Chapter 131: All Things Like Spring Dreams, Leaving No Trace

Morning.

Yujing City, Metro Line 2.

More than an hour before rush hour, the carriage was nearly empty.

Zhang Fan had taken half a day off to return to the old family home.

“It’s been many years since I came back,” Zhang Fan sat down, lost in thought.

From the time he could remember until he was twelve—just before the disaster ten years ago—he, his father, and his mother had all lived in that old house.

That old residential area in Sanqin District was likely the oldest in Yujing City; logically, it should have been demolished long ago, but he didn’t know what it looked like now.

Since his father vanished without a trace, this was the first time he had reached out Zhudonglianxi —and he’d contacted Uncle Liu, suddenly mentioning the old house, forcing Zhang Fan to take it seriously.

“Dad… what could he have left there?” Zhang Fan muttered to himself.

Ding ding…

At that moment, a soft chime came from his pocket.

Zhang Fan pulled out his phone, opened SuperChat, and Li Yi’s message popped up.

“I’ve got news you’ll definitely care about.”

“What news?” Zhang Fan replied.

“Tell you what—you’ll have to call me Dad.”

“Are you seriously going to keep stalling?” Zhang Fan rolled his eyes.

“It’s about Xu Zhixia!”

Li Yi’s message came back, accompanied by a mischievous emoji.

“Xu Zhixia!?” Zhang Fan froze.

That name felt both familiar and strange to him.

Once, that name had consumed nearly half his life; after they broke up, his greatest effort had been to forget everything tied to it.

Time had passed, they’d been apart so long—yet now, suddenly, that name reappeared before him, leaving Zhang Fan momentarily dazed.

Xu Zhixia was Zhang Fan’s college girlfriend—more accurately, his ex.

“Want to know how she’s doing?” Li Yi’s message came again, pulling Zhang Fan back to the present.

“No,” Zhang Fan rolled his eyes.

He wasn’t being insincere—he genuinely didn’t care. Times had changed, and so had his heart.

In the early days after the breakup, his mind had been full of chaos and emotion, hard to control—but once he stepped away, his feelings shifted entirely. That obsession now seemed childish and absurd.

Su Dongpo, the great poet, once said: “People are like autumn geese, coming with clear signs; affairs are like spring dreams, leaving no trace.”

That line carried deep Zen insight.

In life, one meets many people and says goodbye to many more—their arrivals and departures are like autumn geese, traceable—but the events we experience vanish like spring dreams, dissolving into mist, leaving no memory behind.

“That’s interesting.”

Now, looking at the name that once stirred his emotions, Zhang Fan felt calm as still water.

This change confirmed what he’d learned in the Daoist path—there was a peculiar flavor to it.

“All that was yesterday has become today’s me. All that is today will become tomorrow’s new me,” Zhang Fan murmured softly, about to slip his phone back into his pocket.

“Xu Zhixia has returned to Yujing.”

At that moment, Li Yi stopped teasing and sent the message.

“So what?” Zhang Fan replied, glancing up at the station name.

“Don’t you have any thoughts?”

Li Yi asked.

Xu Zhixia wasn’t from Yujing City—her hometown wasn’t even in Jiangnan Province. They broke up originally due to geographic distance after graduation.

“It’s early morning. Are you drunk or overfed?” Zhang Fan rolled his eyes.

A broken mirror can’t be mended; spilled water can’t be retrieved. They’d broken up—what’s left to reconcile?

For a man, there are three kinds of grass you must never eat.

Backtrack grass, roadside grass, and grass of unknown origin.

“Next stop: Shangmafang Station. Passengers heading to Wuling Hongguang 4S Store, please prepare to disembark…”

At that moment, an announcement rang out. Zhang Fan stood up, ready to get off.

Outside the metro, the street felt familiar—this was an old district, unlike new zones that changed every year or two.

This area had long been excluded from urban planning, unchanged for over a decade.

Especially now, most young people had left, leaving only the elderly behind.

Zhang Fan walked through several alleyways; the surrounding bungalows stirred childhood memories.

Only here could you still find such aging buildings—many walls bore large “Demolish” signs, and most houses stood empty.

“Why is the road blocked?”

Following the address, Zhang Fan saw the entire old residential zone sealed off, with signs forbidding entry.

“Uncle, what’s going on?”

