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The procession offering tribute to the deity passed by the Daoist, their music and drumming echoing through the mountain air.
The little girl watched them until they disappeared from sight, then turned her gaze back to her Daoist.
Yet, the Daoist remained unhurried. He tilted his head back and drank the last mouthful of porridge from his bowl. He even kept the bowl raised for a moment longer, letting the remaining thin porridge slide down the sides and into his mouth. Only after ensuring not a drop was wasted did he lower the bowl, looking perfectly content.
He then rinsed the bowl with clear water, scrubbing it until it was spotless. Since the meal had little grease—only a faint fishy aroma from the dried fish—the water easily washed it clean, leaving the bowl smooth enough to make a crisp sound when rubbed.
After drying it off, he tucked it away into his bundle.
Still unhurried, Song You picked up the Swallow Rice stalks that the old farmer had given him. One by one, he peeled back the husks, revealing the golden grains inside. Only then did he place them into his bundle, securing them onto the horse’s back.
“Sir, shall I go see where they’re headed?”
“No need.” Song You shook his head lightly.
The sounds of drumming and instruments still echoed through...
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