É assim que um imortal deve ser.

Page (1/3)

In an old, worn office, a sturdy vintage fan hummed rhythmically, “thump thump thump thump...,” stirring gentle breezes through the air. Although it was summer, the region near the mountains had already cooled quickly by the afternoon, at least within this office.

Zhuang Lin, taking his midday rest, had completely relaxed.

Despite the surrounding noise—a faint, scattered commotion—his heart was filled with a quiet serenity, neither fully asleep nor awake, as if adrift on rippling turquoise waves.

Gone was the panic and anxiety of unfamiliar worlds; the longing for his hometown was set aside, and he had made peace with himself, accepting the simple truth that he remained ordinary, simply savoring this moment of tranquility.

In a sense, Zhuang Lin felt he was both a new version of himself and still the same man who found beauty in everyday life.

“Teacher Zhuang, Teacher Zhuang, Zhuang...”

A crisp voice abruptly interrupted his reverie, stirring his eyelids. He instinctively turned his head toward the sound and opened his eyes.

At the doorway stood a small boy, afternoon sunlight filtering through his silhouette, causing Zhuang Lin to squint slightly as he awoke.

The child clutched the hem of his shirt with one hand and scratched his head with the other, his face tinged with a hint of awkwardness and unease—likely aware that he had unintentionally disturbed his teacher.

This teacher, knowledgeable and at times stern yet humorous, was both respected and beloved by his students.

Almost instinctively