Within Luopo Mountain.
The weather was crisp and clear. In the courtyard of a residence, there was scarcely anywhere to set one's foot. Large round bamboo sieves and willow-woven winnowing baskets were all covered in drying red chili peppers, blazing scarlet.
Under the eaves, Zhu Lian lay on a reclining chair in the corridor, resting with his eyes closed as he gently waved a cattail-leaf fan.
After finishing her walking-stake practice along the mountain path today, Cen Yuanyi came here to sit for a while.
She enjoyed talking with Old Mr. Zhu, not merely because Zhu Lian had brought her up the mountain and led her onto the path of martial arts. On Luopo Mountain, Cen Yuanyi also regarded Old Mr. Zhu as her sole elder and family member.
The old gentleman often urged her to go down the mountain more often and visit her parents at home in the provincial city. He said that even if they pressed her to marry, she should not grow impatient, much less treat Luopo Mountain as a place to hide away in peace and quiet.
Some things could not be avoided. Even if she could evade the troubles of the moment, she could not escape future regrets.
There was nothing more futile in life than regret.
A wanderer in a foreign land was like a paper kite drifting without anchor. Only the longing in one's heart became its string. If a person no longer felt attachment to family or hometown, she truly became a kite with its string severed. Then all reunions and partings, joys and sorrows, would be like the grass upon the endless plain, withering and flourishing at Heaven's mercy rather than its own. The old gentleman also said Cen Yuanyi was fortunate: she had not traveled far from home, and