The spring wind slipped by in secret; the whole night passed without words.
The next day, a blazing crimson sun slowly rose from the rippling water of the lotus pond. As if it had been washed clean, more like a water spirit dyed in brocade, it ascended toward the azure sky, stitching heaven and earth back together.
The sunlight was like lotus buds about to bloom yet not blooming, first turning purplish red, then ocher red, and soon gradually paling, bursting forth a thick white radiance tinged with clouds and mist.
Yin and Yang alternate, sunrise and sunset; the essence of nature is precisely such a tapestry of rules.
Isn't the essence of life the same—man and woman, Yin and Yang—this is the law of natural harmony.
Sunlight shone through the window that had been shaken crooked, pouring into the room, falling upon Jiang Dali's tall, burly figure standing before the window. It plated his layered, blocky body—like marble carved into a warrior—with a gentle glow, dazzling to behold.
