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“There are a lot more people here who speak Mandarin Chinese now!”
“Lady Calico, you’re already using the term 'Mandarin Chinese'?”
“Meow? What about it?”
“Nothing...” The Daoist smiled and shook his head. “It’s just that you never used to say it like that.”
“You're thinking... but the way you responded is so weird!”
“Focus point.”
“Yes, yes! Your focus is so weird!”
“Maybe...”
The Daoist was still wearing that same old Daoist robe from several years ago, walking with a staff along the narrow path between the terraced fields.
A cat still followed behind him, while a swallow flew overhead through the clouds.
Compared to a few years ago, there was only one thing missing: a jujube-red horse.
They passed through the village, crossed the fields, and headed toward the sheer cliff face on the eastern side of the Bashu.
The elevation here was already very high. Looking out into the distance, there were no peaks taller than this one, and one couldn’t even see the ground anymore. The view was filled mostly with sky and clouds, and the rest was occupied by mountain ranges slightly lower than where they stood. Walking here felt like treading in the heavens, and one's mood naturally became vast and open.
Just like the first time.
Only this time, upon returning, they found that there really were more people here who spoke the official tongue.
Some of them looked like recluses from the mountains. Others did not.
These people lived in the mountain villages. It was early morning, and as the Daoist made his way toward the sheer cliff, some walked with him, carrying tools or hauling wood, likely having come up from below the mountain.
Though Lady Calico had a celestial...
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