Zhang Fan walked to the entrance and asked an old man sitting in the shade.

“A minor earthquake happened a while back. The government said the geology changed… these are all old houses, many are structurally unsafe…” the old man replied casually.

Since few people lived here anyway, the remaining elderly had been evacuated and could only return after experts assessed the area.

“How long will we have to wait?” Zhang Fan asked.

“Should be soon—two months already, and I’ve seen many experts leave. Probably just these next few days,” the old man replied.

“Wasted a trip.”

Zhang Fan sighed, shaking his head. He hadn’t returned in so long—he’d have to search for the old house, and if someone had already moved it out, that’d be bad.

“Wait two more days.”

He’d taken half a day off—he couldn’t come all this way for nothing. Zhang Fan wandered nearby, revisiting his childhood.

After all, he’d lived here until he was twelve.

“Not much has changed.”

The aging surroundings stirred many memories—he remembered his family of three living in that old house, his parents leaving early and returning late; sometimes they didn’t cook, so he’d go to the alley entrance for some braised snacks.

Back then, Zhang Fan’s family was just like most ordinary households—not wealthy, but happy.

“There used to be so many stalls here,” Zhang Fan reached the alley entrance.

He remembered, after school, he always passed this spot; before dusk, dozens of stalls sold stir-fried vegetables, roast duck, wrapped meat, fried tofu skin… mostly food.

“Xiao Fan… is that you, Xiao Fan?”

At that moment, a rough voice called out, pulling Zhang Fan’s attention.

At the alley entrance stood a lone stall, a thin middle-aged man in a white apron flipping pancakes.

He squinted, scanning Zhang Fan up and down, as if he recognized him.

“You’re…”

“Tsk tsk… so many years, you’ve grown into a big man… don’t you remember?” The thin man set down his spatula, wiped his greasy hands on his apron.

“Feng Ping’an… your Uncle Feng… you used to eat Uncle Wang’s pancakes every day…” Feng Ping’an grinned. “Uncle Feng! I remember now…”

Zhang Fan slapped his forehead—he’d known Feng Ping’an since he could remember; back then, a pancake with one egg and a Wangzhongwang sausage cost just two yuan.

When Zhang Fan was in elementary school, Zhang Lingzong deposited fifty yuan each month at Feng Ping’an’s stall.

Every morning, little Zhang Fan could pick up a pancake for breakfast.

“Uncle Feng, all these years, you’re still here selling pancakes?” Zhang Fan couldn’t help saying.

He glanced around—it was strange. Most residents were gone; how could he even cover water and electricity bills with this stall?

“Too old now, too lazy to move,” Feng Ping’an grinned.

“Xiao Fan, how many years since you came back? Seven or eight?”

“Seven or eight!?” Zhang Fan’s heart stirred.

After the move ten years ago, he’d thought he’d never returned.

“Uncle Feng, after we moved, did I come back?”

“You came a few times—your dad brought you,” Feng Ping’an said calmly. “Just a few times, not often—but your dad? He came often.”

“My dad? You mean after we moved, Dad kept coming here?” Zhang Fan asked, surprised.

“Yeah. Almost every week,” Feng Ping’an replied casually.

“What!?”

Zhang Fan’s eyebrows rose, his gaze turning toward the deep alley—he never imagined that after the move, Zhang Lingzong had come to the old house every week…

What did he come here for? “So many years have passed. I still remember how your parents looked when they first moved in—they’d just gotten married…” Feng Ping’an’s face softened with nostalgia.

“That must’ve been over twenty years ago…”

Zhang Fan murmured softly: “Uncle Feng, can you tell me about my parents?”

“Back then… your parents were a young couple. Their relationship—how to put it?” Feng Ping’an paused, his expression awkward.

“What? Did they have problems?” Zhang Fan raised his eyebrows.

“Not bad, but your dad had a problem—he often lost control and hit your mom,” Feng Ping’an whispered.

In those old houses, there was no soundproofing; neighbors often heard crashing, shouting, and fighting from Zhang Fan’s home.

On top of that, Zhang Lingzong was a quiet man; behind his back, the alley folks whispered that Zhang’s husband was abusive—beating his wife right after marriage.

But Zhang’s wife was tough—despite all the noise, she never once cried out or complained.

