The Eye of the Heart

Hearing the sound, Zhang Ling slowly opened his eyes and found himself surrounded by mountains and waters. Clear streams cascaded down from a waterfall, lush trees grew intertwined on every side, and the sounds of birds, beasts, and insects rang clear and pure. His once-muddled heart was now perfectly calm.

Immersed in this landscape, Zhang Ling was suddenly startled awake by a shout.

“Zhang Ling, what are you daydreaming about!”

Instinctively, he turned toward the voice and saw two boys in their teens staring at him.

Zhang Ling did not cry out in surprise, for the moment he found himself here— or rather, the moment he regained consciousness— a rush of memories surged into his mind. There was nothing particularly remarkable about these memories, only the daily life of a boy with the same name as him, spanning more than ten years. The only difference was that, in these memories, his parents had died at his birth, and he had been raised by an uncle who, though a merchant, cared little for business. To call it uncle raising nephew was almost misleading; it was only thanks to a capable older brother that he’d managed to avoid destitution. If not for that, with such a reclusive uncle, he could hardly imagine what sorry state he’d be in now, let alone living in comfort and enjoying the view of mountains and waterfalls.

The boy who had just spoken on the left, with a somewhat roguish air, was named Huang Hao. His family dealt in rice and grain. The boy on the right, holding a painted folding fan with a landscape, looked refined but was more like a scholarly scoundrel; his name was Jiang Wen. Jiang's father held the office of registrar, an eighth-rank official, making him both wealthy and of some status. Thus, they had grown up as childhood friends. Were it not for their families’ similar standing, their vastly different personalities would never have allowed for even a single exchange in this lifetime.

As Huang Hao was about to call out to Zhang Ling again, Zhang Ling cut him off with a bark: “Enough shouting! My ears are about to go deaf.”

He paused, then added, “I’ve asked Zong Chentian about it many times, but he never says a word.”

He was referring to the man who had raised him, and the three of them had been discussing Zhang Ling’s parents. For over a decade, all Zhang Ling knew was that his father’s name was Zhang Mingze and his mother’s was Yun Yanxia. He would often ask for more about them; though he could never meet them, as their son he wished to know more about their characters, to make up for the sorrow of never having known them. Yet Zong Chentian never spoke of it, and as a result, the neighbors all assumed Zhang Ling was Zong Chentian’s illegitimate child. Curiously, Zong Chentian had never married; if he did have a child, there was no need for secrecy.

“Forget it, it’s getting late. We should head back,” Jiang Wen spoke first.

Zhang Ling waved his hand. “You two go ahead, I’ll lie here a bit longer.”

Seeing him reply, Jiang Wen glanced at Huang Hao, signaling that they should leave.

The reason Zhang Ling remained was that he seemed to have heard someone tell him to wait— yet he couldn’t say where the voice had come from, and apparently the others hadn’t heard it. Watching Jiang Wen and Huang Hao walk away, he waited. Slowly, atop the waterfall, an old man in white robes leaped down and landed steadily beside Zhang Ling, exuding a certain ethereal air.

Zhang Ling was the first to speak. “Where is this? How did I get here?” He paused. “And who are you?” Instinctively, he was certain that his sudden arrival in this place was inextricably linked to the man before him.

The old man smiled at Zhang Ling. “Don’t be anxious, young friend. I shall explain everything in due course.”

The old man paused.

“There’s no use in rushing, anyway—ha ha!” He teased Zhang Ling, shattering the lofty image he’d just established.

Coughing twice, the old man said, “All right, enough joking. Let me answer your questions.”

“This is your inner world, though not entirely; it is also a place where my own heart lingers. It is not a dream, nor what you would call a journey across time and space.”

Zhang Ling could only sigh at such an answer.

“As for why you are here, do you recall that meteorite?” the old man continued.

With this, Zhang Ling finally understood the whole sequence of events.

