“Twenty years,” replied the old man with a laugh. “In my life, I’ve ferried many, many people across this North Sea. I’ve seen a lot of things, and of course, I’ve learned a lot about how people tend to have conversations. Please, don’t laugh at me. Who knows how many years this lake has been here? It’s seen a lot of people too. People remember it, and it remembers the people.” The old man lifted his glass and took a drink.
Meng Hao stared at him for a moment. This was the first time he had ever heard someone speak in such a fashion. He looked back at the lake, muttering to himself, seemingly lost in thought.
“This is obviously a lake,” he said suddenly. “Why do people call it the North Sea?”
The old man thought for a moment, then smiled. “Lakes can dry up, grow quiet, and become still. If that happened, no living things would remain. But seas last forever, and can contain the water of countless rivers and lakes. Maybe people just didn’t want the lake to ever go away, so they named it that way. When all is said and done, if you believe it’s a lake, then it’s a lake. If you believe it’s a sea, then it’s a sea.”
When he heard the old man’s words, Meng Hao’s mind suddenly trembled. The hand holding the glass of alcohol began to quiver, and he stared out at the lake water, almost in a trance. He seemed to lose track of time.
Time passed, and the boat reached the shore. Meng Hao pulled out some silver that he had acquired from one of the disciples back at the Reliance sect and paid the fare. He gave the old man a deep bow of respect, then watched as the boat drifted off. His eyes shined with a strange light.
He didn’t leave, but instead sat down cross-legged on the lakeshore, looking out at the waters, and the lone boat disappearing into the distance. He could hear the old man laughing.