Chapter 245 Remembering

Kunlun Mountain is in the northwest of China.

Quanzhou, on the other hand, is in the southeast.

Therefore, when Wei Yuan returned to Quanzhou from Kunlun Mountain, he would inevitably pass through the land of Shu. The Temple of Marquis Wu, at least the one in the eyes of ordinary people, is located in the land of Shu, connected to Liu Xuande's tomb to form an architectural complex.

Wei Yuan stood in the land of Shu.

It is quite prosperous here now, contrasting with the lingering impressions in his memory.

Wei Yuan was a little unaccustomed to it for a while.

The bustling modern city, fashionable men and women, and the atmosphere of visiting old friends didn't quite match. Wei Yuan glanced at the direction of the Temple of Marquis Wu from afar, seriously considering whether to eat a hotpot first, then a bowl of ice jelly, and finally take a hotpot takeaway to the Temple of Marquis Wu.

With that guy's personality.

If he were still alive, he would definitely mock him severely when he saw him enter with a sad face.

He might even carry a zither and recite a poem from the *Book of Songs*.

The Temple of Marquis Wu closes at eight o'clock in the evening. Wei Yuan did not go in during the day. It wasn't until evening that he carried a bag of things and slowly walked to the front of the Temple of Marquis Wu. At this time, tourists were no longer allowed to enter, and some tourists inside were slowly walking out.

A couple walked out with a child of twelve or thirteen years old.

"Do you know where this is?"

"Of course, Zhuge Liang."

The boy swayed forward, casually reciting the poem: "His achievements overshadowed the Three Kingdoms, his fame was established by the Eight-Formation Diagram."

"The river flows, but the stones do not turn; the regret of losing the chance to swallow Wu remains."

The child's mother encouraged him with a smile:

"Recite another one. If you recite another one, I'll get you something delicious to eat later."

"Ah..."

When the boy heard that he had to recite another poem, his face was full of unwillingness, but when he heard there was something to eat, his eyes lit up slightly. He thought for a while and began to recite a little stumbling: "The Prime Minister's Temple in Mianyang Xu, ancient cypresses with iron trunks so dense, travelers point to Dingjun Mountain, the sound of war drums heard on dark and gloomy nights..."

This is a relatively niche poem, a total of eight lines.

So it was a bit difficult for the child to recite.

He struggled for a while before reciting the last two lines:

"I dismount and bow to the desolate mound, the best of three generations."

"Remembering the death after the battle of Mianzhu."

"A family of loyal martyrs for thousands of autumns."

He breathed a sigh of relief. Fortunately, he had just heard someone say that Zhuge Liang's eldest son and eldest grandson had all died in battle for the Shu Kingdom, which is why he remembered the last two lines. Now the promised food couldn't escape, and he raised his head triumphantly, seeing the approving and proud gaze of his parents, and the surprise of the adults next to him.

He felt the evening breeze blowing on his face, warm and comfortable.

He enjoyed this feeling very much.

When he turned his head, he suddenly saw a young man standing next to him. When he saw the young man's face, the boy, immersed in his triumph, was stunned.

Then he was pulled forward by his parents. There were two children in front, holding two toys, one holding Zhuge Liang's feather fan, and the other holding Sun Wukong's golden cudgel, fighting and playing there.

Pedestrians merged into the crowd.

The crowd then poured into the streets and returned to the city.

The staff closed the door of the Temple of Marquis Wu.

He turned his head and saw that the young uncle was gone, but the scene he had just seen lingered in his mind. At the entrance of a scenic spot full of happy tourists, only that person's face carried an unspeakable sorrow. He was obviously very young, but just now he felt like an old man who had lost everything.

He looked back again and again. His mother patted his head and smiled:

"What are you still looking at?"

"They're closed."

"But..."

"Let's not talk about that. What do you want to eat today? Since you performed well, you can ask for anything."

"Then... then let's go eat hotpot again."

"I want two bowls of ice jelly, one bowl of brown sugar tapioca, and a serving of crispy pork."

"Are you eating hotpot or snacks? You'll be full after eating all this."

The boy's eyes were bright and quite happy. He had long forgotten the young man who was different from the others. A child's shoulders should be carrying the clear breeze and bright moon, orioles and willow leaves, and all kinds of delicious and fun things.

He was only twelve years old after all.

…………

The staff closed the Temple of Marquis Wu and rode away.

But this does not mean that there is no one in the Temple of Marquis Wu.

For some reason, even if it is closed, there are still some Taoists who are specially responsible for taking care of and protecting the temple. They will also patrol here at night.

