Chapter 107

Nestled within the embrace of the mountains lies a place that resembles a hidden paradise. The landscape is lush and clear, its beauty truly intoxicating. Rolling hills rise and fall like a massive green dragon winding its way into the distance. The mountains are verdant and dense, with towering trees weaving their branches together to form a natural green canopy. Mists drift through the peaks, thickening and thinning, lending an air of mysterious charm to the heights. Clear streams ripple along the foothills, their water sparkling like a flowing galaxy under the sunlight. Stones and aquatic plants are visible on the creek bed, and fish swim joyfully, occasionally leaping from the water in a spray of droplets. In the midst of this tranquil landscape stands a small Taoist temple. Its walls, now weathered and mottled, speak of the passage of time. The crimson gate is tightly shut, the rust on its rings a testament to the years gone by. The roof is covered in blue tiles, arranged in an orderly, albeit rugged, pattern, with a few hardy blades of grass growing stubbornly between the crevices. The eaves curl upward like the wings of a bird about to take flight, and the stone steps before the entrance are worn yet deeply classical.