulously counting the scallions in the bowl of noodles, listening to the world, calculating time, softly poaching two eggs at night.
