Upon hearing this, Qi Shejiang embraced him tightly. “It’s okay, senior brother; you can cry. I won’t cry,” Old Master Meng said, though his eyes were still red. “To be able to spend more years with you, I need to take care of this body.”
Hearing this, Qi Shejiang felt even more distressed, unable to cry aloud, only letting tears flow as he recounted his own experiences. This went on for nearly half an hour.
At this point, Old Master Meng held Qi Shejiang’s hand, “Senior brother, let’s talk a little longer.” Qi Shejiang smiled, “…I never expected to hear those two words from you.”
During this time, he had been in turmoil.
Although he often accompanied his junior and was always there, he couldn’t express the thoughts weighing on him. When speaking, he had to remind himself of his “junior” status.
“I’ve always had my suspicions,” Old Master Meng smiled faintly.
His reaction wasn’t as excited as the one he had when he recognized Qi Shejiang under a false identity; it was not that he wasn’t happy but, as he mentioned, he had been guessing for a long time. Seeing Qi Shejiang confirm it was more a sense of relief than surprise.
Moreover, at this level, imagining that a person had returned from the dead was different from a simple recognition. Fortunately, Old Master Meng had lived this long and had seen everything; he wasn’t afraid of anything now, which allowed him to let his imagination roam.
“After eighty years, the faces of my master and senior brother are still etched in my mind; I have never forgotten,” Old Master Meng said. “Senior brother, even if you’ve changed your appearance, you are still you; your spirit, your demeanor…”
How could there truly be two identical leaves in the world? Even as master and disciple, or parent and child, how could they be alike to such an extent? They had been together day and night, and Old Master Meng found the answer hard to believe; still, it was the only explanation.
Today’s performance of “The Slaying of the Azure Dragon” had convinced him completely.
