Passerby: Secret Image of Ancient Scrolls

The Iveco slowly drove down the slope from the windbreak forest to the riverbank and came to a steady stop in front of Lao Gu's pickup truck. The wind and snow were so heavy that it was almost impossible to see anything more than ten meters away.

The world was a gray expanse, and the entire universe seemed to be sighing.

The moment the car door opened, a blast of cold wind hit us.

Lin Jian followed Shen Xun out of the car, his snow boots crunching softly on the snow.

The Polaroid camera in my arms was burning hot, and the lens tilted uncontrollably toward the ice crevice on the river, as if being pulled by an invisible hand, echoing some kind of aura from the depths of the abyss through the thick ice.

Shen Xun stood in the wind and snow, slamming his peach wood staff heavily onto the ice. The staff instantly glowed with a pale golden light. A visible ripple spread across the ice, and wherever it passed, the air sizzled and burned.

He looked at the pickup truck. The door was wide open, and Old Gu was no longer inside. In front of the widest crevasse in the middle of the ice, a hunched figure was kneeling in the snow, forehead pressed tightly against the ice, trembling like a leaf.

"Don't go any further!" Ye Zhu shouted, reaching out to stop Lin Jian, who was trying to rush forward. Riot shield in front of him, entrenching tool in his right hand, his entire aura instantly tensed. "Something's wrong with the ice."

Before he finished speaking, the surrounding wind and snow suddenly stopped.

The howling wind, the sound of snow falling on clothes, and the rushing sound of the river flowing under the ice all vanished in an instant. The biting chill suddenly disappeared, replaced by the sweet fragrance of locust blossoms carried on the late summer evening breeze.

Lin Jian felt a blur before his eyes. The thick ice field and the swirling snowstorm vanished in an instant.

She stood at the entrance of the textile factory on the outskirts of the city. Two rows of tall locust trees were lush and leafy, and delicate white petals fell softly in the evening breeze. Not far away, under the trees, stood a girl with two shiny braids, wearing a faded blue cloth dress, carrying an aluminum lunchbox in her hand, her eyebrows curving as she looked towards the intersection.

It's Xiulian.

Xiulian's eyes shone like stars, and when she saw the man walking towards her at the intersection, they instantly curved into crescents as she quickly went to meet him. The man was wearing work clothes and smelled faintly of diesel fuel; it was none other than Old Gu in his younger days.

Xiulian grabbed his hand and shoved a steaming pork and cabbage bun into it: "Going to work without eating again? Don't you care about your stomach?"

Old Gu scratched his head and grinned foolishly, taking a big bite of the steamed bun, the aroma of oil and meat spreading in his mouth. Looking at the smiling girl in front of him, the fatigue of the three-day, two-night journey vanished the moment he saw her. But when he thought about how he was always on the road and how little time he had to spend with her, he couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness and secretly resolved to spend more time with her in the future.

Lin Jian stood aside, like a transparent bystander, yet he could clearly feel the burning joy and excitement in Old Gu's chest. Those were the purest and most peaceful times of his life, times he would dream of returning to for the next few decades.

The scene unfolds like flowing water, the shadow of the locust tree fades away, and it transforms into a small bungalow with a courtyard in the northern winter, the home they just scraped together to buy.

Thick frost flowers had formed on the windowpane, and the cold wind outside whipped snowflakes against the glass, making a rustling sound. Inside, a coal stove was burning, and Old Gu was standing on a stool, sealing the cracks in the window with tape. Xiulian stood beside him, holding a hot towel in her hand. As soon as he came down, she grabbed his hand, the soft towel so hot that Old Gu's heart trembled.

"We'll have a home now." Xiulian pressed her face against his arm, her voice as soft as a feather. "We won't have to rent houses and move around anymore, we won't have to worry about where our next meal will come from. We'll live a good life together."

