White clouds, a flowing stream, a small bridge.
The fisherman poling his boat began to sing, his voice ringing out: "An old fisherman with a single rod, by the cloudy cliffs and the water's bend. My humble boat comes and goes, without a care. Gulls dot the distant, clear waves; reed-filled banks rustle in the cold daylight. I sing a song as the sun sets in the evening..."
He sang at a leisurely pace, floating above the white clouds and amidst the sunset's glow. A gentle breeze drifted by, and his relaxed, carefree posture made him look every bit a man who had transcended the mortal world.
Song Ciwan glanced at the warm sun beside the clouds. She saw the setting sun hanging lazily on the horizon, its soft, pale light dyeing the nearby clouds a gentle orange-red.
She had first thought it was the morning sun, but it was now clear that this was the sun setting.
