Rustle, rustle, rustle.
In the courtyard stood a tree so thick that it took two people to wrap their arms around it. No one knew its name. Its leaves were as large as an adult's palm, and whenever the wind blew, they rustled loudly.
As though they were applauding.
Chen Zhitao lay in his bedroom, asleep beyond waking.
It was a sign that his mental strength had been drained to the very limit. Of course, he probably had no desire to wake up anytime soon himself.
As the master of Sea Fishing Tower, he certainly bore its responsibilities on his shoulders. But during this period, the best thing Sea Fishing Tower could do was nothing at all. For him to lie here and sleep soundly, without being swept along by anyone, was the greatest fulfillment of his duty.
The south wind stirred the leaves beyond the window, but the man seated at the desk within heard none of it.
Jiang Wang had been sitting here for a long time. Yet he had done nothing else, merely drawing a line across the paper, from one end to the other. Then he stared at that line for a long while.
His time was precious. His three Dharma manifestations were still in another courtyard, studying sealing arts and poring over the classics left by those before him, refusing to let go of any possibility of saving himself before he was completely swallowed by the deep sea of the Heavenly Dao. Yet he was wasting so much time sitting here, looking at an utterly ordinary line.
A line was truly endless. It could extend infinitely to the left or right. But once it fell upon paper, its end became the edge of the page. And because it had been drawn with a brush dipped