Chen Shi was deeply moved by these enthusiastic Independents. In the evening, the youth took his grandfather's spirit tablet from the wooden cart, lit three sticks of incense, and silently thought, "Grandpa, I've found the organization of Independents. The people here treat me well, and they speak kindly. Although occasionally some are unkind to me, they treat me well after others give them a beating. Grandpa, are you doing well down there? You don't need to worry about me."
He placed the incense in the small censer in front of the spirit tablet, took out the bedding, and prepared to sleep outdoors.
The Black Pot slept beside him.
Li Tianqing had disappeared, the Black Pot had cooked his meal, but he hadn't come back to eat.
Chen Shi lay down, looking up at the sky.
Even at night, the Mist Ridge was as bright as the daytime, with towering Primordial Spirits seated in the air, only the far distance plunged into darkness.
