My words have become law; I truly have no desire to display my divine power before others.

Five days later.

Before dawn, the clan elders woke up.

He put on his clothes, leaned on his cane, and pushed open the door.

The courtyard was pitch black. The moon had already set, but the stars still hung in the sky, densely packed, like scattered silver pieces on a black cloth.

The night breeze was chilly, making him shiver.

He stood at the door, looked up at the sky, and estimated that there was still a while before sunrise.

He went back to his room and pulled the scroll out from under his pillow.

The red string was tied very tightly, and he hadn't been able to untie it for the past few days.

It's not that I don't want to understand, it's that I'm afraid to.

The Taoist priest said that five days later, a person would come from the east side of the village and give him the painting.

He didn't know whether the person was male or female, old or young, good or bad.

But he knew that he should just do as the Taoist priest said.

He held the scroll in his arms, leaned on his cane, and slowly walked towards the east end of the village.

The alley was pitch black, and he was all alone.

The cane struck the bluestone slab with a resounding thud, the sound carrying far through the night sky.

The doors on both sides of the road were closed, and snoring could be heard from inside, one long snore after another.

He walked past A-Luo's house. The door was closed, the lights were off inside, and A-Luo was still asleep.

He paused, glanced at the door, and then continued walking.

He then walked past the Ginseng Temple. The temple door was open, and the eternal lamp inside was still lit. The flame flickered, illuminating the smiling clay statue.

He stood at the doorway, glanced inside, and then continued walking forward.

As we walked to the eastern end of the village, the sky was already beginning to lighten.

It wasn't bright; it was a kind of black with a hint of gray, like someone had dripped a drop of water onto rice paper, which slowly seeped in.

He found a rock to sit on, leaned his cane against it, placed the scroll on his knees, and held it with both hands, waiting.

He waited a long time.

When the gray on the horizon turned white, the white turned light red, and the light red turned gold.

When the sun peeks over the mountains, casting its first rays on the plaque above the village gate, it illuminates the three characters "Ginseng Harvesting Village".

The three characters were illuminated by the sun, golden and shiny, as if they had been redrawn.

There was still no one in the direction he was waiting in.

He wasn't in a hurry.

He has lived for over seventy years; aside from anything else, he certainly has patience.

He took the scroll off his lap, changed his posture, and continued to wait.

After waiting a while longer, the sun had risen above the mountain peak, and golden light shone on the mountain path and the roadside grass, making the dewdrops sparkle.

Then he saw a person in the distance, walking towards him from the mountain path. The person was walking slowly, backlit, so he couldn't see their face clearly, only an outline.

The man walked steadily, each step neither hurried nor slow, as if he were measuring the length of the road.

The elder stood up, leaning on his cane, and looked in that direction.

The person drew closer, their outline becoming clearer.

White hair, white beard, and a gray-white robe.

The man walked to the village gate, stopped, looked at the plaque, and then lowered his head to look at the clan elder standing by the roadside.

Yun Songzi recognized him.

He recognized the cane in the man's hand, the gray cloth clothes he was wearing, and the wrinkled face.

He had seen him a few days ago in A Luo's courtyard; he was an elder of the ginseng-collecting village.

The clan elder clearly recognized him as well. He was somewhat surprised that someone had actually come. It seemed that the immortal master had anticipated this, so he could hand this thing over to the other party.

"Old man," Yun Songzi spoke, his voice a little dry, "is that Taoist priest still in the village?"

The elder shook his head, his voice hoarse: "The Taoist priest is gone. He's been gone for five days."

Yun Songzi was stunned for a moment.

It's been five days.

He turned around, looked at the road he had come from, stared for a while, and then turned back.

His face was expressionless, but his eyes dimmed, like a lamp that had been blown by the wind, its flame flickering, almost going out, before lighting up again.

The clan elder looked at him and handed him the scroll in his hand.

"Before the immortal master left, he gave me something. He said that at sunrise five days from now, a person would come from the east of the village and give him this thing."

Yun Songzi stared at the scroll for a moment, stunned.

The scroll was rolled up tightly and tied with a red string, so it was impossible to tell what was painted inside.

He reached out and took it.

The scroll felt slightly heavy in my hand. The paper was old, with some yellowing at the edges, but the red string was new, shining brightly like blood.

His heart suddenly skipped a beat.

It's not an illness, it's just excitement.

He couldn't untie the red rope; his fingers trembled, and the knot tightened with each pull.

The clan elder looked at him, reached out, took the scroll, used his fingernail to untie the knot, untied the red string, folded it, and handed it back.

Yun Songzi took the scroll, took a deep breath, and slowly unfurled it.

The painting depicts a person.

He stood under a jujube tree, dressed in blue and wearing a Taoist robe, with his hands behind his back.

The jujube leaves are drawn in great detail, each one is different; some are curled, some are spread out, and some have a small hole bitten by insects.

But those leaves had no color, only ink, some dark, some light, some dry, some wet, but you could tell at a glance they were green.

The person under the tree had his eyebrows and eyes drawn very lightly, just a few strokes, but there was a light in his eyes, not a light painted on, but a light that shone through the paper itself, faint and warm.

He stood under the tree, a slight smile on his lips, as if looking at someone outside the painting, or perhaps at a place very, very far away.

Yun Songzhe's hands began to tremble again as he looked at the portrait.

It wasn't cold, it was excitement.

Just as he was about to ask, "What does this mean?", the scroll suddenly lit up.

It wasn't that his eyes were playing tricks on him; it really was bright.

The person in that portrait seemed to be glowing; the light seeped out from the paper, very faint and soft, like moonlight.

Yun Songzi was stunned for a moment, and before he could react, the light rushed into his brow.

It didn't hurt, it was just cold, like someone had put a piece of ice on his forehead.

Then a picture appeared in his mind.

It's not the one he's holding, it's another one.

There is also a person in that painting, dressed in blue, wearing a Taoist robe, standing with his hands behind his back.

That person stood in his mind, in the center of his consciousness, like a mountain, or a tree, quiet and still.

He had a slight smile on his lips, just like in the portrait.

Yun Songzi closed her eyes and looked at the person in her mind.

That person stood there, motionless, yet his presence changed Yun Songzi's consciousness.

Originally, the place was a chaotic mess, like a pot of boiled porridge, all mixed up and disorderly.

But now that chaos is slowly settling, becoming clearer and brighter.

The edge of his sea of ​​consciousness was expanding outwards, not because he was forcing it, but because that person was standing there, like a lamp, illuminating the darkness and extending the boundaries.

His spirit was growing, not little by little, but like spring grass, sprouting from the soil and growing rapidly.

The feeling was wonderful and comfortable, like a piece of land that had been parched for a long time being suddenly drenched with water.