The next morning, Langdang Mountain.
The mountain hollow in spring seemed to have been overturned with a dye vat, with fresh greens spreading from the valley bottom to the edge of the cliff. The old trees, withered by last year's heavy snow, were bursting into new life, with jade-like buds poking out from the branches, colliding with the colors of the mountain, splattering and soaking the forest.
Sunlight pierced through the layered leaf gaps, weaving a shimmering golden net on the mossy stones. A squirrel, clutching a pine cone, scurried across, its fluffy tail knocking down a few magnolia petals, startling mountain sparrows hiding in rock crevices, which fluttered over the stream, their chirps crisp like colliding ice shards.
