Song Yan nodded.
Ning Yunmiao transformed into light and departed.
Song Yan sat down, his fingers brushing over the stone tablet, where pure ink-like meaning rippled between the stones, conveying the feelings of the owner from countless millennia ago to future generations.
He ground ink and took paper, copying the inscriptions on the tablet.
Every word and sentence were but simple daily expressions, yet such simplicity best fosters tranquility and peace of mind.
Pages of white paper fluttered away, and Song Yan put down his brush to sit silently, subconsciously placing himself in the place of the old Daoist on the inscription. He thought that the old Daoist, who left this tablet, must have been a great sage, yet his concern "not to return in time" was not for some earth-shattering event but out of worry that "his disciple would forget to eat the cake on the table", which was quaint and unpretentiously profound.
