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The distant mountains were as dark as ink, layer upon layer. They were shrouded in mist, with ancient pines bent low. The grass on the ground was like silk, blowing to one side in the wind.
Two people and a cat sat by the roadside, around a small fire. A few thin wooden sticks held sausages and steamed buns, slowly roasting at the edge of the fire, with the sausages sizzling and oozing oil.
Two horses, one black and one red, grazed nearby.
“Do you still remember the Swallow Immortal of Anqing?” the swordsman asked, eyeing the sausages while speaking to the Daoist.
“Of course, I remember,” the Daoist replied.
“I have received word in Changjing. It seems that the Swallow Immortal of Anqing has brought back some superior seeds from overseas. They say they have a higher yield than the Eastern rice introduced by He Xiang decades ago. The people of Anqing worship the Swallow Immortal like a deity, and many have already begun planting it.”
“I've heard the court has also gotten wind of this and is paying great attention, planning to try planting it in Anqing. If the results are good, they'll promote it heavily,” said the swordsman in gray. “But whether it’s true or not, who knows?”
“We'll know in the future,” the Daoist replied.
“I’ve also...
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