Bamboo Spring Mountain was not particularly tall, and in the misty rain, a faint veil of green fog rose from its bamboo groves.
Blade-like bamboo leaves caught the cool rain falling from the sky, letting droplets slide along their veins to the tips before gathering into larger beads and falling into the rotten earth. Too much rain also weighed the green bamboo down until it bowed slightly. Amid the forest stood the old Bamboo Spring Temple with its gray tiled roof. On rainy days, the bluish smoke from burning firewood drifted listlessly, unable to rise high, gathering above the rooftops as though unwilling to leave. Every so often, coughing from smoke irritation sounded out.
From a dirt hole in a grassy slope, a fat rabbit squinted as it watched a Bamboo Raft glide over the rice paddies, scaring plump frogs into hopping about wildly before it rose and flew toward Bamboo Spring Mountain.
Little Stone took several huge gulps of rainwater until he was half full, washing away the taste of meat buns.
With a gentle tap of the bamboo pole, ripples spread through the air. The Bamboo Raft slowed and skimmed along the bamboo leaves toward the long-neglected gate.
After steering the Bamboo Raft steadily to a stop outside, Little Stone tossed aside the bamboo pole and ran to open the gate. Bamboo Spring Temple's gate required a certain knack to open, otherwise it was easily damaged. Back then, when bandits attacked the mountain, they had been crushed to death by this very broken gate.
He skillfully opened it, then braced a critical spot with a wooden stick and expertly kicked the end on the ground twice to secure it. Unexpectedly, his straw sandals wore through and fell apart. He simply took them off and threw them away, then