The old man brewed a pot of tea.
"Try it!" he said with a smile, pointing at the cup in front of me.
I smiled too. "I suppose this tea will once again taste the way I hope it does."
This time, I deliberately did not think of the Maojian tea from my hometown. Instead, I thought of West Lake Longjing. Sure enough, the moment it touched my lips, it tasted like Longjing.
"What does it feel like when whatever you think of becomes reality?" I asked the old man.
The old man frowned, as though he were seriously considering my question.
But then he said, "To be honest, I've never experienced that myself. My imagination is restricted. In other words, I have this ability, but I can't use it myself." I narrowed my eyes at him. I had always suspected that he had not been telling me the truth.
I did not believe that even a person's most fundamental desires could be restricted.
"Perhaps they're afraid I'll wish to leave."
"Do you want to leave?"
"Of course I do."
"You want to leave, but you can't. Doesn't that mean not everything you wish for can become reality?"
Seeing that I doubted his ability, he hurriedly said, "No, it's not like that. Small things can happen as soon as I think of them—like what wine you want to drink, what dishes you want, what flavor of food you want, and so on. But something as major as leaving this place needs details. Do you understand? It needs a process to support it. What I lack is the ability to envision that process."
As he spoke, helplessness appeared on his face.
A process. Details.
That was rather interesting.
"So, if you can take me with you and come up with a