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Beneath the towering parasol trees that reached into the clouds, the small fire appeared especially insignificant. Surrounded by thick miasma, its glow barely reached far. The Daoist sat on a wool mat, sharing a thin blanket with the middle-aged man, sitting across from him.
The water in the pot had long since boiled, bubbling steadily.
The Daoist ladled out a bowl and handed it to the man.
“Careful, it’s hot.”
“Thank you.”
“I am Song You, from Lingquan County in Yizhou. May I ask for your name?”
“Oh, pardon my rudeness. I am Dong Zhi. My ancestral home is in Yuezhou, but I’ve come here from Hanzhou this time around.”
Dong Zhi accepted the bowl, feeling the comforting warmth emanating from it. The steam rose, damp and hot against his face, bringing an unusual sense of reassurance.
His eyes discreetly wandered to the scene before him.
The young Daoist and the little girl, both sitting calmly in the miasma that could make most people sick. The Daoist exuded composure, and the little girl’s complexion was pristine, her appearance fair and pure.
There was also a jujube-red horse, lean but clearly a Beiyuan breed. It bore neither reins nor saddle, with a well-stocked saddlebag resting nearby.
What stood out most, however—
Perched on the jujube-red horse’s back was a swallow. Forget...
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