In a small town on the other side of Changbai Mountain, a middle-aged man appeared, playing the erhu.
This man was unremarkable, with a pale complexion, a slender build, and a long cloth bag slung over his back. He coughed occasionally, and a faint scent of medicinal herbs always lingered around him, making him appear like a frail and pitiable soul.
Generally, such individuals wouldn't be very popular, especially in a remote small town where street performances were uncommon.
However, his erhu skills were exceptionally high. His glissandos were breathtaking, and every draw and push of the bow was heart-stirring. His exquisite playing attracted one passerby after another, and the collection tin in front of his stall grew fuller each day.
...A collection tin; this was another rare sight. In an era dominated by optical computers, this form of fundraising seemed to exist only in memories.
Thinking of how destitute he must be, people gave him a little more money.
Zhang Qiling didn't understand why people's gazes towards him grew more pitying each day. He simply packed up his stall as usual when dusk settled, then went to the pharmacy to exchange the loose change in his tin for wound medicine.
Afterward, he would find a secluded corner, quietly apply the medicine, and spend another night gazing at the star-filled sky.
He had no identification, which prevented him from finding proper lodging. Even this erhu was obtained from an old man when he wandered into the town aimlessly.
At the time, the old man was packing up his stall. He was a vegetable vendor, and music was perhaps just a hobby. The wooden erhu was already very worn.
Zhang Qiling stood there watching him tremblingly pack up the vegetables. For some reason, he walked over and helped him.
The old man's cloudy eyes stared at him for a while. Unsure what he saw, he sighed, smiled, and gave him the erhu as he left.
"Young man, you'll always find a way to live."
Zhang Qiling didn't quite understand what he meant.
The old man said his children were coming to take him to the city to enjoy his old age, and he left happily. Zhang Qiling stood there holding the erhu, and a flicker of longing suddenly arose in his blank heart.
...Longing for what? He thought for a moment but couldn't figure it out.
From then on, Zhang Qiling settled in this peaceful town, planning to recover from his injuries before leaving.
He wasn't in a hurry because even if he left, he wouldn't know where to go. Searching for memories was a journey without a destination, like sailing on a sea shrouded in mist.
Occasionally, people would arrive in this town. These individuals carried a completely different aura from the townsfolk, inquiring, either directly or subtly, about someone's whereabouts.
Zhang Qiling was also stopped and questioned. He quietly looked at his own image on the optical computer screen, his weary expression unchanged, and then he gently shook his head.
Then, those people left.
He didn't know why these people were looking for him, perhaps like the ones who had stopped him at the foot of Changbai Mountain.
Zhang Qiling didn't know what his past self had done to be pursued by so many people, but he was in great pain all over and didn't want to fight.
He decided that once his injuries were fully healed, he would confront them and perhaps find clues to his memories.
He couldn't earn much money, and he couldn't afford very effective medicine, so his wounds healed slowly.
Just as his injuries had begun to improve slightly, a group of people found him.
"Clan Leader!" a man in black knelt on one knee, his eyes filled with unconcealable fervor as he looked up. "We've finally found you!"
The kneeling of this man in black prompted the others behind him to kneel. Even those Zhang Qiling had thrown to the ground for peeking struggled to get up and assume a proper posture. At first glance, it was quite a spectacle.
...This scene was rather peculiar.
Zhang Qiling remained silent and didn't move. He suspected these people were connected to his past. But this scene was so out of place in modern society; if it weren't for the late hour, it would have attracted countless onlookers.
He stood there, holding the erhu, his lowered gaze devoid of emotion, deep and hollow, utterly incongruous with his current ordinary face.
The man in black, whom he was staring at, also showed no expression, but the fervor in his eyes intensified. He displayed his unusually long fingers and then pulled open his collar to reveal a lifelike Qilin tattoo on his chest.
Zhang Qiling's gaze was almost instantly drawn to the Qilin.
Compared to his own, this Qilin tattoo lacked some of its divine charm, and upon sensing it, one would find its aura much weaker.
But they looked very similar.
He hesitated, his steps shifting slightly, but then he quickly stopped.
For some reason, Zhang Qiling felt an inexplicable premonition that he shouldn't leave, as if he were meant to wait for someone here.
This thought came suddenly, without reason, yet it felt like a seed taking root and sprouting, its tendrils burrowing deep into his heart.
And just as he was about to turn and leave, someone appeared.
...A young man.
The moment Zhang Qiling saw his face, it was as if lightning struck his mind. He didn't even have time to react before his body sprang into action as if triggered by some mechanism!
In a flash, they exchanged over a dozen blows, and then with a bang, the man was already pinned down by Zhang Qiling, his head smashed into the ground!
The wound on his arm tore open again, blood flowing down his black clothing, spreading like a snake on his pale arm, dripping onto the man's face.
Zhang Qiling didn't notice his own wound, but he couldn't bear to have that face stained with blood.
With a "rip," he tore off the human-skin mask, revealing a face beneath that was completely different yet somewhat similar.
Zhang Qiling was momentarily dazed, but he was quickly jolted back by a circle of Sanskrit script around the man's neck.
At this moment, his head felt like it was being pierced by thousands of needles, causing unbearable pain. Yet, his face remained impassive, his pale lips pressed into a sharp line.
With a swish, the Black Gold Ancient Blade was drawn, pressed against the man's throat. Moonlight reflected on the blade, revealing an icy coldness like frost and snow.
Zhang Qiling's mind was in chaos. He didn't know what he was doing or what he was supposed to do. Amidst the jumbled thoughts, he inexplicably managed to utter a single sentence.
"Where are they?!"