Pine trees sleep against the autumn wind, and a fine drizzle mists the bright moon.
Minamoto Wakasei made his way through the forest, spotting from afar a single cluster of candlelight flickering like a spark amid the dark trees, with the rain pattering a rhythmic melody against the pine needles. His expensive leather shoes squelched into the mud as he quickened his pace, pushing open the only lit cabin in the woods.
The candlelight swayed. An old man in a white hemp robe sat beside the hearth, pristine xuan paper unrolled before him as he held a writing brush in deep contemplation.
"You notified me that Headquarters personnel are arriving, yet you're hiding out here in a forest cabin. You certainly have a lot of leisure." Minamoto Wakasei naturally reached for a towel to dry himself off, then sat cross-legged on the floor by the hearth beside the old man. "Why switched to painting? Not forging swords today?"
Chapter 179