Wei Yuan looked at the ancestral hall and strode in. His invisibility technique became more and more proficient. Although there were people coming and going around, no one could detect any signs. The Temple of Marquis Wu was very quiet in the night, only Wei Yuan's footsteps sounded steadily.

He hesitated for a while, then walked into the Zhuge Liang Hall.

He looked up at the clay sculpture in the Jingyuan Hall.

It was a wonderful feeling. Obviously, in that era, he was older. Obviously, the young man had promised to take care of him in his old age, and also said that future generations would also offer incense to him, but now, the smiling and waving young man was drifting away, and suddenly turned into words in history.

The smell of incense drilled straight into people's bodies.

At this time, Wei Yuan would have a complex feeling.

Usually, there are birds singing, cicadas chirping, computers and mobile phones, people talking, and even the rattling sound of green trains passing over the rails. The human world is hot and busy, making people unable to recall the past. But the clay sculptures, incense, and the statue in front of him with a feather fan and silk headband truly reminded him of the passage of time.

Time has really passed and will never come again.

The young man who would carry a zither and sing poems from the *Book of Songs* at his door would never come back.

Wei Yuan took out something from the plastic bag he brought and placed it in front of the statue of Zhuge Wuhou. He also picked up a few incense sticks from the table next to him, shook them casually to light them, inserted them into the incense burner, patted the ash off his hands, and said:

"Well, I still have to offer this last incense stick to you."

"And you said you'd take care of me in my old age."

"What kind of old age did you take care of me for?"

He couldn't help but mutter, "Do you know that my hair turned white overnight when I saw you were gone? It shortened my lifespan by at least ten years. Tell me, how are you going to compensate me? If I had my current temper back then, I would have dragged your soul out and beaten you up."

"You said you were going back to Nanyang, but you didn't. You said you'd take care of me in my old age, but you were gone."

He babbled about some things, lowered his head to tidy up the things on the table, and in a trance, the smiling young man was still in front of him. Wei Yuan paused and said softly, "But, you can rest assured, the Yan Han still exists."

"I think, at least it's a comfort to you."

He seemed to hear a sound.

He raised his head, but there was only a clay sculpture in front of him.

He was silent for a while.

Wei Yuan took out a fruit and gently put it down, saying:

"The thatched cottage in Nanyang is still there. This fruit is from the tree you planted back then."

"I saw it."

"When you were growing taller, I carved marks on it with a dagger. Now those marks are still there. The thatched cottage is fine, but there's a lot of grass and it's too humid. When I clean it up next year, I'll come and see you again when the fruit is ripe next year."

"I'll take your fan first. I won't return it to you."

"I'll wait for you to come and ask me for it one day."

He looked at the surrounding environment, stood up, and pushed the door to leave. In fact, Wei Yuan had already felt the familiar aura in this Temple of Marquis Wu. At first, he hoped it was the young man from back then, but after entering, he realized it wasn't.

In fact, it couldn't be. He and Zhang Jiao were similar. They both died from the backlash of *Tianji* (heavenly secrets).

Not far from here is the Hui Mausoleum of Emperor Zhaolie of Han, Liu Xuande.

Wei Yuan followed the aura to the west side of the main hall.

The main hall is for Liu Bei, Liu Xuande, the east hall is for Zhuge Wuhou, and the west hall is for Guan Yu and Zhang Fei.

Wei Yuan walked to the West Hall, looked at the mighty two generals, and nodded knowingly. There were fences around to prevent tourists from touching the statues. Wei Yuan put one hand on the fence, simply and neatly flipped over, patted the dust off his body, and then used the wind to blow the dust off the table.

He also put the wine bottle on the table and looked at the Guan Yu statue over there.

As expected, it was him, or rather, it was Him.

After all, this is the mausoleum of Liu Xuande.

Wei Yuan had used Wohu's (Crouching Tiger) exclusive magical power when he contacted Jue in the ghost realm.

But he rarely used it after that.

He tapped his finger.

*Qu Shen* (Driving Gods).

In an instant, an ethereal and unpredictable aura swept through the entire Temple of Marquis Wu.

Wei Yuan looked up and said softly, "General Guan, an old friend has come."

"Can we still have a drink?"

ps: One update today... I can't do it anymore, sorry, I have to force myself to lie in bed and adjust my routine.

If this continues, I might pass away Σ(|||▽|||). The last time I asked for leave was on the 3rd, right? I persevered for thirteen days (coughing up blood).