Beside the solitary pavilion on the bamboo grove clearing, a lesson seemed to be underway, conducted with a natural flair.
Inside the pavilion, on the floor tiles still covered with withered yellow bamboo leaves, an old man with his head covered by a Nanhua turban and dressed in plain white robes sat cross-legged.
Sitting casually among the dust and fallen leaves, he held a string of wooden beads, rolling them with the thumb of his right hand.
Zhao Rong looked on from a distance.
Tao Yuanran's expression was mild, and he spoke unhurriedly and calmly.
Meanwhile, on the open ground around the pavilion, scattered in an orderly manner, Qian'er and Lingfei were sitting side by side on round cushions.
With their backs to Zhao Rong, their postures were upright, resembling the tall, straight bamboos around them, and also like two sheathed swords, listening intently to the words of the Daoist gentleman in the pavilion.
The two women, one taller and the other shorter.
