Actually, a Meteor Shower was not beautiful.
Bright streaks flashed across the vault of heaven in an instant—shocking, dreamlike, dazzling.
Chaotic, fleeting lines filled the sky. The sight was exquisitely beautiful, something countless living beings would never witness in their lifetimes. Yet beneath that beautiful, romantic exterior lay destruction.
High in the sky, fireballs burned away one after another, yet countless more pierced through the fierce winds...
A quiet afternoon.
The scorching weather made people even more sluggish, leaving them wanting nothing but to hide beneath the shade of a tree for an afternoon nap.
At the Threshing Ground outside the town, the blazing sun baked the yellow earth until the heat warped one's vision. Beneath a half-withered old tree, Old Yellow Dog lay on the ground with his tongue hanging out, panting heavily. He was too hot to care about tiny flies landing at the corners of his eyes, while several little yellow chicks, still full of spirit, played atop him.
Crackling sounds rang through the Threshing Ground, accompanied by the shouts of a child.
By the wall, a seven- or eight-year-old boy was drenched in sweat.
He wore ill-fitting old coarse-cloth trousers and cloth-soled shoes with a thousand layers, but no shirt. His skin had been tanned dark by the sun, and his palms were covered in thick calluses from farm work.
Though young, his horse stance was solid and steady. He punched, withdrew his fists, breathed evenly, and looked sharp-eyed. Punch after punch, he earnestly laid the foundations of martial arts.
Compared to other children, the boy's gaze seemed to have seen far too much.
In the shade.
Old Yellow Dog lifted his head for a look, then lay back down.
Footsteps drew nearer. Through the lush green fields, a burly man carried a bundle of weeds