Drifting Away
Morning light flowed like water, silently seeping through the gaps in the bamboo fence and casting mottled shadows across the damp earth. Chen An was bent over the Vegetable Plot, skillfully pinching away the roots and stems of weeds, so focused that it seemed as though this patch of greenery was the only thing in all of Heaven and Earth.
Suddenly, a breeze rose behind him. It was unlike an ordinary wind, carrying a refreshing fragrance of grass and trees. Before he could turn around, the corner of his eye caught a flash of jade green—Yang Mei, the green-robed Daoist, floated like a Willow Branch brushing over still water, graceful and ethereal. Without making a sound, he had already knelt prostrate upon the scorched earth left behind by yesterday's thunderfire.
The instant Yang Mei's knees touched the ground, an astonishing phenomenon occurred. The originally charred and compacted soil rippled like water struck by a pebble, spreading rings of pale golden ripples. The golden light was pure and gentle, as if it came from the depths of the earth. A faint tremor followed. It was not an earth-shaking quake, but rather like an invisible ancient zither being plucked precisely at one string, releasing a low and distant hum that left the soles of one's feet tingling and sent one's heart and soul swaying lightly.
Immediately afterward, Yang Mei solemnly pressed his forehead to the muddy ground three times. Each kowtow was more than a simple touch of flesh; it seemed to contain some ancient ritual. Accompanied by the dull yet distinct sounds of impact, profound golden Dao patterns emerged from the cracked roots of the Withered Willow outside the fence. They resembled lotuses, blooming and rotating one after another. With every opening and closing of the petals, invisible ripples