“So, how do I leave?” Zhang Ling’s face grew tense, afraid he might be trapped here forever. This was, after all, not reality.

“Leave? Throughout history, how many people have been as fortunate as you, able, in the confusion of youth, to venture out without paying any price? Don’t you think you need a reason to keep living?”

At this, Zhang Ling was momentarily stunned, then seemed to have a sudden realization, though a trace of hesitation remained.

“This is your inner world; you need not worry. Even if you spend ten thousand years here, in the outside world, it will be but the span of a dream.” Before Zhang Ling could respond, the old man had already answered.

The old man raised his hand and gently covered Zhang Ling’s eyes. In that moment, Zhang Ling felt a weight lifted, an unprecedented sense of ease welling up from within. The old man then slowly withdrew his hand, and when Zhang Ling opened his eyes, he could see everything in the minutest detail.

He looked up at the old man in astonishment. “What is this?”

The old man smiled and explained, “The Eye of the Heart. As for its purpose, you will learn in time.”

He then took out several books and held them in his palm.

Placing his right hand on the books, the old man said, “These are about certain people and events, and also some martial arts that I consider worthwhile.”

Martial arts? Dragon dances with the sword? Mountains split by the blade? At first, Zhang Ling worried about the books, but then his heart leapt—so this world was not as dull and mundane as reality! Otherwise, the old man before him could never have descended so lightly from a hundred-foot cliff.

“Elder, it’s no use just giving me books—I don’t even know how to practice. Could you teach me a move or two?” In an instant, Zhang Ling became tactful. Just moments before, he’d been dismissive, but at the mention of supernatural martial prowess, he switched to respectful tones and pressed his advantage.

“Very well.” The old man casually threw a few punches; suddenly, the waterfall behind them exploded, and the waters below surged, sending spray everywhere.

Zhang Ling forced a wry smile. “Elder, even if you teach me now, I won’t be able to learn it!”

The old man said nothing, simply tossed him a book. Zhang Ling caught it and began reading intently. For someone who could see the road ahead as clearly as Zhang Ling, reading had long ceased to be interesting, yet for the first time, he found himself engrossed.

After a long while, Zhang Ling looked up from the book and asked, “By the way, Elder, may I know your name?”

“We will meet again. I’ll tell you then.” With those words, the old man leapt away and vanished.

“Hmph, if you don’t want to say, so be it! What’s with all the mystery?” Zhang Ling muttered under his breath.

“I heard that!” came the reply, tinged with laughter.

Zhang Ling smacked his forehead and looked up at the sky. The full moon was rising in the west, stars blinking in the heavens.

“Oh no, I’ve lost track of time.”

He carefully put away the treasured book and left as well.

…

Luochuan County—this was where Zhang Ling had grown up, and for over a decade, he had never set foot beyond its borders.

To the north of Luochuan County stood the Zong family estate. Zhang Ling walked to the front gate, looked up at the grand characters above, then at the lavish decorations all around, unable to hide his smile.

“Well! My brother really has made something of himself!”

The gate was left open, clearly for his sake. Zhang Ling entered at a leisurely pace. As he was closing the door behind him, a voice came from behind.

“Why are you home so late?”

Turning around, Zhang Ling saw it was Zong Chentian—a man of his parents’ generation, yet who appeared no older than a mature youth, though he radiated an aura of calm authority.

Zhang Ling knew this from memory, but seeing it with his own eyes still surprised him. He thought, if he put on some makeup, they might even pass as brothers.

A moment later, Zhang Ling regained his composure and answered, “I lost track of time reading outside.” He would never reveal the real reason, but even if he did, that stone-faced man would hardly care.

Zong Chentian asked no further questions, simply waved Zhang Ling off to rest, and walked away.

After living together for more than ten years, the relationship between Zhang Ling and Zong Chentian remained delicate. But on reflection—one a bookworm, the other a stone-faced man—if they ever laughed and joked together, that would be the real surprise.