Chapter 625: What Spiritual Resonance? He Has to Go Find It Himself?
In the early morning, the sea of clouds grew more scattered. Like a rising tide, it had surged from below the sheer cliff up to where the Daoist had camped for the night. Below lay rolling mists, which were ever-shifting and flowing. Above, the blue sky stretched wide, and the terraced fields filled with water gleamed sapphire blue, resembling scattered gemstones.
This was the sight that greeted the Daoist when he awoke. It was truly a scene like an immortal realm in the mortal world. Fortunately, he was already in the immortal realm.
The air was still chilly, though sunlight brought a touch of warmth. After breakfast, the Daoist packed up his belongings, and, along with his cat and horse, headed up the mountain.
Above was a stretch of clarity, while below, clouds and mist swirled and flowed, with a boundary line running between the two.
The Daoist made his way up the path along the field ridges.
By the roadside stood a middle-aged man in a worn white robe, hands cupped behind his back, gazing out over the Dragon Pool and sea of clouds. Another cultivator in a pale moon-white robe sat cross-legged, facing east. He was silent and serene, welcoming the morning sunlight with a calm expression.
At the mountaintop, several recluses of various ages had gathered. They carried wine flasks, food, poetry scrolls, qin and flutes. Sitting in a loose circle, they chatted and laughed freely, occasionally playing music.
These must be the recluses that Mr. Liu had spoken of.
When they saw the Daoist emerge from the mists, perhaps struck by the ethereal image, they all turned to look. Some gave respectful nods or cupped their hands in greeting, others spoke a few friendly words.
The Daoist paused and responded to each one. Only after reaching the mountaintop did he look back, and found it curious that the clouds below continued to rise, as if they had paused at that specific height only because he had slept there.
Once the Daoist departed, the mist continued to rise, following in his footsteps and gradually enveloping more and more of the terraced fields. At this moment, the mountain path he had taken and the blue terraces were both half-hidden in the swirling fog, giving one the sense that if they were to descend again, they might descend into the unknown.
The Daoist remembered the cliff from the night before.