Amid those faint, subtle transformations, within that divine mountain resembling a giant celestial god, one could vaguely glimpse the reflections of countless small worlds.
Truly, one flower contained one world; one leaf, one bodhi.
In this mountain range, a towering tree was a realm of heaven and earth, yet even a verdant leaf concealed a lesser thousand-world realm.
All things were myriad, their radiance drawn inward.
Those cultivators who had not seen through it would likely find it hard to imagine just how vast and astonishing the divine powers contained within that painting of the divine mountain range, imprinted with the Daoist sanctuary behind it, truly were.
Drip—
A crystal-clear droplet rolled from the tip of a leaf.
It fell softly, bringing with it damp, misty rain.
Lu Qing sipped his tea. Such weather was rarely seen in Tao City.
Though Tao City lay in the north, it too was filled with peach blossoms. When a light rain fell,
streams wound through the city, past white walls, high roof tiles, and peach blossom branches.
It carried no small measure of the hazy, mist-shrouded charm of Jiangnan rain.
Yet that was the poetic beauty of Jiangnan rain and mist.
It was not like the heavy, oppressive rain fog before him.
Even the damp air felt uncomfortable.
Lu Qing had not changed his appearance, nor had he altered his age.
Yet the words of fate upon that floating painting scroll still had not fully descended.
For although Lu Qing himself did not cultivate, he could not help being a "kindhearted person," kindly and either directly or indirectly aiding the rise of quite a few people blessed by fortune.
"I can be considered the golden-finger grandpa of this generation's people of fortune now. Still, being a grandpa in a painting-scroll simulation really does