"Forever she carries twigs and stones from the Western Hills, striving to fill the boundless Eastern Sea." Yet…
"Forever she carries twigs and stones from the Western Hills, striving to fill the boundless Eastern Sea."
Yet the sea remains vast and unyielding.
A ghost cast into the depths, she finds the sun cold and the moon warm, the slow, hollow burning of a life that will not end.
Now and then he hears the lap of water, the heavy thrum of a wooden viper, the rhythmic click of turning gears.
Likely just some wayward disciple out for a lark.
Send them away, and be done with it.
Yet one young sprout has somehow found the way through. Layer by layer, they have worked their way in, until they are standing right there before him.
How young.
Since when did Mohist Hill produce a young soul like this? It takes him back to that afternoon when Master Crane sent two young ones to him.
No... not only then.
There was also that dawn when the mountains blazed red with maple, and these young principles came to see him off
Things will get better... will they, truly?
Little one, do you think you can fill that sea?
How many Jingwei would it take, to fill an endless sea like that?