Thin mist enveloped the forest.
In the early hours, the official road resembled a grayish-yellow python, winding through the dark green ocean of trees.
The sky was washed azure blue, with distant tiger and leopard roars, and deer calls echoing.
The white caravan moved neither fast nor slow, steadily proceeding on the smooth official road.
The white oxen occasionally snorted, burying their heads and advancing forward.
As the caravan reached a curve in the mountain forest, a melodious flute sound drifted from the heights of the forest on the right side.
The flute sound was elegant, resembling the cries of eagles, with an undertone of valor and gallantry.
Zhang Rongfang paused his steps, raised his head, and gazed in the direction of the sound.
But over there, the white mist was swirling, nothing could be seen.
"There's no village ahead, no inn behind, who would purposely play the flute here?" he muttered in a deep voice.
