Green raindrops were woven diagonally on the mountain road in Yellow Maple Valley. Han Li held an oil-paper umbrella and walked slowly on the familiar stone road. It has been three hundred years since he ascended to the immortal world, and now that he has returned to the human world, he feels as if he has been in another world. The raindrops beat on the oil paper umbrella, making a thin sound, as if telling the story of the passage of time.
Good! Ink spots!