Suddenly, the man tumbled down from the horseback, while the mad horse continued to shoot forward.
Day broke, then it darkened again.
Daylight returned, and once more, it faded into darkness.
In this way, two days and nights passed.
That day at noon, a sudden thunderous rumble exploded in the sky.
Amid the wilderness, a woman dressed in black, carrying a medicine basket on her back, her hair cascading down like three thousand threads of silvery snow, shone brilliantly. This veil of white hair, coupled with her dark attire, made her seem like a ghostly spirit of the mountains. What was particularly striking was the frosty aura that enveloped her, seemingly blind in the left eye, she wore a black one-eyed mask, and her lips were tightly sealed, devoid of smiles or frivolous words.
As she walked through the woods, she was startled by a patch of intense purple and couldn't help but pause in awe.
"Purple chervil…" she murmured.
