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The Daoist walked intermittently, his pace slow.
The cat, on the other hand, took cheerful little steps. It also moved forward and stopped frequently. It often scampered ahead, then fell back again.
If it lagged behind a bit, once the Daoist had gone far, it would stretch its neck to look for him. If it couldn’t see him, it would hurry to catch up. If it reached in front of him, it would often stop and glance back. Seeing he hadn’t caught up, it would have to wait.
“Daoist Master!” The cat called out as it waited for the Daoist to catch up, lifting its head high, following the waterbirds flying overhead with its gaze while shouting at him.
“Hmm?”
“Are we going to find Sir Dou?”
“Lady Calico, you’re quite clever; I admire you,” the Daoist said patiently, still immersed in the world of the painting.
“But where is he?”
“That’s a good question.”
The Daoist shifted his gaze from the sky down to the towering mountains ahead.
The mountains were magnificent, their bases far away. From the size visible in the painting, they stretched at least several dozen li from left to right. Now, looking again, his gaze seemed not limited to the painting; it could extend beyond...
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