The Path of the Supernatural

The time when I was a child was like a melodious nursery rhyme, gently humming with innocence and warmth, echoing in my memory, making me extremely excited. Every time after school ends and I finish my homework, in addition to playing with my friends, I love telling stories to my elders. The story of Ji Xiaolan told by my father was my childhood enlightenment. When I was three years old, I could memorize the song "One piece, two pieces, three or four pieces, five pieces, six pieces, seven or eight pieces, nine pieces, ten pieces fly, fly into the reed flowers and disappear", and I am familiar with his allusions. The fairy tales told by my sister weaved a mysterious mythical world for me; the plot of Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves told by my uncle was full of ups and downs and was often serialized for several days, making me look forward to the follow-up every night. And the one who talks the most is my grandma. When I was in elementary school, I was curious about her age for the first time. When she smiled and said she was 72 years old, I just thought that my grandma was an old man full of stories. At that time, whenever I had free time, I was like a little tail, following my grandma around. While she was working, I would listen to stories while she worked. Deep in my memory, this scene always makes me extremely nostalgic: the grandma with her little feet bound and slightly bent over, sitting on the big futon she knitted, telling stories while working. I sat obediently on the futon next to my grandma, holding my chin in my hands and staring at her without blinking, for fear of missing any word. Looking back now, the warmth and happiness of the past still fill my heart. Grandma never gets tired of telling the stories she knows one after another. After telling the story, I still refused to let go. She had no choice but to joke: "Go and tell your grandma. Your grandma has many more stories than me and they are more interesting." I actually believed it and ran to my grandma. What grandma tells is a mythical love story. Nowadays, it can probably be regarded as a cool story about tearing up a mistress by hand. But I was still young at that time, and I always felt that the plots of the stories told by my grandma were far less ups and downs than those of my grandma. Grandma's stories contain the fireworks of life and strange adventures. Those twists and turns of the plot always catch my heart and make me fascinated. When grandma was a girl, her father still had Manchu braids. In that distant and mysterious era, I don't know who started to pass on these wonderful stories from generation to generation. I was born in a small mountain village in a place where "the legacy of Donglu still exists today, and hundreds of thousands of families are studying." But it hides countless wonderful stories. Is this the cultural heritage left by the sages or the wisdom of the working people? The Ganoderma lucidum fairy in the novel is never thirsty, hungry, cold, or hot. This is probably the best wish for life of people in that era! Today, these stories have become my most precious memories. I was afraid that they would be dusted by time, so I mixed a few stories about my grandma into the novel, such as the mystery of Shiqiao Town and the Mountain Village, and I may continue to insert more in the future. I hope that more people can hear these stories, so that this warmth and beauty can continue in time.

Commentary on the chapter "The Path of Spiritual Illusion" written by Nagayama Haru: The Beginning of Practice.

Very nice, the author will update it soon