The night fell.
Snowflakes began to drift down in Shanyin again.
Mountain winds howled, the snowflakes spiraling in the wind, twinkling like strands of silver light against the ink-dark night.
Zhou Yi moved a stone table to the entrance of the cave, boiled a kettle of water, and brewed some common Dragon Well tea.
Enjoying tea, admiring the snow!
Outside the cave, the snowstorm raged; inside, warmth filled the air.
In this vast and silent world, where everything seemed still, there remained only the sounds of the wind, the snow, the crackling flames, the boiling water, and the old man's drinking.
Zhou Yi murmured, "If it could always be like this, what use would there be in worrying about cultivation?"
