In a seven-seater minivan, Taoist Qingwei sat in the back seat, resting with his eyes closed.
"Master, we're almost at Martial Uncle Zhang's house," a disciple beside him reminded him.
Taoist Qingwei nodded and opened his eyes. He gazed out the window at the streetscape that seemed to change every year, then at the small courtyard in the distance that looked as if it hadn't changed in a decade. A hint of nostalgia flickered in his eyes.
Several of the martial brothers who had come up the mountain with him decades ago had already passed away, and not many were left.
When he was with his disciples and grand-disciples, all he felt was their vibrant energy, but every time he visited his martial brothers for the New Year, he couldn't help but reminisce about the old days.
"We're getting old," Taoist Qingwei sighed, just as the minivan pulled up to the gate of the small courtyard.
"We're here, Master." A young Daoist opened the car door.
