In Luoyang, the imperial capital, the afternoon sun scorched the earth like a brazier. Vermilion Bird Avenue, normally bustling, was so deserted that sparrows could have been netted at its doors. Vendors cooled themselves in the shade, and even the flagstones had grown blisteringly hot. A stray dog darted into the street from somewhere, then suddenly tucked its tail and fled with a string of yelps, drawing laughter from the people resting nearby.
At some point, a dark cloud drifted across the horizon and blotted out the sun. The light dimmed, and even the breeze grew cool.
With the weather about to turn, the lifeless street suddenly stirred into activity. Some hurried to pack up their stalls, others rushed home to bring in their laundry, and still others hastened on their way. Like anxious ants, people scurried in every direction.
Inside the Pavilion of the Knowledge and Practice Institute, Cheng Zi Ya reclined on a long bench like a lion, his chest bare, his chin propped on one hand, and his eyes half closed.
Wei Zhilin sat at the table, holding a clump of grass.
It was yarrow, which grew for a thousand years and bore three hundred stalks.
A strong wind swept in ahead of the downpour, making the half-open window creak. Wei Zhilin rolled the yarrow between his hands. There were precisely fifty stalks-not one more, not one less.
First, he took one stalk and laid it horizontally before him. Then he randomly divided the remaining forty-nine into two bundles, took one stalk from the bundle in his left hand, and tucked it between his left little finger and ring finger. Next, he swiftly counted the right-hand bundle in groups of four, taking the remainder and placing it between his left ring finger and middle finger...
Three changes