Old Gu held her hand, the ring he had saved up for three months to buy lying in his palm. He clumsily slipped the ring onto her ring finger, saying he would definitely get her a gold one later, a bigger one, so she could live a good life. Xiulian smiled and shook her head, pressing her ring-clad hand tightly to her chest, her eyes shining brighter than the stars in the sky: "No need, this is enough."

Lin Jian felt a lump in her throat. She could clearly feel the certainty and tenderness in Lao Gu's heart at that moment—a genuine desire to spend her life with someone, a fervent wish to offer her all the good things in the world. But the warmer it was, the more the cracks in her heart ached. Like a spectator who knew the ending beforehand, she looked at the happiness before her and felt breathless.

At the heart of the illusion, Old Gu was completely immersed in it. He held Xiulian's hand and walked through year after year, his heart filled with joy, and even in his dreams, he was with her.

The scene depicts a late winter night, with heavy snow falling outside. Xiulian lies in bed, her cheeks flushed red with fever. Old Gu touches her burning forehead, his heart aching. Without a word, he carries her on his back and rushes into the snowstorm. By the time they reach the hospital, his eyebrows and stubble are covered in ice, and his hands tremble uncontrollably, yet he still holds Xiulian's hand tightly.

These fragments of memories, buried deep within our hearts by time, are gradually unearthed by the evil forces beneath the ice, forming the gentlest of traps.

Shen Xun stood on the ice, flicked a drop of spiritual blood from his finger, and dripped it onto the snake's fang.

He didn't get caught up in it because his obsession wasn't deep enough.

But he couldn't break free from this illusion.

It's not that I lack the power; it's that this illusion cannot be broken by the power of reincarnation.

It relies on unwavering determination.

Old Gu's obsession is Xiulian, Ye Zhuo's obsession is his grandfather, and Lin Jian's obsession is his grandfather and parents. As long as they don't let go, the illusion will not shatter.

He can only hold on.

Golden blood dripped down.

He's just holding on.

He held on until everyone woke up.

A burst of golden light exploded. A crack appeared in the sky.

Old Gu paused, his eyes opening slightly. He saw the ice, the ice cave, and himself kneeling in the snow. Xiulian stood before him, reaching out her hand: "Old Gu, don't go." His hand reached out. The crack in the sky closed again.

Ye Zhuo stood to the side, her riot shield and entrenching tool long gone. She looked at the two embracing, at the overflowing happiness in Xiu Lian's eyes, and a sudden, sharp pain welled up in her heart. She thought of her grandfather, of that rainy afternoon, and of the person she had failed to protect.

Then she saw it; it was her own illusion.

Mangui Town in the Greater Khingan Mountains. Amidst the swirling snow, the little girl was wrapped in a quilt, not knowing her name, where she came from, or where she was going.

The snow was heavy, the wind was cold, and her little face was purple with cold, her lips blue. She couldn't remember her parents' faces anymore, only that they had left her there and then gone, and that her mother's tears had frozen on her little face. The two blurry figures finally became a tiny dot and disappeared.

Then she saw her grandfather, a young grandfather. He was wearing a green military overcoat and a Lei Feng hat, a pipe dangling from his mouth, his face red from the cold. He squatted down and looked at her. A crowd had already gathered around her; some people took off their scarves and wrapped them around her little face, others took off their gloves and rubbed her face to warm it. But no one took her home; everyone had their own children to take care of.

It was the young grandfather who picked her up and wrapped her in his cotton-padded coat. She smelled the scent of his tobacco, pine, and snow. It was the most comforting smell she had ever experienced in her life.

In her grandfather's arms, she saw Ye Zhuo standing in the crowd.

She knew it was herself. She wanted to go up and shake her hand, but she couldn't reach her.

At the train station, Lin Jian stood at the entrance, carrying his suitcase.

Her parents stood in front of her; her mother was wiping away tears, and her father patted her shoulder, saying, "Call home when you get there." She smiled, hugged her parents, and then turned to board the train.

