All these years, I still remember the look in the eyes of that kid who wanted to learn lantern making from me, right before he died.
Brother Dao, I'm only worried about you now. Don't die before I do."
Fan Zeyun's eyes were bloodshot, more earnest than ever before.
Brother Dao fell silent, and slowly his always-raised head drooped, as if even his comb couldn't stay upright.
"Brother Dao, there are quite a few people in our village who want to stew you! I'm getting old, don't have many days left, I don't want to be unable to stand straight after I die."
"Alright, alright, it's really hard to eat your rice..." Brother Dao muttered weakly, without the strength to argue.
Fan Zeyun breathed a sigh of relief and quickly packed his things.
He opened a wooden box and at the bottom, found an old notebook, took it along, and then took out a package before heading out.
He handed the package to Wen Yan.
