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The mountains looked as though they had been painted in ink. They were black and shadowed, streaked with mist that half-veiled, half-revealed their shape. In the distance, a tall peak loomed, with a waterfall cascading silently down its side. The grasses on the summit were fine as threads, and black as well. Behind it all, an old pine tree bent low with its branches like a pavilion’s canopy, and everything rendered in shades of ink.
Beneath the pine stood a desk and a pot of tea. A Daoist sat cross-legged before it, a figure that seemed no different from one in a brush-and-ink painting.
From the distant sky, an Immortal Elder rode a white crane toward him, trailed by two young immortals on cranes of their own. The old man wore white robes, his hair silver but his face youthful, glowing with divine light. He and the children were the only color in this entire ink-washed world.
“Caw...”
In this silent realm, only the cranes' long cries echoed. The immortal elder descended atop the mountain.
The Daoist had already risen and bowed in greeting.
“Greetings, Immortal Elder.”
“Such formality, I hardly deserve it,” the elder replied as he stepped off the crane. He had kindly brows and eyes, a bearing both immortal and refined. He returned the bow and said warmly, “Forgive me for coming uninvited. I hope I have not disturbed you.”
“Not at all,” Song You said, sitting down again and gesturing for the elder to do the same. “I’ve been waiting here for you for quite some time.”
The Immortal Elder of Green Wood took his seat. His mind was full of thought, though his expression betrayed nothing.
On the table were a teapot and two cups, and the Daoist picked up the pot.
“Trickle...”
Until now, this dream-world had held only the cry of cranes...
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