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The Daoist was patiently washing elm samaras in the kitchen.
He was not in a rush and had plenty of time, so he meticulously cleaned each one, ensuring it was spotless before spreading them out on a basket to dry.
Meanwhile, the cat was outside, playing with her new toy. She would bat at the fabric ball with her paw. Though it seemed like a light touch, the ball would immediately fly off, prompting her to chase after it or intercept it mid-air with her other paw. She was utterly absorbed in this simple joy, completely lost in her play.
Every now and then, the Daoist would poke his head out to glance at her.
The small house wasn’t very big, and the kitchen was right next to the main hall. While washing vegetables, all he had to do was lean back slightly and look through the door to catch sight of the cat.
Song You found himself reminded of his own childhood.
During the first few years after arriving at the temple, he was still very young. His master would often fumble around in the kitchen, clumsy and flustered, constantly stealing glances at him to make sure the child she'd taken in a few years earlier was still alive and well. Song You, on the other hand, would often sit on a small stool by the doorstep, staring absentmindedly at the wind blowing through the mountains.
Of course, that didn’t last long.
As Song You grew older, he could no longer bear his...
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