At a certain place, the waves were rolling and dark clouds covered the sky.
"The wind is about to blow." An old man, wearing a Chinese tunic, sat on a recliner outside a small house by the sea. He held a purple clay teapot in his hand and muttered to himself.
There was a letter on the table. For some reason, although the wind was strong, the letter did not move at all. Not a corner of it was blown up.
"Master, the weather's not good. Let's go back to the city," A young man respectfully whispered to him.
"I'm not going back yet. I need some time to calm down. " The old man leaned back in the chair.
He was thin and withered, and his eyes were white like a blind man.
But his eyes were looking straight at the dark clouds above the sea, as if he could see a golden Crow through the dark clouds.
After a while, he felt a headache. He pressed his hands on his temples, and his dry face was slightly ferocious.
