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The old locusts had been swept away by the Daoist’s gust of wind, but new swarms continued to arrive. The farmer in the field was so exhausted that he could barely catch his breath. Forced to rest for the time being, he resolved to follow the government’s advice later in the evening: to light fires in the fields to ward off the locusts once night fell.
These cursed bugs were truly tormenting.
Could it be that the locust deity had somehow been resurrected?
The old man, clutching his aching back, emerged from the fields and looked up at the sky full of locusts, letting out a deep sigh.
At that moment, he suddenly heard a commotion in the distance.
Raising his head, he saw what appeared to be a dense, inky blot spreading across the dim sky. This blot seemed to dissolve into countless black shadows, scattering in all directions. Some of the shadows flew overhead, accompanied by the whooshing sound of the wind and a chorus of bird calls. The noise, though individually faint, gathered into a rushing torrent, leaving the old man stunned.
Some of the birds lowered their altitude and flew down toward the ground.
Steadying himself and summoning his courage, the old man moved closer for a better look. Only then did he realize that the birds were swallows. They had black and white feathers, and were lively and graceful in appearance.
Looking back up...
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