“Problem? What problem does my father have?” Zhang Fan asked in a low voice.

“Right after he got married, he kept forgetting things—sometimes he couldn’t even recognize your mother.”

At these words, Zhang Fan’s eyelid twitched sharply; four characters surfaced instinctively in his mind, begging to be spoken.

“Great Night Unlit!?”

Zhang Fan knew Zhang Lingzong had also cultivated the [Divine Demon Holy Embryo]; anyone who practiced this method must inevitably enter the Great Night Unlit tribulation.

Once trapped in this tribulation, the greatest sign is the loss of cultivation and the erosion of memory.

Feng Ping’an’s description instantly triggered Zhang Fan’s association with the Great Night Unlit.

More than twenty years ago, when his father and mother had just married, perhaps he had already entered the Great Night Unlit tribulation!?

“But after you were born, your father’s condition never recurred,” Feng Ping’an said quickly, watching Zhang Fan’s silence.

“After I was born?” Zhang Fan mused.

At that time, Zhang Lingzong must have already escaped the tribulation. Anyone who cultivates the [Divine Demon Holy Embryo], upon entering the Great Night Unlit, regresses in cultivation and loses memory—but once they escape, it is as if reborn, with power surging forward.

Since its inception, this internal alchemy method has had few practitioners; the strongest among them escaped the Great Night Unlit tribulation nine times, having crossed the Three-Five Transformation and entered the ranks of terrestrial immortals.

“But…”

At that moment, Feng Ping’an’s voice sounded again, his expression grave.

“Ten years ago, after your mother’s incident, your father’s old condition seemed to return.”

“What?” Zhang Fan’s brow twitched slightly.

“He forgets many things… I heard he saw a doctor…”

“Yinshan Ghost Physician!?”

Zhang Fan recalled the day he visited the Yinshan Ghost Physician—he had assumed Zhang Lingzong had brought him for treatment, but the physician’s granddaughter remembered that as a child, it was always Zhang Lingzong who came for treatment.

Back then, Zhang Fan had not understood why.

“Great Night Unlit? Could my father have entered the tribulation again!?”

Zhang Fan’s heart pounded wildly; if true, he could now understand why his father had hidden them both in Yujing City for a full decade, telling him nothing.

“Feng Shu, when was the last time you saw my father?” Zhang Fan could not help asking.

This trip had truly been worth it.

“Last month… early in the month,” Feng Ping’an recalled.

“Early last month… just when my father went missing,” Zhang Fan mused.

“Feng Shu, has my father’s illness improved? Did he mention anything to you?”

“Not yet.”

Feng Ping’an shook his head: “When I saw him last month, he said he was going out to seek treatment, to a distant place—he might not return for a while.”

Hearing this, Zhang Fan fell silent.

This was bad news.

He had not expected his father to still be trapped in the tribulation.

The Great Night Unlit grows more perilous each time, but Zhang Lingzong was clearly no stranger to it—he had not forgotten his past like Zhang Fan had.

He must have his own way of escaping.

Yet even in this state, he remained perilously vulnerable.

“Xiao Fan… Xiao Fan…”

At that moment, Feng Ping’an’s voice called again, pulling Zhang Fan back from his thoughts.

“What?”

“Don’t worry too much—your father has worked construction for years; his body is still strong,” Feng Ping’an murmured. “Maybe he’ll be cured by the next time he returns.”

“Yes, I know,” Zhang Fan nodded. “Feng Shu, I have other matters—I’ll be going.”

“You came all this way—let me make you a pancake.”

As he spoke, Feng Ping’an bent to light the stove, but after several attempts, he could not ignite it.

“Shu, is the gas gone?”

Hearing this, Feng Ping’an leaned down, pulled out the gas cylinder from beneath the stall, and shook it.

“It’s empty,” Feng Ping’an said, looking embarrassed.

“Shu, I’ll come back next time to try your cooking,” Zhang Fan said, turning to leave.

“I’ll wait for you—remember to come often,” Feng Ping’an called softly.

Watching Zhang Fan’s figure fade into the distance, Feng Ping’an slowly turned his gaze back to his pancake stall.

“Fifth time… it’s not that easy to cure.”

As his words faded, Feng Ping’an raised his hand and tapped the iron griddle—flames leapt up brightly, radiant and vivid!! (End of Chapter)