On the high slope of the deep forest, amidst the drizzling autumn rain, sat a man completely drenched, his hands supporting him from behind, a faint smile on his face.
In the basin below, a little fox demon, dressed in a red dress and carrying a small green bamboo bookcase, was playfully chasing blue fireflies.
"Zhao Rong, have you gone mad?" The Sword Spirit asked patiently.
"People who hide from the rain laugh at those who don't use an umbrella, calling them crazy. But in the eyes of the latter, those who hide from the rain are just as crazy. Why hide?" He laughed and countered in the rain.
"Oh, that's truly philosophical." The Sword Spirit sincerely praised, "So when will our Saint Zhao reach enlightenment and ascend?"
Zhao Rong wiped his wet face again, the smile still lingering on his lips.
"Is there something wrong with my Heart Lake lately?" he suddenly asked.
"What's wrong?" The Sword Spirit feigned ignorance.
