The only pond in the village, bathed in the morning light and veiled in morning mist, appeared hazy and dreamlike, as if it belonged to another world.
By the edge of the pond lay a large, purplish-red stone whose origins had been passed down through countless generations. About a meter long and forty centimeters wide, it was a striking and lustrous object. The villagers had no idea where it had come from; they only knew that for generations, the women of the village had used it as a washing board, beating laundry upon it with wooden mallets innumerable times.
Furious, Fang Yi strode to the edge of the pond, standing quietly on the embankment as he gazed at the dense mountain forest on the far side. His thoughts were in total turmoil, and he had no idea which way to turn. Gradually, accompanied by the silent morning mist over the water, his anger began to subside, and his mind slowly cleared. Feeling as though all his strength had suddenly drained from his limbs, he walked over to the purplish-red stone and sat down upon it. The stone was icy cold, without a trace of warmth.
Chapter 59