Walking down the street, I looked up at the slightly clearing sky, where large white clouds gathered on the horizon.
The gray was breaking, faint patches of pale blue showing through, but the beauty felt distant, like it belonged to someone else's day.
A quiet, gloomy detachment wrapped around me.
The world looked the same, people hurrying, cars passing, streetlights flickering on, but everything felt colorless, muted, as if a thin film separated me from it all.
Lingering sadness sat heavy in my chest, dull and constant, making each breath a little harder.
At first, I thought of just going to school.
It was familiar, a place with routine and noise that might drown out the thoughts circling in my head.
But as I got closer, I suddenly remembered that Mom had already requested leave for me.
She might know by now I wasn't there.
And if I just disappeared without a word, she would search everywhere.
The school would be the first place she looked.
The idea of facing her, of seeing her smile or hearing her voice, knowing what I knew now, made my stomach twist with quiet dread.
I didn't want to see Mom.
I didn't want to see Dad.
I didn't want to go home.
A childlike helplessness settled over me, soft but crushing.
Where was I supposed to go?
There was no safe place left.
Not anymore.
I stopped walking for a moment, standing on the sidewalk as people flowed around me, lost in the uncertainty of a world that no longer felt like it had room for me.
The crowd brushed past, their hurried steps and quiet conversations a reminder that life went on for everyone else, unchanged.
But for me, everything had shifted.
I stood there a little longer, the weight of that truth pressing down.
Then, almost without thinking, I turned slowly, my eyes drifting without purpose across the rooftops until they caught the distant curve of Xiang Temple rising above the buildings.
The sight tugged at something inside me, faint but insistent, like a thread pulling me forward when I had nowhere else to go.
People who feel lost often turn to religion, I remembered reading somewhere.
It sounded almost funny now, like one of those lines from a book that seemed wise until you actually lived it.
But then I thought of Taoist Priest Pingshan, his calm smile, his words about fate and connection.
I had met him just the other day, and now, after everything that had happened, the idea flickered in my mind: maybe he was the one meant to help me.
Maybe the universe, or heaven, or whatever, had put him in my path for a reason.
It was a desperate, childlike thought, the kind I would have laughed at yesterday.
But today it felt like the only small thread I had left to hold onto.
My feet started moving again, almost on their own, turning toward the temple.
I didn't decide it consciously.
I just walked, numb and weary, drawn by that tiny, fragile spark of intrigue, hoping for answers I wasn't even sure I could ask out loud.
My feet carried me closer to the temple gates almost without thought, as if some quiet part of me believed the old building might hold something the rest of the world no longer had.
"Little boy, you need to buy a ticket to get in."
I looked up and saw a ticket window at the entrance.
The woman selling tickets was in her thirties, wearing thick makeup. Not only did she look unattractive, but she seemed rather intimidating in the dim light of the room.
"Do I need a ticket here?" I asked, a little confused.
"Of course, this is a protected historic site. If you want to visit, you have to buy a ticket." The woman's thin lips casually spat out melon seed shells.
I only had a few bills, and I wasn't sure if they were enough.
Just then, the woman let out a sharp, startled "Eeeek!" high-pitched and sudden.
I looked up quickly and saw Taoist Pingshan standing behind the ticket counter.
He had just put his hand on the woman's ass, giving it a quick, bold squeeze.
He was smiling at her, calm and shameless, as if nothing unusual had happened.
The woman spun around, face flushed with anger, glaring at him fiercely.
"You perverted Taoist, do you want to die?"
She was clearly displeased with Taoist Pingshan's sneak attack, her voice sharp and loud.
The Taoist, in his typical shameless fashion, said with a smile, "Miss Aria, I know this boy. Just let him in. No need for a ticket."
"Who do you think you are, deciding that?" The woman didn't budge, arms crossed.
But then she let out another startled yelp as Taoist Pingshan's right hand tightened around her ass again, fingers pressing in with playful insistence.
The woman hurriedly pushed him away, but this time an amused sidelong glance followed, her anger softening into something almost teasing.
She turned away and remained silent, a faint smile tugging at her lips as she went back to her work.
Just then, Pingshan emerged from the main entrance of the temple, smiling and welcoming me into Xiang Temple.
I watched the whole thing in mild surprise, but it didn't really shock me.
After everything I'd seen today, an old priest groping a ticket seller felt almost ordinary.
Just another adult with secrets, acting like no one was watching.
A faint, ironic bitterness tugged at me, another reminder that grown-ups weren't what they pretended to be.