On the bus, she was so happy and excited. She watched the scenery rushing past the window, listening to her favorite music through her headphones. Finally, she was away from home. Her father could no longer strictly teach her how to be a good person, and her mother would no longer nag her about trivial matters.

She crouched in the illusion, watching her eighteen-year-old self walk onto the platform, watching her parents wave goodbye in the crowd. She wanted to call out to her, to tell her not to go, to tell her to spend more time with them.

She couldn't shout; she could only watch.

Seeing the fascination on the ice, Shen Xun slammed his peachwood staff onto the surface. Another crack appeared in the illusion, larger than the last one.

Ye Zhuo was startled; the scene before her eyes had transformed into an old house in Hangzhou. She lay on a small bed, one leg raised high, while her grandfather sat beside her, holding a deer bone pendant.

Little Ye Zhuo sat in front of him, curiously reaching out to tug. Grandpa gently pressed her little hand down, placed the necklace around her neck, and said in a low voice, "Zhuo Zhuo, this is a talisman given to you by the shaman sister. Wearing it is like having someone protect you for Grandpa, keeping you safe and warm."

Ye Zhuo's tears fell.

She remembered that night. It was the first time she had worn a deer bone necklace, and the first time she knew that someone would protect her. She walked up to her grandfather, knelt down, and tried to hold his hand.

Her hand went through it.

She couldn't touch him; she could only watch, watch her grandfather put the necklace around Xiao Yezhuo's neck, watch her smile, watch her not know how heavy all of this was.

The illusion closed again.

Lin Jian and his grandfather sat in a fast food restaurant near the school gate. Lin Jian held a hamburger in one hand and fries in the other, dipping them in ketchup. His eyes narrowed into slits with laughter.

Grandpa looked at her with a smile, placed an ebony box on the table, and told her to take good care of it: This is a very important thing, you will definitely need it in the future.

Lin Jian, in the illusion, saw a fleeting look of heaviness on his grandfather's face, but unfortunately, he was too busy eating to notice it.

This was the last time he would see his grandfather.

Shen Xun suddenly exerted force with his hand. Golden blood dripped down the staff and onto the ice surface.

Another crack appeared in the illusion.

Lin Jian looked up and saw her grandfather.

Grandpa was in a completely dark place, with endless river water in front of him, and a faint glimmer of light flashing before his eyes. Behind him, however, wave after wave of tremors came, as if something was crawling out of the dark void.

She didn't know what all of this meant.

The illusion closed again.

This time, they're even closer together.

Shen Xun's peachwood staff trembled slightly, and his face turned into the white snow on the ground.

He didn't know how much longer he could hold on.

All he knew was that he couldn't stop.

If they stop, they won't be able to come back.

It cracked for the fourth time.

It wasn't him who broke it; the illusion itself cracked.

The images started to shake; the locust tree swayed, the small house swayed, and Old Gu and Xiulian's smiling faces swayed.

Like a television with a poor signal, like ripples on its surface. It's starting to fall apart.

Shen Xun's golden blood caused the illusion to loosen for a moment, but what truly cracked it was Old Gu's obsession.

He didn't want to go back; he knew it was all a lie.

Old Gu knelt on the ice, soaked to the bone, his face a mixture of river water and tears.

Ye Zhuo stood behind him, her hand still outstretched, as if grasping at something. Her fingertips were empty.

Lin Jian squatted on the ground, sobbing while clutching her camera. Her shoulders trembled, but she didn't let go.

Shen Xun stood behind them, gripping his peachwood staff, golden blood still flowing from it. His face was pale, but his eyes were bright. He stared at them for a long time without speaking.

The wind and snow started blowing again. The cracks in the ice were still there, but the illusion had faded. At least it had faded for now.

Shen Xun knew it would come again; it would wait.

Wait until they lower their guard, wait until they forget, wait until they fall back in.

All they knew was that they were still alive.

They've all come back.