A man wearing a light gray robe and carrying a large book basket was walking slowly on the mountain road. His jet black hair was meticulously combed to reveal a broad forehead, his clear eyes were always smiling, his straight nose bridge was just right, his lips were pursed slightly, and there was a thin layer of sweat from walking. The sunlight hit his body, like a layer of golden halo, his expression was peaceful and serene, and his healthy complexion was flushed by the sun. Lan Qing'er stood in front of a brass mirror that was as tall as one person, with the corner of her mouth slightly raised, and with her trembling right hand, she gently touched the reflection in the mirror. The man in gray clothes murmured in a very low voice: "I see you again today, and you are still the same as before. Qingran, a thousand years have passed, and the time has passed, and the pavilions and towers have turned into smoke. I have stubbornly guarded you for a thousand years, and I vow not to let you down."