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The night grew slowly deeper.
The Daoist did not, like others who had not brought tents, find a random spot to rest in the camp below. Instead, he walked a long way in the darkness and climbed up a nearby mountain.
Where there were many people, there were many troubles; where there were fewer people, there were fewer dangers. The Daoist was indifferent to both troubles and dangers. He simply wanted to be farther away, to find some peace and quiet, with fresher air. Moreover, from this mountain, he got a perfect bird's-eye view of the campfires across the entire campsite, making for a rather pleasant sight.
Lady Calico walked to the edge of the mountain slope and gazed down. She left the Daoist with only a tiny silhouette, almost invisible among the grass.
Below, a large bonfire was burning brightly, and many torches were scattered throughout the tents. People had gathered in a circle around the fire, dancing. The sounds of singing and shouting were still clearly audible, even from such a distance. The intense, unrestrained emotions seemed to be felt even by the cat.
The Daoist, however, sat cross-legged on a woolen mat in the back, holding a small blue-and-white porcelain bowl, which was filled with about half a bowl of water.
“Lady Calico, you should drink some water.”
“...”
The small figure...
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