But the numbness held stronger, dulling the reaction to a quiet, detached observation.
I followed Pingshan inside without a word, too tired to feel much of anything beyond weary curiosity.
When I entered the temple, I saw that Xiang Temple was true to its name.
Auspicious cloud carvings and pictures were everywhere. Even the new roofs and frames were decorated with the same cloud designs.
The soft curves and flowing patterns caught my eye, gentle and peaceful in the dim light.
For the first time that day, a brief calm settled over me, subtle and small, like a cool breeze brushing against the heavy weight in my chest.
The beauty of it all offered a moment of slight ease, a quiet appreciation that felt almost foreign after so much pain.
But the lingering heaviness remained, deep and unshaken. The clouds were pretty, but they couldn't reach the sadness buried inside.
Pingshan led me around the temple for a few turns before arriving at his residence.
A sign reading "City Taoist Association, Branch X" hung at the entrance.
Seeing the sign, my depressed mood eased just a little, and I couldn't help but tease Pingshan with a half-smile.
"So you're officially part of the Taoist Association? Government salary and everything? Is this whole temple thing just an act?"
Pingshan straightened up, looking genuinely serious for the first time.
"I've spent years fasting and training at Cloudveil Mountain. I'm a proper Taoist, not some fake."
I raised an eyebrow, curious. "Which sect? Heavenly Gate, Pure Yang or Celestial Master…?"
Pingshan's eyes widened in surprise. "Good question, kid. Not bad at all. I'm from the Heavenly Gate sect."
I nodded, a small spark of interest flickering through the numbness.
"Heavenly Gate follows the path of inner transformation, right? Chastity, meditation, energy cultivation, all that?"
"Exactly. You've read up on this."
"But Cloudveil Mountain is the heart of Celestial Master sect, Why train there if you're Heavenly Gate?"
Pingshan chuckled, shaking his head. "Boy, you really know your stuff."
We looked at each other for a second, both trying to act unimpressed, then burst out laughing at the same time.
The sound echoed softly in the quiet courtyard, light and unexpected.
For that brief moment, the heavy weight in my chest lifted just a fraction.
It wasn't much, but it felt like it was the first real breath I'd taken all day.
Following Pingshan into the room, he made me a cup of tea without any fuss.
He didn't treat me like a child at all, but rather showed every courtesy to a guest, pouring the tea carefully and placing the cup in front of me with both hands.
"I didn't expect you to come visit me so soon."
Taoist Pingshan looked at me with interest, his eyes kind but searching.
I lowered my head, preoccupied with everything that had happened.
It was clear that the Taoist before me was not the right person to talk to.
Besides, this was a family scandal, so how could I reveal it to an outsider?
"It's nothing much. I just wanted to chat with you, Taoist priest," I said hesitantly, my voice quieter than I intended.
Pingshan, an experienced man, could see that I was holding something back.
Yet he didn't press.
Instead, he simply nodded and changed the subject with a gentle smile.
"You've read the Tao, haven't you?"
"Yes, I've read it once," I nodded, grateful for the shift.
"Any insights?" Pingshan asked, leaning forward slightly.
I hesitated, then began to speak, the familiar words coming easier than my own thoughts.
"It's like this..."
"This young man is teachable..." Pingshan murmured with a pleased smile as I finished.
The conversation drifted on, light and easy, giving me a small pocket of calm amid the storm inside.
For a while, the heavy ache in my chest eased just a little.
Being treated as an equal, talking about something I knew well, it offered a fragile warmth, a quiet gratitude that someone saw me as more than just a kid.
But the sadness lingered beneath it all, persistent and deep.
The warmth was surface-level; the core pain remained untouched.
As darkness fell, Taoist Pingshan escorted me to the gate.
He waved goodbye with his usual calm smile.
I turned and walked toward the street corner, the night air cool against my skin.
The brief lightness from our talk faded quickly.
The gloom returned, heavier than before.
But just as I stepped away, Pingshan's voice reached me from behind.
"Lian."
I stopped.
"There are some truths," he said slowly, "that once seen, can never be forgotten."
I didn't turn around.
"There are also paths," he continued, his tone unreadable, "that reveal themselves only after something breaks."
For the first time that night, my heart stirred.
"What kind of path?" I asked quietly.
Pingshan didn't answer.
When I finally looked back, the temple gate was already closed.
I stood there in the dark street, his words echoing in my mind.
Something had been set in motion.
And though I didn't know what awaited me…
I knew one thing.
I would never return to being the same person again.