– If the rain continues, we will get stuck here forever. I can't even tell if it's still day or already night.

Wu Zhe Kai's displeased voice sounded muffled, as it mingled with the sound of pouring rain. The healer stood leaning against the door frame, looking at the gray sky. Some time had passed since they stopped in the village for a halt, but since then, the weather had not improved at all. The constant rain was running down the soaked wooden walls of the houses, flooding the dirty deserted streets and cooling the skin with dirty wet clothes. The thick fog only added more misery to this melancholy sight.

– The roof is leaking, all my herbs are wet, and the fire is out, – Wu Zhe Kai snorted in displeasure and then snapped. – I hate rain.

– We have no other options, – replied Wei Huan. – It is dangerous to move further in such a fog because of the rifts. The closer we get to the Gates, the less of their emerging I can predict.

After that words Wu Zhe Kai slightly changed his posture so that the raindrops would not fall on him, and he could see Wei Huan better.

– By the way, I have always wondered. How do you know exactly where the Gates are?

Hearing the question, Hao Ning momentarily looked away from exploring the tea house they were stuck in and turned to the man. Wu Zhe Kai had just asked about the issue what had disturbed him for so long. But the scholar did not find the opportunity to ask.

The general’s shoulders tensed, but, to Hao Ning's surprise, he answered without evasion.

– I've been there before. Despite the changeable terrain of the Middle World, the Gates always remain in the same spot. It took me some time to figure this out, – Wei Huan pointed exactly to the west. – They are always there. On a high mountain where the white tiger sleeps and the cry of the nightjar heralds parting. The chrysanthemum flowers there give their bitterness to icy streams among the caves and trees. At the top of that mountain the Border between the World of the Living and the Dead blurs.

The man closed his eyes without changing his meditative posture.
– We can't cross the Border though. Souls can only arrive here through the Gates, not leave.

Wu Zhe Kai shivered and gave no answer. The young man seemed to regret asking the question. Hao Ning, on the contrary, was not going to miss the opportunity, and took advantage of the situation to clarify the nuances he did not understand.

– Do the Gates emanate energy?

– Of course. Everything in this World does. You will feel that long before we arrive at the right place.

– Can not I feel it now?

Wei Huan opened his eyes to look at the young cultivator and nodded slightly.
– Yes. You can.

The words bore a vague meaning, forcing Hao Ning to hold his breath, carefully looking into the abyss of dark eyes. Every time he looked there, trying to plunge deeper and deeper into the man's soul, he found only impenetrable darkness caused by something grim and unknown. No matter how much the young man tried to disperse it, it only closed tighter in a thick haze, not allowing him to see the frightening depth of the man's scars. It seemed, Wei Huan protected Hao Ning from his own demons.

– Master Hao.

Jin Yu Ming's resounding voice pulled the youth out of his slight daze and brought him back to his senses. Hao Ning blinked a couple of times and closed his eyes tightly before turning to the warrior.

– Yes? – he smiled.

– I was looking around the house and found this. I thought you can make a use of it.

When the man held out something broken long ago, with faded paint and torn apart strings, Hao Ning didn’t even recognize in that something the once beautiful musical instrument. Only after taking a closer look and holding the object in his hands he realized.

– That’s an erhu! – the scholar couldn’t hold back an admiring sigh.

Thin fingers carefully caressed the broken neck of the violin, feeling every break in the wood, then slid down the frame and the long-dampened bow. Such a fine musical instrument was no longer working, but even in this form, it aroused warmth in Hao Ning's soul.

– Thank you, Lao Jin, – whispered the young man. – This is a wonderful gift.

Jin Yu Ming bowed politely, no longer disturbing the young scholar. He stepped aside to sit in the corner of the building. The calm nature of the warrior and his silence could be mistaken for detachment, but Jin Yu Ming noticed the details and captured the essence better than many.

– Will you play?

Wei Huan looked at Hao Ning, who was carefully examining the instrument in anticipation, forcing the guy to once again touch the limply hanging strings. A faint blue light poured from his fingertips, enveloping the wooden case.

– Yes. I'll try.

Hao Ning closed his eyes, imagining the exquisite beauty of the musical instrument. He wanted to put all his feelings into restoring the lost sense of life in this place, at least in this small object. And for he was surrounded only by pain and devastation, he could rely only on his spiritual power and will.

– Plum. Wild plum again.

Wei Huan's voice was soft and satisfied as if the man expected nothing else. When Hao Ning opened his eyes, he understood what caused such words. In his hands, the young man was clutching a beautiful erhu-violin made of ebony. On the frame were carved the delicate pink buds of a wild plum blossom. Two tightly stretched strings were waiting for the touch of the bow to sing out a delicate and fragrant melody.

This Erhu was different from the one that Hao Ning had recently clasped in his hands, but it reflected the beauty of the young man's thoughts.

