Unintended Immortality

“Lady Calico, it’s your cat litter.”

“Mm?”

The cat turned her head and glanced at him a few times, seemingly too lazy to engage in conversation. She swayed her head a little, then continued climbing.

Each sand dune was towering and magnificent, far beyond what one might expect. Whether human, cat, or horse, they all seemed insignificantly small in comparison. Climbing such dunes was no easy feat.

Because the sand was always shifting.

And because the slopes were far steeper than ordinary mountains.

For every step forward, one's foot would slide back, undoing most of the progress. With dunes this tall and this steep, taking three steps forward often meant sliding two steps back—turning what should have been a short distance into something three times longer.

This was the case for the Daoist and the cat. It felt like walking on a slippery surface.

The horse had it even harder, forced to zigzag its way up.

Lady Calico kept chattering as they climbed, telling the Daoist that the sand refused to let her up. She would casually share how warm her legs felt, asking him if he felt the same.

Reaching the top of the dune made everything much easier.