– Ready to play? – asked Wei Huan, looking not at the erhu but at its creator.

Hao Ning nodded, but instead of taking up the bow, he once again glanced through the window. Then he rose to his feet.

– The purity of its melody should spread with the wind. It would be a crime to keep it locked within these walls.

The youth bowed politely before heading towards the door. A wall of uninterrupted freezing rain met him on the threshold.

– Hao Ning?

Wei Huan's surprised call dissipated into drops tapping on the ground as Hao Ning stepped through the threshold without hesitation.

The youth's clothes instantly got wet, and icy trickles-snakes crawled under the collar, but the young man did not slow down his steps and nor he turned back. He walked to the center of the main square and looked around.

Thick fog covered wandering ghosts and ruined houses. There were footprints on the wet earth, but they blurred as soon as the water filled them. The gray sky was crying, and the erhu in Hao Ning's hands wanted to respond to that cry.

Not worrying about his soiled clothes, the young man sat down on the ground, carefully leaning the instrument on his knee and clasping the neck to feel the thick bowstring under his fingers. The bow in his hand trembled almost imperceptibly with anxious anticipation. Hao Ning was not worried, but for some reason, he could not get rid of the feeling that this moment would be a turning point in his fate.

A thriving melody spilled through the dark streets like a fast-murmuring river. It flowed into every corner and wrapped every uncomprehending soul with compassion. Lightness and sadness mingled in the sounds of an infinitely sad erhu. Innocent purity broke through the rain, washing away the dirt and pain of a strange world.

Hao Ning did not stop playing; did not lose the rhythm.

He did not feel the rain anymore. Attracted by the beauty of the melody, the ghosts surrounded the youth, looking at him with lifeless but understanding eyes. Just like Wei Huan, who was connected with the young scholar by an accidental misunderstanding, did.

Standing on the threshold of the scattered house, the man carefully studied the silhouette blurred by the rainfall. The eyes of Wu Zhe Kai, who was nearby, reflected the bright clouds, colored by the rays of the setting sun that appeared from beyond.

– What a wonder!

Warm light touched the ground, mingling with streams of crystal clear drops, which were sparkling like gems. The fog was fading away, revealing Hao Ning sitting on the ground. The soothing melody he played continued to overflow with a nightingale trill.

The young man's clothes were completely soaked in muddy waters, and drops dripped from the ends of his hair, but his gentle face expressed infinite peace. It was as if invisible petals of a wild plum lay under his feet, marking the uncontrollable beauty and stamina in the heart of this man.

The bow in Hao Ning's hand slowed down, the melody came to its end, and the young man allowed himself to look up. Erhu's sad farewell dissolved, along with a myriad of blue lights soaring up.

The young scholar was trembling, and incomprehension was transferred to the instrument, causing the smoothly flowing melody to fade away.

– Don't stop playing, – Wei Huan's voice came from behind. Hao Ning felt a touch on his shoulder. – Let Erhu mourn their departure. Their weary wait is finally over.

The relief at Wei Huan's words, coupled with the familiar warmth, spread through the body from the transmitted energy. It allowed Hao Ning to continue playing for the souls who found their peace.

Gentle, soothing touches were almost imperceptible, but both men shared this moment with grace. Wei Huan looked at Hao Ning and smiled at the corners of his lips.

Why was such a man here? How could he have ended up this unpredictable and cruel world?

Why would the one who grants others inner freedom, freeing them from long-standing fetters, find himself locked in such a desolate place? Sometimes Fate played a truly frightening way.

– You are like the incarnation of the wind or the stream, A-Ning. – Wei Huan whispered as he closed his eyes. – A tiny firefly in the impenetrable darkness.

Yes, that's right: a tiny spark of flame that accidentally fell on the cooled "embers" of his soul and managed to ignite them again.

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The white tiger is one of the four signs of the zodiac, a symbol of the West, a harbinger of trouble. According to the legends somewhere in the West lies the Land of the Dead.
The nightjar is a motif and a symbol of separation. The cry of the nightjar, according to legend, resembles the human, crying: “go back!”
Chrysanthemum – in ancient China people drank wine with chrysanthemum petals, the bitterness of which reminded of the arrival of autumn.
Erhu – a Chinese two-stringed bowed musical instrument, more specifically a spike fiddle, which may also be called a southern fiddle, and is sometimes known in the Western world as the Chinese violin or a Chinese two-stringed fiddle.
Lao – 老; elderly, respected, venerable. An affix, traditionally added before a person's name to make the address more sincere. This is usually how a younger person speaks to the one who is older. This form of addressing is more common between acquaintances / friends to express intimacy and fondness without indicating age.
А – 阿; The prefix brings a connotation of intimacy. Calling by name alone is acceptable either for those closest to you or for parents. Turns a name into a gentle, affectionate nickname.